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big teacher’s desk at one end and four large wooden tables in the middle of the room. My heart leaped. Four tables meant a one-in-four chance Eve and I would sit at the same one.
    The walls were covered with artwork. I wandered round, trying to spot Eve’s name in the corner of any of the pictures.
    “Hi, Luke, is it?” Ms Patel waddled over. “What’s the project you’re working on?”
    My mouth went dry. Stupid stupid stupid. Why hadn’t I realised that if I joined an Art Club I’d have to do some art?
    “Er . . . I don’t have a project,” I said. “I just wanted to try some stuff out.”
    Ms Patel frowned at me. “Well, most students here use the time to work on their GCSE coursework. But I know you’re not taking Art GCSE. Which medium did you want to work in?”
    I’ll do whatever Eve’s doing.
    “Maybe I could just start off with some ordinary drawing,” I stammered. “Then see what grabs me.”
    Ms Patel pursed her lips. “OK.” She pointed to one corner. “Paper and charcoal over there. Watercolours by the sink. But I suggest you begin with pencil. Why don’t you try sketching the vase of flowers on the window ledge.”
    She walked over to the long window, picked up a small white vase filled with some sort of large daisies, and plonked it on a table near the back of the room.
    I gathered a sheet of paper and some satisfyingly sharp pencils and sat down. A few more people had come in by now. Only one boy, though, I noticed. Perhaps I should tell Numbers about Art Club. On second thoughts, I didn’t need any more competition for Eve than I already had.
    She arrived about ten minutes later. My heartbeat accelerated when I saw her. I looked quickly back down at my drawing. So far it looked more like an eggcup with alien heads growing out of it than a vase of flowers.
    Eve sat down at the table at the back next to mine. She started chatting in a low voice to the two girls already sitting there. Out of the corner of my eye I watched a slick of sleek blonde hair fall sexily over her shoulder. It brushed across the edge of the bra strap that was peeking out from under her top. I closed my eyes and imagined rushing over, pushing the hair back and . . .
    When I opened my eyes, her hair was tucked behind her ears and she was concentrating on the piece of paper in front of her. I squinted, trying to make out what she was working on, without staring too obviously.
    It looked like she was sticking down bits and pieces of paper – a collage of some sort.
    “How’s it going, Luke?” Ms Patel’s voice beside me made me jump.
    “Er, not so good, Ms Patel,” I said, honestly. “I don’t think drawing’s really my thing.”
    “Mmmn,” she said. “Well, is there anything else you’d like to try?”
    “I was thinking about doing a collage,” I stammered.
    “What of?”
    Jesus. Ms Patel should get an award for asking difficult questions.
    I stared helplessly round the room. My eyes lit on an old radio on the teacher’s desk. “Music,” I said. “I’d like to find some way of expressing the way music sounds in a picture. That’s why collage is the perfect . . . er . . . er . . . medium.”
    “You mean because the sound is non-linear?” Ms Patel said. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I nodded anyway.
    “Mmmn.” Ms Patel nodded slowly. “I like it. The expression of the inexpressible. A disjointed refraction of the light within sound.”
    “Exactly,” I said.
    Ms Patel beamed at me.
    “You need to decide on the kind of collage materials you want to use. I’ll ask Eve if she can spare five minutes for a chat with you about the best options. She’s doing a marvellous collage as part of her GCSE coursework.”
    I sat frozen to my seat. Eve was going to talk to me. Me. On my own. About collage materials, whatever they were.
    There was no time to think. I heard Ms Patel talking, then the sound of a chair being scraped backwards across the floor. I looked up.
    Oh God. She was