T.1

Mom was cooking breakfast when I came downstairs.  That's not exactly normal.  Since she and my dad divorced, she's usually off to work pretty early, sometimes before I wake up.  Of course, I don't wake up that early—an hour before school starts, tops.  Sajel shook her head for a week when she heard that.  Well, maybe what she doesn't realize is that if you shower at night, instead of in the morning, you don't have to wake up that early.  And if you're a guy and you have short hair, instead of the three or four yards that Sajel has.  Oh well, that's her business.  Me, I wake up at seven-thirty in the morning, and rarely see my mom before she comes home from work.

"Good morning, Zach," she said.  "Did you sleep well?"

"Pretty well, yeah," I said.

"I don't have to go into the office until nine," she said, "so I thought I'd stay home and talk to my son."  Mom's kind of short, a little big—but in a comforting way.  She says I take after my father.  She's a nurse at a doctor's office, which means she also doubles as receptionist, secretary, administrative assistant, that sort of thing.  Sometimes she even sees patients.  On occasion she jokes that she didn't graduate from college to type memos.  But her family comes first.  She makes a lot of money, but a lot of it goes to her parents, or her siblings.  Sometimes I think we're the only ones in my family who have achieved financial independence.

"Cool," I said.  "All right."  I wasn't sure what 'talk to my son' meant.  I'd had 'the birds and the bees' a number of years ago (or 'the haha and the wiiwii,' as Sajel puts it), so it couldn't be that.  With Mom you never really know what's coming up.

"I wanted to talk to you about The Program," my mom said.

Oh great.  So much for a peaceful breakfast.

Mom's pancakes, as always, were incredible.  Sometimes I kinda wanna invite people over for dinner more often, because Mom is an excellent cook.  Just, that's kinda weird, showing off my mom, you know?  And what if she wasn't in the mood to cook that night?  And wouldn't it be, like, totally weird to tell my mom, "Hey, Mom, I'm inviting people over for dinner because you're a good cook"?  I know I'd be

weirded out by that.  I mean, if, hypothetically, one of my hypothetical kids was to walk up to me and call me 'Mom'...

So, anyway.  Mom sat down and we were eating, and I was liking the pancakes.  If they're made right, they actually taste good just plain, and Mom's always taste good just plain.  Though Mom herself is always using syrup and butter on them.  I don't get it.  I just don't.

So, anyway.  Mom sat down, and we were eating, and I was trying to distract myself by thinking about other things.  I dunno about you, but when my mom tells me she wants to talk about my nakedness, I don't expect it to be an enjoyable conversation.

"So," Mom said.  "How was your first day in The Program?"

"It was...  Okay," I said carefully.  Mom and I don't normally talk about down-there stuff.  I wasn't sure what she wanted or didn't want to hear.  "I mean, I had Brandon and Arie around.  They've done it already.  They had plenty of advice."

"Oh," said my mom.  "Like?"

Like...  Well, I dunno, I didn't really ask them.  Sajel told me not to act like a kid.  Whatever.  Like that's any useful advice.  I made something up.  "Uh, like...  Stay out of the badlands."

"The badlands?" Mom asked.

"Uh..."  I know Mom knows what it is, because she asked me about it.  Evidently the PTA sent out one of those big bulletins after Brandon went through The Program, about all the harassment from the losers in the badlands.  The thing was, the PTA might not have called it that—I mean, you know.  Political correctness and all that.  "It's the area past the football field," I said.  "Where all the stoners and losers hang out."

"Oh, yes," said my mom.  "'Areas of ill repute,' the newsletter called it."

"Yeah, that," I said.  Ill repute.  What the fuck's an ill repute?  If the reputes are getting sick—whatever animal that is, is it like a groundhog?—it's probably from all the pot smoke.  Why don't they just clear that place out anyway?  "The kids there like picking on people.  Naked guy is just too much of a target."

"And a naked girl more so, I imagine," my mother said.

"Yeah, probably," I said.  It's actually mostly guys in the badlands.  I wonder why.

"Didn't I read something about a buddy," Mom said.

"Huh?  Yeah," I said, my mouth full of pancake.  "You're, like...  Supposed to look out for each other or something."

"A boy or a girl," Mom asked.

"A girl," I said, probably faster than I should've.

My mother chuckled softly.  "I can only imagine what she must think, being 'looked out for' by Zach Crane."

"Hey now," I said.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mom smiled and waved it away.  "This buddy of yours," she said.  "Does she have a name?"

"Christa Sternbacher," I said, again faster than I should've.  Sometimes it pays to think about these things—and maybe lie.  But nope, here he goes, blurting the truth out.

Mom's eyes widened.  "Little Christa's in The Program?"  Christa's name shows up a lot where parents look—high grades and all that.  But Mom also knows a lot of my classmates in person, because they've wandered into her office a couple of times.  I mean, the community isn't all that big.  And I know that most parents treat her like she's some sort of holy goddess—my mom does, Sajel says her mom does.  We don't know about Brandon's.  Actually, we don't know about Brandon's at all, much less what they think about Christa Sternbacher.  Neither of us have seen his parents.  For the longest time the housekeeper actually drove him to school.  Crazy, huh?

But that has nothing to do with Christa.  What had to do with Christa was the expression on my mom's face.  Every mother's secret dream, I realized suddenly, is probably to watch her son hook up with a "nice girl" like Christa Sternbacher.

O holy shitfuck on a stick.

"Yessss, mom," I hissed, not looking forward to the rest of the conversation.  "Christa's in The Program."

"What would make a nice girl like her want to join The Program," Mom asked.

"She wants to get fondled," I snapped, and Mom's eyebrows jagged.  Her smile slid crooked off her face, and she looked away.

"And what about you," she asked finally.  "What makes my son and only child so interested in...  Exhibiting himself in this way?"

"The same reason," I said ingeniously.  "You get action in The Program."

My mother gave me a sardonic smile.  "I've tried very hard to raise you up the right way, Zach.  I'm glad to see I've succeeded."

"Chuh.  Mom, I'm a teenager.  I have hormones."  This with a bit of sarcasm attached.  "You're a doctor, you know how that works."

"I'm not actually a doctor, Zach," my mother began.

"Close enough to one," I said.  We've been over this before.

She sighed.  "All right, close enough.  Yes, Zach, I am a...  A 'doctor,' as you choose to put it, and I know how teenage hormones work."

"Well, then," I said, figuring the matter was settled.

It wasn't.  "But is that the only reason?"

"Huh?"  With a mouthful of pancakes.  "Wah thah shapos'a mean?"

"Zach, I've seen the kind of girls you ask out," my mother said.  "If all you want is to...  Get action, as you put it, then you certainly don't need to enter The Program.  You can just ask them."

I swallowed, despite a mouth suddenly drying.  You kind of don't expect your parents—your mother—to understand why you're dating the people you date.  Especially your mother.  Mothers don't talk about sex.  Mothers and sex are like the polar opposite of each other.  I mean, isn't there some rule somewhere in the Great Big Book Of Rules that once a woman becomes a mother, she's not allowed to have sex anymore?

"So," my mother said.  "Why did you enter The Program?  You seem to have all you need already."

I shoved my chair back.  "I'd better get goin."

Mom didn't say anything.  She just watched, and watched, as I went back to my room to get ready for school.  I could feel her eyes on me the whole way.

Sometimes people ask question you just didn't want to hear, you know?  I mean, I went into The Program to get some tail.  The girl I was seeing (Tiffany or Amber or Crystal or something) hasn't answered my phone calls in a little while.  Guess she's out.  And nobody's caught my fancy, and meanwhile, you gotta listen to your urges, right?  Isn't it obvious?

"So," Brandon said to me.  "What's eating you?"

"Ah, go stuff it up a sock," I snapped, and Brandon's eyes widened and he stepped back, leaving me alone to slump in my own thought.  I could hear him talking to Meredith, even though they kept their voices down—their words were carried to me, as though by magic.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I dunno, he wouldn't tell me."

"I've never seen him like that."

"I have, a couple of times.  It means he's in it bad."

"Christa?"

"Dunno.  Could be anything."

There was a silence.  Then, Meredith's voice, searching: "...I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready."

"I hope so.  In this mood you can never tell."

"That's ridiculous, you're—"  Grasping at straws.  "You're one of his closest friends.  Why would he not tell you?  You know how it is when you can't figure things out.  But then it all comes to you, and you tell people.  I bet you'll be the first to know."

A silence.

