Ash rolled his eyes. “Dad is Dad. I think he’s calmed down, but he doesn’t want me going in the

pub again. I wish I could tell him what happened but...I just don’t remember anything, you know?”

Fizz nodded. “Me, too. I mean, it’s really weird, isn’t it?”

“That report said it could’ve been a gas leak.”

They stopped at a pedestrian crossing, then raced to the other side as the green man symbol beeped,

and impatient cars waited. On the promenade, cyclists and teenagers on rollerblades and skateboards

whizzed by. Stalls selling colourful items like wind-catchers and sweets were just closing up for the

day. The sea glistened as the last of the sun disappeared below the horizon. Fizz stared at the water,

feeling strangely emotional, not in a bad way, but in a thankful-to-be-alive way that he couldn’t

explain. A chill brushed his bare arms, making him shiver.

“Hey.” Ash touched his shoulder. “Are you cold?”

Fizz met his eyes, smiling again. “Not really.” He shook out his hoody and pulled it on, mostly to

appease the concerned look on Ash’s face. “I’m fine. Honest.”

“Okay,” Ash said. “C’mon, then. I’m dying for some donuts.” Leading the way, they approached the

entrance to the pier. Lights were turning on, illuminating the different food huts that surrounded the

entrance. In the distance, Fizz could see the colourful rides at the very end of the pier, lit up and

flashing, humming quietly. A tremor of excitement ran over his body.

“Are we going on the rides?” he asked.

Ash, who was busy gazing at a menu, nodded absently. “Course we are. Can’t go on the pier without

going on a crap ride or two.”

“Crap?”

“I’m kidding. They’re amazing.” Ash cleared his throat, then took out his wallet and placed an

order with the attendant. Soon, he was handed a white paper bag of freshly sugared, steaming hot

donuts. He burnt his mouth on the first bite, swearing under his breath.

Fizz tried not to laugh. Once the donuts had cooled a little, they shared the bag between them as

they walked the boards. Gazing down, Fizz could see the sparkle of water underneath their feet.

It was windy here; great gusts seemed to come from nowhere, buffeting them as they walked. Ash

suggested they walked on the other side of the stalls, which provided some protection against the

wind. Fizz could have put his hood up, but he found he enjoyed the feel of the wind in his hair. It was

just like being on a boat, he thought, which was strange, as Fizz knew he’d never been on a boat in his

life. As he gazed out to sea – as Ash pointed out the newly installed Brighton eye, like a big white

ferris wheel, and the marina in the distance – he felt so incredibly happy he thought he might burst.

“Ash?” he said, cutting Ash off from describing yet another point of interest.

“Yeah?”

Fizz held the last sugary donut in his fingers, offering it to Ash. “Thank you for bringing me here.

It’s...really cool.”

Ash smiled in response. Even on his dark skin, Fizz noticed the blush stain his cheeks. “No

worries.” He tore the donut in half, sugar spilling everywhere, and handed half back to Fizz. “You, um,

wanna go to the arcade?”

“Arcade?” Fizz blinked at him, unable to picture what Ash meant.

“C’mon. It’s this way.” Stuffing the donut in his mouth, Ash carried on walking. As they reached

the middle section, a large tent-like structure came into view, blazing with different lights and noises.

From just one glance, Fizz knew it wasn’t for him. He shook his head. “Er, I don’t think I want to go

in there.”

Ash shrugged. “Let’s go to the quieter bit. There’s a milkshake bar, and they do iced lattes, too.”

They bypassed the arcade, getting nearing the end of the pier and its rides. As they approached the

milkshake bar Ash headed for, something else caught Fizz’s eye. A brightly coloured stall set out like

a camp version of an old style Texas shoot out. Tin Can Alley had neatly stacked tin cans along the

back of the stall, with gaudy prizes hanging from every available inch. The counter was waist high,

with a bored-looking man standing in the corner.

When he saw the replica rifles lined up on the counter, Fizz’s feet carried him there. He couldn’t

explain why, but he had to try one.

Ash appeared a moment later at his side. “Oh yeah? You wanna have a go?”

Eyes on the rifles, then the tin cans ahead, Fizz nodded. “Definitely.”

“Five quid for two rounds,” barked the man. He stalked over, unlocked two of the rifles from the

counter, then held out his hand.

“How much?” Ash muttered, digging in his pocket.

Fizz was quicker, and produced a fiver from his jeans pocket. “You got the donuts. I’ll get this.”

“But –”

Before Ash could protest, the man had snatched the fiver from Fizz and stalked away again. Ash

chuckled in defeat. “Okay, let’s do this. I got to warn you, though, these things are rigged. Neither of

us will win.” He picked up the rifle, clearly struggling with the awkward shape. Fizz watched him

raise it, peep through the curious plastic circle on top of the rifle, aim, and fire.

A bang went off. Ash had missed, by miles, and Fizz laughed.

“Yeah, all right. Shut up.” Ash laughed too. “Like to see you do better.”

“These rifles are weird,” Fizz said. Without another thought, he picked his up from the counter. The

weight and shape was all wrong, but still, he would make do. He held the rifle, keeping it straight even

though it hurt his arms. “Sight’s off,” he muttered, squinting one eye. Aiming at the bottom can of the

stack right in front of him, Fizz glanced above the sight-helper, readjusted his aim, and pressed the

trigger. The pellet left the rifle with hardly any backfire or noise, and the tin cans toppled down like a

stack of cards. Their tumble knocked down the stack next to them.

The stall holder’s eyebrows shot up, as Ash gaped.

“Fizz, how did you hit that?”

With a grin, Fizz lowered his rifle. “Care to make a wager? Bet I can hit more than you.”

After a stunned moment, Ash smiled back. “Hah. What did you want to bet, exactly?”

“Er...” Fizz looked away, unsure. Fleetingly, the thought of money had crossed his mind, vague and

distant. How strange, he thought. Why would he want to bet for money? He’d never gambled, and he

had enough from working at the pub.

No, he certainly didn’t want money.

Fighting the blush that rose in his cheeks, he shrugged. “Um, no bet. Let’s just see who wins,

yeah?”

“Okay,” Ash agreed. “Well, how about the loser buys the next bag of donuts?”

“Deal.” They raised their rifles together and aimed. The stall holder took a step back.

After a few more rounds, Ash conceded defeat, and Fizz took pity on the poor stall holder. By

rights, Fizz’s shots had earned them a whole heap of prizes, but Fizz didn’t feel like being greedy. He

picked out one prize, a large stuffed toy of a stripy zebra. Laughing, he’d given it to Ash, and now they

walked back along the pier, Ash cradling the zebra under one arm, Fizz holding a new bag of donuts.

“That guy was ready to ban you from his stall,” Ash said with a chuckle. “Have you ever played

darts?”

“Darts?” Fizz laughed at the thought, passing a donut to Ash. “No, never.”

“Target practise?”

“What? No.”

“Then how come you’re such a good shot?”

Fizz shrugged. “Don’t know. It just felt...easy.”

“Hm.” Ash hefted the zebra, its head bobbing with the motion. “Maybe we should try pool. I’d love

you to thrash Dee sometime. I’ve tried, but I’m crap.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“No, honestly, I am. Ryan banned me from the pool table after I tore the material one night.”