Tampons
I peek from the wings of the Royal Festival Hall, and my heart thumps.
Sitting directly at the front is a line of five stern judges from Imperial College, viciously writing notes.
Behind them are rows and rows of restless teenagers in different coloured uniforms. This is the eighth presentation of the day – it’s on chemicals in denim and is being presented by a stuttering group of boys and girls from Richmond College.
So far, every presentation has been about the environment in some form or another, probably because it’s relevant . . . and appropriate.
‘We are,’ I say tensely. The reality of what I’m doing is suddenly hitting me, and I’m beginning to regret it.
I tried to revive the plastic in the ocean presentation after the meeting with Dr Therone.
I was in my lab making a new slide show and writing a half-arsed script when Nina came in.
She saw me frazzled, surrounded by textbooks and printouts.
She thought I was losing the plot. I told her what happened, and her response was, ‘Dr Therone should go fuck herself’, before convincing me that this wasn’t just a science contest but a platform for freedom of speech, and if I was to silence a group of young women for talking about something so natural, then what kind of teacher would that make me?
I’d never seen her so passionate for my subject before. I had to listen.
‘Please welcome to the stage, Clapham High for Girls,’ the host announces.
That’s us. Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap. My three menstrual-clad pupils wobble past me and onto the stage before I can say anything else.
The tired audience’s applause turns to laughter and gasping.
At least they’re not being booed. I try to take a breath to calm myself down, but there seems to be no oxygen around me.
The girls stand in line under the stage lights and wait for the audience to settle down, and then, oh-so-coolly, Arabella begins.
‘The menstrual cycle can be funny, it can be embarrassing and disgusting, but above all, it is nature, and around 50 per cent of this room experiences it first-hand.’ Her voice commands the audience, and they are silent.
She’s got them. The first slide appears on the big screen behind them. ‘THE PILL AND HOW IT AFFECTS US’.
Beatrice goes next to explain the nitty-gritty facts about the menstrual cycle.
On the screen is a video showing the egg leaving an ovary and floating down the fallopian tube, like a ball in a pinball machine.
‘And this brings us to . . .’ Beatrice says, and then as rehearsed, Ashwini comes onto the stage, dressed in a round pink fluffy costume, with ‘The Pill’ written on her front and back.
Again, I’m very impressed by Daisy’s work.
Ashwini waits for the audience to stop laughing and then introduces herself.
‘Hi, I’m The Contraceptive Pill, and I have been around since the 1960s.
I gave women sexual freedom; it meant they could finish their degrees without risking an unwanted pregnancy and have careers.
Because of me, they could take control of their lives and not be at the mercy of biology.
I am the greatest thing that has ever happened to women. ’
‘Hold on there, Pill,’ Ophelia says. ‘You haven’t been that great to women, have you?
’ She then changes the slide to a photo of a brain.
‘New research says that women on the Pill can have a blunted cortisol response to stress. What does this mean? Well, cortisol is the hormone that helps us deal with stress. If your teacher gives you a test at the last minute, or you fall out with your best friend, you probably will get a little stressed out and the cortisol helps you cope with it. So, for us to mess with this natural chemistry could negatively affect women.’
I spot the woman judge raising her eyebrows and then scribbling something down. I can’t tell whether she’s impressed or disgusted. Arabella then takes over.
‘There have been studies to show that when a woman is ovulating, they are subconsciously attracted to men with thicker jawlines and deeper voices.’ Timothée Chalamet comes onto screen.
A few girly ‘woos’ come from the audience.
‘So, you could think you’re attracted to this guy whilst on the Pill, when in fact .
. .’ The slide changes to a picture of Paul Mescal.
‘Off the Pill, you could like this guy.’ The audience woos louder.
I peer around to recheck the judge’s faces.
Nothing. I bite my nails. Beatrice is next with the physical risks, and I find myself mouthing along to her script about blood clots.
She was nervous about this part but is doing it flawlessly, not one word out.
She subtly turns to me as soon as she finishes, and I give her a thumbs up.
Arabella takes the mic back for the finish.
‘We’re 15-year-olds, and it’s not uncommon for our GP to put us on the Pill for medical reasons or to prevent unwanted pregnancies, but it’s scary to think that there’s still not enough research into the actual long-term effects on our brains.
This is why we propose that the funds go towards more awareness in this area.
Most of us will be offered the Pill at some point in our lives or have a loved one who will be.
What a privilege to have this freedom, but to truly have freedom, we should know exactly what we’re putting into our bodies. ’
I didn’t realise how tight I was clenching my arms until the applause erupts.
It’s a huge applause. The biggest of the day by far.
I unravel myself and clap. It’s over. It’s done.
The girls are bowing. I breathe. The rest of the class is on their feet, cheering in the audience.
A group of girls behind them stand up too, and then a group to the right, and then a few random people also rise to applaud.
Arabella, Beatrice, Ashwini and Ophelia bow one more time and then come bouncing off the stage.
I find myself breaking all professional barriers and squeezing each one of them.
There is one more presentation on BPA in cans by Ealing Boys School.
I haven’t heard a word from them after I sent my job application, so I can only assume they’ve rejected me.
Perhaps it’s for the best. If we win this competition, I won’t need a new job because Dr Therone will be eating out of my palm.
