Wednesday (part 1)

W .1

"Jane, you'd better get out of bed," said her mother, "or you're going to be late for school."

"Mom," Jane lied, "I think I'm sick."

Megan Myers stopped halfway out of the room. "You're what?" True, her daughter looked awful—it was pretty normal for Jane to stay up until one in the morning working on homework, only to wake up at seven to shower, eat breakfast and go to school, and this morning she looked even more sleep-deprived than usual. But Jane was also a healthy girl; she got, perhaps, one cold a year, with occasional forays into flus once or twice a decade. For her to be sick now was unusual, to put it mildly.

"Yeah," said Jane, trying to make her voice sound nasally congested. She coughed. "I..."

Mrs. Myers stepped in and put her hand on Jane's forehead. "You don't feel sick. Is your stomach okay?"

Jane jumped at the new possibility. "Yeah, it's all twisty and rumbly and..." She coughed again. "I dunno, Mom. I've never seen anything like it."

"Neither have I," said Mrs. Myers with a dry smile, and Jane knew it wasn't going to work.

"Well," said her mother, "physical symptoms notwithstanding, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you, Jane. Or... Is there something you'd like to avoid at school? Something you'd rather not tell me about?"

Jane opened her mouth, shut it again. She said nothing. She would rather not tell her mother about it, was the thing. Which made it hard to tell her mother about it.

Lisa stopped in the doorway, toweling her hair. "What's going on?"

"Something between Jane and I," said Megan Myers.

Lisa squinted into the room. "Oh, is Jane trying to get out of The Program or something?"

Jane covered her face with her hands.

"You realize that if you miss today, you'll just have to do it again," Lisa said. "... Again. This being your second time and all."

Jane's family knew about The Program, of course: after Jane's hospital stay, there was no way they could not have known. And they knew that a participant who had not completed his Program week satisfactorily could be made to do it again. But Jane had not told them that her she was attempting it again.

"Why do you want to get out of The Program, Jane," her mother asked.

Jane's father appeared at the door. "Wow, what's going on over here?"

"Jane's telling us things about herself," Lisa said.

"Oh, good!" He sat down on the floor near Jane's bed.

"Daddy," said Jane, blushing.

"Well, Jane," said her father kindly. "You never tell us anything. Of course I'm interested in listening." He turned to his wife and younger daughter. "So what's going on, gang?"

"Jane doesn't want to go to school because she's in The Program," Lisa said.

"The re-attempt, I take it," her father said. "If you fail this week, do you have to re-reattempt it?"

"Yes," Jane said flatly.

"Then, why ditch school?" her father asked. David Myers's hair was a snowy gray by now—his wife was much the same—but he maintained his physique, and his mind was still as strong as ever. "Today's Wednesday, Janey. You're half-way done. If you can hold on until Friday, you won't ever have to go naked again. Unless you want to, of course."

"Yeah, right," Jane snorted.

"Well, you might want to one day," said her father. "For instance, when you take a shower. Or, if you ever decide to have sex." His smile took on a mischievous cast. "It's hard to have sex with clothes on."

"Daddy!" cried Jane.

"Well, it is," Mr. Myers said reasonably. "I'm sure your mother can attest."

"I can't believe my parents are talking about sex," Jane said.

"Why?" Lisa asked. "They do it. It's happened at least twice that we know of."

"How do you know that!" Jane cried.

"Duh," said Lisa. "You're here. I'm here. You don't think we were dropped by the stork or anything, do you?"

"We need to get to the bottom of this," Jane's mother said. "Jane, why don't you want to be in The Program anymore."

"I never did," Jane said.

"Then why'd you sign up!" Lisa exclaimed.

Jane remained stubbornly silent. In her mind was a single thought: reveal nothing. She would remain aloof. She would remain unassailable.

"All right," said Megan Myers. She was used to her daughter's obstinacy. "What is it about The Program that you don't like?" Jane was a very private girl, but she was also lonely... Very lonely. She would talk. But only if they asked the right questions.

"Well..." said Jane. If having your parents talk to you about sex was embarrassing, how much worse would it be to talk to them about it? "I don't like all the... Contact. I don't like that people can touch my... My... Me."

"Why not?" asked her mother. "As I understand it, being touched is the main reason most people sign up for The Program."

