Patrick P.O.V.

I spend the next few weeks still determinedly trying to eradicate all non-teacher-appropriate thoughts about Molly Iero from my head. Rather unsuccessfully though. As September mists in to October and the ground becomes carpeted in bronze and russet leaves, I'm constantly distracted by the pleasant tingles and stomach-clenching that comes on whenever my thoughts wander to that girl who unknowingly has me so entranced.

In all honesty, the frequent private lessons with her probably aren't helping me any, but I can't seem to stop arranging them with her, sometimes up to three times a week. She's making a lot of progress, which I tell myself is the important thing, even though I'm well aware of how much I just enjoy spending time with her. Molly's warmed up to me a lot since that first week, when she refused to look at me after I found her being accosted by the lockers. She's still a lot quieter and more tranquil than other girls her age, but always remains warm and polite and can even crack a little joke or two when we've been there a while, and her voice is now less soft and more confidant.

It's a dark, cloudy day, the weather casting shadows on everybody's moods, and I've just had a double lesson with the rowdiest year nine group, who make me want to hide under my desk for a few hours every week. I escape to the library for some photocopying afterwards, mournfully trying to flatten my stress-tugged hair as I wait in the line, when I see Molly, tucked away in the corner. Save from where I am, where the gaps in the bookcases happen to all angle just right, she's virtually concealed from everyone else in here, which she clearly realises.

She's plugged in to her iPod while she works and seems to be a very enthusiastic fan of whatever song is playing: mouthing along to the lyrics, head banging, air guitar and drums- the whole caboodle in fact. Her completely silent mini-rock-show is so sweet and zealous, I have to muffle my giggles in my sleeve as I watch her. She's miming a little glitter cannon explosion in time for the end of the song when a grumpy cough behind me shunts me forward to the photocopier and her performance is hidden away again. I end up returning to my classroom feeling considerably more cheerful than I left it.

---

We have another guitar lesson later that day. We've been playing a while, me trying to teach her a little Metallica, before I put my guitar aside and turn my stool to face her more. "OK, how about we leave it there for today? We can have a chat instead. Tell me about yourself."

She looks mildly astounded at the unexpected suggestion but mumbles an "Err...alright...so, what do you want to know?" while putting away her instrument as well.

I consider her apprehensive face for a second. "Tell me about those girls."

"Which girls?"

"The ones giving you problems in the corridors."

"Oh. Right." She sighs quietly. "It's not really...uh..I mean, I can deal with it. They just seem to take issue with the fact I'm not as loud or out-going as they are, and that I often get flustered, like social anxiety."

Nodding thoughtfully, I watch her wriggle on her stool. "You know," I fiddle with the buttons on my shirt-cuffs. "I used to get picked on quite a lot when I was at school too. Um, I was pretty shy as well, plus I was short and chubby and really awkward a lot of the time."

She hesitates for a few seconds before questioning uncomfortably "So...what did you do about it?" Something I've picked up on in the short time I've known Molly is how reluctant she always is to ask for help, even if she knows she needs it. A tip for her school-report, definitely.

"Honestly? Not a lot," I sigh. "I wish I could tell you different. One thing I did do that helped though, was joining a band. That gave me some very close friends and a renewed confidence, working so closely with and performing with people. That might be an idea for you? I mean, it doesn't stop people saying stuff to you, unfortunately, but I found it gives you a distraction, and a sort of self-assurance to ignore them more easily."

"Um..." She nibbled her lower lip in a way that almost rose an unwelcome blush to my cheeks, and considered me thoughtfully. "That sounds pretty good actually. I already jam with Ray quite a lot."

"You could make one with Ray! It would give you a good opportunity to practice your guitar a bit more too. And um...you know Bob, in our music class? He plays drums, and so does Andy. You could ask one of them to join you. And I could help out whenever, reserve a practice room for you when you need it, that kind of thing." I'm getting rather excited here at the prospect. "You could probably find a singer in our class too...or you could sing!"

I've not even finished my sentence when she's shaking her head vehemently. "No no no."

"But you're great at it!"

"The Bowie was a joke! I really don't think I'd be up to seriously trying to sing in front of other people."

"Well alright. But you like the whole band idea though?"

"Possibly...it's something to think about, at any rate."

"You're definitely talented enough!" I beam.

She thanks me with a shy smile, though she looks rather like she wants to protest.

"Do you write at all? Outside music lessons, I mean," I ask.

"Do you mean lyrics and things? Not really. I've done a few not-very-good waffling things, but..." she shrugs.

"Lyrics, music, poetry, anything. You could have a try, if you fancied it. A good creative outpouring, could be helpful."

"Yeah. Guess I could. Is that what you do?"

"It is. It makes art and music so much more powerful and meaningful if it's done to relieve or express genuine feelings. Which you should know, from what you listen to."

A light chuckle at that. "Very true." Her pale cheeks have taken on a very light rosy flush and her fringe flutters over her eyes as she ducks her head momentarily.

"Anyway..." I cough, trying to tug my gaze from her lips, "went off on a bit of a tangent there. Tell me more about yourself.".

"OK. Err, well you know what music I love. I read a lot too, my favourite's George Orwell... I'm not great at drawing but I love crafty stuff like collage, I've covered my whole room in the stuff."

"Very cool. Siblings?"

"Nope, it's just me and my dads."

"Dads plural?" I question curiously.

"Yeah, Frank's Dad and Gerard is Pa. My parents died when I was very little and they adopted me."

"Holy smokes. I never knew you were adopted."

"Mmm. I don't mind, I don't really remember my real parents anyway. But what about you, Sir? Can you tell me about you?"

"Well, you know music is my life's passion. I can talk about David Bowie, Prince or Elvis Costello for hours...um... I have a brother and sister, Kevin and Megan...and I'm mad on Star Wars!"

Molly giggles sweetly. "Star Wars? You'd get on very well with my Pa then! But Sir, are you-" She breaks off suddenly, now looking a little uncertain as to what she's saying. "-happy? I mean- do you like what you do now, teaching, is it what you wanted?"

Tapping a little pattern on my crossed legs, I reply "Yes, pretty much. Are you happy? In general?"

She considers the ceiling and then my face for a few long moments, her intelligent blue eyes scanning me thoughtfully before she gives a little smile. "At the moment, yes, Sir."

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