Read Me Like a Book

by Liz Kessler

  “What’s this for?” I asked, ripping open the envelope. It was a good-luck card.

  “Your A-levels,” he said, winking at Mum. “Your mother says you get a bit anxious.”

  I stifled a laugh. It was quite sweet of him, really.

  “She’s ever so good, isn’t she?” he says now, jumping up a little in his seat, his eyes following her as she picks her way around the tables back to us.

  “Yeah.” I sip my drink. “She’s all right.”

  He touches her back briefly as she slips into the seat between us. “You were brilliant.” He passes her lager and lime across the table. “To your mum,” he says, lifting his glass. “Simon Cowell, I hope you’re watching.”

  Mum laughs and smiles at him.

  “Cheers, Tony.” I clink his glass.

  A little while ago, it might have been a bit weird seeing Mum with another man. Right now, I don’t care about anything, except the fact that Miss Murray hugged me. It’s all I’ve thought about for two weeks. We’ve not really spoken since. I’ve been too shy to think of excuses to hang around after lessons, and, more often than not, she’s left in a bit of a hurry lately.

  While Mum and Tony chat and laugh, I slip into one of my favorite fantasies. I’ve done something brilliant, written a book and won an award or something. Miss Murray’s in the audience, and I thank all the people who have helped, then I pause and look at her. She’s staring at me, her eyes shining as I dedicate the award to her, telling everyone that everything I did was for her, and everything I am is because of her. People look around and nudge one another and point and whisper, but I don’t care, because I know that I love her, and that she loves me too.

  “Another drink, Ash?” Tony’s standing up and tapping his empty pint glass.

  “Or shall we go, love?” Mum breaks in. “You look tired.”

  I’m about to suggest leaving when I spot a vaguely familiar face. “Jayce!” I call. Mum and Tony turn to see two smart young men in suits heading our way. I fumble over the introductions. What do you say? Mum, this is your husband’s girlfriend’s son. Jayce, this is your new dad’s wife and her boyfriend? In the end I chicken out and let them all work it out for themselves — which leaves me wondering who his friend is.

  “And this is Adam. From work,” Jayce mutters. Then he adds quickly, “Let me get a round.”

  “Good timing, lads,” Tony says. “Just a Coke for me, please. Designated driver.”

  “I’ll help.” I follow, leaving Adam with Mum and Tony.

  “She’s not got a bad voice, your mum,” Jayce says as we make our way back across the pub with the drinks. The others are deep in conversation about their favorite musicals. “God, he’s such an old fart,” Jayce says as he nudges me and points at Adam.

  “Why don’t we do a turn together?” Mum says, her cheeks pink as she downs her drink and Jayce passes her a fresh one. Adam looks at Jayce.

  “Nothing to do with me, mate; you’re on your own here,” Jayce tells him with a grin.

  “What would we sing?” Adam asks Mum.

  “Anything.”

  Adam passes the book of songs to Mum. “You choose.”

  “I know what we’ll do.” Mum smiles shyly at Tony, then passes the book to Adam.

  “Ooh, yes. Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman. I love that song.”

  Mum looks shocked. “You mean Frank and Nancy Sinatra!”

  Adam shrugs. “I guess it’s a generation thing.” Then he knocks back half of his pint, drags his sleeve across his mouth, and takes his jacket off. He loosens his tie and bends down to take Mum’s hand. “Right, come on then. Let’s do it.”

  They make their way to the front of the pub, whispering to each other as a round of applause breaks out. The bar owner, Mr. Green, is taking a bow after his monthly rendition of “My Way.”

  Minutes later, the three of us are transfixed as Mum and Adam give an amazing performance of “Something Stupid.” It’s as if they’ve been rehearsing it for weeks. There’s a roar of applause and calls for an encore when they’ve finished. They bow for ages, grinning at each other.

  “Are you sure you two have never met before?” Jayce asks suspiciously as they squeeze back into their seats, eyes shining.

  “Do you think they liked us?” asks Mum.

  Tony puts his hand on hers. “They thought you were absolutely wonderful.”

