Thursday

Th .1

As could probably be expected, my mom was waiting for me when I came down to breakfast. What was surprising was my father—he was there too. He has pretty bad commutes, so normally he's gone by now.

"Christa," they said. "Good morning."

"Hi Mom, hi Dad," I said.

"We'd like to speak to you," Mom said.

I shrugged, reaching for the cereal. "I'm here."

They sat down across from me, composing themselves. Finally my mother spoke. "Young lady, what time did you get home last night?"

"That's how you're going to start? That's..." I couldn't help myself—I started laughing. Oh my God! Of all the things they could've picked, they start with... ! "Mark magically changes into Zach and you don't bat an eyelash, but I get home an hour and a half late and you—!"

"It seemed as good a place to start as any," my father said. "We wondered about that other, too, but I imagine they're related."

"Heehee. That's a... that's a good point." I wiped at my eyes. "Okay. I'm calm. It's not that funny."

All right. What time did I get home last night? Why did I get home that late? Well...

"Okay," I said. "Mom, you remember we talked about what my friends said to me, about not clinging to my dreams."

"I don't," my father said immediately.

"They told her not to let her fantasies blind her to reality," my mother supplied.

My father nodded. "Wise words. Life is hard enough sometimes without lying to ourselves."

"Well... I didn't remember their advice," I said.

There was a bit of a silence.

"Which means," my father finally prompted.

"I didn't see who he really was because I was too focused on who I thought he was," I said.

"Who?" my mother asked. "Which 'he'?"

At first I was about to answer, Mark, of course, because, I mean, who else? But then it occurred to me just how much my mental picture of Zach had changed over the last few days. How much of him I knew now, that I hadn't before.

"... Well... Both, actually," I said. "Neither of them were who I thought they were."

"Christa," my father said, gently chiding. "Haven't we always told you not to judge a book by its cover?"

I shrugged helplessly. "Some covers are really convincing."

"That's true," my father said.

"So, what did you find when you opened the book," my mother said.

I sighed. "Not what I expected."

"In more detail than that," my father said.

"Well..." I thought about it. "Well, I think the real question is, what did I see that I didn't ignore."

"And what did you see," my father said.

"Not much," I said. "I just... Only saw what I wanted to."

My parents were silent.

"Like... I mean, the biggest warning was probably when Mark refused to take me home. We got to The Lighthouse at about nine-thirty and if I wanted to be home by ten, it meant we had to leave really soon. And I told him that. And he said, you know, 'Sure, that's fine, just let me talk to my friends for a minute.' And before I realized it that minute had turned into an hour, and we were still there. I should've called home for a ride. I should've called home."

"Well, next time you'll remember to," my mother said.

"And how does Zach fit into this?" my father asked.

"Well, the thing about The Lighthouse is, evidently, that's where the basketball team goes. At about ten, ten-fifteen the whole team poured in. And Zach and a couple of his friends came up and talked to Mark and his friends for a while. Then we went home."

"But not directly," my father said, doing the math in his head, "unless you didn't leave The Lighthouse until about eleven-ten."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah." I blew out breath in a huff. This was going to be the hard part. How, exactly, does a girl explain this to her parents? To anyone?

"Does it have anything to do with you being naked when you came home," my mother asked, unknowingly hitting the nail directly on the head.

I sighed again.

Okay.

"Mark... I don't know the whole story, but the whole night, he was very interested in my clothing. Most specifically, about how it remained on my body. He managed to get me to go into The Lighthouse naked—I don't know how he did it."

"Did he, ah, promise rewards of a certain nature," my mother asked.

"No, actually, he didn't touch me all night," I said, my brow furrowing. "Even when I was naked. I wonder why."

"Did you touch him," my father said.

"No." I shook my head. "Hardly. He was always so... So distant, so standoffish. He didn't smile once. I just assumed he wanted the distance."

"Or you did, without realizing it," my father said.

"Maybe," I said. My dad's a big believer in Freud's theory of the subconscious. I'm not so sure about it. If all my mistakes are intentional, then my subconscious must hate me.

"So, he took you out into the parking lot," my mother prompted.

"... And, he... Wanted more," I said.

My parents blinked at me.

