Saturday May 8

Julian’s party was pretty shit, actually. Dead in the water, but the kind of dead where there were still lots of people who just couldn’t be bothered with leaving. Like it might pick up if they just waited long enough.

Scott arrived later than Dennis expected him to. He only lived walking distance away. For a while Dennis thought he wasn’t coming. More likely he had spent some time earlier in the evening hanging out with Richard and Adam. He was welcome to them.

When Scott turned up Dennis was leaning on the door, watching Kane entertain a circle of girls on the steps with his ability to say witless things loudly. As Scott sidled past the group, Kane paused in mid-sentence to burp loudly and some of the girls made faces. He waved his bottle at Scott. ‘Pissed yet Collins awwwww get with the program its midnight already.’

Dennis gave Scott a nod and he fell in beside. ‘Sorry I’m late. Did I miss much?’

‘Nope.’

‘Good. So where’d you fuck off to last night?’

Dennis shrugged.

‘Are you chucking the team? Damon was pissed, man.’

‘It goes how it goes.’

‘Does it?’

Dennis figured Scott was wondering if he should push it. No chance of catching anything real as long as he was in a dodging mood. Dennis could stay two steps ahead of Scott without breaking a sweat.

’so now what?’ Scott asked.

‘Now?’

‘Yeah. You making a move?’

‘Always.’

There was a shout that caught everyone’s attention. ‘Hey! Hey, you got a problem?’ It was Craig, up by the gate. He and Will were standing there, they’d been hanging out, standing firm now and Mark was ducking back towards the house. Beyond them, just outside the gate, a half-dozen people had gathered where the streetlamps spiked into the sky. They were standing around, black jackets, heavy metal t-shirts.

‘What’s going on?’ Scott asked as Mark reached them.

‘Fucking bogans causing trouble,’ Mark said, excited. ‘I’m getting Julian.’

Dennis followed Mark inside. He went through to the back of the house, where he’d been doing shots with Julian earlier. There was no-one there now as people headed to the front of the house. He opened cupboards until he found what he needed.

By the time he got back to the front of the house, things had moved on. Julian was standing beside Mark’s car in the driveway, shouting at one of the bogans, and the way they were talking to each other Dennis figured it was an old feud between them. Around Julian there was a bunch of fighting going on. Kane was in the thick of it, throwing short hard punches like someone who had been in a bunch of fights.

Dennis had never been in a fight before. He picked up speed, easy strides. Scott was on the ground, holding his belly. What the hell was he thinking, getting involved in that? Dennis jumped on to the bonnet of Mark’s car, stepped on the roof, hopped down to the boot, and swung the cricket bat at the nearest head.

It connected with a crack. The guy went down in a heap. He was wailing. Everyone looked.

Dennis stood on the car, hefting the bat above his head. He felt a thousand feet tall, he felt like he was in the clouds, he felt like he was flying. ‘Get out of here,’ he said. He didn’t even need to raise his voice.

They left, dragging their injured mate with them. Julian stalked after them, shouting furiously. Dennis stayed up on the car. Everyone was looking up at him, the whole party was gathering around him. Talking. Stories already beginning to be told.

His eyes met Scott’s. Scott looked far away. Getting further away by the second.

The wind was in his face. Balance shifting. Grab hold.

Friday May 7

Lower Hutt’s High Street had been killed by the mall. It wasn’t quite dead yet, but it was irreversible now. Dennis felt no sympathy. Things changed. Balance shifted. That was the way it worked.

At one end of the mall was a five-way intersection. The crowd bumped patiently around Dennis as the traffic lights cycled and streams of cars pulled through like ribbons. Lots of bodies, all much older or much younger, and Dennis was glad they avoided his eyes.

Lights changed and the cross signal flashed up yellow, pedestrians launching into the road. The edges of the box Dennis carried caught his thigh through the plastic bag, bumping off him with each step. All around him the cars waited like predators, engines purring. He didn’t consider the eyes on him, and after lunch he would sit next to Richard in economics.

He passed through the glass doors into the mall. A central vault rose through three stories of balconies and escalators, the white plastic mediated by leafy plants. Voices swarmed against him like insects. He blinked behind his sunglasses and stepped on an escalator. He was stuck behind a woman in a heaving red dress. On the ground floor kids ditching school shifted through the music shop, young women selected clothes to try on, wives examined stainless steel kitchenware. The metal steps lifted him up, their teeth meshing and disappearing under the lip of the new floor and Dennis used the momentum. He stepped around seats and pushchairs and patrons to the bench chair with the view and the girl and he said, ‘You weren’t waiting too long?’

‘No, no,’ the girl replied. She was wearing the same cargoes as the night outside the takeaway, but the new dark hair gave quite a different impression. Dennis led them over to a food counter, deftly stepping past the line and catching the attendant’s eye. She ordered a bagel so he made it two and added some juice. Café style lunch, he noted absently as they waited in the bustle for the order to be filled. He let his elbow brush against her breast, just once.

