When I was in the last year of upper sixth I was obsessed with my maths teacher, Katherine Greene. She stuck out from a crowded bookshelf of worn out doctors and department heads that gathered dust in the staff room, dunking their Rich Teas and moaning about their subsidence and grandchildren. Katherine was in her forties, but she had the figure of a thirty year-old. Her perfect blonde hair would collect on the edge of her shoulder when she panned the classroom looking for hands. She used to prop her whiteboard marker against her cheek or the corner of her lips, like she was about to eat it when she stood at the front, listening to one of us go on about quadratic equations. I found everything she did exciting.
I was head of St. John's at that time and I spent a lot of time organising stuff with the teachers for the rest of my House. I was somehow always meeting up with her, organising events and sports days and stuff. She related to me like we were the same age, joked with me, was friendly, forward even. I projected this air of maturity, determined to appear more sensible than my friends. I was an over-achiever and carried myself like one. Why not? I'd have to do it in the real world soon enough.
The thing was Katherine flirted with me. When I was younger my mum had told me that when a girl likes you, you can tell, but I knew it was a lot harder than people thought. Girls touched their hair, played with bottles -- what was that meant to be? Katherine made it obvious. She'd lay down innuendo in conversation around loads of us, subtle stuff the girls wouldn't get. She'd touch me on the shoulder, stand really close. I kept noticing her feet pointed toward me when we talked. I read that meant a woman was interested, even if she didn't know it. But I bet Katherine knew it. She knew what she was doing breathing down my neck, shifting her hips at me, wetting her lips when I ran to her from the pitch.
"Hey you." She said. "Have you got a plan for the scenery yet?"
"Not yet."
"Do you want to come by the maths staff-room later and we'll have a crack at it?"
I nodded.
"I know everyone's looking at you to perform, but I think if you take a relaxed approach it's much easier. Try it my way and we'll see what comes up."
What did she mean by 'relaxed approach'?
"She wants to see you after school, doesn't she?" Alex asked.
"She said 'everyone was looking at me to perform'."
"Man -- you're in! She wants you!"
"I don't know."
But I did know. I knew as I returned to the pavilion. I knew it when I decided to take a shower instead of just changing back into uniform like usual.
God, what was going on? I was in school for Christ's sakes. I mean, was she still with her husband? What would it feel like? Would she want to start a relationship? What would happen if we were found out? There were laws against this!
I swallowed and stepped into the maths department, the place vacant, the lights still on. More than ever the corridors sounded with the silence of the kids that weren't there. I was nervous but too horny to think straight. I navigated my way to the staffroom, knocked on the door. Nobody came. I turned the handle. It was empty.
I tried her classroom.
No-one; except, as I turned to leave, I heard footsteps behind me, coming from the dark of the cloakroom. I turned. Becky appeared, from the year below.
"What're you doing?" She said.
"Nothing. I was just looking for your mum."
"She's tied up at the moment. It's just me."
I nodded. All this worry -- It was so ridiculous, improbable.
"What did you want her for?" She asked.
"We were going to go over some things."
"What things?"
