The following morning as I opened my eyes, two words leapt into my brain: Dave Clash. Dave was the sort of boy who liked having laughs at the expense of others. He was a gloater, a mickey-taker, someone who liked to humiliate other people. Well, with my new-found mask, was there any way I could do anything to redress the balance? As with most of these types of kid, people were scared of Dave; they didn’t want to have a go back at him or challenge him to a fight. As with most bullies, he was pretty big. So was there something I could do that could turn the tables somewhat?

As I walked to school, I was so lost in thoughts of forming a plan that I didn’t notice Rob fall into step with me, and it took me a few seconds to realise that he was talking to me.

“Is your head in the clouds today, Safia?” he asked.

I snapped out of my daydreaming and turned to face Rob. Should I tell him what had happened the night before and of my mini plan for the morning? Why not? He was my best mate and he was 100% trustworthy. So I told him the lot. At first he didn’t, he simply wouldn’t believe me, but after I’d gone over it three times he could see I was being deadly serious and he just kept mouthing the word ‘Beyoncé’.

“I don’t actually turn into those people,” I explained, “I just take on their faces for as long as I wear that white fabric mask I found in the museum yesterday.” I took it out of my bag to show him and he cowered away as if it were something dangerous, something explosive.

“It’s OK,” I reassured him, “it hasn’t done me any harm and it seems to work only once for each person you look at.”

“So who are you going to be today?” he asked. “Will Smith? That presenter off the 9 o’clock news? Wayne Rooney?”

I shook my head and quickly whispered my little ruse to him. At first he didn’t like it. Then he began to see the funny side of it, and finally he thought it was the greatest idea since the invention of time.

“But you mustn’t get caught,” he urged, “because if you do and Dave Clash finds out he’ll really go gunning for you.”

“Trust me,” I winked, “I’ve got it all worked out.”

We entered the school gates and knelt behind a wall, watching all of the other kids come streaming into the playground.

“OK,” I whispered, “it’s vital that Dave is the last person I see before I try and pull this stunt off.”

And sure enough, a couple of minutes later, in he swaggered, bragging about some tennis match he’d won the night before. I took a long, cold, hard stare at his features and quickly closed my eyes. “Now, tell me when he’s out of sight,” I hissed at Rob.

A minute or so later, Rob gave me the all-clear. In an instant, I pulled the fabric mask over my face. Rob gasped, as the likeness to Dave Clash was obviously perfection itself. As I was kneeling down behind a wall, the only part of me people could see was my face.

Abruptly and in the most babyish voice I could muster, I started wailing: “I forgot my packed lunch box today. Mummy is going to be ever so cross with me. I’ll be in big, big trouble and won’t be allowed to watch cartoons after school and I’ll have to go to bed at six o’clock.” I then burst out crying.

All around the playground, movement had stopped and all eyes and ears were on me. A huge throng of astounded kids were watching Dave Clash—THE Dave Clash— having a baby tantrum. As there were so many of them, none of them felt intimidated or frightened, so as one, they all burst out into uproarious laughter.

It was a beautiful moment.

In an instant, I dived down and ripped the mask off and Rob and I crawled to the end of the wall. When we climbed over, no one noticed us. But we noticed them. They were still howling and

gesturing, delighted by the new side of Dave Clash they’d just witnessed. They’d seriously enjoyed it. I told you: feelings towards that kid weren’t on the sympathetic side.

As with all pieces of news in schools, the grapevine buzzes quickly and it wasn’t long before Dave Cash heard all about ‘his’ tantrum earlier. He spent the rest of the day trying to convince people that it hadn’t been him. But none of them believed a word he said. After all, they’d seen it with their own eyes. By the end of the day he was in the foulest of foul moods and I happened to pass him in the corridor.

“You don’t know anything about what happened in the playground this morning, Safia, do you?” He glared at me.

“No idea at all,” I said, the picture of innocence, feeling the fabric mask in my coat pocket. “Sounds like you had a right meltdown.”

He scowled and was about to reply but just mumbled something and stormed off. “Now that,” said Rob as we meandered home happily, “was one of the greatest stunts ever pulled at school.”

“Thanks,” I grinned, “but just think.” “Think what?” he said.

“Think what we could do next.”