Jane flared defensively. "Yeah, well. They're wrong. If they want to jump off a bridge, they can do that too."

"Why are they wrong?" asked her mother. "Some people do jump off bridges. It's called bungie-jumping and supposedly it's very enjoyable. At least, if you're into that sort of thing."

"Well, I'm not," Jane said stubbornly.

"So, in other words, it's not that it's wrong, it's that you don't like it," said Lisa.

"Well, no," Jane said. "I don't."

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Myers. "Jane, I can't say I like the thought of random people touching your private parts, but if you enjoy it and if they enjoy it... And you're the one more likely to enjoy it, because it's your body. Why resist it?"

"Well, because..." said Jane. Why did she want to keep herself chaste? "Because that's not who I want to be. I don't believe in today's values of just, you know, jumping in bed with whoever you want."

"Yes, but there are other things you can do besides fucking," Lisa said. "What about those?"

"Lisa!" exclaimed Mrs. Myers.

"What?" Lisa rolled her eyes. "Am I supposed to just say 'intercourse'? What a dumb word. It's not obscene to be precise."

"Besides, those things are gross too," said Jane. At least, as far as she could tell. Anything concerning private parts was pretty nasty, as far as she was concerned.

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it," Lisa said mildly.

"Oh, great," said Jane nastily. "Is that what you and Tommy do behind the baseball diamond?"

There was a short silence. Lisa's parents looked at Lisa. Lisa looked at Jane. Jane looked out the window so that she wouldn't have to see the angry hurt on Lisa's face.

"Who's Tommy?" her mother asked.

"Thomas Sternbacher?" her father asked.

"Why him?" her mother asked.

"Well, he asked me out!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Oh, like that's an excuse," Jane sneered.

"When?" asked Mrs. Myers.

"This Friday," said Lisa.

"No, when did he ask, not, when are you going out. Speaking of which, young lady, when exactly were you planning to tell us this? When he arrived at the door on Friday night?"

Lisa had the grace to look ashamed. "He asked me out on Monday," she said.

"And this is where you've been in the afternoons," Mrs. Myers said. "At Lover's Point, or whatever serves as an equivalent location at Mount Hill—the baseball diamond, you said?"

"It's not like that," Lisa said quickly. "We have classes together too."

"So you're disrupting class to kiss with him on a regular basis, then?" said her father with an unrepentant grin.

"No," said Lisa, "we don't. We barely acknowledge each other. Because it wouldn't be appropriate, and besides, we're trying to prove that we aren't just mashing face."

"Oh, so, you feel you have to prove it, do you," said Mrs. Myers, and Lisa blushed to realize what she'd just admitted.

"See, this is what I don't want to be," said Jane loudly. "Doing nothing except kissing. Getting into the physical stuff way too fast. It's wrong. It doesn't work. This is what I'm trying to avoid."

"To the extent of never kissing at all?" Lisa retorted. "You made Brandon wait for months before you kissed him!"

"She did?" Father said.

"Jane, I can understand being wary, but..." Mother said. "That's a little... Excessive, isn't it? I mean, your father and I got married back when things were quite a bit more restrictive, and even we kissed within a few weeks."

"Brandon must have had a lot of patience to put up with that," her father said.

Jane stared, appalled. Surely they weren't going to say that Lisa was right.

"Jane, we respect your attitudes and beliefs," said her mother. "Certainly we'd prefer that our girls be safe and careful. Lisa." She gave her younger daughter a look. "But look at what you're saying. Your beliefs and opinions, at this point, are causing you enormous trouble. They're interfering with your ability to go to school, they're interfering with your ability to take advantage of an opportunity many of your classmates would love to have, and they certainly seem to be interfering with your dating life."

"And look at your friends," said Lisa. "They're all happy, and none of them are half as uptight as you. Maybe the two are related?"

Jane had nothing to say to that.

"Jane, the main part of your personality is in your self-control," her father said. "You have more determination in your left ear than most people do in their whole bodies. When you say you're going to do something, you do it. You choose who you are, to a much larger extent than the people around you. Most of the time, you choose to be asexual. But one day you chose the opposite. You chose to join The Program, knowing, full well, that you couldn't be asexual if you did. So..." He shrugged. "Now you need to choose. Which side of you are you going to pick?"

