An Introduction to Swirl and Daisy: The Non-Romantic Romance

Beta: xsecretxkeeperx
Pre-Reader: Squalloogal

A/N: FFn gives a very broad definition of what constitutes a T-rating, so I'm going off my best judgment and what you can see on Glee these days to keep it within the guidelines.

Chapter 26: The First Time Sex-Ed Was About Sex

. . .

Whoever thought 8:15 AM was an appropriate time for school to start needed to be shot. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I trudged down the stairs to find Charlie already awake, waiting for me in the kitchen. That was standard. The platter of pancakes and eggs in the center of the table and the single placemat, complete with plate and utensils, at my usual seat was not.

"What's this?" I asked.

Charlie sat at the head of the table with his hands folded. "I thought we could have a family breakfast. Take a seat."

I pulled out my chair and sat down, but didn't reach for the food. Even in my groggy, sleep-deprived state I could tell he was up to something. "Where's your placemat?" I asked. He held up a cup of coffee. Family breakfast, indeed.

"Have some pancakes," he said, pushing the plate forward.

I eyed the pancakes suspiciously. "Did you cook those?"

"Of course not. Ran to the diner before you woke up."

I speared two of the circular patties with my fork and inspected them for visible signs of narcotics, before dousing them in syrup.

Charlie surveyed me, his eyes probing, intense, a common interrogation technique meant to unnerve me. "Juice?" he asked.

My fork clattered to the plate. "This is a sex talk, isn't it?"

"Damn." He thumped an annoyed fist on the table. "I'm losing my touch. Time was, you wouldn't have seen it coming."

A sex talk from Charlie wasn't wholly surprising, considering what today's class agenda included. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal. I'd had at least one Health and Wellness class a year since Middle School. But everyone knew that eleventh grade kicked Sex-Ed up a notch. Eleventh grade was the year they started showing pictures.

That's right. Today I was finally going to "see one." Penis, I reminded myself. I am going to see a penis today. If I was old enough to look at penises, I was old to say the word aloud… in my head.

"It was the juice," I said. "You bought apple instead of orange. Dead giveaway."

"Well, this is long overdue. I should have sat you down the moment you got back from Renee's."

"No need. I'm still a virgin."

The way he knowingly grinned aggravated me. "That's my girl," he said.

A sudden desire to rebel gushed through me. I neither wanted, nor deserved, the credit for my virginity. "You may want to check your daddy-pride. Edward's the hold out."

Charlie's grin grew wider. "That's my boy."

"It's you!" I pointed an accusatory finger. "You're the reason Edward won't..." I stopped short of throwing the f-word out in anger, "…do things." I knew there was more to the story than what Edward was letting on. No way did a teenage boy, madly in love and horny as hell, hold out this long because of morals.

I'd broached the topic with him on several occasions in Florida, only for him to deflect it again and again. One particular night, we were wrapped around each other on our secret cocoon of a beach, our breaths heavy and sharp as our mouths expertly worked around each other. A familiar hardness had grinded against my leg and Edward had let out a small, unbelievably sexy moan. That moan, that one small noise, had triggered something primal in me.

Coitus. The concept had once been horrifying and uncomfortable, with a side of disgusting.

Now? I got it.

Edward and I had been at this thing for three years. With every kiss, with every touch, with every moan, I wanted more of him. When Edward had proposed the idea of waiting until marriage in ninth grade, I had easily agreed. But I hadn't known what I was agreeing to, what I was giving up.

I still didn't know. Not really. I was aware of the technicalities of sex—penis meets vagina. But the specifics, like what it would feel like when it was… inside, evaded me.

What I did know was the way the hair on the back of my neck would prickle when he kissed me that special way. How goosebumps would cover every inch of my body when he grazed his fingers over my skin. The increasingly urgent sensation in my abdomen that came when I felt his weight, bathed in his scent, reveled in his taste. It told me I wanted more, more, more.

If sex was anything like the rumors, I'd feel all that tenfold. I was willing to make sacrifices to find out.

"I have a— a favor to ask," I had said between kisses.

