Page 45 of Sex Ed

And with that Mia collapses back onto the bed laughing.

‘Was that foreplay then?’ I ask her, still trying to work out if she’s blinded me.

She looks at me for a moment and nods. ‘Yes. Well done. Now’s the time to shake a girl’s hand,’ she says, putting it out for me.

I laugh and shake that hand, firmly.

TEN

MIA

I normally tell my sisters this, but I can legitimately tell you that teething babies and tantrum-prone toddlers are nothing compared to teenagers. Teens are a whole new breed of human governed by hormones, peer-pressure and energy drinks. We want them to strive for independence but not go too far over the line. We want them to be empathetic, co-operative and work hard, even though their brains are stuck in some ape-like egocentric mist where all they’re really programmed to feel is apathy and injustice. We want them to love us except they don’t. All they love is Snapchat. Sometimes I think I should just teach via that and TikTok, using filters, making up dances. I would slay at making one up forLord of the Flies. I could rap it.

‘MIA! Thank God you’re here!’ a voice booms from across the room. It’s Henry from Geography who still looks wildly lost in this school despite the fact he’s been here for eight months. Looks like he got roped into this after-school counselling gig, too. ‘There was a woman here before in dungarees, but she’s gone and I thought I’d have to do this alone.’

‘Well, I’m here,’ I assure him. ‘Did she brief you before she left? What do we do if we get visitors?’ I ask, as I take a seat in this corner of the school we call The Hub – our centre for student pastoral care, the place where we throw a few beanbags and primary colours and send our angry disruptive kids so we can get on with our actual jobs.

Henry scampers over to a wall. ‘Sort of. I was told this is the worry tree,’ he informs me, pointing to a trunk made of craft paper covered in about twenty leaves. It’s a bit barren considering it’s spring.

‘If the kids are worried about anything then we get them to write it down and put it on the tree so it’s a problem shared and halved.’

And put on the wall for everyone to see. I am not too sure I understand how that works but smile nonetheless.

‘And she told me to look after her pens, make sure the lids are on properly and no one steals them because she’s labelled them with a UV marker,’ he tells me.

‘Then we will guard them with our lives,’ I joke.

He nods like a puppy. ‘Tea?’

‘I always knew I liked you, Henry. Milk, one sugar.’

He heads to the kettle, smelling the milk as I wander around, blinded by the lime green walls of this place.Life is like a camera, focus on what’s important, develop from the negatives and if it all goes wrong then take another shot. This quote is emblazoned on the walls in huge letters with Polaroid pictures of the staff. Smart. I’d argue I’m very much like a camera: it’s easy to push my buttons, I can be extraordinarily complicated to figure out and I enjoy a tripod. Maybe I should put that on my bedroom wall. Or maybe on a mug.

‘So, were you allocated your spot here or did you volunteer?’ I ask Henry, as he wipes a teaspoon down on his shirt. I always like how Henry looks like he’s been told to wear smart clothes and he’s just gone into his dad’s wardrobe.

‘A bit of both. Someone went round the staffroom last week with a clipboard. I think I also donated ten pounds to someone’s GoFundMe at the same time.’

I smile. ‘Always dodge the clipboard. Though I think your money has helped someone’s cat have a life-saving operation so feel good about that.’ He nods, taking it all in. ‘Can I give you some advice, Henry?’ I tell him. I mean, we are here, it feels like the right place. He comes over with my cup of tea and pulls back a chair, leaning forward to listen. ‘I like you. I think you’re doing great for your first year, but you always look petrified, mate. You need to not look so scared. The kids will see that and they will punish you for it.’

‘But what if I am scared?’ he asks.

‘Oh, you’re allowed to feel it. When I started, I had a Year 10 class that made me want to shit myself, but you still have to go in, shoulders back and not let the fear show in your face.’ I won’t lie, this is excellent advice and I feel like that green frog creature thing fromStar Wars. ‘Give yourself a break, you’re still so new.’

‘A teaching virgin, some might say…’ he jokes. Of course, this word means new things to me now, so I fake laugh. Unless he’s a virgin too? What are the bloody odds? ‘My girlfriend tells me I’m trying too hard. I just need to…’

Girlfriend, maybe not. ‘Chill?’

‘Maybe. Or write my worries down on a tree,’ he tells me, gesturing towards it.

This makes me laugh and we both get up, cradling our mugs, to have a look at what the children of this school worry about.

My acne

Bullies who will never change

Pooing myself in an exam

Never getting over the end of Stranger Things

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