"What, shopping?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Yeah, forget it, stupid, don't worry, it's cool-"

"I'll come."

"Yeah?" And it's genuine happiness on his face. I nod and walk out, my eyes starting to sting, my foot still aching, but my chest full.

What the hell? I had to do the dialogue myself. L Yo. You cool? Lemme know if u need to get out house. T You couldn't even send a message? L Evrythinh ok? Ring me if nd too. Dod x Cld cum pick u up tomoz? Jamie said tell Marc ring him. T Sorry man. Should've remembered. Bell me if you need to talk. Z You ok? Ring me? Lx I read them all, then I read them again. I leave the others and click reply to Leia. I didn't mean to let her down. The empty square and blinking cursor. The crack in the screen. What do I say? I don't want pity, I just ... I'm an idiot. Click phone off, leave it on the floor. I'm tired. I'll text her tomorrow. I picture my two best friends and Leia sitting behind a desk like a panel in front of me. I put Dad on the end next to Tommy and Noah on the other end, next to Leia. All five of their faces staring out, expecting, waiting for me to do something.

Marc's still downstairs, sitting on his own in the corner. Tomorrow we go shopping. I almost laugh at how normal that sounds as I strip down to my boxers and start to do my press-ups, my fingertips in the carpet like a cat clawing fur, the heat in my arms, pain in my foot, breathing through my teeth. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

My notebooks are loosely stacked on the carpet. Arms extended. Elbows locked, I hold my body off the floor and it feels good. This I can control. Pushing up and down, I read the names scribbled across the papers, Marc, Leia, Toby, Zia, Tommy. Breathe in. My life is my scrapbook. Breathe out. Done.

I stand up and rub my eyes, feeling my knuckles fill the sockets.

Then I slide under my duvet and sink into sleep.

The cold air scratching my exposed cheekbone.

The flap of skin hanging on by a thread.

The sting as I touch the open wound. I look down at my hands and there's blood. It's all over me.

My chest and stomach and legs. Splashed down my arms and it's in my eyes when I blink and he's just staring at me. Arm's length away. Eyes wide. Like he can't believe what he's done. There's blood on him too. My blood. I look down. The broken pieces of the green bottle and a puddle of beer soaking into the cracked concrete. It doesn't hurt. It's just cold. I can feel the air on my eyeball and I want to touch it. I want to feel what he's seeing. My legs start to go and I look up again and he's smiling. A crooked smug smile and I'm dizzy. I'm falling forward. Things go blurry and, just before I black out, I see Craig Miller running away ...

"Lukey."

"Leave him alone man, he's sleeping."

"He just said something, though. We can't just sit here while he sleep-talks. What if he says something dodgy?"

"Like what?"

"I dunno! Something. It's just creepy. Luke, wake up, man."

The blurred outline of Tommy at eye level. My eyes start to focus. He's sitting on the floor next to my bed, a dark grey hoodie pulled up on to his head. He smiles.

"What you doing here?" I say, immediately tasting my own mouth, and pulling my duvet up in front of me.

"He's watching you sleep." Zia's smiling from the windowsill, leaning on it like a guitar stool. "He was trying to hear your dreams."

"Shut up, Zia! I said it was creepy."

Tommy shuffles back to the wall and sits next to my film shelves. "We came over."

And all three of us laugh at how stupid his statement is.

"Was it a nightmare?"

My hand comes up and rubs my face. "Same as always."

Zia stands up. "Come on. It's Saturday. Time to do nothing." He rubs his hands like he's about to do a magic trick. "So check this out, yeah ..."

"No, Zia. No more, man." Tommy's rolling his eyes. "Yo, if I have to hear one more joke about old ladies trying to choose shampoo, tell him, Luke."

I sit up and lean against the wall, the cold wallpaper on my naked back. My foot feels better, but there's still a dull ache.

"Shit, Luke!" Zia's staring.

Tommy nods at me. "Told ya, he's massive, eh?"

I feel to pull the duvet up over my chest, but don't want them to see me do it. "Shut up, man."

Tommy points. "You look like a James Bond baddie." He's sticking his tongue out. "With them muscles and the scar and that. You just need, like, a nickname or something."

"Stop staring, will ya?" I roll down my bed and reach for my black T-shirt from yesterday.

"Igor," shouts Zia, like he's calling a full house in Bingo.

"Igor?" I pull my T-shirt on.

"Nah," says Tommy. "That's crap. You want something powerful, like The Hammer, or The Hound." And we're all laughing again.

"We saw Marc," Tommy says, and the laughing stops.

Zia looks out of my window. "He let us in. He's making breakfast with your mum. You OK?"

I look at them both and realise it's been ages since all three of us have been in my room. Our house hasn't been much of a meeting place for a while.

"I'm fine."

Tommy stands up. "He looks hardcore man, proper UFC."

I picture Marc, flipping bacon at the stove in his black vest and my jogging bottoms, Mum buzzing around him.

Zia throws my jeans at me. "Get dressed, man, let's go nowhere."

"I can't."

"What d'you mean?"

"I said I'd go with Marc into town. He needs to get stuff, clothes and that." I pull my duvet off and my jeans on. "We can link later on?"

Zia nods. "Yeah. Course. Come on, Tom."

"Who's Leeya?" Tommy's bending down and picking up my newest notebook.

I jump forward and snatch it out of his hands, quickly scoop up the others and push them under my duvet. "No one."

