A Little Crushed (6 page)

“Don’t patronize me. You have no right. I know what you’re doing. You don’t even know me, so don’t pretend to be my friend.”

“Miss Harding…Rebecca.”

He made the mistake of placing a hand on her arm. Eyes wild, she slapped his hand away. She looked as if she wanted to kill him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t
ever
touch me.”

Her words, loaded with pain and humiliation, flayed him.

“You know something, don’t you? Who told you? Your friend Mr. Black? Did he ask you to go easy on me because I am a walking time-bomb?” Stumbling back, she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I quite admired you, you know. At least you were honest with me. I screwed up, and you punished me—excessively, I agree, but at least you didn’t treat me like an invalid or a basket case. But now…”

She lowered her gaze, but not before he caught moisture glistening behind her eyelashes.

“Mr. Jackson…”

She spoke so quietly, he strained to hear.

“Don’t try to be my friend. I don’t need your pity. As for these—” With one sweep of her arm, she sent the pile of lines fluttering to the floor. “I will do them all again.” With that, she spun on her heels and left the room, leaving him stunned.

Weary to the bone, Max buried his head in his hands. He shook his head hard, as if, somehow, he could rid his mind of the can of emotional worms he’d tried so hard to get the lid back on. Tom was right; he should have left well alone. Kate was right; what the hell did he know about being a teacher?

“Earth to base.”

Tom’s quiet knock on the door roused him from his pit of uncertainty.

“Bad day?”

Max winced. “On a scale of one to ten, let’s just say I passed eleven.”

“Don’t tell me. Rebecca?”

Tom’s concerned frown, turned the guilt-edged sword deep in his chest. “Let’s just say I screwed up big time. Again.”

Tom fixed him with his rueful smile. “I guessed that. I think it was almost being mowed down by a raging Rebecca that did it. She looked ready to kill. What happened this time? Did you lose it again?”

“
Au contraire
.” Gritting his teeth, Max closed his briefcase. “I was the epitome of charm and patience. Unfortunately, the divine Miss R. more or less told me where I could stuff my olive branch.”

“Mmm.” Tom frowned. “Rebecca doesn’t take kindly to being patronized.”

“Never a truer word spoken, my good man. She guessed right away you’d spoken to me.”

Tom rubbed at his forehead, eyes closed. “This situation isn’t good, Max. I hope Rebecca comes to her senses. She can’t afford to waste time antagonizing you. Not if she is serious about Oxford. She missed so much school as it is. If it had been any other pupil than Rebecca, I would have made her repeat the year, but she’s managed to catch up.”

Max groaned. “This teaching lark is turning out to be more complicated than I thought. Fancy a quick one down the pub?”

“You read my mind. And Max, give it time. She’ll soon get bored making waves.”

Peering in the mirror above the sink, Rebecca recoiled from the red-rimmed eyes staring back at her. She glanced down at her hands, disgusted to see they trembled.

She couldn’t believe she’d said those things to him; she couldn’t believe he’d taken it. Gaze still trained on her reflection, she turned on the tap and allowed water to pool in her hands. Holding them to her face, she spread out her fingers and pushed against her skull, wanting to scream. She couldn’t do it. No way would she be able to sit in the same classroom as him and yet… Her stomach rolled as it did when she rode the big dipper; that sensation of being so scared and yet thrilled by the latent danger.

Head pressed against the mirror, she saw him again, his green eyes appraising her. Something in his expression scared her but not in a bowels-turning-to-liquid nightmare way as… Moaning, she scooped up more water and drenched her face, not caring she soaked her collar.

“Rebecca?” Emma’s concerned call seeped through the door, dragging her back to earth.

“I’m coming. Can’t I even pee in peace? You’re worse than my bloody mother.” Banging on the dryer unit button with her elbow, she turned her face to the warm air.

* * * *

“So, you got out alive then.”

“Emma, as I have been walking by your side for the best part of ten minutes, I would say yes—unless, of course, I am a figment of your imagination, but then, we both know you do not possess much of that.”

Immune to years of her sarcasm, Emma just grinned. “Did you let him have it? Did
he
let you have it?”

“No one had any ‘it.’” Rebecca kept her irritation in check. Emma meant well, and she had to admit, her restraint had been impressive.

“Are you going to ask to be moved from his class?”

