That first Monday back was... tough. It was a day of obsessively checking my email inbox on the library computer, walking past his office every chance I got, and frantically scouring each corridor before I walked down it so that in case he'd dyed his hair or somehow grown shorter, I wouldn't miss him.

At home, Mum asked if I'd seen him. I said no. I asked if it was because of her – if she'd said something to him or to the school. She said no. I asked if she planned to. She didn't answer that one. She fixed her eyes on the kitchen top and kept chopping without a word.

My stomach's been in a perpetual state of knots since then. He didn't show up for the rest of the week – not to assembly, not to lunch, not to the bench in the orchard where he takes his cigarette breaks.

He hasn't answered any of my messages, either. And every time a teacher calls my name, I blanche, expecting everything to come crashing down – Mum's called them, Eric's been fired, and I am in a shitload of trouble.

Then Thursday came and passed as though it was any other day, and that was when it started to hurt. Like, 'deep in the pit of your soul, you know something is very wrong' hurt. Not even the rumour mill had anything useful in its blades to soothe me. Dylan heard from Katie R who heard from Connor G that "Macklin's moved to Luxembourg", but

I throw my head back against my pillow with a groan, tired of thinking. Would sneaking to his house be too far?

My laptop pings from beneath my bed, just in time to interrupt my conspiring. The little bubble onscreen shows a Skype request.

Incoming call from The Taco Belles...

"Hola!" Babe's face pops up alongside Caz's, with a smile that'd be contagious if I could muster one. "We were talking about Saturday – did you get permission from your mum yet?"

'Saturday' is when Babe turns 19. Or, Sunday, rather. Babe's the oldest of the three of us, and ever since her 16th birthday, it's our tradition to throw midnight parties – the party starts early, but at 12 on the dot, you blow out your candles and celebrate like there's no tomorrow. Midnight parties are not to be missed. The only issue is that this year, I'm grounded.

I sigh and scratch my temple,

"Not yet, guys. Forgot to ask, I'm sorry."

Caz winces in disapproval when she strains and hears a familiar song playing from my phone.

"Ange. Tell me, you're not listening to 1,000 Miles again, are you? Is this a cry for help?"

I try to laugh it off, but the gnawing stomach pain won't let me. "Just sort of worried about it still, I don't know. I don't get it. I mean, he should have tried to reach me by now, right?"

"Hon, I'm sure he's just still shaken from everything that happened last week. I know you guys'll talk soon."

There's such sincerity in Caz's empathetic red-lipped pout, and she always knows the right thing to say. I just wish I believed her.

"Yeah..."

"And until then..." Babe says, her tone rising as she attempts to lift the dampened mood, "think about fun things. Like my party! And you getting permission to come to my party. I swear to God, Angie, I'll cancel the whole thing if you don't."

"Alright, alright, let's not get drastic. Maybe I can-"

I'm about to propose a permission-acquiring plan of action when there's a quick three wraps on my door – Mum. I motion to the girls to stay quiet as I tuck my laptop back under my bed.

"Come in?"

Mum's nervous from the jump. I can tell by how she's holding to the doorknob and the door frame as she peers into my room.

"Everything alright? I was thinking we could have a chat."

"Oh! Um, yeah, sure."

Sat with my legs crossed beneath the covers, I'm quiet as I watch the bed depress as she sits on the edge of my bed.

"You know what this is about, don't you?"

Mum's never been the discipline sort. Even now, as stern as she's trying to be, her pace is patient, and her gaze gentle as it holds mine steadily.

"Yes, Mum."

"I- I just don't know where to start," she stutters, before laying a little hand laid softly over her heart, "I mean, my heart was broken, Angie.

"Not because I was afraid that you'd been taken advantage of or anything like that. That was Walt's main fear, but I told him – I said if there's one thing I know about Evangeline, it's that there isn't a soul on this planet that can make her do something she doesn't want to."

