“Hi. Thanks for allowing us to share some of our thoughts with you today. My name is Lacey Burke, and I am a senior. I would like to challenge the school board’s definition of ‘lewd literature’ and expand the topics covered in high school sex and health education.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. My nerves are making it feel like I can’t breathe, but then I look at Theo in his cute shirt and tie, and he gives me the thumbs-up he promised. “Our high school currently teaches an abstinence-only approach to sexual health, and this is to the detriment of its students.” I read lines of statistics and studies, and then I get to the fun part. I describe the blue fluid demonstration we had in senior seminar and talk about how I introduced a condom into the demonstration, and the students sitting behind me start to clap. I turn around and smile. I am suddenly armed with new bravery.
“My friends and I were suspended from school for distributing condoms, condom instructions, pregnancy tests, and other sexual health items. Because of this suspension, we’ve lost independent studies and internships that were vital to our education and our future. We were told that the items we handed out were lewd. But there are students here tonight who view that differently. Thank you for listening.”
Next up is Theo. “I’m a male student who always rolled my eyes at our sex ed classes. They felt like condescending lectures that all of us would ignore. And I admit that I’ve struggled in the past with practicing safe sex. And the reason for that was stupid: I was embarrassed to buy condoms. I had been told by most of the adults I looked up to that having sex was wrong. Of course I was afraid to go into the only drugstore in town, with cashiers and pharmacists who go to church with my parents, and buy condoms. We wanted to help other students overcome that stigma so that if they were going to be sexually active, they didn’t need to wonder how to be safe about it. They didn’t need to be embarrassed or look up their questions about sex on the internet where there might be all kinds of misinformation. We all saw a pretty great change within the student body when everyone had easy access to condoms. Suddenly, there wasn’t shame attached to having them. Everyone felt better about using them. Thanks.”
He sits back down next to me, and Evita gets up.
“Hi. I was also suspended for my part in distributing this literature. And as such, I lost the time that I had dedicated to planning for the school’s Gender and Sexuality Alliance. I’m the president of that, by the way. It’s a really important group for a lot of the students at our school. I used my independent study to support the group and other LGBTQIA students. Like a lot of the other students in the GSA, the club has been really crucial to me feeling welcomed and included at school. Because, aside from the GSA, the school does very little to address the needs and questions of LGBTQIA students. In health classes in particular, I feel that by deeming sexual health information lewd, we are ignoring a real need in the community and stigmatizing sex so that students don’t feel like they can find answers or help when issues around sex arise. I also want to point out that the current curriculum is really heteronormative and amatonormative, and that’s especially damaging and stigmatizing to us LGBTQIA students. You can no longer, in good conscience, teach us while under the assumption that everyone is cisgender, heterosexual, and allosexual. I would urge the school board, while they examine their curriculum, to strive to make it as inclusive as possible.”
This also garners applause from the audience, many of whom are GSA members.
Paul stands up and talks about how, because of our efforts, he spent more time thinking about consent and respect than he ever had before. Then Alice passes Eli to my mom, stands up, and begins to speak. It’s possible she’s even more nervous that I was. She looks back at us, and Theo, Evita, and I all give her goofy smiles and encouraging thumbs-up.
“It is probably apparent to everyone here that I am a teen mom. I just had my baby last week. I don’t blame the school for my unintended pregnancy, but I do blame the culture of this school for adding to the shame and embarrassment I felt about my pregnancy.”
“You rock, Alice!” Evita calls out when Alice pauses.
“I dropped out of school because I was embarrassed. When Lacey told me about her senior seminar, I was really glad I had dropped out. But now I’m not. I’ve missed out on so much already this year. I missed out on having friends and a normal teenaged life. And, really, I should have been living as normal a life as I could before my baby was born. I know I’m not the first girl from this school who’s had a baby. I’m probably not the first one to feel embarrassed, or even the first one to drop out. But I hope that the school board will find ways to help teenagers who are not ready for parenthood make informed choices about their health and their bodies. The statistics that Lacey shared show that teaching contraception in schools can be a powerful tool to combat unplanned pregnancies.”
We all clap for her and wait for the next student to stand up and speak. My mom speaks. Then we pass around the petition and the information we’ve printed out.
“Does anyone have anything else to add to this discussion?” one of the school board members asks. We look around. Not every student has spoken, but they’ve all signed the petition.
“Thanks for your time and thoughts. We will take this under consideration, and address this issue and this regulation further.”
Then they move on to other business. It wasn’t exactly the grand finale I was hoping for. I was hoping someone on the school board would jump up and say, “These kids are right! Let’s change the rules! Put it to a vote!”
Outside in the cool, we all hug one another. My mom gives me the tightest hug of all. “I honestly can’t remember ever feeling as proud of anyone as I am of you guys,” she says to our little group.
Theo gets a little misty-eyed. “You’re the best, Ms. Burke.”
“You’re sappy,” Evita teases.
“Yeah. I am,” Theo says.
“The world needs men like you,” my mom says.
