With special thanks to

Siobhan Curham and Catherine Coe

First published in Great Britain 2016

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Copyright © Egmont UK Ltd, 2016

First e-book edition 2016

ISBN 978 1 4052 7740 2

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1698 7

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication and Copyright

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

Back series promotional page

One of my favourite feel-good film scenes of all time is from a movie called Winter Vacation. In it, the main character, Lola, has just arrived home from college for Christmas. She’s trudging through the airport feeling all gloomy because she thinks her boyfriend, Josh, is going to be away for the holidays visiting his dad. But as she walks into Arrivals she sees Josh waiting for her with a big soppy grin on his face. He’s holding one of those little cardboard signs with her name on it and I love you, Peanut! written underneath (‘Peanut’ is his nickname for her, but that’s a whole other story). The second Lola sees him, she flings herself over the barrier and into his arms. Every time my best friend Ellie and I watch that scene – even after about five hundred viewings – we tear up. Every time, without fail.

As I walk into the Arrivals hall of Newbridge Airport, trying to keep my trolley wheels straight and my guitar from sliding off my tower of cases, I can’t help scanning the line of people at the barrier hopefully. Even though I know Aunt Clara isn’t able to meet me because she has to be at her shop for a delivery, and even though there’s absolutely no one else to come and meet me, because:

a) I don’t have a boyfriend like Josh,

b) I don’t have a boyfriend, period,

c) I don’t know anyone other than Aunt Clara in this place, my eyes still search for a piece of cardboard with my name. But there’s only one person holding a sign, a chubby man with a red face, wearing a too-tight suit. His sign says MR BAILEY. Definitely not Nessa Reid. Definitely not me. I sigh and push my trolley past the line of people, trying to look all cool and nonchalant, like I don’t care that I’ve been sent to this stupid place, in the middle of nowhere, with no friends and no one to even come and meet me at the airport. As my guitar almost slides off the trolley again I think of my dad and feel a stab of anger. He gave me the guitar as a going-away gift – like that’s going to make up for the fact that he deserted me to go and work in Dubai, in the Middle East. At least I have something I can write angry songs about bad parents on, I guess.

I look around the Arrivals hall. Dad told me that the taxi rank would be on my right. I didn’t realise that he’d meant literally. The airport is so tiny I can actually see the taxis lined up on the other side of the glass wall. I push my trolley over to the doors. As they slide apart I’m hit by a sharp blast of cold air. When I left London the weather was bright and sunny, but here in Scotland the December sky is a dull, heavy white, like a thick layer of cotton wool. My trolley clatters on the paving stones as I walk over to the first cab in the line. I fumble in my pocket for the piece of paper Dad gave me with Aunt Clara’s address on it, even though I’ve studied it so many times during the flight that I know it by heart. I’ve got a horrible anxious feeling in my stomach.

‘Please can you take me to Paper Soul on Fairhollow High Street?’ I say to the driver as he gets out of his taxi and opens the boot. He has short silver-grey hair and a slightly flattened nose, like he might have broken it once in a fight.

‘Paper what?’ he says, picking up one of my cases.

‘Paper Soul. It’s a bookshop – and café.’ This is the one good thing about being sent to stay with Aunt Clara – I’ll be living above a café and a bookshop, two of my favourite things in one building. ‘It’s next to the chemist’s,’ I add, looking back at Dad’s directions.

‘Ah,’ the driver says knowingly. ‘That place.’

He doesn’t exactly sound impressed. I get into the back of the cab and try not to wonder why. As I stuff the piece of paper back into my pocket my fingers brush against my mum’s locket. Instantly, I feel better.

My mum passed away when I was very young – not long after I had been sick in hospital myself as a baby. I don’t really remember her, and Dad doesn’t talk about her very much, but last night when I was packing to leave he gave me this locket. ‘It was hers, and she would have wanted you to have it,’ he said gruffly. It’s beautiful, small and silver with a five-pointed star delicately engraved on the front, and I love the way it feels in my hand.

As the driver pulls away from the airport, I close my eyes and play the Worse Off Than You game. This is a game I invented during a particularly grim Science test involving the Periodic Table. The idea is that whenever you’re feeling really stressed about something, you just have to think of a much worse scenario and it will instantly make your own problem feel smaller. I imagine a girl my age, thirteen, stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert. She hasn’t had anything to drink for days and a herd of snorting camels are about to stampede her. I open my eyes and look out of the window. We’re driving along a narrow country lane, surrounded by bare, stubbly fields. It looks pretty bleak, but at least there are no stampeding camels and I have a bottle of water in my bag. I take it out and have a sip. There really are a lot of people a lot worse off than me. This really isn’t the end of the world . . . it just feels like it.

