W.1

Have you ever felt like a stranger in your own house?  Someone weird, someone odd; someone everyone has to walk carefully around, because they aren't sure who you are and they don't want to offend you?  Someone unknown, someone strange?

When I came downstairs for breakfast, my mother gave me such a look, and it was clear that she didn't think she knew me.

Hey, I'm Arie Chang, and from the looks of things, I'm a stranger in my own house.

"Hello, Arie," said my mother.  "Have you been sleeping well?"

It all started on Monday, with Trina; predictably.  Mother just got totally freaked out by the idea that I might not be eating right, and she's been spastic and hesitant at mealtimes ever since.  And since I basically only talk to her at mealtimes, she hasn't been fit to live with.

"Would you like anything for breakfast?" my mother asked querulously.

Sarcasm kicked in.  "No, Mom, I would like to eat Nothing for breakfast.  Have you got any Nothing?"

My mother blinked wide eyes and paled, but stood her ground.  "No, actually, Arie, I meant...  Would you like anything special for breakfast?"

Feeling flippant, I said, "Yeah, some French toast would be nice, if you could manage it."  Well, feeling flippant and having a sudden craving for French toast.  You have to understand: breakfast around our house usually consists of cereal or instant ramen or microwavable frozen waffles; nothing that requires actual effort.

My mother blinked at me, but she said, "All right."

Feeling a little cranky, I left it at that and went to check my e-mail and the Candlelight boards.  In doing so, I discovered something amusing: a rather vitriolic post by Flicker, tirading against her infamous older sister.  By now it was relatively well-known that she and I were related, and most board members preferred to stay away from anything that had the slightest hint of sibling rivalry, instead maintaining a silent neutrality.  But there were always younger kids who were willing to get down in the mud and make Flicker feel justified.

The post itself was the usual mudslinging bullshit: she thinks she's such a big deal she gets pissed off at her boyfriend for the stupidest things how come she even has one I deserve one more than she does I have it harder but nobody respects me o woe is me blablablah, same stupid stuff.  Cry me a freakin river.  How had she found out, anyway?  I'd have to look into that.

And as for Trina herself...  Well.  Good thing for her I believe in that whole 'turn the other cheek' thing, or she'd be feeling the love right now.  And of course by 'love' I mean 'fingernails to the eyeballs'.

The lady of the hour was herself sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived for the second time.  She was hunched over a bowl of cereal, milk drooling from the spoon, her hair in a mess and bags under her eyes.  She gave me a dark, glittering look as I entered.

Well, good morning to you too, bitch.

"What's Mom doing," Trina asked me.

I blinked and glanced, and suddenly noticed what was going on at the other end of the kitchen: about a thousand pots and pans and bowls were laid out on the counters, not to mention bags of flour, cartons of eggs, boxes of sugar, a loaf of bread, a jug of maple syrup; and my mother bustled between them, stopping every five seconds to check a cookbook.  I realized she had taken the French toast idea seriously.

Suddenly it was hard not to smile.  How awesome is that?  It's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.  I don't think my mom even knows what French toast is; but I had requested, and if it was in her power, she was going to deliver.

Forget all the rest of it: for something as generous as that, I can forgive a whole lot of screw-ups.

When the food actually arrived, Trina eyed it dubiously and went upstairs to change out of her pajamas, an impulse I must admit I understood; the toast was rather blackened and burned, and soggy as well (burned and soggy!  How on earth did Mom manage??).  But I ate it, and it tasted pretty good, aside from being sort of, well, burned and soggy.  But I should probably be silent; my first attempt at French toast wouldn't be edible in the least.

Then Trina came back in and said, "Well, at least you're eating it.  I wouldn't be surprised if you'd told her to take it back and make you a new one."

"You know, Trina," I said sweetly.  "It's easier to make friends if one isn't a heinous bitch all the time."

She walked right out of the room again.

Maybe that was mean, but, just...  Urgh.

We arrived at school somewhat early, like we always do; my mother encourages us to review our notes from the day previous, and our homework, so that when we go into class we're all ready to go.  Trina and I just talk with friends instead.  But today the only friend around was Meredith, naked at the usual place, talking with Stasya; and, to twist the mood, Michael, loitering nearby and trying to look as though he wasn't being ignored.  Interestingly enough there was no Brandon around.  I wondered where he was.

There was no Derek either.  For this I was glad.

"Hey Arie, what's up?"

"Not a lot, just...  Hanging out."

"Same here," Meredith said, spreading her hands wide.  "At the mercy of the elements and any prying eyes."  A dry smile.  "Good thing I have my big brother around to protect me."

Michael seemed to wake up, like a puppet finally called on to perform.  "I know.  Good thing I'm around to keep you out of trouble, eh?"  And then that loathsome smile.

"I shudder to think what would happen if Brandon were around," Stasya said, only half-joking.

"I'd face him down," Michael said easily, rising to the boast.  "You know, like a, like a stallion or something, or a moose, you know, where they fight over who gets to have sex with the females?  He'd take one look at me and he'd—"

"Why are you fighting over the right to have sex with your sister?" I asked.

"Hey, shut up," Michael said, annoyed.

"Michael, I think you need a better analogy," Meredith said mildly.  I wondered why she was protecting him.

"So, anyway, Arie," Stasya said.  "What's new in your life?"

"Not much," I said.  "Derek and I broke up."

"You broke up?" Meredith asked, surprised.  "I knew you two were having troubles, but I didn't realize..."

"Well," I allowed, "maybe not broken up, but...  Definitely not...  Together.  For the moment."

"Are you looking for a replacement?" Michael asked, jumping into the gap.  "I'm available.  I can tell you with no ego, I'm twice the lover he is."

Meredith and Stasya and I traded glances and said nothing.  It was the sort of thing Zach would say, and out of his mouth, it would be harmless.  From Michael's, though—from the mouth of this strange manling we didn't know and didn't understand...

"You don't like it that he gives so much attention to his sister," Stasya said, making the obvious connection.

"I don't see how he could possibly need me any longer," I said crossly, "seeing as how he's replaced me with her."

"Now, Arie, you know that's not true..."

"Of course it is," I retorted.  "If he's helping her so much, if he's spending all his time with her, if she's the one he'd rather walk around with..."  And Meredith gave Stasya a helpless look and fell silent.

The morning's next diversion came in the form of Arturo Chandramouli and Scott Locarno, a bass and a tenor (respectively) in choir.  It took a moment to realize that Arturo, despite standing behind Scott, was really pushing the effort along.  This is also very contrary to normal tenor / bass behavior patterns; I have noticed that, of the two, tenors tend to be much more outgoing, whereas basses are quieter and less attention-seeking.  You know, kind of like Derek and Brandon.  But maybe it makes sense: Arturo is a senior and Scott a freshman.

"Ms. Levine!" Arturo called as he crossed the parking lot to reach us.  "Ms. Chang.  Ms...  Ah...  Whoever these two are.  We require your services in the name of education."

"What can we do for you?" Meredith said.

"This young man," Arturo said, giving Scott a shove forward.  "Has recently confided in me a grievous situation.  He is, as yet, uninitiated into the wonders of the feminine form.  He is unaware of the scent of a woman's hair, the sparkle of her eyes, the firm softness of her...  Ah.  Lips.  Yes.  Well.  If it does not compromise your maidenly virtue, I would ask—on behalf of my tongue-tied compatriot here—for your services as a living example of such traits."

Meredith rose to the challenge.  "Alas!  You do wrong me, good sir!  'Tis a boon no proper man would ask for!"

"I despair to cause you such sorrow," Arturo said contritely.  "But on the behalf of my companion, who is surely not yet a proper man—if you take my meaning, fair lady—"  A great brilliant grin.  "—I must still request it of you."

Meredith made a theatrical sigh.  "O, but my mother will lament to see her daughter's purity pass in such a way.  But, if thus it must—"

"Dude," Michael said, "do you, like, practice this at home or something?"

We all looked at him for a moment.

Stasya turned to Arturo, fluent and gracious despite her strange teeth-clenched accent.  "Your pardon, good sirrah.  I pray you, bear him no mind.  He is lacking in those qualities which a gentleman must needs display."

I mustered my Shakespeare and burst forth in a single valiant effort: "He hath long resided in a place much lacking in virtue and civility."

"Ah, a barbarian," Arturo said knowledgeably.  "Fear not, fair companions, for he shall be as a fly's buzz to our proceedings."

"...Craziest bunch of lunatics I ever..." Michael muttered to himself.

"But alas, my dear," Arturo said, turning to Meredith, "we have not yet had your answer."

Meredith, with the air of a woman going to the headsman, stepped forward.  "'Tis a strange request, to be sure.  But we must not allow this young man to languish so in darkness.  I accept."

"We thank you humbly," Arturo said.

Scott Locarno said, "...Dude, what the hell have you guys all been saying?"

Arturo said, "She said yes, dumbass."

And Scott Locarno said, "...Oh, cool!"  And came forward with outstretched hands to claim his prize.

For a moment we all stood there, while Scott touched Meredith and stared at Meredith's boobs and we stared at Scott staring at Meredith, and Meredith turned redder and redder.  I wondered at the reason for this blush.  Surely she wasn't embarrassed.  There's nothing in the whole world that can give Meredith pause.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Meredith said finally, "when my brother would stand by and watch someone fondle me."

"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd stand there and watch someone fondle my sister," Michael said.

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd see someone besides Brandon fondling Meredith," Stasya said.

"Hey!" Scott Locarno yelled.  "I'm the one doing the fondling here!  Pay attention to me!"

"Now now," Arturo chided.  "You got what you wanted, young man.  You don't have to be the center of attention while you do it."

"Well, one good thing, Meredith," I said.  "How many times have people talked to your boobs before?"

"You know," said Meredith, smiling, some of the color fading from her face.  "That's a good point."

"Hi, I'm here," Brandon said, bursting into the middle of the scene.  "What'd I miss?"

"Meredith is fulfilling her Program obligation as a living, breathing example of human sexuality," Stasya said archly.

"Meredith is submitting to a Rule Three request," I said.

"Meredith is being felt up," Meredith said, totally straight-faced.

"Ah," said Brandon, and he walked over and said hello to Arturo, gave Meredith a kiss on the cheek ("Good morning") and then came back to stand with me and Stasya.  "How's he doing?"

"My boobs are fascinating him," Meredith said wryly.  "I don't know whether to be flattered or amused."

"It's his first lady," Arturo said, by way of explanation.

"I can't believe you're letting this happen," Michael said to Brandon.  His face was dark.

Brandon looked back at him for a second, and as the smile slid off his face, we could suddenly see how it had been glued on to fit the moment.  "Well, I don't like it either," he said quietly.  "But Meredith is her own person.  She can make her own decisions.  She doesn't need me to look out for her."

"You don't like it?" Scott said, his head yo-yoing up, his eyes wide.  "I can stop if you want."

"No, go ahead," Brandon said.  The smile returned, natural—perhaps a bit strained, but not forced.  "You have my permission."

"No, seriously, I can stop—" said Scott, still staring, his hands shooting out wide.

"Scott," Meredith said, and he looked at her.  She took his hands and put them back on her boobs.  "It's okay.  He said it's okay."

"Scott," Arturo said.  "This is your one chance at such a beautiful specimen of womanhood.  They've said it's okay.  Don't throw it away now."