"More... More what," my father asked.

"More... I don't know," I said. "Something physical, presumably, because he doesn't strike me as the emotional type anymore... Honestly, he didn't say. But it was clear he didn't intend to take me home, not until he'd gotten whatever he wanted—he wouldn't even unlock his car. And, I... Wasn't interested."

My parents said nothing.

"I was wearing my whistle," I said, "and—"

"Whistle?" my father said.

"Oh." I guess he hadn't heard. "On Monday Dr. Zelvetti gave us all whistles. Everyone who's in The Program. She said there's a new policy on campus that no one can use whistles, because the ones she gave us are in case of trouble. If something goes wrong, we blow. And if anyone ever hears a whistle blow, it means trouble."

"And you were wearing yours," my mother said.

"Incredible foresight," my father said. I could tell he was thinking about the subconscious again.

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I just... Thought it would be a good idea. I mean, I'd be in public on school grounds, I might as well wear it, just to look, you know, safety-conscious or whatever."

My parents nodded. That's a creepy thought—I mean, what if your unconscious is also responsible for all your successes? More to the point, what if you aren't? We're just puppets of the rest of our brains, right? That's not a fun thought.

"I blew the whistle," I said. "And Mark... Well, he was coming towards me, and he was reaching for the whistle like he was gonna take it away from me. So I slapped him."

I noticed the slight traces of smile, quickly hidden, that flickered across my parents's faces.

"And then I guess Zach heard, because next thing you know... There he was." I shrugged. "Him and Derek and that other kid. I don't know his name. Gabriel? Anyway, they definitely outnumbered Mark Spencer, so he went home."

"And they let him," my mother said, incredulous.

"Well, he hadn't actually laid hands on me," I said. "And I guess Zach didn't want any trouble. The only person who actually got injured was Mark himself, when I slapped him."

My parents nodded.

"And after that..."

And after that, I found out that my dreams can be both perfectly right and perfectly wrong, all at the same time.

"After that, Zach helped me put myself back together, and he drove me home."

"Why were you naked?" my mother asked.

"Oh. Because my clothes were in Mark's car and he didn't give them back."

This time my father wasn't able to squelch his smile. "All that worrying," he said to Mom, "and it's all because of a locked door."

"Nobody did anything to you?" my mother asked.

"Nobody did anything to me," I confirmed. "Everything that happened to me last night, I did to myself."

"Including your timely rescue by Zach," my father asked.

Well, considering how he has a crush on me... But I wasn't exactly going to reveal that at the moment. "Well, okay, that wasn't me, but it wasn't exactly to me either. He would've done that for anybody, I think."

My father shrugged. It was hardly a critical distinction to begin with.

"So, that's the whole story?" my mother said.

"That's... The whole story," I said.

"Hell of a first date," my father said.

"It could've gone worse," I said.

"It could've gone better," my mother said.

"Mom, I can't go through life expecting perfection," I said. "There'll be other dates. I'm just glad I got through okay."

"Yes, under the circumstances, that's probably worth celebrating," my father said.

"All right, well," said my mother, standing up. "I'm glad we had this talk."

She walked around the table and drew me up for a hug, and suddenly I saw the tears in her eyes.

"And I'm glad you're safe," she whispered.

I hugged her back as hard as I could.

Th .2

That morning, I had only two concerns on my mind: Derek, and Christa. And with that in mind, I was kinda glad nobody pays me any attention when I do the strip-down thing up at the front at the school. I was out of my clothes and on the trail in about a minute flat.

It was Derek I found first, talking with Brandon at the usual spot. They were the only ones there. "Hail the king of the hoop," Brandon said as I walked up.

"Hi, guys," I said. "I heard something went down at your house," to Brandon, "last night after the game."

Brandon shrugged. "The usual." I could tell he was a little uncomfortable.

"So, what happened," I asked.

"We were just about to ask you that," Brandon said. "We had to leave your crisis-in-brewing to go fix Arie's, and Derek tells me a lot happened to you last

night."

"No, you first," I said.

Brandon looked at me for a moment, his head tilted to one side, expressionless.

"Well... Arie just hit a bad spot," he said. "Bad mood, razor blades, the works. We ran home and kept her from doing anything to herself."

