Candace Berkford held the red miniskirt against her waist. "It's awfully short." This was something an 8 year-old girl would wear, she thought, not a girl of 16. It was even shorter than the cheerleader skirt she'd worn at her last school.

The heavy-set older woman shrugged. "They're all short. It's what the school regulations call for."

"I guess I don't have any choice," Candace said, folding it up. "How much?"

"$10. You'll want the second one, too."

"Second one?"

The woman put a black-and-white checked skirt on the counter. "This is the other one. Most girls buy a couple of each so they always have a clean one."

"What choices do I have for color?"

The woman shrugged. "White or red for this skirt. You don't get a choice on the checked one. There'll be a note in your locker every day to tell you what skirt to wear, and what color."

Candace held the checked skirt against her waist. It was just as short as the other one. Except for the length, it looked exactly like what a girl at a parochial school would wear.

"I thought there was a dress I was supposed to buy." Candace looked through the racks beside the counter.

"That's $15, and it's optional. A lot of girls are buying one, though."

"Might as well. Where do I try it on?"

"You don't. Your total so far comes to $45. What size are you?"

"I'm a 2."

"It'll cling to you, so you don't need to try one on."

That was bogus, but Candace decided not to call the woman on it. You always tried on clothes before you bought them. If you didn't you'd end up wearing a sack like this woman had on.

The woman laid the clothes on the counter and consulted a list. "You also need three tops. What's your bust size?"

Candace looked around to make sure nobody could overhear her. "32B." She wanted a larger bust, but she hadn't gone up a size in more than a year. She was afraid her chest was done growing.

"These are made out of lycra," the woman said, putting three garments on the counter. "The good news is these are only $5 each. Your final total is... $80. Here's a receipt so you can get reimbursed by the school. You have locker 468 in the Girls Locker Room, which is through the door to my left. Use your keycard to open the door. You'd better get changed, class starts in 30 minutes."

Candace paid the woman, picked up her new clothes, and went through the door. She had one red miniskirt, one white one, two black-and-white checked skirts like Japanese students wore, three blouses, and one navy blue dress that might or might not fit her. She didn't have any books, but she did have the notepad and pens the school said she needed. Everything else was supposed to be provided by the school.

The locker was half again the size of the one at her previous school. Of course that one had been in the hall, this one was in a locker room. That might save it from the random things other kids did to each others lockers, but maybe not. Most of the harassment she'd received had been from the other girls. Those girls had thought she was too smart, and had vandalized her books and notes out of sheer spite.

"I didn't want to come here," she muttered to herself as she opened her locker. She'd been happy, well, sort of happy, at her previous school. But her father's job kept him moving around. They'd moved to this part of the plains states on short notice. She'd had to leave all of her friends behind, but Miss Turley, her father's Executive Assistant, had assured her it would be all right.

"You'll make new friends," Miss Turley had told her. She was a slim woman with real blonde hair. She wore glasses and stylish suits, and never seemed to have a hair out of place.

Candace had fantasized about Miss Turley and her father getting together, but it never seemed to happen, not even at home. They lived in different rooms on opposite sides of the house.

She didn't know what life would have been like without the woman. Her mother had died when she was still a baby. Miss Turley had come into her life when she was 5, and now, 11 years later, they were nearly inseparable. Candace had been surprised to learn that Miss Turley had only been 23 when she'd arrived. She'd become a surrogate mother, answering all of those questions a growing girl had, questions she knew she could never have taken to her father, as well as sharing secrets and discovering many things they had in common.

There was a class schedule with her name on it on the top shelf of the locker, and a note that said "Monday: red skirt". There were hangers for her clothes, and instructions about how to leave them for cleaning. That was good. She couldn't figure out how to take these things home for washing without Miss Turley seeing them. She was sure the woman would say something about the lengths of the skirts; she was a stickler for maintaining the proper appearance, which was why she made sure the two of them watched What Not to Wear every week.

