My throat is sore as I swallow.

"Where's Marc?"

A beige plastic cup in a robotic claw. Black liquid and steam.

"You look tired," I say.

Marc's standing next to Mum's empty chair. Her and Dad went to get coffee.

"You wanna sit down?"

He does. And the way he's moving is wrong, like somebody's controlling his body remotely.

"How you doing?" he says.

"I'm OK. Look at this." I press the hand controller and the bed lifts me up. The pain shoots up from my waist. I wince.

"Be careful, Luke."

He takes the controls and lowers me back down. I stare at the ceiling. The potted polystyrene panels look like giant graph paper. The lines blurring. Like it's a dream sequence. My mouth is dry.

He sits quietly. Watching me as I drift off.

I'm in front of the whole school.

More than a hundred faces staring at me as I stand next to Miss Cooper. I'm in Year Two.

I look down at my feet. My black school shoes are now a battered grey. The sheen on the parquet floor.

I've got butterflies.

"Amazing story, Luke," Miss Cooper says, and she hands me a signed certificate for 'outstanding achievement in literacy' and a two finger KitKat. I look up at her smiling face and feel her hand on the back of my neck, as the whole hall gives me a round of applause. My throat is dry as I scan the crowd.

The oldest kids are at the back on the PE benches. Marc's right in the middle. The coolest boy in Year Six. He's staring right at me as he claps.

I squeeze the chocolate in my hand and smile at him.

The applause finishes and everything goes quiet. Miss Cooper points to the front row for me to sit back down, then Marc shouts out: "That's my little brother!"

And the hall erupts into a football chant.

LU-KEY, LU-KEY, LU-KEY!.

I look at my big brother and feel my chest rising.

Marc does a thumbs-up and smiles.

He's still there when I wake up.

Sitting upright, hands in his lap.

"Morning," he says, and forces a smile. "I told them to go and eat. You hungry?"

I shake my head. "What day is it?"

"Sunday."

I run my tongue around my dry mouth. "It feels like a Sunday."

I can smell soap.

"I'm so sorry, Luke."

I look at him. He looks young.

He leans forward. "I'm so sorry."

And he cries.

Leia on my lap. Her hands pushing my chest. My hands on her hips.

"You need anything?"

Zia's standing at the bottom of my bed next to Tommy. They look like they're auditioning for a cop buddy movie.

"I'm good," I say.

"No." Tommy moves round and sits down. "You're a mess."

"Thanks, man."

They look at each other.

"What is it?"

They look at me.

"They got him, Luke," says Tommy. "They got Craig Miller."

And the name goes through me.

"Who got him?"

I see Dad and Marc in the car, not speaking as they drive, looking for Craig. What did they do?

"The police," says Tommy. And I breathe out.

"They found the car all smashed up and someone tipped 'em off. He's going down."

"How do you know?"

"You kidding? You know how many people are willing to say they saw what happened?" Tommy smiles.

INT. NIGHT A pub full of weathered faces turn to look at camera.

"I saw," says Tommy. "It was mental. Proper Die Hard."

He rugby tackles Zia in slow motion. "Rammed him, you did. Just in time. Maaaaaaaaaaaaarc!"

Zia stumbles under Tommy's weight and the pair of them fall down, hitting the wall.

"Get off me, man," says Zia, getting up.

"Sorry." Tommy stands up and dusts himself off. "I'm just saying. It was sick. You're a hero, Lukey."

"Shut up," I say.

"He's serious," Zia says, moving to the chair. "It's true. You saved Marc. You properly saved his life."

He's smiling. Tommy's smiling. "You did it, Lukey."

What is this feeling? I don't know it.

Leia.

I turn my head to the side. "My phone. It's dead. You got a charger?"

Zia frowns. "Forget about your phone, you idiot. Get better."

"I've got one in the car," says Tommy. "Shall I get it?"

I nod. "Please." Then I turn to Zia. "Can you get Leia's number from Michelle?"

A dark rucksack upzips. A notebook slipped inside.

There's seventeen missed calls from Mum. Five from Dad.

No new text messages.

Nothing from Leia.

Has she read the script? My story? I don't know.

I stare at the cracked screen. Broken, but still here.

And my thumb is my pen.

I don't know if you got it, but I did it for you. For us. I'm not what you saw. I'm more than my past.

Send.

A girl rides the department store escalator. Lost in thought. A phone beeps.

No reply.

My phone is on my chest as I try to stay awake.

A nurse brings me dinner. The room darkens. I hear a baby giggling.

The nurse takes the full plate away. I try to stay awake.

Why won't she reply?

Eyes closing. Fighting it.

Then black.

I feel her.

Like the memory of a dream. An echo of what I could of had.

I open my eyes and the chair is empty.

Of course it is.

We live our choices.

YOUNG MAN sleeps. Wounded. His leg in traction. His face bruised. His fingers wrapped tightly around his phone.

I open my eyes and see her.

In the chair.

I see her.

Hair back in that same bun. Her lips. Her eyes. Perfect.

The girl I lost. I could cry.

Deep breath as I close my eyes.

I hold them shut, then open them to pop the dream.

She's still there.

"Leia."

My voice is croaky.