I hesitate outside her door. This was always her sanctuary. I was forbidden from entering. And now I am about to violate her privacy in a way she would never allow me to do.

But she left me the message. That's permission enough.

I wrap a hand around the door handle and fling it open. Before I can lose my cool I step inside and slam the door behind me.

Her smell wafts around me. and I'm glad I slammed the door. I imagine her smell, this last remnant of her, escaping down the corridor and filling the house. Dispersing and losing its strength. Becoming nothing more than air as she becomes nothing more than earth after the burial.

My vision shakes and blurs, and my knees weaken and I fall on them. I curl my arms around my midriff and lean forward until my forehead presses into the pile of her carpet. Her smell is deeply embedded in it, and I cry. I'm saddened when I remember how, a week before she died, she asked me into her room to ask which of three outfits she'd laid out on her bed was the best. I got her to describe them to me in her own words, and picked the one that had the most positive sounding words attached to it. I'd complained about the smell to her then.

I let myself cry, then stop myself. With a deep stuttering breath, I sit up, and with another, I stand on my feet.

I scrub my eyes with the heels of my palms, then gaze around the room. Everything is neat and tidy, as she always kept it that way. 'Everything has a place,' she'd say.

No. Don't cry again. Where could something be hidden here?

Under the bed, is one option. I cross and kneel, then lie down and wriggle underneath. But nothing. No dangers, no answers- not even a mothball. I sigh and look up.

When I was about six, Mill and I played Hide and Go Seek a lot. One rainy summer's day I ran in here with a pen and hid under the bed. A bit obvious, really, in a tidy room.

In the process I had spotted her wardrobe in the corner, and thought 'What a great place to hide!' Apparently I had a short memory when I was about six, because I decided to draw an arrow pointing in the direction of Mill's wardrobe to remind me. Mill came in as I was finishing scratching it out, and investigated to see what it was.

Smiling a little, I now draw an imaginary line to the wardrobe I never hid in. Through the gaps between the slats in the door I see a box.

I scramble out from under the bed, run to the wardrobe,fling it open and fall to my knees. Her smell wafts out again, and I'm glad I fell, because my knees are dead weights. With shaking hands, I pull the box out. It's a shoebox, and it's light. On the lid two words are written. Danger Box. And it was hidden, in the wardrobe. I open the lid.

The first thing is a scarf she knitted two years ago but never wore. I gently unwrap it. Beneath is a tattered old copy. I lift it and open the first page.

There's a code along the top of the page, which I vaguely recognise. After the code is a list of hiding places. Every single one is crossed out- except the last one. Behind the bookcase.

I examine the code one more time, and it hits me. This is a code Mill and I invented when we were kids, about six, so we could send secret messages to each other. We stopped using it when Milly was nine because it made her feel 'childish'. It stuns me to see it here, now.

I take a picture on my phone and pack the things away. Closing the wardrobe, I stand and cross to the bookcase. It's full of books.

Okay, the centre of gravity will be low because of the weight, so I need to pull the bottom. If I pull the top it will fall over onto me. I crouch down, get my fingers behind and pull. It moves.

I settle myself and pull again. More movement, but not enough for my arm. I take a deep breath. One more pull, and I have enough room.

I reach in behind and find a copy somehow even more tattered than the other one. Milly's distinctive neat handwriting is on the cover, warning me, Mom and Dad away. I shove the bookcase back into place and taking the copy, go to my room. I take another look at Mill's room first. It's like I'm looking at her.

But her hidden dangers- they're in my hand. I cradle the copy and leave. I close the door securely, one thought certain in my mind. I never want to go back in there again.

Back in my room, at my desk, I open the copy- and get a start. Mill has written in code. Our code. The "childish" code. I take my phone and a new copy and copy the code into this new copy, then begin to translate. It's slow-going. Each letter has to be identified, each word carefully spelled out. The code deliberately has similar-looking letters, to confuse our enemies, but now it confuses me too. I translate two paragraphs and then read through them.

Today is my last day of freedom. Tomorrow I start my last year of school, and in nine months I sit my exams and then it's college time. The sky is clear and the night is freezing, but the stars are out and I can see them. Comet season is over, and this year will be full of endings.

This is my moment book. Moments happen all the time, all around us, in words, gestures, actions. We have to be alert enough to spot them, because they give us insights into other people's personalities. I want to document the moments this year, my last year.

