A/N: Yet another chapter that doesn't fit within the timeline. Starts before Danny and Rusty met, ends just after they leave home. So all the way through the official scope of this fic, I guess. :)

Age Five - Cutlery

It was the last day of school before Christmas and that was exciting. They would be off for two weeks, and even though Brady liked school he was looking forward to it. In the meantime though, school had gone all Christmas-y and that was fun too. There was a little Christmas tree in the hallway and Miss Thorpe had given them all a cupcake that morning with little frosting holly leaves on top. Chris had said they were lame, but Brady thought they were awesome and Miss Thorpe was the best teacher ever. He'd said so to Robert and Cameron who sat at the desks around him, and Cameron had agreed. Robert had just nodded, his mouth filled with half a cupcake. That was okay though. Everyone knew Robert was always hungry.

And they'd played games through most of the rest of the day. Robert had made Battleships exciting by giving each ship a story. When it wasn't just a patrol boat that got sunk, it was the patrol boat that had rescued the princess from the scuttled battleship it all seemed much more interesting. By the time the treacherous commander of the blue navy had salvaged the sunken red submarine for his own fleet, they'd gathered a crowd to watch their game.

That was what made Robert so fun to have as a friend. He made up the best games. He was the one who'd invented alligator tag and everyone played that now. And he wasn't afraid of anything. When Doug had knocked the ball up onto the gymnasium roof Robert had been the one to climb up and throw it back down, and afterwards he'd just jumped right off the edge like it was nothing, even though the roof must have been almost a mile high. And when some big boys had thrown Alice Munroe's school bag into a big patch of stinging nettles and thorns, Robert had gone after it for her, and he hadn't even cried afterwards, even though he'd just been wearing shorts and t-shirts, and his arms and legs had gone all red and blotchy.

No, Robert was brilliant, no question about that, and Brady was very glad they'd been sat next to each other the first day of school. He didn't even mind that sometimes Robert was all tired and quiet and wouldn't play with them at recess. Sometimes he even looked like he was going to doze off in class, though he never actually did. Brady had seen him jabbing pencils into his arm to keep himself awake though. Mommy said that Robert's parents must let him stay up all night watching television, but then Robert said he didn't have a television, so Brady figured Mommy must have been wrong for once. It was an uncomfortable thought.

Today, Robert was awake though and that was good because the cafeteria was doing a special Christmas lunch, and even kids like them that normally brought a bagged lunch in from home were going to have some. Already just standing in line he could smell it, and he couldn't help jumping up and down excitedly. "Come on, come on, come on," he chanted breathlessly.

Robert grinned at him. "Hope they don't run out before we get there," he said seriously.

Cameron frowned. "Do you think they will have dessert?"

"If they do, I will explode," Brady declared.

Robert looked past them to the blackboard on the counter. It had a lot of difficult joined-up writing, and Brady hadn't been able to read much of it. "Dessert, t-rif-le," he read slowly before turning to frown at them. "What's that?"

"Trifle!" Brady exclaimed, falling over himself to explain. "It's all cream and custard and sponge and fruit, mixed together on top of each other."

"It's delicious," Cameron added sincerely.

And then they were at the front of the line, and the lunch lady was putting slices of baked ham, scoops of mashed potato, gravy and far too many vegetables on their plates, and he was in a dream all the while they were walking to their seats. Even once they were sitting they had to wait another few minutes while everyone else sat down and grace was said. Brady dutifully intoned 'Amen'. Robert didn't, he noticed.

"I thanked the lunch lady," Robert said with a shrug, catching his look.

Brady nodded. He had.

It didn't matter, after all, cos it was time to eat! He dug in hungrily and every mouthful was heaven. In fact, he wasn't really aware of anything else until a loud voice rang out behind them. "Robert Ryan, if you don't start eating like a human being you can leave this table and starve."

He looked round. So did everyone else. Mrs Prestwick was standing there, glaring at them. Robert sat frozen, clumps of mashed potato and gravy dropping from his greasy fingers. His knife and fork lay untouched by his plate. His eyes were wide and confused, and Mrs Prestwick was still standing right behind them, practically breathing down their necks, and Brady thought she'd probably be happy to stand there till the end of time.

"She wants you to use your knife and fork," he whispered, nudging Robert gently though it still made him jump.

