Prospects

Prospects
by Virtual Scott

Prologue

The conversation was carried on in a language few people would have been able to understand, let alone speak. Translated into colloquial American English, it might have sounded something like this:

“But it is possible? Originally you said it could not be accomplished at all.”

“Possible, yes. Feasible — who knows? It is a question of adaptation. For ourselves, it is too late; we are being irreversibly poisoned by this place as we speak. For the next generation, there is hope. Perhaps. It will not be an easy task.”

“What must be done? Speak! There is no greater priority.”

“It is a question of balance. Our young are more adaptable than we are. Measured ongoing exposure — no, let me be clear, continuous exposure — during prenatal development can provide their systems with a chance to accommodate to the toxins here, allowing the child to build resistance that will last through the remainder of its life.

“That is all? Why has this not already been initiated?”

“All?” There followed what might have been called a laugh. “Perhaps you did not comprehend the nuances of my statement. Continuous prenatal exposure consistently at the required levels, within the reach of our available resources, is achievable only if native hosts are used as surrogate mothers. Considering the requirements involved and our location, we must use the dominant species for this purpose.”

“Excellent! There are millions of them, all over! The relative few we require will hardly be missed. What is the problem here?”

“There are several problems, as you would know if you spent more time studying our reports and less time studying other crewmembers. Most importantly, suitable specimens are not as easy to acquire as you imagine. First, understand this process is a very stressful one for the host, which must adapt itself to our young in the same way that the child will be adapting itself to the host and this environment. Only young, healthy hosts will be able to survive this process, even with assistance — and if the parent dies, so does the child. This, of itself, substantially reduces the available resource pool.”

“Second, considerable effort will be required to achieve implantation in the first place. The biologies are dissimilar and it is likely rejection will occur unless we can increase the levels of key compounds in the host before the implantation occurs. It is annoying that the local life forms filter these compounds readily, so constant reintroduction of them will be required. Additionally, our technical resources are inadequate to support any project of meaningful size, so implantation will need to occur naturally.”

“Mate with one of these freaks! That is what you are implying? That is outrageous and obscene!”

“That is not what I understood you to be telling that specialist last night. Nevertheless, you — or others — will need to consider this if you wish to have a future generation to perform your funeral rites. It further complicates matters that we are only barely physically compatible.”

“Third, recall the dominant species consists of two distinct sexes –“

“Disgusting! How do they mate?”

“– which procreate much the same way we do, except mating requires one of each sex, and their roles are fixed by gender. The ‘females’ unsurprisingly make up about half of the local candidate population.”

“Fourth, like ourselves, this species appears to be quite protective of its adolescents, although we have observed some conflicting data in this regard. Generally, we would be wise to assume their reactions would mirror our own. As we have discussed before, we cannot afford to agitate the local population with our presence, and our young would be most vulnerable to predation.”

“In conclusion, we require access to a relatively small demographic of the local population, one most calculated to enrage it, for an extended period of time prior to implantation and while the young are carried to term, in numbers beyond what our resources may support. Thus, I believe our survival is possible but improbable.”

“Esteemed elder, my team has considered these factors and may be able to contribute in this area.”

“That is well; share your thoughts with us.”

“In summary, we will pay them to bring their young females to us.”

“No rational being would do such a thing!”

“Ha! You speak of ‘mail order brides’?”

“I must apologize for being overly concise; allow me to restate our proposal. We will need interfaces with the local population, undoubtedly, but each presents substantially increased risk. Implemented correctly, we believe it is possible to pay ‘humans’ to perform most of the required work unwittingly, with only the most restricted amount of physical contact required.”

“What ‘implementation’ do you contemplate?”

“We suggest buying a school. Humans send their young to them on a near-daily basis for significant fractions of time. In particular, a ‘high school’ will be populated almost exclusively by adolescents who have recently reached sexual maturity. The nature of the command hierarchy at such an institution further allows us significant control over all aspects of it with relatively little exposure.”

“Surely we cannot simply buy a school? Who would send their young to be educated by untrusted unknowns?”

“Surprisingly, most local humans, it would appear. A phenomenon known as ‘charter schools’ seems be enjoying some popularity at present; it would be best, we believe, to obtain controlling interest in a private company, and encourage that company to run the school for us. If we contrive to place a suitable human in the ‘principal’ role our influence will be substantial and it should be possible to condition all humans at the school with reduced risk and effort.”

“This is possible?”

“The humans have a saying: ‘money talks.’ Conveniently for us, their monetary system is highly computerized and tangible currency is not often used in significant transactions. We suggest that …”

June

“Yes, yes, Ms. Wakefield, I assure you we have considered this decision extremely carefully and the entire council is in unanimous agreement on this point.” The man in the center seat on the podium struggled to contain his exasperation. “As you know, Ms. Haskell has investigated all aspects of the proposal before the council, personally and in great detail. I believe you’ve had an opportunity to review her reports?”

The frustrated woman behind the audience microphone reiterated her point. “I just don’t think it’s right to punish our teachers because of an isolated problem or two brought on by poor parenting — and bad administration! We don’t even know these Tranco people.”

He obviously was unconvinced. Still. “I’m afraid that’s the end of the time we have reserved for public input. If the council remains in agreement” — the man looked for nods from the others seated beside him — “then by unanimous vote, Lawrence Hyde High School is designated a charter school by the Town of Springfield. Further, TRAINCO Corporation is granted the authority to operate the school for a period of 5 years, subject to review, under the terms and conditions previously disclosed and mutually agreed upon. This meeting of the Town Council is hereby adjourned; good evening.”

August

Zoe Ryan looked curiously at the sign the workers were adjusting: “Lawrence Hyde Charter High School: A TRAINCO Instructional Facility”. It topped the security gate, also still under construction, that led onto the school campus. The blonde-haired girl snapped a quick picture with her cell phone before skipping ahead a few steps to rejoin her mother, and continued scanning her surroundings as the pair followed the freshly placed signs to the administration building.

A woman behind the counter greeted them cheerfully as they entered the registration lobby. “Good afternoon, ladies, and welcome to Lawrence Hyde Charter High School! I’m Nancy; how may I assist you today?” It certainly didn’t look anything like her last school, Zoe reflected. Possibly that was the point. She hung back and let her mother carry the conversation.

“Hi, Nancy, I’m Becky Ryan and this is my daughter, Zoe. We’d like to get Zoe registered for this fall!”

Nancy beamed. “Oh, wonderful! You picked a perfect time; we were so busy last week. A transfer, right? And for what level will she be registering?” The registrar began assembling binders on the countertop.

“Eleventh grade; she’s just turned sixteen!” Zoe started tuning out the patter, hardening herself to the unwelcome commentary she expected would be coming.

It wasn’t that there was anything obviously unwelcoming about the school itself or Nancy; it was just that it was… school. Another school, like Parker High. The school she and her friend, Amber, had attended for the past two years. The school they would have attended this year except that Amber had killed herself after the sexting scandal.

Zoe still blamed herself. She’d known about the picture early, after a laughing classmate showed it to her between periods that spring. She’d figured out who’d leaked it, not for a fact, but her intuition was good, and gone to Amber. She’d let Amber talk her out of reporting it, even though she’d known her friend’s hopes that it would just die down were misplaced. She’d waited, looking for the right opportunity to report the issue. And then Amber had ended it all, and it hadn’t mattered any more who she told… and after a day or two of shocked silence, the cretins who started it all had started laughing about it again.

Now she had a new home, and a new school, and — maybe soon — new friends. It helped that her mother was a realtor, but Zoe remained dazed at the speed with which they’d uprooted and transferred to this side of town. All because her parents wanted her to attend a good school, had heard about TRAINCO, and jumped at the opportunity to enroll her here. Parker had been a good school, Zoe sulked — it was just the idiots enrolled there. There probably were idiots just like them enrolled here.

It wasn’t like TRAINCO didn’t have a good sales pitch. Zoe paid a little more attention as Nancy started rattling off the same points the teen (and her parents) had found in their research.

“We stress a strict focus on academic discipline, physical fitness, and personal responsibility,” Nancy continued. “There’s a strict attendance policy, and a strict dress code. We’ll measure Zoe for her uniforms in a few minutes.” That was news to the teen.

“We expect our students to focus on the classes, so there are no cell phones, music players, or other personal electronics allowed on campus. We serve only wholesome food at the cafeteria — no soft drinks or junk food in the vending machines. Swimming is mandatory; it’s a valuable life skill and good exercise. If Zoe’s behind on her inoculations, we’ll provide them at the on-campus medical clinic.”

All pretty much like you’d expect, Zoe reflected. TRAINCO might be new to the school business, but they had an envious track record of providing top-tier technical skills training for big and small business. She’d done a lot of digging at the library after her parents announced this plan, wanting to know what she was in for.

Belatedly, Zoe realized Nancy was addressing her directly. “Now, young lady, most of your schedule will be taken up by required core classes, but you do have one elective this fall. What do you see on this list that interests you?”

It fairly leapt off the page at her. “Oh, newsletter and yearbook — that’s a class?” She’d fancied herself a good writer at Parker, but the newsletter had been an extracurricular activity there. Yearbook seemed like a pointless exercise in exchanging autographs and trite homilies. It brought back memories of Amber’s picture, never to be signed, and Zoe reminded herself she had planned to be unenthusiastic today. “Newsletter would be fine,” she amended, trying to project the proper image of teenage ennui.

“Well, that’s just fine!” exclaimed Nancy. “You’re all set, then.” Zoe almost rolled her eyes, imagining that she would have gotten exactly the same response if she’d chosen “cannibalism” or “underwater basket weaving”. A few clicks on a keyboard and another sheet of paper joined the growing stack on the countertop.

Nancy gestured around the end of the counter, towards a doorway in the back wall. “Now, Zoe, if you’ll come with me, we’ll get you measured for your uniforms and take your picture for your ID.” She led the way into a small room with a wall-mounted monitor and keyboard, a bare table, and what looked like a changing room. Nancy held the door for her.

“Here’s the scoop: You need to take off your clothes and leave them in the changing room, then step into the measuring silo and stand with your feet on the red outlines and your arms held out horizontally. You can leave on your underwear as long as it isn’t too loose — that’s a problem with the boys — and as long as you don’t have extra padding in your bra. Hmmm, you can either tie your hair back in a ponytail or use a cap here to hold it up. Any questions?”

Zoe eyed the setup curiously. This certainly wasn’t the cloth tape she’d unconsciously expected. “How does it work?”

“Oh, it’s all computerized.” Duh. “A scanner will circle 360 degrees around you from head to toe, measuring you precisely in all three dimensions. Your profile is mapped to a computer model, which controls our fully-automated fabrication hardware. The uniforms will actually be custom-made for you while you wait!”

The girl was impressed in spite of herself. She’d read about the introduction of similar technology in a few Levis stores in big cities, but Springfield was far from any of them — and this contraption sounded like it was a generation or two more advanced, if it worked as advertised.

Zoe latched the door behind herself and kicked off her flip-flops. One, two, three thin layers of tops came off to expose her simple bra. She scowled with dissatisfaction. “Do you record the pictures from this?” she called over the door.

“Oh no, dear, not at all,” Nancy reassured her. “There are no pictures what-so-ever” — the last word was distinctly emphasized — “the scanner just takes measurements, and we only get numbers. Even I can’t see anything. Your mother is right here to keep me honest!”

The hated bra went on top of the other clothing. Zoe didn’t know if she’d outgrown it, or the size was just wrong, or what, but it had never felt right to her. There was no sense in leaving it on and getting another bad measurement from it. She wouldn’t have worn it today if they had been able to find the box with the clothes from her dresser; stupid movers. She deftly tied her hair back with a rubber band, and then shimmied her jeans down her legs to the floor.

Not bad, Zoe decided without false modesty, looking at herself in the mirror. The girl staring back was moderately tall and carried no unnecessary weight. Her trim body was toned from moderate exercise and curved in ways she knew had boys looking at her. She felt her breasts were a perfect handful, definitely feminine but not so big they sagged or gave her problems like she’d heard of from other, more developed, acquaintances. A pair of boyshorts hugged her hips, closely enough Zoe knew she didn’t have to worry they’d throw off the scanner, and covered a pubic patch the same light blonde as the hair on her head. Those tresses fell in soft waves to just below her shoulders, when she wore it free as she preferred.

Introspection completed, Zoe walked into the scanning “silo” and stood on the red footprints in the center of the room. It appeared perfectly circular and perhaps 8 or 9 feet in diameter. The walls were mirrored with a faint gridline, making for a somewhat disconcerting experience. “I’m ready!” she called out.

A panel rose from the floor to block the entrance, making the circle complete. “Okay!” Nancy replied. “Arms out!” Zoe rapidly raised them. “Eyes closed! Remember to breathe!” A whirring sound, not unlike her mother’s flatbed scanner, started immediately behind Zoe and began circling her in a clockwise direction. “That’s good, hold still,” came the periodic encouragement as the scanner continued its slow orbit. Finally the circuit was completed and the scanner shut off. The entry panel sank with a hiss as Nancy called, “done, Zoe!”

It took almost no time to re-dress and Zoe joined the two older women in the antechamber. Nancy led them back out into the lobby, reaching her station just as the laser printer ejected a sheet of paper into the output tray. “Here we are!” she announced unnecessarily, placing the printout on the counter where all three of them could read it.

There were dozens of measurements, more than Zoe thought anybody should have to care about. She focused on familiar ones, which Nancy was reciting aloud. “Height 5 foot 7 inches; 35 inch bust, B cup; 25 inch waist, very nice; 33 inch hips.” Zoe felt the weight of her mother’s sharp glance as Becky observed her daughter’s figure with fresh eyes. “Weight, 115 pounds. There’s a scale in the floor.” That much? Zoe frowned, thinking she must have put on 5 pounds over the summer. But it didn’t look bad on her, and her parents were always reminding her to exercise in moderation and neither binge nor diet excessively. “I wish this were my chart,” Nancy summarized with a friendly smile.

