Awkward.

Previously on Awkward...

One a day keeps the baby away.

Oh, yes.

No one wants to be around me.

At school, everyone hates me.

I'm crazy about you.

There were certain things in my life

I always wanted to keep to myself.

For example, my secret for shiny hair,

my ridiculous superstitions...

and my birth control pills.

How did he find them?

I think I left them in the guest bath.

Don't worry.

I got this.

What are these?

You know what those are.

I can explain.

Ha ha, Jenna, I know how birth control works.

Why didn't you tell me you were on the pill?

It's a surprise.

Actually, for your birthday...

three months ago.

But we shouldn't be having this conversation

in front of Jenna.

I agree. Gonna take my breakfast on the go.

Lace?

Why are we still using condoms?

Jenna!

In that moment,

my dad went through all five stages of grief

for the loss of his only daughter's virginity.

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

What are you doing?

Looking up Matty's parents' number in the online directory.

He added one more...

Broadcasting.

Mom, don't let him do this.

Kevin... don't do this.

Really? That's the best you can do?

Dad, please think before you act.

I am thinking before I act.

Because if I were to act before thinking

Matty would be dead.

I'm calling.

They need to know that their son is having sex.

- I agree with your father. - What?

Well, it's just good parenting, Jenna.

I don't understand why you guys are making

such a big deal of this.

You bought me condoms. You knew what could happen!

I can see how that is a confusing message to send her.

The condoms were a preemptive strike

to make sure that you'd be safe

when the time came,

which I hoped was well into your 20s.

That makes no sense.

It doesn't have to make sense to you!

It only has to make sense to me!

- I'm your father! - He's right.

Even though it really doesn't make sense to me.

Dad, please don't do-- mom, help me, help me.

- Kevin... - Hang up, hang up, hang up...

- Just put down the phone. - Hang up, hang up.

Please, I am begging you, hang up the phone!

Hello, this is Kevin Hamilton,

Jenna's dad.

I think that you should know our children are having sex.

Call me back if you want to talk about this.

You left a voice mail?

Follow the sound of the clapping noise, monkeys.

Since we had to skip lunch

to squeeze in this extra practice,

I'll keep my notes short.

Katie, you're hyper-extending your Russians.

No one wants to see your flying "V."

Tobin, yell from your diaphragm.

You know, that place that's located

directly under your itty-bitties?

And Jessica,

you need to skip a few more lunches.

Shut the fuck up

and let's start with partner stunts!

Lissa!

Ready, okay.

What the hell is everyone gossiping about?

Is the the Ricky Schwartz bullshit again?

Like, I murdered him?

'Cause if it is, this shit is getting really old.

Uh, no, no.

That's not it.

One, two.

Then what the hell is it?

Nothing.

You want me to walk into a low branch?

Everyone's talking about how your parents are broke.

It was an accident.

I left my pills in the guest bath.

Ooh, that reminds me, I really need to get on the pill.

- Are you guys having sex? - Not yet.

But soon, and then Jake-ara

will finally have something over Jake-enna.

There's just one thing keeping me

from being the first lady of hump city.

I'm waiting for him to say "I love you."

What are you talking about?

He says "je t'aime" all the time.

Not the same thing.

He said "je t'aime" when we were abroad.

And he was in a France-trance.

And he only says it now because he already said it,

and it's stronger than an "I like you,"

but not quite an "I love you,"

which is as high as you can go love-wise.

I'm sure he'll say it soon.

My last pre-sex selfie.

You know it's a myth that you look different after.

Um, you looked different.

I call shenanigans.

I didn't tell you until weeks later.

But I knew something changed, and it wasn't your bangs,

because those have been the same since 1998.

Well, I hope, when you do have sex,

your dad doesn't call his dad to announce it.

How am I gonna warn Matty?

Just blurt it out, and then bolt.

That's how I told my mom I broke her vibrator.

I thought it was a neck massager.

Anyway, good luck, gotta run.

See, just like that.

Hey.

Hey, so my dad called your parents

and told them we're having sex.

Gotta go, bye.

What? All this extra practice was for nothing.

- It was an accident. - We have to call the alternate.

No way Lissa's going to recover.

She'll be out the whole season.

We're not calling the alternate.

That is the final word.

Actually, it's not the final word,

because I have something to say.

The PHHS cheer bylaws

do allow for an alternate substitute

in case of injury, failing grades, or polio.

They were written in the '50s.

Guys, I'm sure I'll be fine.

I just need to get on my feet.

Could somebody help me up?

Listen to me.

Lissa cheered at nationals

the day after a bird flew into her face

on a roller coaster.

We do not need the alternate.

I'll be fine!

All right, listen up.

I want to congratulate all of you

for inspiring me...

to come up with a whole new grading system.

That's right, letters would not suffice.

I had to use words.

"Cancerous."

"Nauseating."

Uh, "debilitating."

Uh, nice one.

"Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head."

I know it's more than one word, but it was earned.

Are you my "hopeless"?

Let's go.

Okay, there you go.

My essay is...

"plodden-tory"?

- Is that even a word? - I had to create a word.

To describe your piece of shit.

Because "piece of shit" just sounds mean.

Now this one,

this is "illuminating."

Would you care to regale us with a bit of your essay?

Given my recent private humiliation,

it was nice to have some public recognition.

Actually, you know what? Do me a favor.

Don't read it. I can't hear it aloud.

It hurts me too much.

But you said it was illuminating.

Yes, because it opened my eyes

to how bad your writing can be.

The reason you're a terrible writer

is because you belong to "generation whatever."

You only know how to express yourself

with abbreviations, misspellings.

You've turned punctuation into picture books.

Miss Hamilton,

it's time you make me feel something.

You have to dig deeper.

Tell me something that's not easy.

With words, not emoticons.