"Ogilvie, you have to do something about Denise Renshaw," snarled the coach.
"I have to? She's not in any of my classes. Why do I need to do anything about her? What's the problem, anyway?"
"You have to because you're my problem solver and she's now a problem. She's our star basketball player. You know that. With her the team's a winner. Without her the team's lucky to be an also-ran."
"Still not seeing the problem. Keep her in the team."
"There's this little rule that is hampering our efforts. Any player who doesn't pass eighty percent of her classes is out of the team. Denise is sitting on seventy five percent."
"So give her a make-up exam in something she's failing at and make sure she's tutored to get through it. You've done that to other students before. What's the problem?"
"We've done that. That's how she reached the seventy five percent mark. Now we don't know what to do."
"It would probably help if she wasn't as thick as a brick," mused Sam. "Do you know what classes she's failed in?"
"Not off-hand but I'm told that she's fared so badly in the remaining classes that there's no way studying will help. Quite a lovely girl and a superb sportswoman but like you said, thick as a brick."
"Send me a list of her classes and I'll see what I can come up with. No guarantees though."
The two men went their separate ways and later that day Sam received an email from the coach. He reviewed the list, noting the failures. He also noted the successes and knew that the girl had been lucky to get the marks she had. He'd quite willingly stake a wager that if she had to sit the exact same tests again she'd probably fail them. Information just did not seem to stick with that girl.
Sam sat back, contemplating Denise's results, waiting to see if any ideas worked their way to the surface. He suddenly picked up the results again, eyes going down to a couple of extra items at the bottom of the list. He nodded to himself, reached for the phone, and called the coach.
"Tell me, coach, how old is Denise? Eighteen, uh? I noticed that one of the classes she failed was the sex education class, although how anyone could fail that is beyond me."
"That class is irrelevant," coach pointed out. "It doesn't count as to whether you pass the year or not."
"Maybe, but we're not talking about passing the year. We're talking about passing eighty percent of all classes so she can play basketball. A technicality, I admit, but one that covers the requirements."
"All well and good but how do we get her to pass a supplementary exam on sex education?"
"If you can get permission for her to have a supplementary exam and ask me to run it I suspect that I can get her through it."
"How are you going to do that?"
"Do you really want to know?"
There was silence for a few moments and then a sigh came over the phone.
"Ah, no, I don't think I do," said the coach. "I'll get permission and a copy of the supplementary exam."
"No need for the last. I don't think they have an official supplementary exam. I'll give her an oral exam that will test her knowledge and give her a pass/fail at the end of it."
Thus it was that a very grumpy Denise knocked on the door of Sam's office.
"Ah, Denise. I've been expecting you. Do you know why you've been sent to see me?"
"Not really. I should be out there practicing with the basketball team. I'm the best player they've got, you know."
"Correction. You'd be their best player if you were permitted to play for the team but you're not. You've been barred."
"What?" came the indignant cry. "Who barred me? What for? I'll lodge a complaint about this."
"The school rules barred you, courtesy of Mrs Fotheringham. You can go and complain to her if you like but I don't think you'll get very far. She's a real stickler for the rules. The only way around the problem is to fix the rule you broke."
"But I haven't broken any rules. I swear I haven't."
"Unfortunately you have. You need to pass eighty percent of the subjects that you take and you've only passed seventy five percent. You need to pass at least one more subject to get through."
"This is so unfair. I've tried my best. Everyone knows I have. I even agreed to extra coaching to get a pass on some subjects. I don't know what else I can do."
"I believe you. The coach and I have reviewed the subjects that you've failed and we've decided that one last make-up test should see you through. It seemed to us that you're a mature young lady and should know the subject we've chosen. Now I can conduct the test or we can refer it to Mrs Fotheringham and let her conduct it."
"Ah, what's the subject?"
"Oh, didn't I say. We thought sex education would be best suited. A young lady of your age with access to the internet probably knows more about the subject than I do."
"Certainly more than Mrs Fotheringham," muttered Denise to herself, not seeing the smile on Sam's face as he heard her anyway. "I guess I don't mind if you give me the test. Where's the exam paper?"
"No exam paper. It strikes me that you're the type of student that gets confused when you see exam papers. You probably know the subject thoroughly but when given an exam paper your mind just goes blank. Exams aren't kind to people like you."
"That's right," said Denise in an enthusiastic tone. "I've told my teachers this and they just don't listen."
"Understandable. Some teachers are very old-fashioned and only go with what they know works. I like to think I'm a little more forward thinking. Now shall we begin?"
At Denise's nod Sam began.
"What do you know about sex and how it works?"
Denise stuttered and stumbled and couldn't seem to answer the question. Sam sighed, holding up a hand to stem the flow of words.
"I know that this is a personal question, but are you a virgin?" he asked.
"Um, not exactly," a red-faced Denise admitted.
"In that case you certainly know what the parts are and how they fit together. Would it help if you did a little show and tell?"
"Show and tell? Like in take of my panties and show you?"
"Something like that. With the bits and pieces on display I'm sure you could name them all, yes?"
Denise chewed on her lip for a moment. She could flash Mr Ogilvie or forget about basketball. It wasn't like he was coming onto her. He seemed to genuinely want to help and as he'd guessed, she wasn't a virgin. Not experienced, really, but she knew what she knew.
"Okay. That might help," she decided. She removed her panties, jamming them into the pocket of her blouse. No way was she going to risk losing them.
"Sit down and part your legs a little," Sam instructed her. "Now I'm going to indicate certain parts of your anatomy and you can tell me what they are."
Not what she'd expected but Denise sat and waited. A hand gently cupped her vulva and she hesitated for a moment. Don't say pussy, she told herself. Identify it properly. "Vulva," she said hesitantly.
"Correct," said Sam. "I thought you'd know the proper answers. Now this?"
