Hello, everyone. Sorry for the delay. Thank you so much for reading and following-I really appreciate it. I hope you are all well. Thank you xxx

"Speak again!" Crowther declared, knelt on the floor before the standing Dakin. "Speak again, Jokanaan, and tell me what I must do." He delivered the lines like a professional actor, eyes hungry as he reached out to touch Dakin's leg-but Dakin recoiled, stepping back and holding out his arms warningly, as if Crowther was a wild animal. Almost all of the boys watched Crowther, enraptured.

"Daughter of Sodom, come not near me! But cover thy face with a veil, and scatter ashes upon thine head, and get thee to a desert to seek out the Son of Man." Dakin's acting seemed to be enhanced by Crowther's talent, as he regarded Crowther with a mixture of fear, piety and pity. In the corner, Hector clapped delightedly.

"Who is he, the Son of Man?" Crowther's voice was honey, so unlike his usual tone. He managed to be feminine, while avoiding any trace of campness as he slowly rose to his feet. He lent in to Dakin and whispered seductively. "Is he as beautiful as thou art, Jokanaan?"

"Get thee behind me!" Dakin shouted, jumping away. He looked around dramatically. "I hear in this palace the beating of the wings of the angel of death."

The boys broke into hearty applause, which Hector joined enthusiastically. "Bravo, Crowther, bravo!" he boomed.

"And me, sir?" Dakin reminded him, shrinking back into himself.

"Yes, yes, you too, Dakin." Hector appeared to brush him off, turning back to Crowther. Dakin frowned. It seemed that the more time Dakin spent with Irwin, the more of his "golden boy" status in Hector's eyes was lost. "But marvellous, Crowther, simply marvellous!" Hector himself was saying.

Crowther tried to contain his pleasure at the compliments. "Cheers, sir," he grinned, sheepishly. "Do you know what it was?"

Hector shook his head fondly, tutting. "Your excellence excuses you from my displeasure at your patronising me with Oscar Wilde, you oblivious coquettes."

Dakin shrugged as the rest of the boys laughed delightedly. "We knew you'd get that one, sir."

"Crowther, pray remind me of the play you are starring in this weekend?" Hector again ignored Dakin, sending Crowther up. "I think a, shall we say, field trip is in order? Boys?" He looked expectantly around the classroom, which was received with much nodding and agreement. Crowther looked slightly embarrassed, but thrilled, his eyes wide. It was rare he got this much attention.

"Oh sir, it's only The Crucible. Local am dram."

"There is nothing wrong with am dram." Hector stretched nostalgically. "I was no stranger to the boards when I was young…and I certainly have a soft spot for Miller. Anyhow, which part do you play?"

Crowther's grin stretched. "John Proctor."

There was general awe in the room, especially from Hector who applauded once again. "A field trip to watch young Crowther play this turbulent, steadfast, extraordinary character…Someone must pass the message onto our dear dictionary person…where is he today?"

Scripps started as all eyes suddenly turned to him. He had not been paying attention to the performance, nor to Crowther's moment of fame. Instead, he had been staring so hard at the back of David Posner's empty chair that he was surprised it bore no mark. He had been pondering this when he was suddenly thrust onto centre stage in the classroom.

"Erm…" Scripps' eyes finally met Hector's, who was looking at him curiously. "What?" he said, stupidly.

"Where is dear Posner, do you know?" Hector repeated patiently, head to one side. "Are you quite alright, Scripps?"

"Erm…I don't know." He coughed. "Yeah, I'm-fine, sir."

Hector frowned as the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Eyebrows raising, it was clear that he did not swallow Scripps' lie. "It must be your turn for a lift on the motorbike today," he said, with a smile as if offering him a great treat. Scripps' stomach jarred unpleasantly. Oh no. Not today.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, too distracted to be anything but compliant. Hector beamed, satisfied, as he picked up his bag and left the classroom, beginning to don his leather jacket.