There weren't any other girls in the locker room. Candace decided she was either too early, or too late. Or maybe they wore these things from home. She shrugged and shucked out of her jeans and shoes. If she was going to wear a skirt—she didn't want to try the dress on until later—she couldn't wear socks. Her feet might get cold, but she'd always had cold feet. The last school had had warm floors.

The red skirt was very short, too short, actually. Her knuckles brushed her leg below the hem. She'd have to sit with something in her lap or people would see everything. The white top—she tried it on, then took it off and studied it—showed far too much for a proper blouse. It was a wrap with one button, at the waist, and short sleeves. It had a deep plunge front that went nearly all of the way to her navel, and kept her from wearing a bra. The woman was right, the blouse clung to her like it was painted on.

She wasn't sure what to do. Could she wear her tee-shirt under it? Was that allowed? She hated the whole idea of school uniforms, but if she had to wear this...

The far door opened and a dark-haired girl wearing jeans and a sweater entered. She put down her purse, undressed down to her panties, and pulled on a skirt and top. She fit her feet into a pair of sandals, closed the locker, and left.

"Apparently I'm supposed to go without a bra," Candace muttered. That was strange. She'd worn one ever since she'd started developing. Miss Turley had emphasized over and over that there weren't any muscles that held up a girl's breasts, so she needed the support. She'd doubted Miss Turley until the first time she'd tried to run. That was the last day she hadn't worn a bra. Until today.

Candace drew a deep breath and pulled on the top and the red skirt. There was a mirror near the door, so she stood in front of it to get some idea of how she looked. She was just a little taller than the average 16-year-old girl, with light brown hair and a long face. The combination highlighted what she thought was the worst of the school uniform.

"Everything shows," she repeated to herself as she tugged at the top. It was a nearly transparent, which made her nipples plainly visible. There was a large gap between the top and the waist of the skirt. The only time she'd worn something this revealing was when she'd gone to the beach in her cut-offs and halter. The skirt... What could she say? If she pulled it down to cover her legs, her butt crack showed, and she had serious doubts about the skirt staying up if she got it lower than her hips. She lifted the hem. She could see her panties just an inch or so above the hem. She had nice legs—she should, she and Miss Turley exercised every day—and she knew she should show them off, but this was ridiculous. She looked like those women she'd seen standing on a street corner one evening when they'd been in Washington DC. She wanted to walk around with her jacket over her legs and her arms over her breasts.

There was no hope for it. She smoothed the skirt down, wishing vainly that it was just a little longer, took a couple of breaths to steady her nerves, and pushed open the door.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it looked like any other high school she'd seen on TV or in person: a hallway with the occasional door, and kids standing around talking. Every girl was wearing a skirt and top. It was a little disconcerting to see so much leg and midriff, but with the hemlines as high as they were, it wasn't surprising.

The boys were wearing dark shirts that looked like the girl's tops: open most of the way down to their navels, and looser, so you saw their chests. The pants were skin tight; Candace's eyes were drawn to the bulges in front and the smoothness of their behinds. She wondered if guys wore anything under their pants. They probably did, but if they didn't it was an intriguing thought.

There was a map directly across from her. She looked at the list in her hand, consulted the map, and set off down the hall toward Home Room.

Most of the seats were taken when she finally found the right classroom. She slipped into the back, trying to remain inconspicuous while everyone else seemed to be chatting up a storm. She rested her notepad on her lap and crossed her legs. The other girls seemed unconcerned about how much they were showing, and she caught more than one flash of white or pink as a girl turned and her panties showed. Finally a bell rang, and a teacher walked in.

The teacher was wearing 'normal' clothes, slacks and a matching blouse, sensible shoes, and a thin gold chain necklace. She took the roll, read an announcement about what was for lunch, and that was it. Five minutes later another bell rang, and kids got up and filed out the door.

Candace followed them, making a beeline to the nearest map. She consulted her list, oriented herself, and headed for Practical Math.

