torturous moment. His eyes skimmed the text before him.
We’ve been learning this crap for weeks now. Look at this one: Romeo and Juliet, supposedly a romantic tragedy. The only tragic thing about this is their stupidity. What kind of plan is poisoning yourself? Perhaps they should’ve discussed it. It’s just too contrived. It should be titled People Being Stupid—but then again, isn’t that how people always behave?
He looked up from the book and surreptitiously studied his classmates. Ben, Tom, Charlotte, Oliver, Angelina. And Fi. Some of them were new friends; some had come with him from his old school. But thanks to all of them, that out-of-place feeling he’d had on day one, standing in front of the class with water dripping from his nose, was a fading nightmare. Luckily, kids have short memories.
He realised with a start he was staring at Fi, who was returning his gaze. She was wearing that sweet smile that made him feel as if he’d just drunk the richest, thickest, creamiest cup of hot chocolate he’d ever known on a cold winter’s night by the fire. He felt gooey, like the remnants at the bottom of the cup.
The bell rang for lunchtime.
He had zipped himself up and was washing his hands in the washroom when both the basin and his hands began to seem further and further away. His skin turned cold, and goosebumps bristled against his clothes.
‘Hero,’ a voice whispered.
He glanced in the mirror, but no one was there. He turned slowly, water dripping from his hands onto his shoes. Nobody.
‘Do the right thing.’
‘Who’s there?’ he called out.
Nobody answered.
‘Come on, stop messing around.’
He walked across to the stalls, three in total. He checked the first one. Nobody. Hesitantly, he moved on to the second and pushed open the door. Nothing. He felt his heart beating in his neck. His head was sweltering; a thin film of sweat formed on his face.
Slowly, he moved towards the final stall. Standing to one side, fully expecting some kind of prank to explode in his face, he opened the door. His muscles tensed.
Empty.
‘We are the Light,’ the voice murmured from behind him.
He spun around, but no one was there. Sweat dripped down his face, which was burning like a log fire in winter. He walked back to the basin, where the tap was still running, and splashed some water on his face.
‘Join us.’ The voice was right next to his ear, as clear and real as a cloudless night sky.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and froze, blinking the water out of his eyes. There was a face, another face, next to his in the mirror.
A flash of fear hammered down his spine and into his legs. He ducked as if he were trying to smash through the floor like a mole burrowing underground to escape a predator.
‘What’re you doing?’
It was Tom, his childhood friend who’d migrated with him to this school.
‘Dammit, Tom,’ he exclaimed in relief. ‘What’re you doing sneaking up on me like that? I nearly shat my pants.’
‘That would’ve been hilarious.’ Tom sniggered.
The heat in his face was now more from the rising tide of anger. ‘And what’s with the whole “do the right thing” and “we are the Light”?’
‘What’re you talking about? I just asked if you wanted to join us.’
What?
‘You know, playing football. In the yard.’
He snatched a couple of paper towels and buried his face to cover his confusion. ‘Sure, why not? Let me just dry myself off.’
‘Come on, we’ll miss it,’ Tom said.
‘Okay, okay.’
He jogged out behind Tom, tossing the used paper towels in the bin as he passed.
‘Hey, Hero.’ Fi used that sing-song voice that only teenage girls do, mimicking their favourite film star’s sexy tone but getting it slightly wrong. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘We’re just going to play football in the yard,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ She deflated like a balloon with a slow puncture. ‘It’s just, I don’t have anyone to have lunch with, and I thought—’
‘Ah. I see. Well . . .’
He glanced at Tom. On some unheard channel of male telepathy, a message was transferred, one that all post-pubescent males understood.
Tom gave them a toothy grin. ‘Hero, to be honest, I think we’ve already got too many people. You’d be doing us a favour.’
‘Okay, well, have a good game.’ He turned to Fi. ‘Shall we?’
She shifted her books to the other side and fell in beside him. ‘We shall.’
Chapter 4
James
I was on full autopilot on the way home after a decent training session at the gym. Night-time had already drawn in with winter approaching, and the lack of street lamps meant I could hardly see a thing. Training had recently become much more interesting, although sometimes I worried about the master. Other than that, the previous few weeks had been fairly smooth, except of course for the change in Hero’s behaviour. It was hard to put my finger on exactly what was different. He seemed withdrawn now even by his usual reserved standards.
And then of course there was Vicki.
The lights in the house were still off as I arrived, making the house more imposing than usual. Hero should have been home by now, and I had the sense that something was wrong. Was it the smell in the air? The way the shadows formed around the porch windows? I really couldn’t tell, but having no choice, I pushed my key into the lock.
The house was cold—strange, since I could hear the fizzing and pinging of the central heating. My heart was beating faster, and my lungs were snatching at the air like an overweight hamster running in its wheel. I quietly closed the door behind me, but I could see nothing, so I fumbled towards the light switch on my right.
The hall was empty. There was somebody there, though, in the darkness. I couldn’t see them, but they were there. They were in the kitchen. I could feel it.
I padded over to the kitchen but dared not enter. The air was thick. Was it tension? Or could I somehow smell the breath of the intruder? I snaked my hand inside the door, feeling for the light switch. Preparing to duck quickly, I switched it on.
The light hit like a slap to the face.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ I shouted.
Hero was sitting by himself at the table, the dinner he’d presumably prepared left untouched. After Mum