They took a window seat. She’d been unconvinced they’d find one in the lunch rush, but Dennis knew he could trust his luck. He hitched his sunglasses up, pouring himself into her eyes as she tried to array herself. Caught off-guard she smiled at him, and he reflected the smile right back. Textbook.

She bit her lower lip, just for a second. ‘Look, I been wondering, how did you remember me?’

Her eyes were the kind of blue that looks just right with flaxen blond hair. Dennis cast his eyes down, showing he was pleased, seeing her fight the urge to bite her lip again. ‘I don’t know how to answer that,’ he said after playing out the wait. He almost let her speak then, timed it so she was just about to ask for more when he continued, breaking up her rhythm to throw her off and open. ‘You’re just memorable. The black hair looks good, by the way.’

‘You think it’s okay?’

Dennis nodded. Truth was, Dennis had no idea how he clicked that the girl at the party was the girl from the takeaway. He just had a knack for faces.

She shook her head. ‘So if I’m so memorable, how come you never called?’

Dennis looked into her eyes, just for a moment, then dipped his gaze to her neck. It was thin, maybe too thin. Getting towards fragile. ‘Like it’s an easy thing for a guy to just ring up a beautiful girl he doesn’t know.’ He spotted the edge of a blush in response, felt a little disappointed. Way too easy.

‘Whatcha got?’ she asked, pointing at the bag. She was changing the subject to something easier, a conversation you could eat to. He hauled the bag up to the table and on cue she started on the bagel.

‘New basketball boots,’ Dennis said, showing her.

‘They’re nice,’ the girl said.

‘They’re okay.’ Dennis closed up the bag and put it back down. ‘Long as they stop me from sliding.’

‘Huh?’

‘You know. Polished wooden floors.’

‘Oh. Yeah! Oh god, that was dumb.’ She laughed, embarrassed, indicating her hair. ‘Guess this hasn’t taken yet.’

Dennis smiled, he’d seen this play from blonde girls before and he had a professional respect for the move. ‘Don’t even say that.’

She gave him a generous grin. ‘So, did you have a good time at that party? I had to leave kind of early.’

‘Your friend didn’t look too well.’

‘Yeah, she doesn’t know when to stop I guess… she’s normally such the do-gooder, too. Always so perfect, y’know?’

He nodded his sympathy, not even faking it. What was he doing, living by Richard’s good graces? What debt could he possibly owe? He was going. It was about time. A shake up would do everyone good.

Conversation had stopped. She was giving him the chance to run things, and he had to find his groove. Make her laugh, get things going, make her think he gave a damn...

Shit.

He couldn’t remember her name.

Dennis leaned in a little closer. ‘How’s your bagel?’

‘It’s nice,’ she said plainly, pleasantly. ‘I like that counter.’

‘Yeah,’ Dennis said, searching lines of conversation. It wasn’t feeling right. How could he be losing her? This cheap slut from a takeaway store? He could ease it back, no problem. Easy moves, easy moves. ‘Do you like going to cafés, then?’

‘Yeah, me and Trish go sometimes. It’s pretty cool, some of the places.’

‘You’ll have to give me a guided tour sometime,’ Dennis said, thinking about the name Trish.

‘Yeah. ‘Course, I like to go dancing too.’

‘Ah! I had you figured for the dancing type.’

She grinned, dubious. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Something about the way you walk.’ Easy moves. He ate some of his bagel. Bagels and cafés, a guided tour from… from her, don’t worry, it’ll come back…

She dabbed her lips with a napkin and caught his eye. ‘You did call, though, didn’t you?’

What kind of question was that? ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You did call me, though, didn’t you? A couple days after I gave you my number. You didn’t leave a name or anything. I was pretending to be my sister, you know, to screen my calls. That was you, wasn’t it?’

Dennis couldn’t find the right face. ‘Why do you reckon?’

‘Beause I didn’t give anyone else my number, that’s why. So it was you! God! I can’t wait to tell Trish that the mystery’s solved.’

‘You’re sharp. I confess, it was me.’

She furrowed her brow and toyed with her bagel. ‘So why didn’t you call back later, like you said?’

Smile was offbeam but he couldn’t fix it. He wanted to hit her. Or kiss her, hard and sharp. Both, maybe.

‘Are you okay?’

He put the knuckle of his forefinger against his chin and looked out at her from under his brow. ‘No. No, it’s not anything wrong, but I just remembered something. You know what? I have to go.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Sorry.’ He blinked and stood. Turned his back to her.

The impudent bitch. Tables and people on all sides and her eyes on his back. She was seeing a person standing still, a person with nowhere better to go, with no way to move. The crowded walls, the faces, and he didn’t know what part he was supposed to be playing any more, and he couldn’t make it happen.

That was exactly the problem. She had no name, and neither did he.

The gym at Pomare High was faded but the floor was shiny. Dennis could almost make out his reflection below, staring up at him. He reached the front of the line and jogged forward on his new shoes to receive the ball and lay it in. Lio clapped. The team was tense – was last week’s victory a fluke? Would they cope, make Damon proud? Dennis was relaxed. He looked at the other end of the court where Pomare were running through a passing drill. They had more height than the Francis squad and several of their players were wide and solid, but they moved like it weighed them down. Each pass was crisp. They knew what they were doing. If Dennis had his way every game would be against a team like this.