She hadn't known quite what to expect. She'd gotten through Trig in her previous school, so she thought she was well up on her math. This one, though, seemed more like accounting. They had spreadsheets full of household accounts, and the teacher took them through the basics of how to use the spreadsheet.

As she was leaving, Candace realized that there hadn't been any boys in the class. She mentioned it to a slender dark-haired girl.

"One of the teachers said that in most classes the girls learned better without boys distracting them and disrupting things."

Candace remembered seeing an article about that in a magazine the year before. "I can see that," she said. "Are there many classes like that?" She stuck out her hand. "By the way, I'm Candace."

"Angelica. Pleased to meet you. There are a few classes like Practical Math. Home Economics, you don't get any boys in there, but then you don't get many girls in Metal Shop, so I think it balances out. My brother said they're working on engines, and I know I'd never like doing that. I can smell the grease and cleaner on his hands even after we get home."

"Ick. Yeah, I'd really hate that. I've got Home Ec this afternoon. What are we doing?"

"Last year we learned to run a sewing machine," Angelica said. "I think this term we're learning our way around a kitchen. We'll still do some sewing. Rumor has it that we'll be sewing a dress."

Cooking was one thing Miss Turley hadn't taught her. They ate a lot of microwave food at home. She liked the idea of learning how to cook.

Candace looked at her schedule again. "What's this big block in the middle of the day?" she asked, "the one that says Interpersonal Skills Workshop."

"Uh..." Angelica looked away for a moment. "It's, uh, it's... you don't know?"

"They didn't have anything like it at my previous school."

"Oh! You're new here! That's why I didn't recognize you."

"Yeah, I just transferred in."

"Well... Interpersonal Skills... it's... you meet boys and... Look, you'll see, all right? It's hard to describe. We only have it three times a week. Some of us wish we had it every day, but..." She glanced at the clock on the wall. "If we don't hurry, we're going to be late."

Puzzled, Candace followed her. She'd drawn Contemporary History for Second Period. This was even more of a snooze than it'd been in her previous school. Her father disagreed with most of what they taught, and so did Miss Turley. Her father had told her about some websites to read, and encouraged her to learn for herself. When she did she was made sure to follow the links. She'd concluded that most of what the schools were teaching was highly politicized crap. That's what this was: political opinion and a look at the world from just one viewpoint. She now paid just enough attention to parrot what they said back on the tests.

Practical Composition—short stories and poetry as far as she could tell—and her one science course filled the rest of the morning. She found Angelica and they talked briefly while eating.

Angelica clearly wanted to be a homemaker. She didn't have any particular boyfriend, but she and two other girls went on incessantly about the home they'd like, how they'd furnish it, and the family they'd raise. Finally Angelica turned to her.

"What do you want to do after you graduate, Candace?"

"I'm not sure," Candace said. "I thought I might like to be a doctor—"

"You have to be awfully smart to do that," one girl said, interrupting. "You could be a nurse, though. That's a profession they need more women for."

"And it wouldn't interfere with raising a family," another girl said. The other girls around the table nodded at that.

The bell rang, cutting short any discussion. Kids lined up to dispose of their trays. Not sure where to go, Candace followed Angelica. All of the girls in the cafeteria seemed to be headed in the same direction.

They ended up back in the locker room. There were towels on the benches in front of the lockers. The girls all undressed and wrapped the towels around themselves. Candace, puzzled, did the same. A teacher stood next to a door behind the last of the lockers, a door Candace hadn't seen before. The girls lined up in front of the door.

When everyone was in line, the teacher opened the door. The girls filed slowly through it. On the other side there was a teacher with a pair of capsules in one hand, and a small cup filled with a light green fluid in the other.

"What is it?" Candace asked. She was nearly the last girl in line, so she didn't feel like she was holding things up.

"It's good for you," the teacher said. "State law mandates certain health practices, and these are in compliance with those laws."