Meredith beamed at him over Scott's bent head.  "Thank you, Arturo."

Brandon grinned.  "Yeah, you just keep saying things like that and you'll keep on our good side."

"Oh, come on," Michael scoffed.  "There's hotter women than Meredith.  I mean, look at that, it's not like she's got anything."

Meredith jarred visibly, her eyes huge.  Boiling anger rose inside of me—I mean, talk about public betrayals!—but Brandon spoke before I had a chance to.  His voice was deceptively mild.  "Maybe she's not very endowed physically, but she does have other things of use in these situations.  Like compassion.  And patience with bumbling stupidity.  A lot more patience than she should, maybe."

The veiled steel behind his words went right past Michael.  "Chyeah, no kidding."  Michael shook his head, a deprecating gesture.  "You'd never get me to stand still for this sort of thing."

Scott must have overheard, because his eyes went wide and his hands fell away slowly.  "All right, uhm," he said to Meredith's boobs.  "I think I'm done."

"That's it?" Michael exclaimed.  "Sheesh.  Another man who can't perform."  It was such a sudden reversal that we all stared for a second.

"Scott," Arturo said finally, "I think it would be appropriate for you to thank Ms. Levine for agreeing to this, ah.  Experience."

"Thank you, Ms. Levine," said Scott obediently.

"Meredith, Scott," she said, smiling, "Meredith."

"Thank you Meredith."

"Oh, and, a tip for future encounters—"  Meredith tilted his chin back until he was looking into her face.  "I'm flattered, personally, but, um, that's because I'm also flat.  Most girls prefer it if you talk to their faces and not their chests."

Scott turned a marvelous shade of red.

"It's okay," Meredith said, smiling.  "That's what learning experiences are for.  And I'm sure you've learned quite well from this experience."

Scott nodded frantically, still the color of a tomato.

"Come along, Scott, or we'll be late for class," Arturo said.  He led the boy away, waving to us.  "Thank you again, Meredith!"  We waved back.

We all looked at each other for a moment, wondering what to do now.

Then Meredith said, profound exhaustion on her face: "That...  Was not fun."

"No kidding," Michael said immediately.  "And you're wondering why I don't want to go into The Program?"

"When you put it that way..." Meredith said, reflecting.  "...You have a very valid point."

Brandon and Stasya and I exchanged glances.  Meredith and her brother agreeing on something was a totally unexpected development—and a rather unwelcome one.  What if this were the beginning of friendly overtures between them?  Could Michael be trusted?

Into the ringing silence of our heads, Brandon spoke.  "You know, Meredith...  If it's too much for you, I'm sure you could sign out.  What with...  Circumstances being what they are, and all."  Since Michael was nearby, evidently he didn't want to be more specific than that.  "I'm sure Dr. Zelvetti would understand."  He was speaking for all of us at that moment, including Michael; it was strangely hard to remain hostile to Michael, knowing he was on our side.

What do you do when the enemy takes off his mask and you discover he has a human face?

"No," Meredith said, shaking her head.  "I signed up for...  Well, I didn't know what I was signing up for.  But I signed up for it.  And I'm going to see it through to the end."  She laughed a little.  "What the heck, it's already Wednesday."

The look of quiet pride on Brandon's face was mirrored on Michael's.  And the look of stunned disbelief on Nastasya's face was, I'm sure, mirrored on mine.

And then the bell rang, and we were torn from our thoughts to face the coming school day.  For instance, first-period Pre-Calculus class.  With Derek.  Fuck.

But I kept thinking, and wondering, and worrying:

How do you keep hating somebody if you realize they aren't a monster after all?

W.2

Sometimes I feel like I'm about ten years old.

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Derek, telling Trevor will not solve anything."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will...  Look, there has got to be a better way of approaching this."

Hi, I'm Derek Strong, and I'm naked in school, which ought to be illegal for kindergarteners like me.

Jenny flashed a humorless smile.  "Fine, I'll take Bugs Bunny's approach.  'Will too.'"

"Not gonna work," I retorted.

"It was worth a try," Jenny said.

Around us was the chaos of a school in motion, a school at recess—people dashing across campus, sneaking in a snack or a few minutes of socializing before the bell dragged them back into class.  I didn't know where my friends were.  I didn't honestly care.  I had quite enough on my plate at the moment.

"Look," I said, "let's go over this one more time.  If you tell Trevor, what are the possible responses?  As I see it, he could either take it well or take it badly."

"Yes, that, um, does seem to cover the contingencies, yes," Jenny said dryly.

"Okay, let's put it another way.  What are the likelihoods of him responding in either way?"

"That he'll take it well: slim to none," Jenny said flatly.  "That he'll take it badly: very very high."

"And what makes you say that," I asked.

"Because that's the kind of person he is," Jenny said.  "He tends to over-react.  He panics and makes mountains out of molehills.  Remember that cat that used to sit on the coffee table?"

"Say no more."  Our mother has an enormous love of cats, equaled only by the ferocity of her allergic reaction to their fur.  Consequently we have a ton of feline-shaped knick-knacks lying around on display—on shelves, in cabinets, on the piano, on basically whatever flat surface is available.  The one that looked the best was a large porcelain piece in Chinese decor, about the size of a real cat, that Mom liked to display on the coffee table.  One day Trevor and Jenny were on the living room couch, doing whatever it is they do when they're alone, and Trevor's foot went astray, and...  Well, not even nine lives could've saved that kitty.  Mom wasn't displeased; she'd gotten the thing for like two dollars at a grocery store.  But Trevor acted like it was the end of the world.  He apologized profusely, he promised to try to repair it, he promised to replace it...  He was actually sobbing at one point.  It took Mom and Jenny a good half an hour to calm him down.

Yes.  I could see why Jenny would expect him to not take the news well.

"But the thing is," I said.  "He's going to react that way no matter when you tell him.  Whether it's right now, or tomorrow, or in four months when you start to show."  I was counting on that time limit, personally; Jenny was a conciliator type, the sort of person who stabilizes the boat instead of rocking it.  This wasn't just rocking, this was capsizing, and Jenny would avoid it as long as possible.  This is why I was glad she'd eventually be forced to explain it to Trevor.  Not because—  Well, I can understand why she'd want to be careful about it; I mean, who'd want to shake things up with someone they loved, especially something this momentous?  (I pushed the dull ache in my stomach away.  Arie...)  But if you ask me, if something has to be done, it's best to do it now rather than push it off; and this, simply, had to be done.  "Unless Trevor, like, totally changes his attitude between now and when you tell him, the timing isn't gonna make a difference.  Except that maybe it'll get worse, later, because of you hiding it from him for so long.  So, tell me: how come you don't wanna do it now?"

Jenny flushed; and then something hardened in her eyes, and she looked away.  "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I said.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"I'm not letting you get away with that," I said.  "Jenny.  Please.  Talk to me."

She turned her head and saw the look on my face, and her stubborn expression softened a little.

"It's..."  She hesitated, and then it all spilled out in a torrent: "I'm scared of him breaking up with me, okay?"

I blinked at her.  "Why would I not understand that?"

"Well, I mean, you and Arie are like..."  She shook her head.  "You guys are on the same wavelength.  I bet I see you guys getting married in five or ten years."

I gave her a blank look.

"Okay, so maybe I'm just being stupid," Jenny sighed.  "But...  Can you blame me?  I mean, you guys seem to have things figured out."

The dull ache would not be pushed away.  "Jenny," I said.  "Arie dumped me yesterday.  Because of all the people I have to look after."

Jenny blinked in dull confusion.  "Because of—  All the—"

"Because I wouldn't stop being worried about you," I said.  "Or about Faith."  Anger boiled up.  What kind of girlfriend makes you choose between her and your—  "Or about..."  I turned away, trying to keep from punching something.

Behind me, Jenny said in a dull, dry voice: "Well, now I know why you're pushing me to tell him."

"It's not that and you know it," I retorted, not turning around.  "Even if she were okay with it, I'd tell you to go for it.  Hell, I bet she'd tell you to—"

Jenny's hand landed on my shoulder.  "Derek, you don't have to—"

"Yes I do," I snarled.  Her hand jumped away.  "I told you I'd help, and I'm going to."

"No, Derek, you—  Yes, but—  Why?" she asked.

I was saved from having to answer that by the advent of a wandering Rule Three: two cute freshmen, alternately giggling and blushing—and when I say 'cute' I don't mean it in the attractive sense, I mean 'cuddly small animal.'  Not that they weren't attractive—one of them, anyway—but there's something weird about a junior dating a freshman.  Besides, how do you kiss with braces?  Not to mention that she was the one doing the fondling, and she looked almost desperately uncomfortable with my equipment...  Which is not exactly a comforting attitude to see in a potential girlfriend, you know?  Not that it's a necessity; some couples are perfectly okay leaving the naughty bits out of play, and I respect that.  But this girl was handling my private parts as if they were gonna bite her.  They're not.  They don't have teeth.  I mean...  You know?

When they were done, I was happy to shift the conversation in a different direction: "I wonder where Faith is.  I haven't seen her in a while."

Jenny gave me a look, and I wondered if she'd picked up on how I'd sort of avoided answering her previous question.  She let me get away with it, though.  "I dunno.  Don't you share any classes together?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I've had a chance to talk with her," I said.  "That kinda worries me.  I've heard nothing from her."

"What do you mean?"

"No...  Reports, no comments, no...  No nothing.  Everyone's had something to say about it by now, but it's as if she isn't even in The Program."

"Hmm," said Jenny.  "That is weird."

"I'm going to go look for her," I said.

Jenny's head swished around to look straight at me.  "Why?"  And then, skipping past the obvious answer to that question: "Is it that important?"

"I think so," I said.  "You don't know her, she's off on a cloud half the time.  I'm not sure if she's ever really aware of what's around her."  Add to this the fact that she was going around naked...  I didn't think I needed to explain any further.

Jenny got it.  Her mouth opened soundlessly for a moment, and then she said, "...Oh," and shut it.

"Yeah," I said.

"...Where do we start?" Jenny said.

The obvious place to start was the main quad, and fortunately (unfortunately) we didn't have to go much farther.  Right between Stetsen and the cafeteria was a pretty large cluster of people, pretty clearly ringed around some central exhibit.  There was a lot of sound coming out of the cluster, and I wondered why more teachers weren't involved.  Jenny and I traded looks; and then we began to wedge our way into the morass, not sure what we were going to find there, not really wanting to find it.

Found it.

Faith seemed to be enjoying herself, though it's hard to tell, since she's normally rather distractible.  Sometimes she sits in class with a look just like that: eyes closed, eyebrows lifted, mouth carelessly left open.  It might have been normal.  It might have also had something to do with the tall whipcord youth, red-haired and freckled, standing beside her with one hand between her legs and the other on her boobs.  With Faith, it's hard to tell.  Around her, the hundred or so students, mostly boys but a few girls mixed in, watched and yelled.  Some of them were submitting encouragements.  Some of them were submitting suggestions.  A panicked yammer started in a corner of my mind.

The stringy redhead looked up.  "You next in line?" he asked.

Faith opened her eyes and saw me, and a smile lit her features.  "Oh, hi, Derek.  How are you?"

Despite all the worry, despite the rising tide of alarm bells in my mind, I smiled back.  Faith, like Brandon, has the sort of smile that goes straight to the heartstrings.  "I'm okay, kiddo.  How are you?"