Damon was talking to one of the refs, laughing, ostentatious and utterly at home. Dennis watched him patting the ref’s arm as he disengaged, watched him shake his head a little still smiling, watched him pick up a clipboard.

He ran, rebounded, passed. The Pomare team ran a drill up their end, the ball criss-crossing. Richard leaped high for his lay-up. Scott, rebounding, slamming the ball between his hands to make a noise like a gunshot. The referees conferring, Damon studying his clipboard.

He ran, jumped, layed in the ball. Adam was there to rebound, looking up at the hoop, waiting for the net to release. Dennis kept on and Damon waved him over. ‘Dennis. Hey, new shoes, huh?’

‘Yeah,’ Dennis said.

‘I’m trying a different starting line this week. I want to see what combinations of people are going to work best, right? You’ll be coming off the bench this time out, but don’t think it’s because you played bad last week, you didn’t.’

Dennis frowned. ‘Okay.’

‘Aright. Get the team doing free-throws, it’s nearly time.’

Dennis went over to Richard. ‘Rich, Damon says free throws.’

Richard clapped attention. ‘Free throws guys! Free throw drill!’ They lined up, one clap for a miss, two if it went in. Dennis was right after Richard. Two claps, then two again. He made room for the next person and listened to his heartbeat.

Hands in, stacked high. ‘All right, guys,’ Damon was saying, ‘FC on three…’

The starters took the court, Ray Viane Richard Adam James. James cast Dennis a glance and he nodded briskly, his fringe flopping down. The team gave Dennis room to sit next to Scott. ‘Not starting this week?’ Scott asked.

Dennis shrugged. ‘Trying something new.’

Adam was in the centre circle with the referee. The Pomare centre was there too, also number thirteen, tall with narrow eyes. Dennis had been watching him before the game and knew he could jump. Pomare thirteen reached out his hand and Adam shook it. The narrow eyes snarled as they measured Adam’s reach. Adam fell into his stance. The ref looked around, checked the bench, the other ref, the players, then turned and readied himself. Dennis noticed Scott tense up.

Adam set and jumped as the ball rose into the air, but Pomare thirteen reached higher and tipped it over to a lead guard who was instantly away down the court. James cut him off but another Pomare player was trailing them, picking up the pass and the shooting the game’s first points.

‘Concentrate!’ Damon called out angrily. ‘And pick up men!’

Francis possession. Ray called the play and Adam took up a position down low. Pomare thirteen leaned against him, playing close defence. Dennis watched closely, saw thirteen speak. The ball cycled around and went in to Adam who tried a jumpshot with thirteen all over him. Arms collided and the ball went wild, Damon on his feet, fifteen seconds into the game and fired up. The refs made no call. Pomare got the rebound, another fast break up the court. Adam pushed hard to make up for his miss, and when the small forward lifted his shot he went to block it. A slap on the arm, the shot wild, a whistle for a foul.

‘Damn,’ Scott said.

Dennis watched as thirteen went over to Adam and leaned in and spoke to him.

‘Pick up your men!’ Damon was yelling.

‘You getting that?’ Scott asked. ‘That guy on Adam?’

‘I see him,’ Dennis said.

‘Shit, he picks his targets.’

Richard scored on the next possession, getting Francis on the board. Pomare’s return was faster than expected, that crisp passing, and Adam was in the lane as the ball came to thirteen and the shot went up. He stumbled into the guy, making contact, and another shrill whistle as the ball popped through the net. Another foul, already. He only had three more to give and the game had just begun.

Thirteen was saying something as Adam turned to trudge towards the bench, but Damon stood and waved him back on. Adam looked confused. Damon clapped his hands, encouraging, ordering. ‘Stay on, Adam. Get in your game!’

Dennis and Scott glanced at each other. The game resumed, Adam being watched. Ray got the ball in to him but his shot bounced out of the hoop. He fell into a bad run of plays, a travelling violation, a pass picked off, a rebound and missed putback, a three-second call. Every time, thirteen whispering in Adam’s ear and Adam’s eyes getting lower and lower.

‘Adam’s way off,’ Scott murmured. ‘That guy’s in his head.’

‘Despite all your hard work,’ Dennis replied.

The ball cycled through to Adam again and he pivoted and put up a shot but thirteen leapt up too – long, long arm up – and connected, fingers tensing and flinging the ball out of bounds. The eyes were roaring and Adam backed away.

Damon signalled a time out and ushered in the team. ‘Come on, guys! Where’s your execution? Cut off the passing lane, move the ball around, basics!’

Dennis nudged Adam. ‘What was he saying?’ he whispered.

‘Nothing,’ Adam said, not meeting Dennis’ eyes.

Damon changed the lineup and Adam hit the bench with Ray and James. Kelvin, Lio and Dennis were up. Dennis stalked on to the court, his new shoes sticking pleasingly on the slick floor. He went straight towards thirteen. Richard crowded in but Dennis shook his head, in charge. ‘I’ll go low. Take the weak side.’

