Even as I run across the Lawns, I’m cursing myself for being so obvious, but I can’t stop. After keeping my crush secret for nearly seven years, I’m about to blow it.

I speed up. Almost there.

Joel’s stillness makes me catch my breath. The other boys circle round him, shouting at him to get up. Ant frowns, and as I step into the circle, our eyes meet. I brace myself for mockery – Ant teased me on and off all through school – but instead, I glimpse panic.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Ant asks.

‘He’s messing about,’ one of the lads says. I’m already kneeling down beside Joel, the grass sharp against my shins.

‘No,’ I say, ‘he’s not.’ My loud voice surprises all of us. ‘Be quiet. I need to listen, check how often he’s breathing.’

If he’s breathing.

ABC. The first-aiders’ alphabet flashes through my mind, anchoring me. I’ve been trained for this.

I lean in, close to Joel’s face. If he’s just blacked out, I should be able to feel the warmth of breath. But apart from the sweet smell of orange juice, there is nothing.

Airway. I tilt his chin, feeling the slight prickle of stubble under my fingertips. I part his lips with my fingers, no longer seeing him as the boy I fancy, but instead as a puzzle to be solved. Nothing seems to be blocking his throat. He should be breathing.

‘Ant. We need to move him, onto his back.’

Joel is heavy. A dead weight. But as we wrestle, I feel powerful. Joel’s on his side for a moment before he flops down onto the grass with an obscene smack.

‘Watch it!’ Fat Matt says. ‘His legs are insured for ten grand each.’

They’re worth nothing if he’s dead.

Breathing. His chest isn’t moving. Nothing is moving. Time has slowed, but my thoughts are faster, clearer than they’ve ever been.

I glance up. ‘One of you needs to run to the call box and phone 999. Ask for an ambulance. Tell them he’s not breathing. Tell them to come fast.’

The five boys stand there, goldfishing, as though I’m talking a foreign language.

‘Paddy, you go.’

He shrugs and kicks at the earth, as though he’s unsure whether to obey me and risk having the piss taken for the next year.

‘I’m serious. Go now.’ I get back to work, pulling Joel’s long, lean arms to his sides. ‘Run. And Matt – go and stand by the road. Try to flag down a police car.’

When they do what I say, we’re all equally gobsmacked.

‘Tim!’ I call out.

He’s pushed his way to the front. As I pull Joel’s sweatshirt to reveal his chest, I wait for Tim to kneel down at my side, to take over. In drills, he’s always the one fighting to step in.