Eventually, we leave the twisty turny lanes and pull on to a slightly wider road. We’re still surrounded by fields, but every so often a car passes us so I guess we must be getting closer to Fairhollow. I press my face up against the cold window. The sky is now darkening from white to grey, as if someone’s shading it in with a pencil. I feel a flutter of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t seen Aunt Clara since she last came to visit me and Dad, when I was about six. I wonder if she’s changed much. I have a memory of her from that day, filed away in my head like an old photo. She’s standing in the back garden, staring blankly ahead, her long golden hair blowing in the wind. I think she and Dad had just had an argument. I can remember Dad marching into the house and the back door slamming. I also remember Aunt Clara hugging me when she was leaving. She smelt like rose petals. I start to relax a bit. Hopefully it will be nice living with Mum’s sister – and hopefully I can find out more about Mum.

The road starts curving up a really steep hill.

‘Soon be there,’ the driver says, looking at me in the rear-view mirror.

I nod back at him. ‘Thank you.’

Finally, we reach the top of the hill and there’s something other than fields to look at. A town is spread out far below us, in the base of a huge valley, surrounded on either side by thick ridges of woodland.

‘You from Fairhollow?’ the driver asks as the road starts cutting down through the trees.

I shake my head. ‘No. My mum is – was. I’m going to stay with my aunt.’

‘Interesting place,’ the driver says. But again, something about the way he says it doesn’t make it sound like a good thing.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ll see.’ As our eyes meet in the rear-view mirror, the anxious feeling returns to the pit of my stomach. I look out of the window. The tree branches are spread above us like a canopy and pale wintery light is filtering through them. It would have looked really pretty if the sun was shining. Finally, we emerge from the woods and I see a sign by the road saying WELCOME TO FAIRHOLLOW. Someone has scrawled something underneath in red but it’s too small for me to make out what.

The road we’re on leads directly to Fairhollow High Street. We go past a row of tall grand houses. They all look a bit faded and worn, though, with peeling paintwork and grimy windows. When the driver stops at a crossroads and a group of kids about my age cross in front of us my skin prickles with fear. Tomorrow, I’ll be joining my new school. I think of my best friend, Ellie, again and I feel a pang of sorrow. Ellie and I have gone to school together for what feels like forever. I can’t imagine lessons without her. It feels all wrong. I watch the kids as they head into a café called The Cup and Saucer. They’re all laughing and joking, deep in conversation. The traffic light turns green and the driver heads on down the High Street. It all looks really olde worlde and there’s no sign of any kind of supermarket. Then I spot Paper Soul at the very end of the road. It’s a tall thin building, three storeys high. Its sign is hand-painted, red lettering on a black background with a silver crescent moon in the corner. As the driver pulls up, I see a dimlylit display of books in the window.

‘All right, love?’ The driver looks over his shoulder at me.

I nod. But I feel anything but as I follow him out of the taxi. My head is stuffed full of what ifs. What if Aunt Clara and I don’t get along? What if she doesn’t really want me here? What if I hate it here? What if I don’t make any new friends?

The driver brings me my cases and I pay him with some of the money Dad gave me this morning.

I wait until he’s driven off and then I open the door to the shop. A bell above me jangles loudly, making me jump.

‘Hello,’ I say, nervously, as I step inside.

The shop smells of a weird mixture of incense and baking bread. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see tall alcoves lined with books on either side of me. Just in front of me, there’s a stand-alone display. I do a quick scan of the titles: Ghost Hunting for Dummies, Haunted Castles, Spirits and Spectres. I frown. Why would Aunt Clara have a display of books like that? My dad’s always said that supernatural stuff should be renamed super-stupid. He reckons that people only go on about ghosts and stuff nowadays to keep trick-or-treaters in sweets. Maybe Aunt Clara got the books in for some kind of Halloween promotion and hasn’t bothered taking them down yet. I scan the shop for a teen fiction section. But everywhere I look seems to be the same kind of stuff: Astrology, Spirituality, New Age, Healing. I feel a pang of disappointment. In my mind, I’d been picturing Aunt Clara’s shop as cosy and bright, filled with other teenagers chatting about books, but this is more like a really old library. Hopefully the café part will be a bit more cheerful.

I drag my cases past two more alcoves of books and the shop opens out into the café area. It’s completely deserted. There’s a counter running along the back, with a handful of round tables arranged in front of it. At the centre of each table there are thick, red candles with trails of wax run down their sides like bulging veins.

‘Aunt Clara!’ I call, really loud now. This place is starting to give me the creeps.

I hear a door slamming out back and the sound of footsteps. Then Aunt Clara appears in the doorway behind the counter. At least, I think it must be Aunt Clara – she looks totally different to how I remember her. Her long hair has been cut into a sharp bob that just skims her shoulders and it’s been dyed flame red. She’s wearing a long black dress, and the only splash of colour on her – apart from her hair – is the bright turquoise pendant she’s wearing on a long silver chain around her neck. She looks at me and gasps.

‘I’m Nessa,’ I say. My face instantly starts to burn. I have this really annoying habit of flushing bright red any time I’m nervous.

‘Yes, I know,’ Aunt Clara says, still staring at me. ‘You look so . . .’

