M.1

When Brandon heard the announcement he went straight to Dr. Zelvetti's office.  He managed to reach it before most of the other participants did.  He was glad of that—it meant he'd have room to move.  The less people around for this, the better.

"Ah, Brandon," said Dr. Zelvetti.  "Come to join us in a little outreach?"

Brandon paused at that one.  Come to think of it, that might help.  But... "That's not why I'm here, Dr. Z."

"Really?" said Dr. Zelvetti pleasantly.  She settled back in her chair, an expression of interest on her face.  "So what does bring you here?"

"Jane," Brandon said.

Dr. Zelvetti looked around her office.  At the moment, only two freshman and a junior were present.  Even so, the office already felt comfortably populated.  It was only meant to hold eight people at most; cramming sixteen in, plus Dr. Zelvetti herself, would be worse.  Most importantly, however: "Well, I don't see her here, Brandon, but you're absolutely welcome to speak to her after she's undressed."

"See, that's just it," Brandon said.  He ran a hand through his light brown hair.  "I don't think this is a good idea."

"Whyever not?" Dr. Zelvetti asked with admirable concern.  Her hair had run to a greyish white and her face was streaked with lines and age marks, but she could still make a first-rate facade if she wanted to.  "Only a year ago, Brandon, you would have been pleased to see her in The Program."

Brandon suppressed anger.  "That's not particularly fair, Dr. Z."

"Doesn't make it less true," she shrugged.

"Yes, I would have," Brandon said.  "Yes, I would've been thrilled to see Jane naked in school.  I would've been wrong to feel that way.  And I might not've admitted that back then, but I would've known it."

The two freshmen and one junior watched with unfeigned interest.  Brandon Chambers was a bit of a public figure around Mount Hill High School: it had been he who, just over a year ago (thirteen months to exact) had been one of the first eight students at Mount Hill High to participate in The Program.  Even more, he had been paired with that insane lady Arie Chang—the one with the mysterious scars on her arms—and had broken up with his existing girlfriend (some girl named Jane Myers) and hooked up with his current one, Meredith Levine, during that single week.  It was nearly impossible not to have heard of him.  Gossip about him was even better.

"Why would it have been wrong," Dr. Zelvetti asked him.

Brandon frowned.  That was a good question, and it was going to take some careful answering.  "Because," he said finally.  "Because, regardless of what's good for Jane, it would've been wrong.  I know she's sexually repressed, I know she's far too uptight about it, I know it's probably going to do her damage in the future.  Whoever she marries might just divorce her when he finds out about her sexual attitudes."  Which were pretty simple—no sex before marriage.  Obviously her husband, whoever he might turn out to be, would hardly have a problem with that, but Brandon didn't want to bet on who would win the first time that husband suggested oral sex.  "But it's still her life.  It's still her choice.  If that's who she wants to be, then it's not our place to force her to be otherwise, no matter how bad a choice we think she's making."

"Very wise, Brandon," said Dr. Zelvetti, nodding.  "Very mature."

"So you'll take her out of The Program," Brandon asked.

"No."

"But why not?  You just admitted it isn't smart to force her to do something against her will."

"But you forget, Brandon," Dr. Zelvetti said.  "I didn't force her to sign up.  Her parents didn't sign her up.  She signed up, of her own free will.  She voluntarily consented to be put into a federally-sponsored program encouraging sexual education.  And, as you've said, her education in that area is very lacking, A's in Health class notwithstanding.  I felt, as her principal, that it would be in her best interests to second her interest in The Program and enlist her in it."

"But you did that last year, and she had to go to the hospital," said Brandon.  "She just got out in August.  She had a fucking nervous breakdown."  The freshmen gasped at the sight of a student, senior or no, swearing in front of the principal, but Brandon didn't flinch.  And neither did Dr. Zelvetti.

"In that way my course of action was merely confirmed," she said.  "You know the rules as well as I do, Brandon.  If a participant fails to complete their Program week, they must do it again.  And again, if necessary.  And again.  Until they have completed it to the school's satisfaction."

Brandon stifled a resurgence of anger.  It was far too close to the surface these days.  "I've never liked that rule.  What if people just aren't ready?  What if they just aren't capable?  We're not talking a normal, healthy sexual life, Dr. Zelvetti, we're talking about forced exposure, in high school—never the friendliest of places—and with a certain amount of coercion involved, especially concerning Rule Three.  The participant is forced—forced—to confront his or her sexuality, whether they are ready or not.  And it may just be possible that certain participants are not ready."  He couldn't keep sarcasm from his voice on that one.

"Then they shouldn't've signed up," said Dr. Zelvetti with feigned carelessness.

"That's fair," Brandon said.  "That's very fair.  Anyone who happens to misjudge themselves gets chopped up in the meat grinder.  Yes, Dr. Z, that sounds like a very good way to run a school.  Shove them into the brick wall whether they want it or not."

"So that they can grow," said Dr. Zelvetti.  "Were you ready, Brandon?  But you persevered.  You flourished.  'That which does not kill me, makes me stronger.' "

"And what if it kills her," Brandon challenged.

"It won't," said Dr. Zelvetti.  "Jane is very strong, Brandon.  Stronger than you know.  Stronger, perhaps, than she knows.  She is going through it, and that's final.  And now some of the other participants are arriving, so unless you'd like to join us, I must ask you to leave."

"Brandon?" said a voice behind him.  It was Jane—the same Jane as always: slumped shoulders, hazel eyes, a mass of clean but untended hair in honey and amber.  "What are you doing here?  You're not my partner, are you?"

"No, actually," said Dr. Zelvetti, "Brandon was just here to argue your case."

Jane's face closed in its second-most-common expression: anger.  "What, to keep me in?"

"No, to keep you out," said Dr. Zelvetti.  This startled Jane so much that she didn't know how to respond.  Brandon saw it, and sighed.  Clearly she still had a lot to learn.

He left the office.

Many of his friends were waiting for him outside the Homer building, the school's administrative wing.  There was Zach Crane, his best friend, in a buzz cut and perpetual grin, trading banter with Christa Sternbacher, his girlfriend.  She was dressed in the bright orange jacket they always saw her in, and her dyed blonde hair was beginning to show its brown color at the roots.  Sajel Malhotra, his other best friend, was with the two of them, a wicked grin lighting her features.  As he watched, she slung her river of black hair over her shoulder with a practiced toss of her head.  Arie Chang, the mysterious girl with the mysterious scars, was chatting with Derek Strong, her boyfriend (likewise picked up during their Program week over a year ago); her Chinese heritage showed in the shape of her face, the tilt of her eyes.  And even Jeff and Stasya were there.  Stasya, with her reddish hair and slight traces of Russian in her voice, was Meredith's best friend.  And Jeff, quiet, with aristocratic features and a calm, spectacled gaze...  Well, no one quite knew about him, but he was fun to have around.

Only Meredith was missing.  Meredith, whom Brandon hadn't seen since the beginning of summer vacation, for reasons he didn't quite understand.

"How did it go," Christa asked as he came down the stairs.

"Bad," he said.  "She won't take her out of The Program."

"That sounds like a dumb idea to me," Arie observed.

"This is the same Jane Myers we're talking about, right," Sajel asked.  "What if it's a different girl with the same name?"  She was joking—Sajel was rarely serious—but something about her tone suggested she meant what she was saying.

Brandon ticked off on his fingers.  "Ex-girlfriend?  Yup.  Girl who was tighter than a bank vault about sex?  Yup.  Girl who asked me why anyone would actually want to masturbate?  Yup.  I saw her with my own very two eyes."

"Why 'very two eyes'?" asked Jeff.  "Do you sometimes have three eyes?"

"Well, if you count only the one Meredith sees," Arie said.  "The one on his trouser snake?"

Sajel snorted.  "Terrible joke.  Minus three respect points, Arie."

"I bet he'd like to see Jane with that eye," Zach said, grinning.

"Can we not get into that, please," Brandon said, mopping his face with his hands.  There were times he appreciated his friends' banter.  And there were times when he simply didn't want to deal with it.  Now happened to be one of those times.

"How do you feel about Jane, Brandon," Christa asked him.  "I mean, you spent a lot of the summer with her, so it's probably safe to say you care about her."

"Yeah, as opposed to with his girlfriend," Derek said.

"Hey, none of us spent time with his girlfriend," Stasya said.  "Meredith was away at band camp for most of the summer."

"Yeah," Zach said.  "Great.  'This one time, at band camp...' "

"Even lamer joke," Sajel said.  "Minus four points to Zach."

"Bad grammar," Zach retorted.  "Lose a grade on your next English paper.  Do not pass Go, do not collect $200."

"I missed out on two hundred dollars?" Sajel exclaimed.  "Minus twenty respect points Zach!!"

"She was actually at band camp," Stasya said, attempting vainly to bring the conversation back on track.

"Maybe something wild and wacky happened there," Zach said.  " 'What happens at band camp, stays at band camp.' "

"Minus five points," Sajel snorted.  "And down another six if he makes another stupid quote in the next two minutes."

