1.

Morning was arriving, the sun slowly rising from behind the council flats in a way that Naomi always found terribly romantic – some kind of derelict, futuristic dystopia, after the apocalypse and the torching of the earth; their solid, blocky forms stretching skywards, the remnants of mankind's attempt to combat the annihilation of death by leaving their huge, physical markers of existence – we were here, we lived. Early sunlight flashed off the metal of cars and the sheen of windows as the oranges and reds receded and blue sky spread. A cold sky; an Autumn sky of no cloud.

Naomi inhaled the last drag of her cigarette and tossed it to the ground. She couldn't remember why she'd started smoking, or exactly when, but she figured it had something to do with occupying her hands that fidgeted nervously when not presented with a task. The trees fidgeted nervously too, leaves twitching restlessly as the wind rifled through them, the same way it picked up and whipped Naomi's hair until she quickly shrugged back through the window frame into her room. She pulled the window shut and snapped back the handle, watching through the veil of spindly branches that clicked at the glass as James Cook met Effy Stonem in the car park.

He walked up, shoulders slouched, hands in pockets, looking alternately between his feet as they walked and the girl as she waited. She was perched on the bonnet of a maroon car, dressed in barely anything and not even shivering, her long narrow legs crossed neatly and ending in oversized army boots. Naomi couldn't tell if Cook was smiling, but she assumed that he was as he extracted a small, clear bag from his trouser pocket and presented it to Effy. It was no secret that Cook dealt drugs, and was no secret that Effy took more of them than she should. Every Friday morning for a year Naomi had witnessed this exchange. 'Something for the weekend babe,' she'd imagine Cook saying in his ambiguously northern accent, 'got something for Cooky in return?' It was no secret that they were fucking either, though Effy's boyfriend seemed endearingly unaware of it (an awkward, gangling boy with a beautiful face and deep, trusting eyes). Then they would withdraw into the lobby of the nearest block, Cook a few paces behind Effy with his head cocked to the right, and the door would swing closed behind him, and by then Naomi knew the water would be hot enough for her to shower.

The two of them wouldn't stumble into college until third period – Cook distracted and edgy, his legs twitching wildly beneath the desk like electricity was pulsing through them; Effy distant from everything, including Freddie's tanned arm around her shoulders, her blue eyes glazed and fixated on nothing. Her best friend and classmate Pandora would make admirable attempts to engage her attention with gel pens, highlighters, lollipops and hair clips until she would eventually give up and stare dreamily out of the window, her chin in her cupped palm and her swinging feet banging between the metal legs of her table and chair. 'Quit shaking the table Panda,' the irritable admonishment from Katie Fitch – beautiful, acerbic and confident, all red-hair extensions and cleavage, shadowed by her quiet twin, Emily – timid and introverted, like an inversion; the negative space left by Katie's impression.

Lingering on the awkward outskirts of social groups, belonging to no one as a best friend and very few as an acquaintance, Naomi had allowed herself to become infatuated with that band of friends. The way they moved, the way they talked, the way they clustered in the common room and commanded the attention of everyone without even trying. There were rumours going about the college (there always were) that Cook had pulverised a boy in her year in a fight at a house party, and that they had all collaborated to hide the body somewhere in the rich earth of the woods. Then there were rumours that Effy had killed him in a drug-inspired paroxysm, forcing Cook to cover for her. Then there were rumours that the boy was fine, had moved schools and Robert Edmunds had seen him cycling home one day.

Though Naomi didn't believe the rumours herself, she would find herself sneaking glances at the roughened knuckles of Cook's hand as he brushed it patently across Effy's backside, wondering if they were capable of fracturing someone's eye-socket and dislocating their jaw as Abigail Yeung insisted she saw happen; or observing Effy sceptically from over the top of her text book as she gazed vacantly into space, waiting, willing her to launch into one of those man-slaying seizures. The twins had been in secondary school with Naomi. Katie had flung occasional remarks of dislike towards her for no apparent reason and Emily had trailed after her, apologetic and ghostly. In fact, Emily was the only member of the group that had ever even looked at Naomi since six-form had started. A few times Naomi had thought she may even open her mouth to speak to her – but the words never came, and Naomi was always left in silence.

And Naomi's life would have carried on like this, and she would have continued to have nothing to do with this group or any of the events that surrounded them, if it hadn't been for one chance encounter with James Cook that Friday afternoon.

..

Walking the length of the deserted locker corridor, Naomi was on her way to meet her politics teacher Kieran on one of his many fag-breaks. Naomi admired Kieran's apathy for existence and his liberal use of curse-words, and he was the only other human in the building that she could stand to talk to for longer than two minute stretches; Kieran, she was sure, felt much the same way. But the silence of the corridor, punctuated only by her soft footsteps, erupted in a cacophony of violent sounds as the double doors at the end were hurled open and Cook burst through them, his feet slapping against the polished linoleum as his legs pounded down the hallway. 'Naomi!' he called out as he saw her, his voice ecstatic as if she was an old friend he had been longing to see. He jerked to a halt in front of her, his chest heaving and his face contorted with exhaustion and elation. 'Naomi, couldn't do us a quick favour could ya?' he asked.