I feel a poorly timed tug of a smile at her words. She sounds proud of me, and the thought is a happy one until I realise what it means in her eyes. I let her down, and I knew what I was doing every step of the way. Mum shifts, folding a leg beneath herself so that she can look me right in the eyes, and screws her thin brows so intently that they almost disappear.

"The daughter I raised is strong; she's confident," she stresses with narrowed eyes that speak right to my core. "She might make questionable decisions here and there, but she stays safe; she thinks before she makes them.

I believe she's still in there."

She says that part standalone, with a probing, faithful stare, as though she's asking me if 'she' is. I don't say anything yet. So, she goes on.

"But it really hurt me, Angie, what you did. That you would lie to me; go behind my back and do something that I know you know you shouldn't be doing."

I drop my head under the weight of guilt, except I can't tell if it's guilt over the fact that she's or right, or over the fact that I'll always go back to him. No matter what.

"He's not just some 'older guy', Evangeline. He's your teacher. You know why that's not okay. Don't you?"

The list runs through my mind like it has a thousand times – everything at risk when Eric and I are together. Number one...

"He could get in trouble," I murmur, fiddling with the loose threads of my duvet, "Lose his job."

"He could be arrested, Evangeline. I know you're 18, but the fact that he's your teacher means that the disciplinary actions he'd face could ruin him. Losing his job would just be the start."

She pauses, pursing her lips momentarily before she adds,

"And I have a feeling he knows that. Perhaps that's why he's had the decency not to show up."

When she says it like that – like Eric's ghosting me is some sort of moral blessing – everything in my body tenses, and I bite my tongue before I say something I'll regret again.

Of course I know the trouble that could come out of Eric and I. It's not that I don't care. But I'm only his student for a few months longer, and after that, almost all the stakes just... disappear.

Mum knows she's touched a nerve. The rancour has left her voice when she starts again, sincerely,

"Angie, look. If you come up to me tomorrow, say, and tell me that you're dating an older guy, I'll give you my full support.

...Provided he's not a prick." She adds with a tilt of her head that makes me giggle.

"I get it, sweetie. Hearts don't have ages. I was 18 once, and, let me tell you, you are one hundred times more mature than I was. The age isn't my problem. It's the lying, the sneaking, and the fact that he's your teacher."

I nod because it's gone silent, and I think it's what she wants me to do.

"I understand, Mum," I say.     

And for what it's worth, I really do.

It goes quiet again, but the silence is heavy with this warm feeling that makes me want to cry, and Mum reaches out for me with watery eyes and wide arms,

"Come here."

I shut my eyes tight as she holds me close, and her cotton jumper smells more like home than anything else.

"Angie," she says softly, without letting me go.

"Yeah?"

"Honey, did you sleep with him?"

"Oh my God. Mum, please."

"Evangeline."

I don't think I can wriggle out of this one.

I nod against her shoulder.

"Oh, Angie. Oh, sweetie." She draws back, holding me by my shoulders. "Tell me you were safe."

"Mum!" I whine, flashing beetroot-red almost instantaneously. Not because I'll be in trouble for my answer – Mum's never been the kind to stray away from the sex talk, or any talk for that matter – but because... she's my mum. Open-book family or not, I can't help but feel mortified the longer this discussion goes on.

"Evangeline, do not make me take back what I said about how mature you are. Were. You. Safe?"

"Yes, yes, oh my God," I rush the words, dropping my head to hide my blush, but soon enough Mum pulls me right back, and my scarlet flush is obscured by her embrace.

"Good. You know I only want what's best for you, poppet. I don't kid myself that I can control you. I've long accepted that you're not the little girl I used  to drop off at ballet."

I snort a little laugh because she's so right, and I'm so lucky to have such a wonderful mum.

"But while I still have you... let me be your mum, alright? Just for a little longer."

"Yes, mum," I murmur, feeling safe. That is, until she takes me by the shoulders again for another uncomfortable question.

"Be honest with me, Evangeline. Have you been speaking with him?"