"Oh." Robert looked round the table quickly and Brady could see him spying the cutlery in all the other boys' and girls' hands. Slowly, he picked up his own knife and fork.

"That's it," Brady encouraged, pleased to be able to show Robert something for once. "Now hold the fork in your left hand and the knife in your right and stab things with the fork and cut them with the knife."

With a certain feeling of pride he watched Robert carefully tackle his dinner. It was slow going and Robert's face was screwed up in frustration or concentration.

"Don't give up," he said, just like Mommy had always said to him when he'd been learning. "You'll get the hang of it."

Robert looked up at him and smiled softly. "Thanks, Brady," he said softly.

He beamed back. "You're welcome."

He only wondered very briefly why Robert's Mommy hadn't taught him this.

Age Seven – Doughball

He'd really tried not to get in trouble today. He'd even wanted to go home a different route, but Cameron and Kyle and Sandy had all wanted to go to the swings. He should have just gone home by himself, or maybe with Rusty, if he could have, except Rusty had vanished after school the way he always did these days. And of course the others had all ran off as soon as Jason and Larry started hassling them. Not that Brady really blamed them for that or anything. He'd tried to run too, after all, but he'd tripped and fallen and cut his knee open and now there was blood everywhere and the tears had already been streaming when they cornered him against the climbing frame.

"Awww, look at the little doughball crying for his Moma," Jason sneered.

"Did you get a little booboo?" Larry shoved him in the shoulder, hard. "Would have thought all that blubber would've protected you."

"Yeah," Jason laughed and poked him in the stomach. "How come you didn't bounce, doughball?"

He jumped and tried to push past them and escape, but Larry just laughed and shoved him again, and he bit his lip as he fell backwards against the climbing frame. He tasted blood. The tears turned to loud sobs and he listened, helpless, as words like "Please" and "Stop" bubbled out of him.

Of course that just made them laugh all the harder, and Jason drew his fist back like he was going to start actually hitting him, and he cringed back, waiting.

A ball hit the ground immediately in front of him, bouncing past and then a second later he heard a deep, booming barking and a massive dog, the size of a horse at least, barrelled through, knocking Jason and Larry back.

For a moment he just stood there, staring stupidly, until a voice immediately behind him whispered "Run."

He ran. Rusty caught up after a few seconds, stepping out from behind a panel in the climbing frame, and Brady couldn't imagine how he'd managed to hide there, but he didn't have time to wonder, because he was still breathless from crying, and Larry and Jason were following and they could run faster than him. Though honestly, everyone could run faster than him, especially Rusty, so why was Rusty running directly behind him?

"Turn left," Rusty called. "To the end of the playground."

There wasn't a gate there. They'd be trapped, but he was too out of breath to point it out.

"Trust me," Rusty said anyway.

He nodded, and veered left sharply. The fence loomed up fast, but he could hear Jason and Larry's footsteps pounding behind them, far, far too close. If they caught up now, they would probably kill him, at the very least. And then Rusty said "Right!" and "Down!" and he saw the hole, right at the bottom of the fence so he'd have to crawl through, and he dropped to the ground and wriggled forwards and for a moment he was sure he was going to get stuck, but then he was on the other side and he scrambled onto his feet and turned back anxiously. Rusty was wasting no time crawling through the hole, but Jason was right there and he wasn't going to fit through the hole, no chance, but he'd grabbed hold of Rusty's leg and he was pulling him back, and Brady grabbed his hands and tried to haul him through, and that was when Rusty twisted round and kicked back with his other foot. Jason yelled in pain. Rusty had caught him right in the nose. There was blood everywhere, and Rusty tumbled through to the other side and onto his feet like he was some kind of acrobat.

"Let's keep running," he smiled.

Brady nodded, wide-eyed and lost for words and they ran – or jogged – away from the park and onto the street. There were a lot of adults here, he was relieved to see, and that meant that even if Jason and Larry caught up with them, they wouldn't be able to attack them without someone stepping in and stopping it.

Rusty stopped and sat on a stoop below an overhanging tree. He was barely breathing hard, Brady noticed enviously.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say. For the last six months or so, Rusty had been spending most of his time with one of the older boys, Danny Ocean. He still sat with them in class, and sometimes he'd play with them at the weekend, but it wasn't the same. He had a new best friend now, Brady supposed. Not that he thought that Rusty would have called him his best friend before. Really, Rusty had always seemed like the sort of person who just wouldn't have a best friend in the first place. He was too independent.

