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

[YourFNF]

Holy fuck I can't believe how raw this feels. This is basically the only way Clark can make them feel his pain and it just.... Wooff... To look at....

Personally would probably go with hunger strike in this situation. Like these fuckers want me as a prisoner? Okay have fun maintaining a J-tube and or IV for the next several decades.

[Moon3ye]

In fact, all we have is talk from the Amazon neighbor that Little Service was there when Clakr's old house burned down.

There was no confirmation that they got Cassie.

And even why? Her house was burned down but she had money and she could have stayed with her family.

Now, we don't know the law perfectly, but if we look at it logically, the probability is not zero that Cassie is still free.

Also, you realize how irrational Clark is right now (probably really proof of maturity) he could just give Tracy the phone number of Cassie's parents and have Tracy call her and ask.

Of course it could happen that she doesn't get an answer but it would at least be worth a try.

[BabyJilly_S]

That's quite something. I wonder how long he will be able to maintain such energy levels....

[TerranV]

Another great chapter. Good to see Clark turn his pain into some kind of power.

[Sarah Penguin]

[Personalias]

Chapter 57: Adventures in Being Babysat
Thursday Night.

The television clicked off.  The Muffets were on and Lita Coreno was about to do her famous rendition of ‘Fever’, arguably the bit that first made the show in Season 1.  It was a classic, and something I felt I needed to watch right then.

I pounced up to my feet, letting the blanket slide off my bare legs.  “Hey I was watching tha-!” I froze in embarrassment, realizing that I was in nothing but a diaper, again.  The locking mittens over my hands didn’t count as clothes to me.

Jessica stifled a giggle.  “You’ve only got another hour before bed,” she said.  “Do you really want to spend the rest of your time watching T.V.?”

“YES!”

“Ask a silly question…”

That day had not been good to say the least.  As opposed to the inspirational mischief I’d achieved on Tuesday, and the catharsis of Wednesday, Thursday had gone particularly poorly for yours truly.  At first, I’d tried crying all day but couldn’t get it up to snuff quickly enough.

“Don’t start that again, Clark,” Beouf warned.  “You’re just being silly.”

True enough.  I’d come across enough fake criers in my time to know when I was trying to be one. Grieving is a process.  Emotions come and go and one can’t force them.  Best to just explore them while they’re happening, and they weren’t happening right then.  

My second mistake was deciding that I’d ‘whoops’ all day.  No, that had nothing to do with the state of my pants, though I was quickly finding out that the aftershocks of the training chocolate weren’t done with me.  Holding it in for upwards of a minute was still next to impossible, I just got painful warnings before the explosions occurred.

‘Whoops’, in this instance, was my attempt at ‘painting the frog’ all day long:  Grab a crayon and drop it.  “Whoops!”  Bottle ends up on the floor and rolling under the table. “Whoops”. Pacifier becomes unclipped.  “Whoops”.    Puzzles; “Whoops”; paper, “Whoops”  me trying to ‘help’ by grabbing a whole stack of diapers from beneath Beouf’s changing table.  “Whoops!”

On paper it should have been good.  It was good...for a while.  But one of many bad parts about legally being a baby is that eventually Grown-Ups can just decide to not put up with you anymore.  That’s how my hands ended up in mittens, courtesy of Sosa the Occupational Therapist.  

My present state of undress came during dinner when Jessica chose to disrobe me for ease of clean-up.  She hadn’t bothered to give me back my pants, and offered me a blanket instead. At least I’d gotten to zone out and watch T.V.

“Come on!” Jessica tried to coax me.  “Let’s play! Get some of that energy out!”

I’d just wanted to tune out my surroundings and drown in nostalgia until unconsciousness claimed me.  This woman wanted to play.  Which one of us was supposed to be the adult again?

“I don’t want to play,” I said as evenly as I could.  “I just want to… I just want to…” I couldn’t say what I wanted to do.  “Just please.  Let me be.  I’ve had a bad… everything.”