The redhead did something between her legs, because she gasped and her eyes went wide, but she said, "I'm okay."  And then, extraneously, "Somebody's touching me."

"Hey, buddy, if you're not next in line, you better get outa here," the redhead told me.  "They're pretty territorial around here."  He didn't seem belligerent, and he didn't have the sort of pompous arrogance that seems to define so many high school males nowadays—Stand aside everyone, I take large steps and all that.  Just a normal guy, getting his kicks in a really not-normal way.

"I'm her Program partner," I said.

A bevy of suggestions filtered up through the crowds.  Hey, there's two of 'em.  Hey, any of the girls want a shot?  Hey, he's naked; they could have sex.

"I don't think that's gonna cut it," the redhead said, smiling wryly.

"I'm not in line, I'm dissolving the line," I said, anger building.  "This is wrong."

"Oh, come on, she likes it," the fellow said.  "Look at her, she's not complaining."

"Do you like what he's doing to you, Faith," I asked.

"Oh, uh, well," said Faith.  "I think it's...  O-ohhhhhh," as, evidently, the redhead did something to her clit again.  "Uh...  Sorry, what was that again?"

"Did he ask you whether he could do it," I asked.

"I think he...  I'm not sure if he...  O-ohhhhhh."

"Look, what's the problem," the redhead asked.  "She likes it.  It's Rule Three.  Everything's fine."

This had gone far enough.  "Okay, guys."  I pitched my voice so that everyone could hear.  "Get lost.  The line is over.  The fun is over.  All of you, go away, now."

A thousand pairs of eyes regarded me without comment.

"How you gonna make us stop, buddy," redhead asked.

My hand closed over the silver whistle at my sternum.  I held it up for all to see.  "I can force the issue if you want."

I could see the eyes turning against me.  But I knew the teachers would support me, and they knew it too.  The crowd began to disperse.

Jenny pushed up to join me, her eyes wide.  "I can't believe you just stood up to them like that."

Faith pouted.  "Why'd you make him stop?  It felt nice."

"Faith, don't let anybody touch you if they don't ask first," I told her.

"Even if it feels nice?" Faith said.  "I touch myself down there sometimes but he did an even better job."  A smile blossomed across her face.  "I hope people do it again."

It's going to be a long day.

W.3

There are a lot of brightly-colored animals out there.  A riot of loud color is Mother Nature's way of telling predators to stay away: "This doesn't taste good!"  Though, of course, the truth might be otherwise.  The point is, though, that when you see something with loud defensive markings, it might be a good idea to heed the warning.

Especially when that warning consists of spectacles and the world's most virulent case of acne.

Hello.  My name is Meredith Levine.  And with all the trouble I've been having, being naked in school, you'd think I would have heeded the warning.

It happened at Psychology, which is one of the two classes I have with Bernard.  We hadn't spoken in French class; Michael hadn't returned at recess; in fact, it had been a relatively quiet day.  Except for Comparative World Religions, in which Mrs. Haynes had decided to dissect my, ah, womanly assets by culture—where would I be considered beautiful, where would I be considered, ah, less-beautiful, where nobody would care.  It could have been embarrassing, but thankfully, the people in Comparative World Religions aren't like that.  So, all in all, it'd been relatively quiet.

We were talking to Scott Pleins—Scott being the boy who so distinguished himself in class during Arie's Program week—'we' meaning Brandon and Arie and I—while standing around waiting for Dr. Schlemmer to arrive.  Bernard was lingering somewhere down the corridor, shooting us black looks at intervals.  Shooting me black looks at intervals.  I wondered what that was about...  And then quit wondering.  I knew better, by now, than to try and peer into Bernard's brain.

Arie didn't seem to have learned that lesson.  "What's up with him," she asked.

"Who knows," I said.  "It's Bernard.  He's always angry at something."

"Yeah, but what," Arie asked.

"I dunno," I said.  "Maybe something I said to him yesterday."

"Yeah, what did you say to him yesterday," Arie asked.

"Only what he needed to hear," I grumbled.

Arie looked confused.

Brandon gave a humorless smile.  "Sometimes people don't like hearing what they need to hear."

"And you said it to Bernard?" Scott asked in tones of incredulity.  "That's, like, suicidal."

I thought about the conversation Bernard and I had had, about my breast size and about whatever mystery person he was trying to court.  About the simple fact he had presented me with: that people might dismiss me or continue to dismiss me in the future just because I had small boobs.

"Just giving back as good as I got," I said dully.

Scott and Arie blinked at me, but Brandon must have understood something of what he saw in my face, because he drew me close in under his arm and kissed the top of my head, his breath tickling through my hair.

Why was I worrying about being noticed, anyway?  I had Brandon with me and always would.  We belonged together.  But then, I remembered, nobody knows the future.  Something could happen.  We could break up.  All right, maybe that wasn't so likely.  But something could happen.  There could be a car accident.  One of us could die.  What we had now was no guarantee of what we'd have tomorrow.

...And.  It's just annoying.  I don't like to be ignored just because I didn't develop the way others did.  Why is being different is so synonymous with being wrong in our culture?

When Dr. Schlemmer arrived, we picked up and started to file in through the door.  It's somewhat claustrophobic and I always expect someone to get hurt trying to head through the bottleneck, but normally nobody is.  Scott, though—I don't know what happened.  Maybe someone stepped on his shoelace.  But he stumbled, and Brandon and I stepped back to give him some space.  And then I was treated to a familiar and truly unmistakable sensation: a flaccid penis between the cheeks of my ass.  Though it definitely didn't remain flaccid for long.  You know those stories about guys who get instant erections?  I never believed them until that very second.

I looked over my shoulder and Bernard's face was turning an angry red.  Before I could open my mouth to apologize, he shoved past me (sending me reeling into Brandon) and stalked to his seat.  The fury on his face was matched only by the fierceness of his proud bobbing cock.

Feeling like I should go to the bathroom and wash myself off, I sat down in my normal seat near Arie.  Brandon gave me a proud smile.  Proud!  Of all things!

Dr. Schlemmer had seen.  "Well, since we have Program participants here, I suppose I should ask if anyone needs relief right now."

Bernard was bolting out of his seat before Dr. Schlemmer had finished his sentence.  "I do Dr. Schlemmer."  He advanced up the aisle (Brandon and Scott, alongside his path, stared at the ferocity of his cockstand).  "I need relief."

"I...  See," said Dr. Schlemmer.  "Would anyone like to volunteer to help Mr. Castagne with his problem?"

As he spoke, Bernard turned to face the class, and there was a ripple of reaction.  Bernard was...  Very definitely erect.  It was slightly curved and rather veiny, arching proudly in front of him.  By my hasty estimate, he was somewhat thicker around than Brandon was, and probably a good inch longer.  The head—indeed, the entire shaft, though especially the head—was a distinct reddish tinge, which we could see because he was circumcised.  This was clearly as hard as Bernard had ever been in his life.

And this is what I had done by backing into him on accident.

"Would anyone like to volunteer," Dr. Schlemmer said again.

I could see from Arie's expression that she was intrigued—Arie is a fan of cocks in general; that's just the way she is.  But she made no move to assist.  Evidently the lure of such an magnificent specimen was not enough to overcome her dislike of him.

As for me, I was astonished—in a flaccid state, Bernard seemed to have an acorn or something.  And you wouldn't really expect a nerd to have such a...  Cock.  For once Bernard didn't seem embarrassed to have his assets on display, and for my part, I thought he was right to be proud.  It was quite a...  Cock.

But I didn't feel the same sense of enticement that Arie clearly did.  It was big, sure, bigger than the one I was closely acquainted with, but I have all the penis I need.  The only penis I need.  The only man I need.

"Anyone," Dr. Schlemmer said again, but it wasn't really a question this time.

A sudden strange impulse lifted me from my seat.  I felt my mouth opening, heard words in my own voice: "I will, Dr. Schlemmer."

Arie and Brandon and Scott and Dr. Schlemmer stared at me.  Everyone in the room stared at me.  I stared at me.  Why the heck did I just say that?

Looking back, I think I was trying to take pity on him.  I'd caused him his current state of discomfort, so it'd be appropriate for me to address it.  And also, I think I was trying to give him a chance to redeem himself.  He'd been horrible to me for the past two days, but maybe I could soften him towards me a little.  By softening him in other ways.  A little more politeness for the rest of the week would certainly not go amiss, as far as I was concerned.

"Does this suit you, Mr. Castagne," Dr. Schlemmer asked.

"What?" said Bernard.  "Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah, that's fine."

And so I moved up to perform my assigned duty as a Program partner and general masturbatory assistant.

Bernard's eyes gouged into my face, his brows knitted.  "'s about time you started acting supportive," he muttered, for his ears and mine alone.

I fixed him with a glare.  "I can always sit down again."

His face contorted.  "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," I growled.

I guess he took me seriously, because he backed off.  Somewhat.  He gestured brusquely at his crotch.  "Get to it.  You did this, you fix it."

The situation was beginning to set in on me—this thing I had agreed, actually agreed, to do.  I was beginning to regret having said that.  But it was too late to back down now.

Fine, then.  I'll do it as quick as possible and just get out of here.

There was another rustle of reaction as I took him into my mouth.  Evidently nobody had been expecting it.  I wasn't, either, but it was the most efficient way of handling the problem with the resources available to me.  Except maybe my pussy.  Which I wasn't going to let him within a mile of if I had my way.  His skin didn't taste the same as Brandon's—No kidding, I thought to myself, after all that tirade yesterday about how you two aren't the same—and there was a strange rankness to him, a sourness as if he hadn't washed in a while.  This had better be quick, I thought to myself.

I slid down his length, running my tongue over his shaft, feeling the texture of his skin—more dry than Brandon's, somehow, rough and horny—and the angry, radiating warmth.  The veins were more pliable than I expected, not the stiff bulging things his erection suggested.  His pubic hair smelled terrible.

It didn't take long.  Deep-throating was out of the question—it's just not one of those things I'm capable of doing.  But within a few moments, I realized that the speed at which he'd developed his erection should have been indicative to me.  I don't go down on Brandon that much, but I have noticed: sometimes he has a longer fuse, sometimes it's shorter.  If it's been a while since he's had an orgasm, if he needs to urinate, his fuse shortens.  And if he's really, really aroused—like, lightning-erection-caused-by-two-second-contact-with-woman's-buttocks aroused—he'll probably go quite quickly.

In this, Bernard and Brandon were absolutely the same.

With that in mind, I shouldn't have been surprised by Bernard's torrent of semen, but I was.  I wasn't expecting it, and I coughed and choked as it splashed on my tongue and throat.  It tasted awful—I don't know what Bernard had been eating recently, but it was a sour, acrid taste, like something that has started to rot—and it kept coming.  Variables flipped through my head: what was I supposed to do with this stuff?  Brandon's cum, bless his heart, is hard enough to deal with; what do I do with this man's, this foul glaring caveman who wouldn't even warn me when he was about to shoot.  I could spit it on the floor...  No, that wouldn't do at all.  There was only one place for it to go, and that was down.

For the second time in as many days, I felt my throat and tongue coated by a residue of leftover semen.  This time, I didn't like it at all.

"What, that's it?" Bernard asked me as I stood up.

