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.