A Little Crushed

by Viviane Brentanos

  It was the first Rebecca had heard, but Emma was right. She’d cut herself off from the rest of the class and reality for weeks. She wondered why he hadn’t mentioned his part in the Mr. Black arm twisting, but then, apart from her work, they didn’t discuss school. It was an unspoken rule. When they were together, they were not teacher and pupil but friends—which was frustrating as hell.

  “Becs.” Emma gave up with the tape. “Are you okay? Seriously now, you’ve been acting really weird lately. I mean weirder than normal.”

  Shuffling across the floor, she joined Rebecca on the rug, and they sat together, as they had done so many times in their long friendship, knees drawn up, backs pressed against Emma’s huge old-fashioned but to-die-for comfortable bed. Rebecca wriggled her bare toes and debated whether to confide in her friend. Sometimes she thought she would burst with all the new feelings she carried around in her heart.

  “Hel-lo.” Emma elbowed her in the ribs. “Are you listening to me? You’re doing it again. It’s like you blank out. Not only that, you’re so quiet—and nice. God, you were even nice to Vicky the other day.”

  Now that hurt. “When?”

  “You lent her your Metallica CDs. You don’t remember. Hey, you don’t think you have early Alzheimer’s, do you?”

  “Don’t give up your day job. Your comedy routine stinks, and just for your information, lending Metallica to Vicky was for educational purposes. Anything to wean her off Glee.”

  “Stop procran…crak… Stop hedging. What’s going on with you?” Expression serious, Emma wrapped tentative fingers around Rebecca’s forearm.

  Panic churned in her gut, but she was tired of carrying the burden alone. “Em…promise me one thing, actually two. Please don’t laugh, and then, don’t tell me I’m crazy because I know that already.” Eyes closed, she sucked in her breath and breathed out the words. “I-I admire someone.” There she said it.

  At first, Emma stared at her, jaw somewhere amongst the debris that had been their pizza supper, and then she leaned over and turned off the music. “Right, first off, please explain what you mean by admire because I am thinking that is a code word for fancy because I know you would rather die than admit you’ve fallen off the I-don’t-do-men wagon. So, spill the beans. Who is it?”

  “Point of reference.” Rebecca took a swig of her drink. She was going to need it. “‘Fancy’ is such a childish expression. It doesn’t begin to describe the feelings I have for—”

  “For Mr. Jackson.”

  Rebecca stopped breathing.

  “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I know you think I’m just dim-witted Emma, but I am not as stupid as you think.”

  “Excuse me?” Emma’s insightfulness stunned her. “Are you insane? No, it’s, oh…” She banged the sides of her head with clenched knuckles. “I can’t do this.”

  “Spare me the dramatics, Becs.” Emma’s tone softened. “It’s so obvious. Well, to me anyway. I’ve seen the way you look at him in class, how you sit there so quiet I have to pinch you to see if you’re still in the land of the living. You fancy him, and that’s okay. Welcome to the world of lesser mortals. Half the girls in the school, probably some of the boys, too, ‘admire’ him, as you put it.”

  “Don’t make light of this, Emma.” She grabbed the end of her plait and chewed on it. “It’s more than that. When I’m with him, I feel so—”

  “Whoa.” Emma made a T with her hands. “Time out, here. When you’re with him?”

  “He’s been helping me,” she mumbled, turning away, so Emma wouldn’t see her reddening cheeks. “For Oxford. That’s where I go every Saturday. He only lives around the corner, so he said it would be more practical than driving back into school.”

  “Okay, well that’s good he’s helping you out. It proves what I said all along. He’s a nice guy and a good teacher.”

  “It’s not just that.”

  “I hope it is just that.” Emma rose up on to her knees and shuffled around until they faced each other. “Let me ask you something, Becs, and answer honestly. When you’re together, poring over books in these cosy little sessions, has Mr. J. ever done anything or said anything or looked at you in any way that makes you think he may have feelings for you?”

  Annoyed by this shrewd ploy, reluctantly, Rebecca had to admit the answer was no. “Well, no, but I know he cares about me. We talk a lot. He makes me feel so...so safe.”