That's all on the first page, so I turn to the next one. Several short paragraphs and quotation marks fill these pages, so I translate three paragraphs. The dates are from the first day of school.

'Hornswaddle means to cheat someone,' Amanda-with-the-short-hair announced, reading from her phone. Gwen had found the word in a book she'd been reading. 'Usually referring to the cheater, on the good end.' Amanda finished.

'Ooh, the good end?' Ella joked, and the others- Gwen, Charlie, Amanda-with-the-strong-glasses, Jem-
laughed.

'Not like that!' Amanda-with-the-short-hair cried, not blushing at all. 'Let's take a cat and a dog,' Amanda never got to make her point, as laughter followed again. 'Okay, how about a mouse and a cow?'

'There's either too much or too little simulation there,' Ella replied, indicating a tiny amount between her thumb and index finger, to more laughter. I smile at Louise, who raises an eyebrow.

~*~

We had geography today, and we got last year's end-of-the-year exams back. The teacher spoke utter bullshit. She'd told us before the exam, and on the paper, that we only had to do ten short questions out of the possible fourteen. Our exam was taken from the actual exams- so we'll be doing only ten in nine month's time- but the teacher went on a rant about how, because some people did ten instead of fourteen, they got fewer marks than those who did fourteen. I turned to Louise to complain. 'She told us to do ten! Who did fourteen, for fuck's sake, and why does she think we all should have done that?!'

Louise hangs her head. 'I did fourteen. I didn't understand the long questions.'

'Oh,' I reply.

~*~

In English, we had to make posters based on the play we have to study. Damien wasn't happy about freehand drawing.

'But Miss, I couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler!'

He was joking, but we all burst out laughing.

~*~

I sit up, blinking. Mill never mentioned any friend's names, only that she was going out with them. Louise has been mentioned twice now. Is she a best friend? Is she red-haired?

I don't know, and unless her hair colour is specifically mentioned, I can't find out. Mill is making this hard on me.

So I set it aside and do my homework. No sooner have I begun than my phone bleeps.

It's only Dexter, reminding me of his promise to text every forty minutes. Has it only been forty? I send him a brief reply and begin my homework.

I have just gotten into the swing of work when Dexter texts me again. I sigh and read it.

Hey, I know it hasn't been forty minutes yet but I'm just wondering if you've discovered anything because I've just searched 'Hi, I kinda like you, oh u're incredible, but you love Dan Gerald up online, and there's some interesting results. You got anything?

No, I text back, I haven't found anything, but can we talk about this in school? I have 482 emails to get through.

Ha!, Dexter replies, you're joking again! That's good to hear!

I sigh. No, I explain. No, I'm not joking. I do have 482 emails to get through.

Oh, Dexter answers. Oh, well... Good luck with that.

I put my phone away and try to return to my homework. Try, because I can't stop lying to my friends, and I can't stop worrying about it.

What has Milly done to me? She's made me lie to my friends, go to cinemas by myself, lie to our parents!

And then I return to my essay on the types of erosion in upper level rivers, because worrying won't help my exams.

~*~

I'm still thinking about what Mill's made me do when Dad calls me down for dinner. It's lasagne, but I don't notice anything about it, because Mom starts talking as soon as my butt hits my stool and doesn't stop.

'Your sister's lungs, heart, kidneys and liver were removed today,' Mom viciously slices her lasagne into straight rectangles as she speaks. Steam pours out, fogging her glasses. She doesn't stop. Talking, I mean. 'They were all whisked away to other patients. I tried to follow, but no luck. Now that her organs have been donated, they will stuff her body to make it look proper, and then we will get the body back. Then, the funeral can take place.' Mom spins her plate and begins to cut at right angles to her original cuts. 'You'll get a day off a school, Daniel. After that, a court case will take place into what happened that night, and we'll all learn if that Jason fellow was guilty.' Mom skewers one of the cubes she's made with her fork. She raises it to eye level and closes one eye, turning it this way and that as if inspecting it. 'The doctor said they were fine specimens. The best he could hope for.' She doesn't eat.

What were fine specimens?' Dad asks quietly. He's been staring at Mom.

'Her organs, of course. What else?' Mom eats the cube as if she didn't just say what she just said. She continues to eat, but my stomach turns.