She comes out from behind the counter and stands right in front of me. Her icy blue eyes are ringed with black eyeliner, making them look even more striking. She reaches out and takes hold of a lock of my hair. It probably is too long – it’s almost down to my elbows now. I know from the one photo Dad gave me that I look like my mum. I get the same anxious bubbling in my stomach that I got in the cab, but way stronger this time, so strong it’s making my legs go weak.

‘You look so much like Celeste,’ Aunt Clara whispers. But she doesn’t smile.

‘Can I – is it OK if I sit down?’ I gesture at one of the tables.

‘Of course. Yes. Do. You must be tired. And hungry. Are you hungry? I’ll get you something to eat.’ Aunt Clara seems really nervous too, and it makes me realise what a big deal this must be for her. She never got married or had any children, and now she’s been lumbered with a thirteen-year-old she barely knows – one who looks exactly like her dead sister.

Even though I’m not hungry, I nod, not wanting to upset her. She hurries off behind the counter and returns with a glass of really bright orange juice and a chocolate brownie. I smile in relief. If there’s one thing guaranteed to make me feel better it’s a chocolate brownie. I take a huge bite. Ugh! It takes all of my willpower not to spit it straight out again. It tastes vile.

‘Ah, you’re obviously not used to beetroot brownies,’ Aunt Clara says.

I stare up at her. ‘Beetroot?’ Who puts beetroot in a brownie?!

‘Yes. It’s a vegan recipe. This is a vegan café,’ Aunt Clara explains, pointing to a blackboard on the wall with Soup of the Day: Pumpkin Seed and Potato written on it in chalk.

I manage to swallow the mouthful of brownie without retching and reach for my orange juice to help get rid of the taste. But that’s even more disgusting.

‘It’s carrot juice,’ Aunt Clara says.

‘It’s lovely,’ I lie.

Aunt Clara raises her eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, lots of people hate vegan food at first but you’ll soon get used to it.’

I frown. She’s caught me out.

Aunt Clara shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. She has silver rings on every one of her fingers, including her thumbs. My eyes are drawn to one on her little finger, a cat’s head with emerald eyes. ‘Once you get used to organic, sugar-free foods, you’ll never want to eat anything else,’ she says. ‘It’s so full of flavour.’

I take another bite of my beetroot brownie and force myself to swallow. Aunt Clara looks down at me like she might be about to say something but she stays silent. I smile at her. It makes my face ache.

One thing’s for sure, if I’m going to stay here without hurting Aunt Clara’s feelings, I’m going to have to work a whole lot harder on my lying skills.

I once read in a magazine that the very first thought you have the moment you wake up is the most important thought you will have all day. Apparently your first thought sets the tone for the rest of the day, so you should try your hardest to make it a happy one.

The very first thought I have the moment I wake up the following morning is Oh no ! Swiftly followed by I’m still in Fairhollow and I have to go to school! I really hope that magazine article was wrong, otherwise today is totally doomed.

I turn on my bedside lamp and grab my phone. I have two new text messages, one from Dad and one from Ellie. I read Ellie’s first as I’m still officially upset with Dad.

How did you sleep? Xxx

I quickly type a reply.

Not good. My stomach kept making really weird noises. I’m not sure if it was hunger or fear xoxo

Last night’s dinner was something called quinoa. It was like eating soggy seeds, even worse than the beetroot brownie. I ended up telling Aunt Clara I was too tired to eat very much and going to bed at eight o’clock. I didn’t go to sleep though. I texted Ellie and played my guitar until gone midnight. I’m halfway through composing a song called ‘Dad, Dad, You Make Me Mad’.

I click on Dad’s text.

I miss you lol x

LOL! Why has he put LOL? Why’s he making a joke about leaving me here? Then I remember that Dad thinks that LOL stands for ‘lots of love’. I give a massive sigh and press reply.

Miss you too xxx

And I do, even though I’m still mad at him. I miss his stupid jokes and the way the sides of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. I really miss his cooking! But most of all, I miss how he makes me feel safe. My phone bleeps with another message from him.

Don’t forget, this isn’t forever – just till I’ve got enough money to get us back on our feet again lol x

I feel a stab of guilt at getting so angry with him. If he hadn’t taken the job in Dubai we would’ve lost our house.

I know. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine lol xxx

I can’t believe I’m using LOL that way now.

My phone instantly chimes with another text – from Ellie this time.

It’s probably hunger. I wonder what she’ll give you for breakfast!! xxxxx

Somehow I don’t think it’ll be bacon xoxo

I quickly text back.

I sit up a bit and look around. My bedroom is right at the very top of the building, tucked away in the attic, so the ceiling slopes down on either side. It looks really quaint and cosy but it should come with a hazard sign; one with a big red cross and a picture of someone rubbing their head. Last night, I bumped my head on the ceiling about twenty times just getting ready for bed! The walls are creamy white, and so is the carpet and the duvet cover and the chest of drawers. This room is in serious need of some colour. I’ll have to put up some of my photos when I get back from school. School. My heart starts pounding again.

It’ll be fine, I tell myself. Sometimes, when my inner voice says something wise or comforting like this, I pretend it’s Mum speaking to me. I picture her looking down at me, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like Rapunzel’s. It’ll be fine.

