“Good,” he roared back at me, as he scooped clumps of washing-up liquid off his chest and face. “Stay there.” “D-dammit, J-Joey.” Gasping and spluttering, I scrambled to turn off the tap that was spraying arctic water on me. “I’m c-cold.” “And I’m warm?” Depositing the goo on the tiled classroom floor, he repeated the move several times, trying and failing to rid himself of green gunk. “You’re a pain in my hole, Molloy.” “Jo-jo-joey!” I screamed, teeth chattering violently. “H-help!”
