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it to him.
    â€œThanks. Must’ve left it here last time.” There’s a horrible pause, filled by the sound of Dad peeing for what feels like a week.
    â€œUm, guess I should go to bed,” I murmur.
    Ben nods. “Me too, once your dad’s finished…” A smile tweaks his lips. Dad’s wee is still going.
    Now I’m starting to giggle too, and manage to splutter, “So you’re staying the night?” Which is kind of obvious.
    â€œYeah, we were just listening to music and it got so late…” He shrugs. Dad’s brushing his teeth now. It sounds like he’s trying to scrub rust off a car. “Kyle’s asleep but I’m not tired,” Ben adds. “Are you?”
    â€œNot really,” I say truthfully.
    â€œD’you think it’d be OK for us to hang out downstairs for a bit?”
    I pause. “Um … yes, if we’re quiet. It’s only Gran who sleeps downstairs and her hearing’s not too good.”
    â€œC’mon then,” he says, padding downstairs ahead of me. Don’t panic , I tell myself. You’re only going to sit and talk. There’s nothing to be scared of AT ALL. Still, my insides are swirling with excitement and nerves as I follow him to the kitchen and flick on the kettle. It sounds ten times louder than it does in the daytime, so I quickly switch it off again.
    â€œHere you go,” I say, fishing out a bottle of flat lemonade from the fridge, and pouring it into two mismatched glasses.
    â€œThanks.” He sits opposite me at the table and sips from his glass, while I pray that my brother doesn’t come down. It’s the middle of the night. What are we doing here?
    Ben brushes back his tousled hair and smiles. “I just wanted to say, I felt so bad for you at the market today.”
    â€œDid you see?” My cheeks flare hot instantly.
    â€œEr … kind of.”
    â€œOh,” I say dully, picturing my horrible, dishcloth-coloured vest.
    â€œWhat is it with those girls?” he asks. “I mean, what made them do that?”
    â€œCJ and Toni?” I pause for a moment, then it all spills out: about how CJ started picking on Zoe after her mum had been on TV, and how she calls me a tinker because I wear clothes from charity shops.
    â€œThat’s pathetic,” Ben retorts. “Who cares about stuff like that?”
    I shrug. “They do, obviously.”
    â€œThe thing is not to let them get to you,” he remarks.
    I look at his beautiful face. Even here, in our dingy kitchen, his eyes are bright, bright blue. “It’s not as easy as that,” I murmur.
    â€œNo,” he says firmly, “it really is. Trust me.”
    I blink at him, wondering how he could possibly know what it’s like to have someone hate you, to feel your heart sinking whenever they’re heading your way. “What d’you know about being picked on?” It comes out sounding sharper than I intended. “I mean, you’re popular and smart,” I add. “Everyone likes you and you’ve only just moved here…”
    He meets my gaze, making my heart turn over. “All I’m saying is, they’re not worth it.”
    â€œI suppose you’re right.” We fall silent for a moment. Although it no longer feels awkward being with him, it is chilly down here. My parents are pretty careful about turning on the heating (as Mum says, what’s the point of it being on when everyone’s in bed?). “Sorry it’s so cold,” I say, feeling suddenly embarrassed by our shabby kitchen and bubble-less lemonade.
    â€œI’m not cold, but I can tell you are.” Before I can protest, he’s taken off his black hoodie and handed it to me. “Put it on,” he says.
    â€œErm, OK.” I pull it on over my head, aware of that smell again – warm, sweet and oddly comforting.
    â€œThat better?”
    I smile. “Yes,