"But unfortunately, all that will have to wait," said Mrs. Myers. "We've got to get you two to school. Jane, in answer to your original question: Yes, you can miss school if you really want to. But consider what you'd gain by going today, and what you'd lose if you stayed home. Lisa, your breakfast is ready, assuming it hasn't simply burned up in the oven by now—"

"You left something in the oven??" Lisa cried. "After all those lectures you gave me about never doing that?"

"Upanatem, kiddo," said Jane's father, giving her a pat on the shoulder. "Only three more days."

Jane remained in bed, staring at the wall, stunned by all the things she had heard. Since when is my family like this? When did they get here? Who are they? And then, Who am I, really?

The wall, as usual, held no answers.

W .2

Stasya Fyodorevna was happy.

It had been a calm, peaceful day so far. She'd had three classes thus far, and nothing had really happened. Sure, Spanish had been the intolerable mess it always was, but Señor Richardson hadn't been half as snappy as he sometimes was. Mr. Wu, teaching Current Events, had been insightful as always, if grumpy at times. Today was practice day: after school she'd see her boyfriend Caleb, though of course they'd be busy working on their tango for most of the time. And, to top it all off, her best friend, Meredith Levine, had found it within herself, for the first time in months, to spend the mid-morning break with the rest of her friends, such as Arie Chang, Zach Crane, and, of course, Stasya herself.

Of course, one of those other friends was Brandon Chambers. Her boyfriend. Or perhaps her ex-boyfriend. Or maybe they were just on a break. Either way, things were a little awkward between them. Which was, of course, why she had stayed away for so long.

"It's good to have you back," she said.

The reaction when Meredith first approached was nothing short of elation. Christa gave a glad cry and hugged her, and the others gathered around, even Jane, to talk to the girl they hadn't seen, most of them, in months.

Meredith tried to answer all their questions, but had to stop. She brushed tears from her eyes and sniffled. "I love you guys, you know that? No one could ask for better friends. Seriously: no one."

Stasya saw how Brandon forced himself to crowd close, pretend to take part in the joyous reunion, and knew that he was still steaming over yesterday's revelation. Quietly she snuck him away from the gathering. After all, it wouldn't do to let the secret slip.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him.

"Huh?"

"About... You know. Yesterday. What you found out."

Brandon stared at Meredith's face, bobbing in and out of view behind a sea of friends. "I feel... Better about it than I did yesterday. —If by, 'better, ' we mean, 'I can live with one percent of it instead of zero.' But, yeah, I still feel better, now that I've slept on it." He turned to her. "That was good advice, you were really sharp yesterday."

"Thank you," she said demurely. It was, of course, no more than she deserved, but one learned to take thanks where one could get it. "I'm kind of used to it. I get angry a lot, sometimes, but I never let myself act on it until I've had some time to cool down."

Brandon nodded. "Wise."

"So you're okay with it?" she asked.

"No," Brandon said quickly. "No, definitely not. Whenever I think about... Rick Downing..." His hands convulsed into fists. "I just wanna... But then, I shouldn't be acting on it until I've had some time to cool down, right?" He gave a humorless laugh. "Just... Don't expect me to like it."

"Of course not. Brandon, that was still an awful thing that she did. If anything, I'd be worried if you were okay with it. I mean, come on: she cheated on you. And with Rick Downing!" Stasya's indignant tone made the two sound like separate offenses. Brandon couldn't help but smile a little.

"Excuse me." Someone hovered behind them: a young man, probably a sophomore or junior. Stasya had never seen him before. "Arie Chang?"

Arie turned. "Yes?" And then, "How can I help you?" Evidently she'd never seen him before either. Behind her, Meredith and the others continued their conversation.

"I was... I heard something about your sister earlier today," said the young man, "and I was wondering if you could confirm it." He had a high voice and he fidgeted with his hands, but his gaze was steady.

"I don't know," said Arie, "there's a lot she doesn't tell me."

"Well," said the young man. "I heard from Alex Masterson that she's got all sorts of really weird cuts all over her body."

Stasya saw how Arie paled.

"And I'm not sure about how much I can trust anything he says—I mean, he's a senior in my sophomore English class, I think that says something about him—but this was just... Too weird."

