Personalias

Sorry to burst your bubble fellow Florida Man but this is unlikely to do anything..

Heheh. Thank you very much! I feel very accomplished.

This is a cute concept and the gamer in me wants to homebrew sub-classes just for funsies.

Appreciated. http://subscribestar.adult/personalias

Thanks. Chances are if it got you in the feels it got me too while writing it. Thank you for your empathy. I apologize for lagging behind on the posting. Mental health of managing my platform got me way behind on both creating new chapters and posting these older gems) To quote River Song from Doctor Who: "Spoilers". Seriously though, I appreciate the way you're engaging with the material and how you're speculating. On the different site thing. I have all (as of this post) 137 chapters of Unfair on my computer, not to mention pretty much every other story I've ever written. It's just a matter of re-uploading them to the new platform. That'll take time, but it'll happen.

Playground Check "Sweetie! Come here.” You get off the spring pony and toddle over to Mommy sitting on the bench. “Yes, Mommy?” you say. “Let me check you.” She says it nicely enough, but you know it’s not a request. She slips two fingers into the leg hole of your diaper. “Sweetie, are you wet?” she asks. “Yes ma’am.” You say. “Do big kids go pee pee in their pants?” You shake your head. “No ma’am” “Why didn’t you come tell me?” “I was playin’.” This is only a half-truth. It was easier not to think about what you’d done when you kept your mind and body otherwise occupied. “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” Again you shake your head. “No ma’am.” “Turn around.” She makes the little circular motion with her finger as if you don’t understand. Looking out at the playground with all of the other “babies” playing, you shiver as you feel Mommy slide her finger into the back of your diaper and pull it back, getting look. “Sweetie,” she says, “are you messy?” You nod. “Yes ma’am. “Do big kids go poopie in their pants?” “No ma’am.” “Why didn’t you come tell me?” “I was pwaying.” You swallow hard. You hadn’t meant to say it like that! “That doesn’t sound very mature, does it?” “No ma’am.” Hands on your shoulders she turns you around to face her. “ What happens to big kids who go pee-pee and poopie in their pants?” Your avert your gaze to the mulchy ground beneath you, but her hand is on your chin, tilting it back up so that you have to look her in the eye. What happens to big kids who go pee-pee and poopie in their pants?” she repeats. You swallow again. “They get a...a…” You do your best to enunciate. “They get a spankin’.” At least you didn’t drop the s this time. Little victories. “And what happens to babies who go pee-pee and poopie in their diapers?” “They get a diaper change.” Your cheeks feel thirty degrees warmer. “That’s right. Now, which one are you?” You hate this part. You love this part. “A...a baby.” “What was that?” “I’m a baby…” you say. “Change me?” “Okay, sweetie,” Mommy coos. “Let’s get you changed.” Like a good baby, you take her hand to go to the big brick restroom by the playground. There’s a changing station in there. Mommy doesn’t budge. “Ah-ah-ah,” she says. “Mommy doesn’t have to go potty.” She guides you down to the park bench where she was sitting. “We’ll do it here.” Panic! Embarrassment! Pending humiliation! “But Mommeeee!” you whine as your back hits the slatted wood. Mommy’s not listening. She’s already sliding your changing mat beneath you and fishing out a pack of wipes and a fresh diaper. You turn your head to the side and see all of your little friends still playing on the playground. They’ll see! Everyone will see! “Your diaper was clean when we got here,” she says. “If you can go pee-pee and poopie in your diaper in front of your little friends, then you can get it changed in front of them too.” From the diaper bag she takes out a binkie and pops it into your mouth. End of discussion. You do your best to block out the world, covering your eyes with your hands and sucking on your binkie. But it’s very hard to ignore Mommy’s wiping down there. “Excuse me,” a very deep, masculine voice says. “I couldn’t help but hear what you were talking about with your baby.” Mommy doesn't even pause from wiping you down. She’s done this so many times, her arms are practically on autopilot. “Just a little conditioning routine I worked out," she says. "Good for training." "Not potty training" the man says. They both laugh. You just hide your face. You peek out from behind your hands. Standing next to you is a Daddy and his little boy. The little boy is sucking on a pacifier and does not seem happy to be here. That makes two of you. “Do you do it every time?” the Daddy asks. “Mind sharing some of those tricks?” he asks. No regard for your modesty, the grown-ups start their conversation as Mommy finishes diapering you. You stand up and give her a hug, yet another ingrained behavior that you can’t quite shake. You wiggle your hips a little and feel the clean crispness of the new padding on your butt. A smile spreads out over your face. You don’t want to like it, but you can’t help it. You literally can’t help it. Mommy gives you a pat on your fresh diaper and tells you go to play so that she can talk to the nice man. The Daddy gives his boy a matching pat, sending you two off to play. “Sorry in advance,” you say to the newcomer. “About what?” he asks, pacifier still wedged between his lips like a cigar. “About what my Mommy is gonna tell your Daddy,” you say. “She’s really good.” Really good. Too good, in fact. So good. He spits out the pacifier. “HE'S NOT MY DADDY!” he yells. “I’ve never even worn this...this...THIS...” he gestures to his pantsless diapered state; just like you. You believe him. You relate to him. But he doesn't understand yet. The grown-ups always win in the end. “Sure sure,” you say, not wanting to get into an argument so close to the grown-ups. If his daddy is anything like Mommy, this is about to be the new normal for him. “Let’s go play in the jungle gym.” You toddle off, not looking back. There's no point in looking back...

Mistake You said that there had been some kind of mistake. They said they believed you but that certain protocols had to be followed, just in case. They promised that the sailor outfit they dressed you in was the most grown-up outfit they had in your size, and you didn't want everyone to see you in just your diaper, did you? As you watched them write your name on a cubby right next to the changing table and slide a stack of fresh diapers in, they told you it was just a formality and if you told them you needed to use the potty like the grown-ups they'd take you right away. You proved how big you were by eating and swallowing all of the funny tasting food without complaint, taking each spoonful offered up to you in that highchair with grace and aplomb. Not fussing and fighting like the real babies were. You were so good, they praised you and gave you a bottle of chocolate milk. You almost complained, but then remembered yourself and sucked down the sweet stuff without comment. Nor did you protest when they patted you on the back until you burped. You thanked them instead. You didn't play with the other kids...the kids...not other kids...you weren't a...no...not at all. In fact you rejected their silly stories about how they too were adults who had woken up here and were now being babied against their will. How ridiculous! What an imagination! There was a close call, admittedly, when your pants warmed up and you thought you might be peeing yourself. Oh no! How would anyone believe you were a grown-up if you were wearing a wet diaper?! But when one of the workers checked you, they said "You don't need a change just yet." What a relief! Still, it felt weird...like the diaper had expanded somehow. Heavier. Less crinkly. And your gait had more of a waddle to it. That was a while ago. Any minute now the people in charge of this place would realize the mistake they made, give you back your big kid pants, and you'd be on your way home. According to one of them, it was almost lunch time, and after that would be a nap. Any. Minute. Now. You stood up from your little one person huddle (why were you squatting?) and sighed your relief before the sound of a giggle and the feeling of your diaper's waistband being pulled back caused your spine to go ramrod straight. NOW, they told you, it was time to get changed. Holding their hand and waddling to keep up, you tried to protest. There had been a mistake! You weren't a baby. You were potty trained! Honest! This was just an accident! The caregiver just laughed and clicked their tongue. It was no accident, and who would ever potty train you? You were such a sweet thing and far too little to potty train. You rattled off everything about yourself. Name. Birth date. Occupation. You were too old to be a baby! "I never said too young," the caregiver clarified. "I said 'too little'." Now you're on the changing table, the bottom half of your sailor outfit stripped off you, and your soggy and messy diaper on full display for everyone. Not that anyone cares to look or feels embarrassed for you. Getting changed here is nothing to write home about. Commonplace. You suck on the soother offered to you and brace yourself while someone else's hands go to undo your last bit of privacy. As the sound of ripping tapes fills the air, the last truly adult thought you'll ever have flashes across your mind. "Maybe I made the mistake." Nanny “But I’m not a baby!” you hear yourself whine. Admittedly, the argument doesn’t too sound convincing when you put it that way. It doesn’t sound convincing considering how you look, either. You’re in a highchair. “Your highchair”, Nanny said You’re wearing a bib. “Your bib”, Nanny said. And booties. (Your booties.) And mittens. (Your mittens.) You’re bereft of any other clothing except for of course, “your diaper”. Add to that the omnipresent smell of baby powder, the globs of mush smeared over your mouth, and the crinkle that happens every time you wriggle in your seat, you don’t look like you’re fit for any other part BUT baby. It’s been a rough day, so far. “I’m an adul-” your words are cut off as Nanny forces another spoonful of the hideous mush into your mouth. It’s a weird tasting mix of pumpkin and chocolate that does NOT go well together. It’s got a chalky aftertaste that’s laced all to hell with fake sugar. “I don’t feed grown-ups,” Nanny says before dipping another spoonful into the jar. “I feed babies.” She must feed babies ALOT. You’re already three jars in, the cramps have already started, and Nanny shows no signs of stopping. “What are you?” “I’m an adul-!” The spoon cuts you off. You swallow. She speaks. “Grown ups don’t need Nannies. You do.” She won’t even say ‘adult’. It’s always ‘grown up’ this or ‘grown up’ that. The cramps are getting stronger. Something about it must show on your face. “Something wrong, baby?” she asks. You grit your teeth. “Nnnn-nnnn…” It’s a lie. She knows it. Another cramp flares up and you squirm. The crinkle reminds you of the alternative. No-no-no! You are NOT going to poop your pants! You are NOT doing that to yourself! You are NOT a baby no matter what Nanny says! The next cramp makes it so you have to close your eyes and clench your cheeks. The pain is traveling all the way down to your legs it's so bad. Can Nanny help baby?” you hear. You’re doing everything you can to hold it in. It hurts. Everything hurts. You’re GOING to poop yourself, part of you knows. Yet you fight. If you can just keep your padded ass planted against the highchair’s hard wooden seat, nothing will- You open your eyes just in time to see Nanny press a button on the highchair's side. You hear a faint click and then feel the bottom drop out beneath you. You don't fall out. The trap door isn't enough to cause a fall. You didn't fall. Something else did. The seat wasn’t there anymore. And everything that was holding back has just come flooding out into your diaper. You’re crying, not bawling. Babies ball. Adults cry. Right? Right. That’s what you tell yourself. You look up at her.“Nanny?” You whimper. “Can you please change me?” Nanny folds her arms in front of her. “I don’t change grown-ups. I only change babies.” She looks you in the eye. “So... what are you?”

