Tuesday

T .1

Mom was cooking breakfast when I came downstairs. That's not exactly normal. Since she and my dad divorced, she's usually off to work pretty early, sometimes before I wake up. Of course, I don't wake up that early—an hour before school starts, tops. Sajel shook her head for a week when she heard that. Well, maybe what she doesn't realize is that if you shower at night, instead of in the morning, you don't have to wake up that early. And if you're a guy and you have short hair, instead of the three or four yards that Sajel has. Oh well, that's her business. Me, I wake up at seven-thirty in the morning, and rarely see my mom before she comes home from work.

"Good morning, Zach," she said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Pretty well, yeah," I said.

"I don't have to go into the office until nine," she said, "so I thought I'd stay home and talk to my son." Mom's kind of short, a little big—but in a comforting way. She says I take after my father. She's a nurse at a doctor's office, which means she also doubles as receptionist, secretary, administrative assistant, that sort of thing. Sometimes she even sees patients. On occasion she jokes that she didn't graduate from college to type memos. But her family comes first. She makes a lot of money, but a lot of it goes to her parents, or her siblings. Sometimes I think we're the only ones in my family who have achieved financial independence.

"Cool," I said. "All right." I wasn't sure what 'talk to my son' meant. I'd had 'the birds and the bees' a number of years ago (or 'the haha and the wiiwii, ' as Sajel puts it), so it couldn't be that. With Mom you never really know what's coming up.

"I wanted to talk to you about The Program," my mom said.

Oh great. So much for a peaceful breakfast.

Mom's pancakes, as always, were incredible. Sometimes I kinda wanna invite people over for dinner more often, because Mom is an excellent cook. Just, that's kinda weird, showing off my mom, you know? And what if she wasn't in the mood to cook that night? And wouldn't it be, like, totally weird to tell my mom, "Hey, Mom, I'm inviting people over for dinner because you're a good cook"? I know I'd be

weirded out by that. I mean, if, hypothetically, one of my hypothetical kids was to walk up to me and call me 'Mom'...

So, anyway. Mom sat down and we were eating, and I was liking the pancakes. If they're made right, they actually taste good just plain, and Mom's always taste good just plain. Though Mom herself is always using syrup and butter on them. I don't get it. I just don't.

So, anyway. Mom sat down, and we were eating, and I was trying to distract myself by thinking about other things. I dunno about you, but when my mom tells me she wants to talk about my nakedness, I don't expect it to be an enjoyable conversation.

"So," Mom said. "How was your first day in The Program?"

"It was... Okay," I said carefully. Mom and I don't normally talk about down-there stuff. I wasn't sure what she wanted or didn't want to hear. "I mean, I had Brandon and Arie around. They've done it already. They had plenty of advice."

"Oh," said my mom. "Like?"

Like... Well, I dunno, I didn't really ask them. Sajel told me not to act like a kid. Whatever. Like that's any useful advice. I made something up. "Uh, like... Stay out of the badlands."

"The badlands?" Mom asked.

"Uh..." I know Mom knows what it is, because she asked me about it. Evidently the PTA sent out one of those big bulletins after Brandon went through The Program, about all the harassment from the losers in the badlands. The thing was, the PTA might not have called it that—I mean, you know. Political correctness and all that. "It's the area past the football field," I said. "Where all the stoners and losers hang out."

"Oh, yes," said my mom. "'Areas of ill repute, ' the newsletter called it."

"Yeah, that," I said. Ill repute. What the fuck's an ill repute? If the reputes are getting sick—whatever animal that is, is it like a groundhog?—it's probably from all the pot smoke. Why don't they just clear that place out anyway? "The kids there like picking on people. Naked guy is just too much of a target."

"And a naked girl more so, I imagine," my mother said.

"Yeah, probably," I said. It's actually mostly guys in the badlands. I wonder why.

"Didn't I read something about a buddy," Mom said.

"Huh? Yeah," I said, my mouth full of pancake. "You're, like... Supposed to look out for each other or something."

"A boy or a girl," Mom asked.

"A girl," I said, probably faster than I should've.

My mother chuckled softly. "I can only imagine what she must think, being 'looked out for' by Zach Crane."