Jessica, skinny, flat chested, and unimpressive for an Amazon, but still several times my size strode up to me, sat down and crossed her legs.  “Wanna tell Auntie Jessica about it?”  She patted the nest she’d made with her thighs inviting me to sit in it.

“You’re not my aunt,” I said.  “And Janet’s not my mother.”  One full week of me being snatched up and my life turning upside down because of a shart; less than twenty-four hours after Janet made that heartfelt declaration of love for me; and she’d already decided she was stressed out and needed a night off from being a ‘parent’.

Jessica seemed to get defensive.  “Janet, I mean your Mommy is doing her best to learn how to make you happy and you’re not making it any easier for her.”

“Easy?” I scoffed. “Easy? She thought taking a grown man and forcing him to be her baby was going to be easy?”

Now she scoffed.  “It’s not her fault that you poopied right in front of everyone. She’s just trying to figure some stuff out.  Most mothers have at least a couple of months to figure everything out.”

I opened my mouth to reply and came up short.  Damn.  She was right. Janet had benefited from my downfall, but I had no real reason to believe she’d caused it.  Time to change the subject.  “What does that make you, then?”

“Her best friend,” Jessica said plainly enough.  “Her sister from another mister.” Then she dared,  “Your Auntie.”

“You’re not my aunt.”

“Your babysitter then.”

I sighed.  I knew where this was going.  “Can I at least have my shorts back?”

“They’re only gonna come off when it’s time for bed, anyhow,” Jessica replied.  She was still sitting down, hoping I’d come cuddle with her.  Good luck with that...

“This diaper isn’t going to make it to bedtime either,” I retorted.  “Does that mean I can walk around nude?”  

“No, silly. Little babies need their diapers.”  Like a cobra, two fingers had shot down past the leg cuff.  “You’re a little wet, though.  Do you want me to change you?”

Another no-win question.  I’d gone underneath the blanket, anticipating a losing potty argument.  I’d been right.  Still...a question was an invitation to negotiation.  Negotiation determined measures of control.

This Amazon was Janet’s best friend.  Someone Janet had gossipped about me to and was determined to see me as Janet did and was even pushier about being called ‘Auntie’ than Janet was for ‘Mommy’.  She’d probably be another one of Beouf’s disciples if she had a Little of her own.

She didn’t have a Little of her own, though.  She had all of Janet’s cosseting, but no one to infantilize.  No Clark to call her own. She had an Amazon crush on who she perceived me to be and absolutely zero experience with the real me.

Maybe I could use this...

“If I let you change me now, can I wear pajamas?” I asked.

A smirk.  The recognition of a hint of a challenge.  “When I change you,” she replied, “I’ll dress you up in your jammies, yes.”   

Oh the power of language to assert control, demean, and subvert.  A true Amazon.  I could work with this, though. I really could.

“Can I get the mittens off, too?” I asked.  “My hands are all hot and icky”

Her mouth cocked to the side. “I don’t know...Janet told me how you’d been acting up today.”  Of course she had.

“Did my Mommy say I had to leave them on till tomorrow?” I asked.

Bingo. I knew I’d won as soon as I’d called Janet the M-word.  “Well...she didn’t specifically say that...but I didn’t ask.”

“But she didn’t specifically say,” I grinned, hoping my smile came off as precocious or whatever people used to describe a child with charmingly adult-like qualities.

Jessica got up.  “Okay.  You got it, kiddo.  Diaper change.  Jammies. No more mittens.”  Heh. Kiddo.  Based on this exchange we were more similar than she’d ever want to admit.  If shrinking rays were a thing she’d be more likely to pass as a classmate than as a babysitter.  “Deal?”

Miracle of miracles, she reached down with one hand and left it there for me to shake.

I took it, grasping her palm like it was victory itself. “Deal.”

“Great.”  

I lifted both arms up at an angle, and Jessica yanked me up by the armpits and onto her hip. Sad to say but I was already getting used to this sort of thing.  “Let’s go get changed,” the sitter said.

Riding around Janet’s house was hardly a novel experience.  Outside of my nursery, and the living room, everywhere else required me to travel on someone else’s hip.  I’d never even seen the inside of Janet’s bedroom.

