“Fuck off.” He said and you’re not one to argue so long as you’re not directly in trouble. Still, it’s put you off going out and instead you decide to head home. You trudge out of the school gates and weave through the cars that have come to pick kids up – and there seem to be a lot of them. Wending your way home to the housing bloc that you live in you pass along the street, hearing a couple of distant shop alarms, cars whizzing by along the street and sirens – ambulance and police – further away than that. A little busy, but to your ears just another night really. You shove your ear-buds in and listen to Eminem, ignoring the noise and bustle of the street as you turn off, past the rusting and disused playground where a couple of the drug dealers there seem to having a fistfight. You ignore them and buzz your way in to the bloc, clambering up the piss-stinking stairs and over the slumped body of ‘Dave’ from downstairs, passed out drunk in the hallway again on what looks like a bottle of Mad Dog.
You arrive at your door and unlock the security gate and the door behind it, locking them behind you and duck into the family flat. It’s a mess, empty fast food boxes everywhere, piles of clothes waiting to be washed, old newspapers, all the crap your mum and her boyfriend leave all over the place and, stuck to the TV with blu-tac is a note, telling you they’ve gone out to the pub for the night and to make yourself something or order in a pizza, though she seems to have forgotten to leave any money…
|What do you do?|
|Dig around in the fridge and make yourself something.|
|See if you can find enough cash for a pizza.|
|See if you can sponge something off your neighbours.|
|Grab some crisps and chocolate and curl up in front of the TV.|
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