Chapter 5

Tuesday

Marissa

Breakfast on Tuesday was as frosty as dinner had been on Monday, everyone going through the motions without really engaging. There was conversation — what do you want for breakfast, could you pass the butter — but no-one really said anything. Poor Morgan picked up on it, a little, and she was fractious before I bundled her up in her coat and mum took her to school.

I felt bad, a little, for both of them. I know my mum cares, but... God how can she be so stupid! It's almost like she doesn't want to deal with the situation. Dad's been gone for a long time, now, and she's done really well by me, but I can't expect her to be there forever for Morgan and I. Which means I have to start living, now, as though that's the way it's going to be. It's not her stupid mistake that's getting in the way, she deserves to slow down a bit and enjoy life before she runs herself into the ground.

That was what was going through my mind when I slumped out the door, quite obviously not looking forward to another day of nudity. Alban was there.

Now, I'm not a gusher, you know. I don't get heart-struck over guys, I don't swoon in the dining hall over the latest heart-throb in some film or other, but something in my chest got tight as I stopped. He always dresses well, does Alban, and it's never quite like anyone else. I've never seen him wear jeans — not blue denim, anyway — but as I got closer I realised he was, today, black denim tucked into high-ankled boots. A dark grey roll-necked jumper with the sleeves tucked up to his elbows and a long coat slung over the back of his bike as he leant against it watching me.

"I wondered if you'd appreciate a lift." He pointed out. "Gets you inside the scrum that's likely to be waiting at the gates."

"I can't ride." I pointed out. Great response Marissa, soul of witty repartee that you are. Of course, what were the other options? Hi gorgeous? Tell me about it, stud?

"At all?" he seemed... amused, of all things.

"Well, I mean... a pushbike, you know. Anyway, I don't have..." A helmet appeared in his hands from somewhere beneath the seat. "Alright, but this jacket and..." And a jacket. "How often do you do this?"

"First time." He promised, hand on his heart. And there weren't really any objections left that would work. At least, none that I could admit to. How do you tell a guy, 'you're just too dreamy for me to hug all the way to school and then let go' without sounding like a complete air-head. I mean, really? And, you know, this is all my mother's fault, too.

So I put the jacket on, tucked my hair up into the helmet and climbed on. It was glorious. He wasn't particularly fast — I had my eyes closed and my head pressed against his back, but it didn't feel fast - and he was in complete control — as always, but there was the impression of speed. Or, maybe, just the capacity for it.

He could have gone faster, if he'd wanted, he could have raced and streamed my hair out in the wind, and I knew it, but he didn't need to. He wasn't trying to impress me, I realised... and strangely, that did impress me more than if he'd tried. Too soon, it seemed, he drew to a halt and sat up, and I realised we were there, nestled into one of the small spaces amongst the scooters that a few of the kids had been given by their parents, and it looked as grown up and dignified and out of place amongst them as he did amongst the kids themselves...

I'm gushing now, aren't I? He's... dreamy.

So I swung myself off the bike — I had to drop to the floor, it's that big — and quickly shucked the helmet and jacket off to find Dr Hibbert approaching across the grass.

"Here goes." Alban muttered, placing his own helmet and mine into the gap beneath the seat. "Good morning, sir."

"Morning Alban, Marissa." He smiled, hesitantly.

"Any news?" Alban asked, and you could see him tense up, see the muscles bunch in his shoulders and arms beneath the long coat. There was a fear in his eyes, suddenly, and I got the impression that didn't happen very often, but he didn't turn away.

"The Department faxed back yesterday afternoon confirming that they're applying you to the Programme." He confirmed, fishing out the paper from his pocket.

"I'm sorry, Alban."

"Not your fault." He offered with a tight smile, taking the page and scanning it. "Who's this? F Pearson? Never heard of them."

"I don't know." He admitted.

"I'm afraid it's going to take more than that to get me naked." The paper was offered back and... they both smiled.

"You're not going to give in on this, are you."

"Hell no." Alban confirmed. "Sir."

"And you, Marissa?" he turned to me.

"I don't have that luxury, do I?"

"No, I'm afraid you don't. I'll... I'll leave you to finish what you need to do. If it'll be helpful, I can have your box placed here tomorrow."