Jessica plopped me down on the changing table.  I reached up and wiggled my wrists.  “Mittens first, please.”

“Please is the magic word,” Jessica responded immediately.  She reached over to my wrists and undid the latches with a grip much stronger than mine and fingers more dexterous than the mittens allowed me to be.

I wiggled my fingers as if it were the first time using them while Jessica’s hands went to undo the tapes on my Monkeez. I barely flinched.   It’s strange how quickly I forgot to be embarrassed; actually forgot.

Jessica had never seen me dressed as an adult or otherwise known me as ‘Mr. Gibson’.  We were alone with no one left in the entire house, with no one to witness my position.  She was being good about not commenting or narrating anything as she wiped me down and such, possibly lost in her own head considering how much she’d wanted to change me at the shower.  To top it all off, after the new diaper was on, something would come to cover it up.  Best of a bad situation, really.

Speaking of that: “Whoah! Whoah! Whoah!” I called out just as Jessica was unfolding a super thick Nighttime Monkeyz.  “Not that one!”

“Why not?” Jessica said.  “You’re about to go into your jammies.  Might as well have your night diaper on.”

“It’s really hard to move around in those things!” I said. “It’s almost like a pillow.”

“So?”

So? So? Crap, I needed a reason to...to...idea!  “How are we supposed to play if I can barely move?”

“Play?”

Laying down, completely naked, I shrugged.  “Why not?”  I quickly added, “My pajamas all have snaps in them. You can change me into one before you put me down for the night.”  

That was enough.  A regular daytime diaper took its place beneath me and I was powdered and taped in.  The jammies I was buttoned into were sky blue, but at least the feet had tiny grips in the soles so that I could walk without sliding around too much.  

“So what do you want to play, cutie?”  I was back on her hip and being taken back to the living room. Jessica’s grin was almost identical to Janet’s that first day that she took me.  If she hadn’t told me that she and Janet weren’t related, I might’ve assumed based on that look alone.

I looked around the room.  I’d written a check to keep my thighs closer together. Now my ass had to cash it.  “Um...I dunno.” I said.

The babysitter was more than willing to help.  “Peekaboo?”

“No.”

“Horsey ride?”

“No.”

“I mean you ride on my back, not my knee“ the technically more adult of us said.

“Still no.”

She looked over to the unfolding obstacle course.  “We could…”

“Nope!”

“You’re just full of ‘no’ all of a sudden, aren’t you Little guy?”

I exhaled and looked around the room.  I was alone with a baby crazy Amazon that I’d just had some success at negotiating with.  How could I turn this to my advantage?

Inspiration! “Hide and seek?” I asked.  “Whole house?”

Jessica puckered her lips in thought.  “I don’t know…”

The more I thought about it, the more I knew it was a good idea.  What better way to get into every nook and cranny of this place than to pretend to be looking for a hiding spot?  “Come on,” I goaded her.  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You might try to run away.”  Janet’s friend said quickly enough.  She wasn’t cosseting on me so hard as to be completely oblivious to the fact that I was a Little and not regressed.  It was only natural to assume that I’d book it.

I gestured to the kitchen where the nearest door was.  “Come on!” I said. “All the doors are baby proofed with those special knob things.” I hated using words like baby in place of Little; I was just playing to my audience.  “And look at me.  Even if I do get away, where am I going to go dressed like this?”

“You could get hurt, and I won’t be there to save you.”

My arms fidgeted, and I had to use my willpower to keep them still instead of gesticulating wildly.  “This is the suburbs!  It’s not like a great beast is going to eat me or something!”  Oh, the absurdity of it all!

“Yeah, but you might hurt yourself trying to hide from me or get out.  You could get stuck, or crushed, or trapped.”

I exhaled.  “Fair point.  Okay.  So...boundaries? Certain places where neither one of us is allowed to go.”

Come on Clark, I thought.  You can do this.  Control the conversation.  Set the rules, even if you’re going to break them.

Jessica hemmed and hawed for a moment.  “Alright.  Let’s talk boundaries.  No hiding in the oven.”