  “Becs, please, I understand you wanting to reach out to someone, but don’t get all in a dither over this. Lighten up a little.”

  If this was Emma trying for tactful, Rebecca wasn’t buying it. “How you, of all people, have the nerve to say that. Don’t you remember how you were over Monsieur Giscard?”

  “Oh, I do, and I also remember how you teased me about it. The point is I knew it was only a fantasy, no more than a stupid schoolgirl crush. All girls play this game, except you never did. So now you’re convinced what you are feeling is true love or admiration. I mean, that says it all, you calling it that.”

  “This is different. I’m eighteen, Em, not fourteen,” Rebecca said stubbornly. “I know what I’m feeling.”

  “But what’s the point?” Emma wailed in exasperation. “I know you too well to treat your obsessions lightly.”

  “What do you mean what’s the point?”

  Emma looked aghast. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you think you could possibly have a chance with him? It will never happen. Even if he wanted it to, he can’t because he’s your teacher.”

  “You still think I’m being ridiculous, don’t you?” Rebecca said dully.

  “A little, yes. So he’s kind to help you with your Oxford dream. Mr. Hurst would do the same. Blimey, even Mr. Aitkin would. You’re reading too much into this.”

  “Well, thank you, Emma Brown, for that psychological analysis. I didn’t realize you were such an expert on affairs of the heart. Some friend you are.”

  “Rebecca, be careful. You could get him into serious trouble, you know. He could lose his job if anyone thought something was going on, which it isn’t.”

  “Give me some credit.”

  “I’m only telling you this because I am your friend.”

  Rebecca had no sarcastic retort. In her heart, she knew Emma meant well. Kicking out at the empty pizza box, she fixed her gaze on Emma’s growing pile of gaudily wrapped presents. “I dream about him, you know.”

  “Oh my, this is worse than I thought. No wonder you’ve been coming to school looking exhausted.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “It isn’t like that. Not what you are thinking anyway. He’s just there, by my side, saving me from… He’s so gentle and kind, and I just want him to hold me forever.”

  Another weighty silence filled the room. Emma reached for her hand. “Becs, come tonight. It will be fun.”

  At that moment, Rebecca had never felt so isolated. Emma didn’t understand, although she was trying. But how could she ever comprehend how much that animal had taken from her and how Mr. J. was responsible for saving her from so much bitterness.

  “I have to go.” She scrambled to her feet. “You have fun tonight. I know you want me to come, but I don’t think I could stand hours of techno and hip-hop.”

  “Mr. J. will be there.” Emma made one last ditch attempt and a pretty low one at that.

  “Ha ha. So funny.” Rebecca glared. “And I am sure Miss Holmes will be clinging to his arm for the entire evening.”

  “Maybe not.” Emma grinned too knowingly. “Rumour, as in your sister, has it they are not spending so much time together. Hey, maybe he finally found out what an incredible bitch she is.”

  “It was never anything serious anyway.” Rebecca sniffed disparagingly. She debated whether to mention the fiancée but thought better of it. It would only provide her dear chum with another knife-edged reason as to why Rebecca was delusional. “Sorry, but your attempt at psychological warfare has failed. I am not going. See you Monday.”

  Outside, it was bitterly cold. Rebecca d
ebated calling her father to come and pick her up but decided the ten minute walk would do her good. Her conversation with Emma had not eased the ache in her heart nor the confused thoughts scrambling around in her brain. Her tummy rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten properly for days. Not even Emma’s double cheese crust had tempted her. It seemed the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to be with him, and because of the stupid party, he’d cancelled their Saturday session. Mr. Black had asked him to help set the gym up. Oh well, another lonely evening with Wally and X-Factor loomed. Or maybe not. As she rounded the corner into her road, she spied Peter hanging around outside her gate. “Oh please, God, why now?” she moaned. “I can’t cope with him. Not today.”

  Blowing into his leather gloved hands, Peter stamped his feet against the cold. From the mauve tinge to his lips, she reckoned he’d been waiting some time.

