It was half past midnight when they turned into Attlee Road: dark, icy cold, and spinning loosely underneath their shoes. Darren’s arm was warm around Jayden’s waist, the leather too cool, and two drinks had turned into five each (Jayden suspected Darren had snuck in a sixth when he wasn’t paying attention) and a pool tournament with a couple of guys who had turned up at around eight that had gone to St. John’s as well. Jayden couldn’t remember the names, but the faces had been familiar, and Darren had recalled some inside jokes with them, and it had been nice to be able to remember school without the bad bits attached. To remember school after Darren had come along, after Jayden had left Woodbourne, after everything.
But before going to Cambridge.
“You weren’t as heavy at school,” Jayde
