Teach Me Dirty

I felt the pulse in my temples, angry at the ridiculousness of a kid like Harry considering himself a match for a beautiful young woman like Helen.

And then I realised it should be none of my business.

How dare it be any of my business.

Helen was her own woman, her own person, and she could choose to date whichever cool kid took her fancy. I should be happy for her. I should at least pretend to be happy for her.

I just wished I wasn’t going to the stupid poxy ball.

The knowledge that Helen had a date should have appeased my guilt, but it didn’t. It was rotting me from the inside out. I wholly expected Mr Palmer to cause me some issues, and I was prepared for that. I’d take whatever was headed my way.

But the days went by and nothing came.

Nothing apart from the pain in my gut whenever Helen came and left my classroom. I missed her smile. I missed the soft sound of her voice. I missed the feeling of her little fingers around mine.

I missed being in the same space with her, and knowing we were ok.

I checked her cam account every evening, and every evening there was nothing. She’d log in daily, stay online awhile, and post nothing. Radio silence.

So many times I typed out a text message, but the words always sounded so banal and pathetic.

Are you ok, Helen? Talk to me, Helen. Forgive me, Helen.

I miss you, Helen.

Don’t go to the ball with Harry Sawbridge, Helen.

Don’t fall in love with anyone else, Helen.

You’re all I think about, Helen.

I sent nothing, but I felt everything. I felt more than I’d felt in years.

I was arranging the set pieces at the back of the stage when I heard someone clapping.

“Wonderful!” Jenny Monkton was grinning from ear to ear. “Fantastic job, Mark. I’ve been meaning to say thank you.” She paused just a second. “You should let me say thank you.” She joined me on stage. “Dinner, my treat.”

“No need,” I said.

“But I insist! It’s the least I can do.”

I slid the market place scene to backstage right. “It wasn’t just me, Jenny. You have Helen Palmer to thank. I’ll give you the list of the others, too.”

“Ah, Helen. Such a talent.”

It turned my insides over. “Yes, she is.”

“Such a lovely girl.”

“Yes, she is.”

“I’ll have to seek her out and say thank you.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

“I imagine I’ll see her at the ball.”

“I would expect so.”

She twirled her hair around her fingers. “I heard she’s going with Harry Sawbridge. He’s in my drama class, silly oaf. He’s been bragging about it.”

I didn’t say a word.

“So many mean girls in that year, so much bitchiness. He’s been taking quite a ribbing from my other students, the girls, that is. It always surprises me how nasty they can be at that age.”

“About Helen?” The idea turned my stomach.

“Yes, you know what they’re like. They don’t like anyone different. And Helen is very different, isn’t she?”

“Yes. She is.” I met Jenny’s eyes and they were twinkling, hiding something. “Was there something on your mind?”

“No… well. Not really.” She ran her hands over our desert scene. “Just stupid rumours, you know how it is.”

“Rumours?” My heart thumped.

“Stupid girl talk, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

I forced myself to speak. “What do these rumours say?”

Jenny laughed, tossed her head back and shook her curls. “Oh! Well, it’s quite amusing. They say Helen has a crush on you. Quite a major crush, apparently. They were ribbing Harry about it.”

“I see.”

She took a step closer. “Were you aware of it?”

“Of what?”

“Helen’s crush.”

I fixed her in a stare. “I try not to concern myself with rumours, Jenny.”

“No, I mean, not the rumours, but do you think she…”

“Helen is a very talented young woman with a good head on her shoulders. I don’t worry myself with trivialities.”

“Of course.” Her cheeks reddened like I’d slapped her, and then she placed a hand on my arm. “Just be careful, Mark. You know what rumours are like. You know what girls are like, too. I know she helped a great deal, with the set, it’s just good to be careful. Make sure she isn’t getting the wrong idea.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” I pulled away from her to adjust the stage curtain.

“So, about the dinner…”

“I’m super busy,” I said. “And really, there is no need.”

“It would be my pleasure. No trouble. I could always come to you, if you’re busy. I’m sure I could whip up something tasty.”

I wished the ground would swallow me. “Let’s talk about it after the ball, work something out.”

She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! I’ll put my thinking cap on.”

I could hardly wait.

***

Helen

I tried to make a video every evening, but I could never think of anything to say. My words all sounded stupid and childish and ridiculous. And I wasn’t painting or drawing. I’d stare at my sketchpad for hours and nothing would come. Only this sick feeling inside, the feeling of my dreams dying and rotting away.