Game On: If I wasn't her student, it would be game on.

by Daiko, SC

  “Even if I did,” I sigh. “I’m your teacher. We can’t take this any further.”

  Without saying another word, he spins on his heel and strides down the corridor.

  I lean against the doorframe, heart racing, and touch my hand to my cheek.

  I’m sex-starved, that’s the problem, I tell myself as I get ready to meet up with Megan and her husband for drinks and some pub-grub. Maybe I should consider internet dating? Hook up with a random guy for a night of mutual pleasure? No, that’s not me. I’ll have to make more regular use of my vibrator, that’s all. Get rid of this tension that’s making me feel like a cat on heat. There isn’t time now, but later, when I get home, I’ll have a relaxing bath, light some candles, listen to some soft music and let my imagination run wild.

  I change from my work suit into a pair of jeans and a light sweater, slap on some mascara and cherry-red lip-gloss, and grab my raincoat. It’s not raining now, but heavy clouds are scudding across the horizon and it will probably be pouring by the time I make my way home.

  The Red Lion is within walking distance of my flat. There’s a wooden-beamed ceiling, log fire, and an oak bar with Aled Davis leaning against it. I do a double-take. What the hell is he doing here?

  “They’re in the corner,” he points out Meg and her husband, Harry. “Megan asked me along.” he grins. “I’m getting this round of drinks. What are you having?”

  “A cider, please.” I reach for a tray. “Let me help you.”

  Harry, tall and sandy-haired, gets to his feet and gives me a hug. I’ve known him since uni, when we’d go out in a foursome, Meg, Harry, Paulo and me.

  “I’ll get you for this,” I whisper in Meg’s ear as I sit myself down on the comfy sofa next to her while the two men start discussing the six nations rugby championships and the Welsh team’s chance of defeating their arch-rival, England.

  “What? Moi?” Meg whispers back to me. “This is just a friendly get-together.”

  “Don’t act the innocent with me,” I smile to take the sting from my words. “You’re trying to set me up with Aled.”

  “Point taken. Relax, my lovely. Have fun. It’s not as if you have to jump into bed with him,” she giggles, “although I bet he’s good in the sack.”

  “Shh, he’ll hear you,” I retort, digging her in the ribs. Glancing up, I meet Aled’s eye. He gives me a cocky smirk, and I know, I just know from the look on his face, that he’s heard what Megan just said. My cheeks burn.

  4

  Two hours earlier.

  Grandad’s three-bedroomed bungalow is fifteen minutes’ walk from school, at the edge of a housing estate. Mam and Sara share a bedroom, the décor is 1970s… there’s even an avocado green bathroom suite, and the windows let in cold air. In Ibiza, we lived in a flat, though, and it wasn’t exactly the Ritz, so I’m not complaining.

  I step through the front door. Grandad is in his usual place in front of the TV, watching what he calls one of ‘his programmes’… some kinda quiz show. I give him a wave as I head to the kitchen for a snack. “Hope you took your boots off at the door, boy,” he grunts. “It’s muddy out.”

  He doesn’t need to remind me; mud is a permanent fixture in Wyemouth. There’s no time for it to dry out before the next lot of fucking rain. “Where’re Mam and Sara?” I ask.

  “Your mam is having a lie-down.” Grandad’s voice is loud because of his deafness and the volume of the TV. “She’s not feeling well. I don’t know where Sara is.”

  I find my sister in the kitchen, playing on her tablet. “How did your day go, chiquita?”

  “It went okay,” she smiles. “Nia has asked me to hang out at her place tomorrow.”

  Since Beth talked tough to the fuckwits in her form, I’ve heard of no further incidents of bullying. Even so, I’ve patrolled the school-yard like a fucking vigilante keeping an eye out for trouble. “Glad you’ve made a friend, sis.”

  “Nia’s nice. But I miss my friends from home,” Sara says, her shoulders drooping.

  I ruffle her curls. “So do I, chiquita.”

  And that’s not all I miss, I groan to myself. What I wouldn’t give for a night out with my buddies, to lose myself on the dance floor, to make out with a woman. But who am I kidding? There’s only one woman I want, and that woman is totally out-of-bounds.

