"Jane, you'd better get out of bed," said her mother, "or you're going to be late for school."

"Mom," Jane lied, "I think I'm sick."

Megan Myers stopped halfway out of the room.  "You're what?"  True, her daughter looked awful—it was pretty normal for Jane to stay up until one in the morning working on homework, only to wake up at seven to shower, eat breakfast and go to school, and this morning she looked even more sleep-deprived than usual.  But Jane was also a healthy girl; she got, perhaps, one cold a year, with occasional forays into flus once or twice a decade.  For her to be sick now was unusual, to put it mildly.

"Yeah," said Jane, trying to make her voice sound nasally congested.  She coughed.  "I..."

Mrs. Myers stepped in and put her hand on Jane's forehead.  "You don't feel sick.  Is your stomach okay?"

Jane jumped at the new possibility.  "Yeah, it's all twisty and rumbly and..."  She coughed again.  "I dunno, Mom.  I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I," said Mrs. Myers with a dry smile, and Jane knew it wasn't going to work.

"Well," said her mother, "physical symptoms notwithstanding, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you, Jane.  Or...  Is there something you'd like to avoid at school?  Something you'd rather not tell me about?"

Jane opened her mouth, shut it again.  She said nothing.  She would rather not tell her mother about it, was the thing.  Which made it hard to tell her mother about it.

Lisa stopped in the doorway, toweling her hair.  "What's going on?"

"Something between Jane and I," said Megan Myers.

Lisa squinted into the room.  "Oh, is Jane trying to get out of The Program or something?"

Jane covered her face with her hands.

"You realize that if you miss today, you'll just have to do it again," Lisa said.  "...Again.  This being your second time and all."

Jane's family knew about The Program, of course: after Jane's hospital stay, there was no way they could not have known.  And they knew that a participant who had not completed his Program week satisfactorily could be made to do it again.  But Jane had not told them that she was attempting it again.

"Why do you want to get out of The Program, Jane," her mother asked.

Jane's father appeared at the door.  "Wow, what's going on over here?"

"Jane's telling us things about herself," Lisa said.

"Oh, good!"  He sat down on the floor near Jane's bed.

"Daddy," said Jane, blushing.

"Well, Jane," said her father kindly.  "You never tell us anything.  Of course I'm interested in listening."  He turned to his wife and younger daughter.  "So what's going on, gang?"

"Jane doesn't want to go to school because she's in The Program," Lisa said.

"The re-attempt, I take it," her father said.  "If you fail this week, do you have to re-reattempt it?"

"Yes," Jane said flatly.

"Then, why ditch school?" her father asked.  David Myers's hair was a snowy gray by now—his wife was much the same—but he maintained his physique, and his mind was still as strong as ever.  "Today's Wednesday, Janey.  You're half-way done.  If you can hold on until Friday, you won't ever have to go naked again.  Unless you want to, of course."

"Yeah, right," Jane snorted.

"Well, you might want to one day," said her father.  "For instance, when you take a shower.  Or, if you ever decide to have sex."  His smile took on a mischievous cast.  "It's hard to have sex with clothes on."

"Daddy!" cried Jane.

"Well, it is," Mr. Myers said reasonably.  "I'm sure your mother can attest."

"I can't believe my parents are talking about sex," Jane said.

"Why?" Lisa asked.  "They do it.  It's happened at least twice that we know of."

"How do you know that!" Jane cried.

"Duh," said Lisa.  "You're here.  I'm here.  You don't think we were dropped by the stork or anything, do you?"

"We need to get to the bottom of this," Jane's mother said.  "Jane, why don't you want to be in The Program anymore."

"I never did," Jane said.

"Then why'd you sign up!" Lisa exclaimed.

Jane remained stubbornly silent.  In her mind was a single thought: reveal nothing.  She would remain aloof.  She would remain unassailable.

"All right," said Megan Myers.  She was used to her daughter's obstinacy.  "What is it about The Program that you don't like?"  Jane was a very private girl, but she was also lonely...  Very lonely.  She would talk.  But only if they asked the right questions.

"Well..." said Jane.  If having your parents talk to you about sex was embarrassing, how much worse would it be to talk to them about it?  "I don't like all the...  Contact.  I don't like that people can touch my...  My...  Me."

"Why not?" asked her mother.  "As I understand it, being touched is the main reason most people sign up for The Program."

Jane flared defensively.  "Yeah, well.  They're wrong.  If they want to jump off a bridge, they can do that too."

"Why are they wrong?" asked her mother.  "Some people do jump off bridges.  It's called bungie-jumping and supposedly it's very enjoyable.  At least, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Well, I'm not," Jane said stubbornly.

"So, in other words, it's not that it's wrong, it's that you don't like it," said Lisa.

"Well, no," Jane said.  "I don't."

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Myers.  "Jane, I can't say I like the thought of random people touching your private parts, but if you enjoy it and if they enjoy it...  And you're the one more likely to enjoy it, because it's your body.  Why resist it?"

"Well, because..." said Jane.  Why did she want to keep herself chaste?  "Because that's not who I want to be.  I don't believe in today's values of just, you know, jumping in bed with whoever you want."

"Yes, but there are other things you can do besides fucking," Lisa said.  "What about those?"

"Lisa!" exclaimed Mrs. Myers.

"What?"  Lisa rolled her eyes.  "Am I supposed to just say 'intercourse'?  What a dumb word.  It's not obscene to be precise."

"Besides, those things are gross too," said Jane.  At least, as far as she could tell.  Anything concerning private parts was pretty nasty, as far as she was concerned.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Lisa said mildly.

"Oh, great," said Jane nastily.  "Is that what you and Tommy do behind the baseball diamond?"

There was a short silence.  Lisa's parents looked at Lisa.  Lisa looked at Jane.  Jane looked out the window so that she wouldn't have to see the angry hurt on Lisa's face.

"Who's Tommy?" her mother asked.

"Thomas Sternbacher?" her father asked.

"Why him?" her mother asked.

"Well, he asked me out!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Oh, like that's an excuse," Jane sneered.

"When?" asked Mrs. Myers.

"This Friday," said Lisa.

"No, when did he ask, not, when are you going out.  Speaking of which, young lady, when exactly were you planning to tell us this?  When he arrived at the door on Friday night?"

Lisa had the grace to look ashamed.  "He asked me out on Monday," she said.

"And this is where you've been in the afternoons," Mrs. Myers said.  "At Lover's Point, or whatever serves as an equivalent location at Mount Hill—the baseball diamond, you said?"

"It's not like that," Lisa said quickly.  "We have classes together too."

"So you're disrupting class to kiss with him on a regular basis, then?" said her father with an unrepentant grin.

"No," said Lisa, "we don't.  We barely acknowledge each other.  Because it wouldn't be appropriate, and besides, we're trying to prove that we aren't just mashing face."

"Oh, so, you feel you have to prove it, do you," said Mrs. Myers, and Lisa blushed to realize what she'd just admitted.

"See, this is what I don't want to be," said Jane loudly.  "Doing nothing except kissing.  Getting into the physical stuff way too fast.  It's wrong.  It doesn't work.  This is what I'm trying to avoid."

"To the extent of never kissing at all?" Lisa retorted.  "You made Brandon wait for months before you kissed him!"

"She did?" Father said.

"Jane, I can understand being wary, but..."  Mother said.  "That's a little...  Excessive, isn't it?  I mean, your father and I got married back when things were quite a bit more restrictive, and even we kissed within a few weeks."

"Brandon must have had a lot of patience to put up with that," her father said.

Jane stared, appalled.  Surely they weren't going to say that Lisa was right.

"Jane, we respect your attitudes and beliefs," said her mother.  "Certainly we'd prefer that our girls be safe and careful.  Lisa."  She gave her younger daughter a look.  "But look at what you're saying.  Your beliefs and opinions, at this point, are causing you enormous trouble.  They're interfering with your ability to go to school, they're interfering with your ability to take advantage of an opportunity many of your classmates would love to have, and they certainly seem to be interfering with your dating life."

"And look at your friends," said Lisa.  "They're all happy, and none of them are half as uptight as you.  Maybe the two are related?"

Jane had nothing to say to that.

"Jane, the main part of your personality is in your self-control," her father said.  "You have more determination in your left ear than most people do in their whole bodies.  When you say you're going to do something, you do it.  You choose who you are, to a much larger extent than the people around you.  Most of the time, you choose to be asexual.  But one day you chose the opposite.  You chose to join The Program, knowing, full well, that you couldn't be asexual if you did.  So..."  He shrugged.  "Now you need to choose.  Which side of you are you going to pick?"

"But unfortunately, all that will have to wait," said Mrs. Myers.  "We've got to get you two to school.  Jane, in answer to your original question: Yes, you can miss school if you really want to.  But consider what you'd gain by going today, and what you'd lose if you stayed home.  Lisa, your breakfast is ready, assuming it hasn't simply burned up in the oven by now—"

"You left something in the oven??" Lisa cried.  "After all those lectures you gave me about never doing that?"

"Upanatem, kiddo," said Jane's father, giving her a pat on the shoulder.  "Only three more days."

Jane remained in bed, staring at the wall, stunned by all the things she had heard.  Since when is my family like this?  When did they get here?  Who are they?  And then, Who am I, really?

The wall, as usual, held no answers.

W.2

Stasya Fyodorevna was happy.

It had been a calm, peaceful day so far.  She'd had three classes thus far, and nothing had really happened.  Sure, Spanish had been the intolerable mess it always was, but Seņor Richardson hadn't been half as snappy as he sometimes was.  Mr. Wu, teaching Current Events, had been insightful as always, if grumpy at times.  Today was practice day: after school she'd see her boyfriend Caleb, though of course they'd be busy working on their tango for most of the time.  And, to top it all off, her best friend, Meredith Levine, had found it within herself, for the first time in months, to spend the mid-morning break with the rest of her friends, such as Arie Chang, Zach Crane, and, of course, Stasya herself.

Of course, one of those other friends was Brandon Chambers.  Her boyfriend.  Or perhaps her ex-boyfriend.  Or maybe they were just on a break.  Either way, things were a little awkward between them.  Which was, of course, why she had stayed away for so long.

"It's good to have you back," she said.

The reaction when Meredith first approached was nothing short of elation.  Christa gave a glad cry and hugged her, and the others gathered around, even Jane, to talk to the girl they hadn't seen, most of them, in months.

