Mia Moore

Chapter Fourteen Wendy's eyes went wide and panic filled her chest. That couldn't be right. Her Mistress had misspoken, hadn't she? Wendy pleaded with her eyes, unable to say a single thing, unable to ask a clarifying question, but Mistress Miff walked away without another word. She went over to the wall and pressed a different button. Then the contraption above Wendy whirred into action, tugging the elastic cords. Rhythmically, the cords were given slack and tightened again, bouncing Wendy up and down like a baby in a bouncer. The first tug upwards was disconcerting; like a rollercoaster click-click-clicking up a wooden incline. Up. And down. The second was discomforting, and the way the cords pulled and jostled her meant that the rhythm wasn't even predictable; she couldn't anticipate it. In another context, with oodles of praise marinating in her brain, the bouncer might have been the most wonderful place in the entire world. Today, it was Wendy's own private hell. Each jostle up was firm and each drop down was sharp. Wendy's stomach twisted and spasmed and she whimpered behind her pacifier. She shook her head in denial. When the bouncer pulled up, it pulled roughly against her diapers, along the seat of her padded bottom and against the thickness between her thighs. When the bouncer dropped down, it shocked all her muscles, reverberating through her bones like the vibrations of a xylophone. Wendy never stood a chance. Within only a minute or two, the bouncing tore through her, mind and body alike. She failed to hold her enema in, and she failed to make her Mistress proud. She failed to keep her diapers clean, and she failed at the most basic of instructions. Like a broken dam, the water rushed from inside her tummy, just as it poured from her eyes. It wasn't a gentle, familiar push that filled her diaper, but a torrent, a flood, and endless deluge that soaked through one diaper, and then the next. It showed so clearly inside of her clear plastic panties that the only modicum of modesty she had left was provided by the baby bouncer itself. The bouncer continued to pull her up and drop her down, smooshing her over and over into her full, soggy, stinky diapers. Each upward moment was unbearable dread, and each drop was an agonizing reminder: she had failed. She never deserved to get praise again. She was an ungrateful, useless, helpless, dumb little baby girl. Her head was more of a mess than her diaper. The bouncer never stopped. It dropped her down onto her toes and pulled her up again. It became automatic for Wendy to move along with it, pushing ever so slightly with her legs and catching herself ever so slightly on her feet. The squish of the messy diaper added to the rhythm. Tug. Squish. Fall. Squish. The air around Wendy was stinky and thick and she couldn't catch her breath. Tears spilled down her cheeks in endless rivulets, dripping onto the guard of her pacifier. She could taste salt on the bulb. She sucked it for comfort, but it gave her none. Panic rose inside her with every tug of the cords, every squish of her diaper. Panic spread with every ounce of slack, every plop into her soggy padding. She grabbed onto the cords with her hands as tight as she could, trying to make it stop. Not the shame or the humiliation; she had earned those. Not the bouncer's rhythmic motion, because it may have been the only calming part about the whole experience. But she wanted to stop being herself. She wanted to stop being disobedient. She wanted to stop being the worst little girl in the world. Wendy had no concept of time in that bouncer. The two adults on the mats had gone back to sleep, and it felt like the sun could come up at any minute. There were no windows in the daycare - the sun could have already been up! A woman in a blue smock changed the diapers of both students on the floor without even waking them up, and Wendy stared on longingly. She would have given anything for a diaper change. It could have been one hour or five when Mistress Miff returned. She took one look at the dangling girl in the bouncer, unable to even hold her own weight up anymore, and sighed. "You truly are a disappointment, Wendy." Wendy didn't feel any worse from her statement. There was no hope of feeling worse. Wendy wanted to die. She wanted to wrap the cord of the bouncer around her neck and leave the world a better place. But she couldn't do that either. She was so incapable. Then, unexpectedly, Wendy was offered a glimmer of hope. "Though I suppose," the woman sighed, "you aren't a lost cause. You just need to work harder." Wendy didn't even know how to respond, because Wendy didn't even feel like she could be Wendy anymore. If she was her, she could be disobedient, she could do the wrong thing. The dolls on the floor, the toys the others played with? They could do no wrong. Wendy, too, wanted to do no more. She'd be a doll, she'd be a toy, she'd be anything Mistress tasked her to be - it was no longer her choice. She was broken, compliant, helpless, and empty. One faraway part of herself begged for Mistress to fill her with purpose. So she nodded her head exhaustedly. Mistress Miff turned off the bouncer with a button on the wall, but she didn't let Wendy down. She went back to the girl, plucked the pacifier from between her lips, and tilted her head by the chin. She leaned in, softly, gently, and kissed Wendy once on the lips. It felt so foreign to Wendy. Not just kissing another girl, but kissing in general. She could barely remember the last person she kissed: maybe her boyfriend? How long ago was that? Months, at least. The strange, simple act seemed to breathe new life into Wendy. Purpose? "You'll make me proud," the Mistress said, "because you don't have a choice." Wendy nodded. That was the closest thing to praise she would get from that woman, and she was willing to hold onto it tighter than anything else in the whole world. Hours later, after getting cleaned up, after dressing in a fresh diaper, after more lashes on her thighs than she could count, Wendy was dressed to leave. She never said another word after her pacifier was removed, because she was never given explicit permission, not even when she was caned. She was a new girl now, a better girl. A good girl. Wendy would never do anything wrong ever again. When Wendy stepped out of the daycare, the sun was just starting to assert itself against the night sky. Everything was a hue of unsaturated blue, preparing for the coming day. Classes would start in only a few hours, and Wendy was so tired. On her way back from the daycare, she stopped at the music room. It was on the way. But a moment later, she shook her head and walked onward. No, she was a new girl. A better girl. A good girl. On her way back to the dorm rooms, Wendy glanced at the wall of stickers. She wasn't in the lead; she was nowhere near it. But she needed to work harder if she wanted to come close. Then Wendy remembered the sticker in her pocket, the one she was going to give to the Ghost. She hurried over to the sticker board and reached into the pocket of her pajamas. She pulled out the sticker, but it didn't look right. There was no red color. Wendy stepped back into the courtyard, under the light of the dimming moon, and looked at the scrap of paper. It was one of the sticker wax papers, the kind that aren't sticky so you can peel the sticker off. Actually, it was the same wax paper from her red sticker, but the red sticker was nowhere to be seen. Wendy flipped the paper over, to the side that wasn't wax, and found two words written in black ink. 'Thank you'

Oh my gosh, thank you!! I'm so happy you're liking it!! I did take the bit of advice about switching up perspectives a bit. I'm considering doing that again in a future story too. ? As for Ai's name: yep, it was an intentional thing! All the protagonists so far are non-white and their names were carefully chosen. Since Ai was my first, I have a big attachment to her. That's probably one of the reasons I named her that, but there's another reason too. Funny that you mention the names! I'm pretty sure Lyra is named after that Lyra, tho I didn't know she wrote a story?? I needed a lot of random side character names and I got sort of Lost In The Sauce trying to come up with them. ? (I take name choices way too seriously.) So my editor got a ton of names from her Patreon and I use them when I need a new character name. Mr. Silver is someone else tho I think. I didn't know that was Lyra's last name. ? As for my finals, they went well. I always get way too stressed out about tests. ? Hope your holidays go well. I wanna get another chapter up soon... it's just a matter of getting in the mood. ~Mia Moore~

Chapter Thirteen "Come," Mistress Miff said again, snapping her fingers. Wendy quickly stepped up to the changing table and looked pleadingly up into her Mistress's eyes. "Bend over," was her next command, and Wendy did just that. She put her hands on the edge of the changing table and laid herself over the side, so that her feet were still touching the ground and her butt was sticking out. She felt the shimmy of her pajama pants down her legs and heard the ripping sound of diaper tapes. Cold air rushed between her legs as the diaper was removed. Wendy turned her head toward the center of the room, looking out at two other adults lying on the floor with pacifiers in their mouths. One was watching. Wendy was filled with a mix of emotions: shame, as someone witnessed her naughtiness, and pride, as someone witnessed her commitment to making it right. Wendy sucked harder on the soap for comfort. Mistress Miff slowly slicked up the end of a long nozzle with a shiny jelly, and then, with one hand, she pulled Wendy's ass cheeks apart and began to press the protrusion up and inside her behind. There was no ceremony to it. No work-up. Wendy winced and exhaled sharply, spilling bubbles all over the top of the changing table. Her eyes glossed over with tears and she closed them as tight as she could. The nozzle slid deep into her, deeper than she remembered from last time, until it settled somewhere that was uncomfortable in the most obvious way. She couldn't think of anything else, just that tube deep in her bottom. Wendy heard the pop of a cap, like a soda bottle without the hiss. Then she heard the glugging of a liquid as it poured. She wasn't watching Mistress Miff, but Wendy knew that if she turned her head she would see her pouring that whole jug of liquid into that rubber bag hanging from a hook above the changing table. And all that liquid would soon be inside of her. All the while, the boy on the floor watched. Wendy so badly wanted him to pluck the pacifier from his mouth and to call her a good girl. It wouldn't have meant as much as a staff member saying it, but she was so desperate. Mistress Miff, satisfied with the amount of liquid in the large bag, opened the valve. Shortly thereafter, Wendy felt the blooming of wetness inside her… deep inside her. Cold. Wet. Tingly. She felt her toes curl up on the floor as she did her best not to shift or squirm, not to give her Mistress any reason whatsoever to doubt her commitment. She could do this, even if she sucked away the entire bar of soap in her efforts. The liquid was a colder than the inside of Wendy's body, and the enema felt a little prickly. Then, just as she started to get used to the discomfort, she started to feel queasy, like she had eaten too many dumplings at dinner time. She exhaled again, drooling bubbles down her cheek and onto the table. The helplessness of the situation washed over Wendy in waves. The hose in her bottom. The soap in her mouth. The grown man in a diaper watching her from the mat. The woman who stood over her, capable of doing anything she wanted to Wendy in that moment, and Wendy would welcome it. Her eyes glossed over in surrender. Then the first bout of cramps brought her out of the delirium. She whimpered and squirmed on the table before she could think and she felt a sharp pinch on her bare asscheek. "Stay still," Mistress told her. Wendy nodded and tried to settle back into place, but her stomach was protruding awkwardly against the edge of the changing table. So much water... Wendy felt like a balloon; like someone had filled her with ten breaths and every additional breath felt like it would make the rubber pop. Could people pop? Like balloons? She tried not to imagine the insides of her body; she tried not to think about the water rearranging her insides, pushing everything aside. Changing her. Was that how this worked? Wendy wished she took a nursing class in college. More and more water gushed into her, inflating her tummy, swirling around inside her as her thoughts struggled to land. She hurt so much. But if it meant being praised, she would welcome the pain every minute of every day for the rest of her life. Finally, the flow of water stopped. Wendy was exhausted, sweat dripping down her forehead and into her eyebrows. Most of the soap had melted into bubbles, but what little remained was still between her lips. Then she felt the slow tug of the hose. Wendy squeezed every muscle in her body to keep from spilling the water onto the daycare floor. The hose was removed without incident, but Wendy didn't feel like she could move. Every bit of her tingled in the worst possible way. But when Mistress Miff gave an instruction, Wendy obeyed all the same. "Stand." Wendy got to shaky feet, naked from the waist down, and looked up at the woman in charge of her. The Mistress plucked the soap from Wendy's mouth and wiped the suds from the top of the changing table. Drool continued to spill down Wendy's chin, littered with bubbles, and soaking the collar of her pajama top. She couldn't help it; everything felt numb and sick. "Up," the Mistress commanded, pointing to the changing table. Wendy nodded without thinking. She climbed onto the changing table with utmost care, slower than she had ever moved in her entire life. Every movement swirled the water around inside her, and every moment felt like she would pop. But after an unbearably long time, Wendy had obeyed her Mistress. She looked dizzily up at the star-filled ceiling of the daycare, listening to the rustling of diapers as they were unfolded. Diapers. Soon she'd be in diapers, where she belonged. Soon she'd be in diapers, and Mistress would tell her to let the enema out, and she'd do it and she'd be a good girl. And Mistress would tell her she was a good girl. All this would be over. All the pain and cramping and discomfort in the world seemed like a small price to pay. Wendy winced as her legs were lifted - like any baby - and a diaper was placed underneath her bottom. When she was lowered back to the table, the water inside raged. She felt like paper against a monsoon. But even as the powder was sprinkled between her legs and the diaper was taped in place, Wendy held it. Then she felt her ankles in the Mistress's hands again and she braced herself. Legs up. Another diaper under her bottom. Down. The sound of tapes. There were stars in Wendy's eyes and tears of pain poured out the sides like a steady tap. Wendy felt the plastic of the waterproof pants on her feet as they were threaded over her body. One more time, her ankles were pulled tight into one of Mistress Miff's hands and her bottom was lifted for her. Wendy tried to steady her breathing as the woman tucked the plastic pants in place to keep her from leaking. And Wendy would need those plastic pants too, she just knew it. "Up," the woman instructed again. Wendy managed to slide off the table with a lack of grace. She felt drunk, the kind of drunk where you feel like you can't walk right and everything makes you want to throw up. But it was over. She had done everything that was asked of her. She looked up expectantly her Mistress with bubbles, drool, and tears covering her face. She must have really looked like a true infant, with one exception. Her pajama top. "Arms up," Mistress Miff said, and Wendy felt her heart sink again. She couldn't keep doing this. She needed the praise. So many tasks, so many demands, and not a single word of encouragement. But Wendy had no choice: she wasn't a person. She was a student at the Academy, and her wants and needs didn't matter. Her purpose was to obey the staff. So she raised her arms up for Mistress Miff and continued to silently weep. A short t-shirt was pulled over Wendy's head in place of the pajamas. It had something written on it, or something drawn, but Wendy was too dizzy and exhausted to make sense of it. She just wanted everything to be over as fast as possible, even if that meant she was wearing nothing but a humiliating shirt and two thick diapers and plastic pants on full display. "Come," Mistress Miff said again, snapping her fingers. This time she led Wendy out of the alcove and toward the back of the playroom. The eyes of the boy on the mat continued to follow her, but Wendy was focusing instead of keeping her diaper dry. If she could just hold out until she was given the instruction, her Mistress would have no choice but to call her a good girl. The two women - one dressed in tight clad spandex clothes and one in thick diapers - finally stopped in front of a large toy. A seat was suspended by four cords, connected to a contraption on the ceiling. Although Wendy had never used it before, she knew exactly what it was just by the look of it: a baby bouncer. "Mistress..." Wendy's voice sounded so small, so pathetic, staring at the bouncer with wide, terrified eyes. She couldn't... she just couldn't! But Mistress Miff was quick to shut her down. "I told you not to speak, Wendy! You really are a disappointment." That final line assured Wendy's silence as the woman unclipped the seat of the bouncer, which looked a lot more like a pair of big padded underwear, decorated with little stars and moons just like Wendy's diapers. She lowered it to Wendy's feet and had her step inside. Once the seat of the bouncer was pulled tight between Wendy's legs, the woman clipped it once more to the cords connected the contraption above her. Then the woman went over to a button on the wall and held it down, retracting the cords and pulling Wendy away from the ground. She let out a loud whine, enough to rouse the other sleeping adult in the center of the room. Finally, her Mistress let go of the button and Wendy was barely able to stand on her tippy toes. The woman circled back around to Wendy and clicked her tongue in disapproval. Tears fell like torrents down Wendy's cheeks and her stomach twisted into knots. The thought of filling her diaper now, strapped into the bouncer, was so humiliating, so disgusting, but she didn't care. She'd do it. She'd stay in that stinky diaper the rest of the night. She'd do anything for a few kind words. "Wendy St. James," Mistress Miff said, eye level with her charge. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the Silence pacifier, pushing it between Wendy's lips. There would be no more argument from the girl under any circumstance. "If you're a good girl," the woman started, tapping the button on Wendy's pacifier, "your diaper will be clean when I come back."