And then Brandon's voice, smiling.  "...You know, that's why I keep you around.  For perspective.  You keep things in perspective."

"That," Meredith said archly, "and I'm a damn good lay."

"I-IIII'm just going to keep my mouth shut on that one," Brandon said, and Meredith laughed.

Yeah yeah, get a room you guys.  Jesus.  Can't leave a guy to sulk in peace.

"You look cross," Christa observed when we met in Geometry, and I fought the urge to throw something.  Is the whole world gonna call me on this goddamn thing!

"Yes, I am, and I don'wanna talk about it, okay!"

But where Brandon had recoiled, Christa just arched an eyebrow and said, "Well, I won't ask you then.  Keep your shirt on, Zach.  Oh, wait, too late on that."  And then walked past me to her seat, without ever having raised her voice or dropped that slightly sarcastic tone.

I tried to concentrate on what was going on in class—which really just tells you how bad it was, that I was actually paying attention to all this shit about paremecioids and trapezes and stuff.  I mean, who's actually gonna need that when they grow up?  I'm not going to, I can tell you that.  But it was better than that strange growing gape in my mind, the hole my mother's question had left.  That, and every now and then my gaze would drift over to Christa.  Suffice it to say, I had things on my mind enough to keep me occupied.  So I was a little calmer when I got to English.  Somewhat.

I'm not entirely sure what happened to Christa on the walk between Geometry and English—I was lost in my own little world at that point.  But she arrived in English just a few moments before the bell rang, clearly out of breath, a reddish blush on her cheeks.  Sajel leaned close to me and said, "Hmmmm.  Looks like somebody got Rule Three'd just now."

"Wha?" I said, startled out of my thoughts.

Sajel snorted.  "Look at her nipples, dumbass."

I saw a chance for a joke and grabbed at it like a starving man grabs food.  "Sajel, why are you looking at a girl's nipples?" I asked.  Between this and the breast observation yesterday...  Sheesh, I'm gettin worried about this girl?

But, of course, at the same time I was looking at Christa's nipples—not as large as some I've seen, probably smaller than the eraser at the tip of a pencil.  And the little circles around them, whatever those are (Brandon says 'areolas.'  How the hell does he know this shit?), were pretty small too.  But she was clearly erect, was the point.  You could just tell.

"Mmm-hmm," said Sajel, ignoring my earlier question.  "Rule Three.  But probably not enough of it.  What do you wanna bet she asks for relief this period?"

Good thing I didn't bet—I'd have lost.  Sajel's good at reading those sorts of signs.  Christa walked up to the front of the classroom, and Mr. Cavanaugh said, "Would anyone like to assist Christa?"

I raised my hand.  Quite a few other guys did too.  Crazily enough, so did Arie.  Everyone blinked at her and she blinked back at us.  "Sure, why the hell not," she said.

"Well, thank you, Arie, but I don't think I'd be comfortable with that," Christa said, and Arie shrugged blandly and put her hand down.

Christa looked the rest of us over.  When she reached me, her gaze went cold.  "Put your hand down, Zach."

Sajel and Brandon and Arie gave me confused looks.  I gave Christa a confused look.  "What, what'd I do?"

Christa's eyes held no mercy.  "Put it down."  Her words seemed to echo through the room like a hammer strike.

I put my hand down, feeling helpless.  Fuck, what's a guy to do when that happens?

Christa kept looking, her eyes moving slowly from one end of the room to the other.  Finally she said, "Brandon."

We all looked at Brandon, who didn't have his hand up.

"Could I ask you to help me?" Christa said.

"Uh," said Brandon, stating the obvious.  "I don't have my hand up."

Joke opportunity.  Golden joke.  Grab!  "Whoa, Brandon," I said, acting startled.  "You don't have your hand up?"

"Yeah, man, I don't have my hand up," Brandon said.

"I didn't know you didn't have your hand up," Arie said.

Sajel picked it up too.  "Wait, he didn't have his hand up?"

Now the class was starting to laugh.  Christa was glaring.  "Excuse me!" she said.  "Brandon, I know you didn't raise your hand.  I'm asking you.  I'm requesting.  Would you please give me relief?"

Sajel was whispering in my ear: "Hmmm...  The girl shows spirit..."  I knew what she meant.  Christa's words rang like iron.

"You can't ask people who haven't volunteered," Arie said.

Christa grabbed the copy of The Pamphlet that every room is equipped with nowadays.  She read in a loud, carrying voice—the people in the room across the hall must've heard it.  "Teachers and Instructors have been advised that it shall be deemed a reasonable request on the part of the participant to seek relief during the first five minutes of class time. The Teachers and Instructors have been further advised that this event MAY be abetted by other students or participants."

"No, we know that part," Arie said.

"Considerable leeway may be granted the Participant in the nature of the relief granted." Christa finished.  "So, here's my leeway.  Brandon, I want you to give me relief."

Brandon looked at her for a moment.  Christa was squirming and having trouble meeting his gaze.  Me, I was perplexed.  What gives?  She turns me down—me, Zach Crane, who was volunteering—only in order to try and coax Brandon into it—My Best Friend Brandon—who didn't even have his hand up.  What gives?  What the hell is on her mind?

"No," Brandon said finally.  "I'm...  Well, it's flattering that you'd ask me to, but I wouldn't feel comfortable."  He gave a dry, humorless smile.  "Clear it with Meredith first next time."

Christa huffed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.  She picked some other random guy.  It took him about fifteen minutes to finish her off.  I think all of us were kind of bored by the end of it.

Me, I looked away quickly.  After Christa closed her eyes and gasped.  I was angry.  I want to be there.  I want to be the one with his hand between her legs.  I want to...

See, being angry beats being jealous, at least.

Sajel looked at me with no clear expression, except for the vague traces of pity around the edges of her eyes, before pulling out the homework reading and going through it.

"So, what the hell was that about," Arie asked Brandon at recess.

"Lord if I know," Brandon said.  "Too bad she didn't pick Zach.  He could've showed her a good time."

"As opposed to, say, Graham Carter," Sajel said, rolling her eyes.  "Fuck, that took forever.  Brandon, you should've gone, she would've gone faster."

Arie, in a display of such either-stupidity-or-cruelty that even I could see it, turned to Meredith and said, "Whaddayou think, Meri?"

Meredith, who had absolutely no idea what we were talking about, said, "What?"

"Do you think Brandon's better at eating pussy than Graham Carter?" Arie asked.

Meredith giggled.  "I don't know, the next time Graham Carter eats my pussy, I'll take some notes and compare."

"So you're saying that might actually happen," Arie pursued.

"Who is Graham Carter, anyway?" Meredith asked, laughing.

Arie drew herself up.  "You don't know who Graham Carter is?"

Meredith looked at us, grinning helplessly, and spread her hands.  "Anybody wanna help me out here?"

Sajel and Brandon exchanged glances.  "No, that's okay, thanks," Brandon said.

"Well, all right then," Meredith said, still smiling.  "Who picked Graham Carter over Brandon?"

Sajel sent a gritty, dark-edged glance at all of us, and then said, "Christa."

Meredith blinked a few times.  "I don't get it."

From the look on Brandon's face, I could see he was about to explain.  I could also see that if he did, it would probably be a huge enormous mess.  So I spoke up instead.  "Christa needed relief and she wanted Brandon to give it."

"Oh-kay..." said Meredith, clearly not understanding, trying to hang on to some shred of humor.

"Yeah," Arie said.  "And Brandon didn't want to."

"I...  Don't..." said Meredith.

Sajel tossed her arms.  "Fucking amateurs.  Okay, starting over."  Meredith nodded.  "Christa needed relief.  Mr. Cavanaugh brings her up to the front and he asks for volunteers.  Zach volunteered.  She turned him down.  Brandon didn't volunteer.  She asked him."

Brandon shrugged.  "I wasn't interested."

"But Christa was," Meredith said.

"What we're trying to figure out," Sajel said, pushing the discussion along.  "Is why."

"Why..." Meredith asked.

"Why she'd go to so much effort to pick Brandon out," Sajel said.

"When you've got perfectly willing and perfectly attractive specimens of manhood like me to call on instead," I added.

"You?  Yeah right."  Sajel rolled her eyes.  "I wouldn't pick you if you were the last man on earth."

"Good thing you're not Christa, then," I retorted.

"Do Christa and Brandon know each other," Arie asked.

"No," I said.  Out of all of us, I'd known Brandon the longest.  If there was something, I'd know about it.  "They've had classes together before, probably, but I don't think they know each other."