Meredith tried to answer all their questions, but had to stop.  She brushed tears from her eyes and sniffled.  "I love you guys, you know that?  No one could ask for better friends.  Seriously: no one."

Stasya saw how Brandon forced himself to crowd close, pretend to take part in the joyous reunion, and knew that he was still steaming over yesterday's revelation.  Quietly she snuck him away from the gathering.  After all, it wouldn't do to let the secret slip.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Huh?"

"About...  You know.  Yesterday.  What you found out."

Brandon stared at Meredith's face, bobbing in and out of view behind a sea of friends.  "I feel...  Better about it than I did yesterday.  —If by, 'better,' we mean, 'I can live with one percent of it instead of zero.'  But, yeah, I still feel better, now that I've slept on it."  He turned to her.  "That was good advice, you were really sharp yesterday."

"Thank you," she said demurely.  It was, of course, no more than she deserved, but one learned to take thanks where one could get it.  "I'm kind of used to it.  I get angry a lot, sometimes, but I never let myself act on it until I've had some time to cool down."

Brandon nodded.  "Wise."

"So you're okay with it?" she asked.

"No," Brandon said quickly.  "No, definitely not.  Whenever I think about...  Rick Downing..."  His hands convulsed into fists.  "I just wanna...  But then, I shouldn't be acting on it until I've had some time to cool down, right?"  He gave a humorless laugh.  "Just...  Don't expect me to like it."

"Of course not.  Brandon, that was still an awful thing that she did.  If anything, I'd be worried if you were okay with it.  I mean, come on: she cheated on you.  And with Rick Downing!"  Stasya's indignant tone made the two sound like separate offenses.  Brandon couldn't help but smile a little.

"Excuse me."  Someone hovered behind them: a young man, probably a sophomore or junior.  Stasya had never seen him before.  "Arie Chang?"

Arie turned.  "Yes?"  And then, "How can I help you?"  Evidently she'd never seen him before either.  Behind her, Meredith and the others continued their conversation.

"I was...  I heard something about your sister earlier today," said the young man, "and I was wondering if you could confirm it."  He had a high voice and he fidgeted with his hands, but his gaze was steady.

"I don't know," said Arie, "there's a lot she doesn't tell me."

"Well," said the young man.  "I heard from Alex Masterson that she's got all sorts of really weird cuts all over her body."

Stasya saw how Arie paled.

"And I'm not sure about how much I can trust anything he says—I mean, he's a senior in my sophomore English class, I think that says something about him—but this was just...  Too weird."

"And you wanted a straight answer," Stasya said.

"Why didn't you just ask Trina herself, then," Brandon asked.

"Well, because, Mr. Cavanaugh did, right then and there," said the young man.  "And she just totally refused to answer."

Brandon chuckled darkly.  "That's Trina for you."

"Wait," said Arie.  "I'm not getting the whole picture.  You were in class?"

"Yeah," said the young man.  "1st period English with Mr. Cavanaugh.  Trina's in that class, Alex Masterson's in that class.  You know how Mr. Cavanaugh likes to open class by asking how everyone's doing?  —Wait, silly question, of course you do.  He said he'd had you in class last year.  Well, he asked that, and Alex Masterson raised his hand and—"

"Oh boy," said Stasya.

"Did they seriously have sex yesterday," the young man asked.  "And it was her first time?"

"So my sources tell me," said Arie bleakly.

"Boy," said the young man.  "You'd think she could've found someone better to be with."

Stasya gave Meredith a sidelong glance.

"So, anyhow," said the young man.  "He just ups and declares all this, and he also says that he found out she's been doing weird things to herself.  He said she cuts herself to make herself bleed.  I think he also said something about her drinking her own blood—"

"What!" exclaimed Arie.  "Where the hell did he get that idea?"

"The same place he gets all his stupid ideas," said the boy dryly, "that echoing space between his ears."  Stasya guffawed.  "Anyhow.  So, Mr. Cavanaugh asked Trina if any of this was true, and she didn't answer.  And he said, 'I had your sister in my class last year, so I know more about this than you think I do.  And she said, 'Then I don't have to tell you anything, do I.'

"Then he asked why she was in The Program, and she didn't answer.  And then he asked if it had anything to do with all the homework assignments she hadn't turned it, and she said again, 'Looks like I don't have to tell you anything, do I.'

"And so..."  He shrugged.  "I just wanted a straight answer.  What's going on with your sister?"

Arie asked, "Why do you care?"

The young man blushed, and fidgeted with his hands, and looked down.  "Is it wrong for a guy to care about someone?"

Stasya and Brandon exchanged glances, and then looked at Arie as understanding dawned over her face.  "Oh," she said.  "Oh..."

The young man grimaced, but stood his ground.

Arie frowned.  "Trina cuts.  Both of us cut.  It's a behavior called self-injury or self-harm.  She does it...  Well, partially for the physical benefits."

"There's benefits to putting scars on your arms?" the young man asked.

"Yes," Arie said, "for the endorphins.  You know, the body's natural painkillers?  It's a back-handed way of releasing them, I know, but..."  She shrugged.  "Whatever works.

"She also does it...  I think, because she feels like she's screwed up, but nobody else sees.  So...  She screws herself up."

"This about the girl who disguised her scars with makeup?" Stasya asked.  "That doesn't make sense."

Arie frowned.  "I know it doesn't make sense, nothing about that girl makes sense.  But I think that's why she does it."

The young man nodded.  "Okay.  Okay.  Is there...  Is there any way I can help?"

Arie looked at him silently for a moment.

"I...  Don't think so," she said at last, quietly.  "She's very...  Flighty.  You could try to approach her, but I doubt she'd listen."  Arie gave a twisted smile.  "Too bad you weren't on hand when she started looking for someone to pork her.  You would've been a lot better than Alex Masterson.  —Well.  Anyone would've been better than Alex Masterson, but, you a lot better."

The boy colored.  "Thanks.  I...  Appreciate the information.  I guess I'll...  Just be keeping my eyes open."

"Better than stumbling around blindly," Brandon said.

The young man smiled, and turned to leave.  Stasya arrested his motion with a yell.  "What's your name?"

"Eric," the boy said.  "Eric Price."

"You keep after her, Eric Price," said Stasya, hoping Arie wouldn't jump on her for saying so.

"God," Arie said, "d'you think everybody knows?"

"Maybe," Brandon said.  "Maybe not.  Trina's weird, but she's respected.  People might not believe."

"No, that might make it worse," Stasya said.  "She's up there in terms of grades, right?  People love an excuse to hate people who are better than them.  This might spread around faster than wildfire."

"Fuck," said Arie, cringing.  "Wonderful.  Great."

They turned back to the rest of their friends.  Meredith was talking to Jane, who was of course uncomfortable in her nudity.  Then she turned to Brandon.  "And how are you doing, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated.  There was a lot he couldn't exactly say: if Meredith hadn't revealed her summer indiscretion—and it was clear she had not, or his friends would be in an uproar right now—then he'd have to keep his feelings to himself.  But, considering Stasya's advice, maybe that was just as well.

"I'm...  All right," he said.  "Surviving.  I guess."

"I...  Despite everything, I'm glad to see you," she said.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, and took a perverse pleasure in the hurt in her face when he didn't respond in kind.  Immediately he felt guilty.  But Stasya said it was okay to feel betrayed.  He had no idea how to feel.  He wasn't even really sure how he did feel.

Christa noticed.  "Brandon, I'm sure you can find something nicer to say to your girlfriend than that."

"I'm sure I could," Brandon said evenly.  He smiled easily.  "But, you see, it's been so long, I've forgotten a lot of things.  For instance, was she allowing me to kiss her when we broke off?"

"Oh, ha, that's not funny Brandon," Jane said loudly.

"Damn, man," said Zach.  "What kind of fight exactly did you two have if you can't even talk to each other?"

Brandon and Meredith said, simultaneously, "You don't wanna know."  They glanced at each other, and the glances were not quite hostile.  Not quite.

"Excuse me," someone said.  "Arie Chang?"

It was another stranger, wanting to know about Trina.  But this person wasn't, as it turned out, in any of her classes.  Clearly the news was spreading.

At the same time, another person came from another direction.  He was tall, with a nasty complexion and greasy brown hair, and he was smiling in a manner that was probably meant to be disarming but merely looked creepy.  "Helloooo, Sweet-cheeks."

Stasya felt her guts tighten.  It was Rick Downing.

Everyone looked, including Arie.  Meredith went pale.  Brandon scowled.

Derek frowned.  "Isn't that a bit presumptuous, Mr. Downing?  How do you know they aren't sour cheeks instead?  Or perhaps just salty cheeks."

"Dude," said Sajel.  "Fifteen points from Derek.  A drunk hamster could've been funnier than that.  ...Actually, come to think of it, it probably would be a lot funnier."

"Butt out, bitch," said Rick Downing to her.  "I'm trying to talk to my girl here."

"Your girl?" Meredith asked, her voice brittle.  "Since when was this?  I happen to be someone's girl already."  She took a step back towards Brandon—who sidled away precipitously, confusion on his face.

"Meredith.  I'm hurt."  Rick Downing didn't look hurt—he was smiling broadly, and Stasya understood the bombshell he was planning to drop, and just how much he was planning to enjoy it.  "Didn't you tell everyone about those precious moments of love at Broadfield Music Camp?"

Meredith's face went even paler than before.  It was clear she felt caught—that there was absolutely no way she could see to get her out of the situation.  Stasya jumped into the gap.  "Why, Meredith!  You didn't tell us!  But since we're your best friends, and you tell us everything—"  She laid particular emphasis on that word.  "—my guess is, Mr. Downing is simply lying.  Isn't that right, guys?"

The last few words came out a little more clenched than she'd hoped, but everyone picked up on the hints and agreed broadly.  Oh, yes, certainly he was lying.  But Rick Downing flashed her an ugly look and said, "You know, you really ought to talk about a doctor about that speech impediment.  It sounds like mush."

"No," said Meredith, suddenly active.  "I haven't told."  She shrugged.  "Because there wasn't much to tell.  He hit on me.  He tried to feel me up.  Once he even whipped his dick out."  She shrugged.  "It was really small.  I told him I'm only interested in real men."

"What, like that pussy there," said Rick Downing, pointing—mistakenly—at Derek.

"Yes," said Meredith, her voice iron.  "Because when he tries to get into a girl's pants and fails, he has the brains to not try and embarrass her in front of all her friends."

"Failed!" exclaimed Rick Downing in hurt tones.  "Then what happened to that night of passion we shared?"

