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Chapter Seven

When I got home after school I phoned Emma to see how she was and to tell her about the gig on Friday. I didn't know whether to mention Darren or not. We couldn't talk properly on the phone because of my parents anyway. The phone is in the hallway outside the lounge, so they can hear everything. I've been campaigning for my own phone line in my bedroom for years, but Dad says it's as likely to happen as Sadie and Anthony breaking the habit of a lifetime and going on holiday to the moon.

"All right, Leyla, what have you been up to?"

"Sarah and I went to this brilliant gig at the Academy on Friday night: Asian Dub Foundation. It just made me want to be a drummer even more. It's all I want to do, you know."

"Then do it, don't just talk about it. You've got your drums -- all you need to do is keep practicing. You'll be a star before you know it."

"I'm not sure about being a star, but I know I could be a good drummer. I just need to find a band to practice with, that's all. Anyway, how are you? How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know, okay. Fine most of the time. It gets...you know...No, I'm fine, I'm fine, honestly."

"Come on, Em, you can talk to me. Don't stop yourself if you want to talk."

"No, really, I'm fine. Listen, there is something I wanted to talk to you about, actually. What are you doing now? Can you come down to the flat?"

"Well, I've got some English homework to do for tomorrow, and..."

"Tell me about it." Emma groaned. "I am so behind in all of my schoolwork it's not funny. My teachers are on my back about it as well, but I can't exactly turn round and tell them to give me a break because I've just been told I've got HIV and am feeling a bit stressed out lately, can I?"

"Tell them you're having family problems -- they always fall for that one. They're well into their stress management these days."

"Oh, I don't know. I just can't seem to concentrate on anything. I haven't been sleeping very well, so I'm knackered half the time, falling asleep at my desk. That's when I'm actually at school and not at the hospital having some test or other done. I've missed so much school it's unbelievable. I'm never going to pass my A Levels next year at this rate."

"Listen, Mum'll have tea ready in a minute, but I can come down at about seven thirty. Shall I ask her if I can stay at your place, and then we can have longer to talk?"

"Yeah, brilliant. See you at seven thirty then," she said, and rang off.

When I arrived at the flat Emma escorted me straight to her room, not giving me a chance to stop and have a quick chat with Aunty Jean, who was sat in the living room watching TV and chain-smoking.

"Did I spot a visitor somewhere in that whirlwind?" she shouted from the couch just as Emma closed her bedroom door firmly behind us.

"I didn't even say hello," I said, catching my breath and struggling to take off my jacket.

"Oh, she's getting on my nerves. I don't want us to end up sitting in the living room with her all night. I thought we could stay in here and chat."

"Fine by me. Get us a drink first, though, will you? I'm gasping."

Emma came bounding back into the room with her arms full of fruit, mineral water, a bag of mixed nuts, and some guacamole dip with tortilla chips. She placed them neatly on the floor at my feet and looked upon her treasure with pride.

"So you're going back to the kitchen for the Coke, chocolate, and crisps then, yeah?' I said, picking up a kiwi fruit, eyeing it suspiciously and wondering what on earth I was going to do with it.

"No way -- this is my new healthy eating regime. My doctor has told me that if I pay attention to my diet early on I'm more likely to maintain good health. He's told me all this stuff about how the virus will start to change the structure of my intestines, which means I won't be able to absorb nutrients as well as I would normally, so I've got to get the right balance and correct amount of vitamins and minerals inside me now, to maintain a healthy system and be able to fight off infections."

"Oh, right, I see." I suddenly felt really bad for taking the piss and turning my nose up at her bounty of fresh food. So much had happened, and yet life went on as normal; sometimes I didn't appreciate how much Emma had had to adapt.

"I'll go and buy you a Coke from the corner shop if you want."

"No, no, don't be silly. This cranberry juice looks great to me." I realized how much of an impact HIV was having on every single aspect of her life. Her diet was only one tiny change in the scheme of things that she was having to cope with. But she was just getting on with it.

"A bag of chips or a burger isn't going to kill me or anything," she explained. "They won't do me any harm at all, and the doctor said I shouldn't deprive myself of any treats, but basically I should eat food that is going to give me all the right nutrients so that I stay as healthy as possible. I'm taking loads of vitamin tablets, too. I'm doing quite well so far."

Emma was doing incredibly well. She'd known about being HIV positive for over five months and had coped so well. I'm not with her twenty-four hours a day and she must go through shit when I'm not around to see it, but she's been so brave. I was amazed at how strong and levelheaded she always seems to be. She gets sad and talks about her situation very seriously, but she isn't a total head case; she's holding it together. I'm sure I'd have lost the plot by now if I was her. But you've just got to carry on, haven't you?

Emma spread herself out on some cushions and tucked into the fruit.

"So what's your mum done then?" I asked.

"Well, she's got something to do with what I want to talk to you about, actually." She leant over to her bedside table and reached for what looked like her diary. Opening it, she pulled out some A4 sheets and glossy leaflets. "When I was at my counseling session at the clinic last week, my counselor told me about this group in Manchester that is specifically for teenagers who are living with or affected by HIV and AIDS. It's like a support-center kind of thing. Listen, I'll read what it says in the leaflet. 'Positive Living is a self-help center for families living with or affected by HIV and AIDS. We provide support, information, and counseling in a safe and confidential space where families can come and access our services on a weekly basis. We have a teenage group that meets weekly and offers a unique service to those young people who know of their status or that of a family member. Facilitated support sessions allow teenagers the opportunity to share their concerns and discuss issues surrounding HIV and AIDS without fear of judgment or rejection. During the course of the weekly session a range of activities are organized, along with regular trips every month away from the center.' I just wanted you to have a look to see what you think."

I flicked through the different bits of information. There were loads of messages from the teenagers themselves: their experiences of how much the group had helped them to talk about their situation and how it had helped them not to feel so alone because they were with people their own age who understood exactly what was going on in their lives.

"Do you reckon it sounds naff? Like some crappy youth club or something?" Emma asked.

"I dunno, Em. It might be good to meet other kids your age who can understand what you're going through."

"Yeah, I know, but do you reckon I'd end up being dragged round some adventure playground every week or what?" Emma took the leaflets back and studied them again as if looking for some clues, some advice, some hint of what to do for the best.

"You might have to sit around in a circle and hug each other." I giggled.

"Oh God, that's it then. I'm definitely not going." She threw the leaflets across the room.

"No, seriously. Come on, think about it. At the moment only me, your mum, and your counselor know. I just sit around worrying about you half the time, not knowing how to help, and your mum is a wreck. Your counselor sounds brilliant, but she's not exactly the same age as you, is she; she can't know what it's like to be sixteen and have HIV. There'd be people there who could support you properly, who you could make friends with. You might even be able to get some information from them about treatments and all that sort of stuff."

I wasn't sure if I was being selfish, but I was relieved to find out there was a group out there that might be able to help Em, because I often felt inadequate to help her or to know what she was going through.