"Hey now," I said. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mom smiled and waved it away. "This buddy of yours," she said. "Does she have a name?"

"Christa Sternbacher," I said, again faster than I should've. Sometimes it pays to think about these things—and maybe lie. But nope, here he goes, blurting the truth out.

Mom's eyes widened. "Little Christa's in The Program?" Christa's name shows up a lot where parents look—high grades and all that. But Mom also knows a lot of my classmates in person, because they've wandered into her office a couple of times. I mean, the community isn't all that big. And I know that most parents treat her like she's some sort of holy goddess—my mom does, Sajel says her mom does. We don't know about Brandon's. Actually, we don't know about Brandon's at all, much less what they think about Christa Sternbacher. Neither of us have seen his parents. For the longest time the housekeeper actually drove him to school. Crazy, huh?

But that has nothing to do with Christa. What had to do with Christa was the expression on my mom's face. Every mother's secret dream, I realized suddenly, is probably to watch her son hook up with a "nice girl" like Christa Sternbacher.

O holy shitfuck on a stick.

"Yessss, mom," I hissed, not looking forward to the rest of the conversation. "Christa's in The Program."

"What would make a nice girl like her want to join The Program," Mom asked.

"She wants to get fondled," I snapped, and Mom's eyebrows jagged. Her smile slid crooked off her face, and she looked away.

"And what about you," she asked finally. "What makes my son and only child so interested in... Exhibiting himself in this way?"

"The same reason," I said ingeniously. "You get action in The Program."

My mother gave me a sardonic smile. "I've tried very hard to raise you up the right way, Zach. I'm glad to see I've succeeded."

"Chuh. Mom, I'm a teenager. I have hormones." This with a bit of sarcasm attached. "You're a doctor, you know how that works."

"I'm not actually a doctor, Zach," my mother began.

"Close enough to one," I said. We've been over this before.

She sighed. "All right, close enough. Yes, Zach, I am a... A 'doctor, ' as you choose to put it, and I know how teenage hormones work."

"Well, then," I said, figuring the matter was settled.

It wasn't. "But is that the only reason?"

"Huh?" With a mouthful of pancakes. "Wah thah shapos'a mean?"

"Zach, I've seen the kind of girls you ask out," my mother said. "If all you want is to... Get action, as you put it, then you certainly don't need to enter The Program. You can just ask them."

I swallowed, despite a mouth suddenly drying. You kind of don't expect your parents—your mother—to understand why you're dating the people you date. Especially your mother. Mothers don't talk about sex. Mothers and sex are like the polar opposite of each other. I mean, isn't there some rule somewhere in the Great Big Book Of Rules that once a woman becomes a mother, she's not allowed to have sex anymore?

"So," my mother said. "Why did you enter The Program? You seem to have all you need already."

I shoved my chair back. "I'd better get goin."

Mom didn't say anything. She just watched, and watched, as I went back to my room to get ready for school. I could feel her eyes on me the whole way.

Sometimes people ask question you just didn't want to hear, you know? I mean, I went into The Program to get some tail. The girl I was seeing (Tiffany or Amber or Crystal or something) hasn't answered my phone calls in a little while. Guess she's out. And nobody's caught my fancy, and meanwhile, you gotta listen to your urges, right? Isn't it obvious?

"So," Brandon said to me. "What's eating you?"

"Ah, go stuff it up a sock," I snapped, and Brandon's eyes widened and he stepped back, leaving me alone to slump in my own thought. I could hear him talking to Meredith, even though they kept their voices down—their words were carried to me, as though by magic.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I dunno, he wouldn't tell me."

"I've never seen him like that."

"I have, a couple of times. It means he's in it bad."

"Christa?"

"Dunno. Could be anything."

There was a silence. Then, Meredith's voice, searching: "... I'm sure he'll tell you when he's ready."

"I hope so. In this mood you can never tell."

"That's ridiculous, you're—" Grasping at straws. "You're one of his closest friends. Why would he not tell you? You know how it is when you can't figure things out. But then it all comes to you, and you tell people. I bet you'll be the first to know."

A silence.

And then Brandon's voice, smiling. "... You know, that's why I keep you around. For perspective. You keep things in perspective."