Yikes! Did she really think I was so…? I stopped myself.  I could use this.  “Okay.  No oven. No refrigerator either.  Cabinets are okay though.”

“That sounds safe enough,” Jessica.  “No trying to get into the dryer or the washing machine, either.”

I made a show of thinking.  “Can I hide in the garbage cans?”  I had no desire to hide in the garbage cans.  This was about getting concessions more than extra spots.  Also extra options on her mind could only help me.

“Ewww!” Jessica’s nose wrinkled.  “No way. You’ll get disgusting and I’m not giving you a bath so close to your bedtime.”

“Empty them first,” I said.

“Nope.”

I kicked at the carpet a bit.  “Okay, okay.  What about laundry baskets and hampers?”

“That’s okay.” Jessica replied.  She looked around the room.  “Hiding under chairs and tables is okay, too, but no messing with the sofa.  You could get hurt.”

The game within a game was getting me excited.  “What about the bathtub?  Under my crib?”

“All good,” she said.  “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “No messing with the lights when you hide.  No fair turning the lights off to make you harder to find.”

“Harder to find?” Jessica ran a hand through her short brown hair. “I’m not hiding. I’m seeking.”

I had anticipated this.  “What? Where’s the fun in that? We take turns.”  I’d been hiding from Amazons in some form or another my entire life.  Why not change it up a bit?  More importantly, the seeker had greater freedom of movement.  

.Clearly she imagined herself leisurely walking through the house calling my name. ‘Wheeeere’s Clark?’  “I’m too big to hide in this house,” the Amazon chuckled

“So you think you’re gonna lose,” I goaded her.  “That’s an interesting way to play it.”

She got that exact same look of iron willed competitiveness that I’d seen in Ivy Zoge’s face on Monday.  Who says Amazons and Littles are that different?  “If I chose to hide, kiddo, you’d never find me.”

“Oh really?” I said. “Care to make a bet?”

“What kind of a bet?” she asked.

“A simple bet,” I suggested.  “We take turns.  Every time I find you… I get a cookie.”

A look of understanding and recognition came across Jessica’s face. “Ooooooh! So that’s why you want to play hide and seek.  You want a game you can win so that you can get a cookie!”  More like I wanted to appear to be interested in something besides snooping around.  I looked away trying to seem bashful.  “Okay. What do I get when I find you?” she asked.

I thought.  What did I have to offer her? What to get for the girl who might not have everything, but it doesn’t matter because you have no credit card?  “You can...tickle me?”

Score! Again the hand came out, rather like an equal.  “Deal!”

We shook.  She took out her phone and played with it for a moment.  “One minute to hide.  Five minutes to look.  If the alarm goes off first, hider wins.”

I didn’t like the time limit on snooping, but I knew where to push.  “Deal.”

“Oh, and no going into your Mommy’s room. I just don’t think she’d like it.”

“What?” I whined. “We didn’t negotiate that.”

“Sorry, kiddo.  Them’s the breaks.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m older than you!”

She didn’t seem too bothered by that fact. “Take it or leave it.”

I huffed.  “Fine.”  I was totally going into that room.  If I wasn’t before, I was after that exchange.

Jessica showed me the app on her phone.  A one minute timer on vibrate followed by a five minute timer on speaker.    “You hide first.  Ready! Set! Go!”

She put the phone down and covered her eyes.  I started looking around for a place to hide.  A bad one, too.  I was planning pool shark tactics.  Lure in my pursuer’s interest by lowering her expectations.  Play just enough to give a feeling that I was doing it for real instead of biding time.

Even with no life left to live, the fantasy of escape kept coming back to me.  I wouldn’t escape tonight, but I could at least get the information that would eventually lead to my escape.  

Internally, I started counting to sixty.  Memorize the doors, observe the windows.  Nothing to it.  There was the nursery, the guest bathroom, the greeting area, the living room, the kitchen, and Janet’s room.  

A couple air conditioning vents made me pause and consider.  It did not last long though.  The vent was small, even for me.  I couldn’t rip the tapes off a diaper; forget taking a grate off.  No go on the grates.