"Hey, I'm not saying he had an alternative," Derek said.  "I'm just saying it could look bad."

"It could, at that," Arie said.

"So, Brandon."  Derek turned to him.  "Let's have the straight line.  What is it between you and Jane?"

Brandon was silent for many moments.

"I...  Well, I care about her, obviously," he said.  "And...  I consider her a friend.  And you worry about your friends.  I mean, you all came to visit her in the hospital."

"Yeah, but not four days of seven," said Derek.

"Do you still care for her?" Christa asked.  "Do you still have feelings for her?"

Brandon didn't answer, and that was all the answer they needed.

"So, what are you going to do?" Derek asked.

"About what?"

"About Meredith," Derek said.  "We've been in school for four weeks and the two of you have barely exchanged five words together.  And this is with the two of you in half your classes together.  If you don't do something, you're going to lose her.  So get your ass in gear, man."

"Now," Sajel said.

"Preferably yesterday," Jeff said.

Brandon said nothing.  They were, of course, totally right.  But the question was...  What should he do?  ...If anything at all?  Things with Meredith were so weird now.  Sure, she was a better match for him than Jane, but at least Jane hadn't been actively avoiding him all these...

He was shaken from his musings by a flurry of commentary.  He turned to see the first Program participants coming down the stairs.

And there was Jane.

Her Program partner was Scott Pleins, which Brandon was glad to see: he was a smart, intelligent guy, and he'd do well by her.  And Jane didn't have the reputation Brandon did; everyone saw her as a smart, by-the-books student, straight A's and very traditional—Girl Scouts, church choirs, that sort of thing.  Interest in her was casual but not malicious.

Of course, everyone knew she'd been Mount Hill's first Program participant to have a breakdown.  And that brought attention.  But it was, again, not malicious: everyone wanted to see, but no one wanted to touch.  It was, noted a corner of Brandon's mind, the old stigma against any sort of mental problem—stay away, don't touch, it might be contagious.  Gather around, view, see.  Pay five bucks to see the schizophrenic man.  She might as well be a circus sideshow.

They were scared of her, was the simple fact, because they couldn't understand her.  And that, Brandon reflected, was just as well.  Though being misunderstood could bring its own brand of trouble.

"You know," Christa said quietly.  "I never believed she'd really do it until right now."

"Who," Zach asked.  "Jane or Dr. Z.?"

"Dr. Z.  ...But maybe Jane too."

Jane looked distinctly unhappy, but that was to be expected from a girl who had never worn a two-piece bathing suit before.  She looked about the same as Brandon remembered: an expanse of pale skin, surprisingly wide hips and large breasts...  But then, Jane had never dressed to impress.  He remembered the surprise others had expressed at her physical assets.  They had looked at him to solve the puzzle.  As if he had known.

Jane looked unhappy but not mortified, which was a step up from the last time.  She had signed up for The Program in late May and been rushed into participation the very next week.  The entire two days before her breakdown she had worn an expression of shell-shocked confusion, like someone suddenly yanked into a bad drug trip: surely this must end, surely this must end.  Well, it had ended, but now, it seemed, it was beginning again.

A few people crowded around to take advantage of Rule Three, the infamous "Reasonable Request" rule.  Program participants were considered living, breathing examples of human sexuality, and any student who wished—within reason—to examine such a specimen, must be accommodated.  This generally led to a certain amount of low-level fondling, with more intense contact limited to the participant's discretion, as he or she might or might consider it "reasonable."  It also seemed to depend on the day: participants and bystanders alike seemed to get more and more adventurous as the week wore on, as time passed and everyone got more comfortable with sexuality.  Right now it was Monday morning, so the requests were limited—a few people touched Jane's breasts as she walked by.  Even this relatively impersonal attention bent Jane's face in displeasure, and Brandon sighed to himself.
This might be a long, bad week.

Jane saw them and descended to them immediately.  Scott Pleins went to meet his own friends.  This was probably against Program policy, but then Program policy was evolving.  All Program participants were issued a 'partner,' a fellow participant (generally of the opposite sex) who would act as their moral and mental support over the week.  Obviously one's friend was one's best partner, but not all participants managed to bring a friend in with them.  In such times, Dr. Z. would pair strangers together, as she had to, with two possible outcomes in mind: either the two partners would become friends over the course of the week, or they would simply ignore each other and rely on their existing friends.  This case was obviously one of the latter: Scott Pleins was known to have a very close-knit group of friends, and Brandon knew his friends would accept Jane.

"Hey," Christa said, greeting Jane with a smile.  "Second time's the charm, right?"

"Isn't it 'third time'?" Jane asked.

"No, it's whatever the hell number we feel like," Zach said, grinning.  "Be happy she didn't say 'fourth' or 'fifth.' "

Jane frowned.  "God forbid.  What if I do have to do this five times?"

"I doubt it'll happen," said Derek.  "If it gets that bad, Dr. Z. will pull you out of The Program.  She's not stupid."

"She sure seems like it," Jane grumbled.  "I already did this once, and I hated it.  And now she's making me do it again."

"Why'd you hate it," Zach asked.

"Well, because," said Jane, and paused.  "Because it's degrading, you know?  Being forced to do things with your body that you don't want to.  If they paid us for it, we might be outlawed for prostitution or something."

Brandon frowned.  It was a pretty flimsy reason.  He caught Sajel's and Derek's and Stasya's looks and saw he wasn't alone in his suspicion.

The simple fact was, Jane knew nothing about sex.  And she didn't know she didn't know it.  But it wasn't a case of lack of education, it was a case of willful ignorance.  She didn't want to know.  And now she was either going to learn...  Or die trying.

"Whoa," said Arie suddenly.  "Whoa whoa whoa.  Oh god.  Augh.  That's more than I ever wanted to see of my sister."

They turned.  There, indeed, was Trina Chang, Arie's 15-year-old sister, descending the stairs in a state of total undress.

"Whoa," said Zach.  "She has pubic hair?  Already?  Christa, did you have pubic hair back then?"

"Why are you looking at my sister's pubes!" Arie cried.  "You have a girlfriend!"

"Pedophilia," Sajel leered.  "Minus fifteen thousand."

"Err.  That's a big number," Zach said.

"Yup," said Sajel.

"Is that bigger or smaller than forty-seven?" Zach asked.

Trina was positively glowing.  She had always been a cute, compact little thing, almost ornamental in her attractiveness—just the kind of bright, outgoing girl some jock might love to have hanging off his arm.  But now she seemed especially pleased with herself.  Why?  Because she's naked? Brandon wondered.

"What's up with her," he said aloud.

"Did you know she signed up," Sajel asked.

"Yeah, I knew," Arie said.  "She had to sign up for the same reason I did."  Arie, clinically depressed, wasn't always able to live up to the obligations of daily schooling—getting homework done, being upbeat and positive, getting out of bed in the morning—and had made a deal with Dr. Zelvetti, trading a week in The Program for a certain amount of leniency from her teachers.  Trina had done the same.  "But knowing it," she added darkly, "isn't the same as seeing it."

"She seems quite happy," Jeff observed, with just a touch of dry sarcasm to admit he was stating the obvious.

"She shouldn't," Arie said.  "She's cuts, just like me.  She's got scars, just like me."

"Are you sure?" Christa asked.

"Well, according to what she says online," said Arie.  Both she and her sister were members of an Internet bulletin board, Candlelight Vigil, for depressed teenagers.  Both of them also inflicted shallow, cosmetic cuts on themselves for purposes of stress relief and coping, a behavior known scientifically as "self-injury" or "self-harm," but generally called "cutting" by those who did it.  The scars on Arie's arms were the reason she never wore short sleeves, even in summer, unless she was in the company of those few people she trusted.

Arie rubbed at her arms over her sleeves.  At least, she thought, the number of people I trust is slowly going up.

"Yes, but, we know she likes attention," Christa said.  "She might be just saying it."

"No, I've seen her do it," Arie said.

"But she doesn't seem worried," said Derek.  "Arie's reception wasn't exactly friendly, and by all rights Trina should be facing the same thing.  But she doesn't seem worried."

"Something's up," Brandon said.

"Stating the obvious, minus ten to Brandon," Sajel said.

"Hey, I do my best," Brandon said, feeling inexplicably tired.

Suddenly, the PA system echoed around them.  "Would seniors Derek Strong and Meredith Levine please report to Dr. Zelvetti's office immediately.  Would—"  The recitation was pierced by the ringing of the warning bell for first period.  "—seniors Derek Strong and Meredith—"  It was Monday morning, and school was about to start.

"What's going on," Arie asked her boyfriend.

"I don't know," Derek said, "I haven't heard anything about it."

"Is she even here?" Christa asked. "She's been absent so much this year—I don't think she's made a full week of school yet."

"I guess we'll find out," Stasya said.

"Ooooo, Derek's in trouble," Zach leered.

"Dork," Sajel said.

"Here we go," Brandon muttered to himself.

"So, what did you think of the Hemingway story," Christa said, taking Jane in hand.  They were in many of the same classes together and had been for many years.  "Did you understand it?  I had to look it up on the Internet before I got it."

"I got it," Jane said, leaping eagerly into the academic world: it was, by far, her specialty.  "But I've read it before.  The man's trying to get the girl to have an abortion.  That's what the letting-the-air-in part is all about."

"Yeah, that's what the Internet said," Christa agreed.

"I wonder why Meredith got called in," Stasya said.

"Maybe to convince her to do something about Brandon," Derek said, giving that one a direct stare.

"Not likely," Brandon grunted.

"I wish," Stasya said.  Meredith called Brandon 'the best thing that ever happened to me,' and she was pretty sure the reverse was true as well.  And if anyone was smart enough to know that, it was Dr. Zelvetti.  That was why her bad judgment on Jane was so disturbing—none of them had ever known her to take a wrong step.  Someone was desperately wrong about Jane...  But if history was any judge, it wasn't Dr. Z.

"It's going to be an interesting week," she said.

"Tell me about it," Brandon said.

M.2

Derek was busy at recess, so Brandon wasn't able to ask him about the principal's appointment until lunch.  They met, as they had for over a year, at the porch on the north side of Stetsen.  It was a good location—easy access to food, to bathrooms, to lockers, to most of the rest of the school; and they could see people walking by and be observed in turn.  Brandon had hoped Derek might have some news about Meredith, but his response was almost as interesting: "I found out where Faith Bennett went."

"Really now," Arie said.  Faith had been Derek's Program partner in early May.  She gave off every impression of being addled in the head: strange conversational jumps, easily distracted, unadulterated naïveté.  Then, the week after, she had simply disappeared, and no one knew where she'd gone.

"Yes," Derek said, glancing at Arie carefully.  Faith had needed a lot of guidance that week, and Derek's new responsibilities had almost torn him from Arie permanently.  They'd managed to patch things up, thankfully, and now they were closer than ever before, but Faith had still been a trouble spot, and Arie was known to have a very long memory.  It would probably be smart to tread lightly.
"Is that why Dr. Z. wanted to talk to you?" Brandon asked.

"Yeah," Derek said.  "She just heard back from some friends.  Faith got reported as a Missing Person by Dr. Z. back in May, and evidently someone matched her face to the picture on the milk carton.  She's in Louisiana.  She calls herself Helen Chase now."

"Wait, she...  What?" said Zach.

"Yeah, that was the weird thing," said Derek.  "According to the police, they look identical.  We've got photos to prove it.  But this Helen Chase wasn't half as scatter-brained as Faith Bennett.  In fact, they say she was in total control of her faculties.  She's living alone in an apartment, she works at a restaurant, they described her as..."  He dredged the words up from his memory.  " 'Charming and highly capable.'  It makes no sense."

"Faith Bennett," Arie said.  "Always a mystery."

"She's living alone?" Christa said incredulously.  "Without tripping over her own two feet?"

"And this is the girl Sajel described as being a kindergartener," Zach said.

"Maybe she got dropped on her head again," Brandon observed.  "Knocked things back into alignment."

"Will wonders never cease," said Sajel dryly.

"This makes no sense whatsoever," Arie said.  "People like Faith don't just get fixed."

"No...  The thing is," Derek said, hesitating.  "It might make sense."

Everyone turned to him.  This was something he had never told to anyone, so he chose his words carefully.

"Right when we were all getting dressed, on the Friday of my Program week, I mean...  She came on to me," Derek said.  "And I don't mean, 'Hey, she said something that could be misconstrued as hitting on me,' I mean she really came on to me.  She was totally...  Totally conscious, she wasn't getting distracted, she...  It was like she was a different person."

"Oh.  My.  God," said Zach.  "She's schizophrenic."

"No, schizophrenia just means you hear and see things that aren't there," Brandon corrected.  "Dissociative Identity Disorder is when you have multiple personalities."

"Well, why don't they just call it multiple personality disorder then," Zach said.

"They did," Brandon said.  "Then they changed the name, because they decided it wasn't multiple personalities but rather dissociated identity."

"What's 'dissociate' mean?" Zach asked.

"It means Shut up, you're a moron," Sajel said. "So Faith was faking it the entire time?"

"That's what it seems like," Derek said.  "If so, it was quite an act.  I don't know if anyone ever caught on, even Dr. Z."

Christa looked at Brandon's face, and for his sake said the thing he should've been brave enough to ask himself: "Do you know what Meredith got called in for?"

"No, actually," Derek said.  "I got sent out before Dr. Z. talked to her."

"So she was here," Stasya asked.

A pair of eyes watched the laughter from far away.  Only Jeff saw her: Meredith Levine, with sadness writ large on her face.  "Speak of the devil," he murmured.  Her eyes were on Brandon, but also on Stasya Fyodorevna, her best friend, and he suddenly realized what a bad idea it might have been for Stasya to have merged her friends into Brandon's group—now that she was associated with him, Meredith could hardly approach her.

Jeff saw her, but when his eyes met hers, she jumped a little bit as if startled, waved in a manner that was not half as convincing as she would have liked, and walked off.  Jeff frowned to himself.

"Brandon, when's the last time you talked to her?" Christa asked.

"I...  I dunno," Brandon said.  "I...  Well, we talked on Thursday.  Remember, we were all heading out after—"

"No, not just chatted with her," Christa said.  They had walked to their cars as a group after their various music practices had let out; it had been inconsequential banter, and while both Brandon and Meredith had been involved in the conversation, they had walked on opposites sides of the group and had never addressed each other directly.  "When's the last time you actually spoke to her, not just talked."

Brandon's face closed.  "...I think...  Before summer.  Maybe the day Jane had to go to the hospital."

"Maybe you should talk to her," Derek said.

Brandon sighed.  "Yeah."  I haven't been this lonely in...  I dunno, longer than I've been alive?  "I should."

"You should at least try it," Sajel said.

"You know, speaking of trying," Zach said.  "What about you, Saje?"

"What about me, dingbat," Sajel said.

"Well, let's see here," he said.  "Arie and Brandon have been in The Program.  Christa and I have been in The Program.  Derek and Meredith have been in The Program.  Stasya and Jeff have both been in it.  And now even Jane's in it," Zach said.  "So, that leaves, just...  You."

Sajel said nothing, but her face grew grim.

"So, what about it?" Zach asked.

"Never," Sajel spat.

"Never?" Zach said.

"Never's such a big word," Jeff said dryly.

"Never, and you know darn well why, Zach Delancey Crane," Sajel snarled.

"Delancey??" Stasya exclaimed.

"Thanks a lot, Sajel," Zach said darkly.

"That's such a cool name!" Stasya said.

"Thanks a lot, Sajel!" Zach grinned.

"Is it because of..." Christa said, trailing off.

"The same reason as Arie and Trina," said Sajel.  "But worse."  Sajel's secret, better kept than most, were the injuries she had sustained as a child.  A rainstorm had blown a tree down on her bedroom while she slept on her stomach.  Now her back was criss-crossed with scars.  She had never had a date or a boyfriend in her life—and, as far as any of them could tell, she didn't think she ever would.

"Come on, it's not such a big deal," Zach said.  "Look at Arie.  She found a boyfriend."

"She's not covered in them," Sajel retorted.

"My arms are," said Arie.  "They're like sandpaper."

"Yeah, well, my all of me is like sandpaper," Sajel snorted.  "No one's gonna put up with that."

"Even your vagina?" Arie asked.

"What?" said Sajel.

"You said all of you was like sandpaper," Christa said.  "It's logical to wonder if that included your pussy."  It was time for some humor, as far as she was concerned.  "Because if it did, then I could understand why nobody would want you.  I mean, a pussy's gotta be smooth, right?"

Sajel stared at her for a moment.  "Yes," she said with great sarcasm.  "Yes.  My pussy is exactly like sandpaper."

"Owch," Jeff winced.

"Look," said Zach.  "You're hotter than Jane and you're nicer than Arie."

"Hah," said Arie.

"Okay, you're funnier than Arie," said Zach.  "I'm sure you could find someone who would put up with you.  Who would more than put up with you."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Sajel said.

"Excuse me," came a new voice.  "Sajel Malhotra?"

They turned.  It was a tall boy, one they'd seen around but had never met before.  His clothes were in blue and brown, his black hair fell in an untidy mop, and glasses shielded his eyes in a way that made him seem to never blink.  When he spoke, his voice was a pale, even grey.

"Hi, I'm Garrett Song," he said.  "We have classes together."

"Oh.  Garrett," said Sajel.  "Hi."

"Listen, I was wondering."  He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.  "Are you doing anything this Saturday?  If not, would you like to go, I don't know, see a movie or something?"  And then, seeming to think he hadn't made his point clear: "I know we've never really met, but...  I think you're attractive and I'd like to get to know you better."

There was a short silence as everyone waited for Sajel's response.  Brandon felt bad for this fellow Garrett—having to ask someone out while all her friends stared at him.  That took more courage than most people ever experienced over their entire lives.  All things considered, he'd done an okay job.  Now they just needed to see how Sajel would—

"I'm sorry," Sajel said.  "I'm...  Busy on Saturday."

"Oh," said Garrett slowly.  "Oh.  I see.  Well.  Perhaps some other time, then."

"Perhaps," said Sajel, her voice making it clear that there wouldn't be another time.

"Well.  I'll see you later then," said Garrett.  He wandered away.

Sajel watched him go.  She sighed.  "Too bad.  He's pretty hot, too."

"He is," Christa said.  There was a wholesomeness about the fellow, a sense of calmness and steadiness, that was appealing.

Sajel's face twisted, a strange expression they'd never seen there before: regret.  "The truth is, I've...  Kinda been hoping he'd say that.  But...  There it went."

"Well, what are you doing on Saturday that's so important," Zach asked her.

Sajel looked at him.  "Saturday?  Nothing, dumbass.  But I couldn't say Yes to him."
"You...  You what?" said Christa.

"Why not?" Zach exclaimed.

"Duh!  My back, dumbass!" Sajel said.  "Missing the obvious: minus ten points Zach!"

"Your back!!" Zach said.  "Your—  Sajel, he doesn't know your scars from a hole in the wall!  He didn't ask you out because of them, he didn't ask you out not-because of them, he doesn't know they exist.  You could've at least tried it and given him a chance, instead of just shutting him down right off the bat!  Maybe he would've liked you anyway!"

"Not fucking likely," Sajel retorted.  "So there's no point in bothering."

Zach tossed his hands and fell silent, seeing he wasn't going to win this one.

"Hey, look," said Jeff.  "Here comes Jane."

It was indeed Jane, and though she looked none the worse for wear, Brandon could see her foul mood like a thundercloud around her.  She was not wearing clothes, which was enheartening, but her appearance raised a myriad conflicting emotions and desires within him.  He had loved Jane, loved her very dearly; and things with Meredith had gone distinctly sour.  He could hardly be blamed for...

"Hello, Jane," said Jeff.  "You look very pleasant at this hour."

"Great," Jane snarled.  "That's exactly what I wanted out of this week.  Pleasant."

"We could've told you you looked ravishing," Arie said blandly, "but you would've bit our heads off."

"Not that she's not doing that now," said Christa.

"Seems like being friendly isn't the way to go, maybe we should just insult her," Sajel said.

"Maybe if you had to go naked you'd be just as annoyed as I am," Jane shot back.  "It's not exactly easy, you know."

"No, it isn't," Christa agreed.

"You start feeling like everyone's looking at you," Arie said.  "Everyone.  Drive a girl to paranoia."

Jane blinked several times, evidently totally startled by the idea that someone might actually agree with her.

"How are you holding up," Derek asked.

"Has anyone asked to touch you," Arie asked.

"Yes," Jane said darkly.

"Who?"

"Russell Hebbert," Jane said.

Christa shook her head.  "Never heard of him."

"I have," Stasya said.  "He's a junior."  That probably explained why she knew him—she was a junior as well.  Meredith should have been one, but she'd skipped seventh grade.  "Tall, brown hair...  I think he's on the volleyball team.  He's pretty hot..."  She looked over at Jane.  "Was he good?"

"No," Jane said.  "I hated it.  He just poked and prodded and yanked and everything, and it was awful."

"Really?" Stasya exclaimed.  "That's not what I've heard from other people.  Supposedly he's pretty good."

"He is," Arie said.  "Seriously.  He does this thing where he sucks on your clit and then reaches up for your breasts, and—"

She was met with a circle of blank stares.

"What?" she said.  "Can't a girl get around a little?"

"This was before Derek, right?" Christa asked.

"Of course it was before Derek, what kind of slut do you think I am?" Arie retorted.  "..Okay, so I am kind of a slut, but I'm a faithful one.  I don't burn the candle at both ends."

"Well, no, 'cause..." Christa said.  "He's a junior."

Arie blinked.  "He is?  He called himself a junior, but I was a sophomore."

"Well...  He is pretty mature-looking for his age," Stasya said.  She giggled.  "I think that's why girls like him.  He's got that, you know, experienced look about him."

"Well, freshman, junior or otherwise, he's definitely experienced in the sack," Arie said.  "Trust me on this."

"Didn't help me out any," Jane gritted.  She tore a chunk from her sandwich in a way that made Brandon glad she wasn't mad at him.

"Did he like yank at you or something?" Derek asked.

"No," Jane said.

"Did he not touch your nipples," Derek asked.

Jane colored.  "I'm not telling you that."

"Look, it doesn't matter," Brandon said.  "This is Jane we're talking about."

"So?"  Jane scowled.

"So," Brandon shrugged, feeling too tired to soften his words.  "God Himself could feel her up, but it wouldn't matter.  She'd refuse to enjoy it."

"Brandon!" Jane said, angry that the truth was out.

"Christa!  Christa!" came a new voice.  It was Christa's little brother, Thomas—Tom these days, now that he was a big bad ninth-grader and no longer fit to be addressed by the diminutive 'Tommy.'  He was bounding across the grass towards them, calling his sister's name.

He arrived panting but triumphant.  "Christa!  Christa!  I did it!  I—"  He looked.  "Wait.  Is that Jane?"

"Wow, Jane!" Zach cried.  "Your fame is spreading!"

"Come on over here, Christa," said Tommy, glancing at Jane.  "I don't want her to hear this."

"Then you'd better not tell me," said Christa.  She was barely taller than him, despite the three years between them, but she could still face him down.  "If it concerns my friend Jane, she'll hear about it from me.  You might as well just tell her too."

"Fine," said Tommy, too excited to be deflated.  "Guess what, Christa?  I did it!"

"What did you do, Tom," Christa asked.

"I asked Lisa out!" said Tommy.  "And she said yes!"

"Lisa who?" Jane asked.

"Lisa Myers," Christa supplied.

"Lisa Myers?" Jane cried.

"He's been hoping to for a little while," Christa said.

"That's my sister!" Jane exclaimed.

"See," said Christa, "this is why I told you you might as well tell her too."

Tommy looked at Jane's face.  "Should I leave now?"

"What's wrong with someone asking your sister out," Sajel asked Jane.  "She's fourteen.  She's a freshman in high school.  These things'll happen."

"And at least it's Christa's brother," Zach volunteered, "instead of, like, some horndog with only one thing on his mind."

"Do you know how far she goes?" Tommy asked Jane.  "Do you know?"

"What?" Jane said.

"Like, does she fuck on the first date?" Tommy asked.

"Tom!" Jane said.

"Tom!" Christa said.

"What?" Tommy said, innocent.

"Okay, maybe he does only have one thing on his mind..." Zach grumbled.

"Tommy, maybe that's not a good thing to ask her—" Christa began.

"Don't call me that," he said.  "It's Tom.  I'm not a little boy anymore."

"You're acting like one," Christa said sternly.  "That's not the kind of thing someone likes to be asked about their younger sister.  Or to hear asked by their younger brother, either."

"Oh," said Tommy.

"Apologize to Jane," said Christa.

"Sorry, Jane," said Tommy dutifully.

"You better not act like that toward my sister," Jane thundered.  "She's barely fourteen.  If I hear anything about—"

"Jane," said Brandon.  "Jane.  Calm down.  He's just asking questions.  You have no idea how he's actually going to act when the time comes."

"Yeah," Zach pitched in.  "There's stories about guys who get so nervous, they never get hard."

"Eew!" Jane cried.

"...What?" Zach said, blinking at her.  "It's the truth."

"It's more than I wanted to know," Jane said, covering her eyes.

"I'm sure you'd find out eventually," Brandon said, taking a cruel relish at how Jane's face twisted in anguish.

"And, at this rate, your sister will find out before you do," Derek supplied helpfully.

"No," Jane said, turning to Brandon.  "We can't let that happen.  It's wrong."

"To you," Brandon said.  "Not necessarily to anybody else."

"But they're still wrong," Jane said.

Brandon shrugged, too tired to care.  "Sucks to be them then."

"Tommy," Christa was saying.  "There's more to dating than sex.  I know it's a wonderful thing, and you're very interested in it.  Lisa may even be too.  But there's more to dating than that."

"Yeah, I know," said Tommy.  Brandon wasn't especially convinced.

"All right," said Christa, seeing this wasn't going to be won any time soon.  "We'll talk after school.  And congratulations, by the way."  Inspiration struck: the perfect way to get him out of here.  She turned to her friends.  "Did you know that was the first time he ever asked a girl out?"

Tommy blushed.  "Aww, Christa."

After he had left, Jane turned to Christa.  "I don't think he believed you."

"About what?"

"That there's more to life than sex," Jane said.

Brandon raised an eyebrow.  'More to life than sex'?

Christa sighed.  "No, neither do I.  That's why I told him we'd talk after school.  There's sex, and then there's...  Well, fucking, I guess.  Is the best way to put it.  And then there's making love too, but we really don't need to complicate it that much.  I know we're a lot more permissive than twenty years ago, but the bottom line is the same—if you love somebody, it's okay to have sex with them.  The only thing that's really changed is how we define whether we love somebody."

"Yeah," Jane said.  "Redefined it like crazy."

"You think people can recover from that?" Sajel asked.  "If you get into bed too early."

"Yeah, probably," Christa said.  She gestured to Zach.  "We did."

"We did," Zach agreed.

"Of course, it took you guys a little while to get started," Derek said.  "It was, like, what, a couple of months?  Before you guys started doing it on anything near a regular basis."

"Yeah, it only really started when you and Meredith were in The Program," Brandon agreed.

"Yeah, it..."  Christa had a strange, dreamy smile on her face, and her eyes saw something none of them else could.  "Hee."

"We survived it too," Arie said to Derek.

"Yeah, but not before we almost got shaken apart," Derek said.

"By Faith," Arie said.

"Too much of it or not enough of it," Zach quipped.

"Yeah, but, we had to do some learning too," Derek said.  "She was just the symptom.  The real problem was that we did jump into bed too early.  I mean, sure, we got along pretty well, but we didn't know each other too well.  And it wasn't until Faith almost drove us apart that we even realized we'd gotten things wrong."

"True," Arie said.  "But we're okay now, so, no arguments on my part."

"What about you, Brandon," Christa asked.  "When did you and Meredith first have sex?"

Brandon was silent for a moment.  He was pretty sure Meredith wouldn't like this fact being publicized about herself—in truth, he wasn't sure he wanted it known either.  But he had always felt that he could trust his friends with anything.  Besides, he thought, with a sudden burst of anger, who cares what she thinks.  If she wants to protect her secrets, let her come here and protect them.  Instead of disappearing and being all—

"Actually, on our first official date," he said.

Derek chortled.  "That makes all six of us."

"What, the same day as me and Derek?" Arie exclaimed.  "When we got back you said you didn't!"

"Yeah, that wasn't our first official date," Brandon said.  "It was about a week later."

"What happened?" Christa asked.  "You've never discussed it before.  I mean, I know you guys were having sex, but..."

Brandon shrugged.  "Not much.  I made dinner, we watched a movie.  And afterwards...  Things happened."

"Glad to see how happily you got over me," Jane snarled.  Sex might be a more normal thing today, but as far as she was concerned, it would never be appropriate to dump one girl and take up with another within a few days.  Besides, how exactly did one man just stop loving someone and move on?  She had never quite gotten over that, and now it was time to needle him about it.

"Hardly," Brandon said.  "Meredith was something different."

" 'Was something different'?" Stasya asked.

Brandon looked at her silently and said nothing.

"How can you say Meredith was something different?" Jane railed.  "You broke up with me and you went straight to her!  And she's like my exact opposite—"

"Now, I wouldn't say that," Derek interrupted.

"Jane, you and Meredith are alike in a lot of ways," Christa said.

"How can you say that?" Jane asked.

Brandon opened his mouth—and then shut it again.  It was true that Jane and Meredith were very similar: both of them were gentle, rational girls who placed a lot of emphasis on schoolwork and who would do anything for their friends.  The only really important difference between them, as far as he was concerned, was the underlying mind-set that made Jane unwilling to have sex, where Meredith had opened up on the first date.

Jane was...  Isolated.  She refused to rely on anyone except herself.  That made it hard for her to accept Brandon, who had wanted—very much—to be a part of her life.  And where Jane pushed away, Meredith had opened her heart and let him in.  He had loved them both, but with Meredith, he felt that she too loved him, in exactly the same way he loved her.  It was something he had never felt about Jane.

And then there was the fact that sometimes he wasn't at all sure if he was over Jane.  Though she dressed to not-impress—he was pretty sure she'd let her looks go sour in a deliberate attempt to foil male attention—if she cleaned up a bit she'd rival Meredith in the way of looks.  And he'd sometimes felt, over the ten months they'd dated, that she was almost ready, just on the cusp, almost ready...  To admit she might have need of him.

If she one day did, there would be no difference between her and Meredith.  Nothing at all.

Everyone was looking at him.  He realized he was going to have to answer.  He opened his mouth—

"You know, almost every single first time in this group has been in your house, Brandon," Sajel observed.  "It's like the bordello from hell or something."

"It's sure big enough!" Zach interjected.

Brandon shut his mouth with a clomp.

Sajel looked around.  "Stasya didn't have it, Jeff didn't have it—"

"I haven't had anything," Jeff said.

"—and Jane hasn't had it," Sajel said, "but everyone who has was in your house.  Any ideas?"

"Privacy," Brandon said.  "There's never anyone there, and even if there is, it's easy to get far away from them.  You start feeling like there's no one in the whole world except you and whoever it is you're in bed with."

"That, and the fact that it's owned by a friend who would do anything for you," Zach said.

"There's truth to that," Arie said.  "He'd jump off a bridge if we asked him to."

"So don't ask me to jump off a bridge, 'kay," Brandon said with a sarcastic smile.
"Hey, Arie," said Jeff.  "It's your sister."

They looked at where Jeff indicated.  There, at the far end of his finger, was Trina: animated, carefree, happy.  Even as they watched, someone stepped in for a quick feel.

"She's never like this at home," Arie said.  "Never.  Unless something's really really gone well, and even then it doesn't last, she's bitchy again by morning.  ...Or she's decides to spike something and my parents will be beating down the door, demanding I hand over my voodoo dolls."

"You have voodoo dolls?" Zach asked.

"No, I don't," Arie said.  "And that's exactly it.  Why do they keep believing her when she says I do?"

"And what about her scars," Stasya asked.  "No one's reacting."

"How did they react to you, Arie," Christa asked.

"Not like that," Arie said.  "It was more like, Hey, naked girl—Hey, what's with her arms—Eew!  And then that was that."

"Of course, The Program's been going for a year, you'd think they'd be over the 'Hey, naked girl' stuff," Sajel said.  "But nooooo..."

"Where are Trina's scars," Christa asked.

"I...  Actually, I don't know," Arie said.  "She wears short-sleeved T-shirts, so I bet there aren't any on her forearms, they're probably on her thighs...  But I've seen her cut on her forearms, so maybe that was...  But it doesn't matter," she said, seeing where Christa was headed.  "Unless they're, like, right on the underside of her arms and legs, there's no way to keep them from being visible.  And cutting there is inconvenient.  Not to mention uncomfortable.  Chafes something fierce every time you move."

"So...  It shouldn't be possible for her to be acting like this," said Christa.

"No, it shouldn't," said Arie.

"And despite that, she seems really happy," Christa said.

"Either that, or that guy's good with breasts," Zach said.

"Is it Russell Hebbert?" Stasya asked.

"Why hasn't anyone noticed her scars yet??" Arie said.  "By this time in my week, people were fending me off with garlic and crucifixes.  But she's all just—"

"Crucifices," Brandon said.

Arie looked over at him.  "What?"

"Plural of crucifix.  Matrix: matrices.  Crucifix: crucifices."

Arie stared at him.  "What is with you and vocabulary?"

"Most people just say 'crucifixes,' Brandon," Christa said.  "Maybe it is the wrong spelling, but pretty clearly everyone uses it anyway."

"Nerd," Sajel gloated.  "Minus fifteen respect points Brandon."

"I think he ought to lose more," Stasya said.  "It's really inappropriate for him to just whip out his nerddom in public like that."

"Oh, eew," Jane said.

"There she goes," Jeff said.  He was watching Trina.  "That person's done, off she goes...  Oops.  She's been stopped again."

"Again??" Arie said.  She stood up.

Derek looked up at her with alarm.  "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to go find out what's going on," Arie said.

"Are you sure that's a—" Christa began.

"Don't bother," Derek murmured.  "There's no reasoning with her when she gets like this."

"I'm going," Arie announced.

"Be careful," Brandon said.  "You could piss Trina off something fierce."

"Probably will," Arie said with a humorless laugh, and went off.

Trina was just getting free of her most recent assailant when Arie approached.  "Rule Three," she said loudly.  "I have a reasonable request."

Trina gave her a sidelong glance.  She shared her sister's green eyes and long shining hair, but where Arie was well-fleshed, edging into overweight according to modern society's matchstick standards, Trina was slender, long-limbed, like a ballerina on a music box.  The smile on her face took on a sudden vicious edge.

"What," she said loudly, "a reasonable request?  From my very own sister?  Will wonders never cease!"

Arie stifled annoyance.  Dealing with Trina was always like this; she seemed to enjoy tearing down Arie's reputation as much as possible.  But she'd known it'd be a conflict going in.

"Yes, a request, but not for touching," Arie said.  "I have a question."

"Well, then," said Trina, the graciousness of her reply marred only by the edge of sarcasm in her voice, "ask away, o sister mine!"

"What'd you do with your scars?" Arie asked.

The smile fell from Trina's face, replaced with a narrow scowl.  "Fuck off."

"Hey, it's a reasonable request," Arie said.  "I asked you a reasonable question and you're obligated to answer it.  I want to know.  Whatever you've done that keeps people from noticing or commenting on your scars, I totally want to know it.  I could've used it a year ago, and I'm probably going to need it in future.  So tell me.  What'd you do?"

Trina's eyes hardened.  "Fuck.  Off."

"Look," Arie said, abandoning all pretense of friendship.  "I'm not going away until you tell me."

"Then you'll be standing here a very, very long time, won't you," Trina gritted.

"Look, why are you so opposed to telling me?" Arie asked.  "It's not like I'm going to reveal your secret or anything."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Trina said, a sweet, vicious smile on her face, and walked away.

"Trina—  Trina!" said Arie.  She grabbed at her sister's arm.

It felt moister than usual.  Arie looked at her hand: it had come away with paint on it.

...Makeup?

She grabbed again, this time higher up Trina's arm.  This time there was nothing.  Where are they?  Is it really that simple to hide them?  How stupid am I?  How smart is Trina?

"Don't touch me, bitch," Trina snarled.

"Reasonable request," Arie said glibly, and dove.

It was at this point that she confirmed a hypothesis she had long suspected: Trina Chang's scars were indeed on the inside of her thighs.  Not high enough that anyone touching her intimate parts should encounter them, but they were still there.

Trina's eyes were venomous.  "Arie, sister of mine," she said in a sweet, carrying voice, "why exactly are you touching me between my legs?"

The passing stream of students came to a complete and utter halt.

Arie withdrew her hand and attempted to regain her composure.  "Scientific research, of course."

Trina gave her a transparent smile.  "Mm-hmm."

"Thanks for the fun Rule Three," said Arie, and left.  She felt eyes on her all the way back to the Stetsen porch.  Twenty feet seemed like twenty miles.

"Wow, Arie," said Zach.  "Way to go down under!  You should become like an archaeologist or something!"

Sajel stared at him.  "You know, that was so bad I can't even begin to calculate how many points to dock him."

"Be nice," Brandon said.  "Let him go this once."

Sajel sighed.  "If I have to."

"So what was it?" Christa asked.

"You tell me," Arie said, holding out her hand.

Christa squinted.  "Makeup?"

"That's what I thought," Arie said.  "Must've taken her forever to find a base that matched her skin tone perfectly."

"She should get extra-credit points just for that," Stasya agreed.

"It's not going to last, though," said Christa.

"No, it might," Stasya said.  "They're on her arms and legs, right?  You rarely get touched there during The Program.  Most people just go straight for the erogenous zones."

"Typical," Jane burst out.

They glanced over at her.

"She does like being negative sometimes," Stasya said.

"I know," Arie said.  "Everything always goes wrong where she's involved.  I dunno, if everything goes wrong around her, then, maybe it's, like, her fault."

"Hey, you guys, you know I can hear you," Jane said.

"Yeah, there she goes again," Arie said, rolling her eyes.  " 'Omigod I can hear people talking, I—' "

"That's not what I said!" Jane shouted.

"Arie, stop," Christa said, sensing an explosion on the make.  "You're not helping.  This isn't a good time to be teasing—"

Stasya was jolted from the proceedings by a light tap on her shoulder.  She looked over her shoulder and almost toppled over—it was Meredith, looking shaken and worn.  Meredith held a finger to her lips and beckoned with her other hand; Stasya nodded, and the two began to make a quiet exit.

"Hey, Brandon," Jeff said.

Meredith froze as nine pairs of eyes fixed on her.  Her knees almost gave out: here were her friends, the people she loved most...  And needed most, right now.  And there was Brandon, the person she needed the most of all...  And, ironically, the one person she couldn't trust.  Not with this.

His brown eyes in his lean face drew her in.  His bronze hair curled slightly, combed over to accentuate a natural part.  She hadn't seen him in months, hadn't touched him in months.  She needed a hug.  Who else should she turn to?  Who else could she turn to?  Him.  Not him.  No, I need you, go away.  Help me.  I'm so scared.

Brandon stared, transfixed.  Though they shared classes with each other, he had the strangest feeling he was seeing her again for the first time.  He drank in her features as if he might never see her again: Hair the color of gold, high cheekbones dusted with the faintest of freckles, button nose and snub chin.  And above all her eyes: the blue-gray of the sky, huge now with fear and grief.  He felt the world wobble under him and realized he had stood up.

"Brandon, go," Derek said.

"Unless you want to lose this chance," Sajel said.

"But what if she—" Brandon protested.

"Jump off the fucking bridge, idiot," Arie snapped.

Brandon passed a hand over his face.  He stood up.

"I'm not here to talk to you," Meredith said, her voice heavy with unshed tears.  "I just wanted to talk to Stasya."

Stasya weighed the alternatives in her head and came to a decision in half a second.  If she sided with Brandon, Meredith might turn away from her.  But she might be able to reconcile the gap between them.  Stasya had been the center of her own circle of friends once, but now she had fallen willingly into Brandon's orbit, and the dimness caused by Meredith's disappearance was affecting them all.  This was too good a chance to discard.  "Well," she said, folding her arms, "I'm not going anywhere unless you at least say hello to Brandon."

Meredith looked down for a moment.  She didn't want to deal with him.

"Hi," she said, "let's go, Stasya."

Stasya remembered Christa's tactic earlier in the morning.  "Whatever you tell me, I'll probably tell him," she said.  "You might as well just tell us both right now."

A flicker of annoyance crossed over Meredith's face, but quickly drowned there; the dominant air of her face was tiredness, a bone-deep weariness that made Brandon's heart lurch in his throat.  She was so beautiful.

"I'm not going to tell him this," she said.  "He won't care."

"I might," he said.

"Not fucking likely," she said, and even though the words had no bite, they recoiled.  Meredith swore once in a blue moon.  Something must really, really be wrong.

"Try me," he said.

"No," she said.

"What about us?" Zach called over.  "We might be willing to listen."

"You would," Meredith said, her voice dull, "but you wouldn't care."

"What is with people and bad moods today!" Christa exclaimed.

"Sometimes life sucks, okay?" Meredith said.  "Sometimes it—  Forget it.  I don't care.  You guys don't care.  I'm going."

"No," Stasya said, "I want to know at the very least."

"You're on their side," Meredith said, her voice breaking.  I'm not crying.  I'm not crying.  "I'm not interested in dealing with you."

"Meredith, you could at least give us a chance," Derek said.  "Pre-judging us just because you were away for the summer is not exactly a—"

"I came to tell you my brother is dead!" Meredith cried.

There was silence.

It had only been five months since Michael Levine, Meredith's older brother, had returned from a rehabilitation program in the Midwest.  Cocaine addiction had sent him there.  Until his return, only Stasya had even known he existed.  Less than a week later, he'd been found returning to the habit; since the rehab in Utah hadn't worked, Meredith's parents had opted to send him somewhere closer to home.  Meredith had been gone all summer, so no one had a chance to find out how he was doing—if they cared at all; none of them had trusted him.  Brandon, particularly, felt he was incredibly dangerous.  None of them had been particularly sorry to see him go.

Meredith had.  She had uncovered his coke stash not because she particularly cared about him, but because she hated having him around.  He had disturbed the equilibrium of her life, so she had forced him out again.  It was a hateful act and it had frustrated her that Brandon had never understood her guilt.

And now Michael was dead.

"What happened?" Zach asked.  "Did one of the other patients get to him or something?"

"No," said Meredith.  Now there was no way to prevent the tears.  "They found him in his room this morning.  He'd taken the bedsheets, and..."

Stasya's arms circled around her.  Brandon looked on and felt helpless.

"There," Meredith said.  Tears still streaked her face, but she pushed her best friend away.  "There.  I've told you what happened, and you don't care.  An innocent man has died, and you don't care.  And I'm going now, and I don't care either."

Brandon froze, panic seizing him.  He was famous throughout the school for something that had happened when he was a freshman: a suicide attempt, widely publicized, especially since he had missed school that day and had to be discovered by a family friend, sprawled on the floor next to an empty bottle of Valium.  Meredith was much less famous for hers, because it had happened over Christmas Break—in fact, to his knowledge, no one in the entire school knew about it except himself and Dr. Zelvetti.  But she had tried it once—what if she tried it again?

"Meredith," he said.  "Meredith."

She turned and ran.

"Meredith!" he said, chasing her.  She dodged bystanders as if they were incorporeal, or as if she had somehow bent them out of the way; he, far clumsier, nearly knocked one of them over.  How was she doing this if she was still crying?  "Meredith, will you—  Gaa!"

She didn't stop even when she heard him yell; it was only the hissing gasp and the torrent of curses ("Ahh!  fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck") that brought her around.  When she looked, Brandon was struggling to his feet, grabbing at his ankle.  "—fuck fuck fuck—"  He limped in a circle.

"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked.

"Twisted my—  Agh."  Brandon collapsed to the sidewalk again.  "Okay, maybe broke my — instead.  Great, that's just what I needed.  Brandon Hot-Spot Broken-Ankle Chambers.  Fuck.  Fuck!"  He looked up at Meredith.  "I hope you're happy!"

Meredith stood there, stricken.  Why is he always so hateful?  Why does he hate me?  She'd never known he had so much anger in him.  It was scary.

The bystander, clearly seeing something she shouldn't get involved in, looked to Meredith.  "Well?  Aren't you going to help your friend?"

Meredith stared.

Then she came over and slung Brandon's arm over her shoulder.  "Come on," she said.  "Let's get you to the nurse's office."

Brandon looked at her silently for a moment.

It took them a couple of tries to figure out how to walk with three legs, and then it was excruciating for both of them—it was the closest they had been to each other in months.  And then Brandon had to miss most of sixth period while his ankle was trussed up and he learned to operate his new crutches.

Meredith stayed too.

When school ended, Jane was very, very glad to put her clothes back on.  She'd managed to avoid being touched, except for fourth period and the beginning of school; for once in her life, she was glad nobody ever seemed to find her physically attractive.  Sometimes it was an annoyance, being unable to attract attention, but right now it was all she wanted.

She was also glad her mother was late with the car that day and didn't see her dressing.

Of course, before school's end there were other things to worry about.

At the urging of several of her friends, she had joined the after-school choir; she had always liked singing, and it was a fun place to be, even if Arie wasn't quite the kind of person she would hang out with of her own choice.  Arie was a little too...  Unpredictable for Jane's tastes.  She broke rules often and didn't seem to care, though they were never important ones—minor things, like, Don't talk during such-and-such a time, or Don't check the answers in the back of the book, or things like that.  But Jane had been placed—Sorted, Mr. Gunderson joked, referring to the Harry Potter books—in the alto section, which was roughly the equivalent of the Hufflepuff house, in that altos had the boring but necessary job of holding the song together.  It was also the best place for women to start because altos tended to have simple melody lines.  Now they were knee-deep in music, some of which was boring and others of which were really nice.

Jane had figured it would be a fun, enjoyable experience—which it was.  But she hadn't counted on the bizarre separation between Brandon and Meredith.  But then, no one had.

The point was, during choir, she at least had the camouflage of Arie or Brandon to hide behind, because despite their renown, there still weren't a lot of people who would talk to them voluntarily.  Jane didn't mind; she had experienced much the same over the course of her life.

And it was fun to sing.

When her mother came to pick her up, it was late, and Jane was already beginning to regret having joined choir—there'd barely be time for homework at this rate.  Jane had maintained a solid 3.86 GPA over the course of her high school career—4.43, counting Advanced Placement classes, which were sometimes bumped up a number, depending on who you asked—and had no intention of slacking off, especially since they'd all be sending off college applications soon.  But high GPAs took work, and work took time, and now she wasn't sure she had enough of it.  It was true that, as a Program participant, she was exempt from homework that week, but if she allowed herself to slack off even one week, she knew she'd fall hopelessly behind.  So, it was homework for her tonight, and probably nothing else.

Besides, schoolbooks were something she knew she could conquer.  Which was more than she could say for some of the other challenges this week.

"Hi, Jane," said her mother as she settled into the car.  Megan Myers had given her daughters her body shape—wide hips and slumped shoulders—and Jane had inherited a lot of her face as well.  "How was school?"  She just hoped Jane wasn't going to show up with her arthritis as well.

"Oh, it was pretty good, Mom," Jane said.  "Nothing really happened."  Which was the truth, even considering the fact that she'd been naked.  True, she'd been shivering and cold all day, but nothing had really happened.  Especially considering some of the crazy stuff that sometimes happened to other participants.  "How's Lisa?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Myers.  "I haven't seen her, actually.  She called home and said not to come and pick her up until now.  I think she's still on-campus somewhere."

Jane frowned.  Lisa wasn't involved in any extra-curricular activities, so there was no reason she should still be here.  "Did she say why?"

"No, she just asked to be left on-campus.  She said it was for a good reason."

Thoughts and ideas condensed into understanding in Jane's mind.  She opened the car door.  "Excuse me."

Behind the baseball diamond was where all the couples went to be alone.  It was remote, about as far away from the rest of the school as was possible to get, and people were shielded from prying eyes by the wooden wall behind the batting cage.  Jane had never been there before: Brandon had never suggested it, she would never have agreed if he had, and there had never been anyone else.  There was a 'don't-look don't-tell' policy behind the baseball diamond, by mutual agreement, but people would have known if she was there, and no one would have respected her again.  So, she had never been.

Until now.

"Are you two done yet?" she said.  Tommy and Lisa jumped and spun to face her.  They had been so far under that they didn't even hear her coming.

"Oh!  Jane!" said Lisa.  "Hi!"  She tugged at her shirt and tried to pretend that someone hadn't been attached to her face three seconds ago.  "Choir's done, I guess?"

"Hi, Jane," said Tommy.  "How are you doing?"

"Mom's here," Jane said to Lisa.  "We've gotta go."

"Okay," said Lisa.  She turned back to Tommy and touched his face.  "Bye.  See you tomorrow."

Tommy took her hand and kissed it.  Jane turned away.

"So what was all that about," Jane asked as they started the long trek back to the car.

"Nothing," Lisa said.  She was almost as tall as Jane, but more slender, and took better care of herself; her bronze hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her clothes fit better, and her complexion was clearer.  "We were kissing."

"Oh, was that all," Jane said acidly.

"Yeah," said Lisa, unconcerned.  "That's all."

"Lisa, he just asked you out this morning!" Jane exclaimed.  "You haven't even gone on a date yet!"

"...So?" said Lisa.

"So, it was months before I kissed Brandon!" Jane said.

Lisa stared at her.  "God, no wonder you broke up with him.  What a wimp."

Jane frowned.  "No, I mean, I didn't let him kiss me."

Lisa rolled her eyes.  "God, no wonder he broke up with you."

"I don't think that's accurate," Jane said uncomfortably.

"I do," Lisa said.  "I don't know where you got all these Puritanical values from, Jane, but it's a different world now.  You can kiss on the first date.  You can fuck on the first date too, if you want, but that's rarer.  The point is, it's not the 1800s.  You can kiss someone without being betrothed to them."

"I know that," Jane said, feeling uncomfortable.

"You sure don't live it," Lisa said.

"So I don't want to be one of those loose women who sleeps with everyone," Jane retorted.  "Is that a crime?"

"No, it's not," Lisa said.  "But there's such thing as loosening up, and it's something you might want to do nowadays."

"So this is what my younger sister says," Jane said.

"Yeah," Lisa said, turning calm eyes to her.  "It is.  Jane, you can keep living in that little corner of your own head if you want, but you'll never get anywhere if you do."

"That's not true," Jane said.  "I'll get somewhere.  I'm going to college."

"Fine, then," Lisa snorted.  "Misinterpret however you want.  But I know how many people will cry at your funeral."

"What, am I going to die soon," Jane retorted.  "Are you planning to kill me or something to keep Tommy from having to deal with your dorky older sister?"

"It's something I heard Brandon tell you once," Lisa said.  "He said life is a giant room.  You put your possessions there and you put your friends there.  When you die, the things disappear, and the friends are the ones who cry at your funeral."

"Okay, so?"

"So, I'm just saying.  I know how many people are going to cry at your funeral."

Jane looked at her younger sister.  The implication was ridiculous.  She had plenty of friends and family members.  They'd all be there, and they'd all be sad.  Of course they would.  Who wouldn't be when someone died?  They'd all come, and then they'd all go, and she'd look down from heaven and feel happy that they'd showed up.  Right?

She looked up at the October sun, sinking into the west, but it held no answers.  God.  This is why I didn't want to go into The Program in the first place.

She was scared that Lisa would tell their mother that Jane had been thrown into The Program again, but she kept quiet.  Jane herself said nothing.  She had determined that she was going to brazen this out, regardless of what it cost her.  If it sent her to the hospital again, well, fine, but let her finish her week first.  Let her be done with this infernal Program once and for all.

She glanced out at the trees whizzing by and suddenly didn't recognize the route.  "Mom, where are we going?"

"To Katrina Stanton's, remember," said Mom.  "Your appointment's at 5:30."

Jane remembered.  It had taken them almost two months to find a therapist Jane felt comfortable talking to.  Katrina Stanton didn't have a Ph.D., only a Master's and a counselor's license, which was why she wasn't Dr. Stanton, but she had a warm, nurturing presence.  Her husband Ned served the school district in much the same capacity; sometimes he sat in on their sessions, letting his quick humor leaven the occasional tension and draw out the client.  Jane liked them because she never felt judged—which was difficult to achieve; Jane often felt the lurking presence of others over her shoulder, watching every move and decision she made, even when there was no one there.

Mom had brought a book; Lisa dug out her homework; they made themselves at home in the waiting room outside.  Jane went in.  She stretched out on the sofa, staring towards the ceiling.  She felt strangely stupid every time she did that—who did she think was interviewing her, Sigmund Freud?  But it was nice to stretch out, to relax a bit, to look up at the blank, uncharted ceiling and see no eyes, feel no gaze.  It was as if she could somehow be alone.

At first it was just the usual formalities.  How are you?  Okay.  How is your family?  Good.  Same time next week?  Yeah.

But, of course, there was a lot to talk about.

"They put me back in The Program," Jane said.

Katrina steepled her fingers in front of her face.  "Were you expecting it?"

"I dunno, kind of," Jane said.  "I mean, I knew it was coming, because I got hospitalized for my first week, which is why I'm here."  One of the things the hospital had advised was for Jane to find counseling, and she had agreed; she hadn't had to be forced into it.  No she hadn't.  "And if you mess it up, you have to do it again until you get it right.  So, I knew it was going to happen...  But I didn't think it'd...  Actually happen.  You know?"

It sounded stupid to her ears, but Katrina nodded as if it made perfect sense.  Maybe it did.  "Are you enjoying it," she asked.

"No," said Jane.  "No.  No, not really."

"Why not?  As I understand it, most people enter The Program because they would enjoy it.  Or because they stand to gain something from the exposure."

"Yes, well," said Jane.  "That was me, I guess.  The second one.  I figured..."  She trailed off.

Katrina waited calmly.

"See, I told you about the birthday party, right?" Jane said.  "Meredith's birthday party.  Everybody else went naked, and I felt...  I dunno.  I always turn down sexual stuff, because, you know...  It's wrong.  It's dangerous."

"Why do you say that?" Katrina asked.

Jane looked over.  "Well, isn't it?  I mean, besides the risk of pregnancy, which isn't much, I know, but it's still there.  Sure, we've got good birth control, but the economy isn't all that great.  It's a good thing there's less pregnant teens, because now's the worst time to be one."

"True," Katrina said.

"And...  Besides," said Jane.  "The whole thing's just...  Icky."

"How so?"

"I..."  Jane sighed.  "I'm not sure I want anyone to touch me there, you know?  In those places.  That's...  Those are my private parts.  I mean, they're called that for a reason.  I don't just want anyone to touch me there.  What if they use it against me?"

"It has to be someone you trust."

"Yeah, exactly," said Jane.  "I mean...  Someone I can...  Someone I know will never hurt me, someone I can trust to the ends of the earth.  And who's that gonna be?  My husband, I guess, and probably no one else."

"No," said Katrina.  "It won't be your husband."

Jane looked over at her.

"One in two marriages ends in divorce," Katrina said.  "It's a little bit lower in this community, and probably among your friends as well—you choose them carefully, after all.  But don't be fooled by that.  And everyone hurts each other eventually.  Sometimes not on purpose—sometimes not even meaning to.  But eventually."

Jane knew that she was speaking from experience: Katrina Fallstead had been abused by an acquaintence until one of her close friends, a Ned Stanton by name, had found out and put an end to it.  A sudden thought flashed across Jane's mind—when they were intimate, what was it like?  Jane was smart enough to know that her husband must be associated in Katrina's mind with those terrible times.  Doing... things... with him must be like walking into the mouth of a lion sometimes.

Katrina Stanton drew a deep breath.  "The point is, there's nothing safe about sex.  Physically, yes, the risk of pregnancy can be reduced to an enormous unlikelihood.  But, emotionally...  Even with someone you trust perfectly, there will still be nervousness.  There will still be worries.  If you're looking for something or someone perfectly safe, you'll ending up looking a long time."

Jane squirmed, uncomfortable.  "Yeah, but...  Well.  I don't know.  Brandon wanted to—well, I mean, of course he did, he was my boyfriend.  But I knew I could never let him, because...  If I did it once, I knew he'd make me let him do it again.  And again.  And again.  And again.  And pretty soon..."

"You give an inch, he takes a foot," said Katrina.

"Yeah, exactly," said Jane.  "I mean, best to avoid that, right?  Until you're with someone whom you can do the same thing to, without feeling guilty.  —Oh God.  I sound like an awful person."

"No, you don't," said Katrina.  "When you marry someone, there's a sense in which you're giving them permission to, yes, have their way with you.  And they give the same permission to you.  Or...  At least there was when I got married."  Jane heard her grin.  "It's been a little while since then."

"Okay, so...  It's something to put off," Jane said.  "But besides that..."

This was the thing she feared most.

"If I let him do it...  It's giving something to him I can never get back.  And I don't just mean, you know, the option of him touching me down there.  It's that...  I enter a world I can't ever leave again."

"Fear of the unknown," said Katrina quietly.

"Yeah, I guess," said Jane.  It was a measure of how much she trusted Katrina Stanton—she would never have admitted being afraid to anyone.  Not even Brandon.  "I mean, right now, everything's good.  Everything's under control.  I have good grades, I have friends, I have...  I mean, you know?  Introduce..."  She swallowed.  "Introduce sex into the mixture, and...  It all spirals out of control."

"Being in control is important to you," Katrina said.

"Yeah," said Jane.  "Yeah."

"You don't want the added factor of another person," Katrina said.

"No, it's not even just that, it's...  Well, you hear about people having these 'urges,' you know?  I don't want those either.  I'm just fine the way I am.  My life is exactly what I want it to be.  I'm just fine the way I am."

Katrina was quiet for a moment, not voicing the thoughts she was having about the term 'repression.'  Instead, she asked, "Then why did you enter The Program?

Jane was silent.

"Jane, you've told me about your friends who went through it.  I don't remember their names off the top of my head, but each one you described...  It sounded like they all came out of The Program better than when they went in."

Jane was silent.

"We psychologists talk about these sorts of things," said Katrina.  "And my family especially, what with Ned involved with the district and Emma entering high school.  If there's one thing that everyone agrees on, it's that The Program is a wonderful tool for growth.  People who go through it inevitably learn more about themselves.  Not all of them necessarily learn to improve, but just knowing is sometimes a huge step.  We humans can be very unaware of ourselves sometimes, Jane."

"Yeah," said Jane, an uncomfortable feeling in her gut.  "Yeah, we can."

"So, I have to ask you..." said Katrina.  "You're in The Program.  You weren't put in by your parents—you decided to join it.  You, Jane Katherine Myers.  You've seen your friends go through it, and you knew what it involved."

"Yeah," said Jane.  "I did.  I guess...  God, I dunno.  It was Meredith's birthday party."

"The one where everyone went naked," said Katrina.  They had discussed this day often.  "Including you."

"Yeah, they...  They all did."

"And...  That had an impact on you?"

"I...  I suppose it did," said Jane.  "Because...  Here were all these people whose judgment I trusted.  I mean, they're all good people.  Meredith and Christa are really smart, and...  Derek gets good grades, and..."

"All these people who you admire and respect."

"Yeah, exactly, yeah," said Jane, looking over.  Katrina Stanton's face was calm and attentive.

"And here they are, treating this as if it's...  You know, as if it's nothing.  As if it's normal."

"And you thought..."

" 'Maybe I should give it a try.  Maybe.  Maybe I've been making a mistake by being so dead set against it.  Maybe...  This is something I should explore.' "

"And how long did that last?"

Jane looked at the ceiling.  "Until the first person touched me."

"And what happened then?"

No.  The response was immediate.  I won't tell.  I won't shame myself any further.  "I don't know," she lied.

"Jane..."  Katrina steepled her fingers over her face.  "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"I don't want to tell you," Jane said.

"Because it would embarrass you," said Katrina.  "Or you don't like admitting it."

"Yes," Jane said.  Bad enough admitting that she'd actually had an interest in exploring this forbidden avenue.  But to admit that she'd enjoyed being touched...  It was just too much to contemplate.

"Well, if it's something you're not proud of, it might explain why you had so much trouble during The Program," said Katrina.  "But even without knowing what it is you're hiding from me, Jane, I can already tell you that you'll eventually have to face it."

Jane said nothing.

"And not just eventually...  Soon."

"Because I'm back in The Program."

"Yes, Jane.  You are."

Jane said nothing.  Felt nothing.  Thought nothing.  And the rest of the session passed in silence.

That night she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, much as she had at the counselor's office.  And she dreamed Brandon, the only man she had ever known whom she might one day allow to touch her, or ask to touch her, in that way.  And she thought of them kissing, and embracing, and lying together in her bed, and being with each other as a man and a woman sometimes are; and it was too much, and she awoke gasping, wide-eyed, scared, feeling sweat on her brow and a burning ache all over her body.

Her parents woke up briefly in the other room.  "Another shower?  At this time of night?"

Jane squeezed her eyes closed and let the water fall over her, feeling in the semi-lit darkness a beam of revelation:

This is why I went insane last time.  This is what brought me to that bathroom, curled up and fragmented.  Desire...  And a hatred of it.  Both the longing and the resistance, beating against each other in her heart until she had simply fallen apart.

It needs to be one and not the other.  I have to choose one and stick with it.  Last time I chose resistance.  So this time...  It has to be...

No.  I won't.  I can't.

But the rain of cold water continued, and the thundering of her heart gave her no answers.