"I'm just a bit...you know...scared. I mean, I don't know what the other kids are going to be like. What if I don't get on with them? And I don't think I'm ready to open up to a bunch of complete strangers about what's happened to me anyway. Besides, she isn't too happy about it." Emma cocked her head in the direction of the living room. "The counselor told her that it would be a really good idea if she went along to the parents' group at the same time because it would be an opportunity for her to talk and get some help and information. She hasn't got anyone to confide in: Nan is dead. Dad...well, he hasn't been sighted for years. And it's not as though she's very close to your mum -- they barely have a civil word to say to each other. But she's being a stubborn old bag and said she won't go near the place. She doesn't want anyone knowing her private business or telling her how to look after her daughter. She says that she can cope fine on her own and doesn't need anybody interfering in our lives."

"But what about you, though? Is she going to stop you going as well?"

"Well, I don't think she'll stop me, but she is worried about me talking to so many people about my illness and it eventually getting back to someone around here and ruining my life. It's her pride, too, you know. She wants to feel as though I can always rely on her for a shoulder to cry on. She finds the fact that I go to a counselor difficult enough as it is, but the thought of me sharing things with a whole group of people freaks her out a bit, I guess. She won't even look at the leaflets.

"Anyway, I don't care what she thinks. I'm going to go if I decide to, and she'll just have to handle it. It's my life." Emma got to her feet and started tidying things up in her room while I leant over to her stereo to put on a CD.

"You could come with me," she announced suddenly as if she'd just struck upon the best idea in the world. "If I started going, that is." She plonked herself back down on the cushions and looked straight at me with a pleading expression. "I'd just feel so much more comfortable if you were there as well. You understand what I've been going through, you've been there all the way practically, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind you coming along as someone to support me."

I was a bit taken aback. I could understand her wanting some company -- it's horrible joining any sort of group for the first time on your own. But it didn't feel right. "Oh, Em, I don't know. I'll think about it. But perhaps it would be better to go on your own. You'll make new friends straightaway. It'll be a bit scary the first time you go but after that it'll be fine. You won't rely on me so much if I'm not there, and you'll probably talk more and get more out of the group, because you'll be forced to join in."

Em folded her arms behind her head and lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah, you're probably right. Mum has just unsettled my nerves by being so negative and paranoid about the whole thing. My confidence is a bit low at the moment, that's all."

"So do you reckon you're going to go then?"

"I'm not sure. I'll think about it this week."

We got into our pajamas and sat snuggled up in her double bed together, then talked for ages about school and friends and everything really. I feel as though I can talk to Emma about anything in the world. We played some CDs and talked about music and I got all revved up about being in a band one day and found myself rambling on about my future career as a rock legend.

Emma had pulled out some photos of us on my first day at secondary school five years ago. We were stood outside my house. Emma was four feet off the ground, jumping into the air behind me as I stood with hunched shoulders and stared down in horror at my awful brown Clarks with their sensible cork soles. Emma refused to bend to convention, even at the age of eleven, and had customized her uniform with a silk scarf around her neck and a pink glitter belt around her waist. Not a single hair was out of place on my head and I was wearing regulation everything: knee-length socks that had been bleached for extra whiteness, a starched A-line skirt, and the best regulation navy blue school jumper money could buy. My mum had insisted on me looking immaculate. "You're not showing this family up," she'd warned.

"'The best years of your life' is what they say about school, you know," Emma said softly, not taking her eyes off the photo and letting a few tears drop from her nose.

After school on Thursday, Emma was waiting for me outside the gates. I was on my own because Sarah was staying late for some meeting or other, so I was glad to see Em and relieved not to have to go straight home.

"Let's go to Georgio's for a chat. If we can actually manage to get any privacy there, that is," Emma said.

Georgio's is the café on the high street where everyone from our school hangs out. It's nothing special; it's just your regular greasy spoon. The only reason everyone goes there is because Georgio and the rest of his Greek family who run it don't seem to mind a table of five schoolkids huddling around one cup of coffee between them. Occasionally someone will buy a cheese sandwich and a cheer will go up for the last of the big spenders.

Tucked away right at the back of the café next to the toilets is a booth with high-backed red leather seats, and that's where everyone goes to have a sneaky fag. When you look in from the street you can't actually see who is sat in the booth; there's just a cloud of smoke hovering above whoever's sat there. Different cliques of friends have their own tables. Some groups have even gone so far as to scratch their names into the Formica tabletops to mark out their territory. Every weekday you can guarantee that there will be someone from our school in there. I've never walked past without seeing a splash of navy blue uniform. Sometimes on my way to school at eight thirty in the morning I see gangs of girls already sipping cappuccinos for their breakfast, chins wagging as though they've never left from the night before.

It's a different story on the weekend, though. On Saturdays you couldn't get a seat if you tried. It's chocker-full of grannies blocking the aisles with their shopping trolleys, and mothers with their children and pushchairs. You can guarantee that they'd all sat in exactly the same seats years ago when they were at school themselves, and I often prayed that I wouldn't be going to the same caff a few years down the line with a bunch of screaming kids round my ankles, scrabbling the money together for a cup of tea.

Emma and I managed to get a corner table by ourselves and ordered a Coke with two straws.

"I've spoken to someone at the support center," Emma said with slightly more enthusiasm than at the beginning of the week.

"What did they say? Are you going to go?"

"Well, yeah, they want me to go along this Saturday to have a look around, meet some people, and just have a chat with them. I don't have to keep going if I don't like it."

"Are you still worried about going on your own, though?"

"No, no, not really. I mean, of course I'm nervous about the whole thing, but, well, they sounded really nice on the phone."

"What does your mum think? Have you told her they've invited you there on Saturday?"

"She's come round to the idea a little bit, and she's given her consent, but she's still adamant that she doesn't want to have anything to do with it herself. My counselor says she's still trying to come to terms with my illness, that she's a long way from accepting what has happened to me and that that's why she's rejecting help and support. She can't seem to see that by going to this center they would be able to help her come to terms with what has happened and to move on. Anyway, she's said that she'll come into Manchester with me, take me to the center to check out what sort of place it is, and will come back at the end of the day to pick me up. She keeps saying that she won't be staying very long, but we'll see."

"I hope it's all right. It's worth having a look, anyway, and as you say, if it's too much like being back in the Brownies you can just walk."

"Well, watch this space. What are you up to on the weekend?"

"Me and Sarah have been invited to a party that somebody from school is having at a new bar in town on Saturday night. Why don't you come after you get back from the center -- you can tell me all about it then. It should be a good night. Good music, I reckon. I know the DJ."

"Yeah, I'd love to. I feel as though I haven't been out partying for ages. Then again, I haven't exactly had much to celebrate. Just let me know all the details and I'll meet you there. Who's this DJ then? Anyone I know?" she quizzed me.

"Oh no, just some boy I met at that gig the other night. He's in our sixth form; name's Darren. He seems to have okay taste in music, so he should play some decent stuff."

"I could do with a good night out."

"Listen, I'd better go. Mum'll have the tea on, and you know what she's like if I'm late and disrupt the timetable."