"Whoop whoop!" Dakin's handsome face suddenly loomed into view, startling Scripps, whose chest constricted agonisingly at the sight of him. Now feeling rather sick, Scripps forced himself to smile ordinarily at Dakin, as if his presence didn't fill him with rage. "Ooooh, your turn on the feel-mobile!" Dakin was saying childishly. "Mate-remember to put your bag between you and the big guy!"

"I'll remember," Scripps said, trying to sound as if his jaw was unclenched. He stared at Dakin's devilishly striking looks, trying to quell the flames of furious agony in his chest.

"Do yourself a favour and try not to get a hard-on." Dakin ruffled his hair before slinging his bag over his shoulder and swanning in blissful confidence from the room. Scripps stared after him, wondering how he could be so relaxed with the weight of whatever he had done to David on his mind. Maybe he didn't feel it, didn't understand. Scripps almost envied his self-obsessed indifference.

Where was David? Why hadn't he come to school today? Scripps wondered on account of whom David was absent-Dakin's actions, or his own. The former filled him with anger-the latter with dread.

Clinging unwillingly to his teacher, Scripps' nostrils were filled with the smell of leather, the back of his neck being whipped mercilessly by the wind as they sped along. Schoolbag clamped firmly between his front and Hector's back, his only shield, Scripps endured the vibration of the road, gripping tightly for dear life. As the world raced by, Scripps gritted his teeth, praying to God that the traffic lights would be in his favour and they would not have to stop. If they did, there would be no stopping the old man.

Sure enough, like most of Scripps' prayers, it went unanswered. Hector slowed to a standstill as the red light displayed. Scripps rolled his eyes long-sufferingly as the anticipated hand reached around towards him. He habitually recoiled as much as he could without letting go of Hector's shoulders. Luckily, the bag prevented Hector's grasping fingers from reaching his genitals. Sighing, Scripps hated his life. He had barely slept since his last meeting with David, he had not stopped loathing himself, the suppression of all he was feeling destroying him from within-and now he was dodging the grasp of his predatory schoolteacher on the back of a motorbike.

Had David worked out his secret?

Finally, the green light signalled, and the motorbike roared off.

He had to know. He couldn't live like this.

"Mr Hector?" Scripps shouted, over the deafening thundering of the motorbike. "Mr Hector?"

"Yes?" Hector shouted back, sounding slightly put-out. Conversations were rarely held on the bike.

"Can you-" Scripps paused, swallowing hard. He knew he would regret this. "Can you drop me off on Milton Rise? It's not far, sir. Sorry to ask," he added. "There's something I need to do!"

Finally, the motorbike roared to a halt on the corner which lead onto Milton Rise. It was not a particularly attractive street, with pale brick terraced houses and cracked pavements. But to Scripps, knowing who lived there, the plainness became beauty in his eyes and caused stirrings in the bottom of his stomach as if he were about to walk onto a stage. Scripps scanned the houses, working out on which side of the street number 18 would be.

"Is this the place, Scipps?" Hector asked, removing his helmet and steadying the bike with a foot on the kerb.

"Perfect, sir." Scripps began to scramble off the bike, clutching his bag like a life jacket. "Thank you for the lift."

"You are most welcome." Hector smiled at Scripps in his usual way-but there was a searching look in his eyes. "Are you sure you are quite alright, my boy? You have had a troubled look about you recently." He tilted his head to one side again, concerned. Scripps marvelled at how he could switch from attempting to fondle his genitals on a fast bike to caring immensely about his welfare.

"N-no, sir," he answered, far too quickly. Hector frowned.

"It's not this infernal Oxbridge fixation, is it?"

"No sir, nothing like that."

"So there is something." Hector grinned triumphantly.

Scripps tutted good-naturedly. "You've caught me, sir," he said, smiling weakly. "Too smart for me."

"Not at all, dear boy-I am a mere Sheffield-educated mortal." He grinned satirically, then sighed fondly. "Whatever is the matter?"

