Look,” I whisper to Cat, “Shooting star! That’s good luck.”She rolls her eyes. “It’s a plane, you idiot,” she says, and when I look again I can see that she’s right. Typical.

She’s not my type,’ Carter says.’So what is your type?”Tall, skinny, black hair, blue eyes, freckly nose. Blue tinsel wig and snowflakes optional.”Skinny?’ I squeal.’Definitely. Pretending to be shy, sensible and stand-offish when really you’re...