Worst. Playdate. Ever. “Oh no!” Lindsay cried. “Not again!” You watch as Lindsay stands there, bow legged on the playground, yanking her skirt down as best she can even as the wetness indicator along her formerly fresh diaper turns blue. She looks like she’s on the verge of tears…again. Come on! It’s not that bad! You keep the thought to herself. Lindsay has been grieving lately. “Stop it!” Dave screams. “Stop it! Nnnnnn…” Dave’s protests are cut off by his Mommy’s nipple entering his mouth. Lightweight that he is, you know that Dave is going to pass out soon after his Mommy burps him. So much for that playdate. “Please!” Monica screams atop the picnic bench. “I can use the potty! I mean toilet! Toilet!” Her Daddy ignores her, as grown-ups tend to do and continues to change her diaper, a soft satisfied look on his face. You see Lindsay’s face wracked in revulsion in seeing Monica get her poopy bottom wiped and re-powdered. Yours is also contorted, albeit for a completely different reason. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. “Couldn’t he have at least taken her to a bathroom?” Lindsay wonders aloud. “Why would he?” You ask. “He doesn’t have to go.” “Yeah…” Lindsay drops her head. “Neither do I, anymore.” Her laugh is low, bitter, and short. You allow your hope to flicker on. Maybe she’s finally starting to get used to it! See the bright side! “Do you wanna go play or something?” you ask. Lindsay looks like you just slapped her “Play? How can we play at a time like this?” “I..uh..” “I just pissed myself! Everybody seems to think we’re babies and we still have no idea why! Dave’s getting breastfed over there for gosh sakes! Why would we play?” The beads of sweat you’re breaking out into have little to nothing to do with the heat. “I dunno. I just thought it could be…fun?” “Fun?!” Lindsay shrieked. “How could any of this be fun? We’re in friggin diapers! Dave is getting breast fed! Monica is being forced to expose herself to everyone! And you…did you just shit yourself?” Your cheeks flush. The word ‘just’ was doing a lot of lifting there. “Yeah…” you whisper. “Ew! Go get changed!” She takes several steps back from you. Her compassion suddenly kicks in. “Sorry,” she says. “Are you okay? You seem to have been um…slipping more these past few days.” You really have, though maybe not in how Lindsay is using the word. “Yeah,” he sigh. “I’m okay. It’s just tough.” “It really is,” she agrees. “It’s like we’re being punished or something. Like we didn’t appreciate our adult lives and so somebody took them away to teach us a lesson.” “Yeah…” you half heartedly agree. “Do you think we’re getting worse? Like, if we stay like this, we’ll forget that we’re really adults?” You shrug and say “Maybe,” to prevent lying. If only it was so easy. But if that happened, would they really still be your friends? You wistfully look over at the slide. Should have gone down that first. “I should go.” “Oh yeah,” Lindsay says. “Go ahead and get that taken care of. Don’t want to get too comfy in a dirty diaper.” “Nope…” You lie and trudge off to find Daddy. Lindsay throws her head up to the sky! “WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS?!” To all outside observers her existential crisis looks more like a tantrum. The better question is: ‘Why do they keep choosing to be miserable?’. All of you were run ragged by your adult lives. Lindsay in particular should have been happy to not have any responsibilities. Her deadbeat boyfriend turned it around too in becoming her Daddy. But she bitched and cried about her job all the time. The only difference between now and a few days ago is the aesthetic. You really thought they’d enjoy it, or at least give up on trying to figure out what turned y’all into babies; maybe give it half a chance. But two weeks later and their resolve has yet to break. All you wanted to do was share this side of yourself with them. Treat them to the nostalgia of Sesame Street and nap times. But they’re still resisting. To hear them talk, sleeping in a crib is akin to a prison cell. Being bathed, dressed, and fed by someone else is some kind of torture, and laying down for a diaper change is a fate worse than death. Yet Heaven forbid you keep playing in a diaper that isn’t perfectly pristine. Worst. Playdate. Ever. As you approach Daddy to get his attention, you notice that Lindsay has sat down on the ground and started sulking. That’s good, at least. The first time she wet herself she was bawling uncontrollably. Now she’s up to sitting and pouting while wet. Probably because her Daddy won’t change her until she actually needs it. You definitely like her boyfriend better this way. It’s progress though. Maybe a few more weeks of this and they’ll come around to the upside of it all. Then you can stop pretending to struggle, too. “Awwww,” Daddy coos. “Do you need a change? Smells like it?” He picks you up and grabs for the changing supplies. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up you little stinker.” “Yes Daddy,” you say. Then you remember yourself. “NO! WAIT! STOP! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAABY! PLEASE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Chapter 105: Jefe Somewhere on the horizon, the orange sun was setting, and I was being cascaded with soft white fluorescent lights. I was pink skinned and greasy with sweat, and smelled a special kind of terrible that only came from having most of my body encased in a barely breathable jumpsuit. I’d smelled worse though. There were tangential benefits to not having any body hair. I still wanted a shower… “Did you have fun?” Janet asked for what felt like the hundredth time. She just wouldn’t let it go. I sighed and nodded tiredly, already starting to brood. “Yeah.” Thirty-two years of being on near constant alert and several months of plotting vengeance made it hard for me to enjoy the moment. I wasn’t very good at it. A hammer was always going to drop. Something would inevitably take a bad turn. Happiness was fireworks; a short burst of color in a dark night sky that faded within seconds and left only the abyss hovering above. “Hm?” Lids dropping so I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye, I repeated myself. “Yeah, I had fun.” Janet was practically radiant. “I could tell.” Alarm bells rang in my subconscious. I looked up at her, feeling incredibly self-conscious. “How?” “You and Ivy and Tommy and Chaz and all the other Littles. You were having so much fun! Smiling and laughing!” She ran her hand through my sweat soaked hair, unflinchingly. “It made me really happy to see.” I definitely wanted a shower. I gripped the cart’s push bar. “I didn’t smile, then.” “Not with your mouth,” Janet granted. She reached over and grabbed some gargantuan bananas. “Your eyes, though…” My eyes rolled with the shopping cart’s wheels and Janet leaned the other direction to grab a bag filled with green grapes bigger than my eyeballs. How did they get food so big? Those really were a choking hazard. “Wanna know how else I know you had fun?” Janet asked. She looked away to get salad ingredients. Oooo! Blueberries! I leaned the other way and put them in the cart. Something about blueberries seemed really good just then. “How?” I asked. “You’re still wearing your costume.” Accurate. Janet had taken off the blow up costume, redressed herself in more teacherly civilian clothing, used the toilet, washed her hands, and then ran a brush through her hair. “Who’s fault is that?” I asked, knowing full well I wasn’t going to win. “You’re the Grown-Up.” A thin, devilish line formed on her lips. “Please Mommy! Don’t make me take off my costume, Mommy! Not even to change my diaper, Mommy! I wanna be a GhostHaunter forever, Mommy!” She pitched her voice higher and lowered her volume to barely a whisper so that only I could hear it, but I was still mortified. “I did not say it like that!” My voice came out much louder than hers. A few shoppers, some of them also wearing costumes, turned their heads. Janet booped me on the nose with her pointer finger and kept pushing the cart. “That’s how it sounded to me.” “Did not!” “I know,” Janet said. “But you’re cute when you’re embarrassed.” “Someone’s cosseting,” I quipped. “Nope,” Janet replied. “It’s not cosseting when the cute Little baby is yours.” I leaned back and crossed my arms, pouting. “Typical,” I mouthed. I wasn’t really mad, though. Too tired to be mad. Too many upsides had happened to stay mad over a silly and petty slight. Despite her gross misrepresentation, Janet was correct. I really hadn’t wanted to be taken out of my costume and shoved back into a onesie. On some level I was still pretending that this was an alternate timeline where I’d never been Adopted. Even something as simple as a diaper change would wreck the last vestiges of that illusion. Granted, the illusion was entirely one of my own making. My Monkeez was far from dry and had swelled to the point where the bagginess of the jumpsuit couldn’t hide its outline. I’d still leak before I let that fantasy live for one second less than it could. Janet continued to go down the grocery store’s aisles, getting dinner ingredients, snacks, and impulse buys. “I’m really proud of you, by the way,” she said out of nowhere. That shook me out of my cobwebs. “Why?” This better not be anything about embracing my ‘true self’ or whatever Maturosis claptrap Little Voices filled her ears with. “For including Ivy in your play,” she reached up and got a box of macaroni and cheese off the top shelf. “That was very nice of you and better than any present you could have given her.” “How was I supposed to know today was her birthday?” I asked. “She never brought it up!” I would have thought that she wouldn’t have shut up about it all week. “I did it so she wouldn’t cry.” Janet petted me again. “That makes it even nicer.” It did. Didn’t it? I’d been steadily ignoring her while trying to balance out the baking soda that was Amy with the vinegar that was Tommy and Chase. Ivy had been raising her hand, too, practically begging for attention. Mine, Chaz’s, Tommy’s…probably not Amy’s…and we ignored her. Every other time I’d hurt the mindfucked faux Yamatoan, it had been on purpose or impulse. Never by accident. That felt weird. What else was I supposed to do? “Tomorrow’s gonna suck,” I mumbled. “You got invited for a playdate and you said yes,” Janet reminded me. “It was sweet.” If Zoge and her husband hadn’t invited us in the privacy of Beouf’s empty classroom, I would’ve said no. If I hadn’t found out that today had been Ivy’s birthday I still would have said no. If Ivy hadn’t shown she had the ability to casually unlock Amazon grade restraints, I might have found a reason anyways. “It still gonna suck.” “It was still very sweet.” The cart slowed through the wine aisle, and Janet started eyeing different bottles. “Do you want some ice cream?” she asked. “For dessert?” Three guesses on what she was planning for ‘dessert’. “Tell me again,” I said, “about what Helena-” “Amy’s Mommy,” Janet tried to correct me. “-about what Ms. Madra and the others said to Brollish to get her to let us use the bounce houses.” Janet’s expression of schadenfreude mirrored my own. “I already told you.” “Tell me again,” I coaxed. “Line by line. Where you found her. What she said. What they said. I wanna picture the light leaving her eyes when she realized that she wasn’t gonna win this one.” “You are such a spiteful Little brat,” she snickered. I went for the throat. “But you love me…” Janet’s resistance plummeted right in front of me. Her crazy amped up and her heart left a puddle on aisle five that would need to be cleaned up. “Okay, so first we went to Coach, and pitched the idea of letting Littles on and having a house all to yourselves for five minutes at a time as long as we supervised.” I grabbed the sides of the cart seat and boosted myself to adjust. “Mmmhmmm. Five minutes on, then back of the line, just like everybody else.” “Exactly, but he was worried that Brollish might well…” “Be Brollish?” I offered. “Mmmmhmmmm,” Janet agreed. “So we had to clear it with her.” I was seconds away from reliving the greatest victory of the day that I wasn’t a part of, but a familiar face crossed into view. “Tracy?” Janet halted and looked behind her. “Tracy!” My former assistant looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh! Hi Ms. Grange!” She waved but didn’t move her cart any closer to ours. Janet bridged the gap between them and pulled us up to her. Tracy looked like she’d just swallowed a goldfish. It’s always awkward meeting people from work, unexpectedly. Even more when you hate your job. “Small world,” Janet said. “How are you?” “I’m…good.” Tracy lied. If I hadn’t seen her just yesterday with snot bubbling out of her nose, I would have fallen for it too. She was an exceptionally good liar when she needed to be. “We’re just getting a few things for dinner this weekend.” “Us too,” Janet echoed. “We’ve been at Oakshire Elementary all day. Fall Festival celebrations. Bounce houses. Candy. You get it.” “We?” I asked. Neither woman appeared to have heard my question. “Did some volunteer work passing out Tricker Treats,” Janet said, “but got to spend most of it having fun. Pretty much a day off.” “That’s nice,” Tracy said emptily. “What about you? Did you do anything special today?” “I wasn’t needed,” Tracy said. “So we just took a personal day.” None of the bitterness or anguish from yesterday made its way into the conversation. “We?” I said again. “We who?” My question was answered by the arrival of another Amazon. Out on the internet among the MistuhGwiffin community and others of its ilk, there are urban rumors and conspiracy theories aplenty of Amazon technologies that would make the current monstrosities seem tame in comparison: Serums that fundamentally undo puberty characteristics and add baby fat; portals to fantastical All Little dimensions ripe for the coddling and conquering; unbirthing procedures that see a full grown Little put into a coma and then shoved into an Amazon’s uterus until muscular atrophy takes hold and then they’re re-birthed. I personally don’t believe in any of these, because if Amazons could reliably do anything to make us even more their diapered pets, they would, Little Voices be damned. Looking at the size of the Amazon that came and stood next to Tracy, you would forgive me for thinking that maybe the rumors of size changing technology were true. He was towering, even by Amazonian metrics; a true giant among giants. He could have snapped Mark like a twig; ground Brollish into dust beneath his heel. He could have lifted Ambrose off her feet or shoved Forrest down on her ass with one hand. If two other Littles had magically popped up beside me, I suspect he could have juggled us. Tracy could have ridden comfortably on his hip in the same way that Janet toted me around. He had more than just raw size about him. He had dark black hair, darker than Janet’s that he wore in a ponytail. And a neatly trimmed handlebar mustache with a few flecks of gray. His dark brown eyes complimented caramel colored skin, almost contrasting with Tracy’s fair complexion or the farmer’s tans she sometimes developed over long weekends playing paintball. His arms were muscular, but he had a bit of a gut beneath his short sleeved button up. He didn’t exercise so much as whatever he did for a living made him work out. The goliath put two full jugs of orange juice and milk into Tracy’s cart. “That should be good for a while.” His voice was warm, yet gravelly; a dire wolf that could give a friendly wine or warning growl with equal credibility. I knew instinctively that I didn’t want to hear this man bark. He rose back up, and noticed the shelves of reds and whites. “We cooking with wine tonight? Pollo morado?” Tracy chuckled as if she’d heard an old joke. “I’m not that bad of a cook anymore.” She playfully slapped the behemoth on the bicep and my heart stopped. He laughed quietly like he scored a point at something. Tracy turned her head at us and said, “When we first started dating, I tried to cook a fondue for him, and I used red wine instead of white, you know, to cook the chicken in. Turned it purple. He’s never let me live it down.” “Never.” The mammoth agreed. She stood on her tiptoes and he bent over so they could give each other a kiss and my idiot brain finally put things together. “Tracy?!” I gasped. I couldn’t help it. “This is your husband?!” My Tweener friend’s personal backup plan to avoid Adoption had a lot more credibility in my eyes. If he came into an I.E.P. meeting or to a courthouse and said he was adopting Tracy, there wouldn’t be anyone with the intestinal fortitude to object. I was surprised she didn’t ask him to protect her from Ambrose and Brollish. He looked like he could wring one’s neck and still have a hand free for the other. When I spoke up, something seemed to click behind her husband’s eyes. He said something to Tracy in another language. Mayztepic, I thought, but I only knew a handful of basic words like “Hola” and “Adios”, and this wasn’t any of those. “Si,” Tracy said, softly. Then she said to Janet and I. “Ms. Grange. Clark. This is my husband. Emiliano.” Her husband took half a step forward and reached past. “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas,” he introduced himself. “Janet Grange,” Janet said, taking his hand and shaking it lightly. “Nice to meet you.” She released it, stepped to the side and she motioned to me with her other. “This is-” He broke off his handshake immediately and reached out to me in the shopping cart. “Emiliano Limpiaparabrisas. Es un placer.” Then he translated, “It’s a pleasure.” I put my hand in his palm and his fingers engulfed me. “Clark…Clark Guh…I’m Clark. It’s nice to meet you Mr. Limpy…?Mr. Limpia…?” I was trying to pronounce his name phonetically and failing hard. “Lim-pia-pa-ra-BRI-sas,” he said slowly. It still didn’t help that much. My lips were mouthing it, slowly- I caught Janet doing it too- but I was feeling too embarrassed and anxious to try saying it. Tracy looked embarrassed for me. “This is why I have most people just call me Miss Tracy at work.” She was gracious enough not to mention or say anything about children that might compare me to them. Her husband showed no sign of offense. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s tricky. Means windshield wiper. A joke my great-great-grandpa came up with when he emigrated. He watched his friends at the front of the line get their names changed from ‘Rodriguez’ to ‘Rogers’ and ‘Garcia’ to ‘Garret’ by a buncha idiotas with clipboards. He decided to do them one better. Spelled it out and everything. Now I’m stuck with it.” He grinned big and toothy. “Good thing you’re a mechanic,” Tracy chirped. “It fits.” “It fit great-great-great-grandpa, too,” he said. Completely disarmed in the moment, I forgot all manners and social graces. I just had to know: “What did his last name used to be?” Tracy’s husband frowned, menacing craggy lines forming on his face from his forehead down the bridge of his nose. “I…don’t…know…?” Janet looked abashed. “I’m so sorr-!” The apology on my behalf was cut off by Emiliano’s big booming belly laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He doubled over, and slapped his thigh. Any tension that had built up in those seconds dissipated immediately. He rubbed his eye a bit, as if wiping away tears of laughter. “Nobody’s ever asked, and neither did I!” Janet and Tracy laughed politely, both seeming more at ease over the awkwardness. I felt at ease too for perhaps a different reason. I took in the man’s clothes: plain and simple without ostentation, but neat and cared for. No stains, holes, rips, or wrinkles. And his mannerisms, from the way he moved to how he talked, there was an element of practiced ease to them. I may have been projecting, but I saw something of myself in this man. All of my life, I’d crafted an image to make people see me as competent and relatably adult. Tracy’s husband had mastered the art of seeming less threatening. The world was too big for me, and too small for him, and both of us had no doubt learned a trick or two. He said something quickly to Tracy. The words might as well have been encoded in trinary to my ears, save for “Grange” and “Gibson”. Tracy nodded. “Si.” “How about this?” he offered when he turned back to me. “Since we both don’t know about last names, you just call me ‘Mr. L.’ and I’ll call you ‘Mr. G’. Deal?” Mr. G! Plausible deniability! Malicious Compliance! I liked this man. I really liked this man! “Deal! Yes! Thanks Mr. L.!” “De nada, Mr. G.” Janet must’ve been willfully oblivious to not see what was being said right under her nose. She clasped her hands together and let out a melodic, “Awwwwww!” My Mommy barely had time to comment further when Emiliano turned the charm back on. “My wife has told me all about you two,” he said, his tone soft spoken and pleasant. He pointed to me and Janet in rapid succession. “She told me that I would probably like you and that you were probably the best person he could have ended up with…after…” he showed the first bit of discomfort. “...you know.” He waited a beat and then announced. “I think I agree with her.” Janet put one hand on her chest, and the other between my shoulder blades. “Thank you so much for saying that,” she said. “Clark is wonderful. I’m so lucky to be his Mommy.” Hearing it out loud in public like that still made my skin crawl. My neck and shoulders started to tense up. Did I really need to hear about how my life had first fallen apart again? “You wouldn’t believe how many stories I heard,” he said. “‘Clark said this.’ ‘Gibson did that.’ ‘Jefe, jefe, jefe’.” He puppeted his left hand to mimic mouth flapping. Tracy blushed lightly, but still had a flicker of nervousness in her eyes. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t get to meet him first.” Ouch. I winced. More living funeral vibes. Janet’s hand quietly slid up from my back to my shoulder. “Clark and Tracy were a great team. Everybody knew it.” I watched Janet’s face twitch and twist battling with cognitive dissonance. “It’s a shame what happened…happened… but everything happens for a reason.” Her hand drifted off me completely. She didn’t like the taste of admitting I was a good teacher while being happy that I no longer was one. Tracy’s husband understood better than I would have hoped for. “It’s a shame,” he said quietly. He looked back down at me. “Jefe, I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish you were still teaching. How I was raised, you work hard, you are respected, no matter how big or small.” Janet looked from me to Tracy to Mayztepic Man Mountain who had just said the quiet part just loud enough to invoke guilt. “Yeah…it’s been a rough adjustment…but it’s not his fault…and I love him.” Softly, his words careful lest they break something, he replied. “I agree. I agree. I can see, and I agree.” A look of contemplation replaced Janet’s previous expression. “You know what? I think I could really use some ice cream. Miss Tracy? Mister L? Could I ask you a favor?” She waited just long enough for the couple to glance at one another. “Would you mind keeping Clark company while I go to the freezer aisle? I’ll move faster without the cart.” “No problem,” Tracy said. Janet touched my shoulder again so I made eye contact. “Is that okay?” she asked. “Are you comfortable with them? I won’t go if you don’t want me to…” She’d learned since Raine Forrest. “I trust Tracy,” I said. “And Mr. L.” “Okay,” Janet said. “I’m not sure what I’m looking for, so I might be a few minutes.” She looked up. “Is that okay?” The odd-couple nodded that it was. “Do you want a flavor?” “Coffee?” I asked. “Mocha?” “I’ll look.” We waited for Janet to round the aisle. Tracy stepped up with her arms open wide. Of course I hugged her. “Hey, Boss.” “Hey, Tracy.” My eyes clenched shut to maintain my dignity. The awkwardness of my co-worker turned captor looming had thinned, but having Tracy in front of me brought back everything that had happened on Thursday in a fresh wave of hurt. “Good to see you.” “You too, sir.” Emiliano shook his head narrowly, staring in the direction Janet had left. “Another mamá loca,” he said half under his breath. “Janet is okay,” Tracy said. “Mostly.” “I know, I know,” Emiliano grumbled a bit. “You told me.” As comparatively small as Tracy was, and as gargantuan as her husband was, I could face forward and keep eye contact with them both at the same time. No need to turn my head, just look straight ahead for Tracy and way way up for Emiliano. Things were awkward enough, so I saw no reason to hold back. “Not gonna lie,” I said. “I kinda wondered if she made you up.” “Dude!” Tracy scoffed. “Really?” The big man relaxed and smirked. “I work in Elizabeton,” he said. “Long hours.” His posture somehow both wilted and stiffened at the same time. “Thought I had more time to meet you, too. Thought ten years working meant you had at least ten more.” He sighed and looked away. Something about the way he said it irked me. It was just like Beouf and Janet talking about the old me over the baby monitor. “Hey,” I snapped. “I’m wearing a diaper, not dead!” The biggest person I’d ever seen glared at me. His nostrils flared and his upper lip curled into the beginnings of a snarl. I had provoked the dire wolf. His hand went to Tracy’s shoulder, and the Tweener placed her comparatively small and fragile atop his. All the anger went out of him. “Es verdad,” he said to Tracy. To me he said, “I see why she likes you, Jefe. You got balls. In old Mayztepistan, you'd be wearing la coraza, not pañales." “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.” “This shouldn’t have happened to you,” Tracy said. I bowed my head. “Yeah. It shouldn’t be happening to you, either.” “Que?’ I looked up. Tracy’s back was to her husband’s and her face was raw panic, eyes bugged out and pleading, face draining, and lips tight. She hadn’t told him yet. I had no idea why, but it wasn’t any of my business to interfere in their marriage. I put on my ‘lying to Amazons’ face back on. “Yeah,” I said, looking confused. “Tracy hasn’t told you about my replacement? She’s awful.” Tracy’s panic retreated back inside of her. “If I hadn’t gotten Adopted, Tracy wouldn’t have to deal with her. I’m sorry.” Tracy leaned back into her husband and he draped his arms comfortably over her, bringing her into a hug. “Don’t worry about it, Mr. G.,” Emiliano said. “The crazy, stupid, and evil of this world are not your fault. We all do what we can.” “I’ll be fine, Clark,” Tracy said. She’d be fine, but would she still be here? That’s what I needed to know. The two conversed in Mayztepic again for a few sentences. “You’re sure Janet is treating you right?” Tracy asked. Her husband twisted his mouth up, but held his tongue. “She’s the least worst option I have.” It sounded a lot nicer coming out of me than I thought it would. “She stood up to Brollish today.” I quickly prayed that I wouldn’t be asked for specifics. Bounce house victories didn’t seem so important in hindsight. “Good,” Tracy said. “Good.” The conversation dulled down to small pleasantries and uncomfortable pauses. Janet came back with two cartons of mocha coffee ice cream. “Okie doke,” she said. “I think that’s about everything we need for this run. Thank you,” she nodded to Tracy. “See you at work?” Instead of answering, Tracy just said, “It’s always a pleasure with Clark.” Once again, she spread her arms wide and approached the child seat. “Can I give you one last goodbye hug?” I held my arms wide too. Why did she have to say ‘last’? Last for the day? Or last for this lifetime? “Thanks, Boss.” she murmured quietly in my ear. “For everything.” “You’re welcome, friend.” I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I’d miss her. Still not ready to say goodbye. “Come on, mi luchadora,” Emiliano waved Tracy back to their cart. She started pushing, and he lumbered slowly behind her. “She’ll see you on Monday, Jefe,” he called back. “Ms. Grange. Mr. G. It was nice to meet you.” It would have meant more coming from the giant man if he’d known that his wife was being diapered at work and contemplating quitting. It wasn’t my place to tell him, though. There was a very real chance that I’d never see either of them again. “See you Monday, Tracy,” I tried to shout, but my voice fell quiet. Waiting in the check out line, I asked Janet, “Can I have a shower when we get home? I feel gross.” “Absolutely,” Janet replied. “We’re both gross.” Another question. “What does ‘Jefe’ mean?” Janet took out her phone and looked it up. “I think it means ‘Boss’.” Chapter 106: Inside the Doll’s House Janet opened up the back door and unbuckled me from the car seat. She set me down on the driveway and let me readjust my own clothing; though I could see her fingers fidget and twist. Some part of her baby crazy brain was likely screaming at her that I was doing it wrong just by virtue of my size and state. “Remember,” she told me. “Best behavior. We’re guests.” I hiked up my tan slacks with the elastic waistband for the first of what would surely be dozens of times that day. Just sitting and wriggling in the car seat trying to get comfortable, they’d managed to slip halfway down my ass. I was still dry too. I could only imagine how bad it would get if I stayed wet for any amount of time. “I know,” I replied, quietly. “This was kind of my idea, remember?” Janet bobbled her head from side to side. “Kind of. But…your temper…and Miss Zoge and Ivy…” she saw the blood rushing to my face from something other than embarrassment. “I’m really prou…” She dropped down to one knee to look me in the eye. “I want to keep having a good weekend and for us to keep an open mind.” “I’m only doing this because it was her birthday and I feel bad and junk,” I insisted. “That’s all.” A lie of omission. New applications of Ivy’s strength coupled with her persistent desire to befriend or impress me despite every way I’d managed to hurt her were definitely a factor. A half-truth is still better than nothing. “And I love that you’re doing that,” Janet insisted. “Just don’t let it stop us from having fun.” My Mommy’s eye twitched. She dug a thin black comb out of the diaper bag and started to attack my tangled curls for the third or fourth time since I woke up. “We are going to have to either start gelling your hair again or get you a haircut.” I pictured my hair matted down with product and slicked back. That mental image was immediately replaced with my carrot colored locks parted right down the middle, the tips still curling at my ears. “Haircut, please.” “Monday afternoon,” Janet said. “Right after school.” It would mean a trip back to that monstrosity of a salon, but I’d bear it as long as it was only a haircut. Even though it was a futile gesture I tugged down at the white button up, tucking it into my pants. Janet had put it through the wash once so it wasn’t as stiff and starchy as it had been in the store. The sweater vest got tugged over the waistband so that the potato chip ridges along the slacks’ waistband weren’t as obvious. My Monkeez were already bunching up from the lack of room in my pants’s seat. I could feel the pants inching down by the millisecond. I’d never admit it, but I should have asked Janet for that abomination of a onesie that imitated a button up. Or overalls. Something that would stay put while I moved. That goddamn sailor suit had a better fit and would have gotten bonus points from Zoge since she’d gotten it for me. This was supposed to be a ‘playdate’, but both Janet and I were dressed for the equivalent of a job interview. Oakshire wasn’t a big town. It didn’t have any country clubs or gated communities. Cassie and I had hit it pretty big, sneak-living in the suburbs like we had. Janet’s house, by Little standards of scope and quality was nothing to sneeze at either. The neighborhood that Mr. and Mrs. Zoge lived in was palatial by comparison. Rows and rows of two story houses with hedges instead of fences. Big wheeled tricycles and plastic play houses decorated front lawns in lieu of plastic flamingos and porcelain gnomes. Driveways housed boats and campers that owners proudly maintained and washed despite probably only using them one or two times a year. Backyards featured inground pools screened in to protect from falling leaves, trampolines big enough for giants to tumble on, steel swing sets, and wooden play forts. Children played openly under the watchful gaze of parents busying themselves in gardens, proudly washing cars, or participating in childish play. There wasn’t very much in the way of fencing or attempts at privacy. The people here didn’t want privacy. They wanted to be seen. Their yards and driveways were tributes to their own prosperity and their personal involvement as caregivers. Everything was a competition wrapped up in a neat smiling bow. Cars were being hand washed and buffed with thick yellow sponges and grass was cut with bright red riding mowers as if doing the chores were a luxury. Peak Typical Amazon. Across the street behind me, a pair of princesses held a tea party in bright yellow dresses. I guessed at least one of them was legitimately a child based on relative height, but distance and distraction kept me from judging on whether or not the smaller one was a little sister or a Little sister. Janet likewise, was dressed up like it was a school day in a light blue denim dress with a bright red sash tied around her waist, and matching ruby flats. Her hair was done up in a tight bun with knitting needle hairpins keeping it all together. This was in stark contrast to the relaxed loose fitting and faded attire she tended to prefer when just bumming around the house for a weekend. She looked almost nervous. Janet technically outranked Zoge in the school hierarchy, but this wasn’t her home turf. Zoge was a fellow believer in Maturosis and a Mommy; but I hadn’t witnessed the chemistry between them like with Beouf or Helena. We were both in unexplored territory here. Both of us felt awkward but obligated at this social encounter. I took some comfort in that. Worst case scenario, nothing would click, I would never see Ivy outside of school ever again. She stood up and took me with her, propping me up on her hip opposite the diaper bag. “Ready?” I groped around and felt the back of my Monkeez already peeking out. More than just the papery thin waistband, too. It’d be a miracle if I made it through this without my pants falling down to my knees. “As I’ll ever be,” I sighed. We traveled up the driveway and hooked right along a curving walkway towards the front door. I spent the final few seconds of the trip analyzing everything I saw while trying to derive meaning from it. No cars besides ours in the driveway. No sounds of activity coming from behind the house or movement from curtains. That probably meant that there weren't any other Littles around. It was the day after Ivy’s birthday, but this wasn’t a birthday party I was walking into. Part of me felt that was sad, but only for a moment. Ivy was actually an adult. Plenty of adults have birthdays without parties. Not having additional Littles around meant I had no extra airs to put on. Cynically, I took note of the baby swing hanging from the boughs of a