“Now,” she continued, “how do you want your hair for your picture? Down, like when you came in? I have a brush here.” Nodding yes, Zoe pulled off the rubber band. Becky took charge of the brush, untangling and then teasing her daughter’s hair until it looked just right. A quick run of her fingers through the front and it felt right to Zoe, too.

“Isn’t this automated, too?” Zoe inquired. Nancy laughed, displaying a slightly battered digital point-and-shoot camera with an attached USB cable. “Never send a machine to do a woman’s job — we want people to be able to recognize you from your photograph. Now, smile for me…” Zoe obeyed and Nancy snapped a few frames in burst mode. “We do Photoshop the background and uniform,” she admitted. “Now this will take just a minute or three,” she warned before disappearing into another back room.

“Where did you get a 35-inch bust?” Becky mock-growled at her daughter. “My God, Ken will have a heart attack.” Zoe knew her father would do no such thing, but couldn’t stifle a giggle at the joke. Her mother brightened a tad. “Good, a little sparkle, finally. You’d think we were sending you off to the army, not high school.”

Soon enough, Nancy bustled back in with a large, loaded shopping bag. “Oof!” she exclaimed as she deposited it on the floor next to the counter. “Now, here we have your textbooks, your schedule, your locker assignment, a copy of the new student handbook, water bottle, and your student ID. Be sure you don’t lose it!”

Zoe fished out the latter object by the lanyard attached to it, and inspected the picture. It would pass muster, she allowed, approving of the pose. It was intriguing how natural the picture looked. Even on close inspection, the top of the blouse, jacket and tie looked totally realistic and there was no aliasing or join line between her and the earthy brown background of the picture, even around the ends of her hair. It was a little bizarre, seeing herself in an outfit she hadn’t even laid eyes on yet. The badge was perhaps an eighth of an inch thick and felt reassuringly solid. Zoe looped the lanyard over her head.

“Now, it will take a few minutes more for your uniforms, Zoe. Those, a swimsuit, and gym clothes all are included with your registration. You can buy more if you need or want them, but I don’t recommend it at this point — although you look like you’ve finished growing.” Nancy paused for a breath before continuing, “now, there are a few more things you’ll need: socks or hose; shoes; bras; you can use your own, if they comply with the dress code, or buy them here. These articles aren’t custom-made, but they are sized for your measurements. Just a reminder: flip-flops are not compliant.” She looked inquiringly at them.

“I’d like two bras,” Zoe offered diffidently, and was relieved when Becky nodded assent. “34B, 34B,” Nancy muttered as she headed into the supply room, and returned a moment later with two white bras that went into another large shopping bag.

They signed a few more forms before — finally! — Nancy glanced at her monitor and announced Zoe’s clothing was finished. She returned a minute later with several hangers in a transparent bag and several packages. “That was easy. You’re such a nice size, Zoe; the computer hardly had to work at all! Now, here are your uniform blouses” — white — “and skirts” — navy with white pinstripes — “and a uniform jacket and tie.” Both were solid navy blue. She turned to the shrink-wrapped clothing. “Here’s the swimsuit” — a navy and white patterned one-piece — “and gym clothes.” These were a couple sets of shorts and T-shirts, either white with a navy logo, or blue with white logo. They didn’t quite overflow the bag when they were added to it.

After a cheery farewell from the administrator, Zoe was trudging in her mother’s wake towards the car, burdened by the large bag and hangers. Nancy had even thrown in a pair of extra water bottles for her parents, as if the bag weren’t full enough. It was enough to make her wonder why they didn’t have an official Hyde High book bag. The front gate beeped once as she walked through it, attracting the girl’s attention. A box on the side of the gate had an illuminated green light, which went out when she resumed walking. It was a relief to reach the car.

Zoe stared out the car window as her mother chattered on the hands-free set, setting up showings. Her own phone remained stubbornly silent, as if it too mourned Amber’s absence. They lived far enough from the school to be eligible for bussing, but Zoe still was trying to get a feel for the neighborhood and local landmarks. A lot of the houses in the subdivision looked pretty much the same. She didn’t want to get lost trying to find her own house!

At first Zoe thought her mother had gotten confused and pulled up at the wrong house, where a girl about her own age was mowing the front yard. But no, her father’s car was in the driveway ahead of them. As they got out of the car and popped the trunk to collect her things, the unfamiliar brunette stopped the mower and walked over to them.

“Oh My God, another fucking Stepford child,” the girl drawled, taking in the TRAINCO/Hyde logos on the side of the bag. As if this girl should talk, Zoe thought — she was wearing a sports jersey cropped well above the midriff, a pair of ragged cutoffs so short that if they unraveled any more, they’d be a skirt, or belt… and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and judging by the skin visible through the jersey mesh, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Zoe sensed her mother was about to explode into an indignant defense, and the other girl must have seen that too. “Oh hey, I’m sorry — no offense — but I just went through their wringer too. I’m Claudia Babbitt; I live next door.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the neighboring house behind her. “Mr. Ryan asked me to cut your grass.”

Ken Ryan appeared at the front door as if summoned. “I see you’ve met Claudia,” he guessed. “Almost,” jibed Becky. “Hello, Claudia, I’m Becky Ryan and this is our daughter, Zoe.” Simultaneous “hello”s from the girls crossed as Ken hefted the bag and hangers. “Wow, any money left in the checking account?” he joked. “Why don’t you girls get acquainted while we take care of this? Claudia, there’s no rush on the yard.”

Zoe found herself stuck in a conversation she wasn’t really sure she wanted to have. Claudia clearly was no Amber, and Zoe felt unready for a friendship even if she had been. “So, Zoe,” Claudia broke the silence, “what year are you? Senior?” The blonde admitted she wasn’t, just a little unhappy that the new acquaintance apparently wasn’t in the same class.

“That blows,” Claudia commiserated. “I have one more year to get out of here, and they pull this fucking shit on us. Lucky you; you get a bonus year.” She laughed. “God, can you imagine if you were a fucking freshman? I guess your parents picked the wrong neighborhood to move to, eh?”

“We moved here just so I could go to Hyde,” Zoe shot back, angry that the sacrifice she knew her parents were making for her was being denigrated. “It’s better than a lot of places! And TRAINCO might be new to charter schools, but they have 95%+ satisfaction ratings for their technical training programs, and you know the charter school concept has been shown to be effective in a lot of different places across the US.”

Claudia looked a little more serious. “Hey, at least your parents are there for you.” She glanced about before continuing in a lower voice. “My mom skipped out, and my dad’s a truck driver. I see him maybe once or twice a month; I think he might have another woman somewhere. Don’t tell anybody, okay? The last thing I need is to get fingered as a latchkey kid and have some asshole social worker stick me in a fucking foster home.”

Zoe felt more sympathy for the girl as she imagined what she’d feel like in that position. Her manner was abrasive and her language shocking to the blonde who rarely heard her parents curse, but Claudia was interesting. Zoe realized that despite the rocky start, she was curious to learn more. “Maybe you can come over for dinner tonight after you finish the yard?” With a sly wink, Zoe added, “If your father doesn’t mind?”

Claudia rewarded her with a slow smile and a nod before turning back to the mower. “Sounds like a date, ‘Stepford Barbie’!” Zoe fumed — she so did not look like a Barbie doll! “Sure thing, ‘trailer-trash Jade’!” Claudia laughed hard enough it took her two tries to restart the mower.

September

The first day of school was chaos. It made sense to Zoe; the first day at a new school would be a bit crazy anyway, but this time Hyde High was pretty much a new school for everybody — even the returning students who’d attended the previous year. She’d read her materials cover-to-cover, and checked the important things like the dress code and code of conduct twice just to be sure. Her father had dropped her off, so she didn’t have to worry about bus delays. All of the preparation paid off as she threaded her way from the curb through the entry gates and past the harassed security personnel. Swirls of confused students and parents surrounded them, complaining of misunderstandings, lost ID cards, and the like.

Once inside, Zoe got her bearings and headed for her locker. There was an immediate sense that the environment had changed, highlighted by the consistency of the school uniforms. Like her, the other students were garbed in muted navy blue, relieved only by the white shirts and blouses and the occasional splash of color from a backpack or purse.

Zoe hadn’t realized it until she’d tried them on, but each of her blouses and the jacket had her name embroidered over the left breast, accompanied by the circular logo she guessed represented a hurricane. All of the custom pieces contained tags like “ZZ0000P0012-RZB44301-001” in them. It seemed like overkill when everybody’s name already appeared on their badges.

There were several different background colors on the ID badges, which she hadn’t figured out. There was a bit more variation in the footwear. Zoe was wearing white anklets and her blue-and-white Nikes. Athletic shoes were common, with a few loafers or flats, but everything she saw was white or blue or black.

Zoe found her locker without much difficulty. Instead of a combination wheel or padlock, there was a thick slot just above a knob. Leaving the lanyard about her neck, the teen pushed her ID into the slot and the locker popped open. There was a convenient holder for her water bottle; she utilized it and dumped her pack in the locker. She extracted her organizer and checked the time. According to the clocks on the wall, the opening assembly wouldn’t start for another 10 minutes.

It was easy to move with the flow of other students now that everybody was going in the same direction. Zoe looked around the gymnasium as she entered, trying to judge how many people were present and where to sit. She hated the thought of having to endure the uncertainty of finding her place where she didn’t really know anybody.

Finally she slid into a bleacher seat next to another girl who also wore ID with a brown background. “Hi Paige, I’m Zoe!” The uniforms made introductions easier, anyway. “Hi, Zoe Ryan,” the other girl responded. “Oh! You’re a junior too; I bet we share some classes.”

Zoe asked, “how did you know my year? Is it the badges?”

“Yup,” Paige nodded. “Red backgrounds are freshmen, green is for sophomores, brown is us juniors, seniors get yellow, and the teachers are white.” She paused a moment and added, “I don’t know if the colors will rotate years or not. I mean, why reprint them if you can just reuse them each year, right?”

The blonde was a bit dazed by the speed of the analysis and nodded absently. She returned her attention to the floor of the gymnasium, where a microphone stand stood in the center of the court. Several members of the cheer team worked the crowd, their largely white and glittering costumes standing out starkly against the blue of the audience.

One of the cheerleaders moved to the microphone and announced, “will everyone please stand for the National Anthem?” Dutifully the audience complied and “The Star Spangled Banner” began. Bored, Zoe studied the announcer, whose medium brown hair had a touch of red that didn’t look quite natural, and then focused on the cheerleader with dirty blonde tresses swaying side to side and singing enthusiastically with the music. The other cheer members started singing too, so apparently the girl had some influence.

“Who are they?” Zoe whispered to Paige.

“Ugh,” Paige nearly swallowed the expletive. “The one at the microphone is Jana Fowicki; she’s the student body president. Interesting, when you think about it… The school administration completely changes, at least half the teachers are new, we have a boatload of new transfers like you, but she’s still there. Go figure. Anyway, the hyperactive spazz next to her is my big sister, Joanne. She’s the cheer captain, senior class treasurer, yearbook editor, teacher’s pet, general ‘it’ girl…”

The tone of the recitation let Zoe know there was some bad history there somewhere. She studied the sisters a little more closely, noticing the family resemblance. Both wore their hair long — to mid-back, Joanne’s a little curlier and Paige’s a little lighter. Paige was solemn; Joanne looked like a child in a candy store — who’d already had too much sugar. Ironically, it was the younger sister who seemed to be fighting a losing battle with adolescent acne.

Zoe ventured to share her last thought about Joanne and Paige snorted as everybody resumed their seats. “Now it’s show time,” she whispered absently.

“Thank you everybody,” Jana announced, “I know it’s good to be back. And this year is going to be the best ever for Hyde High. Let’s have a big round of applause for the reason why, our new principal, Mr. Paul Edwards!” Joanne and the cheer squad jumped and screamed, while the audience offered much more restrained applause.

An immaculately groomed man in an expensive-looking suit strode to the microphone. “Thank you, Jana, and good morning everybody. It’s great to be here!” He paused for a minute to sip from the TRAINCO water bottle he was carrying, and then continued speaking.

There was no reason for it, but Zoe loathed him on sight. He had a great smile, and was using it, but it reminded her of every oily used car salesman and slimy philandering politician she’d ever seen or heard of or read about. How in the world had he gotten this job? She looked about furtively as he continued speaking, but it didn’t appear that anybody else was registering anything but approval, or boredom, or…

The sight was so unexpected, so incongruous, that Zoe did an astonished double-take. To her left, on the end of the bleacher just across the stairs and a row further back, a girl was masturbating! Could she have misinterpreted something?

Zoe frankly stared at the girl as much as she could while attempting to avoid drawing attention. Dark auburn hair about the same length as her own swayed gently as the girl rocked slowly back and forth. From her unique vantage, unobstructed by intervening bodies and with eyes at the level of the other girl’s seat, Zoe gaped as the redhead brushed her skirt further into her lap and began to tease herself delicately with a finger.

The finger stopped. Zoe flushed as she realized the other girl was looking back at her! Her face, framed by the soft curl of her hair, looked young and innocent, exactly the opposite of what Zoe read from Principal Edwards.

The girl held Zoe’s eyes with her own, and slid a finger up along her thigh again. This time, Zoe watched the finger come back just into view, pulling red panties aside, and then the flash of red was blocked by the other hand. Oh. My. God. Zoe couldn’t believe it! Both girls stared at each other, lips parted in excitement or shock, as the redhead silently worked herself.

She jerked once and tensed, then slowly freed her hands. They smoothed the uniform skirt back down to her knees, and then she blew a kiss to the still-flushed blonde. Zoe whirled away in time to hear, “…and I know you will make us proud. Once again, welcome to Lawrence Hyde Charter High School.”