I look at the school uniform laid out on the chair by the window. The tartan school uniform. How can it be fine when I have to wear tartan?!

‘Nessa, are you awake?’ Aunt Clara calls up the stairs. ‘Breakfast’s ready.’

Breakfast is a glass of green paint and a bowl of hamster bedding. Aunt Clara says that it’s ‘super juice’ and ‘gluten-free muesli’. I raise the glass to my lips and take the tiniest of sips. The juice tastes like pond water – or how I imagine pond water to taste, anyhow. I force myself to swallow it down. I’m getting really good at that.

‘That’ll be the spirulina,’ Aunt Clara says, looking at me across the table. She’s still wearing her dressing gown and her make-up-free face is gleaming with moisturiser. ‘It’s definitely an acquired taste.’

I thought I’d been able to hide my frown. Obviously not.

‘The what?’ I ask, not sure if I really want to know.

‘It’s powdered algae,’ Aunt Clara replies with a smile, like drinking powdered algae is something to be happy about. ‘It’s very good for you, but it does taste a little weird at first.’

‘Right.’ I want to cry. Why is she making me drink powdered algae? No wonder there was no one in her café yesterday if this is the kind of thing she has on the menu.

Aunt Clara puts down her glass and looks at me, concerned. ‘Are you OK? Would you like something else?’

My stomach starts churning with anxiety and fear and for a moment I feel like

I might pass out. I grip on to the table to try and take a deep breath.

‘No – I – it’s OK. I think I’d better go and get ready for school.’

I’d been hoping that by setting off early for Fairhollow High School I’d avoid seeing any other students but there are already a few tartan-clad clusters of them about. I keep my head down, like I’ve suddenly become fascinated by the paving slabs. I think of Ellie, all the way down in London, and I feel an aching pain in the pit of my stomach. I fumble in my blazer pocket for Mum’s locket and grip it tightly. I’d known that coming here was going to be tough, but I hadn’t realised how emotional it was going to make me feel. I take a deep breath of the cold air and slowly exhale. Even though I know Dad is right and supernatural stuff is super-stupid, I secretly hope that Mum is somehow with me as I carry on along the road.

When I get to the entrance to Fairhollow High I do a double take in shock. It looks more like a country estate than a school. Set back in beautiful grounds, the winding road up to it is lined by a thick wall of trees. There’s even a chapel. I stop for a moment to take it all in before following the signs to reception.

The inside of the school is just as old-fashioned and ornate as the outside, with oak panelling on the walls and dark polished floors as shiny as conkers. I make my way over to the reception desk, my heart pounding.

‘Hi, I’m Nessa Reid,’ I say to the woman sitting behind the desk. She has pale grey hair pinned up in a bun and she’s wearing gold-rimmed, half-moon glasses. She stares at me over the glasses for a second before a flicker of recognition crosses her face.

‘Ah, yes! Our new girl. Clara Hamilton’s niece.’ She looks me up and down as if she’s trying to decide what to make of me, then finally she smiles. ‘Now, what form did we put you in?’ She starts looking through a huge leather-bound book on the desk in front of her. ‘Ah, yes. Mr Matthews, Year Eight.’

Just as she says this, two girls and a boy come clattering through the front doors, laughing loudly. I can tell instantly from looking at them that they’re popular kids. One of the girls has white-blonde hair falling down to her shoulders in loose curls, the other has poker-straight brown hair fashionably pulled back into a ponytail. They both look as if they’ve just sashayed off a catwalk. They’re even managing to make their kilts look cool. The boy has one of those film-star faces, all chiselled cheekbones and gleaming teeth. I guess he must be the boyfriend of one of the girls – the blonde one’s, probably. The brown-haired girl looks way too haughty to have a boyfriend. She reminds me of the Evil Queen in Snow White. They all glance over at me curiously and I pretend to look for something in my bag.

‘Ah! Izzy, Vivien, Stephen!’ the receptionist calls. ‘Would you take Nessa here upstairs with you? She’s starting in your form today.’

There’s a moment’s silence. All I can hear is a pounding in my head.

‘Sure,’ the blonde girl finally replies. Her voice is crisp and polished. I look up from my bag. They’re all still staring at me. None of them are smiling.

‘Thank you, Izzy,’ the receptionist trills before turning back to her work.

I trudge over to them.

‘Hi, I’m Nessa,’ I mumble.

‘Yes, we got that,’ the girl with dark hair – she must be Vivien – says curtly. They start walking off down the corridor. I trail after them, feeling red-hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. They could at least be trying to make conversation. When we get to a stairwell at the end of the corridor the blonde girl Izzy looks back over her shoulder at me. I smile at her, but she turns away, and I feel a sudden chill run right through me. It’s really strange – like I’m shivering on the inside of my body.

I follow them up two flights of stairs and past a row of doors to the end of a corridor. They still don’t say anything to me, just open the door and go through. I check the sign on the door just to make sure they haven’t brought me to the wrong place for a prank, but the sign says Mr Matthews, 8MA.

