He shakes his head and, because I’m an idiot, I shake mine. “No?”
“No,” he says. “You’re Frecks. And now I’m going to scold you, Frecks.”
“Okay.”
“You just signed something without reading it. Do you know what that piece of paper actually says?”
“I don’t.”
“It says that you must be my friend and live only to please me until your dying day. This is a legally binding document, Mr Frecks.” He brandishes it like the Magna Carta. “Will you honour your commitments?”
“I will,” I say, and I take a knee, as if I’m about to be knighted.
He laughs and swats me with the petition. “Get up, you adorable moron. See, it says here that Mr Highfield, the protoplasmic bigot who runs Ferrivale High football, must give me a place on the team. Doubtless you’ve heard about my stellar try-out today? And anyway, just look at these thighs! Don’t they deserve to be seen in very short shorts?”
He pushes out his right leg and cups a bulging thigh muscle between his big hands. Is there a place drier than the deserts of Mars? My mouth is now that place.
“You make a strong argument…”
“Ellis,” he tells me.
“Ellis.”
He stands up again and looks at me for a long time. I drop my gaze. Jesus, I want to look at his thigh again. I want to look at his dancing fingers and his swimmer’s body and his coal-black curls and his eyes. Maybe just his eyes. For an hour or two.
But then I hear Gemma’s piercing voice and hers and Ollie’s and Mike’s petitions are thrust into Ellis’s hand.
“Welcome to Ferrivale, new boy! I’m Gemma and I run the LGBTQ safe space at school, and I want you to know that you’re welcome any time. Our meetings are—”
He arches an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m gay?”
“Well. I just assu—”
“Assumptions are at the root of all prejudice,” he tells her, and flashes me a sidelong smile. I have to bite the inside of my cheek. “What kind of school is this anyway?”
Behind Gemma both Ollie and Mike are grinning like hyenas. Ellis lets her hang for a minute, then catches her in a hug. I’m immediately jealous.
“I’m only playing with you, honey. I’m sorry.”
Gemma cracks up in that high-pitched way of hers. I swear it sets off car alarms five streets over. Ellis is still hugging her and assuring her of his gay credentials when this hand comes out of nowhere and shoves him in the back. We’re all stunned as Gemma stumbles a bit, but Ellis trots gently forward as though he’s been expecting it all evening.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little homo?”
I turn to see Alistair Pardue, followed by a couple of his fellow knuckle-draggers. Honestly, these guys make the Incredible Hulk look witty and sophisticated.
Alistair’s knocked Ellis pretty close to the bonfire, but he just brushes himself down and saunters back into our huddle.
“Homo?” he muses. “Okay, but I assure you, in no department can I be described as ‘little’.”
“Are you guys just gonna stand here and let this queer make a laughing stock of the team?” Alistair spits at Mike and Ollie.
Mike groans and Ollie pinches the bridge between his eyes. They’ve both wanted Alistair off the team for ages but Mr Highfield is drinking buddies with Al’s dad. Mike tells me he’d rather have me in defence than Pardue, which is a pretty harsh indictment of Alistair’s skills.
“Get lost, Al,” Mike says. “You wear me out.”
“It’s okay.” Ellis holds up his hand. “Let the man speak.”
Alistair rolls his head, shoulder to shoulder, and fronts up to Ellis. I should do something. I’m no fighter, never have been, but this crap makes me feel ashamed of our school. And anyway, I’d rather Alistair rearrange my imperfect face than Ellis’s perfect one. I’m about to say something – Christ knows what – when Alistair says:
