Another Life by Keren David Page A

crowd towards me, I notice.
    I shrug, roll my eyes, tap my ear. He leans in closer.
    Go away. Paige is nearly here.
    ‘Got any gear?’ he says.
    ‘Sorry,’ I say, and move towards her smiling face.
    He looks disappointed. ‘Can you get me some? Like you used to.’
    Like I used to?
    ‘I’ll pay. Good money.’
    ‘Errr . . . I don’t think so,’ I say.
    ‘Hi Archie!’ says Paige. She’s wearing a dress that just barely skims her buttocks. I’m trying not to stare.
    ‘Never mind, mate, another time,’ says Kenny Pritchard and he disappears into the crowd.
    My mind is buzzing with vodka and cider and Paige. We’re dancing and laughing and this party is suddenly the best I’ve ever been to. Paige is great. We even have a bit of a snog in
the back garden, and the feel of her warm body pressing against me means I hardly notice that it’s freezing cold.
    It’s not until 2 am, when I’m waiting for the night bus that his words come back to me.
    ‘Like you used to.’
    ‘Get me some gear.’
    Someone used to supply him with drugs – someone who looked a lot like me, someone at his last school.
    I’m actually standing outside a school. It’s a real old London school, forbidding building, grey schoolyard, black railings. The noticeboard tells me its name. St Saviour’s, it
says. Catholic. Secondary. Boys.
    Ty went to St Saviour’s – all the way across London, east to west, every day to come to this school. So did his friend Arron. Ty’s dad came here, sixteen years ago – all
the way from Highgate in north London. It’s that kind of school, apparently. Parents really like it. Tradition. High standards. Catholic values. My mum and dad were arguing about whether I
should go there. That’s when I came up with my mad plan to go to Hogwarts, I mean boarding school.
    Anyway, I’m willing to bet that Kenny Pritchard came here.
    And Kenny thought that I looked like someone he’d been at school with. The only person I look like is Ty.
    And that means that my cousin Ty was Kenny Pritchard’s dealer.

CHAPTER 11
Record-breaker
    W hat a mistake. I am stupid, stupid, stupid. All I thought about was winning a race, and Claire – seeing Claire and winning.
    I should have realised there’d be hundreds of people and I’d be flanked by Mr Jones and a security guard at all times, which makes people stare – a lot.
    I can’t see Claire anywhere, and even if I did, how would we get to speak to each other with these guys at my side?
    Anyone in the crowd could have a gun or a knife or anything. Any one of them could be on their mobile, reporting in, telling someone where I am, what name I’m running under. . .
    ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I say to Mr Jones as we walk towards the registration table.
    ‘Come on, Luke, we’re here now. Don’t want to
    make the trip for nothing, do we?’
    ‘Do people . . . does anyone know?’
    I can see people glancing at the uniformed heavy at my side. What do they think? I’m pretty sure they’re not assuming he’s a bodyguard.
    ‘Well, of course the organisers had to be told. But I’m sure they’ll show every discretion, as long as you behave yourself. Nothing stupid, mind.’
    ‘I can’t do it,’ I say.
    It’s just occurred to me that if it’s easy for Claire to get here, that goes for anyone at my old school. And as it’s an academy with a sports specialism then there’s
going to be a squad here, possibly Mr Henderson, my favourite teacher ever, last seen (by me) covered in vomit (mine). A load of people who think my name is Joe, not Luke.
    What if I win? They’ll complain to the organisers, tell them I’m competing under a false identity. And then . . . and then. . .
    Mr Jones is not smiling.
    ‘I’ve put my head on the block for you, Luke Smith,’ he says. ‘Don’t make me look stupid now. I want to go back and tell the governor and all of them that
you’ve won your race. Glory of the old school and all that.’
    He’s raving mad – thinks