SPOW

Tawni was waiting for me outside French. She grinned her big grin, braces glinting beneath the subdue (i.e. broken) lighting of the corridor, then pounced. 'Son!' (She always calls me Son) 'Is he back? Have you seen him? Have you asked him out for me yet?' she spouted.

No point pretending I didn't know who 'he' was. 'It was wonderful,' I said.

'What was?'

'Sex with Cooper – it lasted all night, despite his jet lag. He says I'm the best lover he's ever had.' She kicked the back of my heel. 'Watch it,' I said, 'they've been polished.'

Best friend leaned heavily against a poster of Mont St Michel and sighed like a Schrunchie. I tried not to notice that it looked as if castle turrets were sticking out of her head. 'To think you live within walking distance of him. How lucky is that? Do you think your mum'd adopt me? I'd be good.'

'Tawni, he's a pig and slime-ball,' I said.

She pondered for a second. 'I object to the term ''slime – ball'' but will accept pig because it's a well – known fact all good – looking blokes are pigs. When can I sleep over?'

'When your taste improves.'

'Bitch.'

'Cow.'

'Slapper.'

'Girls! Really! If you are going to insult each other outside my room do so in the appropriate way!' Mr Whitehead, our French teacher, instructed us.

Tawni straightened to allow him to pass, the turrets disappearing into her hair. 'Vache!' she continued.

'Cochon.'

'Bouton visage.'

'Derriere plus grande !'

'Salope !'

'That's much better.' Mr Whitehead nodded approvingly as he opened the classroom door.

I love French, and Mr Whitehead's ace. He makes lessons interesting by telling us stories and stupid anecdotes about what he got up during his year as an impoverished student in Paris. For example, did you know that they'd cut Napoleon's syphilitic knob off and pickled it? After he'd died, of course. I haven't eaten gherkins since.

Today, though, we were actually doing some work. Mr Whitehead had apologized, explaining the Head (head teacher – principal) expected it of top sets, so we agreed to the assignment this time, providing he didn't make a habit of it. I was well away, booking a twin room for three nights with breakfast and evening meal in l'hôtel de Ginola, when I felt Tawni's leg bash into mine, followed by a strange gurling sound coming from her throat.

I looked up to see Mme Crecy, the exchange teacher, gesticulating wildly to Mr Whitehead; her eyes brimming with tears, her face as pink as a summer pudding. Behind her, Cooper and Harris hung their heads, trying hard not to laugh in case more sawdust fell out. Mr Whitehead gave them a dead – eye and assured Madame he'd 'sort it'. He ordered them to sit in the only two spare places he had – right behind us. Tawni's gurgling stopped abruptly, along with her breathing. I wondered exactly when I'd have to give her mouth – to – mouth.

'We meet again, Munroe,' Pooper whispered. Mr Whitehead immediately slapped a detention slip in front of him, saving me the bother of a reply. I can feel his breath on my neck, Tawni scribbled on her file paper. Think yourself lucky you can't smell it, I scribbled back, and returned to my work.

Mr Whitehead asked us to pack away early because he had an announcement to make. Immediately, he began dispensing handout, talking as he walked along the rows. 'Owing to the mental instability of my department, we have decided to arrange a Year Ten trip to France next Easter. We'll be staying for five nights in a hostel in the medieval walled city of Combourg in Normandy. During our stay we will visit Bayeux, home of needlework, and venture to Paris for a day. Price is fully inclusive of everything, except money for drink and drugs, but places are limited so it's first come, first served. We'll need a deposit of fifty pounds as soon as possible to guarantee a place. And may the Lord have mercy on our souls.'

A trip to France! I wanted to go so much but one glance at the price was enough to make my heart sink. 'Seriously though, this trip will be particularly useful for practising your oral and aural skills before next year's exam, especially those of you wanting a good grade to go on to do A/S level,' Mr Whitehead continued.

'That means us, Son,' Tawni said. 'Are we going?'

'It depends,' I replied.

Mr Whitehead, who must have been standing behind us, leaned down and said, 'You'd better be going, Sonny, I need at least some students with me who won't show me up!'

I folded the handout neatly and slid it into my planner.

'I wonder why he never said that to us?' Nico wisecracked as we all rose to leave.

At lunchtime we joined up with Selena and Grady in the dining hall. They'd had the same details from Mme Crecy and said they were definitely going on the trip. It was all right for them. Selena had infinite guilt – money from her dad (your classic case of 'I'm sorry I ran off and left you all, darling; have a pony' parenting). Grady was more of the 'our son needs all the help he can get when it comes to education, where do we sign?' variety.

'How come Chad and Nico were kicked out of your lesson?' Tawni asked them. It never took her long to bring the subject round to him.

Selena rolled her eyes. 'They just know how to wind her up,' she said dully.

'They sat behind us,' Tawni said dreamily, trying to get a chip in her mouth and missing. 'I could fell Chad's breath on my neck.'

'Oh, for God's sake, haven't you anything better to think about?' Selena snapped.

We stared at her. Selena Marie Gomez never snaps. She's Miss Placid. She reads Jane Austen. She saves whales. She does not snap. 'What's wrong?' Tawni asked.

Selena lowered her eyes. 'It's my mum, she's found a lump on her breast.'

'Oh no,' Tawni whispered.

'She's going to the hospital for tests today. I wanted to go with her but she wouldn't let me. What if it's cancer? What if she dies?'

'She won't,' I said trying to reassure her.

Selena looked at me, her eyes glittering. 'Sophie and me would have to go and stay with Dad in that stupid barn conversion and live with that stupid cow he's shacked up with. I'd rather kill myself,'

Grady put his arms around Selena's shoulders, hugging her. 'Your mum'll be fine,' he told her.