"You'd better get yourself home and report for duty then." Emma grabbed me by the arm and frog-marched me out of Georgio's in exaggerated military style: "Left, right, left, right, left, right."

I woke up early on Saturday morning thinking about the party. I couldn't seem to get Darren out of my head; I was really looking forward to seeing him again. It was crazy, because I didn't even know him properly. All I knew was that he was gorgeous and had the most beautiful to-die-for eyes. He seemed more mature than the other guys I knew -- at least he hadn't talked nonstop about fast cars and football in front of me. And the best thing was that he loved music and knew his stuff. I was sure we could spend hours bending each other's ears about the latest samplers and drum machines. It was quite clear to me that we were made for each other.

Sarah and I had planned that I'd get to her house at about seven o'clock to get ready. Her mum goes to her church every Saturday to clear up the confetti after a wedding and to make sure the place is spick-and-span for the Sunday service. Afterward she goes for tea with the priest. It's great, because we get to have the house to ourselves. We can turn up the music and have plenty of space to get ready in.

But it seemed that seven o'clock would never come, so I just lay down on the fluffy rug in my room and flicked through some magazines and let my mind drift. I started thinking about Sarah's mum and all that religion stuff again. I don't think I'm religious or anything. Well, I've never really been to church apart from school carol services at Christmas, so I don't know much about it all, but sometimes I can't help thinking that if there is a God why does he or she allow such terrible things like HIV to happen to people? Why are there so many natural disasters in this world and so many diseases, wars, and murders? What answer could Sarah's mum give me? If God is so powerful and so good, why doesn't he or she install love and peace forever and ever, amen?

I know it's not that simple and I realize that the world is of our own making, but with things like HIV, which seem to be completely beyond any human being's control, it just makes you wonder why these things happen in the first place. What's it all about, you know? It gets you thinking, but if you think too much about it you just end up going round and round in circles. I don't think anyone knows the answer, not really. All I know is that a lot of bad things and a lot of good things happen in life and at the end of the day you've just got to get on with it.

I realized that I had been lying on my bedroom floor letting thoughts whirl around the room and bounce off the walls for quite some time. It was catching sight of my leopard-print top with the slashed neck poking out of my wardrobe that made me think about the party again. I'd decided to wear it with a pair of black trousers and my new sneakers, all set off by my cute pink choker with the tiny diamond studs. I wondered whether my diamanté tiara was going too far -- I wasn't really sure what sort of a party it was going to be. I started getting a bit nervous thinking about Darren. Why had he invited us in the first place? Did he like me? I was worried that it would be awkward when I saw him because I hadn't seen him since he turned up at Sarah and my den at school, and I didn't even know if he'd remember inviting us. I was so glad that Sarah was going with me. She'll talk to anyone, even if it's only to give out abuse.

My stomach rumbled. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, so I went downstairs to make myself a sandwich. Mum was in the kitchen ironing and Sadie was sat at the table painting her nails.

"Oh, so you've deigned to join us at last. What have you been doing?" Mum asked.

"Oh, just philosophizing about religion, relationships, whether one wears a tiara to parties in Bury or not. You know, just your regular teenage musings on a Saturday afternoon."

"You're a cocky little madam sometimes." Mum looked disapprovingly in my direction as I squeezed behind her and the ironing board to get to the fridge.

"Whose party are you going to?" Sadie said without looking up from her polished nails.

"One of Sarah's friends is having a birthday party," I lied. Mum thinks Sarah is such a good-mannered, well-brought-up girl that she trusts me to do anything if she's involved. She's always going on about Sarah's disciplined, religious upbringing and wishes I were as well behaved as her. It makes me laugh -- how wrong can parents be? -- but I'm not going to correct her.

"So are you wearing the tiara or not?" Sadie quizzed.

"What on earth do you want to go wearing a tiara for? You'll just draw attention to yourself, have a swarm of young men buzzing around you and getting you into trouble," Mum said, waving the iron at me.

"Why do girls always get the blame for attracting attention to themselves when they get hassled by blokes just because they've got nice clothes on that they like wearing and that make them feel good about themselves? I'm making a fashion statement, not trying to impress the lads."

"I've seen girls downtown going out looking like floozies, with skirts that look more like belts and tops that show off all of their cleavage. They're asking for trouble," Mum retorted.

"So, do you reckon all women should walk around in sacks to stop men from being led into temptation? Why can't blokes just have some respect for girls no matter what they're wearing?"

"You might think you know it all, young lady, but believe you me it's a wicked world and things aren't as simple as you might think. If I ever see you out on the streets dressed like...like a...a hussy, I'll have your guts for garters." By now, Mum was ironing at a furious pace, her face all red as though she was going to blow up in a puff of hot steam.

I couldn't be bothered to argue. Mum always draws any argument back to the fact that she is older and wiser and she knows best, and that I'm just young and naïve and I'll learn from experience eventually.

In my haste to get out of the kitchen and as far away from Mum and Sadie as possible, I barged past the kitchen table, knocking over Sadie's nail polish as I went.

"Oh, Leyla, now look what you've done," Sadie screeched.

"So what? You're only drawing attention to yourself wearing that sleazy nail polish anyway. Imagine all the trouble you could get into." I smiled sarcastically in Mum's direction and skipped out of the kitchen.

The party was in the upstairs room of what used to be Valentino's wine bar, the sort of cheesy disco that Sadie goes to for a night out with the girls from Abbey National. It's just been bought out by some trendy Manchester club owner who's got plans for revamping it and getting some big-name DJs in there. He's named it the Mars Bar.

We walked into the downstairs bar, sticking to the carpet, looking for the stairs, and were pushed out of the way by a gang of girls on a hen night running after a distressed bride-to-be who had just caught her fiancé snogging someone in the Ladies. It was still Valentino's wine bar, new owner or not. The only difference was a precarious vase of fancy flowers on top of the jukebox and a list of posh beers chalked up on the blackboard and a sign advertising bowls of olives for £2.50. Despite those few minor changes, I still expected to see Sadie sipping a Bacardi Breezer in the corner.

Upstairs at the party, Sarah and I skirted around the periphery of the dance floor and tried to suss out who we knew there. Sarah spotted one of her brother Jamie's friends, so we went over to speak to him. It was mostly an older crowd of kids from sixth form and the local colleges, so I felt a bit self-conscious about being much younger than everyone else. I began to wish that I hadn't worn my tiara after all, despite Sarah's telling me a thousand times how fantastic I looked.

While Sarah chewed the ear off her newfound friend, I had time to search the room for Darren. I couldn't see him anywhere and was beginning to feel a little disappointed, thinking that he might not even show up, when I spotted him in the DJ booth with his headphones on, head down, concentrating on his decks like he was doing a maths test. I felt too shy to go up to him straightaway. I had a few butterflies in my stomach and wasn't sure what to say to him. I kept glancing at him out of the corner of my eye while trying to get in on the conversation Sarah was having, because I didn't want to be just stood around staring at him like a complete idiot. Eventually he stopped concentrating on his decks and caught me looking at him. Our eyes locked. He waved me over and I walked nervously toward the DJ box.

