Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,7

years ago. Didn’t you?” he shouted out. “Sports or something else?” he said as he flicked through the channels.

I shrugged, then spotted a black box on the floor. “PlayStation?”

He untangled himself from the chair and flopped down on the carpet, sorting through the heap of games. “Yeah, Grand Theft Auto?”

I nodded.

“You’ve got no chance,” he said. “Had a bit of practice. I’m so hot at this, I’m smoking.”

He was, too. I should have known. Boys like him all seem to know how to drive and shoot. It’s bred into them, isn’t it? I wasn’t going to let him psych me out or anything, but he had the knack — that quickness and aggression. He put everything into it, concentrating like his life depended on it, playing with his whole body. I put up a fight, but he beat me every time.

“Not bad for a girl,” he teased.

I gave him the finger. He smiled, and I felt like I was fitting in at 32 Carlton Villas just fine.

We watched the telly for a bit, but there was only crap on. Bloody Britain’s Got Talent or something. Thousands of no-hopers queuing up for hours like cattle, thinking they’re going to make it big. Retards. Even the ones who could sing. Do they really think the world is going to take them to its heart — fame, money, the whole lot? The Simon Cowells of this world just get as much money as they can out of them, and then spit them out, back to where they came from. It’s not a future, is it? It’s just an ego trip. Suckers. Still, we had a good time, laughing at them, Spider and me. Turned out we found the same things funny. Felt good sitting there — despite the smoke and that stale smell that Spider brought with him everywhere — although I was aware of his nan perched in the kitchen all the time, like one of those birds — hawks or buzzards or something. Vultures. Listening to us. Waiting.

“I’d better get back,” I said a bit later.

Spider unfolded himself from the chair. “I’ll go with ya.”

“Nah, s’alright. Won’t take long.”

“I could drive ya, if I had some wheels.” He paused. “I could get some wheels.”

I looked at him. He was dead serious, trying to impress me, I guess. I made for the door. I didn’t need to get involved in nothing like that. Didn’t need the hassle. I could hear his nan shuffling around in the kitchen, the microwave door slamming, buttons beeping as she set the timer.

“Your dinner’s nearly ready. I’ll see you around,” I said. “See ya!” I called out from the front door to his nan, not wanting to go in there and talk to her again. Her face appeared around the kitchen doorway. Lightning breached the gap between us as her eyes met mine again. What was it about that woman?

“Bye, love,” she said. “I’ll see you again.” And she meant it.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I want you to write about your best day ever. Don’t worry too much about spelling and punctuation. Just quickly. Write it from the heart.”

Another example of the Nutter’s cruelty, to make us think about our sad and pointless lives. What was he expecting? The day Daddy bought me my new pony? Our holiday in the Bahamas? Me, I didn’t like to look backward. What was the point? The past was gone, nothing you could do about it now. Impossible to pick out one day and say that was the best one. Easier to pick the worst one, several candidates there — not that I’d tell the Nutter about any of them. None of his business. I thought about sitting there and refusing to write anything. There was nothing he could do. But then something flipped inside me and I thought, No, I’ll tell him how it is, if that’s what he wants. I picked up my pen and started to write.

“Time’s up!” Howls of protest. “Stop writing, please. Doesn’t matter if you haven’t finished. Now, instead of handing them in to me, I’m going to ask you to read them out loud.”

Outright rebellion — cries of “no way” and “get lost.” I felt cold inside, knew I’d made a mistake.

“I want you to stand up and speak the words you’ve written. No one’s going to be laughing at you. You’re all in the same boat. Give it a try.”

The barracking subsided.

“Amber, you start. Come up to the front. No? All right, stand where you are,