He was getting a headache – he always did when he was stressed, right behind his left eye. Brick by brick the pain built until it formed a wall that leaned against his eyeball, threatening to push it out of his head. Sometimes a wank helped ease the tension. He looked around the room for an old sock and some hand cream. He liked the smell of the hand cream, which moisturized his knob and made it smell nice. For eight full minutes he was transported out of himself and his room to a place where one face and one body dominated his thoughts: they belonged to someone he could never have, someone he loved and who terrified him all at once.

As soon as he was done the guilt set in. There’s something wrong with you. You’ll never be the same as everyone else. You’ll never fit in. You’re going to hell. He was so used to pain that he was nearly numb to it, and just about tired enough to push his fear and disgust to the back of his mind. He often ended a wank with a cry but not tonight: he was sick of crying. Instead he washed himself in the sink, pulled up his jocks and his tracksuit bottoms and threw his soon-to-be-crusty sock into the laundry bin. He returned to his bed and lay prostrate, breathing in and out slowly until his eyelids were heavy.

Seconds later he heard a loud knocking. He shot up and saw Rave’s face pressed against the window. His heart skipped a beat and he nearly threw up with fright. He could have seen me pulling me knob! Less than two minutes ago! From now on close the curtains, Jeremy! Jesus, what’s wrong with you?

Rave rapped on the window more urgently and Jeremy hurried to open it.

‘Jaysus, Beany, what were you just standing there for? It’s raining frogs out here.’

‘Sorry,’ Jeremy said, and helped him climb in through the window.

‘Why’d ya close it?’ Rave asked.

‘Because it’s raining frogs!’

‘Is your grammy asleep?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is Maisie in the sitting room?’

‘She’s out.’

‘Really?’ Rave lit up. ‘Fuckin’ great, let’s go.’

‘Go where?’ Jeremy said. ‘It’s lashing.’

‘It’s not acid rain, Numbnuts.’ Rave took several small bottles of booze out of his pockets: two from the front of his jeans, two from the back and four from his jacket.

‘Jesus, where you’d get all that?’

‘Don’t ask. Here giz a lend of your schoolbag, will you? It’s a bitch to cycle with glass bottles bulging against me knob.’

Jeremy handed it over and Rave emptied it of books, but instead of just dumping them on the bed he put them carefully in the wardrobe, neatly stacked. Jeremy smiled. He liked that about Rave: he was precise, clean and cool, not like the other dirty tossers they hung around with.