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here, everyone. Put your hands in the middle. Repeat after me. I faithfully promise . . . on the spirit of . . .’ Damn, I’ve run out of inspiration already. ‘Of what?’
    â€˜Of the seminal leotard?’ Rose suggests, through chattering teeth.
    â€˜Of the seminal leotard,’ I agree gratefully, ‘that I will have fun tonight.’
    Still shaking, they faithfully promise. Outside, the barn is already jumping to the sound of Call of Duty. If I could be at home right now, wrapped up in my duvet and playing Fruit Ninja, I totally would.
    When we get to the barn, the Castle College band are already halfway through their set. We slip in through the open door and stand near the back, watching them over the heads of the crowd.
    They’re very good, there’s no denying it. The band is made up of three boys and a girl, sixth-formers like George. There has always been rivalry between their school and St Christopher’s, and Castle College always wins. They have more playing fields, better players, grander music facilities, more teachers, richer parents. That’s one of the many reasons why it’s so amazing that we’ve recently overtaken Call of Duty on Killer Act.
    Watching them now, I can’t make sense of that at all. The drummer at the back is short and wiry, but all three of the others could happily pass for models at Abercrombie, including the two boys at the front – both on guitar. They look alike, with the same floppy hair and high cheekbones, and the same lazy smiles. Over their jeans and T-shirts, they’re both wearing open red military jackets with lots of gold embroidery. Mrs Venning could sell those for a fortune. They make the boys look super-posh, and very intimidating.
    Scariest of all, though, is the girl who plays bass. She has a huge shock of tawny blonde hair, perfect skin, a tiny body – dressed in a black PVC mini and a leather jacket with the sleeves ripped off – and the same powerful attitude as the boys, leaping around the stage and glaring at the audience, daring them not to have a good time.
    Luckily, everybody’s having the time of their lives. The band are in the middle of a song they wrote that seems to be called ‘It’s Not About You’, given how many times they roar out that line at the crowd. It’s got most of the boysmoshing in a self-made pit, while half the girls are practically throwing themselves at the singer. He’s soaking up the attention. Every time he glances out at the crowd, the girls at the front actually scream.
    â€˜God, that boy is up himself,’ Jodie shudders from beside me. Even she can’t help doing her moves to the music, though.
    â€˜He’s called Ed,’ says a girl in front of us, looking round, beaming. ‘Ed Matthews.’ She laughs and shows us her wrist, where the letters E and M are intertwined in twirling blue.
    â€˜That’s not a real tattoo, is it?’ Jodie asks, amazed.
    The girl shakes her head. ‘But one day . . .’
    Jodie rolls her eyes.
    I’m torn. The military jacket thing is very posey and irritating, the screaming and fake tattoos are just plain embarrassing, but the boys are . . . interesting, bordering on hot. Something happens when I’m surrounded by music. All my emotions are intensified. It’s why gigs and festivals are so dangerous for me. However, I refuse ever to sink so low as to be a screaming groupie. And besides, my stomach is performing somersaults at the thought that we’re about to go onstage in just a few minutes.
    I look around to the others for support, and notice that Rose has disappeared. Nell mimes being sick and points to the doorway, looking worried. I nip out straight away to find Rose.
    She’s leaning against the side of the barn with her eyes closed.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ I ask, although it’s obvious she’s not.
    â€˜I’ll be OK,’ she says, breathing deeply.