"And you wanted a straight answer," Stasya said.

"Why didn't you just ask Trina herself, then," Brandon asked.

"Well, because, Mr. Cavanaugh did, right then and there," said the young man. "And she just totally refused to answer."

Brandon chuckled darkly. "That's Trina for you."

"Wait," said Arie. "I'm not getting the whole picture. You were in class?"

"Yeah," said the young man. "1st period English with Mr. Cavanaugh. Trina's in that class, Alex Masterson's in that class. You know how Mr. Cavanaugh likes to open class by asking how everyone's doing? —Wait, silly question, of course you do. He said he'd had you in class last year. Well, he asked that, and Alex Masterson raised his hand and—"

"Oh boy," said Stasya.

"Did they seriously have sex yesterday," the young man asked. "And it was her first time?"

"So my sources tell me," said Arie bleakly.

"Boy," said the young man. "You'd think she could've found someone better to be with."

Stasya gave Meredith a sidelong glance.

"So, anyhow," said the young man. "He just ups and declares all this, and he also says that he found out she's been doing weird things to himself. He said she cuts herself to make herself bleed. I think he also said something about her drinking her own blood—"

"What!" exclaimed Arie. "Where the hell did he get that idea?"

"The same place he gets all his stupid ideas," said the boy dryly, "that echoing space between his ears." Stasya guffawed. "Anyhow. So, Mr. Cavanaugh asked Trina if any of this was true, and she didn't answer. And he said, 'I had your sister in my class last year, so I know more about this than you think I do. And she said, 'Then I don't have to tell you anything, do I.'

"Then he asked why she was in The Program, and she didn't answer. And then he asked if it had anything to do with all the homework assignments she hadn't turned it, and she said again, 'Looks like I don't have to tell you anything, do I.'

"And so..." He shrugged. "I just wanted a straight answer. What's going on with your sister?"

Arie asked, "Why do you care?"

The young man blushed, and fidgeted with his hands, and looked down. "Is it wrong for a guy to care about someone?"

Stasya and Brandon exchanged glances, and then looked at Arie as understanding dawned over her face. "Oh," she said. "Oh..."

The young man grimaced, but stood his ground.

Arie frowned. "Trina cuts. Both of us cut. It's a behavior called self-injury or self-harm. She does it... Well, partially for the physical benefits."

"There's benefits to putting scars on your arms?" the young man asked.

"Yes," Arie said, "for the endorphins. You know, the body's natural painkillers? It's a back-handed way of releasing them, I know, but..." She shrugged. "Whatever works.

"She also does it... I think, because she feels like she's screwed up, but nobody else sees. So... She screws herself up."

"This about the girl who disguised her scars with makeup?" Stasya asked. "That doesn't make sense."

Arie frowned. "I know it doesn't make sense, nothing about that girl makes sense. But I think that's why she does it."

The young man nodded. "Okay. Okay. Is there... Is there any way I can help?"

Arie looked at him silently for a moment.

"I... Don't think so," she said at last, quietly. "She's very... Flighty. You could try to approach her, but I doubt she'd listen." Arie gave a twisted smile. "Too bad you weren't on hand when she started looking for someone to pork her. You would've been a lot better than Alex Masterson. —Well. Anyone would've been better than Alex Masterson, but, you a lot better."

The boy colored. "Thanks. I... Appreciate the information. I guess I'll... Just be keeping my eyes open."

"Better than stumbling around blindly," Brandon said.

The young man smiled, and turned to leave. Stasya arrested his motion with a yell. "What's your name?"

"Eric," the boy said. "Eric Price."

"You keep after her, Eric Price," said Stasya, hoping Arie wouldn't jump on her for saying so.

"God," Arie said, "d'you think everybody knows?"

"Maybe," Brandon said. "Maybe not. Trina's weird, but she's respected. People might not believe."

"No, that might make it worse," Stasya said. "She's up there in terms of grades, right? People love an excuse to hate people who are better than them. This might spread around faster than wildfire."

"Fuck," said Arie, cringing. "Wonderful. Great."

They turned back to the rest of their friends. Meredith was talking to Jane, who was of course uncomfortable in her nudity. Then she turned to Brandon. "And how are you doing, Brandon?"