Chapter Twelve It was dark inside, too dark to see anything. Wendy had to let her eyes adjust, but she couldn't help call out: "Hello?" she said, almost a whisper. Wendy felt chills. Maybe it was the broken window a ways down the hall. Maybe she was psyching herself out. Or maybe it was the Ghost. Wendy took a few steps into the room. Her heart was beating fast in her chest. It was so quiet, but she swore she could hear something. Breathing? Maybe a moaning voice. Or maybe... "Wendy!" Wendy actually screamed this time. She spun around and covered her mouth, looking up at a man. A stranger? No, a nurse. The same nurse from earlier that day. August. "Wendy, what do you think you're doing here? It's after Lights Out, and the east wing is off limits." He didn't sound angry - he sounded incredulous - but the raised voice and the harsh tones brought tears to Wendy's eyes. Oh no. She had done something bad. "I... I'm sorry. I thought I saw... and I wasn't thinking! I'm so sorry..." "It's... it's fine," Nurse August sighed, stepping into the dark music room and pulling Wendy by the wrist into the warm light of the hallway lantern. "Why are all these lights out?" "The Ghost did it," Wendy sniffled, but Nurse August didn't pay her any mind. He grabbed the lantern off the hook by the door. "I'm sorry Wendy, but I have to take you to the daycare. You really shouldn't be out right now. But I'm not upset with you, okay?" Wendy probably would have started crying if it wasn't for that last sentence. She felt sick to her stomach. How could she have done this? She wasn't a bad girl, she really wasn't! But Nurse August was being so nice to her; she didn't want to get him in trouble too. "Okay," Wendy muttered. Nurse August took Wendy by the wrist and led her down the hall, toward the daycare. It was supposed to be a nice place where people took care of you, but Wendy always felt nervous. That was probably because she always went as a punishment for doing something wrong, and that was a very different experience to someone who went willingly. Nurse August knocked twice on the daycare door. A minute later, it opened and a familiar woman was standing in the entryway. It was kind of uncanny how the attendant that would answer the door was always the one paired with the student. In Wendy's case, the daycare attendant was Mistress Miff. She couldn't have been any older than Wendy herself, but the unwavering gravitas of her glares made Wendy shrink behind Nurse August. "What is it this time?" Mistress Miff asked, taking one look at Wendy. "Wandering the halls at night," Nurse August sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Try to go easy on her, okay? I think she's just restless." "I'll be as strict as is necessary," Mistress Miff replied, which was her way of not taking Nurse August's advice in the slightest. As the two staff members talked about Wendy, she noticed a girl on the other side of the room wearing a fluffy dress. Her diaper was so wet that it sagged below the hem. When the two met eyes, Wendy shrugged bashfully. Of course she got caught. Across the room, Aya rolled her eyes. "Come," Mistress Miff said flatly, snapping her fingers like she might a puppy. She walked to the other side of the large star-shaped room, past a couple mats of sleeping adults in baby clothes, and into one of the pointed alcoves. Wendy quickly followed behind; there was an indescribable potency to a finger snap and one-word instructions. While Wendy knew she could make a good plea for her case, Mistress Miff had an unsettling air about her. She was confident, impressive, and inarguably attractive. Sometimes, when Wendy was around her, she didn't know how to speak. "Um, I—" Wendy began, but she didn't make it further than that. "Hush," Mistress Miff said. "You will speak when spoken to, and no other time unless granted permission. You've been a very bad girl. You've let everybody down. You've let yourself down. Do not make it worse by talking." The words bad girl echoed in Wendy's head like the ringing of a bell and she felt tears form in her eyes. It was like she had been punched in the stomach, like she couldn't get any air into her lungs. Maybe they had collapsed. Maybe she needed to go to a hospital. Wendy almost uttered an apology, but instinct kicked in. Her mouth moved to the words, but no sound came out. Wendy wiped her eyes before she started crying. "Good. I'm glad you can follow the most basic of instructions. Maybe there's hope for you yet, Wendy; but you have a long long way to go and I'm not even sure you're capable of it." The panic that gripped Wendy in her chest felt like a vice inside of her, underneath her skin and bones, grasping down on every internal organ. The need to apologize filled her stomach with bile, and she swallowed her words the way someone stops themself from throwing up. It would have been so much easier with her Silence pacifier, but she had left it in her room. At the thought of how desperately she wanted her pacifier, tears spilled down her cheeks. "Stop crying," Mistress Miff ordered. Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying. How could Wendy even begin to do that? But to fail would make her a bad girl, which only made her cry more. "You really are a lost cause..." Mistress Miff sighed, crossing her arms over her shoulders. "Isn't that true?" Wendy nodded. Never disagree with the staff; that was rule number one. Who was Wendy to think she knew better than them? But with a sharp snap of Mistress Miff's fingers, Wendy nearly jumped out of her skin. The diaper between her legs grew a little damp in response to her surprise. "Answer the question," she said sharply. Permission to speak. "Y-yes," Wendy blubbered, still trying to catch her breath. "Yes, who?" Mistress Miff prompted with irritation. The disappointment in her voice was as clear as the words themselves. Wendy's knees felt weak. "Yes... Mistress..." Wendy hated calling her that; it implied so much power, so much control. Even if it was true, it was so embarrassing. Wendy wiped her tears again and tried to hide the blush on her cheeks. "That's right, I'm your Mistress. Good girls get Matrons and Mommies, they get praise and encouragement for being good. But not you, my dear little disappointment. You don't deserve a single drop of praise as you are. You don't deserve the stickers you've earned, and you don't deserve to be here. Maybe we should expel you? Send you out into the hills, alone?" There was a part of Wendy that, in the right headspace, might have seized the opportunity to be sent away. But like an addict without her drug, Wendy would do anything just to get her fix. Her eyes said what her words wouldn't: wide-eyed and longing, wanting. Whatever Mistress Miff asked of her, she'd do it. "Do you want to be better? Do you want to be worth something?" Mistress Miff's question wasn't rhetorical, and Wendy was always on edge to decipher which direct questions needed an answer. Sometimes they were lazy and hung in the air, hovering over her with all the weight of the Sword of Damocles, and other times they were lead dancers asking for a partner to follow. She didn't always get it right, but this time she was pretty sure. "Y-yes, Mistress," Wendy admitted, wiping tears off her face with the backs of her hands. Pulling air into her lungs felt like drawing acid through a straw. "A good girl obeys," Mistress Miff said coldly. "A good girl asks for a punishment — no, she begs for one. For her mouth to be washed clean of all her filthy words, and her body to be cleansed of her filthy thoughts. A good girl would beg to revel in her punishment, so that she could learn from it." An implication wasn't outright permission, but Wendy gambled it was close enough. "Please, Mistress Miff," Wendy said through sobs. "Please punish me, pretty please, pretty pretty please with… three cherries on top, and sprinkles, and everything. Please wash my mouth out, please make me clean, please teach me… h-how to be a good girl. I need it. I'll do anything. Please teach me…" Wendy's begging had devolved into hopeless blubbering by the end of it, so much so that even Mistress Miff couldn't understand her. But the sentiment was clearly there. Any other staff member would have praised Wendy for her pleading, but Mistress Miff did not. "It seems inevitable that you'll disappoint me," she sighed, "but we will see." Mistress Miff walked away from the sobbing adult and went over to one of the cabinets by the changing table. Wendy was literally shaking, struggling to keep herself on two feet. She felt like every nerve in her body was firing in the wrong direction, and her insides were alight with lightning. She was going to throw up. But good girls didn't throw up. "I'm going to wash your mouth out, Wendy," Mistress Miff said. "I'm going to make sure you can't even taste those words of disobedience and disappointment anymore. Do you want that, Wendy?" Wendy nodded her head so quickly that she almost gave herself whiplash. "As I thought," Mistress Miff said, avoiding the two words Wendy needed more than anything. "Come over here." Wendy stepped forward and opened her mouth. The bar of soap the daycare used was small, just big enough to fit between her lips, and foamed up easily on contact with saliva. It tasted like you'd expect soap to taste: absolutely terrible. It also numbed her tongue and any liquid that slid down her throat made her feel sick. Wendy had been humiliated many times over since arriving at the Academy, but there was else nothing quite so viscerally unpleasant. Maybe filling her diapers, at first, but even that had become ordinary. Having her mouth soaped wasn't ordinary. Wendy struggled not to gag or do anything else that could disappoint Mistress Miff. When the soapy bubbles began to leak out the edges of Wendy's mouth, she didn't even try to wipe them away. "You're much more bearable when you can't talk," Mistress Miff said, and the dissonance of that backhanded compliment hit Wendy like a slap across the face. Fresh tears and fresh conflict filled her eyes and she started to suck on the soap for comfort. Her pacifier training had become second nature and the sickly soap foamed in her stomach. All the while, Mistress Miff was rummaging through a nearby cabinet. She started to pile things on top of the changing table: a rubber bag, a plastic tube, a set of nozzles, and a large bottle of clear liquid with bubbles inside. Then she pulled a fresh nighttime diaper - covered with stars - from under the changing table and a pair of translucent plastic pants. Wendy felt her heart sink deeper with every item added to the stack. It was like watching a firing squad assemble before her eyes. "I think you've been naughty enough to need two quarts, don't you agree?" Mistress Miff asked. Wendy nodded with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "Although you might need three, with how wicked you've been." Again, Wendy nodded; her eyes wide and desperate. "Three quarts it is."

Thank you for all the kind words! And I had a pretty great Thanksgiving I think. Quiet, with a friend. New chapter soon, I promise! Finishing up finals this week.

Chapter Eleven "I think we should look in the cafeteria pantry, in the west wing classrooms, and in the piano room," Wendy said with excitement. She knew she only had until nightfall before she lost the support of her friends, so she had to get going. They just had to get to each locale without getting in trouble. Unfortunately for Wendy - and fortunately for Lyra and Daisy, who hated sneaking about - there wasn't any sign of a ghost. The west wing classrooms were all locked. Wendy knew ghosts could move through walls, but she wasn't willing to break the doors. That would have been a naughty thing to do. In the cafeteria pantry, everything was too organized. Wendy thought for sure if a ghost lived in there that boxes of crackers and bags of rice would be spilled all over the place. Wendy almost took a granola bar off the shelf when she left, but hesitated. That also would have been a naughty thing to do. The piano room was saved for last. The east wing was the most likely spot, and Wendy wanted to wait until it got a little darker to sneak up the stairs to the second floor. But inside there was noting but a line of desks against the back wall, a stack of chairs in the corner, and a large grand piano covered in dust. Wendy stepped into the room - Lyra and Daisy in tow - and looked around for anything suspicious. She walked up to the piano and pressed down a key, expecting a low note to ring through the room, but it didn't make a sound. Wendy brushed the dust off her hands and noticed a few other keys on the far side of the piano that were missing little ovals of dust. But just as Wendy went to investigate, a sharp "Hey!" startled all three girls. Wendy froze in place but Lyra and Daisy screamed. "What do you girls think you're doing in here?" a woman called from the doorway. She was one of the nurses - Wendy had seen her before. September or December. All the -embers kind of mixed together for her. "N-nothing!" Lyra lied, then immediately felt too guilty to keep it up. "Looking for the Ghost!" "Ghost?" The nurse's tone changed from irritation to exhaustion. "There are no such things as ghosts." "Are so!" Wendy spoke up. But the nurse shot her a sharp look that shut Wendy up. "Get out of here right now. And if I catch any of you up here again, you'll be spending the night in the daycare!" "Yes ma'am," all three girls said in unison, hurrying out of the music room and down the stairs into the courtyard. "I don’t wanna spend the night in the daycare," Daisy babbled nervously as the three of them hurried down the stairs into the courtyard. "It’s not called the Nightcare because you’re not supposed to spend the night there." "It would rhyme with nightmare if it was called Nightcare,” Lyra offered, not at all helpfully. Wendy wasn’t very happy; they weren’t taking this seriously at all. And she’d seen those keys, with the little ovals without dust; someone had been playing them! "There was definitely something in there," Wendy said, looking up at the second floor windows. "Maybe the nurse is gone, and we—" "Nuh uh! I'm out." Daisy walked off into the courtyard, waddling a little more than before. The nurse must have really spooked her. "Sorry Wendy," Lyra sighed. "You heard what the nurse said." "But..." Wendy sulked, looking down at her feet. This just wasn't fair. Wendy stared up at the window for a few minutes longer, wondering if maybe she could sneak back in, but the nurse had been very clear. The weight of her scolding was already weighing heavily on Wendy's shoulders, and she felt a little sick. With a sigh of resignation, she turned on her heel and followed Lyra and Daisy toward the dorms. The sun had almost gone down, and there wasn't enough time to play anyway. Once inside, Wendy closed her bedroom door behind her and leaned against the oak frame. Her lanterns had already been lit in preparation for the coming night. With surprising ease, Wendy relaxed and flooded her diaper, standing no more than ten feet from a toilet. It was strange how things could change. The toilet had once tempted her, then taunted her, and reminded her how she had become a diaper dependent schoolgirl. Now, that same toilet served as a point of pride for her; she wore diapers, she used diapers, and she was a good girl for resisting the temptation. Wendy decided to get ready for bed. She balled up the used diaper and wiped herself clean. She laid down on the bed and taped the nighttime diaper on in its place, decorated with little stars and moons. They were thicker than the school prints, but Wendy barely noticed anymore. When she was changing her diaper, Wendy laid in bed for a long time, dressed in nothing but her pink button up school shirt and a diaper on full display. She was thinking about those piano keys. Just two or three, like someone else had tested the piano. Maybe if the piano had been working, the Ghost would play a haunting refrain that would echo through the courtyard. Then Wendy could know for sure. Soon all the kids in the courtyard came in for Lights Out. Wendy's thoughts of ghosts and legends kept spinning her in circles until her eyes felt heavy. Before falling asleep, she got up and changed into a nightgown for bed. She blew out her lanterns and crawled under the covers. Wendy was almost asleep when she looked out the window. She could just barely see the east wing in the distance and the light of flickering lanterns lining the second floor corridor. Then, suddenly, they all went out. Wendy rubbed her eyes and looked out the window again. All the lanterns in the east wing were out except one. One in the middle, a little to the right. The music room? Wendy pressed her face to the glass. She was almost sure. Why would someone leave just that one light on? How did they put out the other ones so fast? I had to be the Ghost, right? Wendy climbed out of bed in a flash and went to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she paused. Ordinarily, this was when Wendy would remember that only naughty girls snuck out after Lights Out, but that wasn't the thought that came to mind. She was too conspicuous. Wendy changed into her darkest set of pajamas - black with little stars - and grabbed the skirt of her school uniform, dropped haphazardly on the floor. She took the red sticker out of the pocket with a bright smile and put it into her shirt's pajama pocket instead. Now she was ready to go. Full of gumption, Wendy opened her bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. She looked both ways, finding the hallway empty, before clicking her door shut as quietly as she could. Holding her breath - as though it would make her invisible - Wendy made her way down the stairs. Tonight, Wendy St. James would find a schoolyard legend, and tonight she might even become one. Getting past Miss Flannery wasn't too hard. She always stayed near the front door on the first floor, but between the stairs and the door was a broom closet. Wendy quietly tip-toed inside and closed the door behind her, turning the handle first so it wouldn't click. Then she was alone with the mops and buckets. Wendy looked up at the little window. Getting through it wouldn't be too hard, but the drop on the other side was kind of steep. Wendy wondered just how far someone could fall before getting hurt. It was funny to think about the way things had changed since she arrived at the Academy; she was always afraid of disappointing the teachers, but the fear of getting hurt was suppressed by the frivolity of childhood. With a deep breath, Wendy reached up to the window ledge and pushed the glass outward. Wendy tumbled out the window and into the bushes. It hurt, but not enough to cry about. She got to her feet and brushed off her pajamas, pulling leaves out of her short hair. The courtyard in front of her was empty. The sun had gone down, but there was still a slight blueness to the dark sky. She looked up at the second floor of the east wing and, sure enough, one lantern was still lit. Wendy hurried along the open courtyard, praying no one could see her silhouette or hear the loud crinkling of her diaper. She was still wearing her bedtime one and it was a lot harder to walk in than she imagined. Finally, she got to the school doors and crept inside. They were rarely locked, since a lot of staff wandered the grounds at night. The door clicked closed behind Wendy and she tiptoed on the balls of her feet - as elegantly as the floofy night-time diaper would allow of her - and toward the music room. Her heart thrummed in her chest with every step up the stairs to the second floor. Soon, Wendy was standing outside the door of the music room. Only one lantern was lit in the entire hallway, hanging on a hook just left of the door. It was an invitation. It had to be an invitation. With a deep breath, Wendy tugged the handle and swung open the door.

