Chapter 11

Tuesday lunch, the second day of NiS for Missy -- she was at a nearby table with Mike, who was also NiS, of course, and a couple other nudists, sophs in The Program I assumed. I guess Missy's week was going okay, since she hadn't sought me out. She and I were sort of doing a dance around each other. I still hungered for her, as a lover and especially as a friend. I knew the lover part wasn't in the cards at all, but I really missed her friendship, and kept hoping we might revive that. Over the years we'd shared so many good times and she'd always been there for me.

But she was skittish, unsure. I suspected she was afraid if she got too close to me I might press the lover issue, which I'd never, ever do. I was hoping over time that fear might go away and we could just be friends again.

Meanwhile, my lunch bunch, which, at one time, had included her, was short another member. Peggy was out for the second day. I was poking at whatever it was they were serving, trying to decide if it was prey or predator, whether I was supposed to eat it or it was likely to eat me, from the inside out. I vowed that tomorrow I'd allow time to make my own lunch. How long does it take to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I know Mom would do it if I asked, but she's busy enough.

"Has anyone talked with Peggy?" I asked the others. "I tried calling her last night, but her mom said she couldn't come to the phone."

"I tried to call her after school yesterday," Inez reported. "Her mom said she wouldn't come to the phone."

I went for what looked to be a vegetable. "'Couldn't' or 'wouldn't'?" I asked, looking at her. "There's a difference."

Inez shrugged. "Wouldn't or couldn't. What's the diff?"

"Couldn't means, like, she's not there, or busy with something. Wouldn't means she could come to the phone but chooses not to," I explained impatiently. "That's the diff."

"Oh."

"Sorry." I apologized for sounding grouchy. "I'm not sure if her mom said 'wouldn't' or 'couldn't' myself."

"That's easy," Fran put in. "When it comes to Peggy and the phone, 'wouldn't' is a non-starter. She never met a call she didn't like. Has she ever left you a short message on voicemail? I swear, she'll carry on both sides of the conversation with an answering machine. Someday they'll invent a phone that'll be grafted to her skull and she'll take it."

Head bobs from the bunch as they masticated. I only called Peggy when I had at least an hour free to chat.

I poked my meat again. I think it moved. Not a good sign. I decided to go vegan today.

"Something's wrong," I mused. I felt like The Stick was poking me with -- well, with a stick -- trying to get my attention.

"Flu," Fran suggested.

I shook my head. "She never gets sick."

I sighed, pushing away the remains of my lunch, a rarity for me. Even my appetite has been known to wither in the face of school food, and worry didn't help. "I think I'll drop by her house after I get out of here today."

The moment I'd decided I'd visit Peggy after school The Stick quit prodding me. She can be such a bitch sometimes!

That got nods of encouragement from the rest. The conversation moved on without me while I pondered my schedule. The visit with Peggy would have to wait until after me and Greg posed for Kathy. That was a no-brainer. After all, we had an obligation to honor our deal with Kathy, even if it involved a fate as terrible as, like, say, posing nude for hours on end while carnally interlocked.

I know, I know. It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.

Inside I got all hot and squirmy at the very thought of it. It was a license to fuck.

Then I got handed a note from an office courier that doused my fire.

"Devers again?" Fran asked shrewdly.

I nodded. The note was as cryptic as the last one, letter for letter.

Cue the chorus again: Uh oh!

"What have you been doing?" Fran prodded.

"Nothing." I wasn't worried, since it was probably something about the committee's meet'n'greet this week, but of course I couldn't say anything. As far as most student bodies were concerned, Devers was The Devil, the dispenser of justice from on high. I knew her as a teammate's mom, Worthington's boss and my co-conspirator in fixing The Program, about which I was sworn to secrecy.

My schedule was shifting under my feet. Okay, late to Kathy again, so I had to get word to Greg. He'd tell Kathy. After we finished posing I was confident Kathy would be willing to drop me off at Peggy's. Once I was done there it's an easy jog to my door -- good exercise, especially if I'm wearing my backpack with its usual load -- and I'd be home in time to start supper and get homework done, if all went well.

