Submarine

Most people think of

themselves as individuals,

that there's no-one on the planet like them.

This thought motivates them

to get out of bed,

eat food, and walk around

like nothing's wrong.

My name is Oliver Tate.

Stuck On The Puzzle

# I'm not the kind of fool

who's gonna sit and sing to you

# About stars, girl

# But last night I looked up

# Into the dark half of the blue

# And they'd gone backwards

"What kind of young person am I?"

That's the challenge.

We talk about challenges.

Well, that's the challenge

I'm giving you this term.

A gauntlet, so to speak.

But this gauntlet is also an opportunity.

An opportunity for self-discovery.

What do I mean by "self-discovery"?

Mark Pritchard?

Having a wank, sir?

Discovery of the self.

Who am I?

I find that the only way to get through life,

is to picture myself

in an entirely disconnected reality.

I often imagine

how people would react to my death.

Mr Dunthorne's quavering voice

as he makes the announcement.

The shocked faces of my classmates.

A playground bedecked with flowers.

The empty stillness of a school corridor.

Local news analysis.

Oliver Tate was a popular

and much-loved pupil.

Many of the people I've spoken to here

referred to him as an example.

He was so funny and so smart...

He's gonna be really missed.

It's so bad. He's so young.

Tear-streaked tributes.

I just wanted to hug him. I just wish I had.

I wish I could have said goodbye,

but I never said anything to him.

The steady stoicism of my parents.

All the girls liked him.

Other boys respected him,

looked up to him, I guess.

Candlelit vigils.

We are witnessing incredible,

unprecedented scenes of quiet devotion.

Behind me a vigil that's been repeated

all over the country.

A testimony to the love felt for Oliver Tate

and the loss felt by his friends...

and, frankly, by Wales on the whole.

And, finally, my glorious resurrection.

Don't ask how. Just know

that I'm now more powerful than ever.

Let's get off.

Zoe.

Zoe, this is for you. It's yours.

It has your name on it. Take it.

- It's not mine.

- Please take it.

That note seems fascinating, Oliver Tate.

You know the rules. Stand up and read it out.

I can't. It's Zoe's.

She gave it to me and I was gonna...

Saved by the bell once again, Mr Tate.

All right, take your time.

I know you're all gagging

to get to double Biology but don't rush.

Jordana Bevan's only real flaws

are her sporadic bouts of eczema.

Other than that, she has many qualities.

She never speaks about herself.

She could be anything.

Perhaps she's a Fabian.

That would make her a socialist

who advocates gradual change.

She's moderately unpopular, which makes

a romance between us more likely.

She's also a girl - to be seen with her

would improve my street cred,

which, though high, could be higher.

Lastly, she's now single,

cos Mark Pritchard cheated on her

with Abby Smuts at the school disco.

The full extent of the betrayal

is still the subject of speculation.

Chips knows there's

nothing more attractive than a bully.

He also knows that Zoe Preece

is a legitimate target

because she's overweight

and won't accept notes in class.

Essentially, I disapprove of bullying.

Jordana seems to enjoy it in moderation.

I must not let my principles

stand in the way of progress.

I must be willing to adapt.

Keep up, Tubs!

This was the correct decision.

Give it back now!

This was a vivid memory of youth that I

would cherish when I was old and frail.

Oh!

Catch. Straight into the hands.

We were working as a team,

testing each other's limits,

challenging one another's bourgeois

assumptions of what was acceptable.

Oh, grow up! Grow up!

I knew that these events - although

hard to bear at this precise moment -

would help build Zoe Preece's

character in the long term.

Aargh!

Wanker!

Honestly, Zoe, it was an accident.

I mean, it was just unlucky

that you were there and that you fell in.

We were playing... sort of like a game.

And you can replace the stuff

that was in your bag.

- I'm not saying it's cheap...

- F*** off and die!

In many ways, I prefer my own company.

It gives me time to think.

I suppose it's a bit of an affectation,

but I often read the dictionary.

My word for today is "flagitious",

which means wickedly shameful.

I live in a large house with my parents.

They tell me that our area

has breathtaking scenery.

I'm not sure I believe in scenery.

However, the views allow me

to spy on our new neighbours.

I don't know them yet

but they seem like terrible human beings.

Ninjas.

My parents have not had sex

for seven months.

I've been monitoring their intimacy

via the dimmer switch in their bedroom.

I know when they've been at it

because the dial will be set to halfway.

I wish life could be more like

American soap operas.

Then, whenever things got dramatic,

you could just fade the picture down

and pick things up again later.

Can you tell your mother to hurry up?

I'll be waiting in the road.

- You look nice.

- Thank you.

Yeah, you look good for your age. For a mum.

Mum's getting the bus.

So... I inherited it all.

Well, er, it's been terrific. Small world, all that.

It's such a lovely area.

This used to be Jill's grandmother's house,

right?

Yes.

The hours we spent up in that room,

listening to records, hatching plans.

Right, yes.

So are you going to be selling up?

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