The first lesson of the day is a "street-dance" class for the two girls. We trudge several hundred yards down to the state-of-the-art sports centre, past the swimming pool, saunas and squash courts until we get to a large dance studio. A thudding hip-hop beat emanates from a sound system in the corner. A group of Wellington girls are being taught a high-speed dance routine by a teacher called Pandy, who looks far trendier than any teacher I can remember. "Do you want to join in?" she asks. Donna and Grace shake their heads in unison.
Donna, small and blonde and engulfed in an oversized grey sweater, is distinctly unimpressed. She scans the room with a dismissive gaze and squats down on the floor, hugging her knees into her chest, her Ugg boots squeaking against the varnish. Grace merely shakes her head with a tentative smile and takes a seat on the other side of the room. "They may look moody and petulant," Steph whispers to me, "but actually their attitude of 'I don't really care' is a cover for 'I really do care.'"
The surprising thing is that the Wellington pupils who have been assigned to look after Donna and Grace appear entirely non-judgmental and unfazed by the evident tension. Part of this is confidence. One of the most striking differences between the two sets of children is the air of poised self-assurance and maturity of the Wellington students, compared with the painful shyness of the Cool UK threesome. These are young people who have been told they can achieve and who feel supported enough to believe it. Ask them what they feel about the whole experience, and the Wellington pupils will have an eloquent, well-constructed response at the ready.
"It's nice to meet new people," says Georgina Singer, 16, who is studying for her International Baccalaureate and hopes to go to Oxbridge. "I think it's very easy for any boarding school to cut itself off from the outside world. But at Wellington, we're encouraged not to be boastful but to be grateful, and I really like that."