"Why," I said bitterly, "were you expecting caviar or something?"

"Mr. Castagne," Dr. Schlemmer said.  "Ms. Levine has been kind enough to assist you.  Don't push her."

Bernard gave me a long, dirty look—I know you cheated me, I'm on to you, missy—and then retreated to his desk.

"Meredith, where are you going," Dr. Schlemmer said.

"I'm going to rinse off," I said, not turning to look at him.  I could feel Brandon's eyes on me as I left, and I wished I could take him with me.  Take him to the bathroom with me, take him home with me, ask him to take me away.  Get out of here.  Away from all of this.

Away from my own stupidity.  For not recognizing the bright colors when I had the chance.

Mother Nature's warnings say: Eat at your own risk.

Mother Nature is a very clever force.

W.4

If you've taken a martial art at some point—and most boys have—you hear eventually about self-control.  It's this mystical, vaunted, almost sacred ability and integral to the martial arts experience.  Basically, it involves not moving when you don't want to.  I never had problems with that, so I never understood what they were talking about.  If you don't want yourself to do something, you don't do it, right?

Then I saw Meredith's face after that whole thing with Bernard, and I knew what they were talking about.  And it took a whole lot of effort not to get up and go to her.  Or, for that matter, do something inappropriate to Bernard as he made his way back down the aisle.

Greetings.  I'm Brandon Chambers.  Self-control, contrary to all previous expectations, is not my forte.

By the time class had ended, I was practically itching to go talk to her.  Her face had been dim all period, and I wanted to get over there and figure out if her encounter with Bernard had caused any permanent damage.  I caught up with her in the corridor, where she was waiting for me.  A smile lit up her face, dispelling the shadows there, and she stepped towards me.

"You need to work on that," someone said, and we turned to see Bernard's typical scowl.

"I need to work on what," Meredith asked, somehow managing to keep an even face.

"It was really short," Bernard said.  "It passed too quick.  You need to draw it out more."

Her face, when she glanced at me, showed her puzzlement.  Bernard as blowjob coach was really the last thing either of us would have predicted.

"Well..." she said carefully.  "Brandon doesn't seem to have any problems with it."

Bernard dismissed that with a gesture.  "Like he's gonna complain.  He's lucky he's getting some at all."

Meredith looked at me for a moment as he walked away, her face a welter of emotions, and then gave me a heartbreakingly sad smile.  "It just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it."

"Well," I said, emotions choking my voice.  "I'd argue with him, if it weren't sort of true."

She smiled up at me for a few seconds, but when I didn't react, her expression grew quizzical.  "What, is...  Is something on my face or something?"

"I was just thinking about how beautiful you are," I said truthfully.

"Aww," she said, and tucked herself under my arms, her hair rustling against my cheek.

It's the truth.  Sometimes we'll just be standing there, or talking, or walking, or whatever it is we do...  And something happens, something that changes the situation for both of us.  An evil Program partner.  An evil brother.  And I suddenly realize how naked she is.  Not literally, since she normally has her clothes on at these times...  But emotionally.  She wears her heart out on her sleeve, like the best of us do (she hasn't learned cynicism quite the way I have), and that has its attendant dangers.  People can hurt her, because she shows how she can be hurt.

I think there's a certain strength in vulnerability, personally, often overlooked.  I think one of the hardest choices a man—or a woman—can make, is to look at the world around her and say, "Yeah, it sucks, people are lousy"...  And then make the decision anyway to go ahead and be open, be compassionate, be heartfelt and genuine.  I think it takes real strength to be weak.

And sometimes I see Meredith standing there—her slim shoulders, the graceful arc of her neck, that Hermione-Granger shower of golden hair—and I'm caught by the beauty of her, by the sheer force of her bravery, going out into a hostile world with an open heart...  And I don't know which I want to do more: leap up and stand before her, shielding her from all the chaos out there, from the oncoming whirlwind; or just stand here, stand here and stare, beholden to a majesty I can never understand and am only lucky enough to have given leave to glimpse a time or two.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," I said into her hair.  "I'd be lost."

"Hmm."  A vocal smile.  "Well, that makes two of us, certainly."

As we walked to the corner store to get lunch (it offers pizza by the slice), she turned to me, her face reflective.  "I dunno, though.  Brandon, sometimes it's like..."  She trailed off.

"Like..." I repeated, to get her to continue.

"Well, don't take it the wrong way, but...  I dunno.  There's something I read online, 'I don't love you because I need you, I need you because I love you.' "  The concern in her eyes was clear.  "Which one is it for us?"

"...Well," I said, suddenly feeling defensive.  "What's wrong with both loving and needing somebody?"

"Nothing, no, nothing's wrong with that..." she said, looking away, turning away subtly—her signal that she was feeling self-conscious.  Just the same way I was.  "But...  I mean, we spend so much time with each other, we're...  Every time something goes wrong, I always find myself thinking, you know...  'Tell Brandon, talk to Brandon...'  There's such thing as being...  Too close."

"Do you think we're too close," I asked.

She didn't answer.

"What counts as 'too close' for you?" I asked.

She sighed.  "Oh, Brandon...  I don't think I could ever be close enough.  But...  Don't you see?  That in itself worries me."

I could see where she was coming from.  Too much of any one thing is dangerous, and members of the opposite sex are by far the most addicting substance known to humankind.  Especially one as exceptional as Meredith.  But at the same time, why wouldn't you want more of a good thing?

"Well, if you think it's bad now, think about being married and living in the same house," I remarked dryly.

She squeezed her eyes closed.  "That'd be a mess."  And then a soft, shy smile: "I can't wait."

When we got back with our pizza, Derek pounced on us.  Or rather, on me.  "Brandon, I need your help.  I need to go talk to Trevor.  Not you, Meredith, you can't come, or he'll think something's up.  Can you—"

"Woagh, holl on," I said, my mouth full.  "Ca I fihish eahing fust?"  It was more than that; really, it was that Meredith and I had had only twenty minutes together today.  She'd told me last night that it might be a better idea if I just come to school directly instead of picking her up—wiser in terms of assuaging my parents, at least—and so we hadn't seen each other until recess.  And now this thing with Bernard...  I wanted to be near her, both for her sake and for mine.  Asking to finish eating was simply a convenient excuse.

Derek seemed to notice the pizza in my hand for the first time, and his eyebrows jumped.

"Yahh," Meredith chimed in, "le a oo ah ee ih hih uh."

We both looked at her.

"Any idea what she just said," Derek said.

"Nogh," I said.

Meredith glared at us and swallowed.

"All right, well," said Derek.  "Hurry up."

"Ohay," I said.

After he left us alone, I turned my attention back to Meredith.  "Seems like we're not going to get much time together today."

"That's true," Meredith said.  "You know, we're in school together, we have classes together, I think of you all the time, but really, it's not like we actually have time to talk to each other that much.  Recess, lunch, after school if we go to your house...  It's not that much time."

"A few hours," I said.  "We're just always thinking about each other.  No matter where I am or what I'm doing, there's a little corner of my mind going, 'Okay, it's third period, now she's in US History AP...  Now it's fourth period, she's in Comparative World Religions...  Now it's eight 'o'clock, she's probably doing homework...'  I dunno."

"It's even worse because most of the time we get is at your house after school," Meredith said, "and now your parents are sort of in the way of that."

"So, what," I said.  "We don't really spend too much time together?"

"Not enough," Meredith said, taking another bite.  "Buh...  Ih's noh rearry th' tahm we spen togehuh...  Ih rearry—  Excuse me.  It's really more about how dependent on each other we are.  I'm not sure it's a wise thing."

"Hey, I survived yesterday without seeing you after school," I said.

"Yes, so did I, and I'm already going into withdrawals," she said.  Her hand reached out for mine and held it fast.

"There are worse things to be dependent on," I said.

"Yeah, but, wouldn't you rather be not dependent at all?"

"Yeah, but, where's the line?" I asked.  "When does it stop just being a close relationship and start being, you know, like, 'Aack, omigod' and all that.  Meredith, you're..."  That same sense of looming dread roared back: what if I lost her?  "I'd rather be dependent on you than not have you at all."

"I know, Brandon, I—  God, I couldn't live without you either."  She sighed.  "I...  I just don't know if that's good."  Shaking her head:  "But...  I guess I'll just have to learn to live with that."

I gave her a wry smile.  "You make it sound like an arduous task.  'Oh, golly, I actually have to put up with him...' "

Instead of answering, she leaned in and kissed me soft and full on the lips, and I closed my eyes and focused on the sensations—the gentle pressure of her lips; her breath whooshing from her nose; the faint taste of pizza lingering on her lips.

When I could see her whole face again, she was smiling, that smile that always made me melt: a secret smile of contentment, like calm, ancient wisdom.  I smiled back, feeling as though the universe outside had suddenly reordered itself into a vision of peace.

"I guess that's life," she said eventually.  "Sometimes there aren't any good answers.  You just have to choose the best one."

"I've found my best answer," I said.

She smiled.  "Yes, Brandon, I think you've mentioned that a couple of times."

Derek stood over us, blotting out the sun.  "Are you guys done yet?"

All in all, I'm not quite sure what he needed me for.  He and Trevor greeted each other as long-standing friends ("Hey, shrimp, figured out Old McDonald's Dilemma yet?"), Derek introduced me ("Nice to meet you, Brandon," with a firm but non-competitive handshake—assertive, that's the word) and then the conversation quickly devolved into a series of in-jokes and references I didn't understand.  I was a bit surprised to see the two of them getting along so well in Jenny's absence, but I suppose stranger things have happened than making friends through a relationship.  Derek was definitely what a mother would call 'a nice boy,' and Trevor seemed not far from that title as well, so they had some values in common at least.  All in all, though, I still had no real idea why I had been dragged along.  Just because Derek's being forced away from his girlfriend, doesn't mean I ought to be too.  Eventually, though, Derek wrapped it up and took me back to North Stetsen.

"I didn't understand any of that," I said.  "I hope you got what you needed."

"I got it," Derek said shortly.

"What was that about...  The McDonald's Dilemma?" I said.

"Oh, that," Derek said, a sudden smile flashing across his face (as I had hoped for).  "It comes from...  Well, remember that Youngsters Outreach thing they made us do in ninth grade?  Where we had to go deal with the, like, kindergarteners and stuff?  Well, one day we were all supposed to come up with animals to throw into 'Old McDonald Had A Farm,' and lead the appropriate verse.  I chose a giraffe."

"Oh," I said, still not getting it.

"Tell me, Brandon, what sound does a giraffe make?" Derek asked me.

"Well, they..." I said.  "Uh.  They.  Well.  They...  Uh."

"Yeah, exactly," Derek said.  "After school that day I went on an Internet crusade to try and figure it out.  Trevor was over and he and Jenny got involved.  We never figured it out."

"The mystery of the giraffe noise," I said.  "Will wonders never cease."

Back at Stetsen, Derek marshaled his forces.  "Guys.  Guys.  Can I have your attention please.  I need some help."  We all looked up, and gathered as he beckoned: Meredith and I; Zach and Christa; Sajel; and even Jane, for whatever reason.  Maybe she and Sajel had shared a 5th-period class.  (I was close; it's Christa who's in AP Chemistry with Jane in 5th period.)  We sat in the customary ring: Derek at the head, with Sajel at the next station around; directly across from Derek, Zach leaned against the wall with Christa between his legs and taking his chest as her headrest; then Jane, cross-legged in shorts and pale legs; and then Meredith, leaning against me, both of us across from Sajel and with Derek at our left.  He seemed palely determined to have our counsel, and we knew better than to balk.

