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school. People are actually cool with each other. Man, did I luck out. The hour goes by in a crazy blur, and it’s nothing like a regular maths lesson. Turns out Stormzy isn’t the only celeb Ms Mughal’s mates with. Taylor Swift, Kwamz, Zayn Malik, Ed Sheeran, and Maya Angelou all put in appearances on her slide show. The thing is, it’s still all about the maths, just a thousand times more relevant to our lives. By the end of the lesson, I’m solving simultaneous equations like a pro. This has me low-key believing I might actually be on my way to hitting a grade six. ‘Your homework is online. Do it, or else.’ Ms Mughal’s warning finger swings out like a shotgun, and people chuckle. Ray, a tall blond kid who sits at the front, clutches his chest and hits the ground. ‘Miss just shot me! Tell my family I love them.’ Ms Mughal throws open the door, and everyone waits patiently as a Somali girl in a motorized wheelchair rolls down the aisle. ‘See you tomorrow, Nawal!’ she says brightly. ‘Beep-beep, people!’ Nawal says zooming into the corridor. ‘Out the way, unless you want me to run you down.’ ‘OK, off you go, beautiful people!’ Ms Mughal says as the pips go, sweeping us out of her room with a wave. I watch the rest of the class say bye to Ms Mughal on the way out, but feel too weird doing it myself. So my watch becomes the perfect distraction. ‘Hey,’ she says, stopping me. Not the perfect distraction. ‘How was it?’ ‘Yeah, yeah. All right,’ I mumble, scratching behind an ear. ‘Like, good.’ ‘You ever feel you don’t understand anything, you’re always welcome to come see me for extra help. OK?’ ‘Thanks,’ I say, ducking out.

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Suddenly the corridor has shrunk to the size of a crawl tunnel. I stumble along, feeling too big and clumsy for the world. I hope Ms Mughal doesn’t think I’m a rude boy, but talking to teachers is just another thing I’m crap at. Jade’s galdem are gathered by the lockers. A girl wearing her hair in space buns is holding her nails out for her mates to admire. ‘Totes amazing, Melanie!’ squeals one of her friends. ‘Right?’ agrees Melanie, demonstrating a variety of sexy Catwoman poses. ‘Where’d you get them done?’ asks Jade. ‘There’s this place on the high street called Flawless. Oh my God, like all the workers are Asian girls who can’t speak a word of English!’ ‘Yeah, what’s up with that?’ Jade says, nodding. ‘The Viet girl who does mine is really pretty!’ Kelly says. ‘Like Jennie from BlackPink.’ Her friends wear blank expressions. ‘From K-pop?’ she offers. ‘Not to discourage you, hon, but your nails look a little rough,’ Jade says sympathetically. ‘You should try Flawless.’ ‘It’s not the nails; it’s her man-hands,’ says Melanie. ‘They’re too chunky.’ ‘Mel!’ Jade shakes her head at her disapprovingly. ‘Don’t be mean.’ ‘So anyways, I read somewhere that they all get human- trafficked from North Korea.’ My jaw drops. Kelly spots me and blushes. One by one, the other girls clock me too. ‘Yes, can we help you?’ Jade asks pointedly, placing delicate hands on a size-zero waist, burning me with her laser vision. Jade just spoke to me for the first time since Year 7. This is

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supposed to be the greatest day of my life. I drop my eyes and hurry off, hearing her say, ‘Honestly, I see that boy everywhere.’ ‘Oooh! Jade has a stalker.’ They burst out laughing.

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