Page 4 of Sex Ed

PRESENT DAY

MIA

‘I love you. Do you know how much I love you? You’re my favouritest.’

I go over and plant a massive smacker on Ed’s forehead because I know the physical proximity will make him blush and I love nothing more than making Ed Rogers the centre of attention and firing up his cute rosy cheeks. He looks around this big, open-plan staffroom hoping no one saw that. They all did, Ed.

‘Yes, yes, yes… Stop that now. It’s because I was getting sick of you stealing my crisps and cereal bars. That’s not lunch, Mia. That’s not good for you.’

I steal Ed’s crisps and his cereal bars because he doesn’t scrimp on these things. I’d steal Henry from Geography’s lunch, but he buys all the budget lines of snack goods and strange things like fruit. Beth, on the sofa opposite, only deals in suspect leftovers.

‘But you made me a sandwich, that’s adorable!’ I exclaim.

‘Don’t get too excited. It’s cheese.’

‘It’s veggie, too? Why are there bits in the mayo?’ I ask, examining the contents.

‘It is veggie because I’ve known you for five years so know better than to give you meat. I run a bit of pesto through the mayo. I didn’t know if you like salad, but I also reckoned you needed the vitamins.’

‘I do,’ I say, pouting. I go and sit next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. ‘I don’t deserve you, Eddie.’

‘This is true,’ he says, as I unwrap the package carefully, and then take advantage of the proximity and slip my hand into his packet of crisps.

He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Share,’ he commands.

‘Always,’ I say, taking a bite out of my sandwich. ‘The pesto works. Well done, you.’

He shrugs his shoulders and tucks into his own. He’s a careful eater, Eddie. He never relaxes in this staffroom, just sits knees together, back poker straight. I watch him as he takes a finger and dots it around his trousers, picking up all the crumbs. I don’t know anyone who does that. I am a stand up and dust it all off on the floor kind of gal. Is Ed hot? To someone out there. Like me, he’s twenty-eight, but maybe five years older than me in maturity. I know this because he talks a lot at me about mortgages and flossing. He’s cute and well-built in a preppy, safe, sitcom kinda way – bright hazel eyes, clean shaven and his brown short-back-and-sides styled in a way that I fear hasn’t changed since his teens. Maybe I just prefer my men to be a little more HBO-18+ rating-special.

We started at this school in the same year, fresh out of teacher training, clinging to each other for safety. Our orientations were the same day. I had to borrow a pen. He had many pens. His look has not changed since then: freshly ironed chinos, light blue shirt, an outdoor jacket with proper down ratings. He’s so careful in life that he doesn’t even wear a rucksack on one shoulder, always two. Does he remind me of anyone? He reminds me of someone’s dad, in waiting.

‘Thank you, by the way, for coming in during period three and sorting out my Year 9s,’ he whispers.

Such is the nature of our working relationship that whilst he always lets me borrow his pens, he leans on me to sort out the parts of his job that he struggles with. He’s an organised, methodical teacher who knows how to work the photocopier. I still have no clue about the photocopier, but if you have that class who are loud and unruly and who should know better, then you know that I’m your girl to come in, scream and dole out empty threats about detentions.

‘Did they simmer down?’ I ask.

‘Sort of?’ He shrugs, not seeming sure of himself.

‘Did you reverse psychology them like I told you?’ I ask him.

‘They see right through that. I’m not a good liar. My right eye twitches and I can’t get the words out. I look like I’m having a stroke when I’m trying to be authoritative.’

I don’t disagree with him. For his faults, he’s a gentle soul and you can’t force people like that into personalities that they’re not. I take another crisp. He eyeballs me to tell me I’ve had enough of his snacks. I turn to Beth, sitting opposite us, who’s on her phone looking like she’s scrolling through Instagram.

‘Beth, what do you do with the rowdy ones? I’ve seen you, you’re like a snake charmer with the kids.’

We like Beth. Like me, she’s one of a gaggle of sisters, so we hard relate to each other in many ways. She’s been teaching in my department for a lifetime but she’s one of the cool teachers who rejects promotion beyond the department because she doesn’t want the added responsibility. Outside of work, she has kids, she goes to music festivals, she gets that nice level of drunk at the Christmas party where she’s a laugh. I also admire how sometimes her lunch is a sharing pack of Doritos and a whole tub of guacamole.

She looks up. ‘Talk to them like they’re humans, set the tone. Is it all of them, or just one or two rocking the boat?’

‘Charlie Coxhead,’ Ed tells her.

Beth pulls a face. ‘Attention-seeker, I taught his sister. They weren’t hugged enough as kids. Basically, find the ones who follow him like disciples. Praise them, overmark their work and lure them away so they like you more. Then he has no audience for his bullshit.’

We both stare at Beth in complete awe.

‘Sometimes those kids can’t be saved, though. They’re too far gone, just get them over the line. Now, can you tell me if I look a complete state? I slept face down on Lego last night as my youngest is teething, and I’m about to walk into a meeting.’

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