"Ah, I - I am so sorry."

I heard him say it, but I was too busy trying not to fall over to look at him. Those footballs look soft, but when they hit you in the face, they hurt. You probably already know this. I'm just saying that I had an excuse for both a) staggering and grabbing hold of a student's chair-back, and for b) swearing at the new boy eighteen times in around thirty seconds.

"That's probably fair," he said, after he'd eventually managed to scramble over to me. He bent down to look at me, but I turned away to hide the watering in my eyes. "Eesh. You have a really big red mark on your cheek..."

It's funny how in that kind of situation the pain makes you really angry, but also makes you feel a lot like crying. Or maybe it's just me. Anyway, it was the worst kind of reaction in front of a whole cafeteria full of students, particularly when most of them were sufficiently into sports to be have experienced way worse. Having attention drawn to the stinging red mark was not helping, but there was no way I was crying in front of them. I went all-out angry instead. 

"If you don't stop talking,"  I said to the football star, holding my hand over my cheek, "I'm going to put that ball somewhere unmentionable." 

And I turned to look at him. 

The feeling was almost as physical as that blow to the head. He was hot, like Fiona had said, but more than that, he was just the kind of hot that I always seem to find attractive. That lean, muscular, slightly dangerous-looking kind of guy with a smile that was just a little bit uncertain, and as sexy as his green-eyed gaze was piercing. And there was a tension to him that implied he was holding something back. 

I didn't see which one of the guys it was who muttered, "Watch it. She'll probably do it." 

It was definitely the footballer who replied, "Maybe I won't risk it." I could tell because he said it straight at me, quietly. 

I'm normally good at comebacks. I mean, I'm not a genius at them, but I'd found that years of snapping retorts at people - mainly guys - had made me pretty decent at firing back something withering. I even represented my school at debating for three years, which is a pretty good way of being smart-talking. 

But right then, when I was in genuine need of something genius, my mind was a total blank. Worse than that, I could feel my face starting to grow hot as I did nothing but stare back at him for several seconds.

I had to get out of there, and so I muttered the lamest, "Maybe you shouldn't," and spun and walked away. 

I heard him asking someone, "Who's she?" when I was halfway to the door.

I also heard them answer, "Oh, don't even bother."

Yup, don't bother, I willed him, shoving my tray away and escaping through the swing-doors. It would be bad news for at least one of us. 

I don't know if you've ever been ditched by your best friend in favour of a love interest, but if you haven't, it's worth knowing that it's not all that different from breaking up with someone, and both of them are strangely like grieving. You spend the first few days instinctively checking your phone for a text from them, and then wonder what it is that you're checking for. And every so often, you think of something you'd love to tell them about before you remember that you can't talk to them any more. 

Every time you remember, it's a little bit like tripping up. Your heart-beat picks up, and you feel jolted; almost scared. And then you carry on walking, a little bit sadder about the world.

Those days are lonely, and make you veer between hiding yourself away, and wanting to reach out to people. In my case, I generally end up phoning my Mom. Which means she generally expects me to have some kind of heartache to spill.

I didn't do it straight away. I knew that calling her would end in a lecture on how to avoid this happening again. But having spent the thirty-six hours after Dan and Fiona fell for each other trying not to lay eyes on them, or the new footballer, or anyone else who had once been close to me and now wasn't, I was aching to talk to someone. So I hid from Maria and Luke in my room, and made myself a comfortable mound of pillows to lean back on while I talked. 

She picked up after seven rings, sounding a little distracted. 

"Hi Hels. How's it going?"

"Oh, it's... fine. Is this a bad time?"

"No, no," she replied, which I was pretty sure actually meant yes. "I'm just giving Fernando a haircut."

"Ahhh. Well, if you need to concentrate..." 

"I'll just put you on speakerphone."

I hate it when she does that. It's always impossible to hear anything she's saying, and it means I have about thirty percent of her focus. And as much as I love Fernando, who is my godfather as well as her new husband and one of the kindest, most patient people, I can't say everything to him that I could say to my Mom. 

"Mom, don't worry-"

I could hear her clattering with the phone.

"There you go!"

Bingo. She sounded like she was talking from a cave somewhere in the far East. Just what I wanted.

"Fernando's here too," she added, as if that hadn't been obvious.

"Hi, Helena," he called.

"Hey Fernando. You still have your head?"

I could hear him laughing. "So far, I think. She hasn't let me check in the mirror, though..."

"It looks great!" Mom argued, and then bellowed, "So how are things?"

I started with my great math tutorial and my good grades, but Mom wasn't fooled. In a short pause, she asked, "How's Fiona?"

"Ah, she's great," I said, wondering if I should just leave it. But I knew Mom would quiz me if I didn't confess, so I went on to tell her about Dan.

"So obviously, she hasn't been in contact with me since."

"It's only been a day and a half," Mom argued. "She'll remember you."

"I'm sure she will," I said, doubtfully. "But it won't be the same."

"But that's ok! People pair up. It happens as you get older. It doesn't mean they can't have friends too. Friends are important."

"I know, Mom," I said, on a sigh. "It's just that most people I know seem to get a little... obsessed."

"It's just your age, Hels. Maybe the answer is to be less picky about dating, and then you can hang out together without it being awkward."

I'd argued with her over this so many times before, I couldn't summon up the energy to go through it again. 

"I'll bear it in mind," I told her. 

"If I were you, I'd go out," she added. "Distract yourself with other people."

I was so far from in the mood right now it was almost funny. 

"I have to study tonight," I told her. "But there's that big scholars dinner on Friday."

"Ohhh, you'll need a new dress!" she enthused. "Fernando, can you transfer her some money...?"

"Sure," I heard him say, and neither of them heard my feeble attempts at arguing. The truth was, getting dressed up in finery and going out would make me feel better. And the scholars dinners were usually good fun, populated with some pretty smart and pretty strange people. The conversation was never shallow, even if sometimes it focused a little bit too much on someone's studies and not enough on the real world. 

To me, just now, that sounded perfect. 

"Are you sure?" I asked, once they'd finished discussing adding a little bit so I could get a haircut.

"It sounds like you could do with a little pampering," Mom said. "OK, done! The money's in your account." And then she laughed in a way that told me Fernando had grabbed her.

"OK, I'd better go," I said, loudly. They just about remembered to say goodbye.

I spent a while before bedtime looking up dresses, earmarking the stores I really wanted to go to. And then I booked a haircut and slept thinking positively about the next few days in some small way. The dinner was a distraction, and it was safe. It wouldn't mean getting close to anyone who was going to break my heart all over again, or having to watch my best friend smooch with her new love interest.

As it turned out, I was only right on one of those counts.