Owen Peel had something to prove. He said so himself.

- I'll show them, he said.

In his school reports the teachers always described him as 'conscientious'. We weren't supposed to open the school reports ourselves but we always did. Owen hated the reputation he had.

Once he handed in a lost sports kit he had found.

- I got called a 'nice boy' by Mrs Smith, he said.

Mrs Smith was the caretaker, also responsible for lost property, and like all members of staff who weren't teachers, she had a chip on her shoulder and hated us kids.

- Nice Boy, we said.

The name stuck. The reputation already had. Owen decided then never to hand in any more lost property, never to hold doors open again - except for staff, you had to do that - and never to do anything remotely conscientious. Except he didn't know what it meant, looked it up in the dictionary, and was still none the wiser how to be deliberately unconscientious. This was halfway through the second year.

The dealing in the fourth year was one such attempt. Once in the third year he had forgotten to hand his homework in to Mr Reginald, notorious paedophobe science teacher.

- Sorry, I just forgot, he said.

- Something wrong, Owen? Mr Reg asked.

We couldn't believe it. Neither could Owen.

- Why didn't I get into trouble? he said to us later.

- He actually sounded worried about you, said Iain Wilkins.

- If it were anyone else, I said.

That incident didn't help Owen's reputation. Or rather it did, it just didn't help his attempt to shed it. Everyone knew he'd forgotten his homework on purpose.

Owen started smoking in the third year. So did everyone else. At first he stole them from his mum, just one or two a week so she wouldn't notice. But nobody else noticed either. In a crowd where everyone else is smoking, you only notice the guy who isn't.

- I dare you to try and buy a pack, I said.

We were in the fourth year by then, when you were allowed out of the school gates at lunchtimes. The entire year would leave the school grounds, but you wouldn't see them hanging around smoking. The teachers went out on patrol around the nearby streets and they knew everywhere where we would be hiding. There was an alleyway linking two streets behind the school. You only made the mistake of going down there for a smoke once.

Owen kicked himself for not being with Iain and Sam and me when we got caught, and when we got 'made an example of' and got a detention each.

- What happens if they ask for ID? Owen said.

- You're not buying alcohol, I said.

- But you have to be over sixteen to buy fags.

- Look, they probably don't care, as long as they get your money.

The newsagents in question was at the bottom of the road the school was on. There was a bakery next door and the teachers on patrol often popped in for a doughnut, just like in some American cop movie.

- Think what people'll say, I said.

Owen's face brightened. - Yeah, he said.

- Go on. Now. I'll keep watch.

- I'll pick up a Mars bar, too. Work my way up to it, Owen said.

- No, I said. - Mars bars are for kids. She'll think you're under sixteen. Now, go. Quickly!

- Okay.

Owen was in and out of the shop in the space of thirty seconds. He came out empty-handed, and started walking along the road back toward the school.

- Didn't she believe you? I said. - You probably looked guilty. She could probably tell.

Owen said nothing, just prised open his pocket, and I caught a glimpse of the packet in his pocket. He'd got a pack of twenty. He opened up his palm and showed me the change. The dull coins glistened with sweat in his tremulous hand.

- Well, there goes your lunch tomorrow, I said.

Owen laughed. - You can buy me lunch.

- You'll be lucky, chum.

- You can buy me lunch, and I'll share them with you.

I bought him lunch.

News spread of his achievement rapidly. Owen made sure of it. People kept asking me if it was true. He told them to. I told them that it was, that I was with him at the time, and that he'd had no trouble at all.

We went into the science block toilets, went into adjacent cubicles and had two cigarettes each. I barely smoked the second. When Owen said he had finished I flushed the remaining half down the bowl. One fag made me a bit giddy. Two made me feel sick. You didn't admit this.

We came out of the toilets to impressed looks from people lining up for afternoon classes. Owen swaggered past them and when I caught up with him in the main corridor he was grinning, even with his eyes.

- Did you see those kids? he said.

- I don't know who they were, but they seemed to know who you were.

- Yeah. Exactly.

- Wow. You're famous.

- Let's do it again tomorrow.

- Sure, I said.

Actually, we didn't. The next afternoon we had Mr Cockfoster for French. He stood in the doorway as we went in. He once singled Chris Parsons out for smoking. He had smelt it on him. That's why he stood in the doorway as we entered his classroom. He was smelling us. We called him Mr Cockthruster. Owen and I were already sitting in adjacent cubicles in the science block before I remembered.

- Shit, Owen said. - I was looking forward to this.

- Tomorrow? I said.

Owen sighed. - I suppose it'll have to be.

But he still got those impressed looks when we left the toilets, so it didn't matter. When we returned the next lunchtime, and Owen passed the pack under the wall between us, I found more than half the pack had been smoked. I was a little aggrieved, seeing as I'd only had two, but he had paid for them, after all.

- You been smoking these on your own? I asked.

- No, he said. - It was at break. You weren't around.

- You had six all to yourself?

He hesitated. - No, I let Greg and Mark have some too.

- You don't even like Greg, I cried.

- No, but he gave me twenty pence for it.

He didn't begin dealing until after the weekend, when he'd finished off the pack at home whilst his parents were out for the night and bought himself a second pack. Though he'd sold that one fag to Greg, he didn't get the idea to deal them until Dean Henderson confronted him.

People were laughing about Dean Henderson, but nobody laughed about Dean Henderson for long, not even behind his back, and he made sure of that. Greg Bentley appeared in Maths after break with a big red mark on his cheek. At first we thought it was because Dean had caught him laughing at him or something and was making an example of him, just like the teachers did.

