Unfair: A Diaper Dimension Novel (Chapters 115 Uploaded!)

[Personalias]

Chapter 49: Clearing the Air
It was a strange scene.  The lights were off ( as they usually were), but it was hardly pitch black. The school standard slatted blinds were hardly sun proof, and whirring sensory nightlights lit up the ceiling to compliment the shafts of errant sunlight highlighting patches of floor.

So while it would have been easy enough to drift off in the nap room, much like how on a comfortable day, you could close your eyes beneath a shady tree, there was absolutely nothing preventing either Tracy or me from recognizing each other in the quiet gloom.

She could see me in my sailor suit top and not-fresh Monkeez and sneakers.  I could clearly see her white blouse and dark brown skirt with her not quite blonde hair done up in a bun. Through the bars of my crib I caught a peak at her shoes.  Were those slightly elevated?

“What do you want?” I sneered at Tracy.  Quickly, I gathered up a sheet and pulled it over my waist.

“I wanted to check up on you,” she quietly replied. “Mrs. Beouf said you were in here. Had some kind of panic attack or something?  I wanted to know you were okay.”

My scowl mutated into a full blown snarl.  “No, Tracy. I’m not fucking okay!” My voice was still down to a whisper.  Still, it felt glorious to curse just then.  “Nothing about this is okay.”

Tracy had the decency to sigh and avoid eye contact.  “Yeah.  My bad.  Poor word choice.  Sorry.”

“Sorry?” I said.  “Sorry?!  That’s what you’re sorry for?!  Tracy! You fucking abandoned me!’

Tracy actually jerked back like my words had struck her.  “Abandoned you?  How did I abandon you?”

“You were supposed to adopt me!” I almost shouted.  “Adopt me and then let me escape!”

“Clark, there was nothing I could do, I swear!”

“Likely fucking story.”

She gripped the bars from the outside. “I promise, dude.” She looked torn up inside. “When you...y’know...Brollish came into our room and told me to go home for the day.  She had me escorted off campus and everything.  I only figured out what had happened to you when Janet started posting those pics of you in the bubble bath on Friday.”  She waited for me to reply, and when I had none, she added, “The plan was never going to work, Clark.  They knew we were close enough to shoo me out of the way.”

“But you could’ve….” I stopped.  What could have Tracy done?

Tracy reached her hand in between the bars.  I didn’t take it.  “I’m just a Tweener, Boss. I’m not much safer than you.  I just don’t need as much help reaching stuff, and Amazons feel like they’d be settling for me.  There’s nothing I could have done.”

I sunk a little deeper into the mattress.  “Well fuck…”

Tracy frowned, less out of anger and more out of confusion.  “Do you normally swear this much and I didn’t notice?”

“Swearing is still an adult thing I can get away with…” I said.  “If I’m quiet.”

Tracy nodded slowly and sad.  “I get it.”

A pause.  Before it got too big, I pushed forward.  “I didn’t do it, you know,” referring to the accident in my pants.  “I mean, I did but…”

“Somebody was messing with you,” Tracy said.  “Maturosis is just Amazon B.S.”

I gasped in surprise.  In all our years of working together, I don’t know that I’d ever heard Tracy so openly express that sentiment.  “You know?”

The Tweener looked like she was suppressing laughter.  “Of course.  Everybody who isn’t an Amazon knows that.”

“But-but-” I stammered.  “I’ve heard you talking to Beouf and calling the people in her class ‘kids’.”

“Doesn’t mean I believe it.” Tracy said nonchalantly.  “Couple of hubby’s friends have adopted Littles.  They’re not babies, either.  Just people who got dealt a really bad hand.”  I was beginning to remember why I liked Tracy as much as I did.  That and having someone taller than me talk to me like I was an adult was a refreshing splash of water on my soul.

I looked at her; really looked at her.  Her outfit looked ridiculous on her.  Tracy didn’t even get this dressed up on picture day.  And when she did she looked a lot better than this appalling getup.  “What about you?  How are you holding up?”

“I’m holding up okay,” she said.  She smoothed out her ugly brown skirt.  “Things are changing, but I’m adapting.  Still kind of in that..shocked space...you know?  It’s not quite real yet.”

I let out a long deep exhale.  “Mood.  New dress code, I see.”

“Yeah.  Miss Ambrose said I should wear something ‘more professional’”.  Tracy rolled her eyes and her voice took on a snooty accent when she said ‘more professional’.  Miss Ambrose.  The pig lady.  The substitute who had tried, and evidently succeeded in taking my job.   “She had the gall to write one out for me on Friday.”  Tracy breathed in.  “It’s fine, though.  It’s fine. I’ll adjust. There are worse things to wear at school.”

“Like diapers.”

She sucked on her teeth.  “Sorry, sir!  I totally didn’t mean it that way!”

Damn it felt good to be called ‘sir’ again.  It wasn’t okay though, so I didn't say it.  “What are you even doing here, Tracy?  Shouldn’t you be in the classroom?”

“I’m on break,” the Tweener said smugly.

I frowned; in confusion for once, instead of anger or depression.  “Since when do you take breaks outside of lunch?”

“Since Friday,” Tracy smirked.  “By contract I’m allowed two a day.  I just never took them because of you.”

My voice almost turned into a growl.  “Why? Because I needed more help?”

“Because I liked working with you, dumbass.”

That made me laugh.  Legitimately laugh. Tracy laughed too. It felt good to laugh and swear and forget, for just a bit.  To feel like the old days weren’t the old days and I still had a fully adult life ahead of me.  Crib bars and plastic rustling put a damper on that notion.

“How are the kids?” I whispered.

For the first time, Tracy looked legitimately stressed.  Her gaze became distant.  “It’s not great, Clark.  They’re managing.  But Ambrose is nothing like you.  Don’t get sent to timeout in our room.”

“Why?”

“You know how you’d give the other Littles a kind of pep talk?  Tried to find a way to help them adjust or tough it out?”

Slowly, I bobbed my head.  “Yeah..?”  It occurred to me that my work buddy was doing much the same for me right then.

“I don’t think that’s her, like, at all.” Tracy started to boil.  “She’s already put a stack of diapers on the corner of her desk and went on a spiel about how these are for naughty children who are too immature to grow-up and do their school work and make good grades and shit.”

I stood up, suddenly not caring whether or not my ex-assistant could see my diaper or not.  “That bitch!  That kind of shit can scar kids!”  I declined to add in what that might do to a budding mind’s perception of Littles.

“I know, right!  One of Beouf’s class got sent over on Friday.  I don’t know what she said to him, but she had him sobbing by the end.  Changed him right there on the floor in front of everyone.  Wouldn’t even take him over to Beouf’s to do it.”

My eyes widened in shock.  “Billy?”

“Yeah…” Tracy said. “I think that’s his name.  “Anyways, she makes Raine look tame by comparison.”  

No wonder Billy was being such a dick.  I was already the equivalent of a prison guard and sellout to him.  The fact that my replacement was so much worse...oof.  

“I’m gonna try and lessen the damage,” Tracy said.  “Been giving the kids lots of reminders and potty breaks, and extra hints for work in small group.” She crossed her fingers.  “Haven’t had to change any diapers, yet. Thank goodness we don’t have a changing table in there.”  She bit her lip.  “Yet.”

My face flushed at that and I looked down at myself.  “Tracy, promise me you’ll never change my diaper.”

“Clark, I-”

“You’re the only one here,” I interrupted, “that is still talking to me like I’m still...me.” I felt my hands drifting over where my pants used to be.  “And my personal space is being violated left and right.”  Nervously, I rubbed the cheek where Ivy had kissed me against my shoulder.  “You’re the only person from the old group who hasn’t...you know.  If you did…”  I let the thought linger and didn’t voice the rest. Nervously, I squeezed the front of the Monkeez, feeling the light squish.  I had to pee again, but I wasn’t going to do it in the middle of a conversation.

“Clark I…” Tracy hesitated.  “I’ll do my best.  I’ll try to avoid it, but if it happens it…I’ll do my best.  I promise.”

“Thanks.”

“But you gotta make me a promise, too.” She leveled a finger at me.

I sat back down and covered myself.  “What?”

“Take it easy on Beouf, would you?  While you’re here?  At school?”

The goodwill I’d been feeling was starting to evaporate.  “Pfft. Why?”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed.  “Because I don’t want to get you sent to timeout…”

I bit my tongue.  Chewed on my bottom lip a bit.  “Yeah.” I said.  “I guess I don’t want that either.”

“Okay.  Deal?”  One last time she stuck her hand through the bars and offered it.

“This time I took it.  “Deal.”

“Good,” she said.  “I gotta go for now.  My break is almost up and-”

“Tracy,” I said.  “Can you do one more thing for me?”

A worried look.  She knew the tone.  “What?”

“If I asked you to deliver a message...to Cassie…?”  The formations in a new plan were beginning to take shape in my brain. “Could you?”

Now Tracy seemed conflicted.  “I don’t know, Boss.  That could be bad.” She pursed her lips and chose her next words very carefully and deliberately by the sound of them.  “People might get the wrong idea.  Think I’m trying to help you get out of your adoption or something.”

“You’re one of the only people who knows where she lives,” I started to plead.  “Tweeners and Littles are allowed to be friends.  And Cassie could use a friend…” Time to choose my next words carefully.  As far as I knew, we weren’t being listened to, but wasn’t that always the case with being spied on?  “She could use a friend.  To tell her where I am.  How I’m doing. Ask her what she’s up to. Nothing wrong with that.”

The Tweener bowed her head and slumped her shoulders in defeat.  “Fine,” she whispered.  “I’ll do it.  Tell me what to say and I’ll tell her.  But this isn’t gonna be an everyday thing. I’m not going to play telephone.”