As it’s still so early, there’s only a handful of other students in the form room when I go in. Mr Matthews is sat behind his desk marking a pile of books. He’s old and stick thin, with crazy wiry white hair springing from his head. I go and stand by his desk, but he’s so engrossed in his marking that he doesn’t notice me. I cough and he still doesn’t look up. My face starts to burn.

‘New girl, sir,’ Stephen shouts suddenly, causing Mr Matthews to jump. He looks at me at last and frowns.

‘New girl?’

I nod. ‘Yes, sir. Nessa Reid.’

Mr Matthews’s pale blue eyes light up. ‘Of course! Clara Hamilton’s niece.’ He stands up and promptly knocks his pile of books over. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he says as he tries to put it back together. ‘I used to know your mother, Celeste. I taught her, actually – many moons ago. You look so like her it’s uncanny.’ His smile fades and he shakes his head. ‘I was so sorry when I heard – you know – when she died.’

I nod and look away.

‘OK, we need to find someone to take care of you until you’ve found your feet,’ Mr Matthews says. ‘We don’t want you ending up going for lunch in the gymnasium now, do we?’ He laughs heartily at his own joke and scans the classroom. Please, please, please don’t say Izzy, Stephen or Vivien, I silently beg.

‘Izzy!’ Mr Matthews says. ‘Can you take Nessa under your wing for the next few days – show her where everything is? Make her feel welcome.’

I reluctantly turn round to look at her. I’m expecting a glare, but to my surprise, Izzy is smiling.

‘Of course, sir.’ Izzy beckons to me. ‘Come and sit here, Nessa. I’ll make sure you’re OK.’

I hear someone to the left of me cough. It’s the kind of pointed cough that’s trying to say something. I turn and see a girl with dark skin and curly dark brown hair hunched over her desk, her face buried behind a book.

I pick up my bag and head over to Izzy. She’s still smiling at me. But I’m not sure I like it. For some reason it reminds me of the smile the big bad wolf gave Little Red Riding Hood – right before he tried to gobble her up.

My morning hanging out with Izzy, Vivien and Stephen turns out to be totally weird and really exhausting. Everywhere they go, the other students either stare at them in awe or suck up to them like they’re mega-famous celebrities. And because Izzy is still being creepily super-friendly to me, the other students have all been treating me the same way. I feel like a singer who’s just found overnight stardom after years of singing songs into her hairbrush in her bedroom. It all feels kind of surreal given how unfriendly they were to me first thing this morning. I’d thought that as soon as registration was over and we were away from Mr Matthews, they’d go straight back to blanking me. But if anything, it’s been the opposite. Izzy made Vivien sit with Stephen in every single lesson this morning so that I could sit next to her. And Vivien didn’t even seem to really mind. She hasn’t been as super-smiley to me as Izzy has, but scowling just seems to be her default setting.

Izzy told me to meet them in the canteen for lunch, but as soon as the bell goes, I head to the toilets. I need some time on my own to process everything that’s happened this morning. I lock the cubicle door, shut the toilet lid and sit down. I’ve never had loads of friends at school and I’ve definitely never been part of the ‘cool group’, so I don’t know how to handle this. My friendship with Ellie has always been enough for me. I take my phone out of my blazer pocket I’m glad to see a new text message from her.

How’s it going? I MISS YOU!!! xxxx

As I read it I feel a sharp pain again, as if a giant fist is clenching my stomach. I press reply.

It’s been really weird – I seem to have been adopted by the populars and I can’t work out why!! I MISS YOU TOO!!! xxxx

The door to the toilets bangs open and someone goes into the cubicle next to mine. I take a deep breath and put my phone back in my pocket., Although it’s been unnerving hanging out with Izzy, Vivien and Stephen, I guess it’s better than having to drift around all day on my own. I pick up my bag and head off for lunch.

Even though the canteen’s really crowded, it’s easy to spot Izzy’s white-blonde hair. They’re sitting at a table at the back with a girl who’s from our form. She has very short hair and huge glasses. She looks really sweet and shy and this instantly makes me feel better. I think I’ll feel way more relaxed if I can chat to her. But as I get closer to the table I get hit by a sudden and completely random feeling of fear. Izzy’s leaning in close to the girl, looking like she’s whispering a secret in her ear. But whatever she’s saying can’t be nice – the girl looks really upset.

‘It looks like your mum just put a bowl on your head and started cutting,’ I hear Vivien say to her just as I reach the table.

‘Couldn’t you afford to get a proper haircut?’ Izzy says.

‘Maybe I should shave it all off with my dad’s clippers,’ Stephen adds, sneering. ‘It couldn’t look any worse.’

I’m frozen to the spot. There’s no way I want to sit with them now if this is how they treat people, but I don’t want to leave the girl on her own with them either. But before I can decide what to do, Izzy spots me.

‘Nessa! Come and join us. Eve was just going, weren’t you, Eve?’ She turns and gives the girl a cold stare.

Eve has a full plate of spaghetti Bolognese in front of her, but she nods and picks up her tray.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask as Eve shuffles past me.