Everybody scrambled to their feet as the cheerleaders bounced up and down shouting forgettable slogans. “Well, what did you think about that?” Paige asked. Apparently, and luckily for Zoe, the question was largely rhetorical. “I think they can’t run us like a business. We’re teenagers, our little brains aren’t developed yet, and our little attention spans are too stunted. Look at hyper girl, there. Conversely, I agree we have to be held accountable for our performance — I mean, remember Lenny Smith? Oh right, you wouldn’t. Well, talk about the poster child for social promotion…”

The auburn-haired angel was waiting on the stairs for Zoe, surrounded by a crowd of other students talking to her or trying to get her attention. Clearly, she was the center of gravity of this section of the bleachers. Zoe envied her the popularity, if not her apparent lack of inhibition. A yellow senior ID hung from the girl’s neck. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” she inquired. Zoe sensed as much as heard the surrounding silence as listeners concentrated on what she said. “I’d love to see you again, Zoe.” With that, she swept down the stairs, accompanied by her entourage.

Paige punched Zoe in the shoulder. “Hey! Zoe! When did you meet her?”

Zoe looked blank. “Who?”

“Her, who. Mariah. Mariah Haskell.” Seeing Zoe’s clueless expression, Paige sighed, dragged her new-found friend along by the arm, and fell effortlessly into lecture mode. “Mariah Haskell, the Queen of Hyde High. Center of the social circuit. Mover and shaker. Party girl extraordinaire. Her mother’s on the town council, one of the primary backers of this charter school concept. Some people say TRAINCO’s here ’cause Mariah is. Anyway, a conversation with Mariah’s like a golden ticket to popularity. As long as you don’t mind high-maintenance toadies. Really, you’ve never met her before?”

Zoe shook her head. “Nope. I don’t need any high-maintenance toadies. I can make my own friends.” And not the kind who jill off in the middle of an assembly, it went without saying.

Pleasingly, it developed that Paige’s locker was not far from her own. “Hey, what’s your next class? I have swimming.”

Paige looked disappointed. “No, I took that last year. Regular PE for me until it gets colder, unless you want to trade?”

“Not a chance. I’d rather laze around at the pool than play team sports any day. I’ll see you later then, Paige.” The two girls waved at each other and headed in separate directions.



Zoe knew the pool was close by the gymnasium, but she seemed to have gotten turned around and the attempted shortcut didn’t work out. She headed down a short, deserted maintenance hallway and was about to open the door at the end when she heard voices on the other side.

“Miss Haskell, may I have a word with you?” Zoe froze at Principal Edwards’ voice, and then guiltily moved closer to the door to eavesdrop. “Yes, Principal Edwards?” That was Mariah’s voice.

“What do you think you were doing this morning?” The principal’s tone was curt and abrupt, but the volume was low enough Zoe had to listen carefully to understand him.

“You mean, listening to the assembly?” Mariah asked.

“No, I mean masturbating during assembly! That is totally unacceptable behavior, especially coming from you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She giggled? Zoe could almost believe it, coming from Mariah. “I thought nobody saw me.”

The conversation took a surprising turn at that point. “You know damn well somebody saw you. That girl across from you watched everything — I could see the look on her face from center court!”

“Her?” Mariah’s tone was condescending. “She won’t say anything — like a deer in headlights!”

“You don’t know that.” Something or someone hit the door, causing Zoe to jump. “The point is to — not — get — caught. You are supposed to be mature enough to have a modicum of self control. I expect more from you; I am sure your mother expects more from you. Are we clear on this?”

Mariah sounded almost chastised and replied with a simple, “yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Then there’s no reason to bring this up again. Get back to class.” The conversation ended, Principal Edwards opened the door, only to encounter the proverbial deer in headlights herself.

A frisson of fear ran down Zoe’s spine, and she grabbed at the first thought that came to mind. “I’m sorry, sir! I was running to get to swim class and didn’t realize you were there!” She didn’t have to fake the panting. Without waiting for a response, she brushed between the pair and bolted down the cross passage. She didn’t know which way it led, and at the moment didn’t care.

Zoe risked a glance back as she turned the corner — the Principal was still watching her, his gaze coolly speculative.

Her heart was still pounding when she arrived at the pool shower room, 5 minutes late. What was wrong with that man? The puzzled teen couldn’t stop worrying at the question, but she forced it aside for the moment and looked around.

The last of her classmates was just disappearing through the open doorway on the far wall that led to the pool itself, leaving the tardy blonde alone for the moment. The concept was clear enough, even if Zoe hadn’t reviewed the instructions from her registration packet that morning. She found an open locker near the corner of the room and started undressing, hanging her uniform neatly inside it. When Zoe was naked except for her ID on its lanyard, she pulled on her blue and white suit. It fit like a second skin, but was stretchy enough that it wasn’t that difficult to get into. The blonde walked over to the shower area and rinsed off briefly, thankful the water was warm. It wasn’t like she’d actually had a chance to get dirty, but she appreciated the consideration since others would be swimming in the same water. Grabbing a towel from the stack near the door, Zoe continued on to the pool.

It truly was the architectural wonder of the school. An indoor Olympic-sized pool, built on the location of the old administration parking lot, was a marvel for any high school, let alone one in Springfield. And TRAINCO had designed, planned, and constructed it in a single summer. It even smelled new to Zoe.

All of the other students were in the water already, boys and girls on opposite sides of the pool. “So nice you could join us, Miss Ryan,” the hard-faced woman greeted her.

“I’m sorry, I got lost,” Zoe apologized, “but it won’t happen again.” Was she going to get off on the wrong foot with every adult she met today? Without prompting, she dumped her towel near the wall and hung her ID on an unused hook with the others, then jumped in the pool.

“Well, then,” the woman said, apparently appeased, “for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Coach Gold. My task is to ensure you can go near water without drowning yourselves or disgracing me. Now that we’re all here, it appears you all know at least the very rudimentary basics. Let’s see each of you do a lap of free-style, so we can see what I have to work with.”

By the time the coach released them, Zoe felt like she’d been doing anything but laze around. The woman wasn’t easy to satisfy, and actual swimming, as opposed to just floating around goofing off, took a lot more energy than Zoe remembered. The girls clambered out of the pool, retrieving their towels and badges, and casting covert looks at the boys doing the same thing on the opposite wall.

Zoe felt good about herself and the way the suit fit her body; it was pretty modest, even if the scoop in back was fairly low. Consequently she felt no need to cover herself completely with the towel, nor any desire to flaunt herself the way one or two of the other girls did. On the other hand, some of the boys were pretty good-looking and their Speedo-style briefs were a lot more revealing than the oversized baggy shorts in fashion.

The blonde was a trifle uncomfortable with the communal showering, but she focused on getting through it as quickly as possible so she wouldn’t be late for her next class. Some of the other girls showed some mild interest in striking up an acquaintance but respected her reserve. Whatever the material of her suit was, Zoe found that it was practically dry by the time she made it back to her locker to collect her French textbook.



She’d been looking forward to it all day, and finally last period — Zoe’s cherished newsletter/yearbook course — had arrived. By all appearances, she’d even managed to make it to the correct classroom on time!

Zoe quietly slipped in the door at the back of the room. She recognized Joanne Ward, still in cheer uniform, sitting on a desk at the front of the room, gossiping with a few other girls. There didn’t appear to be a teacher present yet. Definitely feeling like an outsider, Zoe sunk into a desk halfway up and settled in, chin propped on hands, to listen quietly.

“I mean, how was I like, to know? She’s like, an ice queen.” Joanne gestured broadly with both arms. “She talked for ever, dissecting feelings he might have for a relationship that like, might exist, like a frog in biology, and so didn’t do a thing! Oh My God! Well, Kevin was like, so hot in that shirt that I just had to feel it. And then, he’s like, ‘if you like it so much, you should wear it,’ and I’m like, ‘I already have a shirt,’ and he, like, just takes it off and tells me, ‘this one’s better’. He is like, one ripped boy, you know?”

Her audience nodded in agreement while the cheerleader sighed and drew another breath. “So then, I’m like, ‘turn around,’ and I take off my shirt and put on Kevin’s, and Paige is like, ‘you slut,’ and screaming and stuff. I mean, I still had my bra on, like my swimsuit covers less than that. So, anyway, Kevin and I like hooked up a few times but she’s still like I stole him or something. As if he’d waste any time on a zit-face like her.” With an air of dispensing hard-won advice, Joanne added, “don’t have a younger sister — it’s like, too much drama.”

Everybody was digesting that when one of the other girls piped up, “you know who’s really a slut?” Predictably, all of the others wanted to know. “Claudia Babbitt! She is such a slut, did you see her?” There was babble as several of the girls talked over one another, and Zoe leaned forward with interest. She’d formed a tentative friendship with her prickly neighbor and, while Claudia certainly had a unique approach to clothing, “slut” wasn’t a word Zoe would have chosen.

“She wore a black bra!” gasped a contributor. “I heard all about it from Yelena, who was there the whole time. You could totally see it the whole time! The security dudes were so mad, but they couldn’t do anything about it.” Zoe nodded knowingly herself, appreciating the loophole — the dress code required girls to wear brassieres, and had an absurd number of specifications and prohibitions regarding them, but neglected to say anything about color. That probably would change, quickly, but she’d have to remember to give “trailer-trash Jade” chops for the stunt.

The burst of a camera flash beside her startled Zoe so badly that her chin fell off its perch and she barely stopped herself from bashing it on the desktop. The group at the front of the room, attracted by her muffled shriek, belatedly noticed her while she in turn studied her ambusher.

He was attractive, if no stud, and a junior like herself, according to his badge. Zoe could imagine herself with him, with very little effort. He smiled at her over the top of his camera. Oh God, she thought, I must look like a loser; my hair is still a total mess from swimming. “It’s for your driver’s license picture,” he deadpanned. “The next one will be better.”

Zoe turned her head away, embarrassed and wishing he would leave. “Is this really necessary?” she asked, trying to keep it from sounding like a whine. “Yeah, Dean, like, what’s up with this?” chimed in Joanne.

He looked over at the cheerleader. “Well, Joanne, it’s like, this is Zoe Ryan, and she’s like, taking newsletter/yearbook, and like, I so need a headshot for her byline, you know?” Zoe struggled to keep a straight face as the sarcasm seemed to pass right by the other girl.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re that new girl, right?” Joanne seemed pleased to have Zoe pigeonholed. “But, like, you haven’t even written anything yet. You do, like, you know, write — right?”

Zoe fought to maintain her equilibrium, determined not to burn any bridges on her first day. But it was so hard — this was an editor?! “I write very well; I’m planning on majoring in journalism, in college.” That came out more stiffly than she’d planned, and some of the others rolled their eyes.

“Hey babe, what’s happening? You wanna ditch and hook up with some real food?” called a new arrival. He was tall, obviously athletic, and apparently self-assured. This would be the infamous Kevin, Zoe guessed. She was able to verify that a moment later when he got close enough for her to read his name on the jacket. He pulled Joanne close for a kiss and then released her.

“Hey, new girl,” Kevin addressed Zoe. Could nobody in this misbegotten bunch of idiots read? Zoe wondered; her name was written all over her. “Hi, Zoe Ryan,” she offered.

“Zoe’s like, going to write, or something,” Joanne clarified, “but she hasn’t, yet. She’s like, new.”

Kevin looked down his nose at her, literally and figuratively. “Don’t sound like much of an addition to me. Save your film, dude.”

“Hey, back off, Kevin!” Dean warned him, surprising Zoe. Kevin looked surprised too, and then his expression turned mulish.

Zoe sensed things could get tense and seized on a way to diffuse the situation. “Um, Joanne,” she said, pointing, “is that spaghetti sauce on the back of your skirt? It might stain.”

The result surpassed her expectations. Joanne screamed like she was on fire, and brushed frantically at her cheer costume without finding anything. There was nothing to find, of course. Still panicking, the senior bolted from the room, towing Kevin helplessly behind her, babbling about changing and spot remover.

Dean and Zoe exchanged looks of mutual appreciation in the bemused moment of silence that followed. “She mostly sticks to the yearbook, you know — it’s nearly all about arranging pictures,” he explained. As if it pained him but he was trying to be fair, Dean added, “and she actually is more intelligent than she sounds. Mostly.”

The members of Joanne’s late coterie appeared to be deciding if they should take exception to his characterization, when the teacher finally arrived. Like the other teachers Zoe had met, Ms. Petersen was professionally dressed, wearing a double-breasted jacket over a blouse and dark slacks. Her TRAINCO identification hung from an attractive necklace, a definite upgrade from the utilitarian lanyard in Zoe’s opinion.

“Was that Joanne I heard in the hall?” the teacher queried, as students tumbled into chairs. “Do you think she’s coming back?” This time the responses were more tentative, but negative.

She sighed. “Well, then. I recognize most of you lot from last year, welcome back.” She glanced down at the papers in her hand, and looked up. “And welcome to you, Zoe, we’re glad to have you join us. In fact, you’re just what we need; I’ll get to that in a minute.”

Ms. Petersen hitched herself onto the edge of the teacher’s desk, and cycled the top page of her notes to the bottom of the stack. “I’m very excited by the opportunity we have this year. I attended several workshops over the summer and TRAINCO is very interested in helping us take both the yearbook and newsletter up several notches from what we were able to do previously. The newsletter, in particular, is going to be about more than the week’s lunch menu and music video reviews. Additionally, Hyde is the first charter school in this area, and here we are — at the first day of the first month of the first year of this transition!” She paused to make sure her students were following her.

“Now, Principal Edwards has discussed this concept with me several times, and I think it’s a great one. He thinks we should do a series of articles in the newsletter about the transition, and the highlights will be collected and reprinted in a special section in the yearbook! Joanne isn’t here to speak up for herself” — several people giggled — “but Principal Edwards has assured me that we will have complete editorial control over what we publish.”

“Here’s where you come in, Zoe.” Zoe sat up attentively. It sounded like a dream project, but she’d resigned herself to seeing the returning contributors snap up the best pieces of it. “We’d like a fresh viewpoint, one that sees Hyde High the way it is now, without being colored by memories of the past few years. You’d be perfect for that. And, I might add, both Mr. Edwards and myself are very impressed by the samples of your work we’ve seen. However, this assignment also will give you an opportunity to improve your researching and interviewing skills.”