Thirteen met Dennis with a sneer. ‘I hope you got more game than that other guy. He’s suck.’

He didn’t react. The referee gave Lio the ball and he passed in to Kelvin, who immediately flicked it down to him. Mismatch on the post – Dennis wasn’t really short, but he seemed it next to thirteen. He shifted his head, a small fake but thirteen ate it right up and moved the wrong way. Dennis reversed on him and dribbled the ball to the baseline. Thirteen chased him, scrambling to cut him off, but Dennis had already passed the ball in to Richard right under the hoop. Basket. The bench cheered, Adam included, but Dennis tuned that out. He wanted to hear nothing but thirteen.

Intensity lifted. FC started to make connections, the Pomare side rattled by the sudden precision. Kelvin nabbed a steal from a careless pass down low and drove forward, both teams shifting back down court, thirteen pounding ahead to reach the keyhole as Kelvin slipped the ball through to Dennis. He took it straight at thirteen, flying up and towards him and extending his arm over the top, thirteen adjusting his stance and realising too late that Dennis wasn’t backing down. He stretched right over his head and the ball dropped through the hoop as the whistle went.

Thirteen pushed Dennis off him, put an elbow out for space and it caught him on the head. Dennis took the hit and looked at thirteen and laughed right in his face.

And thirteen took a swing. Dennis was expecting it, he ducked and punched the guy right in the balls. Then there were arms around him, the whistle was going and everyone was there, pulling them apart, and Dennis let himself be separated, smiling, watching thirteen’s fury, a stream of abuse and obscenity and Dennis just smiled, holding himself very still in the grip of his teammates. ‘Cool it, Den,’ said Scott. ‘Cool it!’

Coaches were shouting and the referee assessed technical fouls against both players. As Dennis returned to the bench Damon rounded on him, ‘What the hell was that? What do you think you’re playing at?’

Dennis just stood there looking down at his new shoes. Damon couldn’t spend any more time on him, turned his attention back to the game.

Adam leaned over, worried. ‘Damon doesn’t look happy.’

‘Fuck him,’ Dennis said. ‘It isn’t just a game.’ He didn’t sit down, and walked past the bench and into the changing rooms.

Scott followed him, catching up with him in the bathroom. ‘You okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘You did that deliberately. Pressed that guy’s buttons.’

‘It was easy.’ He leaned over the basin and splashed water into his face, letting it run down his chin and on to his chest. ‘Julian’s having a party tomorrow. You hear about that?’

‘No.’

‘Now you have. I’m going. You should come.’ Dennis opened his bag and started to take out his normal clothes.

Scott shook his head. ‘What are you doing? You’re not out of the game, man. You’re allowed two technical fouls.’

‘No,’ Dennis said, water dripping from his brow. ‘I’m out of the game.’

Monday May 3

When Shane was in the common room, his music was usually on. No-one ever cared enough to stop him monopolising the stereo. Wearing his usual non-reg black jacket and crazy grin, he snapped the sound off but kept singing the tune into the silence, as loud as he could get.

Dennis shook his head, marvelling at him. Shane spun about on one foot, like a dance move, and offered him the tape. ‘There, bitch!’

‘Cheers.’ Dennis took it.

‘You will enjoy my excellent taste in sounds! Learn all the words so we can say fuck together and be musical!’ He grabbed his crotch. ‘Hee-yah!’

Scott came into the room, and Dennis noticed his face register disapproval. Shane ran over to him, giving him the finger with both hands and dancing about. ‘Ooh Scottie Scottie, with the hot hot body... hee-yah!’

‘Fuck off, Pennywise.’

Shane giggled and collected his bag.

Dennis gave Scott a nod. ‘How was stats?’

‘Fuck, man. You can’t wag that class. I go mental if you wag that class.’

‘Can you blame me?’

‘Not really. Boring as shit.’

Dennis flashed him a grin. ‘You staying ‘round after school? I’m in the mood to do something. Having a good day.’

Shane’s ears perked up visibly. ‘Wait a second – you’re having a good day?’ He pointed at Dennis.

Dennis struck a pose in response, arms akimbo and head cocked. ‘Yeah, I’m having a good day!’

‘Give me my tape back then!’ Shane was laughing. ‘You only get it on a bad day, because I only lend my shit to baaad motherfuckers!’

Dennis scooped up someone’s shoe from the floor and hurled it at Shane. It bounced off the door. They could still hear Shane’s laughter as he headed off down the corridor.

‘I don’t like that freak,’ Scott said.

‘He’s okay.’

‘Just get a bad feeling from him, you know? He’s out of control.’

‘He knows exactly what he’s doing.’

Scott wasn’t convinced. ‘He loan you some music?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where does he get that shit from? It isn’t from any music shop.’

‘Bootlegs. He trades them with people all over the place. You won’t hear this stuff anywhere else. So anyway, you in? Here, after class.’

‘Hell, I’ll be here. I’ve got a free period and intend to spend all of it asleep on this couch.’

‘What, not enough sleep in stats?’

‘Ha bloody ha.’