He'd moved his lips down to my neck and nipped at my favorite spot. "Anything you want, my cherry-pickle," he'd said distractedly.

My eyes had popped open. "I want you to never call me that again."

"Done."

His tongue had swirled lightly against my skin and I'd nearly lost my head completely. "And… and I want to at least try having s-sex."

Instead of groaning and pulling away like I'd expected, Edward had chuckled. "I think you're missing the point of virginity. Once you have sex, you lose it."

I'd gripped a handful of his hair and softly guided his attention from my neck to my eyes. "Why does it matter?" I'd asked earnestly. "We're going to end up having sex one way or another."

Edward had sat up and ran a hand through his tousled bronze locks. "It matters because I want it to be special."

"We're going to have a lot of special moments between now and when we get married," I'd said. "Right now happens to be one of them."

Edward had shaken his head. "Part of it being special is knowing for sure that we're ready."

"I am ready." He'd cocked a skeptical eyebrow. "Really, I am. Look at me. I can talk about it now. I want to have sex with you." My voice had raised an octave. "I want to have sex with you. I WANT TO—"

A hand had clamped over my mouth. "You don't have to shout," Edward had said, searching the neighboring darkness for signs of commotion. "I get that you want to use my body for unspeakable acts. Now, are you going to behave and debate like a reasonable person?"

I'd nodded and he'd removed his hand. "Sorry," I'd said. "But you said once we were able talk about it, we could…"

"Talk about it," Edward had said. "And that was two weeks ago. I highly doubt in that time we've gained the emotional maturity to take such a huge step."

"But I am ready," I'd whined.

He'd studied me for a few moments. "You know I love you, right?"

I had focused on his hands. His perfect, long, warm hands. Lightly, I had touched the skin on the back of his ring finger. "Then be with me."

His hesitance had been hard to understand. He'd wanted to. Even without the proof I'd felt through his shorts, I could tell. "Don't take this the wrong way," he'd said, "but I'm not ready. I've always had this idea that we'd make love on our wedding night. I have it all planned out—"

"What, like positions and stuff?"

The corner of his lip had twitched. "Among other things. My point is that's been my fantasy for so long. I'm not ready to give it up."

"And what exactly happens in your fantasy?"

He'd smirked and smoothly ran a finger along my shoulder. "That's for me to know and you to find out."

Shiiiiiiiit. That had so not been the time to be a tease. I'd been frustrated, sexually and otherwise. "This is all completely stupid and unrealistic. Nobody waits until they're married anymore."

"Cory and Topanga waited."

"They're fictional," I'd said.

"Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey aren't."

"You're going to make me explode with anticipation."

He'd laughed at some joke I didn't understand. "That is the general idea."

I'd scowled, then leaned into his sturdy body to watch the ocean waves lap the shore. This debate so wasn't over, but if nothing else, he'd made a valid point. Jessica and Nick were going to last forever.

Now I was wondering how much of the wedding night fantasy was Edward's and how much of it was Charlie's. "What exactly have you said to him?" I demanded.

Charlie hopped up from his seat and collected a sheet of paper from the counter. "I'm not telling. Whatever it was must have been effective, though."

My voice was a dangerous warning. "Father."

"Hey, if I happen to take Edward on a fishing-trip every year to solidify my vow that I will kill him if he has sex with you before you're old enough, well, that's really none of your business."

"You didn't."

"And if I happen to reiterate that point several times a month at the police station, while my guns are being cleaned and clearly on display, well," he looked off in the distance, as if the scene were replaying before his eyes, and chuckled, his attention then snapping back to me, "that'd be none of your business either."

"My sex life is none of your business!"

"The unfortunate part about being your parent is that, until the day you turn eighteen, your sex life is my business."

My cheeks were aflame with anger and outrage. How dare he? He had no right to dictate anything related to my personal life. Who did he think was?

"Look, I get it. You have Renee telling you to practically throw your virginity out the window at thirteen. Then you have me threatening your boyfriend and—what's the term?—cockblocking your horm—"

"Ah! Ah!" I threw my hands over my ears and clenched my eyes together. "Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. I get it." Ew. That was a word I never wanted to hear out of Charlie's mouth again.

