We said we weren't going to tell anyone else about this whole dating app debacle and I really, really (really) didn't want to. But have you ever tried to organise a surprise, public publicity stunt when you don't want anyone to know that you're the ones who organised it? Turns out you need help.

Luckily, my best friend is the romance-loving, spotlight-loving Captain of 'Noted' – St Mark's Grammar's competitive Acapella group. Enter stage left... Cassie Malloy.

"You're sure the whole group is down for this?" Trav asked Cass last night, fidgety hands leaving track marks through his blond hair. His excitement had been palpable and annoyingly contagious.

"Relax," Cass told him. The faint heat rash blooming across her chest was the only sign she wasn't as chill about joining forces with the cool crowd as she might otherwise have seemed. "I told you, they're in."

What Cass didn't tell Trav, was that she maybe/probably/definitely told her Acapella friends a little white lie to get them on board. Something about a real company looking to make a grassroots, homemade Ad?

Yes, I am now the fake co-CEO of a fake matchmaking service that is lying to its non-existent contractors. I have so many reasons to be proud of myself this week.

Unfortunately, a surprise Acapella performance isn't much use as a marketing gimmick without someone to film it. Enter stage right... Chomper Chomsky. Turns out Matt Chomsky is a wannabe filmmaker with his own fancy equipment – who knew? 

Of course, where Trav and Chomper go, Cecily Ryan is never far behind.

So, then we were five. The weirdest quintet ever.

Right now, we are two. Trav and me. Early Saturday afternoon. Sitting on the swing chair on his front veranda waiting for the troops to return from their secret mission. Neither of us is saying anything as we swing slowly back and forth. I can't quite work out if the silence is comfortable or not.

We've spent most of the past 24 hours together. It hasn't been entirely horrible. The boy can be vaguely charming when he puts his mind to it.

Recess and lunch time yesterday were all about trying to come up with a plan; roping in Cass, Cecily and Chomper and swearing them to secrecy.

Last night and this morning have been spent with Gemma and her friends Gordo and Marissa – ironing out bugs (I say that like I have any clue what I am talking about) and designing the app interface. It's been... interesting.

Gordo is huge. Big in height and girth and beard and dark, shaggy hair. Big in booming voice and frequent, spontaneous chuckle. His fashion sense... also big. Blue, fuzzy pants that could be the bottom half of a Cookie Monster costume; a pale brown, too-tight tee-shirt boldly declaring that 'No one F*cks with The Big Guy'; scuffed cowboy boots that have definitely seen better days.

And then there's Marissa. Under height and underweight and more than a little intimidating. A tiny, passive-aggressive, bird of a human. Dressed all in black; a facial expression that permanently screams 'bored'; looks at Trav and me like she'd quite like to squish us under the heel of her combat boots. Calls us 'The Children', which – considering I know for a fact that she's only 21 – is both insulting and annoying.

("I don't suppose The Children have even thought about...?"; "I wouldn't expect The Children to grasp the complexity of...?"; "Really Gemma, I don't know why you are even bothering to try and explain this to The Children").

See.

Annoying.

Gemma and Gordo are fun though. Even when they are doing incomprehensible tech-geek things, they take the time to try and include Trav and me. Trav is very good at nodding and saying "hmm, mmm" in a suitably thoughtful way like he actually understands what they are talking about. Who knows, maybe he does. I try to take my cue from him but I'm not nearly as convincing. I think I sound like I'm pretending to play the harmonica underwater, but so far no one has called me on it. Not even meany-pants Marissa.

Though I'm not a massive fan of Marissa, I have to admit that she is working really hard for a school project that isn't even hers. In fact, I'm pretty sure the three of them worked through the night last night and I feel bad.

I said as much to Trav this morning but he waved my concerns away. "Trust me, Burton," he said. "These guys are true tech-heads, Gem included. This is play time for them."

So, while the techies are upstairs playing, Travers Riordan and I are swinging.

Swinging and waiting.

Waiting and swinging.

"I wish they'd hurry up and get back already. Or at least call. Why haven't any of them turned their phones on yet?" Trav frets. I swear, if that boy doesn't stop running his hands through his hair it's all going to fall out. What will the female population of St Mark's do then? Will they still love banana-boy if he's bald? Probably.