Derek ran through the situation quickly for Jane's sake: "Okay.  My sister Jenny has a boyfriend named Trevor.  They've been dating for just over two years and they have sex on a pretty regular basis.  On Monday my sister told me she's pregnant, because of a series of mishaps concerning birth control.  Basically, she thought he was safe so she stopped using hers, and he thought she was safe so he stopped using his.  At least, that's what she and I figured; he doesn't know she's pregnant, she refuses to tell him.

"Brandon and I just went to talk to him.  (No, Jane, let me finish, then you can ask questions.)  He's helping them test The Male Pill" ("That was going to be my question," Jane said) "and evidently that thing has a zero-percent failure rate.  Either it totally works all the time, or it doesn't work at all."  Jane, a little to my surprise, didn't seem startled at the idea that a medication might not be 100% effective for 100% of people.  "We already know he's one of the people it works for—that's part of the beta-testing process; they screened out everybody for whom it didn't work—so the only possible answer is that he wasn't taking it."

"And he wasn't?" Sajel asked.

Derek blew out breath.  "He said, and I quote, 'It makes me feel funny.' "

We all sat silent for a moment, absorbing this oddity.

Then Sajel said, "Did he elaborate on that?"

"Is it supposed to make him feel funny," Christa asked.

"He said it—  Okay, quick run-down, everybody knows how the Female Pill works, right?"  He got our confirming nods.  "Alters hormonal balance every month, prevents ovulation, whatever.  Well, the Male Pill works every day.  It alters the man's hormonal balance in a similar way, preventing him from releasing any sperm.  But, like I said, it works every day."

"No sugar pills," Christa said.

"Right," Derek said.  "And Trevor says..."  He ran a hand through his hair.  "Trevor says that he doesn't like whacking around with his body's chemistry like that.  He figures he should just let it take care of itself and not mess with it.  That's why it makes him feel 'funny'."

"Are there side effects?" Christa asked.

"No," Derek said, "at least not according to the website.  Seriously, though, you'd never be able to market a contraceptive that made people feel funny."

"Unless it was a condom with cocaine on the inside of it," Zach joked.

Meredith stiffened slightly, and I gave her a slight squeeze to reassure her.

Christa moved her hands up and down, as if she was holding something invisible and shaking it.  Then she squinted at the non-existent object.  "Totally inappropriate," she said.

Sajel gave Christa a side-long look.  "Right, Christa, what've you been smoking?"

"It's my Zach's Joke Magic Eight-Ball," Christa explained.  "Whenever Zach makes a bad joke, I let it chew him out."

"Oh!" Sajel said.  "Can I have one?  I've been waiting for someone to stomp on his bad jokes for ages."

"I'll bring one tomorrow," Christa promised.

"So it doesn't actually make him feel funny," Jane said, pushing the conversation back on track.

Meredith spoke up.  "Well, it could be psychosomatic."

("Is that the right word?" I asked her.

("I don't know," she said to me.)  Raising her voice to the rest of the group: "He might be just imagining it, but the mind is a powerful thing.  If he believed strongly enough that he was suffering side effects, he might actually start developing symptoms.  A slight fever or something, maybe."

"But it'd still be something he was creating," Derek said.

"Yes," Meredith said.  "It has real-life effects, but that doesn't mean he's any less the cause of it than before."

"I don't think it's that ridiculous," Zach said.  "Well, the symptoms, yes.  I mean, who wants to imagine themselves into a state of syphilis or something.  But...  The body's a delicate thing, man.  Do you really wanna tinker with it?—change things that are meant to be a certain way?  Is that safe?"

"Of course it's safe, they wouldn't be beta-testing it if it wasn't safe," Sajel retorted.

"Yeah, but...  I dunno, it seems like you could be playing with fire here," Zach said.

"Okay," Jane said.  "So what do you say about all the women who are using The Pill?  Isn't that dangerous too?"

"Well, that's different," Zach said.  "You guys have the placebo pills two or three weeks a month.  It's not all the time."

Sajel leaned forward.  "So what you're saying is that Christa should have to alter her body chemistry because she only has to do it half the time, whereas you shouldn't have to because you'd have to do it all the time."

Zach opened his mouth, and then appeared to realize how stupid he sounded.  "Well," he said.  "It's a matter of minimizing risks."

Christa sat up and looked over her shoulder at him.  "Then let's just stop having sex.  The only truly foolproof precaution is abstinence, after all."

Zach's eyes popped open in a very satisfying manner.

"Yeah, I thought you'd see it that way," Christa said smugly.

"For that matter, since two methods are safer than one," Sajel said, "maybe you should use a condom."  Zach glared.  He hates condoms.  "Plus," Sajel added with a wicked grin, "it might help with your endurance."

Zach said to Christa, "Give me that eight-ball."

"No," Christa said, "it only works on you."

Zach tossed his hands in annoyance.

"I think that's typical," Jane said, sounding angry.

"What's typical," Meredith asked.

"Typical of men," Jane said.  "They just want to have sex, and then they don't think about the consequences any.  It's not just something you do and then walk away."

"Maybe not for you," I said, smiling to take the sting out of the comment.  "But men don't have babies."

"Oh, and that gives you an excuse?" Jane retorted.

"Now hold on," Meredith said.  "He's got a point.  Look at basic physiology.  A man can have a kid at any time: he just needs to have sex with a woman who's in the right time of her cycle.  He sticks it in, he pumps a few times, and boom, he's done."

"Maybe more than a few times," I said, feeling my cheeks heating.

Meredith gave me a wry smile.  "A few times, Brandon."

"Heh.  More like, 'Splash, and he's done,' " Zach said.

Christa shook her invisible eight-ball.  "Laaaaaaaame."

"So, if a man wants to have a lot of babies," Meredith said, continuing her previous thought, "the smartest thing for a man to do, is to have sex with a lot of women, a lot of times.  The more he does it, the more chances that he'll land on somebody's fertile days, and there he goes, Mr. Caveman Junior will be out in nine months.

"Now, a woman, on the other hand.  Whereas a man can just do his rumpy-pumpy thing—"

"His what!" Sajel said.

"Okay, you are so glad the eight-ball doesn't work on you right now," Christa said, wide-eyed.

"—and he's done, a woman then has nine months of pregnancy to deal with—not to mention labor, nursing, rearing, providing food, providing shelter, providing training and survival skills...  For the woman, having children is a really big deal.  Jane, I think this is what you were trying to get at, and I'm not disagreeing with you.  While a woman is doing these things, she's somewhat incapacitated—certainly she's susceptible to predators or injury during labor, and if there are tigers around every corner, it's not exactly safe to have a two-month-old baby waking up screaming in the middle of the night.  She needs protection.  It would also be useful if that protection would bring home the bacon, since she may be stuck with a baby at the breast every two hours, and that kind of gets in the way of things."

"Hence, the husband," Derek said, making the obvious conclusion.

"Exactly," Meredith said.  "If a woman wants to have lots of babies, what she should do is find a faithful, steadfast man who will provide for her and protect her—"  Our hands knitted together where nobody could see.  "—while she's having those babies.  For a man, bringing a child into the world is the work of a minute.  For women, it's a lifetime—ten or fifteen years of effort at the very least, if you live in a low-tech agricultural society; twenty or more if you live in a high-tech, highly-complexified world like we do.  That's an enormous investment, and of course she wants that investment to survive, so that she has grandkids.  She needs help to do that, and so she looks for a mate.

"That's why you see almost always the same herd behavior in animals.  You have an alpha male, who has sex with all the females because he's the, you know, the studliest manliest fellow around—or at least the best at surviving and taking care of himself, which is a highly favorable trait and explains why everybody wants his babies—and then you have a lot of females, having kids, whom he protects.  That's also where courting behavior comes from.  You see it in peacocks the most because it's just so obvious, but deer and their antlers are the same.  The peacock with the best feathers, the deer with the biggest antlers: they're the ones who have lived the longest, who have managed to get the most food and so on.  They're the equivalent of, I dunno, Arnold Schwarzenegger or Bill Gates."

"Now hold on," Zach said, grinning.  "There's a big difference between Schwarzenegger and Bill Gates."

"No there isn't," Sajel said.  "Bill Gates is totally a studly bodybuilder with a political career.  Pay attention, dumbass."

"Yeah, they're not the same, but they still both excelled in their fields," Meredith said.  "In nature, you survive on wits and strength and toughness.  But in our society, you can also make it on brainpower or business smarts or whatever, and there's no arguing that Bill Gates has those.  It's a matter of what attractive feature you're looking for.  Bill Gates's peacock feathers are his huge house and his corporate empire and his billions of dollars.  Any children he has will have his genes, including, hopefully, the ones responsible for making him smart enough or clever enough to make a fortune.  And then there's the monetary inheritance, the money his descendents will get when he dies, which in some ways is just the same idea carried out through a different method."

"So what you're saying is that animals basically trade food and shelter for sexual favors," Jane said.

"Basically," Meredith said.  "Biologically, the only reason we exist is to reproduce.  That's why salmon just... disintegrate after they mate.  Nobody cares what happens to them after they spawn."

"And you're saying that it's okay for men to be careless about sex," Jane said, "because they basically can't lose.  It's not their business if the woman gets pregnant."

"Biologically that's true," Meredith said.  "Societally?  Emotionally?  That's a different story.  I mean, the reason we have civilization is so that women could reproduce with higher chances of success.  There's a reason we measure cultures by child mortality rates.  I'm just saying, This is what drives us, this is why men are careless about sex.  And then, after that, there are the things we've done about men's carelessness."

"So you're saying it's okay for men to be careless about sex," Jane repeated.

"No," Meredith said.  "Nonsense."

"Uh, guys," Zach said.  "You're forgetting just one thing."

"Which is," Derek said.

"Men don't get pregnant," Zach said.  "Sure, men act like women sometimes, some of us cross-dress and there's that whole metro thing and I swear Brandon gets PMS sometimes, but there's still this little factor called biology that separates us from the proceedings.  It doesn't affect us."

"That's ridiculous," Meredith said, "of course it affects you.  Look at this whole mess with Trevor and Jenny."

"Which is what we're here for," Derek added.

"If Christa were to get pregnant with your child," Sajel said to Zach, pinning him with a glance, "it totally wouldn't matter to you."

Christa sat up again, looking back at him over her shoulder.  I could see both of their faces: the way Zach's eyebrows climbed, the anger dissolving on Christa's face, the way their eyes locked.  The strange, dawning light on their faces.  It was like they had both seen each other for the first time.

"No," said Zach in a distant voice.  "Of course it would matter.  I'd be..."  His hand rose, almost unconsciously, to brush hair from her face.  "I'd be worried for her."

I couldn't hear Christa's voice, but I could see her smile, read the words on her lips: I'd be thrilled.

Meredith was smiling at them, a great brilliant grin of love.  Beyond her, Jane looked...  Strangely downcast, as if seeing something she longed for.  And Derek...  Derek looked down at the ground, and I saw how hard it was for him to be without Arie.  Sajel reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"And whatever decisions you two made about the accident," I said, my voice sounding loud and out-of-place, "you'd make them together."