  After wolfing down a cheese sandwich, I make a mug of milky tea and take it to my mother. I’m fucking worried about her; she hasn’t been herself recently. It must be hard moving back home after twenty years away. Even when Papá died of lung cancer three years ago, she wouldn’t consider the move. Said she preferred to live in the sun and she didn’t wanna give up her job organizing vacation accommodation for Brits. If that bastard client hadn’t started stalking her, if he hadn’t done what he did…

  Mam is lying on her bed, her arm flung back. She’s snoring softly, so I set the mug of tea down on her bedside table. She opens her light-blue eyes, and gives me a half-smile. “What time is it?”

  I glance at my watch. “Just gone half past five. How are you feeling?”

  “A bit better now, after my nap.” She swings her legs around and sits up, running a hand through her tangled auburn curls.

  “How did the interview go?” I ask, noticing new lines at the corners of her eyelids.

  “I think they were looking for someone with more local experience, to be honest,” she says, reaching for the tea. “Looks like I’ll have to set my sights a bit lower.”

  Mam has been trying to get a job with one of the Wye valley vacation accommodation firms. It’s fucking small-minded of them not to take her on. She’s highly intelligent and would learn the business in no time. “Are you working tonight?” she asks before taking a sip from the mug.

  “Yeah. I’ll go for a run and have a shower first.”

  Josh works part-time in a local pub and told Dave, the manager, about me when asked if he knew anyone who could help with serving evening meals. I lied on my CV, said I’d waited tables before in Ibiza. Chances are Dave will never contact the referee I put down, and, if he does, I know for a fact they don’t speak English. Waiting tables isn’t rocket science… I viewed some videos on YouTube and taught myself what to do. And the best thing, apart from the money, is we get to eat dinner there, which means I’m less of a burden to Mam and Grandad. God, I hope she finds work soon. Grandad is supporting us, and it’s not fair to him.

  I peck Mam on the cheek and go to change out of my school uniform. Ten minutes later, having put on a pair of shorts and running shoes, I’m pounding down the road to the park. Beth said she likes to run. Strange I’ve never seen her out here. She probably runs earlier, though, whereas I’ve been doing weight training or playing in school matches after class. Tomorrow I’ll try out for the Wyemouth Rugby Club. Josh is one of their players. He’s good, but so am I. Joder, I fucking hope I get in.

  The pub is crowded with Friday-night punters when I start my shift at seven. “There you are,” Dave says, handing me an apron with the logo of a red lion. “Go and take the order from table seven in the corner.”

  I notice Beth immediately… and Mr Davis. Jesus, is she going out with him? My chest squeezes with a painful pang. They both stare at me, obviously surprised.

  “Oh, hello, Ryan,” Beth says, smiling. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Ditto,” Mr Davis adds. “We can’t escape you lot in this small town.”

  By ‘you lot’ I presume he means his pupils. I’m not sure what to say, so I just ask for their order.

  Mr Davis points to the menu. “Can you tell us what the soup of the day is?”

  “Pea and ham, sir.”

  “My favourite.”

  “Mine too,” Beth smiles. There’s so much I don’t know about her and I’d give anything to find out her likes and dislikes. I give her a quick glance, but she looks away.

  They order the soup followed by steak and ale pie. “A good choice,” I say, and it is. I enjoyed the dish myself after my shift on Tuesday ev
ening.

  I spend the rest of the night rushing between the tables, taking orders, serving, clearing plates and glasses. All the while I watch Beth from the corner of my eye, watch her chatting animatedly with Mr Davis, and my heart fucking sinks.

  She stays on for about an hour to play darts with him, after the other couple leave. Beth isn’t that good at it, and I wonder if she’s enjoying herself. Eventually, they put on their coats and head outside. I’ve finished my shift and decide to follow them, but not too obviously. Mr Davis walks with Beth in the direction of the town centre. I keep in the shadows and hide in a doorway when they stop at a block of flats. Will she invite him up? I hold my breath and wait.

  Mr Davis leans in towards her, and I know he’s trying to kiss her, but she deftly angles her head so the kiss lands on her cheek. Good girl!

  “Thanks for walking me home,” I hear her say. “See you on Monday!”

