Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 4

I rolled my eyes and moved to my seat in the back of the room. Because Eastline was in the Tesla-filled suburbs of Seattle, the school had decided to do away with individual desks and installed three-person tables with charging stations for laptops and tablets. An unwise sophomore sat at my preferred spot, typing away on his laptop. I banged my books down next to him and gave him what my best friend, Morgan, called my "eat shit and die" look.

The sophomore's face paled. He scooped up his belongings and backed away from me so quickly, he tripped on his shoelaces and crashed into an empty chair.

I haven't needed to share my space since I'd publicly called out the junior sitting next to me for peeking at my answers during finals my sophomore year.

The bell rang, and the students who'd been loitering outside the classroom tumbled in to take their seats. I steepled my fingers under my chin, daring any of them to sit beside me.

None did.

Another perk of being the Queen B.

Mr. DePaul stepped out from behind his desk. "Settle down, everyone. As you probably guessed from the weekend's homework, we're going to start the unit on reproduction. Normally, we would begin with the birds and the bees and how not to get knocked up."

One of the football players snickered.

"But the school board is suddenly debating whether teaching you about condom use is acceptable." Mr. DePaul dragged a pair of large plastic bins from the closet. "So I've decided to start with the consequences of unprotected sex."

It was probably a little too late for that. I suspected half the football team already had herpes. Perhaps that would be the subject of my next blog post.

He opened the bin and pulled out a doll. "Students, meet your babies."

Ah. Children, the STD that keeps on living even after you're dead. The entire class groaned.

"Since it takes two of you to make one of these little bundles of joy, I'm going to be pairing you off. Today we're going to do a little exercise in genetics, and tomorrow, you'll receive your babies. For the next two weeks, you're going to be parents."

The muscles in my shoulders tensed into knots as he tucked the doll back into the bin. Marvelous. I hated group assignments, especially when I couldn't choose my partner. I always ended up doing all the work. I refused to let my class rank suffer because of someone else's laziness. As the person holding the highest class ranking at the end of last year, I was on track to being valedictorian, and no one was going to take that title away from me. I had nine months left in this level of hell that Dante missed, and then I would be free to move on to whatever Ivy League school I wanted to attend.

"We have an equal number of guys and girls in the class, so it should be easy to pair everyone up," Mr. DePaul continued.

"But what if I want to be gay with my teammates and be part of a same-sex couple?" Sanchez, ever the smartass, asked. He laughed and exchanged high-fives with another football player.

"If the school board won't let me teach you about condoms, you know they won't allow gay marriage in the classroom, even though it's legal here. If you want a class in that kind of lifestyle, move to Capitol Hill." Mr. DePaul snatched the baseball cap off of Sanchez's head and held it out. "Ladies, if you'll be so kind as to enter your names into the drawing."