index


Message-ID: <41897asstr$1050567007@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Part 12
Date: Thu, 17 Apr 2003 04:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Marigold, Part 12
by Vulgar Argot
(rom, nosex)

<author-note>
I'd like to thank everyone who's continued to read and give me such positive
feedback. This story started out as a short NC piece that just blossomed
into what you're reading. As a result, it's gone through a lot of changes as
I figured out what the story is. As such, there are a number of continuinty
issues, both large and small that I let stand rather than stopping forward
progress to correct them, boring anyone reading with multiple drafts of the
same scenes over and over again.

This section introduces a number of plot elements that should have been
explained a bit earlier. They would have been, only I didn't know them when
I wrote earlier sections. I expect to address both issues in the second
draft, which you can expect to see here under the title "Princes of
Mannsborough."
</author-note>


When Thule knocked on Marigold's front door Sunday afternoon, Jonas
answered, coming outside and pulling the door shut behind him, "We're
running a little bit late, I'm afraid. I got held up by some matters at
church and that cascaded."

"No problem," said Thule, "How have you been, Jonas?"

"Busy," said Jonas, "Every free moment I can get, I've been talking to Artie
McNamara. I'm trying to fix a lifetime of ignorance in a few weeks' time
while planning a major corporate overhaul."

"Mac's working out then?" Thule asked. He'd taken a moment to remember that
Artie McNamara was Mac, the IT expert Thule had recommended to Jonas.

"He's easily the most hated person in the company right now," said Jonas,
"but he takes it with good humor. He seems a bit...paranoid, though."

"He's hyperparanoid," said Thule, "but, that's what you want for this. He'll
come up with ways to ruin your business you never even dreamed of, then
protect against them. Let's take a little walk."

"Sounds good," said Jonas, "I'm dying for a cigarette." He was already
lighting up by the time that he reached the end of the path, "Do you know
that the first serious conversations we had about the network was a lecture
on why I needed to hire technological ombudsmen to watch what he's
implementing, then not tell him who they were?"

Thule nodded, "That doesn't surprise me. Any risk assessment that doesn't
include risks posed by the assessor themself probably isn't worth the paper
it's written on."

"Damn," said Jonas, "this is so foreign from my way of thinking..."

"I know," said Thule, lighting his own cigarette, "happily, most people can
go through their entire lives without really evaluating all the things their
fellow man can do to screw them and, through the law of averages, avoid any
major calamities born out of malice. Something like ninety percent of all
companies get hacked one way or another every single year, usually by script
kiddies using well-known security holes that have been patched up in the
most up-to-date version of the kernel or software you're running."

"Something Artie says must be getting through," said Jonas, smiling broadly,
"That almost made sense."

Thule took a long drag from his cigarette, "Did you memorize the information
I gave you?"

"Yes," said Jonas, "would you like to quiz me?"

Thule considered it, "That won't be necessary. If you say you memorized it,
that's good enough for me."

Jonas took another drag from his cigarette, then said, "I'm sure that took a
lot of effort. You're dying to quiz me, aren't you?"

"Well," admitted Thule, "for the sake of thoroughness."

Jonas nodded his consent and Thule fired off his questions in a low voice,
walking while he spoke.

"Hey," said Jonas in the middle of it, "we're getting kind of far away from
the house. Maybe we should stop here."

"I'd rather not stop," said Thule, "but, we can turn around and head back."

Jonas nodded again, turning one hundred eighty degrees, "You want to keep
moving. Why?"

"It's easier to eavesdrop on someone if they're stationary," said Thule.

Jonas spread his arms, indicating their surroundings. The woods had tapered
away, leaving only a few scattered trees in a field of ankle-high grass and
glacial boulders on either side of the road. It would be hard to hide a
large housecat within a thousand feet of them, much less a person.

"Force of habit," said Thule, "We can stop if you're getting tired, sir."

"No," said Jonas, "I'm not...Wait a second. You just called me sir. You did
that on purpose so I would want to prove that I wasn't so old that I'd get
tired from a brisk walk. You devious, little bastard." He said the words
with a sense of wonder, then chuckled appreciately at the end. But, he still
gave Thule a sidelong glance after he said it.

Thule laughed out loud, "There, there, sir. It's okay. We'll ring up your
nurse and have her bring your medications. There's no need to get excited."

Jonas's response was explosively vulgar.

"See?" asked Thule, walking back towards the house, "I'm sure you wouldn't
want anyone to hear you saying that."

                     -=-

After they got back to the house, Thule and Jonas stood on the porch,
discussing a meandering variety of topics. A few minutes after the kitchen
noise had died down, Holly stuck her head out the door, "Dinner's going to
be ready in about five minutes if you want to wash up..." She sniffed the
air, "Jonas, have you been smoking again?"

Jonas got a trapped look. Thule said, "I was smoking, Mrs. Tarr. That may be
what you smell."

Holly wrinkled her nose. It was a gesture Thule had seen Marigold make many
times. Besides being a few inches shorter and having a few laugh lines on
her face where Marigold had none, she was a dead ringer for her daughter,
"Well," she sniffed, "go ahead and wash up. Dinner will be on the table
soon."

"Thanks," said Jonas as she disappeared into the house, "Hey, why can't you
ever lie to me like that to spare my feelings?"

"I didn't actually lie," said Thule, "I try not to very often. We'd better
get washed up for dinner." So saying, he slipped inside the house.

          -=-

Dinner turned out to look suspiciously like Christmas--tossed salad, fruit
salad, antipasto, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans,
biscuits, glazed baby carrots, and applesauce were all brought out and
placed on the table, big enough for about twelve people. Thule wondered just
how hungry the people who must be on their way to fill the other eight
chairs must be in order to eat all of the food. Marigold, Holly, and Jonas
couldn't weigh more than four hundred fifty pounds total, which meant that
about eighty percent of the food must be meant for him.

It took about three questions for Thule to win Holly's enthusiastic support.
Once she had established where he was going to college, what he wanted to do
for a living, and what his father did for a living, she immediately started
talking about weddings--not Thule and Marigold's specifically, but every
wedding she had ever attended, heard about, or imagined. At least, that was
how it started to sound to Thule. Even Marigold eventually rolled her eyes
at Thule behind her mother's back after about fifteen minutes.

Reaching for the mashed potatoes, Jonas knocked over an empty iced tea
pitcher, which rolled and skittered across the floor of the dining room and
landed on the threshhold of the kitchen.  With a cry of "I'll get it," Holly
chased after it.

"So," said Jonas into the conversational lull, a twinkle of mischeif in his
eye, "What exactly does what you intend to study at MIT lead to a career in
software development?"