"All right? How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Oh, we've only just arrived. Enough time for Sarah to corner some bloke who will soon wish he'd never left the house tonight."

"Yeah, she's a feisty lady, that's for sure."

"Oh, she's great. I love her to bits. She's just got a gob on her like the Mersey tunnel, that's all."

"Well, anyway, welcome to the salubrious setting of Darren Mitchell's disco inferno," he said, twirling around in the tiny space.

"What are you putting on next?"

"I don't know. Why don't you choose. Surprise me."

I knelt down at his silver chrome record boxes, crammed full of vinyl, and started flicking through his collection. I was glad I had a chance to take a deep breath and try to calm myself down a bit. I wanted him to like me, but if I carried on being such a nervous wreck he was just going to think I was a dizzy idiot. I pulled out one of Sarah and my all-time-favorite tracks, one that I knew she would go mad for when she heard it. I removed it from the sleeve so Darren wouldn't know what it was and gestured for him to move out of the way so I could put it on.

"Do you know what to do?" he asked, looking a little anxious.

"Well, I've only ever used my gran's gramophone, but I'm sure I'll find my way around this new contraption," I said, totally deadpan, and when I was sure he was suitably worried I cracked a smile and punched his arm playfully. "Of course I know how to operate decks, for God's sake. You're not one of those blokes who think that boys spin the discs and girls flaunt themselves on the podium, are you?"

"No, of course not. I'd just forgotten you're as much of an anorak as I am."

"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?"

Sarah went ballistic when our tune came on and dragged me away from the DJ box to dance. I felt great. It hadn't been so awkward talking to Darren after all, and he had seemed genuinely pleased to see me. I spent the rest of the night between the dance floor and Darren, and at about ten thirty Emma showed up. She'd got a taxi from her house, having dropped her mum off after they got back from the support center. We sneaked off to a quiet corner so I could fire questions at her about her day: "How was it? What were the people like? Was it a nice place? What did you do?"

"Leyla, I don't know where to start. It was mind-blowing. I was terrified walking into the room for the first time, thinking that all eyes were going to be on me -- the positive one. But when I realized that it was a room full of people just like me who either had HIV or knew someone in their family who had it..." Emma gulped and fought back tears. "Oh God, I don't know, it made me want to cry with relief. Just seeing people my age, knowing that they understood what was happening to me, was incredible. All the times I've been to the clinic in Manchester for tests or whatever, I've never seen anyone my age, or even another girl, come to think of it. It's bound to make you feel like a freak after a while."

"Oh, Em, I'm so glad it worked out okay. I've been thinking about you all day."

"I mean, I felt a bit weird because it was like really facing up to the fact that I'm..." Emma looked around to check that nobody was in earshot and dropped her voice to barely a whisper. "...that I'm HIV positive, you know. It really brought it home to me. I was freaked out when I went to the center because the first woman I saw looked really, really ill and it scared the hell out of me. I suddenly felt that I didn't belong there. I'm not ill; I don't look ill. I felt like a fake or something. I just wanted to run home and watch Saturday morning TV like everyone else and forget any of it was happening, but luckily I was ushered into the youth center, where everyone was just sat around watching telly, listening to music, and gossiping, and that calmed me down a bit."

"Was everyone in the youth center talking about being HIV positive and stuff?"

"No, not really. Before I even went into the main center itself, Lucinda, one of the coordinators of the center, took me and my mum into this room and just had a quick chat with us. She told me that everyone in the group was affected by HIV and AIDS one way or another. She explained that some of the teenagers were HIV positive while others had parents or siblings who were positive or who had died of AIDS-related causes. So even though nobody was talking about HIV outright today, there was an understanding that everyone knew why they were there. That was what was so amazing about it all for me. I hadn't actually talked to anyone else with HIV before today, Leyla. I've been sat in that flat thinking that I must be the only sixteen-year-old girl in the whole world with it."

I was in awe of what Emma had to say. It must have been awful for her all those months not knowing another person who was in the same boat as her. I wanted to hear more.

"What did you do all day?" I asked.

"We just hung out really. You know: We had dinner, played CDs, mucked around on the PlayStation and the computer. I made you something, actually. I was just playing around with the clip art on the computer. It's silly really." Emma pulled a folded piece of A4 paper out of her jacket pocket and passed it to me. It was a picture of a big red heart with sparkly stars all around it, and in the middle it said: "Thank you for being my best mate. You're a star. Love, Em."

"Oh, Em, it's beautiful. Thank you. I'm really touched. It's gorgeous."

"It's nothing. I was just fiddling around. It could have been better but we had to stop everything we were doing at one point to get together and have this big talk. Everyone's supposed to talk about how they're feeling, what they've been doing, any points they'd like to raise about the group, and stuff like that. Not everyone spoke, though, and I just about managed to tell everyone my name."

"Did you have a group hug?" I giggled.

"Nah, it wasn't like that at all. It was dead normal."

"How's your mum?"

"She's okay. She stayed for the minimum amount of time she could get away with and headed straight out of the door as soon as possible."

"So you going back then?"

"Definitely. I mean, I was really shy and scared, but it showed me that I'm not on my own."

We were both quietly thinking about everything Em had just said when Sarah came bounding over to us, leapt on my back, and demanded to know why we were huddled together, acting all secretive. "What are you two boring old wallflowers up to? You're cooking something up, aren't you? Come on, tell me. What's with all this hiding in corners?"

"It's nothing, we're just chatting," I told her. "Catching up, discussing who's here, who's not, and planning how we can help that poor boy you've been draped over all night to make his escape."

"Oh, very funny. I'll have you know he's been attached to my side like a limpet all night. It's me who wants to get rid of him, thank you. He's got Lynx aftershave on. I mean, purrleese, as if I'm going to be interested in anyone who's wearing anything less than Calvin Klein."

I felt bad for Emma, because I knew she hated having to hide so much from people, especially those she cared about, but there didn't seem to be any choice. It was something we both had to cope with: I hated keeping anything from Sarah, but I didn't know what else to do.

We headed over to the dance floor, and Emma got to chatting with some people she knew and slotted into the crowd like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. That's what Emma is like. She just seems to fit in wherever she goes, whatever she does, with no effort. She breezes into any social situation and makes it look easy. People really gravitate to her, because she makes everyone feel so relaxed and comfortable. I wish I was more like her sometimes. I tend to stand back and observe and worry about what people are thinking, and live inside my head a lot, instead of just launching into a situation and living it there and then.

Darren had finished his DJing slot and was slowly making his way over to us. "Hello there, disco divas." Sarah rolled her eyes and resumed her position on Mr. Lynx aftershave's hip.

"Is this your DJ friend?" Emma asked.

Darren took her hand, twirled her around, and, bringing her to his chest, said, "DJ Darren, that's my name. Whatever the mood, whatever the occasion, I've got the disc to make you twist." Emma pulled herself away and laughed.

