with her and not be a hacker. That was the first time I ever felt a second of guilt, regret, conscience. Seriously, it was the first time.
18
Angel had disappeared. There were various Angels bobbing about in the cloud but not the Angel I knew.
Life tick-tocked on. All our lessons were about preparing for GCSEs. Every night I went somewhere with Ruby after school and pretended to be normal (and occasionally forgot I wasn’t) and then went home and searched for Angel. The IRC channel where his cronies hung out was vacant, hollow, abandoned. There had to be a reason – one that wasn’t to do with my few little lines of passably clever (but possibly utterly irresponsible) code.
The explanations I came up with for his vanishing act were:
– his parents had caught him and banned him from using the computer
– he was dead.
Other less likely scenarios were:
– he’d got a paralysing disease (a variation on dead)
– he’d won the Lottery and gone to that hotel in Dubai with the huge water park
– he’d respawned under another handle … like Devil or Phoenix or (please no) Predator.
* * *
‘You all right?’ said Ruby, after school in the café.
‘Fine,’ I answered, taking a glug of hot chocolate before it was cool enough and grimacing. ‘Burned my tongue.’
‘I might have a cure for that,’ she said, leaning over and kissing me.
It was exactly a month since we’d first gone there for me to confess about my evil past and convince her it was all behind me. And five days since I’d last heard from Angel. And five days since Joe had spoken to me. (At least he hadn’t told Ty.) (Or maybe he had and Ty’d forgotten – sick joke.)
‘Are you worried about the exams?’ she asked me.
‘No, I’m worried about the party. I don’t know what to wear.’
She laughed. I banished Angel from my mind and concentrated on being a witty and interesting boyfriend.
‘You don’t have to come,’ she said.
Amelia’s sixteenth. At her house in Cotham.
‘I want to. We can smoke weed and do shots.’ I was winding her up. The aftermath of Pay As You Go was the only glitch in our relationship. Ruby’s friends disapproved of me. Full stop.
‘I don’t care what everyone else thinks,’ she said, soft voice, beautiful eyes, a little clump of spots that just made her more real.
‘So what
shall
I wear?’ I asked. Earnest face. Frowny forehead.
‘Are you serious?’
I hesitated long enough for her to be completely taken in, then flashed her a (hopefully) brilliant smile.
‘Stop teasing,’ she said, giving me a pretend thump.
There was no more teasing. Instead I walked her home – it took a long time.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, round the corner from her house.
I was looking forward to it, mostly because it was a big chunk of time to be with Ruby. Shame it didn’t work out that well.
19
Parties are overrated.
This is what happens at a typical Year Eleven gathering at someone’s home:
– parents do not provide alcohol
– people bring alcohol
– people bring weed
– people may bring other drugs
– parents stay upstairs
– people get drunk
– people get stoned
– people are sick
– people snog
– people who are drunk become obnoxious. And pick on people they don’t like that they’re too scared to pick on normally.
‘You shouldn’t hang around with him, Ruby,’ said a little twit in our year, weaving from side to side, his eyes lagging behind like bad dubbing.
‘Who asked you?’ said Ruby.
‘He’s bad news,’ he said, meaning me.
Other little twits gathered behind the weaving twit.
‘We could report you to the police,’ said a voice at the back.
‘Go away,’ I said. ‘And pick on someone your own size.’
It helped that I was taller, and not drunk, and not stoned, and not an idiot.
‘Think you’re something, don’t you?’ said the weaving twit.
‘Come on, Dan,’ said Ruby, tugging my sleeve, ‘let’s go inside.’
We were out on the steps
18
Angel had disappeared. There were various Angels bobbing about in the cloud but not the Angel I knew.
Life tick-tocked on. All our lessons were about preparing for GCSEs. Every night I went somewhere with Ruby after school and pretended to be normal (and occasionally forgot I wasn’t) and then went home and searched for Angel. The IRC channel where his cronies hung out was vacant, hollow, abandoned. There had to be a reason – one that wasn’t to do with my few little lines of passably clever (but possibly utterly irresponsible) code.
The explanations I came up with for his vanishing act were:
– his parents had caught him and banned him from using the computer
– he was dead.
Other less likely scenarios were:
– he’d got a paralysing disease (a variation on dead)
– he’d won the Lottery and gone to that hotel in Dubai with the huge water park
– he’d respawned under another handle … like Devil or Phoenix or (please no) Predator.
* * *
‘You all right?’ said Ruby, after school in the café.
‘Fine,’ I answered, taking a glug of hot chocolate before it was cool enough and grimacing. ‘Burned my tongue.’
‘I might have a cure for that,’ she said, leaning over and kissing me.
It was exactly a month since we’d first gone there for me to confess about my evil past and convince her it was all behind me. And five days since I’d last heard from Angel. And five days since Joe had spoken to me. (At least he hadn’t told Ty.) (Or maybe he had and Ty’d forgotten – sick joke.)
‘Are you worried about the exams?’ she asked me.
‘No, I’m worried about the party. I don’t know what to wear.’
She laughed. I banished Angel from my mind and concentrated on being a witty and interesting boyfriend.
‘You don’t have to come,’ she said.
Amelia’s sixteenth. At her house in Cotham.
‘I want to. We can smoke weed and do shots.’ I was winding her up. The aftermath of Pay As You Go was the only glitch in our relationship. Ruby’s friends disapproved of me. Full stop.
‘I don’t care what everyone else thinks,’ she said, soft voice, beautiful eyes, a little clump of spots that just made her more real.
‘So what
shall
I wear?’ I asked. Earnest face. Frowny forehead.
‘Are you serious?’
I hesitated long enough for her to be completely taken in, then flashed her a (hopefully) brilliant smile.
‘Stop teasing,’ she said, giving me a pretend thump.
There was no more teasing. Instead I walked her home – it took a long time.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, round the corner from her house.
I was looking forward to it, mostly because it was a big chunk of time to be with Ruby. Shame it didn’t work out that well.
19
Parties are overrated.
This is what happens at a typical Year Eleven gathering at someone’s home:
– parents do not provide alcohol
– people bring alcohol
– people bring weed
– people may bring other drugs
– parents stay upstairs
– people get drunk
– people get stoned
– people are sick
– people snog
– people who are drunk become obnoxious. And pick on people they don’t like that they’re too scared to pick on normally.
‘You shouldn’t hang around with him, Ruby,’ said a little twit in our year, weaving from side to side, his eyes lagging behind like bad dubbing.
‘Who asked you?’ said Ruby.
‘He’s bad news,’ he said, meaning me.
Other little twits gathered behind the weaving twit.
‘We could report you to the police,’ said a voice at the back.
‘Go away,’ I said. ‘And pick on someone your own size.’
It helped that I was taller, and not drunk, and not stoned, and not an idiot.
‘Think you’re something, don’t you?’ said the weaving twit.
‘Come on, Dan,’ said Ruby, tugging my sleeve, ‘let’s go inside.’
We were out on the steps
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