The boy—and that was what he was, really, a sophomore if not a freshman—jumped on her so quickly that Jane thought he might have been waiting for her.

She took advantage of the fact that she lived just down the street from Mount Hill High School—a ten-minute walk, no more—and came to school early, in hopes of avoiding attention while she undressed at the boxes.  ...Which, in retrospect, had been a dumb idea: who was going to pay attention to her in the first place?  And if this freshman boy was going to stake out the boxes and wait for her before the beginning of zero period, then how exactly would she have avoided him?

He was perched on the bench in front of the office before she even arrived, and though she wasn't sure he was looking at her, he was certainly looking in her direction.  And when someone cleared his throat as she stepped out of her pants, she wasn't surprised to see him standing there.

"Yes," Jane said.  And then, feeling more was needed: "Can I help you?"

"I do believe you can," said the boy.

"Oh," said Jane.

"Rule Three," said the boy.

Jane froze.  Not quite what I wanted to hear.  "What about it," she asked, striving for nonchalance, though she heard her voice break.

"I call it," said the boy.  "It says 'reasonable request,' right?  If I think of a reasonable thing to do to you, you have to let me do it, right?"  There was an almost painful earnestness about him and she sensed no hostility, but these were her private parts he was talking about.  She wondered if he'd be half as calm if the proposition were being issued to him.

"And, what did you have in mind?" she asked.

He blinked at her for a moment, and then said, "I heard about the thing yesterday.  With Russell Hebbert.  He said you were uncomfortable."

Jane frowned.  That had been an understatement.  Even now she could feel her flesh burn where he had touched her.  Even Brandon had never touched her breasts, except once or twice on accident.

"So...  I've only been with a couple of girls, but they tell me I'm pretty good," said the boy.  It did him credit that he was able to say this without sounding boastful.  "And I figured I ought to see what was going on."

"Oh, you did, did you," Jane said acidly.  "Just out of the goodness of your heart and everything."

"Okay, so I was dared," the boy admitted.  "Is that a crime?"

"Yes," Jane said.  Duh.

"How so?"

"You're..."  Jane fidgeted.  How come no one else seemed to find this stuff obvious?  "You're not supposed to go around touching people's—"  She groped for an appropriate synonym.  "—Private parts.  On a dare.  That's dirty."

"Touching people's private parts is dirty regardless," the boy said.

"Yeah, but you can make it less dirty," she retorted.

"So, what, shall I run for some soap and water?" he asked.

Jane frowned.  "That's not funny."

"Neither are you," he said.  "I call Rule Three.  You can't turn me down."

Jane fidgeted with her pants, which she still held in her hands.  He had the rules on his side, to be certain...  But she wasn't going to let herself be bullied.  "Yes I can.  It's called 'reasonable request.'  I don't think touching me on a dare counts as reasonable."

"Well, that makes you the only person to think that in about fifty years," the boy retorted.

"Excuse me!" Jane exclaimed.  "If it's not reasonable to me—"

"It is to me," the boy said.

"Be that as it may, you're not the one getting touched here," Jane said.

"Okay, fine," said the boy.  "We'll ask someone."

The sudden change in tactic took Jane by surprise.  "What?"

"We'll pick someone at random and ask them if they think it's reasonable," said the boy.  "Okay?"

Jane blinked.  "Err, sure, I—"

"Okay, good," said the boy.  He pointed.  "You."

Jane looked over.  It was Jeff Gainesborough, looking a little confused.  Jeff?  Has he been here this entire time?  Thinking back, she realized that he had: he had wandered over to witness the confrontation and had simply stood there ever since.  How did he do that?  It was like he'd just turned into a piece of the scenery or something.

"Hi," said Jeff.  He was razor-thin and lanky, and she got the same slightly-halting hesitation from him that she always did—as if he was just a little out of place talking to her.  Talking to anybody, really.  She empathized with that.  Feeling out of place was something she understood.

Had this upstart freshman done her a favor by randomly picking the person he had?

"You," said the boy.  "What's your name?"

"Jeff," said Jeff.  "What's yours?"

"Simon," said the boy.

"Quite a name," said Jeff.  "Makes me think of the kid from Lord of the Flies."

"Everybody says that," Simon said, his face cold.  Jane saw suddenly the resemblance—a slender, slightly furtive boy, a little bit of innocence hanging about his face and expression—and also just how much the reference annoyed him.

"So," Jeff said.  "What exactly did you need me for?" Jeff said.

"To judge," said Simon.  "I've got a Rule Three for her that my friends dared me to do.  She says that falls outside the bounds of reasonable.  What do you think?"

Jeff squinted at her.  She shifted and tried to pretend she wasn't feeling uncomfortable.

Jeff turned to Simon.  "What were you going to do to her?"

"What does that matter!" Simon exclaimed.  "I was just going to touch her tits, if you really have to know."

"On a dare," Jeff said.

"On a dare," said Simon.  "Did you hear what happened yesterday?"

"Yesterday?"

"To her," Simon said.  "With Russell Hebbert."

"Oh, that," said Jeff.  "Yeah, I heard."

"Well, I got dared to do better," said Simon.

"Can you," Jeff asked.

"I think so," said Simon.  "And, I mean, fuck, somebody's gotta get her to open up."

"Not someone the same age as my sister!" Jane said loudly.

"Why not?" Simon said crossly.  "This isn't the land of perfection, lady.  Not everything works out exactly the way you want it to."

"I know that," Jane said quickly.

"You're not gonna get anywhere if you don't let people touch you," Simon said.

"That's not true," Jane said, praying she wasn't lying.

"So...  You're doing this...  Solely out of the goodness of your heart," Jeff interrupted.  The sardonic pauses in his voice came over well.

Simon's face colored.

"That's very altruistic of you," said Jeff.  "And there's totally...  Nothing in it for you."

"Well, except getting to touch her boobs," said Simon, looking young.  "Kid my age, that's a pretty big step."

"True," said Jeff.  "All things considered...  It's educational in two ways.  Jane learns about herself, and Simon learns about girls.  I'm gonna have to call it reasonable."

Simon grinned.

"What!" Jane exclaimed.  "Just because there's more than one benefit?  Just because more than one person is learning something?"

"Jane, you have to admit, as far as a request goes, it's quite mild," Jeff said.  "He's not asking to touch your vagina, or to stimulate you orally or anything—he's just asking to touch your breasts.  Touch them.  There are a lot worse things to be asked to do."

"It's not what he's asking, it's the principle of the thing!" Jane exclaimed.  "I don't think it's right for him to touch me on any premise unless we're going out or something!"

"Too bad for you, then," said Simon.  "You are obligated to do it."

"Oh, so, now, my feelings don't mean anything," Jane snorted.  "So much for consent!  Why don't you just whip it out and do it to me!  What I want certainly doesn't matter!"

"Jane, you're taking it a bit too far," Jeff said.  "You do have a right to refuse requests if you feel they aren't reasonable.  And someone asking to have sex with you is definitely not reasonable."

"Well, if I can refuse, how come you're letting him do this?"

"Because this is reasonable."

"I don't think so!  I think it's—"

Jeff was saved from a truly sticky position by Simon.  "Okay, you know what?  Forget it.  You're not interested, I don't care anymore.  You two have fun arguing.  I'm going to find a different participant.  One who's sane."

Jane watched him go, feeling a welter of conflicting emotions: relief, anger, confusion.

Jeff glanced over at her.  "Well.  I suppose that turned out as you liked."

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

"Well, I mean...  He gave up, didn't he?  I bet that makes you happy."

Jane scowled.  "Oh, shut up."  Somewhere inside, she had hoped that he wouldn't judge her.  "I'm going to the library."

Jeff frowned after her for a long time.

He traveled alone to the porch on the north wing of the Stetsen building.  It was early, and most of his friends weren't there yet.  Stasya was there—this was normal; her mother worked early hours and would drop her and her stepsister off on the way—but, to his surprise, so was Meredith.  He'd never known her to come early.  But then he saw the dense way their heads clustered together, and remembered how cut-off Meredith must have felt from her friends.  Maybe it made sense.

"And so...  That's what happened," Meredith said.  "I didn't...  I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did.  It was an accident."

