Page 14 of Sex Ed

‘And my favourite… I asked you all to label this pregnant woman’s uterus and someone labelled the foetus “Dave.”’

‘But he looks like a Dave, Sir.’

I smile back at the kids as the room simmers with giggles.

‘All, I applaud the humour and creativity in your answers. You are right, sex is hilarious but, in all seriousness, you put those answers in a proper exam paper and you leave here with nothing. I would hate that to happen to you. You’re good kids. I’m also worried about how many of you are unaware of basic anatomy.’

‘How so, Sir?’

‘Well, what was quite telling was that the boys knew nothing about the female body and the girls knew nothing about the male body. You, hopefully, will leave here and find boyfriends, girlfriends and have children of your own. P.S.H.E. have a whole curriculum on this for you, but at least let me teach you where things are…’

I say this but as I stand here knowing all the parts of all the plants, all the human anatomy, I also know full well at least thirty percent of the room here are not virgins. They’re fifteen, sixteen and they go to parties and drink and get all the life experience that I’ve not had. The sheer irony that I have to teach them the basic mechanics of sex is not lost on me. I put up a picture of a man’s penis. Not an actual picture, of course. One of my textbook labelled versions. He hangs straight down the middle, average sized, well-balanced balls. Not what any penis in real life looks like, but hey. The room snickers, which is expected.

‘So, can anyone else tell me what testes are for? Apart from producing semen?’ I ask the room.

‘Is that where wee is stored?’ a voice asks.

Everyone stops laughing. Please tell me they don’t actually think this. Please.

‘No, hormones. They create hormones. We have some work to do, eh? Open up your textbooks to page 92, please.’

They all do as they’re told.

FOUR

MIA

I remember having such high hopes for being a teacher – I was going to change the world, one kid at a time. At university, I absorbed all that training like a sponge, dedicating myself to beautifully structured lesson plans, learning about ways of assessing student development and modelling strategies designed to start debate and generate these kids’ amazing ideas. Then they added the kids to the equation. These teenage wonders, all amazing in their own ways but all different, all trying to exist and work out who they are. And all raging for reasons they don’t quite understand. This is when I found out my training meant jack shit.

‘YOU ARE A FUCKING SLAG! GET OUT OF MY FACE!’ Today it’s all about breaking up the fights as two girls face off. I don’t remember a degree module in this sort of conflict resolution. It’s a sudden snap of hair pulling, bag tossing and them trying to wrestle each other without ruining the other’s make up. I run across the courtyard as some of the younger members of our school, fresh-faced and unaware, look on in horror. This is a reason to wear trainers, I’d have got to this melee ten seconds later if I’d been in proper shoes. I put my body between both the girls.

‘LESS OF THIS, PLEASE! And can everyone put away their phones? We don’t need this on Snapchat, kids.’

I won’t lie. I like this sort of power. It makes me feel like a bouncer in a nightclub. I’d wear a headset if I could.

‘But Miss, she’s been sending nudes to my boyfriend. You are such a nasty bitch…’

‘Language!’ Another teacher, Caitlin, intervenes, holding the other girl back, and helps put her belongings back in her bag. ‘I don’t care what she’s done. We don’t do this here.’

‘Then I’ll do it at the gate after school,’ she tells me.

‘No, you won’t, because Miss Bell and I are going to walk both of you to the deputy head’s office.’

‘But she attacked me!’ cries the other girl, waving a finger in the air. ‘Not my fault your boyfriend’s been flirting with every girl in this year.’

‘Enough! Both of you. We’re walking…’

Caitlin widens her eyes at me as we walk them through the courtyard and corridors of this place, making sure we have our bodies in between them. The deputy head is Phil and as I knock at the door, he’s just about to bite into a sandwich. I love my timing here.

‘Mr Bush. Two young ladies who started a physical fight in the courtyard,’ I tell him. He rolls his eyes to see me and the two sullen sorts by my side, sighing that I’ve interrupted his chicken salad on wholewheat.

‘Come in. Oh, Morgan and Hayley. Always a pleasure. How have you pissed each other off this time?’ he says, backing into his chair and folding his arms to hear their stories of injustice. Caitlin and I back away as we hear both girls start to squawk in protest.

‘Expertly done,’ Caitlin tells me.

‘Oh, I’m the youngest of three sisters. Those sorts of fights featured highly in my teen years. Do the kids kick off like this at your other school?’

‘Yeah, but I just volunteer in the library, so I don’t have to do the lunch rounds and hang out with the little cretins.’

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