“No no,” I promised.  “Once or twice a month. Tops.”

She huffed.  “Fine.  Only because I’m your friend. Now I really need to get back to work.  You hang in there.”

I smiled.  I actually sincerely smiled. “I’ll try.”  My assistant went to the door. “Oh, and Tracy?”

“What?”

“Can you call me, ‘Boss’?  One more time?”

“I’ll see you around,” she smirked.  “Boss.”

Tracy slid out the door and closed it gently. If she said anything to Beouf and Zoge, it was muted by thick walls and drowned out by air conditioning and the electric whirring of nightlights.  For the first time since I’d woken up that day, I’d found a measure of relief. Today I’d find Cassie and tell her to keep an ear out for Tracy.  I didn’t have a solid plan yet, but with a friendly messenger to the outside world, I felt my life as Baby Clark Grange would be temporary, if not exactly short lived.

Temporary was tolerable.

My panic attack was officially over, but I was in no hurry to get back to class and have whatever inane Maturosis propaganda shoved down my throat.  I crawled to the other end of the crib and picked up the rattle. I gave it a shake and felt my entire face buzz.  Yikes, this was strong stuff!

It surprised me that Beouf had one of these in her possession.  She was very much against subliminal messaging and hypnosis.  Same with physical pain and punishment to ensure compliance.  

The rattle wasn’t really either, though.  It was my choice to shake it.  My choice to stop.  My choice to induce whatever frequency sent my equilibrium sprawling and my pleasure sensors dancing.  My choice.

That tracked more with Melony Beouf’s philosophy.  Her Littles might not be outright mind fucked with cartoons, but she was still very much about shaping and conditioning them to like their new life.  Toys like this rattle did just that.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a form of stress relief.

Speaking of relief, I finally remembered to relax my bladder.  Maybe now I’d be soggy enough to merit a dry diaper and shorts for lunchtime.

[Moon3ye]

Okay, it was apparently really a prepared attack on Clark, otherwise they would not have immediately escorted Tracy from the school.

Nevertheless, Clark's situation is still his own fault, there were enough signs that this can't last long what he has there and he had the opportunity to escape.

I still hope that Cassie is smart enough that she is already safe with her parents and that when Clark arrives at his house there is a big "For Sale" sign in front of the house.

Most of all, I want to see Clark have his mental breakdown, or read about it, when he sees it.

 

[TerranV]

I wonder if this Ambrose had anything to do with it. Brollish having Tracy escorted of means that she has a hand in it too. She always wanted to get rid of Clark. There's probably another person who actually did the dirty work though.

[Sarah Penguin]

[BabyJilly_S]

So, Tracy is off the hook. She may be in for a rough ride (or at least a padded one) if their arrangement becomes common knowledge.

The conspiracy does go deeper, I am still not sure how the deed was done, who poisoned him? 

[YourFNF]

Definitely a frame job then. Honestly at this point I think the only thing Tracy could do for him would be stash an amazon sized medication dose if he wanted that option but it would be way too obvious who had given it to him.

[littlepinkdargon]

This reeks of foul play. Tracy being sent out so fast is a huge red flag. I don't see any good outcome if she acts as a messenger.

I feel like Beouf may have been involved solely based on her telling Tracy to go home. Ugh this is so unfair.

[TerranV]

8 minutes ago, littlepinkdargon said:

This reeks of foul play. Tracy being sent out so fast is a huge red flag. I don't see any good outcome if she acts as a messenger.

I feel like Beouf may have been involved solely based on her telling Tracy to go home. Ugh this is so unfair.

It was Brollish who told Tracy to go home. And had her escorted off the premises as well. While its possible that Brollish would have done so no matter what as policy, it is looking more and more like a hit job.

[littlepinkdargon]

5 minutes ago, TerranV said:

It was Brollish who told Tracy to go home. And had her escorted off the premises as well. While its possible that Brollish would have done so no matter what as policy, it is looking more and more like a hit job.

Ooo my brain saw B and did an association. Yeah I agree with your line of thinking.

[Princessamaryllis]

Brollish was probably the ones who sabotage Clark. I think beouf and his new mommy might have stepped in to prevent something worse from happening to him like ediquet school. Also I feel an Amazon might of gotten word of what happened at the littles encampment party and decided that those littles where to young to take care of themselves.

[Personalias]

Chapter 50: Lay of the Lunchroom

I was last in line on the way to lunch.  It might have been a form of mercy, considering my earlier freakout.  It might have been seen as a childish penalty due to perceived ‘fussiness’ earlier that morning.  Heck, it might have just been because I was the last to get changed before lunch.

With the clean diaper and my pants back on, being last in line was the least of all evils.  As promised, Zoge changed me and shimmied the sailor shorts back up my waist when she was done.  Even said ‘I love you’, too..  This torturous day was over half complete and I had a reasonable facsimile of modesty back.  All told, I was fairly confident that I could hold anything in until after my visit with Cassie that afternoon.  

I held onto Sandra Lynn’s hand with my right, my left remaining free.  Sandra Lynn was nowhere near as strong as Ivy. Not that I was going to risk it on the first day, but if I’d had a mind to I could have wriggled out of her grasp and made a run for it.  ‘Wriggle’ would have been too strong a word; she wasn’t pulling me along. She was barely touching me.

Combine all that with the talk with Tracy and the vague beginning of some kind of plan, and the emotional vise my mind was in was loosening just a tad.  It didn’t stop my head from being on a swivel, however.

“Lookin’ for somebody, dude?” Chaz asked from his stroller.  “Or were you a sprinkler in your past life?”  Thank whatever capricious gods there are that Annie and Billy were further up the line and couldn’t hear the sprinkler comment.  Chaz had a point, though.  Me being constantly and visibly on the lookout drew more attention to me.

“Just get through the day,” I whispered to myself so low that it was more lip syncing to the track in my head than anything else.  “Just get through today.  Only a few more hours to go. Everybody at school already knows.  Breakfast took care of that.  Band-aid officially ripped-”

“OH MY FRIGGIN GAWD!  GIBSON REALLY IS A BABY!”

Knees locked back up.  Grip went limp and the Little line went on without me.  Beouf stopped Chaz’s stroller to not collide with me.  I turned my head and looked up; a deer in the headlights of an oncoming subway train.

As we were nearing the corner of the walkway to go into the cafeteria, another class was passing by in the opposite direction.  Mrs. Springfield’s Fourth Grade class was on their way to the P.E. field.  Third from the front of the line, pointing, and with his short blonde hair gelled up into spikes, was Jeremy Merriwether.

“Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf called out.  Zoge turned around and stopped the line.
I didn’t move; a mouse caught in the gaze of a tiger  Jeremy had slowed his walk to take the full view in; rubbernecking the car wreck that my life had become.

He reached over and poked another kid in the shoulder. “Look! Do you see this! Mr. Gibson really IS a baby!  He’s dressed up like a sailor!”  It all came out in one unsteady wave of uncontained laughter. “He looks so goofy without the beard!”

“He’s prolly just helping or something.”

“No way,” I heard a third kid say. “He’s wearing a diaper! You can tell!”

“Awww,” Jeremy renewed the attack, “did widdle baby Gibson make a poo-poo or pee-pee in his pants and now he has to go to the baby cwass!”

More cruel laughter from the assembled children.  Encouraged by Jeremy, a few started edging their thumbs to their lips in mockery of me. More giggles and laughter and whispers hidden behind hands.  More kids who I’d seen every day for years were seeing me in the same light they’d seen every other Little.  Worse, perhaps, because they’d thought I’d been an exception to the rule.  This was everything that I was fearing would happen.

Then a small miracle happened.  Mrs. Springfield stopped and looked back, realizing her class was no longer following her.   “Jeremy!” Mrs. Springfield called back,  “I know you’re not making us late for P.E. just so you and your friends can point fingers and delay Mrs. Beouf’s students.”

“Sorry,” Jeremy giggled, and picked up his pace.

Mrs. Beouf made a signal to Mrs. Springfield.  Springfield stopped and nodded back to Beouf.

“JEREMY MERRIWETHER!” she boomed.  Now Jeremy froze.  On a dime, the normally calm and pseudo-nurturing Melony Beouf transformed herself into a drill sergeant. “What do you think you’re doing picking on a Little kid?”

Jeremy started to stutter.  “I wasn’t doin’ anything, I was just-”

“I saw what you did young, man.  You were pointing and laughing at one of my students. Several of you were.”  Jeremy’s friends went quiet and looked away, some scooted backwards a bit trying to distance themselves from him.  “Why is a big fourth grader laughing at a baby?”

“Cuz he used to be a teacher and now he’s-”

Beouf didn’t let him finish.  “So you think it’s funny because he’s older than you? Because he’s a grown baby?  You think he’s here as a punishment? ”

“I-I-yea-?”

“If you’re right, then you’re kicking someone when they’re down.  That’s not very mature, is it?”

Jeremy’s face twisted up in knots “Ummmm…”  He looked to others for help.  None came. No one was bailing him out of the ditch he’d dug for himself.

“Maybe you need to come to my room next.   Would you like that?”

“N-n-n-no? NO!”

“Are you sure?” Beouf goaded. She’d locked Chaz’s stroller and was now staring down at Jeremy with her hands on her hips.  “Are you sure? I’m sure I’ve got some diapers and baby clothes that you’d fit into.  I’m sure your parents would be thrilled to learn how immature their son is.  They’d probably have your crib back up by tonight.  You and Clark can be playmates.”

“NOOOOO!”  The brat’s fists were clenched and his voice was cracking.

“No?” Beouf tilted her ear forward.

“NO MA’AM!”

