When I get to the end of the road, I stop and look back up the lane toward our house. Dad’s nowhere in sight. Neither is my twin brother. My gut twists. I can’t leave him there alone to put up with that shit. I flick my cigarette away and jog back, rounding the back of the house and peeking through the window. I growl under my breath when I see Dad throw Jake a warning look as he enters the kitchen. I circle to the next window, hoping I can get Jake’s attention. Poor bastard is pouring tea for our guests. Fucking tea. Mum will have the biscuit tin on the table next. And as if she’s heard me, it appears, covered in pictures of the Queen from each decade. The delight on Lauren’s parents’ faces makes me roll my eyes.

I become more alert when I see Jake leave the room. Yes. I dash around the side of the house.

And go arse over tit.

“Fuck!” My legs get caught up in the hose pipe hanging off the wall, and I land with a thud in Mum’s flower bed, flattening her shrubs. I drag myself up and brush down my jeans, grimacing at the mud stains. “Bollocks,” I mutter, trudging round to the window of the downstairs bathroom and finding the upended plant pot I always use as a step to reach the window. Except today when I stand on it, I overshoot the opening. Well, fuck. I’ve grown. I kick it aside and shove my head through the open window.

Jake jumps out of his skin, losing his aim and spraying the back of the loo seat with his piss. “Jesus, Jesse,” he hisses, grabbing some toilet paper and wiping up his mess.

I laugh as I watch him, his dick hanging out. “Your dick has some catching up to do.”

“Get stuffed,” he grumbles, quickly tucking himself away. “What are you doing?”

“Rescuing you.”

“Very funny.” He flushes and washes his hands. “Dad will go through the roof.”

“And?” I ask, seeing him falter as he grabs the towel. “Live on the edge.”

“You live on the edge enough for the both of us.”

“But I want to live on the edge with you,” I whine, pouting pathetically. Jake laughs, his eyes sparkling. There’s not much similar about our personalities, considering we’re twins, but our laughs, eyes, and smiles are identical.

“It’s not worth the hassle,” he says lamely. It’s a cop-out. He’s desperate for me to take him to the wild side, and it pisses me off that he refuses to relent because of a misplaced honor. We’re nearly seventeen, for fuck’s sake. We’re supposed to be out having fun, not revising for finals that are over a year away and eating custard creams with the local snobs.