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By lunchtime the next day, word about Neon’s performance in Music has spread so far, he’s practically a local celebrity.

Matt and Hari borrow another guitar at lunch and badger Neon into giving a mini concert in the courtyard.

Neon protests at first, but I can tell from his grin that he loves the attention.

At first there are only a dozen or so kids from our class watching, but more and more join, teachers and other members of staff too, and soon almost a hundred people have surrounded him.

Tilly stands to my left with Jamie Singh and Elsie Jackson. When I catch her eye, she nods.

“He’s good,” she says. Two words, and it’s the most she’s spoken to me in two years.

“Thanks,” I say. “I mean, I know. He’s amazing.”

“You guys should perform together. I bet you’d sound great.”

My cheeks burn. The thought of singing onstage with an audience absolutely terrifies me. “Nah. I’d probably throw up again.”

Tilly is one of the few people who have heard me sing properly.

She has a karaoke machine, and we used to spend hours after school and at the weekends performing duets or pretending we were starring in West End musicals.

That’s the weird thing about ex-best friends – when there’s so much you know about each other, you can never go back to being strangers.

Our friendship started to fall apart after we started high school.

We were placed in different classes, me in 1C and Tilly in 1D.

Tilly became friends with Jamie and Elsie right away.

They were into stuff that I knew nothing about – things like manga, Doctor Who and Dungeons and Dragons, which Tilly became instantly obsessed with.

Soon that was all she talked about, and every second sentence was “Jamie said this” or “Elsie likes that”.

When I went to hers one Friday for our usual karaoke session, she criticised every song I suggested – Jamie couldn’t stand that band; Elsie thought this singer was so annoying. It made me so angry, I threw the mic across her room.

“Why didn’t you invite Elsie and Jamie, then, if they’re so much better than me?”

“I wanted to!” Tilly spat back at me. “But my dad said I wasn’t allowed to uninvite you, and I didn’t want you there with them. You’d spoil everything.”

For a moment, all we could do was stare at each other – and then I burst into tears.

Tilly went to get me a tissue and gave me a hug, but it felt half-hearted.

I was only a couple of centimetres taller and a bit heavier than her, but suddenly I felt huge in her room: a giant soft toy that she’d long outgrown and was only now getting around to throwing away.

“Sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you. And you wouldn’t spoil anything. That was a really mean thing to say.” She looked down at her wrist and tugged at the friendship bracelet that I made for her at Brownies when we were eight. “I just feel like we’re growing apart a bit. I can’t help it.”

By then, I was already friendly with Caitlin and Hannah, so on Monday I moved to their table at lunch.

And that was it. There was no Friendship Over announcement, no angry messages sent to or received on our phones.

One day, I noticed Tilly had taken the bracelet off, so I took mine off too. I didn’t speak to her again.

The way we act now, it’s like we barely knew each other at all.

Sometimes I feel like I really don’t know her any more, like when she’d signed up for the ski trip next month.

She always hated sports and PE, so I never would have guessed she’d want to try something like that.

I was surprised when I heard she’d come out as pansexual too.

Not in a bad way – I have two mums so obviously it’s not an issue for me. I just didn’t see it coming.

I glance over at Neon, who’s now playing an acoustic version of a Beyoncé song – Caitlin and Hannah are swaying and waving the torches on their phones like they’re at a concert.

If Neon feels nervous, it doesn’t show. His smile grows with the crowd, warm and inviting.

When I look back at Tilly, she’s laughing about something with Jamie. I’ve already been forgotten.

By the time the bell rings, Neon’s voice is starting to go hoarse and he’s shaking the cramp out of his fingers. I go to join him as the crowd disperses, Caitlin and Hannah right behind me.

“Sorry about that.” For the first time, he looks quite sheepish. “I didn’t mean to put on a mini concert. I just love playing so much.”

I grin at him. “That’s OK. I’m surprised you’re still talking to us, now you’re famous.”

He mimes putting sunglasses on. “Well, I need a crew. Know any tour managers?”

“I can do it. You’ll see the world.” I spread my hands in an arc through the air. “Inverness! Nairn! Drumnadrochit!”

“I don’t know where most of those places are, but they sound extremely glamorous.” He swings his arm round my shoulders. “You can’t be my manager, though. You’ll be too busy performing with me.”

“What do you mean, performing?” Hannah stops walking and grabs my arm. “Laurie Rebecca Storey-Peters. Can you sing?”

I instantly wish the ground would swallow me up. “Nah, not really.”

“Lies!” Neon shouts. “She’s really good. Way better than me. Like, not quite Adele level or anything, but definitely good enough to be one of Adele’s backing singers.”

Beside me, Caitlin’s face has fallen. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell us?”

When we first became friends, Caitlin and Hannah had already joined their musical-theatre class in Inverness and they talked about it a lot .

It was their thing, their identity. I felt as if there was no space for me to like singing too.

It’s always that way with Caitlin, even with little things.

Her favourite animal is the platypus, which was always my favourite, but when I excitedly told her back in first year she looked so annoyed that I never brought it up again.

I shrug awkwardly. “It’s not a big deal. I basically only sing in the shower. The thought of performing in front of anyone who’s not my family is terrifying.”

Hannah claps her hands. “Ooh, you should sing together at Friday Showcase!”

Once a month, our school does something called Friday Showcase.

It’s usually filled with the school choir, the Highland-dancing group and this fourth-year boy who’s a cello prodigy, but anyone can perform if they want to.

Caitlin and Hannah have done it a couple of times.

All you need do is add your name to the sign-up sheet at reception.

Once Hannah has explained what it is to Neon, his face lights up. “Let’s do it! That’s my last day. It would be the perfect way to say goodbye.”

“But Laurie’s so shy,” Caitlin says. “I really can’t see her doing that.”

For once, I don’t think Caitlin is trying to be mean. She’s actually trying to stop me from being pushed into something that I don’t want to do. But I’m so used to her criticising me that it makes me defensive. She doesn’t get to decide what I can and can’t do, what I can and can’t be.

“Maybe I will,” I say hotly. “Wait and see.”