"Took until about 2 AM," Derek said. "Long night."

"But worth it," Brandon said.

"Yes, definitely," Derek said.

Brandon smiled. "You know, I'm used to doing these sorts of things over the Internet. It's a whole lot different when the person's actually there in the room with you. But you keep thinking, Hey, I've heard that before. I've said that before. I was on the computer, but I said it before. It's really kinda weird."

I shrugged. Search me. These Save-Arie-fests are always a little over my head.

"Now," Derek said, like a cat pouncing. "Your turn. Spill."

I blinked at them. Really, what was there to say? I'd gone over the night's events with my mother already, and come to the conclusion that it was... Inconclusive. What had happened? Nothing, basically, after Mark Spencer had hightailed it out of there.

"Well... We caught up with Christa and Mark at The Lighthouse," I said. "Christa was still naked."

"Seriously?" Brandon asked. "I'd think she'd've gotten her clothes on as soon as possible."

"Yeah, it kinda made us wonder," I said. "I mean, why's she—"

"Why's she what," Sajel asked, crashing through the conversation.

"Naked," I said. "See, after you guys left the basketball game, we didn't get out to The Lighthouse until about ten-thirty or so. And Mark and Christa were there—"

"Mark and Christa were where," Meredith asked, crashing through the conversation and sliding in under Brandon's arm.

"Oh, for cryin out loud!" I said. "Where's Arie?"

"I dunno," Meredith said, a picture of confused innocence.

"Well, I'm not explaining a damn thing until she gets here," I said, crossing my arms across my chest. "Christ. Have to start over every time someone shows up. This is getting ridiculous."

So we all sort of stood there, me fuming impatiently, the rest of them sort of glancing around looking confused, for about a minute, until Arie showed up. "Hi guys. Uh. What's going on."

"Okay," I said. "You're here? You're here."

"Zach was just explaining what happened to him last night," Meredith explained, like a mother to a small child. "But he wanted his entire audience, not just some of it."

"Well, I'm here," Arie said, catching the mood and leaning back against Derek. "Talk."

Okay. Well.

"Okay. Team. Lighthouse. Ten-fifteen. Everybody following me so far?"

Nods.

"Okay. Christa. Mark. There. Christa no clothes on. Everybody following me so far?"

"We got you, Tarzan," Brandon said, totally deadpan.

"Okay. Zach angry. Zach smash! No, not actually. Zach talk to Mark's college friends."

"And Derek," that worthy inserted helpfully. "Derek talked too."

"And Derek. And Gavin," I said. "Christa goes to bathroom. Mark gives impression that the only reason he's interested in her is because she's naked, and therefore she must be the type that puts out."

I think it's a measure of how much we've seen, my friends and I, over the course of this year, that no one even batted an eyelash at this news. Mark had been stringing Christa along for the most mercenary of purposes, and none of them were surprised. Arie was the only one who even reacted: by wrinkling up her face and saying, "Eew."

"The good news was, after Christa got back from the bathroom, she demanded they go home. It was pretty late by that point. The bad news was, I couldn't think of an excuse to follow them."

"Gavin provided that," Derek said.

"So we got out there, and they were parked around the back, so we couldn't see them," I continued. "But we could hear them."

"What'd you hear," Arie asked.

In answer I held up my whistle. Like Christa, I hadn't ever thought I'd need it—that anyone would need it. But as I'd gotten dressed this morning, I'd realized it wasn't near to hand—and it had stopped being a question. I must wear the whistle. That was simple fact. It was common sense; Mark might try something, and it'd be foolish to go around without my forearms since I was already forewarned. (Not to mention people would give me weird looks, walking around with arms ending at the elbow.) But even more than that, it would be disrespectful to Christa, in a way I couldn't explain.

"She had hers?" Sajel asked, dragging me back to the present.

I nodded. "She's a smart girl."

"That she is," Meredith agreed.

"So you and Derek and Gavin came charging around the corner like snorting bulls," Sajel extrapolated.

"Gored Mark Spencer on your raging horns," Arie said. Derek cringed. Arie looked up at him. "What?"

