Okay, so it’s 2008. Nothing’s changed. Well, one thing changed: A different year to write in the top right corner of my essays.

I’m still the same; I even recall having the same nasty New Year’s hangover last year. My first attempt to stretch results in me crushing my knuckles against the wall. My bed’s usually pushed up against the right side of the wall, not the left…I guess some things have changed. Or…I’m not in my bed. Okay. I’m not in my bed. And I’m not alone. Wedged into my side, her hand dangling from the edge of the bed, Lucie is still asleep, wearing her party clothes and still smelling of booze. We’re in Tony’s bed and we probably passed out right on the spot as soon as we made it back to his place.

On the floor, Tony’s fast asleep, his face pressed into a mattress and his mouth hanging open while dangerously close to a bunched-up pair of dirty socks. Daylight filters through the dark curtains of the only window in the room.

How did we get back here? I don’t remember much after the countdown. Alcohol was flowing and I drank in my victory after Lucie jumped back into my arms. I’m hoping I was totally awesome and on top of the world, not some sort of nonsense-slurring brutish thug like poor Lars. Only now I’ve got to pay for it with a splitting headache. My mouth is like paper, and there’s no water in sight. If I don’t go to the bathroom before they wake up, Lucie will wake up to find me smelling like a Neanderthal. Fat chance of her ever thinking I’m hot again if that happens.

Sliding down the bed inch by inch so as not to wake Lucie, I quietly stumble out of the bedroom and right into Tony’s mom in her nightgown. She’s holding Kiki, the family’s small and ugly dog, whom Tony pretends to hate.

“Look at you,” she says, yawning. “Looks like we both indulged last night.”

I force a laugh. I can’t exactly tell my mate’s mum that she looks like I feel, can I? And who wants to stare at someone’s mum while she’s in her nightclothes? Not that Tony’s mum minds me seeing her like this after all this time. She has seen me practically every weekend since I met her son two-and-a-half years ago.

“Want some coffee?” she asks.

“Maybe later.”

“Okay. Happy New Year, then.”

I bet you I’ll be fed up with these well wishes before the day is over. “Happy New Year.”

With a small snort of laughter at my bemused expression, she shuffles into her bedroom, and I slink, relieved, towards the bathroom — only to find it occupied. As I hesitate to retreat to the safety of the bedroom, the lock pops open and Tony’s older brother Simon comes out with a large smile on his face. Behind him is a tall blonde with a great mane of hair and an insane amount of jewellery.

“What’s up, Lou?” Simon shakes my hand. “Did you have fun last night?”

“Yeah, it was great, thanks for the booze.” Since Tony and I aren’t eighteen yet, Simon’s usually the one who buys us supplies before our parties. He’s cool, and he’s also blessed with better looks than Tony, which would explain the giant standing behind him.

“Remember Gretchen?” She gives a little wave.

“Sure.” A blatant lie. “Are you done in there?”

Simon slaps me on the shoulder. “All yours.” The blonde flashes me a perfect supermodel smile as she clinks back towards his room.

Shaking my head, I lock myself in the bathroom and retrieve my own toothbrush from the depths of their medicine cabinet. Like I said, I practically live here on the weekends. One look at my face, and I quickly splash some water on it.

Come to think of it, I haven’t been home much since the holidays began. I could drag my sorry arse home right now, do some homework, and start off the year with a bang instead of spending another day vacillating between video games, joints, and movies. The other night weed got to my head and I was starting to feel paranoid as I was complaining to Tony.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself,” I said to him, joint in hand. “Every time I think about the future, all I see is fog.”

Tony took the joint. “That’s just the smoke.”

You see what I’m dealing with here.

As I tiptoe back to Tony’s room, I can hear him and Lucie laughing. They’re awake, then. They turn at the sound of the door being pushed open and both grin at me.

“Lou!” Lucie crawls over the bed towardss me. “I thought you’d abandoned me.” She pulls me into a rib-shattering hug and makes a contented sound. Down on the floor, Tony is struggling to get to his feet.