Chapter Ten Lyra left the bench a little early to get a diaper change and Wendy cleaned up the boxes. Usually there was more to do during lunch - a kickball game was running, and there was a game of duck duck goose - but Wendy had spent most of the time thinking up ways to connect with a ghost. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Wendy and Lyra reunited in Ms. Martens's science class. Of all the teachers at the Academy, Ms. Martens was the worst. She was just so bossy and strict, but she let the students work in groups. Obviously Wendy and Lyra teamed up, but to everyone's surprise Aqua and Alistair joined forces. Wendy wasn't sure she had ever seen Daisy and JB even talk to each other, but now they didn't really have a choice. "Awkward," Lyra muttered, glancing over at Daisy and JB, working silently on a worksheet about the solar system. "Awkward?" Wendy asked. "Why awkward?" "It was before you got here," Lyra shrugged. "JB had a thing for Daisy, but it didn't work out." Wendy had only been at the Academy since the winter semester started a few months ago; she came with a handful of others, and she was told a handful of others left. Wendy still didn't know why she was here in the first place - why anyone was here - but it was a lot weirder trying to get the hang of wetting your diapers on command when everyone else around you was already doing it. It felt like gaslighting. "A thing?" Wendy tilted her head curiously. "What kind of thing?" "You know…a thing." “Like a kissy-kissy thing?" "Yes, Wendy. Like a kissy-kissy thing." Lyra rolled her eyes. When Wendy got to the Academy, she was so focused on getting out that she never even thought about dating. Then, when she realized that running away would only make her feel worse, she was focused on feeling better. Learning. Getting stickers. Then she found the schoolyard legends. All the energy she had trying to figure out "why am I here?" was suddenly directed at all the weird stuff going on around the school. The eerie singing that turned out to be Nurse December after a little too much rum. The mole man that turned out to be just an ordinary gopher. The dancing lights outside her window; that one she never figured out, but they had stopped a month ago. Then there was the Calm, the most interesting mystery of them all! But it had only happened once, the night before Wendy arrived. Wendy's Wonderbook had pages and pages of details about everything she found out, but the Ghost seemed to be the only thing within reach. All that is to say, Wendy never thought about boys or sex or any of that, not really. Not until today, when Aqua made a big deal about it. It didn't seem very exciting, but... "So do you like anyone?" Wendy asked Lyra. "Aqua's kinda..." No, that wasn't a good fit. "No, not right now," Lyra answered with a smile. "I dun usually like people until they like me." "Hm..." Wendy nodded. "Maybe I'm like that too." The rest of the class went by without incident and Wendy got two stickers for completing her work and behaving well. Wendy and Lyra stopped at the drinking fountain on the way to history class, just in case there was a surprise diaper check. "Miss St. James," Miss Hunnigan said, snagging Wendy on the way into class, "you stay up front with me." Wendy stood off to one side of the chalkboard as everybody else filtered into the classroom. Once the class was seated, Miss Hunnigan cleared her throat and did something she knew would get everyone’s attention. "Wendy, wet your diaper." I'm really being singled out today, Wendy thought with a pout. But a wetting almost always led to a sticker, and it had been a while since her last dose of praise. Miss Hunnigan lifted the front of Wendy's dress and had her hold it, so the front of her math-printed diaper was on display for the whole class. It was awkward with everyone locking eyes, so Wendy dropped her gaze to the floor. A moment later, the white plastic took on a faint yellow and it spread upward toward the little numbers on the landing zone. The heat between her legs and the feeling of eyes on her made Wendy's cheeks burn. "Good girl," Miss Hunnigan said happily, allowing Wendy to drop her skirt and walk back to her desk. She sat down with a squish and blushed a shade darker. Wendy wanted desperately for class to start, and thankfully Miss Hunnigan was quick to do so. Wendy slunk down a little deeper into her chair, which pushed the warm diaper up between her legs. "Daisy." Miss Hunnigan called on her for a question about the Civil War. Wendy sure didn't know the answer; she actually had a conspiracy theory that history class was just meant to make the students feel dumb. Or maybe it was just Miss Hunnigan's teaching ability. Regardless, Daisy gave her the right answer immediately, like she didn't even have to think about it. After class, Wendy waddled after Daisy in her soggy diaper. She caught Daisy by the wrist and managed to make her stop. She sure had an impressive walking speed, that was for sure. "Hey," Wendy said. "Hey?" Daisy said, like a question. Maybe that was just efficient speech: one word and a question mark sure said a lot. 'Hi, nice to see you Wendy, did you need something?' "You uh... you know a lot of answers in class. I never noticed how smart you were." Daisy blushed. Praise from a student wasn't quite the same as praise from a staff member, but it still felt wonderful. "Thank you. Um. I just pay attention really well." "I know I'm the new girl..." Wendy started, knowing 'new' was relative. She had been at this school for more than three months. "But we don't really talk." "...um." Daisy nodded in agreement, but paused for a moment. "I dunno what to say, really..." "Oh. Uh..." Wendy didn't know what to say either. She couldn't just ask about JB. That was rude. Right? "What do you think about the Ghost?" "The one that blows out the candles at night?" she asked. "Yes! Oh my gosh, I forgot about that detail." There was a row of candles on the second floor, lining the hall. From the courtyard, you could see all of them. But the ones in the east wing were always out before bedtime. Maybe the staff put them out, but why just the one wing? Wendy made a mental note to write that in her Wonderbook. "You don't by chance have any ideas how to make friends with a ghost, do you?" Wendy asked, thinking quietly to herself. "Um... I think ghosts can sense feelings? I read that somewhere. So you should give it something that's important to you." "Something that's important to me...?" Wendy thought quietly to herself and Daisy stood there awkwardly. "So, um..." "Oh! I'm sorry," Wendy blushed. "Do you want to go to the Chart with me?" "Okay..." Daisy seemed skeptical, but everyone knew Wendy wasn't the manipulative type. She would try to force you into things you might not want to do, but she was always up front about it. And so, Daisy went with Wendy to the Chart. The Chart was quite literally a chart. It was as big as a wall, right next to the courtyard for everyone to see. At the end of the day, all the students went to put their stickers on it. For some, it was the best part of the day. For others, it was the worst. The stickers were cumulative throughout the semester. Sometimes there were break points where some stickers were more valuable than others, like older stickers were worth less. It was probably a catch-up mechanic or something, urging students to do well in the final part of the semester. But the two with the most stickers were leagues above Wendy: Emily and Aya. Even so, there was a part of Wendy, deep inside, that wanted to try to beat them. If she did, then she would be - objectively - the best girl. Not just a good one, but the best. As Wendy was putting her stickers on the board, she paused. She looked at the tiny stack of them in her hands; she had quite a good day. And she had one more than she had expected, the one that she got for wetting herself in Miss Hunnigan's class. If I were a ghost, Wendy thought, then I would want a sticker too. I would wanna be rewarded for being good. Wendy put all her stickers up on the Chart except one, a red one that she kept in her skirt pocket next to her Silence pacifier. Wendy put her quest for the Ghost above her dream to be a best girl, above her own happiness. For the first time in perhaps the entire lifetime of the school, a sticker went intentionally unstuck. Classes ended in the late afternoon, followed shortly by dinner. Wendy asked Daisy to join her, and Daisy agreed. She always looked like she was waiting around for someone to tell her what to do. A buffet of food was set up along the back wall of the cafeteria, filled mostly with things like chicken nuggets, mac and cheese, hot dog bites, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grilled cheese, tater tots, fish fingers, and Spaghetti-Os. But to Wendy's relief, there were also things like dumplings, chow mein, taquitos, jam spreads, avocado smoothies, ice pops, dried bananas, onigiri, carrot hawla, plantain chips, bean cakes, soparnik, egg tarts, and tamarind balls. Wendy and Daisy filled their plates and sat at the same table with Lyra. She took one look at Daisy and looked to Wendy for an explanation. "I'm just trying to make friends," Wendy said in her defense. She hadn't even asked about JB! "Good girls should trust their best friends," Wendy chided. "I trust you!" Lyra said a little too fast, blushing at her own eagerness. She glanced shyly at Daisy and returned to her dinner. "That's good," Wendy smiled, picking up a dumpling and taking a bite, "because we are going to look for the Ghost after dinner." "For real life?" Lyra asked, wrapping her incredulousness up in linguistic efficiency. "Well you don’t wanna sneak out at night," Wendy huffed, since that was the most reasonable time for a ghost to be found. "Anyway, what else is there to do?" That was a question with a thousand answers. The hours between dinner and lights out was free time. A lot of students had started clubs, like reading or kickball. There were always games of tag or hide and seek going on. Adventures around the school to look for ghosts wasn't even that out of the ordinary. If Lyra wasn't such a scaredy cat, she wouldn't even hesitate to join Wendy on her quest. But her cowardice was overcome by her commitment to her friend. "Okay," Lyra relented. "Le's find a ghost." "That means no pudding," Wendy said simply, pulling the napkin off her plate and draping it over the heap of pink goo on Lyra’s tray. "What, why?" Lyra puffed out her cheeks in a huff. "I need you to be sharp," Wendy said. "Not all giggly and dumb. Same goes for you, Daisy." Daisy hadn't said a word since sitting down, but she seemed sincerely upset at Wendy's demand. She waited all day until dinner, until she could have the pudding. It was the only thing that freed her of her social anxiety. She could actually play with others. Who cared if her head was fuzzy and she was impressionable? It was a small price to pay. Unfortunately for Wendy, Lyra felt kind of the same way. "That's not fair," Lyra argued. "I dun even wanna go! "When you meet the ghost," Wendy said in a tone of confidence that tried to mimic her teachers, "do you want her to think that you're giggly and dumb? Or cute and clever?" Cute and clever were words that would work for Lyra, but Wendy didn't really know Daisy well enough to know what would appeal to her. But if she could get Lyra to back her properly, then Daisy would probably follow. "I don't want to meet a ghost at all," Lyra argued, but the words ‘cute’ and ‘clever’ were still tumbling around in her head. "One day," Wendy said, reframing the situation. "You can have pudding tomorrow and the next day and the day after. Just one day." Lyra loved the pudding. It was blissful. Addictive. It was like having all her thoughts scrubbed away. No worries, no fears, no anxiety. Nothing bad could find her. But at the same time, everything was so ephemeral. All of her hopes, her dreams, and her ambitions were no more important than her favorite ice cream flavor, and it was all subject to change. If someone told her that she wanted vanilla, then she wanted vanilla. If someone told her that she wanted to be a firefighter, then she wanted to be a firefighter. Sometimes it was nice. Complete cooperation. No arguments, no fighting. Endless, perfect playtime. But if people were so easy to control, the Academy would have fed the students pudding with every meal. Lyra - like every other student at the Academy, like every other person in the entire world - had a fundamental flaw: determination. Sooner or later, being content wasn't enough. She would try a new food, or take a different route home. She would learn a new word or come up with a new question she thought worth asking. She would think for herself. That was the difference between fantasy and reality. A fantasy was static; it assumed someone would want something forever. But in reality, as often as the diapers at the Academy, people changed. No amount of pudding could ever fix that flaw. With a sigh, Lyra buckled. "Okay." "Okay!" Wendy said gleefully. She and Lyra both turned to Daisy, who sulked down in her seat. With reluctance, she said: "Okay..."

Chapter Nine Wendy had a preference for certain nurses, though she never got to choose which one would see her. Nurse August, who was available at the time, was not one of her favorites. It wasn’t anything about him in particular - he was a nice guy! - but Wendy never preferred guys changing her diapers. It didn’t feel as weird with women. Today, though, Aqua’s words were still fresh in her mind. Was Nurse August hot? Did he think she was hot? Wendy waddled up to the front desk, her messy diaper drooping under the hem of her skirt. "Ascuse me, Nurse August?" "Oh hey, kiddo," Nurse August put down on his pencil. It looked like he was doing a crossword or something. "Need a quick change before class?" "Mmhmm..." Wendy blushed a little. "No worries, kiddo. Let's get a room." Nurse August got up off his chair and walked around the counter, taking Wendy by the hand. She felt a small blush cover her cheeks and she looked the nurse up and down as he led her down the hall. He was tall. Taller than her. Handsome, sort of? He had a nice face, sharp jaw, warm eyes. His hair was never brushed, but it sort of worked for him. He couldn't have been any older than Wendy, actually. In any other circumstance, they could be dating. They could be married. Wow, Wendy had never thought about it that way before. She was equal to this man! Well, except that he was staff and she was a student. But it's not like she wanted to be a student! "Here we go." Nurse August closed the curtain behind them and - before Wendy could do anything to stop him - he put his hands under her arms and lifted her onto the table, sitting her squarely in her mess. It squished against her skin and filled the room with the fresh smell of a dirty diaper. If Nurse August noticed, he certainly didn't show it. "I, um..." Wendy was trying to ask a question about something, but the embarrassment was a little too much. Here she was, in front of a man who could be her husband, and she was sitting in a stinky diaper. Suddenly, she didn't feel so much like his equal. When Wendy did manage to get some words out, they were quiet and squeaky. "How’s the weather…?" Nurse August gave her a strange sort of smile. "The weather? Well, how about you be a good girl and tell me? You were just outside, after all." Right. Right. Of course she was! Why did she even ask that question? Her cheeks were burning and she wondered if he could tell; was she just a stinky diaper and a set of blushing cheeks, to him? Gosh why did she let Aqua get in her head? "It’s warm, but not too warm," Wendy said, as Nurse August laid her down on the changing table. Her words felt like they were once again under her control. Take 2. "Nurse August, do you think I’m…" "A good girl?" he offered. "Pretty?" Wendy asked. There wasn't an awkward pause. Wendy thought there might be, but Nurse August replied almost automatically, like he had expected the question. "Absolutely! You're such a pretty girl. One of the prettiest girls in the whole world, I think." Wendy felt a deeper shade of red color her cheeks and she looked up at the ceiling. Already, Nurse August had flipped up her dress and untaped the stinky diaper. It must have been the least attractive thing in the entire world, but Wendy couldn't help but wonder. "Would you... um..." She closed her eyes as she felt a warm wipe between her legs. He lifted her legs by the ankles. He wiped under her butt. She felt so small in his care. She felt so helpless. She wasn't his equal. Those thoughts kept ringing true in her brain, and the only thing louder was her inquisition. "I'm not asking you, um... I'm not asking for real…" "Speak up, little lady," Nurse August said with a smile. "You're mumbling." "Would you wanna date me?" Wendy asked, a bit too loudly, a bit too forward. This time, there was an awkward silence. Her ankles came back down and Nurse August finished disposing of the messy diaper. "I dunno," Nurse August answered, seemingly honest. "I don't know you all that well, Wendy." At least he knew her name. "Oh..." Wendy paused and let that answer wash over her. That only brought another question to mind. "So, just 'cause I wear diapers...?" "Is that a deal breaker?" Nurse August smiled. "No, it's not. I think the bigger concern is that I'm staff and you're a student. It would be indecent." Wendy nodded solemnly. She had a thousand more questions, but Nurse August was already prepping a new diaper for her. A Mathematics one, probably because that was her next class and he knew she just came from Gym. Math always came after Gym. "Do you think it's sexy?" Wendy asked. "Seeing me naked?" "Um... not really?" Nurse August lifted Wendy's ankles again and slid the new diaper under her. "It's not that I don't find you attractive - I do." Immediately, Wendy was filled with warm feelings. Attractive. She was attractive. She couldn't help but smile. "But I think context is important when seeing someone naked," Nurse August explained. "Changing your diaper is part of my job. It's not the same as doing it for fun." Nurse August meant 'seeing you naked could be fun if it wasn't my job', but Wendy heard 'changing your diaper could be fun if it wasn't my job'. She blushed a little deeper and smiled a little brighter. She didn't really like Nurse August that way, but knowing other people could still find her sexy... it meant a lot to Wendy. "I used my diaper on the vaulting box, because Mr. Silver told me to," Wendy said brightly. It wasn’t like Wendy to bring up that kind of thing, especially not to Nurse August who had just finished cleaning up the consequences of that action. But with her head fluttery and her cheeks warm, Wendy was just hoping to get a little more praise before she had to run off to class. Maybe her intentions were transparent, but it didn’t matter; praise meant more to Wendy than breathing. "Yes you did," Nurse August said with a smile. He seemed relieved that the topic had shifted back to the ordinary, the things he was used to handling. "You were such a good girl, using your diapers like that. Such a good girl for listening to your teacher. You keep up the good work, kiddo." All the while, Nurse August was taping Wendy's fresh diaper in place, complete with baby powder and a gentle pat between her legs when he was done. He lowered her skirt and helped her back up on her feet, but Wendy's eyes were glossy and happy. He took her by the hand and led her back out to the hall. In math class, Wendy stared out the window at the six students in their diapers on the edge of the school grounds, fumbling to get into their bloomers as quickly as they could. Wendy remembered changing out of her own before going to the Nurse’s office, how there was no way she get her skirt up her legs without sitting down on her messy butt in front of everyone. It was humiliating, but she had been a good girl. She did the right thing. Mr. Margo led the class on basic subtraction. Everyone was predictably good at it. All the classes treated the adult students like elementary schoolers, but math was definitely the easiest. History and science had some things that adults forget, stuff that no one ever used outside of school exams. English was a lot of reading and analyzing. Gym was obviously a huge obstacle. But math? Easy. "Lyra," Mr. Margo called out. "Up here, please." Lyra just about jumped out of her seat. She had been rocking back and forth for the past ten minutes; Wendy wasn't sure she would make it! But then her name was called. "Hands on the desk," Mr. Margo said, and Lyra complied. She stood facing away from the other students, hands on the desk, and her feet spread apart. Mr. Margo lifted the back of her skirt, flashing her classmates the seat of her diaper. It was still a beautiful pristine white. "Wet your diaper," he instructed, as he had a thousand times before. With equal parts pride and relief, Lyra made a sighing sound from both her mouth and her diaper. The pristine white gave way to a faded yellow. "Very good, Lyra." Mr. Margo praised Lyra openly, and her smile was about as wide as the chalkboard. Wendy felt a little bit jealous. Lyra stood up and Mr. Margo patted her on the head, rubbing her hair with familiarity. Lyra whimpered happily for just a second before waddling back to her seat with a dumb smile. Everybody knew Lyra had a weak spot for head pats, and almost every teacher would reward her with them. Maybe in an effort to displace some of the embarrassment she was holding onto from earlier that day, Wendy leaned over to her friend and whispered: "You always seem so happy to use your diapers." Lyra turned to Wendy and stuck out her tongue. Class wasn’t interesting. Alistair, Aqua, and Daisy all soaked their diapers in front of the class, and by the time lunch came around, the lot of them were running off for a diaper change. "Not getting changed?" Wendy asked when Lyra followed her down the hall toward the cafeteria. "They always run out of curry if I dun get there early," Lyra said with a pout. "I'll change after lunch." "Or you just like sitting in your soggy diapers," Wendy teased. "I'd rather be soggy than stinky," Lyra shot back. They both laughed until they got to the cafeteria. A lot of students preferred to eat outside, and Wendy and Lyra were not an exception. They took their little lunch boxes with them and ate on a bench outside the east wing. Wendy looked up at the windows above them. "So how do I catch a ghost?" Wendy asked. "Or talk to it? Take a picture? Can ghosts possess people? What if I get possessed..." "This is just like the mole man," Lyra sighed. "One person thinks they found a scary monster and you wanna look for it. If there is a ghost, don't you think it wants to be alone?" "Hm..." Wendy thought about it for only a moment. "Nope. If I were a ghost, I'd want a friend or something. But I wouldn't want someone to catch me. So I guess the question is... how do I make friends with a ghost..." "Find some common ground," Lyra offered, somewhat helpfully. "Like what?" Wendy wondered, as much to herself as to Lyra. "I d’nno. Bedsheets?" "Bedsheets?" Wendy raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Ghosts wear them, and you wet them." "I do not!" Wendy said indignantly. "And wear and wet aren’t the same, Lyra." "Fifty-percent of wear makes up ‘sixty-seven’ percent of wet," Lyra said matter of factly, "so you have more in common than you might think!" Wendy stuck out her tongue and screwed up her nose. But within Lyra’s asinine suggestion, there was a thread of good advice. "Common ground..." Wendy sighed and took a bite of her lunch. There likely wouldn't be any diaper inspections in the afternoon, but Wendy had already finished most of her juice and stopped at the water fountain twice since her last diaper change. "I'll think of something before tonight," Wendy said a few minutes later, giving her time to eat and think. "Tonight?" Lyra asked. "What's tonight?" "We're going ghost hunting!" Now, Lyra was a practical girl. She didn't actually think there was a ghost, not really. But the thought of sneaking around at night, in the dark, through the empty, eerie abandoned school campus? The color left her face. "N-no way! I can't!" "Come onnnnn! Don't be such a coward." "I am a coward!" Lyra said without much shame. "An' I dun wan' be in trouble! An' you shouldn’t either!" "If we get in any trouble we’ll just tell them that it was my idea - which it is - and that I forced you - which I did!" Wendy was chipper, having made up her mind for the two of them. Lyra puffed out her cheeks. "You don't want me anyway," Lyra said, trying a new tactic. She couldn't convince Wendy not to go, but she could at least get out of it herself. "This is a sneaking mission, right? And I'll scream the second something touches me." "Oh..." Wendy sulked. "That's true. Then who do I..." Wendy and Lyra looked at each other and at the same time said: "Summer." Summer was a girl in another class. She was really confident and sure of herself and probably the least scared of anyone at the whole school, including Wendy! If anyone was going to help find the Ghost, it was her. "Imma go find her!" Wendy got to her feet and took a big sip of juice from her sippy cup. Then she dashed away toward the baseball field. Most of the kids hung out there after finishing their lunch. Sure enough, Wendy found Summer under a tree with purple flowers, eating lunch with Aya. Wendy didn't know Aya all that well. "Will you come ghost hunting with me tonight?" Wendy asked. “Also, what do ghosts look like? Do you think we have anything in common?” "Uh..." Summer tilted her head a little and Aya gracefully bowed out of the conversation. "Like, that Ghost thing people are talking about?" "Yes, exactly!" Wendy nodded enthusiastically. "I would," Summer said slowly, and Wendy knew a but was sure to follow. "But I'm kind of in the middle of something today." Wendy visibly deflated, then she turned to Aya. "Wanna go ghost hunting?" "I'm sorry, but I can't get in trouble right now." Oh right, Aya was a goody good. Wendy sighed. "Okay, thanks." And just as quickly as she arrived, Wendy left. She would have to come up with another plan.

