Storiesonline.net
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                          Jane Naked in School
                               by CWatson

Copyright© 2005 by CWatson


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Description: The Saga is Complete... Jane Myers, strait-laced and virginal, has entered The Program. This is her story.

Codes: mf slow rom 1st teen cons non-con pett
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All content copyright CWatson, 2003-2007 (unless otherwise specified). All rights reserved.

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Prologue

Meredith drew a deep breath. They were probably the hardest words she'd ever have to say. "Brandon... We need to talk." And that was saying something, considering that some point in the next half hour she'd probably have to tell him that she couldn't marry him.

Brandon looked at her, his face expressionless. "Yeah," he said. "I guess we do."

"I... I think we learned a lot about each other, a few weeks ago," Meredith said, the words spilling out in slow motion. "When I was in The Program."

"Yeah," he said. "For instance, we both found out a lot about each other's family." A flash of a smile, neither warm nor humorous. "On the whole, I'd have to say I like yours better."

She did too, but that was beside the point. "Brandon, for the past few weeks you've been... Inaccessible, really. I mean, we... We talk, we hang out, we even have sex, but... Sometimes I'm not sure you're really paying attention to any of it."

"Well, for that matter, you haven't been very present either." The control of his tone wasn't enough to conceal the anger beneath them. She heard that anger very often these days. It was beginning to grow uncomfortable. "I try to talk to you and you're out on the moon somewhere."

It was the truth. "I know," she said, "I've just... I'm sorry. I've been so... So busy, and..." That wasn't the truth, unless by 'busy' one meant 'consumed with guilt over sending one's brother to jail, ' but really, Brandon didn't need to know that. He hadn't understood then and he didn't understand now.

For a moment she thought his anger might get the better of him; but it receded. "It's okay," he said. "I know you're busy. It hasn't been an easy few weeks for us."

"No," she said. She felt the fragility of the world under her. "It hasn't."

There was silence for a moment. He studied her face. She drew breath and tried not to let fear take over her heart.

"So, what did you want to talk about," he said finally.

How could he not see it! "Brandon, I... You've been busy, I've been busy, we haven't... We haven't talked in forever. We talk even less than we have sex."

He gave a wry smile. "Now that's saying something." His attitude shifted: "Not like we have sex all that often anymore. What, twice since your birthday? You know," his tone turning reflective, "I actually jacked off the other day. And I thought, What a weird relationship if I do that when I could get my rocks off the normal way."

"I know, I miss it too," she said to placate him. "And we're always so distracted by everything... I remember sitting here at lunch—on Thursday, remember, when Arie was talking about Rebekah DeMarne—thinking, This is when Brandon normally leans over and says something to me, and, you didn't, and, it was so bad."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I must've been thinking of something else. I was writing an essay a week ago and it was something you would've liked, and I wished you were there—"

Suddenly she saw just how empty the conversation had gotten, how much they were simply shoving things out to appease each other. Talking, but not saying anything. "Brandon, I'm scared I'm going to lose you," she blurted.

He said nothing.

"It's June," she said. "School's ending soon. In three weeks I'm going away and I won't be back until August. I want to make sure everything's okay by then."

"Oh, it'll... It'll be fine," he said.

She stared at him. "You seriously think that?"

He shrugged. "Yes." That wasn't the truth. In point of fact, he just hadn't thought about it much. So she was going away for most of the summer, to some music camp. She'd done it every year. What was it going to be like without her? He had simply no idea at all, so what was the point of wondering?

And yet something niggled in the back of his head: that he already knew. That losing her for the summer would be no different than now. After all, did he really have her now?

"I don't," she murmured. "I'm going away for three months and I want to be sure you'll still be here when you get back."

He was shocked to realize she was crying. He knew it was his fault. Guilt bubbled up in him: that wasn't what a boyfriend was supposed to do.

"Then... Then let's talk," he said. He reached out to her, but hesitated; his hand brushed her shoulder. They had flown so far into space in the past few weeks that he couldn't even be sure she would like him to touch her. And how lucky he was, that she'd given him the excuse he needed to change his mind. A fresh wave of affection crested over him: How lucky was he, to be near such a clever girl? "Let's talk, Meredith, and let's work this out. I still wanna be here when you get back too."

"Okay," she said, wiping her eyes. Her eyes were the penetrating gray that had never failed to make him melt. "Okay. Let's talk."

"Let's talk." Impulsively he reached out and took her hands in his own; she let him, and she smiled.

"Brandon..." she said.

"Brandon I need your help like right about now," Sajel blurted.

They blinked at her.

"It's Jane," said Sajel, oblivious to the moment she had just interrupted. "She's in the bathroom and she won't come out."

"Well, as long as she comes out within five minutes, she won't be breaking any rules," Brandon said.

"Brandon, she's sobbing, she's hysterical in there," Sajel said.

"Oh, Christ," Brandon said, "I'd better go help her, where is she?" It was only after he'd taken three steps that he remembered the hands he'd dropped.

Meredith looked at him sadly.

"I'll... I'll be back," he said.

Her eyes were huge.

"I promise," he said, his words sounding dim and false to his own ears.

"I know," she whispered.

Sajel looked back and forth at them, finally noticing that she might have interrupted something.

Meredith's eyes closed and her mouth moved in ways that Brandon, too far away, couldn't understand. Sajel, who was closer, saw: I love you.

"Where is she, Saje," Brandon asked. "We'd better hurry."

Sajel led him away. Meredith sighed.

It would be a long, confusing summer.

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Sajel went in first to clear out the bathroom's occupants—which was wise; Brandon thought they might object to him coming in. It was, after all, the girls' bathroom. They were all aware of the hitching, unhappy sounds coming from the largest toilet stall, though, and when they saw him they understood that he was here to do something about it. If he could.

"Congratulations, Brandon," Sajel said, struggling for humor. "You are about to enter a place where few men have gone before."

"Yeah, but not all the way," Brandon grumbled, remembering how many times Arie and Derek had locked themselves in this exact restroom and not let anyone else in.

Inside was tile and toilets. It didn't look all that different, except for the lack of urinals and the sanitary-napkin dispenser on the wall, and there was the sharp smell of piss in the air, which surprised him; he'd figured women would be tidier than that. How exactly did one miss while sitting down? He decided he had uncovered one of the world's unsolved mysteries.

There were wretched noises coming from the largest stall. He prayed she hadn't locked the door. He might have to crawl in otherwise.

The door swung open under his touch.

She was curled up in the corner, her face wet with tears, twisted with fear. He understood the smell of urine immediately: she was in a puddle of it. She must be getting cold.

For a moment he only stood there. Jane Myers, in The Program. It was the second time he had seen her naked in his life. Somehow, in the weeks following Meredith's birthday party, Dr. Zelvetti had convinced her to sign up; and not five days later she'd called Jane's name. Brandon had been pretty sure this was a bad idea—five days? But he hadn't expected it to be this bad. It was recess on Tuesday morning. And Jane was a wreck.

"Jane?" he said. "Jane? It's me. Brandon."

Her mouth opened, wobbled, formed silent words. Somewhere in the torrent of movement he heard: "Brandon don't touch me."

What had happened to her? He hadn't seen her at all, for the most part, since Monday morning, when she'd first come out into the world, bare as the day she was born. He'd heard traces of whispers, of rumors, of something involving Rule Three, but surely that wasn't what had gotten to her... Was it?

"Jane, you have to leave," he said. "The bell's gonna ring soon. You're... You're gonna get in trouble."

Another rushing whisper: "Brandon don't touch me."

What was going on here? "Who's been touching you, Jane?" He stepped closer. "Who's been touching you?"

She shivered and was silent.

He'd never seen her incoherent like this... Well, he'd never seen anyone incoherent like this. He didn't know what to do. But he needed to break her out of her fugue.

There was one way he knew would work. Of course, it might backfire too. And the rising panic in his mind made it hard to think. This was Jane, and he wanted to help her. He couldn't just leave her here. But what should he do? What the heck should he do? He wasn't trained for things like this!

Oh, Lord,  he thought, how did I get into this? Who put me in this situation?

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

She yelped and twisted, but he kept his hand there, following her; and gradually she became used to it, as he had hoped she might. It was like dealing with a cat, he thought dryly.

"Jane?" he said again, when he thought she was calmer. "What's been going on?"

Her eyes, still lit with sparks of panic, focused on his for the first time.

"Everyone's been touching me," she said.

"Rule Three," he said.

"They wouldn't stop," she said. "And... Ugh." She shuddered.

Brandon felt anger rise in him, and disgust. What kind of person kept fondling a girl when she made it clear she didn't like it?

It never occurred to him to question that statement.

"And they wouldn't... And they wouldn't..." Her eyes flicked in all directions, and he could see that her lucidity had been only temporary.

"Come on," he said. "We're getting you out of here. Up you go. Up. Up!"

"Gaa! Nodonwannago donwannago!"

"It's okay Jane it's okay it's okay. It's okay. Come on now. You'll be safe. We'll get you away from the bad men and you'll be safe." As much as any of us are.

"No. Donwannago."

"It'll be over soon. Come on."

She wouldn't go. He had to carry her.

Sajel watched them pass, and wondered what cataclysm she had just seen in the lives of her friends. Meredith and Brandon had been on rocky terms for weeks now—what had she just interrupted? But who else could help Jane? Why hadn't she asked Meredith to come along? And now where was Jane headed? Everyone knew about the nervous breakdowns, but no one had expected to see one.

"I miss the days when life wasn't complicated," she said.

Brandon heard her. Welcome to high school,  he thought.

It was late August before Jane was out of the hospital.



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Monday (part 1)



M .1

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

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

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

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

"Jane," Brandon said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He left the office.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It could, at that," Arie said.

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

Brandon was silent for many moments.

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

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

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

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

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

"About what?"

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

"Now," Sajel said.

"Preferably yesterday," Jeff said.

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

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

And there was Jane.

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

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

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

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

"Who," Zach asked. "Jane or Dr. Z.?"

"Dr. Z... But maybe Jane too."

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

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

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

This might be a long, bad week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yup," said Sajel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you sure?" Christa asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Something's up," Brandon said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dork," Sajel said.

"Here we go," Brandon muttered to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not likely," Brandon grunted.

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

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

"Tell me about it," Brandon said.

M .2

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

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

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

"Is that why Dr. Z. wanted to talk to you?" Brandon asked.

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

"Wait, she... What?" said Zach.

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

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

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

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

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

"Will wonders never cease," said Sajel dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It means Shut up, you're a moron," Sajel said.

"So Faith was faking it the entire time?" Christa asked.

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

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

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

"So she was here," Stasya asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about me, dingbat?" Sajel said.

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

Sajel said nothing, but her face grew grim.

"So, what about it?" Zach asked.

"Never," Sajel spat.

"Never?" Zach said.

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

"Never, and you know darn well why, Zachary Howard Crane," Sajel snarled.

"Howard??" Stasya exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Even your vagina?" Stasya asked.

"What?" said Sajel.

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

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

"Owch," Jeff winced.

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

"Hah," said Arie.

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh. Garrett," said Sajel. "Hi."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You... You what?" said Christa.

"Why not?" Zach exclaimed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How are you holding up," Derek asked.

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

"Yes," Jane said darkly.

"Who?"

"Russell Hebbert," Jane said.

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

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

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

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

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

She was met with a circle of blank stares.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," Jane said.

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

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

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

"So?" Jane scowled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lisa who?" Jane asked.

"Lisa Myers," Christa supplied.

"Lisa Myers?" Jane cried.

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

"That's my sister!" Jane exclaimed.

"See," said Christa, "this is why I told you you might as well tell her too." Tommy looked at Jane's face. "Should I leave now?"

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

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

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

"What?" Jane said.

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

"Tom!" Jane said.

"Tom!" Christa said.

"What?" Tommy said, innocent.

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

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

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

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

"Oh," said Tommy.

"Apologize to Jane," said Christa.

"Sorry, Jane," said Tommy dutifully.

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

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

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

"Eew!" Jane cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, I know," said Tommy in a thoroughly unconvincing fashion.

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

Tommy blushed. "Aww, Christa."

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

"About what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We did," Zach agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

"By Faith," Arie said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" 'Was something different'?" Stasya asked.

Brandon looked at her silently and said nothing.

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

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

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

"How can you say that?" Jane asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brandon shut his mouth with a clomp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So don't ask me to jump off a bridge, 'kay," Brandon said with a sarcastic smile.

"Hey, Arie," said Jeff. "It's your sister."

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

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

"You have voodoo dolls?" Zach asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is it Russell Hebbert?" Stasya asked.

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

"Crucifices," Brandon said.

Arie looked over at him. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, eew," Jane said.

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

"Again??" Arie said. She stood up.

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

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

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

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

"I'm going," Arie announced.

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

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

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

Trina gave her a sidelong glance. She shared her sister's green eyes and long shining hair, but where Arie was well-fleshed enough to hear whispers about her weight, Trina was slender, long-limbed, like a ballerina on a music box. The smile on her face took on a sudden vicious edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trina's eyes hardened. "Fuck. Off."

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

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

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

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

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

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

... Makeup?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sajel sighed. "If I have to."

"So what was it?" Christa asked.

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

Christa squinted. "Makeup?"

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

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

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

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

"Typical," Jane burst out.

They glanced over at her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Brandon," Jeff said.

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

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

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

"Brandon, go, " Derek said.

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

"But what if she—" Brandon protested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I might," he said.

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

"Try me," he said.

"No," she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was silence.

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

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

And now Michael was dead.

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

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

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

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

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

"Meredith," he said. "Meredith."

She turned and ran.

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

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

"Hey, are you okay?" someone asked.

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

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

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

Meredith stared.

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

Brandon looked at her silently for a moment.

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

Meredith stayed too.



-------

Monday (part 2)



M .3

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was fun to sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"... So?" said Lisa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, so?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Katrina waited calmly.

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

"Why do you say that?" Katrina asked.

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

"True," Katrina said.

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

"How so?"

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

"It has to be someone you trust."

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

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

Jane looked over at her.

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

Jane knew that she was speaking from experience: Katrina Fallstead had been sexually molested by a man who was supposed to be her boyfriend, and only the intervention of some of her close friends, particularly one Edward Stanton, had put an end to it. A sudden thought flashed across Jane's mind—when they were intimate, what was it like? They'd had Emma, so obviously they'd managed it, but... Jane was smart enough to know that her husband must be associated in Katrina's mind with those terrible times. Doing... things... with him must be like walking into the mouth of a lion sometimes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was the thing she feared most.

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

"Fear of the unknown," said Katrina quietly.

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

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

"Yeah," said Jane. "Yeah."

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

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

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

Jane was silent.

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

Jane was silent.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, they... They all did."

"And... That had an impact on you?"

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

"All these people who you admire and respect."

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

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

"And you thought..."

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

"And how long did that last?"

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

"And what happened then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jane said nothing.

"And not just eventually... Soon."

"Because I'm back in The Program."

"Yes, Jane. You are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. I won't. I can't.

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



-------

Tuesday (part 1)



T .1

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," said Jane.

"Rule Three," said the boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Jane said. Duh.

"How so?"

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

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

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

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

Jane frowned. "That's not funny."

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

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

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

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

"It is to me," the boy said.

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

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

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

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

Jane blinked. "Err, sure, I—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Jeff," said Jeff. "What's yours?"

"Simon," said the boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On a dare," Jeff said.

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

"Yesterday?"

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

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

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

"Can you," Jeff asked.

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

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

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

"I know that," Jane said quickly.

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

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

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

Simon's face colored.

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

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

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

Simon grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because this is reasonable."

"I don't think so! I think it's—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff frowned after her for a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meredith looked at her tearfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You better not," Stasya said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see," Stasya agreed.

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

Stasya nodded.

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

"And there was Rick Downing," said Stasya.

"Yeah," said Meredith.

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

"Baseball," Jeff said.

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

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

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

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

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

"In bed?" Stasya asked.

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

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

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

"So you escaped," Stasya said.

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

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

Jeff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She has to tell Brandon," Stasya said.

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

"What, forever?" Meredith asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T .2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" she said suspiciously.

"That you relax."

Panic shot through her.

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

Why else did he think she was stiffening up!

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

His eyes drilled her. "Prove it."

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

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

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

Russell sighed. "There she goes again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn that Russell Hebbert to eternity and back!

T .3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For what?" Sajel said.

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

"Like what?" Sajel asked.

"Like Martha Stewart naked," Zach said cheerfully.

Sajel grew a truly horrified expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sajel grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What, like... That?" Stasya asked.

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

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

"Holy shit," Zach muttered.

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

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

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

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

"Huh," said Zach. "They left."

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

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

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

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

"Me? I'm... Okay," said Sajel.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But... He was asking you out."

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

"So you said no. Pre-emptively."

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

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

"Then why'd you—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, sister!" Their heads jerked around.

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

Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He did what!" Arie cried.

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

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

Christa stared. The sheer, outrageous ego!

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

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

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

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

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

"Unmitigated fucking," Sajel said darkly.

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your sister Lisa?" Zach asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I wasn't," Jane said.

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

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

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

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

Jane glared at him, silent.

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

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

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

Jane's gaze softened.

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

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

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

There were nods of agreement in various intensities.

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

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

"No!" said Jane. "Never!"

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

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

"That wasn't what I was about to—"

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

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

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

Arie gasped.

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

Trina got up and ran blindly in the other direction.

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

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

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

"But what?" Arie asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And it freaked him out," Zach said.

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

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

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

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

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

There was silence for a little while.

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

Brandon started. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

Brandon stared at his ankle, and said nothing.



-------

Tuesday (part 2)



T .4

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We will?" said Jane loudly.

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

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

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

"See you tomorrow," said Christa.

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

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

They stared at each other for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Meredith, get to the point."

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

Brandon felt the world rock.

Meredith stared at the ground, her eyes sad.

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

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

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

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

"No, I..." Meredith paled. She could feel the storm beginning to brew in his body. "It was his idea. He was so blunt about it. He totally didn't care about anything except himself."

"And you went along with it!"

"I was so lonely, I needed to get away... Brandon, it was awful! Once it happened I knew it was a mistake! I felt so terrible about it for days, they almost fired me from—" There was no stopping the tears now. It was over, she had lost, she had failed. "Brandon, I shouldn't've done it!"

"No, you shouldn't have," he muttered.

There was no use. If she stayed around he might hit her. The thought registered panic in her mind (Brandon? Kind, gentle, loving Brandon? Hit... ) even as logic confirmed it (The Brandon I knew would never hit anyone. But then, the Meredith I knew would never sleep with anyone but him. Especially not Rick bloody Downing). "I... I'm sorry. I'll leave now. If you want to talk tomorrow... Brandon, I love you." Even as the words left her mouth she knew they had been the wrong thing to say. But she needed to say them. Needed to leave them with him, one last time, while they were still true.

She drove fast because she couldn't see through the tears in her eyes.

Stasya came over immediately. "Oh, Meredith... You tried your best, honey. That's what counts. If it didn't work... Well, sometimes life doesn't—"

"You think that helps," Meredith spat. And then: "I'm sorry, I know you're..." Anger was the last thing she needed. Look at how far it had gotten Brandon. And especially not to Stasya, who was only trying to help. "It's just..."

"It's frustrating for me too," Stasya said, correctly guessing Meredith's thoughts. "I'm not spouting faded clichés for entertainment, you know. But... What can I say? You screwed up, Meredith."

Meredith gave her a wan smile. "Don't remind me."

"But... You said he was mad, right?"

"Yeah. He was furious."

"Well... That's good, then."

Meredith looked at her. "Why's it good?"

"Because it means he still cares about you," Stasya said. "If he didn't, it wouldn't bother him that you..." She couldn't bring herself to say it. "Messed up. He wouldn't be so pissed off."

Meredith grimaced. "Might be safer for me if he didn't care."

"Today, you mean."

"Yeah."

"But tomorrow?" Stasya asked. "When he's slept on it and gotten over it a bit? When he's calmed down?"

Meredith said nothing.

"See, this is why you keep me around," Stasya said, grinning. "To provide you with logical information."

Meredith managed to produce a smile. "You've gotta learn how to let a girl mope a little bit."

"Sorry. Nope. Can't do." Stasya beamed. "Moping's reserved for whiny, bossy bitches who can't stand not having their way, not sweet, well-intentioned people who occasionally screw up."

"So, basically, you but not me," Meredith said.

"Exactly! So stop moping."

"I'm not..." Meredith sighed. "I'm not moping."

"Excuse me? Look at you. You're sniffling, you're crying, you're— How is that not moping?"

Meredith looked up, her eyes huge. "I screwed up, Stasya. I screwed up soo badly."

"Oh, Meredith." No one could help but feel bad for her with that expression on her face, and Stasya was no exception. "You did, but... You have got to stop carrying all this guilt around. You made a mistake—sure. Everyone makes mistakes. But you don't just sit there groaning—you learn from it. And this one's no exception."

Meredith sighed. "You're right. You're right, of course." The only problem with Stasya was that she tended to be so blunt. It was hard to concede to her arguments sometimes. Christa was better at it—she could lead you to her conclusions step by step, instead of just bludgeoning you with the truth. But no one knew Meredith the way Stasya did—not even Brandon.

"Oh, Meredith." Stasya pulled her best friend into a hug. "It'll work out. It always does. You've still got your friends, you've still got your health, you've still got your family—"

"Not all of it," Meredith mumbled.

"You've still got your negativity," Stasya said, grinning.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Mrs. Levine's voice rang out: "Meredith? Would you, uh. Could you come down for a moment?"

It was Brandon, and the look on his face made her suddenly wish she had something to defend herself with.

Before he could open his mouth, Stasya surged forward. "Okay. Outside. Go." Meredith thought Brandon might have been inclined to argue, but he let himself be swept out onto the front lawn. As she shoved him out the door, Stasya shot Meredith a significant look: follow me, stupid. With a sinking heart, Meredith did.

"Now," Stasya said. "If you're inclined to yell, Mr. Chambers, just remember that all the neighbors can hear you, and that Mr. and Mrs. Levine are pretty well-respected. They'll know. Everyone will know. So you just consider that before you pop that vein I can tell you're so desperate to burst."

Brandon glowered.

"So," said Stasya. "Anything you got to say?"

"Nothing that can be put into words," Brandon growled. Meredith's heart quavered at the rage in his voice.

Stasya heard it too. "If you hit her, Brandon Chambers—"

"I'm not gonna fuckin hit her," Brandon retorted.

"Give up this anger shit," Stasya said. "It doesn't solve anything. I hope you realize that half your problems are because you keep getting pissed off and scaring Meredith away."

Brandon had enough presence of mind to look at Meredith's face. Meredith wasn't sure what he saw there, but it must have made a difference, because his expression softened. Not much, but a little.

"Why don't you just go home," Stasya said softly. "You've both hurt each other enough for one day. You won't solve anything by staying to fight. You'll just hurt each other more. Is that what you really want, Brandon? To hurt Meredith? The girl you love?"

Brandon looked at the ground. Meredith couldn't see his face very well.

"I thought I did. Just like I thought she loved me... Now I'm not so sure anymore."

He left.

Meredith couldn't watch.

T .5

"Wow," said Christa. "Big crowd there."

Derek looked up. They were escorting Jane back to the clothes boxes, and he and Arie had walked with their heads close together, murmuring things meant for no one else's ears. Now that he looked, there was indeed a pretty significant clump of people there: five or six boys, just standing around. It was a pretty normal sight—there were always hangers-on at the boxes, interested in copping a quick feel—but, to his knowledge, Jane was the only Program participant who was due to stop by, at least until 5:30 when the sports teams let out. "Uh-oh," he said. "What do you wanna bet they're waiting for Jane?"

"What?" Jane said.

Derek frowned. "We have got to learn to talk quietly so she can't hear."

"Who are all those people?" Jane asked.

Arie rolled her eyes. "A very observant girl indeed."

"Are they there for... Me?" Jane asked.

"That is... The impression that I get," said Christa.

One of them stood forward when they arrived, to issue the challenge. He was young, his face thin and innocent, but he seemed confident in himself. "Jane Myers!"

"What do you want, Simon," Jane said quickly. Derek saw Arie's questioning glance, and shrugged. He didn't know how Jane knew this person's name.

"There's someone else who wants a chance at you," the boy Simon said. "He wants to see if he can succeed where others have failed."