‘Yes, fine,’ she mutters without looking at me at all.

‘Come on, sit down,’ Izzy says, smiling up at me.

Reluctantly, I sit down next to her, still staring at Eve. I think about going after her but I don’t know what I’d say. I watch as she scrapes her lunch into a bin before heading out of the canteen. I feel really sick.

‘Did you bring lunch, or are you getting something here?’ Vivien asks.

My heart sinks as I think of the Tupperware box Aunt Clara gave me this morning. I didn’t dare ask her what was in it.

‘I brought it,’ I mutter, taking the box from my bag. It’s full of brown rice and vegetables and weird white cubes. I think they might be cheese, but when I try one it’s tasteless and as chewy as rubber. I look up to see Izzy, Stephen and Vivien all staring at me. My face flushes.

‘What’s that white stuff ?’ Stephen asks, nodding at my lunch. I wonder if he’s going to start teasing me the way he was teasing Eve and I feel a hot burst of anger. If he does, I decide, I’ll shove whatever this stupid lunch is right into his smug face.

‘I’m not sure,’ I reply, my face burning even hotter.

‘You don’t know what you’ve got for lunch?’ Vivien asks.

‘No.’ I stare back at her.

‘I think it’s tofu,’ Izzy says with another smile. ‘It looks delicious.’

I look at her, feeling a weird mixture of gratitude and disbelief.

‘Thank you,’ I mutter. ‘My aunt made it. She’s vegan.’

Izzy nods. ‘Your aunt runs the vegan café in town, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes. Paper Soul.’

Izzy just keeps on smiling, like she’s on some kind of sponsored grinathon. ‘I haven’t been into Paper Soul for ages. We’ll have to have lunch there one weekend, won’t we guys?’

Stephen and Vivien nod but they don’t seem quite so keen.

I glance at the table in front of ours. The girl from our class with the dark curly hair is staring at me over the book she’s reading. When we make eye contact she gives a quick smile before looking back down at her book. I look around and see loads of other students glancing over too. I take a deep breath and force myself to eat another cube of white rubber.

By the time the bell rings for the end of the day my mouth is aching from making myself smile and my entire body is stiff with tension. I have to get out of here. As I shove my books into my bag I look up and see the girl with the dark curly hair staring at me again. It’s definitely different to the stares I’ve been getting from the other students; she’s looking at me like she knows me, or knows something about me. I hoist my bag over my shoulder and head over to the door of our form room. Izzy calls out after me but I pretend not to hear her. I need fresh air and I need to be on my own. I’m all new-peopled-out. As I rush along the corridor, I hear the other classroom doors opening behind me and students spilling out. I race down the stairs and through reception. It’s only when I get out on to the driveway that I start feeling calmer again.

‘Nessa! Wait!’

My throat tightens at the sound of Izzy’s voice.

I turn and see all three of them running to catch up with me. What is wrong with them? Why are they so desperate to hang out with me? It’s obvious I’m not in their league – this is going against all the natural laws of the school feeding chain.

‘Why did you race off like that?’ Izzy says, catching me up. Her pale cheeks have flushed pink, making her look even more like a porcelain doll.

‘I don’t know,’ I mutter.

‘Do you want to come and hang out at mine?’ she asks. ‘We were going to go in the pool.’

‘The pool?’

Izzy nods. ‘Yes. Don’t worry. It’s indoors and it’s heated.’

‘Oh, well,’ I rack my brains for an excuse. ‘I – I don’t have a swimming costume.’

Izzy grins. ‘That’s OK. You can borrow one of mine.’

My insides start crawling with embarrassment. It’s been bad enough having to hang out with new people all day without them seeing me semi-naked. And something tells me Izzy’s the kind of girl who would own only the skimpiest bikinis.

‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’ Izzy links arms with me.

I automatically pull away. ‘I’m really sorry. I can’t. I have to – I have to help my aunt, in the café.’

Izzy sighs. For a moment I think I’ve managed to wriggle out of it, but then she starts smiling again. ‘We could come with you – hang out there for a while.’

I look at the others hoping they’ll disagree, but even Stephen’s nodding.

‘You can’t!’ I say, way too forcefully.

‘What do you mean, we can’t?’ Vivien asks, icily.

‘It’s not open today,’ I stammer. ‘I’m helping my aunt do a stock check.’

Izzy stares at me for a moment, like she’s not sure whether to believe me. ‘Wow, your eyes,’ she says at last.

‘What about them?’

‘I swear they were pale blue this morning. Now they look really dark.’

‘It’s just the light,’ I say. People have said this about my eyes before. I guess they’re just a weird shade of blue that looks different in different settings. ‘Anyway, I’d better get going.’

Izzy looks at me for a moment, then she nods. ‘OK. See you tomorrow.’

‘Yes. See you tomorrow.’ I pull up the hood on my coat and start walking, my heart pounding in time with my feet.

