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tour, either. I suggest leaving at lunch time to Karen. She’s worried about getting caught. I have had ten minutes to think about it and have grown quite attached to the idea of not being here this afternoon.
    Sarah, on the other hand, has physics in the afternoon.
    “See you outside the gates,” she tells me.
    Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Years are allowed home for lunch, so there is nothing suspicious about walking out of the school grounds. We’ll be marked absent for the afternoon, but it will be assumed that we went home sick, or that a note was handed in, or something. It’s easy to get away with missing an afternoon.
    At the start of the year, caught up in the novelty of being able to go home for lunch, I used to do it every day. Then you get tired of it, and stop bothering.
    We go to my house, since my parents won’t be home until after five and Sarah’s mother has been known to come home at lunch. (A fact that she learned last year when she and Fiona left early one day. It wasn’t pretty.)
    “So, how are you?” she asks, settling in for a Deeply Personal Conversation.
    I shrug. “Fine.”
    “You always say that,” she grins. “Seriously. Is everything OK?”
    “Yeah,” I say, and smile to show that I really, really mean it. And in a way I do. Everything is OK. What can I complain about, really? Nothing’s wrong.
    “How are things with you?” I ask.
    “So-so,” she admits.
    “Just so-so? What’s up?”
    She shrugs. “It’s stupid. And you don’t want to hear about it.”
    “It’s not stupid,” I tell her firmly. “Come on. What is it?”
    “Just this whole thing with Shane, and the band, and stuff . . .” she begins. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I know I’ve been going on about it a bit . . .”
    “It’s fine, go on.”
    “Well, it’s great, in one way. I mean, I’m getting to know some really cool people, and I love the whole vibe. You know, the excitement that we’re all really going to do this. But then there’s the flipside of it all, where I wonder what the hell I’m doing there with all these incredibly talented and dedicated people. I mean, I’ve been looking at a lot of the stuff Shane writes. It’s – amazing. He’s seventeen. He’s seventeen and he’s writing stuff that most of the professionals out there wouldn’t be able to write. You listen to him play it on the guitar and it’s like he’s – I don’t know, ripped out your heart and turned it into music.”
    “He must be good, then,” I say. Well, what else can I say?
    Sarah rolls her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock.”
    I laugh.
    She continues. “Anyway, it’s depressing. I mean, what am I doing around someone like that?”
    “If he didn’t think you had talent, he wouldn’t have bothered asking you if you were interested,” I point out.
    She doesn’t look convinced. “I suppose . . . but maybe he just feels sorry for me.”
    “He seems like the sort of person who takes music really seriously,” I say.
    She nods. “Oh, he is, yeah.”
    “So of course it makes perfect sense for him to surround himself with people who’ll let him down and mess things up for him,” I say pointedly.
    She starts smiling. “OK, so maybe you’re right.”
    “I’m always right,” I kid.
    “Oh, of course. How could I have forgotten? I am not worthy, oh great one.”
    “I forgive you, my child,” I say solemnly.
    “You’re too kind.”
    “Yeah. I know.” I grin.
     
     

Chapter Twenty-Three
     
    “What are you doing home?” Greg asks suspiciously.
    “We had a half day,” I say in my ‘well, duh’ voice. It’s useful when dealing with younger siblings.
    “Oh.” He pauses, then decides to continue the conversation. Wonderful. “I have loads of homework.”
    “You’re in fourth class,” I remind him.
    “So?” he says defiantly. “We still get loads of work to do.”
    “Sure. Whatever.” I nod.
    “You think you know everything,” he snaps at me, storming out of the room.
    “Someone