"That," Meredith said archly, "and I'm a damn good lay."

"I-IIII'm just going to keep my mouth shut on that one," Brandon said, and Meredith laughed.

Yeah yeah, get a room you guys. Jesus. Can't leave a guy to sulk in peace.

"You look cross," Christa observed when we met in Geometry, and I fought the urge to throw something. Is the whole world gonna call me on this goddamn thing!

"Yes, I am, and I don'wanna talk about it, okay!"

But where Brandon had recoiled, Christa just arched an eyebrow and said, "Well, I won't ask you then. Keep your shirt on, Zach. Oh, wait, too late on that." And then walked past me to her seat, without ever having raised her voice or dropped that slightly sarcastic tone.

I tried to concentrate on what was going on in class—which really just tells you how bad it was, that I was actually paying attention to all this shit about paremecioids and trapezes and stuff. I mean, who's actually gonna need that when they grow up? I'm not going to, I can tell you that. But it was better than that strange growing gape in my mind, the hole my mother's question had left. That, and every now and then my gaze would drift over to Christa. Suffice it to say, I had things on my mind enough to keep me occupied. So I was a little calmer when I got to English. Somewhat.

I'm not entirely sure what happened to Christa on the walk between Geometry and English—I was lost in my own little world at that point. But she arrived in English just a few moments before the bell rang, clearly out of breath, a reddish blush on her cheeks. Sajel leaned close to me and said, "Hmmmm. Looks like somebody got Rule Three'd just now."

"Wha?" I said, startled out of my thoughts.

Sajel snorted. "Look at her nipples, dumbass."

I saw a chance for a joke and grabbed at it like a starving man grabs food. "Sajel, why are you looking at a girl's nipples?" I asked. Between this and the breast observation yesterday... Sheesh, I'm gettin worried about this girl?

But, of course, at the same time I was looking at Christa's nipples—not as large as some I've seen, probably smaller than the eraser at the tip of a pencil. And the little circles around them, whatever those are (Brandon says 'areolas.' How the hell does he know this shit?), were pretty small too. But she was clearly erect, was the point. You could just tell.

"Mmm-hmm," said Sajel, ignoring my earlier question. "Rule Three. But probably not enough of it. What do you wanna bet she asks for relief this period?"

Good thing I didn't bet—I'd have lost. Sajel's good at reading those sorts of signs. Christa walked up to the front of the classroom, and Mr. Cavanaugh said, "Would anyone like to assist Christa?"

I raised my hand. Quite a few other guys did too. Crazily enough, so did Arie. Everyone blinked at her and she blinked back at us. "Sure, why the hell not," she said.

"Well, thank you, Arie, but I don't think I'd be comfortable with that," Christa said, and Arie shrugged blandly and put her hand down.

Christa looked the rest of us over. When she reached me, her gaze went cold. "Put your hand down, Zach."

Sajel and Brandon and Arie gave me confused looks. I gave Christa a confused look. "What, what'd I do?"

Christa's eyes held no mercy. "Put it down." Her words seemed to echo through the room like a hammer strike.

I put my hand down, feeling helpless. Fuck, what's a guy to do when that happens?

Christa kept looking, her eyes moving slowly from one end of the room to the other. Finally she said, "Brandon."

We all looked at Brandon, who didn't have his hand up.

"Could I ask you to help me?" Christa said.

"Uh," said Brandon, stating the obvious. "I don't have my hand up."

Joke opportunity. Golden joke. Grab! "Whoa, Brandon," I said, acting startled. "You don't have your hand up?"

"Yeah, man, I don't have my hand up," Brandon said.

"I didn't know you didn't have your hand up," Arie said.

Sajel picked it up too. "Wait, he didn't have his hand up?"

Now the class was starting to laugh. Christa was glaring. "Excuse me!" she said. "Brandon, I know you didn't raise your hand. I'm asking you. I'm requesting. Would you please give me relief?"

Sajel was whispering in my ear: "Hmmm... The girl shows spirit..." I knew what she meant. Christa's words rang like iron.

"You can't ask people who haven't volunteered," Arie said.