As soon as I’ve got away from the populars, I start feeling better. The icy air feels lovely and fresh after the stuffy, overheated classrooms. I don’t feel ready to go back to Paper Soul just yet and face trying to make conversation with Aunt Clara, so when I get to the crossroads instead of turning left on to the High Street I go straight on. I follow the road round a corner and see a footpath leading up into the woods. It looks so quiet and peaceful that I feel drawn to it like a magnet. As I head in among the trees all I can hear are the chirps of birds as they flying to roost for the night. It’s so soothing after the all the yelling and clattering of school. I take a deep breath. The air smells of a beautiful mixture of woodsmoke and damp pine. I follow the footpath up the hill until I come to a huge old oak tree. Its roots are gnarled, pushing up through the icy ground like a pair of giant arms. I nestle down in a nook between them and lean back against the huge trunk. It feels as if the tree is hugging me and slowly I start to relax. I’ve survived my first day at Fairhollow High. I take Mum’s locket from my pocket and trace my fingers over the star.

It’s weird to think that I’m now living in the town that Mum grew up in, going to the same school she went to, and with the same teacher. Weird but nice. Imaginary scenes start playing in my head. Mum walking down the High Street. Mum going to school. Mum sitting at a desk listening to Mr Matthews take the register. Mum walking and playing in these woods, maybe even around this tree. My body starts filling with a warm glow. Hopefully, coming to Fairhollow will help me get to know her better. Whenever I asked Dad to tell me about her he’d just close up and mutter, ‘I can’t’, so I gave up trying. But I’m living with Aunt Clara now. Surely she’ll be able to tell me loads once she’s got used to me being here. Scrambling to my feet, I decide to go back to Paper Soul and give it a try.

The next morning, as I make my way to school, I feel way better than I did yesterday. Last night with Aunt Clara was actually quite relaxed. When I asked her if she could tell me more about Mum she went and got an old chocolate box filled with photos of her and Mum as little kids. We spent ages going through the pictures, with Aunt Clara telling me the story behind each one. She’s even given me one of the pictures to keep. It’s of Mum when she was the same age as me. Looking at it is kind of spooky. We’re so similar we could be twins.

As I walk through the school gates I picture Aunt Clara and Mum when they were my age, walking along the driveway in front of me. I imagine Mum swinging her bag and Aunt Clara nibbling on a carrot or some other root vegetable. Even though it was years ago, re-tracing Mum’s footsteps like this gives me a warm glowy feeling that lasts all the way to my form room.

‘Hey, Nessa!’ Izzy calls to me as soon as I walk through the door.

The girl with the dark curly hair is sat at the front hunched over a book again. She looks up at me and raises her eyebrows. I’m feeling so much more relaxed today that I actually smile at her. She looks surprised then quickly smiles back before returning to her reading.

‘Come and sit here,’ Izzy calls.

Although I’m not too keen on hanging around with Izzy and the others again, I guess it’s less hassle to be in with the popular gang than in their bad books.

The final lesson before lunch is History. We’re learning about Henry VIII. It’s a lesson I’ve already done in my old school so it’s pretty boring, until the teacher, Miss Maxwell asks if anyone has any questions. The girl with the dark curly hair, who has so far been silent in all of the lessons I’ve had with her, puts up her hand.

‘Yes, Holly,’ Miss Maxwell says.

‘Why do we have to spend so much time studying a psycho wife abuser?’ Holly asks.

Izzy sighs but I can’t help grinning. I’ve never got why school makes such a huge deal of Henry VIII either.

‘I mean, it’s not as if there aren’t like, a ton of other people – a ton of other way more inspirational women – we could study,’ Holly continues.

‘Shut up, idiot,’ Stephen mutters behind me, making me want to turn round and scowl at him.

‘There’s Joan of Arc and Boudicca and –’

‘OK, thank you, Holly,’ Miss Maxwell interrupts. ‘Anyone else got any questions related to Henry VIII?’

‘My question was related to Henry VIII,’ Holly says indignantly.

Eve puts her hand up but the bell goes before she can say anything and the room is filled with the clatter of chairs.

As we go to leave, Miss Maxwell calls Izzy back to talk to her about her homework. I seize the opportunity to escape out the door, and Holly is right next to me.

‘Hi,’ she says.

‘Hi,’ I say back.

‘So, how are you finding it here?’

‘OK.’ I summon up the courage to give a reply of more than two syllables. ‘I liked what you said just then in class. I don’t know why we study him either.’

Holly looks at me like she thinks I might be tricking her. ‘Really?’

I nod.

She starts to grin and her brown eyes twinkle. ‘Do you want to have lunch with me?’

‘Yes, please!’ I’m so relieved to have someone other than Izzy and her gang to hang out with that I can barely hide my excitement.

When Holly and I get to the canteen we grab a couple of empty seats at the end of a table.

‘So, how come you’ve moved to Fairhollow?’ Holly asks, taking a paper bag from her backpack and placing it on the table in front of her. I watch enviously as she takes out two huge sausage rolls.

‘I’m staying with my Aunt Clara while my dad’s away working in Dubai.’