Derek blinked. "Wow, Jane. Your fame is spreading."

"You're going to Rule Three me again," Jane said flatly.

"Not me," said Simon. "This guy over here."

Beside him stood a handsome young man. He held forth his hand. "Hi, I'm Will."

Derek gaped.

Will Streuger wore his hair long and loose, and it tumbled in curlicues and waves. His eyes were an intense blue and his smile was known to make girls melt. He was a shoo-in for any number of titles in the graduating class—student of the year, Valedictorian, Most Likely To Appear on the Cover of Some Popular Magazine—and yet there was nothing pretentious in his gaze. He was attractive, almost unbearably so, but he did not lord it over others the way someone else might. He never went for any of the cheerleaders or glamour queens the sports jocks seemed to favor, the ornamental girls whose everything came in tits and asses. So far as anyone was aware, in fact, he dated no one—though there was no shortage of girls who would throw themselves at him if given half the chance. And yet he got around, and got around well, for his prowess in bed was well recognized. If there was anyone who could break through Jane's shell, it would be him.

"He's good, Jane, one of the best," said another of the boys in the crowd. He had reddish-brown hair and for some reason reminded Derek of the sort of iconic burly man that graced commercial cleaning products. "You'll be in good hands."

"How do you know he's good," Jane asked suspiciously. "Do you boys talk about these things?"

Simon and Will Streuger and the unnamed boy traded glances. "Well... Yes, we do, Jane Wendy Darling," said the nameless boy—Where'd he get that name from? Derek wondered—"and we've come to the conclusion that Will is the best artist in the school at playing that delicate instrument that is the human body."

"And you just... Asked him to come play with me, and he said yes," Jane scowled.

Will shrugged. "I like a challenge." His gaze sharpened. "And believe me, my lady, I consider it a crime for one such as you to go uninitiated into the wonders of your own body."

"It's my body," Jane said. "Don't I get to choose?"

"Yes, you do," said Will. "And you did. When you signed up for The Program. Besides—" He stepped forward, and there was none of the gloating amusement on his face that would've accompanied this statement from any other person. "—You'll enjoy it. I can tell."

"You can tell," Jane said scornfully.

Will shrugged. "I have an eye for these things."

"Yeah, speaking of which, Will, just how many girls have you bedded?" someone asked. Derek sensed anticipation from the crowd—they wanted to see the reaction to Will's answer.

But Will shook his head. "Now, now. A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"But you told us!" the same voice protested.

Will smiled sadly. "I fear I'm not a gentleman, then. But I hope you'll respect my privacy. Just as you hope I'll respect yours."

Derek heard the implied threat in Will's voice. The man was smooth, there was no other way around it—he would purchase his reputation by protecting those of his friends. But if anyone besmirched him... 

Someone else heard the threat. "You wouldn't!" he cried, obviously panicked.

"I wouldn't enjoy it," said Will. "But I'd do it nonetheless. So, if you'll excuse me, let's leave the bluster for later and allow me to attend to this young woman."

"I haven't agreed," Jane said quickly.

"Then allow me to tell you about the bargain we have developed," Will said, stepping closer. Jane must surely be feeling his magnetism about now, Derek realized. "We have—"

"What he isn't telling you is that it's all my idea," said the nameless boy.

"Yes, thank you, Russell," said Will, smiling. "It was indeed Russell Hebbert's idea, but it's a good one, and we'll do our best to enforce it. The bargain is this: if I can't elicit a sexual response from you in the next five minutes, then we will not approach you with reasonable requests for the rest of the week. And, if anyone else tries to approach you, we will do our best to dissuade them."

Jane scowled. "That seems awfully one-sided. You're just going to give up?"

Russell Hebbert shrugged. "If Will can't do it, no one can. What'd be the point?"

"We, all of us," said Will, indicating the people around him, "pride ourselves on our skill with the female body. We see you as a challenge, a test of our abilities."

"And this is normal for you?" Jane demanded.

"Jane, other girls would die for a chance like this," Simon said.

"Yeah, well, I'm not 'other girls'!" Jane said.

"Jane," Christa said. "Please. For us. Give him a chance."

Jane thundered, "No!"

"Jane," Christa said. Her face was grave. "Please. For us. Give him a chance. If there's anyone who could possibly make you enjoy a Rule Three, it's Will Streuger."

"What makes you think I want to enjoy it!" Jane said.

"And that's what worries us," Christa said. "Jane, sex is a natural part of your body. It makes us worried when you just refuse to accept it like this. That's not healthy."

"Sex isn't healthy!"

"Jane, that's not true, and you know it. If you want to get technical, it's good exercise, about the equivalent of fifteen or twenty minutes of walking. And it relaxes you, makes you feel comfortable."

"It's good stress relief," Arie offered.

"Jane, it's a part of you you'll need to confront eventually," Derek said. "And it's not healthy to be as uptight about it as you are. It's not."

"We're not trying to convert you, we're not trying to lure you to the dark side," Christa said. "We're telling you what we think, as your friends. Which is worry."

"It is," Arie said.

"Brandon would agree if he were here," Derek said.

"Yeah, well," Jane said caustically. "Brandon wants into my pants."

"Meredith would agree if she were here too," Derek said. "And if you want to be strict about it, that'd be bad for her, because it'd increase the likelihood of Brandon getting into your pants and not into hers. But she'd agree anyway. And so would Brandon. Because it's not about getting into your pants. It's about you not being so... Repressive."

Jane looked at them all for a long moment.

"Fine," she said finally. "It's a bad idea, and I know it, but I'll do it. Because you guys asked me to."

Christa and Derek exchanged glances, but Arie said, "Believe that if you want, hon, but you're not doing it because of us."

"Five minutes," Jane said to Will. "No more."

Will gave a semi-formal bow. "As you desire."

Jane crossed her arms for a moment.

"Fine," she said. "Do it."

And thus they all watched as Jane was summarily undone.

Will was patient, gentle, careful. He started, a bit to Derek's surprise, with Jane's face. His fingers stroked her skin, her cheeks, the curve of her chin, the skin around her eyes. He traced delicately over her lips, fingers padding silently. He stroked her hair back with his hands to peer into her eyes.

"He's good," Christa murmured. "He's raising her sensitivity level first. By the time he gets to the erogenous zones, she won't be able to resist being turned on."

Derek was in charge of the stopwatch. "One minute three seconds."

Will's hands spent time descending Jane's neck and jaw, and then traced her collarbone before moving down to her breasts. One of the boys cheered—"Whoohoo, first base! What time is it?"—but Arie shushed him. Will's hands moved gently, stroking up and down, almost in stripes, but avoiding her nipples. Christa murmured, "Another smart move. When he does touch them, she'll go mad. God, why isn't Zach here? Derek, you are taking notes on this, right?"

Jane's breathing had deepened. Her eyes were huge, her mouth open; she stared at Will Streuger with an intensity bordering on fear. And when his fingers made contact with her nipples, she gave an audible gasp.

"He's got it. There's no way she could resist that," Arie burbled.

Derek watched, saying nothing. Yes, he's done it. But is that a good thing?

At two and a half minutes, Will left Jane's breasts behind and began to journey down her abdomen. Derek felt anticipation tighten his hands: to his knowledge, no one had ever before touched Jane between her legs in a carnal manner, not even Jane herself. How was she going to react? Would the spell break? Or had Will actually, truly won?

When his hands parted her thighs, she whimpered... But she made no move to stop him.

"Did you do it?" Russell cried. "Is she wet?" But someone else quieted him: "Hush. Let the man work." And Derek saw that Will Streuger definitely intended to make the most of his five minutes.

He did not enter her, at least that Derek could see; but his fingers spidered through her pubic hair, across her thighs, over the soft, sensitive skin of her vulva. Several times he must have passed over her clitoris, for she gasped again. But his fingers never penetrated her vagina. That was just as well; Derek had a feeling he was pushing his luck to begin with. And there was plenty enough outside for one man.

And through it all Jane stood, rigid, her chest rising and falling with her desperate breath, staring at Will Streuger's face as though to drill a hole into it.

"Time," Derek said.

"Did you do it," Russell Hebbert asked immediately. "Is she hot?"

"Look at her nipples, dumbass," someone responded.

"Yeah, but he played with them, that could be why. What about her pussy, man, is she—"

Will's hand came away wet.

"Whoohoo!" Russell bounced up and down. "The Love Club wins the pot! Good job Will!"

Christa frowned. Jane hadn't moved. "Jane? Jane, he stopped. Are you okay?"

"Oh God," Jane mumbled. "Oh God." Christa took her arm and she nearly fell onto her.

Derek surged in to grab her other arm. "Jane, are you—" He looked over his shoulder: the office was definitely closed. "We'd better get her home. Doesn't her mom come to pick her up?"

"That's across the school, she'll never walk that far," Arie said. "I'll drive her home— No, Christa, you better do it, I'm not sure she'd like— God, what's wrong with her?"

"Oh God," Jane mumbled. "Oh God."

"Jane, are you okay?" Christa asked.

"I was— I was right," Jane said. "I should've— I never—" She turned to Christa. "Christa, I— You've..."

"It's not like last time," Derek said. "Last time she was incoherent. I think she's just..."

"What, struck dumb by the fact that she actually liked it," Arie said with an angry laugh. "Great, look at this. Christa, where's your car. I'll get her clothes. Derek, you run up to the Music Building parking lot and tell Jane's mom—"

"Don't tell my mom," Jane mumbled. "I don't... I don't..."

"Want them to know," Derek finished.

Jane's head fell again, exhausted.

Derek ran.

Why is Jane like that? What's going on? Was Arie right? Is it really because she liked it?

... Nah. Couldn't be. Jane liking sex— And the sun'll rise in the west tomorrow.

He panted to a halt and started looking for Mrs. Myers's car.

T .6

When Arie returned home that day, she wasn't sure what she was going to encounter. She hadn't heard from Trina since the disaster at lunch with Alex Masterson. Any other girl would be in tears, but this was Trina: she might take it with her usual casualness. Or, she might be rampaging around the house knocking things off shelves. She might be locked in her room, blasting loud music. Or maybe, the most rare of the possibilities, she might actually be crying. But which would it be? With Trina, one could never tell.

It turned out to be music. Arie could tell the instant she entered the house. Attempting to get any homework done would be interesting in the extreme—Arie's room was directly across from Trina's.

"How long has this been going on?" Arie yelled.

Her mother shrugged. "Since she got home!" she called back. "Did something happen at school to upset her?"

Arie frowned. "Nothing I can tell you about! You'd have a heart attack!"

"And I won't have one over all this ruckus?" Mrs. Chang replied with a smile. Arie was startled: her mother never joked. She smiled back.

To attempt to calm her nerves, Arie logged onto the Internet and checked her e-mail and favorite websites. She saved Candlelight Vigil for last, because she knew it had the most important information.

Candlelight was primarily a support system. Its founder, a girl known only as Sara (though anyone attending Golden State Berkeley could theoretically track her down), had reached out through the Internet for others who were depressed, who cut, who purged, and had found them. The site spread mostly by word of mouth—or at least its Internet equivalent, blogs and instant message programs—and served about four hundred people. It was starting to get too large. People came to Candlelight mostly searching for sympathy—for a listening ear, a supportive shoulder, to hear the words they never heard from their offline friends: "I know how you feel." It was much easier to complain than to listen, and now there were people who weren't getting listened to. For a website on which users sometimes announced suicide attempts, such inattention could be lethal—in more ways than one.

The point for Arie, however, was that if she wanted to know anything about Trina, Candlelight Vigil was the best place to look.

Trina, under the screen name Flicker, was one of the board's louder denizens. Her posts were vitriolic diatribes against her parents, who were apparently the most cruel, vicious, insensitive and horrible people on the planet... Except for her sister (username taina), who was worse. She received a lot of pats on the back, of course, but any advice provided was generally ignored—Not outright, but explained away, or canceled, or otherwise negated. "No, that wouldn't work; no, she'd do this; no, that's a dumb idea." Arie's feeling was that "Flicker" didn't want help; she wanted attention. She would milk her problems for all they were worth. And, judging by Flicker's low popularity among the other board members, she thought others might share her opinion.

Arie logged on anticipating another storm of anger—this one probably linked to Alex Masterson. But the only new post by Flicker she found was hardly angry. In fact, it was almost... Mournful.

and then he discovered my scars.

i'm so fucked.

why doesn't anything ever work out the way i want it to? i'm trying so hard to be popular and good and make people like me, but they never do. why isn't it working? even my sister has more friends than me. she fucks the first boy she sees, and she gets a boyfriend. i get a psychotic football player who's probably going to tell everybody what he saw.

i don't understand.

i'm so lost.

i lost my virginity today. but it sucked. we kissed a little bit and he fingered me a little bit and then he just stuck it in me and a minute later it was done. it wasn't fun at all.

Arie stared. She remembered now her sister's clenched hands when she and Alex Masterson had come to brag, and the paleness of her skin. Pale, not flushed. Arie had seen women who had just had sex—Christa, mostly, over the course of the summer, but Meredith as well, on those rare occasions when she and Brandon hadn't been able to contain themselves. There was a sort of glow around them, a vibrancy of face and eyes and smile, that made Derek chortle whenever he saw it. "Someone's got a secret," he'd always say, and Arie thought that was actually a good description: Christa, particularly, always looked pleased and a bit smug, as if she'd seen or learned something they had not. It was, according to Brandon, the leftover arousal—the body slowly backing down from its sexual climax. But it was there if you knew what to look for.

And it hadn't been there on Trina.

There were, of course, uncounted messages of condolence piling up in reply; attention-seeker or not, this was a bona-fide disaster, and no one had anything but sympathy for Trina. Arie debated leaving her own reply, but decided against it; Trina would just yell at her. What would be the point?

But what was all this? She had never heard Trina sounding so unhappy. She had never heard her sounding so... Desperate.

Arie looked across the hall, where Trina's door shook and pounded with the screaming music from within. Maybe it was time to change her hypothesis. Maybe this time Trina was blasting music and crying.

She stared at the computer screen, biting her lip.

What was going on here?



-------

Wednesday (part 1)



W .1

"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 her 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 Señor 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 himself. 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 recognition, as if saying to each other, I know you. I thought perhaps I didn't, but maybe I know you.

"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. He had a very good point.

"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.



-------

Wednesday (part 2)



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.



-------

Thursday (part 1)



Th .1

When Jane came to school on Thursday morning Russell Hebbert was waiting at the boxes. She rolled her eyes. The fellow was nothing if not predictable.

"So, what's it going to be today," she asked. "Jane Tahoe Donner? Jane Bronwyn Satoracci? The Jane in Spain stays mainly in the plain?"

Russell, who had been about to say something entirely uncreative along the lines of 'Jane Dunkirk Haggis-on-Whey, ' closed his mouth with a clomp.

"Well," said Jane, "if you're going to do it, let's get it over with." She slung her backpack to the ground and, ignoring Russell's confused stare, began to remove her clothes.

A small part of Jane watched the proceedings in a cascade of emotions. I wouldn't've done this week ago. Heck, I wouldn't've done this a day ago. I know I said I'd give it a shot, but... This is pushing it a little bit.

The rest of her, however, would not be dissuaded. Jane Myers had risen from bed that morning with a pounding determination in her heart. They aren't going to get to me. They won't bring me down. They think I can't loosen up? Well, I'll show them. They won't believe what they'll see. They won't.

And now here she was, facing Russell Hebbert across a gaping three feet of stunned silence, wearing nothing but the skin she had been born in.

"There," she said. "Does that satisfy you?"

He had recovered his poise. "I dunno. Does that satisfy you?"

Though he looked calm, she he had him off-balance. She could tell. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I am quite satisfied with the proceedings right now." Russell Hebbert off-balance was all she thought she could get away with—but that didn't make it any less of a victory.

"Good," he said. "Then I'm satisfied too."

And then he walked away without trying to feel her up. She stared after him, vexed. She was never going to be able to predict him.

She left Russell Hebbert and his dilemmas behind and went over to Stetsen, where her friends were congregating. Most everyone was there; the only people missing were Jeff and Arie. Arie's absence Jane didn't mind too much; it wasn't that she disliked Arie, it was simply that Arie was a little too wild sometimes. Not that I'm not going wild, a little bit,  Jane thought to herself. But then, I'm not a risk-taker. Arie would jump off a cliff just to see what it was like. And Jeff... Occasionally made her nervous. He acted like he could see straight through her. And the thing is, he might actually be able to.

"Here she is!" Christa said, beaming. "The lady of the week! Jane Myers herself, strutting her stuff."

Zach held out an imaginary microphone. "So, Ms. Myers, how does it feel to be standing here in public wearing absolutely nothing? Be honest now."

Sajel leaned close to Derek and said in a very loud whisper, "... Are they collaborating?"

"God forbid," Derek said.

Jane faced Zach with a gunbarrel gaze. "You don't know me."

Zach's face faded and he took a step back. "Yeah, that's obvious." He mumbled, almost to himself: "I don't think anyone does right now."

"I'm not the Jane you knew," Jane said. "That girl is gone, at least for a while. Don't expect to answer when you ask for Jane."

Brandon frowned. "And who is it we have now, then?"

"Yeah," said Zach, grappling vainly for humor. "Who are you, and what have you done with Jane?"

"She'll be back," Jane said. "But she's made some changes. Until The Program ends, she's not going to hold back."

"What do you mean?" Christa said. "You're going to participate?"

"Yes," Jane said. "I won't flinch. I won't shirk. Anything they ask me to do, I'll do."

There was an explosion of cheers and shouting.

"Awesome!" Zach exclaimed.

"Jane, that's great," Christa said. I'm proud of you."

"That's really brave," Sajel said.

"And kinda dangerous," Meredith said. "Anything? Seriously anything?"

"Oh come on, Meredith," Stasya said, "don't be a party-pooper. No one's gonna ask for anything ridiculous."

"Yes, but, ridiculous to them is a lot different from ridiculous to Jane," Meredith said. "She's still really inexperienced. How do we know this isn't going to lead her straight back into another nervous breakdown?

But nobody was listening. They clamored around Jane with encouragements and praise. Meredith looked at Brandon. "Brandon, tell me you agree with me."

He shrugged. "Sorry, Meredith, but I think this is a good step for Jane. Sure, maybe something'll come up, but she can always come ask us for help."

"On the spot?" Meredith said. "Someone wants to feel her up and she says 'Hold on' and comes over to ask?"

But Brandon didn't respond, and she saw that he wasn't bothered by the idea.

She sighed. Maybe she was overreacting. I slept with Rick Downing, for heaven's sake. My judgment's definitely not the most trustworthy. And besides, Brandon hasn't, like, outright dumped me or anything yet. Maybe good things do happen sometimes.

But I'm keeping my eyes open, just in case.

Th .2

When Trina Chang came to the Principal's Office, she was surprised to see Arie Chang there as well. "What the," said Trina. "What's she doing here."

"She's here as a damping rod," said Dr. Zelvetti pleasantly. "She's here to keep things under control and to make sure I don't lose my temper." On those last words, her voice dropped precipitously. "She's here to protect you, in other words. Would you care to have her sent away?"

Oh my,  Arie thought. She had never heard Dr. Zelvetti quite so... Aggravated. If Trina's smart, she won't say Yes.

Trina was smart. "No," she said. Grudgingly. Trina was smart, but she wasn't one to back down, either.

"Good," said Dr. Zelvetti, all smiles and charm. "Have a seat."

"What's this about," Trina asked. She sat down in a chair across the desk from Dr. Zelvetti. On her way down, she shot a murderous glance at Arie, who was sitting composedly on a couch set against the wall. Don't look at me,  Arie thought. I am exactly as Dr. Z says. I am here to protect you... Among other things.

Dr. Zelvetti had been skeptical when Arie suggested this meeting, but Arie had insisted. "You've got a perfectly good excuse," she'd said. "You're concerned about what you've heard in the halls about Trina and her scars. And how they were discovered." This was not much of a lie; Dr. Z was concerned, and Arie knew it.

"And why can't you do this chewing-out all by yourself," Dr. Zelvetti asked.

"She wouldn't listen to me," Arie said. "I've burst her bubble one too many times. She just doesn't listen to anything I say anymore."

"And you think she'll listen to me?" Dr. Zelvetti said.

"She will," Arie said. "She still wants you to respect her." ... At least, I hope.

Trina perched ill-at-ease on the chair. Dr. Zelvetti regarded her over the top of her glasses. "I've heard some pretty troubling things about you and Alex Masterson," she said.

"Really," said Trina, like the sound of a blade being drawn. "Who told you this?"

"People," said Dr. Zelvetti blankly. "People around the school. It's not exactly a secret right now," she reminded her.

Trina scowled. "No, it isn't."

Dr. Zelvetti rapped a stack of papers against the desk to straighten them out, and then laid them off to one side. "Care to talk about it?"

"Look," Trina growled. "Just because my sister confides in you doesn't mean I'm going to—"

"Arie?" Dr. Zelvetti said. "Confides in me?... First I've heard of it."

"I talked to her once, Trina," said Arie, deciding she might accomplish something by entering the conversation. "I talked to her once, about what to do when I found out about you." That you cut and purge and are depressed, just like me. "That was almost a year ago. We haven't really had a meaningful conversation since then."

"And more's the pity," Dr. Z said to her. "You should drop in more often, Arie."

Arie rolled her eyes. "What, and ruin my perfectly good reputation?"

"You have a perfectly good reputation," Trina spat. "Everyone loves you. It's like you shit solid gold or something."

Arie blinked. "Really? Me?... First I've heard of it."

"All your teachers love you," Trina snarled. "They drag me aside after class and they're like, 'Oh, you're such a nice girl, Trina, I taught your sister two years ago, you know, she was always a little quiet in class, but, oh, that was before we knew about her, she was so brave, suffering without a word... ' Bullshit. You didn't have it stolen from you. You didn't have somebody else tell how fucked up you were."

"I screwed up, I admit it, I'm sorry," Arie said, holding her hands up. "I should've gone to you privately, not to our parents behind your back. I was..." Emotion surged up in her throat and burst out in a wave of sound. "I was scared, Trina, I was scared for you. I knew I couldn't help you on my own. I wasn't sure what to do."

"How about leaving me alone," Trina said caustically. "How about letting me solve my problems my own way."

"What, like fucking Alex Masterson?" Arie asked.

"Yes," said Trina.

Arie said nothing, only stared.

"Really now," said Dr. Zelvetti into the quiet. "Now that is one of the most bizarre things I have ever heard. Trina, what did you hope to accomplish by sleeping with Alex Masterson?"

"Getting a boyfriend, for one," Trina said.

"With your pussy?" Arie asked. "That's not how it's done, Trina."

"Oh really," Trina retorted. "News to me. And to most of the cheerleaders and the school sluts. Seems to work for them."

Dr. Zelvetti chuckled. "She seems to have you there, Arie."

"All right, she does," Arie said. Thanks, Dr. Z. Make me play the psychologist while you clown around. "But is that what you want, Trina?"

Trina snorted. "Fuck it. Anything to get my life to work."

Dr. Zelvetti didn't move, much, but Arie felt the cone of her concentration narrowing to a razor's edge, felt it almost like a physical thing. "And what exactly do you want out of your life, Trina?"

"Fuck, not this," Trina said. "Not people giving me fucked-up looks in the halls, not boys steering clear of me, not everyone being so fucking solicitous about— They can't decide whether to hold me accountable for homework, did you know that? One minute they'll be like, 'Well, Trina, you can take a pass on this 'cause you're all fucked up in the head, ' and the next they're like, 'You better do that homework, Trina, some work'll be good for you, ' and I'm like, Well fuck it, make up your mind!"

"You want people to start... You want everyone to treat you the same way?" Dr. Zelvetti asked.

"No, they can treat me however the fuck they want to," Trina said. "But I'm sick and tired of being the screwed-up one. Can't I be normal for once?"

"And fucking Alex Masterson is..." Arie said. "Normal."

Trina gave a snort of laughter. "Judging by the cheerleaders, yeah, it kind of is."

"So, not just normal," said Dr. Zelvetti, "but extra-normal. The kind of thing the popular ones do. A sign of proper social adjustment."

"Social adjustment my ass," said Trina, "I don't know about any of that scientific shit. But it works, doesn't it? When Alex Masterson bags some new girl, everyone pays attention."

"So it's not just that you want to be normal," Dr. Zelvetti said. "You want to be popular. Appreciated. Loved."

