"Bad idea?" Leia says. I shake my head.

"No. Great idea. For ideas, I mean."

"Exactly. That's it."

And I'm Captain Awkward. I want to say something cool. Some little throwaway gem that will swim round her head and make her think of me later on. But nothing comes.

She types my number into her phone and I try to disguise the beam on my face with a yawn as I lean down to get my bag.

When I straighten up again, she's looking at me.

"How many stitches?" says Leia, and my bag hits the floor.

My stomach muscles pull tight as I bend down to pick it up again and when I stand up, I turn my body slightly away from her.

What's her problem?

But, as I look at her, it really doesn't seem like she has one. She's staring at me, but smiling, and I want to trust her. You don't even know her. And I don't, but man, I want to.

I turn to face her straight on.

"Twenty-eight."

Her mouth twitches slightly, just the hint of a wince, but her eyes aren't pitiful, just curious, I think. So I let her look, feeling her move along the soldered tear in my face. Then she smiles. "Cool."

And I don't want to move. I want to stay right here. I want her to stay with me and I just want to curl up next to her and go to sleep.

Tommy said: If you've never even had the thought, like, just the idea, for a second, of having somebody's name tattooed on to your body, you don't really love them.

It's nearly six when I head to the bus stop and I'm caught in the stream of after-work businessmen and women packing the pavements. Tommy's probably slagging me off right now to Zia as they warm-up ready for kick-off. But I'm still buzzing from the afternoon with Leia. She took my number.

I tell myself I'll ring Tommy later, then I see Noah and it stops me in my tracks.

He's standing outside the museum with a woman who looks a bit like Donna, but with longer hair, and older. She's wearing one of those rain coats that could be a man's or a woman's, with a posh-looking handbag over her shoulder and she's pointing right in Noah's face, like she's telling him off.

He's just standing there, like he's not allowed to speak and finding it hard to look her in the eye. Then she's walking away. Noah grabs her arm and tries to stop her, but she shrugs and storms off. She looks so much like Donna it's kinda freaky. Mediterranean and proper pretty and she's got that look on her face of angry satisfaction that people have when they get to be the one who storms off and steals the scene.

I watch Noah watch her leave. He runs his palm down over his face and I see him think about going after her, his eyes following her trail. Then he gives up and looks down, probably replaying what just happened or chipping loose an old memory.

Usually when you see a teacher out in the real world it's weird. Like, if you see them outside of school coming out of the cinema or something it's just creepy, like you're reading their diary. But seeing Noah's different, somehow. It's almost like he belongs in the real world and college is the weird part.

I watch him walk along the side of the museum and turn round the corner and, for a second, I go to follow him, then I remember that I skipped his class this afternoon. Besides, my head is full of Leia and ideas and how, even though I can't really talk about Marc to anyone in real life, I now get to pour him into a story. One that I can control.

I decide to walk, rather than poaching on a packed bus that'll just sit in traffic for half an hour. My whole body's still buzzing with ideas and I always think better when I'm moving. Noah thought our idea was brilliant wait until he hears how we've built on it. He asked for backstory, he's gonna get it, and I'm trying to think of a single teacher at school who I wanted to impress as much as I want to impress him. I'm trying to think of a teacher whose opinion I even cared about. Is it just cos he knows film stuff? But my gut's telling me there's something more about him.

I check the time as I pass the hospital and think of Mum inside hanging her jacket up and tying her hair back, ready for her shift. How much blood and bone will she see between now and morning? How many stitches and x-rays and cardboard bowls full of concussed puke will she have to deal with, and I remember her saying, "Not everyone can be a nurse, Lukey. Not everyone has it in them."

I see her face when she came into the treatment room that afternoon. The emergency room nurse recognised my surname and called Mum from whatever ward she was working on. The white of her eyes as she stared, her face frozen as she took me in. She made them let her do it. She wanted to make sure it was perfect. To fix me. Imagine. Having to stitch up your own son's face.

I turn off down the high road, towards ours, and take out my phone to call Tommy, preparing myself for the riot act. I picture Leia, biting the end of her pencil and smiling across the table as I shared an idea, backlit by the window, the blurred figures of old people out of focus behind her. Worth a bit of grief off Tommy any day.

I'm about to push call, then I hear an engine. The kind of engine that's obviously been beefed up so it's too big for the car.

The kind that growls.

I turn back and the road is quiet. No headlights or movement, so it must've come from the high road. But the feeling that I'm being watched crawls over my shoulder around my chest and my skin goes cold. I scan both ways and the road is empty.