Thule smiled at Jonas. By the time Holly had returned to the table, he'd
launched into an explanation of Baysean mathematics, Hermeneutics,
predictive analysis, object modeling, complex systems, fuzzy logic clouds
and possible future directions of the field of software development. At one
point, he thought he saw Holly roll her eyes at Marigold when he wasn't
looking, but he was on a roll.

"It sounds like you know quite a lot about the field already," opined Holly
when Thule had run out of steam.

Thule nodded, "It's a bit of a hobby right now."

"Thule's too modest," said Marigold, "He's written some software based on
all this stuff that's worth serious money."

"That's nice," said Holly, "And what is software again?"

Thule smiled, "Computer programs. And it being worth any money at all is
entirely theoretical at this point. No one has made an offer to buy it as
yet, so it's really more of an albatross than anything else."

Dishing herself another spoonful of mashed potatoes, Holly said, "Jonas,
your company buys computer programs, don't they? Maybe you should take a
look at this thing."

Jonas laughed, "I would, but I'm not sure I would understand it for looking
at it. All of this computer stuff is still way over my head."

Holly gestured with the serving spoon, "It sounds like it would be perfect
for what your asset management division. I didn't get all of what you said,
but isn't the whole point of this thing to predict how complex things are
going to act over time?"

Thule didn't hide his surprise very well, "Err, why yes it is."

"Well," she asked, sticking the spoon back in the bowl of mashed potatoes,
"What do people want to predict more than the stock and commodities markets?
Have you tried modeling stocks or commodities with this program of yours?"

"Actually," said Thule, "I have."

"And, how did it do?" Holly asked.

"The sample portfolio did outperform the S&P," said Thule, "by a bit."

Jonas put down his fork, "By how much?"

Thule sighed, "By an anomylous amount. A year is much too short a time to
test something like this. And, to be honest, I hate to talk about that
aspect of it. Predicting the stock market makes it sound like I'm a
snake-oil salesman, when I actually have a very useful predictive modeling
tool with many more down-to-earth applications."

Jonas nodded sagely, "A very reasonable position. But, now you've piqued my
curiosity."

Thule shrugged and took a bite of ham. When he'd finished it, he said, "The
value investor portfolio I set up about sixteen months ago has so far
outperformed the S & P by about thirty eight point two percent."

"Very respectable," said Jonas, "How does it work?"

"Fundamentally," said Thule, "you feed in as much data as you can about a
stock--price history, market share, cost of raw..."

"Wait," said Jonas, "did you run any other portfolios?"

"A couple," said Jonas, "but not for as long or with as robust a source of
information."

"How did they do?" asked Jonas.

"Better," said Thule.

"How much better?" asked Holly.

Thule's mouth felt dry, "I did one on REITs, which are real estate..."

"I know what REITs are," said Jonas, "They've been awful the last few years.
You put together a portfolio of those that beat the S&P? By how much?"

"A little over fifty percent," said Thule, "but, these numbers really don't
mean anything. The software doesn't replace the need for an expert to sort
out useful information from garbage. It just gives the expert a useful
framework to quantify and model the information they do have and make
predictions based on hard numbers and historical modeling rather than gut
instinct, I Ching, or technical analysis."

"Fair enough," said Jonas, "but, if you can set up a demo, I'd love to see
it in action."

"Sure," said Thule, "but it's really meant for organizations with a more
robust development department or any development department for that matter
to get the full potential out of it."

Jonas nodded, "Great. We can talk about that in the office on Wednesday."

Marigold looked startled, "You two are working together?"

"Not really," said Thule, "I agreed to come in one day a week and help Jonas
pick out computer people for his new IT initiative."

"Well," said Holly, "as long as that's settled, who wants pie?"

                                           -=-

After pie, they all moved to the living room, which the dining room opened
onto. While on the largish side, the room would not have looked out of place
in any upper middle class home. The seating was arranged in a rough semioval
around an upright piano and a TV stand. Jonas and Holly sat in easy chairs
at one end, Thule and Marigold on a love seat on the other side, directly
facing them. Marigold leaned up against Thule, drawing her feet up onto the
couch and, after sensing no objections, Thule laid an arm gently across her
shoulders. Soon, she was dozing there.

The conversation had remained mostly banal, Thule answering questions about
himself asked by Jonas and Holly.Knowing what he did about them, he found
that there weren't many questions he could ask without leading them into
uncomfortable territory. Fortunately, they seemed happy to interrogate her
like any normal family would a daughter's new boyfriend.

"So," asked Holly, "how did you two get together?"

Thule froze for a few seconds. Before he could come up with a plausaible
story, Marigold said lazily, "It was so romantic. We've known each other
since grade school." She sat up, "And he's always had a crush on me, but he
never admitted it because I was with Elliot and he didn't want to muscle
in."

Getting into the story, she leaned forward a little, "So, we were always
working in the newspaper together. And we're finally getting to be friends.
And, even though I complain to him about Elliot, he's just supportive and
never says I should leave Elliot or indicates I should leave him or
anything. Now, at that point, I just assume Thule is gay."

"Marigold," said Jonas, shocked, beating Thule to it by a split second."

"Well," asked Marigold, "What was I supposed to think? I knew there was
something wrong with Elliot and I knew I wasn't happy with him, but here's
my good friend Thule and he's completely clue resistant.

Thule could read in Jonas and Holly's faces that they were completely
shocked by Marigold's performance. Considering the quiet and deferential
manner he'd seen Marigold maintain around them, he had to admit he was a bit
shocked also. Moving his body so that he could do so unseen, he nudged her
hard with his elbow, but she was undeterred.

"So, this went on until I found out what a pig Elliot was. I was staying
late at the newspaper office when I found out and I started crying. And,
it's just the two of us. He's standing there, looking all awkward. Then, he
just wraps his arms around me and tells me I deserve better. And, I say
'like who?' and turn my head up to face him..."

"And that's how it all started," said Thule abruptly.

"But," said Marigold, blinking, "I didn't tell them about the flowers yet or
the ride home or..."

"I think your parents have heard enough," said Thule, his voice coming out a
little strangled.

"Yes," agreed Jonas, "quite enough."

"I think it's romantic," said Holly, slapping him on the arm, "It's no worse
than how we met."

Marigold looked up curiously, "I thought you met at one of my father's
parties, in high school."

"That's the short form," said Holly.

"Holly," said Jonas, a tone of warning in his voice, "We agreed not to tell
Marigold that story until she's older...and everyone involved has been dead
for at least forty years."

"Older than eighteen?" asked Holly.

