"So you’re getting naked for him again? This time for pay?"

Lois couldn’t stop laughing about the situation.

Sera felt she had to tell her friend, it was too much to deal with otherwise. She knew she could trust Lois. "But you can’t tell Joel. It’s not that I mind him knowing, it’s just that he won’t be able to resist joking about it in class."

Sera could imagine it now. Joel digging to try and unsettle Mr Marek. It would likely work and then there would be hell to pay.

They were in a department store, looking at luxury cosmetics that were way beyond their price range. They would try them on, collect any free samples, then find the shades they liked at a cheaper store. It was busy, being a Saturday afternoon, so the sales assistants were too occupied with the customers who actually had money to care about Lois and Sera.

"Do you actually want to do this, Sera?" Lois was looking at her, genuine concern on her face.

Sera did. Secretly inside, she did. She was trying to kid herself and Lois that she was doing it to help him out, or "for the sake of art". But in reality the thought of being alone with Mr Marek for hours each week gave her a thrill that was exciting as it was terrifying.

Except the naked thing. She would much prefer it if he wanted to paint her clothed, but at the end of the day he had already seen her unclothed.

"I guess so."

"Don’t let him push you into it. You don’t have to do this. I mean if they found out at St Christopher’s he’d be sacked before he could pack up his paintbrushes." Lois was trying on an iridescent eye shadow.

"Do you think I shouldn’t do it? I like that colour, it looks like beetles’ wings. You should get it," Sera told her.

Lois frowned. "Not at eighteen quid. I’ll see if my sister can source me some at trade price. Anyway, back to Mr Marek and his request. It’s what it might lead to that I think you should think about."

Sera tested a lipstick against the back of her hand. She would need to see it in daylight to know if it worked with her skin or not, the lighting in shops was always deceptive. "What do you mean?"

"He obviously found your body… artistic. I guess with your hair you sort of do look like those Pre-Raphaelite women. Not so ginger maybe," Lois said quickly, seeing Sera bristle. Sera was adamant that her hair was strawberry blonde not red or carrots, since she got a lot of teasing for being "ginger". "But you know what I mean. It’s just that given your massive crush on him, and the way that artists are with their models, well…" she tailed off.

"I do not have a massive crush on him," Sera protested.

"You do. Or a little crush, anyway. I mean who wouldn’t? I almost do, and I only ever go for blond guys." This was true. Lois admitted to being totally shallow when it came to men, having only one physical type she truly liked. They needed to look like George Peppard in Breakfast at Tiffany’s or she was never seriously interested. "Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get used or hurt."

Sera inwardly shivered. Thinking about Mr Marek - his strong build, his masculine but sensuous lips - she wouldn’t mind him using her in certain ways. Even though she didn’t have a lot of experience with that yet. Not like Lois, who had lost her virginity the day it was legal and never looked back.

"I expect he’ll be strictly professional. You’ve seen what he’s like in class," Sera pointed out.

Lois was silent for a moment, then grinned. "I guess if nothing else we’re in store for some interesting drama. But I demand updates."

"Only if you promise not to tell Joel. Yet, anyway."

"I promise. Your wicked little secret is safe with me."

For the rest of the week Sera’s apprehension grew.

Mr Marek said nothing to her about it in school and she started to wonder if he had changed his mind. Or even if she had imagined the whole thing.

"Something’s up with you," Joel said, ever perceptive.

"There’s nothing up with me," Sera told him. For the moment it was true.

Joel scrutinised her. They were sketching a taxidermy fox that day. Some ancient samples of butterflies in glass cases had been dredged up from a dusty cupboard in the science lab. A long-forgotten biology teacher had collected them, along with the fox.

Most students had been too squeamish to sit before the stuffed fox with its weird frozen stare so it ended up on the table shared by Joel, Lois and Sera.

"I wish we had the butterflies," Lois said. "The fur or hair on this thing is impossible."

Joel wasn’t letting it drop. "There’s something you’re not telling me."

"I’m just getting some grief at home which is stressing me out," Sera said. This wasn’t exactly a lie as she often had stress with her parents, everyone did.

"Marisa?"

"Marisa." The others knew Sera’s stepmother all too well.

Mr Marek came to review their progress at that moment, and the subject was dropped.

At the end of evening class that week Mr Marek finally spoke to her again. The usual people were in the Norfolk Arms once again, Jasper regaling everyone with his scandalous theatrical stories.

As everyone left Mr Marek stopped Sera. "I’ll give you a lift."

She guessed that he wanted to speak to her so didn’t protest. It was drizzling which at least gave the weather as an excuse.

Jasper overheard and gave Sera a knowing wink. He enjoyed finding any opportunity to stir the pot, he was like Joel in that regard. "We’ll see you both next Thursday, then." He put a very subtle emphasis on "both" which Sera noticed, and hoped that Mr Marek hadn’t. He was striding ahead of her to the car so hopefully hadn’t.

Once again he opened the door for her before getting into the driver’s seat. Sera was completely on edge. What if he had changed his mind? She would be both relieved and disappointed.

"Are you still set for Saturday?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I’ll drive you past my place now so you can see where it is. If you need me to pick you up, just let me know."

Sera told him she would be fine. She preferred to make her own way there, it avoided awkward questions if her father or Marisa saw his car. Or Mrs Carstairs, their horribly nosey, curtain-twitching neighbour.

"Do I need to wear or bring anything specific?" she asked. She still had a tiny hope that perhaps he would want to draw her clothed. If not, was she supposed to bring her own robe? Did artists just have various ones lying around for their models to use?

He turned to her as he waited at traffic lights and flicked his eyes over her, extinguishing that hope. "Nothing, just come as you are."

Sera swallowed. Her lips felt dry and she longed to put lip balm on them, but although she had some in her bag, she didn’t like to do so in front of Mr Marek.

His place was in a relatively easy part of town to get to, it was just east of the centre. A ten minute walk from the bus stop, she calculated.

"Number twenty-seven. Next to the one with the boat," he pointed out. From the look of the boat, on a trailer draped in tarpaulin that was covered with a thick layer of leaves, it looked as though it was rarely moved. Sera wondered if Mr Marek owned the house or was leasing it.

He drove back around the block and headed in the direction of Sera’s house. What if he hadn’t dropped her off that first time? Would he have approached her somewhere else with his request? What if her parents had been there when he showed up? Sera was running through many different scenarios in her mind.

At her house he stopped the car. "I thought you might have had second thoughts."

It was a challenge rather than an observation. He was daring her not to have them.

"No, it’s all good." It wasn’t, it was terrifying. But she was determined to see this through.

Before letting her out of the car he reached for a piece of paper and scribbled something down. "Here’s my number. Any problems, just let me know." His fingers brushed hers briefly as he handed it to her, and a shock ran up her arm. She bit her lip and looked up at him but couldn’t make out his expression. It was intense, that much at least.

Mr Marek opened the door for her and once more she went inside, feeling his eyes burning on her back as she walked up the path to the front door. Less than twenty-four hours to D-day. Drawing day. Being drawn day.