Scripps shrugged vaguely; he was not about to discuss David with Mr Hector-of all people. The excitement would probably make him keel over. "Nothing that can be remedied…"

"Come now, that can't be true." Hector leaned closer, still softly smiling. "A problem shared is a problem doubled."

Scripps snorted. He looked into his teacher's eyes, the bright eagerness mixed with a worldly wisdom that Scripps did not understand. He had never thought of Hector as being a human being, with his own life and loves and experiences beyond the pages of books. Sighing, he realised how much he would miss the old man once he went to university. "…Well…I guess I'm having some problems with…" He chose his words carefully. "…feelings for another…person…"

Hector's eyes lit up with excitement. "I knew it! I knew it!" he said gleefully. "I'd know that look anywhere."

Instantly, Scripps was embarrassed. "Look, sir, you'll forget we had this conversation, right?"

"Of course, of course, my dear boy-my lips are sealed." Hector looked as though Christmas had come early. "So-are these feelings requited?"

Slowly, Scripps shook his head, feeling immensely awkward. "No."

If anything, Hector looked even more pleased. "It is a pain we all must bear at some point in our lives-dear, dear! To be young…Well, Scripps, now is the perfect time to use that pain to do some real writing. It is your ambition to be a journalist, right? Why not use words-compose poetry? After all, as a great man once said-"

Scripps involuntarily sniffed.

Hector backed up. "I'm so sorry, Scripps, I got carried away…ignore this foolish old teacher."

"It's okay, sir. I know what you mean."

"But Scripps-" Hector did not seem keen to let him go. "Do you know for sure it is unrequited?"

Scripps swallowed hard. "I'm ninety-nine per cent sure."

"But it is that one per cent that grieves you so?" Hector nodded knowingly. "It is that tiny portion of hope that tortures a person in your predicament…"

"Sort of…" Scripps took a deep breath, knowing he was going to regret this. But it felt so good to talk to someone. "Well…this person sort of…loves someone else."

"Ah, I see!" Hector clapped his hands.

"But the other person is just so cold, and horrible to them, and just recently they've really, really hurt the person I…well… but I don't know what's happened, they won't tell me, and now I don't know what to do because I think I might have accidently made it clear that I have feelings for them and I think that might have freaked them out and now I feel so bad because they have no one to talk to- they are my best friend and I should be there for them to talk to about whatever the person they love has done to them but they can't and it's so hard and I'm hurting so much because they are hurting and that kills me and I think I've royally fucked up, sir. I'm terrified I've lost them for good." Scripps took several breaths, before realising how he had gabbled. Feeling his cheeks flush, he said quickly: "I'm sorry, sir." He was mortified.

Hector put his head to the other side. He didn't look bothered by Scripps' outburst. Instead, he looked once again at the sign at the side of the road, Milton Rise. He frowned musingly. A few silent, agonising moments passed. "…Milton Rise…" Hector mumbled. "Why is that familiar…?" He looked up at Scripps. "To paraphrase My Fair Lady, is this the street where said person lives?"

Scripps nodded. "I've come to see if there is anything I can do for them."

"Milton Rise…" Suddenly, Mr Hector's eyes widened, mouth hanging slightly open. "I know. I've written it on an envelope home before now. One of us lives here…"

Fear gripped Scripps, like ice in his heart. Oh no. "It's not-it's not one of-it's not anyone from-?" But he knew his lies were transparent.

Hector feigned innocence. "I was not suggesting that one of your classmates was the object of your affections." He pretended to look incredulous-but a wicked grin gave him away. The old man looked as though he had won the lottery.

"No-not-sir!" Scripps stammered, terrified.

"Oh, not to worry, my dear, dear Scripps!" Hector beamed openly, eyes twinkling like stars. "Your secret is quite safe with me!" His tone suddenly became enraptured, hypnotic. "To love another is something like prayer and cannot be planned. You just fall into its arms, because your belief undoes your disbelief…"

Scripps blinked. "That was beautiful, sir…"

"Anne Sexton, my boy." Hector put a hand on Scripps' shoulder, looking him straight in the eyes. "I will say no more, Scripps. Just take care of yourself, yes?"