"'s fine," Rusty said with a faint smile. "Those guys are dicks."

"Yes they are," he agreed fervently. And they were getting worse. This was the first time they'd actually tried to hit him. Normally they just yelled stuff and kicked stones in his general direction. "I don't know what they'd have done if that dog hadn't ran past."

"Yeah..." Rusty rubbed his fingers across his mouth. "Hope he finds his way back to his owner. I've never stolen a dog before."

Brady blinked. "You stole him?!"

"Well, technically I just stole the ball," Rusty explained with a shrug. "But the dog sort of came along with it."

Oh. He found himself smiling and Rusty smiled right back. "Why don't you come over to my house for dinner?" he suggested.

"Sounds good," Rusty said, and his eyes were bright with anticipation.

In spite of everything, he felt happy. Even if he and Rusty weren't spending so much time together anymore, they were still friends. Rusty would still be there when he needed help. And that was what mattered.

Age 9 – Laryngitis

It was the third week back and Brady still wasn't used to being back in school. It felt like every year summer got a bit shorter. It was a glorious day outside as well, why did they have to be inside? They should close schools on sunny days.

Class hadn't started yet and, bored, he looked round for someone to talk to. Cameron and Sandy were still off with that virus that had been going round. And Rusty was there, but his head was down on his desk and he looked kind of like he was sleeping. He was wearing a thick, oversized sweater even though it was so warm today. He hoped Rusty wasn't getting sick as well. At this rate, he'd have no friends left at all.

At exactly two minutes to nine, a stranger swept into the classroom and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a grey cardigan and a severe expression. "Good morning, children," she said primly. "I am Miss Crawford and I am going to be taking your class in your teacher's absence."

A substitute? Oh, substitutes were never fun. And she looked mean.

"Now, I expect you all to say 'Good morning Miss Crawford', or 'Good afternoon, Miss Crawford' when I enter the room," she said. "We will do it now. Politely, and respectfully and on the count of three. One, two..."

"Good morning, Miss Crawford," Brady recited dutifully with the rest. Almost all the rest, anyway. Rusty hadn't raised his head from his desk, and Brady looked at him worriedly. This substitute didn't seem the sort to tolerate anything she might think rude. He edged his foot forwards and smartly kicked the back of Rusty's chair, and Rusty sat up quickly and slouched back in his seat, which was an improvement at least.

"Good," Miss Crawford said. "First, I will take attendance. When I call your name, I expect you to raise your hand and say 'Present, Miss Crawford'. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss Crawford," they chorused.

"Good. Now. Sarah Allan?"

"Present, Miss Crawford," Sarah answered.

Brady half tuned out as she went on. He was looking at Rusty nervously, and he wasn't the only one. He caught half the class giving Rusty uneasy sideways glances. Rusty hadn't said a word over the last three weeks. No one knew why. Miss Tolland had given up on him pretty quickly and now just ignored him. Brady had overheard her telling the lunch lady that Rusty was just doing it for attention. And when Brady had told Mom, she'd said it was just a phase Rusty was going through – that he'd grow out of it soon enough, and he could talk if he really wanted to. Certainly, Cameron said he'd seen Rusty talking to Danny which suggested Mom was right, but then Brady had seen them a couple of weekends ago, slouched on the pavement outside the arcade and Danny had been talking – asking questions and leaving a space and then carrying it on like it was a real conversation – but Rusty hadn't said a word. They hadn't seen him. Danny had sounded sad. Brady didn't think that Rusty would leave Danny sad just for some phase he could stop if he wanted to. And if he was doing it for attention, why did he seem to hate the attention he did get? All the time Miss Tolland had been asking him what was wrong, he'd shrunk away. When she decided to just ignore him, it had seemed to come as a relief.

At any rate, whatever the truth of it, as far as Brady could see there was absolutely no way in the world that Rusty was going to answer when she called on him and everyone knew it. With every name called, the tension in the room seemed to grow until he was sure something was going to explode.

"Robert Ryan," she said at long last.

Silence. Rusty raised his hand.

"Robert Ryan," she repeated awfully, looking around the room.

Rusty raised his hand a little higher.

She was looking straight at Rusty now and still pretending not to see him. "Is Robert Ryan present?"