Brandon hesitated. There was a lot he couldn't exactly say: if Meredith hadn't revealed her summer indiscretion—and it was clear she had not, or his friends would be in an uproar right now—then he'd have to keep his feelings to himself. But, considering Stasya's advice, maybe that was just as well.

"I'm... All right," he said. "Surviving. I guess."

"I... Despite everything, I'm glad to see you," she said.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, and took a perverse pleasure in the hurt in her face when he didn't respond in kind. Immediately he felt guilty. But Stasya said it was okay to feel betrayed. He had no idea how to feel. He wasn't even really sure how he did feel.

Christa noticed. "Brandon, I'm sure you can find something nicer to say to your girlfriend than that."

"I'm sure I could," Brandon said evenly. He smiled easily. "But, you see, it's been so long, I've forgotten a lot of things. For instance, was she allowing me to kiss her when we broke off?"

"Oh, ha, that's not funny Brandon," Jane said loudly.

"Damn, man," said Zach. "What kind of fight exactly did you two have if you can't even talk to each other?"

Brandon and Meredith said, simultaneously, "You don't wanna know." They glanced at each other, and the glances were not quite hostile. Not quite.

"Excuse me," someone said. "Arie Chang?"

It was another stranger, wanting to know about Trina. But this person wasn't, as it turned out, in any of her classes. Clearly the news was spreading.

At the same time, another person came from another direction. He was tall, with a nasty complexion and greasy brown hair, and he was smiling in a manner that was probably meant to be disarming but merely looked creepy. "Helloooo, Sweet-cheeks."

Stasya felt her guts tighten. It was Rick Downing.

Everyone looked, including Arie. Meredith went pale. Brandon scowled.

Derek frowned. "Isn't that a bit presumptuous, Mr. Downing? How do you know they aren't sour cheeks instead? Or perhaps just salty cheeks."

"Dude," said Sajel. "Fifteen points from Derek. A drunk hamster could've been funnier than that... Actually, come to think of it, it probably would be a lot funnier."

"Butt out, bitch," said Rick Downing to her. "I'm trying to talk to my girl here."

"Your girl?" Meredith asked, her voice brittle. "Since when was this? I happen to be someone's girl already." She took a step back towards Brandon—who sidled away precipitously, confusion on his face.

"Meredith. I'm hurt." Rick Downing didn't look hurt—he was smiling broadly, and Stasya understood the bombshell he was planning to drop, and just how much he was planning to enjoy it. "Didn't you tell everyone about those precious moments of love at Broadfield Music Camp?"

Meredith's face went even paler than before. It was clear she felt caught—that there was absolutely no way she could see to get her out of the situation. Stasya jumped into the gap. "Why, Meredith! You didn't tell us! But since we're your best friends, and you tell us everything—" She laid particular emphasis on that word. "—my guess is, Mr. Downing is simply lying. Isn't that right, guys?"

The last few words came out a little more clenched than she'd hoped, but everyone picked up on the hints and agreed broadly. Oh, yes, certainly he was lying. But Rick Downing flashed her an ugly look and said, "You know, you really ought to talk about a doctor about that speech impediment. It sounds like mush."

"No," said Meredith, suddenly active. "I haven't told." She shrugged. "Because there wasn't much to tell. He hit on me. He tried to feel me up. Once he even whipped his dick out." She shrugged. "It was really small. I told him I'm only interested in real men."

"What, like that pussy there," said Rick Downing, pointing—mistakenly—at Derek.

"Yes," said Meredith, her voice iron. "Because when he tries to get into a girl's pants and fails, he has the brains to not try and embarrass her in front of all her friends."

"Failed!" exclaimed Rick Downing in hurt tones. "Then what happened to that night of passion we shared?"

Meredith's friends, of course, responded with outrage: lies, defamation, slander, libel, all that stuff. But they looked to her again and again for confirmation—waiting for her to surge to her own defense, to speak up, to say flat out: "Yes, you are lying." And when she did not, their protests faded, and then died out entirely.

Arie looked at Brandon. "You knew."

"I only found out yesterday," said Brandon.

"Brandon, you don't look too good," Arie said.

