The Academy: chapter 2

Another Friday night in Brixton. I am staying round Ria's house- or so my parents think. My parent's hate Ria. So do most parents. She's dating the drummer of the band 'Jeffrey Quaye and the Magic School Bus'. It's already midnight. Early by today's standards. Despite this, the streets are still cluttered with drunks and stoned girls younger than me with their eyeliner smudged down their cheeks. Paradise was the new nickname of Brixton. Tonight we were hitting Brixton Academy. A band that rivalled Ria's boyfriend's were playing so their plan was to sabotage their performance with heroin injections. I am clean. Apart from weed and the occasional hit of ex I stay clear of drugs. This makes me practically a virgin. Ria is already stoned, along with the band.
I light a cigarette before tugging my top down a bit and entering the Academy. The steps were full of trash and rats. You had to step carefully when wearing open-toed shoes in case of needles. Ria had stepped on the tip of one before and completely freaked out- I don't blame her. The sound of heavy metal hit us before we opened the doors. As far as the eye could see was pure darkness. Darkness in the purest shades of blue, red, purple, pink and black. Strobe lights were flickering, jamming to the beat. Hazy though it was, what looked like the hugest clog of people you could see in one place was jumping up and down in unison. Various people lay at the sides, knocked out, bleeding, vomiting or choking. No big deal. Happens all the time. There's no such thing as the ambulance around places like this anymore.
Most of the people here tonight were probably about my age. Fifteen to twenties I'm guessing. I'm only sixteen, which makes me one of the promised people according to the Government. Kids as young as thirteen were being employed by them. They had no patience with forty year old fathers of two with a heavy mortgage begging for a dental plan. High School was no longer a necessity. The teachers couldn't give two shits whether you came into class or not. My school was slowly decreasing in pupils. The number of black kids had declined dramatically. Communities like Pinner and Hatch End, which are heavily Jewish, had been abandoned by black families who had mostly moved to central Harrow and Wealdstone.
There they were- the rivals. Rob had the needles. Sam had the weed. Sergei had the booze. Ria had the distraction and I was the bait.
"Queue Gwen. Work your magic baby..." Sergei muttered loud enough so only we could hear.
Red lipstick intact. Dishevelled hair. False slightly-drunken stagger. Smudged eyeliner. Cigarette. Low top. Hips swaying. Don't make eye contact- not yet.
I walk past the guitarist, who happens to be insanely cute. They look clean. Weed maybe, no worse. I flicker my eyes up at him and turn to him just before it's too late.
"Got a light?" The age-old line. Works everytime.
I drew the cigarette to my red lips as he lit it for me. "Thanks," I say quietly.
"You in a band?" He asks.
"Nope."
"Coming to see one?"
"Nope."
"With one?"
"Nope."
"Groupie?" He begins to look despairing as I answer the same word every time.
"Nope."
"Scout?"
"Nope."
"Looking for a shag?"
"Figured me out that easy huh?" I say cuttingly and draw my eyes down, lingering them in the one place I can't help but stare at.
"Impressed?"
"Don't flatter yourself sweetie."
"Got a name?"
"Sure. Have you?"
He smiles.
"Aiden. Your turn."
"Aiden. Nice name. Very 2006. Gwen."
"Right."
I'm beginning to get bored. Just go for it mate, you know you want to. Perhaps the blutness will work on him. He doesn't look too full of shit. Guys like that always go for a straightforward girl.
"Are you going to ask for my number or what?" I say, looking at him square in the eyes.
"Are you going to ask me to come with you to the toilets or what?" He retorts with a glint in his eye.
"The toilets? You want to fuck me in the toilets and risk getting stabbed by some crackhead?"
"Well I'd rather be fucking you in the toilets and get stabbed by some crackhead than be on the toilet by myself and get stabbed by some crackhead. Both present risk, but one sounds funner than the other."
"When does your band play?" I might be able to convince Jack that there's no use for needles. If I can keep this guy long enough and involved enough that he misses his slot, that's a job well done.
"Changing the subject I see. We're on after these pissheads," He says, motioning to the guy in a jumpsuit literally humping the stage. "Here, gimme a drag." I hand him the cigarette and sneak my hand behind my back, giving Rob the signal.
"Meet me in the toilets in five." I whisper in Aiden's ear.
"But my band-" It's too late babe, I'm already gone.F