A ketchup packet zips through the air, dangerously close to the edge of my nose as it flies by.

"Sorry, Angie," Gordon shouts from the other end of the lunch table, screwing his lips into a grin. "Barbie asked for the ketchup."

Babe catches the whizzing condiment with a baseball mitt-like clasp.

"I said slide me the ketchup, knobhead, not lob it across the table."

She eyes Gordon as she tears the packet open with her teeth, but I can tell she's warming up to him because she didn't bite his head of when he called her 'Barbie'.

Our ordinary lunch spot, the long laminate table at the front of the dining hall, has a few extra today – Scott, Jimi, Gordon and Ray – and, as it turns out, they're quite the guests.

"Wait wait," Cara says, tucking her hair behind both of her ears as she interrupts Jimi's story. "So, John is going out with Beth, Carrie and Heather at the same time? And they have no idea?

Across the table, Jimi nods with his hands locked atop his head and a smug smile on his face, as though it's his own personal accomplishment.

"No idea. He just tells them he's not allowed to date during the school term 'cause his parents want him to focus on earning a scholarship, so they've gotta keep things on the low, and..." Rather self-satisfied, he mimics a zip of his lips.

Babe leans back and her chair, unimpressed.

"And just how do you know we won't tell all three of them that you just told us the truth?"

Jimi sits forward.

"Because Caz wouldn't risk exposing me and losing her direct access to the boys' gossip..."

Cara rolls her eyes but doesn't disagree. Probably because he's not wrong.

"Angie I trust..." He continues.

I bat my eyelashes sweetly, outwardly thanking him for the compliment, and inwardly making a note to text Heather, Beth and Carrie.

"And you, dear Barbara, are just a little bit in love with me," Jimi shrugs with an air of arrogance as he pops a ketchup-drenched chip into his mouth. "Even though you won't admit it."

Jimi's only roused by the middle finger Babe flips him, winking in response.

"Mm," Caz hums, "but does John know Heather's dad is a nightclub bouncer?"

Glancing to the seat to my left, I smile when I see Scott gnawing his lip in concentration as he follows the table's back-and-forth. Since that day in the library, he's been around more and more – sticking around after we have the same class; walking to the gates with us when we're early to school.

It was awkward at first, of course. 'Girl talk' had to be revised and made fit for teenage boy ears, but now the girls don't seem to mind. Having Scott and the rest around means lunch is always a laugh, whether I'm beating Jimi in an arm wrestle, or Gordon's pushing Babe's buttons in a game of Truth or Dare. Plus, it gives us direct access to locker talk. Scott seems to enjoy his fair share of the gossip too, as much as he claims otherwise.

Jimi waves a dismissive hand.

"So...?" He scoffs.

Chiming in with a facetious smirk as I take a sip of water, I tease,

"So, if he ever gets caught by Heather's dad, John had better hope he's stronger than you are..."

The boys erupt into their 'ooh's and 'oh shit's, and I'm feeling particularly pleased when Ray leans across the table for a strong fist bump. He doesn't speak as much or as loudly as the others, but he's got this quiet confidence that makes his presence a friendly comfort.

"Ray, d'you want some of my chips or something? Did you not want hot lunch?" I glimpse skeptically at his lunch of Redbull and Skittles.

Rattling his bag of sweets, he shakes his head,

"Forgot to top up my lunch card. Hot lunch is a quid thirty; these bad boys are 30p."

"Fucks' sake, Ray," I laugh, pushing my tray towards him, "take some."

With a small smile, he picks a few chips, and nods his thanks,

"Thanks, Angie."

"Ah-ah! Don't even think about it," I say, smacking Gordon's hand as it reaches into my plate. "You've got your own."

"Wow. Just when I thought we were becoming friends."

Making friends in sixth form is hard enough; especially once everybody's found their 'people' and made their cliques and crews. These lot, though, seem to have matched up nicely. Gordon's full of jokes, although he's usually the butt of them; Ray's everyone's cool older brother, with a reserved kindness that reminds me of Babe; and Jimi and Caz are so alike they might as well be siblings. And as for Scott and I...

He laughs along as Gordon bargains with Babe for her chips, before he turns to me with his head tilted like a puppy, flashing his pretty smile.

"Might I have a chip, Evangeline?" He says, facetious and quiet so Gordon doesn't start up again. "Just one?"

"Why, of course you may."

I suppose I've got something off a soft spot for him. It feels like I can tell him absolutely anything without him judging me; and he always knows just what to say to make me smile. Calling him one of my best mates feels a little premature, but what else does one call the only boy on their Instagram Close Friends list?

"So, why did I get the honour of a chip, then? Why am I the Chosen One?" He smirks, his voice still close as he asks.

Babe reckons he likes me. When he texted me whilst I was at hers this weekend, she was adamant he was flirting. Sometimes, when he looks at me like he is now, all soft-gazed and teasing, I consider it. But the thought goes as quickly as it comes as I remind myself that he's Scott fucking Kellerman. He's confident, charming; kryptonite to every girl in our school within a mile radius. If he liked me, he'd swagger right up to me and let me know. He's a cool new friend, and that's all.

"'Cause I felt bad for you," I joke. "I smoked you in that Econ quiz today, so I thought I'd offer you a pity chip."

"A pity chip?"

"Mhm."

"Oh, so I help you with Econ and you leave me in the dust with nothing but a pity chip? Is that what's happened?

Laughing at his feigned hurt, I ruffle his light, brown hair.

"The student became the master, Kellerman. It's an inevitable evolution."

"Well, student, I think y-"

"Psst, Angie. Psst."

Gordon's failed attempt at an inconspicuous whisper catches our attention. I lean in towards the table and match his whisper to ask,

"Why are we whispering?"

"Okay, don't make it bait," he speaks quietly, "but Macklin is staring holes in the side of your head right now."

