I could do without school on Monday. I think about giving it a miss - wouldn't be the first time - but I don't fancy the idea of trudging around the streets by myself. If I'd met up with my mates over the weekend, I could have arranged for a few of them to skip school with me. But it's too late to organize that now, so I decide to struggle through and maybe take tomorrow off instead.
Everyone's still talking about the museum, the way I rescued the baby. Suze and La Lips shiver when they ask me to re-create it for them, eyes wide, wanting a tale of blood, treachery and heroism.
"It wasn't much," I mutter. "The guys weren't that big."
"Rubbish," Kray says. "I saw the one you tackled outside the shop. He was well over six foot. That knee put him down sweet though."
Kray's not the only one living in awe of my trusty right knee. I reckon some of the fools would kneel down and kiss it if I gave them the chance.
The praise goes to my head a bit but my mood doesn't lift. No matter how many times I'm told that I'm a hero, I can't forget about Dad, the contempt in his expression, the way he hit Mum and me. If ever there was a time to stand up to him and tell him I'm not a racist, it was then. I could have said that I thought all babies were equal. Attacked him for being so heartless, so inhuman.
Instead I just stood there, head low, saying nothing. As always.
It's almost a relief to get to class. I can escape from the adulation there. We have biology first. I'm worried that Mr. Burke might make a song and dance about what I did at the museum, but he's not in today, must be sick. Mrs. Reed takes our class instead.
The morning rolls along drearily. I trudge from one class to the next, ignoring anyone who tries to talk with me about Friday, scribbling during lessons, paying little or no attention to the teachers.
I meet up with some of the gang during the break and I'm delighted when Elephant draws their attention away from me.
"I'm playing soccer at lunch," he beams. "Saw the doctor on Friday and she gave me the all-clear. Said it'll probably hurt for a few days, and not to tackle too hard, but I've got the green light."
Elephant's so excited, you'd swear he was about to play in a cup final, not in a poxy five-a-side tournament. We slag him a bit but he laughs off our jeers, vowing to score a hat trick and come back bigger and better than ever.
"Bigger?" La Lips says, batting her eyelids innocently.
We all laugh, even the normally jealous Copper.
Elephant makes us promise to come and cheer him on. I normally wouldn't bother with footie at lunch, but to keep Elephant happy, I agree to watch him make a fool of himself.
"Just don't elbow anybody," Suze warns him, "or B will go for you."
Elephant looks blank. He must be the only person not to have heard about the incident on Friday. Luckily, before I'm forced to go through it again for his benefit, the bell rings and it's back to class.
More pointless lessons, teachers droning on, trying to amuse myself by drawing crude cartoons and coming up with nicknames for the few of my friends who don't have any. Then lunch.
I head to the gym with Copper, Kray, Suze, La Lips, Ballydefeck and Stagger Lee. We meet Pox, Trev and Linzer there. Elephant's warming up. Meths is on his team and the two of them hold a hushed conversation, discussing tactics. What a pair of clowns!
Stuttering Stan is the ref. He blows his whistle and the teams take to the pitch. Other kids move out of their way and either line up along the sides to watch or go find somewhere else to hang out.
The game kicks off and Elephant gets stuck straight in. If anyone expected him to take things easy in his first game back, they're instantly corrected as he goes into a tackle feetfirst and barges one of the other players over.
Stuttering Stan blows for a free kick and gives Elephant a warning. Elephant rubs his leg and looks worried. As soon as Stuttering Stan's back is turned, he winks at Meths. I see now what they were cooking up - play the wounded soldier angle, use Stuttering Stan's sympathy to get away with as many dirty tackles as they can.
"Go on, Elephant!" I roar as he chases the action. "Do him!"
The others cheer along with me. The goalie pulls off a save and launches the ball up the field to Elephant. He turns, shoots and almost scores the goal of his life, but it flies just a few inches over.
We're having a great time. For once I'm immersed, keen to see who Elephant targets next, if he can cap his comeback with a goal, how much grimacing and sighing Stuttering Stan will stand for before he brandishes a yellow card.
Then Tyler Bayor spoils it all. He comes up to me and gives my sleeve a tug. I glance at him suspiciously. He's never approached me like this before. I figure I must be in trouble, that he's delivering a message for someone.
"What do you want?" I snap.
Tyler grins shakily. "I just wanted to say well done for the other day."
I stare at him incredulously. The others are amazed too. He must have fallen out of bed and hit his head this morning. It's madness, tagging me like this, acting like we can be friends, like a compliment from him can make everything right between us. Who the hell does he reckon he is, Nelson bloody Mandela?
"Do you think I give a damn what you think of me?" I snarl.