“We need some fresh air.”

“Agreed.” I nod, parting from Lucie to draw the curtains. A blast of icy cold wind engulfs the room when I open the window, rustling Tony’s tired posters on the walls and prompting us to escape into the corridor.

In the kitchen we find Tony’s father, already dressed in his usual corduroys and cardigan. He has a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose and he’s reading a newspaper with an actual reputation.

“Happy New Year, kids!” He smiles as we enter the room, still blinking at the glaring daylight.

Grunting, Tony goes straight to the coffee machine and pours the life-saving nectar into assorted mugs for all of us. On the kitchen table, a breakfast for champions is laid out, the type you see in American movies that no one in their right mind would have time to prepare. Not that Tony’s parents made this; it clearly came from the bakery down the street. Lucie stuffs a croissant into her smiling mouth. Sitting opposite Tony’s father, I take a long scalding sip of coffee — my favourite.

Tony’s father folds his newspaper. “Did you have fun last night?”

Tony grimaces, pretends he doesn’t like it. I know better. Tony loves his parents. To be honest, they’re okay. They’re still young and curious about the world. My parents aren’t curious about anything, including me.

“We had too much fun, Father,” Tony answers.

“Amen to that.”

“Lou looks alright, of course,” Lucie complains. “It’s infuriating.”

Tony smirks. “Lou always looks good to compensate for the fact that he’s an asshole.”

“Thanks, Tony.”

But of course, he’s always right. He winks at me.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Tony’s father says. “At my age, a hangover lasts for days. And remember to be safe and have each other’s backs.”

“Yes, Dad, come on.” Tony shoves half a pain au chocolat into his hellhole of a mouth and slams a croissant down in front of me. “You, eat!”

“I think you eat enough for the both of us.”

He slaps his flat stomach. “And look at my amazing body.”

“You’ll die from cholesterol one day.”

He laughs, sprinkling pastry all over the table. “And I’ll die happy.”

“Lou,” his dad says, “I meant to ask you…”

My shoulders tense. Tony’s parents are strange adults who like to talk to other people, like me, who aren’t even their kids. It always startles me when someone twice my age or more wants to talk to me. It makes me feel anxious, like I’m about to take a test and fail. I much prefer the company of my peers, you know? But Tony’s dad is okay, really, so I smile politely and wait.

“Are you still planning to go to London?”

My head jerks back towards Tony, who lifts his shoulder in a half shrug.

He told them? My plan to go to London after graduation is not known by many, and I prefer it that way. Partly because I don’t like talking about my private business with other people. Partly because I have no idea if I’m really capable of doing it, you know? Of leaving everything behind. It was our secret — Tony’s, Lucie’s, and mine. Well, and my father’s, because I need his permission. So, I don’t know how I feel about Tony telling everyone.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I stare down at my feet. “It’s definitely still on the table.”

I’m expecting my friends to start shouting in protest, but to my surprise, Tony keeps silent and starts buttering himself a piece of toast. Lucie watches us intently, in silence, even though two weeks ago she was pestering me to apply to the same university. I even told her rockstars don’t go to university, which Tony approved of, but it didn’t make her laugh at all at the time. I guess I’m on my own, then.

“I was talking to a friend last night,” Tony’s father explains. “He says he’ll have a room to rent when his current tenant leaves the city at the beginning of July. I told him that could be of interest to you.”

I glance at Tony for support, but he’s still buttering his toast and not looking at me. “Nothing is certain yet. My father hasn’t exactly given me permission to go.” That’s not strictly true, but it’s not really a lie either, so that makes it okay.

“Well,” Tony’s dad says as he gets up, “just let me know whenever you’re sure. I’ll talk to my friend about it.”

“Thanks.”

Tony’s father leaves us to our breakfast. We’re a little too quiet there for a few minutes. Perhaps we’re just tired. That’s probably it.