Rusty waved his hand slightly, reaching higher still.

"I can't hear anything," she said loudly. "Can anyone else hear anything?"

A few people laughed nervously. It was the sort of laughter which suggested that no one was seeing anything funny.

She marched straight down the classroom, leaving a crowd of turning heads in her wake. "Well?" she demanded, towering directly over Rusty's desk. "Are you Robert Ryan?"

Rusty nodded quickly, leaning back away from her and shoving his hands behind his back. His fists were clenched. No. Not clenched, Brady realised suddenly. He was digging his fingernails into his palms. And his hands were still trembling.

"Sit up straight, open your mouth and answer when spoken to, boy," she demanded, her cheeks dark with anger. "I will not tolerate your blatant disrespect."

It took a couple of seconds before Rusty managed to sit up, struggling awkwardly. And as he did he let out this little muffled moan, and the neck of his sweater slid down his shoulder slightly, giving Brady the perfect view of the deep purple bruise below. That must really hurt.

"Oh, so you're not completely mute," she said, looking round the room. "I was beginning to think I was talking to a shop dummy."

Another outbreak of nervous laughter, and Rusty's hands were white and strained.

"If Robert Ryan is not prepared to answer then this whole class will be in detention," she said, loud and shrill.

A murmur of discontent rolled around the classroom. This wasn't fair.

"Now!" She slammed her hand down on Rusty's desk with a bang that made everyone except Rusty jump. And Brady was the only one who could possibly see that instead of jumping, Rusty had dug his fingernails into his palms harder still until Brady wouldn't be surprised if he was bleeding. "Robert. Ryan."

"Please, Miss Crawford!" He heard the voice and was astonished to realise that it was his. "Please, Rusty has laryngitis. He told me so this morning. In a note," he added carefully. "He's lost his voice, he can't speak."

He'd never lied to a teacher before. He was sure she'd see right through him, certain that any moment now she would denounce him as a liar and call his mother. Any moment now...

But she didn't. "Oh. Well." She rounded back on Rusty. "Why didn't you just say something, you stupid boy? Five hundred lines, 'I will not disrupt class and waste the time of my teacher and my peers'. I expect it for tomorrow morning."

That wasn't fair either. She'd disrupted class, not Rusty. But as she turned away and walked back to her desk, it was too much of a relief for him to be as outraged on Rusty's behalf as he might be.

A few moments later, Rusty – back slouching down in his seat – reached behind him without looking and carefully dropped a ball of crumpled paper on Brady's desk.

Looking round to make sure she wasn't looking, Brady carefully smoothed it out. 'Thanks', it said.

He smiled. "Don't mention it," he whispered.

Age 12 – Grades

It worked differently other places, Brady knew. In other schools, if you had a problem you would go to a teacher or a guidance counsellor or maybe your parents. Here, if you had a problem, you went to Rusty Ryan.

It was Rusty who'd saved him from bullies when they were kids, and later Rusty and Danny who had stopped everyone from calling him doughball. And Rusty and Danny had even managed to get his golf clubs back that one time after Norris Carroll stole them. And he knew they did other things too – fixed detentions, forged notes, supplied cheat sheets...sometimes it seemed they ran the school. Brady honestly believed they could do anything and right now he needed their help.

He found Rusty with Danny, smoking on the stairs that led down to the basement. "Uh, hi," he said, waving a hand awkwardly.

They'd already spotted him. Rusty smiled. "Looking for us?"

"Come into our office," Danny said, indicating the stairwell. "Take a seat."

He did, perching a couple of steps above them.

"So what's the problem?" Rusty asked.

"I'm failing gym," he announced glumly.

Rusty leaned his head back and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the sky. "Not an easy class to cheat in," he said.

"We could - " Danny started, but Rusty was already shaking his head.

" - Mr Bruce keeps track in his head."

"I don't want to cheat though," Brady added hastily, trying not to cough. "I mean..."

Rusty looked at him sharply and then casually stubbed his cigarette out. A second later, Danny followed suit. "What do you mean?"

"Thanks," he said. "Well, you know. Todd Larkin got extra credit in gym as a member of a sports club outside school. I was hoping he would do that for me."

"Okay," Danny nodded. "You play golf, right? Are you actually in a club?"

"Huh." Rusty grinned.

Danny looked at him.

"Golf club," Rusty explained.