"Holly, please," Jonas said, his voice sounding angry, "it's really not
appropriate." He looked imploringly at Thule, "I'm completely losing control
of my house. Is this your doing?"

Thule looked innocent, "I..."

"You have to admit that it's romantic, though," said Holly.

"Yes, dear," said Jonas, resigned, "very romantic."

                              -=-

Later, when Thule had Marigold out on the porch alone, around the side
adjacent to the now-empty kitchen where they would not be overheard, he
asked her, "You had to cast me as a dick in a jar?"

"Would you rather have been a sex-crazed stripper?" Marigold asked, "I can
still blush on command from that one." She started to flush bright red,
"See?"

Thule laughed, kissing her forehead, "I suppose I should thank you for
saving me. I just froze up. I didn't see that question coming and I didn't
want to lie."

"Don't thank me," said Marigold, "I did it because I sensed an opportunity
for revenge."

"I should beat you," whispered Thule, laughing.

"Promise?" asked Marigold.

Before Thule could answer, the front door banged open and shut. Jonas came
around the side where they were, a blank look on his face, "Thule, would you
take a walk with me, please?"

Thule felt a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. Marigold seemed
oblivious. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, "Bah," she said, "As soon as
you said you were working together, I knew you were going to have to talk
business. I'll go get to work on my homework." As she skipped past Jonas,
she kissed him the same way, "Don't keep him out too late. He has homework
to do, too."

Thule's mind was in turmoil as they walked, in silence, up to the meadow
they'd been at earlier in the day. It was near dark now. Jonas led him up to
one of the glacial erratics, far enough away from the road that passing cars
would not see them. The whole way, Jonas had smoked, lighting each cigarette
from the ember of the last one. Thule knew where this was leading and wanted
to get it over with, but kept his peace. He would do this the way Jonas
wanted to do it.

Crushing out a half-smoked cigarette, Jonas leaned against the boulder,
twice as tall as either of them, "Earlier this week," he said, "Marigold
came to me, very upset about her old friend Maya, who she hasn't mentioned
in three and a half years. Says Maya's all screwed up in the head and how
she feels responsible for it. Eventually, I coax what I think is the whole
story out of her. She tells me about how she used me to get Maya sent away
and how she was responsible for Maya being raped in the first place,
although that bit seemed pretty tenuous to me. The bottom line is that she
wants to know if there's anything we can do to help Maya."

Jonas started pacing, "Then, I ask her how she found out about Maya's
current dilemma and she clams up on me. Finally stammers out some lame story
about getting an e-mail from Maya, even though I know she uses e-mail about
as much as I do. So, why would she tell me about all these horrible things
she thinks she's done, but not tell me how she knows. Then, I remember a
conversation you and I had about why you want to get back at the Vandevoorts
and it occurs to me that Maya must be your girlfriend that Randy Vandevoort
raped. Am I right so far?"

Thule nodded grimly, "You've got it right."

"That's fine," said Jonas, "but it's still got me wondering why Marigold
wouldn't just tell me that you told her what was going on with Maya. I must
have come up with a thousand ideas, but none of them worked. So, it stays in
the back of my mind to wonder why she would lie about how she got the
information. Then, tonight, Marigold tells that story about how you two got
together and I'm thinking, 'This doesn't sound like Thule. He's a real stand
up guy and wouldn't just stand around being all chivalrous while Marigold is
miserable with Elliot, particularly if this strong friendship is
blossoming.' But, then I remember that, when I first realized you two were a
couple, thinking that Marigold really hated you and chalking it up to the
fact that, sometimes, love and hate look remarkably similar."

Jonas stopped and stared directly into Thule's eyes, "A real stand up guy,
Thule," he said evenly, "Stop me if I start to get it wrong."

"No, sir," said Thule, "It sounds like you've got it all right."

Jonas hung his head in a gesture of ultimate fatigue, "Thule, you could have
been like a son to me. Why?"

Thule felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he didn't break eye contact.
Miserably, he said, "Because she deserved it."

In the gathering darkness, Thule never saw Jonas' fist until it was inches
from his face. He managed to turn only a little and caught it square in the
left eye. He went reeling and then sprawling backwards onto the ground.

Standing over Thule in a boxer's stance, Jonas said hoarsely, "Get up. I'm
going to kill you."

Reaching for the glacial erratic for leverage, Thule said, "All right." He
dragged himself to his knees.

"What did you say?" Jonas asked angrily.

"I said, 'All right,'" answered Thule, "But, make sure you get the evidence
in my safe to the people who can make use of it. You promised."

"Thule," said Jonas, sounding annoyed, "When a man tells you he is going to
kill you, you do not say 'all right.' You get ready to defend yourself."

"Sorry," said Thule, on his feet again. He raised his fists weakly, "All
right. Come and get me."

Jonas tilted his head to one side, a look of exasperation on his face,
"That's the worst defense I've ever seen. Now you're just trying to make me
feel better about killing you." Reaching into one of his pockets, he brought
out a clean, white handkerchief and handed it to Thule, "Your nose is
bleeding."

Thule pressed the handkerchief to his face in approximately the right place.
With the help of the boulder, he stood, watching Jonas warily. Jonas seemed
spent, deflated. Even in the twilight, he looked about ten years older than
he had at dinner.

Thule held the handkercheif to his nose, trying a new spot on the cloth over
and over again until he couldn't figure out, when he pulled it away, he
couldn't tell if he was looking at old blood or new.

"I think it's stopped," offered Jonas, who had brought out another cigarette
and begun to smoke, "I haven't hit anybody in about twelve years. I...I'm
sorry I did it tonight. But, you can be goddamned infuriating."

Thule nodded, "I know. I'm sorry--sorry I made you hit me, sorry for
everything, but I know that doesn't mean anything."

"You really played me for a sap, eh?" asked Jonas.

"I was going to tell you," said Thule, experimentally standing on his own
two feet, "Once it was all done."

Jonas stared at him, shock and disbelief plain in his face, "You crazy son
of a bitch, you really were, weren't you? That's why you didn't want to ask
me for any help or work for me or sell me that software you built--because
you were going to tell me that Marigold was one of your targets of revenge.
You crazy, goddamned son of a bitch."

Thule nodded, "You've always played straight with me. I thought I owed you
the same courtesy."

"If you ever hurt her, I will kill you," Jonas said evenly, "That's not an
idle threat."

"You have nothing to worry about there," said Thule, "I've already had my
revenge on Marigold. She was never as complicit as the others. That's over
now."

Jonas didn't speak for a long time. He stared off into the distance,
smoking, until the cigarette burned down so far that it singed his finger,
"So, then," he asked, shaking his hand, "what's all of this about? Why keep
her around? Why eat of my bread and drink of my wine if you've already..."
his voice trailed off.