  I wait until she’s safely inside. Mr Davis shrugs and walks away.

  The door to the apartment block opens with a crash, and Beth pokes her head out. “Ryan,” she calls out. “Why are you stalking me?”

  I step back in horror. Me, stalking? There’s a sick feeling in my stomach. That’s exactly what I was doing, and I know the fucking pain that can cause, first-hand. Jesus what’s wrong with me?

  “I’m sorry, Beth.” My voice grates. “I won’t do it again.”

  I spin on my heel and, without thinking, I run… run like the kid that I am. Shit!

  Facing up to Beth in Spanish on Monday is tough, but not as tough as other shit I’ve had to deal with in my life. She’s a true professional, though, and acts like nothing happened. I guess, for her, it’s no big deal.

  But I hate the fact that she might think of me as some kinda fucking sicko. Wyemouth High runs on a two-week timetable, and we meet lesson three, just before lunchtime on Wednesday.

  After taking my seat at the desk in front of her, I come right out with it. “I’d like to apologise for following you and Mr Davis. It was stupid of me. My only excuse is I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  She lifts a brow. “Is that how you think of your PE teacher? As someone you need to protect me from?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve become used to protecting people I care about. I guess I crossed over the line with you.”

  “You did.” She taps her pen on the desk. “Let’s forget about it… if you promise not to do it again.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  She shakes her head. “Why should there be? Have you written that essay I gave you?”

  I hand it to her without saying a word. She’s fully in teacher-mode.

  Earbuds in place, I get on with listening and reading exercises, surreptitiously sneaking glances at her. When she’s marked my essay, she reaches for a stack of papers and, red pen in hand, proceeds to correct them.

  I manage to keep my sneaky peeks from her, right up until the last one. My eyes rove over her beautiful face, lingering on her soft cheeks. Joder, I’d give anything to kiss my way down to her breasts, her belly, her pussy. She’s as enticing as forbidden fruit, and just as delicious. Her gaze collides with mine, and she looks away, quickly, a flush blooming up her neck.

  I remove my ear-buds. “I’ve finished,” I say, handing in my work. “How was my essay?”

  “Excellent. I’ve given you full-marks. For homework, I’d like you to prepare a discussion on the friendships topic.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “You can go now, Ryan.”

  I get to my feet and stride to the door. Turning, I catch her eyeing my ass and, fuck it, I slip her a quick wink.

  It’s the following Saturday. Last week I made it through my first training session with the club, and now I’m on my way back to Wyemouth after replacing an injured player at an away match.

  We travelled in the club’s own bus to Caldicot, near the Bristol Channel, and played under sheeting rain, mud sticking to our boots. The home side took an early lead after we were penalised three times consecutively for being fucking offside. But, within five minutes, Josh reduced the deficit by kicking the ball over the crossbar and scoring a conversion. The remainder of the first half of the game seesawed from one end of the pitch to the other with both defences holding firm.

  In the first ten minutes of the second period we suffered a double blow; first, our number eight player was shown a yellow card, which resulted in a fucking penalty being converted by the other side. Then, our right wing left the field with a hamstring injury and was substituted from the bench.

  Again, the game moved from end to end and, with ten minutes remaining, the score was 21 all. I decided to go all out and managed to field a high kick on my 10-metre line. A burst of speed took me past several Caldicot players inside the 22-metre area. I passed the ball to Josh and he handed it on to our captain, who touched down in the corner. Caldicot came back again, but our defence held firm and we won the game 26-21.

  “Well done, team. You all contributed to the win,” George, our coach, congratulated us in the changing room. “After the yellow card and the injury, I didn’t think it would happen. But the whole team contributed.” A smile creased his weather-beaten face. “And we have our newest player to thank for his all-round efforts in the lineout and in the loose. Congrats, Ryan, I hereby declare you Man-of-the-Match.”

  Sitting next to me on the bus, Josh claps me on the shoulder. “Man-of-the-Match. Who’d have fucking thought it, fucktard?”

  “Hey, less of that ‘fucktard’ shit,” I grin.

  “Don’t forget Cat’s eighteenth birthday party next week,” he laughs. “She has the hots for you, you know. You’re in with a chance there.”