Air wafted over my face. I opened my eyes to find him waving the paper from the counter in my direction. That piece of paper was my golden ticket to the land of penis-pictures, otherwise known as a Sex-Ed permission slip.

I released my ears, but kept my nose scrunched in protest. "What?" I asked.

"As I was saying, you're confused, understandably so. Listen to your teacher. She's an unbiased source. You can learn a lot without being pulled in different directions." He leaned over, signed the permission form, and handed it to me. "Have a good day."

Oh, I would.

Penis.

. . .

When I had heard that eleventh grade Sex-Ed showed pictures, I'd envisioned images of an erotic nature illustrating the mechanics and inner workings of sex. Yeah, not so much.

It was more like a never-ending parade of sexually transmitted diseases. I'd seen penises aplenty. Penises covered in herpes, penises oozing gonorrhea-puss, penises practically falling off from syphilis. Oh, and there were mutilated vaginas, too.

Edward was watching the slideshow through his fingers. Great. As if he didn't have enough reasons to not have sex with me. He was probably imagining my vagina covered in boils.

"What we're seeing in this photo," said Mrs. Dixon, pointing to a scrotum, "is the effect of genital warts. This particular infection can appear in the genitals, around the anus, or even in the mouth."

By the light of the projection screen, I could see Edward turn green. For a doctor's son, he had a weak stomach. Any shred of hope I'd had of this class changing his mind was rapidly slipping away.

My hand shot up. "Yes, Bella?" Mrs. Dixon asked.

The entire class swiveled to look at me. My cheeks flooded with mortification. Oh God, if I asked my question, everyone was going to think I wanted to have sex. Or that I'd already had sex. Or that I was a slut. Was it too late to ask for a bathroom pass?

"I was just w-wondering," I said, trying to find a way to phrase my question so it was broad enough people wouldn't make assumptions, but specific enough to assure Edward we'd be fine, "in order for STDs to be passed around, someone has to have them first, right?"

"Good question. Yes. One of the sexual partners would have to be a carrier for it to be transmitted." She opened the answer to the class. "It's important to note that not all STDs show symptoms immediately. That's why it's important to get tested often if you're sexually active."

That wasn't exactly the reassuring answer I'd been looking for. Edward certainly wasn't convinced, but I couldn't ask a follow-up question without my classmates knowing for sure I wanted to have sex. And that I was a virgin. And that Edward was a virgin.

"But what if both people have never been with anyone? Would there still be a risk?" Angela asked. My best friend was an insane kind of awesome.

"It is highly unlikely, if both partners are virgins," Mrs. Dixon said. "It's not, however, unheard of. Unfortunately some STDs can be transmitted without sexual contact. Kissing, touching, even birth can create a carrier. There's also a risk of pregnancy."

Oh my God! Was this woman friends with Charlie or something?

Mrs. Dixon pressed a button on her clicker and the slide changed to an inflamed vagina. The class groaned. "Now, onto the effects of Chlamydia…"

What felt like hours later, Mrs. Dixon turned off the projector and flipped on the classroom lights. It took my tortured eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness. Edward's head was buried in his arms on his desk.

"Hey," I said across the aisle. He turned to look at me; his cheek still rested on his arm, giving the impression he was going to be sick. "You okay?" I asked.

"My dad's lectures were a walk in the Shire compared to that."

"You're being very dramatic about this." I borrowed his term for whenever he thought I was overreacting. "Generations of Forks High students have sat through that slideshow, survived, and went on to have sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"Sure about that?"

"How else do you think a town this small has maintained a population?"

"Next on the agenda," Mrs. Dixon said over the rumble of murmurs, "we're going to divide into groups of two and do a sexual decision-making worksheet." She held up a cowboy hat filled with little, folded papers. "We have an even divide of girls to boys, so the boys will draw names to decide partners."

Edward raised his hand. "I'm with Bella," he said without waiting to be called on.

Mrs. Dixon gave an irritated chuckle. "As I said, Edward, we'll be drawing names to decide your partners."