Dennis clapped him on the shoulder and headed out.

‘Room for a pair of white guys?’ Dennis yelled. The wind rippled the grass, the soil giving slightly under his school shoes. He had the sun on him.

The game in front of them slowed and halted, the rugby ball spinning into waiting hands. ‘Fuck, I don’t want any honkeys on our side!’ someone called loudly, to much laughter.

‘Awww, what say one white boy each huh?’ suggested Chris, welcoming his basketball teammates. ‘We got Collins.’ He collected the ball and spiralled it out to Scott to underline the point, kickstarting things.

Dennis hung back a bit, getting the measure of it. A crunching hard tackle on a giggling fourth-former and the ball went to Scott. Dennis watched him take off, remembering some old moves, stuttering his step, dodging sideways as he got hemmed in, passing off again. There was another tackle and a pass, and then Dennis found his line. He reached out his arms and collected the ball and shifted forward and was through half of Scott’s side before anyone could react. A burly fifth stomped in his way but Dennis slipped around him, sprinting the final steps to the try line.

‘Shit,’ someone said, ‘not bad.’

The game restarted and Chris wandered near to Dennis, grinning ear to ear. ‘I didn’t know you played rugby.’

Dennis scratched his chin. ‘Yeah. How about that?’

The sun was covered by a narrow train of clouds, and without it the cold was piercing. Scott zipped up his jacket but Dennis didn’t. They were sitting on the bonnet of Dennis’ car by the side of the river. The water came down from the hills and mountains, miles of pressure pushing forward in a roiling current, out to the harbour where it would disperse outward into the calm enormous sea. The tide would push it on to the beach and then suck it back, drifting sand and shingle, losing all definition. It would be like dying. ‘Getting cold,’ he said.

‘Mm-hm.’

‘I kind of wish I could swim. At the pool last week I felt like a dick.’

‘You could learn.’

Scott humphed. ‘You got anything to smoke?’

‘Cigarettes?’

‘Go on then.’

Dennis fished out a cigarette and lighter.

Scott looked up at the sun through the clouds. ‘I went to lessons once. The instructor pushed my head under the water, all that fucking chlorine – it freaked the shit out of me. My mum yelled at her. Never went back, never got taught.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘When did you learn?’

‘On the beach. Older brothers, remember.’ Den let Scott pull a cigarette from the pack, took one for himself. ‘If they could swim, then I could as well.’

‘You told yourself that?’

‘I always tell myself that.’

‘We didn’t hit the beach too much. Dad hated salt water.’

‘And you?’

‘Can’t stand the stuff.’

They both lit up and took a few drags. The wind picked up again, incessant.

Scott changed the subject. ‘So. You and Richard. How pissed off at him are you?’

Dennis adjusted his sunglasses. The sun stayed behind clouds, the wind stayed freezing. He shrugged. ‘His attitude is irritating.’

‘Is that all?’

‘What, you’re gonna analyse me now?’

Scott shook his head. ‘I would if I could. But you’re unreadable. Dick.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

‘Worry isn’t the word.’ Scott savoured the cigarette, huddled a bit tighter against the wind. ‘So what actually happened between you and Kirsty?’

This again? ‘Not much. Went out a couple of times. Short-term.’

‘Why’d you dump her?’

‘I didn’t. Just stopped calling her. She was getting a bit weird.’

‘Weird?’

‘Said she loved me.’

‘Really?’

‘More than once.’

Scott was surprised. ‘She seems so damn grounded.’

‘Now.’

Scott nodded. ‘Huh.’

Dennis threw away his cigarette, only half-finished. ‘Rich and Kirsty were lucky. They got a no-fault breakup. Neither of them had to be the asshole, both got out with their precious self-image intact.’

‘And here I was thinking you were a romantic.’

‘No. I’m a realist.’

The wind in his face, through his hair. He closed his eyes. It made him cold.

Sunday May 2

He felt dislocated from time, like he was floating. Up, up. Outside lights were off but the night was a clear blue-black. At the pool. This girl, she was very drunk, she was trying to stay up straight. Helping her. She on her knees. He was fucked up. Had they taken pills? Up. Her skirt his hand was up and touching. She pressed herself against his fingers.

She kissed him, spirit-breath hot on his chin, he was, the water. Touching the water. It was freezing. Or was it warm. A heated pool? A small pool, he unpicked the cover. Three points. Pulled the cover off. She was drunk. He stripped and she watched. Hadn’t he already done this? Getting into the water. Christ. What was he – water surrounding him. Entering it. He reached out for her. Why not. What was her name? Why the fuck.

Out of her skirt, out of everything, shadows curving. She was getting in the water. She was warm. Wrapped his arms around her. She was warm. It was cold. Pressing into her body. Into. Up, up.

The water was shifting with them. Her shoulders broke the surface. He held his head back from her. He didn’t want her to kiss him again.

Saturday May 1

James’ father was a lawyer and his mother worked in advertising and two of his three siblings had moved out already, leaving only his little sister and himself at home. Their big house was underpopulated. It had two stories, three if you counted the raised master bedroom, and a large garden out the front complete with carefully-planted flowerbeds. The bottom floor could have been designed with drunken teenage parties specifically in mind: dining room, lounge, kitchen, playroom, connected garage. It was all pretty sweet.

