"Hey, John – how’s it going, mate?  I’ve been trying to get hold of you since-"

   It was Monday morning, and Richard already felt as if his navy-blue tie and cardboard-stiff shirt collar were trying to strangle him: physically, mentally and spiritually.

   John shrugged.  "You know what it’s like at my place, Rich.  Mum had to look after our Becky’s little girl, all weekend.  Gavin’s still grounded, so he’s winding Mum up almost non-stop, out of sheer boredom.  It doesn’t help that Jenna keeps hogging the computer, messing about on that website of hers.  Gav never gets a look-in, and it’s not as if he’s got much else to do, stuck indoors the whole time.  Today, as if Topaz throwing one of her usual weekday morning tantrums wasn’t enough, Jenna’s rat escaped, and me and Mum spent a full hour chasing him all over the bloody house.  Then, you’ll never guess what our Jake…Richard, this isn’t funny, you know.  You try living in a madhouse, like ours."

   Richard loosened his tie.  "Wish I could, mate.  It sounds a lot better than my mum’s.  There’s more than one kind of 'madhouse', and I know which type I’d prefer."

   Again, John shrugged.  "Whatever," he muttered, indifferently.

   "So, w-what were you doing at Charlotte’s place?"

   "I asked her to talk to Emma for me."

   "Not your best idea.  What did she say?"

   "That it wouldn’t help.  That she was the 'last person' Emma wanted to see, at the moment."

   Rich nodded.  "I can see that.  So, did you talk to Emma yourself?"

   "No, but I spoke to her sister, who told me to get stuffed, but in slightly stronger language."

   "Probably best to leave it for a bit.  Emma really likes you, but she isn’t going to go back out with you just like that, after you went off with her best mate."

   "Who are you, Rich – my sodding relationships counsellor?  Hey, where are you going, Anderson?"

   "Registration."  Richard glanced at his watch.  "The bell went nearly ten minutes ago, mate."

   "You, Richard Anderson, actually going to Registration – and under ten minutes late, at that?  Sure you’re feeling okay?"

   "You coming?"

   "No, I’ll give it a miss.  Catch you later, Rich."

   Charlotte couldn’t believe that Jessica Burgess – an almost suspiciously quiet girl, to whom she and Emma ordinarily paid little or no attention – was still off sick.  Had to be the third week, at least?  If she could have been bothered, Charlotte might even have been vaguely concerned about Jessica’s state of health.

   Of course, right now, all she could think about was the seating arrangements for Registration.  She had to make a decision, and fast.

   Makes sense, Fisher, she told herself, bitterly.  Your life is completely screwed up, and you’re worrying about who to sit next to in class.

   What should she do, though?  She had been relying on Jessica, the class "loner", who could almost always be utilised, as a last resort.

   Charlotte momentarily hovered by Lauren Taylor’s desk, but thought better of it.  It had occurred to her that Lauren would be stuck on her own as well, now that Emma was, by default, best friends with Bryony.  This would be an unmissable opportunity for Donna Mann, who was, everyone well knew, Lauren’s "best mate" when – and only when – it suited her.  Donna was always trying to get "in with" Tracey, whose elder brother, Bill, was, quite possibly, the chief attraction.  Tracey normally sat with Bryony during Registration, and any lessons for which the two girls were in the same class.

   Charlotte took a deep breath, and proceeded directly past Lauren’s desk, and that at which Tracey and Donna sat, giggling like little kids, at some article in one of those poxy "teen" mags, which Donna was always bringing in.  Emma’s elder sister had used to read something similar.  Personally, Charlotte had always considered such publications to be basically crap, and the tone of the writers more than a little patronising.  Of course, that was the least of her worries, right then.

   When she came to Emma and Bry, she decided not to blank them.  "Hi," she almost whispered.

   "What’s that smell?" demanded Bryony, looking at Emma in mock puzzlement.  "It’s disgusting.  Smells like some filthy whore, who hangs about at King’s Cross."

   "Yeah, right.  As if anyone would pay to go with that," remarked Emma.  "She’d have to pay them."

   Charlotte felt the sting of fresh tears, but was determined not to give them the satisfaction.  She could feel their classmates’ greedy gazes upon the "entertainment", with which she and Emma were kindly providing them, free of charge.

   "If I have to pay blokes to shag me because I’m so 'disgusting', I don’t know what that makes someone whose boyfriend prefers me to her," she heard herself blurting out, almost against her own will.

   Almost.

   "You bitch!" screamed Emma, leaping out of her seat, and grabbing Charlotte by the hair.

   At which moment, Miss Bell, their form teacher, swept into the room, closely followed by Richard Anderson.

   "Right, take a seat please, girls!  The two of you can stay behind, after I’ve taken the register, and explain what’s been going on here.  And Richard – go and sit down, too, please.  Nice of you to join us, by the way.  Where’s John?"

   Richard shrugged.

   "Answer me properly, please."

   "I don’t know, Miss." He was already heading for the back of the classroom, and the desk at which Charlotte was now seated.

   Charlotte’s heart thudded, as it dawned on her that Richard was actually going to sit next to her. 

   At least he was still talking to her, anyway.  That was something, wasn’t it?

   "See you later, Charlie," said Rich.

   Charlotte nodded.  She was acutely aware that Bryony, Tracey, Donna and Lauren were all lingering, in the locker room, which was directly opposite to Miss Bell’s room.

   All of them had sided with Emma, which hurt, but by no means surprised, Charlotte.

   But Richard hadn’t.  Even though that would probably entail his falling out with the bitch Julie Bishop’s bitch of a sister.  Somehow, even that didn’t help, though.  It just made everything feel even more confusing, and made it even harder for Charlotte not to burst into tears.

   "…and, as you must both be well aware, I will not tolerate…Charlotte, have you actually been listening to any of this?"

   "I – er - I just…"

   "Not a word!  You haven’t heard a single word – have you?  Do either of you have anything whatsoever to say, regarding your unbelievable behaviour?"

   "Sorry," mumbled Emma, half-heartedly.

   "Sorry, Miss Bell," added Charlotte, every bit as reluctantly.  "It won’t happen again."

   "Let’s hope not, shall we?"  The teacher glanced at her expensive-looking gold wristwatch, which Charlotte decided was probably one of those dodgy ones, off the market. "I’d like you girls to make your way to your lessons, please, or you’ll be late.  I should probably detain you after school, but I shan’t do so, on this occasion.  I presume that this incident is a one-off, in which case we need say no more about it.  Just so long as there isn’t a repeat performance.  If you aren’t getting on at the moment, then stay out of each other’s way, but no more displays of violence on the school premises.  Have I made myself clear?"

   "Yes, Miss Bell," muttered Charlotte.

   "Emma?"

   "Yes, Miss."