Teach Me Dirty(18)

“Seduce him?” I laughed at the absurdity. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. How the hell could I seduce him? He’s a man. An actual proper man. He’s not Scottie, Lizzie, he’s not going to go all goggle-eyed over a little bit of cleavage and some dirty words.” I looked down at my chest and smiled. “Just as well, too.”

“You have cute tits, Helen Palmer. More than enough to get a man like Roberts all steamy.”

“Thanks… I think.” I squeezed her elbow. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” We halted our conversation as a couple of year seven lads came charging past. Their blazers were too big, and they were still playing at being army soldiers on their way to school. How could I ever seduce a man like Mr Roberts while I was dressed like every other kid in town? I waited until the lads were out of earshot. “How is he ever going to want me when I’m dressed like a child every time he sees me? Why do we have to live in the most backwater place on the planet? Most sixth forms don’t even have uniform anymore.”

She smirked. “But you look so cute in it. Maybe you should get some white socks, put your hair up in pigtails… get some sweet little Lolita shoes… maybe that will get his interest.”

“Can you even imagine the abuse I’d get from the Jennings’ posse? She’d never ever ever ever ever stop laughing at me.”

“Fuck Sarah Jennings and her bitch brigade.”

“It wouldn’t even work anyway.”

We reached the end of Oakfield alley, and Lizzie grabbed my arm to hold me back. She pulled out her cigarettes and sparked one up. “The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

Sarah Jennings’ bitchy smirk flashed before my eyes. “You can say that again.”

“I mean you, not Sarah bitch-face Jennings.” She offered me her cigarette but I waved it away. “Think about the siren myths, mermaids tempting sailors to their doom and all that. The sailors always go. They totally fall for that shit, every time. You need to be the siren, you need to call him out to you, he’ll totally go for that kind of thing. I mean he’s an arty type, all deep and mysterious and… I dunno…”

“And totally not interested?” I folded my arms. “I can’t be a siren. I’m just a crazy weirdo.”

“You’re no weirdo, Hels.” She took a couple of long drags then stubbed out the remnants with her shoe. “And he totally is interested. How many other teachers do you think are cam-buddying all cosy with their students?”

“Coaching.”

Her eyes dug into mine. “Why are you being so utterly defeatist? You told the guy you love him! He saw your dirty pictures! Shit, Helen, he took you for a cosy ride to his special spot and now he’s watching you spill your quirky little guts over webcam! If that’s not interested, I don’t know what is.” She tutted at me. “You should be happy. This is progress beyond epic progress.”

I turned away, staring at the stragglers in the distance making their way through the school gates. “I’m scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“Scared of everything. Of getting carried away, of getting my hopes up. Scared of making an idiot of myself and watching every dream I’ve had in this place fall away from me.” I shrugged. “Scared of thinking this could ever be more and being shot down. I couldn’t stand it, Lizzie. I’d rather never know.”

“So, what? You just do nothing? Defeated?”

“No!” I shook my head at her. “I’m doing everything! You can’t say I haven’t been brave. I told the man I loved him. I actually said it.” My cheeks burned at the memory.

She swung an arm around my waist as we walked on. “You are brave, and cool, and cute, and smart, and quirky as hell. And you have super-dirty pics in your sketchbook. What’s not to love? Believe me, Helen Palmer, you can totally siren the guy in. Trust me, I’m one hundred million percent sure about that.”

I smiled. “I wish I was so sure.”

“You should be.” We passed through the gates, officially on school turf, and my stomach lurched at the sight of his car in the corner of the car park. “I’ll help you,” she grinned. “I know this stuff, I used it on Scottie.”

“What stuff?”

“The art of seduction,” she whispered. “I have secret ways.”

I laughed aloud. “Now this I have to see.”

“Mock all you like,” she smirked. “It’s in my Romany bloodline.” We separated at the entrance to the English block and she blew me a kiss goodbye. “Trust me, Hels, the man is all yours.”

Tingles ran through me at her words.

***

I finally found my voice, but it came out more mousy than I’d intended. A pathetic little squeak, hardly a siren calling.

“I’m not keeping you, am I? I can go…”

Mr Roberts looked up from the paperwork he was reading, and then he took his glasses off. I liked his glasses, he didn’t wear them very often, but when he did they made me a bit giddy. They suited him, made him look like an art professor, geeky and creative and, well, hot.

“No, you’re not keeping me. I have plenty to be getting on with.”

I looked at the clock above his head. Thirty minutes since the end bell had sounded, and I’d dawdled, hovering around my painting even longer than usual. I’d already sent Lizzie a message saying I’d give walking home with her a miss. In truth I didn’t know quite what I was waiting for. The picture in front of me was all but finished, I was tweaking tweaks I’d already made, adding scratchy little lines of nothing. The river was already perfect, its grey-brown water babbling and playing across the canvas, reflecting the rainclouds overhead.