Danny just smiled and shook his head and turned back to Brady.

"Well, no," he said. "But I joined a rowing club a few weeks ago. I go every week. That's a sport, right?" He ended on an anxious question.

They looked at each other for a long moment and shrugged. "Question is, will Mr Bruce agree it's a sport?" Danny said at last.

"I think maybe I could persuade him," Brady said hopefully. "If he was in a good mood. And if you came in with me, Rusty."

Rusty grinned. "Sure, but he hates me just as much as he hates you."

That was true. Mr Bruce yelled at Brady cos he couldn't do things. But he yelled at Rusty cos Rusty could and didn't. Or did something else entirely. "He still hasn't gotten over that time when you climbed the rope right to the ceiling and then hung upside down by your feet," he remembered.

Danny turned his head sharply to look at Rusty.

"I had to see if I could do it," Rusty protested, exactly as if Danny had said something.

Danny continued to stare, face entirely expressionless.

"What, you'd rather I experimented when it mattered and I'd be doing it over concrete? Or when I was over a mat and there were people there who would do something if I fell."

If anything, the lack of expression on Danny's face grew somehow more.

Rusty sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I take your point. So. Moral support and Mr Bruce in a good mood, huh? I think we can arrange something. What, you think - "

" - soccer team," Danny nodded. "When's - "

" - Tuesday," Rusty said. "Easy. So, Wednesday morning good for you, Brady?"

He nodded, blinking rapidly.

On Tuesday night the soccer team somehow managed to romp to a six nil victory. He had no idea how that had happened. But on Wednesday morning, when he met Rusty outside Mr Bruce's office, he could hear whistling coming from inside. It was just a little bit terrifying.

Rusty grinned at him and knocked smartly on the door.

"Come in," Mr Bruce called.

Wait. He suddenly wasn't sure about this. Maybe they should come back later. But Rusty was already pushing the door open and stepping inside, and Brady didn't really have a chance but to follow.

"Oh," Mr Bruce said genially. "Ryan, Taggart. What can I do for you?"

Brady opened his mouth a couple of times but no sound came out.

"Brady wanted to talk to you about his grades," Rusty said easily. "We know that you sometimes give extra credit for extracurricular sport, and we were hoping you could do that for Brady."

"Well, that's certainly possible," Mr Bruce said slowly. "What sport are you doing, Taggart?"

"I'm, uh, I'm in the rowing club, Mr Bruce," he squeaked.

"Rowing, huh?" Mr Bruce glanced down at a magazine lying open on his desk. "You know, I was just reading an article about the benefits of rowing. It's a lot harder than people think. You enjoying it, Taggart?"

"Yes, Mr Bruce," he said truthfully.

"How often do you go?" he went on.

"Every Saturday," he said. "It, uh, lasts three hours. And there's a meet in summer."

"I see," Mr Bruce nodded. "Well, I tell you what, Taggart. If you go every week till the end of term, and you bring a letter signed by your coach saying so, I'll be sure to raise your grade."

"Yes, Mr Bruce," he exclaimed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. "Thank you!"

Rusty nodded pointedly at him and they got out of there while the going was good. "Thank you," he said fervently, once they were safely out of earshot. "I really don't know how to repay you. I don't have much money or anything..."

"Nah," Rusty waved a hand dismissively. "We made out pretty good betting on the soccer team. Don't worry about it."

Age 14 – Confidence

Whoever assigned out the school lockers had a cruel and twisted sense of humour, Brady reflected. His locker was on the top row of the bank, which he meant he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the lock, and in doing so he blocked three other people's lockers in the process. And of course they would belong to the popular kids. He was a solitary nerd in a sea of jocks.

This morning he had to work his way past Jason Lang, Paul Dowling and Lisa Ross. He muttered a steady string of apologies and ignored the disgusted, contemptuous looks that came his way. Lisa was dating Rusty. Brady really didn't know what he saw in her. Yes, she was pretty and a year older than them, but she could be kinda mean.

He reached for his history book and somehow managed to knock it to the back of the locker instead. Oh, that was just great. With a sigh, he stretched up, bracing his foot against the lower locker to try and reach, and just as his fingers closed around the book, he slipped, stumbling down, bumping into Jason, and planting his foot squarely on the pile of papers Lisa had just taken out of her bag and laid on the floor. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry," he stammered, his eyes huge with shock and embarrassment .