"I can't think of anything that would make her try to pull such a power play," Arie said.

"I can," Sajel said.  "But they're probably all wrong.  That's the problem when you don't know someone very well."

Suddenly I wondered where Brandon and Meredith had gotten to.  Looking around wildly, I found them at the far end of the overhang, their heads close together.  Privacy, obviously.  Something about the way Meredith was standing caught my attention—I don't know why—and when Brandon put his arms around her and she huddled close, her face against his chest, I suddenly realized she must be crying.  Over Christa?  Over that little thing?  Meredith always seems to have things together.  I didn't know she'd go to pieces over something so minor.

Now.  Sharp-eyed fans of the Cranester will notice that, before English on Monday, I'd predicted that Christa might have a crush on Brandon.  And if you've gotten this far, you've noticed I was right.  How come I didn't think of it now?  Well, it's pretty simple: I didn't think it was a real explanation.  I mean, sure, it was a possibility, but it's also a possibility for winged pigs to fly out of my ass.  I didn't know what kind of guy Christa normally went for, but I was pretty sure Brandon wasn't it.  The thought never crossed my mind again.

A few moments later, Meredith and Brandon came back.  As far as I could tell from her face, they might never have gone.  As far as Sajel and Arie were concerned, they hadn't gone—Sajel looked up suddenly and said, "Oh, Brandon!  I hadn't realized you'd gone anywhere."

Brandon shrugged.  "Just some private discussion.  Nothing to worry about.  What have you guys been talking about?"

"Just more mystery Christa," Arie said.  "We couldn't figure out anything."

"Yeah," I said.  "I have no idea why she'd choose someone like you over someone like me."

"Oh, fuck a pig with a stuck," Sajel said, pressing a hand to her forehead.  "Zach, shut up.  Just shut up."

"Naw, what are you talkin about," I said.  "Shut up aboutwhat?"

"All your stupid posturing, all your little—  Fuck.  Forget it."  Sajel turned away, shaking her head, heading up towards the far side of the overhang, where Brandon and Meredith had been just a moment ago.

"See," I said.  "People like you don't appreciate me.  They don't understand my talent."

"No fucking kidding!" she yelled over her shoulder, not turning.

I sensed that I might have irritated Sajel just a little bit.  Normally she appreciates me.  But that's my problem nowadays, just totally underappreciated.

"Nobody does," I said.  "You know how many people stopped me today for a feel?  Nobody.  You know how many people accepted when I volunteered to get them off?  Nobody.  I just can't understand it.  It's like I'm some sort of...  Weird screwed-up guy or something.  I'm normal.  It's all these other people who aren't normal.  But everyone just sort of, I dunno, turns their back on me, because of some..."

Sajel turned and rushed back and yelled into my face, "Maybe it's because you don't shut up!"

Words left me.  I stared.  Around me was silence—half the school must have heard Sajel yell.  They all stared too.  Somewhere behind me, Brandon was saying, "Program business.  Nothing to see here, folks, move along..."

"Zach," Sajel gritted.  Her eyes were inches from mine.  "Do you have any idea how annoying it is the way you act?"

"No," I said honestly.

"Yes, well that's very obvious," Sajel said.  "I'll give you a hint, Mister Zachary Crane.  A lot of people don't understand you.  Your sense of humor is really out there  sometimes, and so's your sense of fair play.  You even weird us out  sometimes."

"Yeah," Meredith inserted, and Arie said, "Yup."

"And we," Sajel continued, "are a pretty liberal, open-minded bunch.  You wanna know why we don't see Tim around so much anymore?  He made me promise never to tell you.  Too bad for him.  He finds you way too loud most of the time.  You just turn people off, Zach, do you understand that?"

I tried to say something in response, but all I managed was a sort of a squeak.

"So.  If you manage to turn us off sometimes," Sajel said.  "Imagine a somewhat conservative, straight-laced, narrow-minded person like Christa.  Imagine how she feels when you take her promise and turn it into your own personal plaything.  Imagine how it seems to her.

"You're off the wall a lot, Zach.  We've known you long enough to know  you mean no harm, but everyone else...  Well, they haven't got a clue.  So Christa sees you doing this thing and she figures she'd better stay away.  And people try to Rule Three you and you respond in your off-the-wall look-at-me manner, and they get turned off.  And they better stay away.

"You know you're doing it.  I've seen you stop.  Well, you gotta stop a lot more, buddy.  Because people are getting scared."

With that she pushed me away and stood back.

I sort of stared at the floor.

"Wow, Sajel," Brandon was saying.  "I didn't know you had it in you."

"It's all Zach's fault," Sajel said, in a voice that would normally be joking.  "He brings out the worst in me."

I stared at the floor some more.

A lot of things were falling into place.

What if it all backfired?  What if everything I had ever tried to do...  What if it all backfired?

Someone had to come and shake me when the bell rang.

T.2

Well, I'd say Tuesday is off to a pretty good start.  Because the first thing that happened was that Mark Spencer stopped me halfway between Geometry and English with a Rule Three.  He wanted to touch.  And he wanted to touch me down there.  And he's really good at it.

Hi, I'm Christa Sternbacher, and I'm on cloud nine.

English itself was kind of a mess, though.  Stupid Brandon.  Why does he have to be so loyal?  Well.  Not that loyalty is a bad thing...  Just that he should be loyal to me!  I mean, come on—what have I got to offer that Meredith doesn't?  I have bigger boobs, I'm cuter than she is, I don't have that enormous chin like she does...  I'll show him, I thought to myself.  I'll show him.

(If I had caught myself thinking this at any other time, I would've probably hit myself.  Snap out of it, you psycho!  Stealing boyfriends is not what nice girls do!  But there was something wrong with me.  Arie was the one who explained it, because her parents used to do the same: I had reached the point, she said, where I could justify things as being 'for the greater good.'  If you're honest with yourself and you say, 'I want Brandon because I'm lonely and insecure and, even in the few moments I've seen him and Meredith together, I've gotten jealous of what they have,' you can't justify it.  But if you say, 'It's for Brandon's own good,' then, it all seems so much more palatable.  Right?)

But even if Brandon was being recalcitrant—well, that was okay.  Because there was still Mark Spencer around.

"He did what?!" said Deborah, gaping and staring.

"And you let him?" Megan said.

"Well," I said.  "Under Rule Three..."

"It's reasonable request," Debbie hissed.  "You don't have to let him do anything."

"So, I wanted to," I said.  "And girls, I have to say, that boy has the most talented hands."

That shut them up.  Debbie and Meggie stared at me, their faces identical in astonishment.

"So he...  So he," said Megan.  "Touched you.  Down there?"

"Uh-huh," I said.

Megan's and Debbie's eyes widened as one, and I felt like a deity unclothed before them.

"Now try and tell me The Program is a bad idea," I said, grinning.

"We-ell..." said Megan, clearly reluctant.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Debbie said.

Okay, now here comes that out of the blue.  Sometimes I'm not at all sure what these two are thinking.  "Why's that?" I asked.

Debbie held her ground.  "Well, I mean, it's all well and good if you're doing that with your boyfriend or whatever," she said.  "But you're not.  Christa, he hasn't asked you out or anything.  You haven't asked him.  I mean, honestly, you barely know him."

I scowled.  "What are you, my mother?"  Because really, the two of them were starting to sound very much alike.

Now Debbie took a step back.  "No," she said.  "I'm your friend.  Chrissy, I want a boyfriend as much as you do.  But that doesn't mean I'm going to let some random guy stick his hand down my pants."

I felt guilty—and angry, at being made to feel guilty.  "I'm not wearing pants."

Debbie's eyes narrowed.  "You know what I mean."

Glib and angry, I said, "No, I'm not sure I do.  I mean, it's one thing for a guy to stick his hand down your pants.  But it's completely another if you're naked.  There's no down about it."

Debbie glared at me, her face pale with anger, and then turned away.

Walking to Comparative World Religions after the bell had rung, I thought about the argument.  I felt guilty about having been so blase—No I didn't, she'd gotten what she deserved.  Yes she had.  End of story.  But Debbie was right—it was one thing to fool around with a boyfriend, but quite another to be played with by a random stranger.  So, there was only one solution.

"Zach," I said, "how do you ask someone out?"

At first it didn't seem to register; he seemed to be in his own little world.  Then something connection sparked in his head and he jerked up.  "I'm sorry, what?"

"Zach," I repeated, with just a hint of sarcasm.  "How do you ask someone out?"

"Why are you asking me?" he said.

