Wednesday (part 1)

W .1

Have you ever felt like a stranger in your own house? Someone weird, someone odd; someone everyone has to walk carefully around, because they aren't sure who you are and they don't want to offend you? Someone unknown, someone strange?

When I came downstairs for breakfast, my mother gave me such a look, and it was clear that she didn't think she knew me.

Hey, I'm Arie Chang, and from the looks of things, I'm a stranger in my own house.

"Hello, Arie," said my mother. "Have you been sleeping well?"

It all started on Monday, with Trina; predictably. Mother just got totally freaked out by the idea that I might not be eating right, and she's been spastic and hesitant at mealtimes ever since. And since I basically only talk to her at mealtimes, she hasn't been fit to live with.

"Would you like anything for breakfast?" my mother asked querulously.

Sarcasm kicked in. "No, Mom, I would like to eat Nothing for breakfast. Have you got any Nothing?"

My mother blinked wide eyes and paled, but stood her ground. "No, actually, Arie, I meant... Would you like anything special for breakfast?"

Feeling flippant, I said, "Yeah, some French toast would be nice, if you could manage it." Well, feeling flippant and having a sudden craving for French toast. You have to understand: breakfast around our house usually consists of cereal or instant ramen or microwavable frozen waffles; nothing that requires actual effort.

My mother blinked at me, but she said, "All right."

Feeling a little cranky, I left it at that and went to check my e-mail and the Candlelight boards. In doing so, I discovered something amusing: a rather vitriolic post by Flicker, tirading against her infamous older sister. By now it was relatively well-known that she and I were related, and most board members preferred to stay away from anything that had the slightest hint of sibling rivalry, instead maintaining a silent neutrality. But there were always younger kids who were willing to get down in the mud and make Flicker feel justified.

The post itself was the usual mudslinging bullshit: she thinks she's such a big deal she gets pissed off at her boyfriend for the stupidest things how come she even has one I deserve one more than she does I have it harder but nobody respects me o woe is me blablablah, same stupid stuff. Cry me a freakin river. How had she found out, anyway? I'd have to look into that.

And as for Trina herself... Well. Good thing for her I believe in that whole 'turn the other cheek' thing, or she'd be feeling the love right now. And of course by 'love' I mean 'fingernails to the eyeballs'.

The lady of the hour was herself sitting at the kitchen table when I arrived for the second time. She was hunched over a bowl of cereal, milk drooling from the spoon, her hair in a mess and bags under her eyes. She gave me a dark, glittering look as I entered.

Well, good morning to you too, bitch.

"What's Mom doing," Trina asked me.

I blinked and glanced, and suddenly noticed what was going on at the other end of the kitchen: about a thousand pots and pans and bowls were laid out on the counters, not to mention bags of flour, cartons of eggs, boxes of sugar, a loaf of bread, a jug of maple syrup; and my mother bustled between them, stopping every five seconds to check a cookbook. I realized she had taken the French toast idea seriously.

Suddenly it was hard not to smile. How awesome is that? It's probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I don't think my mom even knows what French toast is; but I had requested, and if it was in her power, she was going to deliver.

Forget all the rest of it: for something as generous as that, I can forgive a whole lot of screw-ups.

When the food actually arrived, Trina eyed it dubiously and went upstairs to change out of her pajamas, an impulse I must admit I understood; the toast was rather blackened and burned, and soggy as well (burned and soggy! How on earth did Mom manage??). But I ate it, and it tasted pretty good, aside from being sort of, well, burned and soggy. But I should probably be silent; my first attempt at French toast wouldn't be edible in the least.

Then Trina came back in and said, "Well, at least you're eating it. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd told her to take it back and make you a new one."

"You know, Trina," I said sweetly. "It's easier to make friends if one isn't a heinous bitch all the time."

She walked right out of the room again.

Maybe that was mean, but, just... Urgh.

We arrived at school somewhat early, like we always do; my mother encourages us to review our notes from the day previous, and our homework, so that when we go into class we're all ready to go. Trina and I just talk with friends instead. But today the only friend around was Meredith, naked at the usual place, talking with Stasya; and, to twist the mood, Michael, loitering nearby and trying to look as though he wasn't being ignored. Interestingly enough there was no Brandon around. I wondered where he was.