“Oh my god, Mom,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“The coffee’s on me,” my mom says to the kids who are still congregating.
Theo pulls me toward him and kisses the side of my head. “At the risk of sounding like your mom, I am so freaking proud of you.”
“Me, too,” I say. Then I cross my fingers and hope we made a difference. Or, more of a difference, since all the evidence in front of me is that we already have.
* * *
Later that week, Ms. George calls the three of us into her office.
“You’ll be happy to know that I’m reinstating your independent studies,” she says with a smile.
“Yes!” Evita says, jumping up from her seat and then sitting back down.
“The school board clarified their definition of ‘lewd’ to refer only to information that would be detrimental to the health and well-being of the students. Information on safe sexual practices does not fall under this new definition. So, your records have been cleared of the suspension.”
“Seriously?” Theo asks.
“Okay, but what does this mean for sex ed?” I ask.
“While they didn’t change any of the curriculum—so much of that is at the state level—they did make provisions for literature to be available at the school counselors’ office. The counselors and I are looking into what pamphlets to include.”
“Heternormative literature?” Evita asks.
“We’re going to make it as inclusive as possible. And, in fact, I was going to ask, now that your independent study has been reinstated, if maybe you’d give us some resources you think might be helpful to LGBTQIA students,” Ms. George says.
“Hell yes,” Evita says.
The three of us look at one another, grinning.
“Thank you, Ms. George,” I say.
“Thank you all!” she says, smiling. “I really admire how you presented your case to the school board.”
“Can we get back to class?” Evita asks. “We’re talking about applying for financial aid for college. It’s r
iveting.” She’s totally deadpan, but, honestly, it is probably the most useful thing we’ve learned so far.
“Yes. Get back to class,” Ms. George says.
When we get out to the hall, Evita lets out a whoop and hugs Theo and me. We get a dirty look from a history teacher who has her door open, but I laugh.
“We totally did that!” I say.
“We did,” Theo says. “I’m super proud of my girlfriend.”
“I’m proud of your girlfriend, too,” Evita says, grabbing our hands.
Epilogue
It’s May first, AKA college decision day. Naturally, Evita’s turned this into an event. We have a gig later tonight. Theo and I are going to be debuting some of our new stuff. When Alice was getting used to life as a new mom, she didn’t rehearse with us, so Theo and I suggested the idea of adding some acoustic, moodier stuff to our set list. It’s a lot of me on piano, which I’m getting better at, and Theo on cello.
I keep writing cello solos for Theo. Each one of them is a grand romantic gesture, and I totally own that fact. All three of us sing now. None of us is as good as Alice, but together we are great at blending. It’s not the Sparrows exactly; maybe it’s a new musical project. Or maybe we’ll marry the two sounds somehow, someday. But it’s beyond exciting that we keep expanding and growing and finding our voices.
Alice is here today. Eli hasn’t been put down once. One of us is always holding him, snuggling him, smelling the top of his head—which Theo thinks smells better than whatever shampoo he swears Evita and I use and keep a secret from him.
“So, I made a playlist for this moment,” Evita says. She spins up a retro, upbeat playlist that blends new and old rock.
We’ve all gotten into Berklee. Theo and Evita are going no matter what. I got into UMass Amherst, too. Either way, the three of us are going to Massachusetts.
Janice buzzes around, setting out cookies, fruit, and sparkling cider. Evita, Theo, and I are planning on lining up our laptops and paying our deposits at the same time. And obviously we need to be well fortified for something as emotionally strenuous as this.
First, though, Alice taps a knife on her champagne flute. “I have an announcement.” We turn to her. “Maybe it’s crazy, but Eli and I want to come to Boston, too. Since I took my GED, I qualify to start studies at the community college up there. I might only take one or two classes at first, and establish myself as a resident. My mom thinks I’m nuts. She doesn’t know why anyone would want to move somewhere so cold. But I think I need to prove to myself and to Eli that I can still make choices. So. I dunno. I hope you don’t mind me tagging along on your dream.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Evita says. “This is the best thing I’ve ever heard.” She gives Alice and Eli a huge hug. “And you can totally live with us! We’re going to look for apartments soon. We’ll scope it out. We’ll find one with a room big enough for a bed and a crib. We’ll make it work.”
“To the Sparrows,” Theo says, raising his glass.
And I feel a pang. I don’t think I’ll be living in that apartment with them. Because I’m going to go to nursing school almost two hours from them.
My eyes start to water, and I’m not sure when I turned into such a crier.
“Lacey? Care to share with the class?” Theo says.
“I need to go to nursing school. For me. Which means I’ll be living in the dorms and missing you guys like crazy during the week. I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be sorry,” Evita says. “This is right. And you’re going to spend every weekend with us, and we’ll do family dinner once a week halfway between our schools. I already figured it out.”
“I know. But it won’t be the same.”
