Chapter 32

Chapter 32

This is how it went down. Rob was convinced that if everyone was so up in arms about the book, then maybe they should just all read the damn book. It was a persuasive argument. In principle. If people read the book, and saw for themselves that it was nothing more than a story about two boys who kind of fall in love and explore who they are a bit, then surely everyone, or, at least, regular folk who weren't prone to pearl-clutching hysteria, would see that the complaints and the protests were unfounded and ridiculous?

I assumed what he had in mind was maybe directing people to copies in the local library or bookshop. It wasn't. He wanted to make it "easy" for people. His idea was to photocopy pages from the book and stick them up all over school.

"Let everyone read and see!"

My immediate reaction: shit.

My slightly more considered one: oh wow. What a reversal! Rob was facing his fears head-on, taking the risk, because he genuinely wanted things to start changing. It wasn't that I didn't believe what he'd said to me in the graveyard – but words can be easy, easier than actual action anyway, and I wasn't sure then just how he saw things playing out.

But he was really going for it.

I was delighted.

And I was also scared.

Monday morning. Close-up: me, Jamie Hampton, gingerly placing Dance on My Grave in my school bag, like it's radioactive waste. Sweat beads on my forehead, even though I haven't left the house yet.

Mid shot: me, walking around school, a pulsing glow emanating from my rucksack, indicating the presence of dangerous and illegal materials. More sweat. I look nauseous because I am nauseous.

Rewind. Replay: there's no glow from my rucksack. Everything seems normal. It's just me freaking out.

Cut to: free period. I hover outside the photocopying room. Rob arrives and nods at me. I'm doing the actual copying because I have the most experience with the machine after using it for ball committee business. It's a temperamental beast, constant paper jams, but I know how to coax the copies out of it. Rob's going to stay outside and loudly say hello to any teacher who looks like they're about to walk in, so I have time to grab the book and the copies and beat a hasty retreat.

I walk into the photocopying room.

*

The machine was agonizingly slow. I watched the bright white light gliding back and forth under the photocopier lid, as the hot copies slid out of one end. I'd selected ten pages in total, and was making forty copies of each. Four hundred copies of the truth to put up around school.

I wished the damn thing would hurry up.

As copy number forty emerged, I flipped open the lid, flicked to the next page of the book, slammed the lid back down and hit the "start" button for the next set.

"HI!"

Rob's voice! From outside.

Shit!

I scooped up the new copies, then threw the lid open, the white light blinding me as I grabbed the book and jabbed at the "stop" button.

It wouldn't stop.

The machine was still whirring.

Another fresh copy emerged, which I grabbed.

"ALL RIGHT?!" (Rob, from outside.)

Another copy emerged. Why wouldn't it stop printing?

I grabbed that copy too, grasped the book and the wads of paper in one hand, and stepped out of the room.

And I make eye contact with…

Beth and Dan. Rob next to them, looking helpless.

Close-up: Beth: "Whatever you're doing, let us help."

The photocopier seemed to be quicker when Dan was standing next to me, with Beth and Rob standing guard outside.

"It's a good book," I told Dan.

He smiled. "I know."

It wasn't the time to interrogate him about that, but don't worry, there's an opportunity later, so be patient, and everything will become clear. It's important to leave little carrots along the way – hopefully the intrigue will keep you wanting to read on.

Back to the plan, though.

We took a hundred copies each. The idea was to pin and Blu-Tack the pages up to every noticeboard and wall. No one was about because everyone else was in lessons, but it was still necessary to work quickly and carefully, making sure no students or teachers were in the vicinity who could possibly catch us.

We all went our separate ways.

I hurried along the English corridor. Check over my shoulder. Slam a poster on the wall. Press to adhere the Blu-Tack. Move on. No one saw. Repeat. Look left. Look right. Another poster. Heart racing. Hot. A door slams. Spin round. Coast clear. Slam. Press. Move. Mouth dry. What the hell am I doing?

Within fifteen minutes I'd plastered all the areas we agreed I would do, and I mean plastered. They were everywhere. Every metre along the corridor, every noticeboard, most of the doors; I even managed a few of the lower ceilings in the English corridor. I stuffed the remaining copies back in my rucksack and headed back to the common room, fizzing with anticipation at having distributed this oh-so-corrupt material, banned by the British government, for all to see for themselves. It felt like a massive middle finger up to Margaret Thatcher (who originally pushed section 28) and every single homophobic bigot in power. It felt amazing.

… Until I walked through a set of double doors and saw Rob being roughly frog-marched in the direction of Prenton's office by Mr Haskins, the PE teacher, Rob's face, pale, but with an expression of grim determination as Haskins pushed him forward, keeping his arms pinned behind him.

"Leave him!" I shouted, by reflex.

Of course, that was it then. I was also bundled into Prenton's office, along with my rucksack that contained the evidence of our crimes.

She read us the riot act.

She called us disgusting.

She called us sinners.

She said we were depraved.

She said we were sick.

One week's suspension.

And a letter home to our parents.