Free Graffiti My Soul by Niven Govinden

will pay pilgrimage to that fucking Starbucks in Walton after I’ve become famous and told Trevor McDonald the secrets of my life.
    â€˜I don’t understand the greed of the these people. I’m an innocent man, but they are not happy until they have stripped every single thing from me.’
    â€˜Tell them to fuck off. You’re the one who had his house burned down and everything.’
    Casey laughs the dry, brittle laugh which adults are so good at when they are trying to show you the weight of experience they carry on their broken shoulders.
    â€˜You’ve got a lot to learn, Mr V-pen. Damaged kids, whether the cause is real or imaginary, is the Holy Grail when it comes to compensation claims. Me and my shabby lot don’t even come close.’
    â€˜Ask me and I’ll do it. Just say the word. Me and Jase can go round and rough the kid up a little. Persuade him to change his mind.’
    â€˜It’s not about him, young Turk. It’s about the parents. That kid’s no better off than I am. We’re both cash cows as far as they’re concerned.’
    At race meets, I do remember the kid’s mother being a little on the showy side. She was always wearing hats.
    â€˜I’m sure they’ve got the best intentions,’ I say stupidly, only because I can’t think of anything better to say.
    Better this, than lamely trying to convince him that everything will be all right if he leaves it to the proper channels, because we allknow that it won’t. Once your card has been marked as a PPP, there’s no going back. It’s over. You may as well kill yourself.
    Casey doesn’t answer. Just opens the door and runs out. Crumbles under the pressure of trying to be brave. Shoulders heave a great deal, up and down until they’re like jelly. I turn on the radio and pretend that I don’t see it.
    20
    Moon and Gwyn are the girls that we are all looking for. Even saying their name together over and over makes them sound like thirteenth-century princesses.
    Moonandgywnmoonandgwynmoonandgywn.
    Magical. If there was any justice or romance left in this world, they should be riding white horses and wearing wimpoles. We’re doing medieval at the moment. Like most of the girls around them, even the ones they’re not friendly with, or hate even, these are sisters who know their own minds. No insecurity here – or none they’ll show to boys, anyway. Also, they are straight-edged all the way – which, for anyone over thirty, means that they’re alcohol-, nicotine-and narcotic-free zones. Moon keeps a bit of gear under her bed, but like me never touches the stuff. Uses it for – how does she put it? – ‘man magnetism hahaha’. The irony being that those girls don’t need a cheeba wand to get any boy hooked. They are beguiling enough. Look at me and Jase. Caught.
    21
    Pearson’s success with the ladies post-fight makes me feel a whole load of things, like a sick stew. I don’t like to feel uncertain about anything. On the way home from school I shag Kelly Button under the ropey. It’s too muddy for us to do it properly. We wriggle in the mud like a couple of rugby players. It’s Kelly’s fault for being up for anything. Our route home through the park takes in a clutch of bushes, where we try again, this time with her mouth. Just to make sure.
    22
    Moon decides to reappear for the next Challenge session. Nothing to do with having the afternoon off school or anything. As the team’s official bag carrier/supporter, she’s allowed. Everyone else has to pull a sickie or grovel.
    This is a week since the so-called exclusion. I’m pissed at her and she knows it. She sits next to me on the minibus all the same, but we say nothing until we’re almost past Chessington, en route to Godalming.
    â€˜I know you’ve been coming round every day after school,’ she goes. ‘I could hear you from my room.