It crosses my mind for a moment to tell her the truth – how frantically I've been looking for him in the halls; how many emails and Facebook messages and Skype texts I've sent – but I don't. She's finally talking to me again. And technically, he hasn't answered me (yet), so technically, the answer's no. So that's what I say.

"Aw, my sweet. Good. Good. I know it's difficult, sweetie, but it's for the best."
"Mhm."

"Ange..."

"Yeah, Mum?"

"Do you really not want to go to uni?"

"I don't know, Mum," I exhale, the truth seeming daunting as it leaves my lips. "I don't really know how I feel about... the future."

I only know how I feel about him.

Mum smiles secretively, as though she knows something I don't, before she speaks in an eager whisper.

"Between you and me, Angie? That's the most exciting part.

Come downstairs when you're ready, alright? I'm doing my Shepherd's Pie."

When she stands to leave, a slow beam takes over my face. One, because her Shepherd's Pie is immaculate, and two, because I'm ridiculously lucky to have a mum like her.

"Mum?" I call before she's gone.

"Yeah?"

There aren't any words to say how much she means to me. None that I can express right now, anyway. So, I go with the classic.

"I love you."

The apples of her cheeks rise as she smiles. "I love you too, poppet."

Mum lingers at the door for a moment, her hand hovering over the handle, like there's something else. And as it happens, there is.

"So..." she starts, shifting from foot to foot, "Lisa tells me it's Babe's birthday party tomorrow night?"

Immediately, the palm sweats start, and my mind is so abuzz with excitement that I can hardly contain myself as I try to shrug my answer.

"Um, yeah, I think so."

"And this party... it'll be at her house? Just down the hill with Bea and Lisa?"

"Yes!" I shriek, leaping out beneath my covers to trap her in the most grateful bear hug. "They'll be there all night, chaperoning and chastising, and all the other responsible adult stuff!"

"Alright, alright! I've not said you can go yet!" Mum laughs, before she looks me in the eyes.

"Can I trust that you'll be there all night? You won't try and go... anywhere else?"

To see Eric, she means. I sort of feel bad that she even has to ask.

"I'll be there all evening, Mum. I promise."

"Can she sleep over too?" Babe's computerised voice comes from beneath my bed. Oops.

"Aw, please, can she, Flo?" Caz pleads along.

When Mum raises a bewildered brow, I slide my laptop out from beneath my bed with a sheepish smile, and the girls wave shamelessly.

"Can she?"

I can tell Mum's holding her laughter back for the sake of responsible parenting, and I let out a cheep of excitement at how close I am to an epic night with my girls.

"Only if you promise me that you'll call me if-"

All three of us are shrieking in gratitude before Mum even gets all her words out, and now she laughs out loud as she tries to point a stern finger at me and my laptop camera simultaneously.

"I'm serious girls – no nonsense! I'll be checking with Lisa and Bea!"

I throw my arms around her one more time, feeling happier than I have in days.

"I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, sweetie."

"...Does this mean I can have my phone back?"

Mum laughs as she pulls it out of her back pocket. God, I've never been so excited to see that little hunk of metal. Wait, has she read through it?

"No, I didn't look at anything," Mum says, reading my mind in the way mums can, before she admits bashfully,

"I couldn't figure out the passcode."

On the outside, I laugh. On the inside, I wipe my brow and breathe a sigh of relief. It's her birthday - 1-8-1-1-7-5. Not that I'd tell her that.

"So... you and the Kellerman boy, hey?"

"Mum!"

She's quick to raise her hands and maintain her innocence. "I didn't read anything! I just... might have seen his name pop up a few times."

"It's not like that, I swear," I laugh, "we're just... rekindling an old friendship, I guess."

"Well, you can never have too many good friends, I say. Right, Shepherd's pie. Half an hour. Be there or be square."

"Aye-aye, captain."

As soon as the click of my door sounds, the thrilled screaming starts all over again, and I think it's safe to say this day's turned itself around for the better.