As Holly takes a bite of one of the sausage rolls, I practically start to drool. I take out my own lunch box. Maybe it’ll be something nicer today. But as soon as I open it, my heart sinks. It’s full of little round orange things and a ton of chopped vegetables.

‘How long’s your dad away for?’ Holly asks.

‘His contract’s for a year, but he’ll be home for holidays and stuff.’ I take a mouthful of the orange things. They taste so weird I can’t help grimacing.

‘What is that?’ Holly asks, but unlike Stephen yesterday, she seems genuinely interested.

‘I’m not exactly sure. My aunt’s vegan,’ I explain. I take another mouthful but it’s no good – I can’t make myself like it.

‘Oh. Well, would you like one of my sausage rolls then?’

Normally, if a virtual stranger offered me some of their lunch, I’d be polite and say no, but I’m way too hungry and the sausage roll looks way too nice.

‘Yes, please, if you’re sure.’

‘Sure I’m sure.’ She hands me one of the sausage rolls. I take a huge bite. Holly looks at my lunch. ‘Can I try some of yours in exchange?’

‘Of course!’ I practically shove the box at her.

‘Oh, this is really good,’ Holly says, as she takes a forkful.

‘Really?’ I stare at her.

‘Mmm. I love the different flavours. Oh, I miss home-cooked food.’ She gives a dramatic sigh. ‘Shall we just do a total swap?’ She pushes the other sausage roll towards me. I nod and grab it eagerly. This lunch break could not be going better.

But then I see Izzy, Stephen and Vivien appear in the doorway. Izzy scans the canteen. As soon as she sees me she smiles, but then she sees Holly and her smile wilts into a frown. She nudges the others and leads them over to me.

‘Nessa, what are you doing?’ she says.

‘Having lunch.’

‘With her?’ Izzy scowls at Holly.

‘Yes.’ I glance across the table at Holly. Suddenly I’m hit by a wave of sickness.

‘Right.’ Izzy smiles at me again, but I can tell from the cold look in her eyes that she doesn’t mean it. A shiver runs right the way up my spine. ‘Come on,’ she says to the others, and they go and sit at the table next to ours.

I look at Holly apologetically, still feeling really queasy. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Matthews told Izzy to take care of me and she’s taking it very seriously.’

Holly makes a sarcastic noise. ‘Yeah, that’s Izzy, all heart.’ She takes another forkful of Aunt Clara’s lunch. ‘So, what about your mum? Where’s she?’

I look down at the table. ‘My mum’s – she died.’

Holly instantly puts her fork down. ‘Oh no. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise.’

‘It’s OK, it was a long time ago.’

‘But it must be really hard for you, especially now your dad’s away.’

The concern in Holly’s voice makes me feel really good. The entire time I was with Izzy and the others yesterday they barely asked me a question about myself. It’s so nice being with someone who genuinely cares – almost like being with Ellie again.

‘Yes, it is a bit, but I’ve got Aunt Clara.’

Holly glances over at Izzy’s table and I get that sick scared feeling again. What’s wrong with me? Ever since I’ve arrived in Fairhollow it’s as if I’ve been on some kind of emotional roller coaster. I can’t wait till things settle down and I can start feeling normal again.

‘Can I ask you something?’ Holly looks all serious.

I nod. ‘Of course.’

‘How do you feel about Izzy and the others?’ Holly asks. ‘Do you like them? Do you want to hang out with them?’ She studies my face like she’s searching for some kind of clue.

‘Not really. I mean, I’m grateful that they looked after me yesterday, but I don’t think they’re the kind of people I’d choose as friends.’

Holly grins so hard a pair of dimples appear either side of her mouth. ‘Well, you know, if you want someone else to hang out with there’s always me.’ She looks down at the lunch box shyly. ‘I mean, I don’t really care if you do or you don’t, but if you do . . .’

‘I do. Thank you.’ The warm glow inside of me is suddenly replaced by a cold chill of dread. I look up to see Izzy, Stephen and Vivien standing by our table again.

‘Come on, Nessa, let’s go back to our form room,’ Izzy says.

I look at Holly and my stomach lurches. She’s gazing down into her lap.

‘It’s OK, you guys go ahead. I’ll come up with Holly,’ I say.

Izzy leans down closer to me, so close I can smell her perfume. It’s really unusual, spicy and strong. ‘We need to go now,’ she says in a loud firm voice. ‘I don’t know why you’re hanging out with a freak like her anyway. You could have had lunch with us.’

I stare up at her, my heart pounding. Who does she think she is, telling me what to do? There’s a definite hush from the tables closest to us as everyone waits to see how I’m going to respond.

‘I said no,’ I say in an equally loud, firm voice. ‘I’ll come up when I’ve finished my lunch – with Holly.’

Izzy stares at me.

I stare back. I don’t need her friendship. Who wants to hang out with a control freak like that?

Izzy takes a sharp breath in and her cheeks flush bright pink. Silence spreads across the canteen as we continue to stare at each other. Finally, she tosses her hair over her shoulder, turns and marches away.

Stephen and Vivien go scuttling after her.

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