Chapter XXIX

Nan Hammond steps into the halls of Moordale Secondary for the first time since Sarah finished her A Levels and looks around, hoping to God Jean is the only former student she runs into. Sure, the other parents milling about seem to be strangers thusfar, but there's always a chance of...

"Mrs. Hammond!" Woop, there it is.

She turns around to see a petite curly haired brunette woman who she immediately recognizes as Heather Pearson, neé Daley. After all, it's hard to forget the girl who got suspended for rubbing herself on trees all over St. Agnes' campus.

"Hi, Heather," Nan says.

"Mrs. Hammond," she enthuses. "Such a pleasure running into you, even if it is under such unfortunate circumstances."

"Please call me Nan," Nan insists. "We're all adults now."

"Okay, Nan," Heather says, winking. "I've got some exciting news by the way. Conor's been telling me all about your Abby and how she's been chasing after him, and he's decided to ask her out at school tomorrow. Isn't that great?"

"Abby? My Abby," Nan asks.

"Yes, of course," Heather says. "Conor says she's finally started taking care of herself, and it's gotten him very interested."

"Well, as far as I know, Abby has a boyfriend," Nan says. "Are you sure he said Abby Hammond?"

"Oh, you know how kids are," Heather says dismissively. "In love one minute, out of love the next. I'm sure the other boy chucked her ages ago. You just probably forgot. After all, it must be hard to keep track at your age."

Nan swallows, thinking, Did this bitch really just call me senile? 

"Well, maybe you should send Abby a text and let her know," Heather babbles on. "I'm sure she'll want to look her best tomorrow!"

"Oh darn," Nan says. "I forgot my phone. Just like you were saying, you know how people my age are. Don't worry, though. I'll let her know."

"You do that," Heather says, grinning even wider. "By the way, Conor told me to tell you to let her know he likes when girls wear the color puce."

"Wait...Conor actually asked you to do this," Nan asks. What kind of deranged teenage boy would ask his mother to arrange his dates in the same way she might have made playdates ten years prior, she thinks.

"Of course he did," Heather says. "He just thought, considering the parents' meeting, it would be a good time to start spreading the news."

"Well, um, you know how teenagers are," Nan says. "Maybe he's misunderstood something. Like when Prince Edward came to town on that royal tour and you came into my office telling me all about how you two shared a glance and were soulmates?"

Heather purses her lips. "Edward and I did have something," she says. "It was not a misunderstanding. I simply decided I did not fancy becoming a royal and married my lovely husband Morris instead." She snaps out of her angry stare and grins again, as if nothing had happened. "Besides, I may not have married a prince, but I certainly gave birth to one."

"Well, then," Nan says, moving toward the auditorium. "That's so lovely. I'll see you around."

She shuffles inside and sits in the back. Hell, the only reason she came was to how badly Michael is doing with this whole farce. That sounds like entertainment to her. Although, genuinely, she has to admit, seeing so many of the parents and teachers wearing masks is shocking. It's one thing for a bunch of teenagers to be misinformed, but surely most adults know the basics of STIs...right?

Michael comes onto the stage, and the mic squeaks out a bit of feedback. "Good evening, parents of Moordale," he begins.

"Our children are dying," some man shouts.

"Yeah," a bunch of other parents shout. Well, Nan thinks. So much for traditional schooling and the school of life.

"No one is dying," Michael insists, and she can't help but feel a bit bad for him. After all, she once knew the uptight prick on stage as a little boy who...well, actually, Michael Groff was a particularly uptight and unpleasant child whose favorite hobby was being a grass.

"And how will you stop them from dying," another man asks.

"Well," Michael says. "We are encouraging all the students to get treated with antibiotics, and we will be re-educating them on safer sex practices." The crowd still rumbles intensely, so he adds, "Uh, everything is fine."

"Teenagers don't listen," a woman shouts.

With that, Jean Milburn stands up. "How will you be re-educating them on safer sex practices," she asks.

Good question, Nan thinks. Probably by dragging out the prostheses and condoms again.

"Well," Michael says, caught off-guard. "By re-educating them on...safer sex practices."

"Oh, come on," someone in the crowd shouts.

