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drive up for a visit.’
    â€˜That’d be great, Gary. We’ve got the spare room. Come and stay as long as you want.’
    â€˜Fanks. I might come up before I get my licence.’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜I’ve got a job.’
    â€˜Whaaat? What about school?’
    â€˜Sick of school. I’m working as a plumber.’
    â€˜An apprenticeship?’
    â€˜Yes, sort of.’
    â€˜That’s bloody great, mate. Fantastic. Just give us a call when you get your holidays so we can clean all the shit out of the spare room. Stay as long as you want. You’ll love it up here. Plenty of work. The weather is unreal.’
    â€˜Better than this shithole.’
    Dad laughed. I heard a faint crackle and hiss as he sucked on his cigarette. His lips popped and he held the mouthpiece as he coughed. ‘So we’ll see you when you get some holidays then, hey?’
    â€˜Yep. I’ll give you a call.’
    â€˜Great. Well, happy birthday again, mate. Hope it’s a goodie.’
    â€˜Fanks, Dad. How’s work and that?’
    â€˜Oh, okay. See you,’ he said, and hung up.
    Mum stuck the best part of two packets of candles into the cake and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Muz, Sharon and Mum howled ‘Happy Birthday’. Hip hip bullshit. I emptied my drug-fucked lungs at the candles. One of the little bastards wouldn’t go out and I got a bit of a head spin.
    â€˜Whoah,’ Sharon said. ‘Who’s the lucky girl, ay?’
    â€˜Or guy,’ Mario said.
    â€˜Vanessa is going to be so jealous.’
    â€˜Piss off.’
    Mum drove me to Target to exchange my helmet after dinner. We’d just got through the doors when a butch-sounding woman announced on the PA that the store was going to close in five minutes.
    I couldn’t find a helmet. They were all so . . . I dunno . . . new. I liked my old helmet. It stunk like me and was all scratched to the shithouse. Mum started freaking and telling me to hurry. I ended up exchanging the pussy helmet for a Metallica CD and poster. Thanks, Grandad.
    I walked to Ash’s place at half past nine. She’d swapped her school pants for trackies, her school shoes for moccasins. She wore a black t-shirt and her stupid green and goldcourt jester’s hat with the bells pulled down too far on her head. She’s a class act. I looked down my nose at her.
    â€˜Give us a break. It’s a bloody birthday party,’ she said, and I wondered if she’d had a cone or two before I’d arrived. The bong was nowhere to be seen. I felt like a dick again: she’d dressed up for me.
    â€˜You’re wearing it,’ she said, and pointed to the silver skull on my little finger.
    â€˜I love it. Fanks.’
    â€˜Sharon said you’ve got a job.’
    I nodded. ‘Plumber.’
    â€˜Bullshit. Plumber’s labourer.’
    â€˜Yeah, that.’
    â€˜Maybe the wankers at school will start calling you Plumber, too.’
    I swallowed. I didn’t realise she knew they called her that. I thought they said it to her back. She doesn’t miss much.
    â€˜I suppose that’s the end of our little morning ritual then, hey?’ she said.
    â€˜Crap. If I need one cone to get me through a day of school, I’ll need two cones before work.’
    â€˜Could be dangerous.’
    â€˜Going to work straight could be worse.’
    She pulled the bong from under the bed. ‘I’ll miss it.’
    It hadn’t hit me till then. Things would change. They’d have to. Ash was creeping me out with all her talk.
    â€˜You won’t be at school either. That’ll be hard work,’ she said.
    â€˜You cruise at school, what are you crapping on about?’
    She was rustling in the plastic mull bag then she was packing the bong. Every movement seemed like a huge effort, like her body was sighing. It became clear in that minute that even though we got stoned together before school,