"What?"

At the sound of his name, I freeze.

I haven't even seen him since that night. It's been so long since I've talked about him that hearing his name feels like hearing a curse – something that isn't supposed to be said aloud. Knowing that he's here, that his eyes are on me, makes me sit up a little bit, even though I don't want to. I don't want to care that he's looking at me but my heart is racing at the thought.

Scott jumps in before anyone else, trying to laugh it off as nothing.

"Come off it, G. He's probably zoning out, thinking about whatever bullshit assignment he'll set next."

"Nah, I'm serious!" Gordon insists. "Every time Angie looks down, he stares. Did you turn in an essay late or something?"

The girls, Scott and I all catch eyes – I'm too scared to look over, but all at once, their eyes dart to Eric on the other side of the room.

Scott looks down at me, and with a sighing nod, confirms it.

So he's looking at me. Why is he looking at me?

"Oh, shit!" Jimi laughs, "I heard he's dating someone in the sixth form. Are you the lucky one, Angie?"

I know he's teasing because he's wiggling his thick black brows, but that doesn't stop my heart from going a thousand miles a minute at the thought that I used to be.

"Dunno, Jimi - are you?" I cock my neck in feigned confidence. Luckily he buys it, and none the wiser, he chuckles a 'touché' and moves onto footie talk with Scott and the boys.

I push the battered fish around my plate with my fork. I don't know where to look now. When my phone buzzes, lighting up with a new text, I look there.

Caz: good news! he looks terrible

Babe liked this message.

Babe: ignore him, ange <3

I look up at the two of them, Caz across from me, and Babe at the head of the table, and mouth a silent 'I love you guys'.

'We love you, too,' they mime back, and that's almost enough to make me zone back in and turn to some trivial topic of conversation - Eastenders, or the new PE teacher. But now that I know he's there, it's like I can feel him, see him without looking.

Don't look, Evangeline. Don't look.

But I do.

And sure enough, the second I do, he looks away, across his table at Miss Church, his brows shooting up into a look of rapt interest in whatever she's blathering about. His knuckles are white from clenching the cutlery in his hands. His food is untouched.

I wish Caz was right, but he doesn't look like shit. Church bobbles her head when she speaks, and he laughs, wide-mouthed and loud, flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth. He's as charming as ever, if not a little pale, like he's skipped breakfast. I wish he'd stop doing that – I always tell him to at least grab a juice before work so he doesn't hav-

He's not mine anymore. He's not my problem anymore.

I have to repeat it like a mantra; get it into my head. I don't care that he's wearing a blazer today, even though he never wears blazers. I don't care that he doesn't look half as miserable as I felt, as he chats away trivially like nothing's wrong. I don't care. I don't. Maybe if I say it enough, it'll be true.

'I don't care', I say internally once more before turning back to my fish and chips. I'm not even hungry anymore, but I make myself finish the cod. That's what a girl who doesn't care would do. I try and tune back in to whatever the table's talking about.

"...all over him at the party. Three years later, and she still wants him back!"

Catching the tail end of Jimi's sentence, I ask,

"Who's this we're talking about?"

"Bonnie Wyatt – we think she's been trying to drop hints for Scott to ask her out all week. She's for sure still in love with him."

"Ooh, I could see that," I nod reflectively. "And what does Scott think?"

The bell sounds for the end of lunch, and the hordes start to form as crowds of kids head to the stairway.

"I think I'm going to be late if you lot don't move your arses," Scott says, standing to his feet and avoiding the question.

Ah, Bonnie – the other, and perhaps most convincing, piece of evidence that Scott doesn't like me. Whenever the guys bring her up, Bonnie, the bold and beautiful ex-girlfriend with her winks and waves, he swerves the question – which, more often than not, equals lingering feelings. Not that I care, of course.

In the exodus, the lunch hall is too loud for any more interrogation, so he's off the hook as everyone says their goodbyes and heads for their stairwell.

When I reach the stairs for the fourth floor, he's still behind me.

"You on fourth?" I yell over the sounds of clanging plates and charging crowds.

"Yeah, Physics," he yells back.

I smile, and turn to head up, but I feel his gentle tap on my shoulder.

"Hey," he says, and his voice is loud enough that I can hear him but nobody else can. "Are you okay? You know, seeing... him and everything?"

With my back against the wall, and his tall frame shielding me from the passing crowds, from Eric's eyes, I feel safe. I nod.

"Yeah. A bit shaken but I'm a big girl. Thank you, Scott."

We're both taken by surprise when I push up onto my toes to hug him. His body is rigid at first, but slowly he cranes his neck, leaning down to return the hug, as his warm arms wrap themselves around me, and his heartbeat sounds against my ear. I thank him again before we make our way to class, and laugh when I feel him link his arm through mine so that we don't lose each other as we head up the over packed stairs.

"You know... actually I'm not okay. I think I'd feel much better, though, if you gave me another clue about your girl."

It's cheeky, I know. I've been pressing him for my next clue all week, but he laughs and, this time, he obliges me, screwing his face up as he thinks of another.

"You're sneaky, Channing. Lucky for you I'm feeling kind. Okay, clue number..."

"3."

"Clue number 3 is that she is... strong."

He chuckles when he sees my mind start turning as I squint, trying to recall who was particularly able in PE class, and whether or not any of them smelt like jasmine and vanilla. I can't help but think of Bonnie first, but as far as I remember, with her long nails and blasé attitude, gym was never her forte.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Channing. I'll see you later."

And with a final soft smile, he heads off to his class.

Thank you guys so much for reading! I know I keep saying I don't tend to leave messages but I have to ask – is 'fish and chip Friday' just a British thing, or do they do it in other places in the world too? It used to be my absolute favourite and I'm very curious.