Dawson checked his watch as he approached the recreation area; at his school it had been called the playground. The area was the size of a small housing estate and appeared to be shared by the whole school.

He heard a bell in the distance before the sound of voices and chatter filled his ears. Kids streamed from the doorways as though a tap had been turned on. Immediately the groups formed: girl groups, boy groups, a few mixed but the majority were gender-specific. A group of eight lads headed for the centre of the space and threw down their jumpers to be used as goalposts.

Some things were universal, Dawson thought, regardless of the school you attended. And young boys playing football between classes was one of them.

He searched the crowd for Geoffrey, and when he couldn’t see him, he took a second to recall his own experience. Where does the fat kid go when they’re forced outside for fresh air in between lessons but doesn’t really want to be noticed?

He started walking the periphery of the recreation area. A few benches hid beneath a row of elm trees, shielded from the emerging sun. Most had groups sitting on the bench, on the wooden arms and on the backrest with their feet on the seats. All except one.

On the bench at the furthest point away from the school building, barely noticeable behind hanging branches of elm, was a kid chomping on a packet of crisps.

Oh how he understood the cycle. He’d been a bit weighty, been picked on, made miserable, eaten, been picked on, made miserable… Well just stop eating crisps and cakes onlookers might think. And if only it was as easy as that.

‘Hey,’ Geoffrey said, looking at Dawson and then guiltily at his packet of crisps.

Dawson understood. He too had felt the shame every time he was seen eating anything that wasn’t an apple or stick of carrot. Average-sized kids could eat whatever they wanted without judgement or attention. The fat kid received stares and head shakes as though they were doing something wrong.

‘Mmm… chicken flavour, my favourite,’ Dawson said.

Geoffrey proffered the packet, and Dawson took one.

Geoffrey left the packet hanging between them.

‘Got a minute for a chat?’ Dawson asked.

He nodded towards the group playing football.

‘Best be quick. They’ll be wanting me back any minute.’

Dawson saw the ironic look on his face and laughed out loud.

Geoffrey smiled in response. Apparently pleased that he had made someone laugh.

‘You mentioned something about the Queen of Hearts, yesterday. What’s that all about?’ Dawson asked, taking another crisp. He’d forgotten just how tasty they were.

‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he said, looking around.

‘Why not?’ Dawson asked, looking around too, even though no one was anywhere near them.

Geoffrey lowered his voice. ‘We’re not supposed to talk about them. They’re a secret.’

‘From who?’ Dawson asked, feeling slightly ridiculous.

‘Principal Thorpe. He doesn’t like them. They’re banned.’

Dawson couldn’t help being intrigued. ‘I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise,’ he said, leaning in closer.

Geoffrey seemed reassured.

‘Okay, there are four clubs here at Heathcrest, strictly by invitation only. Two boys’ clubs and two girls’ clubs. The girls are Hearts and Diamonds and the boys are Clubs and Spades.’

‘Like those fraternities they have in America?’ Dawson asked.

Geoffrey thought. ‘I suppose so, but they don’t live together or hang out or anything. They’re all different ages. There are eleven members in each club.’

‘Why only eleven?’ Dawson asked.

‘The girls have no King and the boys have no Queen.’

Dawson frowned, trying to get it straight, as he took another crisp.

Geoffrey looked down at the packet and handed it to him, wiping his own hands on his trousers.

‘So, there’s a hierarchy in the clubs?’ Dawson asked.

Oh, how he detested exclusive clubs and groups. Just another way of making the average kid feel inadequate.

‘Oh yeah, it rises in number. Newest member is the Ace and then it rises to the King or Queen of the suit of that club. Each suit is run by a Joker – an adult, could be a teacher or an ex-card.’

‘And how does one get into these exclusive groups?’

‘Chosen by the other members, I think,’ he said.

‘And you move up over time?’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘If a person leaves—’

‘Leaves the club?’

Geoffrey shook his head. ‘No, leaves the school, then everyone automatically moves up a place leaving space for a new Ace to join.’

The bell suddenly sounded the end of break. Geoffrey looked longingly at his sandwich box before returning it to his backpack.

‘So, is it all good-natured fun, the interaction between these four clubs?’ he asked, as Geoffrey hauled his pack onto his shoulder.

‘The girls are not so bad,’ he said. ‘But the Spades and Clubs hate each other’s guts.’