Chapter Eight "I got three stickers," Wendy said brightly, holding up her haul for Lyra to see. "What about you?" "Three too," Lyra smiled. "Is an easy class, uh huh. Juss gotta pay attention." Wendy tilted her head. "You're talking weird." "Nuh, being more efficient. Dun need all the words to say what I wanna say." "I suppose that's true." In the story, Alice always spoke so much that it spun her in circles. And the reader, too. It really was inefficient. But Wendy kind of liked the way Alice talked. Wendy and Lyra walked past the classrooms and out the door into the courtyard. The fog had disappeared and the sun was shining brightly. Wendy pitied the class that had gym first thing after breakfast; they didn't get to enjoy the nice spring morning. There was a big fence around the Academy campus, with a wrought iron gate at the front. It was almost always locked, but sometimes on the weekends the teachers would take the students into the fields to play. When Wendy arrived at the school, she was always looking out that gate at the rolling hills, wondering how far it would be to find civilization. People had tried to run, of course, but a sharp whistle from the teacher always brought them back. Running away? It was the ultimate act of disrespect. Even thinking about it made Wendy feel sick. Gym class always felt a bit theatrical. When the students arrived, they would change into their gym clothes, which were more-or-less the school uniform with bloomers instead of skirts or shorts. And rarely did anyone work up a sweat; it was more akin to a children’s calisthenics class than physical education. Wendy St. James didn’t mind, because getting sweaty was one of her least favorite things in the world. The six students lined up on the far side of the field, against the fence, facing the school. The bell tolled and Mr. Silver approached with a bag slung over his shoulder. "Mother Nature has seen fit to bless us with a beautiful day today, children; just enough sun to warm your heart and just enough cloud cover to feel comfortable. I hope you’re all as excited as I am." He swung the bag around in front of him and unzipped the main compartment. "Alright, one at a time, come get your bloomers." The students all got in line, but no one was in much of a hurry. Most of them found gym to be a chore at best and humiliating at worst, though Alistair always took it very seriously. He was on a football team back in high school. The bloomers in the bag were white, which didn't match the pink shirt all that much, but they gave a lot more flexibility for the boys and a lot more modesty for the girls. Unfortunately, modesty was never on the table. Each of the students stripped off their bottoms, flashing their diapers to the whole campus. Anyone who was looking out one of the school windows could clearly see them, and Wendy knew that first hand because she had a window seat in her math class. You could sometimes learn a lot about someone by the diaper they were wearing. For example, Lyra's was covered in numbers and mathematical symbols. Alistair's diaper had different sports balls. Wendy's had characters from children's books, like Winnie the Pooh. The act of changing in gym class used to be one of the most humiliating parts of the day, but now it had become so routine it was almost normal. Wendy didn't even have to check to know that her classmates were dry. Wetting their diapers was never a subtle activity, and no one had been inspected yet. "Class," Mr. Silver began, motioning to some gym equipment set up on the lawn, like a balancing beam and a vaulting box. "Today we’re going to be working on balance. There are a total of six stickers available to earn today, which means some of you could get one or two, or one of you could get them all. It’s all just a matter of how hard you’re willing to try." The class was predictably awful for everyone other than Alistair. He kept shifting his feet around, using the awkward padding between his thighs to his advantage. It was actually kind of impressive to Wendy, who was notoriously bad at balancing. She could trip walking up a flight of stairs. Aqua was actually rather athletic, but her thin legs and her thick diapers made it hard for her to make it from one side of the beam to the other. JB was short and pudgy and always went into things with a little too much confidence. He climbed up on the beam and fell so many times that he actually started to cry. Mr. Silver moved him to the side and Silenced him; JB sucked his pacifier and sniffled. Daisy was always a wallflower; she never spoke up in class unless she was prompted, and she always took her time to get things just right. Daisy fell once off the balancing beam and gave up. Lyra was taller than Wendy and maybe a little more flexible, but Wendy had more determination. The two were usually an even match, but Balance was an exception. Lyra fell twice, but she made it across the beam. Wendy climbed onto the beam last. She put her arms out at her sides like she was taught, but her her diaper pushed her legs apart. She tried to take a step forward, but the thickness between her thighs forced her to swing her foot out in an arc. It caught her off balance and she fell flat onto the cushion below. After ten tries, Mr. Silver moved on. He was visibly disappointed, and Wendy felt sick to her stomach. She wiped tears out of her eyes before they fell down her cheeks. Every gym session ended with some kind of gymnastics thing. When Wendy got to the Academy, she wasn't very good at it, but months of practice had made her more flexible. But the vaulting box was notoriously humiliating. You were supposed to run at it, put your hands on the top, and kind of leap over it with your legs spread apart. Truthfully, before the Academy, Wendy had never seen one outside of anime. Unfortunately, Wendy wasn't very big and things like the vaulting box were always a challenge. It was often too high or too long to jump successfully, so the students would usually drop down on top of it like they were mounting a horse. It was also the perfect moment for inspections. "Wendy St. James," Mr. Silver called, "you’re first." While an old iteration of Wendy may have been nervous to go first, today’s Wendy saw only the opportunity for praise. She could already hear Mr. Silver’s voice in her ear, telling her how good she’d done. Only, Wendy knew she wouldn’t be able to make it. All her optimism from earlier - when Mrs. Airhart commended her - had faded. It was like a drug; it never lasted long enough. Wendy took a deep breath and tried to focus. Run. Time her jump. Hands out. Speed was key. And... go! The problem was, speed was really hard to achieve when her underwear forced her to waddle. Wendy did her best, but by the time she put her hands on the vaulting box, she landed squarely in the center, legs splayed out, and her diapered crotch against the padded saddle. A blush washed over Wendy's cheeks, but her embarrassment was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming sense of failure. "Wendy," Mr. Silver sighed. "That was rather disappointing." Wendy felt tears in her eyes and tried to swing her leg off the vaulting box before she started to cry in front of the whole class. But Mr. Silver stopped her with a clicking of his tongue. "To redeem yourself," he said, "wet your diaper." It was a common instruction. Routine. Something Wendy had done hundreds of times before. It used to bother her. She would argue with the teachers. After a few weeks of that, she would struggle to make her body do what she was told. But now, it was second nature. A teacher told her to wet her diaper and she did it, sometimes without even thinking. But when her diaper was pressed so firmly against the top of the box, it was somehow worse. Wendy nodded and closed her eyes. Relaxing, then a sense of pressure. In seconds, she felt the warm splash of liquid between her legs. It pooled up the front of her diaper and spread across her bottom. Ordinarily the diaper would soak it up and it would start to feel dry, but the padding was squished against the vaulting box. Wendy worried, for a moment, that it would leak. But it didn't. When Wendy was done, her cheeks were burning and she was a little out of breath. She hardly ever thought about sex anymore, but this was the closest thing she could remember to it. And worse: everyone was watching. Wendy glanced back at Lyra with a small, embarrassed smile, but her shame only lasted as long as it took Mr. Silver to speak. "Good girl," he said, and those two words were more important than the world itself, worthy of an apocalypse. Wendy beamed happily and felt another shiver in her warm, wet diaper. Wendy was just about to awkwardly climb off the horse when Mr. Silver asked another question: "Do you have to go?" That question only meant one thing. It wasn't "do you have to go somewhere", because nowhere a student needed to be was more important than what a teacher had to say. It wasn't "do you have to pee", like one might ask a little kid, because students were expected to wet their diapers on command. It was a student’s responsibility to always have to pee. No, that question only meant one thing. "I... um..." Wendy had to go. She had been waiting until lunch so she could go the nurses's office right after, but she couldn't lie to a teacher. Even the thought of doing so made her anxious. What kind of girl would lie? A bad one. A terrible one. A naughty one. So instead, Wendy nodded her head. Mr. Silver was quiet for far too long. Realistically, the silence lasted only a moment, but to Wendy it felt like forever and a day. Her heart thumped in her chest. She could feel the warmth of the sun, but the warmth of her cheeks felt hotter. She could feel the eyes of her classmates upon her, along with the heavy gaze of fate itself. Wendy was trembling. "Mess your diaper," Mr. Silver finally instructed. That was all Wendy needed: an instruction. She could hear whispers from her classmates, but it didn't matter what they were saying. Students always obeyed a teacher. Wendy closed her eyes and tried to think that she was anywhere else. She wasn't in gym class, on display, legs spread, grunting and pushing in front of her classmates and her teacher like an untrained toddler in the corner of her playroom. Wendy leaned forward so much that her forearms touched the padded top of the vaulting box. She inhaled, held her breath, and pushed. She groaned as the stinky mess filled the seat of her diaper, straining against the warm wet padding, bulging out for her classmates to see. Her bloomers expanded outward until they were taut against her diapered butt. Wendy continued to grunt and push for a minute or two, until a sigh of relief escaped her lips and her diaper was full. "Good girl," Mr. Silver praised, and Wendy swore it was better than sex. She sat up without thinking, squishing the mess against her butt as she sat in it. Her cheeks were red from the strain and the humiliation, but the warmth in her heart from hearing her teacher's approval was overwhelming. It was even more overwhelming than the smell that quickly filled the air around Wendy like an aura. Anyone within ten feet of her could tell she was just a little girl in a dirty diaper. Wendy got two stickers in gym class. Alistair also got two, Lyra got one, and Aqua got one. JB was also instructed to wet his diaper on top of the vaulting box, but his embarrassment ended there. Wendy's pride lasted long enough to get through the rest of the class, but by the time the bell tolled it was starting to wane. On the way back toward the school, Alistair ran up behind Wendy and smacked her sharply on the seat of her messy diaper. Her cheeks burned crimson. "Good game!" Alistair said with a grin, knowing what he'd done, and ran off ahead. "You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself," Aqua teased, winking at Wendy. "I... I was not!" Wendy shouted back at her, blushing furiously. "I had to! 'Cuz Mr. Silver..." "Mmhmm, I know what you mean. Too bad he doesn't ask me to do more..." Aqua twirled her hair with a smile and Wendy stared blankly as her brain processed what Aqua was saying. "But... he's a teacher." "So?" Aqua shrugged. "I like guys who are in charge. And he's hot." "Really?" Wendy thought about it for a moment. She hadn't really been looking at boys in a sexy way, since most of the boys she knew were also in diapers. Wendy turned to Lyra for her opinion, who had been trying to keep the pace of Wendy’s full-diaper-waddle. "I like girls," Lyra said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I dunno what makes boys hot." "You'll have to trust me," Aqua said with a smirk. "But you should go to the nurse. We don't want you stinking up math class." Wendy stuck her tongue out, but jokes like that were actually pretty common. That was why the students did their best to make messes in quiet places near the changing rooms, so nobody else had to know about it. On the way to the nurses’s office, when Wendy and Lyra were alone, Wendy started turning her thoughts into words. "Maybe it wouldn’t be so embarrassing if it didn’t smell so bad," Wendy pouted, unable to escape the aroma of her messy diaper. If Wendy could smell it, Lyra could definitely smell it too. "I dunno," Lyra shrugged. "It's embarrassing either way, but stinking is like... it makes other people gotta deal with it. I dun want that. If I stinked to me but not other people, that would be more okay." "I suppose..." Wendy nodded along with Lyra's assessment. She didn't like other people knowing what she had done, and smell was a dead giveaway. But Lyra was talking more about inconveniencing others. Wendy didn't consider that; she figured if other people were bothered, they would tell her. Why was it her responsibility to manage other people's feelings? "See you?" Lyra asked, shortening the sentence 'So I'll see you in class after you get your diaper changed?' to its essential words and inflections. Wendy understood her perfectly. "Yeah, I'll be there soon." By the time Wendy arrived at the nurse's station, the break between classes was almost over. No doubt Wendy’s classmates would tell Mr. Margo that she needed a diaper change, and her tardiness would be excused.

I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!! I didn't reply to your comment on A:I because I was a little embarrassed that I hadn't done a good job?? So thank you for continuing despite your feelings on it. I'm really happy you liked this one more!! Yeah, the Ai/Bala thing is super divisive. I actually know some readers who pick teams. I really hope I can appease both sides in the future... I don't think either of their stories are over yet. Speaking of!!! Interconnectedness is my middle name! Mia Interconnectedness Moore. It's a mouthful. But I promise, if you pay close attention, you'll see a lot of connections between all the stories!! Have fun with T! It's a fan favorite. ~Mia Interconnectedness Moore~

I am really excited to tie Wendy's day in with Aya's!! I've never done non-linear storytelling like this so it's new territory for me.. I'm so glad you like it!! Sometimes I know what the letter stands for, like T and K. But I'm still not completely sure about A?? It kind of implies this was the /first/ Academy, if they went alphabetically?? I think that's fair, since it's also the most school-like?? But I like Academy Alice.

