‘What you got there?’ Daevon asks at break-time in the cafeteria.

‘Lamb samosa,’ I say, holding the tub out to him. Four golden envelopes of crispy deliciousness sit inside a nest of kitchen towels.

‘Nice one!’ Noah says, snatching the tub and grabbing three samosas.

‘Give ’em back!’ I roar.

He locks eyes with me and licks, saliva linking the samosas together like savoury bunting. I yank my tub back a second faster than he can defile the last one. His drool splatters the table instead.

‘You’re an arsehole!’ I say, fuming. Then turning to Daevon, I offer the solitary untarnished samosa.

‘Nah, blud. I’m on a diet,’ he says gloomily.

‘Why?’ I ask, tucking into it myself, savouring the rich and spicy taste. Daevon has always been a bigger guy, and honestly it suits him. Trying to imagine a skinny version of my mate does my head in.

Imran crashes at our table, chuckling. Everyone stiffens. ‘If man’s changing his habits, gotta be a girl involved.’ He chucks a stick of gum in his mouth, the mouldy stink of skunk radiating off him. ‘How you getting on with the DedManz challenge, lads?’

‘Yeah, so me and Denusha went Westfield cos she needed some new kicks,’ Daevon says reluctantly.

‘Big mistake,’ Imran says sagely. ‘Don’t let some girl boss you around, fam.’

Daevon droops. ‘Long story short: we end up in the toilets, and she’s grinding on me. Man gets hot. So I start filming. “You filming me?” she says. “How’d you like it if I filmed your fat belly!” Then she starts beating me up. Telling you, man, I could not get out of there fast enough!’

‘Daevon got Solanged!’ Imran says as everyone cracks up.

Daevon bristles, jabbing Noah. ‘What you laughing for? Like you got any.’

‘From yo momma!’ Noah says, nodding.

I roll my eyes. ‘Ignore this fool. No woman’s ever letting him within a mile of her.’

‘Except one did,’ Imran says, stretching. ‘Noah sent me the video, and I uploaded it to a porn site.’

Noah and Imran fist bump.

‘What about you then?’ Daevon asks, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

‘Me?’ Imran says, wide-eyed and innocent. He leans back and shouts. ‘Yo! Jasmine! Over here, gyal.’

Jasmine blushes as her group of friends giggle and poke her. Hastily running fingers through her hair, as if getting ready for a selfie, Jasmine trips over to our table. ‘You all right, bae?’ she asks.

The look in her eye, the tinkle in her voice: Uh-oh, I think. This poor girl is in love.

‘Where was I last night?’ Imran asks, his hand spanning the width of her waist as he draws her closer. Her skirt has been rolled so short that the sudden movement gives us a flash of mint green knickers.

Jasmine’s eyes widen, glancing at me and the boys nervously as if to remind Imran they have company.

‘Forget them,’ Imran says, vanquishing us with a flick of his wrist. ‘They ain’t nobody. Now, where was man last night?’

She flushes, shoulders rolling like pistons. ‘We was together.’

‘And what did you do for me?’ Imran asks, like the skunk has given him amnesia.

‘Allow it,’ I say, feeling for Jasmine.

‘You know,’ she says, giggling nervously. Her eyes are glossy, and sweat is making her foundation gather at the corners of her nose.

‘Wanna be my girl, Jas?’ Imran asks, squinching like a supermodel, thick eyelashes framing his narrowed eyes.

‘I am your girl …’ she whimpers.

Imran has reduced her to a baby afraid of having its rattle snatched. This is so wrong.

He spreads his long legs like the jaws of a shark and pats his left thigh. Jasmine obediently climbs on. Imran casually plants a hand horribly close to her crotch, and I’m silently begging for a teacher to spot them and bring an end to this madness. But this is the DedManz corner of the dinner hall, specifically chosen for being a major blind spot.

‘The sort of girl I want isn’t ashamed of her man. So, let’s try this one more time. What did you do for me last night?’ Imran stares into her eyes, his face predatory and handsome.

‘I … showed you my moves …’ she says, hanging her head so her hair forms a modesty curtain between us.

Imran shoves her hair back and lifts her chin. ‘Moves? What, we in primary school now?’

‘But you know.’ Jasmine pokes his chest in a horrible combination of desperation and playfulness. ‘Why do I have to—’

He grips her jaw with a viciousness that makes my heart jump into my throat. ‘Cos I said, innit? If you want to be my woman, spell it out for my friends here.’ He twists her head round to face us, but I’m the one blushing.

‘I gave Imran a lap dance,’ she says reluctantly.

‘What kind of lap dance?’ he asks, practically chewing her ear off.

‘A naked one,’ she admits.

His hand slides up her chest till I’m afraid he’s going to make her do it again right here in the dinner hall. ‘Now get off me. I don’t date sluts.’

Jasmine looks at him in horror seconds before he gives her a shove. She hits the floor with a thwack, mint pants on show for the world to see. The humiliation in her eyes is unbearable.

Noah starts hooting with laughter, snapping pics. Daevon covers his mouth, but within seconds, spittle and laughter burst through. Having witnessed the whole thing, Jasmine’s mates rush over to help her up, blasting Imran with death stares.

‘What?’ he retorts, but no one challenges him.

Nobody ever challenges him.

‘Mission complete!’ Noah says, saluting Imran.

‘Nah, rules is rules,’ Imran says. ‘Didn’t think that bitch was worth filming. I’m picking someone better for the Challenge.’

I grab my stuff and run from the scene like a coward, wishing I had the guts to call Imran out.