Meredith's friends, of course, responded with outrage: lies, defamation, slander, libel, all that stuff.  But they looked to her again and again for confirmation—waiting for her to surge to her own defense, to speak up, to say flat out: "Yes, you are lying."  And when she did not, their protests faded, and then died out entirely.

Arie looked at Brandon.  "You knew."

"I only found out yesterday," said Brandon.

"Brandon, you don't look too good," Arie said.

"Yeah, you look..."  Christa's sunny tones faded to worry.  "Angry."

"I hope you're not expecting me to be pleased," Brandon growled.  Heat radiated from him like a small sun.

"Well, no, but..."  Derek frowned.  "You look like you're going to explode."

"Him?  Bah!" Rick Downing scoffed.  "So someone stole your girlfriend.  Stop whining and take it like a man.  If it happened, it's your fault anyway for letting her drift away from you."

"So you're totally innocent in this," said Stasya, compressing scorn into her voice.  "You did absolutely nothing wrong."

"Of course!" said Rick Downing.  "What do you think I am, some sort of Boy Scout?"

"Rick."  Brandon's face was frightful; his hands clenched convulsively and his whole body hummed with taut energy.  "Shut.  Up."

"Hey, fuck you, man."

Christa took one look at Brandon and turned to Rick Downing, her eyes wide.  "Rick, for God's sake, get out of here.  For your own safety, get out of here!"

"Fuck you too, bitch," said Rick Downing with grand indifference.  "I'm not afraid of that pussy.  You gonna start something, pussy?"

"You started it," said Brandon.  The rage in his voice was thick enough to cut with a knife.  "If you want me to finish it, stick around."

"Rick Downing, get the fuck out of here," Stasya said.  "Go."  And the whipcrack of her voice was enough to shake the boy out of his profound self-absorption.  Taking a look around, he seemed to realize he might honestly be in danger.

"I'll..." he said.  "I'll be back."

"Not if you value your skin, you won't, dumbass," Sajel sneered.

"You've done enough damage for one day," Christa said.  "Leave, before it catches up to you.  We will not be able to control Brandon if you set him off."  Her face darkened.  "Though we might not try very hard either."

Rick Downing left.

For a long time, there was silence.  No one, Stasya noticed, quite dared look at Brandon's face—herself included.  Instead, they looked at Meredith's.  She stared at the floor with an expression of utter weariness, combined with a bone-deep sadness.  Considering the burden she had been under all this time, no one considered her expression inappropriate.

"So," Brandon sneered.

"Brandon," said Christa, a warning.

Brandon was not to be deterred.  "This is the woman I get."  His face was callused with hatred and awful to look upon.  "This is the woman I chose.  This is the woman I asked to marry me."

Into the silence, Meredith said, quietly, "I thought we were married."

Christa gaped.  "You did what?  You didn't seriously—  ...Did you?"

"Of course not."  Brandon's scorn lashed out like a whip.  "We weren't old enough to give legal consent.  We couldn't have."  The Dumbass at the end of the sentence was only implied, but Christa reeled from it just the same.  "And am I fucking well glad we didn't!"

"Brandon, Brandon, calm down, man," Zach said.  "You're saying things you'll regret tomorrow—and things you might not get a chance to take back.  Close your mouth, before you make things even worse."

"Why should I?" Brandon thundered.  "Whose feelings will I be hurting?  Hers?  What do I care?  This faithless—  Pathetic—  Whore with—with no self-control—"

"Brandon!" Christa shrieked.  "That's enough!  I understand that Meredith's made mistakes, and that she's hurt you.  But that's no excuse for—"

"No," said Meredith.  "He's right."

Everyone turned to stare at her.  Her face was ashen and that heavy sadness was still there, but she looked up and met their gazes without shame.

"Brandon is always angry," she said.  "Most of the time he's really very good at hiding it, because he knows anger doesn't solve anything.  But it's part of who he is.  He was abandoned and rejected by his parents, he never had any friends who could understand him until you guys...  He's been alone for most of his life, and he doesn't know why.  Can you blame him for being angry?

"And then there was me."  She gave a small smile.  "And I made him not-alone for the first time in years.  But then I left again—I pulled back, I pulled away, and he didn't understand why."

"Why did you pull away," Christa asked.

"I messed up," Meredith said softly, almost as if she hadn't heard.  "I just...  Messed up.  I messed up with Michael, I messed up with Brandon, and I really messed up with Rick.  I should've been nicer to Michael.  I should've given him a second chance, and not pre-judged him the way I did.  But that was too hard.  I ran away.  I shouldn't've pulled away from Brandon like I did.  I should've confronted you, Brandon, not let you get away, told you how much we were hurting each other.  But...  It was too hard to bear.  I ran away.  He offered to come and see me at camp and I told him not to.  I actually told him, flat out, not to come.  And I should've talked to you all about it, but...  I couldn't.

"And then there was Rick Downing, actually interested in me, being all...  Solicitous and kind and...  But I should've known better."  She sighed, and her shoulders slumped in defeat.  "I screwed up.  All I ever did was run away.  And eventually...  I ran into the arms of another man."

"Jeez," said Zach.  "You know, when you put it all that way, it does sound like you screwed up."

"Well, she did," Sajel said.  "What's all this about running away, Meredith?  When there's a problem, you confront it.  Running away only delays the inevitable."

"And why didn't you come talk to us?" Christa asked.  "You know we're always here for you.  And do you have any idea how worried we've been about you?"

"We're your friends, Meredith," Derek said.  "We care about you."

"That's what friends do," Jane said.

"So next time," said Arie, "tell us."

"Whoa, hold on," said Brandon.  "It's not that easy."  Everyone turned to stare at him.

"Meredith is a peacemaker," he said.  "She tries to keep things calm.  You've seen it, Christa—with her not here, you're the one mostly running around trying to keep things calm.  That's why it's hard for her to come help when Arie's in The Hole.  There's so much tension in the air and she's never sure how to defuse it.  Which is what Meredith does.  Because she hates conflict.  It scares her.

"What she normally does, is run away.  That's not the best answer, but sometimes it works.  Sometimes things just die down and defuse when you leave them alone.  So she tries that first.

"But now she's going off to band camp and she's got problems that won't die down.  She's got Michael on her mind—I still don't understand that, but if it bothers her, it bothers her.  She couldn't talk to anyone about it, not Michael.  We were all rejoicing that he'd been put away—how could she possibly come to us and admit that what she'd done bothered her?  She's got the thing with me—anger scares her because it creates conflict, so she can't exactly confront that about me.  And she's run away from all these things and they haven't gone away—they've only gotten worse.  So, in her panic, she figures that she just hasn't run far enough.

"And then there's Rick Downing.  Promising a safe haven.  Is it any wonder she took him up on it?"

Stasya looked from Brandon to Meredith to Brandon to Meredith.  "What the hell are you two smoking??  Aren't you supposed to be having a fight or something?"

"This is probably a better way to have a fight than most couples do it," Derek said.

"That's Brandon and Meredith," said Arie humorlessly, "revolutionizing relationships from Day One."

Brandon and Meredith looked at each other with an odd sort of recognition.

"This would be about the time for the two of you to kiss and make up," Arie remarked.

Brandon blinked a few times.  "No," he said.  "We're not quite ready yet."

"Definitely not," said Meredith—not an agreement for form's sake, but a statement from her own heart.  "His anger still scares me."

"And she still slept with Rick Downing," said Brandon.

"Yeah, about that," Christa said.  "Brandon, have you ever considered anger management classes?"

"And you," said Sajel to Meredith.  "Grow a spine!"

"Easier said than done," Meredith said, still looking at Brandon.  "His anger gives him power.  It's the one way he has of controlling his own life.  Anyone can just abandon him on a whim—if he gives up his anger, it's like admitting they win."

"And for Meredith to grow a spine, she'd need to confront and fight the person with whom argument would cause the most pain," Brandon said.  "Herself."

"Well, that's hopeless then," said Sajel.

"No," said Christa.  "It's not.  Meredith's conflict-avoidance, and Brandon's anger, are what are causing these problems.  Sure, they keep themselves happy, but only by exchanging one problem for another.  They would be happier if they would stop."

"By abandoning self-preservation, they save themselves," Zach mused.  "What a strange idea."

"Life is a strange place sometimes," Stasya agreed.

There was silence for a moment as they mused upon this new idea.

"So, Meredith," said Sajel, with a wicked glint in her eyes.  "How was he?"

"How was who," Meredith asked.

Sajel rolled her eyes.  "Rick Downing, dumbass."

Meredith thought for a moment.

"Lousy," she said at last.

"Oh-ho!" cried Stasya.

"He really had no idea what he was doing," said Meredith.  "He seemed to think that touching me on more than one erogenous zone at a time was the epitome of refined technique."  She smiled, with a hint of her old wit.  "Talk about false advertising."

"So it was bad," Derek said.

"Yeah, it was," said Meredith.  "We climbed into his bed and then he just did his thing.  I think he kind of assumed I was aroused.  I was, 'cause, it'd been a long time, but under any other circumstances..."  She shrugged.  "And then he made me let him come all over my face."

"Eew!" exclaimed Jane.

Stasya looked at Brandon, whose eyebrows jumped precipitously at Meredith's final comment.  He looked, not angry as might have been expected, but...  Intrigued.

Derek saw too.  "It's been a while for you too, Brandon, hasn't it," he crowed.

Meredith turned and saw the expression on his face.  Her eyes widened.

"Excuse me."  It was someone for Arie again.  "Excuse me.  Arie, can I talk to you for a moment..."

"Is this about Trina?" Arie asked, and the two turned away.

"Do you think that's gonna continue," Stasya asked Brandon.

Brandon checked his watch.  "Not for long.  It'll be fourth period soon."

"And thus passed recess while no one was looking," said Zach.

"Recess?" Derek said.  "God, you make me feel like a first-grader or something.  Call it 'break' at least."

"You are a first-grader," Zach snickered.

"...What?" said Derek.  "Wow, that one came out of left field."

"Uninspired insults," said Sajel.  "Zach loses ten points."

Zach made an exasperated noise and hit himself on the forehead.  "Fella can't get anywhere in this world!"

"So," said Meredith quietly.  "Are we okay?"

"I dunno, what do you mean by, 'Okay'?" Brandon asked.

"I mean, can we talk, will we be..."  She looked up at him.  "Brandon, I don't want to lose you."

