To Be Honest(14)

“Lozenge?”

I take one, crunch it and Mr Morlis looks surprised. “Forceful, Miss Mint,” he says with a sparkle, and although it normally makes me want to be sick in my hand when teachers call each other teacher names, it does make me feel a little tiny bit sexy to be honest.

So I smile. Is he flirting? Do Phoebe and Mr Morlis fancy each other ? What about Taff? Wait. I’m literally winning prizes for weirdness of my life right now.

“What’d you think, then?” Mr Morlis just sounds like normal and even if my skin feels funny; drier than normal, I touch it and it is. ‘Cos I’m grown up, I s’pose.

“Orsino was hot.”

He chuckles. “Very deep.” Then he yawns and turns to look where I already know:

Joe’s tickling Erin

Erin’s mum’s trying not to notice

Jenny’s reading the programme for like the millionth time

Courtney’s uploading pictures to Facebook

Rach is stressing about calories in her head

Josh’s talking to the person next to him who isn’t me but should be



“Joe Brannigan, leave that girl alone,” he calls without standing and hysterics from the back seat stop.

“Bit long for me,” he grins and takes out his phone. “But that storm, my god ...” he starts to scroll.

“I love thunder,” I say on automatic.

He studies me. “Strange, I thought you hated it.” He shrugs. “Thunder’s cool but those clouds ... wow. Once in a lifetime.”

It’s good then, ‘cos we lapse into silence. The Houses of Parliament and other important stuff goes past but it’s dark now and I can’t really see, just lights. We jerk down Embankment, him on his phone, me on my guard. Shit. Of course: Miss Mint’s told people stuff I’ve no idea about. Miss Mint has history. Miss Mint has a life . Now it’s mine.

This is harsh but thinking about it carries me all the way to Guildford and then Mr Morlis says fucking hell under his breath and I snap out of it ‘cos I’ve never heard a teacher drop an F-bomb, ever.

“What’s up?”

“Look at this.”

On the screen’s a purpley, bobbly thingy. The wiki text says something to do with breasts. Breasts? Oh my god. Mr Morlis.

Mammatus clouds , the description reads , are most often associated with severe thunderstorms.

Oh.

Then he starts going on using words like ‘stratosphere’ and ‘adiabatic’ and ‘sheared’ which make me think of sheep in hospital having their hair done but which I think he’s actually using to explain something. So I try to listen. Because, when it comes down to it, the important bits of what he’s saying are to do with magic and chemistry and what Miss Mint and I just did.

“The mammatus phenomenon’s a very peculiar thing,” he says. “There’s never been proof but, scientifically, it should be possible for a form to dissolve and solidify, sometimes even in different places; different forms even, with these clouds,” he’s saying excitedly but it’s a bit fast for me and I’m trying to take it all in. Only the clouds bit’s sticking; I’m still thinking about breasts.

“What?” I sound dozy.

“I know this sounds odd but there have been stories about people being affected by mammatus clouds so that they’re sort of morphed into something — and sometimes someone. I read back in college about two people it happened to. Of course, it’s only been reported in America, so it’s almost certainly not true,” he rolls his eyes.

“But — and you know I’m straight, Pheebs, so don’t get me wrong - if there’s one thing guaranteed to drive me wild it’s the thought of two men in control of each others’ bodies.”

“Yes, Mr Morlis,” I say ‘cos it’s the first thing that comes out. “Or women.” It sounds all sarcastic and the women bit sounds weird, but that seems ok by him. He holds my wrist gently. “He’s a very tactile man, Mr Morlis,” I remember Mum saying to me once after parent’s evening. Some stupid bint in year 9 tried to claim abuse once but she was mental.

Anyway, he holds my wrist with its lovely bangles and my eyes with his. “Science. It’s a wonderful thing.”

“English is too,” I find myself saying, a bit teasing.

“Let’s compromise on science with a bit of drama thrown in,” he says and he’s just joking now, definitely not flirting, he just likes her/me like I like Josh I think and I’m relieved and pissed off all at once but he’s let go of my hand so I look in my/Miss Mint’s bag for something to do.

And I reach in ‘cos there’s not much in there, only a posh looking compact and a phone and keys and a pen and a neat-but-packed diary and no mess. But then there’s also a crumpled bit of paper with something on too; numbers. Which I open in the safety of the shady leather cave and then I’m shocked again, ‘cos I’ve seen this before yet I can’t believe it’s hers.