  “Nah. I haven’t the time for a girlfriend.”

  “Same here,” he chuckles. “Kinda sad, innit?”

  “Yeah, kinda.”

  If you knew how screwed-up my life is right now, amigo, you’d use a stronger word than ‘sad’ to describe it.

  5

  I’ve been invited to Sunday lunch at my parents’ house in Bristol, my childhood home, and I’m dreading it. Sophie will be there with her husband, Mike.

  Twins are supposed to be close, only Soph and I aren’t. I love my sister, but we have nothing in common apart from the fact that we once shared our mother’s womb. We’re non-identical (she’s blonde with green eyes). When we were growing up, I was into collecting cuddly toys, whereas she was into Barbie dolls. At school, I loved languages and she preferred science.

  We went to the same uni, and hung out with Meg and her sister, living on campus the first year, and all four of us sharing a flat the second year. But when Meg and I were on our year abroad, working as teaching assistants in Spain, Sophie and Meg’s sister, Lowri, moved into a smaller place. Lowri is a year older than us, and was doing a Masters. By the time Megan and I’d returned, they’d both graduated.

  These days Soph works in a Bristol bank and Mike is a lawyer. They’re the ‘golden couple’ as far as my parents are concerned. When I spent the cash my grandparents left me on travelling, instead of getting onto the first rung of the property ladder like Sophie, who put down a deposit on a flat, I didn’t hear the end of it from Mama. And, as for Paulo, ‘that Brazilian’, even if my parents turned out to be right and he was ‘a waste of space’, they shouldn’t have tried to interfere. Doing so only made me more determined to be with him.

  I park my second-hand ten-year-old Ford Fiesta in the driveway at the front of the house; it will look out of place here in Clifton, a wealthy neighbourhood, but I can’t do much about that.

  “Darling,” Mama trills when I open the front door. “How lovely you could make it. We haven’t seen you in weeks.” She smooths her immaculately styled blonde hair. “Sophie and Mike are here,” she says, piercing me with a steely look. “They come for lunch every Sunday.”

  “They live in Bristol,” I sigh, thinking of the hour’s drive I’ve just done. “It’s not such a long way for them.”

  “South
Wales is hardly any distance,” Mama retorts. “Come into the kitchen, darling, we’re eating in there. Your father has made a lovely roast with all the trimmings.”

  Daddy has always been a better cook than my mother, and I’m glad he’s at the stove today. My mouth waters as I breathe in the delicious aroma of roast beef wafting from the oven. I hug him and he hands me a glass of wine. “I’ll just have the one, thanks,” I say, “as I’m driving.”

  “Have you still got that old rust bucket?” Soph asks, coming up and aiming a kiss in the direction of my cheek. “Surely now that you’re working you’ll be able to afford something better?”

  I inwardly groan. “I haven’t had my first pay-cheque yet.”

  “Pop into the bank and I’ll organise a loan for you.” Sophie peers out of the window. “That car looks dangerous.”

  I bite my tongue. I no longer live within ‘popping distance’ of your bloody bank.

  After lunch, we have coffee in the sitting room. I surreptitiously glance at my watch, and calculate when I can leave without offending anyone. Sophie perches next to Mike on the sofa, and whispers something in his ear. He clears his throat. “We’ve been waiting to tell you our news,” he smiles broadly. “And now we can. Next April we’re going to be parents. Isn’t that marvellous?”

  Mama leaps up from her armchair and gathers Soph to her ample bosom. “Absolutely marvellous.”

  Even though I knew my sister was hoping to fall pregnant, the jolt of jealousy takes me by surprise. I thought I’d stopped suffering from sibling rivalry after we grew up and I realized we wanted different things in life. Except now, the thought of Sophie with a baby in her arms, when I don’t even have a boyfriend, pangs in my belly. I smile, and I’m ashamed it’s a false smile. “Congratulations,” I say. “I can’t believe I’ll be an auntie.”

  I catch Daddy’s eye and he nods; he knows what I’m thinking... he always does. “Well done, the two of you,” he says to Sophie and Mike. “Any idea if you’re having a boy or a girl?”