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into the back seat of the car, with the beer.
    The boys stood on the pavement and watched Ruby and Louise drive away. Jack looked down at the bag in his hand. Tucked beneath the draw was a small silver foil packet. He shoved the bag in his pocket.
    Half an hour later, they sloped up David McDonald’s street. It was one of those suburban London streets thatstretch on for what looks like miles without a break—a thousand houses in a single terrace, packed in tight. No front gardens, and no trees either, the road jammed with parked cars, tail to nose, no room to manoeuvre. They trudged along, hands in their pockets, hoods up. They could hear music in the distance.
    As they got closer, other kids started to appear, heading in the same direction. Jack spotted Roman Nevsky and Lucy Cambridge. “Sixth-formers,” he muttered.
    “What?” said Frank.
    “I saw some sixth-formers up ahead.”
    Frank didn’t reply. A feeling of doom had descended on the boys from the moment Louise got into the car with Ruby, and that feeling grew stronger the closer they got to David McDonald’s house.
    The ground floor of the house was lit up, curtains open, the front door and most windows wide open too, throwing bright light onto the street. Music surged. There was a short queue to get in the front door. There was no sign of Ruby, no sign of Louise.
    They waited their turn, Frank followed by Abdul followed by Dore followed by Jack. They adjusted their trousers and their jackets. Frank fiddled with his hair. The music was too loud for talking. They moved toward the door slowly. When Frank got to the top of the queue, the others crowded around him. A very short middle-aged man, possibly a man of restricted growth, Jack thought, was acting as bouncer.
    “How old are you boys?” he asked. He sounded Scottish.
    Frank said sixteen. Abdul said seventeen. Dore said fifteen.
    Jack said eighteen.
    Everyone turned to look at Jack.
    “You,” said the man, pointing at Jack, “you can come in. The rest of you—go home to your mothers.”
    Despite the man’s stature, Jack could see there was no point in arguing on behalf of his friends. Frank gave him a kick from behind, and he headed into the house.
    Inside, the music made the windows and floor vibrate. Jack inched his way along the entrance corridor and was funnelled by the crowd up the stairs and into a room that had been emptied of furniture, apart from a DJ and his table in one corner. Up here no lights were on, but the room was a sulphury yellow, lit by the streetlights outside. Jack saw, to his mortification, that people were dancing, including, near where he was standing, Ruby and David McDonald. He turned to leave—the idea of dancing made him feel nauseated—when Ruby grabbed his arm.
    “Jack! Let’s do it!”
    “What?” Then he remembered. He pulled the bag of draw from his pocket and held it up for her approval. She grabbed it.
    “Can’t smoke in here, man,” said David. “My dad.” He pointed toward the floor, to where his father was manning the front door below.
    Ruby opened the bag and pulled out the silver packet, then handed the bag back to Jack. “Look what we’ve got,” she said, her voice singsong and gleeful. She unwrapped thefoil and revealed a small strip of paper with three tiny tablets adhering to it. She held it up for Jack and David to see. The tablets were red, each stamped with the face of a devil.
    “Cool,” said David.
    Jack felt more nauseated. “I don’t know, I—”
    “More for us, then,” David said. “Open up, Ruby.”
    Ruby tipped back her head and stuck out her tongue.
    “Have fun,” Jack said, and he backed out of the room, stuffing the bag of weed back into his pocket. He made his way down to the kitchen; the food was all gone, as though a pack of wolves had descended. He didn’t recognize anyone. Dancing, snogging and shouting over the music turned out to be the main things people did at sixth-formers’ parties. He wandered from room to