tree in her front yard. How many swings, I wondered, before Ivy’s mind had broken? Oh who was I kidding? Ivy was properly broken well before she’d emigrated to Oakshire. A twinge of sadness. Littles who went to Yamatoa were regressed universally and permanently. The one and only balm to that nightmare would be that there was no trace of the adult life those victims had lived to cause them any kind of cognitive dissonance. No free adult Littles like Clark Gibson to look at them in their strollers and quietly shake their heads in pity. Janet knocked on the heavy door, her knuckles rapping on the wood. We exchanged one less awkward look with one another. “Be good,” she mouthed. “I know,” I mouthed back. Typical. The door opened with a moaning heavy creak. Mrs. Zoge stood in the doorway, smiling softly. She was barefoot, wearing a loose fitting white blouse and black pants that belled out at her ankles. It was the most casual I’d ever seen her dress. “Hiiiiiii,” Janet said, sounding as awkward as anything. Zoge pivoted sideways and bid us enter. “Welcome,” she said, her smile and voice soft. Janet carried me in and Zoge closed the door behind us. “You can leave your shoes over there by the door.” Janet set me down and took off her own shoes. “Thank you,” she said. I beat her into taking off mine. Undressing myself was just as much a rare treat as dressing. The blue light up shoes joined Janet’s red flats. “Socks too?” I asked our host. “Socks are fine on your feet,” Zoge said. “Yes ma’am.” The Yamatoan’s eyes twinkled. “So well mannered!” Her eyes took me in a beat later. “And so handsome, too!” I did a slight bow, doing my best to pretend that this was an I.E.P. meeting in my head. “Thank you, ma’am.” Zoge’s eyebrow shot up for a moment. “We need to dress you like this more often if this is how you behave.” It was hard to tell if she was joking until a few notes of laughter fluttered out of her. Janet exhaled and joined in. “He wanted to dress to impress,” Janet said, and left it at that. From around the entry way’s corner, Ivy poked her head around, her hair bunched up in pigtails. We made eye contact for a moment, and then out of sight. Her presence did not go unnoticed, however. “Ivy,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Come meet our guests.” The Little Doll waddled out wearing a pink romper with white polar bears dotting it. It was loose and layered and flared out slightly at the sleeves and legs, and had overlapping folds sewn in to resemble a kind of robe. It was the middle of a Saturday, but I felt like I’d just caught the girl in her pajamas. Shapewise, it had more in common with my GhostHaunters costume the other day. It was closer to a baggy and concealing jumpsuit than a form fitting romper. I only thought of it as an article of baby clothing because I caught sight of the telltale snaps on her inseam just above her knee, and because Ivy was the one wearing it. “Hello, Clark,” she said. She waved at me shyly. One bare foot was already trying to slide behind her Mommy’s leg. My mouth, for a change, was a step ahead of my mind. “Hello, Ivy,” I waved back. Expertly, I tugged on Janet’s skirt as if I’d rehearsed it. “Mommy? Do you have the thing?” Janet flipped open the diaper bag and handed me a card envelope. “Here you go, baby.” “Ivy,” I held out the envelope that was nearly the size of my head. “This is for you. Happy Birthday.” Ivy sprinted out and snatched the card from me the way a wise rat snatches cheese from a trap. Tiny, closed lip giggles came out of the Amazons bearing witness. “There’s a gift card in there,” I said. “It’s not much, but maybe you can put it with money you already have and buy something nice for yourself.” That got more knowing giggles. I hadn’t chosen my words carefully, just then. They were just the sort of thing I’d say to anyone whose gift from me was money but with extra steps. It took me a second for me to realize what was so funny. “Clark was very serious about helping me pick the card out,” Janet told Zoge. “Insisted that he sign it himself.” Oh yeah. I hadn’t actually bought the card. I no longer had money in the way an adult had money; back to the land of allowances and lemonade stands…except babies didn’t really get either of those. I’d basically just given Zoge money with the expectation that she would spend it on Ivy. Not that she wouldn’t- Ivy was mentally abused, but not physically neglected- it just would have been more efficient for Janet to reach into her purse and give Zoge some money. Ritual and ceremony has always been important to me, however. Even if it just reinforced certain viewpoints that I was a small child playing Grown-Up. With no prompting Ivy handed the envelope up to her Mommy. “Thank you, Clark,” Ivy said. “I am very grateful.” A child recites her lessons. Then, “You look…very Grown-Up.” “Ivy?” Zoge seemed surprised. Not angry. Just surprised. I did look comparatively Grown-Up. Even accounting for my underwear and the waistband of my slacks, a three year old still looks more mature than a two year old. If only I was allowed to be potty trained like a three year old… There were a few clipped words between the so-called mother and her faux daughter. I only knew the songs from Circle Time and my untrained ear picked up none of them. Were I a betting man, I’d say Ivy was being gently reminded not to encourage me. “Clark really wanted to dress to impress,” Janet covered for me. “He’s been looking forward to this all morning.” “Does he have anything more comfortable?” Zoge asked Janet. “Play clothes?” She quickly tacked on. “They look very nice…” Janet patted the bag. “I’ve got a spare onesie and a t-shirt in here if he gets uncomfortable.” I threw her some side eye. “But only if he gets uncomfortable.” Despite herself, she also tacked on, “Or if he spills something on his shirt or leaks.” “Ah,” Mrs. Zoge said. “I see. Good.” Five words was enough to make Janet fall all over herself with polite self-consciousness. “We had lunch before we came here.” This wasn’t a lunch date, I guessed. “Just…always be prepared, I guess.” Zoge smiled and undid the spell she’d cast and allowed Janet her out. “I understand. We have everything we need at home or in our classroom, but something always goes wrong when we are out.” “Yes,” Janet sighed with relief. “Exactly.” I took back over before the two giantesses started swapping packing and prep tips. “Thank you, Ivy,” I said, giving her the same semi-bow I’d given to her Mommy. “How old are you?” “Clark…?” Janet’s inflection almost mirrored Zoge’s from a moment before. Never ask a woman her age, I guess, even if she’s not allowed to grow up. Ivy took no such offense. Why would she? “Thirty-five.” My face fell for a second. Ivy was older than me? How did I not know this? “Happy belated birthday,” I said, recovering. “May you have many more.” “Thank you,” Ivy said. “I will.” A beat of awkward silence encircled us. Work friends and schoolmates we were, but none of us were friend-friends. This was uncharted territory for all involved, and I had the preconceived notion that Ivy didn’t get many playdates. “Please,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Come in. Come in. Make yourself at home.” Our tiny group shuffled out of the entryway and into the house proper. “My husband is making tea. Would you like some?” “Yes,” Janet said, “that would be lovely.” Ivy toddled up and tugged at the diaper bag. “Can I help, Ms. Grange? I can put Clark’s diapers in my nursery if he needs a change.” Ivy Zoge; teacher’s pet even in her own house. Janet flushed and blushed. “That’s very kind of you Ivy, but I need a few things out of this first.” To the elder Zoge she said, “I brought some milk from home. Goat’s milk. It’s gentler on his tummy.” “Goat’s milk?” Zoge said. She almost sounded like I did when speaking Yamatoan, saying the word phonetically but not quite understanding the meaning. Janet bit her lip. “Um…I think in Yamatoan it’s called…’bonyoo’..?” She winced, knowing she’d butchered the word. Ivy giggled into her hand and looked at the floor. “Ah,” Zoge said. “Yes. We have room in the refrigerator. Would you like to follow me so you know where you put it?” “That would be very nice,” Janet said. “Would it be okay if Ivy took Clark’s diapers?” That gave me an unexpected chill. Zoge nodded and Janet dug out two or three and handed them down to the mini-Yamatoan. “Here ya go, kiddo.” Keeping my mouth closed, I gaped at the stack in Ivy’s hands. How long were we visiting for? I seriously hoped we wouldn’t be here long enough for me to need all of those. “Thank you,” Ivy said. “Ivy, will you give your guest a tour?” Zoge asked. Predictably Ivy said, “Yes, Mommy.” She tucked the mini-stack under her arm and motioned for me to follow. “Come on, Clark. I’ll show you around!” Might as well get this over with. “Sure, Ivy.” She reached out her hand to take mine. I knew I’d never get it back if I gave it to her. “You can lead, I’ll follow.” What followed was perhaps the most shallow and absurd tour I’d been given. “This is the kitchen. This is where my Daddy cooks the food.” “Uh-huh.” “This is the family room. This is where Mommy and Daddy watch the news after dinner and watch T.V. when I go to bed.” “Yup.” “This is the dining room. This is where Mommy and Daddy and me eat the food.” She pointed to a highchair. “That’s where I eat. Yesterday, I had yummy, yummy cake. For dessert!” “Cool….” “This is the downstairs bathroom. My Mommy and Daddy sometimes use the potty in here when they’re downstairs and have to go potty. Nobody uses the bathtub in here.” “Neat.” There was no rhyme or reason to where we went. Ivy zigged and zagged every which way. We’d pass a room or an area only for her to double back, show it off, and lead me into another hallway. “In there is the laundry room, where my Mommy does the laundry. Sometimes Daddy does it too.” “Fascinating.” “It goes into the garage where the cars like to sleep at night.” “You don’t say.” More so than even Amy, Ivy’s prattle reminded me of my students’. The point wasn’t to actually impart any kind of usable or amusing information, but for her to talk and show that she knew where things were. Likewise, I did my best to sound pleasant in my vapid pointless responses. “This is the stairs. They go up to the bedrooms and my Daddy’s office.” “Do they go down, too?” I asked. “Yeah!” I silently played a game with myself and counted how many times I had to hike my pants back up over my diaper to keep it covered up. I was close to twenty by the time we hit the stairs. The stairs alone added another twenty-four to thirty. They were just steep enough that it was easier to crawl and climb them than to attempt to ascend them using only my legs. Maybe if my underwear hadn’t been so bulky… “This is the upstairs hallway.” “Yeah…” I puffed lightly, feeling winded. What she didn’t comment on was just how many pictures were on the walls. It was practically an Ivy museum. Family portraits, school photos, vacation stills, restaurant outings, holidays, and candid pictures. If not for the infinite amount of time that Littles stayed babies for their Amazon overlords, one might think that they recorded every single moment of Ivy’s supposed childhood. “Lotta pictures,” I said. “Are these all of them?” “Just the ones since we moved,” Ivy answered. “All my baby pictures from before are in the attic.” I couldn’t help myself. “Aren’t you still a baby?” I asked. “Yes,” Ivy replied. “But those pictures are from before.” I bit my tongue on how all pictures were technically from before and accepted her answer. I wasn’t particularly curious to see what Ivy looked like in a Yamatoan daycare uniform. The tour continued: “This is my Daddy’s office,” she pointed to a closed door. He works there when he’s not at work. I’m not allowed to go in there.” “Logical,” I feigned interest. I was also playing a game on how many different vapid replies I could come up with. “This is the guest room. Guests sleep there.” “That’s a good name then.” “This is my Mommy and Daddy’s room. I’m not allowed to go in there without either. It has a bathroom.” “As does my Mommy’s room.” The irony was either lost on the Doll or she was feeding off of it. “This is the upstairs bathroom. Mommy and Daddy give me baths here.” “Indeed. Not in their bathroom?” “No. That’s just for them.” I wondered how she might react if I told her I was sometimes allowed to shower with mine? Jealousy? Disbelief? Best to let sleeping dragons lie. “Interesting…” Our tour concluded, or so I thought. “This is my nursery. This is where I sleep and play with my stuffed animals and cuddly toys and get my diaper changed when I’m at home.” “Yeah. Mine…too?!” Pink. So much pink. I thought the first draft of my room at Janet’s had been pink. I was wrong. This was pink. Rose pink walls; a watermelon pink crib; a blush pink changing table; bubblegum pink closet doors; a magenta shelf with porcelain dolls decorating it all wearing ballet slipper pink tutus; a hot pink rocking chair. “This is…this is really pink.” “Thank you,” Ivy said. “It’s my favorite color this year.” “This…year…?” “I used to really like purple,” Ivy said as if that explained it. In a way it did. Ivy was a tad more spoiled than I gave her credit for. The most obedient dog often got the best scraps. I stayed firmly in the doorway, almost afraid to enter, while Ivy waddled to her changing table and placed my diapers gently on the bottom shelf. She gave them a light pat as if that might not stay otherwise. “Tour over.” “Cool,” I said. “What now?” Ivy faced her crib. “Mommy! Tour over! Tour over, Mommy!” I looked up at her crib and my eyes finally honed in on a tiny green light from a familiar looking electronic box. She was yelling into her baby monitor. Clever. My suspicions were confirmed with the thundering sound of approaching footsteps. Janet and Zoge climbed the stairs after us. Janet picked me up and carried me deeper into the Doll’s lair to make way for her Mommy. “Ready to play, baby?” Zoge asked. Ivy already had her arms skyward, begging to be lifted. “Yes, please!” “How are you doing?” Janet whispered. “You okay?” “I’m fine,” I whispered back. “Having fun?” “I’m fine,” I repeated. That would have to be good enough today. We were taken downstairs but we did not stop in the family room like I’d expected. The Zoge family room was barren in terms of Little-centric devices. Janet’s living room was practically half-a-nursery, replete with a playpen, playmats, toys I left lying around, and gifts from the Adoption shower that never found a proper home elsewhere. Janet’s couch and coffee table were sturdy muted islands among a primary colored sea. One didn’t need to be a detective to guess that Janet kept someone in diapers here. Not even the mythical Sherlock Homes could look at this room and guess that an eternal child was imprisoned in this house. Couches and cushy chairs, shelves with useless trinkets on them, landscape oil paintings; a fireplace. Everything in tones of beige and eggshell white. Even I found it boring. Ivy was old enough to be a mother. Zoge looked old enough to actually be Ivy’s; making her a grandmother. Short a crystal dish of individually wrapped hard candies and plastic on the furniture, this room reeked of ‘grandparent’. That’s when I noticed the rainbow colored baby gate and the room that lay beyond it. Sunken into the floor and separated by a multi-hued lattice, was a room that the Littles at the Little Voices would have killed for during the back half of the meetings. My feet squished beneath me when Janet set me down. Every inch of the floor here was covered in puzzle piece foam padding; each piece sporting a letter, number, or basic shape in its center. The walls were draped in posters of cartoons both vaguely familiar and disturbingly foreign. The first wall had clear plastic bins filled with toys corner to corner. The second had more of the same, as well as arts and crafts items like crayons, construction paper, safety scissors, and clay. The third had covered play tables marked with signs that I inferred meant train sets, water, and sand. The middle of the floor boasted a sit and spin that could reasonably accommodate four Littles. Everything was at eye level and easy to reach, no stepping stools necessary. The tables all had wheels and pivots on them. They probably wouldn’t require Ivy’s bizarre strength to move. The bins were practically a library of toys, all neatly organized. A Little Room. They had a friggin’ Little Room. My brain started to burn. I stopped breathing. “Be good,” Janet’s voice knocked me out of my fugue state. Instead of patting me on the bottom she yanked my pants up for me one last time. “Have fun. Mr. and Mrs. Zoge and I will be chatting in the family room if you need us. Like a dog begging for attention, Ivy leapt in front of me. “Do you like it?” My eyes swept left and right. How much money had been put into this place? If you combined the money Beouf and I had spent combined on our classroom toys over my career, this might top it. “Uh…yeah?” “What would you like to play?” My temples were throbbing. My face was on fire. I was tiptoeing towards a panic attack of some kind. I hated this place. I hated this house. I hated these people. Not worth it. So not worth it. I shook my head and did my best impression of a dying fish. Why had I left my pacifier at home? “I…don’t know…” I finally said. Ivy was about to proudly rattle off every single asinine toy and distraction when another one came from her Mommy. “Juice!” Zoge leaned over the barrier and handed us each a sloshing sippy cup. “Drink up!” “Thank you!” I said and started slugging back the strawberry flavored sugar water. Ivy followed suit. What a relief! Silence but not being expected to listen to or say anything! Those precious few minutes glugging the refreshment helped me recenter myself and remember that I was here to suffer through some nonsense and possibly gain some valuable insight. This wasn’t really a playdate, it was reconnaissance. I gasped when I was done, and set the now empty cup down on the foam floor. “What do you want to play with, Ivy?” I asked. Ivy finished her drink and picked mine up. “Mommy!” Zoge shuffled back up, and took the cups. “Thank you, Ivy. Such a good girl.” The praise seemed to rejuvenate her in the same way that Ivy’s silence had patched me. Ivy wasted no time. “Spin?” she asked. I thought about it. “No. I don’t want to get sick.” The mock yamatoan crinkled to a bin and pulled out a black base and handful of tiny metal rods. It was a smaller version of the incomprehensible Amazonian game from Beouf’s class. The one that Ivy had poked at for at least a decade and figured out how to work. “Puzzle?” “No thanks,” I said. My own pride didn’t want me to lose again. Undaunted, she dashed to the other side of her padded cell. “Music?” she yanked free an entire bin of rattles, maracas, sleigh bells, and xylophones, and dropped them to the floor. Problem was that at least some of them were the same type of bells that Winters and Sosa used as reward mechanisms in their therapy room. The room went wobbly and I collapsed to my knees, helplessly spraying in my pants while laughing about it. So much for my dignity. “Noooo!” I howled through the laughter. “Please no! Not music.” Surefooted and seeming confused, Ivy moved to pick them back up. “Okay.” “No!” I reached out and pleaded. “Just leave them there.” Part of me worried that if I heard another jingle like that I might accidentally invent reasons to shake them more. My body wanted one thing while my mind wanted the other. It was a rush. I didn’t know how long it took Amy or Chaz to be ruined by this stuff, but I didn’t want to find out if it was more than an afternoon or not. “Just,” I laughed again. “Just leave them.” Ivy was starting to look frustrated. “What do we play?” I steadied my breathing, stood up, and yanked my damn pants up. If Jessica were more devious, I’d suspect she bought this pair specifically to train me to prefer clothes that snapped between my legs. “How about something quiet.” I said. “Something without a winner or a loser? Something we can do together but also just lets us talk.” “Okay!” Ivy said without hesitation. She grabbed a bin that rustled and clip-clopped and brought it over to me. She did it so fast, I suspected it was going to be her next suggestion no matter what I asked for. She laid it at my feet, a pirate showing her bounteous treasure “How about this?” They were old square wooden alphabet blocks. Dulled edges sanded by use and paint faded with time and hours spent in the sun. Simple. Familiar. Easy to multitask with. Something I could pretend to be doing and engaged with while trying to figure more out about the world’s strongest Little. “Yeah,” I said. “That’ll do.” She dumped them out. I reached for one. Her hand jumped out and grabbed mine. “Wait!” “What?” I asked. She released my hand. “Let’s take turns.” She was so earnest about it, that I found the patience of Beouf within myself. “Okay. You place a block, I place a block? Can we talk and take turns?” “Yes.” I lowered myself back down to the floor. Ivy joined me. “Ladies first.” Extreme concentration came over my classmate’s countenance, like a chess master deciding her opening move. She chose a block. She set it down “Go.” I grabbed one at random and placed it atop. “Your turn.” She picked up two and weighed each carefully against the other, a blank expression of pure focus with her looking in the middle distance. “This one,” she whispered, settling on a ‘Y’. She placed it on top, but nudged off center. “Go.” My hand reached for another. Her hand caught my wrist. “Hey!” It was all I could do. Not like I could take my hand back. She flipped my wrist over and gave me the block she hadn’t selected. “This one,” she said. “Trust me.” She released my wrist. “It’s my block and I can do what I want.” I dropped the block among the mass of other nearly identical pieces and picked up a ‘Z’. “Now stop grabbing my hand and let me choose.” “Sorry…” she didn’t sound it. Not to be outdone, I placed my own block slightly off center in the opposite direction to counter balance. The tower immediately collapsed down to the base. “Toldja,” Ivy said, sounding smug. She’d made it another competition that she could win. “I need more practice,” I fibbed. “Why don’t we build our own thing to start, and then we can build together?” Ivy considered it with utmost sincerity. “Okay. I can do that.” There were more than enough blocks for the both of us. I counted to thirty while I made a wide and steady base. A simple pyramid would look impressive enough and give me plenty of leeway to control the flow of things. Ivy was absorbed in her portion of the parallel play and started stacking back up to the ceiling, her pace only slowed by the disproportionate amount of consideration she gave to each nearly identical selection. “Ivy,” I said. “Can I ask you a question?” “Uh-huh,” Ivy answered. “Yes, you may.” “I’m just curious,” I said. “What’s your favorite T.V. show?” A safe opener. “I don’t watch a lot of television,” Ivy said. Her voice took on that rote memorization quality that it did when she was quoting Zoge.“Television is bad for your mind.” Piteously, I shook my head and worked on the second layer of my pyramid. “Okay,” I said. “Favorite…food?” “Sushi,” she said without hesitation. “It’s yummy.” Okay! We were getting somewhere! “Favorite roll? Or cut? Or dish or whatever?” “Whatever Daddy makes or Mommy gets me.” I wanted to break my own nose by ramming it into the top layer of blocks. Right back to ‘Mommy and Daddy’. “Who were you before your Mommy and Daddy?” I asked. Time to just rip that band-aid right off. There was an uncomfortable pause. “I don’t know.” A lot of ways to take that answer. She genuinely sounded like she didn’t understand the question. I’d had a few students over the years who came to school not knowing their last name and Ivy’s tone was a dead ringer for them. How far did Ivy’s conditioning go? “Were you ever married?” I asked. “No.” “Any brothers or sisters?” “No.” “Do you remember your parents?” “Yes.” Okay! That was a start. Not only that but my pyramid was really starting to take shape. Seven by seven for the base. Then five by five.Now I just needed three by three and a cherry on top in the middle, and it would look pretty spiffy. “What were their names?” “Hana and Haru.” “No, not your Mommy and Da-!” I gasped. In the time I’d taken making a dinky square pyramid, Ivy had created a mish mashed tower up to her chest. Not a single block was lined up horizontally with its predecessor. Incredibly, some were balancing on each other’s edge. “How did you…?” “Ta-da!” “How did you…?” I stuttered. “How did…?” My nose wrinkled, involuntarily. Something smelled off. Something that not even baby powder, rash cream, pulp, and plastic backing could completely cover up. “Did you poop?” Ivy reached around and patted her own bottom for confirmation. “Yes.” Those looks of intense concentration when we had started took on a new meaning. I needn’t ask ‘when?’. I skipped asking ‘Why?’ altogether. “Do you wanna stop and get changed?” “No,” she said simply. “I’m not done playing yet.” She grabbed two more blocks and set them atop the tower counterbalancing one another. “Babies wear diapers so they don’t have to go potty. It lets them play longer instead of having to take breaks like big girls and boys. Their Mommies and Daddies love them very much. They are the fortunate ones.” My face went like a dying fish again. “Huh? You’re not really a baby, Ivy.” “Yes I am,” she said confidently. “I wear diapers. I sleep in a crib. I don’t have a job. I play with toys. I drink milk. I live with Mommy and Daddy.” My ears paused just long enough to make sure that I could hear Janet and the Zoges talking to each other in the next room. “But you’re a Little,” I insisted. “That’s not the same thing.” “Littles are babies, They never have to grow up, Eternal children” I tugged at my freshly combed hair in disbelief. It still hurt, so this wasn’t a dream. “Did you just make up a diaper haiku?” The tower was reaching Ivy’s eye level. “No. I learned it at my old school. It sounds better in Yamatoan. Do you like it?” “No.” She pouted her lip out and grumbled. “I bet if Amy said it you’d like it.” I stood up and looked her in the eye, ignoring the slacks that were doing their best to slip back down. “What did you say?” The Doll looked away. I could all but feel the heat coming off her cheeks. “Nothing…” “Are you jealous of Amy?” “No!” she squeaked. She took half a step back from her creation and turned sideways like she was trying to hide behind it. “You are!” I said. “You really are!” Her breakdown tantrum yesterday made a lot more sense. It was more than being ignored that had set her off. It was also who I had been ignoring her for. I hadn’t forgotten about that kiss, either. “You’re jealous!” She stomped her foot. “Am not!” Muted by the foam flooring though it was, the tremor sent the tower of alphabet blocks crumbling down. “Look what you did!” “Clark? Ivy?” Janet called. “Everything.okay back there?” “Yes, Mommy!” I called back. Zoge’s concerned voice chimed in. “Ivy? Are you alright, my love?” “Yes, Mommy.” Ivy called back, unable to hide her sulk. “You two aren’t fighting?” Janet called over. “No ma’am,” we said in unison. “Play well, children…” came the Yamatoan’s gentle reminder. I sat back down on the mat. So too did Ivy. We grabbed blocks and started stacking again. I went straight up. Ivy started going up and out, stacking two on the bottom block’s center end to end and using a fourth to keep them balanced together. She repeated it again. And again. And again. Through practice or natural talent, she had the same crazy level of dexterity and almost unexplainable knowledge of basic physics that my Amazon preschoolers came to me with. Impressive considering that it would take me far too many failed attempts to get even one group of blocks like that. Amy spoke only one language and was more interested in what she could fit in her mouth. “You’re really good at that,” I admitted. Ivy had already gotten her one-two-one layered tower up to her sitting chin level. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Amy’s just a friend,” I told her. “I’m married. Even if I wasn’t, we’d still just be friends.” “Why aren’t we friends?” Ivy scooted on her bottom around her old tower and started building a new one. My eye twitched just imagining what was going on in her pants, but I shoved that thought to the side. “We are friends,” I lied. “Just school friends.” “Mommy says it’s not nice to fib,” Ivy said without looking directly at me. She took two more of the worn wooden cubes and pinched them together on either side of the third layer. Her new tower was starting to resemble a triangle. “Hold please.” “Sure.” I crawled over and held the two blocks in place so tightly that I almost fell over when the building crashed. A stray block found its way to Ivy’s other masterpiece, sending the diamond layered tower sideways. Ivy’s temper did not flare this time. Nor did Janet or Zoge come calling for us. The sound of our rising voices, not the clacking of blocks, drew their concern. “Sorry,” I apologized. “It’s okay.” Ivy sighed. “You didn’t mean to.” She started again with the basic one-two-one stacking. It kind of looked like a diamond. “Why aren’t we friends?” she asked me again. I had neither the time nor courage to fully divest my feelings on why I tended to be so nasty to that Little Doll. “Because you’re a baby.” “Amy’s a baby,” Ivy said. “You’re friends with her.” “It’s more complicated than that,” I said. “No it isn’t.” She repeated her attempt at an upside triangle. “Hold please. This time squeeze together and not down. Sit on your bottom and not on your knees so you don’t accidentally go down.” We paused our conversation long enough for her to stack two blocks on top of the three and then a single block on top of that, perfectly balanced. The diamond had grown! I held my breath, gathered my legs underneath me and backed away slowly. “You’re really good at this.” Ivy did the same. “Thank you. These are my oldest toys. Lots of practice.” Holding my breath had had the side effect of me smelling Ivy’s soiled diaper all over again when I started back up. I’d almost (almost) gotten used to it. Without consciously coordinating, we circled around our creation at a wide berth. “Ivy, you’re not a baby,” I told her. “Neither is Amy.” “Yes we are,” Ivy answered simply. “Amy’s just a bad baby.” I couldn’t tell if she realized something or if she was pooping again. “Is that why you’re friends with her? Do you only want to be friends with the bad babies?” She nodded to herself, like she’d just figured something out. I shouldn’t have argued with her. She was just as crazy as the Amazons who’d re-raised her. Stubbornness is a powerful drug. Keeping my voice level and calm, I tried to explain my stance to the Doll in good faith. “We’re not babies, Ivy. We just wear diapers because our Mommies and Daddies make us.” I yanked down my pants and pointed to my wet Monkeez. “And make us watch cartoons that turn our brains to mush, and have bells and buzzers that make us pee our pants.” I hoisted my slacks back up. “This is like…one of three pairs of pants that I own that don’t snap together. Real babies wear diapers because they’re too young to figure out how to hold it and their clothes have snaps in them because they don’t know how to work their hands enough to dress themselves. Littles wear diapers because the tapes are too sticky for us to take off. The snaps keep our other clothes on us, too. We’re trapped in our clothes until we go pee and poop in them and the Amazons call it cute.” Ivy reached down and popped open two snaps of her kimono romper. With only a little fumbling, she popped them close again. “I’m not trapped,” she stated. My heart thudded against my ribcage. “Can you take off your diaper, too?” I whispered, terrified to raise my voice. “Yes,” Ivy said. “If Mommy says it’s okay. Like if I’m not poopy and it’s bathtime.” The rank stench coming from her pants no longer mattered to me. “Ivy…why are you still here?” The Doll didn’t understand my question. “This is my house.” “You’re not in Yamatoa anymore,” I hissed. “You can walk. You can talk. You’ve got all your teeth. You could take off your diaper, grab the least babyish clothes you could find and then run away! To Misty Brook! Or Elizabeton! Or literally any other place!” “That would make my Mommy sad,” Ivy replied, voice cracking. I grabbed another fistful of my own hair. Every. Damn. Time. This is what I got for indulging crazy. I might need this crazy, though. With her hands alone she was an asset. It was pure hubris of me to think I could undo however many years of programming. Hubris was my middle name. “Don’t you ever want to grow up again?” I asked her. “To be on your own?” “No.” “Don’t you ever want to…?” Get a job? No. Kiss someone? Hell no. “Use the potty again?” Ivy looked down at her feet. “I’ve never gone potty before.