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it’s Sarah or my mum next to me. And I don’t know if she’s leaving or joining me. Which side am I on? 
    ‘Stop that. Stop staring.’
    With a jolt I land back in Forest Green School.
    ‘I’ve got to look at you to draw you,’ I say.
    ‘I don’t see any drawing.’
    I glance down at the desk. She’s already drawn an oval outline and put soft marks where my eyes, nose and mouth are going to go.
    ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Yes.’ I fish in my bag for my pencil case, slide a piece of paper over the desk towards me and start to sketch the shape of her face. She has shoulder-length hair with a slight wave in it. Her eyes aren’t large, but they are piercing, beautiful, fringed with stubby lashes. Her nose is straight, quite strong-looking, not a little turned-up button like some girls, but it don’t spoil her face. The more I look at it, nothing could spoil it for me.
    I try my best to draw what I see. I want her to like it. But it don’t do her justice – you can see it’s a girl, but it’s not her. I keep rubbing bits out, trying again, but it just isn’t happening. And when I look across at her picture, I stop altogether. She works like a real artist, with shading and lines to give her picture a shape. Somehow she’s switched off her feelings. She’s looking at me like I was an object.
    The face she’s drawn is a young man, not a boy. It’s strong around the jaw and the cheekbones, and soft around the mouth. But it’s the eyes that strike me most. They look out of the paper straight at me and nowhere else. She’s done something so you can see the light reflected in them, and that gives them a spark, brings them to life. There’s a person in there, someone who laughs and hurts and hopes. She’sdrawn what I look like, but, it’s more than that – she’s drawn who I am.
    ‘Wow,’ I say. ‘That’s amazing.’
    She stops, only she don’t look at me but at my drawing of her. I put my hand over the paper, trying to cover it up.
    ‘Mine’s rubbish,’ I say. ‘I wish I could draw you, your face, properly. I wish I could do it justice.’
    Her eyes flick up then, but instead smiling, or blushing even, she scowls.
    ‘I just meant … I was just trying to …’ I struggle to find the right words. ‘I only meant that you’ve got a lovely face …’
    I should have kept my mouth shut. It’s like I’ve insulted her. She looks away and presses her lips together like she’s stopping herself from saying something.
    ‘… and you’ve done a brilliant job with me. You’ve made me look … well, you’ve made me look …’
    ‘… beautiful,’ she says. She’s looking back at me now, and even though she’s frowning, she’s holding my eyes with hers and suddenly I’m full of her number again, the warmth and the peace of it. It’s me and her, only me and her. 
    Then she does something amazing.
    ‘I don’t understand,’ she says and her voice is quiet and upset, like she’s talking to herself, and she reaches across the table and gently holds her hand up to my right cheek. My mouth falls open with shock and when I breathe out spit gathers at one corner and catches the edge of her thumb.
    ‘Sarah,’ I whisper.
    She looks deeper into me, and she opens her mouth to say something back … and then someone at the back of the class wolf-whistles and she jerks her hand away. I look round and the whole class is watching.
    I look back to Sarah for some help, but she’s switched off again. She’s putting her pencils away in a pencil case, gathering up her bag, blushing furiously. The bell rings for the end of the lesson and everyone starts to move.
    ‘Finish your pictures at home for this week’s homework!’ the teacher shouts over the noise.
    I put my things in my bag and scrape back my chair.
    ‘Sarah,’ I say again, but when I look up there’s only an empty chair. She’s left her pencil case and her paper behind, and she’s gone.

Chapter 10: Sarah
    T here are 20,000 CCTV scanners in