Everything I've Learned

Karen's father finds out about her relationship with Holly, and he furiously interrogates the child. Slowly, she recounts the full story, sifting through what she may and may not tell her father- along the way, reflecting on everything she's learned from this school year… none of which was on the exam.

M/English/Romance & Angst/Karen/Holly

Author's Note: I'm not the world's best fanfiction author. In fact, I'm a complete amateur. Please pardon me if I get a bit out of character; I'm not used to writing with pre-structured characters. Do let me know, though- I would really love the criticism. The fic is rated M for very strong language, ~adult themes~ (although smuttier scenes will not be terribly explicit), and all that jazz that happened on the show anyway (so if you could handle watching the show, you'll be a-okay here). Love you all ~R

Disclaimer: Karen, Adrian, and Holly- along with any other characters referenced- are copyrighted property of BBC. I am making no profits from this fiction, nor do I intend to claim the plot as my own.

Chapter One- How to Not Be Nervous


Nervous.

On the first day of class, Holly—Ms. Shawcross—asked us to write about one word that described a moment in our life. Any moment. And why.

When I was little, when my mum and dad were together, we always went to this big, beautiful beach. I felt so small hidden in the sand. It was safer there, where the only people who could see me were little crabs and ants and things living just below the surface. The world was so big, and I was so small, and it made me so nervous. I think nervous is different from scared. I wasn't scared.

After my parents split, and my mum moved to god-knows-where with god-knows-whom, I went to the beach by myself. I swam out too deep. I didn't want to see the shore anymore- the shore was where the worst things were. I was nervous then, too. I'd never been out swimming without Mum right beside me, making sure I couldn't drown. I'd never even been out to water that went above my shoulders. I was so nervous, though, that I was shaking, and the shaking only made me swim faster. By the time I decided I wanted to go back, I was out too deep. That's when I got scared.

There was a buoy a few metres away- one of those big metal ones with the numbers and the bells and the little starfish crawling all over. Climbing on to there, I was scared. It felt amazing, and so scary, and so much better than being nervous. I decided I couldn't go back to being nervous then- nervous was too… in the middle, too particular. Scary had a whole spectrum of adrenaline.

So I rejected the offer of the kayakers to bring me back to shore. They didn't scare me enough. I waited until I stopped shaking- until the nervousness was gone- and I dove back into the water, headfirst, and swam back to shore scared as bloody hell.

I was nervous at first, trying to talk to Holly. I wasn't sure if I was allowed to be friendly with my teacher; I wasn't sure if she was allowed to be friendly with her students. We didn't even speak until the fourth art club meeting. A full month of knowing her before I abandoned being nervous. I could only do it that day because of the beach- I was painting it, or at least, the way I remembered it- and it reminded me of nervousness and fear and the bad things and the good. I thought… I thought Ms. Shawcross must be nervous going into class. No, that's wrong. I knew she was nervous. The boys tormented her- god, they're so juvenile. But I thought maybe if she knew we weren't all so unintelligent, she could stop being so nervous. Maybe she'd even start being scared.

She'd read about the nervousness and the fear in my essay a month back. I really hoped she'd remember… partly for the sake of making my point, and partly because I liked thinking I mattered enough that she'd remember something like that. I really do think that she did. That's why I didn't tell her not to be nervous that day in art club- she knew what I wanted to say. I think she could see it in the painting, or maybe in me. Maybe in her.

I still have the essay. I got it back later than all my classmates; the first line of ink was faded away, like it'd been read so many times over that the words needed to sleep. Nervous, I think, defined my childhood because I changed when I abandoned it. If I had to write the essay now… I'd say Holly. Holly defined my adolescence because she taught me how to decide what I feel: how to abandon the things that make me worse, and define my own life and change myself. She taught me the difference between liking how the fear made me see the world, and liking how the fear made me feel.

She taught me that I didn't like being afraid. I liked how being afraid made other feelings disappear. From that day at the beach, that day just a few months shy of my tenth birthday, I started systematically replacing everything with fear. I liked testing limits. I liked the rush.

But that changed after a while, too. I guess the more I tried to be afraid, the less I really was. The game was too easy to beat, but I didn't know how to move on. I was just stuck there- unhappy with being safe, unhappy with being afraid. In need of something new. In need of Ms. Shawcross. Holly.

My father's hand slams down on the table before me. "Are you planning on answering anytime soon?" He demands, barely choking the words out between furious huffs. "What the fuck were you thinking when you started all of this?"

I don't know how to give him the words in a way he'll understand.

"I was thinking of how to not be nervous. And then how to not be scared. Holly-"

His hand slaps the name out of my mouth. "You are not on a first-name fucking basis. She's your teacher, for chrissakes! Start over. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"How to not be nervous and scared. Ms. Shawcross showed me what came next. What was better than being afraid."

He doesn't ask what, but I see the question in his eyes. If he asks me, I'll have to tell him that she makes me happy, and if he wants to continue the interrogation and the following punishment, he can't think about me as someone with feelings.

But he's wondering: and what was that? What came next?

Loving.