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She lives in the house where the party was. She’s my mum’s friend’s daughter.”
    Rabbit repeated what I’d just said, as if it was the most complicated sentence in the history of the world.
    â€œHold on…Your mum’s…friend’s…daughter. OK. I’ve got it.”
    â€œGood. We’re going out tonight. To the cinema. And I’m worried about getting my face all smashed up.”
    â€œWhy does she want to smash your face up?”
    â€œNo, no. I didn’t mean I was worried about her smashing my face up. I’m worried about getting my face smashed up here. A bad slam. And then, you know. I’ll look terrible.”
    â€œGotcha,” said Rabbit. “Is she pretty?”
    â€œVery,” I said. I was sure that was true, but by then I couldn’t remember what she looked like. I’d spent so much time thinking about her that I no longer had a clear picture of her in my mind.
    â€œAh, well,” said Rabbit.
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œLet’s face it, you’re not all that, are you?”
    â€œNo, I’m not. I know. But thanks for building up my confidence,” I said.
    â€œThinking about it, I reckon you might do better if you actually do smash your face up,” said Rabbit.
    â€œHow d’you work that out?”
    â€œWell, see, say you go along with, you know, a couple of black eyes, or even a broken nose. You can tell her you look bad because of the skating. But if you go along looking just like that…What excuse have you got? None.”
    I’d had enough. I’d tried talking to Rabbit, but it was hopeless. And it wasn’t just hopeless—it was depressing too. I was really nervous about going to the cinema with Alicia. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever feeling as nervous about anything, ever, apart from maybe my first day at primary school. And this fool was telling me that the only way I was going to stand any kind of chance was to make my face all bloody and swollen, so that she couldn’t see what I really looked like.
    â€œYou know what, Rabbit? You’re right. I’m not going to mess about. Acid drops and gay twists, all afternoon.”
    â€œTop man.”
    And then, while he was watching me, I picked up my board and walked straight out the gate and into the street. I wanted to talk to TH.
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    On the way home, I realized that I hadn’t even arranged anything with Alicia yet. When the bus came, I went up to the top deck and sat right at the front, on my own. Then I got her postcard out of my pocket and dialled her number.
    She didn’t recognize my voice when I said hello, and for a moment I felt sick. What if I’d made all this up? I hadn’t made up the party. But maybe she hadn’t pressed against me the way I remembered it, and maybe she only said something about the cinema because—
    â€œOh, hi,” she said, and I could hear her smiling. “I was worried that you weren’t going to call.” And I stopped feeling sick.
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    Listen: I know you don’t want to hear about every single little moment. You don’t want to know about what time we arranged to meet, or any of that stuff. All I’m trying to say is it was really special, that day, and I can remember just about every second of it. I can remember the weather, I can remember the smell of the bus, I can remember the little scab on my nose I was picking at while I was talking to her on my mobile. I can remember what I said to TH when I got home, and what I wore to go out, and what she was wearing, and how easy it was when I saw her. Maybe some people would think that because of what happened later, it was all just tacky and grubby, typical modern teenager stuff. But it wasn’t. It was nothing like that at all.
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    We didn’t even go to a film. We started talking outside the cinema, and then we went for a Frappuccino in the Starbucks next door, and then we