I’m going to be sick.
I can feel it crawling up my oesophagus, ready for me to purge. I know I can’t move because he’ll see me, but I also know I can’t stay.
With my panic reaching new levels, I grab my things and without looking in his direction, I get up from my seat and try to sneak out from the side—away from prying eyes. I can feel everyone looking at me as I practically spring for the door. Easton hesitates mid-sentence, noticing of course that a student has just up and left before assembly has ended. I know I’m most probably going to get into trouble for this, but I also know that if I don’t find a toilet, this situation is going to become even more embarrassing than it already is.
Once outside, I know I can’t keep it in any longer. I rush towards the small garden area in the middle of the courtyard and throw up. I know I only have bile in my stomach, but it keeps coming.
“Oh, dear God. Sasha, are you okay?”
Mrs Caterham rushes over to me, offering a hand over my shoulder. As I heave out one last time, I manage to nod. “I’m really sorry about the garden.”
I feel her squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t be. You’re much more important than that.”
“Can I get some water to wash it away or something?” I ask, wiping my mouth.
“Never mind that. Come with me to the toilets and we’ll get you cleaned up.”
Nodding my head, I let her lead me through the courtyard and into a dimly lit grey hallway. I know this school was supposed to have had some upgrades, but this portion is far from upgraded.
As if reading my mind, Mrs Caterham says, “One of the rooms on the list that never got painted in time.” She shakes her head, tutting as if remembering something unpleasant about it.
She steadily leads me into the toilets, quickly grabbing some tissue and handing it to me. “Thanks,” I say, wiping my mouth.
She smiles, looking like she feels pity for me. I hate that look. “When you’re ready, come outside. I’ll go fetch you some water.”
All I offer is a nod. I watch her leave, and when she does, I welcome the instant silence of the room. I step towards the mirror and look at myself. I look a lot older than I did this morning. Haggard, even. My luminous blonde hair looks dull and lifeless. Even my light blue eyes look darker than normal.
Shit. Of all the situations I could have landed myself in! What are the odds that the man of my dreams would turn out to be my head teacher?
With a shake of my head, I blow my nose and splash some cold water on my face. I didn’t bother putting on any makeup this morning as I was too rushed, and now I really wish I had. My mum always tells me I don’t need it. I guess it’s just a thing for me. Liam never let me wear any, so I guess that’s partly why I do.
Grabbing some more tissue, I pat my face down, feeling a little more refreshed. I fish through my bag, picking out a mint and pop it in before taking a deep breath. I take one last look in the mirror. I look better than I did, but I’m still haggard. I guess it’ll have to do.
Once I open the door, Mrs Caterham’s standing there with a bottle of water ready for me. “Here,” she says, laying it in my outstretched hand. “Do you feel better?”
I nod. “Yes. Sorry again about that. It just came on so suddenly.”
She frowns a moment. “Do you often get that? Sickness, I mean?”
Knowing what she’s implying, I shake my head. “Oh, no. Maybe it was just something I ate last night.”
“Would you like to go home? I know it’s your first day, but you can’t be here if you’re sick.”
I shake my head on a smile. “Of course not. I’ll be fine. Really.” She has no way of knowing the real reason why I was sick. Even I can’t totally believe I got to first base with the head teacher of all people last night. Not to mention the fact that he wanted us to go to fourth base, and we might done so if not for my need to get home to my mum.
Mrs Caterham places her hand on my arm and with a warm smile says the words that bring my nausea back with full force.
“That’s good because Mr Lockhart wants to see you.”
Headmaster
As I stand outside Easton’s office, my throat feels dry. My heart’s hammering so loudly that I swear he must be able to hear it from out here. With a deep breath, I knock on his door.
“Come in!” he shouts.
For a moment, I hesitate, my hand locked tightly around the handle. After a couple of seconds go by, I hear him shout again. I know I can’t hold out here much longer, so I push through, holding my breath as I walk in. He doesn’t look up at first, and I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t realise it’s me, or because he does and doesn’t want to believe it’s true.
Once I close the door behind me, he finally looks up. A breath leaves his body before his posture becomes rigid. “Fuck!” is all he says at first. Closing his eyes, he looks down, shaking his head. “I didn’t want it to be true.”
So, it was the latter.
I don’t know what I could possibly say in return to make this situation any better. I doubt nothing ever could. So, instead, I stand, swallowing the bile in my throat as Easton seems to struggle with what to say or do next.
Finally, though, he looks up. And I see it there. Hurt. Disappointment. Maybe even resentment.
“You never said anything in the bar last night.”
Why does it seem like he’s blaming me for this? It makes my nerves fall slightly. “You don’t seriously believe that’s a conversation piece I want to be having with a guy I’ve just met, do you? ‘Oh, I’m eighteen, but tomorrow I’ll be starting school to do my final GCSE year with a bunch of fifteen-year-olds.’ I know that wouldn’t have gone down well.”
His lips form a thin line, frustration ebbing on that beautiful face of his. “You told me you were older. Twenty-one or something.”