Everything's still. Lifeless. But I put my phone away and sprint the last fifty metres to our front door.

I'm shopping with Nan. She's letting me push the trolley around and getting to steer is a big deal.

We go up and down the aisles, her placing things gently into the metal cage, me wishing she'd go a bit quicker, trying to perfect my corner manoeuvres. By the time we reach the tins, I'm itching to put my foot down and see what the trolley can do. Nan keeps reminding me to stay in control, but I have to know what it feels like. So I take off, imagining I'm pushing a toboggan as I speed past cans of Heinz soups, Nan calling out from behind me.

I don't crash.

I push my soles into the floor as I reach the end of the aisle and lean right, skidding in a smooth arc and coming to a stop next to the jars of honey.

A man in supermarket uniform stares at me and, back up the aisle, I can make out Nan scowling in my direction, but I don't care. I'm buzzing. Then as I straighten up the trolley to push it back up to her, I nick the shelf to my right. The jars wobble and one from the top falls.

I feel my stomach drop as I watch it dive towards the floor, waiting for the crash, but when it hits, the only sound is a kind of muffled crack. A sticky thud. I stare down as the amber ooze of honey starts to spread out like lava, shards of glass trapped in it.

Then Nan's next to me, scowling as I just stand there covered in trouble.

"Him who can't hear, must feel, Luke." I say nothing, the sound of the impact replaying in my head.

Years later, I hear it again. I'm in Year Seven and watching a fourteen-year-old Marc square up to a bigger kid from Year Eleven. The bigger kid swings, Marc bobs, and as he comes back up he throws an uppercut that connects square on the kid's chin. The kid buckles like his body is a tower block and someone just pushed the demolition plunger, but it's the sound that hits me. That same muffled crack, only this time, instead of glass and honey, it's flesh and bone.

I'm in the middle of my bedroom floor on a small island of carpet surrounded by a sea of open notebooks. A sea of ideas.

My life is my scrapbook.

I'm building backstory for the Marc in our film, using memories, made-up stuff, bits of me, things people have said, mining treasure from six years of noted-down dreams and ideas, and I'm writing it all into my new notebook, ready to show Leia. I could use my laptop, but typing isn't the same. I like feeling the pressure of my pen marking the page.

Across town, maybe on her bedroom floor, Leia's doing the same. We've been texting each other since I got home. It's nearly half one in the morning now and if this is what it feels like to make a film then I don't want to do anything else.

Marc used to be captain of the football team Definitely. Toby used to collect worms and give them names Ha ha! Marc got caught with a teaching assistant in the gym cupboard Course he did! Toby likes girls, but only at a distance. Why Marc with a C? x Some of her texts have 'x's and some of them don't. It doesn't mean anything, but the ones with an 'x' make me smile slightly wider. She doesn't do a stupid winking face once. My wrist is aching from scribbling things down in between texting, but I don't care.

Their mum is half French? Marc used to get Toby to punch him in the face to show how hard he was Really? Like the French thing. Layers Yeah. But if anybody messed with Toby in school, Marc would sort them out OK, but it's not just Marc muscle, Toby brains, that too easy. What Marc into? Maybe not everyone knows about?

Food ???.

He wants to be a chef Brilliant. And Toby has a temper. Not that strong, but he can lose it sometimes.

Agreed. Toby taught Marc to tell the time, even though they're the same age. And spell. And he did his science coursework for him. Are there photos of them together? Round the house?

No. Neither of them like photographs. It's a thing they both have. Although Toby did make a pinhole camera in year 5!

Love it x I risk an 'x'. There's no reply. Bollocks. Then: What the hell happened to you shithead?

My stomach drops, before I realise it's Tommy. He's probably up playing FIFA. My eyes are starting to sting and the phone screen is blurry as I start to reply, then a new message lands from Leia.

Thanks. I'm very talented xx Two 'x's? Wicked. I reply back to Tommy: Sorry man, college thing. You win? x And the second I click send I see the 'x'. Cack.

What the hell you kissing me for bumboy?

Play it cool.

Cos I love you, gorgeous. What? You don't want a kiss?

Piss off Luke. And I scored twelve. You better be at The Goose tomorrow night.

Course. My hero. Night Tom xxxxxxxxxxxx ;) No reply. I win.

Eyes burning. Must. Sleep. Good working with you Skywalker. Nite x And I'm picturing her lying on top of her duvet, covered in note paper, her soft hair spread out against her pillow like a thought bubble, and another idea starts to grow.