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Never?” “Never.” “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Are you incontintent? I didn’t know.” New connections were clicking into place. What Little would want to be friends with another Little that legitimately needed diapers? That was just asking for trouble and Amazons. “Is that why you-?” “I’m just too Little,” Ivy cut me off. “Mommy said.” Mommy said. Mommy said. Mommy said. “Let me guess,” I said. “You tried being a big girl, but then you had an accident in your panties and your Mommy and Daddy took them away and put you back in diapers.” “Yes!” Ivy clapped. “I was never potty trained! I’m a baby!” I stifled a growl. That was some borderline abusive gaslighting, there, even for the Maturosis crowd. Zoge wasn’t always Beouf’s assistant, I reminded myself. Places like Yamatoa would likely mindfuck Littles into believing they were never potty trained; but just had a twenty something year streak of good luck. Why did I even bother? “What’s it like?” Ivy suddenly asked. “Going potty?” I’d never been asked that before. My lips puckered out. “You really don’t remember?” “Nuh-uh.” Ivy said. “No” She walked back over to her blocks. “Long time ago.” She squatted on her haunches and started building a second diamond structure right up against the first. “What’s it like?” How long ago had they gotten to this girl? “Um…it’s like nothing I guess,” I answered honestly. “You just listen to your body. Empty it out in the toilet. And nothing happens.” “And that’s good?” I shrugged. “Yeah. You don’t get smelly. Your pants don’t get warm or mushy. Nobody thinks you’re a baby. Then you wipe, wash your hands, and walk away like it never happened.” “Then how do you know you did anything?” That question sounded way too deep and profound considering it was about the difference between shitting one’s pants and not. “Memory…?” She immediately followed up with “What’s it like being married?” A rock fell into my throat. I tried to quietly offer to pinch the two blocks like I had before, but she shooed me away with her hand. “Or working? Or having a job? Or growing up? Or getting called ‘Mister’?” “It’s…it’s really…” All that I knew I wanted. “It’s great. Big people talk to you like you’re big and you get to help them in big people ways instead of just kid ways. Even though you’re not bigger or stronger than them, they still talk to you like you are. You matter.” I searched my fellow prisoner’s face for some form of recognition. Some mysterious but unspoken rebuttal like Amy or the sadness of something barely tasted like Chaz. There was none of that. I was describing three dimensional existence to a two dimensional being. “Are you sure you don’t wanna get changed?” It wasn’t the smell, it was just the easiest way to change the subject. The faux-Yamatoan patted herself again, and some extra near the front. “No. I only need to tell Mommy I need changing if I think I’m going to leak. I don’t want to stop playing.” “I don’t mind pausing,” I offered. Anything to get Ivy to advocate for herself in some way. “No. My Mommy is very busy talking to your Mommy. So the best thing to do is to be good and play.” I listened and heard very little. Voices sounded faint. Distant. I crinkled over to the lattice, but due to the sunken floor and the angles, the most I could see were the tops of chairs and the ceiling fan. “They don’t sound very busy.” “They are,” Ivy spoke with the certainty of a cultist. “Grown-Ups are always busy unless they’re playing with us.” “Whatever,” I moaned. “Let’s just…let’s just keep playing with blocks, I guess.” So we did. That might have been the end of it if Zoge hadn’t intervened. Eventually she stepped over the gate and checked us. “Not poopy,” she said, making me cringe. “But very wet.” She picked Ivy up. “Very poopy!” she gushed. “Let’s get you two cleaned up!” We were both on opposite hips that minute. “Where’s my Mommy?” I asked, looking around the living room. Janet was nowhere in sight. Zoge toted us into her kitchen. “Your Mommy is in the bathroom,” Zoge told me. She took thirty seconds to place Ivy, loaded pants first, onto the counter so she could grab a familiar bottle from the refrigerator. I took it from her and she picked her so-called daughter back up. “Time for bonyu and afternoon naps.” Ivy clapped and giggled some more. “Bonyu!” Naps? I didn’t have time to stick around for naps! Not on a Saturday when there was still so much to do! “Can um…my Mommy change me?” I asked. I could beg Janet to take me away. Play fussy. Retreat. “Please?” “She is in the bathroom,” Zoge explained on our way to the stairs. “I don’t mind waiting,” I offered. “She will be a while,” Zoge said. “I asked her and she said it was okay. Change. Bottles. Nap. Then you go home.” “I can wait.” Zoge laughed through her nose. “Clark, my love. I change you at least once a day. Why are you so scared?” The Yamatoan was a stickler: In her world babies needed to be supervised or contained with a Grown-Up close by. Babies took naps in cribs. And were changed on changing tables. I’d toured the whole house and saw only one changing table, and one crib. “No reason.” “Clark wanted me to get changed,” Ivy tattled. “Why don’t you want to get changed?” Her Mommy beat me to an explanation. “Some babies like to pretend to be big by talking about other babies the way they think Grown-Ups do. They don’t do it to be mean, though. Right ,Clark?” I hung my head. “Yes, ma’am.” “Just pretending?” “Just pretending,” I lied. We were carried back into Ivy’s very pink room, nursery. Zoge flipped the lights off, but the afternoon light seeping in through the curtains and the nearly fluorescent hue of some of the furniture gave her more than enough light to work with. Zoge stashed me in the crib so she could change Ivy first. Out of politeness, I turned my back and scrutinized the headboard in a vain attempt to tune out the sounds and smells of Zoge changing a diaper and cooing down to her Doll in Yamatoan. Ivy cooed right back, happy to play her part. It ended with a kiss and what I had to assume was their language for “I love you.” “All done!” Ivy shouted after Zoge put her on the floor. She was practically doing laps and chirping like a cavey whose owner had just come home. Next it was my turn. Zoge clicked her tongue and took my failing slacks all the way off. “This looks uncomfortable.” What was more uncomfortable was the mental image of me in a button up shirt and sweater vest with only a soaked diaper on beneath. Small mercy that Zoge didn’t also have a mirror above the changing table. “Mommy!” Ivy butted in. A tiny hand lifted a Monkeez in my size up to the Amazon. “I put them right here!” “Very good, Ivy!” Zoge praised. “Thank you for helping!” Tapes ripped as they had countless times before, but I winced like it was my first day. I had an extra audience member, one who was very interested in participating instead of minding her own business. “Can I help?” I heard Ivy ask. “Can I?” If only there were ceiling tiles to count. “Can I give you the wipes? Powder?” The giantess didn’t break her stride. She wiped my penis, pubic area, and testicles while explaining the obvious. “I’ve got those things right here.” “Another diaper?” “Ivy,” Zoge warned, “Are you trying to help or are you trying to pretend to be big like your friend Clark was pretending?” She crossed my ankles and lifted my legs. She swabbed between my cheeks on the word ‘pretending’. “Just helping,” Ivy promised. I believed her, too. Why hadn’t I brought my pacifier? Zoge deposited the last wipe in the open diaper and slid it out. “If you want to help, go get Clark’s diaper bag. It should be in Mommy and Daddy’s room. Near the bed. You have my permission, but come right back.” Ivy didn’t wait longer than it took to finish that sentence. I heard her footsteps fade round the bend into the upstairs hallway. Zoge flapped and fluffed open my new diaper and slipped it under me. “Why is my diaper bag in your room?” I asked. The powder Zoge dusted on my butt was cool and fragrant. She lowered me down onto the fresh padding, then said, “Because your Mommy is using my bathroom.” She dusted my crotch and put the powder back down. Ivy’s returning footsteps came in time with Zoge finishing the change and pulling the front of the diaper up and making it as snug and comfortable as ever. Lady was a pro at what she did. “I love you,” she said. I did not say it back this time. “Why is she in your bathroom? You’ve got three.” Ivy interrupted Zoge’s chance to reply. “I’ve got it, Mommy!” “Good girl,” the Amazon aide replied. She sat me up and yanked the sweater vest over my head. “Can you get his onesie out of there? We want your friend to be comfy.” I was getting shades of Raine Forrest all over again. Bad things happened to me when Janet disappeared for the bathroom. As insane and terrible as Zoge was, she didn’t deserve that comparison. Zoge was a bear. Raine was a rattlesnake. Bears still had mothering instincts. Still… “You’re sure my Mommy is okay with this?” “Hmm…tiny buttons…” Zoge growled to herself. That bit of schadenfreude helped me. “Got it! Yes, Clark. You’re safe. You’re Mommy is okay. We won’t hurt you. The Grown-Ups just want to talk longer. You just need a ba-ba and a nap.” Every statement made me short one button and one stalling question. Ivy handed up the onesie, a blackish blue one that was patterned with stars and lines connecting the imaginary dots of constellations. Perfect for a nap. In no time at all, Zoge had me back in proper baby clothes and snapped up so that I had zero hope of escape. “Thanks Ivy…” I growled. “Welcome!” Irony was lost or she fed on it. Zoge put me back in the crib and handed me the bottle. “Drink your ba-ba. It will help you sleep.” I tentatively sipped the thicker creamier stuff. So much better than the skimmed cow swill in the cartons. This was goat’s milk alright. I was still pulling it out from a rubber nipple, but I’d take every point of sophistication I could. “Bonyu!” Ivy sounded like she was cheering. Zoge cooed and prattled to her in their shared language and picked Ivy up, and placed her on her lap in the rocking chair. Sitting still, and gulping the acquired taste down, my mouth was full but my eyes were busy. Where was Ivy’s bottle? My breath shortened, my eyes slammed shut, and I turned around to face the nursery wall. I could have gone my whole life without seeing Ivy open up Hana Zoge’s blouse. “Good girl. Thank you for helping.” The nursing bra and short time it took for her to unclasp it saved me from knowing what her bare tit looked like. I suckled louder and harder on my bottle, trying to fill my ears with something besides Ivy’s animal grunting and mewling and Zoge’s motherese while Ivy breastfed. I planted myself on my back and gulped away, hoping the full stomach and dim light would miraculously conk me out. No such luck. My limbs felt heavier, but my ears were just as alert. Finishing faster just meant I had to wait through the suckling soundtrack longer. Refusing to open my eyes, I knew that particular awkwardness had passed when an extra weight was added to the crib, my bottle was picked from my loose grip, and another pillow and blanket were added. Ivy and I shared the crib, but slept on opposite sides, our feet barely touching. “Good night my loves,” Zoge said. “Night Mommy.” I pretended to sleep and braced myself for a forehead kiss that didn’t come. The air was still and quiet in the nursery. I didn’t want to open my eyes. Oh please, unconsciousness, claim me! I’d done more than enough work, faced more than enough karma, and felt more than enough frustration for one day! Let this next time pass in the blink of an eye. “Hey, Clark…?” “Aren’t you not supposed to talk at nap time?” I half-snapped at the Doll. “That’s a school rule,” Ivy said. “Home rules are different. I don’t take naps with other Littles at home so I don’t know if it’s a rule.” Please just let it end. “What do you want Ivy?” I sighed, determined to keep my lids shut. “Were you nice to me when you were a Grown-Up because you were a nice Grown-Up? Or was it because you felt sorry for me?” The latter. “I don’t know, Ivy. I’m dealing with some stuff and it’s not your fault. Okay?” “Okay.” “Go to sleep,” I shushed her. “Just go to sleep. We’ll talk later.” I was getting out of there having done my duty and paid my debts. ‘Later’ would have to be Monday. Then Ivy asked “What’s sex like?” If I hadn’t been lying down right then, I would have been knocked right on my ass. My eyes opened. “Why do you need to know…?” If she tried anything I’d bite her again, I told myself. That wasn’t where this was going, though, and I kind of knew that. “One time I got out of my crib. Mommy and Daddy were-” “Got it,” I said. “Got it! No further descriptions necessary! Thank you! Good night!” “Good babies don’t get out of the crib,” Ivy went on anyway, “but I hadda nightmare and Mommy turned the monitor off so I wasn’t in trouble. That’s when she got me my special monitor.” I looked up and saw the baby monitor. Hers was attached to the crib’s headboard instead of out of reach on a shelf, but it was exactly the same model as mine. Unlike earlier, the green light wasn’t on. “Is sex like the green stuff?” Ivy burrowed deeper into my brain with her words.”Mommy sometimes squirts the green stuff in my diaper, but only when I’ve been really really good for her. “Ivy…” “It feels really good and she gives me an extra pillow to tickle myself with. I climb on top and I tickle and play naughty pretend games.” “Ivy…” “I used to pretend that I was Mommy and the pillow was Daddy, but that didn’t feel right.” “Ivy!” “Then I started pretending it was other Grown-Ups like pretty babysitters or waiters at restaurants.” “I don’t…” “That didn’t feel right either. Mommy taught me about penises and vaginas and what big people do with them and those strangers were too big for me.” “This isn’t happening…” “I tried playing pretend and imagining that the special pillow were other Littles, but that didn’t seem right. Those were my classmates and friends. It felt bad pretending to do that to friends.” I slammed my pillow over my face. It didn’t drown out, “But then I started thinking of you. A Grown-Up Little. That felt really nice. I pretended that for a long time. Then you turned into a baby and I stopped pretending about you like that. Can we please be friends?” A shudder rocked through me. Serious brain bleach needed! Plastic bed sheets rustled and plastic backing crinkled while I sat completely upright and stared the Doll down. “Ivy,” I whispered. “What the fuck is wrong with you, girl?” So she told me… Chapter 107: Ivy’s Tale Once upon a long long time ago, before your Mommy or your Mommy’s Mommy, or your Mommy’s Mommy’s Mommy was a child, the People came down from Heaven. They worked the land. They raised animals. They prospered. They multiplied. But they were not happy. They worked the land but they did not care for it. They raised animals but took no joy in it. They prospered but found no meaning in their prosperity. They multiplied but the People came out full-grown and left on their way to work their own land and raise their own animals and prosper and multiply all on their own. There were no Mommies or Daddies back then. Everyone loved, but it was a selfish and short sighted love. A love without Family. So Heaven sent the People a gift. Heaven sent children for the People to care for and teach and to fill with love unselfishly, and there was much joy. People became more than just People because with children to take care of they became Mommies and Daddies, too! They became more whole. Mommies and Daddies and children became Family and settled the land together and loved each other unselfishly and shared with one another and built homes and villages and towns and even great cities and countries together. There was so much happiness! And when children got enough love from their Mommies and Daddies they would grow, and grow, and grow, until they turned into People too. Then they would go and make children and become Mommies and Daddies themselves and experience such joy! This also brought great sorrow. When their children grew into People, Mommies and Daddies would no longer have them to love as they did and felt such loss! How could they be Mommies and Daddies without their children? It was as if their children had died, replaced by People, and with that death came a death within themselves. Just as terribly, not everyone was able to become a Mommy or Daddy. No matter how hard they tried, Heaven would not send them children of their own. They saw the joy of other People being Mommies and Daddies and felt a most terrible longing! They feared they would never know the love of Family and the joys of children. To these People it was as if they were starving while their neighbors grew fat and content on a great feast, and then were ungrateful once the meal was finished. To add to the difficulty, some children received so much love from their Mommies and Daddies that they grew much too fast, much too quickly and became People before they were ready. The fruit that ripens too early rots on the vine. So Heaven sent the People a new gift. Heaven sent perfect children who would not grow into People no matter how much love they were given. And even if these perfect children multiplied, their perfect children would not grow into People either, so they would not become Mommies and Daddies. They could only become more perfect children in need of the pure love of a Family. Now, Mommies and Daddies could stay Mommies and Daddies forever and the perfect children need never worry about how much love they were given because they would never grow into People! The People, the children, and perfect children became one big happy Family all over the world, and so Heaven changed their names to reflect that. The People’s names were changed to “Grown-Ups”, because they were all once children who grew with love. Their perfect children were renamed “Littles” because they stayed tiny and precious and lovable no matter how much love they were given and Heaven did not wish to hurt the other children’s feelings for not being perfect. A cub is not a perfect kitty cat but will one day be a mighty tiger. A kitty cat will never be a tiger but is perfect as a cub. For a long time, Grown-Ups, children, and Littles lived in harmony, each as they should. But it could not last. Littles are playful and imaginative, but they are also forgetful and foolish. All over the world, Littles started to play and pretend that they were Grown-Ups, and their doting Mommies and Daddies spoiled them by allowing such foolishness to persist for much too long. And the Littles pretended so hard and for so long that they forgot they were merely perfect children. “We are Grown-Ups, too!” they cried. “We may look like children, but we are just as Grown-Up as you!” But Littles do not grow as Grown-Ups do, and never can. So they gave the Grown-Ups another new name: “Amazons”. Against Heaven’s rules, they shouted “We are all Grown-Ups! We are all People! Big People and Small People. Amazon Grown-Ups and Little Grown-Ups!” And all over the world, silly and doting and lazy Grown-Ups let them keep pretending, and instead of spanking them or shushing them and taking them back to their nurseries for a nice nap, and giving them yummy milk, they played pretend with them too until Grown-Ups too, forgot they had just been pretending. Littles tried to work the land. Littles tried to raise animals. Littles tried to prosper. And they failed. No matter how much a kitty cat pretends to be a tiger, it can only be trampled or starve when it hunts a tiger’s prey. Worse things came from the constant pretending. Terrible Grown-Ups, barbarians who had either forgotten or had never heard of Heaven’s rules and Heaven’s gifts did terrible, awful things to the Littles. They did worse than humoring the Littles and allowing them to call themselves Grown-Ups. They did worse than neglecting the Littles and allowing them to hurt and suffer in a land that they were not made to work and tame. These awful barbarians who had forgotten or ignored Heaven would let the Littles into their homes and villages and towns and even great cities and countries, and live in a mockery of Family. They did not give their Littles a Mommy’s or a Daddy’s love and treat them like the perfect children Heaven meant for them to be. They lied to themselves and to the pretending Littles and said that Littles could be Mommies and Daddies too! And they multiplied. It was not fair to the Littles because Littles are not made to do such Grown-Up things. A kitty cat cannot roar no matter how loudly it meows. Nor can it feed a tiger’s cubs save with its own blood. Heaven did not want to, but it had no choice but to send another gift to the People. The children of Littles and Grown-Ups would grow with the love of Family, but they would never get as big as a Grown-Up because the Little part of them would eat up all the extra love. Some of them would be as hard working as a Grown-Up, but others would be more like a Little and never grow up on the inside; but because they were bigger they would need much more care and love than a Little ever would. These Twixt People, these “Tweeners”, gave Grown-Ups the gift of Heaven’s reminder: Grown-Ups are meant to be Grown-Ups, Littles are meant to be Littles, and when Littles are treated like Grown-Ups sad and unfortunate things can happen. You either get a Grown-Up who isn’t big enough and struggles to work the land and raise the animals, or you get a Little who is so big that their Mommy and Daddy have a harder time giving them love and taking care of them. It was not the Tweeners’ fault. No one asks to come down from Heaven. It was not the Littles’ fault either. Perfect children cannot be bad or evil; only naughty and mischievous. They did not know any better. Littles were made to need Grown-Up care and Family love. It was only because Grown-Ups spoiled and neglected them, and because barbarians lied to them that they tried to make their own. It was the Grown-Ups’ fault for not watching their Littles more closely and for not taking better care of them and letting them pretend until they got silly and forgot. And just as it is the job of a Mommy and Daddy to remind their Little ones to take their naps and drink their yummy yummy milk, Heaven did its job and reminded the Grown-Ups what they were supposed to do. One very wise and powerful Mommy, the Empress, heard Heaven’s reminder and understood that she must set things right. So she took all the Grown-Ups she could with her to a special land far far away from the barbarians, surrounded on all sides by water, and they lived like Heaven intended. They named that land “Yamatoa”. The Empress heard the rules that were passed down from Heaven and turned them into laws for the Grown-Ups to follow. In Yamatoa, Grown-Ups would always be Grown-Ups and Littles would always be Littles and pretending otherwise would not be allowed no matter how much the naughty or mischievous Littles cried about it. And any Little that came to Yamatoa would be treated like a Little, no matter how hard they wanted to pretend to be a Grown-Up. It was the only way that they could have the love of Family and for them and their Mommies and Daddies to truly know joy. A kitty cat is safest when cuddling with a Mommy tiger and nursing with the other cubs. So the people of Yamatoa lived in harmony, happiness, and fairness as intended by Heaven. Grown-Ups were Grown-Ups and Littles were Littles, and everyone got exactly what they needed. However, all was not yet perfect in Yamatoa. Tweeners wished to live in Yamatoa, too. And unlike Littles who whined and cried and shouted. The Twixt People quietly and politely asked. “We come from Grown-Ups,” they said. “Each of us has once had a Mommy or a Daddy who was a Grown-Up. But we are children no longer. We are not perfect children and have so grown with their love. We can also have children who will grow with our love. We can be Mommies and Daddies too. In the name of Heaven, please, let us in.” Some Grown-Ups thought this was a good idea. “Yes,” they said. “They should be able to live as Grown-Ups. They are still of Grown-Ups. A stunted tiger is still a tiger.” Other Grown-Ups thought this was a bad idea. “No,” they said. “They are of barbarians who turned their backs on Heaven. Turn them away. A tiger cannot change its stripes.” Still other Grown-Ups thought this was a good idea for a different reason. “Yes,” they said. “Let them come live as perfect children. They are still of Littles. An overgrown kitty cat is still a kitty cat.” There was much arguing. Much bickering and Grown-Ups almost acting like Littles stomping their feet and gnashing their teeth. No one could agree, and if the Empress heard Heaven’s rules, she did not tell anyone. It was not until the first Empress went back up to Heaven that Heaven sent a new Empress. It was she who told everyone Heaven’s new rule: If a Tweener could work the land like a Grown-Up; if a Tweener could raise animals like a Grown-Up; if a Tweener could prosper like a Grown-Up; then they could live like a Grown-Up. If they could live like Grown-Ups, they could multiply like Grown-Ups, become Mommies and Daddies like Grown-Ups and be part of a Family like Grown-Ups. They would serve as a reminder of the original strength of the People and how good Mommies and Daddies can love and become strong no matter what difficulties they face. But if a Tweener couldn’t do those things, if their Grown-Up side wasn’t Grown-Up enough to stop their Little side from being naughty or mischievous or helpless; they and their Mommy and Daddy would have to leave Yamatoa forever. Grown-Ups were Grown-Ups. Littles were Littles. It would not be fair to let Tweeners be both. So it was decided and so Yamatoa became whole and perfect; living as Heaven always intended. Grown-Ups worked hard and gave love to their Families. Tweeners helped, too, and reminded everyone how to live right and how important being Grown-Up is. Littles were the perfect children and made their Mommies and Daddies very, very happy. Everyone prospered. Then a long, long time after Yamatoa was made perfect… There once was a beautiful girl named Hana and a very hard working boy named Haru. Hana was a Grown-Up and Haru was a Tweener, but they loved each other very much. Hana’s family did not have very much money. Haru worked so hard that he made enough money for three Grown-Up jobs and was allowed to marry Hana because of how Grown-Up he was on the inside. There was much joy and they were very happy! One day, Heaven sent Hana and Haru a child of their own to give even more love to. One that would one day turn into a Grown-Up. They loved their child very much for giving them the gift of becoming a Mommy and a Daddy; the gift of Family. They named her “Aibīi” which means “Ivy” because they knew that she would grow and grow and grow with all the love they gave her. Hana loved her daughter and loved being a Mommy so much that she knew that as soon as Aibi became a Grown-Up, maybe sooner, she would Adopt a Little so that she would never stop being a Mommy and to give that perfect child the Family Heaven meant for them to have. This ivy did not grow very much at all, though. After she was old enough to walk and talk; after she got all her first teeth; after Hana and Haru took down her crib and gave her a big girl bed; and after she stopped wearing diapers and started wearing big girl pull-ups, Aibii stopped growing. Her shape would change, but she never got any bigger. Her friends at Daycare got taller and taller. That was okay, because Haru was a Tweener. Maybe Aibii was a Tweener, too. Very soon, though, even Aibii’s Tweener friends were getting taller than she was. Hana and Haru were worried, but they did their best not to show it. Then Aibii started having accidents. Sometimes, at Daycare, she would spill her juice on her pretty dress or wipe her hands on her pretty clothes. Sometimes she would forget to wipe her mouth when she ate messy foods. Sometimes she would sit on the potty and nothing would come out. Sometimes something would come out in the potty but she would forget to wipe. Sometimes Aibii would be so busy playing that she would forget to go potty and by the time she stopped playing she wouldn’t be able to get to the potty at all. Hana worked at Daycare, and would tell her that accidents happened to big girls sometimes. Tweeners could be big girls too if they worked really hard. Such accidents also happened to her friends at Daycare, too, but for some reason Aibii’s big kid teachers were less patient with her and her friends picked on her for it more than each other. Aibii did not feel like she was where she belonged. She started feeling afraid of her big kid friends and her big kid teachers. Aibii started to wet the bed and have more and more accidents every day. Soon she didn’t go to the potty at all, just like a Little. On her first day of Kindergarten, she was so scared of the big kids and the big kid teacher that she had a really big and really messy accident in her brand new big girl panties and cried and cried and cried. Hana and Haru loved their daughter, but they could not hide their worry any more. They were afraid that she was a Tweener that was too Little on the inside and so they would have to leave Yamatoa forever. But more than even that, they were worried that she wasn’t growing. They took Ivy to a special Grown-Up doctor to try and help her. They did not think that she could be too Little because Hana was a Grown-Up and Haru was a very Grown-Up Tweener. Maybe she was sick. The doctor ran many many tests to figure out what was wrong with Aibii so that Hana and Haru could help her. After many many tests, Hana, Haru, and Aibii found out about the miracle: Aibii was not a child that would become a Grown-Up. She wasn’t a Tweener either. She wasn’t even a Tweener with too much Little in her. She wasn’t a Grown-Up or a Tweener at all. Aibii was a Little! That’s why she wasn’t growing anymore! That’s why she was having accidents! That’s why she felt like she didn’t belong with the big kids and why her big kid teachers at Daycare and Kindergarten seemed so scary to her! That’s why she dribbled sometimes when she drank out of big girl cups! She struggled and failed because Aibii wasn’t supposed to do any of those things! She was supposed to be Little! The doctor said that Haru had given Aibii his Littleness, as Tweener Mommies and Tweener Daddies often gave to their children, so that was not a surprise. What was a surprise was that Hana also had a tiny bit of Littleness inside of her and that a long, long, long time ago, her twenty times Mommy’s Mommy married a Tweener and that pinch of Littleness had carried all the way down to Aibii. He said that Aibii had only been born the size of a regular child because Hana’s tummy was so nice and roomy that Aibi stretched all the way out when she came down from Heaven. Now that she was out in the world, Aibii would only ever get as big as she was right now. That was what the Doctor said, but Hana, Haru, and Aibii knew the truth. Hana and Haru were so special that Heaven sent them Aibii to be their own perfect child forever and always. They would not have to look for a Little and Aibii would not ever have to grow up. Hana and Haru would always be Mommy and Daddy and Aibii would be their Little Girl. They would always be Family and Aibi could have all their love forever! So Mommy and Daddy gave her back her diapers, and her crib, and her nursery, and her bottles and her cute baby clothes. They were extra careful to make sure that all of her baby clothes were still very, very pretty just in case she was sad. Mommy even learned to sew and turned all of the big girl clothes she’d bought on accident into baby clothes, so nothing was wasted! Everyone at the Daycare told Aibii she was so lucky! And she was! Most Littles didn’t find their Mommies and Daddies until they were much much older and had started being silly and pretending they were Grown-Ups like Littles tended to do. But not Aibii! She had known her Mommy and Daddy all her life and would be their perfect child forever and all the other Littles and teachers at Daycare were very nice to her and were good friends that didn’t pick on her at all! Aibii was very happy for a long, long time! But a long, long time is not forever. Heaven sent another Mommy Empress with a new message. This Empress said that because all Littles liked to pretend to be Grown-Ups too much, that every Little in Yamatoa would have to watch a special cartoon to teach them not to play pretend. Every day. Aibii’s teachers at Daycare made her watch the cartoon too, even though Aibii had never pretended to be a Grown-Up in her whole life. The cartoons made her head feel fuzzy and made it hard to talk and remember things. It was like she was sleepy all the time even when she was wide awake. Mommy said the cartoons were changing Aibii, and she did not want Aibii to change. She loved Aibii just the way Heaven had sent her. Mommy tried to get her not to watch, but Mommy wasn’t the only Grown-Up at Daycare. One time there was a lot of shouting; so much shouting that all of the Littles at Daycare started crying. The big kids too. Aibii and Mommy didn’t go back to Daycare after that. Mommy and Daddy were worried, but they didn’t want their Little Girl to know. The Empress said that Heaven told her that Littles had to learn from the special cartoons. Even if Aibii didn’t go to Daycare anymore, and Mommy stayed home to take care of her, they were worried that Grown-Ups from the Daycare might tell on Mommy for breaking Heaven’s rules. All Grown-Ups, Tweeners, and Littles who lived in Yamatoa had to follow Heaven’s rules or leave. So they left. To keep their daughter, their Little Girl, their perfect child, Mommy and Daddy turned their back on Heaven. They loved her so much that they would disobey Heaven’s rules if they had to. They would be barbarians. They left Yamatoa and came to a different country far far away and bought a house in a small village called “Oakshire”. Daddy got a new job that still made a lot of money, and Mommy got a job at a special Daycare attached to a school so she could be with Aibii. Her new teacher was a very nice Grown-Up named “Mrs. Beouf”. When Mrs. Beouf met her and heard about the cartoons, she said that she was so happy that Aibii was in her class. Just like Mommy and Daddy, Mrs. Beouf liked Aibii just the way she was! Mrs. Beouf’s job wasn’t to make the Littles in her village stop pretending to be Grown-Ups by spanking them, or putting them in special chairs and cribs that held their arms and legs still, or sticking special pacifiers in their mouths that they couldn’t spit out, or teaching them with special cartoons that made them forget and feel fuzzy. Mrs. Beouf’s job was to teach Littles and their Mommies and Daddies how to love themselves just the way they were! Just like Aibii did! Just like Mommy and Daddy did! They truly had found a new home! The funny thing was was that Mrs. Beouf didn’t speak Yamatoan. So when she heard Aibii’s name, she thought she heard “Ivy”. And Aibii liked it! She liked it so much that she begged her Mommy and Daddy to change her name and call her Ivy. So many other Littles in their new country got their names changed when they left their old homes and found their new ones, why not her? And because Ivy was such a good girl, they did! So Ivy got to be the perfect child she was always meant to be and helped other Littles learn to love themselves and be good boys and girls, too. **************************************************************************************************** That’s what she told me. Right there in the crib. All in one go. She didn’t have to pause or hum or search for just the right words. She knew it all by heart. It was part fable, part bedtime story, part dissociation technique. She’d heard the beginning of it again and again and again until she knew all the words like a comforting lullaby. Then she and her mother…yes, her mother… had added onto it through the years; telling the events as she wanted to remember them until the memory of the story was stronger than the memory of the events themselves. She didn’t look angry or sad to the point where she was choking back tears; her face scrunched up and contorting into cracks and fissures that smoothed themselves out over and over again, fighting to maintain even the slightest composure. Her voice didn’t sound like her throat was clenching and that at any moment she might cry out uncontrollably or be unable to produce sound. Her breath wasn’t alternating between deep gasping breaths and quick, shallow little puffs of air. Her fists weren’t clenching and unclenching with terrible anxiety and guilt wiping away the droplets of water that threatened. That was me. Not her. No; for all intents and purposes, Ivy was just a precocious and well-mannered child telling a particularly detailed and interesting story. Her story. Ivy’s Tale. But she wasn’t finished… “Then one day a new Little came into Mrs. Beouf’s room. But he wasn’t in her class. He was in the class next door. He was a very strange Little. Ivy had never seen another like him. Mommy said that he was a different kind of Little. His name was Mister…?” “...” “Clark?” “...” “Clark?” “...” “Clark?” “...” “What’s wrong Clark? Why do you look so sad? I thought you’d like this part.” “...” “Clark…?”

