‘I was thinkin’ that tomorrow, we ought to start you learnin’ how to drive.’ My mouth fell open. When I didn’t reply, he said, ‘’Less you don’t want to.’

‘I want to!’ I answered, jerking out of my stupor. ‘I just … I didn’t think you and Dad would –’

‘Don’t get too excited. Ain’t no muscle car behind this proposal. Just my old Ford truck, when I’m not using it. Figured you might wanna go on a date or somethin’ – as long as it’s not with that Boyce Wynn. You can do better’n him.’ He laughed to himself again, and this time, I joined in, shaking my head.

‘Thanks, Grandpa. That’d be awesome.’

He shuffled down the counter and pulled a driver’s handbook from the drawer next to the cutlery, full of secrets tonight. ‘Start learnin’ the rules, and I’ll alert the populace to vacate the back roads this weekend.’ He grinned and patted my shoulder, leaving the kitchen, and I stepped into my pantry room, flopped on to the bed, and opened the book, listening for the brownie timer.

Mr Quinn walked table to table, assigning diseases. ‘Each team will identify how their particular disease is caused – genetic, viral, bacterial, chemical, et cetera. I want to know if there are methods of prevention, if there are known or debated treatments, and whether or not it’s contagious.’

The table next to us was assigned anthrax. We got lactose intolerance.

‘What the hell kind of lame-ass –’

‘Mr Wynn, I’ll thank you to keep your language deficiencies to yourself.’

‘But, Mr Quinn – lactose intolerance? What kinda disease is that? People who get the sharts when they drink milk?’ The class erupted into howls while Melody stared at Boyce with homicidal intent and Pearl covered her eyes, elbows on the table, sighing. Our teacher’s face screwed into a knot of exasperation. Predictably, none of that deterred my friend. ‘Stop drinkin’ milk – problem solved! Can’t we have something like, I dunno, Ebola?’

Quinn returned to the front as the bell rang. ‘Start your research tonight, and be ready to debate your findings within your team tomorrow!’ he called over the shuffling as we all headed for lunch.

‘How can you be friends with that idiot?’ Melody asked as we pressed towards the exit.

I lifted a shoulder and smiled down at her, catching the edge of the door and holding it open. ‘He’s entertaining?’

She conceded with a tilt of her head. ‘If you’re amused by complete idiocy.’ She started to return my smile, but it vanished when her boyfriend dropped his arm over her shoulders the moment we entered the hall. He was usually waiting for her after class.

‘Hey, babe.’ He fixed me with a look. ‘Hey, emo freak. Get your dick pierced yet?’

‘Clark,’ Melody gasped as we entered the flow of students, most of us eager to escape campus for half an hour.

‘Why are you so fascinated by my dick, Richards?’ I asked.

He turned round and then glanced over my shoulder, where I knew Boyce was. ‘Fuck off, freak,’ he said, leading Melody down the east hall, towards the parking lot.

‘I think Richards needs a new repertoire.’ I watched the sway of Melody’s hips, her boyfriend’s arm round her neck like a collar.

‘Huh?’ Boyce arched a brow. ‘You know he’s buyin’ from Thompson now, right?’

I laughed. ‘Perfect. So he’s a hypocrite as well as a douche.’

‘Dude. Coulda told you that years ago.’ He knocked knuckles with a friend over the heads of a couple of girls as I watched Melody and Clark disappear through the far door. ‘Did I tell you he tried to pay me to f**k you up again?’

I pulled to a full stop and a freshman slammed into me, bounced off, and sprawled on his ass. Reaching down, I grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet, guessing he had every textbook he’d been assigned in that backpack. He weighed twice what he should.

‘What’d you tell him?’ I asked Boyce as the freshman stammered a thank-you and scurried away.

Boyce grinned, one brow arched. ‘Told him to go f**k himself, of course.’

LUCAS

Jacqueline didn’t text or call me, so I concluded that either (a) she hadn’t seen the number on her cup or (b) she saw it and wasn’t interested in talking to me.

Considering that she’d volunteered her name and asked mine, I didn’t think she was indifferent.

She emailed Landon, but her message was economics-related only. Or so it seemed on the face of it. She mentioned going out with friends Saturday. When I replied, I referred to that comment: I hope you enjoyed your night out. A night out I knew all about. She wouldn’t tell Landon any more about her Saturday night, of course … but I wanted her to. With every exchange, I dug myself a bigger hole, but I couldn’t stop digging.

Then I alluded to her breakup, and the fact that I’d never meant to be rude by acting as if I didn’t want to know the details. Between the written lines, I urged, Tell me, but I didn’t expect her to answer that unwritten directive – to reveal such an unprotected part of herself.

With one paragraph, she laid it all at my feet – the amount of time they’d been together. The fact that she’d followed him here to school, instead of auditioning for a prestigious music programme far away. The way she blamed herself, completely, for being stupid. For believing in him.