“It’s John Anderson! IT’S JOHN BLEEDING ANDERSON!” my mind crowed while my stomach turned cart wheels. The mad woman was running round inside my head again and I prayed that she’d keep her damned voice down before he heard. John’s arm was round my waist and his hand was resting lightly on my hip. I glanced round the table in the social club that my school friends and I were sitting at and and breathed easier. Nobody was s...