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CHAPTER ONE
ANGIE looked over at the sulky-faced girl sitting on the other side of her desk and shook her head sadly. What was the world coming to when girls thought they were freaks just because they were still virgins at seventeen?
‘Debbie, dear,’ Angie said, with as much patience as she could muster at five to four on a Friday afternoon. ‘It is not a crime not to be sexually active at your age. In fact, in view of the health hazards these days, I would say it was very sensible. Can’t you at least wait till you leave school? This year is almost over, after all. You have less than twelve months to go before you graduate.’
Which could be part of the problem, Angie suspected. Next year—Debbie’s final year—would be a very stressful one. A lot of Year Eleven students let their hair down at this time of the year. This year’s exams were over, summer had arrived, and the end-of-year party scene had well and truly begun—with all the accompanying hazards of alcohol and drugs. A lot of girls lost their virginity at such times, but mostly this was an unpremeditated event. Debbie’s decision to sleep with her boyfriend was hardly that.
‘Look, I know you probably think you’re madly in love with this boy,’ Angie went on. ‘But love rarely lasts long at your age. Next year—or even next term—it will probably be another boy, then another. If you sleep with all of them, then...’
‘I’m not at all in love with Warren,’ Debbie denied, her defiant eyes shocking Angie. ‘I just want to know what it’s like, that’s all. You read so much about it and everyone else is doing it.’
‘Everyone else is not doing it!’ Angie argued, her cheeks pinkening with what she hoped looked like indignation.
‘That’s all very well for you to say, Miss. I’ll bet you know what it’s like. I’ll bet you’ve had loads of boyfriends!’
Angie could feel her face beginning to burn. ‘Now, you look here, young lady,’ she began firmly. ‘My boyfriends are my business. What we are here to discuss is your sex-life, not mine! Besides, I happen to be twenty-four years old—not seventeen. Believe me when I tell you that when I was your age I definitely was a virgin.’
And you still are, a small dark voice pointed out drily in her head.
Angie scowled, both at the voice and at Debbie.
‘As your school counsellor,’ she continued, in her best lecturing tone, ‘my advice to you is to wait till you are at least in a steady relationship before you take this step. Making love should not be an experiment—especially the first time. It should be a very special experience between two people who truly care about one another. It should be an experience to remember and look back on with good feelings, not regret.’
Even as she was saying the words Angie could see she was not getting through to the girl. Debbie confirmed this opinion by pouting and not meeting her eyes. ‘Rebecca said you’d understand,’ the girl grumbled. ‘She said you’d help me like you did her.’
‘Rebecca was an entirely different case,’ Angie muttered, even as she knew she was defeated. Privately, she might be a romantic and an idealist. Professionally, she was a realist.
As Debbie’s counsellor she had a responsibility to look after the girl’s physical as well as her mental health. For they were intrinsically linked. Unhappily, she opened the bottom drawer and drew out a couple of condoms from the supply of samples she kept there, ready to be given out with discretion to any girl over the age of consent who came to her with a similar attitude to Debbie’s.
‘I am giving you these most reluctantly, Debbie, and only because you seem determined to do this. They are not my way of condoning your decision, or giving you permission, but I can’t in all conscience see you without protection. Some young men aren’t too caring about young women who give themselves to them without love,’ she finished pointedly.
At last, Debbie had the good grace to blush. ‘I didn’t realise you were so old-fashioned,’ she muttered. ‘Rebecca said you were real cool.’
‘You think it’s cool to be promiscuous?’ Angie asked sharply.
