Page 26 of Please, Sir

I stop short, and yolk drips onto the bottom of the newspaper with a thunk.

The front page headline of the Bluebell Leader, in tall, thick letters, boldly readsYES, YOUR HIGH SCHOOLER KNOWS ABOUT SEX. Below that, in smaller but no less bold letters, the subtitle readsAND THEY MAY BE HAVING IT, TOO: What you need to know about high school sex education, and how important it actually is.

I glance down the hall at Jo Jo’s closed bedroom door, and my heart begins to race. Jo Jo is not having sex. She’s never even had a boyfriend and I haven’t heard her mention a crush… though… would I? She doesn’t even want to tell me when cheerleading practice is over, why the hell would she tell me if she’s having sex?

I put my fork down, the egg no longer appetizing. Sipping my coffee, I get to work on the article, reading every sentence, every statistic, taking in every little chart and graphic printed in faded black ink. By the time I reach the end, I wonder who had the nerve to write this, considering Bluebell, like most small towns, likes to pretend that sex doesn’t exist. I can’t help but think of those yellow and white shoes and that fitted little sundress as I read the last line.

WRITTEN BY MISS RILEY RIVERS

BLUEBELL HIGH HEALTH TEACHER & CHEER COACH

She’s got courage, and as much as I wanna believe Jo Jo and her friends have no clue what sex is, I’m not that stupid. I was her age once, and so was Janie. Back then, all I could think about was getting into her pants.

The article, along with gobs of statistics relating to 14-16 year olds, also lays out the best way to talk to your kids about sex, and covers the way Bluebell High is dealing with it as well.

There isn’t a word of that article that surprises me, that I disagree with, or that I even dislike. I love the article.

The idea of putting this article into action at home, though, with Jo Jo hating my damn guts? There are pipe dreams more likely than this.

I fold up the paper, then head down the hall to annoy Jo Jo by asking her if she’s ready to go to school yet.

Around two in the afternoon,Jo Jo texts me asking if she can sleep over at Alexa’s house, telling me that all the girls are. After getting an address, a name and phone number for her parents, and verifying with them that there is an actual sleepover, I agree.

“Told me I humiliated her, and that no other parents called to ask if there was actually a sleepover,” I recall to Dean, who passes me my second beer, dropped off by the bartender. I take a sip, which turns into finishing my second pint in just a few swigs.

Dean blinks at me, his strawberry hair combed with product,his best plaid shirt and vest combo on. I rear back a little, assessing him. “Wait–do you got a date later?”

He looks at the surface of his beer. “I did until she cancelled.”

I let out a sigh and lift my finger to get the bartender's attention. “Two more.”

“I’m sorry about your date,” I tell Dean, who has now finished his second beer too. He catches a burp with the back of his hand and sighs.

“I don’t care. My heart wasn’t in it anyway.” He faces me. “Sorry about Jo Jo.”

I smirk. “Which part? Her hating me or her hating everything I do or… is it the way she hates how I breathe?”

Dean scoops a handful of mixed nuts from the bowl. “All of the above.”

I watch him chew old pistachios and cashews, tapping my boot against the floor, eager for the third beer. “Everytime I had sex with Janie when we were in high school, she was sleeping over at a friend’s house,” I say, throwing finger quotes around those last two words, “so I had to call. Especially after reading the paper this morning. Jesus Christ. Did you see that?”

He dusts his hands on his thighs. “Oh yeah. It went over like a fart in church on campus today.”

My brows pull together as I grow confused. “Why? Nothing in that article is a lie. Parents need to wake up.”

Dean lets out a sigh, as if he’s discussed this and is already fatigued by it. “If you talk about it in school, there’s a greater chance you’re gonna have to talk about it at home. And parents don’t wanna talk about sex with their kids. They don’t wanna know that their kids know about jacking off, orgasms, facials…”

“Facials?” I blink at him as the bartender brings the nextround. I can’t help but laugh as I again repeat, “Facials? I didn’t see a damn thing in that article about facials.”

He laughs. “I know, I’m just making a point.”

I tip my hat back. “You’re dreaming of what could’ve been on that date, eh?” I tease, which makes us both laugh.

“It’s just… parents don’t wanna think about their kids doing all that stuff. The article, while yes, full of facts and reality, just rubs their nose in that one element they’re trying to avoid.”

I nod, understanding what he’s saying, even if I don’t agree to it. “So what’s the problem? They’re mad about the article or what?”

He scratches the side of his jaw. “I think the article was a response. Miss Rivers came in and started teaching the curriculum that should have been taught all along. Cunningham winged it, and kids took the easy A, parents were none the wiser. But when Ms. Mitchell hired Miss Rivers, they overhauled. Miss Rivers is teaching the exact curriculum, but it’s upsetting parents because it hasn’t been taught in years. They’re… as the kids say,shook.”

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