‘This is childishness, with all your clothes inside the bed!’ Bunmi shouted. ‘I’ve already called your name three times – don’t make me say it again. Get up now!’

‘Why the hell should I?’ Julius found himself shouting.

Yelling wasn’t the best way to start a conversation with his mother, but feeling he had nothing more to lose made him fearless.

‘I have spoken to the recruitment department at Army Boys Academy. You would already be on your way, but there is a lengthy waiting list.’

‘I guess you’re stuffed then,’ Julius said boldly.

‘You are disrespectful.’ Bunmi shouted. ‘If I hear anything else from that mouth—’

‘Duke’s my best friend. He makes me happy.’

‘His kind will go to hell,’ Bunmi spat. ‘He is no longer a pupil of St Gilda’s. Multiple allegations of homosexual behaviour were made against him. The headmaster has agreed to expel, and you will not see him again.’

‘I’d rather live in a tin shack with Duke than a palace with you,’ Julius said, suddenly tearful.

‘Look at how he’s influenced you,’ Bunmi said. ‘To turn a clever boy like you into someone who hates his own mother.’

‘Why should I hate you?’ Julius railed. ‘Because you hate who I am? Because you care more about the family reputation than my happiness? Or how about the money you stole from the vaccine programme? Or the area boys you paid to fight the Transport Union and the three people who burned to death as a result?’

‘Have you no respect?’ Bunmi shouted.

Julius reared up, so angry that his mother backed up to the door. ‘No,’ he agreed noisily. ‘I’m almost fifteen – you have all the power over me now. Flog me, send me to Army Boys. Punish me however you like. But as soon as I’m old enough I’m leaving here … and I’m never coming back.’

TWENTY-FOUR

Georgia was freaking as she got marched out of the town hall by the riot cop.

I’m the good girl. The A-student. How did I get here? What will Dad say? Mum? Nan? Zac? Maya? How serious is this? What can they prove? Was there CCTV in that hallway where I smashed the window?

The back door of a police van opened. Two plasticuffed women sat on padded benches. Georgia recognised the peace-symbol hoodie of the woman who’d custard-bombed the councillor, then the door whomped shut and the only light came through a grilled vent in the roof.

‘First-timer?’ Peace Hoodie asked as she shuffled up to Georgia. ‘I’m Jen.’

‘You can tell?’ Georgia asked, then added, ‘I’m Georgia.’

‘You look scared to death,’ Jen explained, taking her arms from behind her back and revealing her cuffs dangling off one hand. ‘How old are you?’

‘Fourteen.’

‘Good age for a first offence.’ Jen smiled. ‘Kill anyone?’

‘No.’