Zach and Christa nodded without looking away from each other.

"Well, Zach," Meredith said, picking up on my direction.  "It sounds as though you'd be involved in the pregnancy.  Even if you weren't yourself pregnant."

He didn't answer.  I wondered if they had ever stared into each other's eyes before.

"I don't think men are exempt from caring just because they don't get pregnant," Jane said, tactfully giving us an excuse to look away from the loving couple over there.

"Clearly Trevor doesn't agree," Sajel said.  "I guess I can see the argument.  Intellectually."

"It's sort of the converse of being 'responsible for our bodies, ourselves,' " Meredith said, quoting the slogan that had been drummed into us in Sex Ed since sixth grade.  True, it's an age of cheap birth control and easily-countered STDs, but we still have go out and get those things.  "If you're responsible for yourself, nobody else needs to be."

"Yeah, and it's easy to say, 'Well, she's the one who'd get pregnant, so I don't have to worry,' " Derek said.

"Intellectually I can understand it," Sajel said.  "But...  As the one whose life could get really fucked over if my boyfriend is careless...  I don't believe it."

"That's still the way society works, though," Meredith said.  "Go to any drugstore and look at the contraceptives section.  For men, there are some boxes of condoms, and maybe soon there's going to be The Male Pill, and then that's it.  For women you have diaphragms, you have spermicidal foam, you have The Pill, you have the morning-after pill, you have...  Well, there's condoms for us too, actually...  And then you go to the hospital, where can get your tubes tied, which either men or women can do, but that's it for men.  Women can get the Year-Long Shot or the Month-Long Shot, or an IUD or of those other implants...  You know, the one that goes under the skin?  And then finally you have abortions, which men definitely can't have.  Almost all the different contraceptives are for women."

"That's just because of the way it works," I said.  "The trouble doesn't start when men spurt, it starts when they spurt inside the woman."

"Which is also why lots of porn involves men spurting just about everywhere else on the woman," Zach said, prompting me to notice that he and Christa had returned to our conversation.  They sat as before, as though they had never left, but Christa was smiling brightly, and Zach seemed more cheerful than before.  I wonder what had passed between them.

"Eew," said Jane, making a face.

"Look, we've all experienced condoms," Derek said.  "I think we can agree that they kind of suck."

"Except for the whole 'pump a few times' thing," Meredith said with a secret smile.  I gave her an ostentatious eye-roll.

"I haven't," Jane said.  "I haven't experienced them."

"Then hush up and let the rest of us talk," Zach said with a gaudy grin.

Christa's eight-ball said: "Loser."

"There are two basic methods of contraception," Derek said, "barrier and chemical.  The barriers put something between the man and the woman so that the sperm can't get to the egg.  The chemical methods prevent eggs—or sperm, now, with the Male Pill—from being released.  Barrier methods can be applied to either gender, but they're not very effective, and they just suck in any case.  All that installation.  And the chemical methods mostly involve the woman's body because of the cyclical nature of her reproductive system."

"Yeah," Zach said, shaking a finger at Christa.  "This is all your fault!"

Christa checked her eight-ball.  With an enigmatic smile, she pronounced: "You know you love it."  Sajel cackled.

"I mean, it took them like thirty years to perfect a male hormone-based contraceptive," I said.  "I think that just hints at how difficult it was."

"So, it may be more convenient for women to take care of the contraception," Meredith said.  "But that doesn't mean men don't have to care at all."

"No, of course not," Zach said.  "I mean, it's not like y'all could have babies without men.  There wouldn't be any men if that could happen."

"But at the same time..." Derek said.  "I trust Arie to take The Pill because there are certain things I just can't affect.  I can't take The Pill and keep her from getting pregnant.  ...Well, now I can, but I can't keep her from ovulating."

"No one can," Meredith said.  "Except herself."

"But look at how we're saying this," Jane said.  "We're talking about ovulation as if it's the whole problem.  How come we take it that way?  How come sperm production isn't the problem?  It seems to me that if men are the ones who always want to have sex, they should remove their risks."

"That's an interesting point..." Meredith murmured.

"It's not only men who want to have sex," Sajel remarked.

"We assume it's the women's responsibility," Jane said.  "Why?  A man comes to her and says, 'Here, I want you to risk getting pregnant to have sex with me, or risk loss of public respect for you when people find out you're having sex with me, not to mention the trouble you might get into with your parents, and you get nothing in return.  Oh, and, you're going to need to somehow prevent pregnancy yourself, I'm not going to help.'  How fair is that?"

"That's a very interesting point..." Meredith murmured.

"She doesn't get nothing in return," Zach protested.

"Jane, not everybody assumes they're going to lose public face if it's discovered they let their boyfriend have sex with them."  Sajel shook her head.  "And not everybody gets in trouble with their parents."

"I would," Jane said.

"And that's why you're not having sex," Christa said mildly.

"Jane, things that are true about you aren't necessarily true about us," Zach said, for once not bombastic.  "We are all different people, you know."

"I think Jane's attitudes are a little different from ours," Meredith said, wisely forestalling an angry outburst from Jane, "but I also think she has a point.  We may be a much more sexually-permissive culture than we were, say, ten or twenty years ago, but there's still a stigma on girls who give it up.  Those who let it happen are called 'loose' or even 'slutty;' those who don't are 'prudes' or 'repressed' or something.  Whereas a boy who has sex is just...  Normal.  He doesn't have any labels.  Heck, if anything, it's abnormal for a guy to not be getting any.  For a girl to have sex is still more of a big deal than if a boy does.

"I think personally it has to do with risk and with vulnerability.  A boy can have sex at little risk to himself because he's used to putting himself out on the line, to taking risks, to...  To sticking things out, if you will.  Whereas a girl, to have sex, has to let him in, has to open herself to him—in more ways than one.  I think to some extent boys's private parts are less... private... than girls's, because with guys it's just, you know, hanging out there, everything's on display."  ("Stand up, Derek, show us your wares," Zach grinned.)  "Whereas girls just have this..."  She gestured to her own self.  "...Thing.  Not to mention the whole pregnancy thing.  For men, sex can just be about fun.  But women always have to think about getting pregnant.  Even with birth control nowadays being as good as it is.  What's the failure rate, one in ten thousand?  A woman releases like three hundred eggs in her whole lifetime.  That's why failed birth control almost always makes the news nowadays, because it only happens to like one woman in thirty.  But even taking The Pill, every time Brandon and I...  You know...  I always catch myself thinking: This could be it.  This could be when our firstborn is conceived."

"What?" I said, concerned.  "Do you seriously worry about that?"  I hadn't had any idea at all.

"I think about it," she said, giving me a sweet smile.  "I didn't say I worried about it."  My heart melted and we stared into one another's eyes for a moment.  In her eyes I could see a future for us: the two of us, together, doing whatever it was we'd do to make money, but living for the hours when we'd come home, to be with each other, to be with...  What would a child of ours look like?  If she's half as beautiful as her mother, she'll be the center of attention just about anywhere she goes—

"Awwwwww," said Zach loudly, rolling his eyes in exasperation, prompting a rush of nervous laughter from all parties and a chance for us to compose ourselves.  Meredith and I turned our attention back to the conversation—but our hands, between us, remained linked.

"The point is," Jane said.  "How come, if a boy is asking his girlfriend to compromise herself like that, he doesn't offer something in return?"

"Besides sexual pleasure," Sajel interjected.

Jane rolled on (I don't think she's aware that there is such thing as sexual pleasure).  "He should say, 'Okay, since you're making sacrifices, I'll make one too.  I'll make sure you don't get pregnant.'  It's a compromise."

"Should there be that kind of bargaining?" Christa asked.  "I don't think sex is a marketplace transaction that you're supposed to haggle over.  It's done because you love the other person, and you want to make them happy, and share with them something really special."

"Shouldn't there be?" Meredith asked.  "Just because you're doing it as an expression of feeling, doesn't mean you should take unnecessary risks.  Maybe haggling isn't necessary, but you should at least agree to these things.  And besides, someone who isn't willing to agree to some form of contraception with you, is probably not someone you should be having sex with."

"I agree with the love thing," Jane said.  "That's why I'm waiting until marriage."

"That doesn't solve your problem," Sajel said.  "Jane, married or not, there will eventually come a point where you want to have sex but don't want to get pregnant."

"I don't think you should have sex unless you're prepared for a pregnancy," Jane maintained.

"You'll change your mind about that," Sajel said confidently.  "Assuming you ever find a good lover, of course."

"What's that supposed to mean," Jane flared.

I spoke up before Sajel could.  An angry Jane is difficult to deal with.  "What it means, Jane, is that you're attracted to a certain kind of person, and that kind of person simply isn't that concerned with sexual pleasure.  He may not be a very skilled lover.  There are things about your body and about his that the two of you may never discover throughout your entire marriage."

I could see Jane didn't believe me—not about herself and her future husband, but rather that there was anything to discover.  And that, as far as I was concerned, was part of the whole problem.

"All this raises a question," Zach said, forestalling an argument.  "Jane's right, she seriously is.  You'd think men would be offering birth control as a sort of a peace offering."  ("Or maybe just a bribe," Christa laughed.)  "How come they don't?  Why did it become the woman's job to handle contraception?  It's really one-sided.  You get people like Mark Spencer who just walk up to the lady, you know, wham-bam-thankyouma'am.  Pumps, shoots and leaves.  And she's all lying there feeling frustrated, and she's like, 'What the hell was all that about, and why am I taking The Pill if that's all there is to it?'  It's lopsided.  How'd it get there?"

"Well, for a while, there was no such thing as contraception," Derek said.  "There are herbs and plants that you can take to cause miscarriages, but as to preventing conception...  They invented the condom in, what, the early 20th century?"

"Actually, I think they first started in the 19th century," Meredith said.  "They used sheep intestine or something."

"Ew," said Zach.  "That's awful.  You know, the next time I see somebody buying a box of condoms, I'm going to tell them, 'You know, that used to be sheep gut.' "

Christa's magic eight-ball pronounced: "Hmm, intriguing."

"So, back then, Jane's concerns were really valid," Derek said, "especially if you were in a time where you didn't know why people got pregnant, just that it was somehow correlated with sex."

"But then they developed The Pill," Meredith said.  "Back in the Sixties.  And things changed a bit."

"I think it's jealousy," I said.

Everyone looked at me.

"What do you mean by that," Meredith said finally.

"Well, look at what we've been saying," I said.  "Women have kids.  Men can't."

"And men are jealous," Zach asked, bewildered.

"I don't think any of them would be if they had to go through labor," Sajel said, a wry smile on her face.

"Or monthly cramping," Christa added, her face wrinkling in displeasure.

"Look at the way human society works," I said.  "Look at how many societies there are that restrict women's movement.  Back in ancient Athens, women weren't allowed out of the house.  There are still places in the Middle East where they aren't."

"And this is because of jealousy," Sajel said, bewildered.

"Sure," I said.  "If the wife has a child at the breast and the husband dies, the entire community takes pity and it's not too hard for her to find a new one.  But if the wife has a child at the breast and she dies...  Then what?  You can't just shuttle in a new woman because she might not be lactating at the moment.  It's a little bit different.