"Guys, where do you think the term 'horny' came from? It's because a certain... Appendage... Looks like a horn."

He faced a wall of blank stares.

"So, uhm," said Derek. "I'd thank you not to mention my horn and Mark Spencer in the same sentence ever again. I don't think I could ever decontaminate it."

"Hell, I'm not sure I'm gonna let him horn me for a while," Arie said, totally blank-faced. Derek stared, crestfallen.

"Until it's properly cleaned," Meredith said. "What's the word. Sanctified."

"Yes," Brandon deadpanned. "By great amounts of worship." One eyebrow twitched. "Oral worship."

Derek's face brightened significantly.

"Guys, can we not be putting words in my mouth, please," Arie said with a panicked attempt at wounded dignity.

"Yeah, leave room for Derek's horn," Sajel quipped. "Since it has to—"

"Sooo, Zach," Arie said, totally red-faced. "Now that we know that Mark Spencee was nowhere near your raging horn. What actually did happen?" Behind her, Sajel doubled over laughing and Meredith wiped at her eyes. Brandon was grinning like an idiot. Next to me, Derek looked inordinately pleased with himself.

"Well, there was three of us and one of him," I said. "Four, counting Christa. He backed down. We got Christa home—"

" 'We'?" Derek said incredulously. "You sent us away and dealt with her yourself!"

My friends looked at me, wide-eyed, expectant grins on their faces.

I sighed. Now everyone's gonna think the wrong thing. "Look. First of all, you could've stayed if you wanted. You know that. Second of all, it was because she was shaken up. I didn't think it'd be a good idea to have a lot of people standing around—"

"You just wanted some privacy so you could put the moves on her!" Derek retorted, grinning.

That wasn't true in the slightest—but since I basically had ended up doing that, there was no way I'd be able to prove it. Christ. What's the point of being a good person when everyone thinks you're just in it for your own good?

"Now hold on a minute," Brandon said. "Zach may be insensitive at times, but not that insensitive."

Whoa. Wait a second. Brandon? Defending me?

"Zach, what did Mark do to Christa?" Brandon asked.

"Honestly, I'm... Not sure. She said she wasn't hurt, just that she felt threatened. He was asking for things she wasn't prepared to give. And so she blew the whistle on him."

"Smart girl," Sajel said.

"She was really shaken," I said. "I don't know if people normally feel that bad if they were just threatened, but I don't think so, so I think there might have been more to it. I just don't know what."

"I'd been expecting him to treat me like a princess," someone said behind me.

I turned. Christa. Her hair curled in its oxbow bend; her greenish eyes were clear. The whistle was around her neck, her mustard-colored backpack on her back. Those and her flipflops were the only things she wore.

"Annnnnd..." She sighed. "He didn't."

"Well, not everybody's that sensitive," Arie said blankly. You're quite right, Arie, not everybody is. You aren't.

"Yes, but... I thought they were," Christa said, her face bleak. "That was my rude awakening, last night. I believed that... People would be generally nice to each other. That they'd respect each other, and be nice to each other, and not just... Blindly take advantage of each other. I mean, sure, there were always some unscrupulous people, but... They were few and rare. The vast majority of people were... Nice.

"That was what I believed."

Her eyes were distant, seeing something other than what was in front of her.

"I believed it very strongly."

"And so, to have Mark..." Meredith prompted.

"It took everything out from under me," Christa said. "It was like everything around me was new and unfamiliar, and it was all... Ugly."

"And then Zach," Sajel said quietly. "Bringing something nice back in."

"With his horn," Arie said.

The mood was broken. Sajel and Arie giggled. "Your horn," Christa asked me, confused.

"Uh... Believe me, you... You don't want to know." On my other side Derek rocked back and forth on his heels, stifling laughter with the heel of his hand.

"Uh," said Christa, skeptical. "Okay."

"You guys..." Meredith said, her eyes a million miles away from laughter. "That's sort of an important thing. You should tell Dr. Zelvetti about it."

"Do you really think so," Christa said.

"Yes," Meredith said. "At the very least she'll be interested to know that the whistles worked. And besides, Mark might try something. You need to tell her immediately."

Christa and I glanced at each other. And nodded.