"I believe," says Jean. "What we're dealing with here is an outbreak of STI hysteria, rather than an outbreak of chlamydia. You cannot catch this disease through breathing. It is spread through genital fluids, exchanged during unprotected sex. However, it is the misinformation about the disease that's hugely problematic. It comes shrouded in shame and misunderstanding, and is precisely how this kind of hysteria is spread."

What is it the kids say, Nan thinks. Ah, of course. Yasss, queen!

"So, how will you be addressing that," Jean finishes.

Michael winces and hunches over the podium. "We will be returning to our tried and tested sex education curriculum."

"Well, with all due respect, sir," Jean says. "Your curriculum isn't working."

"I'll say," Nan mumbles to herself. Don't these people realize by now that if chlamydia were actually contagious and airborne, they would have all had it by primary school?

"As a sexual health professional, may I suggest that you look into tailoring your program to give our teenagers the correct tools to be able to free themselves from this unwanted stigma?"

"And what exactly are those tools," Michael asks.

He sounds far too unimpressed for a man with his job on the line, Nan thinks. Because Lord knows this level of panic could cause school closures and a mass exodus from Moordale Secondary into the Catholic schools, where our kids will get even worse information on sex and sexuality.

"The three Ts," Jean says. "Trust, talking, and truth."

After some murmurs, members of the audience begin to applaud, with even Colin Hendricks standing up and taking his mask off. Nan winces at the sight of him. He still reminds her of the lovely, sweet primary school boy she'd invite in for biscuits, but seeing him so much older really dealt a blow of how much time has passed. Sort of like seeing one of those 'child stars all grown up' specials. Hell, everyone here is in their late thirties and above, and she remembers a few of them being born. As proud as she is of Jean, she's definitely not coming to one of these things again.

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"What do you think they're talking about at the meeting," Aimee asks Abby as they chill out in her bedroom.

"I don't know," Abby says. "Maybe we'll get a condom machine. Or even a free basket."

"But what about the disease," Aimee says, looking concerned. "They can't just get rid of it."

"Sure, they can," Abby says. "That's what antibiotics are for."

"I don't know if they have that here," says Aimee, frowning. "It might be an American thing."

"They have it," Abby says. "All the a cappella girls have already taken it. Except Fiona, but that's because she hasn't had it."

"So why wouldn't they just hand those out," Aimee asks. "Then we could all take them."

"You have to have chlamydia first," Abby explains. "Anyway, I don't really want to talk about this. I might, uh, need your help again. Like, not with the underwear, but like...relating to that. Because, uh, at the end of this week, my period will hopefully taper off, and then...I think me and Otis are gonna do it. For real this time."

"You guys didn't do it last time," Aimee asks, confused.

"Oh, yeah," Abby says, wincing. "I guess I didn't tell you that story, I just thought I did. I, uh..." She knows she can't reveal Otis' secret, so instead she decides to omit that part of the events and focus more on the aftermath. "...So we were gonna, but he told me he loved me and I got really nervous and threw up."

Aimee sits up and gapes at her. "Ohmigod, not on his dick, right," she asks. "Not like what Olivia did! Because if that's what happened, I'm never sucking Steve's dick again. It's clearly too much of a risk."

"No," Abby says. "Like I said, he said 'I love you', and I panicked. Or my stomach panicked. I made it to the bathroom though. And then I said it back afterwards." She decides that, for the sake of her own dignity, she isn't going to mention the hysterics she went into when Otis came to check in on her. "But anyway, I don't think it's going to happen again. The puking, I mean. The sex...seems possible really soon though."

"Oh, okay," says Aimee. "No offense, but it's a good thing you asked for help. After all, if you had done that food run before we went shopping, imagine how much worse that would have been."

Abby cringes. "I'd rather not imagine, thanks." She stares up at the ceiling. "'S a good thing I gained fifteen pounds. Yesterday, I accidentally elbowed myself in the side, and it didn't even hurt much, so I don't think my joints will be a problem. It's more a matter of, you know, when and where and should I set up candles, because that could either be romantic or creepy and..."

"Don't set up candles. That's how one or both of you would start a house fire."

Aimee and Abby squeal in fright as Maeve stands in Abby's bedroom door. She shakes her head and nods at Abby. "You really need to figure out a better place for the keys than under the mat."

