The incessant buzzing continues against the oak.
‘Sunflowers are symbolic of life and hope. They also symbolise loyalty and adoration, thanks to the myth of Clytie and Apollo.’
The buzzing continues until it’s out of control. The students stare pointedly in the direction of the escalating source of distraction. Any second now, my phone’s going to blow up the classroom.
‘Maybe you should get that?’ Mya, a small girl with thick, red-rimmed glasses, suggests from the back of the room.
‘I apologise, girls. There must be some sort of family emergency. Please start your painting, keeping the bold, dramatic strokes in mind. It doesn’t have to be sunflowers. It can be anything that speaks to you. Whatever symbolises life, hope and gratitude to you.’
Rustling ensues as the students assemble their supplies, ready to start.
Unease rises like a rolling wave in my chest.
Has something happened to my mother? Or my father? Or Conor? This degree of hounding never results in anything positive.
Six-hundred-thousand TikTok notifications blow my phone up.
What the fuck? I barely even use the damn thing.
The influx of notifications explodes once again, so much so the phone is actually hot to touch.
The classroom door opens. Ashley’s grim expression churns my stomach. ‘Miss Hazelwood, may I borrow you for a few minutes?’ Authority rings in her voice, reminding me she might be one of my best friends, but she’s also very much my superior. ‘Bring your bag.’
Shit. Clearly, I’m not coming back.
Did I share an offensive reel by mistake?
Post a video of us blatantly drunk?
Did a parent complain about me?
Miss Murphy, one of the young resource teachers, steps in to take over my lesson, leaving me free to follow Ashley down the wide, white-washed corridor.
‘Ash? What is it?’ Fear is audible in my whisper.
‘Not here.’ Ash’s tight smile does nothing to reassure me. Neither does her pale, drawn face. ‘In my office.’
The corridor to Ashley’s office feels like walking the Green Mile. Only when the dark mahogany wooden door clicks behind us does she drop the cool, calm, collected headteacher act.
‘Fucking hell, Holly, have you seen yourself on TikTok?’ Pulling out the green leather seat in front of her desk, she motions for me to sit while she paces the thin carpet.
The landline on her desk rings shrilly. She picks it up and bangs it down again before pulling it off the hook completely.
‘What? No! My phone was going crazy, but I didn’t get the chance to look yet.’ Acid churns in my gut, yesterday’s fear back in full force.
‘You’ve gone viral.’ The soft skin beside her eyes creases into a wince. ‘Saturday night. The dress.’ Her hand flicks in the direction of my chest.
A sucker punch knocks the breath from my chest. ‘Oh, fuck.’
‘Fuck is right.’ Ashely bangs her fist on her enormous desk and I jump.
‘I need to see it.’ My shaking fingers struggle to punch in the security code. Eventually the TikTok app opens.
I watch myself bouncing freely at the edge of the dancefloor at Heaven on Earth, bopping along in the stolen Santa hat. My boobs fully exposed, bar the nipples, which someone has obscured with two Christmas pudding emojis, and that ridiculous corset dress only pushing them up further like a fucking porn star. My eyes are squeezed tightly shut in an unflattering expression of sheer ecstasy as I wail the words, ‘All I want for Christmas is…’
The frame changes, and an image of a rusty nail fills the screen. A familiar male voice cuts in, finishing my sentence with two career damning words, ‘A screw’.
Dan’s evil cackle echoes through the room as the blood drains from my face.