Dennis and Scott arrived together. Dennis was walking, Scott weaving a slow pattern on his bicycle. ‘Check it out,’ Scott said, pointing up at a basketball hoop on the side of the garage. ‘That wasn’t there last time.’

Music from inside kicked up a raucous riotous vibe. Cigarettes and a shared bottle by the door, three guys watching them approach. Dennis gave them a nod. Mark Keyes sneered as Scott’s wheels kicked up gravel, and Kane pointed – ‘Fuck look it’s Knight Rider.’

Mark echoed the mockery. ‘Cool wheels, Scott.’

‘It’s fucking street hawk he’s street hawk.’

There was history here, but Dennis wasn’t looking for trouble. He smiled at Phil, who was short and blond with an evil grin. ‘Phil, these guys still rely on you for lifts everywhere?’

Scott picked up the theme. ‘Yeah, you still driving these fuckers around? Fuck off without them tonight, man, make them have to call their mum for a ride home.’

Phil laughed. ‘Nah, these pissheads need someone to look after them.’

Kane growled. ‘Dumb cunt I’ll kick your ass.’

Phil turned a casual finger up at Kane. ‘If carting these dicks around was all I got out of having a car, I’d be on a bicycle too mate.’ He took a long drag of his cigarette, snatching his finger-salute back a second before Kane could grab it. ‘But there is an up side.’

Scott cocked an eyebrow. ‘Yeah? Convince me.’

‘You ever get laid on the back seat of that thing?’

Scott and Dennis both laughed, and Phil offered them the bottle. Dennis took a swig, relishing the burn as the alcohol, whatever it was, washed down. Mark and Kane nodded approvingly.

‘What’s in the bag?’ Mark asked.

Scott hefted the backpack. ‘Our dinner.’ He rattled it and all of them heard the clink of bottles.

‘This is going to be a good party,’ Phil said.

Dennis followed as Scott took the bike around the back. The back garden was unimpressive apart from the row of trees alongside the fence. While Scott sorted the bike out, Dennis took a few steps closer so he could see the pool, blue and brittle calm. It was uncovered. ‘It’s meant to be heated,’ he said.

‘Fuck that,’ Scott said. ‘Come on.’

They went in through the back door, past the bathroom and laundry, through steam and condensation. In the kitchen a cluster of people were listening to Sasha talk about her water polo team, two girls Dennis didn’t recognise and Julian with his glasses and mop of curly hair. One of the girls, a fiery redhead, turned to watch him as he passed. He gave her one glance only.

The main crowd was in the playroom. Scott handed a bottle to Dennis and slung his bag into a corner. Dennis twisted off the top, clinked with Scott, and surveyed the room. James himself was sitting with some of the crowd from school, talking loudly. Three girls cackled on a faded couch across the room. They looked over at him, two of them instantly going back to their own conversation. The third, a girl with dyed-dark hair tightly braided, sipped crimson wine from a glass and eyed him briefly before also looking away. She looked familiar but Dennis couldn’t place it yet. All around the room people were talking in pairs, never quite face-on, their voices loud to make up for how little they were saying.

Adam was on his knees by the stereo, inspecting a pile of compact discs. As soon as he saw them he levered upright and hurried over. ‘Hi, guys. Uh, how’s it going?’

‘Fine and dandy,’ Scott replied. ‘What we got on?’

‘Um, I dunno? Is it good?’

Scott pointed him towards the bag to get a beer. Dennis watched this exchange and leaned in to Scott. ‘You know those’ll get vultured before midnight, right?’

‘Awk,’ Scott said. ‘We better drink ‘em quick, then.’

When Adam got back they tapped glass and drank. Adam was the first to stop, wiping the tips of his fingers along his bulging lips. Dennis was next, keeping his head up and lowering the bottle, his eyes sliding briefly shut. Scott emptied his.

‘So hard,’ Dennis said flatly.

‘Geez, Scott,’ Adam said. ‘Should I get you another one?’

Scott nodded. ‘Why not?’

‘Wasting no time!’ Phil said, bringing the waft of smoke with him. ‘Saw you do that Scott, if you’re keen to get fucked tonight I’m sure we can arrange it…’

‘You want a beer, Phil?’ Dennis asked.

Phil shook his head and brandished his bottle, noticeably emptier than before. ‘This will sort me out.’

‘What is that stuff?’

Phil shrugged. ‘A fine carafe of something that I stole from my brother.’

Dennis nodded. ‘Always the best stuff.’

‘Can’t relate,’ Scott said. ‘I guess I am missing out on this brother thing.’

‘Fuck no,’ Phil replied. ‘Son of a bitch gave me beats until I was almost the same size as him. Now we’re evenly matched though.’

‘My brothers stopped hitting me when I was eight,’ Dennis said. ‘I came after them with a hacksaw. They left me alone after that.’

Scott and Phil looked at each other.