  “Hello.” Avoiding his anxious expression, she clicked open the gate. “You look cold. Why didn’t you go in? You know my mum would nurture you.”

  He didn’t laugh at her feeble joke which alarmed her. Peter always laughed at her jokes. In fact, he looked so scared, she thought he might cry.

  “I need to talk to you.” The stammer he’d taken years to battle resurfaced. “I need to ask you something—”

  “Peter, please don’t do this.” She tried to push past him, but to her surprise, he blocked her way, expression irritated.

  “For once in your life, Harding, will you just shut up and listen. I know what you’re thinking and—no—I do not want to ask you out.”

  “You don’t?” Relief, brewed up with curiosity, rushed through her.

  “No, I don’t. It would be like dating my sister, and…I’m gay.”

  Okay, not what she’d expected, but then again, she wasn’t shocked. In a way, it explained his penchant for shopping. “Is that why you’ve been acting so peculiar around me? And can we please go inside and talk about this?” Rebecca’s teeth chattered out the words.

  “No.” He seemed agitated. “Please, Becs. I don’t want to have this conversation with flapping ears around.”

  “Peter, one thing. How long have you known?”

  “Since ever.” He fashioned that cheeky boy grin she remembered from their childhood days. “But it isn’t something I can brag about, even in this day and age.”

  “But why wait until now to tell me?” She felt oddly hurt by what she saw as a lack of trust. “Did you think I wouldn’t understand, or maybe I would judge you? How could you believe that? We’ve been friends forever. Do Simon and Em know?”

  “Shut up, Rebecca.” He sighed. “This isn’t about you, and yes, they do know, and I didn’t tell you because sometimes you can be so…so…”

  “Cutting?” She put him out of his misery, recognizing the truth behind the unspoken accusation. “I’m sorry.” She rubbed at her freezing nose. “I know sometimes I’ve been a bitch, but I would have stuck by you.”

  “I know you would.” He sighed. “Despite your long list of annoying attributes, you are loyal.”

  “Thanks—I think.”

  “Thing is, I need your help. I want… Now this is going to sound totally nuts, but could you be my girlfriend? At least just for tonight?”

  Relief crashed over her. For one scary moment, she’d thought that maybe he wanted her to offer to be a surrogate mother for him at some point in the future. There were limits to friendship. But this request was almost as daft. “Excuse me? Me? A girlfriend?”

  “Yes.” Warming to his theme, he grew urgent. “I want you to come with me to the party tonight. Becs, I don’t mind you guys knowing, but I am not ready to come out. I think that prat Brendon is beginning to suspect, and you know what a homophobe he is”

  “Has he been bothering you? Because if he has, then he’s not worth the effort. Besides, Peter, you could wipe the floor with him. You’re not scared of him.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want to have to wipe the floor with him. This is going to sound all so macho and stupid, but he cracked a few innuendoes in the dressing room after gym the other day. Then he bet me I couldn’t find a date for the party. So I thought—”

  “If you turned up with me on your arm he’d back off?” Rebecca seethed inside, part of her wanting Peter to beat the crap out Brendon, but she realized if he did, he’d end up suspended from the boxing team. She found herself between a rock and a hard place. She didn’t want to go to the party for two reasons: she hated dance music, but more important, she didn’t want to see Miss Holmes swan around, with her one inch nail extensions dug into Mr. J.’s arm. But Peter was her friend, and Brendon’s attitude made her sick. Plus, if what Emma claimed was true, and Brendon had the hots for her, then it would make Peter’s revenge all the sweeter. “Okay.” Oh God, she couldn’t believe she was agreeing. “I’ll do it, but please don’t even think of asking me to dance.”

  “Deal.” His freckled face lit up with a saucer size grin. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “You’ll pick me up? What on? Your skateboard?” Arms folded against the below zero temperature, she stamped her feet, impatient to go inside.

  “So drôle as always.” He waved a set of keys in front of her face. “I passed my driving test.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t possibly drive. You’re only six, and how is it I didn’t know about this?