"Thank you, sir," Scripps smiled gratefully. "And please-"

"My lips are sealed." Hector was putting his helmet. "Now, fair you well on your noble quest. I shall see you tomorrow."

"Thank you." Scripps said again, pathetically.

"Goodbye, Scripps." The bike revved, and too soon was gone, leaving Scripps wondering. That had been one of the most surreal conversations of his life. He felt that he had entered another realm-one of insanity.

Quickly, he gathered himself, and put the previous conversation out of his mind as he hurried along the pavement to number 18, Anne Sexton's words ringing in his head. They filled him with a sort of courage as he rapped on the blue front door before he could stop himself. Nervously, he waited. He felt slightly sick, half-dreading the sight of David-or how David would regard him.

There was a long pause, before the door finally opened-to reveal a middle-aged woman with greying curly hair. "Hello?" she asked, her eyes kind. Scripps could pick out David in her voice, and those eyes. She had to be his mother.

"Mrs Posner?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yes?" Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes, I'm-I'm Donald Scripps. A friend of David's from school."

"Oh!" David's mother smiled warmly in recognition. "Yes, the pianist David sings with. I remember."

"Yes." Scripps coughed slightly. "I was wondering –as David wasn't in school today-erm…where he was…?" His voice trailed off pathetically.

"David isn't very well, I'm afraid," she answered apologetically. "I decided to keep him off. It's all this pressure I think-it's affecting his health…"

"Oh no." Scripps was torn between worry-if David was ill, he wanted to run to him and comfort him-and suspicion. Could this be an excuse? "Would it be okay to see him? It won't take long," he rushed.

Mrs Posner looked slightly taken aback-but she still smiled. "I'll just pop up to him and see how he is feeling. I'm sure he'll appreciate you coming, dear."

"I hope so." Scripps said sincerely. "Thank you so much."

"No problem." Mrs Posner smiled again as she left him on the doorstep. Scripps waited apprehensively. He heard the sound of fee on stairs, and then a door being opened.

"Mum?"

Scripps' heart leapt at the faint sound of David's voice. It at least tripled his nerves.

"How are you feeling. Oh, you do look pale, darling."

"I'm…coping."

"Well, I came up to tell you one of your friends is here to see you. I wondered if you were up to seeing him."

There was a pause. "Who?"

"Donald, he said. Donald Scripps, was it?"

Another agonising pause. Then, in a very different, misty voice: "Erm…I don't think I can see him. I feel really…I don't think it's a good idea for me to see anyone right now."

Scripps felt as if all his internal organs had fallen out onto the floor.

"Oh really, dear? He's come all this way. He's obviously a nice boy. He seems very worried about you."

"Yes. He's a wonderful friend…"

All of Scripps' organs miraculously fell back into place.

"…but tell him I'll see him tomorrow. I don't think I can face anyone at the moment. Tell him we will talk tomorrow…please."

"Okay, darling. I'll go and tell him. I'll bring you up a glass of milk too, yes?"

"Mum, I don't want milk-" David sounded annoyed.

"It's good for you. It makes you stronger, darling." Mrs Posner said firmly. "I'll be right back."

Scripps did not know how to feel as he heard her footsteps on the stairs once again. On the one hand…they were to talk tomorrow. On the other…

"I'm sorry, dear, but David's really not feeling up to it." Mrs Posner punctured his thoughts as she re-appeared.

"Oh, really?" Scripps quickly arranged his face into a look of surprise and concern, as if he hadn't heard.

"But you'll see him tomorrow in school, dear, if he's well enough." Mrs Posner's head fell to one side, much like Hector's. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you so much. Tell David I hope he gets better soon."

After they had said goodbye, Scripps stood for a few moments silently on the doorstep.