"No matter how you look at it, men are the expendable ones.  That's why we go off to war.  That's why we do all the dangerous jobs.  Because we just aren't integral to reproduction the way women are.  I mean, we help, we plant the seed and we bring home the bacon, but we don't do anything another man can't do."

"That's really fatalistic," Meredith said, squinting at me.

"I can't do anything another woman can't do," Christa remarked.

"All right, maybe it's not that," I said, "but the fact still remains that women can bring forth life out of their own bodies, and men cannot.  That's pretty clearly shaped a lot of human policy over the past ten thousand or so years."

"Then how do you explain all the patriarchal societies that have developed," Jane challenged.  "Ones that are highly restrictive to women."

"Like I said."  I shrugged.  "Jealousy."

There was some silence.

"Just look at how the Garden of Eden story goes.  Adam and Eve live in a state of innocence.  Serpent, apple, blablablah.  God says to Adam, 'You sinned, so you'll have to work for your bread from now on.'  God says to serpent, 'You suck, so I'm making you crawl on your belly from now on.  God says to Eve...  'You sinned, so not only will you have to help Adam work for his bread from now on, you'll also have to bear children.'  Reproduction is a curse that was placed on her for being impure!  I think that says a lot about the attitudes of the people who established that version of the Bible."

"They didn't like women," Derek said.

"And you think it's because they were jealous?" Sajel said.

"That's what I think," I said.  "There have been a lot of systematic efforts throughout history to marginalize women and make them into second-class citizens.  Men tend to be pretty arrogant; it comes with the testosterone.  I think men resented that women could do something they couldn't do and would never be able to; and they took it out by building societies that restrict women."

I could see them mulling it over.  It was a pretty scary thought.  I didn't have very good facts to back it up; it was just a belief of mine.  But could so much of our history have really been dictated by something so...  Petty?

"Hey," Zach said.  "Men can do something women can't."

"What's that?" Christa asked.

"Pee standing up," Zach said.

It was a release of tension again; we all laughed.  Christa's magic eight-ball said, "Dream on."

"You know..." Derek said reflectively.  "Lunch is almost over, and I haven't even been able to ask what I should tell Jenny."

"Mind over matter," Meredith said dryly, referring back to Derek's initial question about symptoms.

"Abstinence is the only way," Christa said cheerily.

"Wait until marriage," Jane said.

"Rumpy-pumpy," Sajel marveled, her eyebrows up as though she couldn't believe the words were actually coming out of her mouth.

"Sheep guts!" Zach crowed.

"Giraffes make a squeaking noise," I said.

"Do they really?" Derek asked, intrigued.

"Giraffes??" Meredith said, total confusion on her face.

And then the bell rang.

W.5

So, that was productive.  I mean, I love my friends and all, but what I really needed was some ideas on how to tell Jenny what I'd discovered.  And that's not what I got.

Hi, I'm Derek Strong, and I'm lost.

In the few minutes between the last period of the day and the beginning of choir practice, Jenny came down to my locker.  "Just saying hi," she said.  "How's your day been?"

"It's been all right," I said.  I wasn't looking forward to seeing Arie in choir practice; and yet I was.  She had gotten frosty in every class we shared together; every now and then I'd catch her looking over to me, and then her face would go all to thunderclouds.  It would be nice to see her acting normal.  It would be nice to see her talking and smiling and maybe laughing...  Nice to see her happy...

It was such a difference from what I had been thinking previously.  Pretty frequently I'll find myself sitting in Pre-Calc, staring not at the board, but at Arie's ass, generally well-showcased in jeans or shorts—the firm, smooth curves narrowing up to her waist, her ravensilk hair spilling over her neck—a woman's body isn't made of straight lines, did you know that?  Men are straight lines.  Women have curves.  Women have round.  I like that about them.  Everything is soft and flowing and organic.  And when I see her sitting there I remember what those curves feel like to the touch, what it's like to stand near her, her body paralleling mine, her breasts against my chest, her body long and welcoming under me when we fuck.  That's what I see most of the time; that's what I remember.

And suddenly none of it seemed really important.  I just wanted to see her smile.

"How about you," I asked Jenny, looking for a way to shake myself loose of my memories.

"Okay," she said.  "Trevor came to see me at lunch."

"Uh-oh," I said.  I'd couched my questions to him in a way that made it seem like I was only interested in The Male Pill, but he's perceptive.  'Any idea what's up with Jenny?'  And I had had to say, 'No, I haven't heard anything.'  "What'd he say?"

"He just wanted to talk," Jenny said, shrugging, combing hair from her face.  "We haven't really talked to each other since Saturday.  Because of...  You know.  He was like, 'Hey baby, what's up, how are you,' stuff like that."

"Oh," I said.  "Nothing about...  Your situation."

"No, nothing like that," said Jenny, looking away.

And then, in a quiet voice: "I miss him."

I said nothing, feeling three days of frustration come crashing down at me all at once.  All that effort, and then just talking to him for five minutes accomplishes what I've been trying to do.

"I mean, it was like...  We were just talking, and it was like..."  She shook her head.  "I can't lose this.  This is too important.  I can't tear us apart like this."

"So you're going to tell him," I said.

"I have to," said Jenny.  Her eyes were huge and tearful.  "I can't keep going on like this."

"Okay," I said, forcing patience into my voice, forcing myself not to make her march over to him and spill it all now.  Honestly.  Like I've said before: if you absolutely have to do something, I think it's stupid to delay the inevitable.  (Death and taxes notwithstanding.)  "I'm glad."

She sighed.  "You were right.  I should've just told him right at the beginning."

Okay, now that was nice to hear.

"I was worried that...  I was worried that telling him would...  Would ruin what we have," she said.  "But now I realize that...  Well, if I tell him, he could break up with me.  But if I don't, he will break up with me.  And I don't want him to do that."

I nodded.  "I understand."  I'll also have to keep this sort of thing in mind for the next time I need to push someone.

"So...  You win, kiddo," Jenny said, a strained smile on her face.

"We both win," I corrected.

"Why, does this mean you get to get back together with Arie," Jenny asked, a dry smile on her face.

I warded her off with a hand.  "God, Jenny, don't start."

"What, you've been hounding me this whole time," Jenny said, a real smile growing, "now it's my turn.  You're in an even better position than I am, yours is just a stupid misunderstanding.  Say something."

Spying someone over her shoulder—"Excuse me."  I swung my locker closed and picked up my backpack.  "Faith is over there, and I'd like to go check on her."

Jenny leered at me.  "You're not getting away that easily.  Come by my locker when you're done."

"What if I don't," I asked, giving her a gaunt smile.

"Then I'll hunt you down at home and give you an earful," Jenny said pleasantly.

"Oh," I said.  "Great."

I followed Faith to her locker, which was way deep in Norter wing, in the back near Mr. Trineer's room.  I don't know why I didn't just say something.  Partially, I think, I wanted a chance to just watch her.  She does so many strange things, it's a bit reassuring to see her just walking along purposefully like any other high-schooler.

When I caught up with her, she was digging in her locker with a look of intense concentration on her face: tongue poking out of her mouth, brow in intense furrows.  With her plain, open facial structure and rounded cheeks, her long hair in wispy tangles, it made her look like a child.  I had to knock on a locker for nearly a minute before she looked up.

"Oh!—hi!—Derek..."  She giggled.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't notice you."

"It's okay," I said.  "I was just dropping by to ask if any of those losers bothered you again."

"Oh, them," she said, watching something on the nearby grass.  "I think they were scared of the guns."

I blinked at her.  "I'm sorry, what?"

She blinked at me.  "I'm sorry, what?  There was a cute squirrel over—  Heehee, there he goes."

I blinked as she waved her fingers at the squirrel.  "Well.  I guess they left you alone at least."

"Oh," she said, with the air of somebody remembering something important: "I wanted to thank you for recess.  It was totally not appropriate, but it was nice."  She beamed at me.

"Uh," I said, suddenly wondering if we were talking about the same thing.  "You're welcome."

"I don't know why you made them stop, though," she said, confirming my suspicion.  "Why did you?"

"Uh," I said.  "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, wasn't it your idea?"

"What!"

She looked at me earnestly.  "Well," she said.  "No one ever pays attention to me.  I thought you got them to do all that stuff at recess."

"Why would...  Why would you think I'd do that?"

"Well..."  Faith stroked hair behind her ear, a gesture eerily reminiscent of Jenny's.  "You're my friend."  Her other hand, still rummaging in the locker, came out with a greasy, old-looking and extraordinarily smelly paper-bag lunch.  "Friends do nice things for their friends, you know?"  Shrugging, she tucked the paper bag into her backpack.

"Like arranging for huge amounts of people to fondle them," I said woodenly.

She shrugged.  "Wouldn't your friends do something like that for you?"

They might—on a totally smaller scale; Sajel might try to set me up with one of her friends, for instance, or Meredith would pass along the news if she found out somebody had a crush on me.  But a huge gaggle of horny high-schoolers bandying about the idea that someone should have sex with me because they want to watch it happen...  That's not quite the same.

I passed a hand over my eyes.  "Right, right, yeah...  Yeah.  Okay, Faith, just as long as you're...  As everything's a-okay."

"Look!" she said, pointing.  "It's green!  The tree is green!"

Jenny was at her locker, just where I expected her to be.  I didn't expect the other person I found there, though: Michael Levine, leaning against the bank of lockers, that familiar grin on his face.  They were talking together; as I watched, both of them broke into laughter.

Hair went up on the back of my neck.  I didn't like this.  My sister is in a very delicate condition right now; I don't want him messing with her.

"Heeeeey," said Michael.  "Don't I know you?  You're one of Meredith's friends, aren't you?"

"Yeah, that'd be me," I said emotionlessly.

"Derek, have you met this fellow?" Jenny asked, grinning broadly.  "He's new at school this week, he's in a couple of my classes...  His name's—  I'm sorry, but I've totally forgotten it—"

"Michael," he said easily.

"Michael Levine," I said.

"Levine?" Jenny said, her laughter coming to a slow halt.  "You mean, like—"

"It's been a pleasure, Michael, but I really do need to get my sister home," I said, taking her by the arm.  "If you'll excuse us."

"Wait, what do you mean, you have to get me—" said Jenny.  I didn't let her finish: "Come on, Jen, let's head out," and then increased my pace until we were out of earshot.

"What was that for," Jenny asked me.  "I thought Dad's gonna drop by after work and pick you up, I didn't know you were coming home now.  What about choir?"

"I am going to choir," I said.  "I just wanted to get you away from him."

"What?"

"How long were you talking to him?" I asked.

"Only about five minutes, you took a little longer with Faith than I expected.  Why, what's wrong with him?" Jenny asked.

Only five minutes.  Good.  He couldn't have contaminated her that much.  Aloud I said, "He's a jerk.  I don't trust him."

"What makes you say that?" Jenny asked, peering at me.  "Who is he?  Is he related to Meredith?"

"He's her older brother," I said.  "He's been..."  Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious: what would Meredith want me to say?  How much of this is secret?  "—He's been away for a while," I finished lamely.  "I didn't know he existed until yesterday.  But believe me, he did not make a good impression."

"A jerk," she asked.

"Yeah," I said.  "Beats up verbally on Meredith, pushes her hot buttons.  Totally oblivious, says the wrong thing a whole lot of the time."