Mrs. Springfield chuckled.  In the decade that I’d worked there previously, I’d never seen an Amazon enrolled in Beouf’s class, yet alone one young enough to actually be a child.  The most Jeremy might get was diapered detention, and even that was unlikely.  Not for making fun of a Little.    

Jeremy didn’t know that...

Jeremy’s teacher cut in. “You know whose Little Boy that is, right Jeremy?”  Mrs. Springfield asked.  “That’s Ms. Grange’s baby. Do you really want him going to his Mommy later today and telling her you were picking on him?”

I’d never seen someone go so pale so quickly before that day.  Janet Grange: Teacher-turned-friend-turned-Mommy; and the terror of Third Grade. “Please don’t,” Jeremy’s voice turned into almost a squeak.  He looked at me.  His hands folded up in front of him  “Please don’t Mr. Gi-”

“His name is Clark,” Mrs. Springfield interrupted.

“Please don’t tell your Mommy on me, Clark.  I’ll be good.  I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I won’t do it again.  I promise.”  The words were almost a waterfall out of his mouth.

Now everyone’s eyes were on the verge of bursting out of their heads with surprise.  Mine included.  “Fine,” I mumbled and looked the other way.  “Just...go…”  In my favor or not, I didn’t want this much attention placed on me.

Springfield waved on and her class picked up the pace towards the P.E. field. Beouf waited till they were out of earshot and then looked down the line.

“I’m sorry you all had to see that,” Beouf told us.  “But sometimes there’s no use arguing sense with the senseless, so you have to fight crazy with crazy.”  The irony of that statement coming from Beouf’s mouth seemed completely lost on her.  “Does anyone need a hug?”  

To my surprise, a few hands went up. l stared down the line. Several of the other Littles looked just as shaken as I felt.  Maybe it was Jeremy’s mocking.  Perhaps it was Beouf’s sudden turn, or using their treatment as a way to threaten that.  Maybe they weren’t as numb to all this crazy as I gave them credit for.  Perhaps they were more mind fucked than they showed and ‘grown-ups yelling’ triggered something in them.

Beouf gave everyone who wanted one a quick hug, and an ‘I love you.’  Including Annie.   “Let’s go.  We’re missing Lunch.”  

As stated earlier, the cafeteria at noon was infinitely better than it was in the morning. Several classes had already been in and out, and though the lively roar was still there, it resembled an assembly line moreso than a kicked anthill.  I managed to see the tail end of Tracy’s kids (Not Ambrose’s...never Ambrose’s) wind into the serving line as the heavy cafeteria door and the blower fan closed behind Chazz’s stroller.

None of the other students looked at us beyond the errant fifth grader trying not to trip over our hand hold line while throwing away her garbage.  These kids had seen Littles toddle to their highchair feeding area countless times.  With us being the last group to eat, everyone had already seen and taken note of the new communal setup.  

Officially old news.  The Tweener lunch lady from this morning was already wheeling out a tray of food, bibs, and bottles for us.  “Sorry for running late,” I heard Beouf say over the throng.

“It’s okay,” the lunch lady said.  “Food’s still warm.” I thought she looked at me again, possibly even shaking her head a bit as she turned around and retreated back to the kitchen.  A sullen shrug that seemed to broadcast “Oh well’ pretty much summed it up.

We were threaded into the seats again.  Mercifully, Ivy was at the other table.  Based on the back of Sandra Lynn’s head, she wasn’t interested in speaking to me.  Just as well.  

Once the bibs were draped and fastened, disposable black plastic bowls of macaroni and cheese were placed in front of us.  My hand’s tingled in anticipation, and not the good time.  Breakfast had been finger foods.  They didn’t expect us to eat with our hands, did they?

A spoon stuck straight up in each batch of the cheesy goop put an end to that notion.  None of my cohorts leaned forward to take the spoon.    “Don’t touch,” Beouf warned, “or I’ll have to get out the mittens.”

My lips flapped with what must have been the millionth frustrated sigh of the day.  They were going to spoon feed us.

“Look on the bright side,” Chaz called from the seat next to mine.  “Five to one ratio:  They don’t have time to do any dips and dives and games.”  A spoonful of yellow pasta coming straight for his mouth, proved his point.

Next came mine.  “Good boy!” Beouf chirped when I didn’t put up a fight and accepted my own mouthful of macaroni.  “Sandra Lynn, open uuuup!” she sang.

“Sorry you ended up here,” Chaz said.  “I really thought you had stuff figured out when you gave me that talk last year.”

I bowed my head.  “Me too…”

“You okay?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Good.”  I must have looked hurt. Chaz added, “The only person in our class who feels okay is Ivy.”  We stopped long enough for another serving of macaroni and cheese.  “If something’s not wrong, then it’s too late for you.”

“That what happened to you?” I asked.  “Something went too right for you and now you crawl?”   I wasn’t trying to be unkind, but when I’d first met Chaz, he’d been able to walk.  Part of me wondered if his regression was in part because of his youth.  He’d barely lived an adult life before the Amazons took it away from him.

A flash of discomfort on Chaz’s face. “Happened over the summer,” he said.  I had the decency not to press further.  

Through gaps to get spoon fed, and swallow, our conversation continued.  “What happens after this?” I asked.

“Nap time,” Chaz said.  “Then playground time.  Then we go home.”

And then the next day it would start all over again. We’d do the same things over and over again, week in and week out until we finally cracked completely, and thought of ourselves as the forever children we’d been treated like.  Devious in its simplicity.

I looked around our area. So many Littles.  I’d seen them so many times, but committed almost none of their names and faces to memory before.  It made them easier to ignore.  “Who’s been here the longest?”

“Ivy.”  The smirk told me that Chaz was ribbing me.  I managed to roll my eyes good naturedly enough to get a laugh and then a real reply.  “Her.” He pointed to Sandra Lynn.

“Look at me, Mrs. Beouf!”  Sandra Lynn reached under her bib and dipped the tip of her clipped on pacifier in the outreached spoon.  She popped the bulb into her mouth.  “Fayfored Pafi!”

Beouf seemed absolutely tickled.  “Clever girl!  But that still won’t get you nourishment.  Open up!”

“Three years next month, I think,” he said while Beouf continued round the semi-circle feeding grown men and women like they were one year olds.  “Sandra Lynn isn’t even her birth name.  Mommy and Daddy changed it when they adopted.”

That wasn’t surprising.  We couldn’t keep our ages, so why would we be entitled to our names? Dolls didn’t get to pick their names.

“What was it before?”

“I dunno.  We don’t talk about who we used to be too much. Not much point.” Another round of cheese flavored noodles, and a new thought dawned on Chaz when we had swallowed.  “Maybe that’s why everybody is being so extra with you?  They still see the adu-...the gro-...”

I waved him off.  “I know what you’re saying.”  None of them had been overly familiar with each other before being enrolled at Oakshire Elementary.  They only knew each other in one context.  I was now not only a reminder of what they used to be,but also a reminder of what they’d become.

No one likes to have their failure rubbed in their faces. It’s why I closed my eyes the second time Zoge changed me.

A belch loud enough to catch my attention rang out and made me look to the other LIttle table.  Annie was giggling up a fit and Billy was applauding like she’d performed an operetta.

“What’s with those two?” I asked my seatmate

Chaz looked over and saw.  The blech hadn’ even registered to him.  “Who? Annie and Billy?  What about them?”

“Are they…?” I struggled to find the words.  Beouf was too close for me to say the right words or make the right gestures.

“Yeah,” Chaz said.  “They’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“How-?” But I cut myself off.  Small children knew about romantic relationships and play acted it out often enough.  I’d seen actual preschoolers claim to be boyfriend and girlfriend (or boyfriends or girlfriends) even if they didn’t really know all that entailed and weren’t anywhere near ready to go on a date.  It was either that or ‘cooties’.

Annie and Billy were more than old enough to understand, despite never being allowed to go on anything more intimate than a playdate.  Beouf and Zoge would let it happen within reason, too.  It solidified the illusion that they were kids playing roles over prisoners scraping something together.

“Why are they so...so…such...”

“Say aaah, Clark.”   Macaroni stopped me from outright saying they were being total dicks.

“They’re like that with everybody,” Chaz assured me.  “They’re pretty cool once you get to know them.  Either they learn to respect you, or you learn to ignore them.”

“But why?”

“It’s kind of like what you told me,” Chaz said.  “Gotta get your kicks where you can. Little acts of rebellion and all that.”  He held out a finger.  “That reminds me.   Mrs. B!” Chaz’s voice shot up.  “Can I pweeease have some ketchup on my macky cheese?”

“You mad man!”

Chaz waited till Beouf started digging for ketchup packets from the tray.  “Yeah, but it gives her more work to do.  It’s what I tell myself when I get the runs.”  His grin was nothing short of deliciously evil.

I kind of liked this kid.  “If Annie and Billy are boyfriend and girlfriend, why’d she kiss you.”

“‘Cause Annie’s a freak,” Chaz beamed. “An’ I’m freakin’’ cute and I know it!”

“Chazz...language.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  The glint in his eyes told me he didn’t mean it.

A few spoonfuls passed in silence as hunger temporarily eclipsed curiosity.  “What about everybody else?”

Chaz broke it down for me.  “Mandy is a girly girl.  Shauna’s kind of a tomboy. Tommy’s all bark but he’s suuuuper competitive. Jesse? He’s kind of a doormat and I don’t think it has anything to do with this place.  Me? You know.  Ivy you really know!” He cackled while bowls were taken away and replaced with bottles.  “I didn’t see the kiss in time, but I heard it.  I thought she’d punched you or something!”

I grabbed onto the offered bottle and started to suckle.  “Shuddup,” I mumbled under my breath. Chaz snickered hard enough so that air bubbles went into his milk.

