Not what I was told to do.

I stared at her. “I'm sorry, what?”

Heather looked at me for a moment before her face twisted into an expression of exaggerated disgust. “Oh, for God's sake! Not like that, you disgusting little pervert. I meant go and have a cold shower before you burst a blood vessel.”

“You could have phrased that better!”

“I could have, but where would the fun be in that?” She grinned and pointed towards the hallway. “Go on. Bathroom. Cold water. Give your brain a fighting chance of catching up with the rest of you.”

I stood up, shaking my head. “You're genuinely the worst person I know.”

“And yet I'm the one you came to for advice.” She gave me a smug little smile. “That says a lot about the idiots in your social circle, doesn't it?”

“I'm regretting it already.”

“No, you're not.” Her expression softened for a moment, and she reached out to straighten the collar of my shirt. “Seriously, though. Go get yourself sorted out, get some sleep, and don't make any stupid decisions tonight. You're allowed to be confused. You're not allowed to make that everyone else's problem.”

I nodded. “All right.”

“Good.” She patted my cheek, then immediately ruined the moment by adding, “And try not to think about Rebecca in the shower. I don't want to hear you banging your head against the tiles when you remember what you almost did. And don’t clog up the drain!”

“Heather!”

She cackled as I stalked out of the kitchen. “Love you too, little bro!”

“Questionable!”

“Deeply!”

I heard her laughing all the way down the hallway. Despite myself, I was smiling by the time I reached the bathroom. That was Heather's particular talent. She could take a conversation that had left me feeling as though I'd somehow managed to ruin my entire romantic future in the space of one evening and make it seem survivable. She'd insult me, tease me, occasionally threaten violence against my dignity, and then slip in some genuinely good advice when I needed it most.

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to cool, thinking about what she'd said. Don't fill in the gaps with what you've spent years hoping she'd say. It was probably the most important thing she'd told me all night.

Rebecca had kissed me. She'd admitted to being jealous. She'd made it clear that she wanted me, at least in that moment. But she hadn't asked me to be her boyfriend, and she hadn't promised me that everything between us would suddenly be different. For all I could know it would be a one-time thing that she could hold over Kat and my head that she’d had me first. If we were being entirely technical that has Ms. Holmes. I couldn't take a single evening and turn it into the ending I'd been imagining since childhood. And Kat deserved better than to be treated as a temporary distraction while I waited to see what Rebecca wanted.

I stepped beneath the cold water and immediately regretted every decision that had brought me there.

“Bloody hell!”

From somewhere down the hall, Heather shouted, “WORKING?”

“GO AWAY!”

Her laughter echoed through the house.

I stayed under the water until I could think about something other than Rebecca's lips, which took considerably longer than I cared to admit even with some very uncomfortable shrinkage. Eventually, I dried myself off, changed into comfortable clothes, and headed back to my bedroom.

My phone was waiting on the bedside table.

For a moment, I considered messaging Kat. I wanted to tell her that I'd enjoyed the evening, that I was looking forward to our next date, and that I hadn't changed my mind about giving us a chance. All of those things were true, but I couldn't pretend nothing had happened with Rebecca, either. The memory of that kiss sat heavily in my mind, not because I regretted it exactly, but because I knew how easily I'd nearly let it become something more.

I decided against sending a message while my thoughts were still such a mess. Kat deserved a conversation with someone who knew what he wanted to say, not a hastily assembled reassurance from a boy trying to convince himself that everything was fine.

I put my phone down.

There was another complication I hadn't mentioned to Heather, either, although I’d been tempted. She’d probably have some really good advice on the matter, once she got over the shouting that would have come from me having sex with my teacher. Friday night at the school dance had already left me with a secret of my own, one involving Joan Holmes and a meeting we were due to have on Thursday afternoon. Whatever happened between Kat and Rebecca, I still had to face that conversation, too.

Three women. Three very different sets of expectations. And me, sitting in my bedroom on a Saturday night, trying to convince myself I was capable of handling any of it. I was so far out of my depth.

Heather was right about one thing. I needed to stop making decisions based on what I wanted in the moment and start thinking about what those decisions meant afterwards. Unfortunately, knowing that and actually doing it seemed to be two entirely different skills.

I switched off my bedside lamp and lay back against the pillows. Tomorrow, I'd have to face Rebecca next door. Soon enough, I'd have to see Kat again. And on Thursday, I'd have to sit down with Joan and talk about the one thing I'd been trying not to think about since the dance.

For now, though, I needed to go to sleep and not do what I did instead. Make more bad decisions. I picked my phone back up and messaged Ms Holmes.

Her last message had been.

I wanted something that played on the teasing we'd started at the school dance but hinted about what had happened later in the mixing room.

I hit send, grinning to myself. It was a ridiculous question really. Still, I figured if anyone could appreciate the importance of an Oscar-related grievance at nearly midnight, it would be Joan Holmes.

Her reply came through surprisingly quickly.

I laughed into my pillow.

I smiled at the screen, enjoying the familiar rhythm of our banter. This was the Joan I knew from class: sharp, funny, and always ready with a comeback whenever I thought I'd managed to catch her out. Only now there was something different about it. The messages felt more personal, more private. We weren't standing in a classroom with thirty other students waiting for her to start the lesson. We were two people at home, exchanging messages when we should probably have been asleep.

I glanced towards the ceiling, thinking about the evening I'd just had. Kat in the park. Rebecca in the car. Heather's merciless interrogation. The cold shower I'd taken in a desperate attempt to get my head straight. And now Joan making me grin at my phone like an idiot.

The moment I'd sent it, I wondered whether she'd take the hint. It was a fairly obvious reference to Friday, and for several seconds I watched the screen without receiving a reply.

Then the typing indicator appeared.

I hesitated, looking at the latest message. Then, because apparently my survival instinct had decided to take the evening off, I typed something I would never have dared say to her during school hours.

The response came back almost immediately.

I grinned.

A pause.

Then.

I burst out laughing, clapping a hand over my mouth so I wouldn't alert my sister. Heather would have a field day if she knew I was lying in bed flirting with Joan Holmes, especially after the advice she'd given me about not making any more bad decisions.

But the temptation to tease Joan was too good to resist.

The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times. I imagined her standing in front of her bedroom mirror, shaking her head at her phone, debating whether to tell me to go to sleep.

Then a notification popped up.

An image.

I opened it. For a second, I simply stared.

Joan was kneeling on her bed. Her dark hair fell in glossy waves around her shoulders, framing her face, and she'd clearly made a little more effort with her appearance than someone who was simply getting ready to sleep. Her makeup was still immaculate, with dark eyeliner accentuating her eyes and a soft pink shade on her lips.

She was wearing a striking pink nightie, short enough to finish high on her upper thighs, with a matching pair of panties sticking out at the bottom. In one hand she pulled the material covering one breast to the side teasingly and the other held the bottom hem just beside her covered crotch. Her stance and the direct, knowing look she gave the camera made the picture feel deliberately playful, as though she were perfectly aware of the effect she was having.

It was the expression that got me most, though. Joan had that familiar little smile I'd seen in class whenever she knew she was about to catch someone out, except there was something much more personal about it here. She looked confident, amused, and just a little daring.

I stared at the picture.

There was absolutely no way she looked that good when she was getting ready for bed. It was impossible to be that hot in everyday life.

I waited.

I laughed aloud.

Being aware that she could truly be winding down to go to sleep and the fact that I'd got something I'd never expected to receive in a millions years, I wisely thought to quit while I was ahead and bid goodnight to Ms. Holmes.

I put the phone down, but I couldn't stop smiling.