  Mum leaves her hand for a couple of seconds, then moves it and gives me a quick glance. I take a swig of my drink.

  Jayce is looking sideways at Adam. “All this time, you had a hidden talent and I never knew.”

  “So, how long have you two known each other?” Mum asks Jayce.

  “We met through work,” he answers quickly.

  “I order books and he bosses me about,” Adam adds with a grin.

  “You’d better watch what you get up to, then,” Tony says. “Don’t want to go upsetting the boss.”

  “Absolutely.” Jayce drains his glass and waves it at Adam. “I keep telling him that.”

  Adam takes the glass and stands up. “Right, I’d better get the drinks then, hadn’t I?” He points at Mum’s glass. “What’re you having, Ms. Sinatra?”

  Outside the pub, we all hug each other as though we’re lifelong buddies.

  “Really nice to see you again, Ash,” Jayce says.

  “Yeah, you too,” I slur, suddenly realizing I’ve had about five too many. And then, before I know it, Tony’s driving us home, Mum humming gently, me in the back.

  “Nice lads,” he’s saying to no one in particular, and it’s midnight and I’m another day closer to seeing Miss Murray again.

  My hands are shaking as I lift up my notes. We’re in the gym, which is a bit of a joke as there are only about thirty people here altogether — ten from the debating group and then whatever friends we’ve each managed to drag along. I didn’t tell any of mine about it, other than Robyn, obviously. I catch her eye and she gives me a big grin and a thumbs-up.

  How on earth did we end up with this as a topic?

  My heart is beating so hard it feels as if it’s jamming up my throat. I squeeze my words around it. “We’ve heard many arguments on both sides of the question of gay rights around the world. Things are better than they were — in some countries. In others, things are pretty much as bad as they’ve ever been. So I just have one question . . .”

  I catch Miss Murray’s eye for a split second, my cheeks burning. She smiles, and I instantly look away.

  “If it was you being told you couldn’t marry the person you love, you being told you couldn’t adopt a child, you who had to hide what you are for fear of imprisonment — would you still think it was OK? Gay people are just the same as everyone else in the world. Don’t they”— I can’t help it; I emphasize the they — “deserve the same rights as everyone else? Last time I looked, this is the twenty-first century, and it’s about time the world stopped passing judgment on people because of who they happen to love. Love doesn’t discriminate, and nor should the law. Not in this country. Not in this world. Not in this lifetime.”

  I take a tiny bow before sitting down and tidying my notes. It gives me a chance to look down and hide my burning face.

  There’s a moment of silence before my team starts to clap. I look up. Miss Murray is staring at me, an unreadable look on her face. Then she claps too. Most of the room is clapping. Some are on their feet. Robyn’s cheering and whistling and clapping harder than anyone. A couple of girls at the back are giggling behind their hands. I don’t care.

  We win the vote by a landslide.

  I should have left with Robyn and the rest of the team. They’ve gone to the pub for a drink to celebrate our win. I made up some excuse about having to call my mum first and said I’d meet them there. I feel really embarrassed lying to Robyn, but I can’t help it. I can’t leave yet.

  I suppose that makes me a full-fledged nerd. I’m skipping a pint to help stack chairs and tables in a school gym.

  I plonk
some chairs down next to Miss Murray. Everyone else has gone except Mr. Philips.

  Miss Murray smiles. “You were brilliant,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I smile back. Embarrassed. I notice she’s looking pale and tired. Not her usual self. “Are you OK?” I ask.

  She turns away and picks up a couple more chairs. “I’ve been better.”

  I want to ask her what’s wrong but can’t seem to think of the words.

  “OK if I leave you with this?” Mr. Philips is putting his jacket on. “Last train in five minutes!”

  “Has everyone else gone?” she asks him.

  “Yep. Just us in here.”

  “I don’t mind helping finish off,” I say.

  “Thanks, Ashleigh,” he says on his way out the door. “Good speech, by the way.”

  And then he’s gone, and we’re on our own.

