The next morning I wake first, so I gently shake Sergei’s shoulder as I walk past.

He comes into the kitchen while I’m eating a bowl of cereal.

‘I didn’t know what you fancied for breakfast but I poured you some orange juice,’ I say.

‘Cool,’ he says.

I look at him.

‘What is wrong?’ he asks.

‘When did you start speaking like that?’

‘Like what? You mean like you?’ He grins. ‘I listen and learn, Calum.’

When I finish eating I put the cereal away and the milk back in the fridge. There’s juice, eggs, cheese, yogurts, milk . . . and they’re all fresh. Since Angie took over the food shopping, I’ve never seen our fridge so full.

While we walk to school I tell Sergei what I heard about Linford yesterday.

‘So he won’t be coming back to the school?’ Sergei gasps. His face brightens.

‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘He’ll have to find another school to take him. His stepdad will do his nut.’

Sergei doesn’t reply at first; I can tell he’s thinking.

‘But Linford knew Mr Fox would exclude him if he acted in a violent way,’ he says simply. ‘Is this correct?’

‘Well, yeah. I suppose so but . . .’ I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. ‘Sometimes people get excluded when they haven’t even done anything wrong. Like me.’

‘But you were part of Linford’s gang, Calum.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong though, did I?’ I snap back. I’m beginning to regret walking in with him now. ‘I’ve never bullied anyone.’

Sergei sighs heavily and shakes his head. I wait for him to come back with his lame arguments, but he doesn’t.

We’re about halfway up Woodborough Road when an old Jack Russell ambles by. I recognize him as the dog of an old guy who walks him every morning along here. He lets the dog run ahead a little so I know he won’t be far away.

‘Watch this,’ Sergei says. He walks towards the dog and kicks his foot at the animal. His kick falls too short, and the dog, sniffing the pavement, doesn’t even realize he’s there. ‘I missed this time. Watch again.’

‘Oi!’ I rush up behind him and pull him back. ‘What’re you doing, you tosser? Don’t kick him!’

Sergei shrugs me off and carries on walking up the hill.

‘What did you do that for? What’s that poor dog ever done to you?’ I shove him but he doesn’t look at me.

He smiles. Smiles!

‘Don’t worry, Calum,’ he says. ‘You did not try to kick the dog, so nobody will blame you.’

‘That’s not the point. I’m not just going to stand by and watch while you hurt an innocent animal,’ I yell at him. ‘What kind of person do you think I am?’

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me, nods and then smiles again.

And then I get it.

I understand what he is trying to tell me.

I walk across the courtyard to the Admin block. I don’t see Jack or Harry at the school gates or in assembly. If I’m honest, I don’t really care any more.

Word has got around that Linford has been excluded and that there is trouble between the three of us because of it.

Earlier, I sat through Mr Fox’s assembly on my own, listening to the whispers behind me, and later I noticed the nudges and sly grins when everyone moved to their first lesson. The other students suddenly seem way more confident, bumping into me on purpose and refusing to move out of the way when the crowd bulges at the exit doors.

Finally I break through and take in a gulp of fresh air, jostled as everyone pushes past. I turn to my left and head for the Admin block, the opposite direction to everyone else, who are all heading for lessons. I knock at Freya’s office door and wait, relieved to be away from everyone’s prying eyes for a little while.

The door opens immediately and Freya’s scrubbed, beaming face appears. She is wearing purple-and-yellow floral leggings with a brilliant-white T-shirt.

I feel dowdy next to her.

‘Calum, come in.’ She stands aside so I can enter. ‘Lucky for me, I get to see you three times this week!’

I sit down in my usual seat. The room feels stuffy and warm.

‘Have you managed to write anything else in your journal?’ She sits opposite me and pours the water.

‘I did, but I left my notebook at home, miss,’ I lie. ‘Sorry.’

‘No worries. But try and write a little in your journal each day over the holidays, get those thoughts down.’

I nod. There is still a poster on her wall with the phrase ‘SAY NO TO BREXIT’ splashed across it.

‘Were you interested in the Brexit debate, Calum?’ Freya follows my eyes.

‘No. I don’t know anything about it, really,’ I say, and the thoughts I’d tried to push to the back of my mind – why I feel it’s OK for Amelia to choose to live here but not Sergei – loom large in my head again. ‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘There’s a lot of noise out there, isn’t there?’ Freya sighs. ‘Hard to know who to listen to at times.’

‘Yes, miss, that’s just it. What do you think about it? You know, immigration and stuff.’

