I walked quickly down the corridor. This was the third balloon I’d seen since the clown had appeared at the end of my street. I assumed he was some sort of naff birthday treat from Mum and Dad but his eerie silence had creeped me out and I had been grateful to jump on the bus and leave him behind. Now I was beginning to loathe the sight of balloons. Did it mean he had followed me to school?

I flung the double doors open and almost crashed into the new boy. James had him half pinned against the wall.

“Come on – truth or dare? You’ve got to choose.”

Justin’s face was pale under his tan and he was clutching his bag like a lifebelt.

“Just go with dare,” I muttered. “How bad can it be?”

Justin looked grateful as I sped past but I wasn’t thinking about him any more, I was thinking about the balloons I had been seeing all day. Balloons the colour of blood.

Was that what he was upset about? That I hadn’t helped him when James had him pinned.

I lowered my brows, trying to place him more firmly in my recollection of that day.

Mrs Pickard cleared her throat meaningfully and I glowered at the paper in front of me. We were meant to be writing a poem called Myself. I picked up my pen.

“Today is my birthday,” I wrote. “I am ten.”

Something made me look up. Justin was sitting bolt upright, pen clenched in his fist. “What’s up with the new boy?” I whispered.

Pete shrugged and Hannah turned in her chair.

Justin stood slowly. He looked anxiously at James who nodded.

“What’s the matter, Justin?” Mrs Pickard looked concerned.

Justin swallowed audibly. “I-I want to change seats, please.”

“Change seats? What on earth for?” Mrs Pickard peered at his chair.

Justin shuffled his feet. “I-it’s the smell,” he muttered.

“Smell?” Mrs Pickard wrinkled her nose. “I can’t smell anything.”

“It’s your smell.” Despite his harsh words, Justin looked miserable. “I can’t stand the stink and I need to move.” He swallowed again. “Have you tried deodorant?”

Mrs Pickard’s mouth fell open and she immediately gathered her cardigan around herself.

“Shut up, Pete.” I hissed as the class began to snigger. James was laughing so hard he could barely keep his seat.

Justin looked wretched as Mrs Pickard fled from the room with tears in her eyes.

“Nice one!” James called. “You win.”

Justin turned and glared at me but I ignored him; there was a red balloon sliding along the window.

It was true that I had told Justin to take the dare, which probably got him in a great deal of trouble, but James was the one who had forced him to do it. Why was he mad at me? I opened my mouth to ask him and the office door opened.

“Miss Oh and Mr Hargreaves. Do come in. Again.”

“This is getting old, Miss Oh.” Mr Barnes shuffled papers on his desk and glared at me over his glasses. Did he think that made him look intelligent, intimidating? It just made me think he needed bifocals. The twit.

“I know that you have suffered a significant loss.” He paused respectfully. “But that was three years ago now and you have been given enough leeway.” He dropped the papers and slapped the desk with his palms. “Enough, do you understand?”

“Wait a minute,” I gasped as if the air in the room was thin. “How is this my fault? I was attacked. Look at me.” I gave a little kick and sand spattered the carpet.

“That’s as may be, Miss Oh, and I will be talking to the perpetrator afterwards. However, Mr Hargreaves was not your attacker, was he? I have witnesses who say you launched yourself at him with no provocation whatsoever.”

“He put him up to it. I heard.”

Mr Barnes raised his bushy eyebrows. “You specifically heard Mr Hargreaves tell Mr Fisher to steal your bag and push you in the sandpit?”

“I…”

“I didn’t think so.”

Mr Barnes shook his head. “Now, I don’t know what’s gone on between you two. A lovers’ spat, perhaps?” I choked, coughing sand out of my throat that I hadn't even realised was there. Justin remained in his semi-slouch, only a twitch of his fingertips showing his own reaction. Mr Barnes ignored me and continued. “I won’t have this bullying behaviour in my school.” Unbelievably he was looking at me.

“I–”

“I know you were also attacked, Miss Oh, but not by Mr Hargreaves. Apologise to him. Mr Fisher will be doing the same to you later on.”

Air huffed in and out of my nose, as if it was too offended to enter the lips that would have to betray me. I pressed my mouth closed and shook my head. “Miss Oh, for every three seconds you do not apologise, you will receive one day of detention.”

Justin looked at me and tilted his head, insolently waiting for my apology.

“One… two… three.”

I said nothing.

Mr Barnes shook his head and made a mark on his notebook. “One day of detention, Miss Oh. And again, one... two…”

I couldn’t risk it, the more time I spent in school, the more time the ghosts had to find me. My eyes traced movement on the courtyard, a man in a suit. Was he meant to be there?

Only my house was safe.

Then there was Hannah. She’d go spare if she had to sit on her own at break and lunch.

“I’m sorry,” I spat. The words were like poison on my tongue.

“Sorry for what?” Mr Barnes prompted.

My cheeks burned as if someone was holding a brand to my face. “I’m sorry that I attacked you, Justin.”

“That’s right.” Mr Barnes sat back with his hands across his stomach. “You know, I feel privileged to be at the helm of this school. Can you guess why?”

I shook my head, still burning and itching and hating him with every heartbeat. “This school has opportunities, Miss Oh. It isn’t like other institutions, where there is a single popular ‘gang’ in each year with everyone else excluded. I’ve seen people from different year groups ‘run together’, I’ve seen the unpopular suddenly become accepted, even admired. There are opportunities, Miss Oh, for the daring. For those brave enough to grasp them with both hands.”

Justin made his first noise, a cross between a hiccup and a gasp and I frowned at him. Mr Barnes was off on one of his aimless rants. Why was Justin bothered?

Mr Barnes removed his glasses and stared off into space. “This school has history, Miss Oh.” He leaned forward one more time, his eyes suddenly sharp. This time he was looking at Justin. “Qui audet vincit. Who dares wins. Isn’t that right, Mr Hargreaves?”

Justin swallowed, audibly. “That’s right, Mr Barnes.”

Mr Barnes nodded and put his glasses back on. “And there is nothing new under the sun, Miss Oh.” He tapped his paper. “Another detention for you. I’ll also be writing a letter to your father. I’ll expect his reply by return.”

“Taylor, I–” Justin’s voice contained some sort of apology and I wasn’t having that from him, no way.

“Leave me alone.” I slumped back on the sandy chair to wait for the letter that Mr Barnes was emailing to his secretary.

“Fine.” He strode past me without another look.

The chair next to me was occupied by Derek from the year below and I looked across, seeking an empathetic eye-roll. Even I had to admit that the boy was good looking: blemish-free skin, short dreadlocks and a jaw line so firm he could rock a mask and cape if he wanted to.

Today though, he was so pale he looked green and his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap endlessly, like creatures independent of the rest of him. He was hunched over his bag, his whole body tense: a jack-in-the-box ready to spring.