"Look what you did!" Lisa squealed, and Brady gingerly drew his foot back to reveal a dirty footprint right on the top of Lisa's carefully written notes.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a crowd gathering around them.

"Well, you need to be more careful, don't you?" Jason said angrily, shoving him lightly in the back. "Wouldn't have happened if you didn't take up the same space as a whale."

"I'm sorry," he said again. There really didn't seem to be anything more to say.

Jason poked him in the stomach. "Just look at that blubber jiggle," he jeered. Brady flinched. Sure, he was overweight, but he was hardly a whale. This wasn't going to end well. He'd been down this road before and now he just wanted to get away. He tried to squeeze past them and escape, but Jason grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, not quite hurting, but making it very clear that he could.

"Look at this," Paul said, effortlessly reaching up into Brady's locker and pulling the photograph off the locker door. "Who's this, huh?"

Valerie. The girl he'd met at summer camp last year. They weren't dating, but they wrote each other letters. "Give that back!"

Jason grabbed the picture from Paul, easily avoiding Brady's attempts to take it. "Oh, shit, she's a dog, isn't she?" he laughed. "Look at those teeth."

"Doesn't matter," Lisa smirked at Brady. "No matter how ugly she is, she's still never going to look at you. You know that, right? No girl is ever going to want you. Not even if you - "

" - that's enough." The voice cut incisively through the crowd and Brady turned his head to see people stepping back as Rusty walked up to them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Let him go," he said quietly, and the hands holding Brady's arms vanished as if they were trying their best to pretend they'd never existed. "You alright?" he asked, and Brady nodded mutely.

"He stepped on my literature homework," Lisa exclaimed. "Look!"

"It was an accident," Brady said hastily.

"Was it?" Rusty asked, looking straight at Lisa.

"Well, yes," Lisa faltered.

"Then why the hell were you saying those things?" Rusty asked, like it was the most obvious question in the world.

And Lisa looked at him like she didn't understand. "Because...because...well, look at him. He's pathetic." She smiled flirtatiously. "You're not really mad at me for this, are you? Because you were going to take me to the movies on Friday. I'd hate to have to cancel."

"Yeah, I think I'm going to be washing my hair," Rusty said dryly. "We're through, Lisa. I don't date bullies. Sorry."

"What? You can't dump me!" she exclaimed.

Rusty shrugged. "Sure I can."

"In the hallway?" She didn't look sad. She looked angry.

"Not very nice," Rusty agreed easily. "But this was where you decided to make fun of my friend, so, yes. In the hallway."

"You just wait," she threatened darkly. "You're not going to be nearly as popular without me."

Yeah, right. The guy who could walk into this and stop it with a look probably didn't need her help being popular. And Rusty just shrugged. "Never asked to be popular anyway. And you," he turned to Jason and walked straight up to him. He was almost a whole head shorter than Jason. It really shouldn't have been so obvious who was in charge. Rusty reached into Jason's jacket pocket and drew out a folded sheet of paper. "The answers to that chemistry test," he said. "Guess you decided you didn't need them after all, huh."

"What? No!" Jason made a grab for it, but Rusty stepped back out of reach. "You don't understand. I need to pass that test. If I don't get my grades up, my teachers say I'll need to quit the team."

"Then you'd better start studying," Rusty said coolly.

"I'll tell Ocean," Jason threatened.

Rusty's lips quirked. "Yeah? Good luck with that."

"You think you're so special, Rusty Ryan," Lisa snapped. "You can't boss us around like this. You're just a little kid, you're not impressive. Everyone knows your Dad smacks you around."

There was an audible gasp, like someone had sworn in church. Brady felt as if some awful, shameful secret had just been spoken aloud. And, he realised, he had known that. On some level he'd always known that. But he'd never actually consciously thought about it, and no one ever talked about it. People just made allowances.

Rusty's expression didn't change. "Really," he said, sounding almost bored. He shrugged lightly. "Don't know what else to tell you. I don't associate with bullies. Neither does Danny. I feel we've always been very clear on that point. Now," he added, looking round. "The bell rang two minutes ago, so we should all probably get out of here before someone comes to find out what the hell is going on. Show's over, guys."

The crowd scattered quickly. Rusty looked at Brady like Jason and Lisa weren't even there. "We've got history next, right? Come on, I'll walk you round."

