After school and at weekends, when I went round to her apartment for private tuition, it was different. There we could relax and discuss whatever we wanted; we could curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and watch an old film on the TV, or listen to music and chat about the past.

I ate at Debbie's most nights. She loved cooking, and we experimented with a variety of culinary feasts. I soon put on weight, and had to go jogging late at night to keep myself trim.

But it wasn't all relaxation and good food with Debbie. She was determined to educate me to a satisfactory level and spent two or three hours every evening working on my subjects with me. It wasn't easy for her — apart from being tired after her day at work, she didn't know a lot about maths, science and geography — but she stuck with it and set an example which I felt compelled to follow.

"Your grammar's shaky," she said one night, reading through an essay I'd written, "Your English is good but you have some bad habits you need to break."

"Such as?"

"This sentence, for instance: 'John and me went to the store to buy a magazine. What's wrong with that?"

I thought about it. "We went to buy newspapers?" I suggested innocently.

Debbie threw the copy at me. "Seriously," she giggled.

I picked up the copy and studied the sentence. "It should be 'John and I'?" I guessed.

"Yes," she nodded. "You use 'and me' all the time. It's not grammatically correct. You'll have to rise out of it."

"I know," I sighed. "But it'll be tough. I keep a diary, and for the last fifteen years I've been using 'and me' — it just seems more natural."

"Nobody ever said English was natural," Debbie scolded me, then cocked an eyebrow and added, "I didn't know you kept a diary."

"I've kept one since I was nine years old. All my secrets are in it."

"I hope you don't write about me. If it fell into the wrong hands…"

"Hmm," I smirked. "I could blackmail you if I wanted, couldn't I?"

"Just try it," she growled. Then, earnestly, "I really don't think you should write about us, Darren. Or if you do, use a code, or invent a name for me. Diaries can be misplaced, and if word of our friendship leaked, I'd have a hard time setting things straight."

"OK. I haven't included any new entries lately — I've been too busy- but when I do, I'll exercise due discretion." That was one of Debbie's pet phrases.

"And make sure when you're describing us that it's 'Miss X and I', not 'Miss X and me," she said pompously, then screeched as I pounced across the room and set about tickling her until her face turned red!

ON MY third Tuesday at school, I made a friend. Richard Montrose was a small, mousey-haired boy, whom I recognized from my English and history classes. He was a year younger than most of the others. He didn't say very much, but was always being complimented by the teachers. Which of course made him the perfect target for bullies.

Since I didn't take part in games on the quad, I spent most of my lunch breaks strolling around, or in the computer room on the third floor of the building at the rear of the school. That's where I was when I heard sounds of a scuffle outside and went to investigate I found Richard pinned to the wall by Smickey Martin — the guy who'd called me an asswipe on my first day at school — and three of his pals. Smickey was rooting through the younger boy's pockets. "You know you have to pay, Monty," he laughed. "If we don't take yer money, someone else will. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."

"Please, Smickey," Richard sobbed. "Not this week. I have to buy a new atlas."

"Should have taken more care of your old one," Smickey snickered.

"You're the one who ripped it up, you…" Richard was on the point of calling Smickey something awful, but drew up short.

Smickey paused threateningly. "Wot was you gonna call me, Monty?"

"Nothing," Richard gasped, truly frightened now.

"Yes, you was," Smickey snarled. "Hold him, boys. I'm gonna teach him a—"

"You'll teach him nothing," I said quietly from behind.

Smickey turned swiftly. When he saw me, he laughed. "Little Darrsy Horston," he chuckled. "Wot are you doing here?" I didn't answer, only stared coldly at him. "Better run along, Horsty," Smickey said. "We ain't come after you for money yet — but that's not to say we won't!"

"You won't get anything from me," I told him. "And you won't get anything from Richard in future either. Or anyone else."

"Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Them's awful big words, Horsty. If you take 'em back quick, I might forget you said em.

I stepped forward calmly, relishing the chance to put this bully in his place. Smickey frowned — he hadn't been expecting an open challenge — then grinned, grabbed Richard's left arm and swung him towards me. I stepped aside as Richard cried out — I was fully focused on Smickey — but then I heard him collide with something hard. Glancing back, I saw that he'd slammed into the banisters of the stairs and was toppling over — about to fall head first to the floor three storeys below!

I threw myself backwards and snatched for Richard's feet. I missed his left foot but got a couple of fingers on his right ankle just before he disappeared over the side of the handrail. Gripping the fabric of his school trousers hard, I grunted as the weight of his body jerked me roughly against the banisters. There was a ripping sound, and I feared his trousers would tear and I'd lose him. But the material held, and as he hung over the railings, whimpering, I hauled him back up and set him on his feet.

When Richard was safe, I turned to deal with Smickey Martin and the rest, but they'd scattered like the cowards they were. "So much for that lot," I muttered, then asked Richard if he was OK. He nodded feebly but said nothing. I left him where he was and returned to the soft hum of the computer room.

Moments later, Richard appeared in the doorway. He was still shaking, but he was smiling also. "You saved my life," he said. I shrugged and stared at the screen as though immersed in it. Richard waited a few seconds, then said, "Thanks."

"No problem." I glanced up at him. "Three floors isn't that big a fall. You'd probably only have broken a few bones."

"I don't think so," Richard said. "I was going nose-down, like a plane." He sat beside me and studied the screen. "Creating a screen saver?"

"Yes."

"I know where to find some really good scenes from sci-fi and horror movies. Want me to show you?"

I nodded. "That'd be cool."

Smiling, his fingers flew over the keyboard and soon we were discussing school and homework and computers, and the rest of the lunch break whizzed by.

Richard swapped seats in English and history in order to sit beside me, and let me copy from his notes — he had his own shorthand system which allowed him to jot down everything that was said in class. He also started spending most of his breaks and lunches with me. He pulled me out of the computer room and introduced me to other friends of his. They didn't exactly welcome me with open arms, but at least I had a few people to talk to now.

It was fun hanging out, discussing TV, comics, music, books and (of course!) girls. Harkat and me — Harkat and I — had TV sets in our rooms at the hotel, and I started watching a few programmes at night. Most of the stuff my new friends enjoyed was formulaic and tedious, but I pretended to enthuse about it like they did.

The week passed swiftly and before I knew it I was facing another weekend. For the first time I was mildly disappointed to have two free days on my hands — Richard would be away at his grandparents' — but cheered up at the thought of spending them with Debbie.