“Good job, Clark. Drink it all up and then it will be time for a nap!”  Beouf apparently hadn’t heard me…

Good…

“Anything else you wanna know?” Chaz asked between sips.

“Do we ever get chocolate milk?”

Beouf answered for him.  “Fridays.  If you’re good.”

[TerranV]

Hey, it looks like he made a friend.

[YourFNF]

I could potentially get out of this situation with enough advance prep and planning but the thing I keep coming back to is that your already considered less than human which fucks a whole lot of social engineering potential. And the lack of papers. There's no statute of limitations to wait out. Your going to be running for the rest of your life. Unless there are any little held countries in which case your best bet would likely be to sneak into the cargo on a commercial flight. Although if your detected then your options are basically: surrender, storm the flight and hijack it, last stand.

[Sarah Penguin]

:)

[Samriis]

Well... isn't that ominous

[something101]

So are we getting a new chapter this week? 

[Personalias]

Chapter 51: How I Met Cassie
“You’re a cocky little shit, aren’t you?”  

I stopped on the cobblestone courtyard just outside of the ethical philosophy building.  Not five hundred feet away was the classic statue of the blind Amazon woman with scales of one hand and a cradled infant in the other.  The words beneath the statue read.  “Nutricor. Castigo. Protego.”  

To be fair, the College of Law classrooms were at the other end of the courtyard, and the basis of law was supposedly rooted in ethics and moral philosophy. It made sense to have the Amazonian’s take on Law and Order immortalized there in the midst of campus.

To be cynical, however, every freshman had to take at least one course in ethical philosophy as a general credit, and the statue combined with the Amazon propaganda sprinkled in pretty much every course- especially the liberal arts and philosophy courses- helped remind people no matter their size who was really in charge.  Say something batshit like how the giants were there “To Nurture. To Punish. To Protect.” enough times and it became harder to argue with it.  It didn’t make it any easier to believe that claim, but it became harder to argue with it.

 I was less cynical, back then, however.  More idealistic. I knew how dangerous Amazons were but there’s something about the logical fallacy of the personal fable- that you’re going to be the immortal exception to the mortal rule- that is so damn intoxicating when you’re eighteen.

“Excuse me?” I said as I turned around.  For once, my head didn’t crane up at the insult.  I could tell the voice was more my level. Another Little.  “What did you say?”

The girl in front of me crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side.  “I said you’re a cocky shit.” she repeated herself.  “That or you’re trying to get adopted.  Is that it? You’re trying to get the professor to snatch you up?”  

That voice. I didn’t know it then, but I fell in love with that voice. Not just the way she sounded, but the way she used it.  So strong. So sure of herself.  So passionate.  Her yelling at me was still akin to a musical instrument.  I grew to love her dark brown eyes and her light chestnut hair. I would one day get to know the curves of her body and the suppleness of her breasts.  I’d spoon and wrap my arms around her waist and hold her so tight like she was a wisp of smoke that might evaporate into nothingness if I didn’t grip her firmly enough.  At first she had the streak of bright red dyed into her head that she’d eventually get rid of come second semester; yet I still think of her that way.

But the first thing that imprinted on me was her voice.  

I jerked my head to the side and started going for a patch of grass out of the way of the other students, about three quarters of them bigger than us.  “Do you want to umm…?”

The co-ed clicked her tongue and didn’t meet me there as much as she stormed to the area.  “Seriously?” she said.  “What were you thinking?! Arguing philosophy with a philosophy teacher?”  She wasn’t yelling.  She was far from having a nice quiet chat with a classmate either.

I was unflappable.  “The others were doing it,” I said.  “We were doing the Socratic method. We ask questions and are asked questions in turn. And we either prove our point or are shown the limits of our thinking based on the questions that naturally arise.”

“The others were all Amazons and Tweeners.”  she countered.  “They can engage in debate with a professor!  When you do it, you’re being contrarian and immature! It’s the double standard!”

“It’s a double standard,” I agreed, “and it’s wrong.  The only way to stop it is to use its own rules against it.”

“You argued Socrates against Socrates!  You tried to use Socratic method to prove Socrates wrong!”

I smirked.  “Technically, I said Plato was wrong.  Everything we know about Socrates we know from Plato.  For all we know, Socrates was a character Plato invented to get his points across.”

The girl gritted her teeth and pulled at her hair.  “That doesn’t matter, dude! You used the Allegory of the Cave to argue that there was no point in educating people since people naturally resist being taught.”

“I was just trying to force the professor to take the opposite stance.  Get him to prove why education is necessary and-” I gestured to the statue in the center of everything, “why we can’t just be happy with the status quo.”

“And you’re practically begging the professor to force you into a daycare!”

Our voices were raised.  Our passions were high.  Had we been a bit taller or a smidge louder, we would be on the verge of creating a scene.  No one took notice of the two Littles arguing just outside the Philosophy building, however.  In the strangest, most anti-intuitive way we were the safest we could be.

So many Amazons, but the vast majority of them were in no way ready to start a family. Nor did they think themselves petty enough to ruin two Little’s lives just to show them who was boss.  The magic of college where everyone is so self-involved and wonderfully idealistic to the point of naivete that the world outside your dorm room, class schedule, and pet causes ceases to be a concern.

In a weird way I wish we could all go back to college.  College seems like a four year vacation compared to the mundane perils of everyday living.

I smoothed out my blue polo shirt; back when I could eat an entire chicken and would still be in fighting trim.  If I gained any fat it’d be off before I noticed and carried like muscle instead of giving me a beer gut.  I stroked my beard.  It had grown in over the summer thicker than it’s usual pubescent patchiness and was a tad scraggly.  I had yet to master the art of keeping it in a trim and professional goatee, or develop the careful ritual I used every morning to seem like the perfect Little professional.

Objectively, I looked like a child that had just inherited a grown-up skin, just like that movie “Bigger”.  Objectively, most of the other eighteen to nineteen year olds were in the same boat.  They weren’t Little, though.  I was a miniature version of them, and it was the miniature part that was the problem.

“I presented my case.  I kept my voice level.  I phrased everything as a question.  I even thanked the professor.”

“Yeah, Mr. Gibson,” she said. “But you didn’t have to say it like you’d just won..”  She held herself up straighter and lowered her voice in imitation of me.  “Thank you, Professor.”  Yikes, did I really sound that pompous?

“Mr. Gibson?” I echoed.  

“He said it often enough.  He’s got your number.  He’s going to spend the rest of the semester gunning for you and trying to find a reason to flunk you.”  She didn’t need to tell me what would happen if I flunked.  Tweeners got put on probation.  Amazons could just take a class over.  Littles who flunked a class, any class, would be given a very different course load.

I held up my finger and opened my mouth to make a counterpoint.  What came out instead was, “Okay.  Maybe you’re right.”

The girl seemed just as taken aback as I was.  “What?”

“Sorry,” I kept going.  “I’m just really excited.  I’m finally on my own, and I have the chance to do something, to really accomplish something!  I guess I’m jumping the gun.”

She seemed interested.  “Political science?”

“Education.”

She winced.  “Yikes. That’s worse in a way.”

I relaxed a bit.  “Yeah.  I’m kind of a masochist.” I drooped my head.  “That Professor probably already has his mind made up.  I gotta be more like the Third Little Pig and build with a good foundation instead of trying to rush it or take a shortcuts.”

A look of pure confusion.  “Third Little Pig?”

“Yeah, the Three Little Pigs.  Old folktale?”

“Don’t you mean The Two Little Pigs and Their Mommy?” she said.
I chuckled.  I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist.  “Yeeeeah, that interpretation has only been around for like, a couple hundred years or so.  The original is much gorier and interesting. Also largely passed on by oral tradition from Little immigrants, so when Amazons wrote it down, they got to change the Third Little Pig into an Amazon Mommy Pig.  Some scholars even think the word ‘Little’ is just talking about their relative age instead of size or ma…”  I stopped myself.  In Little circles ‘The M Word’ was practically a curse.  “I mean, you know how the other version goes.  It’s just not the original version.”

“Huh,” the girl who moments before had been yelling at me to reel it in said.  “Do you want to tell me more?  Over coffee?.”

My heart leapt. (Something besides my heart stood at attention, too.)  “Yeah?” I asked. “Sure.  Us Littles on campus gotta stick together, right?”

She batted her eyes at me.  “Right.” She extended her hand.  “I’m Cassandra Braun.  Friends call me Cassie.”

I took her hand.  “I’m Clark.  You already know my last name.  Nice to meet you Cassandra.”

She grinned.  “Not Cassie?”

“You haven’t told me we’re friends, yet.”  I replied.  “I don’t want to assume anything.  I gotta be careful.”

She let go and gave me her phone number.  “Maybe I was wrong about you, Clark Gibson.”

The biggest, dumbest, goofiest grin that I’d yet grinned spread like an oil slick across my dumb hairy mug.  “Maybe we can find out together.”

“Easy there, killer.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I couldn’t help but awake with a profound, if fleeting, feeling of melancholy when my eyes opened up there in Beouf’s nap room an hour after Lunch.

[Moon3ye]

Interesting view of how Clark and Cassie met.

But even then Clark is not only a masochist but has absolutely no survival instinct in him. 

He apparently provokes so much during college that it's a wonder he stayed free as long as he did.

[Sarah Penguin]

[YourFNF]

I'm honestly surprised so many Littles go to college in person instead of taking online courses.

[Personalias]

Chapter 52: Anything but Child’s Play

Right after nap time I was taken out of the crib, checked, and lined up.  All said, it was pretty fast.  Only Jesse and Mandy ‘needed’ changing.  Everyone else was either dry or ‘not that wet’’.  A shame, the mean survivalist part of my brain decided.  If I had been the only one clean and dry I might have warranted the boldness to ask for the toilet a second time that day; being making a case for my “developmental plateau” to be closer to three or four instead of one or two.  

