‘Come on,’ Aleks said. ‘I’ll take you home.’

I put my bag in the back, then settled into the passenger seat of his dull, functional sedan. It shifted when he sat his own weight in the driver’s seat. He slipped his key in the ignition, but hesitated before turning it.

‘That perfume…’ he said, turning to me.

I didn’t answer. All it took was that tiny lean from Aleks and I swooped in.

In my daydreams I’d decided how I would like things to proceed, down to a level of granular detail I’d never applied to my studies, or, until recently, to my diving. When my lips touched his he would pull back for a moment, his eyes scanning the surrounding area.

‘Everyone’s gone,’ I’d say.

He’d put his hands around my wrists, say, ‘Stop. We can’t do this.’

He’d have to show a little hesitation. What kind of man would he be otherwise?

‘I could lose my job,’ he’d say.

But then his eyes would move to my lips, and he’d kiss me, and I would be shocked at the sheer force of it. I’d kissed boys before, but boys were sloppy, and needy, like dogs. Aleks would kiss me and I would understand that it was a skill, that there were techniques to be learned and applied. So this is how it’s done, I’d think, and I’d catch on to kissing as quickly as I caught on to turning a somersault.

‘We’re supposed to discourage you, you know,’ he’d say, breathless. ‘From boys.’

‘I know,’ I’d reply, slipping my hand under his shirt. ‘They’re a distraction.’

Unfortunately, things did not proceed as I’d imagined. It would be better for him, I suppose, if I could say his rejection was swift and definitive. But there was a returned pressure, almost an involuntary response, from his lips. His hand covered one breast and gave a quick, experimental squeeze, as if he were testing a peach or an avocado. Then he pulled away, thoughtfully, without haste, and seemed to reconsider.

He turned the key in the ignition.

‘Maybe you should get the bus,’ he said, staring straight ahead.

I said nothing. I got out of the car and went to retrieve my gym bag, feeling a sudden and intense heat in my cheeks. I didn’t hurry. If he could take his time, so could I.

I thought about what had happened all the way home on the bus. I’d only managed to touch him briefly, but I comforted myself by thinking that his body was even less suited for diving than I’d realised. I’d run my fingers up his spine; it curved to the left.

A few days later, Lou came home and told me the tentacle trial was over. She cracked open a bottle of Midori and kicked off her shoes and was soon on the couch drinking, her tongue a bright witch-green.

‘What happened?’

‘Six months suspended. Five years probation. He’ll be on the sex offenders register.’