  “Because you, ‘dear girlfriend,’ live in your own world. See you later.” Blowing her a kiss, he opened the door to a clapped out Ford parked by the kerb and then spluttered off into the growing twilight. Only six p.m., and she was mentally exhausted—which brought her on to a major problem. She had nothing to wear on this stick it to Brendon campaign. Time to wave the white flag and grovel to the enemy.

  “Where’s Vicky?” She burst into the kitchen, wincing as the furnace heat of her mother’s domain brought painful life back to her fingers. Peering over her mother’s shoulder into the interesting bowl of chocolate cake mix, she dipped a finger inside and then licked off the delicious gooey concoction.

  “She’s upstairs sulking.” Her mother rapped her knuckles with a wooden spoon. “Your father has banished her.”

  “What’s she done now?’ Jumping out of reach from a second rap, she took one last finger scope.

  “Go and see for yourself.” Her mother seemed close to tears. “Why can’t my girls be normal? Is it too much to ask for?”

  Intrigued, Rebecca whistled to Wally and raced upstairs. When she opened Vick’s bedroom door, she understood her mother’s distress. “Wow, way to go on the home make-over, Vick. I’m stunned.”

  “Cool, eh?” Vicky swung her legs around and jumped off the bed. “Dad went ballistic.”

  “I’m not surprised. Do you know how difficult it is to paint over black?” She had to hand it to her baby sis; she had courage if lacking somewhat in sense. Still, the floor to ceiling celebration of Goth and Death Metal bands was impressive; scary but cool. As for the sister formally known as ‘Bimbo,’ she was no more. In her place stood an exotic creature of the night, resplendent in black tulle and satin, dark locks shot through with purple, and a spider tattoo crawling up her arm.

  “You...em...look great.”

  “I do?” Holding up her skirt, Vicky twirled around to show off her leather studded biker boots. “Don’t you think I look just like Amy Lee?”

  Rebecca thought she looked more like an extra from Thriller, but as she needed Vick’s help, she thought it best not to share.

  “And I have you to thank for showing me the light.” Falling backward onto her bed, arms spread, Vicky sighed. “You were so right. No more pandering to society’s conventions. Women are more than ornaments to adorn men’s arms.”

  Oh hell, she sounds like me. I’ve created a monster. “Well said, Vick. I am proud of you, but in your quest to reinvent yourself, you didn’t throw away your old clothes did you?”

  “No.” A frown as black as her lipstick shadowed her face. “Mum wouldn’t let me. I wan
ted to donate them to Oxfam, but she said I’ll grow tired of being dark and ugly.”

  Typical mother response—always so supportive. “Good and I cannot believe I am asking you this. But do you think you could put aside your new convictions, and help transform me into a party creature of the night—preferably one that doesn’t fly or fight werewolves?”

  “You are kidding, right?” Vicky shot up to a sitting position. “You are going to a party, and you want me to help you get dressed?”

  “Don’t sound so smug about it.” Rebecca glared. “I could take back my CDs, you know. You must have one suitable party dress lurking in those, what I presume to be, charity bags.”

  “Oh, indeed I have.” Vicky clapped her hands in glee. “This will be fun. Can I do your make-up and hair, too? I feel like Picasso, working on a raw canvas.”

  Rebecca was speechless; not because of her sister’s enthusiasm, but she was stunned to think she’d even heard of Picasso.

  “Okay.” Vicky pushed her towards the door. “Shower first. Let the games begin.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max hid behind a post, nursing a lukewarm cola, wishing he were somewhere else. The monotonous drone of techno wreaked havoc on his eardrums. He was not in a good mood, still seething from his conversation with Kate. Sometimes his fiancée’s selfishness amazed him. Granted, he felt bad for her; to have months of work destroyed and buried under a ton of landslide mud must be soul-destroying but to expect him just to hand in his notice, pack up and fly back to Sydney because her plans had gone up in smoke?

  “Why so glum?” Will, the PE teacher appeared at his side carrying two plastic cups of fruit punch. “Here. Drink up, if you dare. A cheeky little bouquet with a top note of…” He swirled the drink around in his mouth. “Yes, melon flavoured bubble gum, I believe.”