  I daren’t look at her. I concentrate on piling up chairs as though it’s the most engrossing thing I’ve ever done. She’s carrying a stack toward me, and I don’t trust myself to speak.

  “Sorry if I’m not very talkative,” Miss Murray says finally as she puts the chairs down and leans against them.

  Before I manage to stop myself, I say, “It’s not me, is it?”

  Her face curls into a frown. “You? Why would it be you?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought . . .” My voice trails off. How the hell can I say what I feel when her eyes are focused on me like they are now? I just want to lose myself in her. I think I am.

  “I’m just going through a bad patch at home,” she says lightly. Then she looks away and adds, “My partner has left me.”

  It’s the most honest thing she’s ever said to me, and the best, and the worst.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Am I? How can I be sorry that there’s no “other person” anymore? For a ridiculous moment, I wonder if it’s because she has feelings for me too. “When?”

  “Over the weekend. It’s been coming for a while.” Her voice cracks a little, and she rubs her eyes with her fist.

  “How could anyone leave you?” I whisper. “You’re so — brilliant.”

  She grimaces. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know some things.” I take a tiny step toward her. “I know you’re really smart, and you think about stuff, and you’re caring.”

  “See, I told you, you clearly don’t know me at all. I’m not really any of those things,” she says bitterly, turning away from me to balance another chair on her pile. “I’m selfish, it turns out, and thoughtless and insensitive.”

  I look at her from behind as she talks. Wisps of hair lie carelessly on the back of her neck, and the desire to touch her shoots through me from my stomach to my throat. I edge closer to her.

  “You’re the best person I’ve ever known,” I say, my voice shaking with nerves and longing. I want to kiss her neck. I don’t know if I can stop myself.

  Then she turns around and her face is centimeters away from mine. “Ash, I don’t think —”

  I stare at her mouth as she starts to speak. But she doesn’t finish her sentence, and she’s looking at me too. Suddenly, everything outside this room doesn’t matter, doesn’t exist. The only thing that means anything is what’s happening now, here, between us.

  I’m going to kiss her.

  I am. I’m going to do it. I can almost feel her lips, soft against mine. The longing is so intense it’s like a physical pain, pain like I’ve never known — the pain of needing someone so much.

  I lean forward. Close my eyes. I’m —

  “Ash, we . . . this isn’t what I . . . you need to . . .” She stops midsentence, runs a hand through her hair, turns away from me.

  My eyes snap open. “There’s no one around.” I smile, nervously, stupidly. “It’s OK.”

  “No, Ashleigh, it’s not OK.” She turns around and looks at me, and I stop smiling when I see her face. “It is — definitely — not — OK.”

  She crosses the hall to pick up her coat. “You need to go home. Your mum will be wondering where you are.”

  “It’s fine. She won’t mind. She’s cool.”

  “I need to finish my grading,” she says, heading for the door.

  I can’t let her go. Can’t let this moment end. It might be the only one we get. I follow her to the door. “You said you liked me, you enjoy talking to me,” I say weakly, my arms hanging limply by my sides, my face on fire.

  “I do like you,” Miss Murray says. “Of course I do, just not —”

  “You made me feel special.”

  “Ash, you are special. You don’t need me to tell you that. You just need to believe it yourself.”

  “Special to you.”

  Miss Murray lets out a breath. “OK, maybe you are special, in a way. I guess I see a bit of myself in you. And, yes, OK, perhaps that means I feel a closer bond than I should. A teacher’s not supposed to have favorites — but yes, all right then, I admit it, I guess you’re one of my favorite students.” She tries for a smile. “Is that good enough?”

  I step back. I feel like I’m falling, like she’s punched me in the stomach. “A favorite student,” I repeat. “That’s all I am?”

  Miss Murray stares at me. “Ash, what did you think?”

  “I . . . I thought . . .” What did I think? My thoughts and my words drain away.

  Miss Murray is leaning on the door. “Ash, come on. It’s time to go.” Her hand is so tight on the handle, her knuckles are pale. She’s looking at the floor.

  “Miss Murray.”

  “What?” She doesn’t move.

  I stare at her face, but she doesn’t return the look. “I love you.”