I looked to Alban, and he nodded that I could if I wanted. And that's when sense kicked me. It had been nice — more than nice — but I couldn't get used to it, I couldn't afford to get used to it. I'm not a complete ditz, you know, this wasn't a one-day wonder. I couldn't let anyone in, fine, but I thought about it, and of all the guys I thought about not letting in, Alban was high on the list.

"No, no I'll use the main entrance like everyone else." I told them. Damn him, he just nodded, smiled, and picked up my bag for me. He could at least have pretended to be upset or something.

Oh well, time to get naked in school.

Alban

"There she is!" a voice called out from the path between the science and humanities block, and Andrew McBride wandered over the slight hill, surrounded by a gaggle of his sycophants.

"Marissa." He smiled, broadly, when he arrived, an oily, smug grin that failed to do anything to his eyes. Real people smile from the eyes, you can see a real smile if you know what to look for. This was a deliberate attempt to disarm — to Marissa's credit she didn't fall for it at all.

"What do you want?" she asked, keeping her cool.

"Well, you see, I had a reasonable request." He leant against one of the lampposts, pointing towards Dr Hibbert. "And we've even got someone impartial here to adjudicate what might be considered reasonable."

"Well, what's your request?" That was the first time I heard it.

Fear has a pitch that cuts through everything. I've heard it so many times through the care system; people afraid of being alone, of being apart from their families. It's there in loss, in pain, in tears. I've even heard people sing it — Evan sings it a lot, if you take the time to listen. That was the first time I heard Marissa afraid, and it surprised me.

She's amazingly together, all things considered. She's quiet, but not shy, she's serious, smart, funny when she wants to be, dedicated when she needs to be, but you can see in her eyes that she's been put through the wringer before, and she doesn't let it get to her — normally.

"I want..." McBride declared, grandly, "to undress you." That wasn't what I'd expected. "Nothing more, just that."

"It doesn't sound unreasonable..." Dr Hibbert ventured, reluctantly, as eyes turned towards him. "A little... intimate, perhaps, but... and you do have to get undressed anyway."

"No." Marissa snapped, pushing him back as he advanced.

"Marissa..." Dr Hibbert began, but she cut him off.

"I said No."

"Why?" McBride's smile grew broader, and I recognised that. You compare people to sharks, to rats, to tigers... all sorts of animals, but what people really are is people, and they can be nastier than just about any other animal you can imagine. I didn't know why, or how, but it wasn't what he wanted to do that had Marissa wary, it was just the simple fact that it was him: and he knew it.

"I don't want you to." She told him, directly, crossing her hands beneath her breasts and taking a determined stance. "It's..."

"It's not unreasonable, we've already had that decision." McBride smirked.

"It's too late." She shot back. "I already asked someone else to do that."

Oh hellfire. I saw it coming, I really did, as soon as she said it, but... what the hell could I do? I couldn't leave her there, you know. I just knew this programme was going to be trouble.

"Him?" I looked up, and McBride was pointing straight at me, everyone was looking straight at me, even Dr Hibbert had a smile — a relieved smile — on his face.

"Him." She confirmed.

Time to get someone naked in school, it would seem.

I put the bags down and walked forward — how the hell was I going to do this. If I got too involved they were going to start up, and Marissa didn't need that, she hated having an audience at all, let alone seeing someone get worked up about it. If I didn't get involved at all, she was going to get flack for being unattractive. What I really, really needed was help — what the hell did I know about unbuttoning blouses?

I'd done it, once upon time... I really didn't need to think about that, right now.

I started as best I could, I know I was trembling a little, but she turned away from the bulk of the crowd which hid it well.

"Come on, Darch." McBride called. "I can do it faster than that."

"What makes you an expert on blouses, Andrew?" Pete! Oh thank god for the cavalry. "If I'd known you were a cross-dresser I'd have been much, much nicer to you." A nervous chuckle went up, mainly from around the back of the crowd where newcomers had joined McBride's entourage.

"Like I'd touch you with a fucking barge-pole!" he snapped back, the glossy veneer slipping a little.

"You have a barge-pole!" Pete came straight back. "Don't brag about it, Darling, show us... go on I'll help." Andrew was gone in a flash, and his cronies went with him. Issy was nearly wetting herself laughing as they slipped into the gap at the front of the crowd.

"Thanks, guys." I told them, with a grin.

"Hey, don't look at us." Issy snapped back, with a broad grin. "You should have your attention on your work." Marissa blushed, but I knew Issy better than to think she was serious — and better than to think she was going to drop it unless she had to.