 

Nothing is ever that simple.  Or Fair.

 

Typical.

 

We didn’t have to hold hands on the way to the playground. The trip was that short. Enough so that all it took to corral us and discourage runners was to have Zoge to the left and Beouf to the right.  The playground was just across the walkway; a diagonal straight line.

 

Correction.  The Little’s playground was just a diagonal straight line across the walkway.

 

Kindergarteners got a small but notable jungle gym play place, not unlike the kind at any fast food restaurant minus the dressed ball pit:  Monkey bars, a straight slide and a corkscrew one, along with a fireman’s pole, plus it was elevated so there was space beneath the steps to crouch and crawl.  It was still compact for a class of eighteen to twenty kids- two classes at one time would have been far too much- but throw in some sidewalk chalk and some bubble wands for the space immediately surrounding it and it was a good spot for recess.

 

To accommodate the upper grades, the P.E. field had a swingset, a basketball court with four square on the side and a kickball diamond, as well as tetherball poles and a jogging track.  The coaches were decent about keeping the first through fifth grade teachers appraised of where they would be and what equipment they’d be using, plus were amenable to teachers checking out various play equipment as long as the items were returned promptly and one teacher’s recess didn’t interfere with the coaches’ lesson plans.

 

The Littles of Mrs. Beouf Class?  They got a tree and a fence.  A steel ramp led from the walkway led up to a fenced in plot of land that had been elevated off above the ground.  From the walkway, the playground was high enough off the ground that an Amazon would have to boost themselves up to sit on the brick wall surrounding it.  The chainlink fence jutting up from the wall kept any Littles from falling off (or escaping) while playing.

 

 

The giant oak near the center of the playground was so tremendous that not even an Amazon could wrap their arms around it and climb it; a true mammoth that kept the surrounding area in constant shade, starving the light out of all but the heartiest blades of grass.  It was also likely the reason for the Little playground’s existence.  During construction it had been easier to wall off and fence in the oak and surrounding patch of land than it would have been to cut the monster down, up root it and grind the stump.

 

I suspect it wasn’t intended to be a playground at all, but Beouf managed to repurpose it.  Other than the tree, the fenced in flat top had mulch and a metal bench for teachers to sit on, but that was about it.  Beouf would bring out balls and had found a second hand push car more suited to carpet than mulch, but without proper funding, the space offered room for tiny legs to be stretched and not much else.  

 

Technically, my students had been welcome to play there, too.  I’d passed and improvised where I could, preferring indoor recess where I could more easily control the environment.  That and the shortest way to that spot would have been cutting through Beouf’s room…

 

That was the old Littles playground.  True to her word, Brollish had seen a new one take its place.

 

“Whooooah,” several voices echoed and chorused.  The chainlink did nothing to conceal the surprise that awaited: A blue concrete tunnel had been wedged into the ground, easy for someone our size to hunch and walk through; easier to crawl through.  A yellow balance beam, not even a foot off the ground; more than enough challenge for someone with soggy swollen padding throwing off their balance.  A stout red slide that only came up to our heads. A blue teeter totter; more like a seesaw rocking horse hybrid, making it impossible to slam an end or for one rider to completely drop the bottom out from under the other.  A trio of spring ponies, or more accurately a spring ducky, a spring piggy, and a spring froggy stood spaced out and ready to race.  

 

 

Colorful.  No sharp edges.  Everything low to the ground.  Nothing that could be twisted or tangled up in. Fresh mulch if somebody stumbled and fell. To top it all off the tree was still very much intact and things were spaced out enough so that a body could stroll around for a few laps if they had the need.

 

A good playground for small children.  Shame it was for us.

 

“IT’S A MIRACLE!” Ivy screamed the moment her Mommy opened the gate to herd us in.  She hobble ran as fast as she could.  She wasn’t the only one.  Several of the others pushed their way past me to check out the latest contraptions for their amusement and conditioning.  

 

A hand gently placed itself on my shoulder.  “Go ahead, Clark.  Go play.  Let yourself have fun.”  Chaz, who was still riding on her hip, urged me forward.  Reluctantly, I walked in.

 

“This is so neat,” Mandy’s voice echoed out of the tube.  I bent sideways to get a better view.  She and Sandra Lynn had already made themselves comfortable in the cool concrete cylinder.  “Great for like, hide and seek or just getting away from-”

 

“ECHO ECHOOOO ECHOOOO ECHOOO!” Tommy screamed as loud as he could on the other end.  He popped his head up and made eye contact with me.  “Hey! It works.”

 

“Ugh...boys,”  Mandy finished her thought.

 

“So immature,” I heard Sandra Lynn agree.

 

I walked away, feeling a weird buzzing in my brain, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on the why of it.  Ivy had positioned herself at the new slide which was right in front of the teacher’s bench and waited for Beouf and Zoge and sit down.  “Go on, Chaz.”  She gave him a light pat on the back of his onesie.  “Go be with your friends.”

 

The two women’s shoulders slumped and they exhaled in unison.  The wear and tear of keeping ten Little people in line and playing their assigned parts was finally starting to show.

 

“Mommy! Mommy!” Ivy goaded.  “Watch me!  Watch!

 

“I’m watching, baby girl.”

 

In clunky measured steps, Ivy climbed to the top of the ladder, then swung her feet out and slid down the ramp.  Total elapsed time: Five seconds, four of which was her climbing.  For her part, Ivy looked like she’d just climbed a mountain or something.  “Yaaaaay! I did it!”

 

“Very good, Ivy!” Zoge said, tired but condescendingly. 

 

“Watch me do it again! I can do it all by myself, see?!”

 

“Show me, baby.”

 

I pursed my lips and walked on by.  Again, I felt like there was something wrong here beyond grown Littles behaving like children.  I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

 

“Come on, Shauna,” Jesse pleaded.  “I want a turn on the pig!”

 

Shauna rocked on the thing like it was a bucking bronco instead of a thoroughbred racer.  Honestly, probably the more realistic scenario.  “Why?” I heard her ask.  “Try the frog or the duck.”

 

“But pigs are the fastest!”  Jesse insisted.  His voice was inching up to a wine and his thumb was inching up to his bottom lip.

 

“You just wanna ride the pig because of your stuffie.”

 

Jesse’s face turned pink “No!”

 

“Uh-huh! 

 

”Nuh-uh!

 

Shauna hopped off the Spring Piggy.  “Why don’t we try the teeter totter?  Then you can race me back to the pig.”  There was almost a grace to the way she dismounted the playground rocking horse, like she’d been built for it; or it built for her.

 

“Okay…”

 

More brain buzzing, this time behind my ears and at my temples.  It felt a little like guilt.  Why would I feel guilty?  Because my capture ensured Brollish’s bribe of getting this stuff?  No.  Fuck that.  Hypocrisy implies a choice and I had no hand or knowledge in that.

 

Something else was bothering me.

 

“Hey Clark!” Tommy called from the balance beam.  “I managed five whole steps before stepping off!”  Bet I can stay on longer than you!”

 

Oh thank goodness! Another halfway friendly voice! For an instant I felt some emotional relief. It took two whole steps for me to stop from breaking out into a jog.  “No thanks,” I called back.  “I’m gonna...chill.”  There was nothing terribly infantile about sitting in the shade of a tree.

 

 I wasn’t here to play and never would be.  I had better ways to use my time. Bigger nuts to crack: How to best get over Cassie’s anger and discreetly tell her to look out for a certain Tweener for instance.  Cassie had an admirable paranoid streak, but she knew I knew how to work with the medium-sized folk to our advantage.

 

Maybe I could get

 

“Get your own tree,” Billy barked at me.  “This one’s ours.”  I’d circled around to the side of the big oak where Beouf and Zoge couldn’t directly see.  The coaches and kids out at P.E. could make us out if they chose to pay attention and turn their heads to us, though.  

 

Speaking of making out, Billy wasn’t alone.  He’d draped his arm over Annie and was busy nibbling on her ear, sending her into quiet naughty giggles.

 

“Do you mind?” I said, feeling a twinge of jealousy that I couldn’t even do that with my own wife right now.

 

“I don’t,” Annie giggled. “I like to make people watch.”

 

“Go play with one of the other babies,” Billy waved me off.  “You know you want to.’

 

“What I wanted was some peace and quiet,” I quipped.  “Not softcore porn in the park.”

 

The bald headed asshole glared at me.  “What are you gonna do about it?  Tell your favorite teacher on me?”

 

My nostrils flared.  This guy had been an asshole to me all day and enough was just about enough.  I wouldn’t get to see Cassie today, but that wouldn’t stop Tracy from dropping messages by anyway.  “Maybe I will tell her.  Maybe you’ll get timeout in the preschool room.  Get changed on the floor where everyone can see.”

 

 

He was up on me in an instant. Eye to eye.  “Say that again, Helper.  Say it again and find out what happens next.”

 

I didn’t blink.  “I don’t know what I did to hurt you, but I know what I’m-”

 

A tug on my ankle.  “Guys! Guys! Cut it out.” Chaz hissed.

 

Annie pulled her boyfriend a few steps back.  Enough to look like we were talking instead of bristling for a slugfest.  “You two fight, you’ll get sent to New Beginnings.  You don’t want to go there, do you?”

 

The lady was right.  “No,” Billy said. 

 

My own “No” overlapped with his.  Two crinkly sets of steps backpedaled to a safer distance.  Billy leaned against the tree.  

 

“How the hell do you know about that, anyways?” he asked, eyes suspicious.

