Chapter 4

"We are the future,
The twenty-first century dyslexic glue-sniffing cybersluts,
With homicidal minds and handguns."

From Thin Line byPapa Roach.

Harper sat on his bed with his knees against his chest, picking his nose thoughtfully. He wasn't really sure why he was acting like this, it was just that he was finding stupid things a lot funnier. When he had got back, he had actually put on a kid's animated film and watched it for half an hour before he realised what he was doing.

Without really knowing why, he picked up the remote and flicked the film on again. The cartoon animals raced around in front of him, their flickering forms reflected in the clue of Harper's innocent blue eyes. He settled back into the pillows, watching them. For some reason, the characters were all strange colours; he had never in his life seen a pink cat, a purple elephant, or an orange monkey. The mindless nonsense relaxed him, though; the stupid songs that you could sing along to and never get out of your head surrounded him, thanks to the countless speakers dotted round the room. His lips moved in unison to the words, and he nodded his head slightly.

Harper's eyelids started to droop. He had forgotten his anger, he had even forgotten the humiliation of running away from Dylan like a girl. All he wanted to do now was sleep. His breathing steadied as he slipped into unconsciousness, but the cartoon still played in the background, the animated animals unaware that their antics were going unappreciated. The glow of the hologram gradually faded out as the film ended and the player automatically switched itself off, but Harper still didn't wake up.

Interlude 2: North Lauderdale High School – 1990

Seamus Harper closed his eyes and took a deep drag on the joint, with his chest swelling as the drug filled his lungs, seeped into his brain. Then he let out a steady stream of thick, noxious smoke from the side of his mouth and half-opened his eyes again, feeling a little more relaxed.

'Good shit, huh?' Dino persisted, snatching the joint back like he was worried Seamus might have contaminated it.

'God-damn right it is,' Seamus moaned, stretching the muscles in his neck and rolling over on the rumpled bed to look at his roommate. Dino was sixteen, like him, with grey-brown dreads that just skimmed his shoulders if he tucked his head down. They stuck out a little more than was fashionable, and instead of being carefully braided, Dino had simply decided he couldn't be assed to wash his hair any more, letting it slowly tangle into rats-tails. He had a pierced eyebrow, and a tattoo of a chick wearing a leather bikini whilst sitting on a Harley-Davidson laced across his stomach in garish colours of ink. It was not visible at the moment, though; Dino was wearing his absolute favourite Ramones T-shirt, which was a little ripped on one sleeve and deliberately ripped at his clavicle so that the long-sleeved black shirt he wore underneath was exposed. He was wearing Levi jeans, torn and faded at the knees, that were a couple of sizes too big, and Vans trainers that were scuffed with laces that had been in the same knot for years. Dino had a nice bone structure, and would have been handsome were it not for his scruffy appearance and the way that the dreads hid his face. He also took a deep drag of pot, and spat the smoke out in little rings, something that Seamus had not learned to do yet.

'Fuck!' he said, for no apparent reason, then drummed out a steady beat on his bedside table in time to the heavy metal music in the background. He vibrated his head ever so slightly so that the dreads rattled, and Seamus watched in a kind of stupid awe as Dino picked at a scab on the side of his head.

Seamus had not gone in for dreads. Instead, to his parents' horror, he had dyed his hair a deep, rich blue. It stuck out weirdly because he hadn't brushed it in a long time, and his pale face was slightly tinged with green in certain light from lack of nourishment, too much marijuana and a lot of stress. Many of the girls in their year, and especially those younger than them, found both Seamus and Dino dangerously attractive, and would follow them round in little gangs, giggling into their hands, dressed in matching pink outfits. Seamus Harper and Dino Finster were weirdoes, but they were beautiful weirdoes. The guys didn't really care, though. Girls were OK for a quick shag at parties, but beyond that was a whole realm of commitment and sensitivity that the two were not ready for yet.

Seamus yawned. 'Man, I'd better stop, now. I can't go to biology reeking of eau de marijuana, dude; that old bitch's gonna know and she'll get the principal on me again.' "That old bitch" was Mrs Walden, the geography and biology teacher. She was about 90 or so, with perpetually pursed lips and hair like a Brillo pad.

Dino laughed. 'That still kills me, man: you going to classes and giving a shit what goes on in them. Seriously, let her come down on you like a ton of bricks. Then we could join Mike in the juvie.' Mike was Dino's older brother, in an institution for rebellious youths after assaulting a fellow student with a broken bottle.