I shake my head. “No, you told me I looked around that age. I just didn’t correct you.”
With a defeated sigh, he slinks back in his chair, rubbing both hands over his face. He takes in another deep breath before locking those beautiful eyes of his with mine. “And here I was worried that the only problem I had this morning was that the bonny lass I met at a bar last night hadn’t texted me back.” He gestures towards his phone, and in that moment, I can’t help but smile.
“You think I’m beautiful?” I ask, feeling euphoric all of a sudden. At least I know what bonny means.
I get the unimpressed look back again. “Focus, Sasha.”
“Sorry,” I answer. But then it hits me. He knows my name. Of course he does. That means he knows who I am and my history.
The walls close in, threatening to take me under. He’s the head teacher of the school. It’s his job to know more about me than I probably do.
Shit. What now?
I’d thought knowing he was the headmaster of my new school was bad enough, but this somehow seems worse.
“We could get into big trouble for what happened last night. It could cost you your last year and me my career. Do you realise that? I’m the youngest headmaster in the whole of the UK. I’ve even been in the papers about it. I can’t lose this. Not after all my hard work.”
Suddenly, my own selfish wants and needs feel insignificant in comparison. In a slight panic, I approach his desk, tapping my fingers along the edge.
“Listen, Easton … I mean, Mr Lockhart. You just need to forget last night ever happened. Okay?”
With that said, he looks up. “Can you?”
All my breath leaves my body. I know I will never be able to get that image out of my head. It’s all that I’ve been able to think about ever since. It’s been on constant replay. I just can’t grasp why he asked me that. Surely, he doesn’t feel it too—this spark between us?
It doesn’t matter anyway. None of it does. No matter what my body tells me, I can’t think of Easton in the same way again.
“It doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is where we go from here on out.”
He sighs again.
“You’re right. We have to forget everything that happened last night.”
“We have no other choice.” He nods in agreement. “I promise I won’t cause any problems for you. The last thing I want is for you to get into trouble. I’ll stay away from you. It’s as simple as that.”
Shaking his head, Easton silently laughs. “Of all the women in the world, you had to end up being my newest pupil, didn’t you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Sod’s law, I guess. And you ended up having to be my new head teacher. You can’t odds it, can you?!”
He chuckles slightly—a little of the obvious weight leaving his body. “I certainly could not have predicted this; it’s quite literally the last thing I expected.”
Feeling I should leave, I motion with my thumb towards the door. “Maybe I should go.”
“Are you feeling better?” he asks.
“What?” I respond with a frown.
“Back there. The teacher said you were sick.”
I let out a nervous laugh. “Err, I guess a lot of it was to do with who appeared in assembly this morning.”
“I thought as much.”
“I do feel better, though. Well, not about this, but … well … you know what I mean.”
He smirks. “Yes, of course.”
As our eyes lock, the room falls silent. For a moment, I can’t seem to take my eyes away from him, and I know that’s the worst possible position I should be putting myself in.
“I’m going to go.”
Without another word, I turn and walk towards the door. But just as I touch the handle, I hear his voice.
“Why didn’t you text back last night?”
My heart skips at his question. Turning, I ask, “Does it matter now? Under the circumstances, I mean.”
He shrugs. “I guess not. Just curious. Forget I said anything.” He throws a file onto his IN tray, and for a split second, I wonder if it’s mine.
When I look back, Easton’s leisurely reclining back into his chair, his hands are clasped together, and he’s smiling at me.
I think my knickers just caught fire again. Seriously, that smile should be illegal—especially since I know I can’t have him.
When I don’t make a move to leave, he smirks. “Is there something else you need to talk with me about?”
I blink a couple of times before shaking myself out of my stupor. “No, nothing. I’ll get going to class. Nothing more needs to be said.” When he nods and gets back to his paperwork, I turn and am about to turn the handle when I suddenly stop and look up at the door. “I was going to text you back. I guess I just found it hard to know how best to respond to the beautiful man I met last night.”
Without looking back to gauge his reaction, I leave, closing the door quickly behind me. As I do, I lean up against his door and let out a deep breath.
“Are you okay?”
The voice makes me jump. I didn’t even realise Mrs Caterham was still here waiting for me. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a little overwhelmed. Mr Lockhart’s very nice.”
Her eyes light up at the mention of his name. “Yes, he is,” she answers, obviously flustered.
I shouldn’t feel jealousy. In fact, I have no right to feel anything at all where he’s concerned. It doesn’t help the little pang I feel in the pit of my stomach, though.
“I better get you to class,” she says, breaking my thoughts. “You have English first period, and you’ve already missed ten minutes.”
Oh, great.
I know I’ll have all the students’ eyes boring into me the moment I enter the room. I want nothing more than to lie low, keep my head down, study, and pass my exams. That’s all I intend to do.
Mrs Caterham leads me to my classroom. As I’d expected, the moment we enter, the teacher stops talking, and everyone looks my way.
“Ms Bowles, this is Sasha Blakely, our new student.”
