Something he was proud of. School was a good place as far as Mark was concerned. A safe place – usually – somewhere he felt he belonged, somewhere to enjoy, make friends, be appreciated and work hard for the future he had mapped out in his head. He intended to stay in education for as long as possible, because the thought of stepping out of its comfort zone worried him a little. But for the past four days he had not been at school. It was very strange, playing truant, playing hooky, knobbing off. At first he rattled around the house, messing about up in his room, watching daytime TV – which he squinted at with a great deal of puzzlement, wondering who on earth actually sat down and seriously viewed it; he kicked a ball round on the street outside, practising keepy-uppies, but he was an enthusiastic but crap footballer and the best he could manage was six before the ball went flying into someone’s garden. By midday on the first day, he was bored out of his skull. It was time to get going and do something constructive.