I don't mean to complain, but my name is spelled wrong. That might effect people looking for me. I appreciate the effort and thought though.

I don't get groceries if I don't get paid and I don't write stories if I have to get paid doing something else to afford groceries. Patreon was my primary source of income. I didn't get "knocked down a peg or two" I basically got fired with no warning or appeal. Be better. Given history, it's not unreasonable to assume that abdl is just the current wave in an ever-shrinking pyramid of acceptability.

Putting this here in the hopes that my readers will see it. Patreon is coming down hard on abdl content and redefining their terms of use and how they enforce it. As such, my patreon no longer exists and has been deactivated without warning or appeal. https://www.subscribestar.com/personalias Please subscribe and follow me on subscribestar.com/personalias if you'd like to continue your support. It's gonna be empty and messy for a few days as I'm switching gears and re-uploading content (pending approval) But I hope to hit the ground running.

I'm sorry, but no. It's my main source of revenue and I haven't found a comparable platform that's worth the spoons to organize or split my attention.

Shameless plug. There's 30 extra chapters of Unfair and plenty of other stories on my patreon. 1 buck a month for a tip. 5 bucks a month for first access. (Pirating sites make it so that I never promise exclusivity) I ALWAYS release the stories and chapters eventually, though. So if patreon support isn't in someone's budget or preference, the only price I ask is patience. Writing these types of stories is my full-time job and I'm able to do it with the help of my patrons.

So much to love here. How the Chapters are called "Mistakes". And for the first time in this series, we're given the point of view of someone who otherwise would firmly be in the camp of "antagonist" and "caregiver". I also notice, one writer to another, that you're using first person point of view; an excellent narrative tool for getting readers to relate to what otherwise might be a hard to relate character. Also, just that one line near the opening. "Eli was asking me to babysit God". It puts a new spin on past Academy stories in the best way. It's like watching the Sixth Sense for the second time. I kind of want to go back and re-read all the other entries and see if there are clues that line up. So far, you have given many hints and indications that this Illuminati like group isn't just some group of random people looking to regress folks for "reasons". This feels like peeling back the curtain.

Thank you!

Abandoned Daycare By: Personalias It was supposed to be an easy job: Spend the night cleaning up an old daycare that had been out of business longer than it had been open. Then Jake’s aunt could re-open it, take care of some brats, make some money, yada yada yada. It started out simple enough for the four college students. Carpet cleaner and stain remover were needed for neglected spots where pipes had dripped or wild animals and homeless people had done their business, but it’s not like the hallways were smeared in shit. If anything the place reeked of baby powder, and there were worse things for a place to reek of. All this place needed was some vacuuming, some mopping, a whole lotta trashbags, and a bunch of cardboard boxes. The quartet of amigos had all helped each other move out of dorms before. This was just that but on a bigger scale. One night tops. Maybe a weekend. Easy money. Until they found the storage room… It was Lester who spoke first. “It’s like if a preschool teacher was a hoarder!” Lester: Master of words, wits, and wisdom. Speaker of the obvious. Probably very high. His baggy clothes and gangly frame made him look like a scarecrow brought to life. The stoner wasn’t wrong. The room was littered with baby toys, furniture, clothes, and other what could be best described as ‘knick-knacks’. Everything was scattered about but nothing seemed hidden. “Some of this stuff looks in good condition,” Emily noted. “Wonder why they didn’t pawn or sell it?” Emily: Practical. Responsible. A good girl. Her Family was wealthier than all three of her friends’ combined, but she did her best not to flaunt it. Still dressed stylishly and feminine. She hadn’t been seen in pants since she’d been old enough to pick out her own clothes. Madison ran her hands over the crib bars. “This crib is giant,” she noted. “Manufacturing error?” Madison: The only one of them on a full academic scholarship. Blind without her glasses. Naive to the ways of the world. Over by a changing table, Jake reached beneath and took out an almost comically large diaper. “These got cartoons on them and everything. Maybe this was a daycare for old people or something.” “Why do the diapers have cartoons on them then?” “I don’t know! Old people like cartoons! Alzheimers and shit!” Jake: Blonde haired blue eyed All-American dreamboat. Point guard on the college basketball team. The unofficial leader of the group. The others winced and sucked in their breath. Jake didn’t normally talk like that. His grades had been slipping this semester and he was going full meathead dudebro as a result. They’d have to have a talk to him about that. Something else caught Jake’s eye. He put down the diaper and took a few steps towards a small silver whistle laying on a shelf with an anchor engraved in it. His lips started to pucker at the thought of blowing on it. Madison found a vial straight out of an old sci-fi movie, the green liquid inside it still bubbling. A voice in the back of her mind whispered that maybe she should drink it and see if it tasted any good. Emily fiddled with a dusty old carpet bag, opening it up and taking out brick-a-brack, noticeably a paddle that seemed too big to fit. “Uh guys,” Lester said. “I’m not sure it’s awesome to be messing around in here. Maybe we should get back to cleaning.” He was looking around and realizing there was some disturbing stuff in here: A pink straight jacket, a dollhouse that looked eerily like the outside of the daycare, a VHS tape called ‘This Show Is For Babies’, and golden diaper pail were just some of the things that were giving him the heebie jeebies. “Dude, chill out.” Jake put down the boat whistle and picked up a pastel puzzle box. He turned it over in his hands, trying to solve it, playing with it and his focus increasing and his frustration ratcheting up with every turn and click. The stoner rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Can’t even solve a damn kids’ toy.” Lester paced near the entrance. “Dude belongs here.” He stopped when he noticed a teddy bear. It was a clean but raggedy looking thing, with two mismatched eyes; one sparkling red and the other shimmering blue. Lester could have gotten lost in those beady eyes. Something didn’t sit right about that with him. “Where have I read…?” He let the thought dangle unspoken “Guys!” Emily called, barely containing a giggle. “Listen to this!” As if snapped out of a trance, the others put down their discoveries and gathered round her. “I found this rule book inside the bag.” The others all drew close. “I wouldn’t call that a book.” Madison said. “It’s too thin. More like a pamphlet.” Jake read the title aloud. “Nanny Windel’s Rules for Good Baby Boys and Girls.” Lester arched an eyebrow and stepped back. “Rules? Numbered rules?” “Yeah,” Emily said. “How’d you know?” Madison peaked over Emily’s shoulder and read the first rule aloud. “Rule Number One: Good babies wear and use their diapers at all times except when being changed or given a bath.” Emily snorted. “Weird right?” Jake posted up behind Emily’s other shoulder. “Rule Number Two: Good babies don’t touch their diapers.” He shook his head. “Who wrote this garbage?” “Nanny Windel, didn’t you hear?” Emily laughed. “Rule Number Three: Babies can’t feed themselves.” The corners of Lester’s mouth were plunging down towards the carpet. “Guys. I think you should stop reading that. Now.” Yet again, the others ignored him and kept going. “Rule Number Four,” Madison took over, “Good babies don’t use grown up words.” “Rule Number Five: Good babies crawl,” Jake said. “Most of these are just facts, not rules. What’s so good?” Lester was sweating bullets. “Guys. Stop.” “Oh. Finally!” Emily said. “Here we go. Something close to a rule. Rule Number Six: Bad babies get spanked until they’re good babies.” Everyone threw back their heads and laughed. Everyone but Lester. “What’s this at the end?” Jake pointed down to the bottom. Madison squinted, and held the pamphlet closer to one of the lanterns. “It looks like it’s in Latin.” “Don’t read the Latin!” Lester begged, “Haven’t you guys seen any horror movies, or read any-?” “This isn’t a horror movie,” Emily said. “This is a daycare.” The color drained out of Lester’s face. “It can be both.” “Stop being a fucking baby,” Jake warned. If Emily was concerned, she didn’t show it. “Capre nos, capre.” ******************************************************************************************* Elsewhere in the building, from beneath the floorboards a battered umbrella poked out and unfolded, its canopy blooming like a toxic flower. The eerie blue ghostly figure holding it rose daintily upwards, passing through solid matter unconstrained by the laws of physics. There was no need for her to smooth out her skirt or brush the dirt off her jacket. She did so out of habit more than anything. Immense (but not overly emotional) satisfaction filled her translucent face. “Bad babies need to be put back in their place,” she said to herself. KA-THOOOOOM! *************************************************************************************************** Far removed from the college students, a different gathering was taking place. Men and women wearing lab coats and business casual attire watched monitors eagerly, each one anticipating what artifact might catch the victim’s fascination. “We have a winner!” Gary announced to the grousing crowd of coworkers. “It’s Nanny Windel, ladies and gentlemen!” People groaned like they’d just lost a bet. Gary could barely contain his laughter. “Nanny Windel pulls a ‘W’!” Bald headed with thick rimmed glasses and looking like a bank teller, Gary walked through the assembled crowd to the whiteboard keeping track of everyone’s bet. “Alright, that means congratulations go to maintenance!” There was some low applause before he quickly added “Who share the pot with Ronald the intern.” A single pipsqueak leapt into the air. “YES!” Another co-worker came up and complained. “Wait, that’s not fair I had ‘Phantom Babysitter’, too.” Gary examined the board which had such entries as ‘Were-baby’, ‘MerMommy’, ‘Creepy Twins’, ‘DiaperBot’, and ‘Darleen Lattle’. “Yes you did, Gary said. “You had ‘Phantom Babysitter’. But this is ‘Ghost Nanny’. See? They’re very different monsters. It’s like the difference between zombies and zombie redneck torture family.” He then walked away, seeing no further point in discussing it. “There’s always next year.” Gary went and stood by Steve, his co-producer in tonight’s events. In his early forties, but with a full head of light brown hair, Steve had the demeanor of a kid who had just missed out on tickets to Disney. “Oh man, I’m sorry.” Steve shook his fist. “He had the whistle in his hand.” “I know,” Gary consoled him. “A couple more minutes, who knows what might’ve happened.” “I am never gonna see a MerMommy,” Steve pouted. “Ever.” Gary turned and looked Steve in the eye. “Dude, be thankful. Those things are a trainwreck. They never know when the baby is wet.” Steve sighed and looked at the Ghost Nanny floating through the hallway. “So, Nanny Windel.” “Well she may be an undead anal retentive Mary Poppins rip-off…” Gary started. Steve finished the thought. “But she’s our undead, anal retentive Mary Poppins rip-off.” “With a hundred percent clearance rate.” “True.” That gave the men comfort. Steve relaxed and asked, “So should we call Japan? Tell them to take the rest of the night off?” “Yeah,” Gary chuckled. “What are they gonna do, relax? They practically invented desperation play. They literally don’t know how to relax.” *********************************************************************************** KA-THOOOOOM! The sudden storm outside caused all four teenagers to jump practically out of their socks. The lights flickered off for a moment, just long enough for all four to jump uncomfortably close to one another. Jake opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a haunting yet familiar melody. “This-is-the-way-we-go-to-school, Go-to-school, Go-to-school, This-is-the-way-we-go-to-school, So-early-in-the-morning.” The voice that sang it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Its haunting melody was a peculiar siren’s call that weaved in and out of the hallways outside the storage room. “We need to leave,” Lester said. “Yesterday.” “In this storm?” Jake said. He pointed out a suddenly rain streaked window. Lightning flashed in the distance. It really was a dark and stormy night. Lester pointed upwards to the ceiling. “Did you not just hear the creepy song?” “That was just a power surge,” Madison explained. “Yeah,” Emily agreed, “Just some old P.A. glitch.” The stoner started all-but sprinting out of the storage room and towards the nearest exit. “Shit!” he said when he slammed up against the door. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He slammed his fists in anger and frustration. “Fuuuuuuuuck!” A nearby metal garbage can bounced off a window like it was nothing more than balled up paper. “Dude!” Jaked shouted. “Chill out! It’s just rain!” “We’re trapped!” Lester said. Emily shrugged. “Electric doors. Glitched with the lightning strike.” Madison dug her phone out of her pocket. “We’ve still got our cell…” she paused and frowned. “No signal.” “Huh,” Jake said. “Me neither.” He didn’t seem worried though. No one did. “Oh well. Not like we were going anywhere tonight.” He grabbed an empty trash bag and waved for the girls to follow him. “Come on. Let’s make some money.” Lester slumped down to the floor and rested his face in his hands lest he scream. “What did I do to deserve this?” he asked himself. Emily lagged behind. “What’s with you?” “This place is haunted or something,” Lester said. His knees were pulled up to his chest so he was in a fetal position. “There’s gonna be a ghost, or some kind of psycho Chuck-E-Cheese thing, or a portal, or moving toys.” He smacked himself in the forehead. “Why didn’t I see it?” “Daycares aren’t haunted,” Madison stated smugly, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Pretty sure this one is.” Lester was on the verge of tears. “I know how this story ends. We’re not gonna like it.” Jake walked away. “Whatever, dude. Somebody gave you a bad batch of gummies. I’m cleaning up and getting paid.” “Me too,” Madison echoed. Emily spared Lester a last pitying look. “Me too.” ***************************************************************************************** “And the game begins,” Gary said. He pointed to the layout of the ritual site. “We’ve got three runners and a bump on a log and the three are splittin’ up.” Steve furrowed his brow. “Nice, but why is the stoner freaking out? Shouldn’t he be experiencing mild euphoria and decreased cognition due to the gas we’ve been pumping in?” “According to these readings, he is.” Gary said. “He’s just got really baggy pants.” *********************************************************************************************** Madison had to pee and she hadn’t found any sign of a bathroom. It had gotten to the point where the ache in her bladder was distracting her and it was getting harder and harder to think about anything else. It had gotten to the point where she’d dropped her garbage bag and walked through the cluttered hallways without the extra weight. Every classroom she poked her head into seemed devoid of plumbing of any kind. This section was so cluttered that it made the storeroom they’d found earlier seem spacious and organized. Each step was slow and high, lest she step or slip. How did it get like this? It was like a bunch of rowdy tots had been allowed to trash the place and then vanish. “C’mon,” Madison hissed to herself. She poked her head into another classroom and saw nothing but cribs and changing tables…again. “There’s gotta be a pre-k or something. Gotta do potty training sometime!” Oh-dear-what-can-the-matter-be? Dear-dear what can the matter be? Oh-dear-what-can-the-matter-be? Johnny’s-so-long-at-the-fair. Madison’s head whipped around searching for the source of the song. Her body, sadly, didn’t follow. The sudden twisting threw her off balance and caused her to trip over an errant roller skate and then her own feet. She tumbled to the floor, relatively unharmed, but the momentum tore her glasses right off the front of her face. “My glasses!” Madison yelped. She couldn’t see a thing without her glasses! Everything was just a blur to her. Quietly, she crawled around on all fours, groping for her glasses. “Hello child,” a friendly, feminine voice called out to her. “Are you looking for these?” Before Madison could reply, something cold gripped her right hand by the wrist and placed the familiar frame of her glasses back in her hand. “Thank you,” Madison mumbled. Then she realized something about the voice seemed distinctly ‘adult’. She put on the glasses and looked up. “I sincerely appreciate the assistance.” “What was that?” her new savior asked. “Are you using grown up words?” Even with her impaired vision, Madison could make certain things out about the woman standing over her. For example, she wasn’t technically standing as she had no feet. And Madison could read the hallway bulletin board directly through the woman’s translucent body. “No way…” she gasped. KA-THOOM! The lights flickered and flared up with another nearby lightning strike. In that bare instant, Madison saw more than she’d ever wanted to. Rotting flesh, exposed bones, no lips to speak of and a raggedy patched uniform to match. The Nanny- and she was a nanny- looked less like a certain Julie Andrews role, and more like Geoffrey Rush from the pirate movies. Ghosts were real! This old daycare was haunted! Madison was alone! On the bright side, she no longer needed to go to the bathroom… “Naughty baby!” the ghost nanny scolded. “:Good babies wear and use their diapers at all times except when being changed or given a bath!” A spectral hand gestured to the spreading puddle on the floor beneath Madison. “You’re not wearing your diapers!” Drenched in her own pee there, the usually witty and articulate young woman was at a loss for words. “I..I…I…” “And don’t think I didn’t hear you talking like a grown up! “Good babies don’t use grown up words!” Madison’s eyes widened in realization. The rules! She was quoting those stupid rules! This would be terrifying if it weren’t also so ridiculously humiliating. “Nanny Windel?” “That’s right, baby girl! But it’s far too late for introductions!” Madison found herself picked up in the air, a cold dead arm wrapped around her waist and holding her parallel to the floor. “TIME! FOR! DISCIPLINE!” Madison didn’t have to be too brainy to guess what happened next… *********************************************************************************************** THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Steve and Gary watched the brainy little girl get the daylights spanked out of her. Watched her squirm and kick and beg as a translucent paddle started spanking the maturity right out of her; listened to her scream as each swat to her drenched back side took away more and more of her adult mind. Within minutes the girl’s ability to walk was lost, and her vocabulary down to less than a hundred words. The men watching knew Nanny Windel had finished her job when Nanny took her to one of the nurseries and started changing her. With cold reverence, as if they’d just witnessed a ritual sacrifice, the men bowed their heads, and Steve pulled a lever. One down… ******************************************************************************************** Jake’s stomach growled. The daycare kitchen’s floor was now spotless and shined enough so that he could see his reflection. He looked down at himself. Damn his metabolism. Should’ve carbed up. “What kind of kids did this place used to take care of?” he puzzled, looking at the massive highchairs big enough to sit him. His mind refused to settle on the most obvious answer. It was too silly! Must just be his blood sugar getting too low. “Do-you-know-the-muffin-man? The-muffin-man? The-muffin-man! Do-you-know-the-muffin-man-who-lives-on-Drury Lane? Stupid sound system glitch. Where was it coming from? He walked up to a pantry and flung it open. “What do big babies eat, anyways?” Applesauce as it turned out. “Better than nothin’,” he grunted. He opened a drawer and found more than enough spoons. All plastic. “Whatever.” He ripped open the flimsy tinfoil top and dug in. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t a burger, but it wasn’t bad. He started pacing, stirring the grainy mush around. KA-THOOM! “Babies can’t feed themselves!” The voice saying it made the inside of his fillings hurt. Jake turned to face it and was so stunned by what he saw that he forgot to swallow and bits of yellow paste dribbled out of his lips. “Good babies crawl!” The thing glided across the floor. It had no reflection. “I’ll make you good!” ******************************************************************************************************** THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! “Another one bites the dust.” Steve and Gary watched the cocky jock get spanked absolutely senseless. A few minutes later he was sitting in a highchair and pushing a load into his crinkly diaper. Nanny pinched his cheeks and started going through walls towards her next victim. “Two down,” Steve said. “Uh-oh…” Gary noticed. “Windel’s going for the virgin.” The virgin was on all fours, crying like they’d already been regressed. “Virgin’s gotta be last and this one’s making it a little too easy.” Steve leaned over and picked up a phone. “Containment, I’m gonna need an ectoplasmic containment field and plenty of thorazine to…” “No wait,” Gary interrupted. “Looks like she changed her mind for now.” Sure enough, the Ghost Nanny paused and about faced; the sounds of screaming more enticing to her than the faint babbles of somebody faking it. Steve leaned back and wiped his brow. “Perfect in practically every way.” “Let’s just hope things stay like that.” ********************************************************************************************************** KA-THOOM! “One-elephant-went-out-to-play Upon-a-spider’s-web-one-day She-had-such-enormous-fun That-she-called-for-another-elephant-to-come” Emily hid in the ballpit, her hand clapped over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. She’d forgotten the pushbroom and went looking. That’s how she stumbled upon a cooing and crying Madison, topless and wearing nothing but a diaper. Emily thought it’d been a joke. It wasn’t, though. Neither was Jake. No way would Jake willingly shit himself for a bizarre practical joke. Running out of the daycare’s kitchen was when she’d seen the ghost. It was also when the ghost saw her. “Good babies crawl,” the thing’s voice was both beautiful and terrifying. “Good babies wear and use their diapers.” What the fuck was this? Emily literally had no words for what was going on. Why would a ghost be saying this kind of shit? Why would a fucking daycare be haunted? Did daycares even have nannies? Shouldn’t she be running from some sort of undead babysitter or something? The absurdity and terror of her situation compounded when an icy cold arm snaked into the ballpit and ripped Emily up into the air. “Naughty baby! Hiding from Nanny!” Emily didn’t have to pee. If she did, she’d be pissing herself right now. The thing dangling her by the armpits was both strangely beautiful or rotting depending on where she focused her eyes. “I’m sorry!” she said. “I’m sorry! Whatever I did, I’m sorry!” “Good babies don’t use grown up words!” The walls rushed by and the ballpit rushed up to greet her as Emily was dropped down to the edge of the ballpit, a terrible weight pinning her, forcing her to bend over. Something like a breeze blew her skirt up exposing her panties. “Please!” Emily begged. “Don’t!” “Bad babies get spanked until they’re good babies.” THWACK! Something hard and flat collided with Emily’s backside. She didn’t know math. Just lost it. She knew numbers. But she couldn’t do anything with them. THWACK! “Eeeeep!” Emily kicked futilely with another swing of a spectral paddle stung her ass. What were numbers? THWACK! “Noooooo!” she cried out, suddenly illiterate. Tears started to run down her cheeks. One part of her brain was crying out as bits of information were excised and removed from her consciousness like tumors. The other part reeled in pain and just wanted it to stop so she could get back to playing. She’d been a bad girl. Not even that, a bad baby. Before the fourth swat came down on her, both parts of her being decided that they wanted nothing more than being a good baby. Anything to make the hurting stop. There was a pause. “Hm?” The sound came from the ghostly woman just behind her. “What are you-?” THWACK! Emily’s ears heard the sound of the paddle hitting something, but her bottom didn’t feel it. The weight was off her too. She could move! In utter bewilderment Emily stood up and turned around only to see Lester holding a wooden paddle and staring down a now diapered and confused ghost. It was an objectively amusing sight, seeing the ghost with nothing but a diaper on below the waist. She no longer floated menacingly in the air, but stood awkwardly on the ground with bare feet that wriggled like worms after a rainstorm. “Bad baby!” Lester said in the exact same tone as the ghost had. “Wandering around without your diaper on! Daddy Lester had to put it on for you!” The ghost scowled. “I’m not a baby, you twat!” “Then why are you wearing a diaper?” The stoner retorted. “Because you snuck up and slid one on me.” Lester slapped the paddle into his open palm menacingly. “Of course I did, little one. Babies can’t put on their own diapers.” “But-...” Lester circled around the frankly confused and bamboozled specter “If you’re not a baby, then why are you getting spanked? Only babies get spanked.” Nanny Windel’s fingers started nervously fidgeting, her arms drawing closer to her waist. “I…I…I…” “Ah-ah-ah,” Lester wagged his finger. “Good babies don’t touch their diapers.” The ghosts hands splayed outward. Combined with her overly wide stance thanks to the giant diaper, she looked more like a starfish than a ghost. THWACK! The ghost poofed into a baby powder scented cloud, and the wooden paddle clattered to the ground out of Lester’s hands. “Lester!” Emily ran forward and wrapped her arms around her gangly friend turned rescuer. He hugged her back, making her feel safe. “You okay?” he asked. He pried her off of him and looked directly at her skirt. “Still potty trained?” Emily nodded. “Yeah. I think so…?” She did a mental run through of the process; panties down, sit, pee, wipe, flush, panties up, wash hands. “Yeah. Definitely.” “Good,” Lester said. Something inside Emily doubted he meant that, but only for a second. She’d just been saved. “Means I got here on time.” Emily pushed back her hair out of her face. “How did you know what to do?” “Circular logic is a trope, but it goes both ways but the advantage goes to the person who invokes it first.” It might have been because the college co-ed no longer knew her three R’s, but none of what Lester had just said made any sense. “Huh?” “Just jump into the ballpit with me.” Without waiting, Lester high stepped over the edge and started wading towards the middle of the plastic orb filled pool. “Come on. I got a hunch.” Confused and having trouble stringing together coherent thoughts, she did as she was bid. “What about Jake and Maddison?” Lester started scooping out armfulls of balls and tossing them over the edge. “Jakey and Maddie?” he echoed her question. “They’re gone. Stuck like that. If they’d been physically regressed there was an off chance that they might just have to grow up all over again. But they got mentalled by that Ghost Nanny. Probably not coming back from that. Most likely scenario is they spend the rest of their lives in a nursing home or something. Maybe the nurses will know about ABDL and get them some cute clothes and diapers but that’s a big maybe.” ABDL? Mentalled? Physically Regressed? None of this made any sense to Emily. It was like Lester was speaking an entirely different language. Not knowing what else to do, she copied her friend and helped him excavate the pit. ‘How do you know all about this stuff?” The stoner didn’t stop digging. “There are websites,” Lester said. “Stories. Pictures. Most people think they’re just internet fetish porn. But it’s way more than that. Investigative journalism? Prophecy? Some reflection of the collective unconscious? Whatever it is I’ve always had a hunch that it was true. This just proves it.” “This is why you came with us?” Emily. “To prove your conspiracy theories?” The pair neared the bottom. “I mean…” Lester paused. “Kinda? I didn’t really think this would happen. Just figured I could make some cash and get some ideas about posts on a message board or something. Then the storage room happened and I started connecting the dots.” The ballpit was finally empty enough that they could see a trap door. Lester opened it up and dropped down into what Emily could only describe as a glass walled elevator. “I did try to warn you.” That’s right, he kind of did. Emily followed and dropped down while Lester messed with some wiring. It was better than staying behind having to take care of Jake and Maddison. “How’d you know this would be here?” she asked. Lester smiled. “Come on. Never heard the one about a kid getting lost in a ballpit? Of course there was a trapdoor. AR Traps are too cheeky for their own good most of the time.” Emily let out a polite laugh; the kind people did when they didn’t get the joke. It only made her feel more childish. “How’d you find out about all this stuff?” Lester sparked a couple of wires together and blushed. “I was looking for internet fetish porn.” And down they went. ***************************************************************************************** Mission control was at red alert. People were panicking. Nothing like this had ever happened before. Technicians were scrambling, security was gearing up, and Steve was really regretting that he’d hit the tequila as quickly as he did. “Yeah, I know they’re in the elevator!” he shouted into his phone. “No! Don’t regress them both! Order matters! You know that! Well yeah, if you regress one go for the other. They both already know too much. Both of them need to spend the rest of their lives with their heads empty and their diapers full!” He paused, frowning through the tequila haze. “Kill them? What are we, monsters?” Gary was pouring over all the available data while one of the gals from tech searched the internet. “I found him, sir!” She pointed to a profile picture on a fetish site. He readjusted his glasses and pronounced the screen name phonetically. “Ay-Bee-Dee-El-Baby-Daddy-four-twenty-sixty-nine-eight-zero-zero-eight-equal sign-equal sign- Dee?” He cringed at having to read it. “That’s a terrible screen name!” More to the point, Gary added, “And he never should have been selected for this! He knows too much! It hardly ever works if they know the tropes!” The technician clicked deeper into the stoner’s profile. “Sir, look at this.” Gary felt a thin line of hope. He waved Steve over. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Notice a pattern?” Indeed Steve did. Steve got back on the phone. “Inform the director. Follow the protocol, but if this doesn’t work, we’ve got one last hail mary.” ********************************************************************************************** It was dark outside the box at first. That was a mercy as far as the college students were concerned. The mercy didn’t last long. They were moving. Emily could feel that much through the floor, the humming micro vibrations. It came in little starts and stops, and jolts. Unlike most elevators, the pair could see through three of the walls. Based on the slight rocking sensation, Emily guessed they weren’t just going down but also forward and back and sideways and around. They were on a track-a complex conveyor belt-and every time they stopped, they got a peek inside another box. “WAAAAAAH!” A giant, obese, fleshy, blob of a human wearing a sagging white diaper pressed itself up against the glass. It was in its own box, its own moving cell, but it didn’t make Emily feel any safer. “WAAAAAAAH!” “That’s a really big baby,” Lester commented with an air of cold detached authority. “Lot less cute when they’re scaled up to seven feet.” That was an understatement. Emily took a step back. “What does it do?” “If I had to guess,” Lester said, “It bites you and you turn into one. Werebaby? Babpire? Same difference.” Something wispy and smoke-like pressed itself up against an adjacent wall. Emily knew it would smell like lavender and piss just from looking at it. “Wsssssshhh!” it hissed through the walls. Why weren’t these damn things soundproofed? Emily pressed herself into Lester, his body the only thing that felt safe in the moment. “I think it’s saying wish,” Lester remarked. “Some kind of diaper genie? Thought that one would be prettier. Guess they went with Wishmaster or something.” She was at a slaughterhouse dressed as a cow. He was at an aquarium admiring the sharks. In another cell, two little girls with skin like porcelain held hands, staring at the pair. “Don’t play dress up with them.” The Cenobite wearing a rubber apron was the first one to stump Lester, yet it had nothing to do with identification. “Demon Mommy. Makes the Ghost Nanny look gentle.” The puzzle box resting in its hands was identical to the one in the storage area. “Why are there so many?” he wondered. “Almost any one of these could take most people.” Emily knew. “They need us to be bad babies,” she whispered. “They need an excuse to punish us. So they can say we deserved it…that we had it coming.” Hearing that truth come out of her own mouth made Emily launch into the biggest tantrum in her young life. Diaper Bot. Living Doll Granny Witch. Maternal Alien. None of the ludicrous horrors beneath the ground caused her scream to abate until she’d gotten it well out of her system. ************************************************************************************************* DING! The guard at the elevator doors didn’t get a word out. Lester shoved a pacifier directly into his mouth and the man went limp. “Stocked up before I came to the rescue,” Lester explained. The college kids stepped out of the elevator and into, surprisingly enough, an empty and sterile passageway. One each side was a row of elevators like the one they’d existed, and a single security booth betwixt them. “This…is not what I expected,” Emily said. “Me neither,” Lester admitted. “I was thinking more pastel. Maybe ironic smiley faces or something.” TZZZZZZZZICK! Static crackling filled the hallway. “You shouldn’t be here,” A voice boomed over unseen speakers. Neither Lester nor Emily had heard it before. They could only look up towards the ceiling and off into the middle distance, the way lost children do when searching for a parent. “This should have gone differently. Ended more quickly.” It was a woman. Definitely a woman. Late forties, early fifties. Old enough to be their mom. “I can only imagine your pain and confusion. But know this: What’s happening to you is part of something bigger, something older than anything known.” She sounded sincere, too. Whomever this was, believed every word that was being broadcast out. The lecture was accompanied by the sound of clicking heels en masse. Lester and Emily were alone, but soon they wouldn’t be. “You’ve seen impossible things,” the woman on the P.A. system went on. “An army of non-consensual, dominating, caregivers. Monster that would give Freud wet dreams and nightmares all at once. But they are nothing compared to what came before what lies below.” Lester grabbed Emily’s hand and dragged her into the security booth. “What’s she talking about?” Emily asked. “No clue this time.” The sound of footsteps grew thunderous while the woman’s voice droned on. “It’s our task to placate the ancient ones, as it’s yours to be offered up to them. Forgive us, and let us get it over with.” “Come here sweetie!” “Come to Momma!” “Who’s my little sugar lump! You are! Yes you are!” “Time for your nap!” Cooing motherese rang out like bullets from machine guns as a full squad of Professional Mommy Dommes circled the corner and entered the corridor, all armed with diaper bags, restraints, and syringes. They were going for a rush job. “Shit,” Lester cursed. “What do we do?” It was Emily who saw the button: The big, shiny, red, button. DING! ******************************************************************************************************** Chaos erupted in the Mission Control compound. Men and women were dropping left and right. The monitors broadcast the chaos. Orderlies were restraining victims into straight jackets over diapers so thick that they’d only need to be changed once a day. Mad scientists cackled with glee as they zapped people with age regression rays, leaving them as squalling infants in a puddle of their own clothes. Gargantuan storks snatched people up in bundles, taking them far away to lands best not spoken of. A number of helpless interns were forced on their hands and knees, crying with their pants down and glass thermometers jammed up their rectums; the temperature of each one reading ‘baby’. A security guard stood with his nose in the corner and his hands on top of his head, his new schoolboy uniform bulging and sagging with a loaded diaper. A walking changing table with mechanical arms and what appeared to be a salon hair dryer was busily dragging people onto it and dressing them in more ‘suitable’ attire while it wiped their bottoms and brains simultaneously. Lots of screaming. Lots of crying. Lots of begging. Lots and lots of diapers. Steve lay on the floor, out breath from whatever knocked down the door into the control room. Slithering over to him looked like the creature from the black lagoon cosplaying as Ariel. In the monster’s head was a dripping wet seaweed nappy. “OH COME ON!” ******************************************************************************************* Far away- but not far enough- from the chaos they’d created, Emily and Lester ventured out onto an open bridge dangling over a pit. The moon above them with infinite darkness below, if not for the carvings in the walls and the bedlam they’d just escaped, they might have allowed themselves to believe they’d escaped their tormentors’ demesne. “Where the fuck are we?” Emily asked, proud that she could still curse now that she thought about it. “We are very much in uncharted territory right now, baby girl.” Lester said. Emily’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t like being called that, least of all by Lester. “What’s the point of all this?” she wondered, trying to change the subject. “It’s like you said,” Lester replied. “It’s punishment.” Being turned into a drooling idiot for goofing off in a storage room seemed disproportionately cruel. “For what, though?” “For having power you’ll never be ready for,” came the reply. From the other end of the chamber, a woman in a gray pantsuit walked out to meet them. From her voice, Lester and Emily knew she was the one who had lectured them earlier. “It’s different in every culture,” the director explained. “And it’s changed over the years. For some it’s a parent being re-raised by their child. Other times it’s an unfaithful lover being taught a lesson in impulse control. Everyone is meant to grow old. Not everyone can be allowed to grow up.” “And us?” Emily asked. The director gestured to the carvings. The outlines were simple, but if Emily were to label them, she’d have thought of them as a wizard, a knight, a jester, and a maiden respectively. The director gave them their proper titles. “The Scholar; smart but arrogant. The Athlete; strong but brash. The Fool; beloved but naive.” Close enough. “All are forced back into the cradle forever by whatever surrogate they’ve summoned. Leaving the last to regress or mature as fate decides: The Virgin.” “Me?” Emily almost laughed. “A virgin?” The older woman didn’t even smile. “Not you, dear. Him. You’re the Fool.” “Hey!” Lester barked. “You don’t gotta tell everybody.” Emily ignored him. “What if you don’t pull it off?” “They rise.” Almost reverently, the director indicated the black morass below. A burning desire to know filled Emily’s almost childlike brain. “Who does? Who’s beneath us?” “The ancient ones. The True Adults. As long as they accept our sacrifice they remain below, content to let us grow up. But the other rituals have all failed.” The director leveled an accusing finger at Emily. “The sun is coming up in eight minutes. If you’re an adult when it does, none of us will be.” “Fuck you,” Lester snarled. “If we have to be stuck shitting our pants for the rest of our lives, then you do, too.” “Not you,” the older woman said. “Just her.” Lester’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?” “Lester!” “Sorry, Emily,” Lester said. He pulled her closer to him, her back to his chest and his arm wrapped around her throat. “I’ll take real good care of you.” The former rich girl struggled in the poser Daddy’s grip, but it was no use. “If this is where we’ve gotten as a society, maybe it’s time for a change!” she yelped. ‘Change’ was a poor choice of words. The director was already unfolding a diaper for Emily. “We’re talking about the permanent regression of every human soul on the planet. Including you. They let us grow up once. They won’t let it happen again.” Lester was using his free hand to work Emily’s skirt and panties back down to her ankles. “You’re gonna be so cute, all pamped up,” he whispered. “I’m finally gonna get be a real Daddy!.” Overcome with revulsion, Emily did what most any young woman would do. Her head rocked back into the creeper’s nose and her fist swung down into his balls. Little did she realize just how close to the edge Lester was. The director dropped the diaper she’d been fluffing and reached out for Lester. “NO!” It was too late. If there was a bottom to that pit, it was too deep for the sound to reach Emily’s ears. “You fool! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve ruined everything.” The entire world shuddered. Both women fell to the floor. Emily, in particular, landed on her backside. A low, rumbling moan roared out from beneath them and Emily swore she heard something that vaguely sounded like “Naughty, naughty!”. Strangely enough, Emily didn’t care. If she was going to end up like Jakey and Maddie, she might as well take everyone else down with her. At least Lester wouldn’t get what he wanted. Did that make her immature? Whatever. Why did her underwear feel like it was getting thicker? “NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGHTY!” ************************************************************************************************** The new daycare workers groaned about how they couldn’t get through the morning without their morning coffee. Thousands of years of dreamless slumber was one heck of a long weekend, but these kiddos wouldn’t take care of themselves. Little Emily crinkled around the daycare that morning, babbling to herself. Ever hungry, Jakey was putting everything in his mouth, thumbs and toes included. Madison was hoisted off the changing table, being declared clean just before the wetness indicator on her diaper turned partially blue. Not that Emily was one to talk. Literally speaking, no one was. Talking was just not what humans did. As a people the darlings were just too young for it. Emily stopped in her tracks. Something was wrong, but the girl just wasn’t quite sure. Just. Not. There! Whatever it was, the thought left Emily’s brain as quickly as something else had entered her diaper, causing it to balloon out behind her. A True Adult clicked its tongue and pulled back the waistband of her diaper, making her giggle and gurgle at the attention. Emily was lifted up as high as high could be, carried over to the nearest changing table. The sound of tapes being ripped off her diaper’s front landing zone sounding like a kind of cannon. She gazed out at all of her little friends and cooed while her ankles were crossed and her legs lifted into the air. There were her friends Jakey and Maddie, and several billion other humans that needed taking care of. But no Lester

