The sex life of caterpillars
The bell sounds
for the end of the best lunchtime
I’ve ever spent
saying little
but sitting close to Ella.
She stands first
and reaches down,
offering her hand
to help me to my feet.
She pulls me up
and we hold hands
for a few seconds.
Her skin is soft
and I feel the cool metal
of a ring on her middle finger.
We walk back to class
ignoring the mess of year nine boys
pushing each other at the canteen,
begging for free leftovers
from Mrs Ainsworth
who’s known as an easy mark.
Ella and I have Science next period.
As we take our books from our lockers,
I say, ‘The mystery of biology,’
thinking of Mr Drake
and his enthusiasm for bugs.
‘Better the sex life of caterpillars
than stink bombs in the laboratory,’ Ella replies.
I drop my textbook.
Ella reaches down to pick it up and says,
‘Jonah is nervous with the word “sex”?’
‘Not only with the word,’ I admit.
‘We’ll have to work on that.’ She smiles.
I follow Ella into Science
my mind a million miles
away from caterpillars.