Phil laughed. ‘You’re a fucking psycho, Dennis.’

‘When we go out for food we don’t let him use knives,’ Scott added. ‘Richard cuts his food for him’

Bullshit line of humour, but Phil seemed to be entertained. Dennis let it slide.

Adam reappeared and handed a replacement beer to Scott. ‘Where’s Richard? We came together but I don’t know where he went.’

‘He’s around,’ Phil said. ‘I just saw him in the hall.’

Adam went to find him and was replaced by James the moment he stepped away. ‘Shit,’ James said. ‘I get so sick of telling stories. You guys talk to me for once.’

‘Hey James,’ Scott said. ‘Good party.’

‘Thanks man,’ James said.

‘No bikinis,’ Phil said ruefully.

‘Yeah, well that’s probably ‘cause of how you acted around them last time, dick.’

‘Hey, the point of the bikini is to parade, right? I was just watching the parade.’

‘One of those girls was my girlfriend, dumbass.’

‘And you see her naked all the time, so shut the fuck up.’

‘Not the point!’

‘He’s right,’ Dennis said. ‘A little clothing goes a long way. Naked, there’s nothing to wonder about. No mystery, just a little cunt and some nipples. Over it.’

Phil laughed loudly and slapped James in the arm. ‘Fine, fine, put her in a bikini!!’ He grinned back at Dennis, who faded back just a little, leaving only James and Scott implicated in the conversation. On the other side of the room, the girl with dyed-dark hair was watching.

‘Nice one,’ James said, not pleased. Scott just looked disheartened.

Phil coughed pointedly, nodding past Dennis. Crossing towards them was a smaller, longer-haired version of James. As she got closer Dennis could see differences in her cheekbones and her eyes, but she and her brother were very much alike. Which made it strange to acknowledge just how pretty she was.

‘James,’ she said, forcing three syllables out of the word. ‘I’m going now, okay? I’ll sleep over at Em’s tonight.’ She had hands on her hips. Dennis noticed that her hair was wet, with one long dark strand clinging to her forehead. He glanced at Scott and Phil, who were clearly distracted. He remembered the warm touch of steam in the back corridor.

‘Fine, whatever,’ James said.

‘Don’t let anyone in my bedroom, all right? I mean it!’ Her eyebrows crashed down on her eyes.

‘Yeah yeah.’

Her lips gathered into a discontented pout. ‘Fine, thanks a lot,’ she said to her brother angrily. ‘You’re a real big help.’ She headed for the door.

‘See you Paula,’ Phil called across the room.

‘Keep my room safe, Phil.’

‘You know you can count on me!’

Paula gave him the finger and left.

‘Well, shit,’ James said conversationally.

Phil waited until James had wandered off before leaning over to Scott and Dennis. ‘You know, I remember when that girl was in nappies.’ He thought about this for a moment. ‘Though I didn’t want to fuck her then.’

The first drag from a cigarette was the whole benefit. Warm smoke in his lungs eased him down when he hadn’t even known he was tense. Dennis didn’t smoke often, only socially, when he was drinking usually. Couldn’t afford it, and wasn’t interested in getting addicted. But that first drag was always good.

Outside, under the driveway light, gravel underfoot. The music from inside kept going, but no-one was dancing. It wasn’t that kind of party. People were hooking into each other, or planning to, and talking lots of shit, and getting wrecked. Business as usual. It wasn’t really his scene, or it hadn’t been. As though he had a scene.

The door opened and Richard came out to join him. ‘Hey,’ he said. The American accent was still there, attenuated but Dennis picked it up. Couldn’t hide it. Like his badge of honour or something. A little vibe in the voice, Rich had been drinking.

‘You know James doesn’t care if you smoke inside, right?’

Dennis shrugged.

‘How’s it going?’ Rich leaned against the wall next to Dennis. ‘Another James party. Shit.’

Talkative. Dennis offered him a smoke. Richard picked one out, lit it off his, took that first drag. Dennis listened to him breathe it out. ‘My Dad says you have leadership qualities.’

‘He said what?’

Dennis didn’t elaborate, so Richard carried on.

‘I get things done okay. But you’re the one who puts the people together, Den. On my first day you came up and adopted me. Met Adam through you, then Scott, and that was that. Never looked back. You did the leading.’

‘Nah.’

They stood smoking in silence for a minute. Dennis looked at his shoes. Scuffed-up sneakers. He needed to buy new ones. Richard had worn the new Jordans at the game yesterday. Need the right stuff to play the game.

‘It’s all going too slow,’ Richard said.

Dennis flicked his butt away. ‘What is?’

‘Everything. Seems to take forever to get anything done. I suppose I should be enjoying it.’

’suppose.’

‘All under control, anyway, now, at least. You know this already. You and Scott, you guys notice more than you let on.’

Dennis nodded, slowly. ‘So you got a question?’

Richard paused, then grinned. ‘Damn.’

’so go.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Kirsty?’

This question, now. That might count as interesting if he could bring himself to care. Instead he just shrugged. ‘Would you really have wanted to know?’

He let the question hang. Enough of this. There were beers to consume.

