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and someone had set your mouth in cement and it felt all dry and stiff, and all you really wanted to do was to scream and scream. 'If you can't take me home tonight, could you call me a taxi or something. My parents will pay for it.'
    'Don't be stupid, Sam!' It was Lloyd. Good old stupid, stupid Lloyd, who had replied.
    'I'm not,' Sam said. ' I'm not stupid!'
    'Yes, you are. You can't miss the best part of the surprise. Dad'll be really upset. Especially as he went to so much effort for us to have the best time ever. For god's sake, Sam, get a grip, will you?'
    The man remained silent, regarding Sam through his hooded eyes. A small smile played around his lips. He didn't have to say anything.
    'But I just don't feel that great. I want to go home,' Sam said, forcing the words out with great difficulty. Someone had a hand inside his chest and was squeezing the air out of his lungs.
    'Well, you can't,' Lloyd said, pouting. 'You're not gonna ruin this.'
    'Now, now, boys. No need to come to blows over this. Listen, it's been a long night with too much excitement and you're both tired. Let me show you your rooms and you can have a sleep. Come on.'
    Sam couldn't move. The cement must have dripped down his face and stuck his feet to the ground. Lloyd glared at him and yanked his arm hard. Sam didn't feel it. He allowed himself to be dragged out of the bright room and into the dim corridor. All the way down the passageway the man and Lloyd kept up their chat about bands and who was in and who was out and who had been up to what; he even gave Lloyd the exclusive on who was about to break up.
    'I don't believe it!' Lloyd gushed. 'Wait 'til I tell them at school on Monday – they won't believe it either. It'll be the biggest break-up in the history of music!'
    Monday seemed like a long, long way off. Like it might never come.
    Sam shuffled along after Lloyd and Lloyd's new friend. He didn't have any other choice. He could have been completely wrong, of course, and Lloyd could be completely right. He could wake up the next morning and discover that Green Day were downstairs and end up having breakfast with them, listen to them play all day, get their autographs and T-shirts emblazoned with their name and some CDs and other cool stuff, and then get driven home at the end of it. He'd tell Tab all about it first, and wouldn't she be just so jealous? She'd go the greenest green with envy.
    And that's what Lloyd believed was going to happen.
    He really did.
    The man glanced back at Sam to make sure he was still following, and Sam knew – he felt it with a sharp stab of terror – that Lloyd was wrong. Terribly wrong.
    He wished his friend would turn around. He wished he would stop blabbing on and on to the man. He wished he could say something that would make Lloyd realise what was happening, that they had to get away, that they had to escape. But Lloyd didn't turn around, not once. He'd forgotten all about his friend Sam.
    Sam thought about making a dash for the front door by himself. If he could get away and raise the alarm, he could save Lloyd, so it wouldn't be like he had abandoned him or anything. He could hardly drag Lloyd, kicking and screaming, out of there; he wasn't strong enough for that. But the house was dark, and huge, and there were too many corridors and several staircases. They had just gone past another staircase. Sam couldn't do it alone. Besides, he remembered that the man had locked the front door after they had come in, and Sam could see the heavy clump of keys hanging off his smart black jeans. Jingle jangle, jingle jangle all the way to the bedrooms.
    'Right, this is yours, Lloyd,' the man said. 'One of the best rooms in the house.'
    'We can share a room,' Sam suggested quickly.
    'No, not a good idea, and not fair on your mate, either,' he said to Sam. 'I mean, if you start feeling really unwell, I might have to call a doctor out for you, and then no one would get a decent night's kip.'
    'Lloyd won't mind,' Sam said.