Friendly teachers dating friendship teachers romances
Nothing happened that afternoon – we simply meandered around a quiet area of the small seaside town where I lived.
I didn’t stay out late, so my mum had no reason to suspect.
Jeremy listened to me and served as a distraction from all that.But even then I knew something would happen eventually.And soon enough, it did – just a few days after my 15th birthday in June.I hoped that, once I turned 18, we could reveal the truth about our relationship, and the law would be on our side. As soon as I stepped through the school gates to begin year 11, the atmosphere had changed. I’d shut myself in the school toilets, unable to breath, and try to count slowly to 10 to stay calm. We continued to speak and see one another as much as we could, but it felt like the walls were closing in. After the school trip to LA, I tried broaching the subject with my mum by explaining there were rumours at school that I was too friendly with Jeremy, as people had spotted us looking close on the plane.
Rumours had begun to circulate after a girl I’d been on a summer work placement with saw me getting into Jeremy’s car. But I was so in love I didn’t want to stop the whispers. Her response was a very clear and sharp, “That had better not be true.” I felt her judgement heavy on my shoulders, and knew if I told the truth, I’d be banned from seeing the man who’d become the centre of my world.I thought he was so cool; he had a tattoo of a blue star on his arm and performed at local gigs. He followed me back soon after, and a few weeks later, my phone pinged with a direct message: ‘Have I upset you? I’d been acting up in his class and ignored him when he told me to stop talking. The two friends I told thought it was hilarious – especially as I was so insistent there was nothing romantic going on.On the flight home, I sat between him and a female teacher and clung on to their hands to help my fear of flying – but I didn’t want to let go of Jeremy’s when we landed. Excitement spiralled in me as I replied, ‘Don’t worry; it’s not you. In class, I always called him ‘Sir’, but he looked at me differently – and I knew later that evening my phone would light up with messages from him.I’d erase my phone inbox every few days and hid a packed, black weekend bag at the bottom of my wardrobe – in case my mum ever caught us and I had to run away.