"How do you think Brandon's gonna take it," Stasya asked.

"I dunno," Meredith said, wiping her eyes.  "He...  I mean, he's normally so understanding, you know?  He's the kindest man I know.  But...  You've seen him lately, he's so angry.  Everything just..."

"Yeah, it's kind of like standing next to a fire or something," Stasya said.  " 'Hmm, something burns.  Oh, it's Brandon.' "

"So...  Maybe he'll be upset," Meredith said.

"Ohhh no," said Stasya.  "There's no maybe about it, hon.  He will be upset."

Meredith looked at her tearfully.

"Think about it.  If he'd cheated on you with...  I dunno, Sally Wither-Smoot or something.  You know, that one cheerleader chick?  How would you feel?"

Jeff's eyebrows sprang up.  Was that what was going on?

Meredith's face bent.  "You're right.  You're right.  He will be upset.  The question is whether he'll show it or not."

"The Brandon of old had infinite patience," Stasya said.  "The Brandon of today..."  She grimaced.  "But, of course, the Meredith of old would never have been unfaithful either.  Meredith, what on earth possessed you to do that?  And with Rick Downing too, of all people!  He's, like, the most self-absorbed ass on the planet!"  She giggled.  "Not that it isn't a very nice ass, but...  The rest of him.  Yuck.  My God."

"Well, it was just..."  Meredith wiped at her eyes again.  "It was me and Brandon, you know?  He's been drawing away from me ever since his parents came back last year.  Just...  Getting angrier and angrier.  And he never understood Michael, either—"

"Yeah, I have to say, Meredith," Stasya said.  "Neither did I.  You never liked him.  I don't see why you got all broken up over him when he got sent away again."

Meredith sighed; tears crinkled at the corners of her eyes.  "Yes, see, that's...  That's just it.  I never liked him."

"And that's...  Wrong?" Stasya asked."

"Yes," Meredith said.  "He deserved a second chance, didn't he?  Everyone does.  But we never gave him one.  I never gave him one.  I just assumed...  I just assumed he would go back to his old ways."

"Yeah, but, you were right," Stasya said.  "They found coke in his room."

"But...  but what if..."  Meredith sniffled.  "What if he wouldn't've done that if I'd been willing to trust him?  What if...  My suspicions, and Brandon's suspicions, and everything, made him feel like he had no other choice?  What if—"

"What if he would've done that even if you were nice to him," Jeff asked.

Meredith and Stasya both jumped at the sound of his voice.  "Oh my god," Meredith said, "how long have you been standing there?"

"And how do you do that," Stasya said.  "You just...  Blend in with the wallpaper or something."

"Well, I would've gone somewhere else if I'd know you were having an Important Conversation," he said.  "I won't tell anyone what I've heard."

"You better not," Stasya said.

"Why do you think it's your fault," Jeff asked Meredith.  "Why do you think you're the one who drove him to the edge?"

Meredith blinked at him.  "Well...  Didn't I?  I'm the one who got him sent away.  I'm the one who, in the end, had the power.  I shouldn't've done what I did.  I should have given him a second chance.  And now..."  She swallowed.  "He's dead."

"Sweetie..." said Stasya.  "What he chose to do with his life is his business.  Not yours.  You're responsible only for yourself."

"Yeah," Meredith said.  "And I...  Wasn't very nice to him, was I.  What he did was what he did, but I still did bad things.  ...Horrible things.  And I'm not sure if I can deal with that."

Stasya had no answer.  Neither did Jeff.  He could see both sides of the argument, unfortunately, which wasn't helping matters.

"So, there was that," Meredith said.  "And then there was that whole thing with Jane, with her...  Going over the deep end.  And then I went off to summer camp and we just hadn't been able to work anything out.  So here I am, at summer camp, doing all this music stuff...  And I was miserable."

Stasya made a surprised noise.  "Wow.  You love summer camp.  I mean, you love music."

"Yeah," Meredith said, with a humorless laugh.  "See how unhappy I was?"

"I see," Stasya agreed.

"And the reason I was so unhappy was because the whole thing was just lurking over my head the whole time," Meredith said.  "And...  You know me, I can't deal with that.  I hate stress, I hate conflict..."

Stasya nodded.

"So, I just needed to...  Get away," Meredith said.

"And there was Rick Downing," said Stasya.

"Yeah," said Meredith.

"What does he play, anyway," Stasya asked.

"Baseball," Jeff said.

"That's not an instrument," Stasya said.

"Saxophone," Meredith said.  "Jazz saxophone."

"Ahh," said Jeff.  "The instrument of sex."

Stasya's grin took on a wicked glint.  "Anything else he's, ah...  Talented?  At playing?"

"No," Meredith said shortly.  "He wasn't very good."

"In bed?" Stasya asked.

"In general," Meredith said.  "He came onto me immediately and it was kind of obvious what he was thinking.  He's all, you know, 'Come on, babe, what goes on at summer camp stays at summer camp, who cares about your boyfriend, he'll never know.' "

"Clearly not the most trustworthy of persons," Jeff said dryly.

"No, not very," said Meredith.  "But, I just needed...  To get away.  I mean, you know, he found me attractive, and, I, just...  I just couldn't handle it.  The Brandon thing, I mean."

"So you escaped," Stasya said.

Jeff frowned.  "You must've been really desperate if you had to escape to Rick Downing."  Very little was known about him, except what people could see with their eyes and ears.  That in itself was a bit disconcerting.  Either he did absolutely nothing of note—not very likely, considering that his first-string status on the baseball team elevated his every breath into notability—or he kept an extremely good lid on his own actions.  Neither option was especially reassuring.

"Well, I...  I was," Meredith said.  She sighed.  "And now I guess it's going to cost me."

Jeff frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"She has to tell Brandon," Stasya said.

"She does?" Jeff said.  "Wouldn't it be simplest to keep this a secret?"

"What, forever?" Meredith asked.

"Do you plan to be with him forever?" Jeff asked.

"That doesn't matter," said Meredith.  "No matter what, it'll eventually get back to him.  You or Stasya will tell him one day.  So I might as well just get it over with now."  She sighed.  "The question is whether he'll still want to have anything to do with me after that."

Jeff looked at her face, which held nothing but sorrow.  "Not if you play it like that," he said.  "There isn't a man alive who could look at you right now and not feel sorry for you."

Her eyes flashed.  "I can't do that.  Not to Brandon.  That would be dishonest."

"You won't need to," Stasya said.  "Look at yourself, Meri.  This is just you telling it to me.  —Well, to me and Jeff.  And you're already broken up.  You aren't going to have to fake anything, hon.  He'll melt."

"Yeah," Meredith said humorlessly.  "But he might also melt down."

"Well," said Stasya.  "That's what your friends are going to be on hand for."

Meredith sighed.  "I hope that's enough."

T.2

It wasn't until lunchtime that anyone approached Jane again, but when it happened, it was bad.  It was Russell Hebbert, again: he of the reddish hair and knowing eyes.  He passed her in the hall, flanked by a couple of his friends.  He was tall and lanky, his frame speaking of whipcrack energy, and he carried with himself an air of utter confidence, as if he found little in the world that could threaten him.  Jane, who discovered new threats on a daily basis, found his attitude quite threatening.

It was lunch time, and Jane was headed for the bag lunch in her locker when Russell Hebbert caught her and swung her around with his words.  "Oh—  Excuse me.  Excuse me."  His greenish eyes glittered with humor.  "Thank you, if you'll just stand right there—"

"What...  What are you doing," Jane asked.

"Rule Three, of course," said Russell.  His hands reaching for her breasts seemed huge and evil.  "Be calm, this won't hurt you—"

"What makes you think I find this reasonable," Jane challenged.

Russell's hands dropped to his sides.  "Do you intend to do this every time someone Rule Threes you?  You're going to get in trouble, you know."

"You haven't established reasonableness," Jane maintained.  Was that even a word?  Was it 'reasonability' instead?  "I have no idea what you plan to do and I certainly haven't decided if it's reasonable.  I'm not just going to stand here and let you paw me to your heart's content."