Candace nodded and swallowed the capsules, washing them down with the mint drink. She'd seen this at her previous high school. There'd been some scare about a weird disease, and the School District had handed out pills to the students to help combat it. This was probably much the same thing.

Her ears buzzed as she left the teacher. She staggered slightly, as if she was losing her balance. Things got a little fuzzy, and her whole body seemed to tingle. She'd fallen behind the other girls, and she hurried down the hall to catch up. She felt hot and prickly, and the towel scratched her skin.

The hall seemed to go on forever. She felt funny, as if her body was suddenly oily. When she caught up with the other girls she accidentally squeezed her legs together. That felt so good! She did it again. The tops of her thighs felt wet. They never had before, and she was afraid that she'd started to pee. She didn't feel the urge, but she was very aware of the area between her legs. Her breasts felt heavier, and every time she brushed them with her arms they sent a jolt from her nipples to somewhere in her middle.

The line led through a door into what had to be a gym. It was dim, and there were mats all over the floor, with little rolls every few feet. Boys wearing towels around their waists were coming through a neighboring door. The girls made for them, and as they did so, people began dropping their towels.

Candace couldn't bear to have that scratchy thing next to her body one moment longer, and she tossed it on the pile. The boys were doing the same thing. Candace felt drawn to them, vaguely aware that she was as bare as a newborn baby. But the boys were, too.

She took in their chests, their tummies, and their... things. Miss Turley had called it a penis, but these didn't look anything like the pictures she'd seen. These jutted straight out. Some were red, some were darker than the boys' bodies supporting them, some were just pink, but all of them had bulbous heads on their tips, and fleshy sacks hanging down at their base. They looked larger than the pictures Miss Turley had shown her, and Candace had an inexplicable urge to wrap her hands around them.

She bypassed the first two boys in favor of a dark-haired guy who looked kind of cute. He slid his hand around her waist. His body was warm, and she was briefly aware of his penis bumping against her hip. But all of that was swept away as his mouth descended on hers.

She'd been kissed before; back when she was 13 she'd lost a dare and had to kiss a boy. She kissed with more intent when she was 14, and to say good-night to a boy after each date. This was much better than that. The kiss seemed to connect with something deep inside her. Her body melted against his, and her arms encircled his back.

She was dimly aware of the boy pulling her to the mat. His kisses consumed her, nibbling her lips, her chin, her neck, a spot just below her ear that sent a flash of fire through her, before finally settling in against her nipples.

It was like a lightning bolt shot from his lips directly to some place deep inside her. She squirmed, her whole middle hot and wanting. She wanted him to touch her, to slide his hand across her electrified skin, to slide down where he shouldn't be but she wanted him.

The boy obliged, moving his hand in gentle exploratory circles, just brushing her. His lips went back and forth, his tongue tracing fiery little circles around her stiff nipples, only to give way to his lips that tried to suck her into his mouth. She gasped and writhed, crying out when she felt his fingers slip over her hairy little mound and slide into the folds of her sex.

She'd never been touched like this before. Oh, there'd been that one time in a movie theater, but she'd had her clothes on. This was so much better. Her whole body was alive like never before. His hands were everywhere, touching and caressing, and his lips... what could she say about his lips? She melted everywhere they touched.

She could feel his male thing pressing against her hip. She felt a flush of heat when she thought of it. She wanted it. She wanted to feel it sliding into her. She wanted it inside her body. She could hear a distant voice clamoring something important, but she didn't have time for it. She needed that thing of his.

He must have sensed it. He knelt between her legs. She looked down her body at him. His thing jutted directly at her face. It looked thick, its head was a dark, slick pink, and the black hole in the tip seemed to wink at her.

She wanted to touch it, something she'd never done before. But before she could, he pushed it down between her legs, letting the thick head part the folds of her sex.

She closed her eyes, crooning at the feel of it. It was big and sent a buzz through her. He needed to go lower. His thing felt really good where it was, but she knew if he pushed it lower it would feel even better.

