I took Andrew into my confidence. Though I like trying to figure things out by myself, I also desperately needed advice. Plus, if Andrew was behind this, I’d be able to tell from his reaction when I showed him the texts. You see, Andrew is not a good actor. He’s sometimes forced to read parts when we’re doing drama in English and to call him ‘wooden’ would be an insult to trees. So if he had any part in this, he wouldn’t be able to hide it.

He was gobsmacked. And strangely excited.

‘This is so cool,’ he said as he read through the text thread. ‘A real mystery. Who’s behind it, do ya reckon?’

I ran through my short list of suspects and my reasoning.

‘Yeah, well you’re right it’s not me,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t write this sort of stuff in an essay, let alone a text message.’

‘Just because you always write the letter “u” instead of the word doesn’t mean you couldn’t compose something accurate if you wanted.’

‘Yeah, maybe. But this isn’t my style, man, and you know it.’

I did.

‘So your grandad’s the prime suspect, then?’ he said after I’d explained how I didn’t think this was something Mum and Dad would do. They’d spent their entire lives protecting me from stressful situations. It just didn’t seem in character. Having said that, Mum did appear to use a sneaky form of reverse psychology regarding my goalkeeping debut …

‘Pop can’t operate an electric kettle,’ I pointed out. ‘And I’ve never seen him near a computer or a phone. I dunno. It seems unlikely.’

‘But who else? As you pointed out, you’re not exactly having to fight off a legion of friends.’

Fight off a legion of friends? That was sophisticated language. I tried to stop thinking about it. You can go mad suspecting everyone.

‘How about someone else that either you or Mum or Pop have mentioned this whole love business to?’ I replied. ‘Someone who’s watching but keeping a distance. A mole, an infiltrator. Like you were doing with Destry Camberwick on my behalf. Getting the lowdown, while I remain hidden. Any more progress, by the way?’

‘Oh, yeah. She’s cool, from what I can see. Loves her dog, as you know. No idea about her musical tastes, but I’ll get round to that. Doesn’t seem to have any particular hobbies, but goes to the cinema occasionally. She likes “sincerity”, it seems.’ Andrew made speech marks in the air with his fingers. ‘Told me she hates phonies. Nothing that useful so far, but I can’t be too pushy.’

I nodded just as the bell went for the end of recess. Andrew handed my phone back.

‘And by the way,’ he said. ‘I haven’t mentioned you and Destry Camberwick to anyone. I wouldn’t do that.’ He tapped the casing of my phone. ‘So are you going to do this?’

‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I said. It was true. I had explained about panic attacks to people before, but I’d learned that unless someone experienced an attack of their own, they had little idea what it was like. It seems simple to them. But all you have to do is breathe deeply, they’d say. Stay calm. Imagine the audience is sitting on the toilet. Get some backbone. Be a man. They don’t understand that sometimes your muscles lock up, your heart pounds, you suddenly lose control over parts of your body. You vomit, you’re overcome with a terror so vivid that all you can do is cover your head with your hands and hope to die. It can last all day, even when the worst is over.

They don’t understand.

Daniel Smith caught up with me at lunchtime.

‘Wanna fight, Fitzgerald?’ he said. ‘Whaddya say? Cat got yer tongue? Huh? Wanna fight? C’mon. Be a man.’

‘A word in your shell-like ear, Mr Smith,’ said Miss Pritchett, drawing him away. It was clear to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Miss Pritchett lived in a world, possibly another universe, the rest of us were unaware of and possessed powers beyond the dreams of mortals.

I entered my name on the Milltown’s Got Talent sign-up form, tacked on the wall next to main reception.

I could always cross it out later.