- I was with the Henman when he tried to buy a pack of fags for himself on Saturday, Greg told us.

He seemed to be in pretty high spirits, even though the right side of his face seemed to be glowing.

- They didn't believe he was sixteen. I don't think he wanted me to tell anyone, Greg laughed.

I was with Owen, smoking in our favourite cubicles, when I heard the main door squeak open, and a pair of heavyset feet pause inside the door. The science block toilets were great for smoking on school grounds because the cubicles were tucked away, out of sight of either the door or the urinals. They were also great for beating people up. Dean probably punched Greg in there. They were also rarely patrolled. I stopped smoking when I heard those feet, and Owen stopped talking. Someone with a congested nose was sniffing the air.

I almost jumped when there was a bang on my cubicle door, and then a bang on Owen's.

- Peel, you in there? said a voice.

It was Dean Henderson.

- What do you want? asked Owen.

- Fags, man, said Dean.

I heard Owen unlock his door, but kept mine shut. I didn't smoke much more of the cigarette, just tapped ash into the toilet bowl and took a few more sips on the end of the filter.

- Can you buy me a pack? Dean said.

- Yeah, if you've got the money, Owen replied.

- Nah, but I'll pay you back.

- I don't have the money myself.

- Come on, dude, you know I can pay. I've got a job remember. I get paid on Wednesday.

- Then give me the money then.

- Yeah, yeah, I will. But you buy them tonight, give them to me tomorrow, then I pay you back on Wednesday or Thursday.

Owen hesitated. - Look, I'll see how much I can scrape together, all right?

- Put it there, said Dean.

I heard their hands slap together.

The next day Owen had bought Dean's pack, but didn't tell Dean. On Wednesday Dean confronted him in the toilets again, assuring him he'd have the money for him tomorrow.

- No one hears about this, by the way, Peel, he said. - As far as anyone knows, I bought 'em myself, right?

- Right, said Owen.

- That goes for you too in there.

He thumped my locked door again.

- Bentley's face came up a nice shiner, he reminded us.

On Thursday break, we weren't even in the toilets when Dean approached us. None of his friends were around, and Owen was alone except for me.

- You got the money? asked Owen.

He had the pack in his pocket. I'd seen him put it there. He didn't look at Dean directly. He glanced around, keeping watch. His hands were in his pockets too.

- I've got half of it, said Dean. - Gimme the fags and I'll get the rest to you when I get it.

- For half the money you can have half the cigarettes, said Owen.

Dean grimaced. - Look, faggot -

- Is that Greg? I said suddenly.

Dean shot round. Greg and Mark had just turned the corner carrying their bags. They spotted Dean with us and started coming over.

- Hey, we're after some cigs, said Mark. - You got any, Henman?

Dean sniffed. - Nah, I'm all out, dude. I'm on, like, a pack a day now.

Greg gave me a knowing look.

- Owen's got some, I said.

Owen finally made eye contact with someone. Me.

- Cool, said Mark. - You still selling them?

Owen paused. - Yeah.

- I got fifty pence, said Greg.

- You can have two for that.

- I want some change.

- They're twenty pence each.

- Cool, said Greg.

Dean glowered as Owen dipped into his pocket and opened the packet he knew to be the one Owen bought for him. Of course, he couldn't say anything. With us crowded around Owen, he could take out the cigarettes and slip them into his customer's hand without anyone outside the group seeing.

- I'll just take one, said Mark.

He swapped his twenty pence coin for it.

- Cheers, ma dears, he said.

- Not gonna buy anything? asked Greg.

He winked at me, but he was talking to Dean.

- Yeah, Dean sneered. - I got a pound. I'll take five. Just to keep me going, he added.

He held out his long, thick fingers, palm up, and in his other hand was the pound coin.

Owen looked around again to make sure that nobody was looking, then gave Dean his order. Dean pocketed the cigarettes instantly and flipped the pound coin at Owen. It bounced off Owen's chest and he fumbled to catch it.

- And I expect a discount off my pack, Dean said.

Then he glared at the both of us and swaggered away. Greg laughed at him as soon as he was out of range.

- You guys got a light? he said.

Dean Henderson never did come back for his pack, but plenty of other people did. For the rest of that year, Owen could be found each break in the science block toilets, where his favourite cubicle became his shop. At first it was just people we knew, but then he became especially popular with people in lower years, who didn't dare even try buying their own. There was an outcry when Owen bumped his price up from twenty pence each to thirty pence, but then he brought in the four-for-a-quid special offer, and that was even more popular than single cigarettes.

- You're still not making much of a profit, I said.

He shrugged. - Yeah, but that's not the point.

He grinned at me.

This all lasted until the end of the year. The next year we were in the fifth year and everyone was turning sixteen. It didn't matter if we looked younger, the newsagent still had to sell them to us if we could prove it. But business dropped off amongst our year for another reason, too - now we were legally permitted to smoke, it kinda lost its allure. Not as many people did it anymore. There was still a big demand from the young kids, but like Owen told me, he'd never done it to make money anyway.

NOTES:
This is not part of the fictionalised semi-autobiographical piece I wrote last month, though it was undoubtedly inspired by doing that, especially in those moments I was inclined to cut loose and make it up - but didn't. None of this is true in the slightest (or at least, none of it happened to me, or to anyone I knew), though the school building and its environs is not-very-loosely based on my own school. As for why I've used hyphens instead of speech marks, I was experimenting - I'd just finished reading "Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha" by Roddy Doyle an hour before.