Trina rolled her eyes, as if to say, Duh. "Of course. I mean, she can do it—" She tossed her head in Arie's direction. "—so why can't I?"

"I didn't fuck Alex Masterson," Arie said mildly.

"It always goes back to him, doesn't it," said Dr. Zelvetti dryly.

"Yeah, and look where you are," Trina retorted. "Middle of nowhere. You could have it all, but instead you're settling for that dipshit boyfriend of yours—what is he on, the chess team? Do you have any idea what kind of reputation you've got around the school?"

"No," said Arie honestly, feeling her heart thudding stronger. Reputation? Anyone knows I exist? —I mean,  beyond all the scars and shit?

"And you want what she has," Dr. Zelvetti said.

"Well, duh," said Trina. Arie could see their stock plummeting minute by minute, could almost read Trina's thoughts on her face: Isn't this woman supposed to have a Ph.D. or something? "Who wouldn't?"

Me,  Arie said, but only to herself.

"And the thing is," said Trina. "It got wasted on you. I'd know what to do with it."

"Which is what?" Arie said.

"Use it, of course," Trina said. "When people know you, you use it! You get what you want from them!"

"Respect," Dr. Zelvetti said.

"Adoration," Arie said.

"Love," Dr. Zelvetti said.

Trina said nothing, only stared down at her hands. Or perhaps at her naked thighs, which her hands rested on. Arie had seen the makeup.

"Do you want to know how Arie got what she has, Trina," Dr. Zelvetti asked.

"Yes," said Trina quietly, and Arie was startled to hear the sheer, unhappy need in her voice. She didn't know what to make of it. All this time I've kept reaching out to her, avoiding her, reaching out, avoiding her... Never sure if she wanted to be helped. Well, now I know. She does want. She's just saying things when she yells at me, she does want. "Yes," said Trina again. "I would."

"It's not by sleeping with Alex Masterson," said Dr. Zelvetti. "It's by being herself."

Trina shook her head. "Yeah right. Nobody loves you when you're yourself." She gave a humorless laugh. "Fuck. Look at me."

"You're wrong," said Dr. Zelvetti, not unkindly. "Wrong on all three counts. For one, Arie is herself, and she is loved. Well, not by everyone, but by the people who count: her friends. Her nerdy boyfriend, who, actually, isn't president of the chess club, Trina, he's president of the choir. Her best friend Brandon and her boyfriend Derek and her friends Christa and Meredith. For two, I can tell you about four people who love you, Trina Anli Chang, and two of them are in this room right now. And finally... You're wrong, Trina, about being yourself. You're not yourself. Not when you do things like that. Tell me, do you like Alex Masterson?"

"No," said Trina in a small voice.

"Do you think he's handsome? Attractive? Fine? Smokin'? Hot?"

Arie was amused to hear street slang spilling from Dr. Zelvetti's mouth with such verbal precision, but Trina was nowhere near laughter. "No."

"And yet you had sex with him. You even gave him your virginity. Why?"

"To make him like me," Trina said.

"And when he found out how you'd fooled him," Dr. Zelvetti asked, her eyes infinitely kind, "did he still like you?"

"No," Trina sniffled.

"Then tell me how you were being yourself," Dr. Zelvetti said gently.

For a long moment there were only the broken sounds of Trina crying. Arie restrained herself from rushing over to hug her. Vindictive bitch though she is.

It might've been a mistake. Or maybe it wasn't. Because suddenly Trina reared from the chair, tears still tracking down her face—but she wore a mask of utter fury, pale and frightening to behold, and Arie felt herself nailed to the wall by her words. "YOU ALWAYS RUIN MY LIFE! ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS! YOU THINK IT'S COOL TO JUST PRANCE IN AND FUCK ME UP, BUT IT'S NOT, YOU HEAR ME, IT'S NOT! I HATE YOU!!!" And then she ran.

Stunned silence enveloped the room. Arie looked away from Dr. Zelvetti's shocked face and swallowed heavily. Her gaze fell upon the clock. "Wow," she said gamely. "The bell hasn't rung yet. It didn't even take all of recess."

Dr. Zelvetti said, "Every time you try to help her, she just backfires it in your face, doesn't she."

"Yeah, well." Arie grimaced. "It's the only way I can get revenge on her." And the only way I can help her.

"Well, you just keep trying," Dr. Zelvetti said, "and I'm sure she'll understand, one day." And Arie had the strangest feeling that she was answering, not what Arie had said, but what she'd left silent.

"Yeah. Right." Arie stood to go. "We can only hope."

Th .3

"Excuse me. Sajel Malhotra?"

At first Sajel thought she was dreaming, reliving it all over again. Her next thought was that somehow she'd fallen through a time warp, and it really was Monday again. But then she felt her lips move, and someone said, "Garrett"—her, she said it—and everything came smashing back.

"Hey," said Garrett. "Do you mind if we talk in private for a moment?"

Yes, she did mind. She minded a lot. She minded being infringed upon, she minded having her friends shove her around and make up her mind for her like she was some sort of brainless moron, she minded having been shoved into this thing she didn't really want, she minded having to talk to him, Garrett Song, six feet tall and so polite, his eyes clear and steady on hers behind his glasses, his voice quiet, his full lips, was he a good kisser? Yes. She definitely, definitely minded.

"Sure," she said. "Fine. Let's talk."

He led her a few yards away, leaving the rest of her friends behind. She didn't look back. Garrett did, and saw Christa start to follow them, saw Meredith hold her back with a hand.

"Listen..." he said. "I wanted to tell you something."

"Okay," Sajel said, wondering what it could be. 'I'm married.' 'I have cancer.' 'I'm secretly a lesbian.' "Go on."

"Your friend Christa tried to tell me something about you yesterday," Garrett said.

Panic and rage shot through her in equal amounts. "What!"

"She said something about some sort of condition you have," Garrett said. And then, before she could explode: "Or, at least, she tried to."

Sajel blinked at him.

"I told her I didn't want her to tell me," he explained. "I figured that, if it's important enough for you to tell me, you would. And if not, well, it's none of my business, is it."

Sajel stared at him for a moment, her mind awhirl. She hadn't been aware it was possible for someone to be so polite. This was what she needed, exactly what she needed: someone who knew what the limits were, someone who wouldn't ask questions, who would back off if it was appropriate... She hadn't been sure such a person existed, and here he was, right in front of her.

Did Christa just make the biggest mistake of my life, by forcing me to get to know him... Or did I, by not saying yes in the first place?

Garrett was still looking at her. She had no idea what to say to him. She parroted, "I'm not going to tell you either. —At least, not yet," she added, realizing just how ungracious she sounded.

Garrett deferred to her judgment with a tilt of the head. "It's your choice."

She stared for another moment, flabbergasted.

"I do have a— I mean, there are... Things," she finished lamely. "And they've... They've caused me problems in dating before." She snorted. "What problems, I haven't had a date. You wanna call that a problem, you call that a problem, I'd call it a fucking road block. So I... I'm sorry if I'm screwing up or doing things wrong or whatever, 'cause, I've... I've never done this before." She gave a dark laugh. "Probably never will again, too."

"Wow. That must be quite a problem," Garrett said.

"Yeah, it really kind of is," said Sajel.

There was silence for a moment. Garrett regarded Sajel. She wondered what he was thinking.

"So, what about you," she said. "This isn't your first date, I'm betting; you were way too confident about asking me out."

"Yeah, well," said Garrett, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. Good Lord, was he shy? "I had to psych myself up for like an hour before I could do that."

"And in front of all my friends, too. I still can't believe that. I mean, I can't even contemplate asking someone out at all, much less in front of their friends."

He gave a little laugh. "Well, I can't quite believe I did it either. I came away from there thinking, 'Was that me? Was that really me? Or did some pod person magically replace me for a moment?' "

"I'm sorry I turned you down," she said. "That was... Harsh of me."

"Hey," he said, "nobody goes into it assuming she's gonna say yes."

"I didn't," Sajel said. "My friends did for me. For which I guess I ought to thank them. Or maybe beat them up."

"Maybe a little of both," he suggested.

She laughed. "Yeah, really..."

When he had gone again, Sajel stood by herself, her hands on her elbows, staring off into the distance. She wasn't sure what to think or feel at all. He's nice. He's really nice. He's kind and intelligent and sensitive. I think we get each other. God, if this doesn't work out... 

See, this is why I didn't date. This. Exactly this. This, this... Waiting. This confusion. This total, heart-rending fear of having to be judged, and being found... Lacking.

... But what if he doesn't think that? What if he... 

"Penny for your thoughts," Meredith murmured at her elbow.

Sajel jumped. "Uh. Uh. Nothing."

"From the look on your face, it wasn't nothing," said Meredith, not unkindly.

"Well... Nothing new, at least," said Sajel. "Just the age-old 'what if.' "

"Ah," said Meredith. The noise was a complex, multi-layered sigh, and when Sajel looked at her, her eyes were strange.

Th .4

It was lunchtime when Jane's newfound courage came back to bite them all in the ass.

Meredith had seen her around campus, doing what Program participants do—being fondled, mostly on the upper body, but with the occasional brave, daring or foolish fellow taking a dip below the waist. She seemed to be taking to it well; she showed none of the stiffness of the past few days, only an open-minded skepticism: I'll let you, sure, but you better make it worth my while. That, and a cold-eyed determination that, frankly, made Meredith feel nervous. What must the fondlers think, faced with that steely wall? Meredith was a little surprised any of them had the courage. I guess Barnum was right: there's one born every minute.

It wasn't until lunch that it really hit the fan, though.

Meredith was with her friends: Stasya, Arie, Derek, Brandon, Sajel, Jeff. Christa and Zach were off somewhere else, possibly having sex but more likely talking to some teacher about a community service project or something; it was important to Christa to give back to the community, and Zach was picking up a taste for it as well. Jane wasn't around either; actually, no one had any clue where she was. "Probably not having sex either," Brandon said, "but right now, you never know."

"And you don't find that troubling," Meredith blurted.

Brandon shrugged again.

"Brandon, this apathy... It's not exactly endearing," she said.

"It's not apathy," he said. "It's conservation. I've got a ton of friends with a ton of problems... But I've got my own problems too. And I want to figure them out before I go gallivanting off to save people."

"Sounds like self-justification to me," she said. "I've got problems too, you know, with certain people who shall remain nameless, and you don't see me sitting back on my haunches."

He gave her a sidelong glance, and she realized the anger she had awoken. "Fine," he said. "Fine. You go ahead and be self-righteous if you want."

"I— I'm sorry. Brandon, I'm sorry. I shouldn't've—"

"No, I'm sorry, I—" He sighed. "Ugh. You're right, is the thing. I am being lazy. But... God, Meredith, I'm tired. It's not easy to put yourself out on the line all the time."

She sighed. "You used to be so good at it."

"Me? Yeah right." He snorted. "I was good at it because I had to. It was either sink or swim. I swimmed." 'Swimmed'? Isn't it swam or swum or swommen or... Okay, I guess I can see why he likes 'swimmed' better. "Can you blame me? But now..." He shook his head. "It's harder. Because, sure, I can go out and help people... But who do I come back inside to?"

It was the first time she quite glimpsed the depths of the hurt she had done him—but, conversely, the first time she had ever realized just how much she herself had felt betrayed. We couldn't understand each other. Not over Michael, at least. Not over this... Need. And it was the first time she had ever truly realized just how deep that need went. I can't live without him. It's not even figurative anymore. I've just been lurching around ever since Michael got carted away again, lurching around not quite alive. Mostly dead. Functionally dead. And he has been the same.

"We have to make this work." She didn't realize she was saying it until she heard the words in her own ear. Her eyes were steady on his. "We have to. It's like you said, there isn't a choice about it. Jump... Or die."

"I veto dying," Brandon said.

"So do I," she said.

But... What if I don't like him anymore?

... Well, sucks to be me, then.

"Brandon," Jane said. Meredith hadn't heard her walk up.

"Huh?" said Brandon. "What, Jane?"

"I wanted you to Rule Three me," Jane said bluntly. No apology, no softening, just straightforward Jane. "I mean, it's your choice, of course, but hey: you were gagging for it while we were dating, right? I figure I might as well give you a chance."

"Wow, Jane," said Sajel, "way to go with the tact there."

"We sure are an uncouth bunch," Stasya agreed.

Brandon looked to Meredith, and it gave her heart to realize she could still read his thoughts from his expression. Of course, this one wasn't particularly hard to read; at the moment, his face said "???". Which, translated, came out to, What do you think?

It was an odd decision. Do I let my boyfriend feel up an ex, or not? Not only an ex, but a really important one. Not only feel up, but feel up for the first time—he's never, ever touched one of her erogenous zones before. On the one hand, she was fairly sure he would never go back to her; it wouldn't work. It would be like walking away from his own heart (Me,  she thought dimly, me, blessing or curse though that be). But what if, what if, what if... 

She shrugged and gestured with a hand. Your choice.

Brandon looked at Jane for a moment. Her breasts were pale globes capped with pinkish nipples and wide areolas; her public mound was a tangled thatch of honey-colored hair. Her bottom jiggled as she shifted from one foot to the other. He looked at none of those. He looked at her face: that broad, plain expanse of skin and freckles and expression that he had once loved. Her eyes were calm, yielding him nothing.

"All right," he said. "I'll give it a shot."

As one, everyone's eyes went to Meredith's face. Except Meredith, who was looking at Jane. And Jane, who was looking at Brandon. And Brandon, who, from his expression, was looking at nothing at all.

At first he did not touch her, only passed his hands near her, hovering over her skin. His hands moved clumsily, as if he had forgotten how to use them. Or maybe he was just reluctant—reluctant to open a book he had long since stored away.

When he made contact, Jeff quipped, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

"Or Brandon-kind," Sajel said.

Jane's eyes were fastened on Brandon's face, plaintive and yet, strangely, needy. Brandon wasn't looking at all.

His hands wandered her flesh, tasting the forbidden things he had never dreamed of having. Meredith, who knew how to look, could see the wonder on his face: So this is what I was lusting after for almost a year. This touch. This taste. The softness, the full weight in his cupped hand, the textures and scents and silks. This is what I chased for so long; and here and now it just falls into my hand.

Meredith felt her heart as a slow, dull hammer in her chest. This wasn't just any Rule Three; this was Jane, arguably the most important woman in Brandon's life after Meredith herself. And Jane hadn't exactly been up-front with her charms the way Meredith had. If he goes back to her... If he goes...  Worry, nervousness... And a burning in her chest, and a deep ache in her loins. She had a singularly unfulfilling encounter with Rick Downing over the summer, and beyond that the last time had been... Early June, perhaps? Maybe even May, the day after her birthday. Now it was October, she hadn't had appreciable sex in four or five months, and, though she was loathe to admit it, Meredith Levine was horny. It's me he should be touching,  she thought. Those are my hands.

And then, Maybe if I sleep with him, he'll stay with me. It wasn't a funny thought. He can't say the sex isn't great. She hadn't had a lot of it that didn't involve Brandon, but she'd known, even before Rick Downing, that they were one in a million in terms of sexual chemistry, and their summer apart had only underscored it. But it's more than sex too. I love him. He's smart and charming and funny and handsome and gentle. He completes me. I need him. I guess I got lucky that we get along so well, but... I need him.

When Brandon stopped, Jane said, "Wait, you're not done yet. Don't you want to touch my, you know, my privates?" She said this without blushing or stammering, which Meredith found both reassuring and disturbing.

"No, not really," Brandon said. "That's not mine anymore. I'm not interested."

"You're not!" Jane exclaimed.

"Wow," said Sajel.

"You mean my breasts were it?" Jane said. "God. If I'd known that, I might've let you touch them while we were going out. Save us some trouble."

"Meredith would never have forgiven you," Stasya observed.

"What would she know," Jane asked bluntly. "They'd never have met."

"Wow, we are a snippy people today, aren't we," Jeff said.

"Thanks, Jane," Meredith said, feeling close to tears. "I appreciate your charity and generosity."

"Well..." said Jane. "I didn't mean it that way. But seriously, you would've never known. And you can't miss what you don't know about, right?"

"Yunno... She's got a point," said Sajel.

"Well," said Jane. "You can't just leave me like this. Now I need relief."

"Oh yes I can," said Brandon. Wow,  thought Meredith, he's looking at a stranger. "I can, and I will."

"Now that's unfair," Arie said. "Brandon, you can't just start and then not finish."

"If you really need it, I'll do it," Jeff said, stepping forward. For once he didn't seem bothered by the eyes that went to him.

"You'll regret it if you don't," Sajel said softly. "You know it. Brandon, you'll never forgive yourself if you don't now."

"All right, all right, fine," said Brandon. "Fine." He let his hands fall to her waist. "Come here."

His hand slipped between her legs, and at the first touch Jane gasped and widened her legs and arched forward to cup her pussy into his hand, and closed her monstrous eyes for the first time. And then the scene changed; now it was Jane flustered, and Brandon in command, his hand deft on her pussy, sure and gentle. And Meredith saw on his face what a strange thing it was for him to be there, touching this thing he had never in his wildest dreams truly believed he would ever touch. The pleasure it gave him; the pain it caused him. To be here, touching this girl. Jane.

It was over quickly, a lot more quickly than it was for Meredith; it only took a few minutes before Jane shuddered and gasped. Eyes widened around the circle.

"Wow," Arie said. "Wow."

"What," Jane said. "Why?"

"How many of those have you had today," Derek asked, for all the world like a parent tallying his child's candy consumption.

"Three," said Jane. "Maybe four." And then, "Why, is that weird?"

"Very," Arie said. "It takes most girls more like half an hour to come, not five minutes."

"She's very sensitive," Brandon said in an unreadable tone of voice. "Someone will like that one day." Meredith saw the bleak look on his face. Someone, but not me. She thought, Well, that takes care of that one. It was pretty clear, to her at least, that Jane had no more power over his life.

"Well," said Jane, her unblinking eyes open again. "Thank you very much, Mr. Chambers. I enjoyed that."

"I'm glad for you," said Brandon.

Jane walked away.

"Wow," said Sajel. "Wow."

"Wow what?" said Christa. She and Zach slid into the conversation as one unit. "What's going on? Where's Jane going?"

While they were briefed, Meredith slid over to Brandon's side. "I'm surprised."

He looked at her. "Why?"

"Because you loved her," she said. "Maybe as much as you loved me."

"'Loved' you?" he said.

"Brandon, don't tell me you're totally okay with everything, because I know you're not."

"Well... Yeah. But..." He rubbed his face with a hand.

"So, why didn't you go for her privates," she asked.

"Because... Because of what you said. 'Loved.' I loved her, yeah... And I still do. But I'm not in love with her anymore. And that's what makes it special. Tits and ass are tits and ass, every girl has 'em. It's which girl that matters."

"And she's not the girl for you anymore," she said.

"Yeah."

"Who is?"

The look he gave her was strange: grief and anger and wild confusion. "It'd better be you, right?"

The thought scared her. "Brandon, you... If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. We'll just have to learn to live without each other." Without breath. Without blood. Without life. "We'll just have to learn."

"I know," he said. "I know. And it's not like I don't want it to work, I do, I... But we... Fuck. Are you busy this afternoon? We need to sit down and talk. I can tell you right now that it's not going to work if we have to keep dancing around it like this."

"Yeah, I can come, I'm not busy..." In truth, the idea of being alone with him scared her—God only knew what dangers he might unleash in the privacy of his home, in that place where they had been naked before each other so many times... The honeymoon was over, it seemed, and all the imperfections they had once ignored were tearing them apart. An idea struck her. "What if Zach and Christa came too? That way we—"

"Yeah, that would be smart," he agreed, nodding. "That would be— Yeah, why don't we ask them right now, if—"

Christa and Zach listened, and nodded. "Yeah," Zach said, "we can do that. We can—" He glanced at Christa. "Can we? I know you wanted to..."

"Yeah, we..." Christa frowned for a second, and then seemed to come to a decision. "Brandon, I have a huge favor to ask you."

"What?" Brandon said.

"Can... Can we bring Tommy and Lisa?" Christa asked.

Brandon frowned. "Why? Why do you—"

Meredith understood. "She got The Shot, didn't she."

Christa nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. That's where we were earlier, talking to Tommy—"

"And you don't want it to be in the back of a car somewhere," Brandon said.

"Well, who would," Zach asked. "Not the most comfortable of places. This one time, we—"

"Zach," Christa hissed. "Not now."

Brandon and Meredith exchanged looks.

"Sure," said Brandon. "Sure, what the hell. They can come. My house is a bordello anyway. Does Jane know?"

"No, I don't think so," Christa said. "All things considered, now would probably be the time to tell her." She made a disparaging noise. "She wouldn't bat an eye."

"I sure hope not," Zach said. "I mean, batting your own eye? Talk about painful. And you'd scare all the people around you, too. 'Whoa, what's that girl doing, she's batting her eye!' "

"Eyelash," said Christa, evidently not in the mood. "All right, fine, bat an eyelash."

Brandon looked at Zach for a moment, shaking his head, and then, slowly, smiled.



-------

Thursday (part 2)



Th .5

The world was hers for the taking. And Jane Myers intended to get everything she could out of it.

With her decision had come a font of courage the likes of which she had never known. It was as if nothing could scare her. Nothing did scare her. She felt as though all consequence had been stripped away from her; she could do anything, today and tomorrow, and on Monday it wouldn't matter, it would be as if she hadn't done them at all. The slate would be wiped clean. She was free.

A girl could get used to this. A girl could get too used to this. Jane had always suspected, a little defensively, that she kept strict rein on herself for a very good reason, and now here it was.

Nonetheless, a girl could get used to this heady feeling of power.

More people had come to Rule Three her than all the rest of the week combined, and she had had more orgasms today than—well, not in her lifetime; she seemed to remember being quite well-acquainted with her plumbing in younger years—but certainly more than she'd ever had in one day, and for a very long time. Was it three today, or four? Probably more than most Program participants had in one day, to be certain. Oh look. I'm setting records. And she had not once seized up, or shuddered, or felt any indication that what she was doing was in any way wrong. Society isn't frowning on me, the school isn't frowning on me... Even the church can't complain too much. God gave me a body which feels pleasure, so it must not be wrong to enjoy it. And it's not like I've actually had sex.

And the one person who normally frowned the most wasn't frowning either. Nope. No frown on Jane Katherine Myers's face.

How free. How free.

Though a part of her did worry that she was getting just a wee bit drunk with power. I'm not invincible,  she had to remind herself, I'm not invincible. I can get hurt. I can be harmed. One day soon the flight will end, and then I have to land again.

But she couldn't get this intoxicating freedom out of her veins. It was what she had wanted, without truly realizing it, for her entire life: not to have everyone's approval, not to be beyond reproach, not to be unassailable... But to not care, either way. On Monday I was Jane Katherine Myers, straight-A student. But today, I am... Whoever the heck I want to be.

And let them try to stop me. Just let them try.

And it showed; it showed. People weren't just stopping to fondle her titties, people were stopping to talk to her. People she'd known for, well, twelve years in some cases—she'd known Karin Ashpool straight back through to first grade, at the very least, and David Spirio and Claudia Chung as well—known, but never been friends with, were stopping to say hello and ask how she was doing. And a surprising number of people were complimenting her as well. "I'm not sure what you've found, Jane," Karin told her, "but if you could put it in a shampoo, I bet a lot of people would buy it." And Gordon Lane stopped and said, "You know, you wouldn't think it looking at you clothed, Jane, but naked, you're very attractive," which, from Gordon Lane, was saying something, because when's the last time anyone saw him without an acknowledged beauty like Jen Weathermeyer or Melinda Carlisle on his arm? If nothing else, this whole liberation thing was getting her a lot more public exposure.

But the person she had most expected a response from—Brandon—didn't seem interested at all.

Well, maybe that was to be expected. He was dealing with a lot right now, what with Meredith and the situation she had created by sleeping around (See? See? That's the kind of thing I was trying to prevent!). But she had thought he might be a little more interested in her private parts. He had certainly been interested when they were dating.