With those words, everything came back to him: the lonely nights, the nightmare emptiness of his parents' house; the times they had shared, the secrets they had given each other.  With her at his side, the house had been filled with light and laughter, and the nights had not seemed so endless.  This was the woman he loved above all else.  The woman he had once asked to marry him.

"I don't want to lose you either," he said.

She looked at him.  "Have I lost you?"

"No," he said.

"And you haven't lost me," she said.  She bit her lip.  "But I'm not sure I'm ready to be found again."

"Fair enough," he said.  "Fair enough."

The bell rang.  It was time to go, and fourth period was not one of the classes they shared.  But as they walked away, they looked over their shoulders, as if they other might disappear if they didn't check.

W.3

Jane was once again approached during lunch—not by anyone she knew, this time, but still approached.  It was the third time that day: there had been people at the clothes boxes before school, and someone had stopped her between second and third periods.  She could still feel the stress in her shoulders from that time.  And now here was another person.

Jane had given up on resisting.  Let this fellow do his thing, she figured; he'd notice soon enough that he wasn't accomplishing anything by clawing at her breasts, and he would leave.  But she couldn't stop herself from stiffening at his touch.

They were within spitting distance of the porch on the north side of Stetsen, and Christa and Brandon meandered over.

"Jane, you've got to stop tensing up," Christa said.

"She's doing what-now?" Brandon asked.  He had never actually witnessed one of Jane's Rule Threes until now.

"Look at her," said Christa.  "She looks like a deer in headlights."

"Well, someone is playing with her headlights," Brandon said.

"Oh, thanks guys," Jane said.

"God, Brandon," Christa said.  "We have got to work on your tact."

"Tact is for people who care," Brandon said darkly.  "Right now I'm too tired."

Christa shook her head.  "Meredith's right.  You have changed."

Brandon took one look at the situation and understood what was going on.  "Jane, if you keep tensing up like this you're going to give yourself another breakdown."

"What?" Christa said.  "Why?"

"She's refusing to enjoy it," said Brandon.  "She's working herself up into a frenzy so that she can't feel him touching her."

"I am not!" Jane protested loudly.

Brandon touched her rear with one finger.

Jane yelped and jumped a foot in the air.

"I rest my case," said Brandon.

"Wow," said the guy who was doing the Rule Three.  "I guess I better leave you alone then."

Jane positively collapsed in relief.

"Thank you for being understanding," Christa called.

"Hey, if she doesn't like it, I don't wanna force it on her," said the boy as he left.

Brandon frowned.  "It's not that she doesn't like it," he said.  With the same finger he traced a line across her breast.  Jane gasped and stiffened when he touched her nipple.

"Brandon!" she said.  "That was neither reasonable nor requested!"

"So sue me," he said.

Christa frowned.  "Maybe this explains yesterday."

"What about yesterday," Brandon asked.

Christa looked back and forth, from Jane's milieu to her friends and back.  "Okay, that's it."  She took hold of Jane's arm.  "Come on.  We've got to talk."

"Can I at least get my lunch from my locker first," Jane said, being timidly dragged off.

Brandon followed them.  Christa plunked Jane down between herself and Zach.  Brandon sat on her other side, next to Sajel.  ...And Meredith.  Stasya and Jeff rounded out the gathering.  "Where's Arie and Derek," he asked.

"Checking their e-mail, probably," said Zach.  "Or sneaking off to do the you-know-what-mmhm-mmhm.  They still do that sometimes."

Sajel stared.  "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

"Okay, guys, guys," said Christa.  "I think Jane over here needs a stern talking-to."

"About what," asked Meredith, who had no experience with Jane's Program progress thus far.

"About being in The Program," said Christa.

Jane crossed her arms over her breasts.  "What about it?"

"You're going to need to let it happen," Christa said.

Jane said nothing.

"You've had people touching you for three days now," Christa said.  "Yesterday you relaxed a little bit, and when Will Streuger touched you—"

"Wait, Will Streuger?" Meredith exclaimed.  "My goodness.  Jane, your fame is spreading!"

"Don't rub it in," Jane grumbled.

"When Will Streuger touched you," Christa said, plowing on, "it worked.  You liked it.  Or at least your body liked it."

"She did??" said Meredith.

"Don't rub it in!" Jane said again.

"We're not rubbing it in," said Stasya quickly.  "We're glad."

"No kidding," said Brandon with a rough laugh.  "I was starting to think you were physically incapable of titillation."

"And now there's Brandon's analysis of things," said Christa, not to be deterred.  "He says that you don't freeze up because you're getting aroused—he says you freeze up to prevent yourself from being aroused.

"Now, I don't know if there's any truth to that.  I don't know if you know, and I'm not sure you'd tell us if you did.  But it sounds true to me.  It fits what we know of you.  So what it comes down to is this: why?"

"Why what?" Jane said quickly.

"Why do you resist it," Christa said.  "We've established that it's in you to enjoy it when someone touches you—that's what your body is hardwired to do, Jane, and you can't deny it anymore than you can deny yourself air.  You're not physically incapable...  So it must be something to do with you.  So tell us."

Jane scowled.  "You make me sound like some sort of weirdo."

"Well, you are a weirdo," Zach said glibly, interrupting Christa who had been about to protest that they were implying nothing of the sort.  "You're resisting this thing that, right now, everyone and everything is telling you you ought to be accepting.  That makes you different from the crowd.  That makes you weird."

"Is it your parents?" Christa asked.

Meredith said, "Is there something wrong with being weird?"

"Yes!" said Jane.

Zach blinked in startled shock.  "Hunh.  Well.  News to me."

"Join the club," Sajel agreed.

"Well, I guess we're all fucked up, then," said Stasya.

"What's wrong with being weird, Jane," Meredith asked, conscious of the scars across her wrists, marking the time when she had once tried to kill herself.  Stasya and Brandon were the only people here who knew they existed, but she still felt marked.

"Well, it's...  It's not smart to stand out in a crowd," said Jane.

"I disagree," said Zach mildly.  "I thrive on standing out in a crowd.  I love an audience, Jane, as I'm pretty sure you've noticed by now."

"Well, you're—"  Wrong.  Jane bit back the retort, conscious of the conversation she'd had with her parents and sister...  Only just this morning.  "Well, you and I are different then."

"Why is it not smart for you to stand out in a crowd, Jane," Christa asked.

"And if that's your philosophy, why do you have such good grades," Meredith asked.  "A-plusses are not middle-of-the-road.  And I know you're proud of your grades, so, clearly there's some level in which you enjoy sticking out of the pack."

Jane frowned.  They were right, of course.  Why did she resist?  Or perhaps, more importantly, what was it she was scared of?

"It's not...  It's not so much sticking out of the crowd," she said, "it's...  Sticking out in a bad way.  You know, like...  When you hear Dr. Zelvetti on the PA system, calling someone to the office—you know they're in trouble.  Or when somebody gets suspended.  Things like that."

"So it's that you don't want to stick out for your errors," said Christa.

"Yeah," said Jane.  "It is."

Brandon said, "I'm impressed, Jane.  A year ago, you probably wouldn't've even known this about yourself."

"Excuse me!" Jane flared.

"And then she proves herself correct," Stasya remarked.  "He gives her a compliment which sounds like an accusation, and she immediately stands up to defend herself.  She absolutely can't stand being impugned.  In any way, shape or form."

"That was a compliment, Jane," said Brandon.  "I'm saying that you've come a long way in a short time.  Or, if you like, you can take it as an insult, since I'm also implying that, a year ago, you knew absolutely nothing about yourself.  It's your choice.  But life will probably be easier if you take it as a compliment."

Jane opened her mouth, closed it, said nothing.

"So, Jane, tell us," Christa said.  "Why is it so important for you to be unassailable?  Why do you need to be so...  Perfect?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jane said bitterly.

"It is," Christa said bluntly.  "Everyone makes mistakes, Jane, it's part of being human.  But you put people off by refusing to make them.  It makes you prickly and it makes you hard to like.  You're only hurting yourself."

Brandon gave a low whistle.  "And you accuse me of being tactless."

"He's right, baby.  That was pretty rough," said Zach.

"I think we should continue talking about Jane," Meredith said quickly.  Christa looked vexed.  "Jane, why don't you tell us.  Why is it important to you to be irreproachable?"

"Well..." said Jane.  "Isn't it important to everybody?"

"It is," Brandon said.  "Of course it is.  But not to the extent you take it."

"For you, it's a bit more like an obsession," said Jeff.

Jane's face wrinkled in displeasure, but she didn't deny it.  "I guess...  I dunno.  It..."

Meredith leaned forward.  "If you had to pick one person whose opinion you wanted to preserve the most—who would it be?"

"I...  I don't know."  Jane's hands knotted together.  "My parents can be...  Pretty demanding, but...  Now that my life's basically put together, they don't bug me very much.  I...  Well, Brandon's right out—I mean, I care about what you think of me, but not that much.  And..."  She trailed off.

"God?" Christa suggested.

"Well...  I..."  It was a measure of their ability to reach into her heart that Jane did not seek immediate refuge there.  Jane was a practicing Christian...  But then, so was Christa, and Meredith was beginning to pick it up from her.  Neither of them had hesitated to disregard Biblical directives that they felt were no longer applicable—any more than Jane did before eating something that, Scripturally, wasn't kosher.  And even more than that...  "I dunno.  The Bible says, no sex before marriage—I mean, it's right there.  But the church also says that sex is for procreation only, and that's obviously not true anymore.  I mean, that's how God designed us...  But does that make birth control a sin?  I don't know if God would frown upon it anymore, if someone were to ask Him right now."

"Then..." Meredith said.  "Whose approval, exactly, do you seek?"

Brandon looked into Jane's face, and from the depths of his person came a sudden revelation: "Her own."

Jane looked at them, downtrodden, saddened, defiant.

"Is that true, Jane?" Meredith asked.

Jane didn't answer.

"Well," said Sajel, "that's better than whoring out for other people's opinions."

"It is, it really is," said Christa.

"You avoid sex for your own personal reasons," Meredith said.  "You avoid it because you want to avoid it—you want to, not someone who thinks you should and you want to please them.  You want to please yourself."

Jane nodded.  "I don't want to just jump into bed with people.  I don't want to be one of those easy girls.  I don't want to be that kind of person."

"The kind of person who can be attacked," Meredith said.  "The kind of person who makes mistakes.  The kind of person...  Who isn't perfect."

"Yeah," said Jane.