"Because," I said patiently.  "You're very confident.  You're so confident that you can say and do outrageous things and nobody has the guts to tell you to stop.  If anyone would know how to ask someone out, it'd be you."

Something changed in his eyes, something I couldn't understand, and he said, "Yeah.  Yeah, I suppose that'd be me."

"Well now.  What's going on here?" Sajel said as she and Meredith came up to us.

"I'm asking him for advice on asking people out," I explained.

Sajel immediately held up her hands.  "Oh, don't look at me, I don't get asked."

Meredith grinned and shook her head.  "Yeah, not me either, I...  Hee."  Her smile changed, softer and brighter, as if remembering some fond memory, and she shrugged.

They looked at us with identical ingenious grins.

"Yeah, see," Zach said, the arching of a stretching cat, "in my experience, it's the guy who does the asking, so I'm not sure how much of my advice applies to you."

"That's all right," I said.  "I know absolutely nothing, so it doesn't matter who the advice is for, anything will help."

"Hmm, well," said Zach, concentrating.  He drew me off to one side for a bit of privacy.

"Well, what I normally do," he said, looking at the ground.  "For one, I try to joke."

"Yeah, you're good at that," I said.

"Thank you," he said, in a voice I didn't understand.  "Which is actually tip number one.  Go with what you're good at."  He looked me over—the first time he'd looked at me all conversation, or so it felt like.  "Well, I'm not personally sure what your talents are—I guess you're good at clarinet.  But I'm not sure how you'd use that to your advantage.  But anyway, you get the idea."

His voice seemed deadened somehow.  But I knew he was onto something.  It was good advice.  Go with what I'm good at?  Of course!  Why hadn't I thought of that?

"If I like a girl, I try to be nearby a lot," Zach was saying.  "And compliment her on how she looks—it's just flattery, but it gets you pretty far.  I mean, it makes them feel good, which is the whole point.  Like, in your case, I'd say..."  His gaze seemed to phase away, looking through the world instead of at it.  "In your case, I'd say something like...  'When you smile, it makes the whole world seem brighter.'  You know, stuff like that.  Cheesy, but it works."

I nodded.  It was a nice thing to hear, even though he was doubtlessly exaggerating.  I had a feeling that poetic license was going to be a big part of the whole deal.

"And, you know, you can touch 'em too," Zach said.  "I mean, obviously not...  Well, I guess it's okay to go for their bits if they're, like, in The Program or something.  He might go for your bits.  But it's just supposed to be soft, sort of casual contact.  Run your hand down his arm or something.  He'll notice if he feels the same.  I mean—"  He passed the ball of one finger across my collarbone.  "Touch isn't a normal part of socializing.  It's just not what we do.  And then when you consider sex, it's kind of a big part of boyfriend-girlfriend relations."  This delivered in an expressionless deadpan.  "So, if you invoke it, you're kind of suggesting that, you know, you like him."

I nodded.  It made sense to me.  I fought the urge to scratch my skin where he'd touched me.

"Oh, and—  Show off," he said.  "You and I and the people we hang out with, we can't do that as much."  A tinge of a smile.  "Especially if you're Captain Scrawny-Butt like me.  I got nothing to show off.  But you..."  His smile faded.  "Well, you're beautiful.  You've got a nice smile and a nice ass and there's...  There's nothing wrong with you."  He ran a hand through his hair.  "You can use that.  You can, you know...  Attract attention.  I dunno if you know how, but there are, like, ways you can walk, or stand, or whatever, to show off your assets.  I mean, you—"

"Hey, guys!"  The hallway was empty.  Jane stood at the threshold, beckoning.  "Mr. Haynes says to tell you that class is starting!"

"Program business," Zach called back, "we'll be done soon."

Jane gave him a suspicious look, but subsided into the darkness of the classroom.  Her distrust reminded me to take everything Zach was saying with a grain of salt.  He could just be pulling my leg.

"Now, her," Zach said.  "You've seen her posture.  Don't do that.  Do the opposite of that.  Do anti-Jane.  If you've got it, flaunt it."

I nodded.  I knew that much, but it was a good reminder.  Just because I'm not as big as Pamela Anderson, or Madonna, or Arie, doesn't mean I haven't got something to show off.  And since I'm in The Program, might as well take advantage of it, right?

"And then, if nothing else...  Just ask," Zach said, sighing a little bit.  "I gotta be honest, most of that stuff doesn't really work.  You try it, because it's all you've got, but sometimes people are just...  Stupid.  They don't see what's

right in front of their noses.  So you just gotta ask 'em.  Or tell 'em.  You know, just, 'Hey, whatsyername, I think you're hot, let's...  Let's hang out some time.'  Or something."

"Yeah," I said.  Sometimes people are just oblivious.  What can I say.

"And above all...  You just gotta have confidence," he said.  "You know, 'I'm...  I'm Christa, I'm hot, and anyone who doesn't see that is just a stick in the mud.'  It's all about the attitude."  A quick, humorless smile flashed across his face.  "Trust me on that."

"All right," I said, trying to internalize that mantra.  I'm Christa, I'm hot, and anyone who doesn't see that...

But I knew that already!

"Is that it?" I asked.  "Not that I'm, like, just trying to run off, but we are late for class."  To punctuate, the bell for passing period rang.  I hope Mr. Haynes wouldn't give us detention.

"No, that's about it," Zach said, his voice falling with each word.

"Well, all right then.  Thank you very much.  I'll tell you how it turns out."  I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek (I'm Christa, I'm hot, and anyone who doesn't see it...) and went inside.

As opposed to, say, running around the school naked, yelling like a triumphant hunter.

Whoo!  Guess who's gonna get into Mark Spencer's thoughts!

T.3

So, that was fun.  Not.  But when she asked, I couldn't really say no.  I just couldn't.  I don't know why.  And I was just...  So out there, you know?  I was thinking about what Sajel said.

It's kinda funny how life will just deal you all the emotional right hooks all at once.  And by 'funny,' I mean, 'Oh fuck this is gonna be a long day.'

Louise Malatesta was up there during Biology, blushing red the whole time, looking highly mortified—a living example of female sexual development.  Which, of course, is what The Program is all about, but it's still hella embarrassing to be up there, you know?  I wasn't really listening—my head was elsewhere—but I think they had a lot of trouble getting her aroused, which the biology teacher said was just proof that female genitalia needs to become engorged with blood the same way the male stuff does.  Because all the blood in her body was up in her face.

I felt kinda bad for her.  Louise Malatesta is not one of those people who generally gets out there socially—she's the quiet type.  A few close friends, probably, but not like a really large web of social contacts, like Sajel has, or like I have.  More like Brandon.  And the thing is, there's nothing wrong with her—curves in all the right places, she's blonde (which some people have a preference for) and if you're a fan of long hair (Brandon is, for instance), it goes down to her back.  It's nice.  But she's got the hideous case of acne, maybe bad enough to cause facial scarring, and even though she's not unattractive her face isn't exactly what the public says faces are supposed to be like.  And that was probably all it took to push her into being a hermit.  And now she's up on stage in The Program, really shy and really uncomfortable.  Sometimes life sucks, you know?

At lunch, Sajel was nowhere to be seen, which I thought might have something to do with me.  But the others didn't seem to mind having me around.  Arie and Derek kept their heads to themselves, which basically left me and Meredith and Brandon.  And of course those two have priority—they wanna talk, I gotta just shut up and sit there.  But they didn't.  They talked to me, which was nice of them.  Not that I was feeling really talkative.  I was still thinking about what Sajel had said.

Suddenly I realized something that I'd missed earlier, and I said quietly to Brandon, "I didn't get a chance to ask before.  You and Meredith get everything worked out, right?"

Brandon's eyes froze on mine for a moment—a barely noticeable second of suspended motion.  Then he smiled.  "And to think that I had no idea that you were so observant.  Yeah, it's worked out.  At least for the moment.  Thank you for asking."

"Hey," I said, "gotta look out for my friends and all that."  Though my heart wasn't really in it.  And I think they saw that.

There was silence for a few minutes while we all sat on the ground and I stared at my slice of pizza.  I didn't feel like eating at all right now.

"And you, Zach," Meredith said from somewhere outside my field of vision.  "We didn't get a chance to ask either.  You ready to talk about whatever was ailing you this morning?"

Anger came surging up inside me...  And then fizzled, just as precipitously as it had rose.  It was gone.  Other things had come to take the anger away.  Or maybe I was just too tired.

"No, I was just...  My mom and I were talking, and she asked some questions that were really confusing."