"Yes, I heard. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist. That," he nodded to the hat, "makes me uncomfortable."

Whispers of "What's his problem?" and "Dude's got balls" were starting to buzz through the classroom. Mrs. Dixon was clearly not happy about being undermined by a student. "Well, if that is the case, Mr. Cullen," the emphasis on his name was sharp and uncompromising, "you can insist yourself all the way to the principal's office."

An Ivy League rejection letter flashed before my eyes. Edward already had a huge blemish on his record from getting suspended in freshman year. He couldn't afford another. Still, he stared her down, then reached for his backpack.

My arm shot across the aisle and grabbed the bag at the same time he did. "Just do what she says," I said under my breath.

"No," he said, just as quietly. "I'm not giving into tyranny."

The class was entirely silent, trying to get a wisp of our conversation. "Please," I said. "Please, it won't be that bad. I promise."

He eyed me warily, then let go of the bag. "Fine," he said for the whole class to hear. "Whatever."

For her part, Mrs. Dixon didn't seem interested in pursuing the argument, despite Edward's continually petulant attitude. She passed the hat up the first row of desks. Edward glared at every boy who got the hat, daring them to pull my name. None of them did.

When the hat arrived at his desk, he wasted no time in plucking a name. He scoffed resentfully. "Who the hell is Jaime Smith?"

A quiet, mousy girl on the other side of the room made a peep. It was the definition of irony. The point of random partner designation was to make someone like Jaime What's-Her-Name feel comfortable in a public learning environment.

"At least try to be nice," I said, feeling bad for the girl. At the same time, it was kind of adorable, Edward being shifty about discussing sex with other people.

The hat was two rows away before Emmett pulled my name from it. "Hey, I got Bella!" he said cheerfully. He blew a kiss in my direction.

I giggled, caught the look on Edward's face, coughed twice, and sat up straight. Emmett and I weren't friends, per se. We didn't hang outside Book Club or anything. But we had gained something of a repartee over the last few months. Him, Angela, and I had a blast at our monthly meetings (sans interventions). We'd even gotten a few new members to join us for the Prisoner of Azkaban discussion.

Once the entire class was partnered up, Jaime came to take my seat next to Edward. I brushed by him, and leaned down. "Be nice," I said in his ear. He turned as if to say something, and caught me off guard by planting a lingering kiss on my lips instead. "Thanks," I said. "But I didn't mean nice to me."

"I know." Edward put on a brilliant smile and turned to Jaime. "Hi, I'm Edward. It is going to be an absolute pleasure discussing intercourse with you today."

Okay, he was being a douche, but I was beginning to see why this might make him uncomfortable. Maybe I should have let him take his case to the principal's office.

"Yo, Bella!" Emmett called. "Seat's open over here."

I followed his voice to the back of the class, near the exit. "Hey, bud," I said, sitting down.

"We got this in the bag." Emmett held out a fist. "We're pros at discussion shit by now."

"Damn straight," I said, pounding it. Something about Emmett made me want to cuss around him.

Mrs. Dixon explained about the worksheet: We'd have thirty minutes to complete it, respect should be given on both sides during discussion, there were no wrong or stupid answers (as long as we weren't trying to be obnoxious), and we didn't need to answer a question if we felt uncomfortable. Edward made a grunting noise at that last one, which Mrs. Dixon ignored. The more I thought about it, the more I realized she'd probably made a big Sex-Ed no-no by threatening to send Edward to the office for saying he was uncomfortable. If Edward pursued the matter, something told me she might be in trouble. I'd have to convince him to let it go.

"Question one," Emmett said, bringing my attention back to the worksheet. "Brainstorm the reasons why teenagers would postpone engaging in sexual activity."

"Let's see," I said. "They made a vow to wait until marriage when they were too young to know what they were talking about. The girl's father has threatened murder if the boy touches his daughter. The boy's a wuss and can't stand up to the girl's father, and is afraid of contracting herpes or some other STD. I have a whole list of these; should I go on?"

Emmett was looking at me like I'd grown a second head. "Personal experience, much?" he asked.