And then he did.

He pushed against her opening. That voice was yelling even louder, trying to tell her something very important, but she was beyond hearing. He had his thing right where it belonged. She wanted him to push it into her. She wanted to feel it all of the way in her. She wanted him to slide that thing into her tiny little opening, to fill her completely.

And then he did.

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, like nothing she'd ever imagined. She felt the pain, ripping, tearing, battering at her as he pushed. And then she felt something break, and he was sliding, sliding, forcing her open, pushing deep into a place nobody had ever been before.

The pain... she felt the hurt... but... She paused, aware of him sliding deeper into her body. The ache was still there, but it was muting. The sliding felt good, and she caught her breath, not sure that he could get more into her, amazed that he could, and hoping that he wouldn't stop.

Finally he did, though, and she let out a gust of air, surprised that she'd been holding it. Things felt... weird. She couldn't put it to words, and she wasn't sure the words existed. She felt stuffed, and overwhelmed, and turned on, all at the same time. Her body was on fire. Her skin, especially where it touched his, was electrified. And her...

He bent slightly and kissed her. It was a kiss that blew the others away. It was so complete, the merging of their two bodies together. She was wrapped up in him, engulfed, but taking him, holding him with her entire body. It was a kiss she'd never dreamed possible.

He pulled back, as if he was going to leave her.

She started to protest, but the words died on her lips when he pushed again, filling her all over again.

And again.

And again.

She wrapped her legs around him, pushing up against him, trying to take even more of him. She wanted it, she wanted it harder and faster, and, yes, hotter. She was burning up. All of the ache was gone, except for a residual that she felt every time she moved. But she didn't care. She had all of him, and was lost in the wonder of their bodies joining together.

He began to move faster, and all too soon she felt him stiffen, felt him catch his breath as his arms tightened around her, and felt a feathery touch of him deep inside her.

She lay there, a little puzzled about why he'd stopped. She protested when he pulled back, but all too soon there was another boy. He slid into her with the ease of long practice. He moved confidently, touching her in all of the right places. His hands went to either side of her, while his hips sawed back and forth.

He lasted.

And lasted.

And lasted still longer.

He lasted so long she felt her own rising. It felt like those times she'd touched herself, but different. And when he recognized what was happening he changed, pushing into her even harder while he sucked on her nipples. The combination was too much, and she lost it all in a tension that grew and grew until she couldn't bear it, and she burst into a million pieces.

She came back to herself, all confused, hot, and bothered, and pleased that he was still there, still hard, and still moving. She felt herself burning up down there, but he grunted several times, and the fire seemed to go out.

He was replaced by another boy, and perhaps another. Candace wasn't sure. Everything was swept up in a continuous blur of sensation. Finally, though, the last boy lay beside her, holding her while she relaxed. And even then he was gone, and she was alone.

She heard noises around her. There were the other girls, just as naked as she. Some were wearing their towels already, and Candace was aware that she was naked. She groped for a towel, and somebody tossed one to her. She was never so grateful to cover herself up as she was right then.

She got to her feet. Even without looking, she knew her hair was a mess. Her nipples were sticking out and so sensitive she couldn't bear to cover them. She could feel something wet running down her legs. She felt so tired she wanted to lie down and rest, but curiously energized, too. When the other girls started filing back through the door, she followed.

There was a shower room beyond the lockers, and the warm water gave her a measure of restoration. She felt... she smelled grungy, not clean, and that ache between her legs had returned.

After she dried off and dressed, and managed to comb out her hair—this school did have blow dryers that worked very well—she decided to see the nurse.

There wasn't a line, and the nurse sat her down in her office, concern written across her broad, patient face. "What seems to be the trouble?" she asked after she got Candace's file.

"I ache, hurt actually, down there between my legs. That's never happened before."

"Never?" The nurse's face froze. "I... see." She closed the file. "I should probably have a look. When was the last time you had a pelvic exam."