"This is my cousin Emma. God, you're a cheese ball."

"I know," he said, laughing at himself.

Darren makes me laugh. I know Sarah thinks he's a show-off, but he's more of a showman than a show-off, I reckon.

We joked around and danced for a while, until the clock struck midnight and I had to get home before my carriage turned into a pumpkin and my clothes turned to rags. I'd asked Mum if Emma and Sarah could come back to our place and stay the night, and she'd said okay, so we called a cab and waited by the door for it to turn up. When it eventually arrived, Darren walked with us out onto the street and opened the cab door for us to get in.

"You'll be putting your coat over a puddle for us next," Sarah said sarcastically.

"Can't a boy be chivalrous nowadays without getting his head snapped off?" Darren replied, sticking his head inside the car to confront Sarah.

"Chivalry gives me the shivers," Sarah retorted. She folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead, obviously not prepared to talk about it further.

"Well, adios. See you later." Darren bent down, kissed me on my cheek, and shut the door firmly.

I was smitten.

"That boy is so slimy, Leyla, I don't know what you see in him. He loves himself so badly," Sarah said, exasperated with me.

"So what's the deal with you two then? Are you, like, seeing each other properly or what? I can't believe you haven't told me about him." Emma nudged me in the ribs and squeezed my knee, demanding answers.

"Nothing's going on. That's only the third time I've ever spoken to him in my life. I met him at the Academy at that gig I told you about. He goes to our school. He invited me and Sarah along tonight, and we get on really well. That's all there is to know. There's nothing going on. I can't believe he actually kissed me good-bye. We barely know each other."

I must have looked pretty doe-eyed and smitten, because Sarah was suddenly shoving her fingers down her throat, making gagging noises and asking me to pass the bucket.

"Right. For that you're sleeping on the floor tonight, missy, and if you give me any more grief I'll make you sleep in the spare bed in Sadie's room," I threatened. "And you know she's got pictures of Posh and Becks all over her walls that will give you nightmares you'll never forget."

"Okay, okay, I'll behave, I'll behave. I've only got your best interests at heart, though, Leyla. I just think you're too special to waste your time on plonkers who love themselves too much, that's all."

I was reading a book in my room the following Saturday night when Emma called round the house. It was about nine o'clock. She'd just come back from another day at the support center. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Is everything okay?" I asked.

"Of course it is. I'm not always the purveyor of doom, you know."

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm just surprised to see you."

"So was your mum. And she was upset that I'd caught her in her ski pants and slippers and kept apologizing for the state of the place. What's she like? This house is a palace."

"I wish she'd stop caring about appearances and what other people think all the time and just concentrate on the more important things in life."

"Like drumming, you mean?"

"Yeah, that's right, like drumming. Are you taking the piss?"

"No, honestly I'm not. I came round specifically to talk to you about drumming, actually."

"Oh yeah? Sounds ominous. Go on." I eyed Emma suspiciously, wondering what she was getting at.

"Well, today at the center we were talking about all the different things we're going to be doing with the group over the next few weeks. There's trips to the bowling alley and the flicks and a few meals organized -- you know the sort of thing. Anyway, some people suggested that they'd like to set up a music workshop -- have music lessons and try and put some music together or something like that. Lucinda said that we might be able to use the music college in Salford as a base, because apparently they're really good about letting the center make use of their equipment and facilities. But first of all we need to find people who can come in and help run the workshops. You know, musicians to teach new skills and help with composing some music."

"God, you really are getting involved now, aren't you?" I said, pleased. "I knew it would take you about five minutes to settle in there."

"I wasn't so nervous today, but I still feel a bit awkward and shy there. I'm becoming so used to hiding my status like it doesn't really exist that it's weird getting used to the fact that I'm surrounded by people who aren't going to judge me or walk away from me like I'm a piece of dirt."

'Plus, I bet you can't actually believe why you're there in the first place."

"Yeah, it's that and all. But at least I am trying to face up to it, which is more than my mum is doing."

"So, have you made any friends yet or what?"

"There's a couple of girls who seem quite nice whom I talked to a bit. There's Shula; she's been going for a couple of years but seems as on edge and shy as I am when I'm there. We're the ones who hang back and try to make ourselves look as small and as inconspicuous as possible. I think we saw an ally in each other today, so we ended up chatting nervously later on. And there's Ellie, who is a bit sort of, umm, quirky, I suppose -- quite odd really. She just came bounding up to me today and started telling me all about her mum, who used to be a really popular singer in Canada before she got ill, and how she wanted to sing and follow in her mum's footsteps if the music workshop came off. She made me feel more relaxed because she was so mad."

"So why do you want to talk to me about drumming then?"

"I thought you could teach people the drums." I sat up straight at that point and asked her exactly what she meant. "Well, I told them that my cousin was a top-class drummer who would be happy to share her skills with others."

"Emma, I am not a musician. I couldn't teach anyone else how to play, let alone compose a piece of music. Not if I were paid a million pounds."

"That's another thing: It would be voluntary. They haven't got enough money to pay anyone, so they're relying on people's goodwill. I told them you had plenty of that."

"Hold on a minute. Are you listening to me? I wouldn't know how to teach anyone the drums. I'm only learning myself."

"Oh, you're too modest for your own good. You're a brilliant drummer. You'd easily be able to teach people a few basic skills. Will you do it or not?"

"Are you just doing this so that you'll have me for company at the center, because if you are..."

"I'm not. I'm not," Emma protested. "The workshop would only be every other Saturday, so you wouldn't be there with me every week. I've got to get used to the place sooner or later."

"Oh, Em, I dunno. I'm not sure I could handle it, like."

I was stumbling over my words. I couldn't really express my worries exactly, but the thought of going to the center, where people were ill, or where I could even catch something myself, made me feel very uneasy. I realized that my prejudices were becoming apparent. "I'd feel like the odd one out," were the words that came spilling unexpectedly from my mouth.

"Why? Because you'd be the only one not dying or something?" Emma looked hurt.

A heavy tension immediately followed. I felt the blood slowly creep up my neck and burst into my face. I was flustered and nervous. We fidgeted and looked away from each other. I wished that the conversation had never happened. I felt so bad. I was letting Emma down. I was frightened and shocked by the workings of my own mind. It was as though I had learnt to cope with Em's status, but when it came to pushing the boundaries any further I was paralyzed by my fears.

And yet all she was asking of me was to help out with a music workshop. I knew how much Emma needed to make things around her as normal as possible, and perhaps I could bring some normality to the unfamiliar world that she'd entered at the center. Just stopping to think about what Emma was actually going through made me realize that if I was scared, then Emma must be petrified out of her wits living with a disease like HIV every day of her life, not knowing if she's going to fall ill suddenly, not knowing how long she has to live. It made me shudder to think about it, and I knew I had to get a grip on myself. I had to be strong.

"Em, I'm sorry. I'll do it. I'll do it. Will there be other people helping out as well, though?"

