DropZone

2

‘Ethan?’

He heard his sister, Jo, calling him as he reached his bedroom door.

He turned back up the hall and went into the kitchen. Like the rest of the flat, it was small and functional. If a surface could be used, it was. Shelves sagged under the weight of tins jostling for position. Squeezed in here and there were photos of Ethan and Jo and their mum. Dad wasn’t anywhere. The only thing attached to the wall that wasn’t a shelf or a photo was one of Jo’s paintings. Ethan didn’t understand it, or even like it that much, but he admired it. Jo had always been into her art and knew it was what she wanted to do with her life. He envied that. After school, Ethan’s future was confused. He hadn’t a clue what to do with it. And that scared him a little. He often wished he had something that interested him in the same way art did Jo. But nothing had ever really grabbed him and refused to let go.

The earlier shots of Jo showed a happy girl with flyaway hair. The later ones showed a girl dressed in black, hiding behind make-up. Ethan smiled – his sister’s approach to fashion had always been interesting. She was as much a piece of art as the stuff she painted.

Ethan looked at the pictures of his mum. She mostly looked tired but happy, though nowadays she looked just tired, he thought. And he knew whose fault that was. They all did: two kids, two jobs and an arse for a husband – it was a killer. Ethan felt the anger rise in him as a picture of his dad snagged in his mind. If there was one reason to find a purpose in life, then it was to show that bastard that nothing he could say or do would ever affect Ethan again.

Jo was by the fridge, hiding behind her long black fringe. ‘You’re home, then,’ she said. ‘Hungry?’

Ethan nodded. ‘Dad still out? Shame he comes back, if you ask me.’

Jo took a bowl of pasta out of the fridge, put it in the microwave and turned the dial to heat it for two minutes. ‘Mum made this for us,’ she said. ‘She asked where you were. I couldn’t tell her because I didn’t know.’

Ethan tried to ignore her disapproving look. ‘I meant to leave a note,’ he said.

Jo sighed. ‘She’s worried about you.’

‘Oh,’ was all Ethan could manage, the guilt nagging at him again. The last time he’d seen his mum had been two days ago; somehow their paths hadn’t crossed – him getting home late after his last exam, her heading out for the night shift.

The microwave pinged. Jo got out a bowl of steaming pasta and handed it to him, then put in another bowl for herself.

She turned back to him. ‘She thinks you’re too much like Dad – you know that, don’t you?’

The words stung Ethan. ‘He’s a waster, Jo,’ he said, spitting bitterness with every word. ‘All he does is drink money away – or lose it at the bookies.’

‘Think I don’t know that?’ said Jo. ‘She’s worried you’re going the same way.’

Just talking about his dad made Ethan’s blood boil. He found it hard to stay calm. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘just because I’m not sure what I’m doing with my life doesn’t mean I’m going to end up like him. I’m not going to be a jobless alcoholic. I’ll have my A-levels. Dad’s got nothing.’

Jo didn’t answer. The microwave pinged. She took out her pasta.

‘Thanks for your support,’ said Ethan. ‘Really.’

Jo shrugged and started to eat.

Ethan stood there in silence. He hated his dad; always had. He was a bully. And now Ethan was seventeen his dad had started to really push him around. Ethan had nearly lost it with him more than once, but his mum had always stepped in, calmed things down.

‘Where did you go, anyway?’ asked Jo.

‘Out,’ said Ethan. ‘Trying to clear my head. Everyone I know seems to have a plan for what they’re doing, where they’re going, but I…’ His voice trailed off. Then he said, ‘I keep thinking about the Royal Marines.’

‘Dad would hate that,’ said Jo.

Ethan smiled. ‘Exactly.’

‘Look, I know you’re not like Dad. But Mum worries, Ethan, you know that.’

‘I know. And I promise I’ll never be like him. Ever.’

‘OK,’ said Jo. She patted him on the arm and headed for her bedroom.

Ethan went to his room. It was pretty bare except for a few posters from Kerrang!, the computer on the desk in the corner, and his bed. Clothes and magazines littered the floor like rubbish washed up on a beach.

He kicked a space between some magazines and put the pasta down on the worn carpet. Then he flicked on his computer. It was old and took a while to warm up, but soon the screen flared blue and he logged on.

The myspace page loaded and Ethan found himself staring at Johnny’s face. He clicked the MOST RECENT icon. The screen filled with a shaky image – a skyline he recognized as the one outside his window. Ethan realized this must’ve been what the bloke in the van had been filming: Johnny BASE jumping from the roof above his flat. The image blurred in a rush as a whoop and a yell burst from his speakers: the sound of Johnny leaping into nothing. The image changed again, slowed, and Ethan watched the view float by as Johnny glided to the ground in front of the flats.

In the next scene, Ethan saw himself standing next to Johnny, shock on his face, waving.

Flicking through Johnny’s myspace pages, Ethan surfed numerous films taken by Johnny and his friends. In all of them, Johnny was grinning and laughing as he jumped off things, or out of planes. Ethan lost track of time, clicking on picture after picture, movie after movie. And he saw something in Johnny’s face that he wanted for himself. Johnny looked so alive, like every minute mattered, counted for something. Ethan’s life had never really felt like that. It was almost as though he’d spent it in a waiting room with no idea what he was actually waiting for. But perhaps it was time to try and change that.

He went back to his pasta. It was cold but he ate it anyway. Mum’s food always tasted good, no matter what it was.

As Ethan finished off the pasta, he clicked a link from Johnny’s site. The screen jumped to an image of blue sky filled with skydivers. Underneath it were the words FREEFALL SKYDIVING CENTRE, followed by an address – it was the old army base just out of town. Ethan clicked through the site, drawn in by more images of people leaping from planes, faces alight with excitement.

Something caught his eye. It was a job ad: Help needed for summer season. Bad pay, insane customers, interesting hours. Discounted lessons available.

It was late, but Ethan phoned anyway, and left a message. He put down the phone and sat back in his chair. Something about what he’d just done fizzed through him. He didn’t know why but it seemed important, like he’d made a move that mattered, changed something. OK, so it was just a job, but what else was he going to do with his summer?