“Yes…no. Actually, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Staring down at Thamesford Common footpath, Rebecca kept her tone neutral. “Maybe he isn’t worth doing anything about.”

“Crap.” Emma snorted her disbelief. “When have you ever gone down without a fight? You’re up to something.”

“Maybe.” Rebecca conceded. “But in this case, I will have to be Machiavellian about it.”

“Maky who?” Emma tripped over a daisy clump. “Shit…bloody path.”

“Bloody path?” Rebecca smirked. “Not bloody stupid four inch heels? Serves you right for trying to impress the wild man of the Outback.”

Emma giggled. “Oh, but isn’t he simply too delectable for words? Do you think he’s married?”

“Well if he is, his wife must be an idiot. Who would want to be married to him?”

“
Moi
. I’m trying to remember if he wears a ring.”

“He doesn’t, I—” Rebecca shut up. Funny how every little detail about him lay imprinted on her brain. “Please stop talking about him. I feel quite sick thinking about him.”

“Me, too.” Emma sighed. “Luuuurve-sick. Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Seriously, what are you going to do about him? You can’t spend a year arguing with him, fun as it may be for the rest of us, especially when he gets the better of you—”

“Emma, I would quit while ahead, if I were you.” Rebecca stopped in her tracks. “For your information, your lover-boy wants a truce. He actually grovelled.”

Emma peered at her. “You made that up. He doesn’t look the type to grovel.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Rebecca continued walking. “I told him where to stuff his grovel. Anyway…”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, I so hate it when you do that,” Emma wailed.

“That’s why I do it. Come on, let’s go home.” Running at the turnstile, Rebecca leap-frogged over it.

“I can’t believe you still have to do that.” Emma clicked open the gate. “You’re not five anymore.”

“More’s the pity.” Rebecca stuffed her hands in her front pockets. “Coming for tea? It’s Tuesday.”

“Er…”

Fascinated, Rebecca watched Emma’s round cheeks turn from crisp breeze pink to Arctic red glow.

“Oh, Becs. Do you mind? I sort of said I’d meet Andy in Shakes.”

Rebecca’s anti-boyfriend guns loaded. “
Sort of
? You either did or you didn’t, and I suppose you’re talking about Andy Stone?”

“Yes.” Emma warmed to her theme. “Don’t you think he’s cute? Brendon’s coming too. You know, Brendon Turner—our revered head boy, the one every female in the school is nuts about, including a few of the sex-starved teachers, I suspect.”

“Emma, I get it. He is God’s gift to women.”

“And he wants
you
. Andy says he has this thing for you.”

Emma looked so smug Rebecca wanted to laugh except it was too ludicrous for words. “The boy is an idiot. He is only head boy because his equally idiotic father is on the board. Andy is an idiot also. I would rather contract a dose of herpes than share a cup of coffee with them. My God, Em, where is your self respect? I can understand your liking the colonial. At least he is educated but that pair? They’ve had more girls than Russell Brand.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Emma glared at her.

“Too right. So what’s it to be? My mum’s Tuesday chocolate cake, or Neanderthals R Us?”

“Er, what you said second.” Emma pulled at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Will you be pissed off if I don’t come? It’s just that—”

“Fine. Do what you want. Run and play with the little boys.” Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, Rebecca turned for home as Emma’s “oh don’t be like that” bounced off her back.

Tears pricked her eyes, at once making her despise herself. She hated this new vulnerability, but Emma’s ‘defection’ unnerved her. Unfair, she knew and silly. Of course, she blamed
him
.
He
made her feel emotionally exposed. “Damn you, Mr. bloody Jackson.” Kicking out a discarded cola can, she thought about her strategy. She’d lied to Emma. She didn’t have a plan at all.

* * * *

“What’s up with you?” Her mother looked up from the ironing. “Where’s Emma?”

Rebecca wrenched open the fridge door with such force that a carton of milk bounced to the floor. Lucky for her it was nearly empty. “No Emma today, and nothing’s wrong with me.” Grabbing the dishcloth from the sink, she got on her hands and knees and mopped at the spilled milk with angry, exaggerated strokes and then threw the sopping cloth into the sink. With her mother’s curiosity burning a hole in the back of her neck, she set about preparing a doorstop of a sandwich. She braced herself. Her mother ran true to form.

“You haven’t fallen out again have you?”