Zoe was impressed, herself. What work? From Parker High? What piece might it have been, and how had they gotten it? Conscious she was momentarily the center of attention, Zoe tried to maintain an air of calm, self-effacing modesty. Dean looked frankly admiring, but several of the girls looked a touch hostile — not that she blamed them.

“Don’t worry, ladies, it’s going to be equally important to illustrate the changes we’re seeing this year, and how they’re benefitting the students. I promise there will be plenty of work for everyone!” Everybody loosened up a bit. “Now, without Joanne, we can’t really plan anything on the editorial side…” Ms. Petersen continued.

“…without like, redoing it all,” Dean muttered under his breath.

“…so I want you to think about short pieces we can whip into shape quickly — Friday isn’t very far away! Try to have a few proposals for tomorrow, and we’ll sort through them. Well, enough for your first day, then!” She made shooing motions at her students, “go, be free! Enjoy the day!”

As the others filed out, Zoe walked to the front. She really wanted to know what they’d read. “Ms. Petersen –“

“Please, call me Hannah,” the teacher sighed. “I appreciate professionalism, Zoe, but sometimes formality can be taken a bit too far; and I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this year.”

Zoe nodded, and shyly asked, “Hannah, I was just curious… You said you’d read something of mine, and I was just wondering…”

“Oh, of course,” Hannah responded. She pulled a sheet and handed it to the teen, saying, “perhaps it’s not my place to say so, Zoe, but I’m very proud of you — and you have my sympathy.”

She looked down at a photocopy of a newspaper clipping. “Love’s Labor’s Lost/A Tragedy in Two Megapixels, by Zoe Ryan.” It was the piece she had written about Amber, trying to work through her grief and guilt. She’d never realized it had gotten picked up by a newspaper. Zoe discovered her emotional wounds were still raw, more than she had believed, and handed back the clipping. “Thanks.”

Dean didn’t let her escape. “I told you I needed a byline thumbnail shot. It’ll just take a moment.” Zoe’s hand shot unconsciously to her hair again.

“Have you no sensibility?” Hannah asked him. “Give the girl a minute. Here, Zoe, I have a brush in my purse you can borrow.”

Somewhat relieved, Zoe pulled off the hair band and started teasing out her ponytail. She’d just left it wet after swimming and it really had dried a mess. A few dozen strokes of the brush made a huge difference. Hannah helpfully provided a pocket mirror so she could check her work.

Dean took a few shots, asking Zoe to look solemn, or contemplative, and finally got her laughing when he commanded, “now, like, say cheese!” Somehow, the ending bell was ringing by the time they finished.



Zoe was still smiling, looking over her shoulder at Dean, when she exited the classroom and nearly bounced off Mariah in the hallway. It was an unsettling juxtaposition of their encounter earlier in the day.

“Why, Zoe,” Mariah quipped, “weren’t you watching where I was going?” The blonde’s blush and confusion were priceless, and Mariah savored them before Zoe mumbled something and took off rapidly down the hall. She was cute, Mariah decided, and such an easy mark for teasing.

Mariah looked through the door at Dean as he stowed something in his book bag, and mentally undressed him. He was cute too, actually more to her taste than those athletes with their big bodies and small brains. She’d read somewhere that steroids negatively affected the sexual organs, the same as she’d read that the brain was a person’s most erogenous spot.

Yes, she decided, it would be worth her time to cultivate Dean. He seemed… creative. But he’d be a long-term project, and she was tired of behaving. It had been a long time since the morning assembly.

Mariah worked her way across campus to the administration building, acknowledging greetings from acquaintances and deftly deflecting invitations from friends, and sauntered into the Principal’s office. Finally, the one place on campus with no security cameras! With a heartfelt sigh, the teen reached beneath her skirt and eased a finger past her panties and into her moist slit.

Paul strode across the office, slamming the door closed before backhanding her across the face. “I’ve told you not to do that in public!”

She was stunned that he’d dared to touch her. No boy had ever treated her like that! Her cheek stung from the slap, but Mariah realized she was wetter than she had been a moment before. Men wanted the same things as boys, didn’t they?

Aroused, Mariah dropped to her knees and reached for Paul’s zipper. As she expected, the hypocrite made no move to stop her while she fished his hardening cock out of his clothing and enveloped it in her mouth.

She took justifiable pride in her technique, alternating licks to the glans with sucking, then running her teeth lightly down his length as she took his tool all the way into her throat. He came quickly, pumping his sticky seed into Mariah’s mouth while she milked him with one hand.

The conversation resumed as Paul zipped himself up and Mariah cleaned the edge of her mouth with a finger. “We can’t risk this sort of thing here, Mariah. You know exposure would be very bad for all of us.”

Mariah pouted. “This from the genius that assigns a reporter to investigate himself?”

“What?” She’d managed to startle him.

“Zoe — the new girl. You know, from this morning? I just ran into her outside Ms. Petersen’s room.”

“Oh, her. Perfect, don’t you think?” Paul warmed up as he considered it. “You said it yourself, she won’t say anything. She didn’t say anything at the last school. We can spoon-feed her anything we want. There’s nothing like a little good publicity, especially when it comes from an ‘independent’ source.”

“You aren’t worried she’ll find anything?” Mariah asked doubtfully.

Paul laughed softly. “Not a chance. She’s new, doesn’t know anybody. I’ve seen her records — she’s a mouse.” He paused, and then continued, “if she gets lucky, we’ll sit on her.”

“I’m not so sure…” Mariah began, but he cut her off.

“I am. She’ll be attending your little parties soon enough. Now get out of here and remember — keep it clean while you’re on campus. I mean it!”



Zoe held Claudia’s backpack and jacket on her lap while the older girl squirmed on the school bus bench beside her.

“This fucking dress code is going to drive me crazy,” the senior declared. Somehow she managed to remove the (black) bra and extract it from underneath the blouse. “Their space-age scientifically fitted bra is a little too snug for the ring,” Claudia complained, flicking it casually through the blouse.

Zoe tore away her gaze. “I thought the bras only came in white.”

Claudia laughed. “They do — I dyed it myself. That was a bitch of a job. Didn’t you see the posting they had up by lunchtime? ‘Unauthorized alterations of clothing are not compliant with the Hyde High dress code.’ ” She studied the bra. “Well, I guess I’m not going to wear this again. They flat-ass told me not to come back with it, and it’s too uncomfortable to wear if I don’t have to. It was worth the money to screw with those fuckers’ minds, though — I swear I thought one guy was going to have a fucking heart attack.”

She eyed the blonde as she re-took possession of her jacket and bag. “Hey, Barbie, what size do you wear? 34B? This is yours if you want it.”

Privately, Zoe thought the bras were very comfortable, better than anything she’d owned previously. They were completely seamless, feather light, and very soft on the skin. She’d tried jumping up and down at home, and they seemed to provide good support. “I could pay you for it,” she offered, thinking Claudia might need the money.

“Thanks, but consider it a fashion victim CARE package,” Claudia demurred, and flipped the undergarment to her. “Now, tell me about what you did while I was fighting the oppressive administration.”

“Well, you will not believe what happened at the assembly!” Zoe’s voice lowered to just above a whisper, inaudible except to her neighbor. “You know Mariah Haskell?”

Claudia snorted. “Everybody knows Mariah. I know she has her nose up the ass of her mother and every fucking teacher in the joint. And a lot of students have their noses up her ass, just because her mom’s a big wheel. Big party girl. Yeah, I know her. So?”

“Well, she was jilling off at the assembly, I saw it!”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Zoe shook her head. “Rumor has it that girl has been around the block with more than a few boys, but that’s out there, even for her. I mean, the thought police peed themselves because I wore a fucking black bra, for chrissakes. They’d execute her.”

“That’s just it!” Zoe hissed. “I kind of overheard them later, Mariah and Principal Edwards. He was chewing her out, but get this — he was pissed because she got caught, not because she did it in the first place! I think there’s something wrong with him.”

It was Claudia’s turn to shake her head. “I think there’s something wrong with you, Zoe. No fucking way did that happen. You actually saw this?”

“Well, not exactly. I was in the hall, and they were on the other side of the door. But I could hear them, I swear!”

Claudia remained unconvinced. “I think something got lost in the translation. Principal Edwards acts like he has a stick up his ass, and the whole fucking town’s watching this place. If Mariah actually did that, I’d be fucking furious whether somebody saw her or not. Now c’mon, that was your entire day? Weren’t there any boys?”

Zoe hated to let the point drop, but she couldn’t explain or describe what her intuition was telling her. Perhaps she had misheard the conversation. “I did get this big assignment for the newsletter. And there was this boy, Dean Killian …” She continued her story as the two disembarked from the bus and walked down the block to their houses.

They stopped in front of Claudia’s house. “Zoe,” advised the older girl, “you have your work cut out for you. That newsletter shit is idiotic, but I get that you like to write. But Dean? You can’t advertise in this” — she did a mock curtsy, indicating their uniforms — “and you are way too passive. You’re going to have to step up your game if you want to hook up with him!”

Zoe sputtered denials. “I don’t want to hook up with anybody! We’re just in the same class and he seems nice. And I want him to like me for who I am, not some made-up front.”

“It’s your life, Barbie,” Claudia warned, unlocking her door. “There are 300 channels on the TV — are you the one he’s going to watch?”

October

Ken Ryan was packing for another road trip. “I feel like I’m going to end up like Art Babbitt,” he joked.

Becky looked up from where she was folding a shirt and, laughing, replied, “oh, I hope not — we’d forget what you look like! And you’d miss all of Zoe’s essays.”

Zoe smiled, buoyed by her parents’ evident pride and love for her. She flopped on her back at the head of their bed and stared at the ceiling. “I think I’m getting essayed out. There aren’t that many ways to make a school sound fresh and exciting, and of course the people I talk to say how great everything is now.”

“Did you ever get that interview with Principal Edwards?” Ken asked.

“No, he’s always too busy. I mean, he gives me time, but it’s always 5 or 10 minutes of what he wants to talk about, and then some crisis comes up before I can ask him anything.” Zoe hadn’t mentioned her inexplicable dislike for the man, or that it caused her to push for access to him less than might otherwise have been the case. “He keeps telling me he likes my articles about the other students or the new campus services. I’m pretty sure I’m starting to annoy him.”

“Don’t let him get away from you, honey,” her father advised. “The buck stops at his desk. He should be able to explain to you and your readers why things get done the way they do.”

“Exactly,” his daughter agreed. “Like why TRAINCO decided to get into the school business, or what Principal Edwards did for them before this job.”

“Yes,” Becky chimed in, “and I’d dearly like to know how TRAINCO can afford all these bells and whistles they lavish on you children. I swear you look more like an executive than Ken does!”

Zoe was so accustomed to the uniform she didn’t even think about it anymore. It felt natural. Now that it was a little cooler, she was wearing leggings (only in approved colors, of course!) and flats, which did make her look a little more professional. Of course, you could put lipstick on a pig… Thoughtlessly, she related, “it’s an illusion. Claudia can remove her bra without undoing her blouse, and she does it every day on the bus because it hurts her nipple ring.”

Becky was appalled. “I knew that girl was a tramp! I need to have a talk with her father…” She was cut off by her ringing cell phone. “Good morning, Mrs. Allen. Yes, I’m fine.” She whispered to her audience, “another crisis awaits,” and headed down the hall to her office. “Yes, I think we could move the occupancy date. Let me find my notes…”

“You know, Zoe,” her dad broke the silence, “good journalists find and write good stories. A great journalist knows not every story needs or deserves to be told, and that she needs to choose intelligently when to speak up or when to remain silent. It can be hard to find the balance.”

“I know,” she sighed into the pillow held over her face.

“That said,” he continued, “do you think you can do a story on Claudia’s trick? I know a couple of guys at work that would like to be able to do that.”

“Daddy!” Zoe giggled, and threw the pillow at him. She sat up and sighed. “No Claudia. Today, I have to talk to Mariah Haskell; her mother’s on the council, so she actually went to some of the proposal presentations and site visits last summer.”

Ken zipped up the roller bag and glanced at his daughter. “One girl talking to another at school? Try not to make it sound too hard, okay? Or is there something about this Mariah?”

Mariah was at the bottom of Zoe’s list of favorite people, just before Principal Edwards. She’d tried to steer clear as much as possible, because it seemed like everything Mariah said or did left her off balance. Worse, Zoe didn’t like the way she’d seen the other girl looking at Dean once or twice. She tried to put it in terms that wouldn’t alarm her father. “She’s just, I don’t know, from another planet or something. She’s really popular and beautiful and hangs out with this social crowd. I’m still an outsider.”

Perceptively, Ken observed, “you can’t keep beating yourself up forever, Zoe. You’re beautiful, and I bet you’d be popular too if you came out of your shell a little. And frankly, beauty and popularity are skin-deep and transient. Just be yourself and the right kind of people will find you.” He kissed her on the forehead and picked up his bag. “In the meantime, if Mariah saw some presentations last summer, maybe she’ll remember something useful about those questions you want to ask the principal. If not, you’ll find another approach. I have the utmost confidence in your persistence.”



Dean Killian took another drink from his water bottle and played with the strap on his camera case. He’d agreed to meet Zoe and Mariah at the yearbook room during lunch to do some background pictures, and both girls were late. That was no surprise for Mariah, whose elastic notion of time revolved around her own convenience, but Dean had learned over the past month that Zoe was focused, professional and punctual. If she wasn’t here, it probably meant the pre-calc test in fourth hour wasn’t going so well — Mr. Costanz was known for giving students extra time if they needed it.

Mariah flounced in the door, looking pleased to see him, and more pleased when she saw that Zoe was missing. “Dean! Just what I needed — a little quiet time with you. Why haven’t we hooked up before now?”

This was so not what he needed. Dean was still undecided about Zoe, but Mariah was clearly way too high-maintenance for him. Why she’d started paying attention to him now after ignoring his existence for the past two years was beyond his understanding.

“Um, I thought we could do pictures now. I’m sure Zoe will be here in just a minute.” He held his camera between them like a shield.

“If you like,” she acquiesced. Mariah dumped her bag on the floor beside the front desk and set her water bottle on the desktop. “How would you like me? Like this?” She blew him a kiss and pouted her lips, holding the pose.

