Prologue I'm dying. I'm sure of it. I'm literally going to EXPIRE right here, right now. Tell my mother I love her. And my dad and Sasha, and maybe Jake if you absolutely have to. This run may be the death of me. "Come on, slowpokes!" Mr. Pearce bellows.

Is this the First time I've heard such a thing being yelled at me by a demonic PE teacher? No. Will it be the last? Also no. There he is, looking all smug, standing around with most of the class, including my various BFFs who all have anxious expressions as they witness my humiliation. The rest of them are just staring at us blankly like we're these weird curiosities. We had been warned. I'll give him that. "Anyone who doesn't complete a lap of the playing Field in less than three minutes will be made to do Fifteen burpee star jumps," Mr. Pearce had told us.

First and foremost, the word burpee is criminal in and of itself, and that's before we even get to the physical exertion required to do such a thing. And I'm doing this after trying and failing to run a lap of the playing Field in less than three minutes! In what world was I ever going to be able to do that? I might as well have just given up before I started. To be honest, I thought I was going to be the only one who failed, but here I am with Bolade and Sam, who also fall into the category of slowpoke . They're not fat and slow--they're just slow, which is less embarrassing overall but still pretty embarrassing because Mr. Pearce has decided to make it embarrassing. "UGH!" I shout indignantly, but I carry on my torture and I feel the burn of (a) the unseasonably warm sun, (b) the eyeballs of my entire class (minus Sam and Bolade), (c) every muscle in my body, and (d) the perfectly calibrated humiliation of Mr. Pearce's PE lesson. What a way to Finish the last day of my school year.

"There must"--Sam pants as he hauls himself up off the ground into a star jump--"be another way . to do this ." "Do what?" Bolade asks, her eyes facing forward, determined, focused. "PE . It doesn't need to . be like . this," he says. "I'm .

pretty . sure . it . does," I manage to utter breathlessly, unable to imagine a world in which PE is anything other than completely vile and embarrassing and frustrating. "Nearly there. Come on, you lot! Ten more to go!" Mr. Pearce says in a tone that I think is meant to be rousing but just makes me want to karate kick him in the head. I feel like I'm going to pass out right here and now.

Ten more to go. My legs feel like they're going to give out, but I make them spring forward as springily as I can manage and then work my body into a star jump. Nine to go. Eight. Seven. Six-- "Ruby? Roo? Ruby! Wake up!" My best friend April's voice oats into my brain. All I know is, I'm lying down and it's nice here. Nice on the ground.

Nice not to be jumping around. "Oh my days, is she dead ?" Jessica sounds indignant, veritably furious at Mr. Pearce. "I think she fainted!" That's Salma. "Now, girls, please get out of the way." I open my eyes to see Mr. Pearce's craggy visage looming above me. His sneer makes my humiliation boil over into rage.

If my cheeks weren't already on Fire from the relentless workout, I would be pink with fury. Sure, it's embarrassing, but more than anything, this kind of bullying just makes me angry. Like if the Incredible Hulk was a chubby sixteen-year-old girl. And not green. "There you are, slowpoke. You're all right, aren't you? Nothing like a bit of a challenge to show you what you're really made of.".