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wanted to know if he shagged Laura. Swanning round the dirty floor, I tried to find Ben or my friends but I just got stared out by random men and it annoyed the hell out of me. Some advice to boys: don’t sleaze us. I felt arms go round me like spider legs and octopuses, and it was scary. I tried to shrug them off, tried not to break down on the dancefloor, kept my eyes peeled for Rachel’s gold porn top and everything else. Tried not to cry when I spotted Jenni kissing Ben’s head off. I turned away. Back upstairs I searched for Rach or Gracie or any old shoulder to cry on, but my eyes blurred too much. Wow, look how twinkly the lights look. I tried to do more poppers, but instead of making me electric I was a burst fuse – I was devastated. I could see slightly clearer in the dark, and I checked from the balcony it was really Ben and Jenni and it was. I raced back to the ladies’ toilet, stopping on the way to look for the girls or the boy named Johnny at the DJ box.

Chapter Two
     

At the Traffic Lights
     
     

Adam
     
    I had to shut things several times before I felt they were really closed. For example, that afternoon I had to shut the book we were reading, Romeo and Juliet , eight times before putting it in my bag, or else the school blows up. Miss Moore clocked me doing it, this mad grimace on her face as I heart-massaged the paperback, and I never went to another library lesson again. But worse than that, she once caught me slamming and reslamming the English door on the way to the toilet, and a little bit of piss did pop out. I saw this programme the other week about obsessive-compulsive disease, but I couldn’t be bothered going to the doctors.
    Since Friday I had all those fannies in my head, and I couldn’t stop staring at Eve and Debbie. We had to draw self-portraits in Art after dinner – my page had on it hollow eyes, sunk cheeks and skeleton bones; what a sexy bastard. Mr Gray said it was abstract; I thought it was pretty heartbreaking. I had a sigh. I was always depressed. I pressed really hard into my eye sockets, accentuating the lifelessness and staring. Eve had drawn a cute blonde girl in crayon, slim with curvy lines in all the right places. The Prick scribbled a musclebound hunk with a massive bulge – did I mention he was also a total twat. Burny was a charcoal mess, but in real life everyone liked him – he had a bit of Italiano blood in him, and he was in the football team and all that shite. Donna was his trophy girlfriend but she wasn’t drop-dead amazing – she always wore a red jumper with black tights, and she’d drawn a ladybird in colour pencil. I was positive they’d done all the rude stuff together – the Prick reckoned he shagged someone at Butlin’s a year back, but it was probably his five fingers. He was a knob – as soon as he found out about sex off the Personal Development video he went round name-dropping 69s and creampies as if he did them every breaktime. But I was positive his only sex experience was pulling girls’ pants down when we were young, and even now he was a pervy little cunt with a permanently smarmy fucked-up face.
    Saying that, I was trying not to be seedy but something about Eve had my eyes magnified. She was by far the prettiest girl in any of my classes – gold highway hair, eyes like butterflies, and thighs to die for. I often fantasised drilling a wonderwall in the girls’ shower but I didn’t really have the tools for it. In her purple skirt Eve kept crossing her legs over and over, sometimes flashing a bit of skin underneath and I was getting ruffled. Her Lycra shorts reminded me of Razzle , but she was miles superior to those daft bitches. Whenever she looked over I pretended to be watching out the window, Marton Road all grey and green and I tried to see the trees slowly dropping all their leaves. When I pop my cherry the world will be a sunburst of petals. I hope it’s me and her.
    I imagined us quaffing wine in the finest