Chapter Seven Earlier That Day Wendy St. James fumbled with her hair ribbon, trying to tie her short black hair up into a ponytail. Strands kept falling out, framing her face, until she finally gave up. When Wendy was a kid, her mom told her that untied hair made her seem irresponsible. Flippant was another word for it, but also childish. Like she couldn't be bothered taking care of herself. Wendy had been trying to grow her hair out all year, but the staff kept instructing she get it cut. It wasn't fair; other girls at the Academy had long hair! Why did she have to keep hers short? With a sigh of defeat, Wendy put the ribbon back in the vanity drawer and flattened out her skirt. She looked silly in her school uniform; it had one of those round collars kids have on in elementary school, with a pink plaid bow tied around the neck. Actually, the whole uniform was pink, even the boys' ones. Of course, Wendy had a plaid skirt and they had shorts. It didn't seem fair, but given other elements of the uniform, it could have been worse. Wendy hurried into the cluttered hall of the girl's dorm and followed the flow of students down the stairs. The Academy had only a few dozen girls and a few dozen boys. It didn't make a lot of sense for the size of the campus, but that meant the breakfast line was never very long. A light fog had rolled over the school grounds as it often did in the morning. The air smelled like salt and rain, and it was cold enough to raise goosebumps on Wendy's arms. She hurried into the adjacent building - the cafeteria - and got in line behind one of her classmates. "What’s for breakfast today?" Wendy asked. The girl in front of her in line - Aqua - sighed before giving her an answer, because she knew that no answer would be good enough. "Crumpets, with fruit spreads." "Oh," Wendy said quietly, then after a pause: "Where do you think they get ingredients for this stuff? We never see any trucks come up to the school gate." "I don’t know," the taller girl said with a tone of defeat to her words. "Maybe there’s a farm or something," Wendy mused. "It could be right outside the wall… what do you think?" "I think I just want to get my breakfast," Aqua said. She was very literal a lot of the time, and often found Wendy to be a bit annoying. Especially in the mornings. Especially because the Academy didn't serve coffee to the students. "They always have these little boxed lunches," Wendy went on, oblivious to Aqua's irritation. "Like, you get to pick which one you want. But for breakfast we just get whatever they give us. I guess it's more work to make different lunches... and dinner is more like a buffet, so..." Wendy trailed off just as they reached the front of the line. Aqua got a plate of food and hurried away from Wendy to find her own friends. Wendy got her tray and went to the drinks station. She picked up a sippy cup of apple juice and looked around for a friend of her own. Sure enough, Lyra was sitting at a table by the door, picking apart her crumpets into bite-sized pieces. Lyra was a little taller than Wendy, but they had a lot in common. Brown eyes, round cheeks, and straight black hair. Of course, Lyra had her hair tied responsibly in low pigtails. That was something that always made Wendy jealous. Wendy took a seat next to Lyra and started to organize her fruits into groups. She took all the citrus ones and piled them onto Lyra's plate. The only reason Lyra put up with her was probably because Wendy could be a really picky eater, and Lyra wanted the spoils. "Marlie says she saw the Ghost, you know." That was how Wendy started conversations: no lead-ins. "Marlie also says she writes for the New York Times," Lyra said skeptically. "And that she's a lexi... lexico..." Lyra paused but the word didn't come to her. "That she writes the dictionary." Wendy ignored Lyra’s comment and leaned down to get a scrapbook out of her book bag. It had once been a coloring book, but the only colorful things inside were crayon-written notes. She put the book down on the table, but she didn’t open it quite yet. On the cover were the words Wendy’s Wonderbook written neatly in crayon. "But just because Marlie isn't a dictionary writer doesn't mean that she didn't see the Ghost," Wendy said, opening up the book to look for the right page. "So the first sighting was three weeks ago, in the east wing. Lionel saw it." "Lionel is afraid of his own shadow," Lyra countered. "And I've got five different reports of feeling chilly on the second floor!" Wendy tried again. "Because the latch on that window has been broken all year." "Ashie said she feels like somebody is watching her whenever she's alone." "I dunno, we're probably always being watched..." Lyra sulked a bit in her seat and took a bite of her fruit. "You aren't helping," Wendy said sharply, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry," Lyra sighed. She was trying to be reasonable, but she knew better. Reasonable wasn't something that meshed well with Wendy, and Lyra would rather be supportive of her friend than tear her down. "Okay, what do we know." "Well..." Wendy flipped a page in her Wonderbook. "I think the most reports are around here, by the music room." "Nobody uses the music room," Lyra said, not dismissively but in an attempt to provide information. Whenever Wendy needed to work out a problem, Lyra was a great rubber duck. "Exactly," Wendy smiled brightly. "The perfect spot for a ghost!" Why did nobody use the music room? Because it was haunted? Or was it haunted, before nobody used it? Maybe neither were true and it was just a coincidence, but Wendy St. James knew that the simplest answer was often the most likely. And in this case, the simplest answer was that there was a ghost in the music room. "Let’s go to the music room!" Of course, Wendy said this without having eaten her breakfast. "We have class in ten minutes," Lyra said practically, and if Wendy didn't finish her juice she would surely be in trouble when inspections came around. But Lyra knew Wendy well enough to shift the narrative. "Shouldn't you be more prepared? Aren't ghosts hard to catch?" "I suppose..." Wendy's excitement flickered. As much as she hated to admit it, preparation was key. It was just so boring sometimes. Wendy puffed out her cheeks and turned back to her food, taking a bite of her crumpet. Ten minutes later, a bell chimed. Students put their trays and sippy cups in stacks by the door and hurried off to their classes. Lyra and Wendy were classmates, so they walked together to their first class: English. Mrs. Airhart was one of Wendy’s favorite teachers; she was strict and firm, but she had a lot of patience. It took a lot of patience to be a teacher for Wendy, because it was never ever enough to just explain something to her. She always needed to know everything. Wendy sat down at her desk — next to Lyra’s —but her stay didn’t last long. The moment class started, Mrs. Airhart called Wendy’s name. "Wendy St. James. Come up here, please." Everyone else watched from their seats as Wendy stood up. She walked to the front of the room with rapt anxiety. Was this a check? But it was too early in the day for something like that! Nonetheless, Wendy was confident that she could handle it; she had finished her entire sippy cup, after all. But when Wendy got to the front of the room, Mrs. Airhart passed her a small paper envelope and waved her away. Wendy looked at the unmarked envelope and then the woman in front of her. Taller, older, with crinkled eyes and thin lips. She looked meaner than she was. Wendy turned around and went back to her seat. Class started with a discussion about word choice, but Wendy wasn't listening. She had opened the envelope and found only one sheet of paper inside. It was a list of words, some with which she was familiar, but most seemed like nonsense. "Wendy," Mrs. Airhart said. It drew Wendy's attention away from the paper. "Yes ma'am?" Wendy asked. She hadn't been listening, so she hoped beyond hoped that she wasn't asking a direct question. "Please pick a word off that list I gave you." "Oh, um..." Wendy read through the words again, trying to find one she liked the most. "Frabjous?" "And what do you think that means?" Mrs. Airhart asked. "I... I'm not sure..." Wendy admitted, a blush on her cheeks. She could have sworn she'd seen it before. "Take a guess," Mrs. Airhart said. Wendy sighed and reread the word a dozen times in her head. "Frabjous... like..." Wendy took a guess. "Good? Um. Exciting?" "And why do you think that?" "I dunno... it just sounds like a nice word?" Wendy was sure she had gotten the answer wrong, but she hadn't considered why she was given this specific piece of paper. Last class, Wendy had been the one to stay after and ask about all the made up words Lewis Carroll used in his book. She asked why he was allowed to do that. "Very good," Mrs. Airhart said happily. Wendy's heart raced at her words and a bright smile flashed across her face. Then Mrs. Airhart addressed the class. "Words are a way to communicate ideas. Sometimes there aren't good words for an idea, so we make them up. Can anyone think of an example?" "Spicklepuff!" Came one voice, belonging to one of the boys in her class - JB - and he hadn’t even raised his hand to provide it. Wendy puffed out her cheeks in annoyance; it was so unjust to beat someone to a question without raising your hand. But Wendy’s ire passed quickly when Mrs. Airhart admonished the boy. "No, JB. That’s not a word, and you didn’t raise your hand." A double admonishment. Wendy couldn’t even imagine how the boy must have been feeling. Or rather, she didn’t want to think about it. She raised her hand up straight and tall, and waved it, smiling big and wide and waiting to be noticed. "Yes, Wendy? Do you have an example?" "Selfie?" Wendy was sure she had a good answer, but it still came out as a question. It wasn't her place to decide what was right and what was wrong; that was what teachers were for. "Very good," Mrs. Airhart praised, and Wendy squirmed happily in her seat. She felt like she could conquer anything. Mrs. Airhart went on: "Selfie is a kind of self-taken photograph, and has a very specific appearance due to the close-range shot. But why make up a new word, when we could say 'a self picture' instead?" Lyra raised her hand and Mrs. Airhart called on her. "Efficiency." "That's correct," Mrs. Airhart praised. "Precision of language is not in the accuracy of your vocabulary; it's the ability to convey what you want to convey in the simplest way possible. And just as Mr. Carroll demonstrates with the word 'frabjous', others can usually understand nonsense if it's the right kind of nonsense." The class nodded in agreement, though JB was still sulking at his desk. After that, Mrs. Airhart passed out their books and the students took turns reading aloud. After a few students had a turn, Mrs. Airhart passed the passage on to Wendy. She beamed happily and continued where her classmate had left off. "'Come, there's no use in crying like that!' said Alice to herself rather sharply." Wendy slipped into a fake British accent, slight enough to match Alice from the movie. "'I advise you to leave this minute!' She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears to her eyes. And once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. 'But it's no use now,' thought poor Alice, 'to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make ONE respectable person!' Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table. She opened it and found in it a very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants. 'Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice, 'and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key. And if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door. So either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens.'" For once, Wendy didn't have any questions. What Alice was saying was nonsense, but to Wendy it was the right kind of nonsense.

Chapter Six "You know the drill," Mommy Moo said softly, tugging at the collar of Aya's mint-green dress to put it back in the right place. The soggy diaper was visible under the hem. "Return the dress to the daycare locker in the morning, after you've had some sleep." "Yes, Mommy Moo," Aya said dreamily, beaming up at her caregiver. Then the sound of a knock from the other side of the daycare broke the moment like a firework on a quiet night. Aya looked over to see another caregiver talking to a nurse. August, or maybe it was January. Aya always got them mixed up. In the nurse's hand was the sleeve of a student: Wendy, the girl from lunch. She was wearing dark pajamas with little star stencils and had her backpack slung over her shoulders. Wendy's gaze caught Aya's and they both stared at each other. Wendy shrugged bashfully and Aya rolled her eyes. Of course she got caught. "Looks like a nurse just arrived," Mommy Moo said to her charge. "I would hate to think you were going all the way to your room unchaperoned. Maybe he can help." As the other caregiver led Wendy away from the door, Mommy Moo led Aya toward it. She had a brief conversation with the nurse who was either August or January, explained the situation, and the man agreed to escort Aya back to her room. Mommy Moo ended Aya's daycare visit by placing a bag of her school clothes in her hand and placing a kiss squarely on her forehead. "Be a good little girl," Mommy Moo warned, a warm smile on her face. "I will," Aya promised, and followed Nurse August or January out the door. "Careful now, darling, stay close." The nurse didn't need to remind Aya because night had fallen. The long corridors of the school were cloaked in an oppressive darkness, broken only by the flickering emanations of the handheld lantern gripped firmly in the nurse's hand. Instinctively, Aya tucked herself in closer behind Nurse August or January. It wasn't that far of a walk to the girls’ dorm rooms, but Aya wasn’t exactly comfortable with the dark. Aya grew up learning a lot of stories about things that maybe didn't happen, stuff her parents believed in. But whether Aya believed it or not, those stories shaped her. They defined where she came from, and in a way, where she would go. One thing she still loved from those stories was the blessing of fire. It was a medium of transformation, a bridge between the Upper World and the material. Her parents would always drop a little food into the fire as a show of respect before each meal, and would never put the fire out with water. For Aya, who had heard one-too-many ghost stories in elementary school, the fire was a guardian protecting her from the dark. So as Aya and the nurse continued to walk through the vast blackness of the school at night, it wasn't the grown man who she inched toward for comfort: it was his lantern. After a few turns through long-shadowed hallways and warmly lit stonework, Aya and the nurse stepped out into the courtyard. Just across from her, she could see a wall of flickering windows and a big door alight with torches. He motioned her onward and Aya ran as fast as her sagging diaper would allow through the stretch of darkness between one light source and the next. When she got to the front door of the residences, she turned around to find that the nurse and his lantern were gone. Aya turned the door handle and the door swung open, letting both heat and warmth flood out of the residence like water from a broken dam. Just as quickly as it washed over Aya, she'd pulled herself inside and closed the door behind her, sealing the levy. Her heart was pounding, and her diaper was soggy, but she was safe. Or so she thought, until the words of an older woman made her jump. "Miss Kanoska!" Miss Flannery - a stern older woman who wore small, round glasses on a chain around her neck - stepped forward with her hands on her hips. She took one look at Aya's dress and softened her tone. "Please head to bed." "Yes ma'am," Aya said nervously, waddling past her and up to the second floor. There were two dorms: a boy's and a girl's. Each one had a staff member that oversaw the goings-on, but it was easy to get away with stuff. Sneaking from room to room after Lights Out was never much of a problem, as long as you didn't try to open the noisy front doors. Aya’s room was just down the hall from Summer's, but she needed to change first. The last thing she wanted was to walk around the dorms in a babydoll dress, her soaked diaper on display. She had been teased enough for one day after the incident in Science class. The prickly darkness was gone, and the warmth of coming home only served to foster the feelings of happiness Aya had from her time in the daycare. She got to her bedroom, closed the door, and walked straight into the bathroom. Each room had a small adjacent bathroom. The commode seemed like such a waste of space these days, but it took Aya a long time to understand the rules, and every student learned at their own pace. In a way, the toilets were like training wheels for diaper training. All students went through the same process when they started at the Academy. At first, the idea of wearing diapers was abhorrent, and the students rallied against that notion. But with enough disappointment, enough reinforcement, and enough praise, it became acceptable. The next hurdle was having to use them, and then a begrudgingly normality formed. Sooner or later, the toilet was an afterthought, and every student became a bedwetter. Aya ritually washed her hands both before and after changing her own diapers. She held her hands under the warm water in the basin and felt the padding between her legs swell with renewed heat. She dried them on a hand towel before heading back into her room to properly change herself. Aya's room was no different to most dorm furniture: a wooden bed frame, a nice dresser, a desk in the corner. All of it had been here when she arrived, and most of the other rooms were identical. There was a small oil lamp on the desk and a lantern that hung from the center of the room. The woman with the small circular glasses always lit them before sundown, and the students would blow them out before bed. Aya always kept hers on. Aya went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. All the diapers at the Academy were the same: white with a printed landing zone. Aya's dresser was stacked with the Literature print - decorations of book covers and characters like Wilbur and Alice - and the Science print - planets and molecule formations that didn't make a lot of sense. But there was one diaper that defied the norm: the bedtime diaper. This diaper had little grey stars printed all over it, not just on the landing zone, and was soft to the touch like a baby diaper. Aya wasn't a huge fan of the bedtime diapers; they were too infantile. But they were also the most comfortable diaper to sleep in, and there were posters all over the school about how that's what "good boys and girls wear to bed". Aya never really had a choice. She unfolded the bedtime diaper in her hands and flattened it out on top of her bed. The plastic layer of her sheet crinkled as she did. Her nightstand was already stocked with the requisite baby powder and wipes. After struggling with the dress for a good minute, Aya finally pulled it off over her head and stood naked but for the soggy diaper. Aya ran her fingers over her tummy - still full of Mommy Moo's milk, and a little pudgy as a result - and pulled at the tapes, allowing the wet diaper to drop to the floor. There was something that in particular about changing her own diapers that signaled not just acquiescence, but true acceptance. It was truly what a good girl would do. Aya took some wipes out of the container by her bedside and wiped herself clean. After putting the wipes in the soggy diaper, she rolled it up and taped it closed. She slipped the used diaper into the pail by the bedroom door and checked herself in the mirror. It was almost strange to see herself naked these days; the only time she did was between diaper changes. But even without her usual clothing, she still didn't look grown up. Her breasts were on the smaller side, rounded at the bottom, casting shadows over her pudgy stomach. She was hairless between her legs and everywhere else below her head, a product of the bath bombs in the tub room. They were optional, but a good girl didn't have body hair; that was another poster she saw around school. Remembering the tubs, Aya stepped forward to read a little index card stuck into the corner of her mirror. '8:30, Room B' She checked her bedside clock. '10:22'. Well, she would have to wait until tomorrow for a bath. With a sigh of resignation, she went back to the bed and laid down so that her butt was squarely on the seat of the diaper. Diaper changes were so routine that Aya almost always got it on the first try. There was a certain comfort to that: getting it right and not having to do it more than once. It was nice to be good at something; a little bit of control, for a girl who had very little. Aya hummed playfully to herself, taking the powder and giving herself an ample dusting and then even a little more on top of that. The white cloud swirled and settled between her legs, and she took a deep breath to appreciate the scent. Happiness was a powdery diaper. Aya pulled the front of her diaper up and taped it perfectly in place. She sat up on her crinkly bottom, went to wash her hands a second time, and dressed herself in a nightgown from the dresser. Once she was ready for bed, Aya cracked open the door and looked down the hall. No lanterns. She sure hated the dark. Usually it was Summer creeping into her room, not the other way around. With a sigh, Aya closed her door and went back to her bed. Why did she even want to see Summer? To chide her for dragging her to that daycare? It was the best decision. Because Summer had insisted, Aya felt better. Calmer. At peace. Full of heat and warmth and maybe something like love. Self-love? What's that called? Pride? Aya eventually gave up on staying angry. She wasn't even angry to begin with. She was happy Summer had done what she did, because now Aya could approach the next morning with even more vigor and dedication. She needed the reminder that she could do something right, and now she was sure of it. She could do everything right. She would be the absolute best girl the Academy had ever seen, and she would get called to the stage at the end of the term. Her warm, happy thoughts of the future made Aya tired. She crawled under her blankets and smiled up at the lantern, flickering gently. She remembered the lantern that brought her back to her dorm. She remembered the lantern behind that metal screen in the daycare, shining little stars all over the room. Her warm, happy thoughts of the past made Aya melt into her blankets. She remembered Mommy Moo pushing her nipple between Aya's lips. She remembered the praise Mommy Moo whispered in her ear. She remembered the feeling of Mommy Moo's hand on the front of her diaper as she wet herself on command. Aya, in the lantern-light of her room, tired from a long day, slipped her hand under her nightgown and pressed her hand against the front of her diaper and thought of all the ways she would be a good girl tomorrow.

Thank you so much for all the compliments!! ? The fact that I can elicit such strong feelings of nostalgia in you with these stories makes me very happy. And I totally know what you mean about the stuff with Mommy Moo and just wanting to do what you're told so everything is okay. Aya's really great for that kind of "soft baby" feel and she's honestly one of my favorite protagonists I've written. Sooooo I should have another chapter up today!! Stay tuned!! OH of course they do. ?