After pitching my trash I dove into the afternoon. Once done with navigating those shoals I found myself outside Devers's office. When I rapped on her door I discovered maybe I should have worried. She wasn't alone and her gray eyes were serious. Without being asked I closed the door behind me and set my loaded backpack aside.

Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber -- excuse me, Misters Cagney and Lacey -- were slouching like lazy caterpillars in chairs by the wall, smug sneers decorating their faces. Whatever happened to their happy, carefree, childish smiles, I wondered.

Great. Now what?

She gestured to the chair opposite her desk, and I settled nervously on the edge of it, angling enough so I could keep an eye on the gruesome-twosome.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Walker."

Very formal. This was looking worse and worse for me.

"I've received a complaint that you -- ah -- assaulted Mr. Cagney on your way into school yesterday," Mrs. Devers continued, studying a sheet of paper in front of her. "He claims that you -- ah -- threw a Frisbee -- quite hard he says -- and that it struck him -- ah -- in the groin."

Shit! There was no way I could deny that! Whether he'd deserved it or not -- in my book he had -- I could be in deep doo-doo.

She set the paper aside. "So, I've heard their version of what happened. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Jeez she looked serious! I opened my mouth to voice the equivalent of "he started it" but slammed it shut before more than a croak escaped, hoping I hadn't chipped a molar as I did. I was remembering two lessons from my past.

Lesson number one I'd learned early: When Carl and I would get in a tiff, Mom's response to "he/she started it" was a succinct "I don't care who started it!" End of discussion, with justice summarily imposed, usually on the one who raised the point of order, if that's the phrase I want.

Lesson number two came courtesy of my brief soccer career: Retaliation is more likely to draw a penalty than the original offense, 'cause nine times out of ten the ref didn't see who threw the first punch, so to speak, and no amount of arguing would change that.

Sure there were witnesses I could try to call in my defense, but the three-monkey rule is endemic in high school.

So, Tweedle Dumb starts it and I get busted. There is no justice. I cleared my throat and organized my thoughts, trying to figure how I could spin my version in a way that would minimize the damage to my academic karma.

"As I was walking toward the school," I began carefully, "Tw ... uh ... Mr. Cagney -- uhm -- sailed a Frisbee in my direction, and I had to catch quickly to keep it from striking an innocent bystander, his aim being a bit off. He did give me some warning -- he yelled 'fetch.' I guess he'd heard of the skills I'd demonstrated on Sunday and wanted to test them for himself," I concluded charitably, though the look I gave Mrs. Devers put the lie to my words, and I made sure she saw it.

I paused to judge her reaction, and decided that I never, ever wanted to play poker with her.

"Anyway, so, fortunately I caught it, almost by reflex, and returned f..." I'd been about to say "fire" but quickly censored that. "I returned his Frisbee to him before proceeding inside."

Was that a twinkle I could see in her eye? There was a certain tension to her lips.

"Unfortunately, I guess I misjudged the strength of my return, and I didn't mean to hit him in the -- uhm -- crotch. He was maybe only twenty feet away," I continued ruefully, "and being kinda caught off balance as I was, well, my aim was off."

"Ya think? I may never be able to have children!" Tweedle Dumb put in nastily only to get a look from Mrs. Devers that made him flinch.

Now THAT would be a net gain for humanity, I thought.

As she turned back to me a muscle in Mrs. Devers's cheek was performing the rumba. Maybe I wouldn't be sentenced to life in detention. "The nurse subsequently examined him, and determined there was no serious damage," she assured me.

Darn! And what about the poor nurse? His crotch would gag a maggot.

"She treated him with an ice-pack and two aspirin."

I hope it was a disposable ice-pack.

"So," she said through clenched teeth, her fingers drumming on her desk. "Well. Hmmmm."

I tried to look contrite. The ceiling fluorescents hummed. The Tweedles breathed noisily through their mouths. The clocked ticked -- well, it would have if clocks ticked, which they don't these days.