Candace felt the blush start at her neck and work its way up. "Um, back, um, back when... last time was several months ago. The school required it, said it was part of a comprehensive physical, and..."

"I see." The nurse got up and opened the door to her exam room. "Why don't you get undressed in there. You'll find a robe, and then I can exam you down there."

Worried that there might be something seriously wrong, Candace did so. The nurse helped her up on the exam table and fit her ankles into the stirrups.

"All right, I see the problem," the nurse said after a brief check with the speculum. She put it on a tray to be cleaned, and turned away. "You can get dressed."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not really. You have some inflammation down there, and I have something that'll help."

A few moments later, dressed, Candace watched as the nurse took out a tampon. But this wasn't an ordinary tampon, this was coated with something.

"Use this today," the nurse said. "The hurt will go away. If it comes back, come see me."

"That's it?"

The nurse turned around and got out a paper cup. She poured a red liquid into it. "Here, drink this. It'll help some, too."

Candace did so, not sure what she was going to feel. The liquid tasted like raspberry juice, and slid down without an aftertaste.

"Fortunately this is something fairly common," the nurse said. "I see it all of the time. You won't have to mention this to your parents, either, so don't worry about it."

"I... uh... okay." Candace was a little puzzled. She told Miss Turley about everything, especially if it concerned... down there. But if this was normal... She'd see how she felt at the end of the day.

She went into the exam room to insert the tampon—it stung a little, but the relief was palpable—gave the nurse a smile, accepted a note that she was late because she'd seen the nurse, and went off to her next class: Family Skills.

The nurse waited until she was gone, then picked up the phone and dialed the Principal. "Maddy, Veronica. Somebody slipped up."

"Slipped up?" Madeleine Harris's voice grew guarded. "How?"

"I just had a virgin come through here."

"So?"

"She's 16. Candace Berkford."

"Sixteen and a virgin? I didn't think that was possible in this day and age. Are you sure?"

"I did a pelvic exam. I could see a torn hymen. There was some bleeding, but not much. Somebody should have caught it during her physical. She just left, hurting and confused."

"Did you give her... ?"

"Yeah, and we'll have to give it to her every day for a few days."

"What are her scores... ? Oh, I have her file up on my computer. Hmm, with scores like that she might need more than two."

"She needs to get through this bit first before she worries about number one."

"Yeah, well all in good time. This doesn't happen overnight."

"I know. All right, I thought I'd warn you in case there are repercussions. The parents won't be ready for this."

"Let me worry about them."

The nurse recognized that tone. "Yes, ma'am."

By the end of the day Candace was puzzled. She'd changed back into her jeans and blouse in the locker room. As she walked to the bus stop she noticed something else: there were a number of girls who were pregnant.

She'd seen that at her previous high school. A few girls got pregnant every year. Some married the father, others didn't, deciding to be a single mother for whatever reason. But there were a lot more pregnant girls here than she'd ever seen before. She counted them as she waited for the bus: 24. Her last school had had three, and had been twice the size of this one.

Miss Turley greeted her when she got home. "How was school?" She was dressed in an impeccable gray skirted suit with a pink blouse and a string of artificial pearls, her hair short and pinned up on one side.

"It was okay," Candace said. They went through this every year. Miss Turley would fix her a snack, and they'd talk about her day.

"Where's father?"

"Business trip," Miss Turley said. "Something came up and he had to leave on short notice. I expect he'll be back in a couple of days. So what were your classes like?"

"Oh, the usual. They're big on home things in this school."

"Home things?" Miss Turley led Candace into the kitchen, where she'd just taken some cookies out of the oven. "Such as?"

"Well, I had a Home Ec class that's all cooking, though I understand we're also going to hand sew a dress. And there was one about how to care for a baby. Maybe they put that in because there were a bunch of girls at the bus stop who were pregnant."

"Pregnant?" Miss Turley stopped for a moment, and then got out the milk. "How many?"