Chapter 2

"Hey, check it out," Dean said to his friends.

The high school seniors glanced down the hallway in the direction Dean was nodding and they instantly spotted the prettiest sophomore in school: Alina Rogers. She was at her locker and was studying her class schedule. As always the prim-and-proper girl looked sexy even in her prim-and-proper clothes. It'd been months since the boys had seen the girl they'd dubbed the "most fuckable Freshman" the year before. It was a title they'd unanimously given her, one that had caused each of the now-Seniors to waste countless hours the year before in vain attempts to seduce the little hottie. All of them had failed.

"Alina," Harold breathed with a grin. "The summer was good to her. I think her tits are bigger."

"That ass, too," Dylan added.

"Her ass isn't bigger," Harold scoffed. "Looks fucking perfect to me."

"No, I meant it looks better, not bigger," Dylan said. "It's rounder or something. Damn, she sure wears those jeans..."

Dean grinned at his friends. "Wanna know something?" he said. He took out his notebook, flipped it open to a blank page, and said, "I heard she's been tagged."

"Fuck that," both Harold and Dylan said, almost in unison. Harold continued, "Every semester there's rumors someone like her got tagged and it's always bullshit. Remember Sophomore year when everyone said Julia Withers was tagged?"

"She did get tagged, last year," Dylan shrugged.

"Well yeah, but that was after she fell off that high fucking pedestal she was on. After she got caught cheating on that test or whatever," Harold said. "My point is girls like Alina Rogers don't get tagged. She led that whole purity-pledge thing last year and hosts all those 'come to Jesus' after-school groups. She even ran them over the summer, for Christ's sake! My sister went to them."

"Yeah," Dylan agreed, sounding disappointed. "Girls like her would go ape-shit if they even knew about the game. She'd probably expose it in a second. And ain't her mom gonna be the next governor or something? Even Heather is smart enough to steer-clear of that kinda trouble.

"Your sister, on the other hand," Dylan continued with a grin, "I bet she'd be game."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Harold said, his eyes narrowing. He punched his friend in the bicep and continued, "Dee Dee wouldn't go for it either, asshole. Stay the fuck away from her!"

"I'm just saying she's a hot piece!" Dylan said. "And she's a Freshman now, ain't she? You know how Heather and the others love tagging cute little freshmen..."

"Look, asshole, Dee Dee isn't in the game and she would never agree to be in the game, okay?" Harold argued. "Heather knows that, too, so shut the fuck up."

"Gentleman, gentleman," Dean smiled. He was scribbling in his notebook as his friends argued. Just as the one-minute warning bell rang he said, "Forget about Dee. Just trust me, Alina's tagged. She is. What say we skip third hour and go out to my van? We can tap that sweet little ass and get high. You have all paid Heather already, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Dylan grumbled. "But for $50 you should get a list of all the tagged girls. Pisses me off they don't do that."

"Yeah, but part of the fun is figuring who is and isn't tagged, that's what they say anyway," said Harold. "But even if they did give out a list I guarantee Alina's name wouldn't be on it."

"Look, Heather tells some people, and she doesn't tell others. That's just how it works," Dean said. "This time, I'm one of the people she told. And that little piece of ass over there? Alina-fucking-Rogers? I guarantee she's the hottest chick in the Game right now. I am not bullshitting."

The boys watched the hot sophomore shut her locker. She started walking in their direction in a rush.

"Well, I guess I wouldn't mind getting high before lunch," Harold said. "If nothing else we can clam bake and..."

"Excuse me," Dean said, interrupting his friend. He stepped toward Alina and ripped a page out of his notebook. He smiled at the girl who gave a nervous smile back. "I think you dropped this."

She took the piece of paper with a look of confusion on her pretty face. "I didn't drop ... I mean, okay, thanks."

Dean nodded to her politely then stepped back out of her path. She continued walking down the crowded hall but she wasn't in such a rush anymore. Instead she was reading the note he'd given her.

"Come on, guys," Dean said, slamming shut his own locker. "Pot and pussy. My van. Let's do it."

