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urgently. ‘Don’t make me go on my own! Besides, aren’t I micro-managing your ass?’
    She had a point. And Dance Club was only an hour a week. ‘Fine!’ I hissed. ‘But your micro-management had better work! I want to be normal!’
    She nodded sagely in a
leave that with me, darlin’
way, but for some reason I felt a little uneasy. Maybe because Mr Lang was calling Mr van der Merwe up on stage. Mr van der Merwe is our PE teacher. He’s a big, hairy and scary Afrikaans man from South Africa, who had been in the Olympic team way back when. He took no nonsense, and drilled the Hambledon Girls’ High rowing squad till their hands bled.
    How people pronounce his name was always a tedious issue with him: ‘Not
van
,’ he’d roar. ‘
Van
like you say
fun
, okay? And not
Merwe
like
merwah
; it’s
maaaairvah
, like
hair
, okay? And
vvv
not
w
!’ We nodded and did our best, but it wasn’t long before he was Mr VDM, and then, predictably, just plain old VD, but not to his face, obviously.
    ‘Ladies,’ said Mr Lang, ‘I must have your careful attention now. As you all know, state education is always at the mercy of budget cuts and the like. Despite seamless efficiency from the staff here at Hambledon Girls’, and the same from teachers over at Hambledon Boys’, both schools have had further crippling budget cuts. We have been forced to consider dispensing with some of the classes, clubs and sports that we provide. This would be a terrible blow for the future of the school as more and more of our individuality is whittled away.’
    I looked at Carrie. She was frowning. I could see Tam wasn’t paying much attention, but Alex had taken anotebook out of her blazer pocket and she’d already jotted down a headline:
Education
We Don’t Need No Budget Cuts
    Mr Lang was still rocking back and forth on his heels, but he now held his hands importantly behind his back. ‘In order to prevent this from happening, we have spent the half-term break and the last two weeks in meetings with our brother school –’
    Tam jolted to attention.
    ‘– and have decided that by combining certain classes and activities, we can keep our options open.’
    There was a whole lot of excited chatter. Jessica Hartley, at the end of our row, was fanning herself with her hand and going quite pink.
    ‘We will be trialling this for a term only, starting today, and if there is any’ – Mr Lang paused – ‘
any
silliness from you ladies, we will have to reconsider.’
    More excited chatter, though slightly subdued.
    ‘I would ask you to remember the good name that this school has and to do everything to uphold it. We are not a co-educational school and never will be. Please continue to learn responsibly.’
    There was a smattering of applause from the teachersstanding along the rows of chairs in the hall.
    Mr Lang smiled quickly and ended with, ‘I need to take a call from Mrs Pantoffel now. I leave you with Mr van der Merwe, who will be explaining rowing-club sessions in light of this announcement.’
    ‘Girls,’ Mr VD began. ‘This term I had arranged for Boris Weinstührer to row in and coach a number of boats.’ He waited. No reaction. He flicked out his hands in frustration. ‘Boris Weinstührer! German schoolboy gold medallist!’ No reaction. Mr VD sighed and shook his head. ‘Well, we nearly lost out, but thanks to the combined forces with the boys’ school, Boris is on his way with an exchange programme, and we will share coaching sessions with the boys.’
    Now there was response! Jessica Hartley had actually
screamed
.
    ‘Thank goodness you don’t row, Lula,’ muttered Carrie. ‘Water, boats, boys . . .’ She shuddered.
    I, too, was thankful. ‘Why’s Jessica so excited?’ I asked.
    Carrie shrugged, but Tam leaned over. ‘She’s in the squad!’ she whispered.
    ‘Jessica does a
sport
?’ I was incredulous. ‘No!’
    Matilda McCabe turned to give me a hard stare. ‘Jess is good,’ she said. ‘She’s