I ride to school on Friday morning, harsh wind slashing at my eyes. Yesterday the heavens opened, and the rain came pouring down, dissolving the snow, and with it everyone’s dreams of building snowmen.

Aquaplaning across slippery roads is hard enough without my phone going off like a mini rocket. Ping, ping, ping! When did I get so popular? Seeing Gilchrist at the gate, I hop off my bike and sombrely walk into school.

‘OMG! Have you seen the video?’ some random asks.

‘What video?’ I ask.

‘WhatsApp, mate. Some hoe giving uckers badders!’

I frown wondering what’s so exciting about that. Cyberspace is full of worse. In fact, if aliens exist, some day they’re going to intercept all the porn floating around out there, think human beings are a race of perverts, and blow up the planet. Shame.

Jade and Melanie are standing by the lockers huddled together in front of a phone.

‘Oh my God!’ Jade says, hamming it up. ‘That girl is never coming back from this.’

‘She’s going to contract at least three different kinds of STIs from that big brown monster!’ Melanie says excitedly, before pretending to vomit.

‘Shall we watch it again?’ Jade asks, her lower lids curving into crescents.

‘Yah!’ Melanie says, giggling. ‘Such a greedy slut.’

A sinking feeling starts in the pit of my stomach. I crawl into the dark space under the stairs and pull out my phone. Sure enough, I’ve been sent a video too entitled Dis White Thot. With growing trepidation, I press play. To the left of the screen is a girl with cascading red curls hanging over her face. To the right of the shot are the slim hips of an Asian guy, the v-cut of his abdominal muscles partially visible above unbuttoned jeans.

‘I don’t feel comfortable,’ says a nervous voice from under the curtain of hair; a voice I wish so badly I didn’t recognize.

The guy’s voice has been edited out. Of course it has. His hand cups the roundness of her cheek, parting her lips with his thumb. She stares up into his face, and I realize he must be saying something, because she’s nodding in response.

‘OK,’ she says, hooking her fingertips over the waistband of his black Calvin Kleins. ‘But don’t—’ Once again, the sound cuts out.

The rest of the video will haunt me for life. My chest shrinks with every second, each lung compressed to a small flesh brick, breathing no longer possible. Oinking, grunting, squealing pig sounds have been dubbed over the video. SLUT! and #ThotPatrol flash across the screen as a siren wails.

I don’t realize I’m crying till a tear splashes on to my screen. Then my hand starts shaking so hard, I drop my phone. She’s stronger than this! I tell myself desperately. She can handle anyone and anything! But even plastic explosives placed at a weak spot can bring a bridge tumbling down. Imran is sly, hiding the camera like a prankster so Kelly didn’t even notice it. And even though the whole school will know it’s him – you can’t actually tell.

How does a girl with off-the-scale smarts end up in a sex tape filmed by a dumbass like Imran? The tears leak faster now, cutting streams across my cheeks. I clamp a hand over my mouth, silencing a wail trying to escape, racking my brains for a way to save her from the tsunami of bullying that’s headed her way. Why couldn’t I have gone round her place the first time she’d texted me about her mystery boyfriend? I knew Imran would hurt her. Some bestie I am.

Unable to change the past, I focus on fixing the future. Could I contact WhatsApp and make them delete the video? Should I set off the fire alarm to cause a distraction? Is there a hack that can make everybody’s phones fry within a one-mile radius?

In the end, I do the only thing I think will work.

There is cheering and applause in the corridor. Wiping away snot and tears, I peer out from the shadows as on-trend caged heels patter up the corridor. The shoes are unfamiliar, but the walk is not. I’m too late, and straight away the roasting begins.

I want to leap out of my hidey-hole, machine-gunning disses, throwing punches, sending teeth scattering like rice at a wedding. Hopelessly outnumbered, sooner or later I’d fall and get my head kicked in. But I’d go down fighting for my best mate Kelly, cos that’s what friends are for. Except that’s only the Ilyas in my head. Real World Me is gripped by terror, ashamed that I’m afraid the dirt will stick to me too. I’m powerless to do anything but watch.

The Dark Ages are back at Stanley Park when public executions were a thing. Kids from all years have gathered round to yell abuse at Kelly. Phones and tablets are held up like mirrors, looping the embarrassing video so the moment can never end. Oinking and sex noises echo from multiple speakers. The air grows moist with the stink of hate and malice. This lot are baying for blood.