"Believe it or not," said Thule, chuckling mirthlessly, "It's because I care
about Marigold. I love...being with her. It's not an act."

Jonas lit another cigarette, inhaling thoughtfully, "If I knew what form
this revenge on Marigold took," he paused, "I would probably have to kill
you all over again."

"Probably," agreed Thule.

"So, you'd better not tell me," said Jonas, sighing, "Not ever. No matter
how much your goddamned sense of honor demands it. Promise me that."

Thule smiled cautiously, "I promise."

"Let's go back to the house, then," said Jonas, "and face the music. If you
would come up with one of your bullshit stories that isn't quite a lie, I
would appreciate it."

Thule thought about it as they walked. Then, he said, "Marigold is working
on her homework. Holly is probably doing the dishes still. I could just get
in my car and leave, let you give them my apologies for rushing off."

"What about when Marigold sees that shiner tomorrow?" asked Jonas, "How will
you explain it."

Thule shrugged, "I'll think of something. As far as you're concerned, I
didn't have it when I left."

As they got to Thule's car, Jonas said, "I'll see you Wednesday, then."

"Yeah," said Thule, opening the door of his car, "Are we..."

"Okay?" asked Jonas, "No. I've got to protect my family. I can't forgive
whatever it was you did. But, Marigold is happier with you than I have ever
seen her. And the fact that she came to me about Maya...well, I find it
encouraging."

"She really could use your help, sir," said Thule, "The last time I saw her,
she really had gone off of the deep end."

Jonas barked a laugh, "You pick the damnedest time to ask for favors. I
really did want to kill you back there, you know."

"I know," said Thule. He made no move to get in his car.

"Dammit," said Jonas, "fine. Find her. Tell her I'll help her however I can.
I think you know the difference between help and throwing money at a
problem, so I won't bore you with restrictions. Now, good night, Thule. Get
out of her before I regret letting you live."

                               -=-

Despite all that had happened, it was barely nine o'clock when Thule pulled
into the town square. With the warm summer night, a few dozen of his
classmates had gathered around the big fountain at the center of the
Mannsborough town square.

Thule wished that he still had enough hair to hide the shiner better, but
was forced to rely on the interplay of light and shadows and the speed at
which he moved to hide it from anyone watching. Getting out of his car, he
thundered across the square towards the fountain. People gave him a wide
berth on either side.

By the time he reached Elliot, standing at the fountain, talking to Dawn and
another girl, he'd built up quite a head of steam. Elliot had half-turned to
see what the commotion was, so Thule wound up punching him square in the
ear. Thule's momentum carried them both into the water of the fountain.

Obscured by the falling water, Thule rained body blows and head shots on his
already stunned opponent, screaming profanities at his the whole time.
Elliot never even got a blow in before he was pummelled into
semi-unconsiousness. Then, Thule dragged him into the shallows and pushed
his head underwater. Elliot struggled feebly.

By now, they had gathered quite a crowd. From the front, Randy Vandevoort
jumped in and pulled Thule off of Elliot. Taking their cue, several other
football players and hangers-on moved to separate the two and get Elliot to
his feet. Thule, for his part, kept screaming, "I'll fucking kill you."

"Take it easy," said Randy soothingly, "If you kill him with all of these
people watching, I can't help you."

Thule relaxed, both on cue and stunned by the full context of the statement.
He let himself be pulled away.

"Someone is bound to have called the cops by now," said Randy, "Walk
casually over to the benches in front of the bookstore. I'll meet you there.

Thule did as he was told. The benches were big cement squares with benches
cut into all four corners. Thule wanted to get up over the bench and sit on
top of one of the squares. It would mean that Randy would need to crane his
neck or stand for the entire conversation. It would also allow him to put
the bookstore's bright tungsten lights at his back, meaning he would be a
silhouette to anyone sitting on one of the benches. It took him three tries,
but he finally managed to scramble up to it.

When Randy showed up a few minutes later, trotting along on foot, he drew a
six pack of beer out of a paper bag. He looked up at Thule, "What are you
doing up there?"

"Sitting," said Thule sagely, "from here, I can see people approaching from
a long way away."

"Man," said Randy as he handed Thule up a beer "that's a hell of a shiner
you got there." From the sound of his voice, this was not Randy's first beer
by any means.

"Yeah," said Thule, touching it tenderly with the back of his hand, "He got
a lucky shot in."

"Man," said Randy, sitting down on the bench part of the next cube over,
exactly where Thule had hoped he would, "I wasn't sure about you, but you
are one crazy motherfucker. That was some righteous vengeance you laid on
that little faggot."

Thule smiled, revealing a few bloodstained teeth, "I'm all about righteous
vengeance."

"That faggot messed with the wrong guy when he started with you, didn't he?"
asked Randy.

"You keep calling him a faggot," Thule said, checking his eye for tenderness
and wincing, "Do you mean like punk-ass little faggot or like faggot
faggot?"

Randy looked around for eavesdroppers, then stood up to stand as close to
Thule as he could before saying in a stage whisper, "I mean like
dick-sucking, taking-it-up-the-ass faggot. He's sucked half the dicks on the
team."

"He ever suck yours?" Thule asked.

"Shit," said Randy, "It's not like that. I'm not gay, but..."

"But," filled in Thule, "when it's a little bitch like that, what difference
does it make?"

"Like I said," offered Randy, "you are all right."

One of the police cars, which had been gathering around the fountain since a
few minutes after they'd left, began to crawl over to where they were
sitting, its red and blue lights flashing silently. Randy paid no attention
to the approaching car, so Thule pointedly ignored it too.

 From the angle the police car had pulled in at, Randy was obscured by his
bench. Thule was clearly visible. As the officers approached, he raised his
beer to them in a toast, "Good evening, officers."

The younger of the two cops, who Thule recognized dimly as having been a
senior when Thule was a freshman laid his hand gently over his gun, "Can you
put the beer down and come down here, please? We need to talk to you."

Thule put his beer down as if he had meant to all along and swung his legs
down to drop onto the bench. As he did so, Randy stood up unsteadily. Thule
saw the older officer reach for his holster and go into a defensive crouch,
ducking into the cover of the patrol car.

Thule dropped onto the seat, then launched himself, grabbing Randy by the
shoulder and pushing him back hard into a sitting position before ducking
down behind the bulk of the bench himself. The last thing he saw was the
younger officer going into a panicked crouch and trying to draw his
revolver.

"Christ, Randy," shouted Thule, "Don't pop up on a cop like that. He could
have shot you before he even saw who you were."

