L. S. Matthews writes full-time in England, where she lives with her husband and two children. Her first book for young readers,iFish/i, was named aiPublishers Weekly/iBest Book of the Year, and was a Borders Original Voices Book.Joe came across Iz on his way to Maths first thing on Monday morning.brbrHe had been looking for his friend, but now he hung back for a moment, because he knew Iz well enough to see he was up to something, and Joe didn’t want to be caught up in it.brbrIf there was trouble, Joe always seemed to be caught up in it, and, generally speaking, Iz was trouble. It fizzed from him in little blue lightnings Joe almost felt he could see. And it was very important right now that Joe did not get into trouble.brbrJoe stopped for a moment and eyed up Iz, who was gangling his thin, wiry frame into some kind of impossible sitting position on the high, narrow windowsill in the corridor. Screwing his top half sideways, his dark fringe flopped over his face, he seemed to be writing something. As few teachers ever succeeded in getting Iz to pick up a pen, this, in itself, was suspicious.brbrTwo sixth formers were standing looking out of the window next to him. One of them—pale, medium-scrawny, with badly formed dreadlocks—called something to two girls down below in the quad.brbrJoe hardly had a moment to take this in. A fast-flowing river of students appeared behind him and swept towards him. When the first body collided with him, his bag took the brunt, and he barely staggered. Joe was a solid, square-shaped boy, somehow also round, and when he stopped, it was likely to create an impression in a narrow corridor full of stampeding fellow students.brbrIz jumped down from the sill when he saw the pileup of pupils getting interesting.brbrJoe, with his short, dark hair unruffled, stood gazing at him thoughtfully, saying “Oof” at regular intervals as another boy cannoned into the scrimmage massing at ?éG®záH ¾Û€