Christa grabbed the copy of The Pamphlet that every room is equipped with nowadays. She read in a loud, carrying voice—the people in the room across the hall must've heard it. "Teachers and Instructors have been advised that it shall be deemed a reasonable request on the part of the participant to seek relief during the first five minutes of class time. The Teachers and Instructors have been further advised that this event MAY be abetted by other students or participants."

"No, we know that part," Arie said.

"Considerable leeway may be granted the Participant in the nature of the relief granted." Christa finished. "So, here's my leeway. Brandon, I want you to give me relief."

Brandon looked at her for a moment. Christa was squirming and having trouble meeting his gaze. Me, I was perplexed. What gives? She turns me down—me, Zach Crane, who was volunteering—only in order to try and coax Brandon into it—My Best Friend Brandon—who didn't even have his hand up. What gives? What the hell is on her mind?

"No," Brandon said finally. "I'm... Well, it's flattering that you'd ask me to, but I wouldn't feel comfortable." He gave a dry, humorless smile. "Clear it with Meredith first next time."

Christa huffed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. She picked some other random guy. It took him about fifteen minutes to finish her off. I think all of us were kind of bored by the end of it.

Me, I looked away quickly. After Christa closed her eyes and gasped. I was angry. I want to be there. I want to be the one with his hand between her legs. I want to...

See, being angry beats being jealous, at least.

Sajel looked at me with no clear expression, except for the vague traces of pity around the edges of her eyes, before pulling out the homework reading and going through it.

"So, what the hell was that about," Arie asked Brandon at recess.

"Lord if I know," Brandon said. "Too bad she didn't pick Zach. He could've showed her a good time."

"As opposed to, say, Graham Carter," Sajel said, rolling her eyes. "Fuck, that took forever. Brandon, you should've gone, she would've gone faster."

Arie, in a display of such either-stupidity-or-cruelty that even I could see it, turned to Meredith and said, "Whaddayou think, Meri?"

Meredith, who had absolutely no idea what we were talking about, said, "What?"

"Do you think Brandon's better at eating pussy than Graham Carter?" Arie asked.

Meredith giggled. "I don't know, the next time Graham Carter eats my pussy, I'll take some notes and compare."

"So you're saying that might actually happen," Arie pursued.

"Who is Graham Carter, anyway?" Meredith asked, laughing.

Arie drew herself up. "You don't know who Graham Carter is?"

Meredith looked at us, grinning helplessly, and spread her hands. "Anybody wanna help me out here?"

Sajel and Brandon exchanged glances. "No, that's okay, thanks," Brandon said.

"Well, all right then," Meredith said, still smiling. "Who picked Graham Carter over Brandon?"

Sajel sent a gritty, dark-edged glance at all of us, and then said, "Christa."

Meredith blinked a few times. "I don't get it."

From the look on Brandon's face, I could see he was about to explain. I could also see that if he did, it would probably be a huge enormous mess. So I spoke up instead. "Christa needed relief and she wanted Brandon to give it."

"Oh-kay..." said Meredith, clearly not understanding, trying to hang on to some shred of humor.

"Yeah," Arie said. "And Brandon didn't want to."

"I... Don't..." said Meredith.

Sajel tossed her arms. "Fucking amateurs. Okay, starting over." Meredith nodded. "Christa needed relief. Mr. Cavanaugh brings her up to the front and he asks for volunteers. Zach volunteered. She turned him down. Brandon didn't volunteer. She asked him."

Brandon shrugged. "I wasn't interested."

"But Christa was," Meredith said.

"What we're trying to figure out," Sajel said, pushing the discussion along. "Is why."

"Why..." Meredith asked.

"Why she'd go to so much effort to pick Brandon out," Sajel said.

"When you've got perfectly willing and perfectly attractive specimens of manhood like me to call on instead," I added.

"You? Yeah right." Sajel rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't pick you if you were the last man on earth."

"Good thing you're not Christa, then," I retorted.

"Do Christa and Brandon know each other," Arie asked.

"No," I said. Out of all of us, I'd known Brandon the longest. If there was something, I'd know about it. "They've had classes together before, probably, but I don't think they know each other."

"I can't think of anything that would make her try to pull such a power play," Arie said.