Chapter Five Aya and Mommy Moo's relationship was a little odd. Aya had never called anyone Mommy before; even her own mom she called Etsi. At first, Aya thought she hated Mommy Moo; she was so condescending and Aya thought her flippancy with praise diminished it. But after a few visits to the daycare, after a lot of hard days at the Academy, Mommy Moo had become something akin to an actual parent. One she would visit very rarely, but who always treated her with unconditional love and affection. With Mommy Moo, Aya knew she could do no wrong. "Good girl!" Mommy Moo praised Aya, for raising her arms when prompted. Aya held her breath until her head appeared on the other side of the neck hole of a charming mint green babydoll dress. “Such a good girl!" Mommy Moo praised again, this time when Aya put her arms through the delicate, puffy sleeves. Aya felt intoxicated, like she was floating. Light, airy, spiritual, and yet safe, secure, and grounded. Mommy Moo’s grasp of language was so powerful that Aya’s grasp of language failed entirely to quantify it. Aya was a kite, fluttering in the winds of praise and happiness, zigging and zagging across the sky of compliance. Aya’s worries, fears, and anxieties were on the ground far below her, and Mommy Moo would tug the kite string to keep her aloft. All Aya had to do was let her. When Aya was standing on her feet, her new dress was so short that it only covered the very top of her diaper. The pristine white plastic on her bottom was on display for anyone looking, and the landing zone on the front was decorated numbers and mathematical signs. She had been wearing a Literature diaper that morning, but Nurse April chose the replacement. Despite her embarrassing attire, Aya didn’t seem to care one bit. "Look at your hair," Mommy Moo cooed, running her fingers through the thick strands. "You must be brushing it every day, just like we talked about. As a reward, let's make it even prettier. Come sit in front of my chair.” Each and every word was thick and syrupy, and Aya started to feel that way in every other regard. Her own movements, her own thoughts, her own choices: all syrupy. Sweet and thick and slow and clumsy. She plopped down in front of Mommy Moo, right on the floor without a care, without a pause, without an ounce of grace, and was rewarded with a syrupy "Good girl!" Mommy Moo hummed as she brushed through Aya's thick brown hair, almost black unless it caught the sunlight just right. She turned Aya around and pulled her hair up into two long pigtails, then braided them and tied bows at the end. It was a hairstyle Aya usually wore as a child, and whether or not that was coincidence was still undermined. No one knew why the Academy had brought them here, or what they wanted. It was something Summer liked to talk a lot about, but truthfully Aya had stopped caring. As long as she did what she was told, she could be happy here. "You really are the most beautiful little girl," Mommy Moo smiled after finishing Aya's hair, brushing her thumb across her charge’s cheek. Aya beamed, alight with pride. "How about you go make me the prettiest castle you can with the wood blocks, hm? Do you think you can do that?" "Uh huh!" Aya said, a little too quickly. She stumbled to her feet and almost fell over again. Mommy Moo gently held her by the arm and laughed. "Remember what we talked about," she said to Aya. "You're too little to walk." "Oh... right." Aya blushed and slipped back down to the floor, then crawled across the daycare toward the center of the star to find the wooden blocks, wiggling her diapered butt as she went. You're such a good girl for crawling, Aya told herself, as she made her way into the sunken room to play with her blocks. You're such a good girl for knowing you're too little. You're such a good girl for not caring who sees your diaper. You're such a good girl for ignoring any time you use it, and letting a grown-up check and discover it. You're such a good girl for doing what you're told. Aya built blocks into castles. She didn't let herself think about balance, about physics, about structure, about the forces of gravity and fulcrums and cantilevers; in another life she barely wanted to remember, she cared about those things immensely. But now, when her blocks fell over she didn’t think about why. She simply started again, knowing she could do no wrong. "My goodness, look how beautiful your castle is!" Mommy Moo cooed. How long had it been? A few minutes? An hour? Two? The lanterns flickered makeshift stars across the ceiling and the whole place was filled with a quiet dimness. There were no windows. No clocks. Aya looked down at the castle she had built and rebuilt, because it kept falling over. She didn't think it was that good, but if Mommy Moo said it was beautiful then it was beautiful. "You look hungry," Mommy Moo said to Aya. Aya nodded, because Mommy Moo would know better than her. "Okay, then. Arms up." Aya put her arms up and Mommy Moo plucked her into the air, sitting her gently on her hip so that the front of her diaper was pressed into the strap of Mommy Moo's cow-print apron. Aya blushed gently and put her head on Mommy Moo's shoulder as she carried her charge toward the chair. Mommy Moo's name and appearance were not coincidence. Of all the daycare staff Aya had seen, Mommy Moo's breasts were the largest. Massive, round, bursting out of her pink starched dress. Aya thought the cow-print apron was kind of funny when they met, but the humor of the situation only lasted until her first feeding. Mommy Moo sat down in her chair and situated Aya on her lap. Aya knew what was coming. A warm blush filled her cheeks and her body started to tingle. In college, Aya dated a girl for a while; Mommy Moo sometimes reminded her of that. It was hard to ignore the flood of memories, and harder to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. "I bet you're extra hungry today," Mommy Moo said. "And I know you'll be a good girl and finish everything Mommy Moo has to give you." Those words were just signatures on the dotted line of Aya's fate; if Mommy Moo fed her a little bit or enough for her to burst, Aya would take every single drop to earn that praise. Aya's eyes watched as Mommy Moo unbuckled one of the straps of her apron, and then the same corner of her dress, to reveal one of her large, creamy, glorious breasts. Once upon a time, Aya could have seen this as arousal. Now, she was too little to have arousal. Once upon a time, Aya could have seen this as embarrassing. Now, she was too little to have embarrassment. Aya was not, however, too little to be fed. With a gentle guidance, Aya settled into the perfect place across Mommy Moo's lap so that her lips lined up precisely. Aya’s entire body tingled, from her toes to her ears, like a thousand vibrations that would form a symphony. Not arousal. Anticipation. Aya licked her lips and parted them, and - with the guidance of a hand in her hair from Mommy Moo - she did what any baby her age would do: latched onto her Mommy’s breast. Aya sucked gently, and within the seconds a warm sweetness splashed across her tongue. It had been so long since Aya had done this, it came as a surprise, but in less than a second it was routine. Like riding a bike. Aya sucked softly as her body began to naturally relax. At first, she kept a hand cradling the side of Mommy Moo's breast, for support, but her fingertips slowly slid down her soft skin. Her hand landed gently against her own chest. The tightness in her legs to hold her pose ebbed away and her toes felt a little numb. The heat of Mommy Moo's body as Aya was cradled in her arms warmed her outside, while the heat of the milk as it dribbled down into her tummy warmed her inside. Soon, Aya couldn't move if she wanted to. She couldn't feel her arms or legs. She couldn't feel any ounce of cold or fear or shame. She couldn't do anything but nurse on Mommy Moo's supple teat and let her words drift into her brain like water through a sieve. Praise. Reward. Love. Goodness. Best. Cutest. Prettiest. Obedient. Aya felt the pressure of Mommy Moo's hand against the front of her diaper, between her legs, and an involuntary shiver of excitement surged through Aya's body. A slight moan echoed in her mouth as she continued to nurse. "You feel so warm," Mommy Moo whispered. "Inside and out. But don't stop there. Make your diaper warm too." Mommy Moo was giving her so much, and her hand on Aya's diaper was a clear reminder: Aya was so helpless. She was small. She was little. She was diapered. She was tiny. She was breast-feeding. She was a baby. Aya was such a baby, and the only thing a baby could give back to her Mommy was proof of it. With Mommy Moo’s hand between her legs, Aya wet her diaper so easily, so thoroughly, and so effortlessly that there was no doubt about it. Aya was a— "Good little girl," Mommy Moo whispered when she felt the heat on her hand. "Such a good little baby girl. A good little soggy diaper girl. A good little helpless girl." Good and little were always paired. They were nearly one in the same. The littler Aya was, the gooder she was. Correlation. Causality. Or maybe they were synonyms. She was good, and she was little, and both were always true as long as she obeyed her Mommy Moo. The praise didn't stop until the milk did. Minutes? Hours? Days? When Mommy Moo's nipple was pulled from Aya's craving lips, she whimpered in need. Mommy Moo reached into her own pocket and produced a pacifier, replacing her own teat with the substitute. Aya settled down and Mommy Moo rocked her softly in the chair, singing a lullaby Aya had never heard. Aya sucked softly, breathed evenly, and never fussed or stirred. But she didn't fall asleep. She was awake, alert, keenly aware of all the sensations in her body. The heat of her caregiver. The taste of breastmilk in her mouth. The pleasant ache of a full tummy. The clammy thickness of a soaked diaper. And the fuzzy thoughts of Mommy Moo's words, still circling in her head like vultures in the desert. Always there. Waiting. Inevitable. In her contentedness, Aya welcomed them as friends.

This is so true!! Sometimes true fear is in not knowing. Thank you so much for compliments, and of course the words 'good girl' have so much power. ?

Chapter Four Ayoka sat quietly in English class, re-reading the same passage in her book over and over. It was a book she had read before, but all the words kept turning into numbers. Sticker counts were never accurate; every time Aya - or any student - tried to count the stickers on the covered wall in the courtyard, they would get different numbers. Not knowing just made it harder for Aya. Already three classes had gone by. If she could just make it through the other two... "Aya?" Mrs. Airhart said again. Aya looked up in confusion, which quickly changed to embarrassment. She hadn't been paying attention. "Could you continue the passage, please?" "...um... sure..." Aya flipped the page in her book and looked down at the words. Dozens. Hundreds. A guess wouldn't get her anywhere. After a moment of hesitation, she sunk into her chair in defeat. No stickers this class either... "Top of page 30," Mrs. Airhart sighed, disappointment in her tone. Aya was two pages behind. She flipped them through and stood up before reading aloud from her book. "For some minutes Alice stood without speaking, looking out in all directions over the country, and a most curious country it was. There were a number of tiny little brooks running straight across it from side to side, and the ground between was divided up into squares by a number of little green hedges, that reached from brook to brook. 'I declare, it's marked out just like a large chessboard!' Alice said at last. 'There ought to be some men moving about somewhere -- and so there are!' She added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick with excitement as she went on. 'It's a great huge game of chess that's being played, all over the world, if this is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn't mind being a Pawn, if only I might join... though of course I should like to be a Queen, best.'" Aya glanced rather shyly at the teacher as she said this, but her instructor only smiled pleasantly and said: "Very good." The 'Very Good' kept Aya going until the end of class, until Mrs. Airhart passed out the stickers and Aya left again with none. She wanted to argue that her good reading skills should have earned her something, but the teachers knew better than her. How could she even think such a thing? Maybe Aya wasn't a good girl after all… When Aya stepped into the hall, she felt like she had lead in her shoes. She almost bumped headlong into a guy from another class, but Summer pulled her out of his path just in time. "Have you ever seen a cross-country race before?" Summer asked after pulling her friend out of harm’s way. It was an obtuse question, perhaps out of nowhere, but Summer wasn’t that frivolous with her words. "Sometimes the men run and run and run for hours and hours and hours," Summer went on. "And they can stop at some places to breathe, rest, or have some water. But if they do that, then everyone else will get ahead of them. But if they don't, then they'll be too tired to stay in first place." The metaphor was rather transparent. "I'm fine..." Aya muttered. But she wasn't. The stickers felt like faraway dreams, references in history books or mirages of a well in a desert. Even the one in her pocket felt imaginary, like she would reach in for it and it wouldn't be there. The thought made her sick to her stomach. What was the point of any of it? Why was she trying? Clearly she couldn't do it. She couldn't be good. She couldn't make the teachers proud of her. She was wasting space and air and resources. She would be better off flinging herself off the roof of the school. The only thing stopping her was the possibility it wouldn't kill her outright. "You're so fine that you're crying, huh?" Summer asked. Aya didn’t even notice; she had an empty stare as she walked despondently alongside Summer, tears dripping down both cheeks. "I'm fine..." Aya repeated as she wiped away her tears. But Summer wasn't having it. "Go to the daycare," she said. "I have another class," Aya told her, almost automatically, like a programmed response. It was her last chance. All in. She would either win this hand and everything would be fine, or she would lose and... That wasn't a gamble Summer was willing to take. She took Aya by the hand and dragged her down the hall at a reckless pace, so much so that it was a miracle neither girl succumbed to the whims of gravity. Summer only stopped when she marched her friend in front of the door marked 'Daycare' in pretty letters inside colorful blocks. The daycare was on the other end of the school. Summer would be late to class for sure, and that meant - by the time they were outside the daycare - Aya would be too. Panic rose in her chest and she shook her head, trying to tug her wrist out of her best friend's hand. Tears dripped down her cheeks in steady streams, like a brook in the woods. "I can't! I can't, I can't, I can't!" "You can. You will. You must. You are." Summer was going to be in trouble for her tardiness, and that was hard for her because - like every other student at the school - she had a primal need to be good. But some things were more important, in the right moments, and in this moment Aya’s safety was one of those things. Without letting go of Aya’s wrist, she knocked on the daycare door. The door opened and a tall woman in a starchy pink dress and a cow-printed apron stood in the entryway. Aya quickly dropped her gaze and felt a heat fill her cheeks. Last time she had been here - months ago! - she had done embarrassing things with that woman. Embarrassing things that filled her stomach with butterflies and her heart with pride. Even in recollection, Aya's anxiety fell. "Hello, little ones," the woman said happily, with a voice that rang with the sweetness and simplicity of warm caramel. "How can I help you?" Before Aya could think to stop her, Summer tugged on Aya's skirt and rummaged around in her pockets. She finally pulled out the little note from Mr. Margo that morning: a hall pass. "Hey!" Aya shouted, snatching it back. But the tall woman plucked it from Aya's fingers and read it over. "Alright, come on in," she said. "But... I have class..." Aya tried to protest. "Now now. You wanna be a good girl, right? Just follow me; that's what good girls do." It's what good girls do was a very powerful combination of words; if fae could be compelled by using their names, so too could students at this school be herded like precious little sheep at the whims of the right words. Without waiting to see if Aya would follow, the woman turned around and walked into the room. Aya looked nervously at Summer, then stepped in after the daycare lady. So much for those stickers... The door closed behind Aya, and - with the distraction of the hallway locked away - Aya focused on the world she'd stepped into. Candlelight danced in stained glass sconces, coloring the room. Little cut-outs in the glass made star shapes that flickered and danced on the walls. There were sounds of praise, of cooing, of giggling, of stiff plastic aprons and diapers crinkling. The air felt prickly and tingly, but in a good way, like the air before a thunderstorm. The daycare was one large room with five alcoves in the shape of a star. The door Aya had entered through was in one of those alcoves. In the middle, there was a sunken area full of cushions, blankets, toys, and plushies. The other four alcoves were semi-private areas, each with a changing table, a cabinet, and plush chair for more private, personal attention. As Aya followed the path of her daycare attendant into one of the distant alcoves, she felt dread, deja-vu, excitement, fear, dizziness, and a dozen other feelings of which she couldn’t assign words. "I, um... if I could get back to class soon... maybe if we could make this quick..." Aya's voice wavered with anxiety. "You're such a diligent student, hm?" the woman cooed, stopping inside one of the alcoves. Aya stopped too. "Dedication is such a wonderful quality. I'm so proud of you." Aya's eyes lit up with excitement. "But," the woman continued, "pushing yourself too hard isn't helping anybody, is it?" Aya shook her head, agreeing without a second thought. "So let me take care of you, okay? It would make me so happy." Aya's head was filled with warm, fuzzy feelings. Make her happy. Aya could do that! She nodded quickly, offering her self to the woman like a platter of free samples. "Good girl!" the woman cooed, warming the young student's cheeks. "Do you remember my name?" "Um..." Aya nodded her head, then looked down at her feet. The excitement of the moment seemed to wash away in her embarrassment. But she knew a good girl would use her words. "Mommy Moo..." "Good girl," the woman said again, leaning down to plant a kiss squarely in the middle of Aya's forehead. The heat from her lips radiated through her body like poison, soaking into every cell, until she felt like a light breeze could break the surface tension of her skin and she would melt into a puddle on the padded floor. "Now up with your arms for Mommy Moo, sweetheart. You’re such a good girl, and a good girl should get to wear the prettiest things: soft, frilly, lacy, lovely things." With no regard for Aya's body, Mommy Moo unbuttoned her shirt and took it off. The waistband of her diaper was plainly visible, and her bare breasts were on full display for the room. That was the first time Aya even noticed the others: a few students in baby dresses and onesies, some playing on the floor with toys, some in the quiet alcoves in the corners of the room. There were two other staff members, a man and a woman, tending to their charges. Aya felt a pit in her stomach: shame. Adults shouldn't be naked around strangers, but... "You aren't an adult," Mommy Moo reminded her, a smile on her lips. "Adults don't wear diapers. Adults don't go to school. Adults don't need Mommy Moo to take care of them. But you need me, don't you? Now be a good girl and tell me what you are." Aya looked up into her beautiful blue eyes and bit her lip. She never liked saying it, but after she did everything felt better. The shame would go away. "A baby," Aya admitted, and Mommy Moo gave her another kiss on the forehead. This time, Aya nearly fell over. Melting point reached. Surface tension broken. But at the last minute, Mommy Moo caught her arm to steady her. "Ah ah, maybe you're too little for walking?" Mommy Moo offered. "Are you?" Aya blushed. She could say no. Either answer was the right answer. But if she said yes, Mommy Moo's praise would extend past the verbal. She would pick her up. She would cradle her. She would carry her. So Aya nodded her head. "I'm too little," she admitted. "Thought so," Mommy Moo smiled, then picked Aya up under her arms and set her on her hip in nothing but a skirt and diaper. "That's a good girl, for being honest. Now let's get you dressed proper."

Thank you!! I mean, I'm sad that this is such a universal middle school experience... but I'm glad it feels realistic!!

