Page 91 of Sex Ed

‘Yes, it is I,’ I say, waving my arm and taking off my sunglasses sheepishly. The kids all crowd around, some of the girls hugging me and I watch them all as they hold their see-through pencil cases under their arms, relief etched onto their faces to have finished another of these wretched exams.

‘Why are you here?’ they all ask me.

‘Just to check in. How are you guys doing? How did it go? Did Miss Callaghan send you all my messages?’

‘Yeah, we got them… And the revision booklets,’ says Bianca Titi (fake tan addict; gets her homework off Wikipedia).

‘I’m so sorry – look, I bought you all sweets too,’ I say, opening up my tote bag and letting them have a rummage. ‘What came up withMacbeth? Was it the witches?’

‘Yeah.’

I do a strange high-five to myself move that makes the kids laugh. ‘What did I tell you? These things go in circles. They haven’t done the witches in ages. Did you get your quotes in? Did you all use the word prophesy?’

‘Yeah, we did,’ Haydn Pinto (buzz cut; surprisingly good speller) says. ‘And we spoke about the weather and pathetic jealousy–’

‘It’s pathetic fallacy, you muppet,’ Bianca interjects.

He’ll have lost a few marks for that but I’m not sure I care. They made it through and no one is crying or appears pissed off or looks like they may hate me so we’re all good. Let’s hope for some passes so they can get through the next stages of their lives. I always try to play it cool throughout the year, but the fact is I do care about these kids and what they end up doing. Half of them won’t end up studying this subject of mine but at least some of them will keep reading and know how to write a banging formal letter of complaint to someone when they get older.

‘And English Language in a few days. Are we set? Does anyone have any questions?’ I ask.

‘I have a question,’ Jerome Dixon (hard-man act; doesn’t mind Shakespeare) pipes up. ‘Is it true what they said about why you’re not teaching at the minute? What’s the tea?’

I pause. ‘Yes, I had to have emergency surgery. It was my appendix. It was very painful.’

They all stand there staring at me.

‘We heard you lamped Miss Bell from Maths,’ Jerome continues.

I stand there attempting to still look like the figure of authority that I’m meant to be and figures of authority don’t hit other human beings. I shouldn’t have lied as I still own an appendix and I don’t know how to blag that anymore.

‘We had an altercation,’ I explain.

‘Well, good,’ Jerome tells everyone in his thick London tones. ‘Because she’s a cow.’

‘Jerome. Enough of that. Whatever happened, I was in the wrong and the school thought it good that I have a break for a bit.’ That said, I like you a bit more though, Jerome.

‘But we miss you, Miss,’ I hear someone say and the murmurs of agreement make my heart swell for a moment. I think they might miss my constant supply of sweets, but I don’t say that out loud. I always have a bag of something in my desk, a trick taught to me by the brilliant Miss Beth Callaghan.

‘Well, strangely, I miss you all too. Are you OK? All your other exams are going well?’ I ask them. They see the concern in my face and note its sincerity.

‘Biology tomorrow. Mr Rogers says he’s going to make us all breakfast beforehand. Actual bacon.’ I pause for a moment to hear Ed’s name, smiling to know he’d do that. He’ll use nice butter on the bread, too, because he’s scared of the chemical make-up of margarine.

‘Well, don’t forget me and my Haribo. I hid behind a tree too,’ I joke for the laughs. ‘I am glad Mr Rogers is looking after you. Keep going, you’re all amazing…’

‘Thanks, Miss. At least you care enough to be here,’ Jerome Dixon adds.

‘We all care, Jerome,’ I tell him.

‘That witch Miss Bell don’t,’ he says, his eyebrows furrowed.

‘You really don’t like her, eh? Did she give you a detention or something?’ I enquire curiously. All of them are strangely silent with me as I say that out loud.

‘Sometimes you just know when a teacher comes in and all they’re thinking about is how much they don’t want to be there,’ Olivia Seaman pipes in. My ears start to prick up as Olivia says that because Jerome has a mouth on him. I once confiscated icing sugar off him that he was trying to pass off as cocaine. Olivia listens though, she keeps a neat pencil case and sometimes seems scared of her own shadow. For her to even speak up now is unlike her.

‘What do you mean? You’re all OK for Maths though, right? For your exams?’ I ask, worried for them. Maths is a core subject, they all need to pass that.

‘We’ve literally had to teach ourselves. She’s just different to you,’ Olivia adds, smiling.

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