“You know we’ve got to be at school in an hour?”

“All the more reason.”

“If David finds out, you’ll get kicked off the tea—”

“No, I won’t.”

Leaning on his stick, Kevin says nothing and just looks at him. Of all the things in the world you can be envious of your best friend for, this is what Kevin would most like to have: the ability that Benji has always had to not give a shit about anything, and to get away with it. Kevin shakes his head and laughs in resignation.

“No, you won’t.”

Benji falls asleep. Kevin turns toward the goal and his eyes turn black. Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.

*

Again. Again. Again.

*

At home in his kitchen David does his last push-ups. Then he showers, gets dressed, packs his case, and grabs his car keys to drive to the rink and start work. But the very last thing the thirty-two-year-old coach does before leaving the house is put his coffee down on the little table beside the door and run into the bathroom. There he locks the door and turns the taps on in both sink and bathtub so that his girlfriend won’t hear him throwing up.

7

It’s only a game. Everyone who plays it gets told that from time to time. A lot of people try to tell themselves that it’s true. But it’s complete nonsense. No one in this town would have been the same if that game hadn’t existed.

*

Kevin always goes to the bathroom just before he and Benji go to school. He doesn’t like using the bathrooms at school, not because they’re disgusting, but because they make him feel stressed. They make him feel anxious in a way he’s never quite been able to identify. He can only relax enough at home, surrounded by overpriced tiles and a sink that’s as exclusive as it is impractical, carefully selected by an interior designer who invoiced for many more hours than the workmen. This house is the only place in the world he has ever learned to be alone.

Everywhere else, in the rink or at school or even on the way to and from them, he is part of a group. Always in the middle, with the team gravitating toward him in order of their ability on the ice, the best players closest to him. At home Kevin learned to be alone at such a young age that it became natural, but now he can’t bear being alone anywhere else.

Benji is waiting outside the house. As always. A boy with less control of his impulses than Kevin would have hugged him. Instead he just nods and mutters, “Let’s go.”

*

Maya walks away from her dad’s car so fast that Ana has to jog to keep up with her. Ana holds out a plastic cup.

“Do you want some? I’m on the green smoothie diet now!”

Maya slows down and shakes her head. “Why do you keep doing those diets? Why do you hate your taste buds so much? What have they ever done to you?”

“Shut up, this is really good! Try it!”

Warily, Maya puts her lips to the edge of the cup. She takes half a sip before spitting it out.

“It’s got lumps!”

Ana nods happily.

“Peanut butter.”

Disgusted, Maya picks at her tongue with her fingers, as if it were covered with invisible hairs.

“You need help, Ana. Serious help.”

*

Beartown used to have more schools, because there used to be more children. Now there are just two buildings left: one for primary and middle school pupils, and one for high school. They all have lunch in the same cafeteria. The town is no bigger than that anymore.

Amat runs to catch up with Lifa and Zacharias in the parking lot. The three boys have been in the same class all the way through school, and have been best friends since preschool, not because they are particularly similar but because they shared the fact that they weren’t like everyone else. In places like Beartown, the most popular children become leaders at a young age; teams are invisibly chosen as early as the playground. Amat, Lifa, and Zacharias were the sort of children who got passed over. They’ve stuck together ever since. Lifa is less talkative than a tree, Zacharias louder than a radio, and Amat just appreciates the company. They make a good team.

“. . . such a clean headshot! He tried to chicken out and hide . . . What the hell? Are you even listening, Amat?”

Zacharias, wearing the same black jeans and black hoodie and black cap that he seems to have been wearing since they were ten years old, interrupts his speech about his evidently extremely impressive performance against a heavily armed sniper in a virtual universe last night and shoves Amat in the shoulder.

“What?”

“Did you even hear what I was saying?”

Amat yawns. “Yeah, yeah, headshot. Amazing. I’m just hungry.”

“Did you go training this morning?” Zacharias asks.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not right in the head, getting up that early.”

Amat grins.

“So when did you get to bed last night?”

Zacharias shrugs and massages his thumbs. “Four o’clock . . . Okay, five, maybe.”

Amat nods.

“You spend as much time gaming as I do training, Zach. We’ll see who turns professional first!”

Zacharias is about to answer when his head is knocked forward hard by the slap of an open palm. Zacharias, Amat, and Lifa know it’s Bobo before they even turn around. Zacharias’s cap lands on the ground to the sound of laughter from the juniors who have suddenly surrounded them. Zacharias, Amat, and Lifa are fifteen years old, the juniors are only two years older, but they’re so much more developed physically that there could easily have been ten years between them. Bobo is the biggest of them, as wide as a barn door and ugly enough to make rats move house. He shoves Zacharias hard with his shoulder as he walks past, and Zacharias stumbles and falls to his knees. Bobo laughs with feigned surprise and the juniors surrounding him join in.

“Nice beard, Zach. You look more like your mother every day!” Bobo smirks, and before the juniors’ laughter dies away he goes on:

“Have you got any hair on your balls yet? Or do you still cry in the shower when you realize it’s just fluff from your underpants? Fuck, Zach . . . Seriously, though, there’s something I’ve been wondering: the first time you, Amat, and Lifa slept together, how did you work out which of you guys was going to lose his virginity first?”

The juniors head off toward the school. They’ll have forgotten the exchange within thirty seconds, but it takes a long while for their laughter to die away for the boys behind them. Amat sees the silent hatred in Zacharias’s eyes as he helps him up. It grows stronger each morning. Amat worries that one day it’s going to explode.