There was no Derek either. For this I was glad.

"Hey Arie, what's up?"

"Not a lot, just... Hanging out."

"Same here," Meredith said, spreading her hands wide. "At the mercy of the elements and any prying eyes." A dry smile. "Good thing I have my big brother around to protect me."

Michael seemed to wake up, like a puppet finally called on to perform. "I know. Good thing I'm around to keep you out of trouble, eh?" And then that loathsome smile.

"I shudder to think what would happen if Brandon were around," Stasya said, only half-joking.

"I'd face him down," Michael said easily, rising to the boast. "You know, like a, like a stallion or something, or a moose, you know, where they fight over who gets to have sex with the females? He'd take one look at me and he'd—"

"Why are you fighting over the right to have sex with your sister?" I asked.

"Hey, shut up," Michael said, annoyed.

"Michael, I think you need a better analogy," Meredith said mildly. I wondered why she was protecting him.

"So, anyway, Arie," Stasya said. "What's new in your life?"

"Not much," I said. "Derek and I broke up."

"You broke up?" Meredith asked, surprised. "I knew you two were having troubles, but I didn't realize..."

"Well," I allowed, "maybe not broken up, but... Definitely not... Together. For the moment."

"Are you looking for a replacement?" Michael asked, jumping into the gap. "I'm available. I can tell you with no ego, I'm twice the lover he is."

Meredith and Stasya and I traded glances and said nothing. It was the sort of thing Zach would say, and out of his mouth, it would be harmless. From Michael's, though—from the mouth of this strange manling we didn't know and didn't understand...

"You don't like it that he gives so much attention to his sister," Stasya said, making the obvious connection.

"I don't see how he could possibly need me any longer," I said crossly, "seeing as how he's replaced me with her."

"Now, Arie, you know that's not true..."

"Of course it is," I retorted. "If he's helping her so much, if he's spending all his time with her, if she's the one he'd rather walk around with..." And Meredith gave Stasya a helpless look and fell silent.

The morning's next diversion came in the form of Arturo Chandramouli and Scott Locarno, a bass and a tenor (respectively) in choir. It took a moment to realize that Arturo, despite standing behind Scott, was really pushing the effort along. This is also very contrary to normal tenor / bass behavior patterns; I have noticed that, of the two, tenors tend to be much more outgoing, whereas basses are quieter and less attention-seeking. You know, kind of like Derek and Brandon. But maybe it makes sense: Arturo is a senior and Scott a freshman.

"Ms. Levine!" Arturo called as he crossed the parking lot to reach us. "Ms. Chang. Ms... Ah... Whoever these two are. We require your services in the name of education."

"What can we do for you?" Meredith said.

"This young man," Arturo said, giving Scott a shove forward. "Has recently confided in me a grievous situation. He is, as yet, uninitiated into the wonders of the feminine form. He is unaware of the scent of a woman's hair, the sparkle of her eyes, the firm softness of her... Ah. Lips. Yes. Well. If it does not compromise your maidenly virtue, I would ask—on behalf of my tongue-tied compatriot here—for your services as a living example of such traits."

Meredith rose to the challenge. "Alas! You do wrong me, good sir! 'Tis a boon no proper man would ask for!"

"I despair to cause you such sorrow," Arturo said contritely. "But on the behalf of my companion, who is surely not yet a proper man—if you take my meaning, fair lady—" A great brilliant grin. "—I must still request it of you."

Meredith made a theatrical sigh. "O, but my mother will lament to see her daughter's purity pass in such a way. But, if thus it must—"

"Dude," Michael said, "do you, like, practice this at home or something?"

We all looked at him for a moment.

Stasya turned to Arturo, fluent and gracious despite her strange teeth-clenched accent. "Your pardon, good sirrah. I pray you, bear him no mind. He is lacking in those qualities which a gentleman must needs display."

I mustered my Shakespeare and burst forth in a single valiant effort: "He hath long resided in a place much lacking in virtue and civility."

"Ah, a barbarian," Arturo said knowledgeably. "Fear not, fair companions, for he shall be as a fly's buzz to our proceedings."