"Really?" Meredith said.  "Like?"

She and Brandon sat together like they were one person.  Most of the time I pretended they didn't do that.  Or joked about it.  I had seen the way he'd held her, while they were talking off on their own, the way they'd come together—like two sides of a wound drawing closed.

I guess I can see, sometimes.  Sometimes I can see.

"She was talking about..."  Expulsion of breath.  "She was talking about The Program, and about why I bother, if the girls I date are just as likely to give me tail as they are the time of day."

Meredith grinned, amused.  "Your mother said that?"

"Naw, naw, she didn't.  She was much more polite about it.  ...But it's the truth, more or less."

Brandon nodded.  "There's no harm in it, if you know what you're getting into," he said.  "And you're a lot of things, Zach, but you're not daft."

I gave him a twisted grin.  "Thanks a lot, buddy, thanks."

There was a bit of silence at that point.

"So," Meredith prompted.  "Why are you in The Program?"

"Honestly, actually, I don't...  I don't know."  I stared at the ground.  There were my knees; there's my leg hair.  A sharper angle and I'd be able to see the rest of myself—see my body, in all its naked glory.  I probably should've done something about my pubic hair.  There's a lot of it, and it's a mess.  Pretty unsightly.  I mean, you know?

"I'm not sure what I want out of The Program anymore.  I'm just...  It's...  I'm not sure."

"I think this has something to do with what Sajel said," Meredith said.

"What do you mean," I asked.

"Well," Meredith said.  "What she said, bugged you, right?"

Brandon laughed, not unkindly.  "Look at him, sweetie.  You don't even have to ask."

"All right, so it bugged you," Meredith said, a smile of her own tingeing her words.  "Why did it bug you, Zach?"

"Fuck if I know," I snapped.  "Why don't you tell me."

"I would, Zach, if I had the answers," Meredith said, her voice infinitely gentle.  "But I don't.  Only you do, right now.  You have to unlock them yourself."

"Ugh," I said.  "Answers.  God."

Why did it bug me.  It bugged me because...

"Because Sajel told me that basically I was scaring people off."

"That's what she said," Brandon agreed.

"And who likes hearing that?" Meredith commiserated.

"No, but...  There's more to it," I said.  I looked up at them.  "People say things to me all the time.  Most of it's shit.  I shrug off.  Who cares what they say.  But  this one's...  This one stuck to me."

"So?" Meredith asked, an expression of calm perplexion on her face.

"So..." I said.  "Most of them don't bother me.  But this one does."

"And you think..." Meredith prompted.

"I think there's something about this thing that's different from all the others, which is making it stick," I said.

"Do you have any ideas what the difference might be?" Brandon asked.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

"I think it might be true."

Brandon and Meredith regarded me with identical stillness.  The world seemed to be waiting with breath held for my next words.

"I think she's right," I said.  "About me scaring people off."

Around me was exhalation.

"And you don't like that," Brandon said.  It wasn't a question.

"No," I said.  "I'm not trying to scare people.  That's not what I wanna do."

Meredith nodded.  "I told you you had the answers."

I just sighed.  Yeah, I had...  But they still weren't answers I liked.

"So...  What are you gonna do about it," Brandon asked.

"I dunno," I said, waving my slice of pizza aimlessly.  "Tone it down a bit.  If I can.  Stop scaring people off.  Stop making a fool of myself.  Stop..."  I trailed off, my eyes falling to the concrete.

"Stop offending Christa," Brandon said quietly.

I gestured again with my slice of pizza.  You got it, bucko.

"You really like her," Meredith observed.

"She's not like the people I normally date," I said, as if that were some kind of an answer.  But Brandon and Meredith nodded, and I realized that maybe it had been.

No, she wasn't.  The girls I normally date...  Well, they don't get scared off by Crazy-Ass Zach, but I think it's because they don't really care.  Whatever, whatever.  They're on the arm of a varsity basketball player, what could be sweeter.  Whereas Christa...  Well, she had cared.  Did care.  Whatever.  She'd actually taken the time to judge me.  Sure, she'd found me lacking in some department or other, but at least it actually mattered to her what sort of person I was.

I liked that.  Even if she didn't like the person I was, I liked that it mattered.  Because God knows I'd spent enough time and effort trying to be any sort of person.

"It's what you guys have," I said, without thinking.

"What?" said Brandon and Meredith.

"You guys are..."  I gestured inarticulately with my hands.  The best I could manage was a sort of cramming together of my spread fingers, as though trying to interlace them.  "You look inside each other.  And you like what you find there."

Brandon nodded.  And Meredith smiled.

"And you..." she said, indicating for me to fill in the blank.

"I like what I see in Christa," I declared.

"But she doesn't quite like you," Brandon observed.

"Yeah, well..." I said, deflating.  "I can work on that.  I mean, at least now I have some idea of why I..."

"Brandon, Meredith, I have got to talk to you," Sajel called.  She was coming up the grass at a run.  I couldn't see her expression, but she didn't sound angry or upset.

Brandon turned, indicating me with his hand.  "Uhm.  We're kind of in the middle of a conversation right now."  Off to one side, I saw Arie's and Derek's heads turning in our direction.

"Oh, that's fine, it's about him," Sajel said.  I blinked.  Okay, is she still pissed off at me or what?"

"Okay..." said Meredith skeptically.

Sajel said, "Christa likes Zach."

My slice of pizza slipped from my hand.  Sajel saw and grinned maliciously.  "Yeah, you like that, bitch!"

"Uh, it, uh..." I said.  The pizza had, of course, landed topping-side down.  I wasn't sure I dared eat it anymore.

"Actually, Brandon, she kinda likes you too," Sajel said, and now I recognized the look on her face—it was Gossip mode.  "But she was really discouraged when you wouldn't do her in English, so I think she'll give up on that.  But Zach, she likes you, she likes you!"

Brandon grinned at me.  "Hey, and you thought you'd blown all your chances with her, too."

"Oh, so that explains what was up in English," Arie said, she and Derek having gravitated over.

"But!" Sajel said, holding up a hand.  "There's only one slight problem."

"And that is?" I asked, not sure I should dare to hope or not.

"She doesn't realize she likes you," Sajel said.

The silence was like a metal weight hitting the floor with a dull clank.

"Then..." Meredith asked.  "How did you...  Find out?"

"Well," said Sajel, beginning to tick things off on her fingers with exaggerated thoroughness.  "We were talking...  In fourth period, after you'd given her all that advice—that was really nice of you, by the way, so I think whatever drugs your mom gave you this morning, she should keep doing it—and I asked her what she thought of you."  She grinned.  "And she wasn't really nice verbally, but when she stopped, and you came in the door?..."  Sajel shrugged, modest and smug.  "It was obvious.  She was thinking really hard, so I don't think she even noticed, but the way she looked at you..."

I looked away to collect my thoughts.  Okay, so that's...  Good news? bad news?  Both?  Neither?  Something else entirely?

"And so I followed her out of fifth period," Sajel said, "and that's where I've been all lunch, talking to her.  And...  Yeah.  Zach, she's still not impressed with all your asshole tactics, but she's starting to think there might be more to you.  Now you just gotta show her."

I smiled, suddenly feeling exultant.  What timing, what perfect timing!  "I can do that.  I can definitely do that."

"Then what's there to be worried about?" Derek asked, grinning.  "Go for it, man."

In the general chaos after that announcement, I sidled close to Sajel.  "Uhm, Sage, uh..."

"What?" she bit off, whirling at me.

"Umm."  'Kay, guess that answers my question.  "I'll go now."

"What do you want, Zach," Sajel gritted.

Gulp.  Umm.  "Well.  I guess I was just wondering if you're still pissed off at me."

"What the hell do you think?" she said.

"That's why I was walking away," I said, feeling very stupid.  "But then...  If you're still pissed off at me, why'd you—"

"Zach, you're still my friend," Sajel said peremptorily.  "I may not exactly like you right now, but you're still my friend.  And that's more important than all that squabbling."

"Oh.  Well."  I felt curiously exalted.  "I'm your friend too, Sajel."

"Thank you," she said icily.  "Now get lost."

It didn't dampen me too much.  Sajel and I have had fights before.  We've always gotten over them.  And in the meanwhile...   I mean, Christa!  Yow!

Of course, it was going to get a lot more complicated.  But that's a story for another time.