Chapter 104: Of Costumes and Masks Why? Why, why, why? Whyyyyyyy? I’d been mentally kicking myself ever since I woke up that Friday morning. Why hadn’t I gotten out yet? Why wasn’t I still resisting as hard? I’d kept talking to another Little while a stranger checked and changed me. I’d been too caught up in a moment to care about wearing pants. Why? Not so deep down, I knew all the answers. Knowing them didn’t make me feel any better. I should have already escaped by now. I should have set the building blocks up faster than I had and been hundreds if not thousands of miles away with Cassie and the Brauns. I should be doing off the books under the table work as a nameless but rugged Little man who didn’t talk much and doing craft work while Bert slowly taught me. Me…rugged…heh. That was almost as funny as the thought of me not talking. The Fall Festival came and I was still a padded prisoner of one Janet Grange. Too many curve balls. Too many things fell through. Too much reliance on the kindness and bravery of non-Littles. Just thinking that stung. Tracy was my friend. So was Beouf. It had been foolish of me to expect either of them to take the fall with me. Tracy was no revolutionary and Beouf was in way too deep. So I’d had to re-build my own escape plan from the ground up. I still should have been ready to escape by now. I should have been biting down on my tongue from nerves until it threatened to bleed. I should have been a walking contradiction, so exhausted from tossing and turning all night because I kept going over some plan or another, but acting saccharine sweet so that the Grown-Ups wouldn’t expect a thing. Fall Festival was an annoying but big event for a small podunk town like Oakshire. Everyone in silly costumes. All the families going from school to school not to mention any number of participating businesses. A bird’s eye view would have probably shown an entire city moving around like ants just after the hill had been kicked over by an errant sneaker. With the right costume I could have slipped off campus by tailing the right family, jumped into the back of a pickup truck, and been halfway to Elizabeton, the next city over. It would have taken more luck than skill, but I could have stood a chance. Damn. Wouldn’t it have been nice to wear that mockup of my old teacher attire today? It was still very babyish, but at a glance I could pass for a free Little. My old coworkers would have gotten a kick out of it too; thought it was precious enough to let down their guard and make them think I’d accepted my assigned lot. Wish I’d thought of that sooner. Fuck. As things stood, I was wearing a train decorated onesie, sitting in the corner of Janet’s room so that I was out of sight of the open door, and nursing a pacifier like it was a cigarette. Damn I needed a cigarette. I didn’t even smoke, but it would have been nice. I closed my eyes and huffed, beating myself up. I still wasn’t ready to blow this popsicle stand. I was getting there, but getting all the pieces together and setting everything up from scratch was proving harder to do than I’d imagined. That or I was still afraid to try… I should probably find a way to log onto MistuhGwiffin again at some point, too, I thought. See if there was a way to reach out or gather additional intel. Hiding spots to look for. Places to avoid. Routes to plan. Maybe see if there was anyone out there who had advice on how to help Tracy… That at least was a good reason for me to stick around, or so I told myself. Couldn’t leave my kids or Tracy to Ambrose’s continued abuse. I couldn’t properly ghost this place when I still had unfinished business to settle. Tracy was a later problem, though. My current problem was much more tedious and embarrassing: Making sure nobody saw me. Janet was passing out cheap candy and cheaper toys at her classroom door while children made the rounds around campus. I’d been dressed in something easy to strip off when it came time for costuming, and had gained enough of Janet’s trust not to be plopped into the playpen by her desk. Her back was turned. I should have been looking for potential escape routes or finding a way to sabotage her classroom. Maybe there were a few errant papers I could have ‘graded’ or something. No. That would have been cruel and unproductive. Slipping out would have gotten me noticed and caught. This wasn’t the time. I was merely an actor waiting in the wings to play my part. Get Janet to lower her guard even further. Maybe have a bit of fun in the meantime. I’d never actually taken the time to dress up for Fall Festival; only passed out candy. Costumes, by their nature, were a form of playing pretend, and playing pretend could have been just enough pretense to activate an Amazon’s Adoption instincts. That ship had sailed, so I might as well enjoy what I could. Just because an inmate went to the prison dance, didn’t mean that they weren’t still digging their escape tunnel. I leaned into the corner, just listening to the exchanges and letting my thoughts drift. Better than staring at a clock or playing with one of the clinking, clacking, squeaking toys Janet had stashed in the diaper bag. It would have been nice to have Lion, admittedly. “Tricker Treat!” “My! What a wonderful witch costume! I don’t know who you could be!” Janet handed out a piece of candy to yet another child. “Thank you!” Sounded young. Not one of mine. A kindergartener or a first grader, perhaps. Or a kid from another school. It was a possibility. “Tricker Treat!” “Excellent Zombie, Joshua. Very realistic.” “Does that mean I didn’t trick you, Ms. Grange?” “I think it’s okay to still give you candy.” “Thank you!” Joshua. I’d seen that name on a couple of papers. Third grader. One of Janet’s this year. “Tricker Treat!” “Wow! Hyacinth! What a lovely costume!” My skin broke out in goosebumps. Fourth grader. One of mine, too, from way back when. I squeezed myself further back into the corner. It was stupid, but I didn’t want anyone to see me dressed like this, today. Almost everyone had seen me wearing a onesie by now, but on a day where the entire town dressed up as something they weren’t, I dreaded the thought of someone seeing me like this and asking “Where’s your costume?” I wore a costume everyday. Unable to read my thoughts, Hyacinth took the compliment. “Thank you, Ms. Grange.” Janet asked. “What land are you the princess of?” Sounded like she had as much of a soft spot for Hyacinth as I had. Any educator who tells you they don’t have favorites is lying. “I’m not a princess,” came the haughty reply. “I’m a queen!” My laugh was stifled thanks to the binky. I stomped down on the idea of coming out of my corner to get a peek. If I could see her, she could see me. I opened my eyes and looked sideways. Janet curtsied. “Oh, please! Forgive me, Your Majesty! I should have recognized your station with how regal your gown was!” “Crown too,” Hyacinth said. “Very true!” Janet replied. “That’s no tiara. Please forgive me.” “You’re pardoned,” Hyacinth said. “Carry on, goodly school marm.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. You have tricked me twice. May you add many foil wrapped trinkets to thine coffers.” “Um…?” “Get lots of candy, kid.” I bowed my head and closed my eyes again. It really was a shame that Janet had gotten into Adopting Littles. She would have made a great mom to an actual child. Granted, it was still very possible for her to become a mother the old fashioned way, or adopt a real kid; I just wouldn’t be around long enough to see it. I was behind schedule, but not nine months behind. Maybe, just maybe, after I got loose she’d decide that Littles were too much trouble and find other ways to fill that void in her life. That thought made me kind of happy. “Hello!” My eyes didn’t stay closed long. I bit down into the pacifier and dug my fingers into my naked thighs. “Hello Ivy!” Janet chirped. Ivy said, “Can I please have some candy, Ms. Grange?” At least she didn’t call Janet ‘Clark’s Mommy’ or something. “You have to say the special words,” a new voice said. That wasn’t Zoge. It had the same musical quality and way of speaking, but it was much deeper and more masculine. Mr. Zoge? “Happy Birthday!” Janet almost giggled. “No honey. The other special words.” “Tricker Treat!” “Here you go.” I saw Janet bend over low so that she could put the treats directly into Ivy’s basket. “Have a wonderful day, baby turtle.” Ivy’s giggle was loud enough that I thought she’d somehow teleported beside me. Janet looked up, but didn’t straighten back up to her full height. “Did I say something funny?” “Ivy is a Kappa,” I heard Mr. Zoge say. “A fairy tale from home.” “Ah,” Janet said. “Then in that case, Have a wonderful day baby kappa.” “Thank you! Is Clark coming?” Janet stood and pointed right at me. “Clark is already here.” She saw the panicked expression on my face and me violently shaking my head. “But he doesn’t want anyone to see him until he’s in his costume.” “I hope to see him before I have to leave,” I heard Ivy say. My heart rate slowed. She wasn’t barging in. I wasn’t going to have to deal with her just yet. No stupid questions. Or getting in my space. Or practiced toddler niceties. Later. Just not now. Later was fine. I closed my eyes again and inhaled. “Tricker Treat!” No one I knew or recognized. “Tricker Treat!” “Tricker-!” Janet’s hand lightly tapping me on the shoulder stirred me. I hadn’t gone to sleep, but I’d definitely zoned out for about ten minutes there. “You doing okay?” Janet was standing over me, her brain melting in baby crazy bliss at having caught me off guard. I took the pacifier out, but didn’t let it dangle. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.” “You’re being very patient,” she said, like I needed to know. “I’m pr…” Her lips stopped and retracted inward. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” I blinked. She’d almost said she was proud of me and changed it into an expression of appreciation. There was a subtle difference there, and it meant enough for me to not be lying when I said, “You’re welcome.” I uncoiled myself slightly. “How much longer?” “Someone should be coming to take over in just a few minutes.” Her face was placid but her eyes were positively beaming with delight. I was showing interest and investment in something she wanted to do, too. She’d earned that concession from me. “Who?” “Whomever the office sends,” Janet replied. “Probably a parent volunteer.” She leaned further and slipped her fingers into my diaper. “Just a little wet, but I think we’ll change you anyways when we suit up. Your costume doesn’t have any leg snaps.” “I know,” I said. That had been a bonus feature. She stood up and grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer. “I might use some extra baby powder so you don’t sweat too much. Put it all over.” “Okay.” “Just wanting to prepare you.” “Thank you. I appreciate that.” No lies detected or intended. “Can I put some back on you?” She hesitated, but not for long. “Sure. Why not?” I fumbled with my pacifier and stuck it back in my lips to hide my surprise. I thought I’d just been messing with her when I asked. Did this mean she’d be changing in front of me, too? I hadn’t seen her unclothed since…since…since the last time we took a shower together. “Tricker Treat!” came a call from the door. Some kid in a skeleton costume poked their head in and looked around. “Be right there!” Janet called back. She gave me one last pat on the head and skipped back to the door. Meanwhile I did my best to zone back out and not think about certain things…like green goopy gel and extra pillows left in cribs. **************************************************************************************************** Within the hour, Janet and I emerged triumphantly from the front office bathroom. We hadn’t made it fifty feet of shuffling outside when the comments came rolling in. “Oh my gosh!” “Really???” “Ms. Grange, is that you in there?” “COOOOOOOOOL!” “Look at Clark! Look at Clark!” “Holy-!” “Guys! Look at Ms. Grange’s Little!” Mix in a cacophony of piped in carnival music, and audible gasps and giggles from all ages and sizes, and you have the barest sliver of an idea of what the Oakshire Elementary courtyard sounded like that first minute and a half. ‘What were we wearing?’ you may ask: We were clad in the perfect so-called Amazon Mommy/babified Little theme costume. My costume was a baggy, khaki colored, full body jumpsuit. From the shins down, the material was colored coal black. The soles were stiff and hardened to function as shoes. Being costuming, I wouldn’t be running any marathons, but it was oddly nice wearing boots, even pretend boots. Likewise, the belt and the elbow pads were just sections of the same one-piece that had been colored differently. Bonus as far as I was concerned. No waistline and a baggier fit completely hid the puffiness of my Monkeez. The one part of the outfit that I didn’t love was black name tag with red lettering that had been stitched over my left breast. “GRANGE”. Janet had paid extra for that. I ignored it and instead favored the crossed out wispy ghost silhouette patterned on my right arm. Janet’s costume was the true wonder of it all, however. It was so cartoonishly bloated that she needed portable fans to fill out creamy fatty folds and milky lumps of the costumes arms, legs, and torso. Not even Ambrose could fill this costume out without assistance. Every movement, no matter how small, made the suit wiggle and jiggle. The sewn in strawberries, sprinkles, and jelly beans- some half as big as my face- threatened to slough off as if the skin really was made of whipped cream and fondant icing. The brown liner around her waist and between her legs was a kind of upturned skirt and made of a thick crinkling crinoline with extra bits of butcher paper to really nail home the aesthetic. For once, it was the Amazon that had the more pronounced waddle in her walk. Janet’s face could narry be seen through the viewing window that was the monster’s mouth. Most people’s gaze were inevitably drawn to the glaring cartoon eyes and the not-so-tiny-cherry on top of the head. Connecting us together was a high end toddler leash that literally plugged into Janet’s costume. My end was buckled firmly around my chest that I had no hope of slipping out of. The harness was part-backpack too, and I was forced to tote around my own wipes, powder, and spare diaper. I didn’t mind that at all, since the bulky thing had patterns and etchings meant to resemble the dials, switches, and meters that were commonplace tropes in every science-fiction movie yet made. No one would be surprised if they found out I was toting around my own diaper bag, but no one would think it just from looking. The best part of all, the part that sold me on the idea to the point where I’d been willing to negotiate with Janet, was the rest of the leash. There was a long, hard, stiff plastic wand, almost like a rifle, attached to the harness that I could carry or holster in a designated side pocket and loop as I felt inclined. Jutting out of the wand was the rest of the leash that went all the way up to Janet’s costume. Instead of something woven, clear plastic tubing connected us together. Bathed in the smiles and adulation of children and adults alike, I led the way to the center of the main courtyard. I unholstered the rifle wand, spun around and aimed at Janet. My left thumb hovered over a shiny red button near the wand’s base; one so sensitive that even a Little could press it. “LIGHT ‘EM UP!” My thumb smashed down on the button and yellow, blue, and red lights lit up all through the clear plastic tubing between Janet and myself. The lights blinked and traveled all the way up the leash, really giving the illusion I was shooting her with my laser pack What really made it was Janet’s reaction. “RHEEEEEEEEAAAARGH!” From underneath her monstrous blow up suit, she convulsed and shook her arms as hard as she could, roaring and screaming in pain as if actual laser beams were slicing into her sugary flesh. Had it ended there, we would have only gotten mild chuckles and appreciative applause; maybe a few “Awwwww’s” from Mommies and Daddies who thought it was cute that a Little was being humored so. We got more than just that, though, all because of Janet. Going further than we negotiated, she slipped her arm out of one of the inflated sleeves and switched off the fan belted around her waist. “RHEEEEEEEEEEEEEARGH!” She squatted, then knelt, then laid down on the concrete while the costume collapsed around her. “BLEEEEEEEEEAAARCHK!” The Creampuff Cupcake Woman was melting! It wasn’t as explosive as it had been in GhostHaunters One, but it was practically a high budget special effect considering. “OOOOOOOOOOH!” The assembled yokels cheered. Peels of laughter rang through the air and applause came down like heavy rain. Teenagers who’d been forced to come with younger and Adopted siblings pumped their fists and howled like they’d seen an actual fist fight. Middle aged Amazons put their hands on their hips and looked at the ground as if showing mirth might somehow be illegal. Others had to swat away their jealous brats telling them in no certain terms that no, they were not doing that next year Someone went so far as to start a chant, just like in the films. “GHOSTHAUNTERS! GHOSTHAUNTERS! GHOSTHAUNTERS!.GHOSTHAUNTERS!” The illusion was complete. I was a GhostHaunter. Janet was the Creampuff Cupcake Woman. I’d won. What else could I do, except take a bow? Janet stood up and reinflated the suit. She waddled up, bouncing with every footfall, and picked me up into her arms. That made for another round of applause just as the last bit was dying down. “That’s one,” she told me. “I know,” I answered back. “Are you going to do that nine more times?” “Don’t bet on it, babe.” Damn. “Fair. Had to ask.” “I know.” The assembled crowd which had parted for our impromptu performance closed in on us like rushing water the second Janet put me back down. We were both instantly swarmed with compliments and questions. “That’s so neat!” a second grade girl in a black cat costume said. “Did your Mommy buy that for you?” I grinned. “Of course she did. Why? Do you think I’m rich?” She giggled. “No.” “Who bought your costume?” “My Mom and Dad.” I chuckled back. “Seems silly to ask, doesn’t it?” “Yeah…What cartoon is your costume from?” A better question. “Not a cartoon,” I said. “Old movie. GhostHaunters.” “Ooooooooh!” She’d never seen it. Maybe she would. Whatever happened, she lost interest and walked back to her parents. A couple of older kids patted me on the shoulder to get my attention and turned me around. They looked vaguely familiar. Middle schoolers coming back for candy, carnival games, and bounce houses. Not my kids, but familiar. They wore dark clothes and black eyed goblin masks made out of glow in the dark materials. Someone was gonna have fun when it got dark tonight. “That was awesome, Clark!” One of his buddies jumped in. “Yeah Clark, that was so cool!” “Yeah, Clark!” “Yeah!” They lifted up the masks and wore them like visors so I could see their faces. Their expressions were the same encouraging smugness that the kitty cat girl had, mixed with a tinge of covetousness. “Thanks guys,” I said. Looking at their faces I was able to pull their names out of my backbrain. “Dwayne, Michael, Ricky.” I hid my annoyance at being called by my first name with a toothless smile. Kids thought they were grown just because I’d been reduced. That or they thought they’d get brownie points by remembering my name. I knew just what they wanted, too. “Can I have a turn?” Dwayne asked, pointing to the wand end of my toddler leash. There it was! Called it! I held my rifle wand close to me. “Nope,” I said casually. “Awwww, c’mon.” The giant pre-teen said. “Don’t you know how to share?” There was just enough edge in his voice to make me worry. Michael and Rick flanked him. “Mrs. Beouf not teach you that, yet?” Not quite bullying. I’d seen bullying. This was more a bizarre form of peer pressure and deception. They thought they could convince me to let them in on the gag under the guise of sharing. I took the opportunity to educate. “You guys wanna wear this costume?” I asked. “Naw, we just wanna borrow the zapper thing for a second,” Ricky said. He thought I was the one who was misunderstanding. Let’s fix that. “You guys going to the haunted house at the Middle School after this?” I asked. “Yeah…?” The trio looked suspicious, like I was threatening something. Hypothetically I could have. Ms. Grange’s reputation was much more fearsome than Mr. Gibson’s. I wasn’t threatening. “And the rides at the High School? You get to do that too, right?” They nodded along. “Uh-huh.” “Yeah.” “It’s gonna be awesome.” I held the one part of my costume that simulated some sort of freedom for me. “I don’t.” I jerked my head towards the Creampuff Cupcake Woman. “This is all I got today.” I pressed the button. “RRRREEEEEARGH!” She didn’t deflate that time, but she waved the massive lumpy arms in the air as high and fast as the costume would let her. Her reaction was delayed, but not by much. Amidst her own fawning admirers complimenting the lengths she’d gone to, Janet was still keeping a close eye on me. “THAT’S TWO!” The polite laughter of parents recognizing a child being indulged accompanied that announcement. “I only get ten zaps,” I explained. New understanding came over the boys. Some combination of being reminded of their comparative freedom, and knowledge that my resources were strictly limited gave them the empathy to not insist that I share. “Oh! My bad!” “Nevermind.” “You keep it.” They offered me high fives and ran towards the P.E. field. “Duuuuuude!” A brawny teenager gently put forward his fist. “ Way to go, Little guy! You zapped that monster good!” The teenager was holding the hand of a child who was young enough to be in my classroom. I briefly examined the pumpkin clad tot just long enough to make sure it wasn’t one of mine. Kid looked to be Elmer’s size, so maybe he was a Tweener. Sometimes families had mixed size depending on parentage and recessive genes. Kid could just have been younger, too. Two years old instead of three or four. Hard to tell the difference between a preschooler and a toddler when they were in pumpkin form. “Dude,” the very big brother said, still holding his fist out. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.” ‘Dude.’ ‘Bro.’ The kind of stuff you said to children to make them feel older and adults to make them feel younger. I took it as a win. I bumped his fist and nodded respectfully. A full blown teen. The one thing that all ages and sizes feared, made less intimidating by virtue that he was clearly taking care of his sibling. “Pretty funny, right?” I asked. “Heck yeah!” He winced, worried that he shouldn’t say ‘heck’ around either me or his little brother. I tilted my head, seeming bemused at his embarrassment. This was as close as I’d gotten to power in a while. Meanwhile, the actual child was staring at Janet’s inflatable costume like it was a poisonous snake that might bite someone. His lip started trembling. Big brother noticed. “What’s wrong, Kyler?” I tapped the child on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kyler,” I said. “The monster’s afraid of this now. She won’t hurt anybody because if she does, I’ll zap her. See?” “REEEEEEEARGH! THREE!” The child’s eyes lit up and he started reaching for my toy. This was decidedly more of an Amazon baby than a Tweener Preschooler. Big brother was on it instantly, pulling the kid back and hugging him up against his chest.. “Whoah whoah whoah. That’s not yours. We don’t snatch. Remember?” “I need it to protect myself,” I lied to the child. The pumpkin child seemed to consider this, and then nodded. Slightly concerned about the so-called monster, but no longer frightened or greedy. I threw a wink at the big brother. He laughed under his breath and nodded his head upward in respect.. “Alright, Little dude. Alright.” He picked his sibling up and went to get candy from the teachers and volunteers handling it out. I breathed deep and allowed myself a smile that wasn’t a matter of beguiling or disarming someone bigger than me. I felt in control and legitimized in a way I hadn’t been for a long time. I was getting to do more than just pretend to be a GhostHaunter. In my own way, I was getting to teach again; getting to direct young thoughts and minds so that they could think of me as something besides an incompetent patronize or take advantage of. If only it weren’t temporary. My feet shuffled towards Janet. The leash was wound up like an old telephone chord and retreated and coiled in on itself while I closed the distance. Janet was still fending off questions and compliments from parents and students alike. People poked and prodded and asked how hard it was to get the costume on. Children showed off their own costumes and lifted up buckets of cheap candy as if proud of an accomplishment. A sad bit of wishful thinking and nostalgia mixed into a toxic brew at the pit of my stomach. Why hadn’t we done something like this earlier? Before Adoption? We’d both worked here for several years prior. We could have set up our own game for the students; a softball toss or something. Or buddied up our kids during the week for reading; mine the Haunters and hers the Ghosts. And we would have brought the house down with this! This would have been a hit! At her worst Brollish wouldn’t be able to criticize us for a lack of spirit or saying we were doing the bare minimum. Except I would have been terrified of Janet the second I saw that it was a Mommy & Me costume… Somewhere out there, there was a parallel timeline, or universe, or dimension or whatever where Janet and I got to be friends without all this Adoption bullshit and baggage. If only… I tugged on the leash sharply to get her attention. “Can we get going Creampuff?” ‘Creampuff’ was preferable to ‘Mommy’. “Sure, hon.” Janet waved the others off. I could barely make out Janet’s face through the viewing scream. “‘Scuse us, everybody. We gotta go haunt someplace else.” If someone’s voice could smile, Janet’s was doing it. “Just a second. Hold still.” The costume seemed to melt again, while she crouched down to access my backpack. Blow up suits aren’t meant for kneeling. I stayed still so she could zip open a shallow flap on the backpack leash and take out a sturdy piece of posterboard. On it was a map of the campus, modified for the Festival. The front office was accessible only to staff. The main courtyard past the front office served as a gathering hub, with concessions sold in the cafeteria. The classrooms facing the courtyard gave away candy; the breezeways and classrooms on the outside perimeter had dinky games as well as arts and crafts stations, and the P.E. field had been decked out in bounce houses, relay races, and games that took a smidge more athleticism than throwing a plastic ring or a ping pong ball. “Play first, then candy?” I suggested. “I like it,” Janet said. “Less time to have to lug candy around.” It then occurred to me that we didn’t have a bucket or bag to put the bite-sized spoils in. “What are we gonna lug it in?” “Your backpack.” “Oh…” I’d gotten a close enough look at my harness to guess what would happen. Any candy I got would be piled on top of what passed for my hygiene products.. Maybe I’d just tire myself out and not be up for shouting ‘Tricker Treat’ dozens of times. “We’ll empty it out in my room first.” That put a skip back in my step. “Sure. Bounce house?” “Bounce house.” We walked side by side, through the breezeway I normally associated with going to and from the cafeteria, or being herded to OT/PT now that my old classroom was off limits as a shortcut. Mr. Renner sat lazily on a chair up against the brick wall. To his right was a slanted plywood ramp with a hole cut in it near the top. To his left was a small kiddie pool loaded with cheap plastic wrapped toys salvaged from several hundred fast food Little’s Meals. “Wanna try to toss the beanbag, y’all?” “What do we win?” I asked. “You get a prize just for playing,” he said. He gestured to the tub with out of date burger prizes. “But what if we win?” “Get all three bean bags in a row, and you’ll get the grand prize.” “Which is.” Renner sat up straighter. “Come to think of it, I haven’t decided yet. Nobody’s won yet.” I wanted to tell him what a rip off that was. I remembered my manners and settled for a “No thank you.” “Fair enough.” “Can I just take a prize and pretend I played?” Renner dug a marker out of his pocket. “Sure. Just lemme mark it off your map so you don’t double dip.” I took a toy. I tried to hand it off to Janet. “Carry it or it goes in your bag,” she said, not unkindly. I settled for tossing it back into the pool. We kept walking. I looked up at Janet. Her suit didn’t have a neck but I had the distinct feeling she was shaking her head. It was hard to tell if she was thinking about me or Renner. Maybe both? We power walked through the breezeway, bypassing the face painting station and the Make Your Own Slime stand. Beouf had parked herself at the corner just outside her classroom. She had a metal basin filled with water. It was so small I could have only splashed in it if I’d done a cannonball. Bobbing up and down on the surface were an entire flock of rubber ducks. To finish the presentation, she’d dressed herself up in hunter’s camouflage and had on some rubber waders. A gray false beard hung loosely around her neck. It was a silly, cheap costume, likely commandeered from an actual hunter of some sort, but it was endearing in a way. “Hey, Clark,” Beouf greeted me. She gasped when she realized who was next to me. “Janet…? Is that you?!” “Hey Mrs. Beouf,” Janet said. She had to yell slightly to be heard over the fans. Hearing Janet’s voice come out of the massive monster’s mouth made Melony bark with laughter. “Wow, oh wow! That’s nuts! How much did you pay for that thing.?!” “Enough so that this is going to be our go to costume for a long while,” Janet said. That was my cue. “LIGHT ‘EM UP!” “RRRRRREEEEEEEARGH!” Janet gave an even more full spirited performance than the first time, melting into a rubbery faux cream puddle and adding in death rattles. “I’VE BEEN HAUNTED!” Not at all from the movie, but I’d allow it. Melony laughed so hard her glasses fell into the tub. “Oh no-o-o-o-o!” Even in her shock she couldn’t stop laughing. “Stop! STOP! CAN’T! BREATHE!” Chain link rattled and a new cacophony of laughter joined Beoufs. The Little’s playground was more than close enough to see the sight, and a certain big oak tree, devoid of nearby play equipment was just a quick jaunt from the shenanigans. Two Littles, an alligator and a racecar driver marveled at the sight of my vanquished foe. “Hey Tommy. Hey, Chaz.” I waved, bathing in their silent admiration and jealousy. Two Amazons, what I could only assume were Chaz’s and Tommy’s Adoptive Mommies respectively, boosted them up to watch the last of Janet’s death throes. At least I assumed they were their legalized captors. It’s not like Adoption left much in the way for family resemblance save by coincidence. More Littles and their captors joined them at the fence, Including a lizard-turtle-duck thing. “Ivy?” Ivy’s entire face was painted with a sharp beak pattern over her mouth. Her arms were covered in scaly sequins and her hands had webbed gloves on them. It was kinda badass and made Tommy’s alligator costume with the convertible mask seem paltry by comparison. Not that I’d tell her that…unless I was sure it would bother Tommy…then I might. Fucker had it coming for trying to flick my ear. Ivy whined something in Yamatoan and a well dressed older looking man nudged past the crowding Amazons to boost Ivy up on his shoulders. Yamatoan. Definitely Yamatoan. Wow, he and Ivy looked a lot alike! And he was significantly shorter than every other Adoptive parent. Tracy might have had an inch or two on him. Mrs. Zoge married a Tweener?! I did not see that coming. Janet groaned, getting herself up off the ground. “Clark, honey,” she panted. “I don’t think Mommy’s gonna be able to do that again. Getting up and down off the concrete again and again hurts.” “Okay.” I made a note to do more yoga with her over the weekend. “How about I count that last one as two so we’re up to five?” I offered. “Yes, please,” Janet huffed. “Thank you, baby.” She hiked up the cupcake wrapper and dusted herself off. I slyly threw a thumbs up to an astonished Tommy and Chaz. They mirrored the thumbs up right back. I was wearing a costume they might actually want to be in, and they’d just witnessed me melt an Amazon down into a puddle only for her to beg me to stop. By playground time on Monday, my reputation would be restored as the Amazon breaker. Beouf finished wiping her glasses and then her eyes. “Oh that was good,” she chuckled. “That was good. Thanks. I needed that laugh.” She coughed once to regain her composure. “Should’ve filmed it.” “HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK!” I nearly jumped out of my costume from surprise. “Amy?!” It had slipped my mind that anyone, even Littles not enrolled could attend the Fall Festival so long as they bought a ticket. I spun around the wrong way and got tangled up in the leash. Out of habit I looked down expecting to see a gap toothed maniac grinning up at me and only found furry Amazon sized clodhoppers. The momentum, the leash, and the fact that I still had a Monkeez throwing off my gait caused me to trip with nowhere to go but the ground. “Gotcha!” Janet squeaked, catching my fall. She lifted me up in puffy balloon sleeves and untangled me from myself. “Maybe next time, we’ll bring your stroller,” she said to herself. “Make it the GhostHaunter mobile or whatever.” “Hi, Clark,” Amy repeated herself once Janet was cradling me. ‘How ya doin’?” Amy’s Mommy was dressed in tan fur, floppy shoes, a dragging tail, with a matching hoodie, triangle shaped ears, and a black nose and whiskers painted on her face. Amy was dressed almost exactly the same and riding in an outward facing chest harness. A Mommy kangaroo and her baby. I shouldn’t have expected anything more. “Hey Helena,” Janet said. “Good to see you.” “Hey Janet. Same. You two look cute.” ‘So do you.” I tried to retain my composure, considering the circumstances. ‘Hi, Amy.” “Actually,” Amy said, “I’d prefer it if you called me Josephine, I’m trying to stay in character, and be in the moment, I’m finding I’m something of a method actor, I’d do more but Mommy won’t let me have more mucus for the pouch.” I had nothing to say to that. Nothing to do but to change the subject. “Having fun?” “Don’t know. Just got here.” Amy reached up and poked her Amazon under the chin. “Mommy can we go to the playground?” “I think that’s my cue,” Helena said to Janet. Janet put me down. “Mine too.” She made sure my feet were all the way unwrapped. “Ready to go bounce?” Beouf audibly sucked in her breath. “Actually, that might not be such a good idea, Janet.” My mood instantly started to sour. I knew that tone. “Why?” I asked. “A bunch of the big kids are down there right now. It’s kind of crowded.” My face was starting to sink. “So?” “Coach is having a time keeping it organized from the sound of things. Had a couple volunteers bail at the last moment.” The P.E.field beyond us was alive with activity, joyful shrieks, and pounding bass from a rented stereo system. “Then why is anybody allowed?” “Admin pitched in…” That told me everything without saying it out loud. Somewhere among the controlled chaos, Brollish was on the prowl. Probably Ambrose too. Definitely Forrest. I’d thought it was lucky that I hadn’t laid eyes on that unholy trinity yet. It had been a vile portent, instead. “Said that it might be kind of rough,” Beouf’s voice rang hollow. She believed with all her heart that Maturosis was real but didn’t believe what she was saying now. “They’re worried that if Littles went down there, they might get hurt on accident.” Some things started to click into place. That’s what my classmates were doing in the fenced off Little’s playground like always. It might be the one place they were allowed to go. The higher the peak, the lower the valley. I was consigned to the most babyish class, required to attend the most babyish part of a stupid fundraising party that I didn’t want to go to, and even beyond that my options were limited. “You’re saying I’m too Little.” Beouf did not address me directly at first. “She can make that call because of the volunteers dropping out last minute. It’s not directly related to teaching, or curriculum. It’s just one day. So…” …no amount of complaining to higher ups or invoking proper procedure would do anything about it. I said nothing. Nothing left to say. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that Brollish or one of her cronies called those volunteers and told them they weren’t needed. Just another typical day in my life. “You can play on our playground,” Beouf offered. She was dangling a booby prize and she knew it. “Lots of Littles to play with there. And their Mommies and Daddies.” “How would that be different from any other day?” Those words, straight from my brain, came out of Janet’s mouth. Beouf’s heart was breaking, but she was trying her best to tow the party line; make the best of a bad situation that she disagreed with but had little power in the moment to correct. She lifted up one of the rubber ducks to reveal a square painted on its underside. “We could go for a duck hunt. Get a match and win.” She thumbed her open classroom door. “Mrs. Zoge has a fishing game set up if you want to try that.” If I’d seen Zoge wearing those goggles and snorkel thirty seconds prior it would have been endearing. I didn’t want to play a dumb baby game. I had to play those every single day. I didn’t want to go onto a stupid fucking playground. I had to do that every other day and just thinking about it was turning my brain into a goddamn hornet’s nest. I wanted to try out a goddamn bounce house! I wanted to do something designed for the young at heart instead of the smooth of brain! I wanted at least the illusion of freedom! Just for one day! Not even a whole one! A morning would have been enough! If I’d made it into the early afternoon without directly being told that I had to or couldn’t do something, I would’ve counted it as a win! Tantrum. I was going to throw a tantrum. I was going to see red, start crying, and then shout every single nasty thing I could think of until I turned into a raw throated sobbing angry mess. Things had been going so well l too… Janet cut the fans, and ripped off her mask. Her dark hair was a mess, her face was dripping with sweat and she looked like she was wearing a suit made out of used pail liners. She looked infinitely more terrifying than the monster she’d been masquerading as. Mommy Janet was checked out, and Ms.Grange was looming large in her stead. “That’s bull...” Her voice was eerily calm. Distant. Empty. Cold. Melony looked at me and hung her head for just a second. “You’re right.” She stepped forward. “Come on. Let me see what I can do. Maybe I can work out something with Coach.” Janet stopped her. “No.” “No?” Janet called out. “Helena?” From the other side of the fence came a, “Yeah?” “They’re saying Littles aren’t allowed in the bounce houses.” Helena Madra leaned up against the fence overlooking the sidewalk. Amy had already been removed from the kangaroo costume’s pouch and was off prowling around on the raised plot of land. “What? Not even with just other Littles?” “Not as far as I know,” Janet said. “What if parents are supervising?” Janet did not shrug. “Don’t know.” The blonde haired Amazon went from bougie soccer mom to the first member of the world’s most polite angry mob. Without hesitation she leapt over the fence and down to the walkway. Amy made just a tiny bit more sense right there. “Amy, don’t do what Mommy just did, sweetie.” If Amy heard, she gave no reply. “Charlie! Delilah! Ginni!” She called. “Somebody doesn’t want to let the Littles bounce.” Mumbling and murmurs rippled out over the playground. There were far more so-called Adults supervising than was usual or needed. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding…” The rest needn’t have been said. A small platoon of Amazons I’d seen in passing at Little Voices exited the playground via ramp. A few strangers in tow, too. I would not be surprised if I ran into Tommy and Chaz at a future Little Voices meeting. Janet unhooked the leash from her costume and passed me off to Beouf. “There’s been a miscommunication” she said to the half dozen giants. “We’re going to go see if we can help get some accommodations. I’ll point out who we need to talk to.” Though my head was still buzzing and my face was still flushed with frustration, a bit of hope sparkled behind my eyes. There were two things Principals feared more than anything else: Angry parents and School Board Members campaigning for re-election. It sounded like Janet was playing it smart to boot. She wasn’t leading these crazies, they had just asked who they needed to speak to to correct an uncomfortable oversight. A few parents with prisoners currently enrolled mixed in with townies playing tourist turned up the pressure. This was the sort of thing I was envisioning when I imagined saving Tracy. Alas, I was just ‘a baby’ as Amy had said. I hoped Janet would point out Brollish before anyone else. The most spiteful part of me would sacrifice a bounce house for the novelty of knowing Brollish was having to backpedal on some shitty take of hers. Beouf carried me up the ramp to the playground. “Sometimes, I love your Mommy,” she whispered to me. “Yeah…” I said, but I gave no reply other than that. Beouf set me down on my feet. “Just a second,” she said. “Don’t want you dragging this stuff around in the mulch…” I stood there turning my head to try and pick out the dirty half-dozen Karens going to destroy whoever got in their path. “I think the leash part is connected to the backpack,” I said. “Just take that off…?” Her hands circled around me and started fiddling with my harness. “Seems kind of stuck.” “Would it help if I faced you?” “Maybe.” . Ivy game bounding up. “I’ll help! I’ll help!” “Ivy, n-!” Beouf didn’t get the second word out in time. Ivy’s hands shot out, squeezed both sides of release mechanism, and just like that, I was free. “Never mind.” Beouf stood up with the backpack harness and wrapped the cord around the body of it on her way to her usual bench. “Everything okay down there, Hana?” With a snorkel still in her mouth, .Zoge stuck a thumb into the air between tying trinkets to a Kindergartener’s mock fishing pole. “Come on!” Ivy waved for me to follow her. “Come meet my Daddy!” She pointed to the Tweener leaning against the chain link fence. As much of a curveball as Ivy’s Dad being almost as tall as Tracy was, something greater merited my attention. “Did you just undo my harness?” “Yes,” Ivy said. She looked briefly anxious. “I’m sorry I touched without asking. I was trying to help Mrs. Beouf. Please don’t bite. I will hit.” I wouldn’t dare bite Ivy after that. I knew she was strong for a Little, freakishly so. I just didn’t realize how strong. Amazon tech is designed specifically with keeping Littles confined and restrained. With a grip like hers, she could do more than hold hands. Ivy might have been a Littles who could take off her own diaper. And if she could take off hers…. Now how to find that out without sounding creepy? “Does that mean you could undo the line they put on us for bus loop and stuff?” I pressed. “No.” “Why not?” “It’s against the rules.” I didn’t have enough time to properly poke at the circular logic. Tommy toddled over with Chaz motoring behind on all fours. “Wanna go hang at the usual spot?” “Come meet my Daddy!” Ivy spoke over him. “Guys,” I said. “Did you see Ivy just now? She took off my harness!” “Yeah,” Chaz said. “I saw.” he sounded much less impressed than I felt. Tommy was equally blase. “I’ve had to hold hands with her before.” Why weren’t they seeing the possibilities? Where was their imagination? “Why don’t you care?” “She’s a baby.” The lizard-turtle-duck girl raised her hand like I was her teacher. “Come meet my Daddy!” My upper lip curled. “I see what you mean.” “H-!” I pivoted on the balls of my feet. “Hi Amy!” I pointed at the crawling kangaroo. “Ha! Gotcha.” “Good one, bud,” Amy said. “Finally got me. I like what you’ve done with the place. Is Jessenia still in good humor? I think there’s a wonderful spot by the tunnel that could make a lovely garden.” Chaz and Tommy looked at one another with suspicion; save that it wasn’t directed at each other. “Who’s your friend?” Chaz asked. “Hi Amy,” Ivy said. “Come meet my Daddy?” “This is Amy,” I explained. “She’s uh…nuts. She’s nuts. But she’s okay.” Ivy raised her hand again. “Am I okay?” “I’ve been doing some experiments,” Amy rambled, “about the taste of one’s fingers compared to toes. I find that fingers get saltier and more delicious as the day goes on, thus rewarding delayed gratification, but toes are much more difficult to obtain so the reward centers of the brain are more um…rewarded. But that might be research bias and effort affecting the flavor profiles. I’m considering hiring a research assistant to lick both fingers and toes back to back for comparison but I’m not sure how to quantify the variables. Also I’m ticklish. Any suggestions or volunteers?” The boys took a step back. Amy crawled an equal distance. “Oh sorry. How rude of me. Amy Madra, attorney at law. I used to go to this program.” That got another step back. I rushed behind them. I stuck my leg behind Chaz and pulled Tommy in closer. “Guys, guys, guys,” I told them. “This is the last person who broke Beouf. I’ve heard Beouf talking to my Mommy about what a nightmare she was.” Amy nodded. “This is true.” She paused and looked positively distrubed about something. “No! Wait! My name is Josephine right now! Curses! I’ve lost my method! Wait, wait, let me start over. I’m Josephine Kangarella, marsupial at law. I’ll be happy to represent you in Kangaroo Court! I accept payment in mucus!” Honestly, I don’t remember if I said “Please don’t do this right now” to Amy out loud or just begged her in my mind. Whichever it was, she answered me with her eyes, and that answer was ‘no’. “Dude,” Chaz said much too loudly. “I think that’s worse.” “She got broke right back,” Tommy agreed. More familiar voices called out to me. These voices, however, I normally only had to prepare for once a week. “Wanna play ‘Clark says’?” “”The floor is LAVA! The floor is LAVA!” Shit. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Motherfucker. Fuck! I had two groups of marks converging on each other, and both had very different images of who I was. I couldn’t keep the image of a cynical malcontent of Mrs. Beouf’s class and the rehabilitated nursery game leader of Little Voices. Except I could! I bent over and whispered in Chaz’s ear. “Dude. Shut the fuck up. I’m trying something. Give me a break.” My first and most loyal disciple nodded in understanding. “Gotcha.” I was about to give some form of a half-truth and veiled threat to Tommy, but was interrupted by the loudest, most mournful crying I could ever remember hearing before or since. My friends and I followed the noise to the very edge of the playground. An impeccably dressed Tweener was holding a Little turtle-duck-lizard monster and rubbing her back. I’d forgotten all about Ivy. Somewhere in Amy’s rambling and me trying to do damage control, she’d stomped off and run right back to one of two people guaranteed to give her the time of day. “NANDE?!” Ivy just kept saying that word over and over again. Long wails. Short gasping bursts. Everything in between. I don’t speak Yamatoan. Besides a handful of phrases and nursery rhymes that I learned through repetition and osmosis, I know nothing of it. I probably mispronounce the few words I do know. I did not recognize the word. I’m probably misspelling it here. The cadence spoke to me, however. “Why?!” she was screaming. “Why, why, why?! WHYYYYYYY?!” One foot led me in front of the other, steps crunching on the mulch. Amy called after me. “Clark where are you oh nevermind I see it talk to you later, bud.” What did Amy see that explained it to her? What did I feel? Pity at a mindfucked Little? Opportunity for an escape if I could butter her up? Fear of being punished because I wouldn’t include a Full Native Doll in my circle of friends? Or did I just feel guilty because this time I did a a kinda shitty thing on accident, instead of on purpose? I thought that if I wrote it down I’d know. Still don’t, though. “Excuse me, sir,” I spoke softly to the old Tweener. “My name is Clark. Would Ivy like to play?”