Dennis closed the door to the bathroom. The room was large and blue, with the toilet right on the far side. The air was still a little damp from Paula’s shower before, the mirror fog-streaked like the lick of hair down her forehead. He unzipped, thinking about her.

Behind him the door to the bathroom opened. He’d forgotten to lock it. No worries. A girl, he could work the angles, instant intimacy over shared embarrassment. No problem.

He turned his head and saw Shane swaggering across the tiled floor with his hair gel-slick and wearing sunglasses. Sunglasses inside, at night. Cool.

Dennis shook off the last drops and zipped up. ‘Learn to knock, man.’

‘I gotta drain the weasel!’

‘Patience.’

‘Why, you embarrassed about the size of your cock?’ Shane laughed noisily. ‘Or something else, huh? You been jerking off in here?’

‘Yeah,’ Dennis said, grinning. ‘Your turn now.’ He went for the door.

Shane interposed himself and started unbuttoning his fly. ‘Dennis. There’s something I wanna show you.’

Dennis raised an eyebrow.

Husky-voiced: ‘It’s only natural to be curious, Dennis.’

No way to get around him. Big, strong. Dennis tensed, ready to make a move.

Shane laughed and dropped his pants. ‘Check it out!’ The trousers gathered at his ankles. There on his upper thigh, just below the fading green underwear, Dennis saw and understood.

Shane kicked open the door to the hall and waddled through it so everyone could see. ‘Check it out! Look everyone, look at fucking me!’

Scott was out there, waiting – he followed Shane’s gestures and gawked. ‘Shit! When did you get that?’

‘Last night man!’ Shane boasted. ‘Ain’t I cool?’

Dennis started to laugh. On Shane’s thigh was a tattoo, a cartoon devil with middle finger raised and sunnies like Shane’s own. The skin around it was still red and tender. ‘Did it hurt?’ asked Scott.

‘It would’ve hurt any normal man – but I ain’t a normal man! I am extraordinary, see, and it didn’t hurt one bit!’

He was still laughing. The expression on Scott’s face just made it all funnier, that mix of fear and admiration. He laughed more, and fuck it, losing the plot completely now, shaking with the force of it. The whole moment was a thing of beauty.

Shane was looking pleased with himself, standing in the hall with his pants around his ankles. When Dennis bounced off the wall it must have got too weird for him. ‘Come on,’ he said, trying to shepherd Dennis out.

‘Yeah!’ Shane said, hoisting up his pants. ‘You can fuck off now. I gotta wee wee!’ He hobbled back into the bathroom then stopped, spinning toward the shower. ‘This where that Paula gets naked every day? Da-amn. Pity I didn’t walk in on her! Woulda given her a real close-up look at my little devil!’ His pants dropped again and he started pelvic thrusting madly with sunglasses facing up to the roof: ‘Ar ar ar arr arr arr ararararrr!’

Scott shut the door on him.

Dennis subsided against the wall, still grinning and laughing quietly. ‘He’s crazy.’

‘He’s a fucking danger to society.’

Dennis, still smiling, punched Scott hard in the gut. Scott coughed up air, shocked. ‘It’s a dangerous world,’ Dennis said.

People moved past him, he moved through them. Against the current. The sixth and seventh form from SFC, an array of girls from other schools. Some of the girls pretended not to notice him. He avoided eye contact for now. Not interested in playing any of those games. He wasn’t drunk enough, he wasn’t relaxed enough. That shit could get serious when he was in a mood like this.

Whatever the hell mood this was.

Richard and Scott were talking in the hall. Richard noticed him approaching. ‘Hey, man. We’re talking about the game. You played well.’

Scott nodded emphatically. ‘God yes! You got to pop your moves… and getting brutalised in the key, man, fuck, if the refs were worth a shit you would’ve got a bunch of whistles too. Bad fucking luck.’

Dennis nodded. ‘We won.’

‘Hell yeah,’ Scott said. ‘Good way to start a season, man.’

‘Are you talking about the game?’ Adam asked, joining their small circle. He thought about it for a second. ‘I sucked so much.’

‘You were fine,’ Richard said.

Adam shook his head, stubbornly awkward. ‘No way. I missed easy shots.’

‘You got that great block. Your defence was good.’

Adam shrugged and Scott jumped back in. ‘So who top-scored, Rich, you?’

‘Not me,’ Richard said. ‘Viane I think.’

‘Yeah, he was on fire. We’re gonna do all right, I reckon. Into the playoffs!’

‘Not with me.’ Richard spread his hands, giving the others a moment to give him attention. Then he said, ‘I’m not going to be here for finals.’

‘What?’ Adam was surprised.

‘Yeah. I’ll be gone by finals time. They’re after I go.’

Scott looked unhappy. ‘Man! That sucks.’

‘Hey,’ Richard said. ‘It’s not all bad. Opens a spot for you in the starting five, right?’

‘Fuck off, Richard,’ Dennis said abruptly.

The other three stopped and looked at him.

‘No one’s impressed. Just fucking go, all right?’

It felt like coming to the surface at last.

He walked away.