Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  I jabbed the brush back on the canvas and didn’t even answer. I felt him leave, defeated.

  Harry leaned over. “What was all that about?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing.”

  “That was weird, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It was well weird,” he said. He flashed a stupid grin. “He’s weird though, isn’t he? Roberts? He’s such an oddball.”

  “The weird people are often the best,” I said.

  He laughed, like I was joking. “Yeah, gotta love the weirdos. He’s gay, you know.” He slid his stool a little closer and lowered his voice, and the whispering started up again, I could hear them, talking about us, talking about Harry’s arm on the back of my stool. “So, what about it? Will you come with me?”

  “I’m… I’m not sure I’m going…”

  “Come on,” he said. “It’ll be a laugh. I’ll be wearing a suit, all proper like.”

  “I’ll think about it…”

  “Yeah?”

  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.”

  “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.

  I’d been stupid to accept Harry’s invitation to the winter ball, and had been trying to forget about it until Lizzie opened her big mouth over dinner on Saturday night.

  “I can’t wait for the ball,” she said. “We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we, Hels?”

  Mum and Dad nearly choked on their food. And then Mum smiled.

  “You’re going to the ball, Helen?”

  I managed a pathetic nod.

  “Who with?” Dad asked, and his eyes were full of suspicion.

  “Harry Sawbridge, he’s nice,” Lizzie answered for me. I could have jabbed her in the arm.

  “Sawbridge…” Dad pondered. “Mick Sawbridge’s lad?”

  I shrugged, but Lizzie chirped up, seemingly an expert. “Yeah, that’s him. Polly is his mum.”

  “Yeah, I know them. Good family,” he said, and sounded appeased. “Hard workers.”

  “Not Harry so much,” I said, and then checked myself. “He’s in my art class.”

  “Oh lovely!” Mum smiled. “That’s lovely, Helen.”

  Katie grinned and flicked a pea at me. “Are you going to be a princess?”

  “Not really, Katie.”

  “Oh, but you must!” Mum gushed. “You have to have a nice dress, Helen. We’ll take you shopping, get you something nice. That’s only fair, isn’t it, George?”

  “What?”

  “Helen needs a lovely dress, doesn’t she?”

  Dad shrugged. “Yeah, whatever you think.” He gestured in my direction with a fork. “Nothing too low cut.”

  “As if,” I said. “When have I ever worn anything low cut?”

  He shot me a look. “Just saying don’t start all that now, not now you’ve got a boyfriend in tow. Harry’s a nice lad, you don’t need to impress him with all that.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I snapped.

  “Just as well.”

  Lizzie stifled a giggle and I could have jabbed her all over again.

  I retreated from the table as soon as possible and dragged her upstairs with me, shooting her evils over my shoulder all the way.

  “What?” she said. “I didn’t think it was a secret!”

  “It wasn’t. I just hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you need a dress!”

  “I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Get with the script, Hels. Hot Helen plus hot dress plus hot Harry Sawbridge equals one very jealous art teacher.”

  “Except it doesn’t. He hasn’t even looked at me in days.”

  “I don’t believe that.” She dug around in her overnight bag. “You need cheering up. You’ve been a right Miserable Minnie this week.”

  “Excuse me for feeling like crap. My world is ending, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  “Such melodrama.” She handed me a bottle of wine then took out another. “Let’s get trashed, help you forget all about it.”

  “Unlikely,” I said, but I was already unscrewing the lid.

  “Have you gone on the pill yet?”

  I shook my head. “Got a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, but it feels stupid. What virgin needs the pill, Lizzie? He doesn’t want me, I don’t need the pill.”

  “Jeez, Hels, sometimes I really despair. Life isn’t all about Rampant Roberts, you know.”

  I took a swig of wine, and it was gakky and bitter. “You think I’m going to take the pill for Harry Sawbridge? Think on.”

  “I think you should keep your options open. He’s hot, and he likes you. His eyes lit up when I told him you had a thing for him,” she smirked.

  “You did what?”

  She giggled her pretty little face off. “What did you think I was going to do? I had to tell him something.”

  “So, now he thinks I want him?”

  She nodded. “All the better for making Mr Roberts jealous, my dear.”

  That explained a lot. Harry had been like a limpet in art, sitting next to me every lesson and boring me stupid with his TV talk and meaningless comments. He was sweet enough, but dull as hell, and considering Mr Roberts didn’t seem riled at all by his interest in me it felt like one big fat fail.

  “Drink up and forget about it now,” Lizzie grinned. “Let’s have some fun, since I missed out on all our fun time while you were off playing artist.”

