Page 96 of Five Gold Rings

‘Oh god, sure.’ I walk over to it. ‘Maybe if I put it on oscillate? Or tilt the fan head?’ Don’t talk about your fan to her. That is not sexy. I turn the speed down to a solid three and set it to oscillate. This will create a nice mood and improve air circulation through the room. I won’t sweat to death. I feel the breeze pass through my nether regions. That is very pleasant. You can do this, Ed. I close my eyes and move to turn around.

Except I don’t.

I’m not sure how it happens but the tip of the condom gets caught in the wiring netting of the fan. It’s pulled instantly off my penis and sucked through the wire so that it is spinning on the fan blades. What is happening? What circulates now is air but also the slight whiff of lubricant and rubber through the room. In a panic, I try to turn the fan off but increase the speed instead. No. Shut down. Off. Off. I get too close and vibrations of the metal in the fan skim my still erect penis. I shriek and try to turn it into a manly howl of pain, while falling back, trying to work out if my penis is still on me, whether I need medical help, whether I can save this.

‘Oh my… Shit… Ed…What have you done? And what is…’ But before Sarah can finish her sentence, the condom which was spinning around catapults off the fan blade and through the wire like some kind of rubber projectile and smacks Sarah on the face. She screams and puts her hand to her cheek. The blood drains from my face, every part of me, in fact, and I stand there, paralysed, watching in horror as she glares at me.

This is not how sex should happen, is it? I’m on the brink of finding my voice to say I’m sorry but the door to my room creaks open and three people peer inside, slowly. I cover my penis with my hands.

‘Oh my god, are you OK?’ one of them shouts, seeing Sarah lying there, holding her face.

The door. We didn’t lock the door. I recognise one of the boys who lives opposite me. He’s a biochemist. He uses my mugs. I wave at him, keeping the other hand firmly in situ.

‘The johnny hit me…’ Sarah squeaks.

‘Are you Johnny?’ One of them turns to me angrily. I am naked, so naked. I step behind the fan for cover, even though it is, in essence, see-through.

‘God, no.… I’m Ed. There was an accident. The condom, my knob, her eye… I’m so sorry, Sarah…’

I find I’m waving my hands around in the air trying to explain, as their faces turn from incredulity to laughter. And as the fan head pivots away, I reveal myself to the room. Not just myself. My very lonely penis, just dangling there, alone.

I look down. I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s happening today.

MIA

‘I love you. Do you know how much I love you? You’re my favouritest.’

I go over and plant a massive smacker on Ed’s forehead because I know the physical proximity will make him blush and I love nothing more than making Ed Rogers the centre of attention and firing up his cute rosy cheeks. He looks around this big, open-plan staffroom hoping no one saw that. They all did, Ed.

‘Yes, yes, yes… Stop that now. It’s because I was getting sick of you stealing my crisps and cereal bars. That’s not lunch, Mia. That’s not good for you.’

I steal Ed’s crisps and his cereal bars because he doesn’t scrimp on these things. I’d steal Henry from Geography’s lunch, but he buys all the budget lines of snack goods and strange things like fruit. Beth, on the sofa opposite, only deals in suspect leftovers.

‘But you made me a sandwich, that’s adorable!’ I exclaim.

‘Don’t get too excited. It’s cheese.’

‘It’s veggie, too? Why are there bits in the mayo?’ I ask, examining the contents.

‘It is veggie because I’ve known you for five years so know better than to give you meat. I run a bit of pesto through the mayo. I didn’t know if you like salad, but I also reckoned you needed the vitamins.’

‘I do,’ I say, pouting. I go and sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. ‘I don’t deserve you, Eddie.’

‘This is true,’ he says, as I unwrap the package carefully, and then take advantage of the proximity and slip my hand into his packet of crisps.

He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Share,’ he commands.

‘Always,’ I say, taking a bite out of my sandwich. ‘The pesto works. Well done, you.’

He shrugs his shoulders and tucks into his own. He’s a careful eater, Eddie. He never relaxes in this staffroom, just sits knees together, back poker straight. I watch him as he takes a finger and dots it around his trousers, picking up all the crumbs. I don’t know anyone who does that. I am a stand up and dust it all off on the floor kind of gal. Is Ed hot? To someone out there. Like me, he’s twenty-eight, but maybe five years older than me in maturity. I know this because he talks a lot at me about mortgages and flossing. He’s cute and well-built in a preppy, safe, sitcom kinda way – bright hazel eyes, clean shaven and his brown short-back-and-sides styled in a way that I fear hasn’t changed since his teens. Maybe I just prefer my men to be a little more HBO-18+ rating-special.

We started at this school in the same year, fresh out of teacher training, clinging to each other for safety. Our orientations were the same day. I had to borrow a pen. He had many pens. His look has not changed since then: freshly ironed chinos, light blue shirt, an outdoor jacket with proper down ratings. He’s so careful in life that he doesn’t even wear a rucksack on one shoulder, always two. Does he remind me of anyone? He reminds me of someone’s dad, in waiting.

‘Thank you, by the way, for coming in during period three and sorting out my Year 9s,’ he whispers.

Such is the nature of our working relationship that whilst he always lets me borrow his pens, he leans on me to sort out the parts of his job that he struggles with. He’s an organised, methodical teacher who knows how to work the photocopier. I still have no clue about the photocopier, but if you have that class who are loud and unruly and who should know better, then you know that I’m your girl to come in, scream and dole out empty threats about detentions.

‘Did they simmer down?’ I ask.