‘Well, I’m all for it, but I suppose I would say that, right?’ She laughs but I don’t get it. ‘Being Irish?’ she adds.

‘Oh yes, I see . . .’ I nod.

‘Some people say we are all immigrants. That if you go back far enough, everyone has someone of a different nationality in their family tree. It’s a big world and I like to think it belongs to all of us. But of course, some people think differently.’

I nod slowly. ‘Some people think they’re just coming to take our jobs and claim benefits.’

‘It’s true that some people say that,’ Freya replies. ‘But other people say our NHS would collapse if it wasn’t for the EU nationals who work in it.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ I say, surprised.

‘There are always two sides to any debate, and I always try and find out what they are before making my own mind up.’ Freya smiles.

I consider this. It sounds a sensible approach.

‘So, are you looking forward to the summer break?’ She claps her hands in front of her and sits back.

I shrug.

‘What’ve you got planned?’

‘Maybe working away with my dad,’ I say, taking a sip of water.

It might be fun to pretend the summer is going to be exciting, with lots of activities and things to do. Give us something to talk about.

‘Sounds interesting,’ she says, smiling.

‘Well, that’s what I wanted to do but it might not happen now.’ I snap my mouth shut before anything else can spill out.

‘R-i-i-ight.’ Freya says it slowly and watches me. It feels like I’m supposed to say more.

‘Dad’s got a new girlfriend and she’s just moved in.’ I’m trying to act as if I’m cool about it all, but I can feel my jaw clenching. ‘Her son has moved in as well.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t like it,’ I say quickly, looking at my hands. ‘But nobody listens to what I want.’

‘It’s hard when other people seem to make all the decisions in our lives,’ Freya offers. ‘Frustrating.’

I nod.

‘I’ve got to share my bedroom with her son.’ I bite down on my tongue to try and shut myself up, but the words just keep on spitting out like bitter pips. ‘He thinks he knows everything about everything, but really he knows nothing.’

‘I see,’ Freya says.

I’m not going to tell her it’s Sergei Zurakowski. For all I know, he’s probably already told her all about it in his own counselling sessions. Made it all my fault, so she feels sorry for him.

‘Maybe you should tell your new room-mate some things that you know about, Calum. Even things up a bit.’

I let out a short, hard laugh. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, I’m sure you write very well and I know you’re interested in crafting screenplays.’

A flush of heat encircles my neck.

‘Did you manage to watch the film I gave you?’

‘Yeah,’ I mumble. I reach into my rucksack and hand it to her. ‘Thanks.’

She takes the film but keeps her eyes on me.

‘And what did you think of it, the film?’

‘’S’all right,’ I say.

She doesn’t say anything.

I can hear the clock ticking on the wall above me and a telephone starts ringing in the reception area outside.

‘It was good,’ I add. ‘Really good.’

She perks up. ‘I’m so pleased. It’s one of my favourites.’

Her face looks alive. She’s thinking about the scenes in Kes.

‘I like it when Billy writes that piece in class,’ I say, rubbing at a mark on my trousers. ‘And when he flies the kestrel in the field and his teacher comes to watch. I like that scene, too.’

‘So do I, Calum.’ Freya nods. ‘Is it the first independent film you’ve watched?’

‘I think so,’ I say. ‘I usually watch thrillers and stuff with car chases in.’

‘I like those too.’ Freya smiles. ‘But a film like Kes, well, it goes a bit deeper, you know?’

‘It makes you feel stuff inside,’ I murmur.

‘Exactly. It stirs the emotions. What did you think of the characters?’

‘Dunno really, they’re just ordinary, like the people on our estate, I suppose. They’ve got real-life problems and most of them haven’t got much money.’

‘Spot on.’ Freya nudges forward on her seat and clasps her hands together. ‘See, Calum, that’s what makes a film like Kes so powerful. Its authenticity.’

‘Yeah.’ I look down at my hands again. ‘It feels real. Like the stories my grandad used to tell me about his life. They were always about ordinary, everyday things, but I loved hearing them.’

Freya nods slowly.

‘So, when we have a conversation about writing something for the Expressions competition and you tell me that nobody would be interested in the people or the things that happen around here, I think about a film like Kes, or your grandad’s stories, and it blows your argument right out of the water.’

‘Yeah . . .’ I look up and give her a little smile.

‘You’ve got a lot to say Calum, a lot to offer.’ She taps her chest. ‘If you can get what you feel in here down on paper, you will have something very special indeed. Something worthwhile.’

‘I might give it a go then,’ I say, and at least for the short time I’m in Freya’s office, entering the competition actually feels like it might be achievable.