first. “Don’t say it. I don’t care what you say. Because I’m the unlucky one, aren’t I?”
“I can’t help thinking that out of all the people I know, Ross is probably the unluckiest.”
But Kenny wouldn’t stop. “You’re not the one who’s just lost a hundred quid.”
“I wouldn’t be lucky enough to have a hundred quid in the first place,” Sim scoffed.
“It wasn’t just the money! What about my other stuff—my iPod?”
“And Travel Scrabble,” I reminded him.
“All of it!” He was getting red-faced and worked up. “It’s always
me
. I’m telling you: over and over again, it’s always me who all the crappy stuff happens to.”
Part of me knew he was right. Teachers could think hewas rude, girls sometimes called him weird; he wasn’t either. The truth was that the real world seemed to move at a quicker pace than Kenny’s head sometimes, and he was always too busy trying to catch up to see what was actually going on around him. So part of me did feel sorry for him—yet I couldn’t help thinking he brought a lot of it on himself.
You’ve got to learn to deal with your own problems, haven’t you? Moaning about it won’t help. How messed up would you be if you didn’t get a grip and get over it?
But he was anxious and miserable. “I want to go to Scotland as much as you, you know. It’s not just about the stuff I’ve lost. I want to do this funeral thing too—do it for Ross, same as you. But I’m the one messing everything up. It’s true, isn’t it? I am, aren’t I? It’s my fault.” He kicked the train wall. “God, I hate myself sometimes. Maybe I’m the one should be dead instead of Ross.”
“Don’t be so pathetic,” Sim growled.
“How d’you know I’m being pathetic? You can’t say that.”
“Kenny, you sound like a dick.”
“Piss off, Sim! Shut up, okay? You can’t say that. You can’t! How d’you know I don’t mean it?”
But there was no sympathy from Sim. “So just grow up, then.”
Kenny bristled. “I’m older than you.”
“By five months—big wow. But you’re acting like your nappy’s on too tight.”
The train bumped and we stumbled against one another, Kenny and Sim almost banging heads. And Kenny gave Sim a vicious shove, gritting his teeth as he did so.
Against my better judgment, I threw my weight in between them. “Come on, leave it.” I knocked Sim’s fist to one side before he could aim it at Kenny. “It’s happened, it’s done—okay, Kenny? So you’ve been unlucky, now we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do about it. Right, Sim?”
But that ended up being the worst thing I could have done, because then I couldn’t stop myself from getting sucked into the argument too. We were all shouting at each other, bickering like idiots. And nobody saw the conductor coming until it was too late.
“Tickets, please.”
PART TWO | FRIENDS
nine ---------
Standing on the platform at York station with our rucksacks at our feet (well, mine and Sim’s, anyway), we watched the train aim north without us. I could imagine myself looking down on the three of us like in one of those weird out-of-body experiences people talk about. We’d appear to be in a silent space all our own, even though we were in the middle of the busy platform, with hurrying people streaming around either side. From above I’d see the invective flying out of Sim’s mouth in daggers and blades, luckily not aimed at anyone in particular, just catching the sun as they spun away. Kenny’s moroseness would be a sodden gray quilt around his shoulders, heavy enough to bend his knees and his back. While my own crestfallen figure was punctured, deflated, my skin creasing and sagging as all my hot air escaped. But the image only lasted a nanosecond or so because when I blinked Icould hear the station’s bustle and see out through my eyes again.
We stood there. Watched the train dissolving with a glint into the sunny distance.
The conductor had
“I can’t help thinking that out of all the people I know, Ross is probably the unluckiest.”
But Kenny wouldn’t stop. “You’re not the one who’s just lost a hundred quid.”
“I wouldn’t be lucky enough to have a hundred quid in the first place,” Sim scoffed.
“It wasn’t just the money! What about my other stuff—my iPod?”
“And Travel Scrabble,” I reminded him.
“All of it!” He was getting red-faced and worked up. “It’s always
me
. I’m telling you: over and over again, it’s always me who all the crappy stuff happens to.”
Part of me knew he was right. Teachers could think hewas rude, girls sometimes called him weird; he wasn’t either. The truth was that the real world seemed to move at a quicker pace than Kenny’s head sometimes, and he was always too busy trying to catch up to see what was actually going on around him. So part of me did feel sorry for him—yet I couldn’t help thinking he brought a lot of it on himself.
You’ve got to learn to deal with your own problems, haven’t you? Moaning about it won’t help. How messed up would you be if you didn’t get a grip and get over it?
But he was anxious and miserable. “I want to go to Scotland as much as you, you know. It’s not just about the stuff I’ve lost. I want to do this funeral thing too—do it for Ross, same as you. But I’m the one messing everything up. It’s true, isn’t it? I am, aren’t I? It’s my fault.” He kicked the train wall. “God, I hate myself sometimes. Maybe I’m the one should be dead instead of Ross.”
“Don’t be so pathetic,” Sim growled.
“How d’you know I’m being pathetic? You can’t say that.”
“Kenny, you sound like a dick.”
“Piss off, Sim! Shut up, okay? You can’t say that. You can’t! How d’you know I don’t mean it?”
But there was no sympathy from Sim. “So just grow up, then.”
Kenny bristled. “I’m older than you.”
“By five months—big wow. But you’re acting like your nappy’s on too tight.”
The train bumped and we stumbled against one another, Kenny and Sim almost banging heads. And Kenny gave Sim a vicious shove, gritting his teeth as he did so.
Against my better judgment, I threw my weight in between them. “Come on, leave it.” I knocked Sim’s fist to one side before he could aim it at Kenny. “It’s happened, it’s done—okay, Kenny? So you’ve been unlucky, now we’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do about it. Right, Sim?”
But that ended up being the worst thing I could have done, because then I couldn’t stop myself from getting sucked into the argument too. We were all shouting at each other, bickering like idiots. And nobody saw the conductor coming until it was too late.
“Tickets, please.”
PART TWO | FRIENDS
nine ---------
Standing on the platform at York station with our rucksacks at our feet (well, mine and Sim’s, anyway), we watched the train aim north without us. I could imagine myself looking down on the three of us like in one of those weird out-of-body experiences people talk about. We’d appear to be in a silent space all our own, even though we were in the middle of the busy platform, with hurrying people streaming around either side. From above I’d see the invective flying out of Sim’s mouth in daggers and blades, luckily not aimed at anyone in particular, just catching the sun as they spun away. Kenny’s moroseness would be a sodden gray quilt around his shoulders, heavy enough to bend his knees and his back. While my own crestfallen figure was punctured, deflated, my skin creasing and sagging as all my hot air escaped. But the image only lasted a nanosecond or so because when I blinked Icould hear the station’s bustle and see out through my eyes again.
We stood there. Watched the train dissolving with a glint into the sunny distance.
The conductor had
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