Emma smiled, but still looked sad and distant. "Of course there'll be others. I think they already know a singer and a guitarist. I don't want us to fall out over any of this, though, Leyla. I shouldn't have pressurized you so much. Come if you want to, but I don't want to force you."

"It's all right, I'm just being silly. It'll be fine. Anything for you."

"No, no, it's all in the name of music, remember," she teased, knowing that at the end of the day I would love the opportunity to get out of the garage and play with some real musicians. "Listen, I'd better go. It's getting late and Mum will be wondering where I am." Em hopped off the bed and gathered up her stuff.

As we walked past the living room, we popped our heads round the door; Emma thought it was only polite to say good-bye to the oldies. Mum and Dad were both fast asleep on the sofa, with their slippers kicked off in front of them. Dad was snoring loudly. There were half-eaten nibbles in little bowls on the coffee table next to an empty Blockbuster video case. The film played unnoticed in the corner. They'd probably only managed to stay awake for the opening scene. It was always the same. I rolled my eyes at Emma and saw her to the door.

"See you sometime next week," I said, waving her off down the road.

Now that I was alone and relieved to have smoothed over any bad feeling with Em, I realized that I was in fact quite fired up at the prospect of doing these drum workshops. For quite a while I had been thinking how good it would be to actually play with some other musicians and attempt for the first time ever to put some music together, and now was my chance. I was scared but pretty excited, all at the same time. I just hoped that I'd be good enough and that I wouldn't let Emma down. It's one thing mucking around in a garage on your own and quite another teaching people and putting your skills to the test. I suddenly panicked that I couldn't really play the drums at all, and felt that I had to get on them just to calm myself down.

It was gone ten o'clock and I was banned from stepping foot in the garage after eight, but hearing Dad's snores get louder and louder, I thought I could sneak in for a quick bash before Mum woke up with a stiff neck and pinched Dad awake to tell him he was missing half the film.

I lit the candles in the garage as I liked to do at night to create a bit of an atmosphere, then put the gas heater on. I slid my headphones on, pressed play on my CD player, and started drumming softly but deliberately along to the music blaring from my headphones. I thought I was being quiet, but I must have got carried away and worked my way up to a crescendo, because the main lights suddenly went on and I saw Mum, Dad, Sadie, and Anthony stood at the door with their arms crossed and lips pursed, staring right at me. I realized I'd gotten so involved I had broken into a sweat.

Sadie, who had just got back from the Bull and Gate with her worse half, began things as I reached down to turn my CD off. "Anthony and I could hear your racket before we even turned the corner into the estate, couldn't we, Anthony?"

Anthony, who had obviously had one shandy too many, was swaying on the step leading down to the garage, but nodded on cue as though Sadie had pulled a few strings at the back of his neck. He is such a dummy, I thought.

Mum was next. "You've spoilt your father and my Saturday night. We hired a video as a treat, only to have it ruined by this commotion. We couldn't hear ourselves think in there. What do you think you're playing at? You've got no respect or consideration for anyone." Mum was positively boiling over with rage. The veins on her temples were standing out and spit was flying everywhere as she lashed out at me. "What the hell do you think you're doing at this time of the night?" she said, moving her hands to rest on her hips so that I knew she meant business.

I stared back at all four of them, thinking how ridiculous they all looked. Dad with his shirt half in and half out of his trousers, scratching his ruffled bedhead, barely awake enough to know what all the fuss was about. Mum in her ski pants and socked feet stuffed inside pink fluffy mules, itching for a fight. And Anthony, who was ready to collapse into a drunken sleep, propped up by my smug older sister, who loved nothing more than seeing me get into trouble.

I couldn't be bothered to waste my breath trying to excuse myself. I had one last loud and furious turn on my drums before throwing my sticks down and barging past the whole lot of them back to my bedroom. Anthony fell off the step as I marched by, and I heard Sadie tut and tell him to get a grip on himself.

They all made me laugh. What a bunch of total losers. I threw myself onto my bed and wished I could be anywhere in the world but 30 Beech Glen. What the hell did they know about music and ambition? They'll be sorry when I'm rich and famous, I told myself. I'll be more than happy to remind them of the total lack of support and enthusiasm they showed me. They're far too worried about what the neighbors will think and not having their TV viewing interrupted to care that a musical genius is blossoming under their noses. I stuck my head farther beneath the duvet and tried to block out my surroundings before sinking into an exhausted sleep.

The next day I woke up late, and could sense the frosty atmosphere in the house even before I'd stepped out of my room. I could hear Mum slamming things around in the kitchen and giving Sadie monosyllabic answers to her questions. I couldn't believe that Mum was still so angry with me. Anyone would have thought I'd committed murder the night before. For a fraction of a second I thought that maybe I should apologize and make peace, if only for a quiet life, but I soon got over that and decided to carry on as normal as though nothing had happened.

I knew this would infuriate Mum further, but I just couldn't be bothered to suck up to her. Mum and Dad never show any interest in what I do and treat me like a freak for spending so much time on my drums on my own. They've never tried to understand what I'm attempting to achieve. Okay, so drums aren't the most sociable of instruments, but they're my passion. The way they tried to control and suppress what they called "just a phase" made me want to bash around on my drums at three o'clock every sodding morning.

I decided to brave the wintry climate in the kitchen and breezed in with a smile, full of the joys of spring. Mum, who had turned into the Ice Queen of Narnia, glared at me from the sink.

"You can take that smile off your face. Your behavior last night was unforgivable. You displayed a total lack of respect and consideration for me and your father, not to mention the neighbors, and we will not tolerate it. You know the rules, Leyla. We expect an apology from you."

She stood calm and upright at the sink waiting for my pleas for forgiveness, but I couldn't take her seriously, as her yellow marigold gloves and pale blue overalls failed to convey any air of authority. I kept thinking of our school dinner ladies and lumpy custard and found it hard to suppress a smirk. "Right. That's it! The garage door will remain locked until you decide to show some respect."

"That's not fair. You're treating me like a criminal just for having a quick practice on my drums. Do you want me to achieve anything in this life or not?"

"You won't achieve anything without discipline and respect for others, Leyla, and the sooner you learn that lesson the better."

"How about you showing me some respect for once? Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have been playing quite so loudly at that time of night. I got a bit carried away. But the way you treat me for playing the drums at all is totally unreasonable. You just don't seem to care that music means a lot to me. It's what I want to do with my life. Why can't you take me seriously and give me some support?"

A tense, heavy silence followed as Mum and I stood looking at each other across the kitchen. Sadie was sat at the table with her mouth wide open, lapping it all up as if it were an episode of EastEnders. For a moment it seemed that Mum and I were desperate to understand each other but that neither of us knew where to start. Mum turned back to the sink and carried on with the washing up, muttering that the garage was off limits until Dad and her received an apology.