It seemed easier to humor her; Dean knew he could always delete the extra images from the memory card later. He snapped a shot.

“How about this?” She leaned on Hannah’s desk, as if reading something. It didn’t escape him that she bent at the waist, keeping both legs straight so that the curve of her rear was highlighted by her pinstripe skirt. “Does this make look my butt look big?”

Dean realized he’d been looking a little too long. “No, not at all,” he replied quickly, and then snapped off a couple shots.

“Maybe a Colbert look!” Mariah straightened, facing partially away from him, crossed her arms, and turned her upper body back to the left to look at him. Plainly she’d left the top several buttons of the blouse unfastened, and it gapped to reveal the upper curve of her breast and the regulation bra covering it. Her lips were parted, the tip of her tongue just visible.

The camera recorded her for posterity. Dean knew there was no way Hannah would let this picture be used for anything, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking it home and adding it to his jerk-off stash. To cover his nervousness, Dean commented, “you seem, um, to have loosened up since last year.”

“Maybe a little,” Mariah responded, clearly appreciative of his attention. She sat on the edge of the desk, like Ms. Petersen did, but — most unlike the teacher — proceeded to slowly cross one leg over the other. “I’d be happy to show you exactly how much I’ve loosened up…” A flash of pale flesh suggested she was wearing thigh-highs instead of regulation leggings. She picked up her bottle, delicately placed the tip of the tube between her lips, and drained about half of it in one slow, steady action.

Dean had forgotten the camera in his hand, which was pointing vaguely in the direction of the floor. It was hard to believe this was even happening to him.

“We could have a lot of fun together,” Mariah continued. Setting down the bottle, she leaned towards him, breasts pressed forward, and absentmindedly twirled a dark auburn lock about a finger. “I know how to have a good time, not like some hung-up sexless Lois Lane wannabe. Think about it.” Her eyes dipped meaningfully towards his straining crotch, then lifted and her expression changed. “Oh, Zoe. We were just talking about you.”

The blonde stood just inside the door, a frozen expression on her face.

Dean did her the courtesy of not trying to pretend he’d been taking a picture. He wished again Zoe wasn’t so hard to read. Everybody at the newsletter had read the story she’d written, and he understood why she worked so hard to maintain a distance around herself. He genuinely liked her and thought she was interesting, but he couldn’t tell if Zoe felt the same way about him.

He kind of thought she did, but if Zoe wasn’t interested, Dean didn’t want to pressure her. Now, he was sure she’d overhead Mariah’s comment and was hurt — but whether it was because it was just mean, or because she thought Mariah was playing for him, he couldn’t figure.

The interview was a shambles. Dean took a few photos as they talked, and figured one would be good enough — although none were great. Zoe clearly was off her game, unable to rise to the challenge of directing the conversation or keeping Mariah focused. Bizarrely, at some points it even looked to him like Mariah was flirting with Zoe. It was like watching a kitten play with a yarn ball, but the ball — Zoe — gamely endured the entire session.

“Aaaaaaah!” Zoe screamed after Mariah left, “I didn’t learn anything!” Dean thought she might cry, but she took a long draught from her water bottle instead. Clearly frustrated, she turned to him. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand her at all. Do you know what she’s thinking?”

“I thought I did, last year, but now…” Dean shrugged.

“There is something weird going on around here, I can feel it,” Zoe muttered under her breath. She started chewing on her lip.

“So, you going to Spots?” Dean asked. That had been Mariah’s parting advice.

“Spots” was in some ways TRAINCO’s most spectacular showcase feature, yet it also was one Zoe had conspicuously avoided. Basically a club, it was touted as a monitored, safe, alcohol- and drug-free location for the students to unwind and blow off steam. Dean hadn’t visited either, since clubbing didn’t appeal to him.

Zoe nodded nervously. “Yeah, I guess. Probably Friday.” It was clear she wasn’t excited about it. “Have you been there yet?”

“Nope.”

She aimed a pleading look at Dean. “Don’t you think it might be a good idea to get some pictures there?”

“Now that you mention it, yes.” For once, Zoe looked pretty transparent. He smiled. “I could do that Friday, while you’re talking to people.”

“Okay!”

“Meet you there?”

“Eight o’clock sharp.” She looked as pleased as Dean felt.



Zoe paced between her bed and closet again, and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. Knit top, nice jeans, flip-flops with the rhinestones on them. Hair clean and blow-dried for a change. A little lipstick. It was definitely not the school uniform, and she thought she’d gotten the look she wanted for Dean — attractive but not trampy.

Wondering again what was holding up her parents, Zoe flipped through the stack of research material piled on the foot of her bed. On the face of it, she couldn’t decide if Spots was an insanely great idea, or just insane. The idea of a place where their kids could party safely appealed to a lot of parents, her own included. Restricting access to just students gave it a bit of cachet and kept out the stalkers and freaks. Reminded by that thought, Zoe grabbed her ID and slung it over her head. On Fridays and Saturdays, she knew, there was live music and Spots stayed open late.

On the other hand, it had to be costing an insane amount of money to operate. The building had been erected from scratch in the corner of the campus that had housed the smallest of the athletic fields, and reputedly boasted a decor as good as any “real” nightclub. When one considered the clientele was restricted to a maximum of a few hundred patrons, made no money on non-existent liquor sales, had a modest cover, and charged cost on food and beverages, Zoe couldn’t conceive of a rational executive that would approve the business plan. It was one of the questions she’d been itching to ask Principal Edwards.

When the phone rang, Zoe had it on the first ring. “Mom? Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, hon,” her mother’s voice echoed on the handset. “Your father’s flight has been delayed another hour by that weather back east. We won’t be home for awhile yet.”

It was terrible news. Zoe squirmed at the thought of standing up Dean. She squirmed even more as she thought about what had happened the last time she’d been late for an appointment with him. Movement next door gave her an idea. “Don’t worry mom, I’ll get a lift. I’ll see you guys when I get home.”

“Have a good time, Zoe, but be home by eleven! We love you!” It had proved impossible to convince her parents this outing wasn’t a date.

“Loveyoubye!” She dropped the phone on the cradle and ran downstairs. A few moments later she was ringing the doorbell next door.

Claudia answered, wearing a black stretch miniskirt over black hose, a black silk blouse, leather jacket, and black knee boots. Long sparkling earrings and the absence of heavy makeup saved her from the Goth look. She was adjusting a chain link belt, trying to get it to drape properly on her hips.

“Claudia, can you give me a lift?”

The senior took in Zoe’s outfit. “To where, Sunday school?”

“No, to Spots.” Zoe tried to look deserving and inoffensive.

Predictably, Claudia rolled her eyes with disdain. “Oh My God, it’s worse than Sunday school — it’s fucking Romper Room.”

Zoe hated to beg, but Claudia was her only chance. “Please? I’m supposed to meet Dean there at eight.”

Claudia’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Barbie, a date? Why doesn’t Ken pick you up here?”

The blonde didn’t think she could be more embarrassed. “It’s not a date — it’s for the newsletter.”

With an overdone wink, Claudia relented. “Oh, all right, what the fuck. I guess the real world can live without me for one fucking night.” Satisfied with the belt, she fitted a ring into her nose, giving it the appearance of being pierced. “Luckily for you, I was almost done, so we have time to fix your outfit!”

Helplessly, Zoe found herself dragged back across the yard and upstairs to her bedroom. For some reason, she was more self-conscious in front of Claudia than she was changing at school for swimming, but soon Zoe was standing in her underwear while her friend rummaged in her closet. Claudia looked at the boyshorts without comment, but laughed when she recognized the black TRAINCO bra. She handed Zoe a vibrant blue slip dress, but frowned as she looked around. “On second thought, bikinis would look better with that bra in case you get lucky.” Zoe’s face flamed. “Don’t you have any fucking shoes?”

“Sure,” Zoe answered as she shimmied into the dress, but Claudia had disappeared down the hall. “Claudia!” she yelped, teetering as she hauled up the replacement underwear and raced after her friend to her parents’ room. “We shouldn’t be doing this!” she protested.

“We aren’t; you are,” responded the other girl. “Here, try these.” She set a pair of neutral pumps with 2-1/2 heels on the floor in front of Zoe.

“Mom doesn’t let me wear heels,” Zoe protested again, but she was stepping gingerly into them before she finished speaking.

“Mmmm. I trust you weren’t planning on dancing?” Claudia asked, and nodded when Zoe shook her head. “I thought as much. Can you walk in these? I’m not blowing my street cred by having you fucking trip.”

Zoe took a few steps, then tried a few more confident strides and almost walked out of her right shoe. “I think they’re a little large.”

“No, you’re okay. Just remember these aren’t those fucking uniform flats, and take things slow, right?” She assessed Zoe again, and suddenly took off her belt. “Here, you need this more than I do tonight.”

Zoe fastened it about her waist and adjusted it like she’d seen Claudia do earlier. “Good, Jade?”

“Damn good, Barbie. Let’s roll!”



The girls had no trouble finding Dean outside the entrance, although Zoe nearly stumbled at his expression when he caught sight of them. A flash of their badges, a little cash, and they were inside and looking around with wide eyes.

A long bar ran down one side of the room. A bartender was preparing frozen drinks, presumably non-alcoholic, and the shelves behind it were stocked with varieties of bottled water and juices instead of the customary liquor. A dance floor crowded with gyrating students occupied the bulk of the area. It was ringed with tables and chairs, mostly pushed back towards the walls, and a stage at the far end provided space for the band. They were in mid-set and Zoe could feel the bass beat in her teeth.

Dean snapped a few pictures, and then went to the bar to get drinks. As they moved further along its length, the girls realized the room extended around behind the bar and was larger than it looked from in front.

There were a couple pool tables, and (between downbeats) the faint chime of pinball machines or video games echoed from the side wall.

Zoe’s attention was grabbed by the pair of raised round platforms flanking the stage. They had low railings and stairs leading up to them, and bright spotlights illuminating them. “Wow,” Dean shouted, as he returned with a trio of glasses of sparkling water.

Kevin and Joanne were dancing on one of the spotlight platforms; or rather Kevin was shifting his weight between feet while Joanne wriggled in front of him and tossed her hair from time to time.

As they continued to make their circuit of the room, Zoe realized they’d lost Claudia — the brunette was still back at the corner of bar, watching the dancers. The blonde shrugged and moved on, catching up with Dean as he took a few more pictures.

The music built to a crescendo and then ended with a squeal of electric guitars, as the audience clapped its appreciation. “Hey,” Dean nudged her, “there’s Principal Edwards.”

The man had just emerged from a “staff only” door and looked the same as he did in school, fastidious suit and all. Zoe angled to intercept him, Dean trailing behind her.

Whatever he might have been thinking, Edwards smiled for the camera and posed for a shot with Zoe. She started into her list of prepared questions, but Jana had finished rounding up Joanne and some of the other cheerleaders, and a raucous karaoke session started, drowning out all conversation. “Later!” the administrator shouted in her ear, and then he made his way behind the bar.

Zoe was disappointed, but not surprised, and brightened when Dean gestured that he wanted a picture of her alone. She felt good and knew she looked good, an opinion he apparently shared. When Claudia reappeared and appropriated the camera from Dean to take a picture of him and Zoe together, the night felt like a complete success.

“For a place with no fucking booze, this joint rocks!” Claudia told Zoe later. Zoe could only agree, and continued her rapt people-watching. Between the relaxed dress code and the party atmosphere, it was like night and day. As they circulated, Zoe kept a discreet eye on Dean and was encouraged to note he ducked several advances from other girls. She thought about asking him to dance herself, but wasn’t confident enough of her balance to risk it.

Eventually, the drinks finally caught up with Zoe. After a quick explanation to Dean, the two girls headed for the restrooms while he prepared to snap a few more pictures of the band setting up for their next set.

Despite the evidently lavish funding provided by TRAINCO, some things didn’t change. Zoe reflected on the inequities in life as she and Claudia reached the end of a long line of other girls waiting for the facilities. There was no line at all for the men’s room, a situation which didn’t escape Claudia’s attention either.

“Fuck this!” the older girl exclaimed. “All we need are stalls; I don’t care what picture is on the fucking door!” Accompanied by whispered speculation and laughter, Claudia hauled Zoe out of line and propelled them both through the door into the men’s room.

Zoe had never been in a boy’s bathroom before, but had heard of urinals and thought she knew what to expect. Spots, again, defied those expectations — and, apparently, Claudia’s too. The bathroom was fairly large, and finished to a level that complimented the rest of the club. There were a few stalls, against the rear wall, and sinks on either side. But rather than individual urinals, the center of the bathroom was occupied by a large basin. Perhaps half a dozen boys surrounded it, peeing into the communal trough; the sound of spattering urine echoed loudly in the silence that ensued as the boys noticed their presence.

“Looking for something?” asked Kevin Delacourt from the far side of the basin. Zoe felt her face flame as she took in the sight of the multiple exposed penises. Kevin angled his dick upward, generating a tall yellow arc with his powerful stream, and then held his hand aside so there was nothing obstructing their view of his cock. “I have something you might like,” he joked suggestively.

Claudia shifted as if she were about to say something, but it was too much for Zoe. With a death grip on the other girl’s arm, she retreated to the hallway. The closing door cut off the boys’ raucous laughter, but Zoe’s relief was momentary. Jana, Joanne, and the other cheerleaders had arrived just in time to witness their escape.

“O.M.G.!” squealed Jana, just as Joanne exclaimed, “You two are like, such sluts!” Zoe’s bladder was getting insistent and her mind went blank.

Claudia rose to the challenge. “Fuck you, bitches! I’m no fucking slut, and neither is Zoe. We have too much taste.” She aimed a condescending look at Joanne. “And your boy Kevin isn’t somebody I’d be bragging about. You could do better.” That didn’t exactly square with Zoe’s impression, but she wasn’t planning to say anything at that point.

Interestingly, both cheerleaders seemed equally offended by Claudia’s jibe. “As if he’d ever look twice at a whore like you!” Jana hissed. Joanne appeared to be drawing breath to issue an even more scathing retort when the door behind them opened and Kevin joined the gathering.