"But what if, by denying yourself that, you are making a mistake?" Brandon said.

"You have the opportunity of a lifetime," Jeff said.  "Other kids would love to be in your shoes.  Or, rather, your lack of them."

"I'm still wearing shoes," Jane remarked.

"What if you decide not to take this opportunity and then later it turns out you regret it?" Jeff said.

"Yeah, but, what if the opposite happens?" Sajel asked.  "She takes it and then turns out to regret doing that."

"That could happen," Jeff said.  "But I don't think it will."

"Why not?" Christa asked.

"Because look at her life," Jeff said.  "Everything in it is saying she should go for it.  Your friends think so.  Dr. Zelvetti thinks so.  Your sister's going for it even if she isn't in The Program.  Even random strangers are coming up to you to put their hands on your boobs.  I think they're all saying something."

No one answered him.

"The only thing holding you back, Jane..." said Meredith.  "Is you."

"You think I should go for it," Jane said quietly.

"We do, Jane," said Christa.  "And not because we want you to become, you know, 'one of us' or something.  We worry about you.  What you do to yourself...  It's not healthy."

"You don't think it'll be a mistake," Jane said.

"No, we don't," Meredith said.  "Jane, we can understand that you don't want sex to be a big part of your life.  That's fine.  We respect that.  But my feeling is that you avoid it out of blind fear, not because you've been there.  We want you to at least visit, take a look around."

"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it," Sajel said, unknowingly echoing Lisa's words that very morning.

"And you think I should try it," Jane said.

"What harm could come of it," Brandon asked.  "We're not saying you should lose your virginity or do a gang-bang or anything.  We just want you to give it a try.  Let people touch you.  Your body's meant to enjoy it, so you'll probably have fun.  And your reputation won't suffer.  Most people won't hold it against you: it was your Program week, after all.  You're allowed to experiment a little, and you didn't do anything you weren't required to do, according to Rule Three.  And those who do hold it against you...  Well, you clearly didn't want their respect anyway.  Since it has more to do with what they think than who you actually are."

Jane looked around the circle.  Here was Meredith, whose acumen could be trusted above all else.  There was Christa, almost as wise and much kinder.  Brandon, the most important (if only) romantic relationship of her seventeen-year-long life.  They could be trusted; their words were good.  And then there was Jeff.  Distant, detached—and yet his eyes sliced like a scalpel, laying bare the truth.  He was like Brandon in that way.

"All right," she said, barely believing herself as she said it, and yet knowing there could be no other choice.  "All right.  I'll do it.  I'll give it a try."

"And we'll support you," Christa said.

"What, like, you're gonna help out??" Jane asked, scandalized.

"Nooo," said Christa, laughing.  "I mean, we'll be here for you.  If you need advice or someone to talk to.  To make sure nobody pressures you.  Even though you've only got two days left, we want you to enjoy them."

"Jane, you're taking a step into a new world," Brandon said.  "We'll do our best to teach you everything we can about it—good, bad or otherwise—while we have the chance.  That's what friends do.  They help each other."

Jane nodded.  "All right."

After that, they all looked around at each other for a little while.  It was such a momentous occasion that some celebration seemed warranted.  Someone, Meredith thought dryly, should jump up and yell and dance around.  As opposed to all of us sitting here blinking at each other, waiting for something to happen, gradually lapsing back into our own private conversations.  Nothing is happening.  Despite what Jane just said.

Is this what it feels like to be married? she wondered.  To have the rug yanked out from under you.  To have everything change in the blink of an eye.  Suddenly, your life isn't what it used to be.  Suddenly, things are different—confusingly, strangely, endlessly different.

Of course, that isn't all a bad thing.  There are benefits too.  She glanced at Jane.  And there will be benefits.  She'll learn to loosen up, at the very least.  It's no wonder she had a breakdown—she's always wound up tight like a clock spring.  At the very least, she'll learn to relax, and that will be a very good thing for her.

A sudden, humorless thought occurred to her.  Then, if this is all happening to Jane, who's the lucky man?  Her gaze fell upon Jeff Gainesborough, sitting on Stasya's other side.  If anyone, it'd be him—all the other men here are spoken for.  But that isn't saying much.  God only knows what's in either of their hearts.

She looked at Brandon, who had not sat beside her.  And 'spoken for' might turn out to be a premature assessment in his case.

The guilt returned, hurting in her belly.

Hate me all you want, Brandon.  I won't be able to protest.  Because, even though you might one day forgive me...  I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself.

W.4

"That was pretty crazy," said Sajel.  "I didn't think Jane had it in her."

The bell had rung, and the group had dispersed.  Sajel, Zach and Christa all had classes to the north side of the school—up at the Homer Building and the newly-constructed Franklin Street Building.  Sajel had once heard that Mount Hill's campus used to be a college.  Considering the size of the place, she believed it.

"Yeah," said Christa, "that was a really brave thing for her to do."

"Probably do her some good, though," Zach said.  "Maybe she'll learn not to be so up-tight about everything.  Though," he added with a grin, "if she's really so uptight, the first person to have sex with her will be in for a hell of a ride."

"Excuse my boyfriend," Christa said.  "He still thinks poo jokes are funny."

"Who do you think it's gonna be?" Zach asked.  "My bet's on Brandon."

"What?" said Christa.  Evidently she'd misplaced the thread of the conversation.

"Brandon?" Sajel said.  "Have sex with Jane?  He's kinda with Meredith at the moment."

"Yeah, and she's with him, but she slept with Rick Downing," said Zach.  "I still can't believe she did that.  But maybe they'll make a deal or something.  Brandon can go sleep with someone else if he wants."

It did make a kind of twisted sense.  But...  "Would Brandon want to?  I mean, he and Meredith were together for a long time and he never once said anything about Jane."

"No," said Christa.  "He might.  It's there, if you know how to look.  Jane's right, he did move to Meredith really really quickly.  And look at how much time he's been spending with Jane recently.  There might still be something there."

"Yeah, but...  What about Meredith?" Sajel said.  "It doesn't matter what he had with Jane: what he has with Meredith is about a zillion times stronger.  Even if Jane, like, threw herself at him, he might not even care."

"True," said Christa.  "Zach, what made you bring up Brandon anyway?"

"Well, who else is there," Zach asked.  "So far as we know, there isn't a man alive who's shown interest in Jane, besides Brandon."

"So far as we know," Christa said.

"Well, yeah," Zach said.  "But what we don't know don't help us."

Sajel wasn't listening.  There was someone standing in their path on the steps to the Homer Building.  Someone she thought she recognized.  "Oh shit."  Immediately she cursed herself for letting her agitation show.  As it was, Christa picked up on it.

"Why, what's wrong Sajel?"  And then, "...Hey.  Isn't that Garrett Song up there?"

It was Garrett Song.  With flowers.

"Fuck," Sajel hissed, "he's waiting for us.  Let's go around the back."

"No, he sees us, he'll just follow," Zach said.

Great!  Now they'll humiliate me by making me humiliate him!  Again!  "Did you guys plan this or something?" Sajel snarled.

"What?  No, we didn't!" said Zach, looking startled.  "We have no idea what he's—"

Garrett Song's rather anemic voice cut through their conversation handily.  "I realized I didn't do a very good job last time," he said.  "So I thought I'd try again."

"Great," said Sajel, barely managing to conceal her bitterness.

"Sajel Malhotra," said Garrett.  He presented the flowers with a flourish.  "May I request the pleasure of your company for dinner, or a movie, or any other social interaction of your choice."

"She says yes," said Christa.

Sajel stared.

Zach took one look at Sajel's face and nodded vigorously.  "Oh yes.  Yes.  She does."

"Tonight," Christa said.

Sajel glared.

"Well, I can't—  Actually, I'm busy tonight, but how about tomorrow—"  Garrett Song looked back and forth at the three of them in clear confusion.  "Are...  Are you sure about—"

"Quite sure," said Christa.  "She's just stunned by the generosity of your offer at the moment.  I'm sure she'll recover her voice quite soon, at which point she will definitely agree, and very kindly too."  She took the flowers from Garrett's hands and pressed them into Sajel's.  "See," she said, beaming.  "See how happy she is?"

"Yes," said Sajel through gritted teeth.  "Very happy.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with my two mouthpieces here.  Garrett, I'll see you later—"

"We have the next class together, remember?" Garrett said.

Sajel's face twitched in a most unpleasant fashion.

Christa saw.  "Right, we do need to head off to class now, so, we'll catch you later," she said.

"Okay," said Garrett.

And then they all had to walk up the stairs together.

Once they got up to the second floor, Sajel grabbed her friends and dragged them into the little sitting room at one corner of the building.  She barely knew where to begin.  These stupid...  Ridiculous...  Pathetic...

"Uh-oh," said Zach cheerfully.  "She's mad."  Probably trying to lighten the situation with humor.

"Damn right I'm mad," Sajel growled.  Now that she'd gotten something out, the floodgates opened, and she ripped into them.  "What the fuck was all that about?  Am I an invalid?  Am I no longer capable of taking care of myself?  What am I, your child or something?"

"Sajel—" Christa began.

"No," said Sajel.  "No.  Don't you go handling me, Christa Mackenzie Sternbacher.  I'm not just some piece of furniture you can go push around."

"Mackenzie?" Zach murmured.

"Where did you learn all these middle names?" Christa grumbled.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't like him?" Sajel raged.  "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was telling him no to save him the embarrassment of finding out later?  That I was trying to keep both our feelings from being hurt?"

"God," Zach mumbled.  "She keeps her anger on hand too.  Just like Brandon."

"And furthermore, I am not a child!  I am capable of making my own decisions, of taking care of myself, of speaking for myself!  That's extremely rude and very insulting.  I'm glad to see your opinion of me expressed so fucking candidly—"

"Well, sheesh, Saje, considering what you're yelling now, is it no wonder we don't let you talk?" Zach laughed.

"Shut up, Zach!" Sajel roared.  "You're an asshole and you never know when to shut up!  A million points from Zach!"

There was silence on the echo of her words.

Someone stuck her head into the room.  Dr. Zelvetti.  She looked from Zach's shocked face to Christa's chagrined face to Sajel's furious face.  "Wow, what's going on.  Are we practicing for a play or something?"

"Uh...  Nothing, Dr. Z," said Christa.  "We'll just be...  Moving along to class now."

Dr. Zelvetti's eyebrows bobbed.  "See that you do."

