Page 9 of Sex Ed

He takes a deep resigned sigh. ‘Maybe, but I don’t want to overstep at work.’

‘How professional of you, Rogers,’ I say, half laughing, knowing that I’ve slept with at least two people in this faculty. Yes, unprofessional but not as bad as the I.T. department who Ed and I suspect are into a bit of wife swapping. I reckon their USB sticks are filthy. I turn to Ed, and he downs his drink quite quickly for him. He is usually a sipper, a sensible sipper of real ales.

‘Hold up there, kiddo. Is this how we’re drinking this evening? I’ll have to get chips…’

‘I think I’m just nervous. Is that weird? I don’t even really know her.’

I smile. Mainly because I’ve never seen Ed like this before. The Ed I know usually tells me about how he revived a banana plant or how he’s adding barley to his stews now. We buddy watchThe Walking Deadand I steal his lunch. If we are ever talking of romantic endeavours, then it’s usually me telling him about my sex and dating adventures and him looking at me with the same horror he generally reserves for flesh-eating zombies. So to see him crushing is ridiculously cute. We never talk about him finding love.

‘Just go and chat to her. Maybe don’t bring up pesto again though… or her lunchbox.’

‘You see, I’m not like you. I’ll say everything I’m not supposed to. I have absolutely zero conversational prowess.’

‘Bullshit, you talk to me every day. I’ve heard you chatting away to your mum on the phone. You talk to the ladies in the school office.’

‘That’s because she’s my mum. And the ladies in the office do good work and appreciate my baking. Shall I talk about cookies?’

‘No, Ed. Just be normal.’

He gives me a look like we’ve only just met. ‘Shall I buy her a drink? Or maybe I should ask her first. It feels presumptuous to just buy her one. Maybe she’s not thirsty and then it’ll be a waste.’

‘Or maybe you’re overthinking this.’ I scrunch my face up trying to hold in my laughter. But then a brilliant idea occurs to me. ‘Actually, given what Beth just told us, do you know what everyone out there will thank you for?’

Ed looks at me and shrugs.

I turn to the bar. ‘Hi, can I get twelve tequila shots? Salt and lemon, too?’

The barman looks back at me with an expression that clearly says,Love, it’s 6.45p.m.Tequila is not a drink for this time of the evening. It’s a drink for the last hour of the evening so you don’t remember the finer messier details of those closing moments. He waits, giving me a moment to re-think that order.

Ed puts a hand on my arm. ‘Seriously? I don’t really do tequila.’

I roll my eyes at him, groaning. ‘That’s like telling me you don’t do fun.’

‘Not when I’m wearing light colours,’ he jokes.

‘Turn around, Ed.’ We both turn in the direction of the garden where Caitlin sits flanked by Tommy and Steve from P.E. They’re all sharing in some sort of joke that involves Tommy looking like he’s mimicking riding a horse. Caitlin is in hysterics. ‘That’s what you’re competing with. I pray to God that poor sweet girl doesn’t succumb to those dickish charms. But carry a tray of tequila out there and you’re suddenly cool. You’re bringing the party to the masses.’

‘This feels like a weapon you’ve used in your arsenal on many an occasion, Mia,’ replies Ed.

‘Slippery Nipples,’ I inform him.

‘Pardon me…?’

‘I worked nightclub bars at university. They’re Baileys and Schnapps. I was known for my Slippery Nipples.’

‘I don’t want to know.’

‘Trust me.’ I turn to the barman to give him the nod, his eyes still reading faint horror at what may unfold. ‘We walk out with those, and those poor tired teachers will thank you for bringing a sliver of joy and fun to their Friday nights.’

ED

Mia Johnson may indeed be one of the most evil and foolish people I know. I lie on her bathroom floor in a state of complete delirium but also slightly unsure whether this surface is sanitary. I roll over and am faced with a box of light flow Tampax so I roll the other way. There’s a light knocking on the door.

‘Ed, are you OK? Are you alive?’ I can hear Mia laughing. We are no longer friends. Yes, we bought tequila, tequila for everyone, and she walked into that beer garden, the tray perched on her fingers, hand on her hip and announced her arrival. And the crowd moaned as they relived memories of their past experiences with tequila, recoiling with pained grimaces –but did that deter them? No. Their eyes also lit up to see the saltshakers, the lemon wedges, pulling up their sleeves and clenching their fists to relive it all over again.

Naturally, the P.E. boys grabbed the shots and may as well have beat their chests before they downed them. I saw Caitlin look up at Tommy in wild admiration, her head thrown back in laughter, so I reached for a glass and I did the same.

Except I did not look like Tommy after I downed mine. Tommy roared to the skies. I gurned so hard, I thought my face may never recover. One stiff breeze and I’d have looked like I was having a stroke for the rest of my living days. Mia, who was also post-shot, saw that face and snorted something through her nose, possibly a bit of lemon zest. In short, it was possibly my most unattractive moment on this planet, so I hope Caitlin didn’t see any of it. However, the problem was that Mia didn’t stop there. Sure, the shots relaxed the tone of the place. The ladies from the office used that tequila to get a few decibels louder and take two hundred filtered selfies. Henry from Geography used the moment to indulge in a bit of Cossack dancing. So this encouraged Mia to unleash bedlam. She may as well have been wearing devil horns. She bought more shots. I felt compelled to keep up with the room. I drank the shots.

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