“Ready or not! Here I come!”

I shuffled quickly into my nursery and hid behind the curtain. It was a bad hiding spot. The curtain didn’t even come down to my ankles. Nobody would be fooled by this.  That was the point.

“Claaaaark?” Jessica called out.  “Where arrrrrre yoooooou?!  Wheeeeeeere’s Clark?!”  Ha! Called it!  Her footsteps were practically thunder in the house.  “Wheeeere’s Clark?!”  

I decided to speed up the inevitable and forced a childish giggle.  “Hee-hee! Hee-heee!”  I covered my own eyes and shuffled my feet in place.  Maybe Amazons were secretly tuned into the crinkle?  I didn’t know.

“THERE HE IS!”  I felt the woosh of the curtain being pulled back.  I heard Jessica stifle laughter.  “Awwww, Clark!  It doesn’t work like that.”

“I know,” I sighed.  

“You know what that meeeeans?”  Already, Jessica’s fingers were moving like spider’s legs.  “Iiiit’s tickle time!”

I pressed myself up against the wall and let the panic fill my eyes.  “Wait!” I called out.  “If I find you, will I get a cookie right away?”

“Hmm?” Jessica grunted.  She clearly hadn’t considered that. “No. I think if you get any cookies, you’ll have to wait till we’re done playing.”  She started making like a cat that had cornered a mouse.

“Then how is it fair,” I asked, “that you tickle me every time you find me?”

The tickle monster stopped. “Fair enough,” she said.  “But I’m gonna give you a really big tickle before bed then!  It’ll be worth two or three tickles put together!”

“Good thing I’m wearing a diaper, then,” I replied. Those are seven words I never thought I’d say in that order.

The thought of somehow tickling me until I peed myself caused Jessica to bubble up. “Okay,” she said.  “Your turn.”  She grabbed my hand and led me back to the living room.  She took her phone out and reset it.  “Ready?”

She had no idea.

“Close your eyes.”

I did.

“Go!”

I inhaled and slowed my breathing; waiting the full minute until the phone vibrated.  No sense in cheating.  Not yet.  Not like this.  I didn’t actually want that cookie.  I started to prowl through the house, doing my best to hope that the diaper wouldn’t give away my position.  Neither did I call out Jessica’s name.  I didn’t want her to know where I was.  Now was the time to really hide.

Walking past a hall closet towards my nursery, I caught a hint of a shadow coming out from underneath a door. I didn’t hear words, but I heard the same giggling I’d heard moments before.  Such a shame.  She was totally going to win.  No cookie for me.  Oh well.

I about-faced and walked as quietly as I could across the house to Janet’s bedroom.  I wasn’t supposed to go in there, and I had less than five minutes to snoop what I could before the alarm on Jessica’s phone went off.  

The door was left open just a crack and I slid myself inside, making sure that I wouldn’t have to jump if I wanted to open the door back up.  So this is what Janet’s room looked like!  The room was painted a light, almost flamingo pink.  Closer to rose petal, come to think of it.  Oddly calming. The far side of the room had a computer desk and desktop, very similar to what I’d used...before.  

Likewise, the master bathroom was connected to the bedroom, just like...before.  The bathroom was smaller, mine was...had been nicer, but it did the trick, especially for a woman living on her own.  A sink, a mirror, a medicine cabinet, a toilet, and a shower.  Nothing fancy.

The shower had a screened in window, the kind with the warped distorted glass that would let sunlight in without anyone being able to see inside the shower.  I fantasized a scenario in which I could somehow reach that high, toss a big enough brick to shatter it, crawl through the window and drop to the outside without breaking a leg.

Unlikely.

Back in the bedroom proper a vanity mirror sat across the bed where I would’ve put a chest of drawers.  Janet kept makeup and jewelry on the stand and I could just imagine her putting on her finishing touches each morning before coming to wake me up. The walk in closet made up for the relative smallness of the bathroom.  

It was half the size of the Braun’s trailer...and just like that I made myself sad again.  It was also very empty, only half full... and just like that I felt a bit of dark pleasure.

