Free Gun Dog by Peter Lancett

and Rebecca Wardle is waving over at us. Rebecca is in the same class as me for French and, I have to admit, I like her. She’s got this sort of dark blonde hair that’s thick and kind of straight and her mum is a hairdresser so it always looks fantastic. Right now it’s cut to look like Jennifer Aniston’s and it suits Rebecca down to the ground. Our school is pretty casual about what we have to wear, but Rebecca is wearing this grey pleated skirt and a white blouse under a black sweater and these flat black leather shoes and white socks. She’s sixteen like Andy and me and she looks pretty fantastic – she must be one of only a few girls at school who just look impossibly cute in a school uniform.
    Andy and me stop and wait as she hurries over to us without running, carrying a pile of loose books awkwardly in her arms.
    ‘Qu’est-ce que vous allez?’
    She’s all smiles and a little breathless as she asks. Andy just rolls his eyes, but I’m looking at the brilliant white smile and I can’t help but think it’s cute the way she talks in French like this.
    ‘We’re just going into town to get some DVDs.’
    I answer in English for two reasons; my French is nowhere near as good as Rebecca’s, and Andy doesn’t take French.
    Some of the books she’s holding start to slip, and she reacts quickly to clutch them to her.
    ‘Here, let me take those.’
    ‘No, it’s OK, I can manage.’
    But she’s already handing them to me, and we’re starting to saunter slowly towards the school gates, the three of us.
    ‘I was wondering if you wanted to come round tonight to do that French assignment. But if you’re going to be out…’
    Rebecca lives on our estate and sometimes we have got together to do French homework. I really should ask her out sometime. I want to. But I’m kind of scared that she’ll say no. And I don’t take rejection well at all. I mean, I think she likes me. And it’s been her asking me to come around to do homework. But I keep wondering if that’s all there is to it. Maybe one day I’ll pick up the nerve to ask her.
    ‘We’re not going to be long.’
    The words slip out and I look at Andy, who just shrugs to say he doesn’t care either way.
    ‘I could come around later if that’s OK? What time do you want me to come?’
    ‘I dunno… is seven o’clock OK?’
    ‘Yeah, we’ll be back ages before then.’
    I nearly ask her if she wants to come into town with us right now, but I bottle out of it.
    As we approach the gates, I notice the groups of kids milling about there. Lots are smoking already with absolutely no fear of reproach; seeing them makes me want to reach for my own smokes, but my hands are full with Rebecca’s books.
    Sammy Williams is standing among one group of lads. Sammy hasn’t been to school all week, but he’s here now. He’s keeping pretty low key, I can tell, and so are those around him and it all seems so unnatural. Everywhere else the kids are noisy and boisterous. As you’d expect.
    I can see what’s happening of course; they’re being as discreet as possible, but I can see the little packets being passed, palm to palm. It’s like Sammy is giving out secret sweets. Only, let’s face it, it’s not sweets. It’s some drug or other. I can’t say which from here.
    I watch Sammy break away from the group and walk quickly, his hands in his pockets and the peak of his Burberry cap pulled way down, to the corner of the road a little way away, where a couple of older lads, maybe eighteen or nineteen, are standing around, their eyes roaming everywhere. I don’t recognise them so they are not from our estate.
    We’ve already crossed the road as we approach Sammy and these other two. I see one of the older lads reach quickly into a pocket and just as quickly his hand comes out again and something is handed to Sammy, who stuffs it out of sight in a pocket of his own. It all happens so quickly and smoothly that you’d think they were stage conjurers.
    Sammy