‘Andrew?’ I said.

He grunted, which is sometimes all you can get from Andrew early in the morning.

‘Do you think Miss Pritchett has superpowers?’

‘What are you on about?’

I shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe super-sensitive hearing? Or a psychic connection. An ability to transport herself across time and space, when she senses someone is in trouble and needs immediate assistance. X-ray vision …’

‘I worry about you sometimes, mate,’ said Andrew. ‘I really do. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat worrying about you.’

‘Seriously?’

‘No.’

‘But …’

‘Shut up, Rob.’

‘Okay.’

I needed to think anyway. It was time to re-evaluate my strategies. I’d had three. Firstly, I was going to impress the hell out of Destry with my sporting ability. That was still a possibility. The soccer game was tomorrow and I’d been improving day by day. The poem was back-up, but that was proving tricky. I could write essays. I could write short stories. I could even write poems about life, the universe and the futility of existence. But I couldn’t write a poem about how Destry Camberwick made me feel.

Then there was the dog-lover business, which hadn’t started well. True, she had spoken to me. Eighteen brilliant words that would live forever in my memory. An explanation would be good. Was there a secret message in that statement? Was she trying to tell me something? It was possible.

‘Andrew?’ I said. He’d told me to shut up, but this was important. He knows about girls and what makes them tick. If anyone could answer this, it would be Andrew.

He grunted.

‘When a girl says, “an explanation would be good” when you tell her your dog could kill hers, is she trying to say anything? You know, a secret meaning?’

‘Rob. Shut up.’

‘Okay.’ I took that as a no, and went back to my strategies.

I’d probably have to give up on walking Trixie. True, it would give me the perfect excuse to keep bumping into Destry, but the difference between our canines was too extreme. They say a dog is a reflection of its owner. Would dragging around a fluffy bundle of rubbish that barked hysterically make Destry view me as someone lightweight, someone who had no idea how pathetic they looked? Maybe that wasn’t too far from the truth. I was not in Destry’s league, just as Trixie wasn’t in … whatever the hell league Destry’s dog was in. The ‘massive mastiff that could be mistaken for an elephant’ league. Then again, if Destry was like her dog, maybe it wasn’t a great idea to get involved. She could kill me. But what a way to go …

‘I think you need something else,’ said Andrew. I waited. He’d told me to shut up and I respected that. He pointed at me. ‘The soccer is good. I can’t believe how well you’ve played in training. Do what you’ve been doing in the game tomorrow and she can’t help being impressed.’

‘Really?’

‘Guaranteed. So, you could have the sporty business worked out.’ He held up a hand and ticked off the points. ‘Sports, one.’ He straightened another finger. ‘The poetry. Great idea. You are the English genius of Milltown High and no girl can resist a romantic poem.’

I could have quoted the bits about the vestry and the doggie stick, but felt it was better to keep quiet.

‘The dog-walking shows you’re kindred souls as far as animal-loving is concerned.’ He put up a third finger. ‘But your dog’s a bit lame, from what you’ve said. Could you borrow another one that’s more like hers?’ It was spooky how Andrew’s analysis was so close to mine. Then again, as I might have mentioned, we are best friends. But I’d considered this idea and rejected it.

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Firstly, it’s not a good look if you keep changing dogs like underwear. I mean, an animal lover would definitely think that’s suss. Life, not Christmas, and all that. Plus, I don’t think there are any other dogs like the one Destry has. It’s a mutant, Andrew. I’ve seen utes that are smaller. I …’

‘Okay. Maybe it’s enough that you’ve shown her you’re a pet person. But …’ he flipped up a fourth finger. ‘What about the inner person, Rob?’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Sporty, book lover, animal lover, but what about your beliefs? Your values? Your spirituality?’

‘What about them?’

‘I think you need a passion. Maybe a political stance. Something that shows that beneath the brilliant sportsperson, the talented poet and the dog fanatic there lurks a caring soul, someone who has a drive to make the world a better place.’

‘I do want the world to be a better place, Andrew,’ I said.

‘Then show us, show her, how you plan to do it.’

He’s a smart one, Andrew. And little did I know his words would change my life completely.

Did I mention we are best friends?

I was fast asleep when my phone pinged. Text message.

I fumbled for the light switch. Eleven forty-two. Who the hell was texting me at this time of night? The number was displayed in the notification box, indicating this was not from anyone in my contact list. I opened the message.

Do not fear fear. Its only purpose is to let you know that something is worth doing.

May fortune smile on you in the game tomorrow, Rob.

I texted back.

Who is this?

Even though I stayed awake for another half an hour, I didn’t get a reply.