"I can," Sajel said. "But they're probably all wrong. That's the problem when you don't know someone very well."

Suddenly I wondered where Brandon and Meredith had gotten to. Looking around wildly, I found them at the far end of the overhang, their heads close together. Privacy, obviously. Something about the way Meredith was standing caught my attention—I don't know why—and when Brandon put his arms around her and she huddled close, her face against his chest, I suddenly realized she must be crying. Over Christa? Over that little thing? Meredith always seems to have things together. I didn't know she'd go to pieces over something so minor.

Now. Sharp-eyed fans of the Cranester will notice that, before English on Monday, I'd predicted that Christa might have a crush on Brandon. And if you've gotten this far, you've noticed I was right. How come I didn't think of it now? Well, it's pretty simple: I didn't think it was a real explanation. I mean, sure, it was a possibility, but it's also a possibility for winged pigs to fly out of my ass. I didn't know what kind of guy Christa normally went for, but I was pretty sure Brandon wasn't it. The thought never crossed my mind again.

A few moments later, Meredith and Brandon came back. As far as I could tell from her face, they might never have gone. As far as Sajel and Arie were concerned, they hadn't gone—Sajel looked up suddenly and said, "Oh, Brandon! I hadn't realized you'd gone anywhere."

Brandon shrugged. "Just some private discussion. Nothing to worry about. What have you guys been talking about?"

"Just more mystery Christa," Arie said. "We couldn't figure out anything."

"Yeah," I said. "I have no idea why she'd choose someone like you over someone like me."

"Oh, fuck a pig with a stuck," Sajel said, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Zach, shut up. Just shut up."

"Naw, what are you talkin about," I said. "Shut up aboutwhat?"

"All your stupid posturing, all your little— Fuck. Forget it." Sajel turned away, shaking her head, heading up towards the far side of the overhang, where Brandon and Meredith had been just a moment ago.

"See," I said. "People like you don't appreciate me. They don't understand my talent."

"No fucking kidding!" she yelled over her shoulder, not turning.

I sensed that I might have irritated Sajel just a little bit. Normally she appreciates me. But that's my problem nowadays, just totally underappreciated.

"Nobody does," I said. "You know how many people stopped me today for a feel? Nobody. You know how many people accepted when I volunteered to get them off? Nobody. I just can't understand it. It's like I'm some sort of... Weird screwed-up guy or something. I'm normal. It's all these other people who aren't normal. But everyone just sort of, I dunno, turns their back on me, because of some..."

Sajel turned and rushed back and yelled into my face, "Maybe it's because you don't shut up!"

Words left me. I stared. Around me was silence—half the school must have heard Sajel yell. They all stared too. Somewhere behind me, Brandon was saying, "Program business. Nothing to see here, folks, move along..."

"Zach," Sajel gritted. Her eyes were inches from mine. "Do you have any idea how annoying it is the way you act?"

"No," I said honestly.

"Yes, well that's very obvious," Sajel said. "I'll give you a hint, Mister Zachary Crane. A lot of people don't understand you. Your sense of humor is really out there sometimes, and so's your sense of fair play. You even weird us out sometimes."

"Yeah," Meredith inserted, and Arie said, "Yup."

"And we," Sajel continued, "are a pretty liberal, open-minded bunch. You wanna know why we don't see Tim around so much anymore? He made me promise never to tell you. Too bad for him. He finds you way too loud most of the time. You just turn people off, Zach, do you understand that?"

I tried to say something in response, but all I managed was a sort of a squeak.

"So. If you manage to turn us off sometimes," Sajel said. "Imagine a somewhat conservative, straight-laced, narrow-minded person like Christa. Imagine how she feels when you take her promise and turn it into your own personal plaything. Imagine how it seems to her.

"You're off the wall a lot, Zach. We've known you long enough to know you mean no harm, but everyone else... Well, they haven't got a clue. So Christa sees you doing this thing and she figures she'd better stay away. And people try to Rule Three you and you respond in your off-the-wall look-at-me manner, and they get turned off. And they better stay away.

"You know you're doing it. I've seen you stop. Well, you gotta stop a lot more, buddy. Because people are getting scared."

With that she pushed me away and stood back.

