Teach Me Dirty

“None that I’ve noticed.” I stared at the ceiling, at the twinkle of fluorescent star stickers still up there from primary school.

“Best case is that Mr Roberts can’t handle it, and boom, you’re in. Worst case, maybe you even like the new guy and ditch the virgin shit. It’s a win-win.”

“And who’s going to go out with me?” I couldn’t even look at her. “I hardly get a queue of offers, Lizzie. I’m the outsider. Nobody notices me.”

She took my hand and squeezed it tight, and pulled the covers higher around us both.

“You leave that to me,” she said.

***

Mark

I can’t remember a time I was as nervous as I was waiting for Helen to turn up in my art room. Monday came and went and I didn’t hear a peep from her. It felt strange, and empty in my classroom, even though I’d rarely have seen her on a Monday anyway. And that’s when I realised it wasn’t the classroom that felt strange and empty. It was me.

Fuck you.

I’d deserved that. I still deserved that.

And she deserved better than me and my mixed messages. So I’d steered well clear through the weekend. Even though I was preoccupied to the point of insanity, my brain spinning through events on loop, through the day, through the night, through everything, I kept well away from her.

When she arrived for her lesson on Tuesday morning, she looked different. She looked drawn and sad and lacklustre.

She wouldn’t meet my eyes, just sat herself directly behind Harry Sawbridge while I took class, and that big oaf blocked my view obliviously, yawning his idiot face off. The guy should never have been in my A-level art class, he was both lazy and talentless.

She returned to her usual bench when I stopped speaking, and I ached to go over there. Her shoulders were tense as she painted, and her brush strokes were jerky little lines that lacked any real finesse. And it pained me, it really pained me to see her that way.

I took my time approaching her, and she didn’t acknowledge me until I spoke.

“Is that a new technique?”

She shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

“You always care, Helen.”

“Not today.”

I sighed, and leaned in closer, hoping nobody else could hear me. They were gabbling on about the holidays anyway, and about the winter ball. Gabbling on about anything but the paintings in front of them. “I think we should talk.”

“To say what? I want you and you don’t want me? I already know that, thanks.” Her voice was hissy and her eyes were pained.

“That isn’t how it is.” My voice was nothing but a whisper.

“How is it, then? Do you want me, or not?”

“It’s not that simple…”

“Then you don’t. I’ve got nothing to talk about.” She jabbed her brush against the canvas and it smudged.

I leaned in so close my mouth was at her ear, and I closed my eyes, just to savour the smell of her, hoping, praying that none of the useless idiots in the room would notice me. “I want the best for you, Helen. That’s all I want.”

She turned her face to mine and her eyes were angry and hurt. “Who are you to say what’s best for me?” Her voice was just a breath. “I’m not a child.”

“But you are in my care.”

“Not for much longer,” she said, and turned her attention back to the painting. “In a few months I’ll be gone, and you can forget I ever existed.”

And then I was angry, too. I gripped her wrist, squeezed it, and her eyes widened. “If you think I’m going to move on and forget you existed, you can’t know me at all.”

“You won’t let me know you.”

“I’m trying not to, for your own good.”

“Spare me the for your own good stuff. It hurts, Mr Roberts, it really hurts.”

The bell rang and she pulled away from me. She gathered up her things and brushed past me without even a passing glance.

***

Helen

I was still reeling from art class, my heart hammering, when Lizzie grabbed my arm from behind me.

“Well?”

“It was terrible.”

She grimaced. “As good as that, hey?”

“He wanted to talk, I blew him out.”

“Good for you.”

“Feels shit, though, I hate it.” We made our way through the English block corridor, past the library and out the other side. Lizzie pulled me behind the building, pressing us into a dip in the wall, and I was glad, really glad. She lit up a cigarette and I took it straight off her.

“Jeez, Hels, getting desperate for the nicotine in your hours of misery, aren’t you?”

I didn’t even answer, just stared out at the playing fields. I remembered the place empty, just Mr Roberts and me talking and laughing and painting. and my stomach tightened. I gave Lizzie back her cigarette. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been drawing up a boyfriend shortlist…”

My stomach tightened again. “What?”