In the silence, Zach looked back and forth at them and said, "Speaking of which, sweetie, I do need to get off to class...  Are you gonna be okay here?"

"I think we're under control," Christa said.

Sajel wanted to retort that this was a goddamn presumptuous thing to say, but she could feel her anger ebbing already.

"'K.  Good luck.  Love you."  He kissed her on the cheek and scampered off.

"Sajel," said Christa quietly.  "We only did what, if it was tomorrow, you'd have wished we'd done today."

Sajel had no answer to that.

"You know who else needs to lighten up?  You."  Christa did not raise her voice.  It wasn't necessary.  "You're always so sure everything's going to be a disaster.  When are you going to calm down and live for a change?"

Sajel said nothing.

"Now, come on," said Christa.  She took Sajel's elbow.  "The bell's going to ring soon.  We'd better get to class."

Sajel allowed herself to be ushered away, her mind awhirl, and only noticed after they sat down that Garrett had not been sitting in the classroom when they arrived but had, in fact, followed them in, and that he might have actually heard everything that was said in that tiny room.

Christa, heading to the classroom next door, also saw.  She figured that Garrett must've simply gone off somewhere else—say, to the bathroom—because Dr. Zelvetti had stuck her head into the conversation, and if Garrett had been there, lurking outside, Dr. Z. would have almost certainly said something.  But it was better to be safe than sorry.  So after class ended, she raced outside and intercepted Garrett as he left.  Sajel, thankfully, was off in her own little world—angry, or upset, or simply preoccupied—and didn't notice.  She dragged him into the same little corner room as before.

Christa wasted no time.  "How much did you hear of our conversation before class?"

Garrett blinked at her.  "Nothing.  I was in the bathroom."  Either he was telling the truth, or he had gotten startled innocence down to an art form.

Christa weighed the alternatives and came to her decision.  "Right, well.  Listen.  You probably noticed that Sajel was balking over you, right?"

"Yes, I'd...  Say I noticed that," said Garrett.  "It struck me as...  Odd."

"Yes, well, there's a reason for that," said Christa.  "—Her oddness, I mean, not it striking you as—  Well."  A large part of her was balking, thundering, you should not say this, you should not say this!—and it seemed to be interfering with her speech.  "You see, something happened to her as a child.  She—"

Garrett said, "Miss Sternbacher, I appreciate your help, but, it seems to me that this is the sort of thing Sajel should be telling me.  Seeing as she hasn't, I'd guess she doesn't want me to know.  So, perhaps, you shouldn't tell me it."

Christa stared at him, gaping soundlessly, for a moment.  "Yes.  Yes, that is probably...  Best."  At least it let her off the hook.  "I shouldn't be doing things like that."

"You should be doing," Garrett said, "whatever you can to help your friends.  But if Sajel ever found out what you had told me—and she undoubtedly would—she would never trust either of us again.  And then what have we accomplished?"

Christa nodded.  He was right.  "You are wise beyond your years, Garrett Song."

He shrugged and smiled.  "No, not really."

"What makes you interested in Sajel, anyway?" Christa asked.  "Why did you pick her?  Out of all the thousands of people at this school?"

Garrett was silent for a moment.  He stared, not at her, but past her.

"I know she has a secret," he said.  "I can tell.  You go to school with someone for years, and you start to learn things about them.  And I can see the way her life bends around this secret, even though I don't know what it is."

"You see very clearly," Christa said.

"I suppose so," said Garrett, sounding uncomfortable.  "Maybe.  But I know what I saw.  And even without knowing what that secret is...  I know I can get around it.  If she'll let me in."

"If she'll let you in," Christa agreed.

He smiled down at her.  "I had some help in that regard.  One might almost say you knew I was coming."

Christa shook her head.  "Luck of the draw, unfortunately.  We were desperate to get her to associate with anyone.  Just our luck that we should pick someone so appropriate."

He nodded.

"But I have to ask you, Garrett," said Christa.  "You sound confident.  But can you really do what you say?  She's very fragile inside.  One misstep could destroy her.  Do you think you can actually break through to her?"

"Well..." said Garrett.  "No one can say anything for certain.  But, I know her pretty well.  And I'm willing to try."

Christa nodded, slowly at first, and then with more conviction.  Better than nothing.  "Good."  Good enough.  And maybe...  Good enough is all we'll need.

W.5

Arie squinted.  "Just what the hell is going on over there?"

"Over where," Christa asked.

Arie pointed at Trina, on the other side of the Music Building lobby.  Trina was definitely naked, as befitting a participant in the Naked In School Program, but she was also...

"Is she, like...  Doing a lap-dance or something??" Christa asked.

"Who's doing a lap-dance?" Meredith asked.  She and Brandon glanced over.  "Wow.  Ohhhh my goodness."

"Arie, where the heck did your sister learn to do that?" Brandon said.

Jane stared, eyes bulging.  "I didn't know it was possible to do that."

"And Jane's education proceeds apace," said Christa.

There was a large crowd of boys gathered around, and for good reason—Trina was slinking around like a stripper, twisting this way, arching that way, generally showing off to all and sundry...  And doing a damn good job of it.  The boys loved it.  Derek chuckled, low and throaty.  "She sure knows what she's doing."

Arie elbowed him in the ribs.

Derek made a strangled yelp.  He glared at her.  "What?  It's the truth.  Look at that!"

"She is doing a spectacular job over there," Meredith said dryly.  "And...  Oh!—looks like the Rule Three barrier came down, 'cause they're all crowding in for a feel."

"Why is she doing this?" Arie cried.  "Why is she whoring herself out like this?  First Alex Masterson, now all these guys."

"Well, at first glance, I'd say she's trying to get their attention," Christa said.

"Yes, but...  Why," Arie said.  "If you ask me, you shouldn't need to shove your tits in their face to make them notice you—if they're interested, they'll notice you anyway.  The people who come for your tits aren't the kind of people you'd really want."

"That's a very mature attitude, Arie," Christa said, "but I'm not sure how true it is.  Dr. Zelvetti says that people who go through The Program are four times more likely to form new romantic relationships during that week, and two and a half times as likely the week after.  Are they attracting outside attention, or just encouraging people who would've said something anyway?"

Brandon blinked.  "Where'd Dr. Zelvetti get those numbers?"

"She did a survey," said Christa.

"You can get statistics to say just about anything if you torture them long enough," Brandon said.

"I know, that's what Dr. Z. said.  But she's a psychologist, and she says they're trained to get reliable statistics."  Christa shrugged.  "And when has Dr. Z. ever been wrong before?"

"Jane?" Arie asked.

"Yeah, but, even that might turn out okay," Christa said.

"Yeah right," said Arie skeptically.

"Yeah right," said Jane, but for entirely different reasons.

"What I want to know is, how come she's able to find out who's dating who," Derek said.  "I mean, that's hallway gossip, not homework or official school business or something.  How does she find out?"

Brandon shrugged.  "Maybe she has microphones hidden all over the school."  What should've been a laughing comment sagged into callous flatness.  Derek made a mental note to talk to Christa.  This constant weariness of Brandon's was...  Worrisome.

"They're done with her," said Meredith.  "They're all leaving."  And then, "...She's coming over here."

"Well, then, you can ask her what she's doing," Jane said.

"No!" Arie cried.  "No way!  I can't do that!"  She'd done that far too many times over the past year or so, and every time Trina had used it to hurt her.  If only her actions weren't so goddamn inscrutable all the time...

"Fine," Jane sighed, "I'll do it for you.  Hey, Trina!"

Arie jerked her head away.

"Arie needs help with getting her hooks in people," Jane said, "and since you're so good at it, we thought we'd ask you."  She beamed at Arie.  "There, see, it wasn't that hard."

She found herself facing a wall of blank faces.

"What, what'd I say?" she said.

Trina's face underwent the most alarming transformation, becoming cruel and malicious.  Derek was reminded of a villain from a Disney movie.

"Wow," she said with a gleeful smile.  "My older sister!  Arie Chang herself, the queen of the school, the reigning diva of—oh.  I forgot.  The little porch on the north side of Stetsen."  She sauntered closer, her swaying hips adding emphasis to her words.  "And this...  Stunning...  Example.  Of dignity.  Is asking me.  For advice."

Arie covered her face with her hands.  Jane looked like someone watching a train wreck.

Meredith plunged in.  "Yes, Trina.  We want to know why you were doing what you just did."  And then, "We're worried about you."

Derek winced.  This was probably the wrong thing to say.  Or did Meredith know that, and say it anyway because of the reaction it would cause?  Because it certainly caused one.  "Oh!  Oh!" exclaimed Trina in acerbic tones.  "You're worried!  Oh me oh my!  What have I done to make you worry about me!"

"What," said Christa acidly.  "Is it illegal for us to notice when you're doing something stupid?"

"Something stupid, you say?" said Trina.  "I say I had a stroke of brilliance.  Didn't you notice?  They love me."

"Just like Alex Masterson loved you," Arie asked.

Trina jerked, just slightly, and then met her sister's gaze coolly.  "Yes.  Just like that."

"And this is important to you," Arie asked.  She was leaning forward slightly and her face was set into an intense concentration that told Derek she'd just had a brainstorm.  "This is important enough to you that you don't mind people feeling everything you've got, from tonsils to toenails."

Derek expected anger, expected derision, expected bluster—but Trina gave a facial twitch, barely detectable, and looked to one side.  "Well.  Everyone wants to be liked sometimes."

Arie's gaze flicked to Derek's, so quickly he would have missed it had he not been expecting it.  In that brief instant of eye contact he saw and shared her triumph.  You did it, you got it, you made it!

Unfortunately, it wasn't until after choir practice was over that Arie could really explain.  Brandon and Meredith stayed to supervise Jane, who had been accosted with a Rule Three, so it was only Christa and Derek who received her revelation.  "That was it, that was the whole key.  She doesn't just want to be liked sometimes.  She wants to be liked.  By everybody.  All the time."

"Are...  Are you sure?" said Christa, peering at Arie.  "That's not what she acts like in orchestra practice.  She's really polite there."

"I hope she also isn't doing that whole flirty-shove-my-boobs-in-your-face thing in the middle of practice," Derek said.

"No, thank God," said Christa.  "Ms. Bickson has enough trouble getting us to concentrate as it is.  But Trina never causes trouble.  She's always...  Well, she's always on top of things.  She knows her part, she doesn't get lost, she comes in at the right time..."  This was of particular importance to every orchestra member: anyone besides a violinist could often find themselves sitting silently for minutes at a time.  "She's a model student."