“We’re not children, Mum.” Rebecca shot her a scathing look. “We don’t ‘fall out.’ We have differences of opinion.”

“And what ‘
difference of opinion’
have you had this week?”

Rebecca bit into her sandwich. “She’s gone to Shakes with a couple of morons. It’s no big deal.”

“Well obviously it is, or you wouldn’t be in such a foul mood. You really do take things too seriously.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Rebecca stared at her mother with growing resentment.

“You’re peeved, aren’t you? Because Emma is off doing something on her own.”

“If you must know, I was invited also. It’s hardly my thing, is it?”

“Oh, Rebecca.”

Her mother’s sigh raised the alarm.

“Listen, dear. It’s perfectly understandable if you don’t feel ready for...for socialising with boys. After—”

“Mum, you are so predictable.” Rebecca threw her sandwich onto the island. “This has nothing to do with…with you know what. I am not walking around harbouring a psychotic hatred of men. Why do you always have to try and psychoanalyze me?”

“I am not doing that.”

To her surprise, tears glistened in her mother’s eyes.

“I am just so angry. Angry that animal turned you into a—”

“A what, Mum? Someone who doesn’t know how to have fun? Go on, say it.”

“You’re a teenager, for goodness sake! You
should
be out having fun.”

“Really, Mother dear. What are you suggesting? You should be pleased I am not out having unprotected sex and popping Ecstasy pills.”

The iron hit the ironing board with force.

“Now you’re being childish. That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. All I meant is it’s perfectly normal if Emma wants to go out and meet other people. And yes, find a boyfriend. It’s a natural process, and I don’t want you to be left behind. Life is for living, and I feel… I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Why is it such a disaster that I don’t like clubbing and going to parties? I am sorry, but I’m just not the requisite bimbo material. For a start, my hair’s the wrong colour.”

“You make me want to scream with frustration. You have a brain. You know what I’m trying to say.”

“Yes, I do.” Rebecca bent to pick up her bag, grateful her hair fell forward and hid her burning cheeks. She didn’t want to fight with her mother. “I know where you’re going with this, and my answer is still no. I do not want to be hypnotised. I don’t care what Dr. Small says. He’s an idiot. I don’t
need
to remember, and I don’t
want
to. Dad agrees with me.”

“You father is being a father.” Her mother clasped her hands in front of her ample bosom. “You are his little girl. He thinks he’s protecting you from the truth, but sometimes the truth must be faced in order to move on.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I knew it was a mistake teaching you how to surf the Net.” Whistling to Wally, she stormed from the room. Her mother’s shriek of “Shit—I’ve burnt Jack’s favourite football shirt” filtered after her.

By the time, she reached her room, her anger dissipated. Guilt nagged at her inherent sense of fair play. Her mother meant well. Rebecca knew how much she worried, but why couldn’t she understand she just wanted to be left alone with her past. It was her past, no one else’s. Bad enough she’d gone through it without sharing.

Stretched out on her bed, she thought of Emma. She didn’t understand this new pre-occupation with boys and sex. So what if they were the only remaining virgins in the year. Rebecca punched her pillow in frustration, wishing desperately their world would stay as it was, but she was intelligent enough to understand it wasn’t going to. But then…Emma hadn’t had her experience of male ‘intimacy.’ The old, familiar nausea rolled in her stomach.

Deciding this depressing train of thought warranted a nice, relaxing bath, she jumped up. She hoped Vicky wasn’t hogging the bathroom.

Sure enough, she opened her bedroom door in time to catch Victoria tip-toeing out.

“Oh, my God.” Rebecca gaped in awe. “Dad is going to kill you. I got to hand it to you. You certainly do have courage.” Vicky’s chestnut brown hair was now a white Jean Harlow blonde. “Mmm…a tad too much peroxide, don’t you think?” she added with a dry laugh.

“Please don’t tell him,” Vicky pleaded. “It was a mistake.”

“I’ll say. But don’t you think he just might notice?”

With a sob, Vicky pushed her out of the way and ran to her room. Teatime was going to be so much fun.

Still giggling, Rebecca turned on the taps and emptied the remains of her mother’s lavender essence into the running water. Poor Vicky. It wasn’t that the ‘dumb’ act hurt anyone, but she was just so damn shallow. How could the breaking of a nail or an eruption of pimples possibly compare with world globalisation?