"You could say that."

Unexpectedly, he burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, right. I forgot. You and Edward don't do the deed."

"What, is that publicized somewhere?" I asked, looking in all directions to make sure no one had overheard. I caught a glimpse of Edward looking back at us curiously.

"Chill, Bella. Edward told me."

"Edward? My Edward?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was years ago. I thought for sure, by now, he'd have bitten the bullet."

I could not believe my ears. "When did he talk to you about this?"

"Uh, if I remember correctly, right after the whole Mike beat-down in freshman year. We were stuck in the office for a while." He wrote my answers down on the worksheet as he talked, changing the phrasing to "Waiting until marriage. Not wanting to disappoint parents. Worried about STDs or pregnancy." His penmanship was clear and tidy. It reminded me of Edward's.

"My mother made me take calligraphy classes when I was kid," he explained at my notice. "That stays between the two of us."

"Pinky promise."

An irksome grinding noise startled me from our conversation. A manual pencil sharpener was the cause. It was an old, clunky, metal thing located a few feet behind us, fixed to the wall above the trashcan.

"Don't let me bother you," Edward said. "I'm just sharpening my pencil."

"Yeah, I bet your pencil needs sharpening," Emmett said.

I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh and hoped my face didn't reveal where Emmett's joke had sent my thoughts.

"Dude, I swear, I'm kidding. It was too good to pass up," Emmett said, this time holding out his fist to Edward. It reminded me of last year when we'd run into him at the pet store, and Edward hadn't known what props was. "We cool?"

"Sure, dude." The way Edward tacked on the "dude" made me suspect he wasn't entirely forgiving, even though he did the whole manly fist-bump thing.

"Okay, question two," Emmett said as I watched Edward walk back to his seat. "Brainstorm the reasons why teenagers would choose to engage in sexual activity." He held the paper straight up in front of him, as if looking for more of the question. "Ah, there's only one good answer for that."

Love, he wrote on the worksheet.

"Personal experience, much?" I asked cautiously.

A fond smile overtook Emmett's face. "Yeah, I love my girl."

"Rosalie, right?"

"That's the one." He tossed a glance to the front of the room where Rosalie was discussing her worksheet with Eric. "We're on the outs again, but it's only a matter of time before she finds her way back to me."

"You, uh," I cleared my throat nervously. "You guys kind of break up a lot, don't you?"

Emmett laughed, openly amused at my observation. "All the time. And over stupid shit, too. This last break-up was over a chocolate fish."

"Wait, a chocolate fish?"

"I'm not kidding! The first time we got together, we were like eleven years old and on this camping trip with our families. So, for her last birthday, I found this giant chocolate fish that said, 'You're a Great Catch,' and gave it to her. She was not happy."

"She broke up with you over a stupid gift?" This was the girl who had lectured me about breaking up with Edward over Lord of the Rings versus Harry Potter.

"It's totally fine. Breaking up is good for us. She likes that it keeps people talking about us and I like the make-up sex. And that would be a T.M.I. thing, wouldn't it?"

"Yep," I said, having looked away awkwardly. It was interesting the way both he and Rosalie could talk about it so casually. I wondered if Edward and I would ever get to that place in our relationship.

My gaze wandered back to my boyfriend. Poor Jaime. Edward was completely ignoring her, opting instead to glower at Emmett like he was a threat that needed to be neutralized.

He's jealous, I thought. It thrilled me. Edward could say he loved me a thousand times through Sunday. He could give me daisy rings and rehearse speeches and sneak kisses, and I would never doubt he meant every word. Raw, unfiltered emotion like jealousy, though, made me feel beyond loved. It made me feel desired.

Too bad it made him look like a two-year-old to everyone else.

"Do you think we should list anything else under that question?" I asked, turning back to Emmett. "I agree love is the only good answer, but it doesn't seem like the most common."

"What else would you list?" Emmett asked.

"Peer pressure? Hormones?"

Emmett jotted those down and we moved onto the next question. It was a case study, meaning we had to read a story and discuss whether the characters made the right decisions. Emmett was about halfway through reading about Lucy's summer lifeguard adventures, when the grinding of the pencil sharpener started up again.