“Hey, babe, whassup?” he drawled. “Who’s a whore?” he asked Jana.

“Claudia and Zoe! Did you see them?!” Zoe noticed the line seemed to have evaporated and edged sideways towards the women’s room, but the whole group of girls moved with her.

Kevin laughed. “Oh, yeah! I saw ’em, alright! Not as well as they saw me, though!” He aimed the next barb at the easier prey. “Wanna fix that oversight, hey, Zoe? Maybe do a little ‘research’?”

Now the cheerleaders looked daggers at Zoe. Her stammered protests were ignored and Kevin laughed again as Claudia hustled her into the bathroom; they were quickly followed by the other girls. This room had a more familiar layout, but Zoe’s spirits drooped when she realized all of the stalls were occupied.

Worse, the cheerleaders had strength in numbers and blockaded the stalls. Two opened up; the emerging girls took one look at the scene before them and made hasty exits.

“I think you should, like, just watch, since that’s like, what you’re into,” Joanne sneered. She and Jana sauntered past the cordon into the stalls while Zoe looked on helplessly.

“Fuck you,” muttered Claudia. She’d been scanning their surroundings, and moved to appropriate a pair of abandoned drinks sitting next to the sinks. The brunette dumped their contents into a sink before handing one of the glasses to Zoe. “Here; I learned this at a concert.” Before the blank stares of the other girls, Claudia squatted slightly, adjusted herself and began peeing into the glass held between her legs.

Zoe was as shocked as everyone else, but her bladder was demanding attention and the sound of liquid filling Claudia’s glass danced on her nerves. Trying to maintain a brave front, she hiked up her skirt far enough to reach up and tug her panties aside. Thank God Claudia had convinced her to change them. The weight of the other girls’ eyes inhibited her a moment longer, and then she began gushing into the glass. Her initial aim was almost off, but Zoe corrected immediately and her glass filled rapidly with nothing worse than wet fingers.

Alerted by the exclamations of their friends, Jana and Joanne burst out of their stalls. Curious girls peered from the other stalls too. They were in time to see Zoe’s last trickle; Claudia already had straightened herself up.

“I can’t believe you peed in a glass!” Jana shrilled, stating the obvious. “That is so dirty! O. M. G.! Somebody was drinking out of that!”

If her companion was stunned to immobility, Joanne evidently was not. “You are like the biggest skanks in the history of Hyde High!” she announced, marching towards them. “Like, my dog is toilet-trained better than you!”

Claudia’s response, in contrast, was tightly controlled. She hurled the contents of her glass at Joanne, soaking the cheerleader’s face and the front of her dress. “Ooops,” she deadpanned.

Joanne screamed in shock as the urine stung her eyes and swung a hand reflexively. Nobody was more surprised than Claudia as the slap connected with her nose. The now-empty glass clattered to the floor, but luckily didn’t break and rolled harmlessly beneath one of the sinks. A few drops of blood marked the spot where the faux nose ring had been torn away.

“Bitch!” snarled Claudia, and she slapped Joanne across the face, rocking the other girl back. Things were happening quickly and Zoe felt they were on the verge of losing control of the situation. With a show of confidence she didn’t feel, she looked Jana back into the circle of onlookers, hefting her own glass menacingly in warning.

The next exchange happened too quickly to follow. Joanne tried a punch that Claudia intercepted and turned, pulling the cheerleader into a lock that left her pinned with her back to her opponent. Enraged, Joanne tried to stomp her heel into Claudia’s foot. The pair fell, off-balance, and rolled. The tangle stabilized with Claudia sitting astride Joanne and pinning her arms. The cheerleader struggled a minute longer, but it became clear to everybody that Claudia held the decisive position. Both girls were breathing heavily and had bright eyes.

“Hey, come on, somebody’s gonna notice and we’ll all get in trouble,” an anonymous onlooker pleaded. Zoe remained focused on her battle of wills with Jana and couldn’t identify the speaker. She liked the sentiment, however. “Claudia, you’ve made your point, let’s go.”

The brunette leaned forward over the cheerleader. “Don’t start something you aren’t ready to have me fucking finish,” she warned Joanne with quiet menace. Unexpectedly, she darted forward and deposited a quick kiss on the other girl’s lips. While Joanne froze in surprise, Claudia quickly rose to her feet and backed away. “Thanks for the dance, Joanne!”

With that, Claudia swept majestically from the bathroom. Zoe hurried to keep pace with her friend while guarding against any last-minute rushes. The blonde heaved a huge sigh of relief as they gained the hallway without further interference. “Oh, here, Kevin,” she bubbled, handing her glass to him as they passed. Zoe didn’t pause to chat or see the boy’s puzzled look as he examined the gift. “I think I want to go home now, Claudia,” she continued.

“That sounds like a good idea,” the older girl agreed. “Where’s your boy Dean?” They both scanned the crowd as they moved towards the entrance. Improbably, they located him on the dance floor. “Mariah,” Zoe vocalized in dismay.

Dean was dancing self-consciously and awkwardly, but Zoe doubted a single observer with the exception of herself took any notice of him at all. A stab of envy and jealousy pierced Zoe’s heart as she took in his partner.

Mariah was wearing a pair of bias-cut plaid… well, “shorts” seemed like a generous term. They were skimpier than Zoe’s usual underwear. So low-cut they barely had any hip to hang on and didn’t come even half-way from her crotch to navel; so short they had no inseam to speak of; they fit so perfectly they gave the impression both of being painted on and yet about to slide down her legs. They made Claudia’s lawn-mowing cutoffs look staid. She wore a small denim vest, fastened loosely enough it was clear there was nothing beneath it, and clogs with heels high enough to bring her to Dean’s height.

If she’d been standing straight, that was. Instead, Mariah was using Dean as if he were a pole, grasping his tie for balance, and wriggling her ass and groin up and down his leg. As they watched, she undulated down into a squat and pressed her opened mouth against his bulging crotch. It was outrageous behavior, even for what they’d seen at Spots, even for Mariah, but a part of Zoe would have given anything to trade places with her.

“Now that’s fucking dancing,” Claudia murmured in massive understatement. Zoe tore her gaze away long enough to see if anybody was going to do anything about Mariah. If it was clear that every adult in the place had noticed her, it was equally clear that none of them seemed inclined to interrupt her. Mariah was dry-humping Dean again, and kissing him now, damn her!

“What?” Zoe realized Claudia was talking to her.

“I said, does Dean have a car? Did he drive here tonight?” the brunette repeated.

“Um, yes,” the blonde struggled to focus, “I’m pretty sure he did. Why?”

“He’s going to drive you home. C’mon, Barbie, we’re going to cut in on them.” Claudia started cutting her way through the crowd. She added, “you’re gonna fucking owe me for this one!”

Zoe just had time for a sickly reflection on the perils of getting what one wished for. “Make it look good,” Claudia advised, and then tapped Mariah on the shoulder. “Excuse me, can we cut in?”

Startled, the sultry tease looked over her shoulder at them with dawning calculation. Claudia peeled her away from Dean, simultaneously pulling Mariah into a close embrace and pushing Zoe towards him. Out of the corner of her eye, Zoe saw Claudia cover Mariah’s mouth with a kiss while sweeping a now-free hand down to grab her plaid-covered butt. Then she was clinging to Dean and trying not to fall out of her shoes.

“Zoe, I –” Dean started to stammer. Riding an adrenaline rush and other ill-defined desires, Zoe summoned her courage and kissed him. He responded instantly, and a moment later, she was parting her lips to admit his insistent tongue. It was hard to remember Claudia’s advice, but Zoe pressed against Dean, found her balance, and tried a slow shimmy. It felt horribly awkward, but Dean’s hands pulled her into him. His cock was stiff against her hip; it seemed incredibly large and Zoe thought she could feel it throb through the layers of fabric separating them. That throb seemed to travel straight to her belly. She had to come up for breath.

“We need to leave,” she gasped. “God, yes,” he agreed.

Still arm in arm, they moved for the entrance. Zoe kept her eyes fixed on the doorway, distracted by the feel of Dean against her side. They passed Kevin and Joanne, but the couple had no words for them, attention fixed on the dance floor behind them. Joanne seemed to be slowly grinding her ass into Kevin’s crotch. Zoe resisted the temptation to turn and look.

The fresh outdoor air revived Zoe and buoyed her to the point it seemed her feet might leave the ground. “Oh God! Is it like that every night?” Zoe asked, as they walked unsteadily towards the student parking lot.

“Hell if I know,” Dean admitted. “It was my first visit, too. Although I must say it seemed a little wilder than the rumors I’d heard.” He turned to her. “Or Mariah was a little wilder than the rumors I’d heard. If you hadn’t rescued me, I think I would’ve been eaten alive!” He kissed her again, more gently but still passionately.

Daring, Zoe reached down and found Dean still hard. “Is this for her, or me?” she asked, hesitantly, trying to read his face in the near darkness.

“You, Zoe,” he replied. “Maybe you couldn’t see it, and you weren’t close enough to feel it, but I’ve been nursing this bad boy since I laid eyes on you this evening.” He shrugged. “I won’t lie and say Mariah wasn’t — interesting — but she’s not the reason I’m here tonight. And before you say it, neither is the newsletter.” Dean ran his hands up from her waist to cup her breasts and Zoe felt her insides turn gooey.

It felt, again, like she was losing control of events. Very reluctantly, Zoe moved Dean’s hands down and held them in her own. “I’m not the kind of girl who hooks up on the first date. Or whatever. I really like you, Dean, but…”

He laughed, very briefly. “No, it’s okay. I guessed that about you. You being so outgoing and all.” After a pause, Dean continued in a more embarrassed tone, “I’m sorry, but I think my cock is going to break off if I try sitting down without doing something about it. I don’t know what’s up; it’s never felt like this before.”

Zoe knew her mother would tell her to walk away, and she didn’t want to think about her father’s reaction if he heard this conversation. A day ago she hadn’t even conceived of being in this situation. She’d already made it clear she wouldn’t have sex with Dean. But… She still felt tight, wound up inside. The knowledge that he was hard, harder than he’d ever been in his life, because of her, excited Zoe. She’d never seen a penis — well, before this evening — and never a hard one, close up. Deeper inside, there was fear, too; Mariah wouldn’t hesitate to help out, and everybody said boys thought with their dicks, even if Dean didn’t seem like that type. One close call tonight was enough. “I’ll help,” she whispered.

Pushing gently, Zoe backed Dean up against the adjacent car and stepped out of her mother’s shoes. The asphalt was pleasantly cool against her bare feet as she knelt in front of the trembling boy. “You don’t have to do this,” he offered.

“I know,” she smiled, and unzipped his fly. Zoe fumbled a bit before she succeeded in working the head free of his underwear, and then paused to marvel at the sight before her. Dean’s cock jutted out at a sharp upward angle, looking angry and red and simply enormous, although she supposed it was not unusually large. The tip glistened in the faint illumination of a distant light, and the shaft bobbed just slightly with the beating of his heart.

Tentatively, Zoe touched it with a fingertip, and then ran her finger down its length, watching it jerk as Dean sucked in his breath. “Geez, Zoe, don’t toy with me,” he hissed.

Abashed, she didn’t want to tell him she had no experience. Summoning all of the memories of overheard locker room conversations she had, Zoe reached out and grabbed him more firmly. She squeezed and it felt like she was wringing out a washcloth into her panties. Her nipples felt painfully stiff inside her bra. Marveling at its rigidity and feel, she began stroking up and down its length with increasing confidence, encouraged by Dean’s quiet feedback.

Suddenly, and before she expected it, Dean’s cock began pulsing in her grasp and copious jets of thick spunk sprayed from the tip to decorate the door of the truck in the adjacent space. Zoe couldn’t help but giggle at the sight, losing her rhythm and catching some of the last jet on her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you; it’s just that the car…” she clarified. “You’re — magnificent.”

He was, still standing tall, a bit of semen ever-so-slowly working its way down his length. “Um, isn’t it supposed to get soft again?”

Dean choked out a faint laugh as he caught his breath. “Yeah, theoretically. I guess you got me a little too worked up tonight, that’s all.”

Zoe examined the smear on her finger. It looked and felt almost like warm icing. Nearly all of those overheard locker room conversations had agreed that semen was nasty, unpalatable stuff. This didn’t look that bad, or smell bad. It smelled faintly inviting, actually. She sucked the side of her finger clean and found the taste left her wanting more.

She paused, considering. A voice in her head reminded Zoe that only bad girls gave blow jobs, and only nasty girls ate cum. Zoe didn’t think she was a bad girl; this wasn’t like real sex or anything. Still, it was hard to consider herself a good girl when she was kneeling in front of a stiff cock and creaming her panties at the thought of milking it with her mouth.

Zoe pulled Dean towards her, spearing him between her parted lips. A little excess enthusiasm nearly triggered her gag reflex and she backed off a bit as Dean looked down at her with concern. More carefully, she resumed cleaning the gooey spend from his shaft with her tongue. Dean’s cock throbbed inside her mouth, and every hitch in his breathing flooded her pussy. She experimented, determining what resulted in the strongest reaction, and what was painful or too intense for him.

Both of them were too inexperienced to realize that Zoe was a natural cocksucker. In a few minutes, Dean was slamming Zoe’s head down on his groin repeatedly and she was alternating between powerful sucking and running her teeth down his glans, gagging concerns forgotten. Zoe furtively shifted a hand to her own needy sex, stroking the swollen bud of her clitoris with a single probing finger.

When Dean’s cock began pulsing in her mouth, Zoe pulled back slightly so she could bath her taste buds in his spunk. She was so excited that only the slightest additional pressure from her finger was needed to send her into her own crashing climax. She teetered, clinging to his legs, and lost his cock, which left a trail of hot scum across one cheek.

“Wow,” they exclaimed simultaneously a moment later, when they could speak. Zoe rose to her feet unsteadily, wiping her face with a finger and then cleaning it in her mouth. Dean leaned back against the car; he twitched at the sensuous vision before him but his erection was flagging.

