My sixth grade teacher hated boys. Humiliation was her weapon of choice.

We marched single file to the bathrooms, boys in one line, girls in another. The bathrooms were next to each other. Boys stopped a dozen feet back from the doors. Girls marched past the doors, then did an about-face so the end of the line became the beginning. The first boy in line held the boy’s room door open. The teacher positioned herself at the front of the girls line with clear view into the boy’s bathroom. The girls at the front of the line had the same view.

Four boys and four girls were allowed to enter at the same time. Girls supervised themselves. Their door closed behind them. All boys had to be out before the next group could enter. The urinals were past the sinks in direct line of sight. There were no partitions.

Girls were allowed to talk freely. Boys were not. Any boy caught talking would be dragged out of the bathroom by his ear. Whenever this happened the girls would crowd together to watch. Using a stall required advance permission. If the boy’s feet weren’t facing in the correct direction the teacher would pound on the stall door demanding he get out and pee like a proper boy.

We knew when the girls saw a penis by the expressions on their faces. It was pretty much impossible not to be seen when you were the boy closest to the door. This was validated during recess whenever a group of girls would inform a boy that they saw his penis. Most of us were embarrassed. Wayne was not. “So,” he said. “You want to see it again?” He was speaking to the prettiest girl in class. She was also the most conceited.

The girls in her group looked at each other. They nodded. “Okay,” she said.

I was preparing to make my escape when he said, “show me your boobs and I’ll show you my dick.” I stayed right where I was.

She refused, as good girls are expected to do. A crowd gathered. The girls egged her on. They cared more about seeing Wayne’s penis than any possible blemish on their classmates reputation. She untucked her shirt from her dress. I held my breath. The girls cheered softly, “do it, do it.” She pulled her shirt up to her neck.

Eleven year old girls didn’t wear bras back then. She was exposed for about a second and a half, during which no one uttered a sound. She tucked her shirt back in. “Okay, now it’s your turn,” she said. The only sound was the rustling of clothes as girls pushed forward for a better look.

Wayne smirked. “No way. I said show me your boobs, not little girl nubbies.”

I never saw a girl turn so red in the face so fast.