She realized now that she wanted his interest—his attraction, his lust, his approval—because she trusted his judgment. She remembered when they had first begun dating; he had seemed exotic to her, wise and mature, because he knew things she didn't. But it wasn't just that she didn't know them, it was that she knew she couldn't know them. She wouldn't know where to start learning. Things about human behavior. Things about life. Things about Jane herself, even; there were things he'd said about her—"You avoid people because you're scared of messing up near them," and, "You have strong feelings, but you pretend you don't"—that she'd believed, simply because he'd said them. In the quiet cynicism of his smile was that faint touch of veracity—I know, it seemed to say, I've been there—and she loved that about him. And she loved being loved by him, too; because, if he had been there, if he knew (and surely he did), and still loved him, then surely she must be worth something.

When she was with him, she could quiet that internal censor that monitored everything she said—quiet it, and just be herself. With him, she could just be. That had delighted her and scared her in equal amounts.

And now, here she was—just being. Free. Through her own heart and mind and willpower, this time, without any of Brandon's efforts. And if he was out of reach, there were still plenty of other people to impress.

It was during choir, however, that it all came crashing down; and predictably it all came down to Russell Hebbert. It was he who had unlocked the box in the first place, by phrasing it all as a challenge—the one thing she could never back down from. And now it was he who brought the wreckage.

She was ready for him when he arrived, but only barely; she hadn't expected him to show up halfway through choir practice, during their ten-minute break. What was he doing here? Was he on a sports team or something? And why did he always have to have a flock of followers? Strength in numbers? Was she really that dangerous?

"Jane Kai-shek," said Russell Hebbert.

"Is this going to be a normal thing," Jane asked. "Like, should I write it down in my planner?"

Russell was not to be deterred. "I have come, bearing Rule Threes. And I came all the way from the goddamn Homer Building, too—" Across campus, in other words. "—so you better appreciate it."

"Certainly," said Jane graciously. "Your presence honors me, Mr. Hebbert. What can I do for you?"

Russell gave a delighted laugh. "Well, Ms. Myers, if you would just step this way, I'll explain it all..." He led her to one of the larger practice rooms, where there was room for a desk as well as a piano.

It was Rule Three, of course; what else. Why she needed to be pulled off to one side for it, she didn't know. At least, she didn't until Russell began to open his mouth.

"I think we should up the ante a bit," he said, playing with her breasts. He was getting very good at that, and she could already start to feel desire arching up her back, tingling in her extremities. "How would you like for me to get involved a little bit more in all this Rule Three stuff?"

"Sure," she said. Couldn't hurt.

"All right then," he said. "My idea is to put you on the other end of the Rule Three experience. You've never touched a guy, right?"

She didn't even feel the need to be a stickler about it: Well, I've touched a guy, but only in a, you know, friendly manner. "Yeah, I haven't."

"Well, let's change that," he said.

"And which guy is going to be brave enough to let me at his naughty bits," Jane asked. Brave enough or dumb enough. God only knows what sort of mangling I might manage on accident.

"Myself, of course," said Russell brightly.

"Oh, well," she said. "That's fine then." Brave, dumb or otherwise, Russell was also quick, lightning-quick and smart. If anyone should be able to handle himself while she tried to handle him, it would be he. She felt safer about the situation.

She wondered if she should feel eager about the chance to touch a man's parts for the first time. She had seen her father's, in the shower, many years ago, but that meant nothing; throughout all the time she had dated Brandon, she had never once wondered what he might be like with his clothes off, which was something he had almost certainly wondered about her. All of that was foreign to her. In some ways it still was. Jane was a practical girl, concerned mostly with the here-and-now. And here and now was an opportunity—not really anything she wanted or needed, but an opportunity nonetheless. She might as well take it.

Russell unbelted his pants and let them slide down to his ankles. Then he shoved off his boxers in the same way.

Jane stared. "Is it always that... Wavy? I just thought I was weird."

"What?" He looked down at his pubic hair. "Oh. Yeah, of course it is. Don't you look at porn?"

"No," Jane said, a bit of her old defensiveness creeping in.

"Good for you, porn is stupid," said Russell. "Stay away from it if you can."

Jane glanced around, for the first time realizing that Russell's little entourage had come inside the room with them. Through the door's small inset window, she could see people passing back and forth on their way to the bathroom.

"So, what do I..." she said, looking back at him.

He shrugged. "Whatever you want to. You're Rule-Three'ing me, remember? It's your chance to investigate any weird little oddity about penises you always wanted to know about." He seemed totally unconcerned, standing there with his hands on his hips, his privates bared to all the world (and his friends!). Jane, for no reason she could understand, felt nervous.

Weird little oddity? The truth was, she'd never been really curious about penises. They were just there—some people owned them, some didn't. Some people were interested in them. She wasn't (she hadn't been). Maybe she would be, later... But she wasn't now.

She knelt in front of him, eye-level with his crotch.

She recognized it—the whole package, the whole deal—from biology textbooks. There's the hair, and then that would be the penis, and here is the scrotum, not quite as distended as it sometimes was—supposedly the testes retract, she remembered, when the air outside is cold, and the Music building was generally air-conditioned to a pretty low temperature. She recognized it, and yet, she didn't—this was nothing like the cartoonish icons they gave you in school. This was real, skin and tubes and millions of sperm in there somewhere. There were wrinkles and ridges and veins and bumps and colors and textures and smells she'd never known to expect.

At a loss, desperate to say something, she asked, "Are you circumcised?"

"No, actually, I'm not," Russell said. "I'm told that most Americans are circumcised, but my parents didn't have them do it to me, for whatever reason. Some people think circumcised cocks look ugly. Some people think uncircumcised cocks look ugly. What do you think?"

'Cocks'? Slang term for penis, I guess. "I don't know," she said, "let me look."

He laughed.

It was growing precipitously—she could see redden, start to bump up and down. That was blood supply, as she recalled, blood flowing in through valves to engorge special spongy tissues along the length of the penis, to make it hard. The glans was beginning to poke out from under the foreskin; it was definitely red. She wanted to see more. "Do you mind if I..."

"No, go ahead," said Russell.

She reached out and pinched his foreskin between two fingers, to try and pull it back, but only succeeded in tenting it upward. Russell said, "Ow. No, look, do it this way." He took a grip as if holding a pencil—a really large pencil—with fingers on either side, and pulled the entire structure backwards. Now she could see the shaft, the same shiny red as the head of his penis. The whole thing was starting to point in her direction.

"Is that... Is that for me?" she asked.

"Hunh?" he said. "Oh. Well, kinda yes, kinda no. Men aren't really picky, Jane: if they're in the vicinity of a naked female, of any naked female, for a length of time, they'll probably get an erection. That's the way Mother Nature made us. We can't help it."

Jane nodded. Brandon had said as much.

"If you're asking if I'm attracted to you... Well, yes, actually, I am. I think you're quite pretty. And you're brave, too. Gritty. I like that."

"Oh," she said. The head of his erect penis was an inch from her nose.

"So," he said. "You're here now. Would you like to touch it?"

Jane didn't look behind her, so she didn't see Christa's shocked face at the window. All she saw was Russell Hebbert and his penis (cock?), and she reached out to touch it.

His skin was like nothing she had ever felt before: soft, silky, marvelously textured. She could feel the warmth of the blood pumping beneath the surface, feel its solidness even as its skin gave way beneath her fingers, feel the marvelous life inside. Babies come out of this. It brings life. Or, if you believe all the women who are gagging for it, it is life. Jane didn't agree with that assessment; but she was willing to allow that this was a pretty interesting organ.

"Oh," said Russell, "oh Jane." When she looked up, his face was flushed. "Do you... Do you want me to do the same to you?"

"What, touch my privates," Jane said.

"Ye— No, actually, no, let's not," said Russell. "I'm not going to touch them. I'm going to lick them."

Jane's eyes popped. She had heard of the concept, of course—cunnilingus, was it called?—but who in their right mind would actually put their mouth on such an unsanitary place?? "Are you— Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure," said Russell. And then, before she could ask her next question: "And you're sure too. Trust me, Jane. It's one of the best feelings in the world. It's better than having a hand down there. It may be even better than sex."

Well, I wouldn't know about that. But something that feels even better than being touched? Sure!

Russell had her bend over the desk, and knelt behind her. She felt his breath on her... Area. It was a new sensation, to be certain, but it was not unpleasant.

And then his tongue touched her, and she understood what Russell was talking about.

For long moments there was only the rush of her breath, the beating of her heart, as Russell did... She had no idea. She was bent over the desk, her tush in the air, and Russell crouched behind her, doing his monstrous, miraculous thing with his mouth and tongue. She wasn't sure what, exactly, was going on, but it felt sinfully good. If he continued like this, she was going to orgasm; it was really as simple as that.

Then Russell's panting voice: "Jane, Jane, do you wanna... Do you wanna go all the way?"

Do I... What? What a silly idea / What a good idea! Have sex? Have actual sex? Do that, that... That thing she'd been avoiding for years?

Do something that feels better than this?

"All right," she said, before she could change her mind.

She looked behind her. Russell was rising to his knees, but her shoulders blocked off most of the view. Behind him, his cronies stood silent. Through the window she thought she glimpsed Brandon's face—but then she blinked and he was gone again. What was going on?

"Are you ready?" Russell grunted.

Then she felt it: a penis. In her vagina. And it was good—actually it was really good—but suddenly she saw herself, a naked girl of seventeen years, bent over this desk like a common prostitute, a man behind her still wearing his shirt, a man she barely knew—his friends were there! His friends were in the room! And she didn't know him and she didn't know herself and he was feeding his penis into her body inch by inch and making noises and groans and exultations and even though it felt marvelously good, a firm spreading sensation and the gorgeous feeling of her vaginal canal clamping down on something just the way it was supposed to, and it was wrong! It was all wrong!

And then his hips touched hers, and she felt his pubic hair on her buttocks, and his scrotum brushed against her clitoris, and it was very, very good.

It didn't take long; he was primed and ready, and so was she. It was as if her body, denied sexual release for over ten years, had simply been bottling it all up. Barely a minute, and she felt the clench and rush and bursting delirium of her orgasm, and heard Russell grunting, and felt vaguely (through the thrashing of her own senses) his final thrust, and then a spurting warmth deep within her, and she knew it was over. A minute—not all that long.

Too long.

Russell was doing up his pants. "Jane? Jane, are you okay?"

"I'm... I'm fine... Go on, I'll catch up with you later," she said. Or so she hoped; whatever sounds were coming out of her mouth were foreign to her. She was somewhere on the wrong side of rational speech. But they appeared to work, because Russell left, taking his entourage with him, without a backward glance.

For a while she lay there, staring dimly at the wall. She felt drowsy, lethargic, tired the way she was after a good bout of exercise. It was a good tired, and that made it worse. She'd heard that some people felt sleepy after sex, and for a moment she considered it. Sleep. Why not just drift off... Drift away, and never come back.

I'm Jane Myers. I'm not invincible. I'm weak. I'm so weak that a man with a penis could destroy me.

Presently she forced herself to move. She smelled the same acrid crimson smell she had met yesterday, all those years ago—twenty-four hours ago; less—the smell of human semen. It was coming from her, she realized, from her own vagina, and when she stood up she felt it begin to track down her leg. Wasn't it supposed to stick around? How could a woman possibly get pregnant if all that stuff just dribbled down onto the ground like that?

... What do I care? I don't want to get pregnant. I'm not on the Pill, I never got The Shot, and I don't think Russell used anything. So I guess I better pray.

Yesterday the idea of being pregnant would have wrecked her. Not today, though. Today I'm already wrecked.

It was cold outside, and the wind cut across her body, drawing stiffness into her nipples and gooseflesh to her skin. Clouds had drifted in, the dark clouds of an early October rain, and the sky was a brooding grey miasma. The wind tugged at her hair, tangling it in all directions. Her body felt raw, like a strange thing, a limb she had never known she had. Well, I'm not a virgin anymore. I've been fucked. I guess it makes sense for me to feel different.

She felt betrayed. Russell had taken advantage of her... Sort of. She had said yes, but now she knew what kind of mistake that had been. She felt betrayed by Russell, for asking. By Christa and Brandon and Meredith, for encouraging her to step into a world of greater sexuality. By Dr. Zelvetti, who had done the same. By Dr. Janine Graves, who had birthed today's social climate out of blood and sweat and genetics. By her own body. By herself.

I did this. Me.

"Hey," someone said.

She was sitting on bare concrete, feeling grit on her thighs and calves and vulva. It was north Stetsen, the only place to get out of the wind. Someone stood

above her. Jeff Gainesborough.

"I followed you," he said.

She looked at him remotely, and said nothing.

"I... I saw," he said. "I saw what happened. We... We all saw." He grimaced. "Christa passed by, and then told us, and..."

She didn't answer.

"Brandon didn't want to see," Jeff said. "He said he just... Wasn't interested."

"Did anyone want to see," she asked, acid.

"Well... Not really," said Jeff. "But Meredith and I watched."

"Oh, a voyeur," said Jane, acid.

Someone else might have bristled. Jeff simply said, "No. We didn't want to watch... But we didn't want to leave you alone, either."

An act of loyalty, then, if an ugly one. If all they could do was be near until it was over, then stand they would. Some of the black humor around her heart evaporated, leaving only a deep, aching emptiness.

Jeff sat down near her. The wind ruffled his short curly hair and tugged at his thin sparse beard.

"Did he force you," he asked.

"What!" Jane said. "No. No. Of course not. I did that to myself." She laughed, low and humorless. "I got into that mess a-aalllll by myself."

"It's not the end of the world," he said. "You've done so many other things today, it's not like you really jumped the gun or anything."

"The other things I did weren't mistakes," she said.

"And this one doesn't have to be either," he said. "Sure, you got into bed with the wrong guy. You're hardly the first woman to do that in the history of mankind, and you won't be the last. The question is, are you gonna let it load you down... Or are you gonna learn from it? Turn it into a story to tell your kids."

"What makes you think I'm going to have kids," she said.

He snorted. "Jane, if you tell me he turned you lezzie, I ain't gonna believe it."

Despite herself, she gave a snort of laughter, and for a moment they sat there, huddled against the wind.

"I... I shouldn't've," she said finally. "It was a mistake, and... I think I knew it. Going in. But everyone kept saying, you know, Oh, it's the greatest thing ever, you've gotta try it... And I look at Brandon, and Meredith, and Zach and Christa, and even Arie and Derek, and they're all... So happy with each other, and I thought..."

"You thought that, if you did it..."

"Maybe, it would... Maybe I could... Have what they had."

At another time, she might've been crying right now. But not today. Today she had no tears. Tears required something she didn't have. Like virginity.

"The thing is, though..." said Jeff. "It's not just sex. It's not only sex. They... They're meant for each other, at least Brandon and Meredith are. Zach and Christa... I dunno about, but they know how to make it work. Even if they aren't, like, The One for each other, it's pretty clear they still love each other, and they can make up in effort what they lack in chemistry."

"In effort," she asked.

"Mmm," he said. "Well. There's a saying people use in countries where they have arranged marriages. They say to us, 'You marry the person you love. We love the person we marry.' Love isn't just something that happens to you, in other words, it's something you do. You don't just roll the dice and pray, you work at it. And if you do, you can love... Anyone.

"And Zach and Christa know that. I think their dice lined up pretty well, but they aren't going to give up just because something goes slightly wrong."

"But Brandon and Meredith might," Jane said.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Jeff said, surprising her. "Those idiots. Don't they see what they have? And don't they have any idea how many people would kill to be in their shoes?"

"I would," Jane said.

"So would I," said Jeff.

They sat in silence for another moment.

"It was because you were lonely," Jeff said.

Jane stared at him. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it exactly, it's..." She sighed. "I used to have friends, but I don't know where they went."

"Away," Jeff said. "Because you were scared."

At another time, she might've been angry. "Scared of what?"

"Scared of being judged," he said. "Anyone who comes near starts to judge; that's just the way humans are. But you couldn't bear to be judged unworthy, so you didn't let anyone near."

It's like he knows me,  she thought.

"So, now, I'm alone," she said. "And I've got no friends. And I just gave away my virginity and..." She sighed. Blackness enfolded her, tenfold.

"That's not true," Jeff said. "You have friends. Brandon, Meredith, Christa..."

"None I can talk to," she said. "None I can really talk to. About anything. Brandon, once, but, now..." Overhead, thunder rumbled, harbinger to a coming storm.

He regarded her in silence.

She understood.

"Come on," she said.

He stood up after her. "What?"

"Come on," she said again. "We're going to leave. You're going to take me somewhere. And then... We're going to do it. For real this time."

"What?" he said, totally confused.

"Russell didn't count," she said, "it was a mess, it shouldn't be my first time. So now you're going to do it. A better job, this time. A real first time."

"I..." he said. "I am." A statement, but a dubious one, the questions clear in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "you are." And then, as the last of her courage ebbed out of her: "Please."

When his eyes met hers, she felt as though he could see through her. But she could see through him, too, and she knew that she had won.

Or lost.

Maybe they're the same thing.

Th .6

"Wow," said Tommy. "This is your house?"

"Well," said Brandon. "It's not exactly mine. It's my parents'. But right now I'm the only one living here, so I guess it's mine." He assisted Meredith from the passenger seat of his car, closed the car door, and went to unlock the house. The tiny courtesy lifted Meredith's heart.

"How long are you guys going to be here," Brandon asked. "Should I get some dinner going?"

"It's not going to take that long," said Christa. "... Is it?"

"Well, we don't want to hurry them," said Zach, to prevent Tommy from jumping in. Of course Tommy would want as much time as possible. "I mean, we came here so that they could spread out and take their time. And it is 5:30."

"Dinner it is," Brandon said, and yanked the door open.

"No, no dinner," said Tommy. "I'm not hungry. I didn't come here to eat."

"Not food, at least," Meredith said dryly. Lisa blushed, but Tommy was too eager—or headstrong—to back down.

"Don't worry, kid," Zach chuckled. "We wouldn't feed you if you were hungry."

"Tommy," said Christa. "I think you should thank Brandon for the offer of food, and for being so thoughtful and letting you come here like this."

Tommy scowled. "What are you, my mother?"

"All right," Christa said, calling his bluff with alarming alacrity. "Get back in the car, right now. We're going home."

"No!"

"Then thank Brandon!" Christa said. "He's going to a lot of trouble for no other reason that he is concerned for you, and for Lisa. He could've said no and forced you guys to do this in the back of a car, or in the dirt behind the baseball diamond, or maybe even just the bathroom down by the library. Would that be fun?"

"Act like a man," said Zach, not unkindly. "That's the whole point of this excursion, right? To make you a man, and to make Lisa a woman. But if you act like a kid, we'll treat you like one. And you won't get to do the grown-up thing with Lisa."

Meredith blinked at him. 'The grown-up thing'?

Tommy finally had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Brandon."

"No worries," Brandon said. "I was eager at your age too."

He let Christa and Zach install them in a bedroom somewhere—his house had thousands—while he began digging out pots and pans. "Well. That started off well."

"It could've been worse," Meredith said, ever politic. "Tommy could've stripped Lisa down and started banging her in the driveway."

Brandon wrinkled his nose. "All those red tiles give off dust. She'd be covered in pink from head to toe."

"She will be, if Tommy has his way," Meredith said.

"Nnn," said Brandon, feeling around for a strainer.

"Do you want some help," Meredith asked.

"Yeah, actually, if you don't mind," Brandon said. "I need some butter and a loaf of bread, and some tomato sauce, no meat." Christa was a vegetarian, and Meredith was thinking of taking it up herself. "I've got the pasta here already."

For a few moments there was no talk except the back-and-forth consultations of the business of food. Zach and Christa arrived and were put to work on a salad. Meredith felt at home; she and Brandon had done this many times, occupying a kitchen together, feeding body and soul at the dual altars of food and companionship.

For the first time, she began to truly believe that she and Brandon could work things out.

"I've missed this," she said aloud. "Just... Being."

Brandon, tending a boiling pot at the stove, looked over his shoulder at her. "So have I," he admitted. "It's been... Way too quiet here."

Zach and Christa looked at each other. "... You know, I think we'll go check on Tommy and Lisa," said Christa. "Come on, Zach."

"Not that we haven't seen that already today," Zach chortled. "Jane and Lisa, whodathunkit?"

And Brandon and Meredith found themselves alone.

Meredith finished the bread and slid it into the oven, manipulating the controls with practiced ease. Then she meandered—casually, casually!—over to where Brandon was standing. Her heart hammered in her ears; she was intensely aware of his presence, of his location, in the kitchen, in her life. It was all she could do to keep calm.

"How've..." He jumped at the sound of her voice so close to his ear, and she gulped. "How've you been? Over the summer, I mean. It's been a long time."

"I've... I've been okay," he said; if his face was any judge, he was as nervous as she was. "It was quiet, but... Zach and Christa were here a lot. Everyone was, but them two especially."

"And Jane?" Meredith asked quietly.

He shook his head. "No, not as much. She was in the hospital for a while, and then she didn't want to come here. I went there."

She nodded as if she understood.

"How about you," he asked. "I bet you had friends at camp you were happy to see again..."

"Yeah, I did," she said, "and I was. I mean, the Internet's just not the same, and some of them live like hours away. But I missed you all a lot."

"Yeah," he said. "I missed you too."

"I especially missed you," she said quietly. "I mean, you're... Just... So much a part of me. Going away was like... I dunno, being lost in a strange land."

"Well, you're here now," he said firmly, "and you don't ever have to leave us again, if you don't want to."

Her heart melted. "I don't want to," she said. "I don't want to be away from this ever again. Not from all my friends... Not from you. You're a part of me, Brandon. You're my heart, and I have to have you inside me."

He blinked, and then laughed. "Well," he said. "We could work in that, if you really wanted."

She laughed, and he smiled, that same canny smile he always smiled, and she felt her body responding. It had been a long time, hadn't it. It was like nothing had changed, it was like nothing at all had ever changed... 

But as he moved to kiss her, she pulled away. "No... No, Brandon, I— I—"

He stopped, disappointed. "What?"

It's too much like before. We became... I don't know what, what we became, but it was wrong, we couldn't...  "I fucked Rick Downing," she blurted.

He scowled, and she could see his libido draining away just as fast as it had started. "I wish you wouldn't bring that up."

"But I did," she said, hating herself, hating to bring it up, hating herself for knowing she had to. "We can't go back, Brandon. Too much has changed. And we can't just pretend it didn't, or else it'll... It'll tear us apart. Then it'll be the end. Really the end. Sink."

His face crumpled up in anger, but she could see her words working in his mind. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah. You're right. We can't." His face turned ugly. "And in any case, I'm not sure I wanna touch anything Rick Downing's had."

Tears threatened her throat, and she swallowed them. "Yeah. Yeah. Neither would I."

-------

At six o'clock on the dot, he was there, as he'd promised he would be, and Sajel let herself out of the front door before anyone could notice. She hadn't actually told her family that anyone was coming, and she didn't intend for them to find out.

"Hey," said Garrett, smiling broadly.

"Hey," she said, gulping to control nervousness.

She looked good—if she dared say so herself. Anything too revealing was out, unfortunately, though thank God she could at least bare her arms. She had settled on a nice blouse, cut as low in the front as she really dared (factoring the skimpy atrocities she called her boobs, it wasn't much), and barely any in back. A light jacket doubled her protection. She'd found her best pair of pants, olive-green capris, and was going to do something nice with her hair until she had the presence of mind to look outside. The murderous clouds overhead convinced her that it was hopeless, and she strapped it into a serviceable ponytail. Garrett looked good too: a fleece sweater in blue and black, with a red T-shirt underneath, and what looked like corduroy pants. He dressed simply, which she liked. Clearly he was anticipating cold, which was his look-out, though it did make her wonder whether she should find a thicker jacket. Those clouds looked menacing.

"So," he said. "Shall we?"

"Sure," she said. "... Uh. Where are we going?"

Garrett grinned at her. "Oh, don't worry. You'll see."

The car ride was uncomfortable and nerve-wracking. Garrett was, to put it mildly, an aggressive driver; he pushed his new-type Beetle to the edge, swerving through traffic and screeching around corners with a nonchalance that bothered her stomach even more than the driving did. I should've volunteered to drive. Definitely should've. There wasn't much to talk about, either; the only thing that she could think of to say was, So, where are we going,  and clearly that wasn't going to have much mileage. And, to top it off, as they drove, the rain started: the first early-October rain, the first rain of the season. Good thing I didn't do up my hair,  she thought, but the prospect of the cold dim wet outside did not please her.