I looked back and gave Edward a cheeky grin. "You know, if you don't stop coming over here, someone might think you're breaking your pencil on purpose so you can spy on us."

"No, I legitimately broke my pencil this time," he said. "Well, I snapped it in half. Accidently."

Emmett held up a purple plastic writing utensil. "You know, bro, it's the age of the mechanical pencil."

"I prefer the more traditional number two," Edward said. "They're reliable. I like knowing when the lead is going to run out."

Emmett laughed and shook his head good-naturedly.

"Are you behaving?" I asked.

"I'm surprised you have to ask. Of course, I'm behaving. I'm being a perfect gentleman," he said with just the right amount of sarcasm and sincerity to make it difficult for me to decide which he was being. He pulled his pencil from the sharpener. "Now, I must get back to my ever-so-amusing partner for the continued discussion of fornication and all it entails." Definitely sarcastic.

When he was back in his seat, he struck up, what appeared to be, a civil conversation with Jaime. At least he was making an effort. He looked up and smiled when he saw me watching, puckering a kiss in my direction. Emmett's hand waved about an inch in front of my face. I startled and jerked back. "What's up?" I asked.

He gave me a knowing look. "He's not a wuss."

"Hmm?"

"Earlier, you said Edward was a wuss."

"What? No I didn't." I'd kick the butt of anybody that called him that.

"Yes, you did. You said he's a wuss because he wouldn't stand up to your father and he's afraid of STDs or something like that."

Oh, I did say that. "I didn't mean it that way," I said defensively.

"Sure you did." He didn't sound judgmental, only candid. "But he isn't. Do you have any idea the kind of willpower a dude's got to have to not have sex?"

"Um, no?"

"Yeah, of course you wouldn't," Emmett said offhandedly. "How to describe it? It's… it can hurt. Physically. It's like this ache, or maybe more like a pressure, like you have this third leg and all you want to do with it is—"

"Too much. Too much," I said, reaching to cover my ears.

He smirked. "Sorry. I'm used to talking to Rose. She's not as squeamish as you."

"Hey, I am not squeamish!" Penis. Penis. Penis.

"All I'm sayin' is it takes a lot of strength for a guy not to give in. He has to have self-control in spades, especially if you're willing."

I guess I'd never thought about it from that perspective. Always, I was there pushing his boundaries, testing his convictions. If the roles were reversed, would I want him pressuring me?

"You're right," I said, looking down at my fingers uneasily.

"Of course I am. I'm like Dumbledore. I know everything," he said.

"More like Hagrid," I quipped. We picked up our easy banter from earlier and continued reading Lucy's adventures in lifeguarding and sex.

. . .

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was playing in the background on the clunker of a TV in my bedroom. Angela was at my computer, reading off the Latin roots of magic spells, while I wrote them on a poster in different colored markers and the neatest handwriting I could muster. We were making a Harry Potter presentation board for extra credit in Latin, our required foreign language class.

"Wingardium Leviosa," Angela said. "Latin roots arduus, diem, and levis. Arduus is spelled with two u's, Bella." I scrunched an extra 'u' in there. "Definition is high, tall, sky or heavenly, and light."

"Okay, got it. Next one?"

She scrolled down the webpage. "I think that's the last good one."

"That's fine. It's pretty full anyway." I held up the poster to inspect it. I'd written the phrases crookedly across the blank canvas, so there was no rhyme or reason to the design. It was more creative that way (and it took up more space). "Time to decorate, I think."

Angela slipped from the computer chair and joined me on the floor. I pulled a tub with an assortment of craft supplies (glue, paints, glitter, anything you could imagine) from under my bed. Most of the stuff was from when I was a kid, before Renee left Charlie.

"So, what did you think of Sex-Ed?" Angela asked, bringing up the one topic I'd wanted to discuss most in the two days since the class.

"It was alright, I guess," I said casually, cutting out a picture of a wand we'd printed off the computer. I ran a glue stick over the back of it and stuck it to the poster. "I'm not sure I really learned anything that important. At least not from the teacher."