Russell heaved a melodramatic sigh.  "Well, all right, since you intend to make a fight of it.  Miss Jane Elizabeth Myers, Countess of Duncklehaven—"  At least, that was what she thought he said.  She couldn't quite tell.  What on earth was a dunklehavan?  "—it is my intention to touch your breasts—or, to use the scientific term, your bodacious tatas—for the purpose of your physical pleasure, as breasts are known to be a secondary sexual characteristic and thus sensitive to sexual stimulation.  I might find it entertaining too," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"And what makes you think that's reasonable," Jane said.

Russell Hebbert gaped at her.  "What could be less reasonable!"

"I don't trust you," Jane retorted.  "You just come here offering to, what, 'show me a good time?' "  She loaded the phrase with as much scorn as she could muster.  "Nobody offers that.  There's a catch.  There's gotta be a catch."

"Wow, Jane, I'm overwhelmed by your faith in humanity."

"So," Jane said, plowing through his sarcasm.  "You can see why I'm just a bit suspicious of your motives."

Russell sighed and spread his hands wide.  "I come to you as I am.  No hidden motives.  No deceit."

"Right," Jane snorted.  "And what exactly is your motive, then?"

"Your pleasure, of course!" Russell said.  "I tried yesterday and failed, Ms. Jane Seymour Hoffman, but—"  Where'd he get that name, she wondered.  "—but I thought you were pretty tense the whole time.  It doesn't work if you don't relax."

"How could I, with somebody pawing at me!" Jane exclaimed.

Russell shook his head.  "You just will be obstinate, won't you.  All right, Jane of the Jungle, here's my reasonable request."

"What?" she said suspiciously.

"That you relax."

Panic shot through her.

"It's a perfectly reasonable request: people ask other people to do it all the time.  Now I'm asking you.  No, relax, not stiffen up.  You've got no grounds for denial.  There is absolutely nothing unreasonable about asking you to relax."

Why else did he think she was stiffening up!

"Now," said Russell, putting his hands on her shoulders.  They were big and rough, and she could tell she would have trouble moving out from underneath them—and yet she did not feel threatened.  Intruded on, perhaps, but not threatened.  "Take a deep breath.  Better yet, take a couple of them.  Oh, and, remember to breathe out in between them."

His flippancy irked her.  "I find it extremely unreasonable to be forced to stand here and calm myself so that you can have your way with me."

He tossed his hands.  "You just—  You just can't do it, can you."

"Do what?"

"Relax.  It's totally out of your nature, isn't it!  Everything's dangerous to you, everything's a threat—  You just find it impossible to calm down!"

"Excuse me!  I do not!  I can calm myself down any time I want!"

His eyes drilled her.  "Prove it."

He started carefully, as though she was some delicate thing that might break at the slightest touch.  His fingertips were tickly on her skin, and uncomfortable—after all, this was a place no one had ever touched her before, except for her doctor once every year and Brandon once or twice on accident.  And even then, no one had ever touched her with intent to...  To what?  Stimulate?  To 'turn her on'?  What was the right word for what Russell Hebbert was doing to her?

His utter confidence was somewhat alarming—she had no idea what he was going to do next, and that scared her—but when she had a chance to look at him, he wasn't entirely unattractive.  He was not much taller than her, and his toned physique exuded a kind of reassuring solidity—not the unflappable calm of the boy who had asked Sajel out—what was his name?  Garfield?  Grayson?—not calm like that.  Grayson was like a mountain—nothing could move him.  Russell, on the other hand, was...  Present.  He was there, in that moment, one hundred percent, all faculties available.  That was not something that could be said of most people.  And he was a lot more masculine than any of the other men Jane normally associated with—Zach, slender and flagellant; Derek, sensitive and oh-so-serious; Brandon, who thought and acted like a girl sometimes.  There was no way to confuse Russell Hebbert, with his muscles and flipped hair and short T-shirt, as anything but male.

His fingers brushed against her nipples, and she stiffened again.  No, no, not that, anything but that.  Not here, not now, no no no—

Russell sighed.  "There she goes again."

One of his compatriots spoke up.  "Either she really likes it or she really doesn't like it."  Jane's head snapped around, startled.  She had forgotten the two friends were even there.

"Well, which is it, Ms. Myers," Russell asked.  His fingers stroked her breasts again.

Jane went pale.  She wasn't going to lie—it was something she refused to do, on principle.  Besides, more often than not you could get away with telling the truth—not all of it, of course, but some truth at least.  But this wasn't one of those times.  She was going to have to tell.

Words choked her throat.  Her mouth opened and closed like a fish.  She couldn't say a thing.

Russell blinked at her for three seconds and then sighed.  "All right, fine.  I give up.  You win, I lose.  I can't get you to relax."

His hands left her body.  She jumped, trying to make herself move forward; all she managed to do was stumble in place.

"See you around, Jane Delano Roosevelt," said Russell with a jaunty wave.

Jane stared after him, her throat tight.  Her body felt raw and red, as it had the night before—but there were no showers here, certainly none that she could sneak away to.  What on earth was she going to do now?

Damn that Russell Hebbert to eternity and back!

T.3

"Is it just me," Christa asked, "or has Jane been...  Distant?  Today?"

"I dunno, kind of," Derek said, looking over.  "Maybe just lunch.  She seemed okay at recess."

"Well, it's Jane," Zach said.  "She does weird shit."

"You know, Zach, one day your compassion will be the end of you," said Sajel.

"Maybe it had something to do with Russell Hebbert," Jeff said.  "He used a Rule Three on her earlier."

"What?" Christa said, alarmed.  She didn't know much about Russell Hebbert personally, but surely no one was stupid enough to try and cross Jane twice.  But then, she reminded herself, people do stupid things sometimes.

"Just a few minutes ago, actually," Jeff said.  "Right when lunch started."

Christa glanced over.  Jane was hunched over on bare feet, squatting in place, her knees up to her shoulders.  Christa supposed she might be sitting that way because her legs protected her breasts, leaving her free to eat with both hands, but clearly she hadn't thought it out very well because she had also made it blatantly clear that, yes, Jane was a natural blonde.

Or maybe it all just had to do with the shell-shocked expression on Jane's face.

"And now she's catatonic," Christa said.

Jeff turned his unblinking gaze to them.  "It looks like it.

"What the hell did he do to her?" Christa gasped.

Derek rolled his eyes.  "Maybe she secretly liked it."

"Pfft.  Yeah right," said Zach.  "And maybe, like, pigs will fly out of my ass."

Derek groaned.  "Eew.  Eww—  Eww.  That's enough.  No more talking until we're all done eating."

Zach grinned unrepentantly.  Christa checked exasperation and fondness in equal measure.  Would he never grow up?  Probably not.  It was one of the things she liked best about him.

"Sajel," Derek said, "Zach loses twenty points for horrible visual imagery."

"For what?" Sajel said.

"For making people imagine terrible, mind-scarring things," said Jeff.

"Like what?" Sajel asked.

"Like Martha Stewart naked," Zach said cheerfully.

Sajel grew a truly horrified expression.

"Zach, shut up or I'm never sleeping with you again," Christa exclaimed.  Honestly!  Of all the things for him to say.  "What am I, your girlfriend or your babysitter?"

"Babysitter," said Sajel and Derek, immediately and simultaneously.  They glanced at each other and traded high-fives.

Zach put on a hurt puppy-dog expression.  "Uh-oh.  I'm sowwy Mommy."

"Imagine what it'll be like when you have kids," Brandon said, crashing gracelessly into the middle of their conversation.  Christa shifted to one side: he was still on crutches, his right ankle taped up, and he'd need more clearance to get across the circle.  "Two or three people rushing around leaving spilled cereal and bad jokes all over the place.  And one of them will be a lot taller than the others."

Christa mimed dismay.  "Does the school nurse do tube-tying?"

"Hold this," Brandon said, giving a bag lunch to Sajel.  He propped his crutches against the wall and then leaned against it.  He slid his left foot forward and let his body slide down the wall until he was sitting down with his legs straight out in front of him.

Zach clapped.  "Ten point oh, very good show," he said in a bad British accent, "pip pip, cheerio."

"Excellent motor skills," said Sajel, handing him back his lunch.  "Plus three respect points Brandon."