"Wait, wait," Arie shouted. "Christa, we're not done yet!"

"Only if it's quick," Christa said. "Class is gonna start soon."

"Did Zach make any moves on you?" Arie said.

My stomach heaved in panic. Oh, Christ, it was all gonna come out. The story. And the contents of my stomach. But Christa said, "No, he didn't. There was nothing inappropriate. He was a perfect gentleman throughout." Her eyes turned to me; a calm smile spread across her face. "As perfect a rescuer as could be hoped for."

"Humph," said Arie, frustrated, and we went to Dr. Zelvetti's office.

When we were safely away from them, I asked her. I didn't want to, but I had to. "I'm not sure you quite got your facts straight."

"Hmm?" Christa said.

"About me being a perfect gentleman," I said.

"Nonsense," Christa said, "that's what you were."

Gulp. Was she going to make me say it aloud? "Well, what about the kiss, then? That's gotta count as inappropriate."

Christa stopped and turned to me. "Inappropriate," she said. Her eyes bored into me.

Gulp. "Um. Yeah, probably," I said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, because... I mean, you're not supposed to do that to girls who are in emotional distress or anything." That's kinda mean. Taking advantage of someone's vulnerability like that.

Christa considered that for a moment, her eyes looking through my head.

"All right, so maybe it was a little inappropriate," she said. "I won't tell if you don't."

"What!"

She gave me a quirky smile. "Which word did you not understand, Zach?"

"Uhm, something about the 'won't tell' part," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Zach, are you being deliberately dense? Come on." She grabbed my hand and led me to Dr. Zelvetti's office. And... That was that. Except for the part about how she didn't let my hand go until we were right outside the office, petitioning for an audience.

"Well," Dr. Zelvetti said. "What can I do for you?"

Christa took a deep breath. "Mark Spencer tried to assault me last night."

Dr. Zelvetti didn't move, but the light in her eyes turned dangerous.

We spilled out the whole story, overlapping each other, running over each other, and yet managing to make it all make sense. Christa's motivation for entering The Program. The asking-out on Tuesday, the confusion, the conversations back and forth, the dreams clung to and shattered. The bell for first period rang and we ignored it. The date, the game, the conversations at The Lighthouse. The confrontation in the parking lot, with all the ambiguities. The only thing we left out, collectively and by silent agreement, was the kiss at the end. "I won't tell if you don't," she'd said, and her word was good. It was just as well; I still didn't quite know what she thought of it. The kiss, I mean.

When we were done, Dr. Zelvetti directed us to the little waiting room adjoining her office and asked us to, appropriately, wait. "It's time to get the other end of the story," she said. She must have sent a runner, instead of using the PA system, because we heard no widespread announcement; only the tapping of footsteps, the opening of Dr. Zelvetti's door, the murmured "Ah, Mr. Spencer, come in please." And then the slamming shut, and that was that.

Christa and I glanced at each other. I didn't think we'd get in trouble (and neither did she), but... Sometimes, you never know. There was that slap she'd given Mark, which, under certain lights, could be interpreted as an unprovoked attack. Of course, we'd told Dr. Zelvetti about that. I had been going to leave it out, but Christa reported it, and instantly I realized she was right. It was, to use Mr. Trineer's phrase, the flaw that makes the masterpiece. If we'd tried to pass ourselves off as perfect, it wouldn't have been believable. Admitting our mistakes made us seem truthful—because we were.

The interview with Mark took close to half an hour. Dr. Zelvetti's waiting room was equipped with magazines, but not many of them—mostly education stuff. Christa, always prepared, pulled out a textbook and read from it, curled up in her chair, evidently totally unconcerned about the fact that, from the right angle, I could see her pussy lips. I tried not to look. That would be inappropriate.

She caught me shaking my head, smiling—So calm, just studying for class! was what was going through my head at the time—and, completely inexplicably, she got up and kissed me on the cheek. And then went right back to her book, smiling serenely, while I stared in wonder.