"... Craziest bunch of lunatics I ever..." Michael muttered to himself.

"But alas, my dear," Arturo said, turning to Meredith, "we have not yet had your answer."

Meredith, with the air of a woman going to the headsman, stepped forward. "'Tis a strange request, to be sure. But we must not allow this young man to languish so in darkness. I accept."

"We thank you humbly," Arturo said.

Scott Locarno said, "... Dude, what the hell have you guys all been saying?"

Arturo said, "She said yes, dumbass."

And Scott Locarno said, "... Oh, cool!" And came forward with outstretched hands to claim his prize.

For a moment we all stood there, while Scott touched Meredith and stared at Meredith's boobs and we stared at Scott staring at Meredith, and Meredith turned redder and redder. I wondered at the reason for this blush. Surely she wasn't embarrassed. There's nothing in the whole world that can give Meredith pause.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Meredith said finally, "when my brother would stand by and watch someone fondle me."

"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd stand there and watch someone fondle my sister," Michael said.

"I never thought I'd see the day I'd see someone besides Brandon fondling Meredith," Stasya said.

"Hey!" Scott Locarno yelled. "I'm the one doing the fondling here! Pay attention to me!"

"Now now," Arturo chided. "You got what you wanted, young man. You don't have to be the center of attention while you do it."

"Well, one good thing, Meredith," I said. "How many times have people talked to your boobs before?"

"You know," said Meredith, smiling, some of the color fading from her face. "That's a good point."

"Hi, I'm here," Brandon said, bursting into the middle of the scene. "What'd I miss?"

"Meredith is fulfilling her Program obligation as a living, breathing example of human sexuality," Stasya said archly.

"Meredith is submitting to a Rule Three request," I said.

"Meredith is being felt up," Meredith said, totally straight-faced.

"Ah," said Brandon, and he walked over and said hello to Arturo, gave Meredith a kiss on the cheek ("Good morning") and then came back to stand with me and Stasya. "How's he doing?"

"My boobs are fascinating him," Meredith said wryly. "I don't know whether to be flattered or amused."

"It's his first lady," Arturo said, by way of explanation.

"I can't believe you're letting this happen," Michael said to Brandon. His face was dark.

Brandon looked back at him for a second, and as the smile slid off his face, we could suddenly see how it had been glued on to fit the moment. "Well, I don't like it either," he said quietly. "But Meredith is her own person. She can make her own decisions. She doesn't need me to look out for her."

"You don't like it?" Scott said, his head yo-yoing up, his eyes wide. "I can stop if you want."

"No, go ahead," Brandon said. The smile returned, natural—perhaps a bit strained, but not forced. "You have my permission."

"No, seriously, I can stop—" said Scott, still staring, his hands shooting out wide.

"Scott," Meredith said, and he looked at her. She took his hands and put them back on her boobs. "It's okay. He said it's okay."

"Scott," Arturo said. "This is your one chance at such a beautiful specimen of womanhood. They've said it's okay. Don't throw it away now."

Meredith beamed at him over Scott's bent head. "Thank you, Arturo."

Brandon grinned. "Yeah, you just keep saying things like that and you'll keep on our good side."

"Oh, come on," Michael scoffed. "There's hotter women than Meredith. I mean, look at that, it's not like she's got anything."

Meredith jarred visibly, her eyes huge. Boiling anger rose inside of me—I mean, talk about public betrayals!—but Brandon spoke before I had a chance to. His voice was deceptively mild. "Maybe she's not very endowed physically, but she does have other things of use in these situations. Like compassion. And patience with bumbling stupidity. A lot more patience than she should, maybe."

The veiled steel behind his words went right past Michael. "Chyeah, no kidding." Michael shook his head, a deprecating gesture. "You'd never get me to stand still for this sort of thing."

Scott must have overheard, because his eyes went wide and his hands fell away slowly. "All right, uhm," he said to Meredith's boobs. "I think I'm done."

"That's it?" Michael exclaimed. "Sheesh. Another man who can't perform." It was such a sudden reversal that we all stared for a second.

"Scott," Arturo said finally, "I think it would be appropriate for you to thank Ms. Levine for agreeing to this, ah. Experience."

