The boys — Henry, Declan, Kaito and I — chose Health as one of our classes. Part of the reason they chose it was because they knew Miss Firth was teaching it and thought she was hot, but they also chose it because they thought we’d learn about sports and protein and muscles. And sure, we do. But I tried to warn them we’d learn about other things, like anatomy, diseases, and —
“Reproduction. Pregnancy. Childbirth,” Miss Firth says, writing the words on the whiteboard. “Seems like a simple topic, right?” She whirls around to face us. “Wrong. This will be far more difficult than our first topic. I hope you’re prepared.”
“Are we going to learn about sex?” Kaito asks.
“Yes, Kaito, we’re going to learn about sex. Reproduction is sex,” Miss Firth answers.
“Miss Firth, I think we know how sex works,” Declan speaks.
Half of the class erupts into laughter, and to my left, Henry chuckles. I look at him and roll my eyes.
“That’s enough,” Miss Firth says. “Alright, open your textbooks to chapter 6. We’re going to read the introduction.”
The guys groan and mutter, but I turn to the page without complaint. My dad is a doctor and my mum is a midwife, so this stuff doesn’t bother me.
“Jesus Christ,” Kaito mutters from the right to me. “I’d rather learn about periods than this.”
“Not to worry,” Miss Firth calls. “We are learning about the menstrual cycle.”
“Idiot,” I tease. “Do you think girls get periods for the hell of it? It’s for—”
“I know what it’s for,” Kaito grumbles, and shoves me.
I shove him back, chuckling, but Miss Firth isn’t impressed and calls on me to read out the first paragraph. When I’m finished, she asks Henry to read. I think she’s going to punish the entire back row — which is us four — for being rowdy.
I glance at Henry.
On orientation day, four years ago, people thought we were related, but we’d never met each other, and we didn’t look that similar. I suppose we’re both the same height, have similar builds and brown hair, though mine is much darker. My eyes are brown, and his are blue. My skin is an olive complexion inherited from my Italian parents. Henry’s skin is paler. He has these cheekbones and zero freckles on his face …
Maybe they thought we were brothers because we were quick friends. I always corrected people when they asked, and if they asked Henry, he’d laugh and say,there’s no way I’m related to this handsome face, and ruffle my hair like I was five years old.
I remember the moment we became real friends. A week after the start of Year 7, we went onto the oval to play football near the goalposts. We played for five minutes until a group of tall Year 12s arrived and told us to go away.
Forgetting that Henry and I were short and scrawny, I stuck my chin up and said,no, you can’t boss us around. The Year 12s laughed and said they could make us.Yeah, right,I said.
I envy the confidence I had as a kid.
Before the Year 12s could do anything, Henry piped up and said they must be real pussies if they were going to fight Year 7s, and besides, if they were such talented players, couldn’t they weave around us? We were only using the two poles on the left.
It was a smart thing to say, even if the Year 12s forced us off the oval.
Henry finishes reading and catches me looking at him. Kaito is called on to read, and I force myself to pay attention to the words on the page.
After ages of reading, where I don’t look at Henry, Miss Firth turns on the screen at the front of the room to show us a video about the topic. The chatter of the classroom that rose while Miss Firth fiddled with the screen dies down when the video begins with a woman in a hospital bed giving birth, sweaty and red-faced.
“I’m never having children,” Henry mutters.
“Come on,” I say.
“I’m serious. Children freak me out — all they do is cry. And you have to change their nappies.”
“That’s babies, not children.”
“If I had a child, I would get my wife to deal with everything.”
I take a second to respond. “Wow, you sound like a wonderful husband.”
Henry chuckles. “You’re right. I’d get a nanny instead.”
