beginning to feel a frustrating yearning in his groin; frustrating because the girls all seemed to be taken; chaperoned . . . led from one machine to the next, more often than not, with one or more male arm wrapped protectively around their necks or waists. Led like poodles being taken for a walk.
Even if there weren’t other boys around - boys who looked like they’d knuckle his face if he even tried looking at their girl - he doubted he’d know what to say to one of them anyway. Although the cider was giving him a tingling urge and just a little courage, he was still about a million miles away from actually walking up to one of them and trying out a simple ‘hello’.
He felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. He turned round to see it was Snoop’s second-in-command, Dizz-ee.
‘A’ight?’ he greeted him loudly.
Jacob nodded and cracked an awkward too-cheerful grin. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ He nodded. ‘What a great party!’
Dizz-ee hunched his shoulders casually. ‘Once a fortnight. S’what we got goin’ on here. Right?’
Jacob nodded his head vigorously. ‘Cool.’
‘Praetorians play real hard. S’only ’cause we grind hard too, man. This time tomorrow you gonna be all sweared-in and wearing one of the orange jackets. Get dues from the others.’
Jacob’s vacant smile told Dizz-ee he was falling behind.
‘Get respect, bro . . . the jacket gets you respect.’
Jacob got the distinct impression Dizz-ee had been sent over to chat to him. There was something forced about his grin, the body language. As if he’d much rather be elsewhere.
Dizz-ee nodded at the racing booths. ‘So, you play the games?’
‘Yeah, they’re excellent fun. I think I’m a bit rubbish, really. I—’
‘What about them?’ Dizz-ee said, tipping a nod towards a young girl nearby, watching the current race as she tottered unsteadily on heels too high for her. She pulled slowly on a long joint, trying to look grown up and sophisticated as she did so. The make-up, glittering rouge plastered on her cheeks and crimson lipstick smudged around her mouth, oddly made her look younger, like a child playing at dressing up in her mother’s clothes.
‘You like the look of our girlfriends?’
He watched as young male hands crawled over her like spiders; cupping, squeezing. The girl ignored the pawing, glassy-eyed and lost somewhere beyond the plasma screen in a cartoon Sega-world of golden rings and sprinting hedgehogs.
‘They’re . . . sort of . . . yeah, very pretty.’
Dizz-ee found that funny, shook his head. ‘Pretty? Heh, that’s the gayest sounding shit I heard today.’ He slapped Jacob’s shoulder again. A smile smeared too easily across his face.
He’s laughing at me.
‘Hey, jus’ kidding, man. Listen, you ever boned, bro?’
‘Boned?’
‘You ever do a girl, Jake?’
He was about to ask what Dizz-ee meant by ‘do’, but then the penny finally dropped. He realised Dizz-ee was talking about shagging. No. He’d never. There were plenty of times he wished he’d had, though.
‘No, I uh . . . never had a girlfriend. Not yet. I was—’
‘Fuck!’ Dizz-ee doubled over laughing. ‘Come on, you shittin’ me?’
‘No . . . I’m not sh—’
‘So, lemme go set you up with a girlfrien’, bro. Right now.’
‘What? No . . . I, no really I’m—’
Dizz-ee grabbed hold of both his shoulders firmly, spun him round and began pushing him forward, threading him across the crowded stage, past games booths, past clusters of turning heads, amused faces, some slyly smiling, others laughing openly. Jacob felt his face flush bright crimson, sensed he was being set up for some kind of a very public prank. He caught a glimpse of Nathan on the other side of the stage, playing a dancing game, a joint hanging from his mouth. Snoop was beside him cheering him on as he duelled deftly on a grid of glowing pads against some other boy.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Hey, be chill,’ replied Dizz-ee.
In the middle of the arena’s circular black stage was an opening that led down a short flight of stairs into darkness.
‘What’s down there?’
Dizz-ee, still steering his shoulders, pushed him forward down into the opening. ‘We call it the cattle shed. Gonna get you some fresh pussy.’
As they made their way down the stairs, he noticed a sign stencilled on the wall beside him; ‘Sound System Storage: Stage Hands Only’.
‘What’s down here?’
‘You’ll love it.’
‘You got animals down here?’
Dizz-ee snorted and shook his head, laughing. ‘Zoop-zoop!!’ He flicked his wrist, clacking one finger against another. ‘No, man, it’s not cows an’ donkeys an’ shit. It’s where