I couldn't bear to stay in the house any longer, so I threw on my coat and headed out the door in the direction of Sarah's. I ran down the road and out of the estate, glad to be in the open air and away from the house. I needed some space, and the fresh breeze cooled me down. I knew that I'd have to grit my teeth and tread carefully with Mum for a while in order to get my garage privileges back, but I felt so frustrated with her. I just wanted to break free of her for the day and think about something and someone completely different. I knew that Sarah's company would be the perfect cure.

"All right, missy. What a pleasant surprise to see your grumpy old face on this fine Sunday morning." Sarah was her usual self as she opened the door to me.

"Do I look grumpy?" I asked, surprised.

"You've got a face like a slapped arse."

"Sorry. It's just Mum, you know. Listen, forget it. I don't want to talk about her. Cheer me up, Sarah."

"Well, actually, despite my better judgment I might have some news that will put a smile on your face."

I perked up immediately and followed Sarah to her room. "Go on then. What is it?"

"Have I shown you the new nail varnish I bought last week? It's a wicked color. I thought it would go with my sparkly pink top," Sarah teased as she browsed over the cosmetics on her dressing table.

"Sarah, don't be such a witch. Tell me the news."

"Oh, it's not that exciting really. You won't be interested."

"Sarah, I'm gonna kill you." I pulled her onto the bed and sat on top of her chest, pinning her down. "Tell me the news."

"Okay, okay, okay, get off me,' she said, struggling. "I'm flat-chested enough as it is without you making it any worse."

"Do you promise to tell me?"

"Yes, yes. Now get off me." I jumped off and she sat up straight at the end of the bed, all smugness because she knew something she knew I'd be interested in. "Jamie told me this morning that he's going to watch a skateboarding competition down at the park at midday with a bunch of his mates. Apparently it's the regional championships and a lad from our school is tipped to win because he's won most of the local competitions all year."

"Is that it? Some kids skidding around on boards and that's news?"

"Oh, I just thought you might like to know that the local champion is in fact Darren Mitchell. Loverboy himself. Your Darren." Sarah turned her back to me and pretended to be engrossed in the contents of a shampoo bottle on her dressing table. "But if you're not interested in a bunch of kids 'skidding around on boards' then don't worry, we'll just stay in and watch telly instead."

"What do you mean, my Darren?" I asked, blushing.

"Oh come on, don't go all coy on me. You've hardly been subtle about how much you like him. Hanging around the corridors after every lesson hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Holding your breath every time someone walks past our secret place just in case it's him coming to see you. You're so transparent, Miss Burgess. You can't hide a thing from me."

"I thought I was playing it really cool." We both fell about laughing at how blatant I'd been. "So he's a champion skateboarder as well as a totally gorgeous, talented DJ. But why would you want to point out another of his many assets to me when you can't stand him?"

"Well, you're my best mate, and call me a softy, but I thought that seeing as you haven't managed to get a fix of him at school all this week, you might need one -- and soon."

Without a moment's hesitation, I grabbed my coat. "I love you. Let's go." I jumped up, kissed Sarah on the forehead, and was practically out of the door before she had time to put her shoes on. But I stopped sharp before I got outside.

"Hold on -- do I look all right? What if he thinks I'm stalking him? He's not going to want to talk to me on his big day. He probably won't even remember me. This is stupid. My hair's a mess. We'll just go and hang around at the back of the crowd, okay? We'll check it out from a distance." Sarah stood at the front door staring at me like I was mad. "What's up?" I asked.

"You're unbelievable. Calm down. You look great, and we'll just go and hang out for a while. See what happens, okay?"

When we got down to the park I was relieved to see that gathered around the skateboard ramps was quite a big crowd that I could easily get lost in. Gangs of cute-looking boys with goatees, wearing big baggy skatewear and benny hats, were stood around comparing one another's Day-Glo motifs on the bottoms of their boards. We spotted Jamie and his mates and went over to them. I just wanted to see Darren once and told myself I'd be satisfied with that. Jamie must have been talking to me, because the next thing I knew Sarah was kicking my foot to try to get my attention and explaining to Jamie that I had a crush on some sixth-former and wasn't worth talking to because he wouldn't get any decent conversation out of me.

I started to think that I was turning into a bit of a loser spending so much time thinking about this guy I'd only spoken to a few times. Just as I was about to suggest to Sarah that we go home and do something more productive with our Sunday, like paint our toenails, I saw Darren step out onto the top of the skateboard ramp. He was wearing a navy blue T-shirt that showed off his swallow tattoo and baggy Diesel jeans hung low on his hips so you could see the top of his Calvin Klein's. I decided I wasn't going anywhere. I couldn't take my eyes off him. As he soared down the ramp and leapt in the air, swinging his board around 360 degrees before landing, my stomach did somersaults with him. The sun was out, the crowds were cheering, the atmosphere was electric. And I was mesmerized.

"Pick your jaw up off the ground, Leyla. Show some dignity," Sarah said, bringing me back to reality with her sardonic tone.

"Wow!" was all I managed to say.

"You've lost it, you know. You've well and truly lost it. I've never seen you like this about anybody before."

"Shut up and let's get closer to the front. They're announcing the winner."

Sure enough, Darren won the championships and was paraded in front of the crowd on the tops of his friends' shoulders, brandishing a shiny trophy. I watched in awe before realizing that Darren was in fact waving at me. He gestured to his friends to let him down and walked over to me with a huge smile.

"We must stop bumping into each other like this. What are you doing here? I didn't think you were the skateboarding type, or is it another of your tricks, like being able to spin the discs?"

"Sarah wanted to come down for some reason. Her brother Jamie told her about it and she thought it would be cool, so she dragged me along. I was having a perfectly peaceful Sunday at home before she hauled me down here." I could feel my cheeks burning up and I imagined Sarah throwing back her head with laughter at the bullshit I was spouting.

"Well, I'm glad you came. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Yeah, it was cool. Where did you learn all that stuff?"

"Just knocking around the park for years watching the other kids. Mucking around, testing things out, you know." He looked around to see where all his mates were. People kept coming up and congratulating him. I didn't want to keep him from his moment of glory and started to go, but he stopped me and said that he just had to find Gary and Dean, and then wanted to know if I'd like to grab a Coke and go for a walk?

"I'll just have to find out what Sarah is up to," I said, trying to sound as cool as possible.

"I'll meet you at the amusement arcade in five minutes," he said, then staggered off into the crowd with his board and trophy.

Sarah was waiting for me with her arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently. "So you spoke to him. Are you feeling faint from the excitement? Do you need to sit down?"

"He's asked me to go for a walk with him, and you're coming too."

"No way. Uh-uh. You've got to be joking. I'm not playing gooseberry to anyone."

"You have to come. He'll be with his mates. He's just gone looking for them. Come on, Sarah, you're a total pro at these sorts of things. You can talk the hind legs off a donkey."

"Oh, thanks a bunch. So I'm supposed to entertain everyone on your behalf, am I?"

"No, I don't mean it like that. I mean you can break the ice. Abuse them about their goatees or pick a fight about Converse versus Nike trainers. Anything."

"Okay, okay. I'll come, but if he's not with his mates, I'm out of here. Right?"