"I guess that kind of works," said Derek.  "I mean, you know the stereotypes about the, like, the student body president who gets straight A's but still hangs out with the popular crowd.  But...  None of them ever go cavorting around like that.  Not even Shannon Salvolestra."

"No, see, that's the thing," said Arie.  "You only proved my point."

"How?" Christa asked.

"Trina isn't trying to be that kind of ultra-popular girl," said Arie.  "Or, at least, that's not all she's trying to be.  Everyone thinks highly of a different kind of person, right?  She's trying to be all those things to all those people.  At once."

Derek said nothing, staring at the unspeakable insanity of the idea—and yet the unspeakable truth.

"She wants...  What?  To be popular?  To be well-liked?  To be Homecoming Queen?  Look who she goes to immediately when she has the chance.  Alex Masterson.  Big Man On Campus.  And look what she does.  She hides her flaws.  She hides her scars.  Of course it doesn't work, but you can always find people who will stare at your boobs if you shove 'em under their noses.  They won't ask questions.  She can't have the Big Man On Campus, but she can have most of the men on campus if she's careful, and she goes for it.  But to the teachers, she's perfect.  She turns in her homework on time and she sits quietly and she doesn't disturb class and...  You know, all that stuff.  I bet," Arie added grimly, "that when she's with her girlfriends she tells them she'd never have sex, and that all that stuff about Alex Masterson is a lie.  She has to be perfect.  She has to be perfect to everybody.  She can't stand being seen as having a flaw, no matter what flaw and no matter by whom."

"But what about that stuff you said you heard at recess," Christa asked.  "About how Mr. Cavanaugh knew she wasn't turning in homework and stuff.  That's a flaw."

"I said she was trying to do it, I didn't say she was succeeding," Arie said.  "Look at what she's trying to do.  That's a huge, impossible goal.  She has to—  First off, she has to know what to be like for any given group of people.  Then she has to be it.  Of course she's having problems.  Especially after Alex Masterson started spreading her scars around.  Now everybody knows her flaws.  That thing with all the boys during break must have been great for her—you know, it was like, Yay, I can still do it, I can still make people like me even though they know I'm screwed up.  But I don't know if it will last."

Christa looked at Arie for a long time.  "I don't know if this is accurate," she said at last.

"I do," Arie said.  "I know Trina.  It fits.  Derek, you tell her."

Derek was forced to agree.  "I think Arie may be on to something."  It did fit all the known facts.  And it felt right.  Trina did seem to like being the perfect one.  It certainly explained her constant ribbing of Arie—by bringing up Arie's faults, Trina could feel virtuous and upright in comparison.  "I don't know for certain, but I think she's on to something."

Christa nodded.  "Okay.  Okay.  So, now that you've got this new hypothesis about Trina...  What are you going to do with it?"

Arie's face melted into anguish.  "God, I don't know!  She'll hate me if...  Well, I mean, if that's what she wants, who am I to step in?"

"Because it's not what she wants," Derek said.

Arie and Christa looked at him.

"It's only what she thinks she wants," Derek said.

Arie and Christa were silent.

"Look at what we've talked about all day," Derek said.  "Meredith: running away from problems to make them go away, even though it only delays the inevitable.  Brandon: shoves people away because he's scared they'll leave him, even though what he really wants is for them to stay nearby.  Jane, making mistakes in her life, but scared to change because that might mean making even more mistakes.  People keep doing what they think will make them happy...  But, ultimately, just keep perpetrating the unhappiness."

"So...  If what you're saying is true..." said Christa.  "Then...  Trina, by trying to make others love her...  Is...  Ultimately..."

"Trying to learn to love herself," Arie said.

Derek nodded.

"She can't," said Arie, "she doesn't remember how, or maybe she doesn't even know how.  So she hopes the love of others will make do.  But of course it won't.  And it isn't working.  She's failing to turn in homework, her scars are betraying her.  So she tries harder and harder.  Still reaching for the thing which, as it turns out, is a pale substitute for the thing she really wants."

"To love herself," Christa said.

Arie and Derek nodded.

Christa sighed, and there was silence for a time.

"God," she said at last.  "What is this, Psychoanalysis Day?  We've dissected four people in twelve hours."

"Hey, watch out," Derek said playfully, "we'll be doing you next."

"Nonsense," Christa said.  "Pish-tosh and other derisions.  You won't be doing me next."

"Oh?" Arie asked, grinning.  "Why not?"

"Because I'm perfect," Christa said, beaming, "there's nothing to dissect."

"Except for that massive ego," Arie retorted, and stuck her tongue out.

W.6

Jane Myers was having a day that could be roughly called 'traumatic.'

She had started out by discovering that her parents wouldn't object if she explored her sexuality.  Then she'd been deeply embarrassed when Brandon had seen through the stress-control method she used to avoid Rule Threes—something she hadn't, to be quite honest, truly realized she was doing until Brandon told her about it.  Jane had never been the most self-aware of persons, but when he spoke, his words rang true.  Then she had confirmed that her friends wanted her to explore her sexuality; then she'd had it pointed out that, in fact, they were not alone: almost everyone thought it.

And then she'd discovered that maybe she thought it too.

The one fact she couldn't deny was that she had signed up for The Program.  She had been in a strange place in her mind, true, almost an altered state—it was just after Meredith's birthday party, when she had been convinced to go without clothes and no one had said a thing.  Not a thing!  No catcalls, no teasing...  Nothing.  (If anything it was Brandon who was teased, about how Meredith had been able to do with a birthday party what he'd never managed in ten months of dating.)  They had acted as if it was...  Practically normal.  And then seeing Zach and Christa, after they had, well, actually done the thing (and at Meredith's house!).  Christa especially, looking so well-loved and satisfied.  And then Arie and Derek, clinging to each other.  Jane had to wonder:  What is it I'm missing?

And, sitting in Dr. Zelvetti's office, talking it all over with one of the people she trusted most in the world...  She had signed up.  And practically the next day she had regretted that decision.  She couldn't find the little part of her that wanted to know anymore.  It was like it had simply disappeared.  But it had been there, long enough to perpetrate this insane endeavor.  Jane Myers had signed up for The Program.  It was the thing she hadn't truly wanted to admit until now.

"I'm still scared of what people are going to think of me," Jane admitted.

"If by 'people' you mean 'yourself,' " said Brandon.  His new bluntness was tiresome on occasion.

"Jane, that's why we're here," Meredith said with exemplary patience.  "We know it's hard to just totally rearrange your way of thinking.  So we, your friends, are going to help you out.  We'll help you change the things you want to and keep the things you'd rather not change.  It's all up to you."

"Good," said Jane, and at the tone of her voice, Brandon looked up.  "Can you change them?"

It was a small flock of boys, four of them to be precise, led by a tall, muscled fellow with red hair.  "Hello, Jane Ingalls Wilder," he said, a nonsensical statement if Brandon had ever heard one.

"Hello, Russell," said Jane.  Her voice was flat.

"I bet you can guess why I'm here," said the boy.

"Does it have to be every day?" Jane asked.  Evidently this was Russell Hebbert.  Every day?  What had this fellow been up to?

"Who's next," Jane asked, "Will Streuger again?"

"Well, if he got a chance, it's only fair I do," said Russell.

"Hold on, you had your chance," said Brandon, letting his suspicion take hold.  "She said you've approached her already."

"True, true," said Russell.  "But she also said she'd changed her mind.  If I know Jane—and, in all modesty, I do—then I know what it is she changed her mind about.  And now that she's not closing her eyes and denying that someone's touching her titties, I think it's only fair that I get a real chance to strut my stuff."

Brandon frowned.  Hebbert had the law on his side, of course, what with Rule Three and all, and his argument was certainly logical.  But something about him made Brandon nervous.  Very nervous.  It was likely, then, to come out of left field.  Those were the things that set off his alarms most frequently: the unpredictable, the unexpected, the inexplicable.  And those were the things that, to his eyes, Russell Hebbert reeked of.

Meredith said, "I have to say, someone who comes back time and again would make me nervous.  It sounds to me like you have an ulterior motive, which may take it out of the realm of 'reasonable.' "

"Okay, what is this," Russell Hebbert said angrily.  "You stand back and you send your friends up to argue for you.  I thought you had some guts.  I thought you at least had what it takes to do what you have to.  I thought you at least kept your word.  But instead you're hiding behind these...  These people.  What's going on?  Are you scared or something?"

That last was delivered in an exasperated tone, as if he was annoyed, but something shifted in Jane's eyes, and she stepped forward.  "No," she said, quiet but firm.  "No.  I'm not."

Brandon and Meredith stared at each other, seeing their thoughts mirrored in each other's eyes.  He could do just about anything.  And he seems to have done the thing that was just about right...

Russell looked Jane square in the eye.  "Are you prepared to prove it?"  Hunched over and with his hands cupped and ready, he looked more like a stooping predator than a sexual partner.

"Yes," said Jane.  She took a deep breath.  "I am."

It began.

He had clearly learned from Will Streuger—he started, not by going straight for her breasts as most others did, but at her neck, her shoulders, her collarbone.  She had not had any kind of physical contact since breaking up with Brandon, over a year ago, and her skin tingled where he had touched her.  His fingers traced in strokes and swabs over her skin, as though finger-painting, and she was both alarmed and pleased to find herself enjoying it.  Pleased: I was right to choose this path!  There is something here for me!  Alarmed: Oh no, not another complication, that's the last thing I need...

But she couldn't deny that it felt good.

When he moved to the surface of her breast, she tried not to stiffen, and he noticed; "Good, Jane, that's good," he murmured.  He moved his hand to cup her breast from underneath, feeling its weight and softness, and she felt, strangely, that her skin was more sensitive there.  It was strange, really.  I thought I knew everything there was to know about myself.  I guess I was wrong.

Brandon murmured to Meredith, "I can't believe she actually went for it."

"She's grown up a lot," Meredith said.  "She doesn't just bury things anymore.  She faces them head-on."  She remembered a saying she'd read somewhere.  The author had almost certainly made it up, but it had resonated with her, and she said it now.  "Learning to accept the things that aren't the way you want them is the first step to being called wise."