 

I was about to tell him about my ex-assistant, but that was knowledge that neither Billy nor Annie nor Chaz needed to know.  “Don’t you remember what Mrs. Springfield said?  I’m Ms.Grange’s baby.  Teachers talk.  Littles listen.”

 

Billy rubbed his chin.  In another life he might have had a beard just like mine.  “Teachers talk and Littles listen.  Okay.” he nodded.  “Okay.”  His gait was becoming more relaxed.  It should have worried me, but it didn’t.

 

“Sorry about…” I pointed my fingers between the prison couple.  “You know...interrupting.  It’s been a rough day.”

 

“Everybody’s first day is rough,” Annie offered.  “You shoulda seen Chaz on his.”  Chaz suddenly found.the mulch beneath him very interesting.  “No wonder he got mistaken for a baby.  He’s such a crier!  Between how soggy he was and all those tears, I thought they were gonna have to hook him up to an I.V. to prevent hydration.”  

 

Chaz’s lip pouted.  “Don’t you mean dehydration?” He asked curiously.

 

There was some uncomfortable laughter; mostly from her.  “I...used to be a nurse.”  The last word was just barely audible. The sad sigh was very noticeable

 

 

I drooped my head.  “I’m not trying to start a fight, but why are you guys such assholes?”

 

“Better an asshole than a brat.” Billy said.  He said with the conviction of a man willing to get the mantra tattooed across his chest.

 

 

I looked at the others playing on the fresh equipment.  So happy.  Slipping away and losing themselves.  More of that weird cognitive dissonance where I just couldn’t place the source. “Granted.”

 

“I’ll lay off tomorrow,” Billy promised.  “Just don’t go spreading that story around.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Annie piped in, “And don’t be pulling that rookie stunt like asking to go potty like they’ll really let you do it.  You’re in the Little Leagues now.”

 

“Yeah, quit acting like you’re better than us,”  Billy said.  “You’re not.  You think you’re gonna be the next escapee?  Cuz you’re not.”  His words were unkind, but his tone wasn’t for once.  A pleasant reversal from this morning.

 

“That wasn’t my intent,” I half-admitted.  I was going to escape eventually just not… “How do you guys know about that? None of you were enrolled when that happened.”

 

Chaz chuckled grimly.  “Something passed down to all the newbies.  We don’t even know the kid’s name anymore, teach.”

 

“Dang,” Billy griped.  “I forgot, you were here too. Why didn’t I think of that?”  He cocked an eyebrow.  “Why didn’t you take the fall for it?”

I shuddered.  “Mrs. B. vouched for my innocence.”  Oh for those halcyon days of old. “I’ll talk to you later.  I’ll let you get back to your...whatever this is.”  It sucks making yourself sad by accident.

 

Walking away, I started muttering to myself.  Had to distract myself.  Had to figure out something to do with the time I had left.  It wouldn’t do to blow my shot at seeing Cassie in the final inning.

 

I saw Tommy still playing on the balance beam.  Almost automatically, my gaze wandered over to the blue concrete hidey hole.  Gears were starting to turn.  At the time, I couldn’t say why. Maybe I needed another victory.  Another monster to conquer.  An obstacle to overcome.  A Raine Forrest to outwit. Just...something bothered me about this playground and I didn’t have the personal insight yet to find the words as to why.

 

Casually strolling back along in short pants I waved over to Tommy.  “Hey Tommy!” I called.  “Wanna give me a boost?”  An impulse was tickling its way up my spine.  Time to see if Chaz’s intel was right.  Competitiveness could be harnessed into helpfulness.

 

The guy pivoted so fast that one of the snaps on his inseam popped open.  “On what?”

 

I pointed to the concrete tube. Tall-ish. Smooth.  Not meant to be climbed on per se; just climbed in.  “There!”  He met me at the sight of the tube.  “Help me climb it.”

 

Tommy’s look of inspiration mirrored my own. Without further prompting, he rushed over and got on all fours.  I used his back as a stepping stool and squirmed up belly first to the top of the tube.  The girl’s voices were still echoing with quiet whispers and giggles but I didn’t care.  Still on my belly, I shuffled around and offered my hand.  “Just don’t yank me down.”

 

Using my arm, Tommy pulled himself up to join me.  “Neat idea, dude.”  I’d done it. The most minor of victories. There was a small rush of endorphins just from sitting on top of the darn thing.  Suddenly a little bit of that strange guilty buzzing was out of my skull.  It was still there, but the act of climbing up; nay, the act of doing it with help from another Little reduced the pressure.

 

“So how’d they really get you?” Tommy asked.  “Because none of us really have accidents at first.”

 

Zoge was on us before I could reply.  “Tommy! Clark! No, no, no!  That’s not for climbing on! Get down from there!”  

 

Tommy’s shit eating grin didn’t fade all the way as the teacher’s aid scooped us up and set us down a good ten feet from the equipment.  “I love you both, but don’t scare me like that.  Next time I see you on top of that thing, you’ll be in timeout with me and Mrs. B!  Got it?”

 

“Yes, Ma’am.” we said in unison as if we’d rehearsed.  

 

Beouf threw a wink at me behind Zoge’s back.  That’s when I realized I was having a tiny bit of fun.  Goddamn it...

 

Patiently, I spent the rest of the time sulking by the gate for the rest of the play time.  Next would be getting ready and loading the kids back on the bus before Janet picked me up.

 

“I’m very proud of how you’ve been today,” Beouf told me, opening the gate so we could return.  “Your Mommy will hear good things from me and you’ll get that special treat she was promising.”  I fake smiled to hide my real one and went back inside the air conditioning.

 

Funny side thought: Just because I was given kudos for expressing my bodily autonomy with Ivy, didn’t prevent any of them from checking my pants again and again and again.  “Always give them back clean and dry if you can,” Beouf said.

 

“Yes Ma’am,” Zoge said.  She inserted two fingers past Billy’s leg gathers. “Billy my love, it’s diaper time.”

 

[Sarah Penguin]

[Moon3ye]

a surprisingly quiet chapter.

I wonder if Beouf's silence or lack of action to protect Clark was really bought with the new playground equipment for Little Playground and if so, she has a worse character than I expected.

Since he was told that his new mom's teachers would say he deserves a reward we will soon see him return to his old home.

The mean side of me really hopes that Cassie has escaped and Clark is having an absolute nervous breakdown.... Yes I am mean live with it.

Definitely looking forward to seeing what happens next.

[TerranV]

I do find it curious that Beouf's class would finally get funding the day Clark joins it.

Perhaps someone higher than Brollish told her to deal with the Little teacher if she wanted the money.

[Personalias]

Chapter 53: Apologies, Promises, Lies, Love, and Defeat

People think that love is patient. They think that love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It goes on a bit, all the great and benevolent things about love and how nice it is.  It’s a nice sentiment.

It’s also patently false.  Love is when you feel incomplete, missing something, like a hunger for your soul.  Then suddenly, you meet someone and they complete that part of you. You’re complementary to each other, and when you’re around each other you feel less empty; more complete if not totally complete.  And selfishly, oh so selfishly, you want to be around that person who is a bandaid to your brain and nourishment to your soul.

Love is selfish.  Love is a longing that can only be satisfied by having a certain someone in your life. Love is just as intense and addictive as the sweetest drug. Love makes you desperate.  Love makes you stupid.  Love tears you open and spills your guts out onto the floor if you don’t get it or isn’t returned.

To hear someone say that they love unconditionally and freely cheapens the very concept of love and makes the connections that you have with that love flimsy and less special.  To say that is to say that everyone is equally replaceable in your eyes; no difference beyond perhaps a choice of menu item at a fast food joint.

Love makes you do stupid, stupid, horrible things.  Janet loved me.  Of that I had no doubt.  It was a twisted, crazy, Amazonian love, but to her it was love nonetheless.  It’s that love that destroyed our friendship when I couldn’t return it.  It’s that love that got her to adopt me.  It’s that love that made her agree to take me to see Cassie one last time, even though there was no good tactical reason for her to do so.  In the same way that I’d come to the realization that seeing Cassie this one last time would do nothing to help me or her in the long run, Janet must have realized that dangling my wife over my head was a carrot that would quickly expire.

She agreed to it because she loved me.  Later on, other Amazons would tell her that she was spoiling me and approaching that love from the wrong angle…

I loved Cassie.  She was the love of my life and I was doing something incredibly dangerous, incredibly stupid, and profoundly tactically unsound.  I’d allowed myself to be cowed and gaslighted throughout the day all on the promise that I’d get to see her one last time before being taken away (as far as my captors were concerned) forever.

I’d have done it again, too.  If the previous day, Janet had promised me that I could see my wife, but only if I lasted a week without incident, I’d have done it.  A month. A semester. A year.  I would have chased that carrot right over a cliff.  I’d have still plotted my eventual escape; the rendezvous with Tracy would have gone over the same, but I would have behaved.  Within a week I’d have been dismissed as a model prisoner.

That’s what love does to a person.  It makes them stupid.  Breaks their spirit and reins them in faster than any amount of torture could do.

I behaved that first day in Beouf’s class: swallowed my pride, filled my pants, tried not to cry, and did everything I could not to make the scene I so desperately had wanted to.  I did it for love.  I did it for one last chance to see Cassie.

If you’re reading this, I want you to step back from the particulars of my situation.  Maybe you’re a Little that has avoided capture up until this point, and you’re judging me strategically.  Perhaps you’re a Tweener and you’re idly curious as to what life might have been like for you if you were just a couple of feet shorter.  You might even be an Amazon, cosseting and chuckling to yourself that this can’t possibly be real; no Little could really write this well; certainly not one who was so immature.

Stop that.

Clear your mind.