  The air in the room has frozen, every atom suspended. Then her tense body slackens. Her hand loosens its grip on the door, and she turns her head slowly toward me. She meets my gaze for a moment. Her eyes have dark rings under them. Her forehead is creased with worry. Her cheeks are pale. I want to make it all OK. I want to make her happy. I desperately want to touch her face.

  “I know,” she says quietly.

  Then she opens the door and waits for me to leave.

  “See you on Monday?” I call as she locks the hall and heads toward her classroom, but she can’t have heard me as she doesn’t reply.

  “So, if you could open your books to page . . . where did you say you were up to? Right, yes, page one-three-three. Now, someone tell me what you’ve learned about this poem. You, yes, you, what’s your name?”

  I stare at the substitute teacher like a zombie. What the hell is going on? Miss Murray hasn’t missed a single lesson since she started here.

  I make a quick escape, pleading a desperate need for the loo. I soon find myself wandering aimlessly down the corridors.

  “Shouldn’t you be in class, Ashleigh?” I turn around and see the headmaster, Mrs. Banks, coming toward me.

  “I was looking for you,” I bluff, convincing no one. She folds her arms and stares at me. “It’s about Miss Murray,” I add quickly.

  “Ah, yes, I was going to come and see you about her.”

  My heart flips over. “Me?”

  “Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble. I mean your whole class. In fact, I’ll come back with you now and I can tell you all together.”

  “Tell us what?” I try to keep up as she marches down the corridor.

  “You’ll just have to wait, Ashleigh. I’m not in the habit of repeating myself.”

  She’s found the only way of getting me back into that awful lesson.

  So we hear the news together. Me, who spends every waking minute thinking about Miss Murray, and the rest of the class, who probably just see her absence as a good excuse to ditch.

  “I know this is not an easy time for you.” Mrs. Banks looks around at us. I fidget with my pen, trying to look as unconcerned as everyone else. Robyn and I exchange a quick look and a half-shrug.

  “Your A-levels are nearly upon you . . .”

  As if we need reminding.

  “S
o I know it’s not the best time for this to happen.” She pauses, clicking her pen. I want to snatch the thing from her. Then she says, “I’m afraid Miss Murray has left us.”

  Left us? What do you mean? How can she leave us? How can she leave me? A dull pain creeps into my stomach while I try to maintain a bored, blank expression.

  “Her contract was due to run to the end of this term, but sadly, for personal reasons, Miss Murray has had to leave early. She has done an excellent job, and we are very grateful to her. Mrs. Hollins here will teach you for the remainder of the term. Now, any questions?”

  Can I trust myself to speak? Thankfully, Luke saves me the job. “Why couldn’t she stay for the whole year, miss?”

  “As I’ve said, personal reasons. In other words, nothing to do with you. Or me, in fact.”

  “You mean you don’t know, miss?”

  Mrs. Banks flushes. “Any more questions?” she asks briskly. Luke’s right. She clearly doesn’t know.

  Personal reasons. Is it me? Is it what happened, the things I said? Am I so completely awful to be around that she had to leave? Or is it something else, not me at all? How can I find out?

  Mrs. Banks flashes her smarmy smile around the room. “Now, let’s save our thoughts for studying, shall we? You’ll need every bit of mental energy you can muster over the coming weeks.” And she’s out the door before anyone else has time to speak.

  At the end of the day, I go over to Robyn’s with her. I’m still in a daze. Robyn comes into her bedroom, where I’m sitting on the floor with my books around me, and hands me a plateful of Jaffa Cakes. Comfort eating.

  “Thanks.”

  She sits on her bed. I glance over at her, assuming she’ll be immersed in the book that to me is just a blur. But she’s staring into space.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone,” she says without looking at me. “Do you know what I mean?” Then she looks at me so intensely that for a moment I’m confused. Is Robyn in love with Miss Murray as well? Does she know how I feel?

  “I think so,” I reply hesitantly.

  “I’ve never had a teacher like her,” she says. “No one else ever seemed to really care about us like she did.”