When you’re thirteen, the world is your oyster, or at least that’s how it seems. I was officially a teenager, and I had been a nice enough kid that I was given relative freedom to go with my age, and my curfew wasn’t until ten. There was a group of us, high achievers with autonomy, who hung around in the early evenings at skate parks or scraps of woodland, in town if it was summer and the shops were open, mucking around, playing games and generally being kids.
At secondary school I had discover