Tomas had his coat on again.

It was the third week of term and the radiators in Room 6 were the clanking kind. Mrs Ade had asked him twice, kindly both times, and both times he had said he was cold. Nobody believed him. You could see the back of his neck going pink.

At break, Freddie said Tomas was weird about his coat. Priya said he might be ill. Somebody else said his mom probably made him wear it, which did not explain why he kept it on at lunch, or in PE, or in the corridor by the kitchens where it was so warm the windows steamed.

On Thursday the zip broke.

It broke while he was hanging his bag up, and it broke in a way that could not be hidden. The two halves came apart from the bottom and the coat swung open like a curtain. Underneath was a sweater the color of wet sand. It was much too big. The sleeves came down over his hands, and there was a hole at the elbow with his shirt showing through it.

Tomas held the coat shut with his fist for the rest of the day.

The sweater belonged to his brother, who was fifteen and had left it behind. It was the only sweater in the house that was not in the wash, and it had been the only one for eleven days. On the first morning Tomas had worked out that a coat over the top was easier than an explanation. He was not cold. He had never once been cold. He had simply decided, before he got to the gate, that nobody was going to ask.