"What do you mean?"

"Emmett gave me some interesting insights into the minds of boys while we were doing our worksheet."

Angela sat forward. "Really? Like what?" Everyone pegged her as a hardcore prude because she was a preacher's daughter. I knew better.

I grinned mischievously. "Just about how much guys like to do it. He described a you-know-what as a third leg." At Angela's expression, I pulled the collar of Edward's old hoodie over my lips and giggled into the fabric.

She slapped my arm. "No way."

"I'm not kidding! He did! And he convinced me to back off Edward about the whole sex thing. He says it's hard enough, pun intended, to resist without me constantly saying I want to do it."

Angela streamed an intricate, spiraling trail of glue around the spells and phrases. "Emmett's awesome. We should invite him to do something sometime."

"Totally. He's a cool dude."

"Has Edward recovered? I thought he was going to have an aneurism when Mrs. Dixon made him partner with Jaime."

"He was so pissed. It took me forever to convince him not to report her and to apologize to Jaime. I felt so bad for her."

Sprinkling glitter over her fresh glue trails, Angela said, "Yeah. I didn't think Edward had an impolite bone in his body until I saw that."

"He definitely has a temper when things don't go his way." I thought back to our numerous battles. "Makes for some, er, aggressive post-fight make-out sessions."

"Oh my God, Bella!"

"Come on. You and Ben don't fight and make-up?"

"I'm lucky if I can get Ben to use his tongue when we kiss," Angela said, clearly disappointed. "I think he's self-conscious or something. He always tastes like peppermints. And we've never fought before."

"Definitely try it sometime. Tell him you don't like Rush Hour or something."

"I'll think about it," she said. "Besides all that, what'd you think of the class?"

"Pretty pointless. That slideshow was freaking disgusting."

"Disgusting and disappointing. I'm not gonna lie, I thought after sitting through an hour of that, we'd be rewarded by at least getting to see what a thingy looked like erect."

"Me too!" Stuff like this was how I knew Angela was my girl-version of a soul mate. "I thought we were going to see what one looked like hard!"

"Shh! You're dad's going to hear," she laughed.

"Oh, let him." I waved her off. "I'm so glad I'm not alone in this. I mean, we're girls. We're supposed to be curious about this kind of stuff. God forbid we see one that isn't flaccid and covered in some STD."

"I wish there was a way we could see one without needing a man or a Sex-Ed teacher," Angela said.

"Google!"

"Whatle?"

I hopped up from the floor and ran over to my computer. "We can put it in Google. They have this images feature. Maybe it will show us one."

"Ooo-kay?" Angela said, following me over to the computer.

I typed penis into the search engine and pressed the images tab. I slouched, defeated, at the disappointing images. "It's just illustrations and diagrams and stuff. What a freaking failure," I said. "Stupid website."

"Maybe try going to one of their recommended websites?"

"I can't do that, Ange. It's all going to be porn and my computer will catch a virus and I'll have to explain to Edward why I was looking at porn."

"Why would Edward find out?"

"Because he'd be the one to fix my computer. Duh." She nodded in understanding. "Well, damn," I said. "I was sure this was going to work. Any other ideas."

Angela pursed her lips, thinking. "Yes," she said. "Maybe one."

Thirty minutes later we pulled up in front of Forks Library.

"You sure you don't want me to hang around?" Charlie asked, putting the truck in park. "I took Latin back in the day."

"No thanks, Dad," I said, kissing him on the cheek and scooting out of Firebolt after Angela. "Just be back to pick us up in like two hours. We'll be fine."

"I've changed my mind," Angela hissed once I'd hit the ground. "This is a horrible idea."

"No, it's not." I grabbed her arm and yanked her in the direction of the library door. "It's a fantastic idea."

"What if the library people see what we're doing and tell everyone in town?"

"They can't do that. It's against the Library Code of Conduct." She gave me an incredulous glare. "All right, that's bullshit. But seriously, they won't know what we're up to. We'll be sneaky and make sure to remember where all the books go so we can put them back ourselves."