"Okay, it's a deal."

We made our way over to the amusement arcade and found Darren with his two friends eating chips and taking turns on the Alpine ski simulator.

"Haven't you had enough of bombing down vertical slopes for one day?" Sarah asked Darren in a bored and unimpressed tone. I could tell she just thought he was showing off again.

"Funnily enough, I hate heights, but I think everyone should take the risk of falling at least twice a day. Don't you agree?" Darren smiled at her, waiting for a response.

I was expecting some immediate sarcastic quip from Sarah, but she stood contemplating him for a moment, trying to sum him up. You could see her turning her thoughts about him over and over in her head. I could tell she couldn't quite make him out, and an awkward silence grew. I was glad when Darren suggested we make a move. "Let's go for a walk. I'm sick of this place -- it's full of kids."

We started off all walking alongside one another in a gang, talking about teachers and school, as that was the common ground between us all. I stayed close to Sarah and hid behind her jokes. Then Darren asked me if I still played the drums.

"Yeah, I still bash about. I've got my own kit at home, so I play around a bit. I'm not very good, but I do love playing them."

Sarah overheard me and interrupted. "She's brilliant. Don't listen to a word she says about just bashing around now and again. She's too modest for her own good. Honestly, she spends hours practicing and has got a real talent for it. It's her life's passion."

Darren seemed genuinely interested, and pressed further. "Wow, that's amazing. It's so good to have something that you're really passionate about. You don't see many girls playing the drums, do you?"

"No, you don't, but there's no reason why they shouldn't. Girls just aren't encouraged to play them. I had to really fight to be allowed to play the drums at school. My mum and my music teacher were horrified. They thought I should be learning something more traditional and more becoming to a young girl, like the cello or the flute."

"So what made you want to play them in the first place?"

"I saw a band in concert on MTV one day and they had a girl drummer who was the coolest person I've ever seen and I decided there and then that I wanted to be just like her." Darren and I had fallen into step beside each other while the other three walked on ahead.

"I'd love to hear you," he said. "I play the guitar. Hey, we're practically a whole band. Out of everything I do, music is what I love the most. Skateboarding is just a bit of a hobby, you know? Just mucking around. But music is different."

"I don't do anything else except play the drums. My family thinks I'm a total weirdo. Sarah is very supportive and encouraging and everything, but I don't think she really understands or believes that I'm totally serious about making a career and a life out of it. All I want to do is be in a band and play the drums. Full stop. Nothing else. But most people find it difficult to imagine that dreams like that are possible, especially when you live round here where most girls are pregnant and engaged before they're twenty and a career at the bank is seen as a major achievement. I mean, each to their own and all, but I want more out of life than that. I don't want to be stuck in Bury for the rest of my days, getting old before my time, watching my dreams slowly fade away."

"It's easier said than done, though. You hear of so many people who all started out with these amazing dreams of becoming a footballer or traveling around the world or writing a book or whatever, and they all get to a stage where they've got to make a few decisions about their future and they suddenly become gripped by this fear and doubt. It's easier to just get a regular job, settle down with a nice girl, and work on a healthy bank balance. It's less effort and hassle, you know."

"I'm not just some naïve little kid with my head in the clouds -- I do know that I've got a hell of a long way to go. It's going to take more hard work than I can imagine to achieve even a fraction of my dreams, but if I want it enough then it'll happen. I'm convinced of that."

"Well, good luck to you. I'm doing my guitar exams at the moment, and it's so much hard work that sometimes I just feel like jacking it all in and going down the pub with all my mates like any other normal eighteen-year-old."

"Where are you doing your exams?" I asked him.

"At the music college in Salford. I taught myself to begin with, but then I decided that I really wanted proper guitar lessons so that I could learn to read and write music and know exactly what I was doing when I was writing songs on my own."

"Apart from at school, I've only ever played on my own at home in the garage," I told him. "I've never really had an audience. I'm ready to start playing with other people now, though -- there's only so much you can do on your own. Funnily enough, I've just had a really cool offer this weekend to get involved in some music workshops, teaching drums to a group of people who have never played an instrument before. We're probably going to write some music as well. I'm really excited about it."

Darren and I strolled through the park chatting comfortably about music, the bands we liked, the clubs we'd been to, the gigs we'd seen. My worries of not feeling confident or comfortable enough to talk to him were gone. Sarah was in the distance now, going as high as she could on the swings with Gary and Dean, and I didn't feel as though I needed her as my social crutch anymore.

"Look, there's the bandstand," Darren said, pointing at the crumbling domelike structure with the rusty ornate railings in the middle of the park. Many a brass band had entertained a parkful of summer picnickers from that bandstand. It hadn't been used for ages, though. An orange cordon was wrapped around the railings and a sign warned people to keep off the stage area because of subsidence.

"I'll race you there," I said, speeding off and getting a head start. Puffing and panting, I ducked under the cordon and ran onto the stage. It stank of urine, and there were empty condom and cigarette packets scattered about. Half-drunk bottles of strong cider stood at attention on benches that curved around the length of the semicircular stage. Darren eventually caught up with me and climbed inside the dome.

"Ugh, gross, it stinks in here," he said, turning up his nose.

"You'll play in worse places than this one day, when you're starting out, doing the pub circuit with your band," I joked, but I was half serious.

"No way. I'm going straight to the Albert Hall, darling."

Striking rock-star poses, jumping around playing air guitar, Darren and I pretended we were on stage at Wembley Stadium playing to a hundred-thousand-strong crowd. When we stopped to catch our breath, Darren put his hand on my shoulder and leant on me. His touch made goose bumps appear all over my forearms and down the back of my neck. Mucking around so much, I'd sort of forgotten how much I actually fancied him. But seeing him so close to me and feeling his touch made my heart beat faster. I stopped laughing and couldn't take my eyes off him. I didn't want him to ever move his hand from my shoulder. I don't know whether he sensed what I was feeling or whether he could read my mind, but he moved his arm farther along my back until it was around me and my head was resting against his shoulder. He squeezed gently, and slowly brought me round to face him. He was looking at me with a soft, warm smile. I didn't feel awkward or shy anymore. I didn't feel like I wanted to crawl out of his grip like I had done with so many boys before -- the kind of boys who would just grab you, snog you, and go straight for your tits so that they could return to their mates bragging that they'd got to "second base." This felt different. I looked into his big green eyes and felt calm and happy. I put my face closer to his, and kissed him on the lips.

We held each other tightly and didn't speak. I didn't want to talk; any noise would have broken the moment. It's funny how you want those moments to last forever. But they always have to end. We heard Sarah and the others heading toward the bandstand, shouting our names.

"I really like you, Leyla," Darren whispered in my ear before the others interrupted us.

I looked him right in the eye and flashed him a big cheesy grin. What was the point in staring at the ground and being all coy about it? I felt great -- he had made me feel great -- and I didn't want to hide it. In fact, I wanted to run around the park and shout it to the whole world, but Sarah appeared and reminded us it was time to go home for our Sunday dinners.

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