Chapter Three Aya and Summer each grabbed a tray from the cafeteria. They were more like boxes, like those kinds in anime, with different things inside. Aya usually got the same one: rice with chicken, some kind of Asian sauce, and a bread roll. She would stick with one box for a long while, then get bored and switch to a new one. Summer and Aya sat under a big tree with little purple flowers on it. A few students were already playing kickball on the baseball field. Lunch was an hour long, and no one took an hour to eat. Aya looked at the front gate, far in the distance, and the wall that surrounded the school. No one was allowed outside. "You holding up okay?" Summer asked. "Uh huh." Aya faked a smile. A few minutes passed and Summer put down her plastic fork. She didn't look at Aya while she spoke. "I'm worried maybe we won't get to leave..." "I'm sure we will," Aya encouraged, not believing a single word of what she was saying. Only a few students left at the end of the last semester during the Calm, and Aya couldn’t even remember which ones. But that wasn’t what Summer needed to hear. "We don't even know why we're here. Why they took us. And when we ask, the teachers or the nurses are so disapproving, and... I just hate asking so much. But it's almost been a year. I don't even think I'm the same person anymore..." "Close enough," Aya smiled. This one was real. "Remember the day we met? We weren't even in the same class back then. But I was crying in the hall—" "Because you were in your first diaper," Summer continued the story. "And you didn't want everyone to see you as a baby." "And you remember what you said?" Aya asked. "Something like..." Summer paused to think, but Aya knew the line by heart. "You aren't a baby 'cause you wear diapers," Aya recited. "You're a baby because you're crying about it." "Ha, yeah..." Summer sighed. "I was sorta mean." "I don't think so. I was so scared, 'cause the staff kept telling me to do such weird stuff. Stuff I didn't wanna do, but... at the same time, I did wanna do it. And I was so scared what that meant about 'who I am'. But you reminded me that I get to decide who I am. What I do doesn't have to matter unless I want it to. And I..." Aya paused to blush. "I don't think I would have gotten through this past year if you didn't say that to me. You were my guiding light. You still are." Summer smiled brightly with glossy, happy eyes and said: "You're so sappy, Aya. That's why everyone loves you." Love was a weird term to use in a place like this, because nobody had any family here and relationships were frowned upon. There was really only enough praise and affection for half the students, and it was hard not to see each other as competition. But love still managed to exist, even if in such an unconventional place. "Maybe I'm the same person," Summer shrugged. "Just like... with all the dirt washed off my skin. Maybe this is who I've always been underneath." That was a classic overcorrection from Summer, and she clearly doubted her own words. "Yeah," Aya agreed. "I think that's possible." Aya wasn't sure she believed Summer’s assessment, but it was probably the one that would lead Summer to her happiest ending. The more she fought against the Academy, the harder things were for her. Then again, Aya had been doing her best to follow every rule and still she was faltering. She looked down at the grass in dismay, but her introspection was interrupted by the sudden presence of black buckle shoes. "Will you come ghost hunting tonight?" Wendy asked. It took Aya a moment to realize she was talking to Summer. "Also, what do ghosts like? Do you think we have anything in common?" "Uh…" Summer tilted her head and looked over at Aya, who shrugged her shoulders. Aya didn’t know Wendy all that well - they were in different classes - but there weren’t many students at the Academy and it was easy to build a reputation. Wendy’s reputation was one of a troublemaker — or, more aptly, a trouble-finder. To Aya, who wanted nothing more than to be a good girl, Wendy felt like a step in the wrong direction. No, the best thing she could do was let Summer handle this conversation herself. "Like, that Ghost thing people are talking about?" Summer asked. It was the latest schoolyard legend in a long series of schoolyard legends. The door that went nowhere on the first floor of the girls’ dorm. The time the bell tower stopped working for a whole week. The mole man that snuck in and out of the school with underground tunnels. Every school needed some mysteries, even a fake one with fake children. It kept them preoccupied. "Yes, exactly!" Wendy nodded enthusiastically. "I would," Summer said, "but I’m kind of in the middle of something today." Namely, her best friend wasn’t doing well and she didn’t want to be too distracted by Wendy’s usual shenanigans. Wendy visibly deflated, and then she turned to Aya: "Wanna go ghost hunting?" she asked. "I’m sorry," Aya faked a smile. "But I can’t get in trouble right now." She was already falling behind on stickers, and getting involved with Wendy could only make it worse. Wendy sighed. "Okay, thanks." And as quickly as she arrived, Wendy left. "Weird girl," Summer shrugged. "She’s new," Aya countered. It was very much in character for Aya to defend people who weren’t present. "She’s been here for almost a whole semester," Summer said. "That isn’t new." Wendy was one of three new students who started after the first term. Watching them resist the inevitable way of the Academy for those first few weeks was so nostalgic to Aya; she used to be like that too. But after a while, everything normalized. It wasn’t so strange anymore, wetting yourself in front of a classroom, or letting the staff change your diaper. Wendy had been forged in the fire, the same as the rest of the students. Summer was right: she wasn’t new. But all that reminiscing about the start of the term reminded Aya that it would inevitably end. There was no schedule posted or anything, but the days were getting warm and spring had been in bloom for months. The term would end soon, and all the stickers would start over again. The day flashed in Aya’s mind: every wrong word, every lost sticker, every mistake. A wave of despair washed over her and she put down her fork before finishing her lunch. "Mr. Margo gave me a hall pass," Aya muttered, looking down at her feet. The black buckle shoes were something she would have never worn before this place. Now, they were as normal as her diapers. She could have been earning stickers right then... but there were never stickers at lunch. What a wasted hour. "Oh, wow." Summer was certainly surprised, but maybe not all that surprised with the way Aya's day had been going. "Are you gonna use it?" "No... I mean, I can't. I have two more classes, and after school games, and... and I only got one sticker so far, and it's not even the right color. If I go to the daycare..." Aya hadn't been to the daycare in months. She had been doing so well, it felt unnecessary. But the disappointment in her teachers today was so palpable, she could hardly focus. It felt like one of her panic attacks - she used to have those all the time before the Academy - but ten times worse and it never seemed to end. "Okay but," Summer shifted onto her knees, distracted for a moment, and then continued. "You're not getting stickers, which is making you anxious, which is making it hard for you to focus, which is making you not get stickers. You should use the hall pass to break the cycle, and then afterward you'll be able to be your best self again." "I... I can't... Emily's catching up, and... and..." Aya felt tears in her eyes again. She didn't care that much about being the best, but the validation of winning… getting called up on that stage… the ache in her heart was overwhelming. She needed it, more than she needed water or food or air. Whatever other rewards came with winning, she didn’t care. She could hardly even remember the ceremony from the end of first term, only that she hadn’t won. Who had? She couldn’t remember, and she didn’t want to. Summer stayed kneeling with her ankles tucked under her behind, and she did her best not to make a sound. Not being able to help Aya was one of the worst feelings in the entire world for her, and her chest ached with emptiness as her diaper began to fill. Maybe Aya was right: maybe Emily was catching up, and maybe Aya needed the stickers today. But could she even get them, in the state she was in?

I love your new icon!! Also, here's a link to Part 5. I only have a few chapters up but I hope you enjoy it. Make sure to leave comments!! They fuel me!! ~Mia~

Oh my gosh thank you ? I'm so glad you're enjoying the stories!! I'm working on Part 5 atm! So the Nations are just TOTALLY made up. ? Like, the Robber's Cave experiment proves that once you create in-group and out-group (i.e., giving four playgrounds with different colors), then the factions will start creating "identities" for themselves and others. It's a way of self-validating while dismissing other options, the same way you might think a blue sweater is too gaudy if you just bought the same one in pink and you can't exchange it. That being said, the Nations do have artificial identities and I can talk about those! -------- Cherries think they are confident and outgoing. They consider themselves the "big kids" on the playground. They take responsibility for a lot of stuff that isn't their responsibility, and they pretend like they're closer to the Matrons than anyone else. The other factions don't really buy into any of this; it's just a lot of self-aggrandizing. Limes are "curious", but moreso I think they are the type to try new things and explore. You might say "that's very similar to outgoing, isn't it?" Yeah, it sure is! But a Lime would say "no, we aren't Cherries because we aren't smug about it!" while a Cherry would say "no, we aren't Limes, because we aren't scaredy cats!". I think Limes are a bit more cautious in execution? Cherries can be rash? Bananas are "kind". They like to include other people in games and try to be helpful around the playground. Everyone accepts this as true, even though if you were to do the math, all the factions equally include other people in games and try to be helpful around the playground. Regardless, the other factions find Bananas to be very trustworthy for absolutely no reason. Blueberries are the most controversial I think. They are the "littlest", but that's because they tend to be pretty chill. They don't get embroiled in conflict, they mostly keep to themselves, and they don't argue so much when people tease them about baby stuff. They aren't actually more baby; it's just another assumption the other factions make because they don't fight as hard. Actually, Kione makes perfect sense as a Blueberry because she has high empathy and tries to fit in with situations. ------ To be honest, the colors and "values" are heavily correlated with Harry Potter. ? Because, well... it's a group of young adults who were given four playscape colors that match Harry Potter. Of course they're going to make those connections. And the people who were stuck in Limes were like "well, we don't want to be evil, so let's grab another trait related to cunning or whatever". And since there aren't any books or benefits to "smartness" in the Kindergarten, Blueberries became more associated with introversion. (or the author is just a shameless copycat... who knows ?) So I hope that helps!! Glad you're enjoying the story!! ~Mia Moore~ Oh, @Baby-Ruby23 - here's a tag in case it doesn't notify you! I forgot to do a quote.... ?

Chapter Two "Gracious, I could smell you coming from halfway down the hall." That was just what Aya needed: Nurse April was on duty. Nurse April was a buxom woman with a thick Irish accent, and she didn’t really filter what she said out loud. She wore scrubs, like all the other nurses, but hers were flowery. Also like all the other nurses, she was very good at diaper changes. However, while Nurse March or Nurse August had reassuring and sweet changing-table-side-manner, Nurse April spoke her mind to a fault. "Well c’mon now, up onto the table before your diaper decides to teach you a lesson in physics, darlin’." Aya pouted and climbed up onto the changing table in the nurse's office. She leaned awkwardly on her hip until Nurse April pulled on her ankles and sat Aya squarely on her messy bottom. A shiver ran up Aya's spine and a heat filled her cheeks. Before lying down, Aya - in a last ditch effort - tapped her Silence pacifier at the nurse. Maybe she would help. "I s’pose you’ve been a good girl with me so far," Nurse April said, taking the pacifier out of the girl’s mouth and setting it aside. There wasn’t time for gratitude before the nurse untaped the diaper around Aya’s waist; Aya didn’t say a word, but her burning cheeks spoke loudly enough. Though Aya was used to using her diapers, having a staff member change her one was still something that embarrassed her, and doubly so with a mushy tush. But Nurse April had called her ‘good’, just in passing. Though Aya hadn’t earned it, the warm words soothed her all the same. Aya didn’t say anything as the nurse wiped her most intimate parts. She didn't say anything as the nurse cleaned up the most humiliating consequence of her time at the Academy. She didn't say anything as the nurse powdered her and taped her into a fresh diaper, which was so ordinary to Aya that it almost wasn't noteworthy anymore. And when she was done, the nurse sat Aya up and handed her the pacifier. Aya put the binky back in her pocket for the next time a teacher gave the order. "Thank you, Nurse April," Aya said, hoping to elicit a kindness or two. She felt so empty today. Two classes and not a single sticker. She felt like a thirsty child in a desert. "You're most welcome, my stinky little kitten. Let's get you a sticker, hmm?" Ordinarily, Aya would have screwed up her nose when Nurse April gave a backhanded nickname or affectionism like that, but the idea of getting a sticker - any sticker after the morning she'd had - meant more than anything in that moment. Aya would have begged Nurse April to humiliate her over and over if that was what it took. But Aya had done nothing to earn a sticker, and she knew it. Nurse April handed her the sticker - a blue one, which wasn't even the right color! - and Aya sulked. She looked down at the shiny star with inner turmoil. But questioning the staff was wrong... no matter what they said, it was always wrong to disobey. So Aya thanked Nurse April and left the office in disquieted uncertainty. By the time she made it to her third class, they were already starting the assignments. The teacher - Miss Hunnigan - was a bit of an airhead. Sometimes it was hard not to correct her in class, but Aya had grown patient with her. Unfortunately, it meant she would often leave worksheets in the teacher's lounge or the printing area and take off in the middle of class. This period was no exception. "Quite a show," Emily teased from the back row. Aya huffed and looked back at her, but it was Summer who spoke. "Because you don't fill your diapers every day with that stupid bright smile of yours?" Emily looked away in embarrassment, but Summer wasn't the type to back down. She put on her best Emily voice and did an impersonation. "Oh gosh golly Ms. Marten, you wan' me to mush my tushy in front of everybody and squirm in it like a little piggy? Otay then!" "Can't we be civil?" Kit asked, sulking at his desk. "It's not like we don't all do it..." "It was kinda funny," Ashie giggled. "And you farted too!" "So do you," Alex smirked. "You let out those little toots like a train before you do it." "Oh. My. Gosh." Ashie glared at Alex with the intensity of a thousand suns. "It's better than all that grunting you do!" "I can't help it," Alex defended. "It's not easy for me to poop my diapers; maybe I'm just not as much of a baby as the rest of you." "Shut up," Summer spoke with enough confidence to end the conversation. "We aren't babies. None of us. We're... doing what we need to get by." Emily and Aya exchanged a look and both of them sighed. It was always harder for the two of them: they wanted so desperately to earn those stickers, but they each had their own motivations. "I'm happy for..." Aya paused to correct herself. "I'm proud of you for getting your stickers today, Emily." Praise from another student never felt the same as praise from the staff, but it was a nice feeling all the same. Everyone at the Academy had their differences. Aya had a lot of civility; she didn’t want to make enemies or stand out for the wrong reasons. Emily always had to be the best at everything. Summer wasn’t afraid of anything and always encouraged other people; she was almost maternal if you could call a girl in diapers maternal. Ashie was quick to jump into any situation; she was always the first with her hand up, whether she knew the answer or not. Kit just wanted to keep his head down, and Alex was determined that he could still wear diapers and call himself a big kid. But despite the differences between Aya and her classmates, they shared the same goal, the same goal they shared with every student of the Academy: they wanted to go home. Going home meant proving themselves, and that meant getting stickers. Miss Hunnigan came back a few minutes later and the students returned to their lesson. History was always the hardest, because it seemed like a memorization of facts and dates rather than using logical reasoning. Aya knew a few of the teacher’s details were wrong, but she didn't say anything. She kept waiting for questions so she could answer them, so she could participate, but Miss Hunnigan only seemed to ask things Aya wasn't completely confident about. And unlike Ashie, Aya was too fragile to risk a guess. By the end of the hour, Miss Hunnigan gave out stickers to Emily - who had been called in front of the class to wet her diaper - and Alex - who had always been good at history. Once again, Aya didn't get any. Neither did Summer, and Aya could see the conflict in her eyes. Despite her self-assuredness, Summer wanted to do well. Everyone did. Word of Aya’s messing incident had gotten around; rumors always spread fast around the Academy. A lot of students didn’t care, but a couple boys walked past Aya in the hall, pulled down their shorts to moon the seat of their diapers, and made farting sounds with their tongues. Summer shouted at them: "I'm gonna tell Ms. Martens!" They ran away laughing. A few months ago, Summer would have chased them or thrown her backpack, but she had learned her lesson. Violence between students was strictly prohibited. "It's okay," Aya said to her best friend and forced a smile. It would pass. Better to be thought of as a pants-filler than a bad girl. "Wanna do lunch outside today? It's sunny." "Absolutely!" Summer smiled back. Lunch was after third period. All the students from all the classes had lunch at the same time, and it was a good time to catch up with friends in other classes. The Academy had maybe sixty or so students in all, not nearly enough for the massive campus. It must have been an old middle school or something. Why the Academy had repurposed it was anybody's guess. Having lunch outside was a mixed bag, but on sunny days like today it was lovely. The leaves in the trees rustled in the wind, and the air smelled of salt and water. Sometimes birds would fly overhead, and if you listened really carefully you might be able to hear the sound of faraway waves. Most importantly to Summer though, outside was scientifically the least embarrassing place to poop her pants.