Ms Bowles smiles towards me as everyone else just continues to stare. “Good morning, Sasha. How nice to meet you. Please, sit. We were just discussing poetry from the eighteenth century.”
I smile back, making my way to an empty seat next to Pigtails. I’m just grateful that the teacher didn’t make me stand up in front of the class and properly introduce myself.
“Love poets from the eighteenth century,” Samantha whispers to me.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking out my notepad and pencil case.
“Now, who can give me a name of a poet from the eighteenth century?” Ms Bowles looks around the room, but no one puts their hands up. Internally, I smile, because I already know of one.
“Sasha, how about you? Do you know of any?”
My head snaps to Ms Bowles, and everyone in the room looks at me. Of course she had to pick on the new girl. “Erm,” I say, chastising myself for sounding like a babbling buffoon. “Robert Burns,” I finally respond with a little more confidence this time.
“Very good.” She looks around the room. “Anyone else?” Everyone’s quiet. “Come on, ladies. How about William Blake? Lord Byron? John Keats?” She looks at everyone’s blank expressions. I’ve heard of all of them, but the rest obviously haven’t. She visibly sighs. “We will need to change that right now.” She walks towards her desk and picks up a book on poets through the ages and walks towards me. “Open your books to page two hundred and one.” She places mine on my desk, and I thank her. She smiles, walking back towards the front.
In a effort to keep up, I quickly turn the pages until I reach number two hundred and one, and I notice it’s all about eighteenth century poets.
“Today, we’re going to learn about these famous poets, what made them choose to write poetry, and what went on in their minds when they wrote. Was it pleasure, pain, happiness, loss? Once we have read through the book, I want you to pick a poet and then a poem which you will read for the class week after next. Unfortunately, I won’t be here next week as I’m having an operation on my knee, so we will have continue with it then. In the meantime, I would also like for you to try your own hand at poetry.” Everyone groans, causing Ms Bowles to smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time before that assignment.”
The Pub
After my first day at school, all I want to do is get home, get dressed in my normal clothes, and head for the pub. So, that’s exactly what I do.
After texting Brett the Barman, I leave home at four on the dot and make my way to the bar. I have to laugh when I think of Brett being called that. The trouble is that the more I think about it, the less I seem to be able to call him anything else.
It’s all Easton’s fault. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
As I make the twenty-minute journey on foot, I can’t help this overwhelming sense that someone’s watching me. Call it paranoia, but it’s there. A part of me thinks that with Liam out there somewhere, I’m bound to have this sense all the time.
I don’t like living like this, but I’m worried that the moment I let my guard down, he’ll be there. It’s just Sod’s law. I also know that if I keep thinking he’s out there—searching for me—then it will eventually drive me crazy. He already made me his prisoner once. I’m not going to let him do that to me ever again.
On a sigh, I round the corner of the quiet street that my friend’s bar is on and walk inside. I immediately notice Brett, and as if sensing my stare, he looks up, offering me a wink before nudging his head in the direction of the corner of the bar. I follow the direction of his eyes and find Easton sitting in his usual booth. His head is down, and he’s scribbling something.
Morbid curiosity drives me towards him. When I take a closer look, I find him sketching with a pencil. It looks to be a castle on top of a hill. “Is that Edinburgh Castle?” I blurt, forgetting about the fact that I’ve just spied on him. I see the moment he jumps, and I watch as a small sigh escapes his beautiful lips. “Sorry,” I say, biting my lip. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He looks up, smiling when he sees me, and I hate the fact that it makes my hea
rt skip a beat when he does. “That’s okay. I must have been in a world of my own.”
“I didn’t know you sketched,” I respond, changing the subject.
He shrugs like it means nothing. By the way that he draws, it certainly doesn’t look like nothing to me. His lines are beautifully focused, and his shadowy areas are perfectly placed. I can just imagine myself outside that castle, waiting to get inside of it.
“It’s a hobby of mine. Just something I like to do from time to time.” He places his pencil down before swiftly putting his sketch away in his bag. “So, how was your first day?”
“It was okay for a first day, I suppose. It all feels weird, though. After not having had a structure for three years, it’s kind of hard to get back into it. I know I will, though.”
I cringe a little, wondering if he’ll bring up why I was away for three years. “You’re bound to feel like that for a while. It certainly doesn’t help when you have students so much younger than you in the same lessons.”
I’m about to answer that it doesn’t when I hear a voice from behind me. “Is that you, Sasha?”
I turn and see Mrs Caterham behind me, and for a moment, I wonder what she’s doing here. Then, she passes me, sitting right opposite Easton, and I understand. My eyes glance over to him, and I see the moment he looks uncomfortable. It makes me feel uncomfortable too. Isn’t she married? If so, what is she doing here with Easton?
“How was your first day today?” she asks, looking up.
Knowing I have to answer, I say, “It was good, thanks. I came in to meet my friend,” I say, waving my hand towards Brett, “when I saw Mr Lockhart sitting here. I just thought I’d say hi.”