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her arms around his neck. ‘You’re
my
Monster Boy.’ She put her head on his shoulder. ‘And I love you.’
    He squirmed – just a little, not so she’d notice. He knew what she wanted to hear in return. But . . . He grinned his cheesiest grin. ‘I love me too.’
    She didn’t find it funny. She blinked quickly but wasn’t quite able to hide the disappointment in her eyes.
    He wrestled for something to say that would please her. He squeezed her hand and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘When are we going to get some time alone? You know, just me and you?’
    â€˜Any time
you
have time, I suppose.’
    The moment was uncomfortable. He said, ‘Why don’t you come and stay over this weekend? Like we’ve said about before?’
    â€˜My parents would never let me.’
    â€˜Tell them you and Jenny are doing homework or something.’ He felt it was a safe suggestion to make, didn’t believe she’d actually go through with it. ‘I’ll get a key for one ofthe rooms, yeah? And we can spend the night together. Like we’ve always said we would.’
    She nodded slowly. ‘I’ll try. But you know what my dad’s like . . .’
    He hugged her briefly, pleased he’d kept her happy without actually committing to anything in his own mind. ‘Great. It’ll be great.’
    Sarah’s mobile rang briefly. She dug it out of her pocket. ‘Jenny’s sent a text.’
    â€˜What’s she say?’
    â€˜â€œBye.”’
    â€˜We’d better go.’ He reached for his coat.
    â€˜Just one last kiss.’
    He pecked her and ran.
    It wasn’t a long walk to Moutonby High, but it was uphill all the way. There was a cracking view of the small town from the playing fields.
    Sarah was lively with chatter and gossip as they walked. Did you know about this, this, this? Have you heard about that, that, that? And Jenny did her fair share of joining in: Gully, Gully, Gully. Tim tuned most of it out. He reckoned he’d hear it all again on the downhill journey anyway. What concerned him more was the fact that the black holdall he had slung over his shoulder was empty of English homework. No matter what he’d said to Sarah he knew he’d have to hand something in, and was frustrated and angry with himself because it meant wasting break or lunch time having to do it all over again.
    The sun looked about as bright as it was going to manage today, but the streets were busier now, people were moving about; the town had pretty much woken up. Tim, however, felt like he could quite happily crawl back into bed. He’d been up since before six and his body-clock kept insisting the day should be half over already.
    There were a few kids hanging around outside the school gates. It was a Friday so the usual dawdlers were dawdling even more, reserving their energy for being lazy at the weekend. Parents’ cars pulled up to drop off sons and daughters who pretended they didn’t have a clue who those irritating adults were from the very second they slammed the passenger door closed. Bikes darted and weaved onto the pavements and flew up the footpath between the tall gates. Everyone knew Tim and Jenny – of course they did, who in Moutonby didn’t? Few acknowledged them. If anyone managed a smile or a ‘Hiya’ it was probably aimed at Jenny, so Tim didn’t even bother to look up. He avoided eye contact, walked with his head down. Keeping himself to himself usually worked well. But not today.
    â€˜Hey! Monster Boy!’
    There were some days – the good days – when he managed to survive all seven periods undisturbed and unmolested. Good days meant he remained hassle-free. Today wasn’t going to be one of those days.
    â€˜Monster Boy!’
    He glanced back over his shoulder at the school gates. He measured the distance in his head. Maybe twenty steps. He’d