Hey there!! Guess who's back with more Academy Works! (It's me. Mia.) I've actually written four other stories in this universe and they are as follows: Academy I (Part 1), Academy B (Part 2), Academy T (Part 3), and Academy K (Part 4). For the first time, I'm going to strongly recommend you read the other parts first! You don't have to; Aya's story is really great even without context. But I do think this story would benefit from knowing more about the series overall. (Also this one kicks into gear a little faster than A:K ) Same as before, you can support me at this Patreon link. Thanks for reading and commenting and liking! It really does help my motivation. ~Mia~ --------------------------------- Academy A By Mia Moore "Under the weight of a cosmic promise, fate is invincible. It hides like stars in daylight. But if one could see through the veil, they could find the star they were looking for. They could follow it blindly over a thousand horizons, and pray in earnest that it followed them blindly in turn. For stars are very powerful things, and fate often has ideas of its own." -The Preamble Chapter One Ayoka Kanoska fumbled with her hair ribbon, pulling her dark brown hair back in a ponytail as she ran down the hall. She knew she wasn't allowed to run, but the fear of arriving late to class was so much worse. Already, the halls were nearly empty, and other stragglers like her were ducking into classrooms as quickly as they could. But just as Ayoka got to her room, a chime sounded - a single note echoing through the halls - and her hand froze on the doorknob. Only a second late... but she was late nonetheless. Another second passed. Two seconds late. And then a third. Three. Ayoka took a deep breath and pushed through her anxiety, clicking open the doorknob and stepping into the classroom. The door was at the front of the room, and a dozen eyes all turned to face her as she entered. "Nice of you to join us, Aya," Mr. Margo said from behind his desk. "And untidily dressed, to boot." "I, um..." Aya quickly started to tuck her shirt into her skirt with shaky fingers. "I overslept..." "I'm disappointed," Mr. Margo said plainly, then nodded toward Aya's desk. "Take your seat." "Yes sir," Aya muttered, tears filling her eyes. She walked around the small row of desks until she got to hers. There were only five other students in the class, all of whom would sometimes flicker their gaze in her direction. Aya took her seat and felt sickness filling up her stomach, like a hurricane of self-loathing and bile. Disappointed... Aya was quiet for most of the class. It was math. She was good at math, though nothing at the Academy was particularly challenging. It felt like middle school courses, at best. Maybe even elementary, which certainly matched their uniforms. At the end of the hour, another chime rang and her classmates all got up from their chairs. On their way to the door, they stopped by Mr. Margo's desk to pick up a set of stickers. But when Aya approached, he didn't hand her anything at all. "No stickers today," he said calmly. "None?" Aya felt her heart sink. That was unacceptable. The hurricane in her stomach churned violently. "You were late. You were underdressed. And you didn't participate in class. What would I reward you for?" "But I set my alarm, I swear..." Aya felt tears in her eyes again. The little bell clock on every student’s nightstand had a switch on the back to turn the alarm on and off. Aya checked hers every night before bed, but this morning it was turned off. "Maybe it was a prank, maybe someone’s going around—" "Everyone else was here on time," Mr. Margo said, a touch of irritation in his voice. The tone felt like sandpaper against Aya's cheek, like she'd been slapped. She blinked hard and tears slid down to her chin. "Please, I... I can't..." With a sigh, Mr. Margo leaned forward in his chair and looked at his student. His face was full of quiet contemplation. "Do you need to take a hall pass?" he asked. "N-no. I'm fine, I'm fine..." Aya wiped the tears from her eyes. If she took a hall pass, she wouldn't get any stickers for the whole day! That was too costly. "Well, I'll write you one anyway. You can use it as you please." Mr. Margo took a pad out of his desk drawer and wrote out a little note before giving it to Aya. She looked down at it with defeat and tucked it into the pocket of her skirt. "Thank you, Mr. Margo," Aya muttered, stepping out of the classroom and into the busy hallway. She walked automatically to her next class; it had become so routine. But all the while, she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. "Aya," Ms. Martens said sternly. Second hour had only just begun and already Aya was struggling to pay attention. "We’re studying planets, but that doesn’t mean you have an excuse to be a little space cadet. Try to focus." Compared to Mr. Margo, Ms. Martens was a nightmare. She was a very stern teacher and she certainly looked the part, dressed in pointed shoes, a tight bun of brown hair, and horn-rimmed glasses. "I’m…I’m s-sorry, Ms. Martens," Aya stammered, holding back tears. She could feel them in the corners of her eyes like red hot pokers. "Please get in pairs and work on your planet worksheet," Ms. Martens said, handing out three pieces of paper, each with a diagram of the solar system. The class split into the same three pairs they always did, which put Aya with Summer. "I can't believe you were late," Summer whispered, filling in Mars with red crayon. "Me neither," Aya muttered, picking out a yellow crayon to color in Venus. "Do you know how many stickers Emily got in math?" "Three, I think," Summer said cautiously. "But you really shouldn't worry about her." Of course Aya worried about her. Emily was just a few stickers behind Aya ever since the start of the term. Aya had worked so hard not to slip up and let her get ahead, and now this... "Wait, is Pluto still a planet?" Aya asked, trying to think about anything but math class. "There are definitely nine on this sheet." "Maybe they changed it again since we were abducted?" Summer suggested, about as delicately as a stone through a car window. "It's been a year..." A school year, Aya mentally amended. When she arrived, it was hot and sticky. The leaves changed colors. Snow settled for a while. Then there were flowers and birds and lots of rain. The nostalgia of summer was palpable, like she could feel the end of spring. The end of the Academy, maybe? How long until they were allowed to go home? "Aya," Ms. Martens called from the front of the room. "Come here, please." "Yes, ma'am." Aya got up without a thought and hurried to the front of the room. What was this about? "Hands on the desk," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that. She knew what was happening even before Ms. Martens lifted the seat of her skirt, flashing the seat of her diaper to the entire room. A blush filled Aya's cheeks. Though it had become so routine, she still felt a deep embarrassment when her classmates - or anyone - would see her diapers. "Wet your diaper," Ms. Martens instructed. Aya did just that, or at least she tried to. When she first got to the Academy, she would never have done it. Then, after she got over herself, she couldn't do it for a long while. But after so many months, wetting herself on command was second nature. It was as automatic as walking from one classroom to the next. But what little bit she managed to dribble out between her legs didn't even change the tint of the white plastic. Aya had woken up so late that she didn’t have time to get breakfast before class, and that meant she didn’t have her usual glass of morning juice. She also forgot to go to the drinking fountain between classes, lost in her thoughts about Emily and her stickers. And Aya - like every student at the Academy - was a bedwetter, and never had to go in the mornings anymore. Plus, the teachers didn’t usually make her do this until third period, or even after lunch! "Go on," Ms. Martens urged, a deep annoyance in her voice that made Aya sick with anxiety. Aya tried to force herself, to push and strain, but that only made it harder. Panic rose in her chest and she balled her hands on the edge of the desk. The hurricane in her stomach churned and, before Aya knew what was happening, a loud fart heralded the filling of her diaper. Her knees quivered and Aya held onto the desk for support as she pushed more and more of her mess into the seat of her crinkly underwear, until it sagged down between her thighs. When it was over, when she could focus on something other than the sensation of mushing her diaper for the hundredth time, she heard the snickering of her classmates and the disapproving tsk of Ms. Martens's tongue. Tears filled Aya's eyes, torn apart by the humiliation and the disappointment. "Oh my moon and stars," Ms. Martens gasped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I’m certain I asked for you to wet your diaper, not make a big stinky mess of it." The admonishment was hard to hear, and the giggling of her classmates made it even worse. But when Ms. Martens reached under the crest of Aya’s diaper and smushed her mess against her butt, it pushed Aya over the edge. Water broke free from her tear ducts and spilled down her cheeks. Everything was going wrong, and before Aya could stop herself she started to defend herself to her teacher. "I’m so so so sorry, Ms. Martens, I’m sorry! I did wet, I did. It wasn’t just that very much, I swear! Please, pretty please I’m sorry, I’m a good girl!" The class fell quiet, and all eyes fell on the teacher. There was nothing so blasphemous as declaring oneself to be good. "You're good?" Ms. Martens asked sharply. It felt like knives on Aya's skin, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She could hardly breathe. "You don't make that judgement, Ayoka. I do. And this was absolutely not 'good girl' behavior." "I'm sorry, I..." "Silence," Ms. Martens said, louder than Aya had ever spoken in her life. Like a spell, Aya reached her shaking hand into her skirt pocket, reaching past the hall pass, and pulling out her pacifier. It was bigger than anything meant for a baby, with a pink guard, and the words "Mute Button" printed on the button. She put it into her mouth without protest, effectively silencing her cries. Tears continued down her cheeks in torrents, but none of the whimpering was audible. Aya heard footsteps as Ms. Martens walked around. She heard a few clicks. Muttering from her classmates. More footsteps. Then the next thing she heard was a loud crack as a long ruler came down sharply on the backs of her upper thighs. There was a special kind of squealing that was really only possible when an oversized pacifier was in the mouth of an adult; a muffled, broken sound, kind of like a yelp or a squeak, interrupted halfway through the high note. That was what Aya sounded like as the ruler hit the back of her thighs. She squealed, whimpered, and blubbered, but the pacifier made it all sound so muffled and muted - not like the crystal clear cracks of the ruler against her skin. "I’ve never been so disappointed, Ayoka, never in all my years." Those words hurt so much more than the ruler did, and Aya would have begged for a thousand more strikes against her skin to have them undone, to have that poisonous toxic taste in her mouth washed away. It was only after a few swats with the ruler when Ms. Martens asked: "Have you been punished enough, Ayoka?" Aya shook her head desperately. She wanted more. She wanted more hits on her thigh; she wanted everyone to see how full her diaper was. She wanted to cry and sob and sulk and beg. She wanted to be a good girl. She needed to be a good girl. Ms. Martens needed to praise her. And Aya would do anything to get it. Ms. Martens was done after twenty smacks with the ruler, though Aya had lost count around six or seven. She was blubbering on the desk, soaking the polished wood with her tears, as her knees shook. Her burning red thighs and the full seat of her diaper were both on display for the class, but no one was laughing anymore. Everything was silent. "Go sit down," Ms. Martens commanded. Without an ounce of hesitation, Aya went back to her seat. She sat down in her mess, squishing against her butt and filling the area with a familiar smell of dirty diaper. Her thighs stung against the plastic chair, but she didn't yelp. She sucked noiselessly on her pacifier and continued to cry. Everyone went back to work. One other person - Alex - was called to the front of the room. His shorts were tugged to his ankles and he was instructed to wet his diaper. He did, soaking through the padding until the seat of his crinkly behind was discolored halfway up his butt. With a 'good boy' and a diaper pat, he pulled up his shorts and was sent back to his seat. Aya watched with burning envy and the sickness inside her grew worse. The voice in her head was back, telling her how incompetent she was. Pathetic. Useless. She couldn't even follow a basic instruction. When class ended, Alex got three stickers. Emily got two. And once again, Aya got none. She stood in front of Ms. Martens's desk with a blank stare, unable to meet her gaze. "Get cleaned up," Ms. Martens said. "I'll send word to your next class that you'll be late." Aya knew she wouldn't get in trouble this time, not with a teacher's word on her side, but it still felt like a failure. Another tardy class. Aya walked absently down the hall, toward the changing rooms. The full diaper between her thighs forced her to waddle. She wasn't crying, but drying tears still stuck to her cheeks. Her pacifier was still placed firmly between her lips, and she knew she wasn't allowed to remove it until one of the staff pulled it out. Maybe the nurse would be so kind.

Thank you so much. ? I can't wait for it all to come together!!

Chapter Fifteen Kione and Angela hurried to the center of the valley and joined the gathering group of Candies as they encircled the door. Kione pushed her way to the front, unnaturally assertive for her, and gazed upon the frame clad in children’s drawings. Over the top of them, a name was written in beautiful golden letters: Laura. What did that even mean? Kione tried her best to remember if she'd met a Laura… Murmurs were erupting through the crowd, growing so loud that it drowned out Kione's own thoughts. She finally managed to shove herself out of the horde of diapered adults and nearly bumped right into Robin. Angela was nowhere to be found. "What's, uh... what's going on?" Kione asked, a little winded from the mosh pit. "Why is there a name on the door?" "They've been chosen to go through the Ever After Door," Robin answered with all the excitement of a six year old on Christmas morning. To her, it seemed like the most spectacular thing that could happen in the entire world. Unfortunately, that answer didn't help Kione in the slightest. "Through it?" Kione remembered the one time she tried to do that. Was this going to be different? What did it mean to be chosen? Kione shook her head. "I don't understand. Why them?” "She's been good. She did everything right, and walked in the light of the Priestess. And now she gets to go through the Ever After Door to be with her!" Robin was practically bouncing in place. "Oh." Kione didn't feel jealous. She thought she would. But she wasn't happy either. Actually, she was curious. The Ever After Door... The crowd wasn't parting anytime soon. Kione waited around, watching dozens of people say their goodbyes to what looked like a pretty young woman in yellow, cheeks warm with happiness. Casa hugged her tight; he looked so happy. Proud of her, maybe? She kept crying, but she couldn't stop smiling either. Such unbridled joy... For some reason, everyone was waiting around. Maybe the door didn't open until a certain time, but the dinner bell was bound to ring soon. The sun was low in the sky, but it hadn't quite changed the color of the day from the beautiful blue to calming orange. Kione couldn't help but wonder what the sky looked like to Laura. Was it even more beautiful? Was it even more blue? Or was it a color no one had ever heard of? Was it something new and magical? It was nearly sundown and the dinner bell hadn't rung, but Laura was standing by the door and everyone had grown somber. The air was sickeningly quiet. It was like a moment in a horror movie, when Kione expected something to jump out and kill someone. But that didn't happen. Laura stepped into the flowerbed and went up to the door, still printed with her name on it. She waved one final time at the Bananas and turned the handle. The inside was white; Kione could see that clearly. Pure white, too bright to see the edges of the room, if there were any. And then, behind her, the door closed and the dinner bell rang. Everyone shuffled up the hill to the Chapel, but Kione didn't. She stood there, staring at the door. She stood long after the sun had gone down and everyone else was hurrying toward their forts. "It's bedtime," Zee said, passing Kione on the blacktop. Zee was still in charge of Kione, but they could tell by the look in her eyes that Kione needed a moment. "Hurry back, okay?" "Kay," Kione answered. The next person to approach Kione - well into the night - was Angela. "What are you thinking?" she asked. Kione processed that question for a bit too long before turning away from the door for the first time in hours. She looked at her new older friend with a smile. "I think I'm going to leave," Kione told her. "Through there?" Angela asked, nodding toward the Ever After Door. "It has to go somewhere," she said, never taking her eyes off it. There was an unusual confidence about Kione and Angela knew that she was serious. Angela smiled a kinda lopsided smiled: bittersweet, resigning herself to the fate of invisibility and solitude. But at the same time, she knew that this wasn’t her story. Angela was just a woman who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now she would be in the wrong place for a long time. Kione, though? Kione had a lot left to do. "I'm going to miss you," Angela said. "I'll miss you too," Kione smiled. She wanted to stay and talk to Angela a lot longer, but she knew if she backed down now she might lose her nerve. "Don't forget me?" Angela asked. She had hope in her eyes. "I wont," Kione said. "Promise." Kione stepped forward into the flower patch. The last time she did this, the world fell apart around her. She was trapped in a manifested Hell for days. But this time, that wouldn't happen. She was sure of it. This door went somewhere; she saw it with her own eyes. But more importantly, she saw that girl's face. Confidence. She knew this door would take her somewhere else. It wasn't the Priestess who had the power; it was her. That girl's faith opened the door to somewhere else. Kione's faith could do it too. Not faith in the Priestess, but faith in herself. Reality didn't work for the Academy anymore; now it worked for Kione. She twisted the doorknob and stepped through without pausing. She knew where she would wind up. A white room. The door behind her was gone. All the doors were gone. No, all rooms had an exit. So Kione walked forward until she found one, and eventually she did. She pushed open the white door and found herself in an empty hallway. Doors everywhere. Kione saw an exit sign at the end of the hall. She took one step toward it, but had a feeling: escaping wouldn’t work. They would find her. They had before, didn't they? Last time she escaped? Or was she making that up? Kione shook her head and turned away from the exit. The only place they wouldn't expect her to be was here. Kione didn't run into any guards. Maybe it was because it was the middle of the night. Maybe there weren't guards in the first place. Maybe Kione's assurance as she walked forward, confident in no one stopping her, had something to do with it. Kione paused in front of a door. It had a keypad lock. A keypad lock? Kione stepped up to it and punched in a few numbers. That man used those numbers. The one from the pink room. She didn't remember him doing it, but she was sure he did. Sure enough, the door clicked open and Kione walked into the large circular room with a lot of computers. They were running loudly, fans spinning at full blast, almost drowning out Kione's thoughts. In the center of the room was a computer terminal and a rotary phone. For the first time since stepping through the Ever After Door, Kione paused. She looked at the phone. That wasn't familiar. Why would there be a phone like this? And the computers... Kione was never very good with computers, but they looked old even to her. Dozens of them. How long had they been building this facility? Kione stepped up to the phone and picked it up. She dialed 0. "This is an automated voice message system," the phone said back to Kione as she held the receiver to her ear. "Please enter your Candy's number." Kione looked down at the rotary dial and bit her lip in thought. What was the point of this phone? Why was the operator automated? Could they trace this call? Would they find her here? Was it a trap, or was it a test? But in the pit of Kione's stomach, she knew none of that was important. Her entire life, Kione had blended in with the crowd. She had stayed quiet and calm. She never let anyone worry about her or take care of her. She never let anyone close. She thought that made her strong. Then she gave it all up. She surrendered herself to the Kindergarten, the Candies, and the Priestess. She was free of stress and mental illness. She thought that made her happy. But Kione wasn’t strong or happy. She was afraid. Everything she did - from researching her hallucinations to filling her diaper on the blacktop - was to make everything less scary. She became good at empathizing and adapting to the situation so she would never have to confront anything. She would always compromise, even if it compromised who she was. But if all the time and energy she put into keeping herself safe did nothing to make her happy, then what was the point? Kione could not be defined by her actions when those actions were easy. Sooner or later, something had to be more important than her fear. Sooner or later, she had to be courageous. This time, she wasn't going to run or hide. She had destiny at her fingertips. No rights or wrongs, no real or fake, nothing but her and her choices. Kione put her finger in the dial and held the receiver to her ear. She didn't remember learning it, but Kione knew her number by heart. Kione Williams. Number 254. [End] -------------- Thanks so much for reading and making it all the way to the end!! I also really appreciate all the comments and likes!! I know this ending was a little more open-ended, but I hope everyone is excited for the future of Academy Works. I promise all this will make sense in the end!! Stay tuned for the next installment!! ~Mia Moore~ Edit: Academy A - the fifth story - is now available! You can read it here: