The first time I saw Destry Camberwick, I was hunched over a tricky maths problem. Unfortunately, for me all maths problems are tricky. Ask me what six times two is and I have to take my shoes and socks off. My tongue was probably sticking out of the corner of my mouth. The door to the classroom opened but I paid no attention. Then the voice of the principal forced me to look up.

‘Good morning, class,’ she bellowed.

‘Good morning, Miss Cunningham,’ we all chanted in a disgusting sing-song voice. I say ‘we’, but I only got as far as the first syllable of the second word before my tongue stuck itself to the roof of my mouth, which turned as dry as a camel’s armpit. You see, Miss Cunningham was not alone. She’d brought an angel with her.

Descriptive note: Destry Camberwick. Age: thirteen (or thereabouts). Height: perfect. Skin: perfect. Eyes: two, both perfect. Nose: one, situated between the perfect eyes, perfect. Hair: shining, perfect and down to her shoulders, which are perfect. Ears: hidden beneath perfect hair but almost certainly perfect and almost certainly two in number. Voice: … no idea yet, but probably flawless.

‘Please welcome a new student to the school and to your class,’ bellowed Miss Cunningham. Our principal is incapable of speaking in anything less than a roar, which makes assembly somewhat frightening and has been known to cause a few small and especially nervous students to wet themselves. She alternates between a roar and a bellow. Today it was bellow’s turn. ‘This is Destry Camberwick and she has moved here from WA. I know you will all make her feel very welcome while she settles in …’

She bellowed other things but I didn’t hear them because a heavenly choir had started to sing, somewhere in the back of my brain. It was only after Miss Cunningham left that I realised Destry would have to sit somewhere in our class, and there were only two options. Next to Damian Pilling, who has a problem with body odour, or next to me. It seemed a no-brainer from my perspective, but the thought of her taking a seat next to mine made my insides go all squishy and gurgly. What would I do if she said ‘Hi’? I’d probably crack the desk with my jaw and then slide onto the floor when my bones turned to jelly. They’d have to take me home in a bucket.

Ms Singh, our classroom teacher, made her sit next to Damian, so my bones didn’t liquefy. She probably figured that Damian might smell, but at least he was capable of striking up a conversation. I wasn’t disappointed. It gave me the chance to stare at Destry for the rest of the lesson, and I couldn’t have done that if she’d sat next to me. Well, not without being totally creepy.

I loved the way her perfect nose crinkled when she got a whiff of the Pilling’s armpit.