"Your friend Zach is like that a lot too," Jenny pointed out.

"No, he isn't," I said.  "Well, I mean, yes, he says inappropriate things a lot, but he does it for laughs.  He's in total control of the situation and he could stop if he wanted.  He's not oblivious.  He doesn't accidentally blunder into everyone and trample on their emotions."

"You don't like him," Jenny inferred.

"I think he's bad news," I said.  "I think he's really bad news."

Jenny was silent for a moment, her eyes cool on my skin.

"Derek," she said finally.  "I appreciate your concern here, but...  Well, first impressions can be misleading.  He does seem to think a little too much of himself (I think it comes with being as well-built as he is; you have to admit he's quite handsome), but...  He seemed perfectly normal to me.  I think you should give him another chance."

I said nothing.

"I mean...  Well.  I've said what I can," Jenny said.  "I'll see you at home, kiddo."

"See ya," I said, my mind awhirl.

Meredith should know.  Immediately.

Michael Levine has subverted one of our friends.  And if one can fall...  So can others.

W.6

...Wow.  Who'd have thought Derek had a sense of dramatics?  I mean, normally he's such a serious-minded fellow.  He jokes, sure, he laughs, but...  High theatre?  I never would have guessed it.

Hello.  My name is Meredith Levine.  And, as you may have guessed, Derek wasn't pleased with my reaction to his news.

Choir was in the process of beginning when he arrived, so the rest of us just went about our business, oblivious, until break time, at which point he charged over and grabbed us.  And I really, really mean charged over.  I don't think even he had to touch us, we just backed up until he had us cornered over at the far side near the doors.

"Michael's been talking to Jenny," he said.

"He has," Brandon said, his eyebrows jumping.

"How do they know each other?" I asked.

"She says they're in classes together," Derek said.  "They are both seniors."

"Well, technically, Michael's a freshman in college," Brandon corrected.

Derek blinked at him.  "He is?"

"Uh-oh," said Brandon.  "Did we miss that little detail?"

Christa wandered over (orchestra having been released for break time about the same time we were).  "Hey guys.  What's up?"

"Michael has been talking to Jenny," Derek said again.

Christa blinked at him.  "Ohhh-kay..." she said.  Clearly this was not as huge a disaster to her as it was to Derek.

"Why is this trouble?" I asked.  "I mean, I'm not really sure I trust him, but..."

"He's managed to subvert her," Derek said.  "She thinks he's a nice guy."

We blinked at him.  That's one of Michael's talents; he camouflages himself very well.  "And..." I said, beckoning for him to continue.

"She said: First impressions can be deceiving.  We should give him a chance."  Derek shook his head.  "He has her totally hoodwinked."

Brandon and I looked at each other for a long moment.

"You know..." I said.  "She has a point."

"She does," Brandon said.

"I don't trust him any more than you do..." I told him.

"But people have been known to get off on the wrong foot before."  He shook his head.  "Like us, for instance."

"Maybe it runs in the family," I offered.

"And besides," he said, "there's no one who doesn't deserve..."

"The benefit of the doubt," I finished.

Christa was shaking her head.  "You know, you guys, when you do that, it...  Really freaks me out."

"So what are you saying," Derek asked us suspiciously.

"We're saying..." Brandon said.  "That we should be more open-minded towards Michael from now on."

Derek's eyes narrowed.  "You're making a mistake."

"That we should be," I said.  "We're not making you do anything, Derek, or even asking you to do anything.  We're just telling you what we think."

"And I'm telling you what I think," Derek said, his voice hard.  "You're making a mistake."

"So maybe I am," I said, suddenly annoyed with him.  "Who has to live with Michael from now on, Derek?  I can't keep walking around on tenterhooks when he's nearby.  I have to find a way to make some peace with him."

Derek looked at me; and after a while a bit of the anger faded from his face.  "All right.  That's true.  But as long as you're not asking me to trust him."

"Oh, no."  I smiled at him.  "Distrust away."

After class had ended, Derek stalked off to the clothes boxes; I deliberately set a slower pace, not particularly wanting to encounter him.  Brandon came with me, walking beside me, not saying much, even after we got to the boxes (Derek was gone already).  I didn't mind; I was feeling the injustice of our forced separation and wanted to be near him with an intensity that bordered on the disturbing.  Not just that I wanted him near—to be perfectly honest, I wanted to have sex with him.  Maybe it was something in the air; maybe I was going for the quality-over-quantity approach.  Maybe I was just horny—hungry for his body, to be wrapped in his arms, to be consumed by him, to envelop him in my body and be united with him.  Girls are allowed to want that, you know.  Though if you tell anybody I said that, I'll deny ever knowing you.

But Brandon evidently had the same idea.  He took my bra ends from my hands and fastened them across my back; and then ran his hand down my flank until it rested on my hip, leaving trails of burning fire across my skin.  I could feel the cloth of his shirt brushing against my back.  "I wish..." he said.

I turned and kissed him, slow and long, feeling responses igniting in my body—my nipples puckering up; and even the beginnings of wetness between my legs.  I kept my surprise to myself: It's only been two days!  And yet here I am, standing next to my boyfriend, my hands on his chest, wearing nothing but white cotton bra and panties...  Which would soon be showing my state, if this kept going.

But I pulled away; I had to.  "We shouldn't tempt ourselves with what we can't have."

He sighed, looking down; and then pulled me into his arms again, this time for a long embrace.  "I love you," he said into my hair.  "Even when I can't be near you.  I didn't think it would ever be possible to love someone this much."

"Well, good," I said lightly, covering the pain in my heart with a cheap laugh, "I'm glad it's not just for the sex."

"I would love you even if I could never touch you again," he whispered, and he so clearly meant it that there was nothing I could do but pull him closer, holding him tight, feeling his heart beat in his chest, his breath ruffling my hair, feeling love raging in my chest; wishing there could be more, and yet unashamedly happy that there could be this much at all.

In his car, now decently clothed, we were silent for a time: Brandon frowned at the steering wheel, the engine idling, until finally he made his decision.  "Let's go talk to my parents.  We'll tell them we do homework together."

"Which is the truth," I said.  "But...  Are we actually going to do homework?  Or are there...  Other things...  We shall be doing?"

He gave me a wry smile.  "No, we'll have to play it straight.  They'll probably be watching us.  But..."  His hand captured mine, held it fast; his face was earnest, his eyes clear and anxious on mine.  "I just want to be near you."

How could any girl say no to that?

It was about five-thirty by the time we arrived at his house; I wasn't sure if his parents would be home yet, but when Brandon toggled the garage door, his father's car was parked in the slot Brandon normally used.  It was information enough, and we weren't all that surprised to hear clattering from the kitchen when we got in.

"Ah, you're home," said his father, evidently digging for a pan in one of the cabinets, "took you long enough."  Then he actually looked at us—at Brandon, and then at us—and ceased his clattering.  "What's she doing here?"

"What's who doing here," his mother said, pulling her head out of the freezer.  She saw me and her face hardened.  "No.  Unacceptable.  Send her away at once."

I stepped back, taking Brandon's hand, which turned his head toward me.  "Maybe..." I said quietly.  Lord, but it stung to be dismissed out hand like that.  We don't care who you are, just go.  "Maybe you should take me home."

He saw the tears I hadn't wanted him to see; his hands took them gently from my face.  "No," he murmured.  "I love you.  I'm not going to let them just toss you away like this."

I shook my head.  "Brandon, it's not worth—"

"You're worth everything," he said, his voice cutting mine off despite the lack of volume.  "To me."

I beamed at him.  I knew I looked like a wreck: tears tracking down my face, hair probably stuck to it.  I didn't care.  When somebody says something nice like that, all the other things you worry about...  They start to seem really relatively minor.

"Is she going home now," Brandon's father asked when we turned back to them.

"I'm not in the habit of letting other people tell me where my girlfriend can or cannot be," Brandon said.

"What happened to Jane?" his father said.  "I thought we agreed that you'd seek her out."

"No, you agreed to that, Dad," said Brandon, "I just stood there.  As a matter of fact, I'm much happier with Meredith than I was with Jane.  She's all that I need."

"What, sex," his father said caustically.

Brandon's eyelid twitched; both narrowed.  "Jane plus sex, actually," he retorted.  His voice softened.  "Make no mistake, I was very happy with Jane.  But there were attitudes that caused conflict between us.  There are things I believe that she doesn't, and vice versa.  Meredith shares those attitudes with me, and she's got a lot in common with Jane."

"We've had classes together for a long time," I volunteered, feeling steady enough to contribute to my own defense.  "She's a good friend of mine."

"Get to know Meredith," Brandon said.  "Don't just dismiss her out of hand.  She's a good person.  I'm sure you'll like her.  But don't make the mistake of thinking I'll abandon her if you disapprove.  I don't need your approval."

It was a statement exquisitely rendered: not a threat, just simple fact.  And Brandon's parents reacted to the quiet dignity in his voice; they didn't bluster.

"Meredith Levine, is it," Brandon's mother said, looking at me.

"Yeah," I said, trying to keep from sniffling.  "Hi."

Brandon's father gave me a momentary look.  "Regardless.  Brandon, you need to take her home.  We have family business to attend to."

"Meredith is family," Brandon said.  "I'd like her to remain.  You needn't worry about your personal reputation, or about secrets; Meredith knows things about me even you don't, and she has kept them to herself out of respect for me."

Mr. Chambers's face turned dark.  I could see instantly that Brandon had said the wrong thing.

Mrs. Chambers was still speaking to me.  "You're in the Naked In School Program this week, aren't you."

"What?" I said, startled.  "Yes.  Yes, I am.  How did you know?"

"That's why she has to go, Brandon," his mother said.

"Why, what's wrong with her being in The Program?" Brandon asked.

"Brandon was in The Program a while back," I said.  "That's how we met."

Suddenly I realized what a mistake it might have been to say that.

But Brandon's father simply said, "Yes, we are aware of that, Meredith.  And, again, that's why you have to go."

"Why, what's wrong with me being in The Program," Brandon asked.  "It was back in September, it's a little late to do anything now."

"We're not going to say anything else in front of—"  Mr. Chambers's stern voice cut off with a glance at me.

"We can tell her," Mrs. Chambers said to him.  "It's not like she can do anything to affect it."

Mr. Chambers looked at Brandon and I for a moment, saying nothing.

Finally he nodded.  "We have become aware, Brandon, that you were taken into The Program against your will."

Brandon's eyes narrowed, wary of a trap.  "I was chosen without having actually signed up, if that's what you mean."

"We understand that this was the exclusive choice of your principal, Dr. Yvette Zelvetti," said Mr. Chambers.

"Yes," said Brandon.  "She explained the situation to me, which was somewhat out of the norm.  It would have been difficult to refuse her, but in retrospect I don't regret saying yes at all."

"That's besides the point," Mr. Chambers said dismissively.  "Your mother and I feel that this was a gross misuse of her powers as principal and that someone as irresponsible as your Principal Zelvetti should not be allowed to remain where she is."

"Meaning..." Brandon said.

"Meaning," said Mr. Chambers.  "That we are going to take legal action immediately.  We are going to sue the school, and Dr. Zelvetti specifically; and when we win, we are going to have her removed as principal."

Brandon said nothing.

I said nothing.

I think I liked it better when Brandon's parents were people I hadn't met yet.