It got worse when they arrived. Garrett turned off into a parking lot, but through the rain-streaked windows she could see little to nothing. And it only got worse as he continued searching for a parking spot. By the time he had found one, she couldn't see any buildings in any direction whatsoever—just a flood of cars. And, of course, he didn't have an umbrella. He didn't need one anyway; his fleece was waterproof, as was his hair (probably because he hadn't washed it in a while); after he had wiped off his glasses, he was practically good as new. She liked that—it spoke of a certain ruggedness—but it was hard to be positive standing in the lobby of a fancy restaurant under full-blast air conditioners after having hiked what seemed to be several miles in pouring rain, looking like a drowned rat and slowly turning to solid ice.

"Ex-ex-excuse me," she chattered to the concierge. "D-d-d-do you have a towel?" They didn't, but they did have a tablecloth; would that do? Poor thing, must have gotten soaked outside, would she like a tablecloth?

In the women's room, toweled and dried off as well as the tablecloth would allow, Sajel looked at herself in the mirror and thought, What am I doing? She hadn't worn any makeup, so she didn't need to sponge it off or re-apply it; that was good. But that was just about the only thing that was good about the whole night. This isn't my place. This isn't my thing. What am I doing?

She realized that it wasn't quite as fancy a place as she had anticipated; it was only the decor, in the warm browns and yellows of fall, that had confused her. Most of the diners were wearing clothes similar to hers—business-casual was about the upper limit, and most of them looked fresh from the office—and a number of them were nearly as wet as she was. And when she got back to the table, Garrett offered her his sweater.

She put it on, feeling a strange mix of emotions. That was the sort of thing people in a committed relationship did. There was a certain amount of ownership involved, when one could help herself to his possessions—or when he could place such a public and obvious marker on her. What was he trying to say? Was he so conceited as to think she would swoon helplessly over her charms? Was he saying he was in it for the long run—that he would do whatever it took, no matter how outrageous, to bring her around? Or did he just realize she was cold?

There is,  she thought, a certain advantage to remaining totally celibate throughout the course of one's life. For instance, one is dramatically less likely to be driven insane.

Conversation was stilted for a bit, the usual pleasantries and empty witticisms. How are you? Okay. Cold? A little. How's classes going? Yuck.

"I think all of this is stupid," Sajel burst out. "I think all this courtship stuff— It's just stupid. Think about how many flowers have gone into trash cans. Think about all the trees that've given their lives for bad poetry. Think about all the mental stress and incapacitation. It's ridiculous!"

"Oh," said Garrett neutrally. "And how would you change it?"

"Simple," said Sajel, making it up on the spot. "If a man's looking for a partner, he pins a blue button on his left shoulder. Unless he's looking for another man, at which point he puts a red one. Women do the same thing on their shoulders. And then, if two people want to get together, they just say it. 'Hello, I'd like to have sex with you.' 'Okay.' And then they do. Wouldn't that be simpler?"

Garrett stared at her for a long moment, and she suddenly realized just how blatant a proposition she had just inadvertently issued. And how offended he might be, that he had gone through the trouble of bringing her here, only to have her declaim it as 'stupid.' See, this is why I don't date: because I'm a moron. A thousand points from Sajel, for a grand lifetime total of, let's see, something around negative four hundred eighty thousand?

Then he burst out laughing. "It would certainly be more... Convenient, I suppose," he said, grinning, his eyes shining with mirth. "But, don't you think it's a little biased?"

She leaned forward, attentive, her hands near her ears and her elbows on the table. "How so?"

"All the jocks and pretty boys would get all the action," said Garrett. "I mean, let's say someone like Jonas Prier—" A notoriously smelly fellow. "—or Bernard Castagne or me walks up to, say, Lenora Walters or Melinda Carlisle or you, and says, 'Want to have sex?' Of course you're going to pinch your nose at me and say, 'Get away from me, you ugly brute.' " Why had he lumped her in with the beauties and himself in with the incompetents? He was grinning, and his voice was gentle, like warm rain. Shouldn't it be the other way around? "But if, for instance, Alex Masterson tries it with, well, just about anyone, maybe even the lesbians, they'll say yes. So now the popular people just get more sex, and the rest of us—the ones who really need it—still get nothing."

The idea flashed into her head. "Simple," she said. "No birth control. All the popular people will get pregnant, and be so traumatized by the idea that they'll commit suicide." She grinned. "And voila! Only the nerds and dorks and misfits are left, and then they can all find true love with each other."

It was such a tasteless idea that even she felt a little guilty, but Garrett grinned and rolled his eyes. "Such a brilliant designer of policy," he said; in his hands, sarcasm laughed with her, not at her. "They should let you become president. You'd whip the country into real shape."

"Damn right," Sajel agreed, grinning.

Score. Plus three hundred Sajel!

-------

The rain had begun to come down in earnest by the time Jeff got her to his house. They had waited for quite a while in the school parking lot—Jeff said that his parents would leave for dinner, and that he could sneak her in once that happened. He was an only child. To pass the time, they talked—nothing of consequence; idle chatter. They both liked Tolkien, liked old video games, liked math. His grade-point average was not 4.0, but still respectable. They had gone to the same summer camp for two years without knowing each other. She spoke of her childhood, of the life and times that had shaped her into a girl too scared of judgment to accept praise; he spoke of his own life, of his academic parents and their hard-minded scientific accuracy, of the way he had learned not to speak unless absolutely sure of what he was saying. She could understand that; she felt the same way. Theirs was a life born of caution and much yelling, of tripping, falling, skinned knees, and plenty of peroxide with nary a kiss to leaven it.

"I've never felt like a child," she said, hearing the words for the first time as they left her mouth. I haven't? Really? "I've always felt... Grown-up. I've always felt as if there were consequences. That I had to be careful, because, even when I was young, I could still make mistakes and have to pay for them."

Jeff nodded. It was something she had liked about Brandon too.

He was tall, spindly; he drove with a spare, careful grace, gliding through traffic like a dancer. Cars jockeyed and swerved in their endless snake duels, but she never felt threatened. It was as though they were insubstantial, and nothing could touch them.

"Don't ask me if I want you to stop," she said. "When we do it, I mean. I've made up my mind. But I know I won't be able to hold myself to it, so." She took a deep breath. "Don't ask me if I want you to stop."

He looked over at her, his bushy eyebrows raised in concern. He had bronze hair and a beard that would fast become a goatee.

"I mean it," she said. "Don't." And he said, "Okay," though it was clear he didn't understand.

In his room they took their clothes off, silently, standing before each other, almost formally. His chest had some definition, and his arms showed the wiry strength of hard use. His pubic mound was the same curly, wavy, disorganized thatch that hers was. Unlike Russell, he was circumcised. His tan cut off at the neck and halfway up the bicep, evidence of long days in T-shirts. He had removed his socks but not his glasses.

"Do you want some light," he asked.

"This is fine," she said. The only light was an indistinct gray glow through the windows from the sky outside, shrouded in clouds and spattering the panes with raindrops. Jeff was a dim silhouette in the gloom, outlined only by silver-blue lines where the edges of his face and arms and body caught the diagonal light. She wasn't sure she wanted to be seen. She wasn't sure she wanted to see.

"What do you want to do," he asked.

She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the dim, cold air around her, the weight of her breasts, the padding in her thighs and buttocks, the curtain of her hair hanging down across her shoulders.

"Everything," she said. "Everything lovers do. I want to do it all."

"You—" His voice cracked. "You do realize I've never done this before. You'd— You'd really be better off with someone more experienced. Like Zach. Or Derek. Or Brandon."

"I've never done this before either," she said. "We'll figure it out. Adam and Eve did. Why not us?"

He looked away for a moment.

"All right," he said. "As you wish."

They stood in the middle of the room, touching. She ran her hands over his body, learning the planes of muscle, the leanness of his torso, his shoulders and hips reversed in width from her own. His hand traced over the curve of her cheek, the edge of her collarbone, the warm hollow at the back of her neck that her hair kept warm. She looked into his eyes and saw the wonder there.

His hand slid down her hip.

She lay back on the bed, across it, propped up on elbows to watch him. She opened her thighs when he touched them, and he knelt before her, looking down at her privates.

"What do they call it," she asked. "They don't just say 'vagina, ' I hope."

"Well," he said, not taking his eyes off it. "Some people say 'cunt.' Others say 'box.' Some say 'pussy.' I think that one's the most popular."

"Pussy," she said. "Pussy and cock." His eyebrows jumped, evidently surprised she knew the word. "Why animals?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Why not, indeed?

His hands soon gave way to his tongue, and she lay fully reclined as he explored. He wasn't good, that she could tell; nowhere near Russell. But Russell she could never trust again. Jeff... She could. And so she lay there, as his mouth and tongue explored the outside of her body, the fleshy padded outer lips, and then, as her arousal rose, the inner ones, and finally, the bud at the center of her flower, the holy clitoris itself. He knew what that was. He had waited long to worship at this altar, and he wasn't going to mess it up now.

But well-intentioned or not, he still knew little of what he was doing, and eventually Jane could tell this would go nowhere. "You can stop, if you want," she said, and he did, coming up to lean across the bed, bending at the waist as Russell had bent her over the waist.

"Is that what lovers do," she asked.

"Well, they probably do a better job than I did," he said.

That was irrelevant. "What else?"

"Well," he said. "Sometimes the woman does the same thing to the man."

"Lie down," she said.

It was a taste unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was flesh, to be certain, but warm and red and bursting with life in a way she could never explain. His penis—his cock—was slightly salty and a tad bitter, but his texture was every bit the same as Russell's, and she marveled at it as she took it into her mouth, feeling it, sucking it, resisting the urge to sink her teeth into it—no, that would be bad, she had better not. She banished the thought.

She found its features: the lip of his bulbous head, the slight downward curve, the slightly scaly ring of skin just after the head, the ridge underneath, the little slit in the tip where urine and semen must come out. She tasted it without hesitation, tasted nothing.

"Can I touch your... Your balls?"

"If you want."

"I want."

The skin there was even softer, but she could see the folds and seams where it could wrinkle up in times of cold. She thought about licking them, taking them into her mouth, but then she thought about her teeth and how easy it was to hurt them (or so she had heard), and decided against it.

"How do I make you" (what was the word?) "come?"

"Well, if you suck on it, it helps, and also if you stroke it up and down," he said. "Or lick it. Or something."

"And what do I do when you" (uh) "spurt?"

He raised his head. "Well. That's, uh. That's your choice. Some women eat it—swallow it, I mean. They let it go in their mouths and then they swallow it. Some spit it out. Some just stand back and let it go everywhere."

"What do you want?"

"I— Me?" he asked, and for the first time she realized just what she had done to him—Jeff Gainesborough, nerd, virgin, shy, suddenly ejected into this sexual situation. You bless me, you take me, you give me my heart's desire, and now you ask what I want?? "I don't... Well, some people say it's sexy to have the woman swallow it. Some say it's sexy to see it on her face, or on her breasts, or some other body part."

She said, seeing the jumps in his logic: "But you have no idea."

He shrugged—feebly, from his prone position. "I've been here as often as you have."

When she sucked him to completion, she swallowed it. It was thick and goopy and clogged her throat with its salty warm taste, and when he actually came she almost choked on it—she wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't that. But then, she'd been so distracted by his penis—his cock—that she hadn't even really thought about it.

"Wow," he said. "Wow. Most girls won't do that."

She shrugged. "I'm not most girls."

They lay next to each other on the bed, longways this time, lying on their sides, touching each other gently. They murmured to each other: what it had felt like, what it had not felt like; the newness, for both of them, and yet the old things they had known about their bodies for a long time. And presently she saw that (his penis) his cock was up and ready, and she knew the time had come.

"There's a lot of different ways," he said, when she asked him. "You could bend over again—but that probably isn't as usual," he said, seeing her face. "Some people say it's best for the woman to be on top, especially if it's her first time. Others like it with the man on top."

"I don't..." said Jane. Sex Education had never covered anything like this. "I don't understand."

He lay on his back. "Now you would sit on my hips and let my..." Nervousness robbed him of his voice for a moment. "Let my, uh, penis, uh, go inside you. Or..." He pushed her to lie on his back. "If you opened your legs, I could lie on top of you and put it in. I, uh." He tugged at his glasses. "I think that's how most people do it most of the time."

She gestured, as if to say, Hop on.

Of course, it was harder than that. He lay with his head between her legs for some time, licking her vagina (her pussy) until she was ready for him; and then there were the mechanics of suspending his weight over her, and then actually making him go in, especially after nervousness robbed him of his erection and she had to suck him again. But finally they were ready. He held himself on his arms, and she reached between them to take up his cock and put it at the entrance to her pussy.

Then he began to slide in, and the feeling of his penetration was so good that she moaned. And when he had gone all in, she could feel the base of his staff against her clitoris. And when she opened her eyes and looked up, she could see his face. And she reached up to touch it, and smiled a smile of pain and sadness and joy.

He didn't last long. It was his first time; she supposed that would happen. She didn't come this time; perhaps her body had exhausted itself, or perhaps (maybe more likely) he just wasn't very good at this. But she'd known that going in. And it felt good as he slid in and out of her, and it felt good to hear his moans and whispers and murmured exclamations, and when he came she felt the tension leaving his body and arms and legs and cock and bursting within her, and she stroked his back gently as he lay upon her, panting, his strength gone.

I'm not a virgin,  she thought. I've done it all, all that can be done. —Besides anal sex, at least. I am a woman, inside and out.

"Oh," said Jeff. "Oh. Oh."

"Shhh," she murmured.

How long they lay together, entwined, she never knew, but a mechanical bleating broke them out of it. It was a cellular phone; she recognized the ringtone: hers. A moment later a second one joined it. "Unh?" said Jeff.

"Jane, " Brandon said. "Are you there?"

"Hi Brandon," she said. "What's going on?"

"Are you busy? There's been... Well. Arie called, and she wanted me to call everybody... "

"Brandon, what's going on," she asked.

He told her.



-------

Thursday (part 3)



The food was good, the conversation was fun, and to Sajel's surprise, Garrett didn't even ask before settling the entire bill himself. She wasn't sure how to read that either—was he expecting her to be one of those shy, delicate types who had to cover her head when she went outside? Or should she just stop trying to read all his moves and enjoy the dinner?

They didn't go to a movie, afterwards, and Sajel wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or not: a deviation from tradition! Blasphemy! She also wasn't sure how to handle the car ride; the rain had ceased, but the streets gleamed with water, with red and orange and green lines from traffic lights and streetlamps. Garrett drove as recklessly as before, but this time she felt a little more accustomed to it. Still, she couldn't help but quip, "We're not in a movie car chase or anything, Garrett, you can slow down." She pantomimed fear in a rapid, head-turning reaction. "Or are we talking hidden-camera reality TV?"

Garrett slowed down, but grudgingly.

It was at her doorstop that she felt most nervous. This was, after all, the location for most first-date kisses... And she wasn't sure she was into that. Kissing led to embraces. Embracing led to unpleasant discoveries. For the millionth time she wished desperately for an insider's knowledge of dating. Would he take offense if she turned him away? Would he think she didn't want to see him again? How could she do it, subtly and gracefully?—all she could think of was a knee in the groin, a trick her older brother had taught her. It would be a blatant overreaction, and she knew it.

So it was with an odd mix of relief, regret and confusion that she found him leaving her without attempting it. "Wait," she said. "You aren't going to try to kiss me?"

Garrett blinked down at her. He had a disconcerting way of resembling an owl. "Do you want me to?"

"Well, I..." she said.

"Most of the time, a woman makes it pretty clear what she wants," he said. "It's your first date, yes, I'm aware of that, but even then, most women can still get the point across. But all I get from you..." He shrugged. "Is ambiguity. Do you know what you want?"

She stood on the precipice. On one hand, possibility, opportunity, the unknown: a chance to make it work. To have the husband and family and children she had resigned herself to abandoning. On the other hand: rejection, humiliation. Horror, revulsion. Pulling away. The phone calls unreturned, the hellos in the hall that flew straight by. Failure.

It was too much.

"I... It'd probably be better if you didn't," she said.

"Oh," he said. "I'd like to," he offered helpfully.

"I..." I'd like you to too. The words hovered at the tip of her tongue. Did she mean them? They would be so easy to say. "It just... I'm sorry, Garrett. It wouldn't work."

He looked at her silently for a moment. "Because of your problem," he said. "Because of your condition."

"Yes," she said. That blasted condition. "Yes."

He was silent for a moment with his unblinking owl gaze. She squirmed, feeling her scars burning on her back and hip and legs.

"Well," he said finally. "I guess this is good-bye then. Because, Sajel, if you can't open up to me now... Well, how will it be different later? You don't want to tell me, and I can tell you don't intend to ever tell me."

"That's not true," she said.

"Yes, it is," he said. "You're too set in your ways. You've come in with a thousand assumptions, and now you're imprisoned by them. I'm not sure what afflicts you, Sajel, but you're sure—absolutely, positively sure—that it'll stand between you and I. And there's nothing that'll convince you otherwise."

"You don't even know what it is," she said, compressing ultimate scorn into her voice.

"No," he said. He did not flinch before the lash. "I don't. And until I do know, I can only hope it wasn't something life-altering or destructive. Because if it was something relatively non-threatening, like epileptic seizures or sickle-cell anemia or three elbows, then I'm not sure what you're afraid of."

"Because people will hate me," Sajel said. "If they knew. I can't wear bathing suits, did you know that? Or a prom dress. I haven't been swimming since I was eight. I used to love swimming, but I can't now!" Anger surged up in her—bitter, vitriolic, good. She held onto her anger. Even destructiveness was better than powerlessness. "Don't you see? It changed my life. It messed me up. I can't drink alcohol because I'm missing part of my liver. I lost one of my ovaries, at the age of eight. I almost had brain damage. Don't tell me this is just something I can walk away from!"

"I am telling you just that," Garrett said.

Sajel gaped at him, totally flummoxed.

"Judging from what you say," Garrett continued, unperturbed, "it was an accident of some sort, involving bodily injury. Well, Sajel, I'll tell you right now: I can live with that. I'm not sure what the extent of the damage is, cosmetic or otherwise, but I can live with that. The question is: can you?"

And he fixed her with a calm stare.

Sajel gaped at the ground, her mind awhirl. The grass glistened with rain-dew, orange-yellow in the light of the porch lamps. What if... What if what he'd said was true? The grass was getting long; Dad would need to mow soon. What if people would actually be okay with it? All the fallen leaves on the ground, they would muck up the mower if he— She couldn't think about leaves. Couldn't think about her scars. Couldn't think about anything.

What if... What if the only thing holding me back... Is me?

Something was shaking her hip. She glanced down and saw flashing lights, heard a cartoony song: a cellphone. Her cellphone. The faceplate was blue, incised with lightning slashes of white. The song indicated the caller: Meredith.

"Sajel? Saje, are you free tonight? Can you drive? Arie called. We have a situation... "

"What kind of situation? Is Arie in trouble?"

She told her.

-------

The four of them were well into dinner before Tommy and Lisa emerged, fully clothed and holding hands. Lisa smiled shyly, but Tommy was boisterous and proud. Brandon was reminded of a bantam rooster, strutting about the yard. He was reminded of the balloons of pride that had swelled his own heart after his first sex.

"See, told you we'd need dinner," Zach grinned.

"Then it's a good thing we listened to you," Christa said.

"Pull up a chair, guys, you must be hungry," Brandon said.

Brandon was sitting at the head of the table, with Meredith on his right and Zach past her. Across from them were the two empty place settings Christa had suggested. Tommy sat next to her, across from Zach, and Lisa took the final seat opposite Meredith.

"Thank you," Lisa said to Brandon. "It was... Really kind of you to let us do this."

Brandon shrugged and smiled. "Nothing's too good for my friends."

"But I'm not one of them," Lisa said, confused. "Am I?"

"Well," said Brandon, with another shrug. "Christa is, and your sister is too." He smiled. "That's good enough for me."

Lisa toyed with a piece of bread. "Yeah... I guess." She looked up. Her face was similar to Jane's in its plain lines and open honesty. "But I bet you'd've been happier if it was you and her, not me and Tommy."

"Well..." said Brandon, conscious of Meredith sitting beside him. "Yes and no. Maybe a year ago, that would've been true; there's a part of me that still loves Jane, and always will. But my heart belongs to someone else now."

"Oh," said Lisa, evidently not sure how to take that. "Well, thank you, in any case." She rolled her eyes. "I have to thank you on behalf of this barbarian, too, because he's a little too excited to remember his manners, so." She grinned. "Thank you again."

Brandon smiled. "You're welcome." She was Jane's mirror in other ways too.

"I swear..." Lisa shook her head, still smiling, showing her braces. "He's so... Bullheaded sometimes. He's like my sister. She gets fixated on something and just... Doesn't let go."

"Sometimes an inconvenient trait," Meredith offered. "But very useful in a lover."

Lisa turned red. "Well," she said, smiling shyly. "Yes."

Brandon and Meredith exchanged grins.

Conversation tapered off for a moment, as everyone applied themselves to their food. Despite their early dessert, Lisa and Tommy were just as hungry as the rest of them—maybe more so.

"So, you guys," Brandon asked. "How was it?"

Tommy dropped his fork, and his face went white. But Lisa grinned and said, "It was great!"

"Really?" said Christa skeptically.

"Wow, Tommy," said Zach, grinning. "Way to go, man!"

"You can't tell him about that!" Tommy exclaimed.

"Why not?" Lisa asked. "It's my life too. I'll tell people what I want to."

"It's my life too!" Tommy retorted. "What if I don't want people to know about... That stuff?"

"What, going down on her," Zach asked. Thomas Sternbacher nearly swallowed his tongue.

"Tommy," Lisa said. "We wouldn't have anything to talk about if not for Brandon and Christa. I think the least we can do is tell them we had a good time."

"No one's going to make you say anything you don't want to, Tom," Meredith said, using his adult name to make him feel older. "Not even Christa. It's all free speech here."

"Besides—" Zach cackled. "You know you wanna talk about it."

"I, I do?" said Tommy, suspicious.

"I certainly hope so!" Christa exclaimed. "Tommy, you just had sex for the first time in your life. I'd be worried if you didn't want to talk about it!"

"Well..." said Tommy. "... First and second time."

"Oh-ho!!" said Zach.

"See," Brandon said, smiling. "That wasn't so hard."

"Or was it?" Meredith said. "I mean, they probably had some problems if it wasn't so hard."

Tommy turned an alarming shade of red. "Well-lll," said Lisa.

"I guess that's not too surprising," Brandon said, swerving into the gap. "I mean, on your first time, of course you're gonna be nervous. And when your body's nervous, it's got other things to worry about than sending blood rushing to your genitals."

"Besides, she looks like one pleased lady to me, pardner," Zach said, grinning and nodding at Lisa, and Tommy blushed again but managed a weak grin.

"That she is," Lisa agreed.

"So what happened," Meredith asked, "did he go down on you?"

"Yeah, actually, he did," Lisa said. "I kinda had to prompt him into it, but in the end he did it. And the thing is, he made me come!"

"What!" Christa exclaimed. "It took me more than a month to teach Zach how to do that!"

"You've got a really talented brother there," Meredith said to her.

Tommy was still as red as the tomato sauce, but behind it was a glimpse of pride. "Really?"

"Really," Brandon told him. "It's a huge deal to be able to do that. Women take like four times as long to reach orgasm as men do, and their bodies are built to be a lot more finicky."

"I hope you went down on him," Christa said. "I mean, obviously it's not as big a deal for him to come from oral, but you oughta thank him!"

"Either you got lucky," Brandon said to Tom, "or... Well, no 'or' about it, you did get lucky. But clearly you're also pretty skilled, too."

"Of course I went down on him," Lisa said. "I wanted to, even before I came."

"And how was it, Tommy, when she sucked you off," Zach asked.

"Well..." said Tommy, glancing at Lisa. "It was... Okay," he said. "She..."

"Was about as skilled as you'd expect from a virgin?" Meredith offered.

"I wouldn't know, but... I guess so," Tommy said. "It was slower than when I, uh. When I jack off."

"Well, that's to be expected too," Brandon said. "Generally, masturbation is the fastest way to reach orgasm. You know exactly what to do to yourself. Whereas Lisa, who has never done this before, has no idea what to do with penises in general, much less your penis."

"Did you like it, though," Zach asked.

"Yeah!" Tommy said. "Yeah, it was... Really cool! I especially liked it when it got everywhere. It was, like, all over her face and everything."

