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?”
“A list of potentials.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. It was scrumpled and scribbled on and looked a tatty mess, but there was a list in the corner.
“Terry Edwards… no way! He’s in the football team.”
“So?”
“So, no.”
“Fine.” She grabbed it off me. “Gary Eaton?”
“Arrogant.”
“And hot.”
“Arrogance wins. No.”
“Stuart Belcher?”
“He would never look at me. And there was that rumour that he kicked Wendy Ree’s cat.”
She shrugged. “Fair point.”
“Keith Perkins.”
“I’m not even going to answer that.” Keith Perkins was crude, and disgusting. An all-round idiot.
“Fine.” She gave me a look like I was the most difficult customer in the world. “Harry Sawbridge?”
“Harry? No way.”
“No?”
“Just no. That would be weird.”
“Why weird?”
I stared at her. “He’s in my art class.”
“Yeah, duh. That’s good, no?”
“No. It’s just weird. I just… he doesn’t even like art.”
“But he’s doing art for A-level.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t like it. He never listens to anything.”
“But he is doing it. And Roberts will see him with you. All the time…” She smirked. “That’s kinda the whole point of the jealousy thing.”
“I’m not even convinced about this jealousy thing…”
“He’s the best option. He’s kinda cute. Nice eyes.”
“He’s got no artistic talent whatsoever.”
“But he’s cute, right?”
I shrugged. “If you say so.”
She folded the piece of paper back up then tapped her nose. “Leave it with me.”
“What are you going to do?” My heart sped up. “Don’t do anything, Lizzie!”
“I won’t do much… just scoping the lay of the land…”
“Lizzie!”
She smiled so brightly. “So, Hels Bells, how do you fancy Harry Sawbridge as your winter ball date?”
My jaw dropped. “My winter ball date? I’m not even going to the winter ball… I never go to that kind of party stuff…”
She handed me the dregs of her cigarette and I smoked it to the butt. “I think you might change your mind,” she said, and wiggled her eyebrows.
“Hell would have to freeze over. For real. Demon penguins and everything.”
“That’s your stance is it? Definitely not? No way? Not in a million billion years?”
I threw the cigarette butt in the hedge. “That’s my stance.”
“Such a shame,” she said, and there was mischief in it. “Because a little birdie told me that somebody’s favourite art teacher is chaperoning this year…”
***
Helen
Maybe Lizzie really did have a voodoo witchcraft bottle, because the next day in art class the unthinkable happened. I had taken my usual spot, keeping my back to Mr Roberts in fear of looking like some sad little girl all over again, when I heard a rustle of bags and the scuff of a stool over floor tiles. I always sit alone. Always. It’s been that way forever in art. I just don’t like many people, and they don’t like me. Plus, I love art, I live for art, and company and art don’t usually work out so well.
There was whispering and laughing behind me, and my hackles prickled, just knowing it was about me. And then there was Harry Sawbridge’s voice, interrupting my thoughts like a sledgehammer.
“Hi, Helen. Mind if I sit here?”
He was already sitting here. I moved my sketchbook a little to the side to clear some space for him. Manners don’t cost anything, after all.
“Sure.”
The laughter was growing more raucous, and my heart did a stutter as Mr Roberts barked out an order for quiet.
He sounded unusually grouchy.