I’d never felt so sick as I did at the thought of the inevitable confrontation, and since art class was last period I had a whole day to dwell on it.
I may have considered bailing then, too, if Lizzie hadn’t crossed my path in the corridor and practically pushed me into the art room.
I was a shaking leaf when I stepped over the threshold. I was late, just a minute, but enough that every set of eyes in the room turned in my direction, including his. I propped myself on a stool behind Kelly Merrick and looked anywhere but at him.
Despite my greatest nightmares, Mr Roberts didn’t freak out and order me from his classroom. He didn’t stare in horror, or lose his flow, in fact, he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, just talked us through our mock practical exam with the same composed tone he always used. When we broke from the discussion to work on coursework, I made sure to sit with my back to him, and his presence burned my skin the entire time until the bell sounded.
I shoved my art supplies away as quickly as I could, but he was ready. I stopped in my tracks as his voice sounded across the room.
“Helen, stay behind. I’d like to speak with you, please.”
He wiped down the whiteboard as the rest of the group left, and I stood, like a fool, with my heart in my mouth and my insides in knots. I’d thought this through, over and over, everything I’d say, how I’d brush it off, but my preparations meant nothing. I was tongue-tied and awkward, like being twelve all over again and forgetting which classroom I should be in.
The door thumped shut behind the rest of my group, and I was alone, alone with him.
He sat down at his desk and stacked up some of the art pieces he was marking, then gestured to a seat the other side of him.
I sat. Slowly and reluctantly, with my knees clenched together and my foot tapping against the tiled floor.
“You’ve been ill?”
“Stomach bug,” I said.
“That’s unlike you, Helen.”
“I think it may have been food poisoning.” I stared at his hands on the desk, avoiding his eyes. “Katie, my little sister, she had it, too. Worse than me.”
“I see.” I could feel his eyes on mine. “I’m pleased to hear your absence had nothing to do with our little incident last week. I’m sure something like that wouldn’t keep you away from class, would it, Helen?”
“No, Mr Roberts, definitely not.” My cheeks sprang into a blush.
“I’m glad to hear it. I hope you’d feel able to talk to me, if you felt uncomfortable over a little incident like that.”
“Yes, of course.”
“But you don’t want to?” His voice was so strong. My fingers danced in my lap. “Helen, look at me.”
In horror, I forced my gaze to his. I shook my head. “No. I’m good. I mean, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m good. I’m fine.”
He smiled. “If you’re sure.”
“Very sure.” My smile was strained, but it was the best I could do. Relief flooded me, sweeping through my limbs in euphoric giddiness, but when he stood to signal I was free to go, the whole sensation came crashing down.
It was over. Never to be spoken of again. Dismissed.
I should have been happy, but I wasn’t. It confirmed everything I already feared. He was my teacher, and this was nothing. This would always be nothing.
I turned away, staring out through the window as the weather changed as quickly as my mood. A downpour, a heavy one at that. Rain bounced off the windows, and horror and nerves and crazy emotion bounced right the way through my body.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yes? Now that you’re feeling better?” He was gathering up his things. Piling year seven sketchbooks into a box to take home with him.
I nodded. “Yes, Mr Roberts.”
“Good.” He lifted the box in one hand, gripped a box of pastels under his elbow and his case in his other hand. “Grab the door for me, please, would you? And get the lights?”
I switched the room into a dull gloom, and opened the door for us. He smiled as he left, backing himself through the main entrance and disappearing out into the rain towards the car park.
I should have felt good. I should have felt relieved. I told myself so.
So, why did it feel so bad?
Emotions bubbled up. Days of tension and thoughts of the big embarrassing showdown had all been for nothing, and maybe I hadn’t wanted them to be. Maybe I wanted the questions. Maybe I wanted the showdown. Maybe I just wanted him to know.
Yes, I wanted him to know.
I needed him to know.
Even if it ruined everything, and made things awkward for the rest of my life, at least he would know, at least it would be something. Something more than this, this nothing.