Brandon peered at Lisa surreptitiously. She didn't look like it had.

"Why did you like that?" Meredith asked, intrigued.

Tommy stopped, frozen for a moment, caught with his mouth open. Then he shrugged and grinned helplessly, an answer that justified itself.

"Lisa," Christa said, leaning forward. "One thing that most guys have in common is that the little ridge on the bottom of their penises is really sensitive, especially up near the base of the head. If you..." Zach, not to be outdone, began tutoring Tommy in the fine art of cunnilingus.

Meredith caught Brandon's eye and shook her head, laughing. Quietly, the two of them slipped out, leaving the sex fiends to their conversation.

It was to the TV room they went, the place they had spent so much of their lives together in. Their first dinner date, during Brandon's Program week; their first time together, only a few days later; endless weekdays spent together, playing video games or doing homework or making love or just sitting, enjoying each other's presence. The sight of that old brown leather couch brought back a whirlwind of memories, and Brandon blinked his eyes tight, unable for a moment to discern between the present and a thousand swirling firefly recollections.

"I've missed this place," Meredith said, her voice tight with emotion.

"I've missed you," he said, barely daring to turn to look at her. "The place is nothing. It's you that makes it special."

Now she had tears in her eyes. "If it were our first date, you could've just gotten into my pants with that line."

He smiled at her, feeling a strange queerness in his stomach. She was beautiful, and he loved her, and he wanted her—but Rick Downing, Rick Downing, Rick Downing. He was like some grotesque thing stapled to her, a third limb or a second head or just a dead body, his arms draped around her neck, slumped down over her back like some deluded idea of a cape. It was impossible to get past him.

She must have seen in his face, because she said, "I know. I feel it too."

"Will we never get past this?" He flung himself away from her, frustrated. He could see them, five, ten, twenty years in the future: loving each other, as they had before, having children, having careers, having life... And then moments of tenderness falling to pieces, shattered by that hanging ghost. Rick Downing. He won't even make it into a real university. He'll go off to the community college and drop out after half a year, and spend the rest of his life at an oil-change place with a plumber's crack and a beer belly, and he'll sink down into oblivious death and take us with him. Had he ruined them? Would it always be like this?

"Yes," she said, her quiet tone disguising her intensity. "Yes, we can, Brandon. Time will pass. It'll fade. There will be minutes and days and years in which we don't think of it at all. If we..." She trailed off, anxious. "We can do it. We can."

"How do you know," he asked suspiciously.

"Because we did," she said. "Don't tell me you spent all of dinner thinking about it, because I know you didn't." She knew him too well. "And I know I didn't either. So, there's, what, half an hour? Not a bad foundation to start on."

"Fine," he said, "but... But how? How do we do it? How do I learn to... How do we get over this?"

"I..." She bit her lip, pensive. "I think we have to learn to trust each other again."

"Trust?" he said, incredulous. "Yeah right. How do I know you aren't going to betray me again?"

"Betray you!"

"You slept with Rick Downing!"

"Yeah, well, how do I know you're not going to mutate on me? I thought I knew you! But then Michael came in and I realized we didn't understand each other at all." She bit her lip, her eyes downcast. "I was so lonely, Brandon. I couldn't bear my guilt alone and I couldn't tell you about it. It drove me insane."

"Oh, is that your excuse?" he sneered. "Temporary insanity? You lost your mind, so you flung yourself at the nearest guy who was available, at the most— The most ridiculous, overbearing, self-absorbed, greasy—"

"Uh," said Zach.

They turned. Zach and Christa stood at the threshold, looking from one to the other of them. "Is this a good time to step in," Zach asked.

"Yes," said Meredith. "No," said Brandon.

Zach looked at Christa. Christa looked at Meredith and Brandon. "We're staying," she said. "That way Brandon has to hold his temper. But we're not letting you hide behind us, Meredith," she said. "You guys have to work this out."

"Where's Tommy and Lisa," Brandon asked curtly.

"They went back," said Zach. "They liked some of our suggestions so much that they decided to try them out."

"Good for them," Brandon said. "Now, why are you interrupting?"

"Because you need a neutral third party," Christa said, matching the iron in his voice, "before you hurt each other even more than you already have."

"Christ, you guys," Zach said, and unexpectedly his voice was full of sympathetic pain. "Don't you see it? It's right there."

"Meredith's right, Brandon," Christa said. "You do need to learn to trust her again. Just like she needs to learn to trust you."

"What did I do," Brandon said.

"Abandoned her," said Christa. "Ignored her. If she came to you with her concerns about Michael and you blew her off, it's no wonder she felt hurt. She sent her brother to jail, remember. Not juvenile hall, not a quick overnight stay in a cell, full-blown jail. State penitentiary. Now he's dead. And you treated her like she was wrong to feel guilty."

"I— I—" said Brandon. "Okay, so I made a mistake, and—"

"Yes," Christa said. "You did. And you, Meredith." She turned to her. "Rick Downing? Girl, where did your sense go? You have more self-respect than that. You have more respect for Brandon than that. And you love him more than that."

"And there's my mistake," Meredith said softly. The tears in her eyes and voice were enough to make Brandon love her again... And yet, he resented how easily she could manipulate him. You can't make me feel sorry for you. It isn't working. You hear that, bitch? It isn't!

Zach was looking at him with a knowing smirk. Brandon scowled.

"All right," said Christa. "So there's the problem."

"No," said Brandon. "That's not the problem."

Christa looked at him, confused. "What?"

"I can deal with her having slept with Rick Downing," Brandon said. "God help me, but I think I can honestly forget that one day. But... All this running-away stuff. Why didn't she come to me in the first place? —I mean, I know she tried it, once, but that's all she did. Once. If she had tried again, I might have listened. I probably wouldn't've understood, not all at once, but at least I would've listened."

"You would've," Christa asked skeptically.

"Of course," said Brandon, offended. "I'm not that stupid. I would've listened, so that she could talk, if nothing else. What kind of moron do you think I am? I love her. I'd do anything for her if it'd make her happy."

There was a silence as he heard what he had just said.

"Well, that begs a question, then, I guess," Christa said quietly. She turned to Meredith. "Why didn't you try again?"

"Because... Because I'd tried once, and..." Now she was crying. "He just didn't understand. It was the first time that had ever happened, normally we're just so much on the same wavelength... And then this time it failed. This time we weren't on the same wavelength. We couldn't even meet halfway. It was just... Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Ships passing in the night. And then it was about Michael, about the most important thing in my life..." She shook her head. "Everything just... Failed. All at once. The worst thing we could've failed on, we failed it. I mean, if we'd just had an argument about junior prom clothes, it wouldn't've been a problem, but this was..." She shook her head, at a loss for words. "Big."

"So you ran," Zach said.

"So I ran," said Meredith, and Brandon heard all the things she hadn't said: fear of failure; panic as Murphy's Law struck with a vengeance; conflict avoidance; branching yes-no decision trees, with each 'no' a dead end. Meredith was the type to avoid conflict. If there was something she wanted, she'd ask after it, and if the answer was No, she would suffer it in silence. It was one of the things he loved most about her—that willingness to put others before herself.

"And it didn't help that he was getting angrier and angrier," Meredith said. "Just... The little things. He used to be so even-keeled, but now... The tiniest things would set him off. Bad drivers. Forgotten homework assignments. Messing up at video games. He started to be... Enraged."

Christa's eyes beckoned him for an answer.

"I don't... It started with my parents, I know that," he said. "But then they left," he added, forestalling the obvious conclusion, "and it kept going. I..."

"Did anything else change," Christa asked.

"I..." he said.

He looked up. Discovery dawned on him like sunlight.

"Meredith started pulling away from me," he said.

There was silence for a moment as she listened to what he'd said.

"It was... Your rage," she said. "At your parents."

"And you started drifting away, and I didn't understand it—"

"It was because you scared me, with your anger—"

"And there didn't seem to be any cause for it, I wasn't sure what I'd done or you'd done or what, but it was happening,  and I—"

"You just got angrier."

"There wasn't anything else I could do. It was like everything was just happening to me, I wasn't an active player, I was just a piece of scenery that things were being done to—"

"And you hated it."

"I clung to my anger. It was better than just sitting down meekly and letting the world fuck me over—"

"And I just kept pulling away—"

"Because you were scared, because you were scared of me—"

"Because I was never sure if I might set you off, if your anger would overpower your love for me, because it gave you power, and you needed that so much—"

"And so you ran."

"And that just made you—"

"Angrier."

They sighed.

"Well," Christa said. "Maybe that's a good sign. That you can push each other's buttons so thoroughly without even trying."

Brandon gave a humorless laugh. "Great. Either we'll be perfect for each other or rip each other apart."

"Oh, perfect for each other, certainly," said Zach breezily. "But it'll be a bit of a long road."

"Now, Brandon," Christa said. "Why were you angry? Why were you angry at Meredith? What brought this all on?"

"I..." Brandon stared at her, stared at himself, stared into the depths of his heart. "I dunno, I just... She was leaving. I didn't understand why."

"And so you got angry because—"

"There didn't seem to be anything else I could do! The love of my life, the girl of my dreams, and she's drifting away, she's drifting away God save me, what do I do!"

Zach reached out and laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"And Meredith," Christa said quietly. "Why do you run away?"

"Why do I... Why do I run away," Meredith murmured, her eyes unseeing, turned inward.

"To leave," she said.

"Leave what?" Christa asked.

"Whatever I'm running away from," she said.

"And why do you need to run away from it," Christa asked.

"I— I don't... I think it's..." Meredith squeezed her eyes shut. "Because I don't want to be left. My parents turned crazy on me when I was six, they suddenly became—I dunno, these monsters, these slave-driving monsters who wanted so much out of me... They left me for achievement. My brother abandoned me when I was thirteen, left me for drugs. My best friend abandoned me when I was eleven, left me for boys, for popularity, for big breasts. And now, here's... Here's Brandon, the love of my life, and he's changing, he's changing so fast, I don't know him anymore, I'm not sure I ever did know him anymore... What if the new him hates me? What if he can't stand me? What if he thinks I'm, I'm stupid, for, for my scars and my brother and my... What if he did?"

"So you left," Christa said.

Meredith said nothing, only wiped her eyes.

"All right," said Christa. "All right." She heaved an enormous sigh.

"Guys," she said. "You've talked, and I've talked, and we've talked, and we've sorted this out, I think. And I'm hearing only one thing from you both, down at the bottom:

"You hurt each other. You hurt each other out of panic, out of confusion, out of fear. You hurt each other because you were both scared to lose each other."

Brandon and Meredith stared at each other.

"You saw the best in each other for seven months. Then things turned, and over the last five you've seen the worst in each other instead. Maybe you didn't really know each other before, but you do now.

"So, Zach. You've got a friend, right? His name's Brandon."

Zach squinted at his girlfriend. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"He's a nice guy, right?" Christa asked.

"Yeah, he is," Zach said. "A little rough around the edges, but nice most of the time."

"I've got a girl friend he might like to meet," Christa said. "Sometimes she's a bit of a flake, but she's the sweetest girl I know."

"Ehh, that might be trouble," Zach said. "He needs someone who's gonna be there for him no matter what."

"So does she," Christa said.

"Oh," said Zach. "Oh." He grinned. "Well, hopefully, they'll realize that before some big disaster happens. 'cause, I mean, then they'd be good for each other. He needs someone there for him, but he knows how to be that someone, too. It's just a pity he can't be that someone for himself."

"Yeah, same with her," Christa said. "But hey, if they could make it work, it might work really well. I think they'd get along."

"Wanna set them up together," Zach asked.

"Yeah, I think we oughta try it," Christa said. She turned to Meredith. "Meredith? This is Brandon."

Brandon waved sheepishly. "Hi."

"Hi," said Meredith.

"Brandon, Meredith," said Zach. "I think you two might get along."

"Meredith's a really nice girl, Brandon," Christa said, "but she has problems with

abandonment. So the one thing you've got to never, ever do, is give her any indication that you might want to drive her away. It's not like you can't ask for a day off or something, but, if you have problems with her, you need to approach her openly. You can't be passive-aggressive or anything.

"Brandon's a great guy, Meredith," Christa said. "He's funny, he's smart, and he's been around the block a few times. But he's really careful about who he opens up to, so if he does that to you, you've got to never turn away from him. I mean, you know, if he's coming on too strong, you can tell him that—might hurt his feelings, but I'm sure he'll understand. Just don't be all nice to him on the surface and pushing him away underneath. He'll never forgive you.

"And you guys've gotta talk to each other," Christa said. "You really, really do. Brandon, I understand you had some problems with that in your last relationship. Meredith did too. They really loved each other, but they almost killed each other because they were too afraid to say what they really meant."

"So." Zach clapped his hands together. "I think that covers it. Why don't you say hello."

Brandon approached her tentatively. He felt shy, like a boy on his first date.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said.

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Brandon Chambers... Sometimes, I really fuck things up."

"I'm Meredith," she said. "And don't worry, I do too."

Their hands clasped, and they shook.

And then, somehow, she was in his arms, hugging him, as he hugged her back—just where she belonged. And she wept into his shoulder and he wept into her hair and they kissed clumsily in their relief and joy, and he was laughing and crying all at once and she was giggling and he wondered for a minute just how much Zach must be snickering over all of this, and then decided he didn't care, because the woman he loved, his Meredith, his god, his angel, was back, was his now, in his arms, as he had always wanted her to be. And all was right with the world.

Something was shaking his hip.

He frowned. It was his cell phone, lighting up, vibrating in his pocket. Meredith frowned and looked over at her backpack, which was emitting similar noises. She grabbed hers and he grabbed his. "Hello?"

"Brandon?"

"Arie?" he said. "Derek?" Meredith said.

"Is Meredith there?"

"Yeah, she's right here—"

"Oh, good, I'll— Derek, call Christa—"

"She's here too," Brandon said quickly. "And Zach."

"Good, " Arie said, "call everybody. Anyone you can think of. We're on our way to the hospital... "

"What! Why?"

She told him.

Th .7

"Yes, but, the thing is, it's a lot closer," said Derek. "And a lot cheaper. Yeah, I know it isn't Harvard or Stanford, but it's almost as good."

Arie shook her head. Derek never ceased to amaze her. He could talk sense to her parents—and they would listen! Even she couldn't do that!

Though her father didn't quite seem as tractable. "It seems to me that if you're going to spend money on a degree, you might as well go for broke. Why settle for something less if you could get Stanford, or Berkeley, or an Ivy League?"

"Well, that depends on whether you get accepted," Derek said, "and I can tell you now—no offense, sweetie—but Arie does not have a whole lot of chance of getting into one of those prestigious big-name schools. She just isn't what they look for."

"No kidding," Arie said. "They look for people with straight A's, five or six club leadership positions, and perfectly straight teeth."

"They look for people who want to go on and become world leaders," Derek said. "Arie, do you want to become a world leader?"

Arie snorted.

"I rest my case," Derek said.

Arie's father shook his head and chuckled.

"Well," said her mother. "All I know is that I want Arie to be happy. If she wants to go to Harvard and get a degree in... I don't know... Subsonic Isotrope Biology, and then goes on to become the leading scientist in that field, then that's what she should do. And if she wants to come home and get married and have children and be as fat as I am— Then that's what she should do."

"Mom," Arie protested, "you're not fat. You're... Festively plump."

Derek blinked. "I have never heard—"

They all winced as the wave of music crested over them with a squeal and an explosion of static. Then Derek finished, "I have never heard that description before," as if nothing had happened. In some ways, nothing had. They were used to it by now.

"Where are you applying, Derek," her father asked.

"Oh, you know, the usual places," Derek said. "Jones Falls, Willot, ISU... White Plains Community College..." Her mother laughed.

Trina,  Arie thought. If you turn that music off soon, we're going to have to break down the door. The neighbors have complained twice already... Not that you could hear, with all that racket. Your eardrums probably went a couple hours ago.

The question of college applications done, they helped her parents clean up the dinner dishes. Derek had been an impromptu guest at the table that night, but he got along well with her parents, and they with him. Much as it surprised her to admit it, she wanted her parents to approve of him, and was glad they did. God, look at me. A year ago, I would've brought home a boy named Weasel just because I knew it'd piss them off. Now... 

"So," Arie said to Derek. "We can try to work on homework upstairs. Or we can try to work on homework down here in the family room, where the only flat surface is a glass coffee table."

"Upstairs," he said.

"But upstairs has a lot of screaming noise from my sister," Arie said.

"True, but, we can't make out down here in the family room," he said.

They went upstairs.

Unfortunately, they couldn't make out in her room, either, because of the sheer amount of noise blasting out of Trina's room. The air felt like glass, solid and unyielding, and Arie could've sworn she could see the walls flexing. Or maybe that was just the pounding of her head. "This is not working out the way we planned!" she shouted.

"What?" Derek shouted.

"I said, this is— Never mind."

"What?" Derek shouted.

They chose the sitting room this time, just off the entry foyer, where they had the dual advantages of relative quiet and distance from her parents. "And this has been going on all afternoon," Derek said.

"Yeah," Arie said, "or so my mom tells me. She skipped orchestra, evidently—no one's really sure how she got home. Maybe she walked."

"From school? That's like five or six miles."

"Yeah, no kidding." Arie shook her head. "But who knows."

"Any idea what caused it," Derek asked.

"Well..." Arie hesitated. "Yes." She described the conversation in Dr. Zelvetti's office over recess. "I think we really shook Trina up," she said. "Really just... Got to her, in a way that... I didn't even think it was possible to shake her up that much."

"There seems to be a lot of that happening this week," Derek said dryly. "We decoded Trina, we decoded Jane, Brandon and Meredith... Maybe that guy Garrett is chewing Sajel out right this second."

"Yeah right," Arie said. "She'd chew him up. Sajel's got fangs. It's part of who she is—she uses them to keep people away."

"A porcupine," Derek said. "So many spines, so that you never get to see their soft underbellies."

"Yeah," Arie said.

She sat back, leaning against him. His arm went around her shoulders almost by habit.

"Isn't it weird," she said. "We're, like, some of the only stable people in the whole group right now."

Derek laughed. "Us? Stable? Weird."

They sat like that for a time, enjoying each other's presence. After the huge shake-up in May, they found themselves having less sex and doing more cuddling. Arie liked it. She was horny and would always be, but sometimes there was something to be said for wrapping herself in him like a blanket, snuggling together, as warm and cherished as she would ever be in this life.

"Well," said Derek eventually. "We should probably do our homework at some point."

"Ungh," said Arie.

"College awaits," Derek said dryly. "Have you even started on your applications?"

"Ungh," said Arie. "I left my stuff up in my room."

"So did I," Derek said.

"Ungh," Arie said. "We have to go up into that?"

But they did, and it was good that they did, because while they were in her room, something caught their attention. It was the chime of an incoming Instant Message. "Arie," Derek said. And then, louder, to be heard over the music: "Arie!" And then, when that didn't work, he just tapped her on the shoulder and gestured to the computer.

Arie squinted, bent over the desk, broke the machine out of screen-saver mode. There were several messages, spaced over the course of a few hours; evidently this person had been trying to contact Arie for some time. Arie scrolled up to the top of the message window.

Her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a silent O.

"TRINA!" She hammered on the door. "TRINA, OPEN UP!"

There was no response.

"TRINA! Derek, help me." She had to yell to be heard above the noise of Trina's endlessly-repeating stereo. "Above the door sill, there's a key. I can't reach it, but it unlocks—"

Derek, standing on his tip-toes, felt around with his fingertips. They dislodged a small strip of metal in the shape of an L. "Is that it?"

On the base of the doorknob was a small hole, covered by the side-flung handle. She stuck the base of the L into that hole and turned the key like a crank. Derek heard nothing, but clearly it worked, because she grabbed the doorknob and the door opened.

"Trina!" Arie shouted. The room was dark, lit only by dim slivers of streetlamp shining through the drawn blinds, and by the electric blue shine of the stereo, which was shaking with volume. Derek couldn't see Trina at all. He smelt acrid smoke, a whiff of ozone. Arie stomped into the room. When silence fell, his ears rang.

"Trina," Arie said. "Trina." She switched on a light.

Derek didn't see how she'd avoided stepping on her. Trina was sprawled on the floor, facedown. Near her hand was an open bottle of pills.

Derek snatched it up. Empty. Arie knelt and touched Trina's pale face. Cold.

"Call Brandon," Arie said. "Call Meredith. Call..." She swallowed, and tears glimmered in her eyes. "Call my parents. Call an ambulance." Derek grabbed for his cellphone, and Arie's hand darted for the land-line phone on Trina's desk. "Mom! Dad! she shrieked. Derek could see her hand shaking on the phone's buttons.

"Hurry," she whispered.



-------

Friday (part 1)



F .1

In the morning, Jane was sore. And that was all the reminder she needed to recall what had happened yesterday.

Did I really... Yes, I did. And not just once, but twice. With two different people. The first thing I need to do when I get to school is see if Nurse Chaplain has the Morning-After Pill. I'm pretty sure this is the wrong time in my schedule, but, better be safe than sorry.

Not that she really recalled all that much of it; everything after the first half of choir was really a blur. There'd been Russell; there'd been Jeff; there'd been the rain, sweeping down in sheets, barely visible in the blue-light gloom of the October dusk... 

And then after that had been the flurry of the hospital, the confusion, the panic—the nurse's growing incredulity as more and more people came. Arie, nearly in tears; Derek, his arm around her; Mr. and Mrs. Chang, looking harrowed. Brandon, Meredith, Christa, Zach, Stasya, Jeff, Jane herself, Sajel and her date... Tommy and Lisa, of all people, what were they doing here? And then Trina, once they were finally allowed to see her: pale, clammy, breathing but seemingly swallowed by the monstrosity of bed and safety equipment and monitor machines. And then finally Dr. Zelvetti, arriving nearly at ten-thirty—who had called her? Why? Of them all, Arie had taken it the worst.

And then someone must have driven her and Lisa home, unless she was hallucinating waking up in her own bed. Because here she was, or here she appeared to be, and the blazing recurrence of sunlight through the window made her think the world had gone crazy and staggered back to summer again.

"All right." Her mother bustled in, dragging Lisa by the arm. "What happened last night? You guys didn't get in until eleven o'clock. I sat and waited for both of you at school for an hour, I tried your cellphones. I almost went insane before just deciding that I'd have to trust you and your witless brains. So, what happened?"

Jane blinked at her. "I had sex," she said.

"What!" said Lisa.

"With whom?" her mother asked.

"Jeff Gainesborough," Jane said. "He's Stasya's friend. He's been hanging out with us for a while. And then also with Russell Hebbert."

"At the same time!" Lisa said.

"No," Jane retorted, "of course not. Separately."

"Who's Russell Hebbert," her mother asked.

"I... I really have no idea," Jane said truthfully.

Megan Myers peered at her for a moment. "I don't understand you at all sometimes." She turned to her younger daughter. "And you? Judging by the activities of the past week, I think I can imagine."

"I had sex," said Lisa.

"Really?" Jane said.

"With whom?" her mother asked.

"Tommy Sternbacher, of course," said Lisa.

Jane gave her an angular glance. "How many times?"

For once Lisa seemed discomfited. She glanced around the room for a moment, as though it might somehow have the answer. "Three," she said.

"The first thing I want both of you to do, once you get the school, is talk to the nurse about getting the Morning-After Pill," Mrs. Myers said. "The last thing we need is— What's so funny?"

Jane shook her head, laughing. "Never mind. Go on, Mom."

Megan Myers stared at the wall for a moment. "Oh, your father's going to have a coronary when he hears about this."

"Maybe we shouldn't tell him," Lisa said.

"Nonsense, of course we should tell him," said her mother. "We can't keep that from him. But you know how he loves his little girls."

"I'm not exactly a little girl anymore," Lisa said.

"I know, why do you think he's going to have a coronary," her mother said. "But still. Lisa, even if you did it three times, unless little Tommy has more endurance than most of mankind put together, there's no way it could've taken until eleven o'clock. Where were you?"

"Well, I, we..." said Lisa.

Jane shook her head. "Trina went to the hospital."

"Trina?" said her mother. "Who's Trina?"

"Trina Chang," said Lisa. "Arie's sister. She's a sophomore."

"Why'd she go to the hospital," her mother asked.

