I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
“Alright then.” His knee knocked against mine and stayed there. “We could have some fun, I know we could.”
“I’ll see…”
Mr Roberts walked by again, slowly. “Harry. More painting, less talking, please.”
“Alright, sir.”
I wondered if he was jealous, if Lizzie really was a seduction genius after all, but Mr Roberts carried on to another table, and gave advice in the same calm way he always gave it. It hurt my heart to think he wasn’t bothered. Maybe he was even relieved. I painted through the rest of class and tried to forget about it, but it throbbed like a tight little ball of fire in my stomach.
The bell sounded and I put my things away, and Mr Roberts was waving people off, smiling and fine and not even vaguely bothered about me or the pain inside. I waited until Harry was almost at the doorway, then raised my voice to sound across the room.
“I’ll come with you, to the ball. It’ll be… fun.”
Harry turned and smiled, puffed his chest out. “Cool.”
“Cool,” I said.
And then I walked away without giving Mr Roberts so much as a backwards glance.
***
Mark
It had been a lifetime since I’d felt a stab of jealousy. It took me aback, shifted me off my axis in a way that was thoroughly uncomfortable until I pulled back into some semblance of professionalism.
Helen was a teenager.
Harry was a teenager, too.
A stupid teenager. A dumb, lazy, uninspiring excuse for an art student as far as they go, but a teenager. He had cool hair, and wore trendy deodorant, one of those noxious ocean breeze ones. He was an attractive teenager, as far as I could tell. Dark eyes and one of those floppy fringes, with the disregard for school uniform that the cool kids have.
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.”