"Randy?" called the younger cop, "is that you?"

Rubbing the back of head where Thule had rammed it into the cement, Randy
said, "Yeah, Vladi. It's me. It's cool."

Thule peeked out his head to see the younger cop standing up and snapping
his holster shut.

"Shit, Randy," the cop said, "You gotta be more careful. Hans almost shot
you." Thule allowed himself a brief smile.

Hans, whose crouch behind the car had been purely defensive and hadn't put
him in a position to shoot anyone. Thule could see him wanting to protest
that he wasn't going to shoot anyone, but then glance down at his drawn gun.
Apparently, Thule's invention that Hans was going to shoot Randy had fooled
even Hans.

"Sorry, Randy," said Hans as he holstered his revolver, "All I saw was your
head popping up like a target on the range."

"So, guys," asked Thule, "What's up?"

Hans, relieved at the change in conversation, said to Randy, "We got a call
that there was an altercation at the fountain. When we got there, several
people mentioned that Mr. Roemer here was involved. We wanted to ask him a
few questions."

"I saw everything, guys," said Randy, "It's cool."

"Are you sure, Randy?" asked Hans.

"Yeah," said Randy, "you know how these things are. Everybody shoots their
mouth off at the time, then nobody wants to talk about it later, when it
matters."

"Yeah," said Hans, nodding, "Ain't that just the way?"

Vladi indicated Thule, "Is this a friend of yours, Randy?"

"Thule?" asked Randy, grabbing Thule by both shoulders while standing next
to him, "Thule is my boy."

The officers nodded, engaged in a bit of small talk, then withdrew, telling
Thule not to worry about any problems, that they would all blow over. Then,
they got back in their car and drove away.

Thule took out a cigarette and lit it, hoping that Randy would assume the
shake in his hands was from the fight or the encounter with the cops. This
had worked out better than he ever thought possible. The subtle difference
betweeen "one of my boys" and "my boy" had not been lost on Thule and by the
look on the cops' faces, they knew the difference too.

Thule waited until Randy was opening his second beer to say, "Some day soon,
we are going to own this town, you and me."

"Damn," said Randy in admiration, "you do think big, don't you? Don't you at
least have to marry the ice bitch before you start thinking in those terms?"

"That...is a done deal," said Thule, swinging his beer a little wildly as if
he'd already had several, "plus, her old man loves me. Her old lady loves
me. I'm the fucking golden child. I just came from there. They're already
picking out a China pattern. We're getting married next summer. Then, I am
in like Flynn."

"Like who?" asked Randy.

"Never mind," said Thule, "Once we're married, I can drop out and start
working full time in the family business. At the rate I'm going, in five
years, I can own the place."

"Now, I know you are full of shit," said Randy.

"Nah," said Thule, "The old man knows jack shit about computers. I could jam
a virus up his ass and make him think he was shitting gold bars. Once he
realizes he's lost control, he'll have to step down. And, if not..."

Randy stared intently, waiting for the next words. Thule savored the moment
by taking a long drag on his cigarette before making a gun with his thumb
and forefinger and pretending to shoot.

"Damn," said Randy, "you're pretty damned hardcore, aren't you."

Then, Randy began to talk about his own exploits and planned exploits. Thule
wished to God he'd brought a tape recorder, but it never would have survived
the trip into the fountain. First, he catalogued seemingly every one of his
conquests, consensual or otherwise.  Thule realized that Randy was trying to
impress him now. When Thule didn't bother to engage in one-upmanship, Randy
took it as an even bigger challege, laying claim to a carjacking, a couple
of assaults, and a mugging he'd been involved in "for kicks." Thule started
to get a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. As much as he had known
about Randy before, this was all new to him.

"Listen," said Randy uncertainly, when his list of stories and supply of
beer had run out, "I want you to know that I'm really sorry about boning
your chick freshman year. Brianne said it would be cool."

Thule's veins ran cold. He thought about murdering Randy right then and
there, but there were no obvious weapons in sight and too many people had
seen them together tonight. Instead, he said, "Now, there's another ass I'd
like to pop a cap into."

"I'd like to pop in more than that," said Randy, "but, don't fuck with her.
She's mean."

"You never fucked Brianne?" asked Thule.

"Nah. I wouldn't do that to Ian," said Randy, "And, she's got power."

"Fuck that," said Thule, "she's got nothing. She's small potatoes."

Randy shook his head violently, "You don't get it, man. She controls the
flow of quality pussy around here. One snap of her fingers and hello
strokeville or, at least, nothing but dogs and theatre dykes."

"Shit," said Thule, "that's high school stuff. What have we got left, five
weeks of high school? Plenty of pussy outside of this town if it comes to
that. I may just have to fuck that stuck up bitch myself. She owes me some
lost pussy."

Randy shook his head again, but with less certainty, "I respect your claim,
but I can't help you there. Ian's one of my boys, but he won't listen to me
if you pull that. And, he's got his own crew to back him up."

Thule looked angry, "You won't back me? That's cool. Just don't get in my
way. The bitch has it coming. You let me deal with Ian and his crew."

"Crazy motherfucker," Randy said appreciatively. He held up the empty six
pack box and started to rise, "So, are we ai'ight?"

"Sure," said Thule, gritting his teeth, "We ai'ight."

                           -=-

Thule definitely felt like he needed a shower after that conversation. Of
course, he also needed to wash off the blood all over him. Still, it took
him more than an hour to write down and encrypt everything he remembered
Randy had confessed to. Then, he wrote a long e-mail to Maya making the case
for letting Jonas help her. When he finally staggered into the shower, he
was afraid he would fall asleep on his feet.

Tired as he was, he tried to process the new information he'd gotten today.
Being Randy's "boy," created a huge opportunity, but if Randy were pulling
thrill crimes, it was just a matter of time before he'd expect Thule to do
one with him. Laying a beating on Elliot, seemingly out of the blue, had
given Thule some serious credibility, but he'd pushed the bar too high with
his talk about killing Jonas for that to be enough.  He might be able to put
it off until graduation, but probably no longer.

Lying in bed, an ice pack on his eye, Thule considered his options. His
original plan had been to isolate Brianne socially, then rape her. Maya
wasn't the first or anywhere near the last girl that Brianne had identified
for Randy as rapable. It was her service as a spotter more than anything
else that had gotten her where she was today. The idea of raping her had
appealed to Thule's sense of justice for years. But now, he had to admit, he
had no stomach for it. Besides, if it turned out anything like his revenge
on Marigold, he might have to kill Brianne just to get away from her.