I practically shoved her through the door and dragged her over to the Health section. After about ten minutes of looking through the shelves, it became abundantly clear how poorly stocked the library was.

"I'm beginning to think someone doesn't want us to see an erect thingy," Angela said. "Maybe this is divine intervention."

"God made penises. Of course he wants us to see them," I said, flipping through my tenth book on human anatomy. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere, there were diagrams and illustrations like we'd seen on Google. I didn't get it. Certainly it'd take less time and effort to snap a picture.

Angela shelved her book. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place."

"Where should we be looking?" I asked. I was determined to find a photo. Just one photo. This was personal now.

"Traditionally, artists are less stingy about naked people. Remember Titanic? Might I suggest the Art section?"

I snapped my book closed. "What did I do to deserve such a brilliant best friend?"

The Art section was certainly more giving. We rounded up several promising books and made our way to the back of the library. The darkened corner was tables away from the other few stragglers, giving us a sense of privacy.

For the next hour, Angela and I giggled our way through the books. Goodness gracious, even without the STDs, penises were ugly. In the back of my mind, I pictured Edward's compared to the rest. His was way better. Our favorite book was a photo anthology filled with black and white nudes. This was what Sex-Ed should have been about: learning the human form and satiating our curiosity.

After we'd finished the last book, Angela sat back with a goofy grin. "I kinda feel like I should feel guilty or dirty or something after looking at all that. But I don't."

"It's not like we're looking at porn. This is art. And there's nothing wrong with being prepared," I said like a know-it-all.

"Oh? So you're going to tell Edward about this? Since there's nothing wrong with being prepared."

I thought about Edward's reaction if he found out about our little library excursion. I feared for the lives of his pencils. "Of course not. I wouldn't want to sully your pure reputation."

"Sully away. It'd be worth it to see Edward's reaction."

"Shut up." I tossed one of the smaller paperbacks at her. "You know my lips are sealed."

She laughed and stacked the book on top of the rest. "Well, overall I'd say this has been a very informative trip to the library. The sex stuff... I didn't know some of that was possible. Like doing it in the shower."

"Yeah. And that thing with the chair." We each grabbed an armful of books and started walking back to the Art section.

"So, do you feel more prepared?" Angela asked.

"I guess so," I said, rounding a corner. "There are some things you can't learn from a picture, though. Like, how it feels and stuff—AHHH!"

A figure had bolted from behind the shelf. "Busted!"

It was so sudden and unexpected, I stumbled several steps back into a bookshelf. Angela outright shrieked and dropped her books.

After a moment of petrified gaping, I recognized the culprit as my father, chortling away uncontrollably. "Sorry. So sorry," he said, coming up for air. "I couldn't resist. The look on your girls' faces…" he lost himself again.

"Yeah, real mature," I said, gasping for breath.

"Sorry," he said. "I was looking for you in the Foreign Language books. Heard your voices coming this direction. As I said, couldn't resist a chance to— Isabella Marie Swan, what the blazes is that?"

Bloody freaking Hell! One of Angela's fallen books had landed on a photo of a naked couple doing… well, I wasn't quite sure what they were doing. Charlie bent down and shifted through the rest of the spilt pile. Oh, there was mortification. Oh, there was pain.

Feebly, I said, "It's research."

He stood up and uncomfortably scratched the back of his neck. He turned around, as if to walk away, but spun back almost immediately. He did that three times, clearly not sure if he wanted to confront the situation head-on or run far away.

"I… Bells, I…" Catching a glimpse of Angela's horrified face, he ran a hand over his face and let out a sigh. In a defeated voice, he said, "I'll wait for you in the car." He muttered several curses as he walked away.

Angela collapsed to her knees in full panic mode. "You're Dad's going to think I'm a pervert or deviant or bad influence or something!" she cried, clumsily picking up the books.

"No, he's not," I said. "He thinks you're an angel. If anything, he's going to blame me for being the bad influence."

"Is he going to tell my parents?"

I retrieved a book that had tumbled near my feet. "He wouldn't do that. He'll be discreet with you. As for me," I sulked, "I'm in for another sex talk."