Chapter 103: Little Voices: Limited Options I told Janet everything that had happened as soon as we were back in the car. I didn’t have much of a choice. I’d stopped crying by the time she came to get me but my eyes were still irritated. Janet didn’t have anything else to say beyond “I’m sorry, baby. Do you want to skip the meeting tonight? Stay home?” I declined the offer. I still had work to do. Just when I was getting ready to sow some seeds, Amy crawled up, yelled “Hi, Clark!”, asked me how I was, and I made the mistake of being honest with her. I wasted a good five minutes telling her about Tracy. I skipped the drama with the A.L.L. and how getting toileting rights back was turning into yet another bit of bait and switch against typical Amazon crazy. “So yeah,” I huffed after I’d told Amy the bullet points. “That’s how it’s going. What do you think?” “I think that Quarterly Summaries are Summers you get every quarter of the year cuz it helps break up the monotony if you pretend it’s summer and everything is better with snow cones and summer clothes we just wouldn’t appreciate it as much if you did it all the time it’s like vegetables without cheese and sour candy. You gotta take the bad with the good.” I stared at her, more confused than annoyed that she hadn’t been listening. “What?” “I asked my Mommy to tell me about her job again,” Amy said. “Then I realized she was making stuff up so I had to figure out what it really was.” My eyes narrowed in incredulity. I could never tell when she was joking. “Why do you think she was lying?” “Banking has to be more exciting than what she told me,” Amy said. “Why else would Grown-Ups do it if it wasn’t?” “Did you try to be a zookeeper because it was fun?” “Yeah.” We were getting off track. Eyes closed in frustration and rubbing my temples, I rephrased my question. “What do you think about what I just told you?” “Oh yeah, that totally sucks,” Amy agreed. “Are you gonna make your friend a goodbye card or something? Let her put it on her refrigerator so she can remember you?” “No,” I scoffed. “Not at all.” Besides being absolutely childish, such a thing felt like giving up. “That’s probably for the best,” Amy sighed. We’d both been sitting on the floor. She laid down and rolled over on her back so that I appeared upside down to her. “She might not be at your school on Monday. Don’t wanna waste good crayons. What’s your favorite flavor?” “Amy…” I warned, “I am in no mood.” “Okay, bud. Whatcha wanna talk about?” “How to get Tracy to stay,” I crossed my arms. There was more to this. There was something I was missing. There had to be. The gap toothed Little girl rolled her head to the side. All around us were perfectly gaslit and mindfucked Littles engaged in pockets of pretend and parallel play. “Do you want her to get Adopted or something? That’d stop her from leaving, kinda.” That felt like a slap in the face. “No.” I sounded offended because I was. Also that wouldn’t have accomplished anything. I’d neglected to tell her about Tracy’s husband and her backup plan. “Okay,” she said. “Then what are you going to do about it?” “Write a letter to the school board,” I suggested. “Email it. Go over Brollish’s head.” Amy rolled over to her stomach and propped her head up. “You’re a baby.” “No I’m…!” I stopped when I saw her cocking an eyebrow. She wasn’t diagnosing me, she was predicting the reply. I was a baby as far as the school board was concerned. “I’ll get my Mommy to send it for me. She can sign it.” “You’re a baby. She’s a teacher.” Janet might not let me write it to begin with and an employee complaint might be taken less seriously. “I’ll make it anonymous.” “You’re a baby or you don’t exist.” “I still know most of my old students’ parents’ contact info,” I said. “We had a good rapport. Most of them are Amazons. What if they don’t all know what’s going on with Ambrose? I’ll tell them and they could complain for me.” “Baaaaaaaby.” Good point. “What if I look over her contract? There’s gotta be some kind of loophole or something. Then I can tell Beouf to tell Tracy or…or…” Amy’s mouth twisted to the side. “Listen,” she said. “You’re. A. Baby.” “Then what am I supposed to do!” I was so angry and in denial that I had a powerful urge to wrap my hand around Amy’s neck and strangle her. Not that I would have, but the mental imagery was there. My regressed friend pushed herself up back to fours. “I’m trying to tell you your options,” she said calmly. “You can do nothing, like a Grown-Up… orrrrrrr…” She paused. We were not alone. Clemmons, the older balding man who usually ran the Little Voices meetings had drawn the short straw for Little sitting and diaper duty while the others swapped stories and tricks. Fair was fair, at least among the big people. ‘Scuse me, kids, ' he said. “Amy, you’re soaked. Let’s go get changed.” “What about the song?” Amy asked. The giant chuckled. “Right you are, baby, right you are. How quickly we forget!” He warbled out one of that night’s lap bouncing songs. It sounded vaguely like ‘Polly put the kettle on,’ but with very different lyrics. “It’s time to get your diaper changed, It’s time to get your diaper changed, It’s time to get your diaper changed, Let’s get. You. Changed.” That night’s group instruction had focused on musical transitions as a way of reducing anxiety. There had been a clean up song, a bathtime song, a feeding song, a bedtime song, and a wake-up song, too. The irrational rationale was that if Amazons sang a cheap little ditty it would prepare their pretend children for the inevitable humiliating task they were about to endure. As if there weren’t enough stupid songs in their repetoire! Even if the songs were fun, adding them into something pleasant was unnecessary and putting them into something awful just made the song awful by association. Like most things in Little Voices, the technique was just more window dressing to make Amazons feel better about themselves. None of the other Littles looked up from their activities and gossip for more than a second. They’d sat through the same indoctrination. They were already numb inside. Broken. Full Native. The song wasn’t directed at them so they didn’t much care. Amy was getting her snaps undone and chewing on a teething ring that I sincerely hoped was from her own diaper bag, when I decided to lay some groundwork for the night’s activity. Time to get into character. I picked myself up, hiked my shorts back up- they’d been slipping- and waddled over to the boys who were constantly playing with the blocks. I clasped my hands behind my back and put some extra bass in my voice to sound more official and serious. “Gentlemen,” I said. “We need your help.” I spoke in the confident monotone of a leader prepping his men before an alien invasion or a meteor strike. Rightfully suspicious but also curious, they looked at each other in silent conference and then to me. “We?” I leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I don’t want to cause a panic, but we are in grave danger gentlemen. Top geological scientists have discovered a tectonic fault line beneath this very building. Based on extensive surveys one plate is about to slip over another which will cause a surge of molten rock to surge up right beneath us.” I should have taught upper elementary school. I never got to use this kind of vocabulary when teaching my students. Their faces puzzled out what I was saying. “Like a volcano?” “Yes, gentlemen,” I said. “A volcano. Forming right beneath us. All the way up to the floor. Can we depend on you to help save us by constructing improvised lava proof life rafts?” Something clicked when I specifically said lava. They clicked their heels together and saluted. “Aye aye, sir!” Their block tower clattered to the ground and they started constructing and foraging for makeshift stepping stones. “Danny!” I called out to the white haired kid. “It’s…!” He did a double take. “Oh. Yeah. It is Danny.” He came to me like a puppy. Gaslight someone so they think you don’t remember their name, and when you finally do it’s a treat. “What’s up, Clark?” “We’re about to have a disaster here.” I pointed down to the carpet. “We’ve got less than five minutes before a volcano erupts and this carpet is melting the feet of everyone on it. I need you to spread the word. Quietly, so as not to start a panic.” Darwin was quicker on the uptake than the builder kids. “Got it.” The announcement of tonight’s hijinks would soon begin spreading like wildfire. “Now as I was saying,” Amy said before she was done being set down on the floor. “You’ve got some options that you haven’t considered.” A calloused Amazon finger pulled back my waistband. “Yeah? What’s that?” I asked. “Not poopy,” the caretaker said. “Accept that your friend will be leaving you and try to appreciate what time you may or may not have together. Maybe ask if she can babysit you sometimes or your Mommy will hang out with her more.” I wasn’t going to like this, but I had to know. “Or…?” My answer didn’t come right away. The Amazon man’s hand cupped the front of my diaper and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t flinch. “Still pretty wet.” “Or…?” “Tell you when you get back.” Amy said On cue I was lifted up and carried to the changing table at the front of the room. I groaned at the timing and looked the man in the eye. “No song, please.” “Okay,” he chuckled. “No songs for you. To tell you the truth, my Little boy doesn’t like them either.” He laid me down and pulled the strap over my chest and started pulling down my shorts. “Why do you sing them then?” I asked. “Some Mommies and Daddies and their Littles love them,” he said. I lost sight of him for a moment when he reached down and plucked up my diaper bag from the floor. “It’s not a one size fits all thing, it’s about giving options.” “Options…right…” He was no better than Beouf or Zoge or Janet. Options wasn’t the same as freedom. I turned my head to the side so I wouldn’t have to watch him tear the tapes off of my Monkeez. Thankfully there were no mirrors in this place. “No two Littles are exactly alike. Same for Mommies and Daddies. It’s all about finding what works for you.” “Except for potty training,” I groused right as the first wipe touched my penis. “No no,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to go potty anymore. Diapers are perfectly fine for you. For your Mommy too.” Fucker missed my point entirely. Whether it was on purpose or not, I couldn’t say. I looked out at the Littles in the nursery. They were scurrying about like ants. The builders had recruited others to start making stepping stones and life rafts out of whatever was lying around. Danny was having people overturn toy plastic bins and hoisting the crawlers boost up on top. Interesting. The fresh diaper was taped on my hips, the strap was undone, and I was on my feet. Good thing I wasn’t planning hide and seek. The crinkling of a fresh diaper is a major handicap where stealth is concerned. While a sagging or bulging one impacted speed. Maybe I should keep putting myself through the frustrations of potty training diplomacy. I wouldn’t have any kind of trade off in big kid undies. Time might not be on my side for that, though. “Alright champ. Go play.” Oh, I’d play alright. Right by the changing table, which was right next to the mound of diaper bags, which was in turn a hop skip and a jump away from the door, I cupped my hands to my mouth and shouted. “ATTENTION EVERYONE! FIVE SECONDS AFTER THIS SENTENCE, THE FLOOR IS LAVA!” The room burst out into excited giggles. Everyone, even Amy, scrambled onto blocks, stuffies, bins and boxes. Anything that could hold a Little’s weight without breaking or could act as a barrier was being utilized. I jumped on the pile of diaper bags as an island. “FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!” We were still, but not quiet. Some Littles pointed at the floor, screaming ‘Lava’. Others were saying overly dramaticized goodbyes to each other or shouting calls for rescue. “I love this game!” I looked up and saw the Amazon was sitting cannonball style with his legs neatly tucked up on the changing table. The changing table was a wiry metal and hollow legs that one made for easy transport instead of something sturdier. The table wasn’t bending but it was groaning beneath his weight. “Mr. Clemmons?” “Daddy?!” That was maybe the first time I ever heard that particular Little talk. “Go on,” he waved at us. “Keep playing, kids.” This time the coin had landed heads up for me in terms of rubes. Like so many Amazons he had more than a touch of that prideful competitive streak, but I wouldn’t need to coax or cajole his ego into playing along. He was either secure enough in his adulthood that he could lower himself to playing with us or the childlike wonder that he attributed to Littles was very much a projection. Some people had kids because it was the ‘next step’, others because it gave them a pretense to act childishly again. The cause didn’t matter when I could use the symptoms. “ATTENTION EVERYONE!” I shouted. “TOP MEN HAVE REPORTED THAT IF WE CAN FIND A WAY TO LOWER THE BARS ON THAT CRIB OVER THERE,” I pointed all the way across the room to my preferred sulking and skulking spot, “THEN THAT WILL REDIRECT THE FLOW OF THE LAVA AND MAKE IT GO AWAY!” “What men?” Amy called out. “What are their academic credentials? Who are they?” I glared back at her, over seriously. “Top. Men.” Mumbling and murmuring filled the room as a room full of people who lacked the strength to remove their own underwear tried to brainstorm a way to slam down a crib gate. Most of the suggestions involved strictly imaginary workarounds, like laser beams or dinosaurs. Meanwhile, I clutched my pacifier and twiddled it in my hands, hoping that I wouldn’t have to give any more hints. “Psst,” the balding Amazon said. “Toss me up that diaper bag,” he pointed down into the pile. “The robin’s egg blue one.” YES! I fumbled and stumbled, shifting my weight and pouncing along the row of bags. I heaved the bag up to my chest and grunted. It was heavier than it looked. “What did you pack in here?” The low groaning of the metal was like nails across a chalkboard to my ears. He leaned over and reached his arm out. “Hee-hee-hee. Just give it to me, Clark.” It would be so tempting to strand him there or have him tip the whole damn thing over. It would also be counter to my long term plans. If I could impress upon the grand poobah of Oakshire’s Little Voices chapter that I was just a silly LIttle boy who liked to play silly games, that reputation would spread among the other Grown-Ups within a week. I needed that. I needed that badly. Tactically speaking, I needed that more than I needed Tracy to be in my life. I kicked another bag as far as I dared and took a massive step onto it so I could be that much closer. The bag I was standing on was stuffed too and I would have fallen if I hadn’t been able to lean towards the nearest wall for balance. The older gentleman groaned louder than the steel supporting him and snatched the bag up by the strap. “Got it!” he said. “Don’t worry, kids. “I’ll save you!” He rummaged through the diaper bag and took out an entire stack of Monkeez. “Daddy!” his Little protested. “Those are mine!” He unfolded them and started wrapping them around his shoes. “Don’t worry, bud. This is for a good cause.” Very quickly he coated his left foot until it was entirely swaddled in plastic and pulp. “Darn,” I heard him say. “Not enough for two.” He slid down off the changing table, but kept his right foot up in the air like a flamingo. He wobbled slightly, gaining his balance. It wasn’t until he started comically going “WHOAH WHOAH WHOAH!” Eliciting giggles that I knew he had it. Theatrically he lowered his right foot down to the floor, big toe pointed down. “OW! OW! OW! OW!” He shrieked the instant his right toe grazed the floor. “HOT HOT HOT HOT!” He jerked his leg back up and grabbed his foot, hopping around in a circle and trying to blow on his toe. “HOT!” All eyes were on him. I suppressed a snarl seeing what he was up to. Damn it. I should have said something like ‘clothes don’t count’ when the game started. I wanted him to be preoccupied and hopping from obstacle to obstacle having to plan out his route like a chess match. This wouldn’t take him a minute. I could have objected, but he had everyone eating out of the palm of his hands. The idea of a Grown-Up hopping around in a diaper shoe was too funny for most of them to complain. I would have been overruled in the court of public opinion. “HOT! LAVA! HOT! LAVA! HOT! LAVA!” He bounced and huffed and puffed his way across the room to the crib while cradling his ‘injured’ toe. “Good thing I got this shoe covering.” He threw in a wink and elicited the desired response of hoots, giggles and claps. I politely applauded myself, the way one does when watching a particularly skillful shot in a game of golf. Well played, old man. Well played. I’d have guessed he would have tried to find a way to the lone rocking chair and try to scoot across the floor using that for a good five or ten minutes. He’d played this game before. “TA-DAAAA!” He said to thunderous applause and took a bow. He huffed and puffed a little and wiped his brow. “Let’s not do that again,” he said. “Heh. Not for a while.” The others dismounted from their stands and rafts and play resumed as normal. We met each other halfway. “Good game,” I offered my hand up to him. He took my hand in both of his and shook it gently. “Thank you very much,” Clemmons said. “Been playing that one since I was just a bit bigger than you.” “Can we play again next time you’re taking care of us?” I asked. “We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see.” We parted ways with the gears going in my head. That hadn’t gone according to expectations, but the goal wasn’t to win, it was to engage. On that front, Operation: The Floor is Lava was a massive success. This morning notwithstanding, my grip on the Thursday Night Littles was getting almost as strong as it was with some of my classmates. “Hi Clark!” Twice! Twice in one night she’s gotten the drop on me! “You’ve gotta teach me how to do that, Amy.” I said, slumping back down. “The key is enunciation,” Amy replied. “You really want to open your throat when you say ‘Hi Clark’ and project from your diaphragm. Consider buying a parrot to practice and name him Clark.“ “Nevermind,” I sighed. “Where were we? I mean what were we talking about?” Amy looked disappointed that she didn’t get to purposefully misunderstand my question. “We were talking about how you were a baby.” “We were talking about how to keep my Tweener friend from getting picked on by Amazons.” “Besides letting her find a new job.” “Yes,” I said. “Besides that.” Enough horrible things had happened to me and my loved ones. I couldn’t let another injustice stand. I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready to let go. If Tracy left, who would take care of my students? Ambrose would get another aide that would likely actively help her in turning them into a generation of spiteful pricks. Amy ran her tongue between her teeth again, and moved her eyes from side to side and all around. “One of my friends, Morgan, didn’t like what a Grown-Up was doing and hit them in the face.” “I can’t hit Ambrose or Brollish.” “Sure you can,” she said. “Grown-Ups are tall but if you get a boost or they bend over, all you gotta do is…” she pantomimed by balling up her fist and punching the air. She clicked her tongue when she swung and made a little bop sound. “It’s easy.” My eyes were begging me to look at the inside of my skull. My companion was in rare form tonight. “I mean I shouldn’t.” “Why not?” Because I wanted to. Because I would enjoy it too much and had been fantasizing about it ever since poor sweet Elmer had been dragged into Beouf’s room bawling his precious eyes out. Because I’d have more to lose than Ambrose or Brollish if I got violent. “Violence is never the answer.” “Does your Mommy not read you bedtime stories?” “Adults don’t use violence.” I was being stubborn and trying to reason with the unreasonable. “You’re a….” she paused and looked at me expectantly. “Say it with me now. It starts with a ‘bay’...” When she saw I wasn’t going to budge, she took a deep breath and said, “Calls for peaceful protest and civility are a tool of the oppressors.” If I hadn’t been already looking at her I may have broken my neck from whiplash turning it so fast. “What?!” “You’re a baby.” “Maybe I could find a way to make Ambrose look like a baby,” I mused. “That’d give her hell. Tracy could get some training chocolate and plant it in her coffee.” Wait. “Does Ambrose even drink coffee?” Amy shrugged. “I dunno.” My hopes and dreams were seeming more and more just that. The odds were stacked against us even more than usual, and any plan of revenge I had relied on enemies being forced to play fair. If events stayed contained solely within the microcosm that was Oakshire Elementary, there wasn’t much I could do. And as Amy had pointed out multiple times, there wasn’t much I could do outside of Oakshire either. To anyone who might give a damn I was just a baby. “Can we talk about what I wanna talk about now?” Amy asked. “Sure, friend.” I sighed. “Sure. What do you wanna talk about?” “Amortization is when you fall in love when you thought you had given up love to pursue your career as a hotshot financier and business lady. Then find love in a small town in Vermont. Compound Interest adds into this. That’s a love triangle or some other many sided shape I totally know the name of.” “Vermont only exists in those sappy made for T.V. movies,” I said. Amy pointed at her heart. “It exists in here, sir! It exists in here!” “Mmmhmmm.” I would have laughed but I couldn’t shake the feeling of oncoming loss hovering over me like a raincloud charging up a lightning bolt just for me. A few minutes later, we were ‘treated’ to a clean up song that Mr. Clemmons refused to stop singing until everything was put away. Again, well played old man. Janet and Helena came in together laughing. “That sounds like such a great costume idea,” Helena said. “I can’t wait to see it tomorrow.” “I can’t wait to see yours,” Janet replied. She looked down at me and tilted her head. “Clark? Where are your pants?” The group leader came forward with two diaper bags on his shoulders. “I slid ‘em off when I changed him,” he said. “Easier to do when they don’t have snaps. I was gonna have him step back in, but then the floor turned to lava. Darndest thing.” He chuckled. “They’re in the bag.” “So he wasn’t naughty or anything?” The bald man let out a full belly laugh. “Goodness no! Good as gold and then some!” My entire being felt numb. Everything stated had been true. I’d had my diaper changed up at the front of the room and had crinkled around bare legged and not even taken note. Not because I wasn’t aware of it, but I genuinely hadn’t cared. I’d been too busy thinking about Tracy and orchestrating another round of full room play to be bothered. I’d continued trying to have a conversation with Amy while somebody else was checking my diaper! What was happening to me?

