Tuesday (part 1)

T .1

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," said Jane.

"Rule Three," said the boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Jane said. Duh.

"How so?"

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

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

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

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

Jane frowned. "That's not funny."

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

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

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

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

"It is to me," the boy said.

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

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

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

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

Jane blinked. "Err, sure, I—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Simon," said the boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On a dare," Jeff said.

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

"Yesterday?"

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

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

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

"Can you," Jeff asked.

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

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

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

"I know that," Jane said quickly.

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

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

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

Simon's face colored.

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

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

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

Simon grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because this is reasonable."

"I don't think so! I think it's—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff frowned after her for a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meredith looked at her tearfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You better not," Stasya said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I see," Stasya agreed.

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

Stasya nodded.

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

"And there was Rick Downing," said Stasya.

"Yeah," said Meredith.

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

"Baseball," Jeff said.

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

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

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

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

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

"In bed?" Stasya asked.

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

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

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

"So you escaped," Stasya said.

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

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

Jeff frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She has to tell Brandon," Stasya said.

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

"What, forever?" Meredith asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T .2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" she said suspiciously.

"That you relax."

Panic shot through her.

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

Why else did he think she was stiffening up!

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

His eyes drilled her. "Prove it."

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

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