T.4

See, Zach's not so bad after all.  ...Not that I ever doubted that.  It's just, it's nice to have proof, you know?  Though, come to think of it, I've never seen him that...  Quiet.  I mean, normally, Zach's all bluster and loud noise, you know?  It was weird to see him acting so understated.  Weird, and nice.  Zach's like standing next to the speakers at a school dance—deafeningly loud, and nothing you can do about it.

Hi, I'm Christa Sternbacher, and I'm gonna get into Mark Spencer's pants!

It was really startling to have Zach so quiet, though.  I dunno, I'm just used to him being so...  Outgoing.  I don't know how he acts normally, but I think it's like a sign that things are all right in Zach-Land if he's being loud and offensive.  So, why was he so quiet?  What shook his world up?  I didn't have a clue.  I basically hadn't talked to him all day, except for the question about how to get Mark Spencer's attention.

You know, when Zach's not being loud, he's a lot easier to get along with.  I mean, he's a nice guy.  He's easy to talk to and he'll take you seriously when you have to ask really stupid questions, like how to ask a guy out.  I don't think I could've asked anyone else and not been laughed at.  Well, maybe Brandon, but I doubt he'd have a good answer.  (Look: Brandon: awesome, but I know he hasn't got that whole charm thing going.)  It's just that normally Zach's all loud and offensive and, like...  I dunno, sometimes it's practically like he's trying to offend people.  He doesn't have to do that.  (Well, obviously.)  And when he doesn't...  Well, I just hope he's still like that later today.  Because I'd like to keep talking to him.  He's not all that bad-looking either.  A little scruffy here and there...  But, I mean, God, I like Brandon, he's not exactly King of the Pretty People.  And Zach has that smile to him, always that smile...  Just, devil may care.  He's sweet, and he isn't ugly by any means.  It could be worse.  It could be...

"Whoa, Earth to Christa," Sajel was saying, tugging at my elbow.  Zach walked from the door to his seat, his head down.  "What was all that about?"

"What, how to ask a boy out?" I asked.

"No, the staring," Sajel said.

"I wasn't staring," I said indignantly.  And indeed, I hadn't been.  It had been nearly a minute since I'd sat down, and I hadn't seen a thing—too absorbed in my own thoughts.

"Oh yes you were," Sajel retorted.

"Oh, right," I said, letting sarcasm color my tone.  "And what, exactly, was I staring at, O Miss Expert?"

Sajel looked at me strangely, one eyebrow raised, her face lopsided; and then looked away, and said nothing.

Huh.  Whatever.

After Chem AP, Sajel actually came with me for lunch.  Which was weird, because we'd been in classes for three years, but she'd never once made an overture of friendship.  I like Sajel, though.  She's fun to have around.

"I know you're wondering," Sajel said as we stood in line for food.  "And I'll tell you.  It's because I just got totally fed up with Zach and his who-cares screw-you attitude.  I just don't wanna deal with him right now."

I nodded.  I understood the impulse quite well.

"When did this happen," I asked.

"Unh.  Recess."

Hmm.  Maybe that's why he was so quiet...  But, no, probably not.  Zach doesn't strike me as the type to get slowed down much.  He just bounces back and keeps on going.  Who cares.  Screw you.  If Sajel told him he was being an asshole, well...  He probably wouldn't care.

Too bad.  Sajel's a good friend.  If he wants to discard her, that's his problem.

"So," Sajel said, seated next to me, her back to the wall of the Student Center, a sandwich in her hands.  "Who are you?"  On my other side, Megan and Deborah chattered irrelevancies.  Someone stalked by on their way to the ball booth.  "What's your life like?"

"Do you always start your conversations this way?" I asked, amused.

"Only the ones with people I don't know," Sajel said with a wall-eyed stare.

"Well, I..." I said.  Who am I?  What's my life like?  Could there possibly be a less-specific question?  "I live in Greendale, with my mom and dad and my younger brother.  Mom's an industrial engineer, Dad's part of City Planning—"

"What are those," Sajel asked.

"Oh, well.  Mom goes to factories and such and helps them figure out how to run things efficiently," I said.  "They call her industrial but she does everything—once she got hired by some banking branch, to help them figure out how many teller windows they needed open at this time of the day or that time...  Things like that.  And then Dad's involved in things like zoning and deciding who can build what where."

"Does that matter?" Sajel asked.

"Well, yeah," I said.  "Let's say you've got an empty building on the corner of an intersection and McDonald's wants to use it.  Well, McDonald's's have drive-thrus, right?  If people are gonna be dropping in at all hours to get a Big Mac, what's that gonna do to traffic patterns?  If it's already a busy intersection, the potential for accidents could go way up.  And how many parking spaces are available, for the people who want to stay?  If you try to lump too many really popular stores and things together..."

Sajel was nodding.  "Yeah, I see.  That's why Varsity Street Mall is such a mess nowadays.  What do they have, like, Abercrombie & Fitch, Express, Benetton, Hollister...  Practically everything."

"Yeah," I said.  "And like three parking spaces total."

"Yeah, I never go there if I can help it," Sajel said.  "So that's what your parents do.  What's your brother like?"

"I dunno, he's..."  I shrugged.  "My brother."  I think there's just a certain gist of the experience of having siblings that cannot be described.  And it varies by gender and relative age, too, so probably you need to have four siblings, one younger and one older of each gender, to experience it all.  "He's thirteen.  He's noisy, he's annoying, he's..."  Another shrug.  "My younger brother."

I could see Sajel didn't understand.  It wasn't in her eyes—the noisy childishness, the questions about girls, the strange lurching from age to age, the thunder of Saturday-morning cartoons dragging you from sleep, the vapid rabble of friends sprawled across the living room, shouting at the television.  She didn't understand.  It was fine.  She was the youngest of three, a sister and a brother, and I knew nothing except what it was like to be the oldest.

"Any idea what you want to do with your life," Sajel asked.

"Nooo," I said.  "It's just...  There's too much, you know?  I've got good grades.  I'm good at all subjects.  I could do anything."

Sajel nodded.

"Why're you in The Program?" she asked.

I shrugged.  "To meet boys."

Sajel laughed, lighting her eyes.  Her hair slid around her neck and shoulders with every movement.  "Oh, is that all."

I shrugged.  "It's the truth.  No need to mince words.  I mean, you know how it is."

Sajel nodded.  "I know how it is."

"See, I have this theory," I said.  "You know how you always hear about the jocks and the cheerleaders and the players and the sluts and all of those getting together."  The people with the confidence, in other words.  Zach.  "I dunno how they do it, I guess brainlessness is some sort of magnetic force that just sort of draws people together."  Sajel laughed.

"Anyway.  Those are the people you notice, right?" I said, and Sajel nodded.  "I mean, they're the ones that get all the attention, because they're...  Well, I dunno what they do.  But they're lucky enough to have the good looks, or they know how to carry themselves, or they wear clothes meant for Barbie dolls or something (in the case of the cheerleaders)...  And everybody else just gets overlooked.

"Well, my theory is, the vast majority of the population that gets overlooked, would all get along just fine.  Only, we never think to look at each other.  We're too  distracted by the people who are doing the crazy stuff."

Sajel nodded.  "Kinda reminds me of my friend's theory of America Online.  I mean, you go into chatrooms and it's just filled with idiots, you know?"  I nodded, even though I didn't.  It wouldn't surprise me, though.  "Well, my friend says that he thinks only ten percent of AOL users are gibbering idiots.  But they make so much noise they seem like the whole population."

I nodded.  "Yeah, see, it's like that."

"And this gets back to you being naked...?" Sajel said, gesturing for a conclusion.

I shrugged.  "Now I'm one of the people that gets noticed by everybody."

"One of the loud idiots, in other words," Sajel said, grinning.

"Well, excuse me," I retorted, laughing.  "Sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.  I figure, if it works..."

"The ends justify the means, eh," Sajel said.

"Hey," I said.  "You can't argue with success."

"Amen, sister," Sajel said, and grinned.

I think Zach understands that too.  Well, I mean.  Look at his attitude.  He wouldn't be going around doing what he does if he cared what other people thought of him.  I mean, he's so...  Irreverent.  Pretty obviously, nobody's opinions matter to him.  And I guess his life is less complicated that way.

Sajel was squinting at me.  "What's on your mind?"

I answered by reflex.  "Oh, I was just thinking about Zach."

Sajel blinked at me a few times, her face giving nothing.

We chatted for a little more after that, but Sajel said she had to go, and left.  Which is too bad, because she wasn't there to witness the ultimate triumph of my theory.

Mark Spencer asked me out.