"She, um." Lisa hesitated, once again nervous. "She tried to kill herself."

"What!" said Megan Myers.

"Mom," Jane said, cutting off the explosion. "Arie is clinically depressed. So is Trina. Haven't you ever felt like things were hopeless, that you were ruined and everything was all over?"

"Well..." said Megan Myers, hesitating. "Yes."

"That's how Trina felt, last night," said Jane. "Except worse. Except a lot worse. She felt so bad that she decided the best thing to do would be end it now. And so she tried it."

"Jane..." said her mother. "I'm not sure I want you... Associating with people who—"

"Mom!" Jane flared. "Don't you see? Are you listening? This isn't normal. She tried something crazy, for the same reason anyone would try something crazy—because she was in a crazy situation. She's a normal girl. But sometimes, just like anyone, she does abnormal things. Okay?"

Megan Myers blinked a few times and gaped at her daughter. She had seen Jane act this defensive before; oh yes, she'd seen it many times. But never about... Someone else.

"Well," she said at last. "We've got to get you two to school. Up and at 'em, Janey. One more day."

One more day. She had almost forgotten, in all the chaos of the afternoon and evening. Today was Friday. Her last day in The Program. After tomorrow, she would never need to go without clothes again, unless she wanted to. The end of an era.

Will I ever actually want to go naked?... Probably not. Not in public, at least. But if I ever find a boyfriend, whom I love, and we... You know. Well, it's hard to do that with clothes on, right? That's what Dad said.

Her friends were gathered on the Stetsen porch, as always; Arie and Derek were joking together, Meredith and Brandon conversing with Stasya and Jeff, Zach and Christa talking to Sajel. It was like everything had reset, all the tremors and shakes and confusions gone, and they had all fallen back to a simpler state of life, to a place where everything was easy and strife unknown, kissed away by the warmth of the sun. For a moment she felt a flicker of déjà vu, as if none of the last week had ever happened.

Then Jeff looked up and saw her, and his eyes went wide and tight, and he smiled.

"And Jane herself," said Meredith, smiling. "How are you? I understand something happened last night, before Trina, but we never got a chance to ask you."

"Oh, well," said Jane.

"Jeff won't tell us," Brandon amplified. "He says it's your business and not his."

Jeff gave her a calm look and a shrug.

"Well..." said Jane, suddenly reluctant. Russell she could explain away: she'd been plain-out insane, pushed by his endless confidence into things she never would have agreed to otherwise. Just like Trina, I suppose. But Jeff... That had been entirely her idea. Even more like Trina.

And yet Meredith and Brandon were, of all her friends, the two most likely to understand.

"He and I had sex last night," she said.

"What?!" said Brandon, incredulous. "First you fucked Russell, then you did Jeff??"

Jane winced. "Please. Not so loud."

But it was already too late. "Wait, what?" Sajel called over. "Did you just say she fucked Russell?"

"She did," Arie said. "We saw it."

"And then she did it with Jeff," Brandon said. "Or so she says."

Everyone looked at Jeff, who managed to give them a totally blank face. "Don't look at me," he said. "It was her idea. She was gagging for it."

"I was not!" Jane retorted. "I just... The thing with Russell was bad, okay? It was really bad. He just threw me over the desk and took me, basically."

"Really?" Arie said.

"And him claiming to be some sort of super-skilled sex god, too..." Zach said.

"Did he know it was your first time," Arie asked. "Did you tell him?"

"No," Jane said. "I didn't have a chance to. Everything just moved too fast."

"And how does this relate to Jeff," Brandon asked.

"Well... Russell wasn't my first time," Jane said. "—I mean, it was my first time, but it... wasn't. It wasn't like first times are supposed to be like."

"I dunno," Meredith said. Brandon's arm curled around her waist in a lazy loop. "First times can be overrated. Generally they aren't half as good as porn stories and romance novels and things make them out to be."

"I wouldn't know," said Jane. "But I'm pretty sure that, even for a real one, being thrown over a desk and taken is still a pretty bad deal. Isn't your partner supposed to be nice to you, at least?"

"Yes," Christa said, ending the debate.

"So..." said Jane. "I asked Jeff to help me with a real first time. And... He did."

There was a short silence as they digested this idea.

"So... You fucked Russell," Brandon said, "and then you made love with Jeff."

Jane considered this statement. "Yeah," she said. She liked the sound of it, the clear verbal differences in what was, after all, essentially the same physical act. "Yeah."

"So," Derek said. "How was it?"

"Well..."

"He meant Jeff, lady, stop hogging the spotlight," Zach interjected, grinning.

Jane blushed. "Err. I."

"Zach, shut up," Sajel said, "minus three hundred points Zach. Jeff and Jane: how was it?"

"Well," Zach said, "he had fun, we know that..."

"Not necessarily," Meredith said. "I'm sure that's what Russell's saying about Jane right now, and we all know the truth of that."

"Well, that's what makes him a moron," Zach said easily. "Unlike myself, who is sensitive, kind and perceptive."

Sajel gave a loud, amused "Hah!"

"So, how was it, guys?" Christa asked.

"Well. Zach basically got it," Jeff said. "I liked it. I mean, I had sex: what's to complain about?"

"Spoken like a true man," Brandon observed dryly.

"And you, Jane?" Arie asked. "How was it for you?"

"Well..." Jane reflected on the events of the past twenty-four hours. "The sex was good. I mean, that's kind of to be expected. Brandon was right: I really am sensitive. It doesn't take a lot to make me, uhm. Come.

"The thing is..." She swallowed. What an enormous admission to make. "I like... Sex. I mean, I know I used to, um. Masturbate. A lot, until my mom caught me and yelled at me. I was six, so I was, you know, really impressionable. And then there's all that stuff you guys told me about not wanting to be perceived as flawed—"

"Hey, it's not like we were just making that stuff up," Zach protested.

"No, I know that," Jane said. "But I haven't been able to figure out if it's right or not. It feels right, though, and it certainly explains my actions."

"So what prompted you to change your mind," Meredith asked.

Jane thought for a moment.

"It... The time was right," she said, and everyone nodded.

"I had all of you guys, you know, telling me that this was the time. And not just you: everyone. Lisa, Dr. Zelvetti, my classmates, the school in general... Even my parents. Not to say that they, you know, wanted me to have sex, but they told me: 'You're in The Program for a reason. Don't waste it.' But the hardest thing for me to do was admit that I was in The Program for a reason. That I did want to explore my, my, you know, sexuality. But once I did..." She shrugged.

"You really, really explored it," Zach said, grinning. "Is there anything you haven't done?"

Jane felt a spike of wicked humor in herself and said, grinning: "Anal."

"Whoa!" said Zach. Arie catcalled, and everyone else laughed.

"So, Jane," Meredith said. "If someone asked you out today, would you have sex with him?"

"What, today," Jane asked.

"Well, not necessarily today..." Meredith said. "Though you'd be in good company if you did. Most of us slept with our partners on our first date. Or before... Actually, come to think of it, I think Brandon and I were the only ones who actually waited until our first date to do it."

"Hey," Stasya said, "what am I, chopped liver?"

"I might ask the same thing," Sajel said.

"Right, but we aren't asking you," Zach said, sticking his tongue out.

Sajel tossed her hands. "Chopped-liverdom. Nine thousand, three hundred forty two points from Zach."

"Why that number?" Zach asked.

"Not on the first date," Jane said, "I'm not that desperate."

"But you'd consider doing it at all," Brandon said.

"Well... Yeah," Jane said. "If the time was right. Brandon, believe it or not, I did actually think about having sex with you. Not, like, seriously contemplated it, but, just... Fantasized." She shrugged. "About what it might be like, one day, if you and I were married, had children... I could conceive of it happening, is the point, though never on the time scale you were suggesting."

"The time wasn't right," Brandon said.

"Yeah," Jane said. "It wasn't."

Brandon sighed. "I wish you'd told me that."

"I'm glad I didn't," Jane said. "Because look at us now. Look at you now." He was holding Meredith's hand, unwilling to be separated from her for even a minute. "I love you, Brandon, and I always will, but you're much happier with Meredith. Even I can see that."

"The time was just... Never right," Brandon said.

"Yeah," said Jane.

"But one day, the time will be," he said. "For you."

"Yeah," Jane said. "Like, when I'm on birth control, for instance."

"You're what!" Christa said. "You're not on—"

"Good Lord, Jane," Zach said, "even I'm not foolish enough to—"

"Jeff!" Stasya said. "I thought we taught you better than that!"

"Right, that reminds me," Jane said, "I'm supposed to get the Morning-After Pill, aren't I!"

"Brandon, go," Christa said. "Take her to Nurse Chaplain, now!"

"Why Brandon," Zach said.

"Because he's the only one I trust not to screw it up," Christa said.

"Hey, what am I, chopped liver," Derek protested.

"Sheesh, we got a lot of that around today," Stasya said. "Christa minus fifty."

"No, what about Jeff," Zach said, "I mean, if it were anyone's, it'd be his—"

"Or Russell's," Stasya said.

"Only minus fifty?" Jeff asked.

"Christa gets extra bonus for being a vegetarian," Sajel said primly.

Meredith caught Jane's eye, beckoning her and Brandon towards the nurse's office. "Come on, you guys, before the bell rings."

Brandon and Jane laughed, and the three of them went.

F .2

Three periods had passed before it was Sajel's turn to be interrogated. As predicted, it was Zach and Christa who turned the thumbscrews. Sajel didn't mind. It was in their nature to be nosy, just as it was in hers to needle her friends' foibles. It was part of why she loved them, and part of why they loved her.

Still, they could at least be a bit more graceful about it.

They planted themselves in her field of vision and would not let go, no matter which direction she turned. "Spill," Zach said. "We saw you at the hospital but we couldn't ask you how the date went."

"Why was Garrett there?" Christa asked.

"Because he offered to drive me," Sajel said.

"You guys were still on your date when we phoned you?" Zach exclaimed.

"What, did you think I'd take one look at him and tell him to buzz off," Sajel asked acidly.

"Well," Zach said.

"So, how did it go?" Christa asked. "What did you do? Did he bring you flowers? Did you go to a movie?"

Sajel sighed and walked off. Predictably, they followed her. "Hey!" Zach said. "We're talking to you! How rude!"

"Where did you guys eat?" Christa asked.

"Did you tell him?" Zach asked. "About your, you know, thing?"

They kept babbling while Sajel strolled off. She really had no idea where she was going, if truth be told, but there were only so many places a man could be at this school. If she walked around long enough... 

And there he was. "Well, hello, Sajel," said Garrett. He and his friends were near the art classroom, in the crook of the L of the Norter wing. "What brings you here? And with back-up, I see. You know—" He smiled. "—If you don't want to see me anymore, you could've just told me last night."

"No, actually," Sajel said. "I just kind of wanted to apologize for the, ah, rather vaguely traumatic way things ended last night. Uh. I hope you weren't weirded out by any of it." He'd driven her to the hospital to be with Arie and stayed until eleven thirty, without any complaint or comment. Eventually she'd almost forgotten he was there.

"No, no worries," said Garrett. "My last girlfriend did self-harm, so I understand that stuff."

"Good," said Sajel. "I'm glad."

Garrett nodded.

"We're not— We're not normally like that," said Sajel. "Last night was a... A bit of a crisis. It doesn't happen like that all the time."

"I certainly hope not," Garrett agreed. "Suicide watch every week or so would get a bit draining after a while."

"Yeah," Sajel agreed.

Zach and Christa murmured between them, and she realized they had been there the entire time, while she ignored them. "—Oh. I'm sure you've met these two before, but, um. Garrett, this is Zach Crane and Christa Sternbacher."

"A pleasure," said Garrett.

"So, um," said Sajel. "The point was... I wanted to apologize for the way our date ended yesterday."

"Oh, no problem," Garrett said.

"And," Sajel said. "I thought I should make it up to you, if I could. See if we can try it again, do a better job."

"Ah," said Garrett, his face depicting his confusion.

"I'd need an opportunity," Sajel hinted broadly.

"Oh," said Garrett, finally getting it. "When are you available?"

The chatter from Zach and Christa came to a full and complete stop.

"Well-lll..." said Sajel, a playful smile alighting on her face. "I'm not doing anything this evening..."

"I see..." said Garrett, smiling. "Same time, same place?"

"Sounds good to me," she replied.

Zach and Christa were so silent that it took real effort to resist the urge to look back over her shoulder at them. "Great! See you then!" But she wouldn't give them the satisfaction. She waved to Garrett, began to turn away, and then gave him a secret smile over her shoulder. "Oh, and, this time, when we get to the porch: try it, and see what happens."

And as she left and her friends chased after her, stunned, she took with her the memory of Garrett's eyebrows climbing into his hair.

"Wha— Wha— What was—" Christa seemed to be having trouble with complete sentences. "What was that? Sajel? Sajel! What was—"

Oddly, it was Zach who quieted her. "Hush, sweetie. Let her walk."

"But I don't know what just happened!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Zach asked. "She likes him. It worked. Garrett wins."

"Wow, astute observations, Zach!" Sajel said. She grinned. "Minus thirteen hundred points for stating the obvious."

"What!" Zach exclaimed. "But Christa's the one who couldn't figure it out! You should be taking points from her too!"

"Wow, you're not a very protective boyfriend, Zach," Sajel said, grinning. "Another thousand points down."

Zach tossed his hands. "Why do I even bother."

"How many points does he have, anyway," Christa asked. "You've been docking him like ten thousand points a day for the entire week. He must be at, like, negative fifteen gazillion or something."

"Well..." said Sajel, biting her lip. "A few more than that."

"What, sixteen?" Zach asked.

"No," Sajel said.

"Fourteen?"

"No."

"Well, what then?" Zach asked.

"Err. Well." Sajel bit her lip again. "About positive infinity."

Zach stopped walking. "What?"

"You heard me, Zachary Crane," Sajel said. "You're at plus-infinity points right now. Just like all my friends. And since infinity is, well, infinity, there's no way your score can go down."

Zach blinked at her.

Sajel looked back.

Zach shook his head. "Only you, Saje." He grinned. "Only you."

Sajel grinned back. "Ah, you know you love it."

F .3

It was on Friday that Rick Downing decided to try again.

Meredith saw him first, making his way through the midmorning crowds with that casual saunter of his—during the weeks of band camp that came after their ill-advised fling, she had grown attuned to his swagger, the better to avoid it. She saw it now, and thought, What good timing. If he'd tried this just twenty-four hours ago... 

"Uh-oh," said Brandon, sitting beside her.

"We can take him," she told him.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"If I wasn't, I'd be saying we should run," she told him dryly.

Brandon reached over and plucked her hand out of her lap, held it in his own. She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"So, Meredith," said Rick Downing, wandering up. "Still hanging out with this loser?"

Brandon seized the initiative and turned to her. "So, Meredith. Still hanging out with this loser?"

"Wow." Rick Downing tossed his head. "That's original."

"About as original as trying to steal someone out from under her boyfriend's nose?" Meredith asked.

"Boyfriend?" Rick exclaimed. "Boyfriend? Come on, Meredith, grow up. What we had was so much better than that."

Brandon turned to her. "Wow. Do you think he goes through the day without checking reality at all?"

"That may be true," Meredith said dryly. "That may be true."

"Reality?" Rick thundered. "Reality? Don't give me any of that crap. Life is what you make of it, bonehead."

They stared at him blankly for a moment, not sure what to make of that one.

"What do you want, Rick," Meredith said finally.

"Well." He fluffed up his self-importance. "Well. Isn't it obvious?"

"Uh..." She decided to call his bluff. "Sure."

"Well, come on, then," he said.

Meredith blinked. "What?"

"You said it was obvious!" he cried.

"Yeah, but you coming here to annoy me doesn't require me to go anywhere with you," Meredith said. Brandon cracked up.

"Shut up!" Rick Downing said. "You're an asshole. Get lost."

"Look who's talking," Brandon said, neutrally but with a dangerous edge under it. "Someone who takes advantage of a lonely, scared girl just to get into her pants."

"Rick," Meredith said loudly, cutting between the two of them before they could really get started. "I know I slept with you, once, at band camp. But you need to know that I don't intend to have a relationship with you. Nor did I, at the time. It was a one-time thing, nothing more."

"That's not what I was here about," Rick Downing said quickly.

"Good," Meredith said, sensing his vulnerability and leaning on it. "Because I love Brandon, with all my heart. What I did with you, hurt him, and I don't intend ever to repeat it—not with you or anyone else. Brandon's the only one for me." And that didn't even begin to touch on just how desperately she needed him, but the look Brandon gave her was pure joy, and she decided that it would do. For the moment, at least.

"That's not what I was here about," Rick Downing said again.

"Then why are you here," Meredith asked.

"Well... I..." said Rick. "You've been seeing him for a year, you say?"

She traded glances with Brandon. Where was this going? "Yes..."

"So... When you were with me... You cheated on him. Right?"

"Ye-esss..."

Rick Downing clapped his hands. "Well, there ya go then!"

This was getting more confusing by the minute. "There... I go... Where?"

"That doesn't bother you?" Rick asked Brandon. "That she fucked someone who wasn't you?"

Meredith looked at Brandon with apprehension. Of all the tactics Rick could've chosen, by luck or chance or planning he'd struck on the one that was, probably, the most likely to work.

Brandon took a deep breath. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't. I love Meredith more than anything, but even then it's going to be a little while before I can stand to touch her that way. Yes, it bothers me." He looked up, meeting Rick Downing's gaze squarely. "But some things are more important than that. Like Meredith. She's the one for me. She's the only one for me."

Meredith fought to keep from grinning like a fool. She succeeded only partially.

"I'm thrilled for you," said Rick Downing in a voice that suggested he was anything but.

"And we're thrilled for you too," Meredith said, beaming.

Rick Downing scowled. "I can't believe this. You guys suck."

"Gee, Rick," said Brandon artlessly. "Life's a lot more fun when you're positive."

"You're so head-over-heels for each other that even cheating doesn't fuck you over," Rick said.

"Now now," Meredith said. "It hasn't fucked us over, no, but... There've been problems." She sighed. "Lots of problems. It'll be a while before we really work them all out."

Rick Downing snorted. "Yeah, whatever. Cry me a river. Go have fun 'working them out, ' guys." He left.

Brandon looked at her. "That was... Odd."

"Yeah, wasn't it," Meredith agreed.

"But... You were right," he said. "We withstood it."

She felt suddenly tired. "Toldja so."

"You did," he said. "Even though he got in under our defenses and tried to break it up from the inside. God, he was smart, to go for the cheating angle..."

"You didn't get angry," she said. "Not a lot."

"Yeah," he said, looking away. "I was going to, when he reminded me of just... What a nightmare it's been. But then I remembered—" His eyes returned to hers, full force. "You did it because you love me."

She nodded, her voice catching in her throat. A strange truth, to be sure, but true nonetheless: "I ran, because I couldn't bear to lose you. I love you too much, Brandon."

She clung to him, near tears, and he sheltered her in his arms. It was a sensation so basic, so simple, it was hard to believe. Her name was Meredith Levine: she lived, she ate, she breathed... She needed his arms, his touch, his love. And she knew he was exactly the same.

Then he pulled back. "Is this safe," he asked. "Is it healthy for us to... To need each other so much?"

She frowned. "I asked you that in May, and you told me not to worry about it."

He sighed, and shook his head.

She was silent for a moment. "No," she said, in the end. "It's... It's not healthy for us to need each other this much. But... We do. And the miracle is that we found each other at all. So, I think the better question is: Does it matter?"

He nodded, and she saw the understanding in his eyes. We do, so does it matter if it's healthy or not? Because all the good or bad in the world wouldn't change the fact that, at the end of the day, they needed each other.

He drew her close again, and she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his heart beneath his shirt, his heart against hers. Two hearts, so close they might have been one.

Two hearts, torn apart.

Stronger for the break.



-------

Friday (part 2)



F .4

Trina was sleeping when they came in, so it wasn't for almost fifteen minutes that they got to talk to her. Even then, she seemed surprised to see them. "Arie. Derek. What are you doing here? Isn't school still going?"

"Yes, it is," Derek said. "But we got special permission from Dr. Zelvetti, since she couldn't be here herself. Did you know she was here last night?"

"No," said Trina quietly.

"Derek," Arie said. "Hush. We're not here to interrogate her."

Derek snorted. "Deserves it after making us panic like that."

"Be that as it may," Arie told him. "If you be civil, you can wait outside."

Derek stared at her, astonished. Trina stared at her, astonished. "What?" Arie said. "Is propriety that far beyond me? Sheesh, you guys."

She pulled up a chair and sat down near her sister's hospital bed. After a moment, Derek did the same.

"So, how are you," Arie asked.

"I'm... All right," said Trina. "Alive, obviously. I've slept a lot. I'm really hungry too. They told me they had to pump my stomach, and I hadn't eaten anything since lunch anyway." She frowned. "But all they'll give me is this nasty blended smoothie stuff. Supposedly it's to give my stomach lining a rest, but it tastes like ass. Can't stand it."

Arie laughed. "And where did you learn what ass tastes like?"

"Shut up," Trina said crossly, and Arie shook her head and smiled and fell silent.

Trina fidgeted with the bedspread. "So. Why did Dr. Zelvetti send you here?"

"Because she's concerned," Arie said. "We all are."

"Pfft," Trina said. "Yeah right."

"Yes, right," Arie said without heat. "Trina, annoying bitch though you may be sometimes, we still get worried when you do something crazy like this. You're my sister. That's more important than a lot of things."

" 'We'?" said Trina.

"Yes," Derek said. "We. If Arie is concerned, I'm concerned, and I'm pretty sure that goes for her other friends too."

"Then why aren't they here," Trina asked acidly.

Arie sighed, but held to her patience. "Trina, if you're determined to be obstinate, we can always go back to school. We don't have to be here. As you yourself have pointed out. Now, would you like us to stay, or go?"

"No," Trina said, "no, I'm... Can you stay? Please?"

"Of course we will," Arie said.

There was silence for a moment while Trina fidgeted with the blanket.

"It was all your fault, you know," she said, looking up suddenly. Her voice was desperate.

"What do you mean," Arie asked.

"Your fault," Trina said. "That I did... This. I know the meeting with Dr. Zelvetti was your idea."

"Oh," said Arie.

"Meeting?" Derek asked. "Is that where you were during break yesterday?"

"She chewed me out," Trina said plaintively. "She and Dr. Zelvetti totally chewed me out for being who I am."

"We did not," Arie protested. "That's unfair, Trina. We saw you making mistakes—at least, what we thought were mistakes—and wanted to make sure we knew. That's what friends do."

"Exactly," said Trina. "You chewed me out."

Arie sighed and sat back in her chair.

"You were right," Trina said quietly.

Arie and Derek said nothing, hoping she would keep talking, and she did.

"When you told me... All that stuff about being myself, and about... How I wasn't being myself... I didn't want to believe it. But then I remembered what Brinklady said on Candlelight: that if you don't like hearing something about yourself, it's probably true."

Arie nodded.

"And..." said Trina. "That just... Screwed me up. I didn't... I didn't know what to do. I couldn't believe I'd been... Doing this for so long. I couldn't believe I'd screwed myself up so much."

"Well..." Derek said politically. "People make mistakes sometimes."

"Yes, but... Not like I did," said Trina.

Derek had no answer to that.

"So... I just... Couldn't take it anymore," Trina said. "I felt so alone."

"I'm sorry," Arie said.

"Don't be," Trina said. "You saved me."

"I hurt you."

"Shit happens." Trina shrugged.

Arie smiled sadly.

"So..." Derek said. "Now... What happens?"

"Arie gloats over how right she was," Trina said.

"No," Arie said, "I wouldn't."

"Oh, come on," Trina said playfully. "You aren't going to at least say 'I was right, I told you so'?"

"If this is the cost of being right, I'd rather be wrong," Arie said. "Some friend I am, if I can't even keep the people I care about from hurting themselves." And this time it was Trina who reached out to her sister—Trina, reaching out to help someone for the first time she could recall in a long, long time. Derek took both their hands, and for a moment they were united, united in grief, united in love.

"I just wish I hadn't wasted my Program week," Trina said.

"Huh?" Arie said. "What do you mean?"

"Arie, look at me," Trina said. "I just spent the entire week prostituting myself. And now it's Friday, and my chance is wasted."

"Trina, look at yourself," Arie responded. "It's Friday. You're not in school. You missed a day of The Program. You're going to have to do it again."