'I'm not actually that hungry,' I say, pushing my untouched plate away.

'Me neither,' Dad mirrors my action. 'I'm going to go clean the-' he looks around the kitchen. 'The- the hall.'

'Oh no, neither of you are leaving this table,' Mom snaps, grabbing us both by our wrists and pinning us down. 'It's very sad that Milly is dead, but we must be able to discuss her and her death, like civil adults. Understood?'

'Okay, fine, but I don't wanna hear about her organs and their quality or her body being stuffed, while I'm eating,' I rant.

'Don't use that tone of voice with me, young man. I don't want to hear it again, understood?' Mom snaps again.

'Understood,' I mutter. I'm not used to being chastised for my behaviour. The teachers don't usually find fault with me, and my parents are rarely around.

'And do you understand how I feel about being able to discuss Milly?'

'I understand,' I reply, slightly louder.

'And Jake?' Mom addresses Dad.

'I understand, Chris. It makes sense being able to discuss our daughter,' Dad murmurs. 'How's the lasagne?' he adds hopefully.

Small talk ensues for a short stretch of time. As I'm finishing, Mom turns to me again. 'Daniel, the court case and funeral should take place in the next few weeks, before your exams in a month's time. Don't get distracted. You must keep studying, do you hear? Your exams are important, young man.'

'I know Mom. I'll keep studying,' I murmur, but my fingers are crossed beneath the table. I have next year and the summer to fix my grades. I want to learn why Mill left me her message.

In my room, I write a nice reply to one email, without mentioning any names, and copy and paste it several times to several emails. I text Dexter before he texts me, do more weekend- so therefore, long- homework, and finally, translate some more. I only do one paragraph, but it turns out to be worth it.

In Home Economics today, Louise and I were discussing possible toppings for a pizza we're going to cook in two week's time. Louise didn't have any lunch, so she was really hungry. When I suggested pepperoni, Louise groaned and leaned on the table. She picked up her copy and put it mouth, biting down. She didn't actually bite it, of course, she was only miming, but it was so funny I burst out laughing and didn't stop for the rest of the class. Louise said to me after about ten minutes, 'I'm sorry. I broke you.'

Written like that, it doesn't sound half as funny as it was. But it was funny. Her broken comment didn't help.

So Louise was Milly's home economics partner! They must've been really close. Everyone knows your home economics partner has to see you and deal with you at your most pressurised. At least, that's what Mill always used to say. She also said, 'Ah, there's nothing like trying to cook inside eighty minutes to test friendship.' I wish now I'd asked her what friendship she was testing.

So, pleased with myself, I go to bed. But when I fall asleep I'm pestered with weird dreams all night long.

Next morning is Saturday, and I sleep in. It's actually a call from Dexter that wakes me.

'Rise and shine!' he screams done the phone. 'Wakey wakey, sleepy... Uh...' then, muffled, as if turned away from the phone, 'What rhymes with "wakey"?'

Even more muffled, as if even further away, Rebecca calls, 'Achey, bakey, cakey, dayky- no, oh, fakey! Em, hakey! Jakey, kakey, lakey, makey, nankey, uh, quakey, rakey, sakey, takey, vake- no, vapey! Wakey, xackey, yaky and, zaky. That's all.'

I put the phone down and begin a slow clap. 'Well done, Rebecca. I am impressed.'

'Thank you,' Rebecca calls, 'but we didn't call you to impress you. It's the weekend! So let's go to the Gate Cinema and catch a movie! We're picking you up at ten!'

'It's half nine!' I shout. 'I only just woke up! Because of you two!'

'Sorry-' Dexter begins, but Rebecca cuts across him.

'Then you'd better hurry up! See you at ten!' She hangs up.

I laugh, and scramble out of bed. I change quickly, pack a shoulder bag with money, a hoodie, my phone, and my bus card, and run to the door. My hand on the handle, I pause. Should I? I don't want Dexter and Rebecca to see it... But what if the house goes on fire? I don't want to lose it... That's ridiculous. Why would the house go on fire? But Mom and Dad...

So I cross to my desk and take Milly's and my copies. I hide them beneath my hoodie. I've no idea when I'll get a chance to translate, but I feel happier with it. For some reason.