"Thank you, Ms. Levine," said Scott obediently.

"Meredith, Scott," she said, smiling, "Meredith."

"Thank you Meredith."

"Oh, and, a tip for future encounters—" Meredith tilted his chin back until he was looking into her face. "I'm flattered, personally, but, um, that's because I'm also flat. Most girls prefer it if you talk to their faces and not their chests."

Scott turned a marvelous shade of red.

"It's okay," Meredith said, smiling. "That's what learning experiences are for. And I'm sure you've learned quite well from this experience."

Scott nodded frantically, still the color of a tomato.

"Come along, Scott, or we'll be late for class," Arturo said. He led the boy away, waving to us. "Thank you again, Meredith!" We waved back.

We all looked at each other for a moment, wondering what to do now.

Then Meredith said, profound exhaustion on her face: "That... Was not fun."

"No kidding," Michael said immediately. "And you're wondering why I don't want to go into The Program?"

"When you put it that way..." Meredith said, reflecting. "... You have a very valid point."

Brandon and Stasya and I exchanged glances. Meredith and her brother agreeing on something was a totally unexpected development—and a rather unwelcome one. What if this were the beginning of friendly overtures between them? Could Michael be trusted?

Into the ringing silence of our heads, Brandon spoke. "You know, Meredith... If it's too much for you, I'm sure you could sign out. What with... Circumstances being what they are, and all." Since Michael was nearby, evidently he didn't want to be more specific than that. "I'm sure Dr. Zelvetti would understand." He was speaking for all of us at that moment, including Michael; it was strangely hard to remain hostile to Michael, knowing he was on our side.

What do you do when the enemy takes off his mask and you discover he has a human face?

"No," Meredith said, shaking her head. "I signed up for... Well, I didn't know what I was signing up for. But I signed up for it. And I'm going to see it through to the end." She laughed a little. "What the heck, it's already Wednesday."

The look of quiet pride on Brandon's face was mirrored on Michael's. And the look of stunned disbelief on Nastasya's face was, I'm sure, mirrored on mine.

And then the bell rang, and we were torn from our thoughts to face the coming school day. For instance, first-period Pre-Calculus class. With Derek. Fuck.

But I kept thinking, and wondering, and worrying:

How do you keep hating somebody if you realize they aren't a monster after all?

W .2

Sometimes I feel like I'm about ten years old.

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Derek, telling Trevor will not solve anything."

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Will... Look, there has got to be a better way of approaching this."

Hi, I'm Derek Strong, and I'm naked in school, which ought to be illegal for kindergarteners like me.

Jenny flashed a humorless smile. "Fine, I'll take Bugs Bunny's approach. 'Will too.'"

"Not gonna work," I retorted.

"It was worth a try," Jenny said.

Around us was the chaos of a school in motion, a school at recess—people dashing across campus, sneaking in a snack or a few minutes of socializing before the bell dragged them back into class. I didn't know where my friends were. I didn't honestly care. I had quite enough on my plate at the moment.

"Look," I said, "let's go over this one more time. If you tell Trevor, what are the possible responses? As I see it, he could either take it well or take it badly."

"Yes, that, um, does seem to cover the contingencies, yes," Jenny said dryly.

"Okay, let's put it another way. What are the likelihoods of him responding in either way?"

"That he'll take it well: slim to none," Jenny said flatly. "That he'll take it badly: very very high."

"And what makes you say that," I asked.

"Because that's the kind of person he is," Jenny said. "He tends to over-react. He panics and makes mountains out of molehills. Remember that cat that used to sit on the coffee table?"

"Say no more." Our mother has an enormous love of cats, equaled only by the ferocity of her allergic reaction to their fur. Consequently we have a ton of feline-shaped knick-knacks lying around on display—on shelves, in cabinets, on the piano, on basically whatever flat surface is available. The one that looked the best was a large porcelain piece in Chinese decor, about the size of a real cat, that Mom liked to display on the coffee table. One day Trevor and Jenny were on the living room couch, doing whatever it is they do when they're alone, and Trevor's foot went astray, and... Well, not even nine lives could've saved that kitty. Mom wasn't displeased; she'd gotten the thing for like two dollars at a grocery store. But Trevor acted like it was the end of the world. He apologized profusely, he promised to try to repair it, he promised to replace it... He was actually sobbing at one point. It took Mom and Jenny a good half an hour to calm him down.