"I hope you're not fucking with us," Dylan said. He followed his friend in the other direction down the hall and added, "Why the fuck would Heather give you list of names, anyway?"

"Because I kick ass?" Dean shrugged innocently.

"I'll kick your ass if this is bullshit," Harold grumbled but he followed Dean and Dylan, too.

"May I have a restroom pass?"

"Certainly," Mrs. Ferguson said.

Alina stood from her seat and made her way to the front of the classroom. The girl wondered if the entire class knew what she was really doing. She wondered if her third hour History teacher knew what she was really doing. She also wondered if she was really going to go through with it.

"If anyone at school says they want to fuck you then you have to do it," Heather had told her. "If you don't do it for any reason you forfeit the game. If you forfeit, well, you know what happens then."

The memory of those instructions gave the girl resolve. She took her pass and headed out into the empty hallway and started walking toward the exit. Normally she'd be terribly nervous about leaving school early but Heather had assured her that school security knew she was "tagged" and wouldn't bust her for sneaking out. The 15-year-old walked into the parking lot and glanced around for a minute or two before spotting the large brown van parked near the back of the large lot.

"It says 'Henderson's Plumbing' on the side in big white letters," the note she'd been given read.

She walked through the lot, thankful to have cars between her and the school building. She felt especially safer whenever she passed by a truck or SUV as those hid her more completely from anyone who might be watching her from the school. The girl slowly traveled her meandering path toward the van with a racing heart. When she got to it she was glad it was parked between two SUV's since that meant no one watching would be able to see her.

Alina heard loud music and the sound of laughter from within the brown conversion van. It was a windowless van, save for the front, and had faded white letters painted on its sides that read "Henderson's Plumbing". She took a deep breath.

This is it, the girl thought. She tried to encourage herself but it took all of her willpower to finally knock three times on the side door.

The door slid open after a quick moment.

"Didn't I tell ya?" the boy who'd given her the note said as a fog of smoke erupted from the van's innards. "I told you she'd come."

"Quick, get inside," one of the other boys said. "Close the fucking door. We're losing our bake."

Without a word Alina was pulled into the van and the sliding door was slammed shut behind her. Black lights running off the vehicle's battery illuminated the interior. There were no seats behind the driver and passenger seats but there was a shag carpet, roughly cut to fill the space, and several beanbag seats of varying colors. The music playing was loud and very techno. The boy who had given her the note, the boy named Dean, turned the music down enough so he could say, "Tell these guys you're tagged!"

Her pulse about tripled as her eyes watered. She wasn't sure if she was crying or if the tears were a result of the smoke-filled van. She opened her mouth, paused, then tried again. Eventually she said, "Yes, yes, I'm tagged."

"Is she crying?" one of the boys said. He sounded more amused than concerned. He passed a half-smoked joint to the guy next to him and said, "Dylan, is she crying?"

The boy named Dylan had intense eyes that were staring at the girl in a very invasive way. He took a long drag from the joint and just smiled. Dean, meanwhile, killed the music completely. The sudden silence made Alina feel more exposed than ever.

"Take off your shirt," Dean said before plopping down onto a large red bean-bag chair.

"I don't," Alina started to say. Memories of what Heather had told her, how the game was played, flooded her memory. Through the haze of smoke inside the van she glanced from boy to boy and she realized this was it. This was the moment she was going to lose her virginity. There was nothing she could do about it.

"Okay," she finally whispered. The slender young Sophomore slumped her shoulders and began to pull her shirt up her torso. Part of her thought that someone would object, that someone would say something to save her, but no one did. No one said a word, in fact, until she'd pulled off her shirt completely. She glanced down and saw her simple white bra glowing a purplish color under the black light that illuminated the van's interior. She crossed her arms over her chest instinctively.

"Wow," said Dean. "No, don't cover them. We're gonna see them anyway."

Alina reluctantly uncrossed her arms and let them fall to her sides. She was on her knees inside the black-lit van and she felt miserable, exposed, and vulnerable.

"Lose the bra," one of the boys said.

"Manners, Harold!" Dean coughed. He was laughing and he passed what was left of the joint to Dylan. He added, "Go on, though, lose the bra, Alina. Please."