The pair kissed again, and this time Zoe was not shy about probing Dean’s mouth with her tongue, as he was not shy about copping a feel of her dripping underwear.

“Hey,” Zoe protested, half seriously, “I told you I’m not that kind of girl.”

Dean let her redirect his hand away from her body, and proceeded to zip himself up. Responding to her humor, he protested, “thank God. I don’t know how I’d survive the night if you were. Not that I’m complaining, of course — you were incredible!”

Suddenly shy, as the events of the last few minutes replayed themselves in her mind, Zoe agreed. “I’m not complaining either.” She stepped gingerly back into her mother’s shoes. “It was great, but, um, unexpected. I think I’d like to do it again.”

Dean looked up, past her. “That’s a subject I’d love to pursue. But maybe we should discuss it on the way home; I’m pretty sure this is Kevin’s truck we messed up and I think I see somebody heading this way!”



The elegant woman strolled into Spots and looked about. Although beautiful, she clearly was beyond high school. The ruffled white blouse, beaded skirt, and designer heels she wore also distinguished her from those of more limited means or less refined taste. Nobody was there to comment on this except the barkeep, stolidly restacking cleaned glassware on the shelves.

“Hi, Hank!” the woman addressed him familiarly, “where’s Mariah?”

The man looked up with a grunt. “Good evening, Ms. Haskell. She’s in back, I think.”

The board member navigated her way across the empty dance floor to a door marked “Reserved for Private Parties Only” in the rear hall, and opened it without hesitation. Closing it behind her, she surveyed the room momentarily.

As expected, her daughter was present. It apparently was not a concern that Mariah’s shorts lay on the floor, or that she was bent over the back of a leather couch, being pounded from behind by Paul Edwards so vigorously that her young tits swayed back and forth in her vest with every stroke. “Paul.”

Paul greeted her tersely, without breaking rhythm. “Judy.”

“Oh, mom!” Mariah moaned in time with his thrusts. “You’ve got — to feel — these new — studs!”

Paul stepped back, revealing a glistening cock with a set of steel studs surrounding the head. Judy’s aloof expression changed to one of hunger. She crossed the room, unceremoniously hiking her skirt up to her waist, and revealing dainty lace panties and garter-suspended stockings.

Without wasting further effort on conversation, Judy sank to her hands and knees, and buried her face in her daughter’s dripping gash.

Paul, in turn, dropped to his knees behind her. He casually tore a hole in the lace without bothering to remove Judy’s underwear, and thrust into her without further preparation — she was slick and ready, as he’d known she would be. A single grunt interrupted Judy’s licking as his studs scraped into her cunt for the first time.

Mariah wriggled to seat herself more firmly against her mother’s face, and resumed what evidently had been a conversation in progress. “I’ve told you before, Zoe is going to be a troublemaker.”

“That’s crap!” Paul buried himself forcefully to the root in Judy, emphasizing his disagreement. “Look at tonight — by all reports, Claudia Babbitt was the ringleader.”

“Exactly, look at tonight,” retorted Mariah. She tensed, forcing a clot of spunk towards her mother’s probing tongue. “Who brought Claudia here, when she’s never bothered to show up before? Zoe.” She squeezed out more cum. “Who’s dragging around Dean to photograph everything in sight? Zoe.” Another squeeze. “Who helped Claudia face down both the cheer squad and me, damnit, without losing her cool? Zoe.” Squeeze. “Who chased you around the club all night, the same way she does at school, and hasn’t stopped asking awkward questions? Zoe.”

“Who hasn’t found a damn thing we didn’t want her to find?” Paul slapped Judy’s ass for emphasis.

“Whatever.” Mariah shrugged. “I’m wearing her down. I almost hooked up with Dean tonight; that woulda killed her. You should’ve seen the look on her face!” The remembered thrill and Judy’s ragged breath on her skin was exciting the teen. She shifted slightly back and down, sighing when her mother’s tongue began rimming her anus, and continued, “she was so worked up, she blew him in the parking lot!”

“What?” Paul paused for a moment, and then resumed his thrusting at a slightly greater rate. “I didn’t see that on any of the security cameras.”

Hank had just joined them and explained. “Yeah, one of the security guys saw it. He trailed them to make sure there wouldn’t be any trouble, what with bathroom throwdowns and lap dances and all. They were between a couple of the cars, pretty well shielded. Claims the kid came twice, but no way to know for sure.”

“I figured ’em both for virgins,” Mariah mused, relaxing her sphincter to allow her mother’s probing tongue the greatest possible access to her rear chute. “If I got ’em this far in one night, you watch — I’ll nail ’em both. Zoe’ll be too distracted to think about anything except where her next fuck will be coming from!”

Paul looked unconvinced, but let the conversation slide. Perhaps he could arrange to help things along, and further his own goals at the same time; these two didn’t need to know about that. He made a mental note to follow up later, and resumed slapping Judy’s ass repeatedly before groaning and jetting inside her.

Mariah might have added more, but Hank plugged her mouth with his semi-erect cock. Heaving a sigh of relief, he released his bladder and the teen began gulping his urine as he pissed in her mouth. “Good girl,” he encouraged her, pleased she was getting every drop; he hated cleaning the couch.



“Thank you so much, Claudia!” Zoe shared her fervent gratitude the next morning as soon as she met her prickly neighbor to walk to the bus stop. “Last night was the greatest!”

“Why?” the older girl asked archly. “Were you and Ken making little Skippers after you left?”

“Claudia!” gasped Zoe, simultaneously amused and offended, “it wasn’t like that at all! I’m not that kind of girl! Dean just drove me home.”

“Sure,” Claudia assured her with an exaggerated wink. “You can keep your secrets. But you promised me a favor, and I’m ready to collect.”

Zoe hoped it wasn’t going to be anything too outrageous. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

“Don’t get all flustered, Barbie — it’s nothing bad.” Claudia grinned momentarily. “You know those shorts Mariah was wearing last night?” The blonde nodded. “Well, I think they were manufactured at school like our uniforms; I want to know how she did it.”

“Why?” Zoe wanted to know.

“Why, what?” Claudia looked down the street, but the bus wasn’t in sight. “Why I think so? Because there was a TRAINCO tag in the waistband of her shorts, like we have in our skirts.” She leered at Zoe. “And no, you probably don’t want to know how I know that. Why I want to know? Because I’m on a budget! If I could get clothes made for the same price they charge for uniforms, I could save a ton of money.”

Zoe had to admire the concept. Clothes were expensive, and it always seemed like her size was gone by the time things went on clearance, and the trendy stores weren’t convenient to get to, either. “Amen,” she agreed, still thinking. “Well, if Mariah can figure it out, so can we. I’ll let you know as soon as I learn anything, I promise.”

She cut short her lunch and headed over to the administrative building that same day. The registration desk was deserted, but Nancy appeared nearly immediately when Zoe rang the service bell.

“Well hello, Zoe!” the woman greeted her cheerfully. “What can I do for you this fine day?”

“Hey, Nancy, I was hoping you could help me with something. Can we buy clothes besides uniforms here?”

“Interesting question.” Nancy pursed her lips for a moment and tapped out a query on her keyboard. “Well, the SKUs are here for that, but I’m not familiar with them. Can you wait a minute while I ask somebody?”

“Sure,” Zoe chirped. “I appreciate it.”

It actually took closer to five minutes before Nancy returned, apologizing for the delay. “I’m sorry, Zoe — I guess sometimes the simplest questions have the most complicated answers! Anyway, the answer is yes — there’s a $10 per-garment setup fee in addition to materials costs, for any pattern we have on file.”

The setup fee didn’t sound bad, but the answer raised new questions Zoe hadn’t thought of. “Materials costs? How much are they?” she asked.

Nancy executed another query, and printed a page for Zoe. “Here are the prices for our standard fabrics; they’re between $5 and $20 a yard. But remember, we only stock fabric for our standard uniform garments — for anything else, you’d need to supply the fabric yourself. But then, we’d only charge you the setup fee, which really is a bargain!”

Zoe didn’t know anything about sewing or how much fabric it took to make anything, but she could figure that out later. “And what patterns do you have on file? Can you make new ones?”

Nancy laughed, typing before Zoe finished asking. “Well, obviously, we have all of the uniform patterns. I can see a few more here, but there’s no description — just an identification number. They could be anything.” She paused to read the screen carefully, and then scribbled something on a notepad. “In answer to your last question, you can define new patterns, but it must be complicated. There’s a book that explains how to do it, but we charge $100 for it and we don’t have it in stock — it’s print on demand. You might try looking in the library to see if there’s a copy you can look at first; here’s the ISBN for it.” She tore off the sheet and handed it to the teen.

“Thanks a lot, Nancy! You’ve been a lot of help! Bye!” If she hurried, Zoe thought she could hit the library before class.

“Any time, dear,” the woman assured the blonde as she left the office.

Zoe was able to locate the book and made it to her seat in chemistry just as the bell rang for the period. She unobtrusively flipped through it during class, attracting Paige’s fascinated attention. After the second time their beaker almost boiled over, Zoe resolutely set the volume aside and tried to concentrate on her experiment.

“Where you did you get that?” Paige wanted to know, as soon as class ended. “I know you’re not taking either programming or home ec, and that’s a bizarre combination anyway.”

“I’m doing a favor for Claudia,” Zoe replied as they made their way toward their lockers. “Did you know the school will make clothes for you for ten bucks if you have fabric and a pattern?”

“No way!” exclaimed Paige, impressed out of her usual stoicism. “But what about the dress code?”

“Well, that doesn’t change. But wouldn’t you like to have stuff for nights and weekends?” the blonde asked. “We know Mariah’s doing it; it just looks a little more complicated than I hoped.” She shrugged. “This is supposed to tell you how to do the patterns, but I can’t understand it at all.”

“Let me take a look,” Paige pleaded. “Programming is such a drag; Mr. Costanz is so slow! I’ll give it back to you tomorrow before class.”

Zoe knew she needed help, and Paige definitely had an analytical bent that could help. “Keep it a secret, okay?” Zoe handed over the book, continuing, “I want to figure this out before everybody else jumps on the bandwagon.”

“Sure thing!” Paige chirped, before the two parted and Zoe headed for yearbook.

On the ride home, Zoe was able to share the day’s discoveries with Claudia, starting a conversation that continued after they got off the bus.

“What did it say about patterns, again?” Claudia asked for about the fifth time.

“I already told you, practically the entire book seemed to be about patterns,” replied Zoe, a bit frustrated. “I think there was at least a chapter or two on converting traditional patterns, whatever they are. I’m sorry; it just didn’t make much sense to me.”

The brunette appeared to come to some decision. “Fuck it; this is driving me crazy. Let’s just go over and visit Paige, okay?” She looked at her cell phone. “I have a couple hours before work — I can drop you off here on my way back.” Zoe nodded her approval. “Be back in 10 minutes.”

Zoe darted into her house. She changed quickly and left a note for her parents on the refrigerator. Before the appointed time, she was outside again, in jeans, hoodie, and flip-flops, with her notebook and the printouts from the school in hand. Claudia was there a minute later, wearing a black skirt, “Fabric Farm” polo shirt, cardigan, and “Hi, I’m Claudia!” nametag. Her expression warned Zoe to keep a straight face.

“I need the fucking money,” Claudia snarled as they climbed into her car, although Zoe hadn’t said anything. “And we’ll see who’s laughing if this works out — I get a 40% employee discount on fabric, 25% if it’s special order.”

Zoe called Paige on her cell to give her a heads-up and get driving directions. Only a few minutes later they were parking on the street behind a familiar-looking truck. Zoe looked furtively at the passenger door as they walked up to the house, and hoped the heat she felt in her face wasn’t showing.

The door opened just before they reached it. “Hey guys, come on in,” Paige greeted them.

They entered, both girls looking around curiously. “Where’s your sister?” Claudia asked, voicing the question that had been on Zoe’s mind.

Paige snorted. “She’s sitting in the hot tub with Kevin, ‘studying’,” she sniffed, tossing her head in the direction of a sliding door at the back of the house.

“Studying what?” asked Claudia after a sarcastic laugh. “Etymology of the word ‘like’?” Paige and Zoe giggled.

After a second, Paige retorted, “no, I think it’s anatomy, if you know what I mean.” At that, all three of the girls crept up to the sliding door and peered out. Their caution was unwarranted; only two heads were visible in the steaming tub, and they were engaged in a deep kiss.

Half a minute later, with no sign of any letup, Claudia sighed, “I guess we should make sure they aren’t disturbed,” and locked the patio door. Paige looked like she was about to say something, but subsided without making an objection, and Zoe wasn’t about to rock the boat.

The trio relocated to the living room, where Paige had left the book, now sporting several sticky notes sprouting from various pages, and a notebook opened to several scribbled figures.

“You guys, this is so cool,” Paige exclaimed as she dropped into the sofa. Zoe joined her, leaving the armchair for Claudia. Together they bent over the coffee table as Paige continued explaining, “it’s like writing a program, but you get the computer to actually physically make something! Now apparently, you can do it completely from scratch, but the easiest way is to start is with an existing pattern, on paper. Zoe, did they say anything about scanning?”

“Not that I recall,” the blonde admitted, “but I can check tomorrow.”

“How does it work with patterns?” Claudia asked, before she went on to explain, “we’re rolling in the fucking things at the Fabric Farm. Most of ’em are maybe 20 years old and your mother wouldn’t get caught dead wearing one, but we have catalogs, too.”

Paige could already see the possibilities. “Well, they talk about just digitizing the patterns, like you have a really large scanner or something. Then you have to designate how the pieces are supposed to be oriented on the fabric, and how they’re joined together — that can get complicated, apparently, and that’s where the programming part comes in. It looks like they have their own language for that; I don’t know why they didn’t just use XML.”

Zoe and Claudia rolled their eyes at each other. The pounding on the back door was audible in the brief silence. Joanne’s voice, muffled by the dual-pane glass, screamed, “Paige, you bitch, you’d better open this door like right now!”