The real centerpiece of the room, however, was Janet’s bed.  Incredibly big, even for Amazon furniture, it looked extremely messy; a mountain of mattress, pillows, and disheveled comforters. Janet had fallen out of the habit of making it, it seemed.  More important was the headboard.  Massive, to the point of being gaudy, the head of the bed was actually a thick set of glass cabinets holding china and silverware.

Someone liked breakfast in bed.  Up at the very top were fancy glasses; champagne flutes, martini glasses, and the like.  Someone liked more than just breakfast in bed.  Mimosas perhaps?  To the right of the headboard, just where an Amazon could easily reach if they were sitting up- or a Little might steal if he were standing on the mattress- was a dark black bottle.  A cabinet with fine dishes to break was one thing. ‘Whoops!’  I was nothing if not spiteful.

The bottle is what really drew me in, however.  There was something that I hadn’t been in a long time: drunk.  Time to fix that.

I scurried up the mattress. My diaper was still dry and just thin enough that I could make a decent jump of it and pull myself the rest of the way up.  The mattress didn’t squeak under my weight and  I couldn’t hear the rustling of the soft plastic as I zipped and scrambled over pillows and bunched up sheets.

Not much time now.  Any second the alarm would go off and I would lose.  I wouldn’t get this opportunity again tonight.  I leaned out and grabbed the handle of the unlocked liquor cabinet.  It opened out from the bed.  

Digging my fingers into another built-in cabinet I leaned out as far as I could and grasped at the bottle.  Full!  Very full!  So full I almost dropped it! It was practically a baby in weight; a real one. Setting it down on the mattress, I rotated the bottle, looking for a label.

No name on the bottle; just a symbol. A white boney hand holding a red oblong shape.  I squinted and mused.  Did no name make it expensive?  Was I about to waste really good booze? What was it?  Vodka? Wine?  Did I care?

Wedging the bottle between my legs, I held it in place with my knees while I unscrewed the lid. Sniffing at the bottle, my nose wrinkled at just a whiff!  “Ooof!” I said involuntarily.  This stuff was strong!  It made sense that Amazons would have liquor this potent.  They’d need it just to feel a slight buzz.

The sound of an alarm faintly going off in the distance made my ears prick up.  Time!  Out of time!  “claaaark?” I heard the distant voice of Jessica echo on the other side of the house.  “Claaaaark?”   I was going to be in so much trouble!

“Whelp,” I whispered, gathering up my courage.  “If I’m going to be in trouble, I might as well make it worth it.”  I stood up on the mattress, opened my mouth as wide as it would go so as to fit around the bottle’s massive rim, gripped it with both hands and then tilted back as far as I could.

In that split second, I imagined the scene as Jessica might perceive it.  Coming and looking for me and finding a ‘baby’ nursing on a very different kind of bottle. This was going to hurt, but it’d be worth it.  Worst case scenario, I reckoned, I could plug it with my lips to stem the tide if the booze burned a bit too much.

Mistake!  BIG MISTAKE!

FIRE!  MY ENTIRE MOUTH WAS INSTANTLY ON FIRE!  Inside the lips, tongue, back and the throat, everything burned!  Cheeks! Gums! Uvula!  Someone had taken a match to the inside of my fucking skull!  It burned, and not just in the way that all alcohol burns!  

The first three to four gulps had been just me chugging without thinking.  I was not going to bed sober, no siree!  I didn’t make it to a fifth swallow.  My gag reflex was already fighting me. I exhaled and felt the burning, stinging, pain in my nostrils.

It hurt! So much! Pain! It was like an Amazon spanking to the inside of my face! Stupidly, I puckered my lips.  That only made more of my face burn.  “FUUUUUUUUUUU-!” I screamed, heaving the bottle to my side while I sat up.

Gasoline! I must have chugged a bottle of gasoline.  I’d need my stomach pumped!  

“AAAAAAAAH!”  I was crying, my eyes tearing up while I screamed and wiped at my tongue in agony.  Breathing?  Breathing only made it worse! “MOTHER FUUUUUU-!”  I rolled on the mattress, licking the comforter in a bizarre and futile attempt to make the hurting stop.  I didn’t roll far enough, and soon my tongue touched upon a gasoline soaked bedsheet as the puddle spread on Janet’s bed, and the whole thing started over again.