Zach's eyes popped open.  "Wow.  Is it just me or is that, like, the first time she's actually awarded those points?"

"So what's Brandon's stock now, negative thirteen million?" Derek asked.

Sajel grinned.

"What's with her?" Brandon asked, gesturing at Jane.

"We're not sure, actually," Derek said.  "All we know is that Russell Hebbert did a Rule Three on her just as lunch started, and now she's..."

"Well, it's Tuesday," Brandon said, "but it's past recess, so she's already made it farther than she did last time."  He reached over and snapped his finger in front of Jane's face.  "Hello?  Jane?"  He did it again.  "Earth to Jane Myers, where are you?"

Jane jumped.  "What?"  Her voice sounded startled, not angry.

"Oh, well, you can still talk then," Brandon said with an appalling lack of consideration.  "Good.  You're head and shoulders above where you were last time."

Jane stared at him for a moment, perplexed.  Then her features softened.  "Oh yeah.  It's Tuesday, isn't it."

"You've come pretty far," Christa said, because she knew it would make Jane feel better.

"No cowering in the bathroom yet," Zach pointed out helpfully.

"Yeah, but..."  Jane's face turned dim, and melancholy stole over her again.  "Not that much."

Everyone blinked at her for a moment.  Christa frowned.  What did that mean?"

"Hey, Derek," said Stasya, arriving with a pizza pocket.  "Hmm.  Where's Arie?  Checking her e-mail again?"

"Probably," said Derek.  It was Arie's habit to do so at least once a day, making use of the computer labs in the Homer building basement.  Often she gave the Candlelight Vigil message boards a scan as well.  "If something's comes up, she'll be down there for a while."  His face quirked in an unhappy grimace.  "And, with Trina in The Program, you can bet something's gonna be up."

"What, like...  That?" Stasya asked.

They looked over.  It was Trina, all right—smiling and gay, totally serene.  Someone had his hand between her legs, and she had her hand between his too.  Or rather, down his pants, since he wasn't a Program participant.

"Is that..." Christa said, barely believing her eyes.  It couldn't be.  "...Alex Masterson??"  Could it?

"Holy shit," Zach muttered.

"It is," Stasya said.  "It totally is!"

Sajel gave them a flinty smile.  "Witness the power of the younger generation: to get football players to disrobe whenever they wish."

"But he's got a girlfriend!" Stasya exclaimed.

"Who, Vagina Williams," Derek said.  Her real name was Veronica, but everyone used the other one instead.  "She wouldn't notice him cheating on her if he did it under her nose."

"Huh," said Zach.  "They left."

Christa turned to look.  Trina was indeed walking off—or, perhaps, bouncing off; she was practically jumping up and down with excitement.  Alex Masterson was walking off in a different direction, but from the looks he was throwing over his shoulder...

"Wow," she said.  "Trina hooked herself a senior."

"Trina did a what-now?" Arie asked, arriving just a little too late.

While they explained, Christa glanced over at Sajel, well remembering the chaos of the previous day.  "Hey.  Hey.  How are you feeling?"

"Me?  I'm...  Okay," said Sajel.

"Just okay," Christa asked.  That wasn't how most people would describe themselves.

"Yeah," said Sajel.  "Just...  Okay."  She shrugged.  "I...  It kinda sucks about Garrett.  About having to turn him down."

"It does," Christa said.  She remembered well the feeling of being constantly overlooked, of being invisible to guys, and the bright, terrifying joy when someone had finally noticed her.  "I guess it must be important to you to be well-liked."

"Huh?" said Sajel.  "What do you mean?"

"Well..." said Christa, realizing at once how unlikely the statement sounded.  Here was Sajel, who seemed to take great joy in sarcasm, in cutting remarks, in needling her friends on their foibles...  And she wanted to be well-liked?  And yet...  "You didn't want to lose his respect.  You turned down something you wanted for his sake."

"Not for his sake," Sajel said.  "I...  I was scared that he'd say no."

"But...  He was asking you out."

"Not, like, right then and there...  But...  Eventually.  Once he found out about my...  About me."

"So you said no.  Pre-emptively."

"It was a stupid thing to do, okay?" Sajel groaned.  "I know you were about to tell me, and you don't need to.  I know how stupid I was."

Christa, who had been about to say that, if that was what Sajel really wanted, she would support her, shut her mouth with a clomp.

"Then why'd you—"

"I was scared, okay!"  Sajel radiated heat.  "I didn't want to risk it, I'm a huge wimpy scaredy-pants, and I fucking well know it!"

Christa looked at her for a long moment, wondering what to say.  Sajel being vulnerable—it happened once in a blue moon.  The wrong comment could lead to disaster.

"Scaredy-pants," Christa said finally.  "I haven't heard that since second grade."

Sajel blinked at her a couple times, and then a crooked smile spread across her face.

"I think," Christa said, "that you should—"

"Hey, sister!"  Their heads jerked around.

It was Trina, radiant.  She was hand-in-hand with Alex Masterson, who, surprisingly, was also naked.  "Wow," Brandon exclaimed, "encouraging outreach, what an enthusiastic participant!"  But something caught Christa's eye: Alex Masterson's penis.  It was the first one she had ever seen, besides Zach's, and at the moment it was putting his to shame—it was quite large, certainly larger than Zach's in its flaccid state, though that said nothing about Alex with an erection, and somewhat reddish.  It also seemed a bit shiny.  It was odd.  Was that normal for some people?  It wasn't for Zach's.

Wait.

She leaned in.  "Sajel, is it just me, or...  Does his penis look... used?"

Sajel snickered.  "Why, Christa!  Sneaking peaks at his package!  What would Zach think!"

"I dunno, maybe I better ask him," Christa said, frowning.  "Zach, is it just me, or..."

"You know..." said Zach.  "It does, is the thing.  It really does.  I wonder what happened."

"Trina," Arie was saying.  "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I am happy to announce," Trina said broadly, "that I have entered the realm of womanhood."

Arie looked up, puzzled.  "What do you mean?"

Jeff cut through the crap.  "He took her virginity."

"He did what!" Arie cried.

"And you've known him for how long?" Sajel asked.

"Well."  Alex Masterson gave a satisfied smile.  "I guess she realized where her interest lies.  She understood what it means to give yourself to someone who deserves it."

Christa stared.  The sheer, outrageous ego!

"That doesn't matter, does it, dear sister," Trina said brightly.  "How long had you known your boyfriend before you first fucked him?"    

"So, if I did it, it's okay, is it?" Arie thundered.  "If I jumped off a bridge, would you do the same?"

Trina inspected her fingernails.  "No, actually, I think I'd stay for a while and enjoy the quiet."

Jeff chortled.  "You gotta admit, Arie, you set yourself up for that one."

"Now, if you'll excuse me," said Trina, a queen by bearing, "my new boyfriend and I are going to go enjoy one of the benefits of being a Program participant."

"Unmitigated fucking," Sajel said darkly.

They watched her lead him away.  "It's like...  It's like he's her conquest or something," Arie muttered.

"No, other way around," Derek said.  "She thinks she's got him by the balls, but she's wrong—it's he who's got her."

"Providing a very odd and intriguing situation," Jeff said in that dry, ironic voice of his, "in that she doesn't have balls."

"Is she on The Pill," Stasya asked Arie.

"Ugh," said Arie, covering her face with her hands.  "Oh God."

"What?"

"She's probably not," Arie said, "I doubt she got The Shot, and honestly I doubt she cares.  She's so...  It's like nothing matters to her.  And then she has to go with Alex Masterson, the biggest prick in the whole school—"

"I'm told a big prick is an advantage in these sorts of things," said Jeff, struggling vainly for humor.

"—and then there's the fact that she's having sex.  My little sister is having sex.  You could fucking see her pussy lips—"

"Right, okay, that's quite enough, thank you," said Sajel.

"I guess we got an answer to our question," Zach murmured to Christa.

"Only to open up a lot more of them," Christa said.  To the entire group, she said, "You'd better make sure she gets The Shot then.  Or at least the Morning-After Pill."

"I don't know if she'd take it," Arie said, her head still in her hands.