Trina's mouth dropped open, slowly curving into a smile.

"Looks like you found a silver lining to this particular cloud," Derek said.

"I will! You're right! I'll have to do it again!" Trina exclaimed.

"Well, maybe not have to," said Arie. "Dr. Zelvetti might waive that rule in your case. But if you make it known that you don't want her to waive it, well..." She shrugged and grinned.

"You're getting a second chance, Trina," Derek said, smiling. "That's not something most people get."

"But I've got to avoid screwing up like I did before," Trina said.

"Don't prostitute yourself," Arie said. "Popularity is for losers. Like me." She grinned.

"Just go with your heart," Derek said. "Do whatever you want or don't want to do. Don't let anyone tell you what to do. Be yourself."

Trina's face fell, and she looked at them both for a moment. "Be yourself. I guess that's what it comes down to, isn't it."

"Why would you be anyone else?" Arie asked. "Why would you be me, or Derek, or Meredith, or Chrissy Wheatley, or Princess Diana? Do you know anything about being them? Of course not. We never do. So go with what you know. Be yourself."

"But what if I don't know myself," Trina asked. "What if I..."

"Trina, why do you think we have teenagers?" Arie asked. "Why do you think teenagers do crazy stuff? It's because they don't know either. None of us do. So we do crazy stuff, we try it on for size. And most of us discover, hey, that's not us. So maybe we don't know what we are, but slowly we learn what we're not. Which is what you've been doing, basically. Just, you got confused between what you're not and what you are."

"Yeah," Trina said. "Yeah. Or, really, what I want to be and what other people want me to be."

"There'll always be people who want you to be something you're not," Derek said. "Now you know their faces a little better."

"Yeah," Trina said, sobering. "Yeah. I know them. Alex Masterson... The popular people... The non-popular people... My mom." She sighed. "Me."

"Which is why you have friends," Arie said. "To pull you back when things get tough."

"I do have friends, don't I," Trina said. "And even more than that: I have a sister."

F .5

It was the end of her last day in The Program, and Jane felt, strangely, a bit of anti-climax. She had been Rule Three'd several times, culminating in a need for relief in fourth period, but nothing particularly interesting had happened all day.

Of course, if something happened that could somehow top Thursday afternoon, I'd probably have another breakdown. Even if I enjoyed it.

She knew what was going to happen: a gauntlet, leading to the clothes boxes, of people interested in a last-minute Rule Three, or people who'd been too timid or afraid to speak up until now, or the hangers-on and bystanders come to see whatever there was to see. These people did not scare her now. She had passed through that fire.

Dr. Zelvetti was waiting by the clothes boxes, though it took Jane a good five or six minutes to reach her. "Well, Jane," said Dr. Zelvetti broadly. "How was your week?"

"It was... Pretty well, Dr. Zelvetti," said Jane neutrally. There were things she was simply not about to tell this lady, no matter how much she liked her.

"You're still naked, I see," said Dr. Zelvetti. "I guess that means you've completed your Program week."

"I guess it does," Jane agreed.

"Well," said Dr. Zelvetti. "Congratulations, Jane. I'm proud of you."

She would be, she wanted me to do this more than anyone else did. But she forced herself to be polite and say, "Thank you, Dr. Zelvetti."

Dr. Zelvetti looked at her shrewdly, and Jane suddenly wondered if she'd somehow heard or perceived her thoughts. "I hope you won't hold it against me, that I forced you through a second time," she said, which only unnerved Jane more. "Jane, you're a wonderful girl, and you deserve the best you can have. But first you have to come out of your shell. You see?" She looked at her with direct eyes, and Jane realized, to her alarm, that Dr. Z wanted her approval.

"It's all right," she said. "You're right about that shell thing. I honestly don't know if I'd've come this far if left on my own." Which was the truth, but didn't say whether it was a good thing that she'd come that far. Because, of course, Jane wasn't entirely sure herself. She was different than she had been; that was all she knew.

Dr. Zelvetti nodded, and then, evidently, deciding she'd gotten the answer she wanted, took her leave.

Jane had barely gotten one of her shoes off, however, when the next trauma came up. "Jane Myers, the God of Pastries! Hear me!"

"God of Pastries?" Jane said. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Probably not," Russell said, grinning. "Hopefully not."

"So, what can I do for you, Russell," Jane said. "You've got about two seconds before I start dressing."

"Jane," Russell said. "I'm hurt. After all the quality time we've spent. I made you come, after all."

"That doesn't make you Jesus," Jane said blankly.

"Well," said Russell. "Never said it did. But I had another thing to say."

"Go for it," Jane said, digging into the box with her shirt. She realized that Russell could reach over and touch her privates if he wanted—she was bent over that way—and decided she didn't care. Russell didn't bother her anymore.

"Jane Myers," Russell said, "are you busy tonight?"

"What!" said Jane, standing bolt upright. She stared at him.

"You heard me," he said. "You're hot. I want you to date me."

"No!" she said, pulling away.

Now it was his turn to gape. "Why not? You like me. I like you. You're incredible, Jane. I've never met anyone who's got the guts to do things like you are. I'm like, 'Come on, just try it, ' and they're like, 'Noooo, ' but you're all, 'Sure, let's.' And it's awesome. Jane, I'm never gonna find anyone like you. And you're never gonna find anyone like me. Anyone who pushes you, who tries to get you to push your boundaries. Go out with me, Jane. Come on."

Jane looked at him for a long time.

"No, Russell," she said.

"Yes!" he cried.

"No, Russell. I'm sorry. You like me, but I don't like you. Not that way. I'm sorry."

Russell looked at her with a mixture of frustration and lust, and then stomped away.

Jane blinked after him for a moment, not sure what to make of it, and then kept dressing.

Her friends were waiting for her near her mother's car. Lisa and Tommy were whispering to each other, touching, stroking each other's face, sometimes kissing. Jane gave them one look and nary a thought. Let them mash their faces together if they wish. Brandon and Meredith were also in each other's arms, but side by side, talking to Jane's mother. Jeff loitered, occasionally commenting in on Stasya's, Sajel's and Derek's conversation. Arie spoke with Christa and Zach, maybe about Trina, who of course wasn't here. After Brandon's experience as a freshman, Dr. Zelvetti had decided not to make any announcements. No one knew. Maybe no one would.

"How are you," her mother asked.

Jane shrugged. Her shirt, green, shifted around her shoulders in an odd way. "Clothed," she said.

"Yes, I can see that," said Megan Myers. "Your friends have come to keep me company. I must admit, I had no idea you had this many."

Jane shrugged. "Well, they mostly came with Brandon, but, they seem to like me anyway."

"They followed me home, Mom, can I keep 'em," Brandon said, grinning.

"How do you feel," her mother asked her.

Jane reflected for a moment. "I feel... Good," she said at last. "I've learned some important things about myself, and, I guess, there isn't a lot else you can ask for from The Program."

"Good," said Megan Myers. "Brandon, I know you've gone through The Program, but what about Meredith?" Jane knew she already knew; she supposed her mom was asking just to be polite.

"I went too," Meredith said. "In May, actually. It was..." She stepped a bit closer to Brandon. "A bit stressful. Not because of The Program itself, but, because of... Other things. I mean..."

Someone tugged her on the sleeve. "Hey." It was Jeff.

"Hi," she said, smiling. "I wanted to thank you. For... For yesterday, I mean."

"Oh," he said.

"You really..." She wasn't able to explain it: just how much her faith in people had been restored by the simple humanity in his actions that night. Russell had broken her—made her believe that nothing, nothing, that was good could possibly come out of the coupling between a man and a woman... And Jeff had saved her. "You were kind to me," was all she said in the end. "And I appreciate that."

He shrugged, a conversation in one sentence. "What else was a guy to do?"

They stood facing each other for a moment, and she smiled at him. He really was like Brandon in some ways—so knowledgeable, so polite, and yet so timid, as if anything might snap at him.

"Listen," Jeff said suddenly, "I was wondering..."

"Yes?" she said.

"If... If you're not... If you have some time... Some day... Would you..." He was fidgeting, hesitating—toying with something on his backpack, looking at the ground. "Would you like to, I dunno, go see a movie, or, or have dinner together, or..."

"Are you..." she began.

"I, I really like you," he said. "You're brave, and caring, and... I know you're careful about who you let come near you. I... I wanna be one of those people."

"Jeff..." she said. "What I said this morning, about the time being right... You realize I meant that." At his silence, she continued: "What we did, last night... That was a one-time thing. If we ever do... Have sex again... It won't be for a long time. Not until the time is right."

"I know," he said—a little too quickly, but he said it. "I know. That doesn't matter to me. Jane, if I— If all I wanted was to have sex with you, I'd say that. —Or, actually, I wouldn't, because I know you'd say no. That's not what I want. I want... More than that," he finished lamely.

"You want to be my boyfriend," she said.

"Yeah."

Russell Hebbert had asked her the same thing, not five minutes ago, and she had turned him down—and yet, here she was, looking at Jeff Gainesborough, at his glasses and goatee and hesitancy under her eyes, and thinking about saying yes. I must be crazy,  she thought. But then, she knew she wasn't. Russell wanted her to be someone she wasn't, someone daring, adventurous; someone she could be, she knew, but wouldn't be. Whereas Jeff... Wasn't asking any of that. And she liked him, certainly. Russell thinks he knows me. So does Jeff. But only one of them's right.

"Then, yes, Jeff," she said, smiling. "I will go out with you."

He grinned, like a burst of energy, like tension and the weight of the world sliding from him in one quick shrug. "That's... That's great. Thank you. Great."

"And are you gonna wait four months before you kiss him," Brandon said over her shoulder, and she spun, mortified, realizing that he and Meredith and her mother might have been watching the entire thing.

But there was nowhere else to go but forward. "No," she said, "no. Of course not."

Brandon, smiling broadly, gestured to Jeff, whose eyebrows climbed into his hair.

"Well..." said Jane. "Fine." And she walked over to him and stumbled and hesitated because he was quite a lot taller than Brandon, and would it be okay for her to put her arms around her, and she hoped to God her breath wasn't going to smell, and what about his glasses, were they going to get in the way, and, oh, quick, off to the left before you bonk noses!—

And then his lips touched hers, and his arms circled her waist as if by instinct, and hers draped around his neck, and her breathing stopped and his glasses didn't poke her and for a moment she knew nothing at all.

When she could hear and see and think again, there was applause and Brandon was saying, "See, that wasn't so bad, was it," and Lisa was shouting, "Oh my God!"

Jane laughed. "I guess I haven't changed that much, if I can still mortify my sister."

"Some things it's best to leave alone," Jeff said, smiling down at her, touching his forehead to hers.

Epilogue

The thing was, it was a graduation: someone had to sing the National Anthem. So, of course, Brandon, Meredith, Christa and Derek got tapped, because they were the most well-known singers among the seniors (not to mention some of the best actual vocalists). Which made Brandon feel very embarrassed, because he knew that everyone would be looking up at them and thinking, Well, they sing pretty well, but what kind of nerd gets up and sings at a high school graduation?

But then, what did he care? He was graduating.

The process was interminable; they were all got up in robes of the most appalling eggplant purple with a sort of cornfield-yellow trim: the school colors, of course. The flat-top hat razed his hair and was impossible to balance, what with the tassel; he remembered, from history class, that "flattop" was military slang for an aircraft carrier, and wondered just what, exactly, had inspired the cap. He couldn't even be near Meredith, because her last name was Levine; she was somewhere behind him. He did get to sit next to Arie, however—Chang came just after Chambers in the Mount Hill Graduating Class of This Year, and there was no one named Aaron to get in their way.

"Remember when we first got here," Brandon asked her.

"What, to school?" she asked. "We didn't know each other when we were freshmen."

"No, I mean..." he said. "When we first met. The first day of The Program, last year."

"Yeah, when you got blackmailed into being my partner," Arie said, grinning. "Why do you ask?"

"'cause, well..." He shrugged. "Here we are, again. Last time we were sitting in the library, about fifty feet that way." He pointed to the library in its subterranean vault, straight in front of them under the multipurpose room whose balcony now served as the stage. "It's come back full circle. We're about to set off on a new huge adventure, and, look who I'm sitting next to."

Arie laughed. "What, you'd rather it be Meredith, I suppose."

"Well..." said Brandon. "Not necessarily. I love Meredith. But I love my other friends, too. And it's your fault I even have other friends."

"My fault!" she said. "Look who's talking. It's your fault I have friends at all. You dragged me out of The Hole kicking and screaming."

"Yeah," he said, "and to do that, I had to leave my Hole too. And you're the one who got me to do that."

Arie was silent for a moment. "So, what's your point?"

"So, the point is..." He shrugged. "You changed my life. I have a loving girlfriend and the best friends in the world. My life isn't in the gutter anymore, and it's thanks to you. I owe you a debt I can never repay. And the fact that you owe me the same does not diminish that one bit. So, thank you, Arie Chang. For saving me."

She hugged him and kissed his cheek. "Same back atcha, kid."

Then it was time to walk.

William and Phyllis Chambers were not there to watch their son receive the first diploma of his life; they had expressed little interest in attending the function, and seemed only eager to see him move away to college. But there were plenty of other people there to see him cross. Dr. Zelvetti, of course, giving him the diploma, proud and sad to see her favorite student leave. Andrea and Roger Levine, standing off to one side with a video camera, Stasya Fyodorevna at their side. Arie's parents, Melissa Jingwei Chang and Han Ruo Chang; Trina was here too, but in the orchestra section, occupied with her flute, somewhere into the fifth or tenth or ninety-thousandth repetition of Pomp and Circumstance. Megan Myers, David Myers, Lisa Myers—he had known them well, once upon a time, and maybe he still did. James and Elizabeth and Tommy Sternbacher, Marcia Crane, Dwight and Janice Strong, Jenny Strong Hughes and her husband Trevor, with the six-month-old Cassandra in a harness on her mother's chest; even Sajel's family, her parents and older brother and older sister, who had not three days ago graduated from college herself. Everyone was here.

And when he took the diploma, unexpectedly, there was cheering, the sort of thing normally reserved for the people who meant something around the school—the student body presidents or the newspaper editors or the football champions. It was scattered, a cry in the wilderness, and he realized it must mostly be the people who knew him personally, who had watched him come all this way. And Dr. Zelvetti gave him his diploma and then a swift, fierce hug, and then there was the cameraman, telling him to flip his tassel over to the other side, come on, quickly now, there's three hundred people behind you, and then he dropped his diploma and had to dive for it; and in his graduation photo Brandon Chambers has a wide, foolish grin on his face, and tears in his eyes, at the miracle that there were people there to cheer him on at all.

Arie caught up with him at the bottom of the ramp. "Stupid git wouldn't even look up," she said. "Face-first into her sheet music. Come on, she's done this graduation gig twice already, of course she's got it memorized." She was smiling.

Eventually, the parade of students ("Adam Zwart!") had finally ended, and Dr. Z had given her final benediction, and the caps had been thrown in the air. Three thousand people made a beeline for the baseball field, where the refreshments had been set up, but Brandon didn't move. This had been Mr. Levine's idea: "They'll all go swarming, but we'll stay put, and it'll be a lot less crowded here."

Meredith ran up to him, beaming, legs flashing under the ridiculous purple robe, and they kissed. On her finger was a slim gold band, the one he had given her over a year ago. The sapphires flanking the diamond were the same color of her eyes, and he had picked them for that reason, though he had not been sure what her birthstone was (the jeweler had been incredulous). Later, to his relief, he found out he'd gotten it right. What he cared about most, though, was the fact that she loved it.

"Sheesh," Arie said, "I still can't believe you're wearing that. I still can't believe Brandon got you that. What was it, Brandon, like, ten thousand dollars?"

"No, not that bad," Brandon said. By two or three thousand. "Besides, it's my parents' money. What do I care how much it costs them?" Meredith shook her head in amused disapproval.

The rest of their friends and families were beginning to percolate over; Brandon saw Zach and Christa, side by side; they had never been particularly demonstrative, but he knew that one would last. Megan Myers was admiring the baby Cassandra. Lisa and Tommy kept a polite, frosty distance between them; they had lasted barely a month before exploding messily, and no amount of parental counsel could convince the two to reconcile in any way. Sajel stopped to kiss Garrett good-bye before he and his parents went off for their own festivities.

Jane arrived first, with her father and sister not far behind. "Where's Jeff," Brandon asked. "I don't see him anywhere."

Jane's face fell. "You won't. He and I..."

"Uh-oh," said Arie.

"It just... Wasn't working out," Jane finished.

"I'm sorry, Jane," Meredith said.

"Yeah," Jane said. "So am I. He's a good person. But he's staying here while I go off to Schweitzer, and..." She shrugged. "You know."

"No wonder you never had sex with him," Brandon said. "You kept saying 'when the time's right, ' and... There never was one."

Jane shrugged. "Yeah. I'm... Kinda sorry I didn't, as, like, a good-bye present. He was always really patient with me, and, there were a couple of times where we almost did, and then... Decided not to. And I know he was really hoping." She rolled her eyes. "You know how men are."

"Huh," said Arie, Brandon and Meredith at the same time.

"But... Well, here we go," Jane said. "College. Dorms. Different people. There's other fish in the sea, right? And we're all about to find new seas."

"Not that some of us need other fish," Arie said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," said Zach boisterously, "got all the clamshell I need right here, uh-huh." He wrapped an arm around Christa's shoulders and pulled her in.

"Clamshell?" Jane asked, confused.

"It has to do with certain parts of a woman's anatomy," Brandon said.

" 'Clamshell'??" Christa cried.

Meredith brought her hands out behind her back and shook them up and down in parallel. She squinted at the space between them. "It says, 'Zach is not going to get any tonight.' "

"My Magic 8-Ball!" Christa exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for that! Meredith, where did you find it?..."

"Brandon, I'm not sure if I understood this correctly," said Christa's father James. "You and Meredith and Zach and Christa are all going off to Whitfield together?"

"That's it exactly," Brandon said. "Zach and I are rooming together in the dorms, and Meredith and Christa. We figured it'd be the most convenient that way."

"Convenient for some privacy, you mean," Sajel said, leering.

Brandon gave her an astonished look. "What? How's that a crime? We're all eighteen here, even Meredith. We're all being responsible. And there isn't a single person here who hasn't had their fair share of sexual experience. Except little Cassie. And you, Saje." He grinned at her.

Sajel turned coy. "We-elll..."

"Oh really!" Zach whooped.

"Last night, actually," Sajel said, her face burning, shy for once in her life. "I hadn't seen Garrett in almost a week, because of finals, and, well, one thing led to another, and..."

"Welcome to the club," Jane said, with a smile both amused and bemused.

"And he's coming over tonight... And then he's leaving in August, going to Berkeley," Sajel said, "so... I guess we just decided there wasn't much time for us."

"How was it?" Christa asked.

"Am I sure I want to hear about this?" David Myers asked, laughing.

"Oh, go on, clear out, Dad," said Jane, shooing them away with a smile. "Leave the real adults to do the talking."

The parents left them then, hovering a few polite yards away, conversing amongst themselves. Lisa, Tommy and Trina orbited with them, Trina with her boyfriend; she'd found a nice fellow, Jason Yu, from the orchestra, and according to Arie, the level of mushiness they could get up to was enough to melt the brains of any human and a number of animals besides. What surprised her, she said, was that Trina had gone for an Asian-American, because it raised the odds tremendously that her parents would approve. Maybe Trina was getting older.

Brandon found himself surrounded by his friends: Arie and Derek, Zach standing behind Christa with his arms around her, Sajel, Jane, and Meredith under his own arm. Stasya was the only one not clad in the purple and yellow of the graduating senior.

Meredith hugged her. "Oh, Stas. I'm sorry I'm leaving you behind."

"Oh, come on," Stasya said. "I'll be graduating before you know it. And in the meanwhile I'll have Jeff and Gavin and Erica to keep me company. And Greenfield is only like two hours away, you can come and visit."

"Still, I feel bad for you," Meredith said. "We're all moving on, and you can't come with us."

"Well," Stasya said. "All life is change. Things happen. Who knows. Besides, it's not like you all are sticking together."

That much was true. Arie and Derek were headed off to the University of Seattle; Brandon, Christa, Zach and Meredith to Greenfield; Sajel to Willot University; Jane to Schweitzer in Southern California. But Brandon couldn't help but feel that they were moving as a group, emotionally if not physically. Already he felt... Freer. More capable. Unencumbered. Ready to take on the world. He remembered a line from a book somewhere: Everything starts over when the world turns crisp in the fall.

But a beginning means an ending, too—the end of that-which-was, so that that-which-is could begin.

Stasya absented herself quietly, and the eight of them were together, maybe for the last time. "Well, gang... This is it," Brandon said.

"It's been... Quite a ride," Meredith said.

"And there's more to us too," Christa said. "We're part of the generation that started The Program. Once Stasya leaves, that era will be gone."

"I'm not," Sajel said. "I was never in The Program."

"Nonsense," Zach said. "You learned. You grew. You overcame yourself. You became someone new. That's what The Program is all about, Saje: growth. Being naked forces you to take a good long look at yourself, but that's all it does. You have to do the changing. And you did."

"You didn't even have to get felt up to have it happen," Jane said.

"Yeah," Derek grinned, "her feeling-up was voluntary."

"Oh, that's it," Sajel said. "Derek loses another thousand points."

"I for one am really glad I entered The Program," Christa said, veering them back on-topic. "I have no idea where I'd be right now if I hadn't—actually, I do. I'd be going home with Mom and Dad and Tommy, and I'd barely have any friends. I'd be wondering where high school went, and why I wasted it. I wouldn't be anywhere as happy as I am now."

"Yeah, no kidding," Zach said. "I have a thousand good friends—well, maybe not that many, but they make up for it in heart. I have a girlfriend I love with all my heart. People laugh when I joke with them. There's not a whole lot else you can ask for."

"Maybe this is the last time we'll all be here together," Brandon said. "Maybe this is the last time it'll be like that. I'm sure we'll all get together again some day—certainly over the summer, before everyone starts moving off in August and September, and then we'll probably be around for Christmas, and then... But that's irrelevant. Maybe it won't be like this. Maybe it'll all have... Changed."

Only the light breeze through the trees greeted his words.

"So let's remember," he said. "Here, and now, while we still have each other. Let's remember we have it, and be thankful we had it, and promise never to forget. Not when we're fifty, not when we're a hundred. We are friends. And there's nothing in this world more important than that."

"Amen," Christa murmured.

Brandon wasn't sure who started it, but then they were hugging, all of them, a huge pile of purple and yellow robes and friends crying, and faces he knew he must never allow himself to forget, and Brandon knew he had been right. This was, in some ways, their final good-bye.

And it was, as people went home—Zach to his family, Christa to hers; Lisa and Jane, laughing over some shared observation; Derek and Arie, their families melding seamlessly and clucking over the baby. And Mr. and Mrs. Levine, taking Stasya with them to give Meredith and Brandon a moment alone.

She threaded her arms through his and laid her head on his chest. "What's on your mind, my love?"

"What if... What if this is as good as it gets?" he asked. "What if it's all downhill from here?"

She looked up at him, amused. "Brandon, you're seventeen years old. We have so much more of life to live. We're going to go to college, and take interesting classes for once, and do all of this again in four years. And then we'll have careers, and you and I will get married, and we'll have children and grandchildren and die in old age with smiles on our faces. You really think it's the end?"

"No," he said, but he couldn't shake the sudden, implacable feeling that there was no way left for them but down.

She sighed. "Well... Maybe you're right. I know a lot of people say their years in high school were their best." She laughed. "I'm not sure what they were thinking. But, if they were..." She sighed. "Well, it's just what you said. If they really were... Then we should just be happy that we had them at all."

He smiled at her. "You're always right."

She grinned roguishly. "You know it."

"Well, come on then," he said, feeling hopelessness leave him. The sun was warm, and the breeze stirred the fresh green leaves. He was Brandon Chambers, and he had his whole life ahead of him. He stripped off the abominable purple robe and tossed it away, and then took her hand—her left hand, where the ring glistened. "Your future awaits you, my love."

"Our future," Meredith corrected. "All our futures."

They crossed the lawn to her parents hand in hand.


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The End
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Posted:  2005-08-01
Last Modified: 2007-09-08 / 10:32:56 am
Version: 1.10
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