I sort of stared at the floor.

"Wow, Sajel," Brandon was saying. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"It's all Zach's fault," Sajel said, in a voice that would normally be joking. "He brings out the worst in me."

I stared at the floor some more.

A lot of things were falling into place.

What if it all backfired? What if everything I had ever tried to do... What if it all backfired?

Someone had to come and shake me when the bell rang.

T .2

Well, I'd say Tuesday is off to a pretty good start. Because the first thing that happened was that Mark Spencer stopped me halfway between Geometry and English with a Rule Three. He wanted to touch. And he wanted to touch me down there. And he's really good at it.

Hi, I'm Christa Sternbacher, and I'm on cloud nine.

English itself was kind of a mess, though. Stupid Brandon. Why does he have to be so loyal? Well. Not that loyalty is a bad thing... Just that he should be loyal to me! I mean, come on—what have I got to offer that Meredith doesn't? I have bigger boobs, I'm cuter than she is, I don't have that enormous chin like she does... I'll show him, I thought to myself. I'll show him.

(If I had caught myself thinking this at any other time, I would've probably hit myself. Snap out of it, you psycho! Stealing boyfriends is not what nice girls do! But there was something wrong with me. Arie was the one who explained it, because her parents used to do the same: I had reached the point, she said, where I could justify things as being 'for the greater good.' If you're honest with yourself and you say, 'I want Brandon because I'm lonely and insecure and, even in the few moments I've seen him and Meredith together, I've gotten jealous of what they have, ' you can't justify it. But if you say, 'It's for Brandon's own good, ' then, it all seems so much more palatable. Right?)

But even if Brandon was being recalcitrant—well, that was okay. Because there was still Mark Spencer around.

"He did what?!" said Deborah, gaping and staring.

"And you let him?" Megan said.

"Well," I said. "Under Rule Three..."

"It's reasonable request," Debbie hissed. "You don't have to let him do anything."

"So, I wanted to," I said. "And girls, I have to say, that boy has the most talented hands."

That shut them up. Debbie and Meggie stared at me, their faces identical in astonishment.

"So he... So he," said Megan. "Touched you. Down there?"

"Uh-huh," I said.

Megan's and Debbie's eyes widened as one, and I felt like a deity unclothed before them.

"Now try and tell me The Program is a bad idea," I said, grinning.

"We-ell..." said Megan, clearly reluctant.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," Debbie said.

Okay, now here comes that out of the blue. Sometimes I'm not at all sure what these two are thinking. "Why's that?" I asked.

Debbie held her ground. "Well, I mean, it's all well and good if you're doing that with your boyfriend or whatever," she said. "But you're not. Christa, he hasn't asked you out or anything. You haven't asked him. I mean, honestly, you barely know him."

I scowled. "What are you, my mother?" Because really, the two of them were starting to sound very much alike.

Now Debbie took a step back. "No," she said. "I'm your friend. Chrissy, I want a boyfriend as much as you do. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let some random guy stick his hand down my pants."

I felt guilty—and angry, at being made to feel guilty. "I'm not wearing pants."

Debbie's eyes narrowed. "You know what I mean."

Glib and angry, I said, "No, I'm not sure I do. I mean, it's one thing for a guy to stick his hand down your pants. But it's completely another if you're naked. There's no down about it."

Debbie glared at me, her face pale with anger, and then turned away.

Walking to Comparative World Religions after the bell had rung, I thought about the argument. I felt guilty about having been so blase—No I didn't, she'd gotten what she deserved. Yes she had. End of story. But Debbie was right—it was one thing to fool around with a boyfriend, but quite another to be played with by a random stranger. So, there was only one solution.

"Zach," I said, "how do you ask someone out?"

At first it didn't seem to register; he seemed to be in his own little world. Then something connection sparked in his head and he jerked up. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Zach," I repeated, with just a hint of sarcasm. "How do you ask someone out?"

"Why are you asking me?" he said.

"Because," I said patiently. "You're very confident. You're so confident that you can say and do outrageous things and nobody has the guts to tell you to stop. If anyone would know how to ask someone out, it'd be you."

Something changed in his eyes, something I couldn't understand, and he said, "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose that'd be me."