Chapter 2A: Tentative Steps toward the Unknown

The rest of the long weekend passed in a blur of complicated emotions. Since Friday had been the peak of awkwardness—with the events at Carla’s house and my conversation with Mom still lingering like a fog I couldn’t shake—Saturday and Sunday felt almost like a tentative return to normal. Almost.

When Carla and Rachel came over on Saturday afternoon, we didn’t talk about the Mailgirl Program. Not directly. We sprawled out in my room, lounging on my bed and the floor, talking about school gossip, holiday plans, and songs we couldn’t get out of our heads.

Carla seemed more like herself, cracking jokes and teasing Rachel about her crush on one of the boys in my science class, but beneath the surface, something felt different—like we were tiptoeing around the inevitable.

At some point, I made a decision—without much forethought. I had been wearing my nightgown, but as I entered my room, I let it slip off, leaving myself naked in front of my closest friends. I wasn’t sure if it was rebellion, curiosity, or simply a way to take control of something that felt so out of my hands.

Whatever the reason, I couldn’t deny that it felt oddly freeing. I expected them to say something, to react—but they didn’t.

If Carla noticed, she didn’t let on, though I caught her glancing at me a few times, her expression unreadable. Rachel, on the other hand, didn’t even bat an eye. For the first time, I let myself relax. The sunlight streaming through the window felt warmer, the air against my skin more real. It was oddly normal—at least, in my own space, with them, but every time I left my room—to grab snacks or use the bathroom—I made sure to slip on a light cotton gown. Even with Mom’s earlier words, I wasn’t ready to push things beyond the safety of my room.

By the time Carla and Rachel left that evening, I realized how much had shifted—not just between us, but within me. The idea of the Mailgirl Program still terrified me, but now it felt a little less like a nightmare and more like a reality I might have to face.

Sunday was quieter, almost contemplative. I spent most of the day in my room, tidying up or scrolling on my phone. Carla and Rachel had both texted me, sharing updates about their Thanksgiving dinners and then almost casually, Carla mentioned something that made my stomach drop.

Carla: My mom signed me up for an advanced preparatory workshop at the senior campus next semester. She ... forced me. I didn’t have a choice.

She didn’t go into much detail, but the way she said it made it clear she wasn’t thrilled about it.

Rachel: [Trying to lighten the mood with a joke] Well, at least we’ve got each other, right?

I stared at the message, reading it over and over again, as if trying to find comfort in the words. I knew they were both trying to find ways to cope with the uncertainty, just like I was. And in my own way, I felt like I’d taken a step, even if it was a small one.

That evening, Mom stopped by my room after dinner. She lingered in the doorway before stepping inside, her expression thoughtful.

“Everything okay?” she asked, sitting on the edge of my bed.

“Yeah,” I said, setting my phone down.

She studied me for a long moment, as if she was debating whether to say something. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about Friday,” she said finally. “About you exploring what you said, it’s not your choice anymore.”

I nodded, unsure where this was going.

“How do you feel about it?” she asked gently.

I hesitated. “I don’t know. It’s ... weird. But I guess it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. At least not when I’m in my room ... with my friends...”

She smiled faintly. “That’s a good start.”

There was a pause, and then she added, “If you want to keep going with it, I think it’s important to set some boundaries—for yourself and us. But I also think you need to be prepared to take direct instructions.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to explore this—being more comfortable in your skin—you need to be ready to step outside your comfort zone of your room. That might mean listening when your dad, I or anyone else say, ‘Take it all off.’ Even if it feels awkward, very public or inconvenient...”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “You mean ... here? At school...?”

Mom nodded. “For..., yes ... But you also need to understand that this might happen outside the house, too. There may come a time when we tell you to strip outside the house, and we’ll expect you to do it. No hesitation. No arguing.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, my hands clenching the blanket on my bed. “Outside the house...?”

“Yes,” she said firmly, though her voice was still kind. “If we’re going to help you prepare, you need to understand that once those items are off your body, they are no longer yours unless instructed. You won’t be able to think of clothing as something permanent or protective anymore—not if you’re serious about facing what might come.”

Her words hung in the air—heavy, final, unshakable. A cold wave washed over me and I gripped the blanket tightly. I understood what she was saying, but understanding didn’t make it any less terrifying.

By the time I went to bed that night, I was still sorting through my emotions. The weekend had been a rollercoaster, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t something I could avoid forever. Whether I liked it or not, the clock was ticking, and sooner or later, I’d have to face the reality of what was coming? From what I got from Rachel and Carla, it did seem as if for some strange feeling our parents already knew about the selection.

Monday at the junior campus carried a tension that no one could escape. Tomorrow’s pre-mailgirl assembly loomed over us like a storm cloud.

The usual morning chatter in the hallways was subdued. Girls glanced at each other, some pretending everything was normal, others exchanging nervous whispers.

As I made my way to my locker, I spotted Carla and Rachel down the hall. Carla was leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, her usual confidence muted. Rachel fidgeted with the strap of her backpack, her lips pressed into a thin line.