"Yeah, you look..." Christa's sunny tones faded to worry. "Angry."

"I hope you're not expecting me to be pleased," Brandon growled. Heat radiated from him like a small sun.

"Well, no, but..." Derek frowned. "You look like you're going to explode."

"Him? Bah!" Rick Downing scoffed. "So someone stole your girlfriend. Stop whining and take it like a man. If it happened, it's your fault anyway for letting her drift away from you."

"So you're totally innocent in this," said Stasya, compressing scorn into her voice. "You did absolutely nothing wrong."

"Of course!" said Rick Downing. "What do you think I am, some sort of Boy Scout?"

"Rick." Brandon's face was frightful; his hands clenched convulsively and his whole body hummed with taut energy. "Shut. Up."

"Hey, fuck you, man."

Christa took one look at Brandon and turned to Rick Downing, her eyes wide. "Rick, for God's sake, get out of here. For your own safety, get out of here!"

"Fuck you too, bitch," said Rick Downing with grand indifference. "I'm not afraid of that pussy. You gonna start something, pussy?"

"You started it," said Brandon. The rage in his voice was thick enough to cut with a knife. "If you want me to finish it, stick around."

"Rick Downing, get the fuck out of here," Stasya said. "Go." And the whipcrack of her voice was enough to shake the boy out of his profound self-absorption. Taking a look around, he seemed to realize he might honestly be in danger.

"I'll..." he said. "I'll be back."

"Not if you value your skin, you won't, dumbass," Sajel sneered.

"You've done enough damage for one day," Christa said. "Leave, before it catches up to you. We will not be able to control Brandon if you set him off." Her face darkened. "Though we might not try very hard either."

Rick Downing left.

For a long time, there was silence. No one, Stasya noticed, quite dared look at Brandon's face—herself included. Instead, they looked at Meredith's. She stared at the floor with an expression of utter weariness, combined with a bone-deep sadness. Considering the burden she had been under all this time, no one considered her expression inappropriate.

"So," Brandon sneered.

"Brandon," said Christa, a warning.

Brandon was not to be deterred. "This is the woman I get." His face was callused with hatred and awful to look upon. "This is the woman I chose. This is the woman I asked to marry me."

Into the silence, Meredith said, quietly, "I thought we were married."

Christa gaped. "You did what? You didn't seriously—... Did you?"

"Of course not." Brandon's scorn lashed out like a whip. "We weren't old enough to give legal consent. We couldn't have." The Dumbass at the end of the sentence was only implied, but Christa reeled from it just the same. "And am I fucking well glad we didn't!"

"Brandon, Brandon, calm down, man," Zach said. "You're saying things you'll regret tomorrow—and things you might not get a chance to take back. Close your mouth, before you make things even worse."

"Why should I?" Brandon thundered. "Whose feelings will I be hurting? Hers? What do I care? This faithless— Pathetic— Whore with—with no self-control—"

"Brandon!" Christa shrieked. "That's enough! I understand that Meredith's made mistakes, and that she's hurt you. But that's no excuse for—"

"No," said Meredith. "He's right."

Everyone turned to stare at her. Her face was ashen and that heavy sadness was still there, but she looked up and met their gazes without shame.

"Brandon is always angry," she said. "Most of the time he's really very good at hiding it, because he knows anger doesn't solve anything. But it's part of who he is. He was abandoned and rejected by his parents, he never had any friends who could understand him until you guys... He's been alone for most of his life, and he doesn't know why. Can you blame him for being angry?

"And then there was me." She gave a small smile. "And I made him not-alone for the first time in years. But then I left again—I pulled back, I pulled away, and he didn't understand why."

"Why did you pull away," Christa asked.

"I messed up," Meredith said softly, almost as if she hadn't heard. "I just... Messed up. I messed up with Michael, I messed up with Brandon, and I really messed up with Rick. I should've been nicer to Michael. I should've given him a second chance, and not pre-judged him the way I did. But that was too hard. I ran away. I shouldn't've pulled away from Brandon like I did. I should've confronted you, Brandon, not let you get away, told you how much we were hurting each other. But... It was too hard to bear. I ran away. He offered to come and see me at camp and I told him not to. I actually told him, flat out, not to come. And I should've talked to you all about it, but... I couldn't.