Six hours later, I collapse in a heap on the sofa. Exhausted from concentrating on the mock tests all my teachers sprang on us today. I barely have the energy to shrug off my coat. My eyes close as drowsiness hits me.
“Don’t tell me you had tests too?”
Dad’s standing in the doorway, his eyebrow raised. He’s clasping a mug in his hands, and by the smell of it, it’s full of hot chocolate.
“How did you know that?”
“Ru had one too, but he felt sick halfway through, and I had to pick him up,” he says, handing me the mug. I drink from it gratefully.
“That’s why he wasn’t on the coach. I was worried that slime Alex Wickthorn had gone after him again.”
“Why? What’s been going on?” he asks, his voice growing tight.
“Nothing, but he was watching us today,” I reply, drinking another mouthful o