Finally Dr. Zelvetti came for us. I did a double take—at some point between now and when we'd left her office, she'd misplaced her clothes. (Out-reach! Out-reach!) I realized that this had probably been to put Mark off-balance—I mean, it's one thing to be around a pretty young girl with no clothes on, but quite another to be confronted with this sixty-year-old mountainous mother figure with liver spots and graying hair. It was also, I realized, a way of showing her solidarity, of saying, 'Yes, I too am of The Program, and when you mess with one of my participants, you mess with me.' With this in mind, her verdict was predictable.

"He's been suspended," was all she said, but it was a sigh of great relief for me. To be immediately swallowed. "Watch out for his friends. He's shown a tendency to violence, and they may as well. Keep your whistles on you at all times. Try not to be alone in an exposed place."

"You don't really think they'll..." said Christa, fear evident in her eyes.

"No," Dr. Zelvetti said. "But it pays to be safe. You brought your whistle even though you might not need it, Christa. I'd've thought you'd understand that."

"No, I do," Christa said. "It's just that... I'd hoped the danger would be over."

Dr. Zelvetti's face softened. "So do I, child."

Feeling the hot whips of panic: "Do you need to talk to Derek or Gavin?"

"I don't believe so," Dr. Zelvetti said. "I don't doubt their accounts would be similar to yours, and between you two and Mark, I probably have all the salient details. I will call them if I need them, though, Mr. Crane, don't be alarmed."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered. "What if someone comes at me with a baseball bat?"

But we already had the answers to that: stay in a populated location, where they won't try it; have friends near you at all times. This was Stay away from the badlands times about three. It was slightly alarming—just slightly—to think someone might be gunning for me.

Or Christa.

I looked at her, sitting there, her feet up on the seat (again; this time Dr. Zelvetti's desk prevented any peeking), her arms curled around her legs and her chin between her knees, looking stunned and frightened and worried... And suddenly my feelings were clear. Yeah, they might have something against me. (Or Derek or Gavin too—Christ, got to remember to warn them!) But Christa was in the same place I was—stunned and frightened and worried. And for her sake, I needed to be strong—to get her out of that place, so that she could face whatever storm was coming.

"Is everything going to be all right," Dr. Zelvetti asked.

Christa opened her mouth to answer, but words tumbled from my mouth without thought. "Yeah. Yeah, it's all good. Well. Okay, maybe not all good, but we can handle it."

Christa's gaze was silent. Then she turned to Dr. Zelvetti and nodded, slowly at first but gaining confidence with every moment.

Second period had started about ten minutes ago; Dr. Zelvetti wrote us a note that would get us into Mr. Cavanaugh's class without penalty; she slipped a similar notice into Ms. Sheldy's box to excuse us from 1st-period Geometry. Halfway there, though, I stopped and turned to Christa. "Okay, look, I have to ask you."

"What," she said.

"Are you... Okay. So, what about that kiss? I'm so confused right now." Which is an understatement. I haven't been thinking about it actively because my brain would be rattling so badly it'd have broken loose of my skull by now. "I mean, you know I'm attracted to you—okay, that's not the truth, I'm crazy about you. If you've been kissing me just to be affectionate, well, thank you, I appreciate it, but please, stop, you're going to drive me insane."

I took a deep breath. God, what a long speech.

Christa looked at me, quizzical, her head tilted to one side.

"Okay," she said.

Then she kissed me.

Ugh.

I forced a smile. "Okay, you hear this noise? Kre-chack. That's my insanity-meter creeping another notch towards the red."

Christa gave me the sort of patient smile one gives to a deliberately obtuse child. "Zach," she said. "I'm not teasing you. You said not to kiss you if I'm just being friendly, so I'm not. What's the other reason people generally kiss each other?"

"... Oh," I said, feeling stupid.

She smiled up at me. "You're sweet," she said. "Now, come on. We have to get to class."

This time I didn't feel nervous about being led around by the hand.

I like this, I thought. I think I really like this.

Th .3

After History class (3rd period) Meredith and Sajel grabbed me. And I mean literally grabbed me, to the point where, if they hadn't been friends, I might've gone for my whistle again. As it was, they attracted Jane's attention.

"What'd she say?" they asked.

"Who, what did who say?" I asked, confused.

"Dr. Zelvetti, dumbass," Sajel said. "Who else, President Rodham?"

"She said not to be alone," I said.