I'm sitting on a stool. Marc is sitting on my lap, but it's not him. It's a life size ventriloquist's doll version of him. My hand is up the back of his grey T-shirt and I'm controlling his mouth. Leia is sitting next to me with a life-size doll version of Toby on her lap. He has black glasses with thick frames. His face and body are lean, but not skinny. He's wearing a flannel shirt and Leia has her hand up it, controlling his mouth. We're on a stage. We're smiling at each other as we direct their conversation, her doing Toby's voice, me doing Marc's.

Marc - You're such a nerd Toby - You're such a thug Marc - Baby Toby - Caveman Marc - I love you Toby - I love you too Me and Leia are laughing and cameras are flashing, because there's an audience. It's a press conference for our film. We are the writers and directors. Like the Cohen Brothers. There's a banner behind us that reads THE BROTHERS DIFFERENT. That's the name of our film. Our first film.

THE BROTHERS DIFFERENT. THE BROTHERS DIFFERENT.

I text Leia.

We should call it THE BROTHERS DIFFERENT Then I crawl on to my bed and fall asleep.

I wake up in my clothes.

Straight away I can tell it's too early. I should be knackered, but I'm still buzzing. I check my phone. No new messages.

It's ten to seven. Mum's not due back until half past. I could make her breakfast. If I go to the shop now I could get stuff for a fry-up and be back and cooking for her when she walks in. I could do that.

I skip over the notebooks on my floor, grab my jacket from the landing banister and leave.

It's one of those crisp mornings that look nice but feel freezing. I keep my hands in my jacket pockets as I walk. I cut through the back of the new houses that look like they're made of cardboard and across the little playground in front of the flats to Sandhu's shop. Everything's early-morning quiet.

Sandhu's is shut.

Doesn't open until half seven. I contemplate just going home, but decide to see my gesture through. It'll surprise Mum and be a good start to the weekend, so I walk back to the playground and sit on the only swing that hasn't been tied into a knot.

I stare up at the flats. The dark windows look like buttons on a giant grey remote control and I try to figure out which one is Tommy's. His place is on the ninth floor and from his living room window you can see pretty much across town.

The playground's only a few years old but it's already battered. The chipped paint makes the metal spring-mounted animals look demonic.

My phone beeps.

I love it! Perfect title. This is going to be ace Skywalker. Happy Saturday! x And I'm smiling. All's good as I watch a brand-new white Mini with black trim pull up across the road.

A curvy blonde girl gets out dressed like she's been clubbing. Her black skin-tight dress looks like it's shrinking as she shuffles in her high heels towards the lobby doors of the flats. Tommy's second oldest brother Jamie gets out of the driver side and shuts the door. He's dressed in black too, jeans and designer T-shirt. Him and Marc were tight in school, but I don't see him much these days. He works in some office in town selling things on the phone.

The headlights flash as he sets the car alarm and then he's looking at me. He raises a hand with his thumb up and nods my way. I do the same. He watches the blonde girl disappear inside and turns to follow her, then changes his mind and starts walking towards me. I put my phone away and then he's standing there.

He's not as big as I had him in my head and his hair looks like he got it done in one of those posh places, all slick and side parted.

"Yes, Lukey, what you saying?"

I shrug. "Not much, Jay, you good?"

"You know, can't complain." He glances back at the flats.

"Good night?"

"Yeah, fine, mostly just watching her dance. Funky House, not really my thing, eh?"

I smile a sheepish, little-brother smile. Jamie rubs his hands together. "How's your mum?"

I look past him up at the flats. "Fine."

"Good. You waiting for Tommy?"

I look down. "Nah, just waiting for the shop to open."

Slightly awkward silence.

"Tommy says you're getting a house," I say.

He slides his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders from the cold. "Yeah, we've been on the council waiting list for a couple years now. Think they've found us a place."

"Whereabouts?"

"Other side of town pretty much, near the cricket ground."

"Cool."

Tell him he looks like a pretty boy. Why's he trying so hard? I look at my feet and try not to listen.

Jamie says, "Tom said you're going college, that right?"

"Yeah."

Oi, pretty boy! Who cut your hair? Who you trying to impress?

Jamie's nodding. "Good lad. Always knew you had the brains, Lukey."

I keep my eyes down. I know what's coming.

"It's tomorrow, right?"

I nod, still looking at the ground. "Yep."