Well, half an hour later I’ve made it to the school gate and it was a piece of cake, really.

Jeans, socks, trainers, an old zip-up rain jacket that no one at school will recognise (see? I’m thinking ahead), a pair of Gram’s white gloves, sunglasses and …

A stocking over my head! Just like a bank robber (from back when people robbed banks). I’ve taken a pair of Gram’s tights (clean ones) and cut one leg off, pulling it over my face. The colour is sort of flesh-ish, so if I zip up the rain jacket over my mouth, and pull the hood’s cord tight, there’s only my (invisible) nose and the sunglasses showing.

I do look a bit odd, I’ll admit. It’s a muggy June day and most people are going around without jackets, but still, if I keep my head down you don’t really notice. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

And now I’m standing outside the school gate and it’s locked. A year ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem, but ever since some girl in Year Ten’s uncle turned up to try to take her away, the school has had this massive security overhaul, which means thumbprint sensors and cameras on the gates.

My invisible thumbprint might still open the gate, but I’d be seen on the security camera, and I don’t look like a regular student, not in this get-up.

But – once again, if you’ll excuse my boasting – I’m ahead of the game. I pull a plastic bag from my jacket pocket. There’s a large rhododendron bush about ten metres along the high mesh fence, so big that there’s a space inside it for about two people, which is used by the older kids who want to smoke. The ground is littered with cigarette ends, but I don’t mind. It’s time to go naked, and I have other things to worry about.

I quickly take off my clothes and cram them into the plastic bag, and shove the whole lot a bit further under the bush.

Then I emerge.

Naked and invisible.

The walk here has actually made me bolder, I think. I’m not feeling as nervous as I was before.

I head back towards the gate just before a van pulls up with TYNE CATERING written on the side. A moment later, there’s a metallic clank and the gate opens. It’s a simple matter to stroll in behind the van and there I am: in the school grounds.

There’s nobody about outside. Everyone is in lessons.

There’s a longish drive that leads up to the main entrance, and which goes round the back, basically encircling the school, which is a two-storey building with countless extensions and annexes, all built at different times and each with a plaque announcing which local councillor performed the opening ceremony.

The most recent was the Performing Arts Block, which is over to the right, and that’s where I go now. This is where Whitley’s Got Talent will be starting in about an hour.

The air is warm and sticky, and the sky is a glowering purply-grey. But so long as it doesn’t start raining, I’ll be fine.

Because if it starts raining, the raindrops will hit my invisible skin and make me visible.