"Maybe not, but you have to try, right?" Christa said.

"You know who else needs The Shot?" someone said.  They all turned: it was Jane, suddenly back from whatever catatonia she had just visited.  "Lisa does."

"Your sister Lisa?" Zach asked.

"Yeah," said Jane.  Her eyes could have cut glass.  "That's the one."

"Lisa?" Christa asked.  Her brother was dating Lisa—though 'dating' was a very loose term, since they hadn't technically gone on a date.  But if Lisa needed The Shot...  "Oh God," she said.  "You aren't telling me—"

"No, they haven't," Jane said.  "But they were doing some serious kissing behind the baseball diamond yesterday."  She gave a humorless laugh.  "They're probably there now."

"What do you mean, serious," Sajel asked.  Christa and Jane looked at her.  "Like, tongue involved?"  Christa suddenly realized she had a very good point: what would Jane know about 'serious' kissing?

And, true to form, Jane reacted with disgust.  "I don't know.  But they were so involved in each other that they didn't notice me walking up."

Christa frowned.  "I dunno...  Is Tommy Lisa's first boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Jane said.  "At least, I think so.  We haven't gone to the same school since I was in sixth grade."

"And she's his first girlfriend," Christa said.  "You're bound to be excited when that happens, you know?"

"I wasn't," Jane said.

"Yeah, but you're weird," said Brandon flatly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to give you any ideas!" Jane snapped.  "I'm not that kind of girl!"

"What, the kind of girl who kisses?" Brandon asked in the overbearing bluntness that had become his modus operandi nowadays.  Jane opened her mouth, and then closed it again, and then said nothing.

"Or the kind of girl who does something else?" Brandon asked with a bitter smile.

Jane glared at him, silent.

"You know," Sajel said.  "Jane, for someone who refuses any sort of sexual contact, you sure seem to think about it a lot."

Now Jane glared at Sajel instead.  Why did everyone have to keep seeing through her?

"Is that part of why you avoid sex?" Christa asked.  When Jane turned her glare on her, she expanded: "Because you don't want it to be part of your life.  Because it's too much a part of your life already, and you don't want it to go any further."

Jane's gaze softened.

"Because there's nothing wrong with that," Christa said.  "Absolutely nothing.  Sometimes sex is more trouble than it's worth."

"Just look at Brandon," Sajel grinned.  "All horny and no girlfriend.  He has to jack off nowadays.  He's used to getting it regularly from Meredith, and now she's not there anymore.  Can you imagine how frustrated he is?"

"If that's what you want to stay away from, Jane, we'll support you in that," Christa said.  "Right, guys?"

There were nods of agreement in various intensities.

"Looks like my sister isn't going to, though," Jane groused, totally ignoring the fact that she'd just won a significant victory.  "She and Tommy don't seem to be interested in anything else."

"Yes, about that, I'll talk to him," said Christa.  And she would, too.  Sex was all well and good, but there was such thing as rushing into it, and that wasn't safe.  Of course, there was such thing as pushing it away, too, and that could be just as dangerous.  "Jane...  If sex is on your mind so much, wouldn't it maybe be a good idea to—"

"No!" said Jane.  "Never!"

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" Christa protested.

"Yes I do!" Jane thundered.  "It's exactly the same thing everyone keeps telling me.  'Oh, you're so screwed up, you don't like sex, you won't—' "

"That wasn't what I was about to—"

"Guys!"  Jeff's voice cut through their argument.  "Quiet."

Christa looked over.  Jeff was staring out towards the Norter wing.  As were most of her friends.  As, in fact, were most of the people nearby.  Silence fell slowly, filled only by the sounds of argument.

It was Alex Masterson.  His clothes were bundled under one arm, and he was yelling at Trina.  She was yelling back, but seemed oddly defensive.  Their voices clashed and twined, making it impossible to understand what they were saying.  But it became clear when he shoved her away, with such force that she stumbled and fell to her knees on the concrete.

Arie gasped.

"Don't ever.  Touch me again.  You fucking psycho."  Alex's voice rang oddly in the total silence.  He shook his shoulders violently, as though resettling himself.  Then he turned and marched away.

Trina got up and ran blindly in the other direction.

The entire school stared.  The silence was complete.  Except for Arie: "What the fuck was that about?"  Her voice unlocked the floodgates, and frantic conversation broke out.

"Sounds like Trina did something wrong by him," Jeff said.

"That would be a fairly safe assumption," Sajel said.

"But what?" Arie asked.

"Did you see Masterson's cock," Stasya said.  "It was kind of hard.  Or maybe it had been two minutes ago.  Whatever she did, it was right in the middle of something."

Jeff looked at her strangely.  "Why were you looking at Alex Masterson's cock?"  Stasya flipped him off.

"Omigod!"  Arie sat bolt upright, her hands clapped to her mouth.  "Trina's scars.  He totally discovered them."

Christa frowned.  "Are you sure?"  She could think of a thousand other things that might've happened—though all of them were about as unlikely as this one.

"That has to be it," Zach said.  "They're on her legs, right?  Remember when we saw them the first time?  They came back not, like, ten minutes later.  Their first time must've been really quick."

"That's wonderful," Derek growled.  "Talk about Wham bam thank-you-ma'am for your virginity."

Arie cringed.  "I can't believe we're talking about my sister's first time."

"So, after they did it the first time, they must've run off to do it again," said Zach.  "But this time they took their time.  Alex started, like, actually paying attention to her.  And then he found..."

"Her scars," Sajel said in a strange voice.  Christa glanced over at her and saw the expression on her face: envy, relief, longing.  Thank God I never had the chance to go through that.  Oh God, why have I never had the chance to go through that?

"And it freaked him out," Zach said.

"Of course it freaked him out," Brandon said.  "Trina can be really creepy when she wants to.  Add the scars, and it's a wonder he didn't end up cowering in the bathroom or something."

Christa checked exasperation.  Had Brandon left his tact at home in his other pants or something?  This was getting ridiculous.

Arie was staring in the direction Trina had run.  "God, I hope she's okay..."

"Why, Arie!" said Stasya cheerfully.  "You almost sound like you care about her!"

Arie gave Stasya a withering stare.  "What are you talking about?  Of course I care about her.  ...She's my sister."  Her face twisted.  "Maybe not the best sister ever, but, still."

There was silence for a little while.

Derek looked to Brandon.  "Soo...  Heard anything from Meredith lately?"

Brandon started.  "What?"

"Well, I mean, after that thing yesterday that she told us.  She didn't seem happy.  I'm just a little worried about her.  Aren't you worried about her?"

Brandon opened his mouth to answer, but Stasya interrupted.  "I spoke to her earlier today.  She's...  Doing alright."

"Alright?" Derek said.  "Only alright?  That doesn't sound too promising."

"It's not," said Stasya, "she's...  Got some things of her own to work through.  But she's determined to work through them.  I'm sure she'll return soon."

"Good," Derek said.  "All the shit that's going on right now, we could use her."

Brandon stared at his ankle, and said nothing.

T.4

Meredith Levine squeezed her eyes closed and tried to keep calm.  This was somewhat more difficult than it sounded: panic kept bubbling up her throat, threatening to erupt in a gout of...  What?  Screams?  Crying?  Vomit?  She'd bet on that one, if it came to that.  Hopefully it wouldn't.

She couldn't remember ever being this nervous in her life.  But then, she couldn't remember ever having been this stupid in her life either.

"Brandon," she said.  "Brandon.  Can I talk to you for a little bit?"

The entire line of people—Brandon, Jane, Christa, Arie, Derek—ground to a halt.  Meredith swallowed to clear a suddenly tight throat and tried not to wilt.

Derek said, "Yes.  Yes, I think Brandon does want to talk to you for a bit."

"Yes he does," Christa agreed.  "And we'll—"  She glanced at Meredith, a questioning glance, and Meredith nodded.  "—we'll just...  Keep walking."

"We will?" said Jane loudly.

Arie turned her bland, calm scorn on her.  "Yes, Jane.  We will."

Jane looked at Meredith for a moment, her face stony.  Then she relaxed.  "All right.  We will."