It's funny: I went through all that trouble to find out how to ask him out, and he renders it all moot by just coming up to me and doing it for me.  I was talking with Deb and Meggie, in lieu of Sajel, and he and a couple of his friends dropped by.  "Hey, ladies," he said.  "It's nice to see your friendly faces next to the ball closet every day."

"It's nice to see your faces too," Debbie roared, and she and Megan giggled like they were drunk.

I swear.  Those two.  No dignity whatsoever.  "Hello, Mark," I said, my face the model of unruffled calm.  "How are you today?"

"I'm well, thank you," Mark said.  "Just finished lunch, and now we're—"  A toss of his head over one shoulder to indicate his companions, who were adorned with baseball caps bearing the school's mascot (a goat.  A billy goat.  Mount Hill Billies, get it, ha-ha).  "—about to head out to the field."

"Ah," I said.  "Sounds like fun."

"It is," Mark said, unconscious conceit.  "Listen, I was just wondering...  If you're not doing anything tomorrow, you wanna come to the game with me?"

Megan and Debbie fell irrevocably and satisfactorily silent.

Yeah, there's a big basketball game on Wednesday.  Evidently our team has a chance to head into the semifinals or something.  Zach's gonna be playing naked.  And, of course, if I attended, I'd be attending naked.  Which made me hesitate for a second.

But—well, jeez!  How many times in my life would Mark Spencer ask me out?

"Sure," I said.

"Great, I'll pick you up for dinner at six?"

"Err..."  I ran some hasty calculations.  Orchestra practice lets out at five, that'd give me time to run home, take a quick shower (really quick), and get ready.  "Sure, that'd be fine."

"Well, great," Mark said, smiling.  "See you then."

"Seeya," I said, smiling.

After he and his buddies had left, Debbie turned to me and said, "Oh.  My.  God."

I shrugged.  I giggled.  I grinned.

That's what I call progress.

T.5

The next weird thing to happen, though, just blew everything out of the water.  When we got out of orchestra, I went out into the lobby—and there was Zach, sitting on one of the benches, looking a little bit distant.  His back was against the wall and his head tipped back and his mouth open, like he was drinking rain, or breathing really hard.  But he barely moved.  For a second I thought he'd fallen asleep.

But then he turned, and saw me, and there was something deep in his eyes that made me a little bit wary.

"Ummm.  Hi," I said.

"Hey," he said, totally expressionless.

I blinked and fidgeted and wondered what he wanted.

"Hey, I was...  Actually," he said.  "I was hoping to take you up on that piano lesson idea."

"Huh?" I said—you see, I had totally forgotten about my offer.

"Yesterday," he said.  "You said you might be able to teach me a little of the basics."

"Oh-hh," I said.  "Yeah.  Yeah, I could do that.  Do you want it now, or..."

"Yeah, now would...  Now would be fine.  I'm not doing anything, I drive myself home, 's not like I have anywhere to be..."

We commandeered one of the little practice rooms.  Sometimes we use these for sectionals, which is when each type of instrument goes off on its own to learn its specific part.  It's kind of counter-intuitive to break up the orchestra like that, but think of it this way: If there are thirteen sections and each section requires an hour to learn its part, what are you gonna do?  Have Ms. Bickson teach each section their part, one at a time, while the other twelve sit around doing nothing?  Or spread us out and let us each ourselves?  Thus, sectionals.  Sometimes they get cramped, like when you've got, you know, eight violinists crammed into a room meant for five, but we clarinetists don't have that problem.  Though sometimes the entire woodwinds group will just treat itself as a single huge section.

The point is, each practice room has a piano.  Pianos are God's gift to musicians who have to teach themselves their own parts.  This is why everybody learns to plunk notes out on it; no matter what instrument you perform with, a piano can help you.

"So, how much music training do you have," I asked.

"None," he said.  "I can't play any instruments."  He laughed a little.  "I can't even sing."

"Does that bug you?"

He sighed.  "Sometimes.  A little.  I try to think of other things.  I mean, I can play basketball pretty good.  That's not something everyone can do."

I nodded.  I guess that's a good attitude.  But more importantly, it meant I'd have to start from the basics.  Unless...  "So, what do you wanna learn?"

"I dunno, just...  Well, how should I know?  I mean, what is there to learn?"

That was a good question.  There's a lot, obviously.  It's hard to decide where to start with music.  There's obviously solfege—short for solfeggio—you know, the "do re mi fa sol la ti do" thing from The Sound Of Music?  That's solfeg.  The problem is, what note does do correspond to?  The beauty of the solfege idea is that you can assign it to any of the piano keys, black or white, and it'll still work.  But that's also a problem for beginners, who might get locked into the idea that "do" is always C, which (obviously) it's not.  It could be C-sharp.  It could be D-flat.  Heck, it could even be Q-sharp, if we had that many scale degrees (which we don't, it goes from A to G).  And then there's minor keys, where "do re mi fa so la ti do" sounds quite different.  And then there's this crazy thing called 'mode' which I don't quite understand—it's when you sing the scale starting on re but call it do.  It's nuts.  That's advanced.  We'll leave it for later.

What I'm trying to get at is that music can be really complex.

I started with solfege and tried to get it to make sense.  It seemed to me that he had some idea what was going on—but he wasn't really paying attention.  Every now and then I would have to break off to explain something for a minute or two, and his attention would just dissolve.  If I asked him tomorrow, I bet he wouldn't remember a thing.

"Zach.  Zach!"

"Huh!  Sorrywhat?"

"If you're not going to pay attention, it's getting late and I probably should better go home."

"Oh," he said, "sorry," but I got a sense that he still wasn't focused.  Mostly because of the way he was staring at the piano.  It's not that interesting of an object, is it?  No, it's not; he was looking through it, not at it.

Then he was focused—his eyes on me.  "How did things go with that guy you were going to ask out?"

Oh.  Memory returned in a warm glow, and I smiled.  Hee.  "Actually, I didn't need to, he asked me out."

"Oh," Zach said.

"We'll be watching you play tomorrow," I added helpfully.

"Who'd you ask.  Or.  Who asked you?"

"Mark Spencer."  I beamed.

Zach almost fell off the piano bench.  He scrabbled and scrambled, ending up on the floor on his ass, reclining, his arms holding him up.  By his face, he was utterly startled.

"Uh," he said.  "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

After the total chaos of his physical response, the question was so mild that I burst out laughing.

Zach drew himself up with wounded dignity.  If he'd had clothes, he would've brushed at them.  As it was, he dusted his ass off.  "Christa," he said severely.  "I'm not joking."

"Why," I said, wiping residual giggles from my face, "what's wrong with Mark Spencer?"

"Do you even know him?" he asked.

"Well, no," I said, "but isn't that sort of the point of dating somebody?"

"Yeah, but some people you just..."  He broke off, sighing.

"Look.  He's perfectly polite.  I've been in classes with him and I've never seen him pull any stunts.  He's smart, he doesn't think he needs to prove himself to the teachers, he's very handsome..."

"Fine, fine," Zach said, shaking his head, his hands spidered over his forehead.  "Dig your own grave if you want."

"What's wrong with him?" I challenged.

"I—  It...  Guh.  I trust my gut, okay?  I trust my instincts.  And they say to stay the hell away from him."

"Why?" I challenged.

"I don't know why!" he raged.  "You think I'd be in this puddle over here if I did?"

(Puddle?  What puddle?)  "But something tells you to stay away."

"Yes."

I looked at him for a moment, his eyes deadly serious—I had never seen him so totally smile-less before, so totally devoid of cheer.  It scared me, a little bit.  Just a little.  But yes, it scared me.

"I'll take that under advisement," I said.

"Christa—"

I cut him off.  "No, look.  I said I'd think about it, and I meant it.  I appreciate your concern in this matter."  Wow, I sound like a formal document.  Whyrforre in the courrse of human yventes, Zach Crane shiuld yxpresse concyrrne ovyr the affairrs of Christa Sternbacher...  Hold on, I don't think they had the letter 'X' back then.  "Zach..."  My voice softening.  "I'm glad you care about me like that.  Thank you.  I'm glad someone's looking out for me.  But you have to realize, I see Mark Spencer every day.  I've had a crush on him for four years.  Now I finally have a chance to, to try it, to see...  Something I've dreamed about for years.  And it's finally happening.  I can't just give it up."

He nodded.  "Yeah.  I see."