Nothing had gone according to plan, but everything seemed to be working out
anyway. Randy was falling for his act--hook, line, and sinker. He and Jonas
had no secrets that they didn't agree to keep from each other and still
looked to be on the same side. He was starting to think that he might get
out of this thing alive. On that pleasant thought, he fell asleep.

                           -=-

Thule woke to the sound of an incoming call on his video client. His alarm
clock would have gone off four minutes later, but at the moment, he resented
the loss of those four minutes badly. Seeing Marigold when he brought up the
client still made him smile, though.

"Jesus," typed Marigold into the chat client, "what happened to you?" Before
Thule could answer, she went on, "Never mind. I know what happened. But,
what the hell happened?"

Thule typed groggily, "How do you know what happened?"

"Dawn just called me," answered Marigold, "She wanted to know if you were
coming to school today or if you were in jail. Apparently, she saw you pick
a fight with Elliot last night and the police come."

"I'm coming to school," typed Thule, "Tell Dawn she still has a ride." Now
coming fully awake, he realized that he hurt in a lot of places other than
his face. Falling like a sack of rocks apparently did that to a guy.

"I think she was more concerned about you than her ride," typed Marigold.

Thule grunted and typed, "Tell her I'm fine, then."

Breakfast, ablutions, and dressing brought a dozen new aches and pains. He
wondered briefly how Elliot must feel today. Then, he remembered the angry
finger marks on Marigold's neck that had only fully faded yesterday or the
day before and decided that he didn't care.

When he arrived in front of Dawn's house, Thule got out of the car and
opened the door for her. Dawn looked up at his face, "That is ugly."

"It gives me character," said Thule, "I knew if I didn't show it to you now,
you'd be trying to see it while I drove."

Dawn examined the black eye closely while Thule waiting for the wisecrack.
Instead, she said seriously, "Thule, what the hell is going on with you? I
thought you were a nice guy, but now you're hanging out with Randy
Vandevoort, beating people up, and doing all the sorts of things that I
always hated about the people I used to hang out with. But, just last week,
you gave me a lecture on how I should stay away from people like that.
Should I stay away from you, too?"

Thule considered the question, "Probably," he said finally, "but not at all
for the reasons you think."

"Okay," asked Dawn, "why then?"

Thule glanced at his non-existent watch, "If we don't get moving, we're
going to be late. If you still want a ride, we can talk about it in the car.
If you'd feel safer on the bus, we can talk at lunch."

Dawn got in the car. Thule drove silently. After a few minutes, Dawn said,
"You still haven't answered my question. I know that there's something heavy
going on with you. You're not going to go all Columbine on Mannsborough
High, are you?"

Thule laughed, "Why does everybody keep asking me that? No. I am not going
to go all Columbine."

"Well," asked Dawn, "what then?"

Thule stalled, "I can't tell you much."

"Well," said Dawn, "tell me somthing. I really want to like you, Thule.
You're smart and funny. Marigold loves the hell out of you. No matter how
much I flirt with you, you've been a total class act. And, you have a car,
even if it is held together with duct tape and chicken wire. You seem to be
nothing like the football players. So, what's going on? Are you pulling some
cloak and dagger shit?"

Thule's eyes did not leave the road, "I'm not like them," he said quietly,
"and I am pulling some cloak and dagger shit."

"Really?" asked Dawn, leaning over the seat, "Cool. Can I help?"

Thule sighed, "It is not cool."

"Okay," said Dawn, "Totally uncool. Can I help?"

"No," said Thule, "You can not help."

Dawn pouted, "Then, why did you tell me about it?"

Thule shrugged, "By virtue of the fact that you could ask the question, you
already knew the answer more or less. I'd rather just acknowledge that I am
up to something than have you poking around to find out that I am up to
something."

Dawn chewed on that for a moment, "Oh," she said, "but what if you've just
whetted my appetite for information and now I have to poke around even
more?"

Thule sighed and rubbed his forehead, "I'd really rather you didn't."

Dawn blinked, "Aren't you supposed to make some dire warnings about poking
around where I don't belong? At least tell me this isn't a game and I don't
know what I'm messing with."

Thule groaned, "It's really not a game. As for dire warnings," he tapped the
brakes hard enough to cause Dawn to topple forward over the front seats, "If
you haven't learned to use a seatbelt yet, how seriously do you take that
sort of thing?"

Dawn righted herself and sat back on her seat, "See? Now, you're getting
into the spirit of the thing. You've established yourself as the grizzled
veteran. Can I be the plucky, wisecracking sidekick?"

"Provided that your contributions are limited to wisecracks and pluckiness,
yes."

"Cool," said Dawn, "I can be Robin to your Batman, Gabrielle to you Xena,
Xander to your Buffy."

"You watch a lot of TV, don't you?"

"Tons," admitted Dawn, "My mother says I should get out more, take up a
hobby. She'll be pleased."

"This is not a hobby," said Thule, wondering where he had lost control of
the conversation, "It's deadly serious."

"And, it's not a game," said Dawn, "I got that."

Thule pulled the car to the side of the road. He undid his seatbelt and
turned around, kneeling on the seat so that he was face to face with Dawn.
He said, with no humor or banter in his voice, "Dawn, if anybody got wind of
what I was doing, I would probably just disappear. Everybody seems to think
that this is just a high school thing, even people who take it seriously.
But, it's the whole damned town. Last night, a couple of cops gave me a free
pass on beating Elliot to within an inch of his life because Randy
Vandevoort told them I was a friend of his. Randy told me he couldn't help
me if I killed Elliot with witnesses, his modifier, not mine. Right now,
you're an innocent bystander. You don't have the pull to survive if I
disappear and they know you're involved."

Thule took a breath to say more, but Dawn interrupted him, "Thule, you do
know I'm a slut, right?"

"What?" asked Thule, too taken aback to say anything else.

"Ever since I've fallen out of favor with Brianne," said Dawn, "I've been a
slut, which is ironic, because over the course of my life, I really haven't
done much of anything that would traditionally be considered slutlike
behavior. But, all of a sudden, I'm fair game. In the last two weeks, I have
been groped, pinched, and felt up pretty much every day since I came to sit
at your table at lunch. I avoid the worst of it by staying around people as
much as I can. But, on Friday, I got cornered by a couple of defensive ends
in the long cement staircase that runs around the back of the gym and, while
nothing much happened, I think I only got away because Miss Delgado came
down that way and chastised me for 'public displays of affection.' I'd much
rather keep my head down and not choose sides, but until I have someone's
protection, I'm just a slut, ripe for the picking. Now that you seem to have
won some favor with Randy, it occurs to me that you might be able to extend
me some protection and that I probably wouldn't need to put out to get it."
Seemingly exhausted by her speech, she sat back, closed her eyes, and
brushing the bangs out of her face.