Pretend you have an affliction that’s more universal than adoption and a quack diagnosis of Maturosis.  Pretend you’re afflicted with a terrible disease, one that will eat away at you and leave you a shell of your former self.  Perhaps you’ll live; but odds are you’ll die.  Not only that but you’re going to die far away and sequestered from almost everyone you’ve ever known and loved.  A few people will visit your hospital room,  you can tell that they don’t see you anymore, but the cancer that is eating away at you.

Now pretend that you’d get one final chance to see the person whom you love most in the world one last time.  You still might live, but that’s an outside chance.  You might never get the opportunity to see them ever again.  The catch is, in order to be cleared to see your love, you’ll have to undergo a series of painful treatments.  Treatments that will hurt you and make you scream out in pain and agony; they might even cause your disease to progress faster.  But it’s the one and only surefire chance to see the love of your life, even if it’s just one last time.

Just one last time.  So much hurt.  So much risk.  You might even accidentally infect your love.

Would you do it?

Love is neither patient, nor kind.

You’re damn right I would.

I stood there on the curb towards the very very back of the bus line, anchored in place by the incredibly strong Ivy Zoge and her Mommy watching over us. Beouf was busy loading the other Littles onto their bus, with the help of a driver and attendant; strapping them into child seats that they had no hope of escaping.

The ol’ cheese wagons staggered their arrival times in the morning, but left as one giant fleet in the afternoon.  Even with strict travel routes and teachers doing their darndest to herd the massive tide of kindergarten through fifth graders, it still had the rushing disorganized quality of an anthill that had just been kicked.

Almost there.  That’s what I kept telling myself.  I was almost there. Almost to Cassie. Everyone at school already knew.  They’d already seen me in my white and navy blue play clothes.  Even the kids knew that the sudden waddle and the bulge in my pants had nothing to do with weight gain.  The worst, for the time being, was over.  

A few more minutes and I’d be home...sort of.  One last time.  I’d at least get to go to sleep in that crib with fresh memories of my own front door.

I told myself this and stood there, being a ‘good baby’.  A bad report from Beouf seemed unlikely, but still possible. An inopportune freakout might be witnessed by Janet and then I’d be labeled as too fussy to go see a ‘Grown-Up Little’ like my wife.  So just breathe in and out.

“Sorry I kissed you Clark.”

I looked to my side and regarded Ivy.  I was legitimately surprised.  “Um...I forgive you…?” I said.  I didn’t say ‘it’s okay’.  Another old teacher trick.  Don’t use words that give the kid tacit permission to transgress again.  What happened wasn’t okay by me, but I had forgiven her; in part because Ivy really was a kid on some level of my psyche.  I’d never known her any other way.

“Mommy said that even though I’ve known you for a long long time that you’re still new to being a baby and so I gots ta treat you like a new kid instead of an old friend.”

“Oh...um...I understand.”  I shrugged lightly.  My head started swiveling.  From Ivy to the bus.  As usual, the pre-schoolers and the Littles were last to load up.  Where was Janet?  She normally dropped off her students by now, and it’s not like she didn’t know where to find Beouf’s bus.  Had I misunderstood the plan this morning?

“So do you want to?”

I stopped making my neck do an impression of a sprinkler.  “Want to what?”

“Be my friend?” Ivy asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Beouf come out of the bus.  All of my new classmates had been loaded up.  Next stop: their own personal nursery prisons.   “Sure,” I lied.  “We can be friends.”  I held up a finger, half expecting a pair of puckered lips.  “But just friends.  You don’t kiss just friends do you?”

A not-so-goody goody grin snuck onto Ivy’s mug.  Over the roar of the departing buses, Ivy’s answer would only be heard as an atonal murmur.  “Just the cute ones.”  She put her pacifier in her mouth and started sucking on it, looking away from me.

“Another day, another dollar, right my love?” Mrs. Zoge asked Ivy once the rumbling roaring fleet had pulled out onto the concrete riverway.  The surprisingly strong girl let go of my hand and reached towards her surrogate mother in the near universal sign for ‘uppies’.

Just that space was enough to make me feel an inch of relief.  Beouf was standing beside me, staring at me like I was a kitten or something. “So what now?”  I asked in the sudden quiet of the moment.

In reply two hands covered my eyes, blocking out the world. “Guuuuess who?”

“Ja-....?” I halted my speech. It wasn’t just the two of us.  A deal was a deal and I hadn’t gotten what I wanted from her.  “Mommy…” I said as monotone as I could. Not aggressive, but certainly not the cheery little bleating she’d be craving.  Damnit. There is literally no way to call someone ‘Mommy’ and have it be dignified.  

My vision came back, and the walkway fell away from me. “Thaaaaat’s right!”   I was back on her hip in that instant, holding onto her shoulder for balance even as she scooped her arm under my bum.  Her lips were peeled back in a bright toothy smile. “It’s Mommy!”  She kissed me on the cheek. “I missed you!”

Not that I wanted to, but I didn’t get so much as a chance to reply.

“How was he?” she asked Mrs. Beouf.  Her voice was slightly lower, more even keeled in talking with the other Amazon; the other ‘Grown-Up’.  A blatant reminder of my status, as if I’d had the opportunity to forget.

“Clark was very good,” Beouf replied.  “He was a little cranky at breakfast but he ate it all like a good boy after he went poop. Just needed to make some more room.”

A very large part of me wanted to curl up and die.  I would have thought I was emotionally numb to it at this point, but the present company and lack of other suffering Littles made the talk feel hyper focused and the burden heavier; less spread out.

“Oh? He went poop?”  Janet repeated as if it wasn’t loud enough the first time.  “Good.  I was worried he might be constipated when I changed him this morning and didn’t find any presents.”

The two women laughed, knowingly.  Zoge too.  The tired laugh of motherhood from people who had to find humor in the banality of everyday situations.  Ivy kept sucking on her pacifier and stared at me.

“He was very good the rest of the day,” Mrs. Beouf went on.  “Got along with all the other kids, even after Ivy went and kissed him.”

Janet looked over to the Little in Zoge’s arm.  “Ivy!” she scoffed. “That’s too nice!”  She sounded like she was scolding a naughty puppy, but not particularly mad about it.  The opposite was more likely true.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Grange,” Zoge said solemnly. “Ivy and I had a talk about it.  No more kissing without asking.  Promise.” She looked at Ivy. “Right, Ivy?”  Ivy buried her head in her Mommy’s shoulder and elicited ‘Awwwws’ all around.

Was Ivy actually blushing? Did this full native actually have a bit of pride left to embarrass? Why had I never seen this side of her before?  Maybe because I hadn’t looked for it.  Or maybe she was playing them, which would have been even more cunning than I had given the girl.

“He was a tad over-stimulated, after our first round of centers,” Beouf continued. “So I gave him some quiet time.  Miss Tracy even gave him a nice visit and talked to him for a few minutes.”

“That was nice of her,”Janet commented.  “We’ll have to tell her thank you later.”  She bobbed me up a bit to let me know I was included in that ‘we’.

Almost all of this was something I might have told Janet on my own if she had asked me directly. She didn’t though.  I wasn’t trusted to be a reliable narrator in my own life, anymore.

Typical.

“Last time he needed changing was just before Lunch.  He woke up dry and was dry just before we left for the buses.  But we gave him plenty to drink.  If he hasn’t turned into a fountain yet, he probably will soon.”  Beouf’s report on the state of my pants got me another jostle, this one a not-so-subtle attempt to see if I squished more than crinkled.

It was true. I woke up from the nap and walked the playground needing to pee.  Not desperately, mind you, but my bladder was likely over half full.  Had I actually needed diapers, I’d most certainly have been wet.   It’s almost like I wasn’t actually a baby.  Funny that.

“I hope he’s not trying to hold it in,” Janet raised her tone slightly.  “We had a talk with the doctor about that.  It’s not good to try.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Beouf waved the concern off.  “He’ll get distracted or tired and anything that needs to come out will come out.  Happens all the time with them.  Happened before Lunch.”

As things stood, I’d resigned myself to no potty breaks until Janet was good and sure that I’d accepted my fate.  I was going to hold it in until after I’d said my goodbyes and whispered my plans to Cassie.  The padding wasn’t going to come off, but I could still keep it dry a while longer.  Easily.

“So good day?”  Janet asked.

“Very good day.”

The three started walking.  “Coming over?” Beouf asked.  “I don’t mind if Clark plays with the toys while we chat.  Or are you going to your room to grade papers?”

Janet slowed and started to pivot towards the front office.  “Neither. I’m checking out early.  I promised someone a treat if he was good on his first day.”  I saw the wink.  I felt I was meant to.

“Ivy and I are going to get going too,” Zoge said.  She appeared to be headed toward her car.

Beouf nodded and waved. “That’s fine,” she said.  “See you all tomorrow, bright and early!”  My old mentor looked up at me and added in a chirpy “Bye, Clark!”

“Wave Bye-bye,” Janet whispered.  I did, just so that Beouf would stop trying to get me to copy her.

“Oh! MY! GOODNESS!”  The sound of Raine Forrest’s howling was loud enough to hear even before Janet had opened the door all the way.  She was standing up from her desk and hopping. “HE LOOKS SO FRIGGIN’ ADORABLE!”

“Hey Miss Forrest,” Janet said amiably enough.  I looked back over Janet’s shoulder,  counting the seconds to when I’d be buckled into a five point harness and taken back down the familiar path to my house one last time.  “Just leaving work early.”

The school receptionist took out a book and opened it.   “Sure, sure. Sign here. Date and time.” I started looking away and could still feel Raine’s eyes burning a hole into the back of my skull.  

“Thank you.”  Janet started signing out.  Slowly.  So slowly.