"Is that her name?" says Zia.

Tommy's frowning. "Whose name? Who's Leeya, Luke?"

The blood's rushing to my face. Both of them are staring at me.

Tommy nods. "Leeya." He says the word like he's trying to remember someone. "She Chinese?"

"What?" I'm telling myself I've got nothing to be embarrassed about, and that I still haven't texted her to say sorry. Tommy stares into space. "Leeya. Feel like I know that name. She Swedish? I love Swedish girls. And Chinese girls."

"What the hell, Tom?" I say. "Since when do you know anybody from China or Sweden? What are you even talking about?"

"It does sound Chinese, to be fair," says Zia. "Leeya."

"Stop saying Leeya! Her name's Leia, all right? Leia." And hearing her name coming out of my mouth feels funny, like the word's in a different language or something. Tommy and Zia look at each other then back at me.

Tommy says, "Leia? Like the Star Wars princess?"

I nod.

Zia's beaming. "Luke and Leia. Man. Who's writing this story?"

EXT. STREET DAY Over-shoulder shot of walking through town. Busy with shoppers. Looking up at buildings. Taking in how tall the city actually is.

"Happy?"

Marc's leaning forward holding his menu like a hymn book.

"Yeah. You didn't have to though." The right shoe of my brand-new Air Jordan IV's is balanced on my fingertips. New-trainer smell and perfectly clean. "Thank you."

"Forget about it. I still want to go look at some kitchen stuff, yeah? Mum's pans are ancient."

"Cool."

Marc nods and scans his menu. I put the shoe back into the box and slide it into the bag between my legs.

It's nearly one o'clock and we've been in town since ten looking for clothes for Marc. We have multiple shopping bags. Mum's rung every hour to check in with us. Marc made me choose some trainers, saying mine were too battered. I didn't ask where the money came from.

I watch him read, and I wonder whether this feels normal for him. Sitting in a crowded restaurant choosing food. Whether prison feels like a dream he just woke up from that's already starting to fade. I'm guessing it's not that straightforward.

We're sitting next to the window and through the shaded glass I can see the old church, nestled among the modern walkways and purple grey bricks of the Bullring. Not everything changes.

"Marc Henry!"

The waitress is next to our table holding two Cokes. Marc looks up. The girl's mouth is wide open. Mine's closed, and I can feel dej vu. Supermarket check out girl, take two.

"It's you, isn't it?"

And I can't tell whether her voice is cracking from excitement or just crazily high.

Marc looks at me like he's about to apologise, but I save him the trouble and get up.

"Where you going?" he asks.

"Toilet." And I leave him there, the waitress staring at him like he just came back from the moon.

INT. RESTAURANT BATHROOM DAY I splash cold water on my face and stare into the mirror. The floor and the walls are the same beige tiles and it smells like a swimming pool. I'm trying to leave it long enough so whatever conversation Marc and the waitress are having can be long over before I go back out there. I should text Leia, or ring her, to say sorry about yesterday, maybe even explain about Marc. What's she doing right now?

"I'll text."

I watch my mouth move in the mirror.

"I will!"

Marc's on my phone, probably giving Mum the latest update.

There's two full glasses of Coke on the table. I can't see the waitress anywhere.

"Of course I will. No problem. I'll drop him off myself."

Myself? Who's he talking to?

"Seven o'clock. He'll be there. You too, Leia. Bye, bye."

I nearly fall off my chair.

Marc's smiling. "She sounds lovely, mate. Good work."

"What the hell, Marc?"

He holds my phone out. "Not a problem, big man. She's expecting you at seven."

My left eye's twitching. "Seven? What are you talking about? What did you say to her? Did you tell her? How did ...? What the hell?"

"Easy tiger. Your phone rang and I thought it was Mum again, so I picked it up before I looked at the screen and then it was Leia. We had a little chat. You shouldn't have stood her up yesterday, mate. It was out of order. I said you could watch a film at hers, for research. I told her you do that a lot." He's smiling like we're sharing an in-joke, and I'm crumbling. The thought of him talking to Leia is breaking me into pieces.

"You can wear your Jordans." He smiles like he's just offered me my dream job. What did he say to her? Expecting me at seven?

"I don't know where she lives."

"It's over by Cannon Hill. Man, me and Jamie went to some bangin' parties over that way back in the day. Few scuffles with posh boys. Them college girls. Man. Anyways, she said to ask you to bring snacks."

Then the waitress brings over two half chickens and more sides than two people need. She smiles as she taps the table and walks away, grinning over her shoulder at Marc. He waves a chip at her and smiles back and it's all that simple. I'm eating lunch with the King.

I've done stuff. With girls, I mean. Not everything, but stuff.

Leanne Bullock taught me how to kiss in the food tech store cupboard in Year Ten. She pretty much walked me through it, like furniture instructions, putting my hands where she wanted them, her tongue leading mine in a mouth dance. She thought my scar was cool. It was only a few months old at that point and she said it made me look older, which seemed to be the most important thing to her and all the other girls in our year. I knew she fancied Marc. In between kissing she'd just ask questions about him. Stuff he was into. If he had a type. She got bored of me by Christmas, but by then I felt like I knew the basics.

Alison Pike. Naomi Langford. Denise Phillips. All older than me, all in charge of the situation, and all full of questions about the superstar who shared my surname.