"I'm sorry," said Thule quietly, "what can I do to help?"

Dawn's eyes opened, "Just let people know I'm under your protection, however
you Princes of Mannsborough do that."

Thule pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed it to her, "The number
on the bottom right there is my cell phone. If I'm not in the shower or
jumping into fountains, it's almost always with me. The next time someone
touches or even menaces you and you know who it is, call me. I'll show up as
soon as I can and lay some righteous vengeance on them. Do you have a cell
phone?"

Dawn shook her head in the negative.

"Can you afford to get one?" asked Thule.

"Maybe," said Dawn, "in a few weeks."

Thule thought about the money he'd collected from Ivan Vandevoort, sitting
in a thick block of hundred dollar bills in the attic. He expected that
there would be more coming soon, but he was still about twenty-eight
thousand dollars short of paying his tuition, not to mention housing, books,
food, incidentals. Whe he'd gotten the cash from Randy, he'd taken five
crisp one hundred dollar bills and put them in his wallet. They were still
there as were sixty-eight of the eighty dollars he'd taken out of an ATM the
last time he'd gone to the bank. He made all of these calculations in a
split second and came to a conclusion.

"Today after school," he said, "we'll go into Vonsburgh and get you a cell
phone."

Thule saw the relief spread across Dawn's face, then suddenly, that face was
a lot closer. Her hands were on the back of his head, her lips kissing his.
Somewhere on the way in, she'd said, "Oh, thank you," but that wasn't the
first thing on Thule's mind just now.

The kiss lasted only a second before Dawn broke away, pulling back. Her face
blushed beet red with embarassment. Thule, realizing what had happened, felt
his own face burning in response.

"I'm sorry," said Dawn, her voice barely above a whisper, "I was just so
relieved..."

Thule sat back down in the driver's seat, trying to disappear into it, "It's
all right. I know..."

"I really like Marigold," Dawn cut in, "I would never..."

Thule started the car and pulled back onto the road, "I know," said Thule,
"It...I know what it...that is, what it didn't mean. I wouldn't..." He
sputtered into silence.

"So," asked Dawn as they were nearly at Marigold's house, "does this mean
that I'm in your crew?"

"I don't have a crew," said Thule.

"You don't?" asked Dawn, "then who are those guys at our lunch table who all
got buzz cuts as soon as you did?"

"I had nothing to do with that," said Thule.

"Really?" asked Dawn, "How many buzz cuts did you see at school before you
got one?" Thule started to answer, but Dawn cut him off, "other than the
creepy janitor and the G.I. Joe twins?"

"Um," said Thule, "none, I guess."

"And how many did you see at the end of last year, when it got hot?"

"None," answered Thule, "All right, maybe it did have something to do with
me. But, that doesn't make them my crew."

Thule couldn't see the shrug behind him, but he could hear it in Dawn's
voice, "Well, they're somebody's crew. They travel in a group, they follow
you around constantly, not that you would notice. When you speak at lunch,
they all pay you deference. Ever since it became clear that you were in
Randy's good graces, they've stopped getting picked on so much. Didn't you
notice?"

"No," admitted Thule, "not specifically."

"Well," said Dawn, "when you decide that you do have a crew, I want in."

"You're going to look pretty funny with a buzz cut," said Thule. Dawn
snorted in derision. "Actually," added Thule, opening the door to let
Marigold in, "you're pretty funny looking now, so it should be all right."

"What are you talking about?" Marigold asked.

"I'm going to be Thule's plucky, wisecracking sidekick," said Dawn.

Marigold pouted, "I thought I was the plucky, wisecracking sidekick."

"No," corrected Dawn, "you're the romantic interest. I get all the good
lines and you get the love scenes."

                           -=-

Thule sat on the flat part of the wide railing that surrounded the front
door of the school, watching people straggle in. He used to sit there all
the time when he was still working out how the social structure at
Mannsborough High worked, but had since taken to the habit of heading
straight for his locker and homeroom to get some work done. Now, he wanted
to get a fresh assessment of a few things.

A lot of things were consistent with what he remembered. The burnouts and
dregs gathered in the diaspora of the pine trees on the far side of the
teachers' parking lot. Also in the pines, but distinctly apart were those
who enjoyed self-imposed exile in order to smoke or make out or just because
they had never become part of one of the larger cliques at Mannsborough. If
the microcliques ever got together, they would be the largest social group
there, but if they could do that, they wouldn't be microcliques.

On the topmost landing, huddled against the school as if for protection,
were the geeks. Thule knew their subcliques and could see how they clustered
around each other along those divisions, but mingled freely. To the right
were the art and theatre fags, who probably wouldn't consider themselves a
clique at all, but based on the law of ducks (looks like one, walks like
one, quacks like one, must be one) they were.

On the second landing were the Princes of Mannsborough, as Dawn had called
them. Randy stood leaning against the center railing, his crew fanning out
around him. On the left side of the railing, they stood in a rough
semicircle. On the other side, the semicile was warped by Ian's presence on
the edge of it and his crew circling out around him. Thule wondered if the
positioning was an accurate Venn diagram of the two crews. If so, Randy's
crew was about thirty strong, Ian's about twelve, but with at least five or
six members overlapping. Out past Randy's crew, Brianne was surrounded by a
gaggle of cheerleaders, ranged out around her in almost military precision.
Thule couldn't hear what she was saying, but he could see the interaction.
Directly in front of Brianne stood June Kane and Svetlana Vasilev, Svetlana
a half-step farther away, indicating her status as equal, but not intended
successor. Behind Brianne, three squad leaders stood and, as Brianne held
court, nodded and commented, confirming everthing that she said. Behind June
and Svetlana and again behind the yes vultures, as Thule had immediately
dubbed them, the other girls, about thirty in all, spread out in more or
less even ranks, distance from the center indicating their relative favor.
Watching them stand there, chatting and gossipping really didn't do justice
to their organization. For that, you had to watch them move through the
halls in a phalanx so neat and martial that, if you added shields, even a
Roman centurion would have found no fault.

The funniest part, to Thule, was that it was all completely subconscious.
Not one participant in one hundred had the self awareness to see the
patterns. More than once, Thule had seen friendships among the cheerleaders
break up shortly after a social change that made it too difficult to speak
to each other on the front steps. Anyone he'd ever gotten to speak civilly
to him or give him dirt on Brianne had stood farthest from her in the
morning. The same patterns repeated in each little tribe, including the
dozen or so lesser ones that populated the two lower landings beneath the
Princes. However, the one time Thule had mentioned the behavior in sociology
class, saying more than he should have, he'd gotten nothing but blank
stares.