'Seriously, Dino man, I gotta go!' Seamus insisted, going over to the sink, squeezing the last few globs of toothpaste from the flattened tube onto a brush and frantically trying to get rid of the reek of pot. Dino sighed and rolled his eyes. He lay back and nodded his head in time to the Sex Pistols and sucking on the joint until one of his eyes started twitching and his fingers were in danger of getting burnt by the glow at the end of the roll-up.

'Fine,' he said at last. 'Guess I'd better get to…' he frowned. 'What I got now?'

'Math,' Seamus replied promptly. He had both of their timetables memorised.

'Ah, crap!' Dino moaned, collapsing back onto the bed. 'Dude, I got conjunctivitis all of a sudden. I'm not gonna be able to go!'

'Well, shit, Dino, if you ain't going then I can't just leave ya here,' Seamus said, grinning at him.

'Fucking tragedy, dude.'

'Come on, Conjunctivitis Boy,' Seamus sighed, grabbing his friend's hand and dragging him to his feet. While Dino got to his feet, Seamus opened the window to let the smoke seep out, and a rush of air blew into the room, ruffling the posters of half-naked women and rock bands on the wall. He turned back and grinned at his friend.

Seamus Harper was ready for another day of high school. A black band of material, grubby with sweat and almost completely unidentifiable encircled his blue hair, which radiated wildly up in all directions. Whispered rumour decreed that this band was in fact the tie that Seamus had worn at his grandfather's funeral. The more spiteful tongue would point out that it hadn't been washed in ten years. It was tied in a heavy knot at the back, with about fifteen centimetres of stringy, ripped cloth hanging down, the multiple layers peeling back. Just underneath it, attached to his left earlobe, was a small, silver stud, and he had a string of small wooden beads around his neck. There was a small amount of fair facial hair over his chin and cheeks. He was wearing a grubby blue shirt, cuffs and buttons undone, over a T-shirt he had bought at a Dead Kennedys gig, which had threads trailing down here and there. His jeans were black denim, coated in mud at the bottom and just covering the toes of his Doc. Martens. On the sleeve of his shirt was a badge depicting a yin-yang symbol. Seamus had the exact same insignia tattooed on the skin underneath. On his hands he wore a pair of white wool gloves, with the fingers cut off so that he could do delicate tasks without having to remove them. He and Dino dressed alike, but were not stupid enough to dress identically.

One time, a while ago, a couple of moronic jocks started to spread the rumour that Seamus and Dino were gay lovers. The pair had said nothing to deny or confirm the rumours, but a few weeks later they entered a beach party armed with vodka and contraceptives, and disproved to the rumours to about five or six different girls. Seamus smiled at the memory of that party. He remembered the sweat and loud music, remembered tipping vodka into his mouth, before smothering a faceless girl's mouth with his and letting the fiery liquid trickle teasingly through her lips, again, and again, and again. Seamus had allowed himself a small smile of gratification when, a couple of days later, one of the morons that had started the rumour confronted the two punk-rockers in a corridor and accused them of being homosexual. An older girl standing nearby had laughed derisively and said: "Well, if they're gay then someone sign me up for a sex change!"

The two boys left their room, locking it behind them. Both shared a dorm at the school; Seamus because he had an I.Q. of over 150 and his parents wanted him to have a good education, even if it meant being a long way from home, and Dino because his dad had kicked him out of the house and made him board instead. The pair had first met in a detention. Seamus was there because he had asked his ancient, false-toothed History teacher to give him a personal account of what had happened on the Titanic, Dino because he had been caught smoking behind the bike-sheds when he was supposed to be in – surprise, surprise – a detention. Dino had seen Seamus' name on a textbook and had asked him, amused, if that was really his name, pronouncing it 'seem-ass'. He had only quit it when Seamus started pronouncing Dino's name: 'die-no'. They had become friends easily.

They had only gone a little way before a gang of thirteen and fourteen year-old girls started following them, trying to look inconspicuous despite constantly giggling into their hands. God forbid that they would ever be employed in the CIA. The boys allowed themselves to be stalked for a couple of corridors before Dino whirled round suddenly, the dreadlocks whipping across his face, pulled down the shadowy skin under one of his eyes and poked the bloodshot eyeball with one grubby finger to make it move around in its socket. The girls squealed and ran away like they'd just had a tip-off that Sawney Bean was coming for them. Dino and Seamus watched them go, and walked down the corridor, swearing occasionally and punching each other on their arms, middle knuckles protruding slightly.