Youth Of Today

She has no idea. That woman. Honestly, give her a day in my shoes and she might see things differently. She sees me once a week, she doesn't know me, yet I have to play by her rules. I want to be out, running the streets with my brothers. With this thing round my ankle, I'm confined, like a hamster in a cage only without the entertainment of a wheel.

My life is exciting! It never used to be. It used to be boring. I went to school, went home, slept and ate. That was it. The most exciting thing that happened was watching the football results on a Saturday afternoon to check if Man Utd had won again. Then, one Tuesday afternoon, my luck changed. My life was about to begin.

A new kid, Rio (cool name, with strong Man Utd connections) started my school and was told to sit next to me; the good kid with the boring name, Mark. True to his name, Rio was cool. He didn't care for rules, he didn't conform. He was different, particularly for this Catholic boys' school. It turned out this was his fourth school and by the sounds of things he'd not conformed to those before.

I showed Rio the sights of St. Paul's. The football pitches, the canteen and the library. They were the places I thought were OK, cool enough to show the cool kid. He followed me, dragging his feet with his hands stuffed deep inside his school trouser pockets. Whatever I said or did that day must have impressed Rio. He asked me if I fancied hanging out with him after school. To me this was big. Really big. I'd never been a hit with the cool kids before and so before he really found out that I wasn't cool I made plans to meet him in the park, next to his house, after tea.

That afternoon I ran home from school to my semi-detached suburban home. Mum was home cooking tea and must have been delighted to see a broad smile filling my round, freckled face as I charged through the front door. I ran upstairs and opted for my Levi's and Man Utd home shirt emblazoned with Ferdinand across the shoulders. That really ought to impress Rio. I was 13, excited and ready to hang out with the cool kids. My Nike trainers completed my super cool look.

Wolfing down my tea, I garbled to my mum that I was going to a friends house to start a history project on The Mayans. Mum looked pleased. Things like that pleased my mum. She liked me conforming and following the rules. That made me a good boy in her eyes. On the way out of the door I ran in to dad who was just returning from the surgery where he worked. Dad worked, mum cooked and I studied. The boring, typical, middle class suburban family.

Mum hadn't asked who the friend was. She would have had a fit if she'd heard the name Rio! I didn't have friends with names like that. There was Paul and Philip and Michael. They were my "friends". I'd known them all my life. We went for tea at each other's houses and our mums and dads were friends.

I ran along to the park. It was a little way from my house and not in the most desirable of areas (another reason my mum would have raised her critical eyebrows). Arriving at the park I headed for the play area where Rio said he'd be. I saw a group, huddled together in one corner. Rio stepped forward and called me over. I hadn't expected there to be a group and felt slightly unnerved. Soon, I was put at ease as the rest of the boys seemed as cool and friendly as Rio had at school earlier that day.

This is what I'd been longing for. Banter with the boys. We had a laugh. Every so often one of the group would leave and come back a little while later. Maybe they'd just gone for tea, I wasnt sure.

Meeting Rio and the lads at the park became a part of my daily routine. As far as my mum knew I was at Paul's or Philip's or Michael's houses doing projects about World War Two, The Shang Dynasty or The Russian Revolution.

After a few weeks of hanging around the park Rio took me to one side. His words concerned me but only for a second and then I realised to stay with the group I had to follow them; do what they did.

This time it was me who left the group and trudged across the park to await the job. I waited a few minutes before a dark, saloon car pulled up alongside me. The window on the passenger side slid down and I sidled up to the opening. I was handed a package and given an address. It was nearby and would only take minutes to get to. I ran, swiftly, with the package tucked safely in my coat pocket. After a couple of rings of the doorbell the front door was opened. A hand took the package and I was handed an envelope. Within minutes I was back with Rio in the park. I gave him the envelope. Opening it, he handed me twenty quid and pocketed the rest. I felt good. I'd completed my mission and been paid a handsome sum for five minutes work. I didn't ask what was in the package but I knew. I wasn't stupid.

I made quite bit of money over the next few months. It was easy and I quite enjoyed it. I never felt threatened or concerned because it was so easy. We never got caught but as we got older jobs got bigger.

I didn't enjoy the fights. "Turf Wars" they were called. At first the fights were just scuffles between teenage boys. Things got more serious the older we became. Knives and knuckle dusters became our tools of choice. We had to defend ourselves if we wanted to continue running the business at this end of town.

The night Rio was gunned down by a rival was the first time I realised fully what I was involved in. I was shattered by the loss of my friend. The person who had shown me life. The life of the youth of today. We'd had great times, times where we'd relied on each other for our lives. The thrill was amazing, I loved it. Rio's death came as a shock. We tought we were invincible. He was gunned down on his way home from college. Not during a fight but in cold blood. A cowards way. Rio was our leader, he'd guided us, kept us safe and now he was gone.

They wouldn't get away with it. A revenge attack was planned. Armed with guns we stalked our target for a few days. It was down to me to plan the attack. I was known as the brains of the operation, never great at the physical side of things. Jerome was the gunman, Gabe the target. He was the man we wanted, he was Rio's killers brother. Nate, the killer, was already in prison awaiting trial. We had to hurt him via his brother.

It was over in a flash. Jerome had hit his target, he was down. Blue lights and sirens alerted us that we were in danger. The police had been keeping a close eyes on things since Rio's murder. Driving as fast as possible we headed for refuge. We didn't make it. The car spun out of control and came to a standstill in the front garden of a house on Morton Road. Jerome ran. I was trapped.

Gabe hadn't died. We had failed. Now I sit in this probation office answering questions with what I know she wants to hear. All I can think about is revenge, it eats away at me day and night. I'm playing by the rules but once this tag is off I'll be planning another hit with my brothers. Rio's death will be avenged. I owe him that.