I'd almost forgotten about the picture when we spoke again.

Okay, let's be honest, I hadn't forgotten. I mean, would you? Even though she'd only ever been that close to me once, it was a lasting impression. In future I'd regret that I had ever met her, but that hadn't happened yet.

...

Anyway. It was her smell I noticed first. I have a sensitive nose, I tend to remember perfumes better than I remember faces. She smelled fresh and tangy, something between citronella and sandalwood.

I thought she was going to say a simple Hi and move on, but nooo. She did some sort of demi-squat beside my desk and spoke to me as if we were sharing a secret, and maybe we were – hot girls confuse me.

"Heya. How much do I owe you for the picture?"

I shrugged, mostly because I could never trust my mouth in those situations. I've put my foot in my mouth more times than I can count.

"Come on. It has to be worth something."

"Nope."

She stood up, I guess she looked annoyed. I wondered why anyone would be annoyed with a freebie. Maybe she grew up like my mum, she thinks free is like weed or crack – addictive and bad for your health. Maybe it was something else.

She stood up suddenly, and her skirt flounced, pushing a wave of citronella-sandalwood my way.

"Okay."

She traipsed away, weaving between terribly arranged desks, unaware of the world around her – as usual.

I went back to solving elective mathematics questions (and getting them wrong). I was glad she had left me alone. She's pretty and all that, but that's kind of the problem. Even having her that close to my desk got my pits all sweaty with nervousness.

Elective maths. Such a drag! Even getting questions wrong had my head aching like crazy. I mean, seriously, wey kind subject this?!

The warmth of familiar citronella-sandalwood wafted past my ear, "What do you wish for, what do you want?"

Sherry again, she'd come back to my desk.

I looked up, prepared with a kinder response than the one I'd given previously, and she wasn't there. She was at her desk, peering as intently into her books as I had been.

I could have swornshe was the one I heard speaking. In fact, maybe I did swear a little bit. Imight have sworn at the inventor of secondary school mathematics – for making me crazy enough to hear voices in my head.