Yes. I could see why Jenny would expect him to not take the news well.

"But the thing is," I said. "He's going to react that way no matter when you tell him. Whether it's right now, or tomorrow, or in four months when you start to show." I was counting on that time limit, personally; Jenny was a conciliator type, the sort of person who stabilizes the boat instead of rocking it. This wasn't just rocking, this was capsizing, and Jenny would avoid it as long as possible. This is why I was glad she'd eventually be forced to explain it to Trevor. Not because— Well, I can understand why she'd want to be careful about it; I mean, who'd want to shake things up with someone they loved, especially something this momentous? (I pushed the dull ache in my stomach away. Arie... ) But if you ask me, if something has to be done, it's best to do it now rather than push it off; and this, simply, had to be done. "Unless Trevor, like, totally changes his attitude between now and when you tell him, the timing isn't gonna make a difference. Except that maybe it'll get worse, later, because of you hiding it from him for so long. So, tell me: how come you don't wanna do it now?"

Jenny flushed; and then something hardened in her eyes, and she looked away. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I said.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"I'm not letting you get away with that," I said. "Jenny. Please. Talk to me."

She turned her head and saw the look on my face, and her stubborn expression softened a little.

"It's..." She hesitated, and then it all spilled out in a torrent: "I'm scared of him breaking up with me, okay?"

I blinked at her. "Why would I not understand that?"

"Well, I mean, you and Arie are like..." She shook her head. "You guys are on the same wavelength. I bet I see you guys getting married in five or ten years."

I gave her a blank look.

"Okay, so maybe I'm just being stupid," Jenny sighed. "But... Can you blame me? I mean, you guys seem to have things figured out."

The dull ache would not be pushed away. "Jenny," I said. "Arie dumped me yesterday. Because of all the people I have to look after."

Jenny blinked in dull confusion. "Because of— All the—"

"Because I wouldn't stop being worried about you," I said. "Or about Faith." Anger boiled up. What kind of girlfriend makes you choose between her and your— "Or about..." I turned away, trying to keep from punching something.

Behind me, Jenny said in a dull, dry voice: "Well, now I know why you're pushing me to tell him."

"It's not that and you know it," I retorted, not turning around. "Even if she were okay with it, I'd tell you to go for it. Hell, I bet she'd tell you to—"

Jenny's hand landed on my shoulder. "Derek, you don't have to—"

"Yes I do," I snarled. Her hand jumped away. "I told you I'd help, and I'm going to."

"No, Derek, you— Yes, but— Why?" she asked.

I was saved from having to answer that by the advent of a wandering Rule Three: two cute freshmen, alternately giggling and blushing—and when I say 'cute' I don't mean it in the attractive sense, I mean 'cuddly small animal.' Not that they weren't attractive—one of them, anyway—but there's something weird about a junior dating a freshman. Besides, how do you kiss with braces? Not to mention that she was the one doing the fondling, and she looked almost desperately uncomfortable with my equipment... Which is not exactly a comforting attitude to see in a potential girlfriend, you know? Not that it's a necessity; some couples are perfectly okay leaving the naughty bits out of play, and I respect that. But this girl was handling my private parts as if they were gonna bite her. They're not. They don't have teeth. I mean... You know?

When they were done, I was happy to shift the conversation in a different direction: "I wonder where Faith is. I haven't seen her in a while."

Jenny gave me a look, and I wondered if she'd picked up on how I'd sort of avoided answering her previous question. She let me get away with it, though. "I dunno. Don't you share any classes together?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I've had a chance to talk with her," I said. "That kinda worries me. I've heard nothing from her."

"What do you mean?"

"No... Reports, no comments, no... No nothing. Everyone's had something to say about it by now, but it's as if she isn't even in The Program."

"Hmm," said Jenny. "That is weird."

"I'm going to go look for her," I said.

Jenny's head swished around to look straight at me. "Why?" And then, skipping past the obvious answer to that question: "Is it that important?"