Dexter's brother's pickup truck screeches to a halt outside my house the minute I run out, a piece of buttered toast in my mouth and an anorak my mother forced me to take with me despite the fact it hasn't rained here for two weeks over my arm. Dexter's brother is driving, and waves to me cheerily, Dexter is riding shotgun and looking queasy, and Rebecca, who was flung forward into an ungainly heap when the truck stopped, vaults out of the hold and sprints over to me. I laugh and run to meet her. Rebecca cuffs me and drags me over to the truck. 'C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! The movie starts in fifteen minutes!'

'Why didn't we meet earlier, then? Or go to a later film? Or decide together which movie we were going to see?' I question, allowing Rebecca to drag me along.

'You and Dexter have horrible taste. Now,' Rebecca drops my wrists, flings open the door of the cab, grabs hold of my shoulder bag and begins to pull it off. When she's gotten it off, I panic, and grab it by a strap. Rebecca eyes me oddly. 'I'm only putting it in the cab so it won't be blown out of the hold. Why are you so jumpy?'

One voice encourages me to tell the truth. Another, much louder one, urges me to lie. I consider my options for about two seconds, and I decide. But, to assure them I'm fine, I make a joke out of it. 'My porn stash,' I answer, face deathly serious. My friends laugh, and I smile and force a few laughs too. I let go and Dexter places it beside his and Rebecca's bag, between him and his brother.

'Do you really?' Dexter asks.

I turn to him, and smile innocently. 'Yes.'

He stares, while Rebecca and I climb into the hold. Dexter's brother roars away and I hang onto the edge of the hold, loving the wind whipping through my hair and bringing tears to the corners of my eyes. Rebecca winks at me and whoops, just as the air is sucked away when we enter a tunnel. Her whoop echoes around us.

~*~

My ruse keeps Dexter out of my bag, and we walk into the theatre just as the ads end. We sit down together, and the film starts, but suddenly it occurs to me, 'I could start translating right now, and neither Dexter nor Rebecca would be aware of it.'

Once the seed is planted, I'm itching to grow it. I run through the reasons to do it much faster than the reasons not to do it. I could read it when I go home rather than translate at home, it's dark and no-one can see me, Dexter and Rebecca- and Dexter's brother- are distracted by the movie. The reasons not to do it are that if my friends see what I'm doing they'll investigate and ruin it, they'll be disappointed with me, and I won't get to translate anything. Also writing and reading in the dark isn't good for your eyes.

All the same, I slowly reach for my bag with my foot. I pull it towards me, and onto my lap. Dexter glances over in my peripheral vision, taps my elbow and shrugs, pointing to the bag. I mime an old-timey camera, a house, and writing work. He nods and turns away.

I slip my copies out and begin translating. I watch the film for periods too, working out how I'm going to wriggle out of this lie when Rebecca tells Dexter we didn't get any film homework in English.

Sure enough, the credits roll, I hide my stuff (disguising it as 'just making sure I have everything'), and we leave. At the door, Rebecca turns to me and smiles. My heart starts beating faster.

'What did you think of that? I though it was great! I'm going to write a report on it for English,' she frowns, impersonating our English teacher. 'The cinematography was exquisite, but I would've had character A stand facing the camera, not the wall.'

Dexter is watching me, and snaps his head to Rebecca. 'So you guys don't have to write a film report for homework?'

'No,' Rebecca shakes her head. 'Why?'

'Daniel was writing a report.'

I laugh, genuinely, at his tone. 'Dexter the sleuth. I'm studying, Dexter, ever heard of it? It's where you do extra work in preparation for an exam!' I let my voice take on a tone dripping with sarcasm for the last sentence. Dexter stares at me, wide-eyed.

'Hey,' Dexter's brother steps in, aggressively, 'you can't talk to my brother like that. That's not a respectful tone.'

'Dude, I was joking.' I try to stare the brother down, with no luck. 'If it'll cheer you up, I'll apologise. Dex, I'm sorry, if I offended you, I didn't mean to. It's just that film, home and work are easier to mime than film-studies-in-English-which-I-am-studying-for-to-prepare-for-exams.'

'Apology accepted. I know you're pretty stressed at the moment with everything.'

The smile falls from my face. 'Yeah. Yeah, I have to organise the funeral.'

'If you need help-' Rebecca touches my shoulder.

'I know. I'll ask. Thanks guys. Can we do something now?'

So we went to the fast food joint in the cinema's car park.