LITMIR.BIZ

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Epigraph

      One

      Two

      Three

      Four

      Five

      Six

       Advert for Solitaire

      One

      Two

      Author Biography

       Other Books By

       About the Publisher

       ONE

       CHARLIE

      As Head Boy of Truham Grammar School, I’ve done many things. I got drunk on the parents’ wine at parents’ evening. I’ve been photographed with the mayor three times. I once accidentally made a Year 7 cry.

      But none of that was quite as bad as having to stop everyone in Year 13 from enjoying their final day of school, which is what our head teacher, Mr Shannon, is trying to make me do right now.

      It’s probably worth mentioning that my boyfriend of two years, Nick Nelson, is one of those Year 13s.

      “You don’t mind, do you?” Mr Shannon leans on the common room table where I’m supposed to be revising for my AS Levels but am actually watching Mac DeMarco concerts on my phone. “It’s all got a bit out of hand and I think they’d be more likely to listen to you than me, if you see what I mean.”

      “Erm…” I shoot at look at my friend Tao Xu who’s sitting next to me eating a packet of Galaxy Minstrels. He raises his eyebrows at me as if to say, ‘Sucks to be you’.

      I don’t really want to say yes.

      This year, the Year 13’s final day of school is High School Musical themed. They hung a giant ‘East High School’ sign over the Truham sign at the school gate. They’ve been playing the soundtrack on classroom computers, so wherever you are in the school you can hear a High School Musical song playing from somewhere, but you’re never quite sure where. They participated in a ‘What Time Is It’ flash mob on the football field at breaktime. And they have all turned up to school either in red basketball outfits or cheerleader outfits. Disappointingly, Nick went for basketballer.

      To top it all off, on a non-HSM-related note, they’ve built a fort out of cardboard boxes on the tennis courts and are having a barbeque inside it.

      “I just want them to put the barbeque out,” says Shannon, obviously detecting how reluctant I am to walk into a box fort of one hundred and fifty people older than me and tell them to stop having fun. “You know. Health and safety stuff. If someone gets burnt, I’ll be the one dealing with angry parents.”

      He chuckles. Mr Shannon has come to trust me completely over the several months I have been Head Boy. This is hilarious because I rarely do anything he tells me to do.

      Keep the teachers on your side and the students on your side. Don’t make enemies or too many friends. That’s my advice for getting through school.

      “Yeah, sure, no problem,” I say.

      “You’re an absolute life saver.” He points a finger at me as he walks away. “Don’t revise too hard!”

      Tao looks at me, still shoving chocolate into his mouth. “You’re not actually gonna go confront the Year 13s, are you?”

      I laugh. “Nah. I’ll just go see what they’re up to and tell them to watch out for Shannon.”

      My other friend, Aled Last, looks up at me from the opposite side of the table. He’s been colour coding his maths revision notes for the past hour. “Can you please get a photo of Harry Greene in a skirt? It’s urgent.”

      I stand up from my chair and put my blazer on. “I think we all need to see that, to be honest.”

      The Year 12s have already left for study leave and the only reason I’m here is because I revise better at school than at home. Tao and Aled thought the same. None of us really want to be here though. It’s the hottest day we’ve had this year and I just sort of want to lie down somewhere with an ice pack on my head.

      Nick and I have plans for this weekend. He’s finally free from school, I’m taking a weekend off revision. It’s Thursday today; I’m staying over his tonight. Tomorrow night we’re going to Harry’s party for everyone in sixth form. Saturday we’re going to the beach. Sunday we’re going to London.

      Not that we don’t spend every weekend together anyway.

      Not that we don’t see each other every single day.

      If you’d told me three years ago I’d be in a two-year-long relationship by the time I was seventeen, I would have laughed in your face.

      “CHARLIE SPRING!”

      As I walk through the box fort entrance underneath a banner that says ‘WILDCATS!’ Harry Greene approaches me, arms outstretched. He is wearing a twelve-year-old’s High School Musical cheerleader costume and is exposing a lot more thigh than is probably appropriate for school.

      The fort is huge – they’ve taken over two tennis courts. Along with the hilarious amount of cardboard, they’ve

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