I tried not to flinch when she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Miss Walker, but given the nature of the accusation, and the testimony of a corroborating witness" -- she gestured at Tweedle Dumber -- "there does appear to be enough evidence to indicate there was real danger in your response, inadvertent as it might have been. Given the rules in place, in the interests of public safety, I have no choice but to take disciplinary action."

Shit. I hoped it didn't involve another letter home. My knees still hurt from scrubbing the floor last Saturday -- not that I expected a replay of that scenario, of course.

Was that really only last Saturday? How time flies when you're having fun!

"Yes'm." I tried to look as guilty as possible, detecting a subtle undercurrent here. The Tweedles celebratory fist-bump didn't help, but I was comforted by the fact that I knew Mrs. Devers is no fool.

"Detention," she announced ominously, and I swear it sounded like she'd had to choke it out, "for the rest of the week."

I wanted to shove Cagney's and Lacey's smug looks right down their pimpled throats. The rest of the week in detention? What about my posing for Kathy? What about the meet'n'greet? And I had homework, of course, and chores, and Kathy's whole project depended on me and Greg, and I was worried about Peggy, and...

Shit!

"You may go, gentlemen," she announced to the Tweedles, "and please close the door behind yourselves. I have some other matters to discuss with Miss Walker."

They smirked their way out of the office, leaving the door gaping wide open, of course, as they exchanged high-fives. Mrs. Devers gave a weary sigh and gestured, so I got up and closed the door for them. When I turned back she had her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking. I thought for a minute she was having some kind of a fit or something.

"You 'returned' the Frisbee to him?" she managed to chuckle out sarcastically, raising her head.

I nodded guiltily.

"Knowing you, he's probably lucky his head is still on his shoulders. Did you really get him in the crotch?"

I shrugged. "Right in -- uh -- die Eier, you might say. That's German for...

"Eggs. I know exactly what you mean." She chuckled.

"Yes'm. Sorry. Frau Blucher encourages us to try to put our lessons to use outside the classroom."

"An excellent idea. Perhaps I should do that. My German is pretty rusty."

"I didn't mean to hit him there, even though I wasn't happy with what he'd yelled, and the way he'd yelled it. Fortunately his aim was lousy or I might be missing some teeth. Anyway, I wanted to nip that sort of -- uh -- crap -- in the bud by showing people I wouldn't take it lying down. I learned to throw from Carl, of course, and I guess I did throw it pretty hard. I was aiming for his -- what's the German word? -- 'der Nabel, ' -- his belly button. I guess the wind caught it or something."

"Or something," she agreed drolly.

She may have been chuckling and shaking her head, but I wasn't laughing. A week of detention would hurt Kathy more than it did me, so I explained the situation. "It's her senior art project, and she needs it for her college application, too," I concluded.

Mrs. Devers didn't think more than a few seconds. "Well, I think we can extend the definition of 'detention' to include your work on Kathy's behalf. I'll make sure the monitor knows where you'll be. It's very generous of you to volunteer your time."

Oh yeah, right. It's a real sacrifice on my part to spend and hour or so of my time sharing my body with Greg and maybe Kathy, too, should the opportunity arise. Still, I felt a wave of relief. My "oh thank you" was quite sincere.

"But don't let it go to your head," she cautioned. "Don't let it happen again. Keep your chin up and don't respond and the crap, as you so aptly put it, will eventually die out. The faculty and staff will do their best to squelch it, too."

"Yes'm. Thank you. I found out yesterday I have a lot of friends who'll go to bat for me, too."

"I'm not surprised. Now to other matters. We've scheduled an informal get-together of the committee for Thursday after last period, in the conference room, so you can get to know each other. I expect it will run about an hour, maybe less. I'm sorry if that interferes with your work with Kathy."

"That's okay. I've already warned them I might have something later this week. Who all is going to be there?" I still had no idea who the other committee members would be.

"You and Mike, of course. You'll meet the others then, and Worthington should be there, too."