The Ealing Boys teacher is a lanky man, around mid-thirties, wearing glasses and a beige wool suit. He is hovering next to me, biting his nails very loudly. He should be nervous – their presentation is boring as hell compared to ours. I hope he regrets rejecting me.
The boring BPA presentation finishes and is met with tired applause. We are sent out for a 20-minute tea and biscuit break as the judges deliberate the winner.
The class are on a high and want a photo, so we go outside by the river. They insist I should also be in it too, so I hand my phone to a stranger and stand in the middle of them all. I’ve never had a candid photo with the pupils before. I send Josh the one of us jumping, with a message saying:
Waiting for results but the girls were AMAZING. I my job!
He thought I had lost my mind to go against Dr Therone, that I was making life difficult for myself.
He doesn’t understand, though, that my job is already difficult.
I don’t have the luxury of walking into work, doing the bare minimum and then being rewarded.
I used to resent it, but if I had it as easy as Josh, I wouldn’t have pushed myself out of my comfort zone.
And because of that, I now have a class of 15-year-old girls jumping with excitement over a subject they once detested.
I always thought teaching was about getting the highest grades from my pupils, but that doesn’t even come close to seeing Arabella today – she’ll never admit it, but it is clear how much effort she has put in.
She made that presentation what it was. I may have lost my mind, but if that makes me a better teacher, so be it.
We are called back into the main hall for the results. The host appears on stage – a shiny man in a lab coat. He sees himself as a showman, even though he’s just presenting a schools science contest. Fair enough. Go big or go home.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, today has been a whirlwind of knowledge and inspiration brought to us by the youth of this city. The panel of judges from Imperial College want to thank you for your time and energy; they have thoroughly enjoyed each one of your presentations, even the more . . . controversial ones.’ The audience chuckles a little.
I hope he doesn’t mean us. ‘I know it’s been a long day so I’m going to read out the results.
If you hear your school’s name, please come up to the stage.
So, here we go. The results for the London Science Awareness Contest 2025 .
. .’ I grab the two hands closest to me, Arabella’s and Beatrice’s.
‘In third place is salmon farms by Brixton Boys.’ There is a rumble of applause as Brixton Boys come up to the stage.
‘Second place is Joseph’s House, with their fabulous presentation on wind energy. And first place . . .’ Arabella squeezes my hand so tight that it hurts. ‘Ealing Boys on their spectacular pitch on BPA in cans.’
What? No. How? Their presentation put the hall to sleep! The girls look as surprised and deflated as I am. I tell them to keep applauding, though. We are not bad losers – even if the winners were crap.
As we leave the Royal Festival Hall, I decide I must be diplomatic.
‘Right, girls, meeting by the books under the bridge,’ I say. When they’re all in front of me, I notice the teacher in glasses from Ealing Boys watching me from afar; I turn away, so he’s not in my eyeline, and begin.
‘Girls, science is not about winning money. It’s about looking at the world around you and putting it to the test. You did that today.
You bravely questioned how science is affecting you personally, and for that, you are winners.
I, for one, have never been so proud, and I .
. .’ I’m going to cry. I take a breath, and the girls let out an ‘Aww’.
‘I want to thank you for teaching me how to be a teacher. Ophelia, without you putting your hand up in the first place, we wouldn’t be here.
Beatrice, you might have the best work ethic I have ever seen, and I hope you can use that to do exactly what you want in life.
’ Beatrice smiles. She knows what I’m saying.
‘Daisy, one day you’ll win an Oscar for your costume designs.
And Arabella . . .’ I notice she’s filming, but I don’t care.
‘Arabella, you’re a challenging woman, but it’s challenging women who have made some of the best scientific discoveries, so keep being challenging.
And that goes for all of you, whether in science or in life, keep questioning the world. The world needs your questions.’
The girls start applauding. Who cares about weddings and countryside cottages? This moment, right now, is what life is about. ‘Hot chocolate?’ I shout over the applause, and the girls start cheering. Above their heads, I see the Ealing Boys teacher walking away with a smirk on his face.
I should have known they wouldn’t stick with hot chocolate; we have caused chaos in Starbucks with Frappuccinos, coffees, teas, oat milk, almond milk, caramel syrup . . . The girls take more selfies, videos and group photos as we wait.
‘Miss Elman,’ Daisy says, suddenly at my side, looking sheepish. ‘I didn’t make the costumes.’
‘I thought they looked very professional. Who made them then? Your mum?’ It was then, and only then, that I recognise the red garment covers over the costumes.
‘Your friend, Lace.’
‘How on earth . . .’ I say, not angry, just very confused.
Daisy begins to talk very quickly. ‘I was talking outside the gates with Ophelia, and she was in her sunglasses reading Vogue, like, the actual magazine, so I knew she must have been around your age. She overheard me talking about the science contest and how worried I was about the costumes and said she’d help me.
And before I knew it, she dropped all these costumes off at school.
’ She cowers as if I’m about to lose my head. ‘Are you mad?’
I laugh. ‘No. I’m not mad.’
‘Daisy! Miss Elman! Come here, you need to be in this,’ Arabella yells out. The class are posing again for another photo. We go over and join them. ‘Ready,’ Arabella shouts.
I think of Lace sitting in her studio, stitching giant tampon costumes. I laugh out loud as the camera snaps.