Kelly’s head whips left and right, stunned by the ferocious hostility of the crowd. The girls call her ‘slut’, the boys ask her ‘how much?’

‘Imran!’ Kelly snarls in angry desperation.

Surely now she realizes her mistake in trusting the scumbag with the face of a movie star?

Imran’s eyes are half-lidded and sly, a smile playing on his lips. The signs are all there. While I’m stuck playing musical statues, Imran is about to destroy Kelly.

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ he says, getting a generous round of laughs.

Someone pushes a phone in Kelly’s face, filming this new interaction. Kelly bats the phone away with a powerful backhand. It strikes the wall with a loud crack.

‘Oh yeah,’ Imran says, pointing at her, his eyes glittering demonically. ‘You’re the fatty from that video going round. Gyal, you is ratchet.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she says, her voice leaking strength like a bullet-riddled tyre. ‘You said you loved me. You said I could trust you.’

‘Are you high?’ He pulls up his collar, looking at his adoring fans instead of her. ‘Why would man get uckers badders offa you? No offence, but I got better options.’

‘Stop lying!’ she yells, frustration making her voice crack. ‘Everyone knows it’s you.’

‘You wish. I only date girls that respect themselves, innit? Oh yeah, and they gotta be pretty.’

The laughter becomes a mini earthquake; the vibrations restarting my engines. Storming towards Kelly, I shove the onlookers aside. I throw my arms around her, hiding her from the world. She looks at me, and I get scared. Her eyes are as wild as a hunted animal, the kind who’ll readily gnaw off a limb just to escape. She pushes me off so roughly, I nearly lose my feet. People howl with laughter. Kelly breaks into a run, heading straight for the exit.

Imran catches my eye and winks. It’s the spark that ignites my fury and finally loosens my tongue.

‘You’re a piece of shit, Imran,’ I say, in a voice that is so loud, I barely recognize it as my own.

‘You say something?’ he says, bristling. His cropped scalp appears to brush against the ceiling, his wide shoulders stretching the full width of the corridor.

I glance nervously at the crowd of hungry onlookers, then back over my shoulder as the exit door bangs shut. ‘Yeah,’ I say, turning back. ‘Clean your ears out, cos there’s more.’

The audience laps it up, telling Imran to end me.

‘Everyone knows that’s you on that video,’ I snarl.

‘And?’

‘Kelly loved you. God knows why, but she actually loved you. And this is how you treat her?’

‘Ain’t my fault Fatty got slutty.’

More gasps and hysterical laughter.

‘She ain’t no slut, fam. What she did, she did for love.’ I shake my head, exasperated by his attitude. ‘You got your dick out to hurt her. You secretly filmed a private moment without her permission. There’s only one thot here, and it’s you!’

‘Oooh. You gonna take that, Imran?’

‘You calling me thot, boy?’ Imran asks, rounding on me.

‘You’re worse!’ I bare my teeth, my nostrils stretching across my cheeks like they’re going to split, and I don’t even care.

‘What, you think just cos we hang together, you can shoot yo mouth off? You’re gonna get bodied, mate.’

‘You forget I cracked your head open and put you in hospital?’ I shriek, vibrating with rage. ‘I’m a crazy-arse piece of shit with nothing to lose! Come at me, bro. I’ll kill us both.’

‘Ilyas got balls!’ someone shouts.

Everyone, including Imran, glances round to see who it was. I’m positive it was Daevon, though he’s looking over his shoulder too. It gives me a massive boost, so that when Imran turns back, I’m ready for anything.

Imran stares into my eyes and smells the crazy. I’m not a boy any more. I am a single-use, one-time-only mousetrap itching to be triggered. ‘You ain’t worth it.’ He spits on the floor and walks away.

People stare at me, unsure whether I deserve respect for standing up to Imran or to be cussed out for hating on the king of Stanley Park. In the end, I hear a mixture of both – the positive voices maybe just a bit louder. Maybe I’ve tapped into something, made them see that bullies don’t always win.

Then a can of Monster hits the right side of my head. Warm fizzy liquid spills down the back of my shirt, and the corridor fills with laughter.