"I mean, you know how it is," I said, feeling bad for him.  I mean, he looked so downcast—clearly he was really worried about me.  It was sad to have to disappoint him.  "You have a dream you've had for so long, and now maybe it's gonna come true...  You hang onto it.  The kite's flying for the first time in years, you can't just lose it like the wind in the sky."

Zach's face changed in ways I couldn't explain.  His voice was hollow.  "Yeah, well.  Sometimes the wind takes the kite from you."

Suddenly I realized how sad he looked, how totally lonely.  My heart gave a great lurch—what if Mark Spencer had turned me down?  I would look about as sad as Zach did right now.  "Why?  Zach, what's happening?  What dream have you seen sail away?"

Zach sighed.  "There's this...  Girl."

I smiled, going for some levity.  "Oh-h, the light is shed.  What's she like?"

"Well, she's...  Really different, as far as I'm concerned.  I mean, I know girls like her, but they're more my friends...  You know?  Some people you just make friends with, instead of like getting a crush on them or something."

I nodded.  Like Zach.  Sure, he was probably cute, but...  I couldn't really see myself being attracted to him.  He was safe...  Stable.  A good friend.

"So, she's...  She's just totally different, and I don't know how to approach her.  Normally I just joke around and it's like the girl falls into my lap, but...  That doesn't work with her."  A flash of a mirthless smile.  "I guess I gotta challenge her brain too, or something."

"Why, is she brainy," I asked.

"Yeah, definitely," he said.  "She's in bunches of advanced classes and stuff.  Way too smart for me."

"Brainy isn't normal for you," I said.

The humorless smile again.  "Rub it in, why doncha."

"No, it's...  Hey, to each their own," I said, meanwhile wracking my brains for any idea of who this mystery girl might be.  If she was in the advanced classes, I probably knew her; there aren't ever many kids on the 'honors track' and you get used to seeing them in your classes over and over and over.  There's kids in US History AP that I've known since first grade.

"Yeah," he said.  "And suddenly mine looks different."

"So what's the problem," I asked.

"Well..." he said.  "I just don't know how to approach her.  It's weird, you know: I feel like I've been looking in the wrong place for the whole rest of my life—now that I'm looking in the right place, I don't know what to do with the people I find there."  The bereft smile again.  "I guess my advice was good after all, at least I wasn't trying to teach you to attract the brainy people."

"Oh, well..." I said, thinking.  This was a good chance for me—he'd been such a nice boy, telling me how to pick up Mark; now I could do the same, and help him with...  Whoever-she-was.  "Well, we 'brainy chicks,' as you call us—"  A grin.  "—aren't always used to people telling us we look pretty.  I mean, chances are, we focused on brains because we couldn't get by on our looks."  A perfect example leapt to mind: "Like Jane.  We're not exactly cheerleaders here."

A momentary smile—a real one, this time—lit across his face.  "Heh.  Yeah, no kidding."

"So physical compliments will actually probably take you far," I said.  "But you gotta be honest.  We've got pretty good bullshit detectors.  I mean, if you tell her she's pretty, and you mean it, she'll love you for it—but if you're just saying it to get on her good side, and she picks up on it...  That's basically the end of your chances."

"Great, honesty, just what I'm good at," he said.  An unhappy look slid across his face.

"No, wait, now, hold on," I said.  "Maybe you're not used to all this not-joking-around and stuff, but it doesn't mean you're bad at it.  As far as I'm concerned you've been doing just fine."  An unplanned burst of honesty: "I've really enjoyed talking to you today, as opposed to yesterday when I was never sure if you were putting me on or not."

Something changed to light in his eyes, like a slight, slow dawning of hope.

He's a sweet guy underneath.  Whoever he asks out, I hope she appreciates him.

"That's...  Really the best advice I can give you, Zach.  Just be honest.  Be yourself.  Don't worry about having to score points or whatever, you'll do that by just being you.  I guess that's the difference—you don't have to make us think you're this thing or that thing.  You're good at that...  But it isn't needed."

Zach grimaced.  "So much for going with my talents."

"Well, then think of it this way," I said, wanting to say something to reassure him.  "We'll embrace you whether you have talents or not."

Zach looked at me sidelong and said nothing.

At that moment, my cell phone rang from inside my bookbag.  It was my mother, and because it was my cell phone, everyone who wanted to listen, could hear.  "I've been sitting in this parking lot for half an hour waiting for you.  Where in the name of radishes are you?"

Zach blinked.  He mouthed, Radishes?

I rolled my eyes.  Mom and her idiosyncrasies.  "I'm in the Music Building, Mom.  I've been helping my Program partner with some things."

Radishes, Zach mouthed to himself.

"Hopefully nothing that requires the two of you to be alone together," Mom quipped.

Zach and I traded glances.

"Naked in school.  Recipe for disaster, if you ask me.  Well, I hate to cut you short, but we need to be home soon so that I can start dinner.  Are you coming out?"

"Yes, Mom, we're just about done anyway."

Already?  And you've only been in there half an hour?  Somebody has to give that boy lessons."

"Mother..."

"All right, dear.  I'll be waiting."  Click.

Zach was looking at me with a carefully neutral face.  "That's...  Quite a mother you've got there."

"Yes, that she is," I said, standing up.  "Well, I guess this means I have to go..."

Zach sat there for a moment, staring as though I was still sitting next to him on the piano bench.  Then he slowly unfolded himself and stood.  "Umm.  Christa.  I..."

"Yes?" I asked pleasantly.

For a second longer he stared, as though he had fallen behind the script somehow.  Then he said, "I wanted to thank you.  For...  For listening.  And being a good friend."

"Oh, well," I said automatically.  "You're welcome."  It wasn't that I minded having spent time with him; I was just focused on getting everything into my bookbag and getting out to the parking lot to retrieve my clothes.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

"Yeah," he said, shortened and somehow empty.  "Bye."

"So what was that all about," my mother asked me once I got in the car.

"What, staying late?" I asked.  "Just...  Helping out a friend in need."

"What sort of need," my mother asked.  "I've seen that pamphlet, young missy, I know what sort of needs some people have to help.  What was that rule called, relief or something?..."

I could feel my cheeks heating.  "Mother."

"Don't worry, darling, I'm just teasing you.  But please wash your hands before you help me with dinner.  We wouldn't want—"

"Mother!"

My mother grinned at me and kept driving.

"As a matter of fact," I said loudly, "my Program buddy Zach was feeling a little down this afternoon, and I helped him feel better about himself."

Mom said nothing.

"And I also—"  Announcing this, just to make my point.  "—helped him with his dating troubles."

"Oh, really," my mother asked.  "How did you do that?"

"He said he wants to ask someone out who's kind of like me," I said.

"Ah," said my mother.  "Because it just seemed odd to me, he asking you for help when you've never been on a date before—"

I swear.  What am I, Ms. Balloon-Ego, that I need puncturing so frequently?  "And furthermore," I said, raising my voice again.  "Mark Spencer asked me out on a date during lunch."

Screech.  This time my mother didn't bother to pull over before slamming on the brakes.  Somewhere behind us, somebody rattled their horn.

When the car had stopped rocking, my mother turned to me.  "Who asked you out?"

"Mark Spencer," I said again.  "He's not in any of the honors classes, but he's smart.  He plays baseball.  He was on the list of 3.5 GPA people last semester, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," my mother said in a distracted voice.  "And he asked you out."

"Yes," I said.  "We're going to get dinner, and then we'll watch the basketball game."

My mother stared at the road.  Behind us, the car swerved into the other lane and passed us.  A mother and her young daughter passed us on the sidewalk, pointing curiously.

"Well," Mother said finally.  "Well.  They told us in childbirth classes that our kids would grow up eventually.  I... just didn't think they meant this soon."

"Mom," I said, annoyed.  "I'm sixteen.  I'll be seventeen next month.  It's not like I just got out of diapers or anything."

"I know," my mother said, in a tone of voice that meant she knew nothing of the sort.  Her gaze was far away.  "It's just a parent thing, I suppose.  One day you'll know what I'm talking about."

I looked around at the houses to either side of us.  What's a girl supposed to say to a comment like that?  "Mom, isn't it illegal to stop in the middle of the road like this?"

Mom let go of the brake, and we started to move forward.

"Just," she said suddenly.  "Promise you'll be careful."

I rolled my eyes.  What, does she think I'm three?  "Yes, mother.  I promise."  I had it all under control.  Nothing was going to go wrong.  Heck, I'd even managed to help Zach out of his dilemma.  I was on top of things!  What could possibly go wrong?

...Of course, of the two of us, Mom turned out to be right.  But that's a story for another day.