The next day at school, Zoe watched Iris and Isabelle stand together while everyone crowded around them to talk about the skipping contest. Iris looked happy about being so popular and important. Isabelle chewed the end of her hair and ticked things off in her diary.

Nobody noticed Zoe standing by herself, watching. They were all too excited about the contest. Everyone wanted to be in it, and that meant there was no-one left over for Zoe to hang out with. Even Lily, who hated sport, had brought her own skipping rope to school.

All recess and all lunch, and any time they could squeeze in before school or before the bus came to take them home, all anyone wanted to do was skip. And in class, when people passed notes or whispered to one another, it was skipping they were talking about.

It was the biggest craze Zoe had ever seen, and she was completely left out of it.

And worse than all that, her best friend was now best friends with the meanest, nastiest girl in the whole school.

All in all, it was the most horrible week at school Zoe could remember.

On Tuesday, Zoe visited Max in the kindy playground.

On Wednesday, she went back to the sick bay at recess and lunch and pretended to have a headache.

On Thursday, she went to the library at recess. At lunch, though, the library was closed because the librarian had to go to the dentist. So Zoe went back to the sick bay.

I can’t believe how things have turned out, she thought, as she lay back on the cold bed. How did I end up being so unpopular? Why does everyone like Isabelle better than me?

When the bell rang for class, Zoe panicked.

I’m not ready to see Isabelle again, she thought.

Then she tried to encourage herself. Come on, Zoe. It’s art class this afternoon – your favourite.

She straggled into class behind everyone else and saw that Mr Mack had put out pots of paint and paintbrushes.

‘Today,’ said Mr Mack, ‘we won’t be painting people or other ordinary things. Instead, I want you to paint feelings.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Dylan. ‘Like painting a sad face or a happy face?’

‘No. I mean, if you felt really happy, for example, what colour would that be? Or what shape might you paint to show anger? Or excitement?’

There was some mumbling among the class, but Zoe knew exactly what Mr Mack meant. And she knew exactly what she was going to paint.

Just before the home bell rang, Mr Mack asked them to finish their paintings and hang them up to dry. As each kid pegged up their work, Mr Mack talked to them about what they had painted.

‘Wonderful,’ he said to Holly. ‘Everyone, look at how Holly has used pink circles, one inside the other, to show love. It’s like lots of hugs at once. Oh, and that’s terrific, Oscar. Jagged black and red lightning bolts. Anger, right?’

Zoe brought her painting up.

‘Zoe, this is beautiful. All different shades of blue and purple, like deep water or a stormy sky. What is it? Sadness?’

‘No,’ said Zoe, very, very quietly, so no-one would hear her. ‘It’s loneliness.’

Mr Mack was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘Thank you, Zoe. It’s marvellous. I can see just what you feel.’