First time I nearly died was a bit pathetic, Mum too caught up with the rest of the kids, I was bored; Mel said there was this girl in her year who’d downed a box of Paracetamol, and she’d got two nights in hospital, weekly counselling and family therapy, thought I’d give it a go. It felt absolutely grim, but Mel and Jasper visited on the bus. “Blake, you’re too young for this sh*t. You’re ten.” Only got 24 hours on a ward ‘til Mum picked me up for discharge. Didn’t get any therapy, don’t think she took the calls.

Year later, Mel long gone, Jasper moved in with his girlfriend, five of us left plus new baby Jackie–a right tool, howling all night, hogging Mum’s attention. But Lee became the new Mel: sixteen with an epic beard; I tried but nothing growing. He took me to Drop Zone, smuggled in his coat, more people than in my whole school, squashed like those paper wads you spit in class; same dampness too but slicker–sweat, smooth moves, drinks sliding down like honey; lights like explosions, beats like lightning, strutting my tatty trainered-feet, aping Lee. “Monkey boy, eh?” he laughed, handing me a lemonade. Hadn’t heard of spiking, horizon flipped its lid, stomach danced in a whole new way. Mum didn’t pick me up, but Jasper came, and I got to see his new ‘tache, writhing like a caterpillar. He wanted me to tell Mum something, but I was mesmerized by this insect invasion. Smaller than his earlier brush, reasonable aim I reckoned.

Six months later, stole Lee’s new moped, seen him handle it enough, but wasn’t prepared for all the trees and pavements driving at me. Awesome blood cascade from my skull, glistening brain worms vomited on tarmac. They used a siren that time, but it was hard to hear. Mum cried a bunch, and the whole family got together–great to see Mel, but no one spoke to me as per usual.

It’s all good though; my chin’s smooth as Jackie’s little bum now but reckon I’ll get hairs soon. Just you wait, world: Blake’s still growing and he’s coming up dope.