“Hate to break it to you, pal, but nothing is the same. I mean, we’ve got a baby in our ranks. And you are a badass midwife and Tumblr star. Theo’s hair is long. I started shaving my armpits for some insane reason. I mean, Evita of last year wouldn’t recognize us now. But that’s fine. I love us! I promise!” She gives me a giant hug.
Theo sniffs. Because of course he’s crying. “I’m proud of you,” he says with a froggy, sad voice. “But I did sort of want to sleep next to you every night.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Are you guys going to make it official?” Janice asks. “Because I have a credit card that’s just begging to have a deposit placed on it.”
I nod. I’m doing this. Saying it out loud was scary. But now I know it’s what’s right for me. It’s what I’ve known is right for a long time. I might not be all that confident in a lot of ways, but I’m confident in this: these friends of mine are in my future. If Evita is disappointed in my choice, she’s not showing it. We’re just laughing and paying deposits and eating way too many pastries.
Then we’re all putting on massive amounts of eyeliner, dancing to pop music, and loading our cars with sound equipment. We’re kissing Eli and hugging one another. We’re facing whatever comes our way.
Acknowledgments
Writing the acknowledgments is something I’ve dreamed of, the way people practice their Academy Award speeches. (You don’t do that? Just me?)
It’s been amazing working with the Swoon Reads team. Thank you, Jean Feiwel, Lauren Scobell, and Emily Settle, for making Swoon Reads such a great place to be. Thank you, Alexei Esikoff, Melanie Sanders, Liz Dresner, and Raymond Ernesto Colón, for turning my story into a real book. Thanks, Kat Brzozowski. And giant thanks to Holly West. Every phone call and email with you has been such a joy.
Thanks, Uwe Stender and the entire Triada family.
Thanks, Susan Graham, for your insight and friendship. Thanks to Sarah Carter for the amazing sensitivity read.
Thanks to my Swoon Squad friends for welcoming me warmly into your group. A special thanks to Katy Upperman, who suggested I give Swoon Reads a try in the first place. And, holy cow, thanks to all the people who read this manuscript on Swoon Reads and gave me your feedback.
I’m extremely lucky to have the greatest village of young adult and middle grade authors that I’m proud to call friends. Kristen Lippert-Martin, Cat Scully, Katharyn Blair, Nikki Roberti, Andrew Munz, Allison Varnes, Natalie Blitt, Madi Ballenger, Sarah Glenn Marsh, Rachel Lynn Solomon, Katherine Locke, Lizzy Mason, Angele McQuade, Karen McManus, and Rachel Simon. Writing never feels like a solitary endeavor with you all!
Thanks to Daphne Key. Never underestimate the life-changing experience of having a great teacher. You were the first person to label me as a “writer.”
To my friends who always have my back, even when I’m half-crazed from the whole writing-a-book thing. Lorac Lawton, Suzy Brown, Katherine Gilchrist, Rebecca Kammer, Lauren Kinne, Krista Carlson, Marynelle Losin, and Bridget Ballenger. I thank you. And my kids thank you! And thank you to my friends who support me from afar: Rachel Semigran, Maggie Johnson, Danielle Tinder, and Eamon McIvor. Thank you, Lauren Preti, for my awesome author photo and for reminding me to get back into yoga.
For the badass health warriors who taught me just how wonderful and supportive healthcare—particularly for a birthing person—can be. Thank you especially to Story Jones and Kelly Sicoli. Shout out also to Liz Reiner, Nancy Hazle, Brittany Averill, and Nancy Hall.
Thanks, Sara Raasch, for being one of the loveliest humans ever, and for being an inspiration in all the ways.
Thanks, Christina June, for being with me every step of the way and for always being up for a brainstorming session.
Thanks, Lisa Maxwell, for the near-constant texting and for your general awesomeness and for your honesty and your wit.
A brilliant, special thank-you to Danielle Stinson. I’ve known we were kindred spirits since the sinking of the Titanic (in movie theaters). I am so inspired by your writing. I love you so much. You are family to me.
Thanks to Kurt and Betsy Hinebaugh for all your support. And to Kent Hinebaugh, whose name is actually Byron. You all have listened to me talk about writing for a lot of years now, and I’m so proud to share
this book with you. Thanks to my amazing parents, Tom and Susan Johnson. Not only are you wonderful parents and grandparents, but you also fight for what you believe in. Thanks, Mike Johnson and Owen Johnson. I don’t understand hockey, but you guys still keep me around.
A huge thank-you to my partner, my love, and the jelly to my donut (and the cello to my viola), Jason Hinebaugh.
Last but not least, to the three humans who have taught me more about love than I ever thought one person could learn: Callum, Lucy, and Rowan, I love you guys a bushel and a peck.
About the Author
When Olivia Hinebaugh isn’t writing fiction, she can be found writing freelance, making art, discovering new songs on Spotify, texting her writing buddies, or folding laundry. She lives near Washington, DC, with her spouse, three kids, a dog that looks like a coyote, and a one-eyed cat. The Birds, the Bees, and You and Me is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The Birds, the Bees, and You and Me Page 23