The last day of term falls on Wednesday. As is tradition, normal lessons are abandoned in favour of games and quizzes and DVDs.
In English, Mrs Merry announces we’re going to be playing literary charades. She nominates two captains and asks them to choose teams.
I’m second to last to be picked.
This is not unusual. It’s the same in PE, whether we’re playing netball or hockey or rounders. I don’t mind. It’s never done in a cruel way. I just don’t think people notice me until something forces them to, or I’m literally the only person standing in front of them.
When it’s my turn to mime, I let a girl called Zahra go up in my place. No one notices. The other team wins by a mile anyway – twenty-one points to eight.
At 3.30 p.m., instead of ripping off my tie and tearing out of the gates like almost everyone else, I take my time, calmly clearing out my locker as the school empties out around me. I get their euphoria, but I don’t share it. For them, the summer holidays mean freedom; for me, it’s more like a prison sentence.
A few metres away, three girls from my year are making plans go to Shake It Off, the milkshake bar on the high street.
One of them, Alice, went to my primary school. We used to play together sometimes, and I went to a couple of her birthday parties. Since moving up to senior school though, we haven’t really spoken.
‘Hurry up, Sof,’ she says. ‘If we don’t get a move on, we’ll miss out on a booth.’
Her friend Sofia is trying to stuff her PE kit into her already stuffed backpack.
‘Do you want to put anything in my bag?’ Shazna, the third girl, offers.
‘I think I’m gonna have to,’ Sofia says.
I watch as they divide up Sofia’s PE kit, giggling over her stinky trainers and debating which flavour milkshake to order (‘I’m going to have Oreo!’ ‘But you always have Oreo!’ ‘So? You always have Toblerone!’).
I imagine them suddenly noticing me, and asking me to join them. Then the four of us huddled in a booth, elbows touching, laughing and joking and making plans for the summer.
‘Finally!’ Alice says, jolting me from my fantasy.
Immediately, I feel stupid for even letting my brain go there. Alice probably doesn’t even remember my name. And it’s not like I could actually say yes, even if they did ask me. It’s too risky.
Sofia’s PE kit successfully distributed, they link arms and head for the exit, oblivious to my eyes on their backs.
By the time I step out into the sunshine, the crowds have dispersed and my footsteps echo on the concrete as I make my way towards the gates.
Instead of my usual route home, I find myself heading for the high street. A long queue snakes out the door of Shake It Off. From my vantage point on the other side of the road, I can see Alice, Sofia and Shazna sitting in the window; they got their booth after all. They’re laughing at something Shazna just said. I watch as they shift along the plastic seating to make room for some other people from our year.
Alice’s head swivels in my direction, and for a split second our eyes lock. Panic floods my chest. With fumbling fingers, I pull my phone out of my blazer pocket and pretend to answer it.
‘Hello?’ I say.
My voice is shaking even though there’s no way Alice can possibly hear me or know I’m faking it.
As I walk away, my phone still pressed to my ear, I sneak a glance over my shoulder. Alice isn’t looking at me any more.
No one is.