Part III

If Veronica Lodge was too rich for Riverdale High, Dilton Doiley was too smart. He should have graduated when he was like twelve and gone on to MIT or someplace. The kid had a Jupiter-sized brain in a scrawny, asteroid-sized body. He launched rockets in his backyard. His beach reading was the Principia Mathematica. And he always wore a lab coat, even in gym class.

He was wearing it now, as he sat at the head of Professor Flutesnoot's science room waiting for the bell to ring. Beside him, on the black top of the professor's lab table, were a notebook computer and an old-fashioned aluminum colander, the kind you'd find any kitchen, with the holes arranged in the shape of five-pointed stars. No one paid any attention to him. They were all swarming naked Betty Cooper, who stood between two jabbering boys, her arms around their waists, posing for cellphone photos. The boys' hands were all over her ass.

"Hey! No pinching!" she said. "Touch all you want, but no pinching!"

Dilton didn't dare go near her. He was a tongue-tied basket case around girls, and the sight of a naked one reduced him to mute imbecility. He sat with his legs crossed tight and his fists buried in his lap. He was close to coming in his pants when the bell finally went off.

Flutesnoot raised his voice above the excited chatter.

"Everyone be seated," he said. "Yes, yes, we're all happy Miss Cooper is naked in school this week, but we have our spring projects to get through. Class has begun. Take your hands off her — now — and sit down."

The kids went to their stations in a sulk. There were eight tables in the room, in addition to the one up front, arranged in two rows of four like enormous black Lego's. Two students sat at each, facing Dilton and Flutesnoot. Betty was down front next to Midge, her lab partner this year. She was relieved her project wasn't due until next week. She'd spent the winter growing tomatoes under ultraviolet light, and she didn't want to be stuck lugging around the glass tanks in the nude.

When they were settled, more or less, Flutesnoot went on:

"Today's project is from Dilton Doiley, who seems to have made some sort of computerized kitchen aid."

Dilton tried to speak, but he only croaked.

"What was that?"

"No," Dilton said, clearing his throat. "What it is—"

"Please stand and face the class."

Dilton got up. He stood beside the table, his eyes glued to the clock at the back of the room, forcing himself not to look at Betty Cooper. The overhead lights flashed on his owl-rimmed glasses. He had an obvious hard-on, which strained against the fly of his surprisingly stylish chinos. It was a respectable size, too, for such a shrimpy kid. Betty was impressed.

"What I've done is to adapt this kitchen colander into a kind of helmet," Dilton said. He picked up the aluminum hemisphere and turned it upside down. "You see, I've put an elastic strap across the opening to hold in place."

He plucked at the strap, whose ends were stapled around the two handles.

His gaze wandered away from the clock, and he lost his train of thought.

"Yes—?" Flutesnoot said.

"Yes! Hum! I've also ... uh ... attach — attah! — attached a number of small electrodes to the inside of the helmet."

He flipped the helmet around, holding it open toward the class, so everyone could see the line of cotton pads that spiraled from the center of the bowl to the rim. His hands were shaking.

"Each of these ... um..."

"Electrodes..."

"Yes, thank you! Well! Each of these electrodes stimulates a portion of the brain that controls various mental and bodily ... uh, bodily things..."

"Functions. Responses," Flutesnoot said.

"Functions and responses, yes. And ... well, I've linked them to my computer though a plug-in antenna — there are no wires — and, uh ... the idea is, that ... well ... a person puts the helmet on, and, uh, the things..."

"E-lec-trodes!"

"Electrodes, yes ... send gentle pulses to the brain."

Betty put her hand over her mouth, hiding a sympathetic giggle. The poor thing was just so horny.

"And what to these gentle pulses do?" Flutesnoot asked.

"Well, anything," Dilton replied. "Working from my computer, I can induce any state of mind in the subject. I can call up memories, make them laugh, or move, or feel anything. The brain is, after all — hum! — the center of all feelings ... the soul, if you want ... and ... and stimulating the body part that you think does the feeling isn't really necessary ... phantom limb pain, for example..."

"Hold on. Explain that."

"Well, I mean, I can, for example, by stim ... stimulating the brain, make it feel like you've stepped on a tack, even if there is no tack."

"So," Flutesnoot said, "you could, conceivably, subject someone to horrible tortures without laying a hand on them."

"Yes! I mean no! I mean ... I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Be careful," Flutesnoot said. "You don't want Homeland Security to get hold of it."

"Well, no ... but it could do good, as well. We could suppress pain without drugs, even cure addictions."

"Are you prepared to demonstrate it?"

"No. I mean yes. But not on myself. I have to work the computer. I'll need a volunteer."

"We have a built-in volunteer," Flutesnoot said. "Naked in School participants are available for any and all classroom demonstrations. Miss Cooper—"

"Yes, sir?"

"Come up here, please."

"I'm the guinea pig?"

"That's the idea. Your reactions will be more ... visible."

All eyes were on Betty's ass as she bounced to the front of the room. All eyes, that is, except Dilton's. He sat down in front of his computer again and was staring at the little screen, pretending to peck at the keyboard.

Betty faced him with her hands behind her back. She puffed up her chest and swayed her shoulders playfully, like a shy little girl.

"What do you want me to do, Dilton?" she asked.

"Put the helmet on," he said.

"Dilton—"

"Make sure the strap is secure under your chin—"

"Dilton—"

"And stand facing the class—"

Betty snapped the computer shut.

"Dilton, look at me."

He raised his head painfully, like an arthritic old man. Betty had never seen anything like the expression on his face. It was a perfect balance of ecstasy and terror, heaven and hell. She felt like she did when she was little, taking in stray cats and nursing birds with broken wings.

"They're just breasts," she said. "The world is full of them. Say 'breasts.'"

"Buh— Buh—"

"Breasts."

"Breasts."

A mocking murmur went up among the students, but Flutesnoot cut it short with a hard look. This was science, too. A lesson in psychology.

"Give me your hand," Betty said. "Doesn't that feel nice? Squeeze it a little. Not too hard. Now, pinch the nipple — gently. See how it gets erect? That's you doing that. You're good at it. That feels nice. Any girl would love to have you touch them ... and suck on them. Now, what do you want me to do?"

"Put the helmet on, and stand and face the class."

"There. Was that so hard?"

Midge called out in her tiniest, Betty Boop voice: "It's a miracle!"

But Dilton laughed along with everyone else. What did he care if they were making fun of him? He had Betty's pretty titty in his hand.