Thunderous running over my howls of pain, but I still drowned them out with my own yelping.  “OOOOOOOOOOW!”

“Clark?!”

The door slammed open.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK! GODDAMNIIIIIIT!”  I stopped swallowing and started drooling.  It didn’t help the hurt any.  Might’ve even made it worse.  

“Clark? Baby, what’s wrong!”

Gasping for breath I pointed to the spilled bottle with one hand while I stupidly wiped my mouth with the other.  “WHY?”  I felt like I was breathing fire.  My eyes felt like they were shooting lasers out of them.  “WHY DOES….?”   Talking hurt.  I didn’t want to talk.  Staying still hurt.  I didn’t want to stay still.  I kept flailing my arms and pumping my legs on the mattress just to distract myself.  

A thousand invisible ants had crawled into my throat and were biting me from the inside out. The tube!  It was like the tube that Beouf had shoved me down into, only on the inside!  IT BURNED!

Jessica picked up the bottle and looked at the logo.  She gasped.  I went to wipe my eyes.  “Clark! No!”

Too late. The pain doubled in my eyes.  I was no longer just crying because of how much everything below the nose hurt, now my eyes were on fire too.

I didn’t need to see to understand that I was being picked up and carried out of Janet’s room.  “Shit shit shit shit shit shit!” Jessica cursed.  

I also didn’t need to see to be able to scream.  Which I did. A lot.   “WHYYYYYYYYY?!”  So many questions.  Why did it hurt?  Why did it hurt so much?  Why wasn’t it stopping?  Why was I so fucking stupid as to put something in my mouth if I didn’t know what it was?  I had not a single answer to these questions just then, so a single syllable of “WHYYYYYYYY?!” had to do.

“Clark?  Open your mouth for me.”  Jessica had lost all of the cutesy inflections in her voice.  “Open your mouth, baby.”  

It hurt more to breathe through my nose than my mouth, so I didn’t put up much resistance.  Not a second later, something cold and creamy squirted into my mouth.  I latched onto the bottle without hesitation.  “MMmm...Mmmmm..”   The cold, fatty stuff, filled my mouth and glided down my throat and it still wasn’t enough.  The fire inside was dying, but still too slowly for me to be comfortable.

It was a relief however.  “Hold still,” Jessica said, her voice still with worry.  I felt wipes, first wet then dry, drag across my face.  “Keep drinking.  Open your eyes if you can.”   Gradually, I blinked open, more tears came out, but it was hurting less.  My sockets were flushing themselves out.

My lips still felt on fire and I kept sucking them into my mouth.  Jessica saw my face and took the bottle from me.  “Close your mouth a second.“  I did, even though breathing through my nose still felt like I had nostrils filled with angry wasps.  She squirted some milk directly onto my lips, and the pain started to go away one awful second at a time.

Greedily, I opened my mouth and accepted the nipple again.  “That’s right,” she whispered to me.  “Drink it up.  There’s at least one more prepped in the fridge and at least a couple gallons more to pour in if you need it.”  

Pathetically I nodded and kept suckling while she bobbed me lightly in her arms.  I took the chance to test my throat when the bottle was empty.  “What,” I gasped.  “Was...that...shit…?”

My babysitter put the second bottle to my lips and waited for me to drink.  “That was ghost pepper tequila.  It’s spicy, even for Amazons.  What did you think it was?”

I let up sucking long enough to answer.  “Wine?  Vodka?”  I latched back on immediately.  It still hurt to have an empty mouth.  Jessica’s eyes brightened up.  I got the same look when I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare for fear of hurting a child’s feelings.  She’d laugh about this much much later, though. I could just tell.

“Honey, there aren’t any Little drinks in this house, I’m sure.  All of your stuff is in the fridge where it belongs, not in your Mommy’s liquor cabinet by her bed.”