Meredith wasn't sure what to make of that.  Was Jane abandoning her claim on Brandon?  Or had she decided that Meredith wasn't even a threat?  Did Jane even have a claim on Brandon?  Nobody really knew what had gone on between them, and Meredith knew least of all.

"See you tomorrow," said Christa.

Brandon Chambers and Meredith Levine stood facing each other across an empty patch of ground.  Their friends made no sound as they left.  Meredith felt as if they were the only people in the world.

"So, um, how've you—"  "I'm all right, everything's been—"  "Good, I'm, um, glad to hear that, uh..."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"I'm sorry I had to go away for the summer," she said suddenly.  If I hadn't, none of this would have happened.

"Two months was a long time," he said, and for a panicked moment she thought he was going to condemn her.  Then he smiled—not the smile of old, opening up his face to the light, but a tired thing, though still with warmth.  "But as long as you enjoyed it, I guess I can accept it."

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to prevent her tears from showing.  Of course, it didn't work.  It never worked.  When would she learn?  Just about anything would make her cry, it was just one of the odd little things about her personality.  It wasn't important.  She should stop caring if anyone saw her cry.  If you acted like it was normal, everyone around you would accept it as normal.  She had learned that a very long time ago.

She had the strangest feeling that Brandon loved her for her crying.

His arms encircled her, trying to draw her close, and she backed away.  "No—  No—  Not yet, Brandon, not yet.  I don't—  I'm not finished."  The skin between her breasts itched.  She had not worn the engagement ring Brandon bought her since she went to band camp—not even on the chain round her neck where it normally hung.  You may yet find reason to hate me, is the thing.  You may not thank me when we're through.

Brandon looked at her, momentary worry on his face.  "Okay..."  He tried to settle himself in preparation for what she was about to tell him.  What was she about to tell him?

She knew he was going to hate her.  Or be so kind and understanding that he would make her feel miserable.  Either way, life was about to get very, very rough.  So she started from the beginning.  She felt she owed him a clear picture of how her life had gotten so screwed up, and why.

"As you know," said Meredith, "I was away at a music camp for the entirety of July and August."

"Yeah," said Brandon.  "You were a counselor there.  I remember how excited you were that you'd get to help run it."

"Yeah."  She swallowed, sniffled.  "Yeah.  Three sessions, three weeks each.  It...  It worked out pretty well."

"Meredith," he said impatiently, "I know all this."

The Brandon of old would have had patience.  She suppressed a new freshet of tears and moved on.  "And, as you may have guessed, all was not quite right between us when I left.  There was the thing with my brother...  And there was your constant fury with your parents...  We didn't know how to deal with—"

"Meredith, get to the point."

"When-I-was-at-camp-I-slept-with-Rick-Downing."  One long word.

Brandon felt the world rock.

Meredith stared at the ground, her eyes sad.

"I was so lonely.  And there were...  All these problems above my head, and I just...  I just needed to...  Get away."

Brandon knew who Rick Downing was, of course.  He didn't know him very well, but well enough.  He was quiet, but with a strangely charming competence about him, as if nothing could ever surprise him.  Not much else was known about him—a danger sign, in Brandon's experience.  And he had...

A vision of the two of them jammed through his mind—Meredith lying below him, arcing up to meet him, his hands on her breasts, while below her legs wrapped around his waist, as he—

"And was this something you initiated," he growled.

"No, I..."  Meredith paled.  She could feel the storm beginning to brew in his body.  "It was his idea.  He was so blunt about it.  He totally didn't care about anything except himself."

"And you went along with it!"

"I was so lonely, I needed to get away...  Brandon, it was awful!  Once it happened I knew it was a mistake!  I felt so terrible about it for days, they almost fired me from—"  There was no stopping the tears now.  It was over, she had lost, she had failed.  "Brandon, I shouldn't've done it!"

"No, you shouldn't have," he muttered.

There was no use.  If she stayed around he might hit her.  The thought registered panic in her mind (Brandon?  Kind, gentle, loving Brandon?  Hit...) even as logic confirmed it (The Brandon I knew would never hit anyone.  But then, the Meredith I knew would never sleep with anyone but him.  Especially not Rick bloody Downing).  "I...  I'm sorry.  I'll leave now.  If you want to talk tomorrow...  Brandon, I love you."  Even as the words left her mouth she knew they had been the wrong thing to say.  But she needed to say them.  Needed to leave them with him, one last time, while they were still true.

She drove fast because she couldn't see through the tears in her eyes.

Stasya came over immediately.  "Oh, Meredith...  You tried your best, honey.  That's what counts.  If it didn't work...  Well, sometimes life doesn't—"

"You think that helps," Meredith spat.  And then: "I'm sorry, I know you're..."  Anger was the last thing she needed.  Look at how far it had gotten Brandon.  And especially not to Stasya, who was only trying to help.  "It's just..."

"It's frustrating for me too," Stasya said, correctly guessing Meredith's thoughts.  "I'm not spouting faded clichés for entertainment, you know.  But...  What can I say?  You screwed up, Meredith."

Meredith gave her a wan smile.  "Don't remind me."

"But...  You said he was mad, right?"

"Yeah.  He was furious."

"Well...  That's good, then."

Meredith looked at her.  "Why's it good?"

"Because it means he still cares about you," Stasya said.  "If he didn't, it wouldn't bother him that you..."  She couldn't bring herself to say it.  "Messed up.  He wouldn't be so pissed off."

Meredith grimaced.  "Might be safer for me if he didn't care."

"Today, you mean."

"Yeah."

"But tomorrow?" Stasya asked.  "When he's slept on it and gotten over it a bit?  When he's calmed down?"

Meredith said nothing.

"See, this is why you keep me around," Stasya said, grinning.  "To provide you with logical information."

Meredith managed to produce a smile.  "You've gotta learn how to let a girl mope a little bit."

"Sorry.  Nope.  Can't do."  Stasya beamed.  "Moping's reserved for whiny, bossy bitches who can't stand not having their way, not sweet, well-intentioned people who occasionally screw up."

"So, basically, you but not me," Meredith said.

"Exactly!  So stop moping."

"I'm not..."  Meredith sighed.  "I'm not moping."

"Excuse me?  Look at you.  You're sniffling, you're crying, you're—  How is that not moping?"

Meredith looked up, her eyes huge.  "I screwed up, Stasya.  I screwed up soo badly."

"Oh, Meredith."  No one could help but feel bad for her with that expression on her face, and Stasya was no exception.  "You did, but...  You have got to stop carrying all this guilt around.  You made a mistake—sure.  Everyone makes mistakes.  But you don't just sit there groaning—you learn from it.  And this one's no exception."

Meredith sighed.  "You're right.  You're right, of course."  The only problem with Stasya was that she tended to be so blunt.  It was hard to concede to her arguments sometimes.  Christa was better at it—she could lead you to her conclusions step by step, instead of just bludgeoning you with the truth.  But no one knew Meredith the way Stasya did—not even Brandon.

"Oh, Meredith."  Stasya pulled her best friend into a hug.  "It'll work out.  It always does.  You've still got your friends, you've still got your health, you've still got your family—"

"Not all of it," Meredith mumbled.

"You've still got your negativity," Stasya said, grinning.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.  A moment later, Mrs. Levine's voice rang out: "Meredith?  Would you, uh.  Could you come down for a moment?"

It was Brandon, and the look on his face made her suddenly wish she had something to defend herself with.

Before he could open his mouth, Stasya surged forward.  "Okay.  Outside.  Go."  Meredith thought Brandon might have been inclined to argue, but he let himself be swept out onto the front lawn.  As she shoved him out the door, Stasya shot Meredith a significant look: follow me, stupid.  With a sinking heart, Meredith did.

"Now," Stasya said.  "If you're inclined to yell, Mr. Chambers, just remember that all the neighbors can hear you, and that Mr. and Mrs. Levine are pretty well-respected.  They'll know.  Everyone will know.  So you just consider that before you pop that vein I can tell you're so desperate to burst."

Brandon glowered.

"So," said Stasya.  "Anything you got to say?"

"Nothing that can be put into words," Brandon growled.  Meredith's heart quavered at the rage in his voice.

