‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Andrew.

I resisted the urge to make the obvious joke. But not for long.

‘Does it hurt?’ I said.

‘What do you actually know about Destry Camberwick?’ We sat on a bench in the canteen area at school. Through a mass of bodies I caught the occasional glimpse of Destry’s form as she sat, with a couple of friends, on a distant bench of her own. It hadn’t taken her long to settle in to Milltown High. To become popular, too, judging by the company she was keeping. That was a good sign in a way, because she obviously wasn’t boring. But also a bad sign. There would doubtless be competition for her affections and I could really do without any competition at all.

‘I know she’s gorgeous,’ I replied.

‘Yeah. You’ve said. Like a couple of million times.’ Andrew tucked into his burger. I toyed with my chips. Those occasional glimpses of Destry had made me lose my appetite. ‘But you’re not a shallow person, Rob,’ he added.

‘I might be.’

‘You can’t fall in love with someone just because of their looks.’

‘I did.’

‘I’m ignoring you,’ he said, which was a sensible tactic under the circumstances. ‘You know as well as I do that a person is much more than their physical appearance. Take you, for example. No one could say you’re fantastically good-looking …’

‘Couldn’t they?’

‘… yet when I got to know you, I realised beneath your ugly face …’

‘Oi!’

‘… lurks a fine and splendid person.’

‘My face wasn’t ugly until you starting hitting it with high-speed soccer balls.’

Andrew started on my chips. He picked one up and pointed it at me, but the effect was ruined because it was soggy and just drooped in a sad fashion.

‘Destry could be an airhead. She could be racist or homophobic. You need to find out if the two of you are compatible.’

I nodded. ‘There’s no art to find the mind’s construction in the face,’ I said.

Andrew threw the chip at me.

‘Are you quoting Shakespeare at me again?’

‘Guilty,’ I said. ‘Macbeth.’

‘Stop it,’ he said. ‘Just when I think you can’t be any more annoying, you do stuff like that.’

‘I thought you said I was a fine and splendid person?’

‘I was lying.’

I thought for a few moments. Andrew was right. I knew that. What’s more, everything that Mum and Dad had said about the nature of love confirmed it. It wasn’t about physical appearance. It was about … what had Mum said? ‘Doing the dishes together, the ordinary stuff of life.’

‘What you’re saying, Andrew,’ I said, ‘is that I need to find out if I can do the dishes with Destry Camberwick.’

‘Shut up, Rob. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘So,’ Andrew continued. ‘I’m going to be your wingman, your research man, the insider, the mole burrowing beneath the surface of the Camberwick. I’ll find out what makes her tick, what music she likes, what TV shows she watches, what her hobbies are. Information is power, my friend, and you need information.’

This was obviously the best idea in the world. Find out her taste in music? I could download the songs she liked and have them blasting from my earphones as I casually strolled past her. Talk in a loud voice about how I loved … whatever TV show she happened to be into. It was perfect. But then another thought struck me.

‘That will mean you’ll spend a lot of time talking to her.’

‘Yeah. And her friends. You know I get along well with girls.’

I threw the soggy (and by now almost disintegrated) chip back at him. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do. They love you. Destry will love you. And you’ll love Destry.’ I could see it all unfolding in my horrified imagination. Destry and Andrew eloping at the end of term. Andrew sending me a letter from somewhere far away, like Darwin, telling me how sorry he was but that he and Destry were setting up house, even though he was fourteen and she was thirteen and how they would name their first kid after me …

‘Are you crazy?’ said Andrew. He looked for another chip to throw, but we’d run out.

‘It’s possible.’

‘You’re my best friend,’ he said. ‘I would never do that to you. Anyway, she’s not my type.’

‘All girls are your type,’ I pointed out.

‘Not true. I am not that shallow.’

I thought about it. If Destry Camberwick fell in love with Andrew, there was almost certainly nothing I could do about it. And if she did, it was probably a good thing if I found out about it sooner rather than later. But if she didn’t and he didn’t, the advantages could be huge. Maybe I should trust my best friend.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘When are you going to start?’

‘No time like the present,’ he said, and headed off to the far reaches of the canteen. I watched until my vision was blocked by a stocky form.

‘Wanna fight me, Fitzgerald?’ said Daniel. ‘Huh? Cat got yer tongue? Wanna fight? C’mon. Be a man …’

‘Is there a problem here?’ said Miss Pritchett, materialising out of thin air.