  I drank up, much more quickly than usual. Quickly enough that Lizzie still had a load of her bottle left and split it between us. She seemed drunk though, drunk and giggly, telling me all about Scottie Davis and how hot he was with his head between her legs. My own memories burned me, and I drank more, pondered more, festered more. And then I was sad. Sad and angry and brooding.

  “I really wanted him,” I said. “I really, really wanted him.”

  “Aww, Hels, you might still get him.” She rubbed my arm. “We’ve got a plan.”

  “A stupid plan.”

  “Still a plan.”

  “I wish it had never happened. I was happy as friends.”

  “Don’t say that, Hels. You know you loved it.”

  “I did love it, but now it’s gone.”

  She tipped the bottle up so more wine forced its way down my neck. “Little Hels isn’t so virginal anymore… not now she’s had tongue between her legs…”

  I swallowed down the wine and put my finger to my lips, despite knowing full well Mum and Dad were long in bed already.

  “I bet you were so hot as you came for him…”

  My stomach fluttered. “You’d have to ask him.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she smiled. “I already know.” She looked at the final slops of wine in the bottle. “You may as well finish that.”

  The room was already swaying around me. “I’ve totally totally totally had enough.”

  “No, you haven’t. You need it, anyway, to cheer you up, my treat.”

  But it didn’t feel like it was cheering me up. I downed the rest and lay back on my bed, and the ceiling was spinning, florescent stars everywhere. Lizzie started laughing and I laughed, too, even though nothing was funny. She grabbed my hands and yanked me up the bed towards her, fluffing up pillows under my head.

  “Come and lie with me.”

  “Like I have any choice.” I closed my eyes, but smiled. “You’ve got me trashed, Lizzie Thomas. I can’t even see straight. You’re bad for me… bad…”

  “I’m good for you,” she giggled. “You love me.”

  “Yes, I do.” I poked my tongue out. “But I am trashed, and it’s all your fault. All your fault. And Mr Roberts, it’s his fault, too. All his fault. I’ll be a virgin forever and it’s all his fault.” I laughed to myself. “All his stupid fault.”

  Lizzie pressed up to me. “You won’t be a virgin forever, Hels, with or without Roberts.”

  “But he’s all I want. Only him.”

  “Forget about who it is,” she said. “Believe me, Hels, it doesn’t really matter. Just as long as it feels good, right? That’s what matters.”

  I laughed. “Whatever you say, Lizzie. But that’s stupid. Of course it matters…” I rested my hand over my eyes but she pulled it away. “I love him.”

  “You can have fun without being in love, Helen Palmer. Trust me.”

  “I’m always trusting you,” I said, and my voice sounded weird. “You’re my bestie. Bestie of the besties.”

  “Good. You should. I’m trustworthy. I’m the super bestie.”

  “Yes, you are. Super bestie. Super, super bestie.” I groaned to myself. “I didn’t even get to try anything… how mean… just a few things. And then he was gone. It’s so unfair… I wanted
it all. Everything. Every. Thing.”

  She switched the main light off and got the lamp, and it was so much better for my eyes. I shuffled down a little, got comfortable.

  “Shame you didn’t get chance to try out all the stuff in your kinky pictures.”

  “Yes!” I hissed. “Yes! It’s so unfair!”

  I felt the bed bounce under me, and lifted my head to find Lizzie on her knees at the bottom, by my hamper. She pulled out my school tie and put it around her neck. “He should have used this on you. Wasted opportunity, stupid man.”

  “Used that?”

  She crawled up the bed to me, and she was laughing. “Yeah, he could have tied you up.”

  I giggled. “Could have… I’d have liked that…”

  “He could have done this…” She was still laughing as she grabbed my wrists, and I was too slow and drunk to respond. She pinned them tight and wrapped my tie around them, threading it through the rails of my headboard before tying me up in a knot. The knot was tight, I could feel it even through the drunkenness.

  I pulled against it and laughed. “You’re so silly, Lizzie. Let me free.”

  “No,” she laughed. “You’re my prisoner.”

  I giggle-snorted. “You’re funny.”

  “Try and get out,” she whispered. “See if you can.”

  I pulled again, and the headboard moved a little but the knot was tight. “I can’t,” I said. “You know I can’t, silly. Urgh, Lizzie, I’m too drunk for this. It’s not fair. I can’t get out when the room is spinning, can I?”

  “Do you like it?”

  I opened my eyes in the lamplight and hers were right in my face. “Like it? This is silly, Lizzie. Silly.”

  “I think you like it,” she said, and laughed against my neck. “You said you’d like it, being tied up.”

  “Not like this,” I laughed. “By Mr Roberts, doh.”

  “And I said it doesn’t really matter, just as long as it feels good.”

  I felt a funny buzzing in my stomach. “Let me go, Lizzie, this is silly.”

  She shook her head. “You’re my prisoner. You’ll have to say please.”