Stasya heard it too.  "If you hit her, Brandon Chambers—"

"I'm not gonna fuckin hit her," Brandon retorted.

"Give up this anger shit," Stasya said.  "It doesn't solve anything.  I hope you realize that half your problems are because you keep getting pissed off and scaring Meredith away."

Brandon had enough presence of mind to look at Meredith's face.  Meredith wasn't sure what he saw there, but it must have made a difference, because his expression softened.  Not much, but a little.

"Why don't you just go home," Stasya said softly.  "You've both hurt each other enough for one day.  You won't solve anything by staying to fight.  You'll just hurt each other more.  Is that what you really want, Brandon?  To hurt Meredith?  The girl you love?"

Brandon looked at the ground.  Meredith couldn't see his face very well.

"I thought I did.  Just like I thought she loved me.  ...Now I'm not so sure anymore."

He left.

Meredith couldn't watch.

T.5

"Wow," said Christa.  "Big crowd there."

Derek looked up.  They were escorting Jane back to the clothes boxes, and he and Arie had walked with their heads close together, murmuring things meant for no one else's ears.  Now that he looked, there was indeed a pretty significant clump of people there: five or six boys, just standing around.  It was a pretty normal sight—there were always hangers-on at the boxes, interested in copping a quick feel—but, to his knowledge, Jane was the only Program participant who was due to stop by, at least until 5:30 when the sports teams let out.  "Uh-oh," he said.  "What do you wanna bet they're waiting for Jane?"

"What?" Jane said.

Derek frowned.  "We have got to learn to talk quietly so she can't hear."

"Who are all those people?" Jane asked.

Arie rolled her eyes.  "A very observant girl indeed."

"Are they there for...  Me?" Jane asked.

"That is...  The impression that I get," said Christa.

One of them stood forward when they arrived, to issue the challenge.  He was young, his face thin and innocent, but he seemed confident in himself.  "Jane Myers!"

"What do you want, Simon," Jane said quickly.  Derek saw Arie's questioning glance, and shrugged.  He didn't know how Jane knew this person's name.

"There's someone else who wants a chance at you," the boy Simon said.  "He wants to see if he can succeed where others have failed."

Derek blinked.  "Wow, Jane.  Your fame is spreading."

"You're going to Rule Three me again," Jane said flatly.

"Not me," said Simon.  "This guy over here."

Beside him stood a handsome young man.  He held forth his hand.  "Hi, I'm Will."

Derek gaped.

Will Streuger wore his hair long and loose, and it tumbled in curlicues and waves.  His eyes were an intense blue and his smile was known to make girls melt.  He was a shoo-in for any number of titles in the graduating class—student of the year, Valedictorian, Most Likely To Appear on the Cover of Some Popular Magazine—and yet there was nothing pretentious in his gaze.  He was attractive, almost unbearably so, but he did not lord it over others the way someone else might.  He never went for any of the cheerleaders or glamour queens the sports jocks seemed to favor, the ornamental girls whose everything came in tits and asses.  So far as anyone was aware, in fact, he dated no one—though there was no shortage of girls who would throw themselves at him if given half the chance.  And yet he got around, and got around well, for his prowess in bed was well recognized.  If there was anyone who could break through Jane's shell, it would be him.

"He's good, Jane, one of the best," said another of the boys in the crowd.  He had reddish-brown hair and for some reason reminded Derek of the sort of iconic burly man that graced commercial cleaning products.  "You'll be in good hands."

"How do you know he's good," Jane asked suspiciously.  "Do you boys talk about these things?"

Simon and Will Streuger and the unnamed boy traded glances.  "Well...  Yes, we do, Jane Wendy Darling," said the nameless boy—Where'd he get that name from? Derek wondered—"and we've come to the conclusion that Will is the best artist in the school at playing that delicate instrument that is the human body."

"And you just...  Asked him to come play with me, and he said yes," Jane scowled.

Will shrugged.  "I like a challenge."  His gaze sharpened.  "And believe me, my lady, I consider it a crime for one such as you to go uninitiated into the wonders of your own body."

"It's my body," Jane said.  "Don't I get to choose?"

"Yes, you do," said Will.  "And you did.  When you signed up for The Program.  Besides—"  He stepped forward, and there was none of the gloating amusement on his face that would've accompanied this statement from any other person.  "—You'll enjoy it.  I can tell."

"You can tell," Jane said scornfully.

Will shrugged.  "I have an eye for these things."

"Yeah, speaking of which, Will, just how many girls have you bedded?" someone asked.  Derek sensed anticipation from the crowd—they wanted to see the reaction to Will's answer.

But Will shook his head.  "Now, now.  A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"But you told us!" the same voice protested.

Will smiled sadly.  "I fear I'm not a gentleman, then.  But I hope you'll respect my privacy.  Just as you hope I'll respect yours."

Derek heard the implied threat in Will's voice.  The man was smooth, there was no other way around it—he would purchase his reputation by protecting those of his friends.  But if anyone besmirched him...

Someone else heard the threat.  "You wouldn't!" he cried, obviously panicked.

"I wouldn't enjoy it," said Will.  "But I'd do it nonetheless.  So, if you'll excuse me, let's leave the bluster for later and allow me to attend to this young woman."

"I haven't agreed," Jane said quickly.

"Then allow me to tell you about the bargain we have developed," Will said, stepping closer.  Jane must surely be feeling his magnetism about now, Derek realized.  "We have—"

"What he isn't telling you is that it's all my idea," said the nameless boy.

"Yes, thank you, Russell," said Will, smiling.  "It was indeed Russell Hebbert's idea, but it's a good one, and we'll do our best to enforce it.  The bargain is this: if I can't elicit a sexual response from you in the next five minutes, then we will not approach you with reasonable requests for the rest of the week.  And, if anyone else tries to approach you, we will do our best to dissuade them."

Jane scowled.  "That seems awfully one-sided.  You're just going to give up?"

Russell Hebbert shrugged.  "If Will can't do it, no one can.  What'd be the point?"

"We, all of us," said Will, indicating the people around him, "pride ourselves on our skill with the female body.  We see you as a challenge, a test of our abilities."

"And this is normal for you?" Jane demanded.

"Jane, other girls would die for a chance like this," Simon said.

"Yeah, well, I'm not 'other girls'!" Jane said.

"Jane," Christa said.  "Please.  For us.  Give him a chance."

Jane thundered, "No!"

"Jane," Christa said.  Her face was grave.  "Please.  For us.  Give him a chance.  If there's anyone who could possibly make you enjoy a Rule Three, it's Will Streuger."

"What makes you think I want to enjoy it!" Jane said.

"And that's what worries us," Christa said.  "Jane, sex is a natural part of your body.  It makes us worried when you just refuse to accept it like this.  That's not healthy."

"Sex isn't healthy!"

"Jane, that's not true, and you know it.  If you want to get technical, it's good exercise, about the equivalent of fifteen or twenty minutes of walking.  And it relaxes you, makes you feel comfortable."

"It's good stress relief," Arie offered.

"Jane, it's a part of you you'll need to confront eventually," Derek said.  "And it's not healthy to be as uptight about it as you are.  It's not."

"We're not trying to convert you, we're not trying to lure you to the dark side," Christa said.  "We're telling you what we think, as your friends.  Which is worry."

"It is," Arie said.

"Brandon would agree if he were here," Derek said.

"Yeah, well," Jane said caustically.  "Brandon wants into my pants."

"Meredith would agree if she were here too," Derek said.  "And if you want to be strict about it, that'd be bad for her, because it'd increase the likelihood of Brandon getting into your pants and not into hers.  But she'd agree anyway.  And so would Brandon.  Because it's not about getting into your pants.  It's about you not being so...  Repressive."

Jane looked at them all for a long moment.

"Fine," she said finally.  "It's a bad idea, and I know it, but I'll do it.  Because you guys asked me to."

Christa and Derek exchanged glances, but Arie said, "Believe that if you want, hon, but you're not doing it because of us."

"Five minutes," Jane said to Will.  "No more."

Will gave a semi-formal bow.  "As you desire."

Jane crossed her arms for a moment.

"Fine," she said.  "Do it."

And thus they all watched as Jane was summarily undone.