"I think so," I said. "You don't know her, she's off on a cloud half the time. I'm not sure if she's ever really aware of what's around her." Add to this the fact that she was going around naked... I didn't think I needed to explain any further.

Jenny got it. Her mouth opened soundlessly for a moment, and then she said, "... Oh," and shut it.

"Yeah," I said.

"... Where do we start?" Jenny said.

The obvious place to start was the main quad, and fortunately (unfortunately) we didn't have to go much farther. Right between Stetsen and the cafeteria was a pretty large cluster of people, pretty clearly ringed around some central exhibit. There was a lot of sound coming out of the cluster, and I wondered why more teachers weren't involved. Jenny and I traded looks; and then we began to wedge our way into the morass, not sure what we were going to find there, not really wanting to find it.

Found it.

Faith seemed to be enjoying herself, though it's hard to tell, since she's normally rather distractible. Sometimes she sits in class with a look just like that: eyes closed, eyebrows lifted, mouth carelessly left open. It might have been normal. It might have also had something to do with the tall whipcord youth, red-haired and freckled, standing beside her with one hand between her legs and the other on her boobs. With Faith, it's hard to tell. Around her, the hundred or so students, mostly boys but a few girls mixed in, watched and yelled. Some of them were submitting encouragements. Some of them were submitting suggestions. A panicked yammer started in a corner of my mind.

The stringy redhead looked up. "You next in line?" he asked.

Faith opened her eyes and saw me, and a smile lit her features. "Oh, hi, Derek. How are you?"

Despite all the worry, despite the rising tide of alarm bells in my mind, I smiled back. Faith, like Brandon, has the sort of smile that goes straight to the heartstrings. "I'm okay, kiddo. How are you?"

The redhead did something between her legs, because she gasped and her eyes went wide, but she said, "I'm okay." And then, extraneously, "Somebody's touching me."

"Hey, buddy, if you're not next in line, you better get outa here," the redhead told me. "They're pretty territorial around here." He didn't seem belligerent, and he didn't have the sort of pompous arrogance that seems to define so many high school males nowadays—Stand aside everyone, I take large steps and all that. Just a normal guy, getting his kicks in a really not-normal way.

"I'm her Program partner," I said.

A bevy of suggestions filtered up through the crowds. Hey, there's two of 'em. Hey, any of the girls want a shot? Hey, he's naked; they could have sex.

"I don't think that's gonna cut it," the redhead said, smiling wryly.

"I'm not in line, I'm dissolving the line," I said, anger building. "This is wrong."

"Oh, come on, she likes it," the fellow said. "Look at her, she's not complaining."

"Do you like what he's doing to you, Faith," I asked.

"Oh, uh, well," said Faith. "I think it's... O-ohhhhhh, " as, evidently, the redhead did something to her clit again. "Uh... Sorry, what was that again?"

"Did he ask you whether he could do it," I asked.

"I think he... I'm not sure if he... O-ohhhhhh."

"Look, what's the problem," the redhead asked. "She likes it. It's Rule Three. Everything's fine."

This had gone far enough. "Okay, guys." I pitched my voice so that everyone could hear. "Get lost. The line is over. The fun is over. All of you, go away, now."

A thousand pairs of eyes regarded me without comment.

"How you gonna make us stop, buddy," redhead asked.

My hand closed over the silver whistle at my sternum. I held it up for all to see. "I can force the issue if you want."

I could see the eyes turning against me. But I knew the teachers would support me, and they knew it too. The crowd began to disperse.

Jenny pushed up to join me, her eyes wide. "I can't believe you just stood up to them like that."

Faith pouted. "Why'd you make him stop? It felt nice."

"Faith, don't let anybody touch you if they don't ask first," I told her.

"Even if it feels nice?" Faith said. "I touch myself down there sometimes but he did an even better job." A smile blossomed across her face. "I hope people do it again."

It's going to be a long day.

W .3

There are a lot of brightly-colored animals out there. A riot of loud color is Mother Nature's way of telling predators to stay away: "This doesn't taste good!" Though, of course, the truth might be otherwise. The point is, though, that when you see something with loud defensive markings, it might be a good idea to heed the warning.