Steven Dunne - Deity

Rifkind didn’t mark him absent yet. Jake was in such demand that he was often late from some practice or other.

Kyle Kennedy, the other boy from his Literature Group, couldn’t have been more different from Jake. He was slim with delicate expressive hands, lightly built with feminine, stubblefree features, large doe eyes and long lashes. Despite being very shy he was a popular confidant of some of the girls and this, above all, made him the butt of most of the gay banter flying around. But academically, Kyle had a fierce and probing intelligence and was well on the way to an A* in Literature. Predictably, this only added to the resentment from the less talented.

Rifkind took a breath as Adele Watson walked through the double doors. He hadn’t expected to see her and she hurried to a chair, steadfastly ignoring his gaze. She was a talented, if naive writer and very beautiful. Next year she’d be studying English Literature at Cambridge — thanks in part to his own inspirational teachings.

He examined what he could see of her face. She’d been crying, he could tell, but the thought caused him no guilt. In fact, the idea that he could still arouse such feeling in the opposite sex was a rush. She’d get over it. At Cambridge, she’d blossom into a woman with many attentive admirers and she’d learn soon enough that he’d been right to end their relationship. They’d had fun. They’d had great, sometimes passionate sex — and what could be better than that? But now it was time to move on. She had her whole life in front of her. And Rifkind had bigger fish to fry.

‘Well, folks,’ opened Rifkind. ‘Half-term is looming and next Thursday’s Media Studies will be our last day.’

Russell Thomson looked up briefly. Last Day. A quasireligious ceremony from the film Logan’s Run, starring Michael York and Jenny Agutter. On Last Day, inhabitants of this dystopian future world reached thirty years of age and were put to death. .

‘The end of another unit of hard work,’ continued Rifkind, ‘at least for the staff.’ He grinned at the dozing amphitheatre and permitted himself the merest glance at Adele’s dark-eyed beauty. ‘And, of course, Adele.’ At the mention of her name, her dark sleep-deprived eyes locked on to Rifkind for a second and she blushed.

Next to her, Becky Blake turned to give her a significant stare — you’re in there, girl — then pouted back at Rifkind to get some of that life-affirming attention for herself. Every man in Becky’s presence noticed her, she knew that much. But it wasn’t enough. Since her mother’s death from cancer, Becky had been at the centre of her father’s universe and had grown accustomed to total devotion; she demanded no less from all men. They had to be in orbit around her and she knew all the moves to make that happen. At school, she’d learned from a young age that she could separate any couple, with her shock of long blond hair, mouth-watering figure and the best clothes an indulgent parent could provide. And although Rifkind was a bit too smarmy for her, she saw no reason to change the habits of her short life and glowered suggestively at him.

But Adam Rifkind only had eyes for Adele so, with a disdainful sniff, Becky muttered under her breath, ‘You know he’s married, Ade.’

Adele, unable to look at her, reddened. ‘You don’t say.’

Becky missed the hushed sarcasm and expressed her surprise. ‘Didn’t you know, girlfriend? Yeah, he’s a sly fucker though. He takes off his wedding ring; you can see the line round the finger. And Mrs Sly Fucker is not much older than us, apparently.’ She rolled her eyes lasciviously at Adele then turned back to Rifkind to give him an appreciative onceover. ‘I would though,’ she grinned, and Fern on her other side broke into a fit of giggles. A moment later they returned their attention to their iPhones, not seeing Adele gulping back her emotions.

‘I see a good portion of the group are already exhausted and have decided to skip the last two Thursdays,’ said Rifkind. ‘No matter.’ At that moment the double doors swung open and Jake McKenzie strode into the suite. He looked around for an available chair.

‘Ah, Jake. Decided to favour us with your presence today. Hurry up and sit, please; the group are ravenous for knowledge to start.’

Jake smiled and hesitated. There were no chairs left except the one next to Kyle Kennedy.

‘There’s a seat next to Gay Boy,’ chuckled Wilson Woodrow, the overweight eighteen year old with the zigzag haircut and buzzing earphones. ‘If you don’t mind catching AIDS.’

‘That’s enough of that,’ admonished Rifkind as mildly as he could. He prided himself on his good relationships with students and didn’t like to play the authority figure.

To avoid Wilson’s confrontational leer, Kyle stared down at the floor through his John Lennon spectacles and buried his long delicate hands between tightly crossed legs. He wore the blank expression of the diplomatically deaf.

Jake made for the seat next to Kyle and sat down. Kyle looked up at him in greeting and then just as quickly returned his gaze to the floor.

‘Today and next week we’re going to be watching and critiquing a film so this morning we can sit back and chillax.’ Rifkind paused to make sure his comfort with the patois of youth had registered. ‘Today’s film. .’

Wilson produced a DVD case from his baggy clothing and held it under Rifkind’s nose without having the courtesy to look at him.

The lecturer stared at the top of the boy’s head and ignored the offering. ‘Today we are-’As Rifkind clearly hadn’t noticed the DVD, Wilson waggled it in front of his face again.

In the end, the lecturer accepted it with a sigh. ‘Thank you, Wilson.’

‘Will,’ replied the boy gruffly, again without looking up from his iPod.

‘Oh, you managed to hear that over the Death Metal? Funny how I have to repeat things three times when I want your attention.’

Wilson gazed up at Rifkind, a pearl of wisdom on the end of his tongue. ‘My dad says sarcasm is the lowest form of something.’

‘Ignorance perhaps,’ replied Rifkind, looking at the cover of the DVD with a sinking heart.

‘No, it’s not that,’ answered Wilson, thinking hard.

‘ Saw 4 — interesting choice.’

‘It’s brilliant,’ agreed Wilson, as though revealing a great secret to which only he was privy.

‘Is it as brilliant as Saws 1, 2 and 3 , dare I ask?’

‘ Saw 2 is my best film ever. But Saw 4 is even better.’

Rifkind looked around the room to garner support for his upcoming putdown, but only Kyle Kennedy’s brow furrowed in amusement so he thought better of it.

‘Thank you, Wilson.’

‘Will!’ the teenager retorted, with a touch more aggression.

‘I’m afraid we won’t be watching Saw 4, Will . Rusty has-’

‘What? Why not?’

Rifkind made sure to speak slowly because he didn’t want to repeat it. ‘Because, as you’ll remember, at the start of the academic year, we agreed to have a rota for people to choose the end-of-term film, and I’m afraid you’ve had your turn.’

‘Yeah, my turn is the Saw films. You have to see them all for it to make sense. They’re a series.’

‘I don’t care if it’s a series, Wilson,’ he said, taking pleasure in repeating the boy’s hated name.

‘It’s Will!’ shouted Wilson, this time. ‘And we’re watching Saw 4 .’ He turned round to the gathering. ‘Everybody else wants to watch it, don’t you?’ Wilson eyeballed the group. Only Jake and Becky returned eye-contact.

‘It doesn’t matter what everybody wants.’

‘That’s not very democratic.’