I was beginning to understand why Ivy sucked on a pacifier.  My tongue would be a bloody stump by the end of the month and my teeth would be ground into nubs if I didn’t find some kind of replacement behavior. When even an eye roll could be seen as a form of rebellion, sucking on one’s thumb or masking with a rubber bulb felt safer.

“He looks so much better this way.”  Raine said.  “So much more appropriate.  I just wish it had happened sooner.”

“Well, his Maturosis hadn’t kicked in yet,” Janet replied dreamily.

“Thank goodness it did.”  Both women appeared to be glowing; oddly content.  “Finally.  You’re so lucky.”

“Thank you,” Janet kept glowing.  “I think both of us are.  Some things are just meant to be.”  

Raine slumped back down into her chair. “Yeah. I guess so.”  If only I could bottle that bitter disappointment lurking just beneath the surface, I’d sell it as a cologne and be rich.

“Actually,” Janet said, putting down the pin.  “Before I head out, I need to go to the bathroom.  Would you mind watching Clark for a minute?”

That’s how I ended up in Raine Forrest’s lap.

Raine was already bobbing me up and down in her lap, holding me loosely by the wrists like I was her marionette.  “I’d love to.”

“Okay, Clark.  You be good for Miss Forrest.”

Don’t growl, don’t growl, don’t growl, don’t growl. “Yes.”

“Yes…?”  It was Raine who was verbally proddingprodding me.

Damnit.  I kept my eyes off my least formidable enemy.

“Yes...Mommy.” I was going to call her Janet as much as possible when we got in the car, just to counterbalance her crazy and remind her that there was more than some imagined baby riding in the back seat.

“I’ll be right back!” And she rushed off to the bathroom.  If I had done it like that, Raine would be snatching me up proclaiming ‘potty emergency’, or something equally contrived.

No need now.  She had me, and the only consolation I had was that her hold would last only as long as it took for Janet to wipe, flush, and wash her hands.

“Hi Clark.”  I felt her smile and sneering down at me from her lap.  She bounced me.  “Little crinklebutt!” she cooed.  “So cute.”  I didn’t respond.  If you can’t say something nice and can’t get away with punching them in the nose…

“This is so much better, don’t you agree?” She prodded me.  “Don’t you.”

Lie.  Lie for Cassie! Lie just to shut her up.  “Yes, ma’am.” For once, I sounded as defeated as I felt. So that was kind of nice in a weird cathartic way.

“Aren’t you happier now that you’re in your proper place?”  

“If you say so, ma’am.”

“No more having to pretend to be a big boy.  You finally got what you needed!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Comparing and contrasting my experiences, I imagined I looked like the Little girl back in the salon chair a few days ago.  I certainly felt like it.  It was weird when Janet Grange, Melony Beouf, and even Zoge infantilized me.  I’d had good memories of them. Adult memories that made it hard to completely close myself off to their treatments.  

Raine?  Emotionally speaking, this was cake.

“Ohhhh Clark.”  I looked up at my long time nemesis. “I have something for you.”  She’d let go of my right wrist and opened a desk drawer. In her hand was a lump of chocolate. A bon bon.  Something that came in a tiny pre-packaged box, possibly with a safe chili variant that Amazons might find tolerable and proof to a foolish Little that the rest was safe to eat..  “A treat. A gift.”

If I ate that training chocolate, I’d be all but bowel incontinent in the space of a few hours.  Possibly it might last for days.  Longer, depending on how my system reacted.

“I…” I faltered.  “I’m not hungry, Miss Forrest.  Thank you.”  I started wriggling in her lap, uncomfortable.  Wanting distance. Needing Janet to get back.

“Oh, it’s just a chocolate,” she replied, ever the snake staring at its mouse.  “One teensy chocolate.  For being such a good baby.”

“I want to be a good baby,” I said. “That’s why I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”  I felt like breaking into a cold sweat.

Her other hand coiled itself around my waist.  “This won’t spoil your dinner, baby.  I promise.  If anything it’ll help make lots and lots of room.”

Threat confirmed. My hands started prying at her fingers.  The hand with the chocolate started closing in. “Clark,” the monster woman hissed.  “Do you really want your new Mommy to see you like this?  Struggling and fussing?  What would she think?  I know she wants you to be good.”

“I don’t have to eat it!”  I took a swipe trying to hit the chocolate out of her palm and onto the dusty carpet below.  Missed!  “Oops!”

“Clark,” she leaned down and whispered.  “Be a good baby and eat it.  No need to be naughty.”

Teeth clenched, I snarled, feeling like a cornered animal. “I’m. Not. Naughty.”  

“Good babies don’t struggle and fuss when offered a treat by a Grown-Up.” Raine said simply.  “Good babies don’t cuss and say naughty words to the Grown-Ups who are watching them. They don’t call those Grown-Ups bad names like bitch...or cunt…”

Oh fuck that noise!  I had never called that fucking cunt a bitch to her face!  “But I didn’t…”

“Do you think she’ll believe you?”

Yes!

Maybe….

Not really…

No. Probably not.  Not with the incident at the shower fresh in her mind and the nasty things I spouted off to everyone.  Not with my history with Raine and my obvious disdain for her.

I didn’t verbally reply.  I just opened my mouth.  Accepted the candy.  The worst part of it all? It was delicious.  Sweetest poison I’d purposefully tasted.  A terrible, near illegal laxative, coated in the most decadent chocolate I could imagine.

I swallowed. Reminding myself that if the rumors were true, this wouldn’t hit me until close to dinner or bedtime.  If nothing else, I might sleep through the night.

For Cassie.  I’d do anything to make sure I saw her this one last time.

Janet came back too late to stop it, and was seeing the world through mad Mommy eyes.  “Okay.  Back!”

Raine released me into Janet’s slightly more tolerable grip.  “He was a perfect Angel,” she said without prompting.  “You’ve got a good one, Janet.”

“I know, thank you. “  Janet blushed. She actually blushed.  We were starting back towards the door.  To my reward.  To seeing Cassie that one last time.  I was Orfeus escaping the underworld.  Or maybe I was Eurodice and Janet was Orfeus.  Her leading, and me following.  The point being that I was just a few Amazon sized strides to being out of that particular hellscape for the day when...

“If only he was this well behaved last week.”

Like Orfeus before her, Janet stopped and turned around.  “Why?  What happened last week?”

“Clark locked me in the staff bathroom.”  Raine was trying to act nonchalant about it, but I could see the spite simmering just beneath the surface.  “It’s okay though,” she said.  “It was probably just his immaturity or Maturosis or whatever kicking in. Playing with the potty.”

Janet glared at me. “Is this true?”

“No!” I said. “It’s not like that!  Not like that at all! She was trying to lock me out!”

“I just went into the men’s room,” Raine replied coolly.  “The bathrooms are unisex, and it’s cleaner because we have so few grown men on campus.  If I had known it would have upset him so…”

Like a quantum yo-yo I was back behind the front desk, now on my feet, and with Janet behind me crossing her arms over her chest.  “Clark,” Janet said. “That wasn’t a very nice thing of you to do. Say you’re sorry.”
I wasn’t sorry.  Not one bit. “But Janet-!”

“What did you call me?”

“Mommy!” I strained. “You know how she is!”

“How is she?”  I was walking myself into a trap and I couldn’t stop it.

Raine spoke up behind me.  “Janet, it’s fine. Really.  Clark didn’t know what he was doing.  He just thought he was playing a funny joke.  He didn’t stop to think about all the calls I missed.”

“I-!”

“He’s just a baby.  They do these things from time to time. They can’t help but be naughty every once in a while.”

“Not my baby.” Janet insisted.  “Clark, apologize.”

“I-!”  I was shaking.  Of all the days for Raine Forrest to figure out how to best me!

“Clark…”

I turned around to face Janet. “You helped me dress up for silly sock day!”  I pointed my finger up at her accusingly. My face felt like it was swelling.  My gut was tying itself up in knots.

“And that was my fault,” Raine said oh so gently and condescendingly. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.  You were following the rules the only way you knew how, and you did nothing wrong.  I’m sorry about that, but that was last school year.  You hurt my feelings just last week.”

“She’s right Clark,” Janet said firmly.  “You should apologize for what you did.”

I couldn’t take it! Apologize?! To literally one of the worst people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing?  No.  Never.

“Janet! She tried to-”

“CLARK! GRANGE!”  My back went stiff and my ears burned as Janet boomed my new name.  She knelt down and wagged her finger in my face.  “You apologize to Miss Forrest right now or no treat, and you know exactly what I mean.”

My bottom lip started to jut out.  For Cassie.  I’d do it for Cassie.  “Yes Mommy,” I rasped.  I turned around and looked at the floor, staring at my shoes and grinding my right heel into the carpet like the naughty Little boy.  Standing there, in the front office where I used to be one of the faculty passing through on my way to work. I was stuck and dressed like an eighteen month old, wearing underpants that I now had zero chance whatsoever of either keeping clean or so much as making dirty on my own terms.  “I’m sorry...Miss Forrest.”  

It wasn’t loud.  But it was loud enough.

“It’s okay, baby.”  Came the cooing reply back.

It wasn’t.

Janet reached down and took my hand.  “Good job,” she said.  “Thanks for telling me about it,” Janet said.

“No problem.” I heard Raine say back.  “It takes a village and all that.  Let me know if you ever need a sitter.  I’d be happy to look after him for a few hours.”

“Sure,” Janet said.  She tugged at my hand.  I was being allowed to walk to the car instead of carried.  “Come on, Clark.  Let’s go.”

“Home?” I sighed in defeat.

She waited to respond till we were out of the front office and well out of earshot   “Yeah,” she said.  “Home.  Your old one.  To say goodbye.  One last time.”