"That's only so Nan can get back in easily after the parents' meeting," Abby says defensively. "Anyway, what's with the break in...and the new hair?"

Abby can't get over Maeve's new look. Her hair is dark brown, and pinned back, and she doesn't actually look that different, but it's still surprising.

"I've decided to find a way to get back into school," Maeve says. "Figured I'd let you guys in on it. Aimee told me you guys were here."

Abby turns her head to Aimee. "Well, you could have mentioned that," she says. "I almost had a heart attack."

"I thought she'd ring the bell," protests Aimee.

"Anyway," Maeve says. "I'm gonna need you guys to let me know when Groff is out of his office. I'm going to talk to him first, but if he doesn't agree to let me back in, I'll need you guys to let me know his comings and goings so I can move to plan B."

"Okay," Abby says. "What's plan B?"

"Let's just say your buddy Adam isn't the only one who bought an essay," Maeve says. "In fact, technically, I'm the reason for most of the top scores outside the aptitude scheme. Pretty useful information, I think."

Aimee gulps nervously. "I never bought an essay off you, have I," she asks. "Because I don't think I did, but I may have forgotten once we became friends and..."

"You haven't since year ten," Maeve says. "I'm only focusing on stuff from this year."

"It's a good idea," Abby says. "I'm really glad you'll be back, too. I'm bad at schedules and all, but Eric hasn't gotten a diary yet, so I haven't done any intakes and...we made a good team. Besides that, you're the first girl friend I ever had and not seeing as much now that break's over sucked."

"And you can deal with the chlamydia outbreak," Aimee says. "Everyone's losing it."

"...Chlamydia outbreak," Maeve repeats.

"Yeah," Abby says. "There's this whole thing with the a cappella girls where they and a few guys have got chlamydia, and now everyone thinks they have it. And these two girls decided that a third girl, Fiona, gave it to them with a spit valve or some shit at music camp, and now everyone's slut shaming her. Also, people have been wearing surgical masks, because they think it's airborne, and a lot of students think they're dying. It's a lot."

"And this is all happened today," Maeve asks.

"Yeah," Abby says. "Welcome back!"

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Maeve: I'm coming back to school.

That's all she's texted Jackson. No details, no plans, no solid news, nothing. He just has to sit around guessing what she could possibly mean. Did Miss Sands do something to help? Did Headmaster Groff let her back in without telling him, and it's just that she missed the first day for some reason? God, whenever Maeve tells him anything, it seems to produce more questions than answers.

And of course his mums are fighting tonight. Again.

"Of course he's got a training plan, Roz," Sofia says. "The coach says he's got to focus." She sighs, unaware of Jackson tiptoeing down the steps. "Well, he's lost all his focus after hanging around with that girl."

"It's his first love," Roz says. "It's normal."

"I told you," hisses Sofia. "We should have never let him date her. She doesn't go to school anymore, she doesn't seem to have parents, she lied to our faces..."

"Well, you told me, yes," Roz says. "As long as it's my fault then."

"What? How are you making this about you?"

"I'm here too, you know!"

"Don't we know it."

"You're right, Mum," pipes up Jackson, causing them to both turn around. "I haven't been focused." He takes a breath. "But I really want to see this through, and make you proud. Both of you. I promise." He gives his mums a pleading look, and adds, "Now, please, just...stop fighting."

They both look taken aback, and at this point, he's wondering if he should grab his stuff and go back to the caravan park again. But he can't do that to his mums again. He just can't. Maeve wouldn't appreciate it, he'd be hurting them, and it would be like erasing the decent moments he's had from November through the end of winter break. He and his mum have been smiling and laughing again during the early morning runs, and swimming again feels right. Any thoughts of running away or stopping now must just be the anxiety talking, he knows it. Still, Jackson hates all of it. Living with anxiety, never knowing if his emotions are being toyed with by a chemical imbalance or if he's actually upset, or if he's upset, does he have any reason to be?

Which is why he doesn't say anything to Maeve's text other than, "Good news! Looking forward to having you back 😊". If he asks her every question, or tells her everything going on in his mind, things will be more off-balance. He's already an open book when it comes to her, but he doesn't want to commit every word to paper.