School sucks. Early mornings, double maths, running round freezing-cold sports pitches — the thought of doing it all again makes me break out in a nervous sweat. Once a month or so, I have the same nightmare: it’s sixth form, and my exam results are in my hands. In my real life, my dad entered into a classic girls’ school bribe. If I got full marks in the IB, he’d pay for my nose job. I met my side of the bargain — but by 18, I’d grown into my bumpy nose anyway.