'Excuse me?'

Cook glanced over his shoulder cautiously as he reached into his pocket. 'Stick these in your locker, yeah?'

Naomi's confused gaze left Cook's green eyes to study the clear plastic packet of indeterminate white pills.

'No way,' she replied, looking back up at him and watching his face fall in a disgruntled teenage manner.

'Aw come on Naomikins,' he pleaded, taking another look over his shoulder. 'The coppers are onto me, they're here at the school. It'll only be for one day, promise,' he reasoned as he studied her face carefully, breaking into a toothy grin as he saw her reserve wavering. 'Go on,' he encouraged, like the embodied voice of Naomi's conscience.

'Just for one day?' she repeated.

'Scout's honour,' Cook replied, already shoving the bag into her half-opened palm.

Naomi seriously doubted Cook had ever attended a Scout's meeting.

'You're a life-saver babe,' he told her, as he began to walk briskly down the corridor, away from her. 'I owe you, yeah?' He turned as he walked, reversing for a few paces. 'Call me if you ever need a good seeing to,' he said, looking her appreciatively up and down before winking, then turning and running through the doors into the main hall.

Naomi's fist gripped the bag so tightly she could feel each individual pill making an indentation on her palm. 'As if!' she called out to the empty corridor. 'Wanker,' she muttered. She looked left and then right. Then she opened her bag and took out her pencil case, carefully placing the bag in amongst the innocuous stationary and zipped it up before stowing it away in her locker. Pleased with the level of concealment, she continued to her scheduled meeting.

..

'Are there police at the school today Kieran?' Naomi asked, as she handed him her lighter.

'No ...' he answered awkwardly, his cigarette pausing on the way to his lips. 'What makes you think that?' he asked.

'Someone told me there was,' she answered.

'Oh ... well,' Kieran shrugged as his set the cigarette between his lips and began talking through the side of his mouth. 'Yes, in that case. Someone's been a bit too obvious with their lucrative contraband business,' he disclosed. The lighter flared, scorching the tip of the cigarette.

Naomi exhaled in contempt. 'Wouldn't be James Cook by any chance would it?'

Kieran sighed at the mere mention of the name. 'The whole feckin' lot of them,' he said, removing the cigarette so he could talk normally. 'The weird one, the gobby one, the one who's out of her depth,' he paused mid-list and looked seriously at Naomi. 'You stay away from them. You've got a good head on your shoulders. They're looking at a future in the fast food industry at best.'

Naomi rolled her eyes. 'Yeah, alright Dad.'

..

Naomi spent the rest of the day in a state of mild panic. Every flickering of a passerby through the translucent glass of the classroom, every register where her name was called, every bell that sounded the end of period, would cause Naomi to jump up in her seat, convinced that in a few seconds she would be taken away – frogmarched from the building in the strong arms of two matronly police women, heavy-booted and stern, the walkie-talkies clipped to their belts spluttering in an outbreak of scrambled voices – we've got her, she's coming quietly, secure the vehicle. Her mind raced, trying to remember the exact amount of years she would serve for possession of class-A drugs.

But the police didn't frogmarch her from the building. They didn't even turn up. In fact, the entire school was so devoid of police presence that Naomi began to wonder if they'd actually been there at all. And instead of pleading her innocence in a cold, stark room with a two-way mirror, she just found herself stood in front of her locker as the bell sounded at three-thirty to mark the end of lessons, wondering what to do with her stash.

'Hi,' said a voice to Naomi's left, causing her to start as if she'd been shoved from behind and swing round to the source of the voice, her earlier panic returning in full force as it flooded with renewed vigour through her body.

'Jesus,' she breathed in relief as she saw Emily Fitch stood next to her, a peculiar half-smile turning up one corner of her mouth.

'You got our gear?' Emily asked.

'Oh ... right,' Naomi said, recovering and reaching into her locker for her pencil case.

'Whoa, stop,' Emily reprimanded, grabbing Naomi's wrist before her grasp could advance any further.

Naomi looked down and the small hand encircling the bones and skin of her arm.

'Too obvious,' Emily said, slowly withdrawing her hand, her fingertips brushing along the sensitive skin below Naomi's palm, where blue vessels pumped blood hard and fast to her fingers. 'Meet me here,' Emily pushed a folded piece of paper into Naomi's hand. 'Six o'clock.'

'Are you shitting me?' Naomi asked, screwing her hand into a fist around the paper. 'What are you, like, a government operative or something?'

Emily's cheeks twitched slightly, like she wanted to smile. 'Just meet me, okay?'

Naomi sighed, banging the door of her locker shut. 'Whatever.'

And then Emily was gone. Naomi bit her lip before running a hand through her hair, displacing her fringe and leaving it to fall back across her eyes. She pushed it back again irritably, telling herself that she wasn't going to meet Emily just to save James Cook's sorry arse, hitched up her bag and walked away, knowing that she wouldn't even get to the door before she'd turn around, collect the pills from her locker and study the address Emily had given her.