I pack my school bag.

Mobile

Books

Pencil case

Gym kit

Packed lunch

and . . .

Pads and panty liners, sanitary towels . . . even some tampons . . . some of each . . . just in case. Even the names are a nightmare. I mean ‘sanitary towels’ -could they think of a worse name for them? But then I imagine myself getting a job in advertising and having to invent a name for all this period stuff, and guess what I come up with? A big fat blank. The advert I find the funniest is the one where the pads have wings and they have little pictures of birds flying around, because the last thing you would ever feel like doing when you’ve got your period is flying. I mean, as if, with that pad stuck inside your pants and the ache in your belly.

In my mind, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Millie was going to be first, just like when we started wearing bras. Up until now Millie has always gone first with everything. This is how I imagined it. Millie would start her periods and I would follow maybe a couple of months after. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be too long after, just enough time for Millie to have become a specialist in all things periody We would have had one of our mad sessions round at hers when no one else was in, like we did the time when we were trying to work out what bra size we were. It turned out there wasn’t a size small enough (!), but we still tried on her mum’s silky bras while Millie started up a commentary about how the ‘fashion note’ of the season was to wear your oversized bra on the outside of your clothes.

‘Prada is so last year! Proudbra is this season’s must-have item.’

Then, as we heard Millie’s mum coming in, we practically died of laughing trying to undo the catch on the bra I was wearing, and stuff all the underwear back in her drawer before we got caught.

So, in my head, Millie and me would have had a laugh about the whole period nightmare and, by the time I got to the stage of packing my bag, I would definitely know what I should be using (and how to use it), because Millie would have told me. Instead I just feel a bit sick worrying about the whole thing.

‘Are you ready, Mira?’ Mum shouts up the stairs. ‘It’s nearly half past eight. What are you doing up there?’

What I am now doing is dabbing some of Mum’s foundation on to my enormous spot, but the make-up just makes it a million times more obvious, so I end up washing it off.

Just one last thing I say to myself as I stare at my volcano-sized pustule in the mirror . . . I close my eyes and beg Notsurewho Notsurewhat to please please please make Jidé Jackson be off school today so he doesn’t see me like this. For a moment I think about trying it on for another sickie, but then the letterbox clanks and Millie makes my mind up for me.

‘All right?’ asks Millie, her owl eyes zoning right in on my zit.

Millie is far too polite to comment. I should tell her right now. This is the moment I should tell her, and then, when she starts her period, it would just be like the bra thing all over again, but the other way round, with me helping her. Except it won’t be like that. This is so unfair of me, but in a way I feel a bit annoyed with her for not being able to help me out. It’s not her fault that I’ve started first, but in a way I feel as if she’s let me down.

‘All right,’ I say.

There is a Notsurewho Notsurewhat after all! At morning registration Miss Poplar announces that Jidé and Ben are out at some sporting event. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. Maybe the pustule will have shrunk by tomorrow.

Each time I go to the loo, I am convinced that someone will hear me unzipping my bag and unwrapping the towels. I swear suddenly the acoustics in the girls’ loos are of a concert-hall standard. Just undoing the stupid pads, each wrapped in its own ‘discreet envelope’ cover, makes so much noise I have to pull the chain at the exact same time as I open the packet and tear off the sticky strip. It works, if you get the timing right.

At lunchtime registration Miss Poplar calls me over. Just my luck that it’s my day for her to inspect the teacher’s notes in my planner.

‘Mira, is there any particular reason why you’ve been late for just about every lesson this morning?’

As she’s supposed to be the specialist Year Seven tutor you’d think she might have guessed.

‘Sorry, miss,’ I mumble.

Maybe I should tell her, because every few minutes I shift around on my seat and look behind me, to make sure I haven’t leaked.

‘Mira Levenson, what’s got into you today?’ asks Miss Poplar. ‘Have you got ants in your pants?’

At the mention of ‘pants’ I feel like I’m going to die. Of course, I blush bright red and Orla, Demi and Bo fall about laughing.

All afternoon I duck into a loo every time I pass one . . . just in case.

Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’ asks Millie.

‘Dodgy stomach,’ I lie.

‘See you later, zit face!’ Bo calls out as she pushes past me through the school gates, which is odd, because Bo’s forehead and just about her whole face is covered in acne.

‘How was your day?’ Mum asks when I get back from school.

‘Good.’

And it has been a good day, because Jidé wasn’t in and nobody found out.