Jane was discovering the joys of a well-stimulated nipple.  Russell's fingers were deft and skilled, and Jane, though she didn't know it, was exquisitely sensitive.  It was one of the things that had driven her into sexual seclusion in the first place—the knowledge, somewhere deep and subconscious, that her body was primed and poised for sex in a way most girls weren't.  If she entered that realm, she knew, she could never go back.  And here was one of the reasons why: Jane knew that she would need to feel this again, and soon.  A flash memory: in bed, lying on her stomach, years and years ago—she had been, what, six years old?  Five?—her hand between her legs, her body shuddering with pleasure, her hips instinctively raised up to receive...  What?  She hadn't known at the time.  She had never gotten a chance to experiment, either—her mother had walked in, and the furor was enough to convince her never to do it again.  What a foreign word, masturbation; so unwieldy, so ugly.  No wonder people still think it's a bad thing.

I'll be doing it soon, won't I.  The thought was not tinged with despair or anger, as it might have been a week ago; a calm had settled over her, and she was prepared to accept anything.  Even the dull, throbbing waves of pleasure rocking across her body as Russell Hebbert grasped now both breasts, touching them, rubbing her nipples, raising them up to the light.

Brandon watched with a strange, dull feeling in his chest.  He was seeing now what he had once wanted to see more than anything else—and another man was making it happen.  Did that bother him?  Did he care?  He wasn't sure.  Deciding whether love or friendship motivated his feelings had long been a trouble spot for him.  All he knew for certain was that Jane was being fondled—and that she was enjoying it.

Unexpectedly, Russell's hand moved between her legs, and she gave an audible gasp at the first touch of his hand.  Instinctively she shifted, opening her legs while standing upright, leaning back slightly to give him access.

"Wow," Russell said.  "She's...  Really wet."  He glanced at Brandon.  "This usual?  Is she always this easy to turn on?"  Clearly, he knew their history.

Brandon gave him an aching smile.  "Search me.  You've been there more often than I have."

Meredith gave him a concerned glance and put her hand on his arm.  He didn't seem to notice, and after a moment, she withdrew it, her face pink with embarrassment.

Jane was lost in a world all her own, reveling in sensations she had not felt in ages, sensations that were yet infinitely familiar.  There was the outer part of her private area, fleshy and sparsely coated with hair; there were those two smaller flaps inside, and, yes, Russell knew to stroke in the small area between the outer and inner lips, that area that had always been especially sensitive.  And there was the little nub at the top, which he touched and stroked, which sent shivering shocks of pleasure through her body.  She knew the anatomy now—there were scientific names for all of those things.  But she couldn't remember what they were.  This was beyond intellect.  This was something much more primal.

She didn't even protest when she felt his finger slide inside her.  That was her vagina—that most sacred thing to any straight male—the thing she had been intending to preserve from any human contact until the day she married.  She knew what it was now, and understood what was happening: her muscles contracting involuntarily, grasping at the intruder as they were meant to; the nerves in her body humming with dazzling ecstasy.  She did not hear the rush of her breathing, nor the thunder of her heart; she did not see the flush on her face and chest.  Others saw, and heard, and marveled.  This was Jane?

But as the pleasure mounted and mounted, and she felt her body go taut, slowly preparing for the massive release of energy at the end—as she felt this, she reached down and pushed him away, barely knowing or understanding what she was doing.  "No—  No—  Russell, stop.  Russell, please.  Please stop—"  She gulped air.

Russell gaped at her.  "Why???  Lady, you're about half a minute from an orgasm!"

"I know!  I—"  Pant, gasp, wheeze.  "I know.  That's why I asked you to—  To stop."

Russell squinted.  "...Is this some kind of trick?" he asked.

"Wh...  What?"

"Is this how you get out of it?" he asked.  "Why else wouldn't you want to come?"

"No, I'm not trying to..."  Of course she wanted to come!  (Come?  Did that mean 'have an orgasm'?)  Didn't he realize she was going to march straight into the bathroom after this and finish herself off?  (She was??  ...Well, of course she was.  Undignified or not, it would be even worse to attempt to face her mother this way.)  "It's just...  It's too much.  Too fast.  I'm sure you understand."

Russell blinked at her for a moment.

"Yeah," he said.  "Yeah, I understand.  What with it being your first orgasm and all."  (Oh, how happy she was that he didn't know he was wrong!)  He glared at her.  "But I'm coming back to finish the job, Jane Myers.  Someday soon, I will make you come.  Count on it."

Jane drew herself up, fiery and unhumbled.  "You will, will you?"

Russell met her gaze for a moment.

Then he laughed.  "Now that's the spirit we expect from you!"

Jane was no less unnerved than Brandon and Meredith.

"See you around, Jane Joseph Jingleheimer Schmidt," Russell said, and with a jaunty wave, he departed.

Jane looked at her friends, who looked back at her.

"Wow," said Meredith.  "My goodness.  That was...  Quite an adventure."

"Did you seriously almost come?" Brandon asked.

Evidently it did mean 'have an orgasm.'  Why?  With a man, it was a little obvious, but women didn't exactly spurt everywhere.  "Yes, Brandon, I did.  Why?  Does that surprise you?  Weren't you the one who said the equipment works just fine, but it was all in my mind?"

Brandon had no answer to that.

"I'm...  I'll just be in the bathroom," Jane said.  "I'd...  I'd like to be alone from now on."  She was able to keep her face from reddening, but only just barely.

"Why," Brandon asked.

Meredith understood.  "All right.  Have a nice afternoon, Jane."

Jane walked across the lobby to the bathroom.  "What's going on," Brandon asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.  And then, as she was opening the door to the women's room: "She's gonna do what??"

Jane slumped in the stall, feeling more exhausted than she ever had in her life.  She realized she wouldn't actually need to...  Masturbate (What a truly ugly word!) anymore—she was too tired.  It was as if all her energy, even all that pent-up erotic energy, had simply flowed away.  Someone opened my drain too early, she thought bleakly.

She took a paper towel and did her best to clean herself.  It was a little difficult—the paper was rough, and her private parts sensitive; using water only made things worse.  But with some patience and care, she managed to dry herself off.  Then she set off, alone, for the clothes boxes on the other side of the school.  It was cold outside, and she was unusually aware of the wind, the breeze, the feeling of her exposed skin and the ache in her muscles.  She was tired, exhausted as if she had run for miles, and the ache was not even the good ache of exercise; she just felt worn out and beaten up.

Halfway across the school, she encountered the last person she'd quite expected: her own sister, Lisa, with a radiant grin (and a little smug too) and clothing that hadn't quite settled over her body the way it had before she took them off.  "You've been having fun," Jane grunted, and Lisa beamed and didn't even bother denying it.  There was also an odd smell in the air—a little acrid, a bit like chlorine from a swimming pool.  Jane hoped it wasn't the smell of the liquids from her vagina.

"Hmm," said Mrs. Myers, squinting at them.  "The naked one looks grumpy and the clothed one looks happy.  Have you two just been switching clothes or something?"

"Not hardly," said Jane.

"But, Jane, I hope you eased up a little," Mrs. Myers said, easing the car out of the parking space.  "Life's more fun if you don't try to strangle it."

Jane thought about making a dark comment about the yelling lecture she'd gotten as a six-year-old about never touching one's haha, but she refrained.

"And Lisa, I..."  Mrs. Myers sniffed the air.  "Is that cum?"

The smile dropped from Lisa's face and her eyes flew open.

"What?" Jane asked, confused.  How could 'come' now be a thing as well as an action?  ...Well, if it came from a man, then it could definitely be a—  No way!  Lisa hadn't!!

But she had—at least from the guilty look on her face.  And now that Jane looked closer, she could see a single large splotch on the front of Lisa's shirt—a darkening of the white cotton that suggested water, or some other liquid.  It was a pretty large puddle.  God help me, is that how much men...  ...Produce?

"You tried to wash it off," Mrs. Myers said.

"Yes," said Lisa in a small voice.

Mrs. Myers sighed.  "Well...  At least it's on your shirt, and not...  Somewhere else."  She thought about telling Lisa about not being silly enough to let it get in her eye, but then changed her mind.  She deserves to learn that one first-hand, after nearly giving me a heart attack!

"Lisa," she said.  "You get The Shot first thing tomorrow, understand?  Get it.  No, no, I don't—  Don't protest, I know you're going to tell me you won't have sex any time soon, and I know you mean it.  But I also know you had no intention of doing what you did today, and clearly that resolve didn't stand very well.  If you have to do it, at least don't get pregnant.  Get The Shot.  Okay?"

Lisa, gaping silently, nodded.

"And for heaven's sake, don't let him do it in the back of a car or something," Mrs. Myers said.  "That's the worst place to lose your virginity.  And behind a baseball diamond will hardly be much better.  Come talk to your father and me, and we'll see if we can't work something out."

Lisa said, "How would you know the back of a car is the worst place to do it?"

Jane said, her face dark, "You probably don't want to know."

"Jane's right, dear," said Mrs. Myers, "you don't want to know," and took a rather un-motherly satisfaction at the way Lisa gaped again.  She felt a moment of frustration at her daughter's obstinacy.  Let me help you.  Let all of us help you!  I've been where you are right now, and I can help you make it work!  But, she thought, we never believe what we can't see with our own eyes.  I never saw my mother when she was a teenager, so I never really believed she had ever been one.  And you'll never believe I was once a teenager either.  Not until it's too late.

She suppressed a sigh.  And I never believed my mother when she told me what it would be like to be a mother—to love someone more than you could have ever imagined, to nurture something that is of your own flesh, of your own blood.  To stop being the star of your own life, so that your child can be that instead.  And to ache for them, for pains that have not yet come, and to curse them when they won't let you help them avoid it...  And love them all the same.

She looked at her older daughter, sitting silent and remote in the front passenger seat.  Jane was old enough to drive the car herself, if she wanted; in half a year she would be old enough to vote.  The smell of vaginal lubricants was much more muted, especially in light of the sharp smell of semen—probably Tommy Sternbacher's, unless Lisa was getting into even more trouble than she'd admitted already—but it was still there.  Whatever else had happened today, Jane had become aroused...  And pretty strongly so, judging by the fact that the smell had lasted this long.  And this was Jane, who had avoided anything sexual with a desperation that bordered on fanaticism.  And yet, as Jane stared out the window, Megan Myers saw none of the rage—oh, so bright burned Jane's rage!—that she might have expected.  Instead, there was...  Melancholy.  Silence.  And a strange sense of resignation.

Jane, too, had changed.

What strange creatures we all are, Megan Myers thought to herself, and she engaged the accelerator and sent the car roaring down the road, bearing them away.  Bearing them home.