“Oh please, allow me,” purred Claudia, gesturing for the two juniors to remain on the couch while she stood up. Wide-eyed, they turned to watch her stroll to the door, where Joanne and Kevin stood wet and shivering in the cold.

“Claudia! This isn’t funny! Let us in before we, like, freeze!” Joanne yelled, pounding on the glass. “Paige!”

“C’mon, girl,” urged Kevin, aware of the audience and trying to preserve his cool.

Claudia coolly looked them over. Kevin was wearing his Hyde swim briefs, looking decidedly ripped and attractive; Joanne’s pink bikini showcased her trim body equally well. “I don’t think it would be very respectful to get your parents’ carpeting wet, Joanne. Maybe you should remove those swimsuits before you come in?” The suggestion didn’t sound much like a request, and Claudia crossed her arms as she waited for a reply.

Paige and Zoe stared over the back of the sofa as Joanne went ballistic, jumping and screaming obscenities too fast to follow. Kevin looked initially nonplussed, but couldn’t restrain a growing sense of amusement at the situation.

“Shit, Joanne, they’re just your sister and a couple girls from school,” he calmly told her. “They probably see you naked in the showers all the time already. And it’s cold out here.”

“She’s, like, a dyke!” Joanne exclaimed, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. “You saw her and Mariah last night! They were like, so gross.” She glared through the glass at Claudia. “Is that why you’re here? To, like, hit on my sister? Well, I don’t want you touching me!”

The audience on the couch traded bemused looks. “Are you a lesbian?” whispered Paige, quasi-humorously. “No,” quipped Zoe, “but Claudia hasn’t touched me yet today!” They turned back to the show at the back door.

Kevin was getting tired of waiting. “C’mon, babe, humor the bitch. I’ll protect you, and I’m not afraid of any lesbians.” Well aware of his audience, he pulled down his briefs and stepped out of them.

Zoe had seen his cock briefly last night, but now there were no distractions or obstructions. Apparently what they said about black men was at least somewhat correct, because Kevin’s cock looked really large, even limp, as it hung in front of his tight balls. His body was entirely devoid of hair, and standing there, moisture beading his body, he looked like a dark marble statue. No wonder Paige was pissed at losing out on him.

Claudia crossed in front of him to open the door, and Zoe realized she’d been so fixated on Kevin that she hadn’t seen Joanne remove her bikini. Kevin cheerfully deposited his suit in Claudia’s outstretched hand as he sauntered in the door, still playing to the fascinated audience on the sofa.

Joanne, in contrast, was trying to cover herself with her arms. She still managed to thrust her suit against Claudia’s chest, trying to get as much water on her tormentor’s clothing as possible. Claudia clearly had expected something of that kind, and was able to minimize the damage. Letting the bikini tumble to the mat just inside the door, she used Kevin’s briefs to snap Joanne sharply on the ass.

“You bitch!” screamed the cheerleader, whirling to face Claudia, all modesty forgotten. The red mark on her bun was visible to everybody. “That, like, really hurt!”

Claudia grinned, spinning the briefs on a finger. “Remember what I told you, Joanne. Are you sure all of that wetness is from the tub? Maybe you like it. Maybe you’re a lesbian.”

“I am like so not a lesbian!” Joanne exploded, only to be brought up short as Kevin grabbed her around the waist. She continued struggling as he carried her up the stairs.

“C’mon babe, she’s not worth it,” he advised her. “We still have enough time to prove you aren’t a lesbian before your parents get home.” His footsteps continued upstairs for just a beat after they heard a bedroom door close.

“Wow,” was all Zoe could say. She realized she was a bit damp from looking at Kevin. Joanne was really going to take all of that inside her? The faint rhythmic bumping that started upstairs suggested she was.

Paige was frowning as she looked up the stairs, but turned an admiring look on Claudia as the older girl rejoined them. “I wish I could have done that,” she admitted.

“Ultimately, you can do whatever you want,” Claudia told her. She paused as the first cries of passion sounded faintly from above. “God, and she has the nerve to call me a slut?” Shrugging, she sat down and asked, “where were we?”

Paige resumed her normal expression of careful consideration. “Well, once the pattern is in the computer, you can alter it a couple different ways…”



After several more days of planning, the three girls met at the administration building after classes to try putting their planning into practice. Claudia had driven today, eliminating the need to worry about bus schedules and giving them a secure place to stash their materials. Zoe waited a bit impatiently with Nancy as Claudia returned from the parking lot with a large Fabric Farm bag.

They’d already discussed this the previous day, so there was no confusion when Claudia produced the bolt of truly hideous — but truly cheap — clearance fabric she’d gotten at work, together with spools of thread, lengths of zipper, and various buttons. Nancy attached a RFID tag to each, and then scanned them together with multi-part bar-coded tags. As each was processed, Paige taped the tag stubs into her notebook, making careful notes about the description of each item.

The girls relocated to the fitting room while Nancy started filing the materials, and Paige took command of the terminal there. She handed Claudia the two patterns they’d selected for testing. One was for pants that originally had been fashionable in the ’70s and were already on their way out again, and the other was a fairly simple dress that suffered only from blandness.

By prior agreement, they unfolded the dress pattern, and positioned it upside down on the table. The paper stuck lightly to the surface, and Claudia smoothed it out so it lay flat. A moment later, Zoe watched over Paige’s shoulder as a replica of the pattern appeared in miniature on the monitor. There was another long pause, and the lines on the pattern were highlighted. The entire background turned red. “Is that good?” Zoe asked.

“Yes; it’s just telling us it doesn’t know what to do with the information we gave it.” Paige started clicking and typing rapidly, providing a little commentary as she worked. “First, I attach this to my program. That’s WPB301P0001, thanks to their stupid naming conventions.” The background returned to a normal color, leaving the shapes filled with red, and added a list box in the corner of the screen.

“Now I have to tell it which piece is which,” Paige explained, dragging each piece onto a different entry in the list box. A few of the pieces were duplicated and mirrored with a few keystrokes, but eventually all of the shapes were filled with yellow, as were all of the list entries. She hit a key and the screen cleared, displaying a larger diagram of the first piece. “So, I provide an orientation” — Paige dragged a line across the outline — “and then associate the correct sizing with each of the outlines.” A few alternating clicks and key presses dismissed the shape and the next piece appeared.

Zoe knew Paige had already entered standard dimensions for the sizes in the pattern, but Claudia had warned them that “standard” varied by the designer and the age of the pattern. Hopefully the computer was sophisticated enough to resize everything correctly, but they expected to need a few tries. In just a few minutes, the original display returned; after Paige corrected a typo, everything on it was green. It seemed magical, even taking into account the long hours Paige had worked alone on the program beforehand. “Done!” her friend gleefully exclaimed, hitting the “Save” button.

“Now for the boring part,” Claudia commented, watching as Paige clicked “Parameterize” and a progress bar began crawling across the screen.

“Do you really think this will work?” asked Zoe, as Claudia began folding up the pattern on the table.

“If it didn’t choke by this point, we’ll definitely get something,” Paige offered.

“Even if it’s so fucking hideous it blinds the eyes of those who see it,” amended Claudia.

“Gee, thanks,” Zoe murmured nervously. She was the agreed-upon model, partly because the others claimed it was a fair division of labor, and partly because they claimed she had the best figure. “Didn’t you like dressing up Barbie when you were a kid?” was how Claudia had put it.

“Soup’s done!” chirped Paige, still watching the screen. She started typing again, verbalizing softly under her breath. “Load, model, RZB44301,” and a large “ACCESS DENIED” message appeared. “Oops! Can I have your ID, Zoe?” The blonde unlooped the lanyard and handed it to her friend, who inserted it into the slot beside the screen, and retried the operation. This time, Zoe’s figure appeared on the screen. Paige dragged the mouse to rotate it.

It wasn’t a picture, but the detail was clear enough there was no mistaking herself. A faint panty line was visible if she looked for it and from behind it was clear something covered her butt, but to the casual observer, it was an exceedingly graphic nude picture. “Just numbers?!” gasped Zoe, embarrassed, as Nancy’s soothing words from that summer came back to her before turning to ashes.

“We need a redo,” Paige said just as Claudia laughed, “that won’t do!” They looked at each other and then Zoe.

“What?” the blonde asked defensively.

Paige explained, “you’ve been doing swimming for nearly two months, Zoe. I think your arms and legs are more muscular than this now.”

That was a point; and now that she thought about it, Zoe knew her waist was a little tighter too. She looked at Claudia, wondering what she’d seen.

“That butt,” the brunette said, pointing at the featureless curves on the screen. “There’s no detail there; you’d never be able to design shorts like Mariah’s this way. I think you need to get scanned nude.”

“I don’t want to have shorts like that,” Zoe complained.

“Oh come on,” Claudia cajoled her, “you don’t know what we might end up making. Just do it once and fucking get it over with.” She eyed the other girls. “If it makes you feel better, Paige and I will get rescanned, too.”

“We will?” Paige asked, at the same time Zoe clarified, “nude?” All three looked at one another before finally nodding with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

“But you first,” Claudia clarified. “There’s no sense fucking around wasting time before we know this is going to work.”

“Okay,” Zoe sighed in surrender. She headed to the dressing room. The process went pretty much like it had before, except this time she removed all of her clothing before putting her hair up, and it was Paige’s voice giving commands. A few minutes later she was back with the others, wearing just her underwear, watching as Paige pulled up the new visuals.

“Okay, here’s RZB44302 — that’s from today — compared with the old RZB44301.” The two figures were superimposed, shaded to highlight the discrepancies. The improved muscular definition was there, as was the slightly smaller waist, but Zoe was surprised to see her breasts apparently were slightly larger too. And most embarrassingly, the crack between her buns was highlighted, as was the crevice between her labia and the pubic hair surrounding it. Claudia snorted softly, but Paige matter-of-factly selected the pubic patch and interpolated it out of existence. Zoe had never thought about what she would look like bare, but she had a pretty good idea now.

Paige was still typing. “So now we’ll join model RZB44302 and pattern WPB301P0001, and see what happens.” A rough model of the dress overlaid the figure, and then jumped a minute later as it resized to conform to the contours of Zoe’s body. Even drawn in shades of grey, it looked eerily realistic.

“Too bad the real material isn’t that color. Can we modify that hemline?” Claudia asked.

Paige nodded, clicked, and dragged the hem upwards. With a giggle, she yanked it up even with the cleft between Zoe’s legs. “Like this?”

“Come on, you guys,” the blonde groused while Claudia laughed. “It’s bad enough being on display like this.”

They relented and settled on a mid-thigh length, and successfully resisted Claudia’s demands to alter the bust line. After taking a deep breath, Paige hit “Commit” and “WPB301P0001-RZB44302-002 processing in background” appeared with a new progress bar.

“Come on, you guys can get re-measured while we wait,” Zoe suggested after watching the status display for a minute.

Claudia shrugged, handed over her badge, and headed for the changing room. Zoe reclaimed her own ID and watched in fascinated silence as Paige cycled the scanner, but the display was devoid of any picture. “By default, you just get status information,” Paige told her. “I think maybe I know more about this system than Nancy does, and she just didn’t realize what it can do.”

The older girl was back a minute later, and they watched Paige diff the BCA28702 and BCA28701 models. They found surprisingly few differences. “Claudia!” Zoe exclaimed, looking at the highlighted nipples which stood out much further in the new model. The ring in the left nipple looked the same, although it was shifted ever so slightly further from the breast.

“I teased the fuckers out,” explained Claudia nonchalantly. “Maybe that will convince this damn thing not to make the tops so tight; you know I hate their bras.” She hadn’t bothered to put it on again either, Zoe noticed.

Paige had focused on what didn’t change; there was practically no red at all around the crotch, where Zoe’s figure had shown the biggest change. “Didn’t you take off your underwear?” she asked, uncertainly; actually, it looked more like Claudia hadn’t worn underwear for either scan.

Claudia looked disgusted at the question. “Of course I did. But unlike Barbie, here, I have a little style.” She pointed at the screen. “See, if you look closely, these are the lines of the thong I was wearing in August. As for today, I wax — and my lips just don’t protrude that much.” Crossing her arms, she challenged Paige, “let’s see how you stack up.”

Stung, Paige yanked out Claudia’s badge, banishing the pictures, and inserted her own. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Claudia not quite apologized as the other girl stomped off to the changing room.

Zoe repeated the process she’d watched Paige perform for Claudia’s scan. The WPB30102 figure was up on the screen by the time Paige returned, buttoning up her blouse, but Zoe couldn’t remember how to invoke the comparison with the previous scan. She yielded the spot in front of the monitor to her still-sullen friend.

Paige quickly merged the earlier image, and the results were startling enough to make Zoe take a long look at her friend. “This school has been fucking good to you, Paige,” breathed Claudia.

Where Zoe had gotten slightly leaner and more sinewy, Paige clearly had lost weight from her waist, hips, and thighs. The uniform obscured it, and the change had happened gradually enough Zoe hadn’t really noticed, but the difference was dramatic when it was highlighted. The girl who had been a touch thick when classes started was as willowy as her two friends.

That wasn’t the most startling change, however. Zoe remembered noticing Paige’s acne on the first day, and had commented occasionally it was improving, but this was ridiculous. The face on the monitor was a rash of muted red, highlighting where all of the zits and blackheads had been before they’d been replaced by a seemingly perfect complexion.

“Was I really that bad?” Paige stroked her face, echoing Zoe’s thought.

“No,” the blonde responded, “it’s just that now you’re that good. I can’t believe I didn’t notice before this. How did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” the other girl responded thoughtfully. “I suppose a lot of it is that I just don’t eat a lot of the junk food I used to. And I’ve been using this acne cream I got from the school nurse. Whatever it was, I like the results.”

“Fucking right!” Claudia agreed. “You look like you were made for sex.” The monitor did show erected nipples, labia more pronounced than Zoe’s, and a neatly trimmed bush.

Paige looked like she was torn between pleasure at the complement and embarrassment, and ducked her head as she quickly cropped the pubic hair out of the scan and saved it.