It's funny. I used to think that nothing phased Travers Riordan. But in the past 48 hours, I've worked out that he's actually a bit of a stress head. It makes him seem less banana-like and far more human.

"Chill, Riordan. They'll be back soon." I pat him on his tanned, jiggling knee – partly in reassurance and partly to try and stop the jiggling because it's seriously impacting our swing rhythm. His knee jumps a little at my touch but then resumes its rapid up-and-down dance.

I try for distraction instead.

"I still can't believe I let you talk me into all of this. I must be out of my mind."

"Don't give me that," he swiftly rises to the bait and the knee stops jumping as he turns to face me. "Admit it Burton, you're having a good time."

"I'll admit no such thing."

"Your face hasn't done the pinchy thing all morning."

"Yes, well. That's just because I really, really like my laser pointer."

He groans.

"Woman, I wish I'd never introduced you to that stupid laser pointer. You need to stop flashing it in people's eyes like it's a weapon."

"I will. If people stop annoying me."

"You're impossible."

"You suck."

"We're not five, Francesca. You have to try and think of a better comeback than 'You suck'."

"Bite me."

The words are insulting but the tone is playful and I am lowkey enjoying myself.

(If you tell anyone I admitted that I will be forced to do evil things to your eyeballs with my laser pointer).

"Matthew, put me down, I told you I can walk." I hear Cass before I see her, her giggling protests preceding her up the street.

"You went down on that ankle hard, Cassie. I'm fine carrying you."

Holy crap. Here comes Chomper Chomsky – video camera slung across his back and my blushing best friend in his arms. Cecily Ryan dawdles behind them, rolling her eyes with abandon.

"God Cassie, what happened? Are you okay?" Trav is up and out of the swing like a gentlemanly rocket, offering Cass his seat before I have a chance to.

(How dare he – stealing my best friend carer's duties like that).

"Yes, Cass, are you okay?" I repeat lamely, following Trav up from the swing with such a jolt that I almost tip Cass off it.

Smooth, Frankie, smooth.

"Oh, I'm fine," she says. "I just rolled my ankle as we were coming up the ramp from the station. Old netball injury."

"Glad you're okay, let me know if you want me to grab you some ice." Trav graces her with the full wattage of the wonky Riordan smile before turning his attention to Chomper and Cass.

"How'd it go? Did you get the footage we need?"

"We're solid." Chomper nods his confirmation, his focus still on Cass. "The performance was lit and I got some brilliant shots."

Cecily snorts and tries to hide it with a cough.

Chomper ignores Cecily. He catches Cass' eye and smiles at her. Her heat rash intensifies. He winks. She blushes again.

Crap, please don't let her be crushing. Cass with a crush is like a migraine – blindingly intense. And crushing on Chomper Chomsky? How does that even work?

"How does this app work anyway?" Cecily asks, without looking up from the pale pink nail polish she's systematically chipping off her fingernails.

"It's so cool," Cass pipes up. "Gemma let me be their test case last night. You answer questions about what you like and what you like to do and then the program matches you with someone who's into similar things and plans a date for you based on your interests."

"It's just another hook-up app then?" Cecily asks.

"Not at all," Cass says, sounding so put out you'd think she invented the thing. "If you are already in a relationship or dating someone, you tag the other person in your profile and then the app suggests weekly dates for you to go on. If you tag your location, it will pick local events that the algorithm says you'll both be interested in. Or you can ask it to pick something based purely on what your date is likely to be interested in. None of the profiles have pictures. And you can rate the date but the ratings focus on the activity, not the person. It seems really fun and romantic and not at all sketchy."

Her wistful sigh is not quiet.

This time, Cecily and I both snort and then glance at each other in awkward surprise. Cass splits her responding glare between us.

"What's it called then?" Chomper jumps in, clearly looking to diffuse Cassie's glare.

"DateMate," Cass says, turning to him with a shy smile.

"Cool, I might have to join." He looks straight at Cass as he says this, the two of them grinning at each other like insane people.

Crap. Cassie is definitely crushing. And it looks like Chomper is crushing right back. Buckle up and hold on tight people.

"Reign it in Chomps," Cecily mutters under her breath.

I couldn't have said it better myself.