The clouds over Roseville were piling up like so many cushions, stacked on top of one another, seeming ready to fall and envelope the cold, frost-glittering world below. Ice covered the windows and turned the grass covering every garden into a thousand gleaming razor blades.
However, Mike took in none of this as he trudged home from school, two hours early and up to his ears in trouble. He reflected bitterly that it should be the fault of someone else to cause his own fall from grace.
But then, he thought, life wouldn't ever be the same without Sandy. She had been a beacon in his life, through everything that the circus act he called a year group had put him through. Now the light was gone, and Mike couldn't see any way forward.
He stopped as he reached the end of his front yard. The house was dark and empty, and a patch of dry ground showed where the family car had stood a while earlier. With a sigh, Mike climbed the steps to his porch and slid his keys into the lock. The door clicked open, and he stepped inside, gasping with relief at the sudden change in temperature. Hanging his coat and bag on the rack, he walked into the kitchen and flicked the lights on. He slammed bread and margarine and honey onto the table without really seeing what he was doing, his eyes sliding over the kitchen he knew so well until it came to rest on the drawer at the end. Walking slowly over, Mike opened it and drew out a ten-inch carving knife. He fingered the end longingly, the feel of the cold steel somehow enticing.
A car door slammed outside, and the moment was broken. The Korat sighed and cut a slice of bread with the knife, replacing it lovingly to its drawer after he had finished.
He carried his snack up to his room and sat down on his bed. The room seemed too small for him now, the walls closing in like some kind of sick magic trick. The faded posters seemed to glare down at him. He stared defiantly back.
The sound of keys in the door jolted him back to reality, and he hurried out of his room and peered down the stairs.
His mother was standing there, looking up at him with her mouth slightly open.
"Mike? What are you doing home?"
Mike sighed, and waked a little further down the stairs. He sighed deeply.
"It's a long story, Mom."
His mother put her hands on her hips and set her jaw.
"Well then, it's a good thing I've got a lot of time on my hands then."
She beckoned him into the kitchen and sat down on the table.
"I'm waiting."
Mike looked down, ashamed.
"I got into trouble… At school."
His mother frowned at him.
"Go on."
Mike looked at his feet.
"I got into a fight… said some things I shouldn't have done… It's over now anyway."
His mother looked at him for a while longer, and then sighed and looked down at her feet.
"Why does this keep happening, Mike? This is the third time this month. You can't have been that affected by that breakup you keep mentioning. You're only 16, you don't even know what love is yet."
Mike glowered at the floor.
"If only that were the case."