I clear my throat as I reach Diwa's desk. When she don't react, I place the folded shirt in front of her. Nicolás washed it and helped me iron it last night.

'I brought you your shirt.'

'Thanks,' she says without looking up from the worksheet. 'I'd appreciate it if you could look decent for the next competition.'

'Right...'

So will I be allowed to dress myself or do I have to borrow summat from Nicolás? Do he own owt that's not... (yuck) colourful?

'Speaking of the semifinals,' Diwa says, standing up so that Noah and Meira also listen, 'there will be a relay and a pair work round as well so we'll be practising those for the next few weeks.'

I tense, a laugh gathering somewhere in my throat. 'I picked this extracurricular because there weren't any teamwork.'

Her eyes shift to me, so uncaring that they dull. 'Should I show you to the door or can you find it on your own?'

Point taken.

I lower myself into a vacant chair. Tucking my hands into my hoodie pocket, I latch my focus onto her instead of the churn in my stomach. Guilt still clings to me from Sunday morning.

'We won on Saturday, and by a good margin too, but that don't mean we don't have things to improve.'

Oh, fuck's sake.

My intention to be a good apostle flies out the window. 'Why d'you always have to be the best at everything? Can't you just be good enough?'

I swear Diwa's eyes twitch as she turns to me. 'As I said, we all have things we can improve. You have attitude problems.'

I grin. 'I have been told.'

'This is a team, Velez, do you know what that means?'

'Ouch! Didn't realise we were on surname basis, Atangan.'

My joke to her annoyance is like a flea to a battle tank. 'We're not so desperate for you to be here that you can behave however you want. You were late today–'

'By a minute.'

'Seven minutes,' she corrects. 'You have no idea how to manage your time and that's fine when you're doing independent work but when we have rounds like the relay, you have to think about other people's time. Is that something you could be capable of?'

My amusement has entirely drained by the time she's done. Tired of being ignored, the maggots in my gut grow more adamant. Our argument from yesterday is stuck on replay in my mind and with each rerun, it only becomes bloodier. At the speed it whirls, the film reel will slice open my fingers if I attempt to dislodge it.

Regret is followed by frustration at least twice as consuming. Because it's like I said, ain't it? We're not mates. We've chewed each other up since I first went to Isaac Evans in year eight—though my teeth were dull and untrained back then, before wasps studded my tongue with their stingers, and Diwa didn't have talons nor the rapacity of vultures.

Hating each other is summat we've always done. Remorse over hurting Nicolás I somewhat understand, but Diwa?

Diwa.

I don't care about Diwa.

Mockery seeps into my tone even when I intend it sincerity. 'Yes, Miss Atangan. I will learn to manage my time for the best of the team.'

            When Diwa dismisses us just before five, I force myself not to sprint out of the maths classroom like the building were on fire. I make a show of collecting my things with calm like I wouldn't rather be anywhere but here so that both Meira and Noah are gone by the time I get up.

Diwa's phone rings just as I'm about to give her some awkward "see you tomorrow" goodbye and I'm salvaged from faking team spirit. She greets her mum with an astonishingly un-Diwa-like voice; sweet and bright. Ew.

I leave and unfortunately, she leaves right after me which means I've no way of blocking out her voice because my phone has run out of battery. Fantastic! I could try legging it but given my record, any member of staff who sees me might give me detention for running.

Her voice splinters. 'But I thought we– You promised. No, I don't mean– Fine. Sorry. Yeah, I know. Say hi to Alon.'

It has never felt more blissful to step out of the school gates, even now that I can't listen to music. Keeping my skateboard under my arm, I dig out my old watercolour tin.

Footsteps stalk after me and I turn just in time to catch Diwa's sour face. 'Give me one.'

'Like fuck– Oi!'

Diwa snatches the self-rolled fag I've just picked up right out of my hand. She waves her hand expectantly until I dig out my zippo and light it for it like we're in some bloody black-and-white femme fatale film.

Unbelievably masterful job she's doing at the whole "being more likeable" thing.

She wrings her breath through the tobacco only to cough. Her lips curl around the filter. 'This is disgusting.'

'We don't smoke em for the flavour,' I explain and pluck the fag from her fingers.

Lifting it to my mouth, I slide my grip on my skateboard to the nose, ready to drop it to the tarmac but Diwa stops me again.

'D'you have drugs?'

I open my mouth and raise my eyebrows as far as they'll go so I can stare at her with maximum flabbergast. 'I beg your pardon?'

Her cheeks redden. 'Well, you do, don't you?'

I raise a shaking hand to prod her. 'Am I hallucinating this?'

She scowls. But being Diwa, she don't apologise for her gall and audacity to throw around baseless accusations.

I drop my faux curiosity. 'First of all, I bought that shit with my own hard-earned money.' Some would disagree considering I bought it with cash I pickpocketed but haters don't respect skilled labour. 'Second, we're two metres out the school gates. The resident teacher's pet can't do drugs in broad daylight. Two plus two equals fuck off.'

Diwa grabs my arm to keep me from leaving yet again. 'I need summat from you,' she says. 'I let you into maths olympiad. You owe me.'

I scoff but indicate that she should continue.

Her impudent boldness shrivels and she scratches her cuticles. 'I need you to help me not look "like a narc". I mean, I don't want all that.' She gestures at me. 'Just some clothes that my mum didn't pick for me.'

And she came to me? What is she expecting, some Clueless makeover sequence where we do each other's makeup and share secrets? We. are not. mates!

'You shouldn't change yourself to impress some girl.'

'I'm not tryna change myself to impress a girl,' she sasses. 'I'm trying to change myself to piss off my mother.'

I drag an inhale of my cigarette, pursing my lips around it to keep them from easing into a smile. Just cause Diwa says one funny sentence don't mean I'm gonna laugh!

Oh, I am going to regret this.

'Fine. I'll make you look like someone with decent music taste. How much money you got?'

She blushes again. 'Well... Zero.'

'Ah.' Finally, clarity shines on me like the first day of the sun after weeks of rain. 'Now I see why you came to me.'