To both of you: I can neither confirm nor deny at this time.

Okay. Here's my thought process, but it might not mesh with yours. If I recall, you're also a teacher, yeah? In special education (and for all intents and purposes, that's what you're writing about even if it's not dealing with neurodiversity or any other type of condition officially requiring accommodations or modifications), we tend to dress up the language to sound as technical and academic as possible. Like in my county it's not Special Ed, it's ESE: exceptional student education. That might be the part that's bothering you. You've got an academic setting that's saying the common sense words out loud. They're not Toddlers, Preschoolers, Children, Preteen, and Teenagers in the Regression Behavior Therapy Dorms. They're all in the Development Reiteration Intervention Program, or DRIP. (Or something like that) And they require Tier 1-Tier 5 interventions with Tier 1 being Teen and Tier 5 being Toddler. RA's aren't nanny's, they're "Behavioral Supervisors" or something. And of course, everyone KNOWS that they're being treated like children, but the institution is kind of gaslighting by never officially referring to the treatment as such. Just my pitch. Hope it helps or gets the gears going.

[Part 9: Shake-Up] Chapter 102: Peer Pressure Early Thursday morning, I walked into Beouf’s room feeling oddly empty. Normally, I’d use that term to mean something negative. Most people would. People don’t like the idea of ‘empty’; it implies that something that should be full is missing a vital component. A hollow log is bereft of the tree’s life. An empty cup lacks purpose until it’s filled. You get the idea. Empty can also mean that something bad has been removed. A wound can be emptied of puss, for example. When you drink poison, the fastest way to purge it is to empty your stomach and puke it up. Being empty can mean a fresh start. That’s the kind of empty I was feeling that morning walking side by side with Janet on the way to class. I wasn’t neurotically looking for a trap. I wasn’t bitterly planning one of my own. I wasn’t brooding on my own terrible circumstances. And the absence of those base emotional states had nothing to do with being too exhausted or beaten down to do so. Emotionally, a massive zit on my soul had popped and all of that irritating distracting pressure from it had gone with it. The weather that morning was warm enough that Janet had dressed me back in one of the plain toddler shorts and t-shirt that Beouf had gifted me. I didn’t have pockets, and I would have preferred green- teal was not my color- but I didn’t feel a need to complain. We were nearing the first official report card, a quarter of the way through the school year, yet I felt like I was at the start of something different, and not just trudging through another layer of the usual. It felt like a different kind of first day. Zoge opened the door for us. Beouf was at her teacher’s desk. Ivy was on her hands and knees, rummaging through the toys in the class’s independent play area. “Morning,” Beouf said. Her eyes were fastened to her computer screen. “Happy Friday.” “Happy Friday” Janet said back. In teaching, the last day of the school week is effectively a Friday, and the first might as well be Monday. Friday was the Fall Festival; technically a teacher work day but there are times where anything that isn’t direct routine academic instruction feels like a day off. Close enough. “Ready to go up?” “Just a sec,” Beouf replied. “I’m putting in a few more notes for progress reports.” “I hear that.” Janet stifled a yawn. “Gotta burn that midnight oil and get everything done for tomorrow.” A feeling of great insecurity flashed over me. “We’re still gonna hang out after school today, right, Mrs. Beouf?” Intellectually, I already knew the answer. Melony wouldn’t set up a plan and then cancel it the very next day. Emotionally I needed to hear it again. I became aware of the subtle weight of my pacifier dangling from my shirt collar and ignored the itch in my lips. “Not that we have to. If you’re busy, you’re busy. I can respect that.” “That’s very mature of you, Clark.” I looked up and saw a tiny smile tugged at the corner of Janet’s mouth. A sparkle of pride danced in her eyes. Relief permeated her voice. Beouf finished clicking at her computer. “Don’t worry, Clark. I’m looking forward to it, too.” Thank goodness. Thank. Fucking. Goodness. I wished I’d had pockets so that I could do something with my hands. I settled for fiddling with the binky. “Cool.” I didn’t feel cool. My emptiness was quickly filling up with the strange tingly feeling of positive anticipation. No question about it, I was looking forward to it. My old friend, back from the grave as it were, strode up to us. “Before we go up…” she paused and looked down at me. “If you feel like you have to go potty, Clark. I want you to tell me or Mrs. Zoge. Okay? Same if you need a diaper change.” WHAT?! I felt completely wobbly. I was standing up yet felt like I’d just been smacked in the face with a pillow and put directly on my ass. Any other day before this I would have immediately started searching for a trap. I’d instantly know in my heart of hearts that Beouf was trying to reverse engineer compliance or some other way to arrive at a predetermined conclusion. Before this moment I would have started asking a questions and specifics, picking apart procedures, and looking for loopholes that both parties could potentially exploit. “Okay,” I said. Beouf spoke to Janet. “I’m not suggesting potty training, yet,” she said. “I just want to take a day or two to see where he is in terms of readiness. Figure out where his plateau might be at this moment.” If Janet was at all shocked or bothered, she didn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said. “I figured. I get it.” No more explanation required, evidently. “Ready?” “Sure.” I watched them leave and turned my back to the classroom. I had the biggest, dopiest, toothiest grin on my face. I wanted to throw back my head and crow. I wanted to pump my fists in the air and scream something stupid like ‘Booyah!” or ‘I’m back, baby!’. I wanted to pound my feet in the ground and stomp in place or do a victory lap around the entire school. Beouf was coming around. I was convincing her and she was very likely convincing Janet in turn. Our years of friendship were stronger than her madness and Amazonian pride. My skin tingled just thinking about it. I suddenly began to imagine a world where I was allowed to wear non-absorbent underwear, again. I gave myself no illusions of ‘growing up’. Ever since Amazonian baby crazy had mutated to Maturosis over the more direct accusations of calling Littles immature and the more honest mindset of ‘because I want to’, Adopted Littles’ chances of being allowed to regain their independence went from slim to none. One couldn’t earn their way out of an incurable medical condition. That harsh truth that I’d been living with most of my adult life didn’t dampen my excitement. A future without diapers was a wardrobe without tapes, fasteners, snaps, and buckles meant to be impervious to Little hands. If I could take my clothes down to use a toilet, I could later take those clothes off and switch out to something less conspicuous. So much was going according to plan and I hadn’t even planned this part. Crinkling, plodding footsteps, caught my attention a second before impossibly strong arms grabbed me from behind. “You’re doing it!” Ivy cheered.”I’m so happy for you!” The iron grip was released just as second later. “Sorry! I forgot. Please don’t bite me.” Ivy took a step away from me and let me turn around to see her. She was fiddling with the hem of her dress, and looking frightfully ashamed. Shame was not something I expected to see on my classmate. I was too happy to care that she’d touched me. “It’s okay,” I said. “And thanks.” My own brow furrowed when I processed what she’d said. “Why are you happy for me?” “You’re growing up!” Ivy said. “Going potty! Turnin’ into a big kid!” I blushed despite myself. The doll’s words were an infantile mirror of my own thoughts. “Thanks. You’re not mad or something?” If Ivy had been allowed this mercy I would have hated her for it. The brainwashed Little’s lip pouted out. “Why would I be mad?” I chewed on the sides of my tongue, unsure of how to phrase it. “Because I’m beating you at something?” I guessed. “I’m growing up.” “Growing up isn’t something you do, it’s something that happens to you. Like birthdays” Ivy’s face was a blank mask; a child reciting their lessons. It even had the slight musical quality of Zoge. Little girl was reciting her Mommy. Leave it to a Yamatoan to separate the concepts of birthdays with growing up. Her eyes cleared. “I’m still better at you than lots of other stuff.” She sneakily stuck out her tongue at me. That last part was all Ivy. “Fair enough,” I laughed. I was in too good a mood to do anything else. Zoge grabbed the line leashes and pulled back Ivy’s diaper. “Just checking,” she said. She fastened the belt around Ivy’s waist and moved to me. Those same probing fingers did not attempt anything similar to me. No crotch squeezes, bum pats, leakguard slips, or waistband pulls. All she said was, “Do you need to go potty?” “No ma’am.” It was so hard not to grin, but I managed. The three of us walked up to the buses together, the same as always, but I might as well have been skipping on the inside. I couldn’t wait until after breakfast. “What’s up, Gibson?” Billy elbowed me on the way to the cafeteria. “You look like you just got laid or something.” Playfully, I elbowed him back. “Like you would know, dude.” “I got a girlfriend,” Billy boasted. “Of course I know.” “No he doesn’t,” Annie called over her shoulder two rows ahead. “He knows nothing. Nothing at all.” The girls all laughed and a full round of “OOOOOOOOH!” erupted from the boys. Passing grade schoolers turned their heads at the sheer volume of it. “Boys and girls,” Mrs. Beouf warned. “The day’s just started. Let’s make good choices.” We had a distinct marching order that morning. Boys in back. Girls in the front. No lectures. No discernible reason. We just got worked out this way. I put even money Beouf and Zoge wouldn’t intentionally do this again. “You guys fighting?” I asked Billy. Billy flushed. “She’s just in a ball busting mood or something. Probably on the rag or something. We do it all the time.” “Cumming in your pants doesn’t count,” I said just loud enough so neither teacher would hear. Jesse and Tommy stumbled a step trying to contain their laughter. Billy’s jaw wiggled back and forth while he unsuccessfully tried to think of a comeback. I elbowed him back in the arm. “I’m just messing with you, dude.” Billy relaxed. “I know, dude.” I leaned in and whispered. “Can’t make it into your pants ‘cause of the leak guards, can it?” My head bully boy reeled back. Angry but amused. “Whoah! Gibson! Low blow!” He patted me on the back just hard enough to hurt. “Funny! But, low blow.” Chaz cracked up in his stroller and pawed between his legs. “Awwww dang it!” he crowed. “I thought I was gonna stay dry till Circle Time. Good one, Clark.” “Since when do you stay dry that long?” Billy said. “You’re unpotty trained. Everybody is.” Any attempt I would have made to contradict him would have been drowned out by the overhead blast fans as we toddled into the cafeteria. The conversation drifted to other topics at breakfast. We munched on handfuls of dry cereal and downed milk and juice. Zoge and Beouf opened food packages and did their best to directly coax us to act babyish or twist what we were doing into something that was inherently regressive. So you know. The usual. I busied myself tanking up on cafeteria milk and juice, hoping that it would race right through me. After breakfast I intended to use the bathroom as an actual bathroom, and I wanted to make sure that I produced more than a few pathetic dribbles as proof. “I’m not going to the fall festival,” Billy said. “I gotta go to a birthday party.” He didn’t say whether it was a birthday party for an Adopted Little, or an Amazon kid, but there was no good answer either way. Best answer would be going to a drunken frat boy reunion because a sitter couldn’t be found. “Bummer,” Chaz said. “I have to be a racecar driver. My Mommy and Daddy are adding a steering wheel to my stroller.” “I’m gonna be an alligator,” Tommy offered. “It’s convertible. You can look out the mouth or snap it shut and peek out the eyeballs.” “Nobody asked, Tommy.” Billy snapped. “Billy,” Zoge interrupted. “You can be nicer than that.” “Yes ma’am,” Billy said. “What about you, Gibson?” “Of course Clark’s going,” Tommy said. “His Mommy works here. He has to.” “Duh, Billy,” Chaz jumped in. Zoge chose not to comment. Everybody has their favorites, it seems. Billy was having a rough morning. “But what costume do you have to wear?” I heard everything, but it took longer to realize that my gang was talking to me. My mind was firmly down in my pants, specifically my bladder. I was holding it for reasons beyond stubborn resistance, and very concerned about the state of my diaper. A single misstep could ruin this opportunity. “Gibson?” “Hm? What?” “What is your Mommy gonna make you dress up as?” Chaz repeated. “Oh,” I said. “It’s a surprise.” My boys all perked up with interest. “What kind of surprise?” Billy asked. It turns out I was the one having a rough morning. I should have seen this response coming. “What do you mean?” “Like your Mommy won’t tell you?” Chaz clarified, “Or…?” he jerked his head backwards near the front of the cafeteria where Picture Day had taken place. “A different kind of surprise?” He coughed for emphasis. As brutish and brash as Billy could be, he was quite capable of subtle manipulation and innuendo. “Is it a Mommy Grange surprise or a Gibson surprise?” We collectively held our breath, waiting for Zoge to react. She didn’t. Damn. I’d accidentally put myself into a corner. I’d just thought what Janet had bought was kind of cool and worth a few laughs. These guys were expecting Picture Day Part two. “I’d rather not say,” I said. “Just in case.” They all leaned back and nodded appreciatively. Bullet dodged. When nothing spectacular happened on Friday I could bullshit something about how I was just scared Janet was going to get something awful and embarrassing but I changed her mind at the last minute. Less lying than having to concoct a plan that wasn’t going to happen. “What’s with you, dude?” Billy asked. “You seem kinda out of it.” “Maybe he’s pooping,” Chaz teased. “He kinda looks like he’s pooping.” Everyone at the table laughed. Billy shouted over to the other table, “Hey Mrs. B, how much longer? Clark pooped and needs an emergency change!” That got another round of laughs; the girls too. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to Circle Time!” Humiliation is funny as long as it isn’t you. “Is that true?” Zoge asked me calmly. “Did you go poopy already?” “No ma’am,” I replied. “Billy’s just being Billy.” I gave him a healthy dose of sideeye that did nothing to dampen his spirits. “We’ll see when we get back to the room, just in case.” A strange sense of disquiet came over Billy and the others. I could see it on their faces. Murmuring from the girls’ table told the same story. Suspicion. Confusion. Zoge asked me directly about the state of my pants. She neither inspected me herself or assured Billy that I could wait to be changed. Something about the way she said ‘already’, too. She didn’t even use the word ‘change’. Not that any of the assembled Littles actively picked up on these things. But when you’re used to hearing people talk as if you’re a baby, something as subtle as them talking like you’re a toddler capable of not shitting yourself sticks out. Ivy just came out and said it. “Clark didn’t poop!” She sounded mildly offended. “He’s getting potty trained!” Every other Little looked like I’d just slapped them in the face. Billy was thunderstruck. Chaz frowned, contemplating something. Tommy was screaming at me inside his own head. Annie was exchanging looks with the other girls that screamed ‘I told you so’. Ivy clapped for me. “Yaaaaaaay, Clark!” Breakfast wrapped up soon after. People eat faster when they’re not talking; walk faster, too. We were unleashed at the door and went to our usual spots for Circle Time. I didn’t get the chance. “Come on, my love,” Mrs. Zoge said. She took my hand and walked with me to the bathroom. We squeezed into the bathroom together as nine sets of eyes watched me like a hawk. I did my best to ignore them, too focused on the trial in front of me. What if I tensed up and couldn’t? What if I got excited and let loose before the diaper was all the way off. What if I’d forgotten how to aim? I took a deep breath to chase out all of the paranoid scenarios that had refused to leave my brain up until then. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.” Zoge leaned out and closed the bathroom door for me. Would wonders never cease? I’d never thought I’d see the door close from the inside. “Just a second,” Zoge said. She lowered her knees in the space between the changing table and the opposite wall. There was no other space where she could reasonably fit. “I need to get down.” I stood in front of the toilet, pursing my lips together in a thin line, and breathing through my nose. “Take your time,” I said. Just had to keep cool. “Face me, please.” I turned ninety degrees. I hadn’t seen her this low since she literally bowed to me. “I need to get your diaper off first.” I hadn’t thought to pull my pants down, so she did it for me. I silently cursed myself and hoped that it wouldn’t count against me. Not wanting to immediately drop trow better not be the thing that kept me in diapers. Zoge grabbed the front of my waistband and ripped the tapes off my Monkeez one by one. The diaper practically wafted to the floor like a gentle leaf. The Yamatoan picked it up and examined it. It was bone dry. “See?” I asked. “Yes,” Zoge replied, neutrally. “Dry.” More than dry. My cock, balls, and ass, were still coated with the powder Janet had used that morning. It was awkward for a second. Not because I was naked from the waist down, Zoge had seen me naked more times than either of us could be bothered to count. It was more like I was afraid to do anything that she didn’t explicitly instruct me to do, and she was hesitant to instruct. Ivy’s mom was much more comfortable changing diapers than helping people get out of them. I didn’t want to give her an excuse. “Ready?” Zoge asked. “Mhm.” I didn’t expect her to pick me up and sit me on the toilet. It was the rare model that was sized for Littles and small children. I wasn’t exactly surprised, though. She scooted back. “Okay,” she said. “You can-” My own personal floodgates opened up instantly. The sound of liquid hitting liquid echoed around the tiny bathroom. Holding on had been the tricky party. Letting go was easy. I stared down at my penis and watched urine shoot out into the bowl beneath me. I was peeing and not feeling instant wet heat surrounding my genitals! No quiet hiss in my ear but a loud tinkle bouncing everywhere! My ass was cold from the seat! It had been ages since my ass had been cold. A tiny eternity since I’d been allowed to sit down without a padded cushion beneath me. (And no, baths don’t count) I reached down between my legs and adjusted my angle. I was touching myself! I was peeing! Not peeing my pants! Not wetting myself! Just peeing! Euphoric. There’s no other word for it. There just isn’t. That freedom. That luxury. That unexpected bliss. You never know how much you’ll miss something until it’s gone, and never love it more than when you get it back without asking. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” My cackles were loud enough to the already muffled voices of Mrs. Beouf and my classmates on the other side! Zoge stood up and stepped back. “Whoah!” she said. Between ten and twenty seconds later- I suddenly wished I’d counted-I was finished. “Done.” I said. “Do you need to poop?” Nine weeks ago, I would have been mortified if not furious at her for asking me this. Sitting in front of her, I took this as a major kindness on her part. Funny how things change. “Not right now.” With the Yamatoan aide watching, I shook myself, ripped off a piece of toilet paper, dabbed for bonus points, stood up, and flushed. Oh what a wonderful sound that toilet made! I’d have Janet pipe it through the monitor if I could. “Very good,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Let’s get you dressed.” She took out a fresh diaper and laid it on the changing table. I looked back down at myself, and the rumpled teal fabric gathered at my ankles. It was probably too much to ask that I be allowed to go commando. “I don’t suppose you have any training pants,” I said. “No,” Zoge said simply. “Your Mommy hasn’t given us any.” I pointed to the diaper I’d been wearing before on the floor. “Can’t I just wear that one?” Zoge picked it up off the floor and pressed her thumb into one of the tapes. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t want them to come undone.” I tried to keep my body language and voice as neutral as possible. “Okay. I’m ready.” It was a long trip back up to the changing table. Hard looking at myself in that ceiling mirror. I tucked the pacifier under my arm so I wouldn’t have to look directly at it. The rest went as it usually did. Except for one small yet significant feeling detail. I saw Zoge reach for the bottle of baby powder. She stopped herself, and did a double take at my naked lower half. “Don’t need it,” she told herself. “Nope,” I agreed. Not at all. “I love you,” Zoge said after she’d finished yanking my shorts up. “Thank you,” I replied. “You too.” That still felt weird. What was weirder was the looks I got upon walking out of the bathroom. “Mandy,” Zoge called. “Your turn.” Mandy trudged by me, her diaper bulging beneath her clothes. She might have been wet since the bus ride to school. When she passed me, I heard a word I hadn’t in a while whispered. “Helper.” Oh no. ****************************************************************************************** The timer went off and everyone sprang into action. Seats were abandoned and pushed in. Toys were put away. Games were cleaned up. Crayons were dumped in boxes. Worksheets were handed over. Books were shelved. Teachers were thanked. And as soon as those minor instances of upkeep were done, we all went to the schedule wall and took the next token off of our visual schedules. It wasn’t organized chaos but the inverse. It was structure that appeared random from afar just because of the modicum of independence allowed to the actors. Center rotations when done right most resembled how ants scramble to repair and defend their nest after it’s been kicked over. Everyone has their own individual job and route, but the ultimate objective is the same. It’s marvelous when done with children. Much less so with Littles. Everyone knew their schedule. Beouf hadn’t altered it in some time. Any one of us could have rattled off their own particular rotation schedule. Presently, it was snack time for the entire class. “I hope it’s not animal crackers today,” Chaz said, reaching up and ripping off his token. Beouf had been kind enough to adjust his token board for a crawler. His strip ran left to right instead of top to bottom. “Better than plain popcorn,” I groused. We traveled together towards Beouf’s activity table. The rest of the A.L.L. had parked there, and two seats were left for us. “Yeah,” Chaz agreed. “I’m sick of biting off the legs.” “Why don’t you just bite off the heads first?” “I’m just sick of eating body parts.” “That’s fair.” Annie pulled a chair out wide for Chaz to sit in. “Help me up?” He asked. “Yeah,” I said. “Sure.” I extended my hand down and he reached up. We repeated the process. I braced my arms and planted my feet so that Chaz could climb to his feet. It wasn’t hard. Like with Amy it was more a matter of balance than anything. FLICK! A blunted sting registered in the bottom of my left ear. “Ow!” I released one of Chaz’s hands and instinctively swatted at my ear. The fuck had bit me? Billy pushed the chair right underneath Chaz and he dropped into it. FLICK! It was my right ear time. I slapped the side of my ear and barely noticed the movement on my left. “Mother ffff…Tommy!” Tommy was just sitting down, himself, but played it casual as if he’d been at the table the whole time. “Hm? What?” he asked. “How can I help you?” I roughly pulled my seat and sat down. “What the hell?” I growled. He’d slid into the farthest seat away from me, the bastard. “I didn’t do anything,” Tommy said. “You okay?” “Zoge,” Billy said. We all sat straight up in our seats with our hands folded, like good Little boys and girls. We remained that way until after she came by with paper towels to serve as napkins and placemats. Soon after she’d turned her back… FLICK! My right ear lit up again, and I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to stop from yelping in surprise. “Annie,” I said. “What’s your problem?” Annie looked vacant and spaced out, like she’d been zoning out all along. She was the only person on my right, though. FLICK! The sound of Chaz’s finger just barely missing my left lobe still registered a booming shockwave in my eardrum. “Chaz!” “Sup?” “B!” Tommy said. We all resumed the position. I ignored my throbbing ears. Whatever this was- and it was something- the rules of engagement meant no Amazons allowed. As if pre-ordained, Beouf shook out a handful of bland non-buttered, unsalted, room temperature popcorn. It was the kind that was sold pre-popped in potato chip bags. I don’t have the data to back this up, but I feel like those kind of snacks are violations of some sort. This must have been some kind of karmic balance for not having to pee my pants this morning. “Eat up,” she said. “Yes ma’am,” we answered in unison. No one made a move to eat it. Besides this stuff being the Mark Horsey McDoucheface of snacks, we clearly had more important things to hash out as a group. Beouf didn’t leave us, though. “I’ve got checks and changes today,” she told Zoge. Then she remembered, “Clark, do you have to go potty?” Big mistake, Mel. Big mistake. Four other Littles were staring at me with murder in their hearts. “I’m fine,” I said. “Are you sure?” Beouf asked. “You haven’t gone in a while. It’s okay if you’ve had an accident. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” “Yeah Clark,” Billy echoed. “It’s okay if you have an accident.” That’s what this was all about. Jealousy. Stupid green eyed jealousy. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Okay…” Beouf sensed the lie, but not the cause. She leaned over and scooped up Chaz. “Come on, Chaz. I can smell you from here.” She started carrying him away. “It’s not me!” Chaz whined. Beouf laughed. “Your seams are about to burst, darlin’. If it’s not you…” The rest of her remark got drowned out by distance. No matter. I leaned forward towards the center of the table, and the others joined me. “What the hell, guys?” FLICK! “Goddamnit, Annie! Stop it!” “Stop what?” “Or else what?” Tommy broke in. “You’ll tell on us? Like a baby?” “It’d add up,” Annie said. “Helper’s can’t help it,” Billy spat. “I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” “Naw,” Annie talked over me, “I think he’s goin Full Native. Ivy’s got a new best friend.” “Oh fuck you,” I swore. The image of me slapping the shit out of Annie flashed across my mind’s eye. Comparing me to Ivy? Them’s fightin’ words. “You’re just jealous.” My hand shot up and blocked Billy’s salvo. He was farther away from me and I was ready. “”I don’t know,” Billy said. “You spent almost all day Tuesday hanging out with Beouf. Yesterday you were awfully chummy with her.” “I toldja,” Tommy said. “I saw him crying with her on the playground.” Billy popped in a stale piece of popcorn. “Now you’re getting potty privileges back?” He took a swig from his bottle, likely regretting that one decision. “She broke you dude. You sold out.” Tommy copied Billy’s body language note for note. “Teacher’s pet.” Fuck. Me. Sideways. “You gotta admit,” Annie said. “It’s not a good look.” “It’s not suspicious,” I said. “I’ve just tricked her. I broke her.” “How?” Fuck. Goddamn it. Motherfucker. I couldn’t tell them the truth and my brain was coming up with no other plausible lies. “I…I…I…” “Knew it,” Billy said. “You gave up. You sold out. Like Taylor. Are you in Pull-Ups? Pull down your pants.” That worthless lie about a Little I barely remembered was biting me in the ass full force. My entire pitch to getting the others on my side was that any sign of added privileges was proof of compliance to our oppressors. How was I supposed to know Beouf would actually treat Maturosis as a science and want to replicate an experiment. Beouf came back with Chaz reeking of baby powder. All of us were sucking on pacifiers when she looked. She pointed at the small piles of popcorn. “Not hungry?” We shook our heads. “Alright, but I don’t want to hear you complaining if your tummies start growling before lunch.” Tommy popped his pacifier out. “We won’t.” “Okay then. That’s your choice.” She quickly checked everyone at the table. No one else was found messy or ‘wet enough’ to merit a change. Except for me. I wasn’t checked at all. I was asked. “Are you sure you don’t need to go potty?” I nodded. Then I shook my head. “Use your words.” I took the pacifier out. “I’m sure, ma’am. Maybe later.” I really could have gone just then, but taking Mel up on her offer would have been a bad look right then. She didn’t believe me but was sticking to her guns. “Okay…” “What’d I miss?” Chaz asked. “Clark’s a Helper,” Billy said. “He’s broken,” Annie said. “He’s a hypocrite,” said Tommy. Okay, Tommy was right. Still… “I just figured it out,” I said. “I’m tricking her into giving me a chance and letting me grow up.” It felt dirty just saying that about her. It would have been real nice to hate Beouf right about then. “Give me time and I can get her to give you guys…” I was loathe to finish a promise I knew I couldn’t keep. “It’s not about growing up,” Chaz said. “They’re never going to let us grow up. We can’t grow up because we’re already adults.” As he spoke there was a fire in Chaz’s eyes the likes of which I’d never seen. ”It’s about making it difficult for them. It’s about turning their rules against them. Doing ‘yes and’ stuff, and making them cry as much as they make us cry. It’s about getting even because we’re never gonna get ahead.” “I said that,” I sighed. “Or someone who looks like you.” I’d created a monster. Four of them to be precise. And I couldn’t control them unless they thought I was one of them. They’d make my school days torture if they thought I’d gone soft. I’d certainly given them enough tips. Telling on them and weaponizing Beouf to make them stop would feel dirty. That would make me feel like a sellout. I’d be like Ivy, or how I’d imagined Taylor because I really would have known better. I could openly be friends with Melony Beouf, or I could be the plotter of the playground. Not both. At least I’d have my afternoons. “What do you need me to do?” I asked. I tensed when Annie put her hand on my shoulder. I half expected another annoying flick. “Nothing.” “Nothing?” “Nothing.” Annie repeated. The others silently conferred and agreed. They’d found a way to gossip and confer before snack time. Not all that impossible. I’d done a poor job of masking my feelings. They all rode the same cheese wagon back and forth to school. Conversation and plotting are easy to do quietly in short bursts. Super easy if all involved have made up their mind in advance. If they were taller I’d say they were acting very typical, but that wouldn’t be fair to them regardless. “Maybe you should take a break,” Chaz said. “Hang out with some of the others.” “Like the other babies,” Tommy said. “You might like it better.” Billy maintained eye contact with me, but reached back and gave Tommy a fist bump. My status in my own pecking order was greatly reduced indeed. “You want proof?” I said. “Fine. Give me a second.” I slugged back some water and relaxed my bladder. It was easy. Like my body was almost happy to have the familiar sensation back. I stuck the pacifier back in and bit down. I leaned forward on the table and raised my rump off the chair. Pooping was more difficult, but not nearly difficult enough. By my own estimation I could have probably held this load in for the rest of the day and gotten it out just before bath time. Whatever Janet was feeding me was greasing my guts enough so that I didn’t have to sweat. I filled my pants up in less than a minute. Peed a little more, too. A kind of inertia and muscle memory just took over. It wasn’t a helpless feeling. I had to actively push most of the way. It was a choice. That made it worse. I groaned into the pacifier when I’d finally emptied myself and sat back down, smooshing the solid mass entirely. “You gonna ask to get changed?” Tommy asked. I stared dead ahead at Beouf’s empty seat. “Nuh-uh. Don’t want to make it convenient for them.” “Attaboy,” Billy said. He reached over past Chaz and lightly clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m proud of ya.” We’d razzed Tommy for walking around in a dirty diaper. Said he was too babyish and mindfucked. Now me doing the same thing was a sign of loyalty and commitment to sticking it to the man. The Adult Little League was never about that. It was about dragging people down to our level. Down to my level. “Snack time’s over,” Beouf announced. “Go check your schedule.” It was Ivy who called me out for having stinky pants. Fucking Ivy. When the most mindfucked Little in the school if not the town is the one getting you busted for messing your Monkeez, that’s a new low. I’d normally question what I’d done to deserve this, but for once I knew the answer. ****************************************************************************************************** Janet walked with us back from the buses. She was carrying me so that the two giantesses could speedwalk. “How was he?” “He was great,” Beouf said. “Really good day.” “What about the potty?” Janet likely saw the answer in my face before Beouf gave it. Beouf shrugged. “He went first thing after breakfast. Mrs. Zoge said he started going the second she sat him down. It’s a common enough reflex.” “Reflex?” “Yeah. One year olds can do it. Especially boys. Penis plus open air, plus full bladder and boom. If you time it right it’ll save you a diaper first thing in the morning. Keep him dry longer.” Leave it to Beouf to know enough random trivia so she could chalk up success in one scenario as coincidence and a statistical outlier as concrete proof. Janet waited for Beouf to hold open her classroom door. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.” “No buts,” Beouf said. “It’s about what I thought it would be. He showed no interest whatsoever the rest of the day. Said no every time we asked him, even when he had an accident.” Janet failed to hide how much she liked what she was hearing. She sat me down in my usual chair at the table. “Didn’t know, or didn’t care?” Beouf got out an empty bottle and mug and started mixing up the coffee. “Maybe a bit of both. Only went when we made him and timed it right. Every other time he didn’t produce anything or it was already out of him.” Melony was the kind of person who would have bet on professional wrestling. “Good,” Janet said. “To know, I mean. Good to know.” “But that’s okay,” Beouf’s voice shot up to motherese levels of cutesy squeak. “Just meant he was busy doing more important stuff. Like learnin’ and playin’.” I buried my face in my hands. Just let this day be over. “Sorry, bud,” Melony said in her normal voice. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” “You’re fine.” A lie, but one meant to keep the fragile peace. I’d done a lot of that already. Janet gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll let you two hang out. I’ve gotta go prep for tomorrow.” “No problem,” Beouf said. “Take your time. I’ll be here till four.” Janet left, Beouf handed me my bottle of watered down sugared up coffee, poured herself a mug of black, and we sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally. She took a sip of hers. “Clark.” I pulled from my bottle. “Melony.” “Anything you want to talk about, friend?” “Does it have to be about today?” My friend took another sip. “Nope. School’s not in session. Your Mommy’s not here. This isn’t a conference. I’m off the clock.” “Your workday doesn’t end for at least forty-five minutes,” I told her, “and you’re still liable for anything that happens to me until my Mommy or somebody else relieves you of custody.” “You know what I mean,” Beouf said. She pantomimed backhanding me. “Booger.” “Oh no,” I said, “I took your words and used them against you. Oh shock of shocks.” Beouf slammed down her mug and looked like she was on the verge of doing a spit take. I took another sip from my bottle, playing coy. It’s harder to sarcastically sip from a container with a rubber nipple on top than it is from a coffee mug. “I missed this,” Melony said. “I really did.” “Me too,” I admitted. “Thank you for letting me be your teacher,” she said. “Thank you for letting me be your friend again.” My first instinct was to parrot her sentiment and thank her for being my teacher. That would have been a lie, though, so I went with “You’re welcome”. We sat for several more minutes of amicable silence. In the silence I realized that I had to pee again. Not a lot. Just enough to notice. Very holdable. Why bother, though? I was about to relax and then I realized… “Would you mind taking me to the bathroom?” A flash of annoyance crossed Melony’s face. “Clark, I love you. Please don’t start.” “What are you talking about?” I was genuinely confused. “Start what?” “Every time somebody points out something about your behavior, you stubbornly lean the other way or try to start a fight. You only try to be an adult when you think somebody’s calling you a baby.” Blasphemy! Total bullshit! More typical Amazon baby-crazy. “Like when?” There was an unintended edge to my voice. I couldn’t help it. “Using your pacifier,” she said. “You had no problems soothing with it until me and your Mommy pointed it out. Saw you using it today.” That was just one time. “What else?” “Playing with friends. Having someone help feed you. Drinking from a bottle. Potty training. Calling Janet your Mommy. Everything, bubba. Literally everything.” That response came way too quick to be just off the top of her head. I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess. This has something to do with my Maturosis? Only babies care about not being babies so therefore I’m regressing?” “Nope,” Melony said. “Just you. You’ve always hated it when people call you out. Like you think that people knowing you makes you vulnerable.” She pointed to my right. “You moved your bottle to the side as soon as I brought it up, by the way.” I turned my head left, racking my brain for a counter argument. Why wasn’t I good at this today? My oldest remaining friend reached across the table and laid her hand over mine. “Hey,” she said softly. “That’s why it means so much to me that you let me in. Twice, now. I don’t want to fight.” “Me neither,” I muttered. “Don’t be worried. Everything will be okay. Let’s just take this slow.” The toilet thing or our friendship or this school year, I wondered. “Take what slow?” “Everything. We’ve got time.” As far as she was concerned that was true. I was never going to be allowed to use that toilet ever again. Oh well. One less dry diaper that day. “Okay.” We both took a few deep breaths and a couple shallow sips. “Got a costume picked out for tomorrow?” “It’s a surprise.” Melony looked concerned in the same way my peers looked excited. “What kind of surprise?” The back door flung open with such force that it thundered against the rubber stop. I expected Ambrose but lowered my gaze when Tracy marched in. ‘Marched’ is the wrong word for how my Tweener friend moved. ‘Marched’ has an image of strength with shoulders back and held up high. Tracy moved like a marionette with half of its strings missing, all bent over and broken. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were pink. Her face was red. Her cheeks were wet and snot was bubbling up from her nostrils. “I CAN’T DO IT!” she wailed. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” She sat down right next to me and folded her arms and buried her head in them. It was like she couldn’t see me. “I QUIT, MEL! I FUCKING QUIT! THEY WIN! I QUIT!” Beouf slid out of her seat and quick stepped over to the back door, quietly closing it. “What happened, hon?” My assistant picked her head up. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” “Take what?”” I asked. Tracy stopped crying. Looked at me. Blinked. And then started crying all over again. I looked to Beouf for answers. “Take what?” “It’s complicated,” Beouf said. “It’s bullshit!” Tracy banged her fist on the table. “BULLSHIT!” Beouf grabbed a box of tissues from her desk and placed them in Tracy’s reach. She started trying to softly rub Tracy’s back, but Tracy shrugged her hand away. “What?” I repeated myself. “This is a school thing,” the Amazon said. “A faculty thing. A gr…It’s nobody’s business unless Miss Tracy wants to tell it.” “THEY’RE TRYING TO GET ME ADOPTED!” Tracy bawled. “THEY’RE TRYING TO KICK ME OUT.” Tissues started flying and Tracy’s nose was doing a solid impression of a flock of geese. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “They can’t do that.” Melony took off her glasses and started rubbing her temples. “Unfortunately they can.” “Who is they?” I knew the answer as soon as I finished asking. Tracy looked away from me. “Ambrose and Brollish.” She was still razor thin close to breaking down again. I was irate enough for all three of us. “WHAT?!” Beouf waited for Tracy to give her the okay. “Tracy got reprimanded for coming here last week.” “When you were in timeout,” Tracy said. “When Mrs. Zoge interrupted and saved me.” I liked where this was going even less. “They’re framing it as disobedience and wandering off due to Maturosis flaring up.” Beouf said. “It’s not as common in Tweeners, but it’s not unheard of.” “Mrs. B,” I said. “Not. Helping.” Beouf actually looked ashamed for once. “Okay. This sucks, but we can fix it. Just everybody start cleaning and be on the lookout for planted evidence, right?” Tracy buried her face in her arms again and shook her head. “They’re trying something different this time,” Beouf explained. She nudged Tracy. “Tracy?” My assistant sniffed and dabbed at her face with a fresh tissue. “They’re doing a longer con. Saying how anybody can fake being an adult for one day.” I winced at what had to be a parting jab at me. “I thought Brollish was on my side for a second, because she didn’t want me getting changed in front of our kids, and reamed her out in front of me for this stupid trick she tried to pull with trick paper; but she was really just looking for something I couldn’t get out of.” Against my more sensitive judgment I said the quiet part out loud. “Like the diaper they had you wear last Wednesday?” “And Thursday,” Tracy said. “And Friday. And Monday. And TUESDAY. AND WEDNESDAY. AND TODAY!” She was struggling not to break down into a ball of snot and tear again. She was losing, too. “I have to show up early,” she squeaked. “Then let Brollish put a diaper on me in her office. Work all day. And if I have even one accident, a tiny dribble, then that’s proof. BUT I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE THE DIAPER OFF TO GO TO THE FRIGGIN’ BATHROOM!” “I thought the deal was you had to stay dry at school for a week,” Beouf said. “It’s been a week.” Tracy laughed. It was a terrible bitter thing that just barely masked her wailing. “Brollish did say a week. But she didn’t say what kind of a week!” More crazy laughter laced with sorrow followed. “On Tuesday, she told me that last week didn’t count; that it had to be a full school week. And guess who isn’t scheduled to work the Fall Festival?! This gal!” “Oh no…” I gasped. “And my period is due in a couple days,” Tracy rambled, “so Brollish might not count that for all I know! If we have an early dismissal day, or if I have a doctor’s appointment, that whole week won’t count.” She giggled, “And the best part? I just went back to our room to get my backpack from behind Ambrose’s desk because that bitch won’t let me store my own stuff…and guess what I found?” I didn’t want to know. Beouf saved me the trouble of asking. “What?” “An email left open on Ambrose’s computer. They’re talking about ways to cut my hours!“ I felt completely empty in that moment. The bad kind. “There’s gotta be a way around this. Can’t the Union help?” “I’ve been talking it over with other reps,” Beouf told me. “It’s possible, but those maturity clauses are tough. We’d have to go to court.” “Then take Brollish to court!” “Not Brollish, hon. The school board. Principals are technically just middle management. We’d have to prove this test is a violation of contract or that the clause needs to be amended. That takes time.” Tracy stood up. “I don’t have time, Melony! I’m miserable! They’re just gonna keep turning up the heat.” “What about your husband?” I asked. “Can’t he just adopt you.” I was grasping at straws. “That’s not the point.” “She couldn’t work in education,” Beouf clarified. “Couldn’t work in a lot of places. Nothing that needs a degree or does more than part time.” Tracy motioned to Beouf. “Exactly. So I might as well quit. That way I can get a new job.” This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t. Right as I was starting to get my old friends back, they were being forced to leave me. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair, but this was worse. This was fucking rigged. Why wasn’t I allowed to be just a little bit happy? Just for a second?! Why couldn’t the fucking universe let me have this one win! Why? Why? WHY? WHY?! “No.” I said. “No. You can’t. You can’t do this. What about the kids?” What about us? What about me? Best to leave those parts unsaid. Tracy looked like her heart was about to explode just looking at me. “I’m sorry, Boss. I just can’t.” I stood up and kicked the chair over. I didn’t care if it could be written off as a temper tantrum. “It’s not right! You saved me! You saved me and now you’re being punished for it! Because I was a jackass!” “Honey,” Melony said. “It’s not your fault. Nobody blames you.” “It doesn’t matter if nobody blames me! I’m still to blame!” I threw myself up against Tracy hugged her as hard as I could. “Boss…” She whispered, petting my head like the scared puppy dog I felt like. If only I could have taken a dump in Ambrose’s slippers… “I’m sorry.” “Give it a couple days,” I begged her. “A week. Just next week. Give us time to think of something. Give me time. I’ll find a way. I’ll think of something.” She was crying again. We both were. All three of us. If Janet and Zoge had been there they’d have cried too. “How?” “I’ll find a way. I promise.” That was Clark for “I have no idea.”

It does, thank you. And it has more than enough tier 3 information that I otherwise lacked (and thus google searches would not have been very helpful) so that I can delve a bit and confirm for myself anything that I cared to double check or read deeper into.

Really weird too. Because this person compared me to a Nazi once, and then when Godwin's law was invoked, they apologized (for the bad argument, not for calling me a Nazi) and then said they wouldn't delete it because they believed that deleting that reference (in their humble opinion) would be trying to hide a mistake. Interesting how that's changed. Also interesting that they talk about deleting things posted AFTER the daily di post as the matter should be settled, and then they delete something from BEFORE that update. It's almost as if they don't actually believe the things they say. As for historical calendar stuff, I'm curious: I remember anecdotally hearing about how July and August were named for Julius and Augustus Caesar respectively. Does that mean that previously the recorded months were just slightly longer? That would make sense with September and October's roots resembling seven and eight, and them just getting shoved out of the way. Probably the same for November and December being nine and ten. But I honestly don't know, am curious, feeling low on google fu spoons, and sometimes it's just nice to learn from someone else. If my assumptions are correct, I'd also wonder why July and August were shoved in the middle instead of tacked on after December. Like, make the months shorter, but just add them to the calendar AFTER December. But then again I may be woefully misinformed on any number of these facts.

A pet peeve of mine is stories that treat what we see in front of the camera as "real". With very few exceptions, nobody loses a match that they weren't supposed to. So the source of the inciting incident COULDN'T be "I lost a loser wears a diaper match and now am 24/7" or any other such premise. But wrestlers DO play pranks and hazings on one another irl. And there is a sort of pecking order. So that's the angle I approached it from when commissioned.