Will was patient, gentle, careful.  He started, a bit to Derek's surprise, with Jane's face.  His fingers stroked her skin, her cheeks, the curve of her chin, the skin around her eyes.  He traced delicately over her lips, fingers padding silently.  He stroked her hair back with his hands to peer into her eyes.

"He's good," Christa murmured.  "He's raising her sensitivity level first.  By the time he gets to the erogenous zones, she won't be able to resist being turned on."

Derek was in charge of the stopwatch.  "One minute three seconds."

Will's hands spent time descending Jane's neck and jaw, and then traced her collarbone before moving down to her breasts.  One of the boys cheered—"Whoohoo, first base!  What time is it?"—but Arie shushed him.  Will's hands moved gently, stroking up and down, almost in stripes, but avoiding her nipples.  Christa murmured, "Another smart move.  When he does touch them, she'll go mad.  God, why isn't Zach here?  Derek, you are taking notes on this, right?"

Jane's breathing had deepened.  Her eyes were huge, her mouth open; she stared at Will Streuger with an intensity bordering on fear.  And when his fingers made contact with her nipples, she gave an audible gasp.

"He's got it.  There's no way she could resist that," Arie burbled.

Derek watched, saying nothing.  Yes, he's done it.  But is that a good thing?

At two and a half minutes, Will left Jane's breasts behind and began to journey down her abdomen.  Derek felt anticipation tighten his hands: to his knowledge, no one had ever before touched Jane between her legs in a carnal manner, not even Jane herself.  How was she going to react?  Would the spell break?  Or had Will actually, truly won?

When his hands parted her thighs, she whimpered...  But she made no move to stop him.

"Did you do it?" Russell cried.  "Is she wet?"  But someone else quieted him: "Hush.  Let the man work."  And Derek saw that Will Streuger definitely intended to make the most of his five minutes.

He did not enter her, at least that Derek could see; but his fingers spidered through her pubic hair, across her thighs, over the soft, sensitive skin of her vulva.  Several times he must have passed over her clitoris, for she gasped again.  But his fingers never penetrated her vagina.  That was just as well; Derek had a feeling he was pushing his luck to begin with.  And there was plenty enough outside for one man.

And through it all Jane stood, rigid, her chest rising and falling with her desperate breath, staring at Will Streuger's face as though to drill a hole into it.

"Time," Derek said.

"Did you do it," Russell Hebbert asked immediately.  "Is she hot?"

"Look at her nipples, dumbass," someone responded.

"Yeah, but he played with them, that could be why.  What about her pussy, man, is she—"

Will's hand came away wet.

"Whoohoo!"  Russell bounced up and down.  "The Love Club wins the pot!  Good job Will!"

Christa frowned.  Jane hadn't moved.  "Jane?  Jane, he stopped.  Are you okay?"

"Oh God," Jane mumbled.  "Oh God."  Christa took her arm and she nearly fell onto her.

Derek surged in to grab her other arm.  "Jane, are you—"  He looked over his shoulder: the office was definitely closed.  "We'd better get her home.  Doesn't her mom come to pick her up?"

"That's across the school, she'll never walk that far," Arie said.  "I'll drive her home—  No, Christa, you better do it, I'm not sure she'd like—  God, what's wrong with her?"

"Oh God," Jane mumbled.  "Oh God."

"Jane, are you okay?" Christa asked.

"I was—  I was right," Jane said.  "I should've—  I never—"  She turned to Christa.  "Christa, I—  You've..."

"It's not like last time," Derek said.  "Last time she was incoherent.  I think she's just..."

"What, struck dumb by the fact that she actually liked it," Arie said with an angry laugh.  "Great, look at this.  Christa, where's your car.  I'll get her clothes.  Derek, you run up to the Music Building parking lot and tell Jane's mom—"

"Don't tell my mom," Jane mumbled.  "I don't...  I don't..."

"Want them to know," Derek finished.

Jane's head fell again, exhausted.

Derek ran.

Why is Jane like that?  What's going on?  Was Arie right?  Is it really because she liked it?

...Nah.  Couldn't be.  Jane liking sex—  And the sun'll rise in the west tomorrow.

He panted to a halt and started looking for Mrs. Myers's car.

T.6

When Arie returned home that day, she wasn't sure what she was going to encounter.  She hadn't heard from Trina since the disaster at lunch with Alex Masterson.  Any other girl would be in tears, but this was Trina: she might take it with her usual casualness.  Or, she might be rampaging around the house knocking things off shelves.  She might be locked in her room, blasting loud music.  Or maybe, the most rare of the possibilities, she might actually be crying.  But which would it be?  With Trina, one could never tell.

It turned out to be music.  Arie could tell the instant she entered the house.  Attempting to get any homework done would be interesting in the extreme—Arie's room was directly across from Trina's.

"How long has this been going on?" Arie yelled.

Her mother shrugged.  "Since she got home!" she called back.  "Did something happen at school to upset her?"

Arie frowned.  "Nothing I can tell you about!  You'd have a heart attack!"

"And I won't have one over all this ruckus?" Mrs. Chang replied with a smile.  Arie was startled: her mother never joked.  She smiled back.

To attempt to calm her nerves, Arie logged onto the Internet and checked her e-mail and favorite websites.  She saved Candlelight Vigil for last, because she knew it had the most important information.

Candlelight was primarily a support system.  Its founder, a girl known only as Sara (though anyone attending Golden State Berkeley could theoretically track her down), had reached out through the Internet for others who were depressed, who cut, who purged, and had found them.  The site spread mostly by word of mouth—or at least its Internet equivalent, blogs and instant message programs—and served about four hundred people.  It was starting to get too large.  People came to Candlelight mostly searching for sympathy—for a listening ear, a supportive shoulder, to hear the words they never heard from their offline friends: "I know how you feel."  It was much easier to complain than to listen, and now there were people who weren't getting listened to.  For a website on which users sometimes announced suicide attempts, such inattention could be lethal—in more ways than one.

The point for Arie, however, was that if she wanted to know anything about Trina, Candlelight Vigil was the best place to look.

Trina, under the screen name Flicker, was one of the board's louder denizens.  Her posts were vitriolic diatribes against her parents, who were apparently the most cruel, vicious, insensitive and horrible people on the planet...  Except for her sister (username taina), who was worse.  She received a lot of pats on the back, of course, but any advice provided was generally ignored—Not outright, but explained away, or canceled, or otherwise negated.  "No, that wouldn't work; no, she'd do this; no, that's a dumb idea."  Arie's feeling was that "Flicker" didn't want help; she wanted attention.  She would milk her problems for all they were worth.  And, judging by Flicker's low popularity among the other board members, she thought others might share her opinion.

Arie logged on anticipating another storm of anger—this one probably linked to Alex Masterson.  But the only new post by Flicker she found was hardly angry.  In fact, it was almost...  Mournful.

Arie stared.  She remembered now her sister's clenched hands when she and Alex Masterson had come to brag, and the paleness of her skin.  Pale, not flushed.  Arie had seen women who had just had sex—Christa, mostly, over the course of the summer, but Meredith as well, on those rare occasions when she and Brandon hadn't been able to contain themselves.  There was a sort of glow around them, a vibrancy of face and eyes and smile, that made Derek chortle whenever he saw it.  "Someone's got a secret," he'd always say, and Arie thought that was actually a good description: Christa, particularly, always looked pleased and a bit smug, as if she'd seen or learned something they had not.  It was, according to Brandon, the leftover arousal—the body slowly backing down from its sexual climax.  But it was there if you knew what to look for.

And it hadn't been there on Trina.

There were, of course, uncounted messages of condolence piling up in reply; attention-seeker or not, this was a bona-fide disaster, and no one had anything but sympathy for Trina.  Arie debated leaving her own reply, but decided against it; Trina would just yell at her.  What would be the point?

But what was all this?  She had never heard Trina sounding so unhappy.  She had never heard her sounding so...  Desperate.

Arie looked across the hall, where Trina's door shook and pounded with the screaming music from within.  Maybe it was time to change her hypothesis.  Maybe this time Trina was blasting music and crying.

She stared at the computer screen, biting her lip.

What was going on here?