Today, Thule had done a small social experiment. As he emerged from the
school, sunglasses protecting his eyes and hiding his shiner, he watched the
waves and nods he got as he crossed the pariah landing. He returned all of
them but one of the science geeks, who had apparently given himself a buzz
cut over the weekend. By the time he'd reached the court landing, everyone
whose greeting he had returned had peeled off to join him and soon gathered
around him. Because he was sitting on the railing, they fanned out in a
semicirle. Marigold stood with her back to him so that he could wrap his
arms around her waist. In the front rank stood Oxana and the three computer
geeks that, if hard pressed, Thule probably would have named as his three
closest male friends his own age, although the relationship had been more
cordial than active over the last couple of years. All in all, there were
about fifteen people surrounding him, chatting among themselves as if they
had not just all followed Thule down the steps, but had just spontaneously
all arrived in roughly the same area.

Then, Thule watched two boys he hadn't seen much of since his days on the
track team peel off from the outer edge of Randy's cluster and come over to
him.

"Hey, Thule," said the one Thule vaguely remembered as being named Arkady,
stopping on the outermost edge of the semicircle, "you haven't been out here
in a while." Next to him, the other boy nodded.

"I just needed some fresh air and sunshine," Thule said, "All work and no
play and all that."

"That's cool," said Arkady. He was rocking back and forth on his heels as
was his companion, waiting for something. Thule gave them a nod of
acknowledgement. They both smiled and promptly turned to talk to the
school's only weather geek, who Thule was friendly with, but considered a
bit odd.

As Thule watched the patterns of people moving back and forth, he saw Dawn
emerge from the pines and make a beeline towards him. He waved to her and
watched the semicircle part to let her approach.

"Hello, Mr. Dark and Mysterious," she said before leaning on the stone
railing at his left hand. Marigold reached over and tousled her hair.

"I don't see Elliot here today," observed Oxana, "I heard he had to get
stitches last night."

Thule tried to remember what he could have done to Elliot to cause him to
need stitches. He didn't even remember much blood the night before. He
asked, "Did anybody hear if he's okay?"

Arkady said, "My aunt's friend works in the ER in Vonsburgh and said he was
there last night, but done before midnight. He needed a couple of stitches
to close a cut over his eye. She said that he said that he got the cut
playing football."

Thule nodded. Arkady moved forward a little, starting a conversation with
one of the chess geeks on the next ring of Thule's social circle.

                               -=-

At lunch, Thule observed that Dawn's observation had been correct there
also. Every time he expressed an opinion, it warped the conversation around
him. He knew it had always been so to a degree, but wondered if it were
worse now.

Thule accepted the idea that he had a crew with mixed emotion. They were
more of a responsibility than an asset. About half of them would be back
here next year, dealing with the aftereffects of whatever he did or didn't
do. And, while they might outnumber Ian's crew, only the SCA types would be
much good in a fight. Still, it was gratifying to feel like he had some
support.

After lunch, Thule was collecting books for his afternoon classes from his
locker when he looked up in response to a friendly, female-sounding, "hey,
Thule." He was surprised to find himself face-to-ponytail with Brianne.
Actually, he was blindsided. He had never heard Brianne's friendly voice and
would have been hard-pressed to guess if she even knew his nickname. To say
that he had been persona non gratis to her would have been to flatter
himself. He was more like furniture that did tricks.

Thule searched Brianne's face for any hint of mockery and found none. So, he
tried to keep the caution out of his voice when he answered, "Heya,
Brianne."

Brianne laid a hand on the outside of his elbow and it was all that Thule
could do not to jump at the touch. She even batted her eyelashes at him
before asking, "Thule, you're pretty good at math, right?"

He wondered if it was a trap to get him to brag about his advanced work in
the field and remind people what a geek he was, thereby losing status. This
time, his answer was cautious, "I do all right in it."

Brianne glanced meaningfully at the calculus textbook Thule had just brought
out of his locker. Then, she moved her hand from the outside to the crook of
his elbow, turning him to face up the hall.

"Do you know Ioke?" she asked.

Thule didn't actually know Ioke, but like everyone else, it would be hard
for him not to know who she was. Mannsborough High was predominantly
populated by white kids of Russian and Dutch origin. The Hawaiian beauty
passed among them like a zebra accidentally left to graze with horses. When
she'd moved here, during her freshman and Thule's sophomore year, she'd been
on the edge of Brianne's social circle. Thule had considered her a potential
ally not to mention what she did to his pulse when she walked by. He'd asked
her out and received a brushoff that not only sweet and polite, but made it
clear that he would never have a chance.

Lost in his revery, Thule forgot for a moment that Brianne was waiting for
an answer until she waved a hand in front of his face, "Hello," she said,
seemingly without malice, "Earth to Thule."

Thule shook his head, "Sorry. I meant to say, 'we've met.'"

Brianne smiled, "Is there any chance you could help Ioke with her math?
She's not really ready for her final and it's freaking her out. She'd ask
you herself, but she's shy."

Thule understood the offer couched in the request and, for a moment, the
ground dropped out from under his feet. All of a sudden, he sensed the
incredibly seductive power of being one of the princes of the school in a
more visceral way than he ever had before. In less than a week of pretending
he was willing to play ball, he'd had money and women thrown at him. He had
been given the ability to protect his friends and to make the police turn a
blind eye to pretty much anything he wanted to do.

It wouldn't be hard. Enough people trusted him deeply that they'd never
extricate him. He had enough blackmail material to keep Marigold around long
after she figured out anything was wrong. He could have the girl, the power,
all of it.

"Hello," said Brianne a little more insistently this time, "You really are
on another planet today, aren't you?"

"Sorry," said Thule, "I've had a lot on my mind."

"So," asked Brianne, "can I tell Ioke you'll help her?"

He could have it all. It would just require him to climb into bed with
Brianne and Randy while betraying Marigold and Jonas, easist thing in the
world.

"Sure," he answered, "anything I can do to help."

"Good," said Brianne, her smile victorious. She started to walk over to
Ioke.

Thule caught Brianne's elbow gently. She turned, looking a little alarmed.

"Brianne," Thule asked, "you wouldn't need any help with your math, would
you."

Brianne smiled, "I'm already in at the University of Chicago. I can coast
from here on out." As she spoke, Thule let his eyes rake over her body. It
wasn't hard to do. She really was very beautiful--blonde, long legs, large
breasts, firm tanned flesh. When finished, he made and held eye contact.

"Of course," Brianne said, her smile open and inviting, "I could always use
a refresher. I'm sure there must be something you could teach me."

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+