Ethan smiled. ‘Exactly.’

‘Look, I know you’re not like Dad. But Mum worries, Ethan, you know that.’

‘I know. And I promise I’ll never be like him. Ever.’

‘OK,’ said Jo. She patted him on the arm and headed for her bedroom.

Ethan went to his room. It was pretty bare except for a few posters from Kerrang!, the computer on the desk in the corner, and his bed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor like rubbish washed up on a beach.

He kicked a space between some magazines and put the pasta down on the worn carpet. Then he flicked on his computer. It was old and took a while to warm up, but soon the screen flared blue and he logged on.

The myspace page loaded and Ethan found himself staring at Johnny’s face. He clicked the MOST RECENT icon. The screen filled with a shaky image – a skyline he recognized as the one outside his window. Ethan realized this must’ve been what the bloke in the van had been filming: Johnny BASE jumping from the roof above his flat. The image blurred in a rush as a whoop and a yell burst from his speakers: the sound of Johnny leaping into nothing. The image changed again, slowed, and Ethan watched the view float by as Johnny glided to the ground in front of the flats.

In the next scene, Ethan saw himself standing next to Johnny, shock on his face, waving.

Flicking through Johnny’s myspace pages, Ethan surfed numerous films taken by Johnny and his friends. In all of them, Johnny was grinning and laughing as he jumped off things, or out of planes. Ethan lost track of time, clicking on picture after picture, movie after movie. And he saw something in Johnny’s face that he wanted for himself. Johnny looked so alive, like every minute mattered, counted for something. Ethan’s life had never really felt like that. It was almost as though he’d spent it in a waiting room with no idea what he was actually waiting for. But perhaps it was time to try and change that.

He went back to his pasta. It was cold but he ate it anyway. Mum’s food always tasted good, no matter what it was.

As Ethan finished off the pasta, he clicked a link from Johnny’s site. The screen jumped to an image of blue sky filled with skydivers. Underneath it were the words FREEFALL SKYDIVING CENTRE, followed by an address – it was the old army base just out of town. Ethan clicked through the site, drawn in by more images of people leaping from planes, faces alight with excitement.

Something caught his eye. It was a job ad: Help needed for summer season. Bad pay, insane customers, interesting hours. Discounted lessons available.

It was late, but Ethan phoned anyway, and left a message. He put down the phone and sat back in his chair. Something about what he’d just done fizzed through him. He didn’t know why but it seemed important, like he’d made a move that mattered, changed something. OK, so it was just a job, but what else was he going to do with his summer?

‘Stand over there and smile at the birdie.’

The security guard at the entrance to the old army base was pointing at an X on the wall, bullet-to-the-brain high. Ethan did as he was told and walked over to it, resting his head against the X and turning to face a webcam. He smiled at the stuffed parrot sitting on top of it.

The security guard took Ethan’s picture, and a few moments later handed him his pass. It was a terrible photo, but then Ethan never liked pictures of himself.

‘The jump centre’s first left at the mini-roundabout,’ said the security guard. ‘Follow the road round, take the second right. If you get lost, look for people falling out of the sky and listen for the screams.’

Ethan didn’t know whether to smile or not, so he just nodded and headed back to his bike. He still couldn’t believe he’d got an interview for the job at FreeFall. Someone called Sam had phoned and told him to come in as soon as possible, preferably that day. So Ethan had done just that, gobbling his breakfast and racing out into the morning.

He jumped back on his bike, clicking through the gears as he followed the guard’s instructions. The guy was right – people were literally falling from the sky.

Ethan watched as parachutes exploded into life above him. Reds and yellows and blues studded the sky as skydivers drifted downwards. Some people, riding parachutes no bigger than large kites, swooped down to earth, spiralling fast, banking hard, slamming through the air at an impossible speed. Others, with much larger chutes, glided along, gentle as eagles. Ethan noticed how some chutes were carrying two people strapped together. All those arms and legs made them look like huge black spiders.

As he stared, Ethan wondered what it felt like to jump out of a plane. He remembered the BASE jumper, Johnny, and how his eyes had seemed wildly alive. As parachutes floated down, he imagined being up there himself, leaping from a plane, plummeting to earth.

His stomach somersaulted. Would he do it? Hell, yeah – you bet he would.

He’d never be able to afford it, though.

And with that thought suddenly dulling everything, Ethan pedalled on.

Leaving his bike in the car park, Ethan walked past a cabin that contained both the reception and shop, and found himself on an area of tarmac between some old aircraft hangars and a large green field where the skydivers were landing. He turned to watch a few more come in, the hangars now behind him, then turned back to get his bearings. The place was Saturday-morning busy. Everywhere he looked, people were either walking with nervous purpose and even more nervous smiles, or gazing anxiously up into the sky as skydivers continued to fall out of it. Ethan made his way through the crowds towards a building to the right of the hangars with the word CAFÉ written on the door. Beyond it he spotted a number of skydivers on a patch of grass. They were wrestling with their parachutes – laying them out on the grass, sorting and untangling the lines, then packing them into what looked like daysacks.

As Ethan pushed on through, a motorbike pulled up in front of him. The rider pulled off his helmet, grinned at Ethan and slid off the bike.

It was Johnny.

Ethan waved and nodded a smile.

Johnny propped up his bike and came over. ‘Knew I’d see you at the DZ,’ he said.

‘DZ?’ asked Ethan.

‘The dropzone,’ said Johnny. ‘If you want the full definition, then it’s a column of airspace around a central point on the ground where you land when skydiving.’ He winked. ‘Landing area to you and me.’

‘Right,’ said Ethan, and turned to watch as a skydiver flew in.

‘Looks easy from the ground,’ said Johnny. ‘Doing it at a hundred and twenty mph is a little more difficult.’

He quickly pulled off his biking overalls. Underneath he was wearing some kind of boiler suit, albeit one that looked a lot more cool than something you’d wear to fix your car. It was black and red, with slim silver pads stitched at elbow and knee, stretching up and down the outside of each arm and leg. Johnny turned to a bag strapped on the back of his bike, and pulled out a black helmet, visor down, and what looked like an enormous watch.

‘I checked out your MySpace page,’ said Ethan. ‘It was awesome.’

Now there was a word he never used, and it sat in his mouth like a sour gobstopper.

Johnny grinned. ‘Of course it was – it’s about me! Here to have a go yourself?’

Ethan shook his head, amazed at Johnny’s impressive self-confidence. ‘I’d love to, but I’m here about the job,’ he said. ‘You know where Sam is?’

‘Through that door,’ said Johnny, pointing at a flat-roofed building attached to the side of the old hangar. ‘Just follow the signs for the office. You’ll find it easily enough.’

‘Cheers,’ said Ethan, and made to walk away, but Johnny called after him. He turned to see Johnny pointing upwards as a skydiver howled past, terrifyingly close to the ground.