He took a step forward, still half convinced that Jason was going to make a grab for him. But he didn't and he walked – not ran – away with his head held high.

"I'm sorry about Lisa," he said awkwardly.

Rusty shrugged. "I should have known what she was like. No big thing."

Brady thought it was. Or at least it was to him. "Do you think Jason will make trouble for you?" he asked anxiously. "If he goes and talks to Danny before you - "

" - Danny will back me up," Rusty assured him with absolute, unshakable confidence. "'s just the way it works."

Yes. Brady supposed it was. And that only left one thing he had to ask. "About what she said," he began.

Rusty turned his head slowly, regarding him. "What did she say?" he asked with a sharp, bright smile.

He struggled for a second. But... "Nothing," he said in the end. "She said nothing."

"Good," Rusty said and that awful smile faded into something less jagged, something that looked like his friend...or at least a very tired version of him.

"I guess it's not easy running a school, huh?" he joked, mostly just to keep Rusty smiling a while longer.

Rusty laughed and his eyes were bright and he started talking about the history homework he hadn't understood, and Brady smiled and joined in.

Sometimes he wished he could help Rusty the way Rusty always helped him.

Age 15 – Spartacus

Once again summer was over far too soon. It was their very first home room on the very first day back and already Brady felt like summer vacation had never happened. Most people had even said in the same seats they usually did and Brady found himself looking at the empty seat just behind him and to the right. Next to the window and against the wall, that was the position Rusty always chose whenever he could. But Rusty wasn't coming back this year.

The rumour that he'd ran away had started early in the summer. For a couple of weeks it was all anyone had talked about. He and Danny just weren't around anymore, and everyone knew that for the last year they'd been planning something.

Time and time again he'd lain awake and wondered if he should tell his parents. For all the kids were talking, he didn't think that any adult had a clue. But then he realised that, as much as the thought of Rusty running away scared him, the thought of him being dragged back was so much worse.

And then it turned out he shouldn't have worried at all. A few weeks ago he got a postcard with a picture of the Statue of Liberty on front. There was no return address – there wasn't even a name – but he'd recognised Rusty's untidy scrawl. All it had said was 'Not coming back to school. Got an apartment with D. Don't worry – everything's fantastic.'

Not much to go on. Certainly nothing that anyone could use to actually track Rusty down, other than the fact that he was probably in New York. Unless that was a ruse. But Brady was relieved to hear he wasn't on the streets, and he hoped that meant he was safe and well fed too.

If it was anyone else in their...his...class, he'd still be worried. But this was Rusty. The guy who'd got a week's suspension and come back with a tan and a t-shirt from Disney World. Brady had never quite grown out of his childhood belief that Rusty could do anything.

Mr Wishart came in and started to take attendance. Brady sat and waited until he got to Rusty's name. This wasn't the first time he'd answered for Rusty, but this time he was calm and he was prepared.

"Rusty Ryan?" Mr Wishart called.

Brady stuck his hand up. "He's moved away,he said. "To his Aunt and Uncle's. I think they say in Broomfield. In Colorado."

"Colorado," Mr Wishart repeated with a frown. "I don't have a note of that here. I'd better pass this on to the office."

From the front of the room, Alice Munro stuck her hand up. "I heard it was San Francisco Rusty had moved to," she said urgently.

Cameron spoke up. "No, it was Chicago," he said. "Definitely."

And then, to his surprise and joy, a flurry of voices fought to make themselves known.

"The lady in the grocery store said she'd heard he'd moved to Austin."

"I think it was Boston, actually."

"I heard he moved overseas. Like, London. That's in England, I think."

"No, it was Hong Kong. That's why he was learning all that Chinese, remember?"

"Yeah, but he learned Spanish as well so maybe he's living in Mexico?"

"Wilmington..."

"...New York..."

"...Raleigh..."

"...Gotham..."

Mr Wishart held up his hands in defeat. "Enough, enough," he said. "I'm sure wherever Rusty's moved to, we wish him all the best. And no doubt the office will send his transcripts on at some point. Now, let's get on, shall we?"

Brady sat back, smiling slightly to himself. It felt bittersweet. No matter what happened, Rusty was the friend that he was never going to forget. Wherever he was, he hoped he was safe, he hoped he was happy and he was glad he'd escaped.