at the front, where we’d spent most of the party. Ruby was obviously thinking that inside we might find friends, or maybe parents. Don’t know. Because I wasn’t about to walk away from a few shrimps. And I didn’t have to, because first little twit, pumped up by vodka and Red Bull or some other make-me-a-maniac-with-zero-judgement drink, took a swipe at me. Now, I’m not a kick-your-head-in type, as I’ve already explained, but he’d wound me up, and he was such a pathetic sight in his skinny trousers and red Converse, that I decked him. No other word for it.
Just his mates to go
, I thought. Seriously, I did. Looking back it was a weird moment – like I was Jason Statham, destined to be able to single-handedly crush a dozen would-be attackers. But, next thing I knew, real life took over and I had a bloody nose, Ruby was shouting, a load of bystanders had joined in and, for the first time in my life, I was in a brawl. A proper no-one-knows-who’s-hitting-who brawl. The outcome of which was thatAmelia’s parents overreacted and called the police, and everyone else either called their parents (the goodies) or scarpered (this group included me, Ruby and Joe). (Ty doesn’t do parties.)
‘Got a death wish?’ said Joe.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Ruby.
‘Nothing ever is,’ said Joe.
I glared at him, terrified that he was about to tell Ruby about the drone.
‘That’s not nice,’ said Ruby. ‘You’re meant to be his friend, Joe.’
Joe made a noise reminiscent of a horse. As we tramped along the streets in the rain towards Ruby’s, Joe gradually gave up the angry-man stuff because he wanted to hear all about the fight.
‘Wish I’d been there at the start,’ he said.
‘Don’t be a jerk,’ said Ruby.
We stopped round the corner from her house, as always. She pecked me on the cheek and we watched her go, waiting a few minutes till she texted to say she was safe inside.
‘We might be talking again,’ said Joe, ‘but you’re still way out of line.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe Angel played me. But it’s over. I’m not doing anything like that again. OK?’
‘You’d better mean it, Dan.’ He looked pretty menacing under the streetlight.
‘I do.’ And I did.
‘OK. Look, you’d better come back to mine,’ he said.‘If your mum sees you she’ll flip.’
‘That bad?’
He nodded, a small grin slipping onto his face.
Back at his, he got some antiseptic wipes from a medicine cupboard (in our house the drugs mingle with the groceries, waiting to be overdosed on) and cleaned up my face. It was sore one side of my mouth and under one eye.
‘You’ll do,’ he said eventually. ‘But I think you’d better stay here. Mum and Dad won’t even know – Saturday night’s vodka night.’
‘No, I’m good,’ I said, still, despite everything, keen to go and check online for Angel. Totally feasible that he’d been to a grandparent’s funeral on a Scottish isle with zero internet and just got back …
‘Stay here, Dan. You might have concussion … or something.’
I caved and texted Mum, knowing she’d be asleep but would get it in the morning. I was dropping off, tired and looking forward to oblivion when Joe said, ‘Is it really over? The illegal stuff?’
‘Yes,’ I said, loud and clear.
20
Joe came home with me in the morning. It was a stroke of genius. With my steady and responsible friend by my side declaring my innocence, any possible blame was kiboshed.
‘I think you need stitches,’ said El.
‘You wish,’ I said.
‘Actually a steri-strip might be an idea,’ said Mum, rifling between the pasta and the self-raising flour.
‘I’ll be off,’ said Joe.
‘Going climbing?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Got to keep in training if I’m going to get anywhere in the competition.’
Mum and Dad asked him a few questions, clearly impressed.
I finally made it out of the kitchen, intending to go online as normal, but Ty Skyped me to see how I
Just his mates to go
, I thought. Seriously, I did. Looking back it was a weird moment – like I was Jason Statham, destined to be able to single-handedly crush a dozen would-be attackers. But, next thing I knew, real life took over and I had a bloody nose, Ruby was shouting, a load of bystanders had joined in and, for the first time in my life, I was in a brawl. A proper no-one-knows-who’s-hitting-who brawl. The outcome of which was thatAmelia’s parents overreacted and called the police, and everyone else either called their parents (the goodies) or scarpered (this group included me, Ruby and Joe). (Ty doesn’t do parties.)
‘Got a death wish?’ said Joe.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ said Ruby.
‘Nothing ever is,’ said Joe.
I glared at him, terrified that he was about to tell Ruby about the drone.
‘That’s not nice,’ said Ruby. ‘You’re meant to be his friend, Joe.’
Joe made a noise reminiscent of a horse. As we tramped along the streets in the rain towards Ruby’s, Joe gradually gave up the angry-man stuff because he wanted to hear all about the fight.
‘Wish I’d been there at the start,’ he said.
‘Don’t be a jerk,’ said Ruby.
We stopped round the corner from her house, as always. She pecked me on the cheek and we watched her go, waiting a few minutes till she texted to say she was safe inside.
‘We might be talking again,’ said Joe, ‘but you’re still way out of line.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said. ‘Maybe Angel played me. But it’s over. I’m not doing anything like that again. OK?’
‘You’d better mean it, Dan.’ He looked pretty menacing under the streetlight.
‘I do.’ And I did.
‘OK. Look, you’d better come back to mine,’ he said.‘If your mum sees you she’ll flip.’
‘That bad?’
He nodded, a small grin slipping onto his face.
Back at his, he got some antiseptic wipes from a medicine cupboard (in our house the drugs mingle with the groceries, waiting to be overdosed on) and cleaned up my face. It was sore one side of my mouth and under one eye.
‘You’ll do,’ he said eventually. ‘But I think you’d better stay here. Mum and Dad won’t even know – Saturday night’s vodka night.’
‘No, I’m good,’ I said, still, despite everything, keen to go and check online for Angel. Totally feasible that he’d been to a grandparent’s funeral on a Scottish isle with zero internet and just got back …
‘Stay here, Dan. You might have concussion … or something.’
I caved and texted Mum, knowing she’d be asleep but would get it in the morning. I was dropping off, tired and looking forward to oblivion when Joe said, ‘Is it really over? The illegal stuff?’
‘Yes,’ I said, loud and clear.
20
Joe came home with me in the morning. It was a stroke of genius. With my steady and responsible friend by my side declaring my innocence, any possible blame was kiboshed.
‘I think you need stitches,’ said El.
‘You wish,’ I said.
‘Actually a steri-strip might be an idea,’ said Mum, rifling between the pasta and the self-raising flour.
‘I’ll be off,’ said Joe.
‘Going climbing?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘Got to keep in training if I’m going to get anywhere in the competition.’
Mum and Dad asked him a few questions, clearly impressed.
I finally made it out of the kitchen, intending to go online as normal, but Ty Skyped me to see how I
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