My mouth let go of the nipple.  “Please...don’t...tell...Mommy.” I was beyond embarrassed at my situation.  Using the M-word was a low blow meant to manipulate her emotions. No point in letting pride hold me back.  The trick worked, just not how I thought it would.

“You think I’m gonna tell on myself?” she said.  “No chance.  Janet would never let me babysit you again if she found out what I let you do.”

Jessica carted me to my room. She put me down in my crib, but left the bottle.  “Keep drinking, but slow down,” she ordered.  “Swish it around.  Maybe gargle.  I’m going to Janet’s room to see if I can clean up your mess.”  

This time she got no complaints from me. I sat there for several minutes, swishing milk around my mouth.  My stomach gurgled a bit from what I’d just added to the concoction inside me.  This stuff would probably hurt coming out tomorrow if not sooner.

I exhaled, sad, pathetic and defeated. How fucked up was it that this was my life now? Just then, I didn’t care.  I just wanted the mouth pain to go away and for this awful, awful day to be over.  Thursdays might be terrible for me for the rest of my life at this rate.  The streak had held so far.

Hadn’t it been a Thursday when my date with Cassie had gone sideways?

Cassie...

Tears of continued grieving and existential dread were cut off by a sudden not quite dizzy feeling.  Tipsy.  My cheeks warmed up, but it felt good this time.  My everything still sizzled inside but I suddenly cared less.  The mattress of the crib seemed a lot more cozy just then. I kept working on the nipple of the now emptied bottle because it felt good.

Wow!  I had been at least half-right.  It wasn’t vodka, but it was some strong shit!  Eyes at half mast, I laid back in my crib.  Stupidly, feebly, I reached out for Lion and clutched the stuffed animal close to me, his synthetic fur lighting up my senses.

“Okay, I think I…”  Jessica said coming in.  “Clark?”  

“Mmmm?”

“You okay?”

I let the bottle drop out of my mouth.  “Oooooooh yeah...I’m really okay.”  The room was starting to sway and spin a little.  “Fanks for the milk.”

“Uh...no problem sweetie.”  She took the bottle out of my mouth and I let out a groan while my lips puckered.  “Here ya go.”  My bottle was replaced with a pacifier.  “Wow.  You’re a real lightweight, aren’t you?”

I blinked to try and stay awake.  “Well yeah,” I said. “I’mma...I’mma… Little... ain’t I?”

“Yeah,” Janet’s friend said.  “I guess you are.” Quickly, she unbuttoned my pajamas and changed my diaper to an overnight.  “Very Little.” Before turning off the lights, she reached down and rolled me over onto my stomach.  “Let’s have you sleep on your tummy...just in case.”

“In cayshe what?” I mumbled from behind the pacifier.

“Just in case.” The lights went out around me and I could feel my brain gleefully shutting down.  Time to rest.  Back to the drawing board tomorrow.  Live to fight another day.

“Hey hey!” I heard Janet whisper. The drowsiness and fatigue all but leapt out of me.  My eyes remained closed but my mind started to race.  How much did she know?

“Oh!” Jessica jumped. She lowered her voice back down. “You’re back!”

“Meeting got out earlier than I thought,” Janet said.  

“What’s that in your hand?”

“Had time to go shopping, so I picked a special something up.” I heard the rustle of a plastic shopping bag. “How was he?”

“A little fussy at first,” Jessica lied.  “But I managed to tucker him out.  Was just about to close the door…”

“That’s great,” Janet said.  “He hasn’t been sleeping very well. I knew you’d do well.”

“Well...you know…” Jessica was sounding less and less confident.  I managed my breathing, sucking on the pacifier and cuddling Lion to control my pulse.  “He called you Mommy a couple times…”

“Yeah,” I heard a tired heave from Janet.  “Probably when he wanted something from you, am I right?”  Jessica made no reply that I could hear.  “They say it’s common at this stage.  It’s still a step in the right direction.” It didn’t sound like she fully believed herself.  “Glad you two had a good time, though.”

Had I wanted to, I still had the strength to push myself up, and shout out exactly what had happened.  Even if I slurred every word, Janet might smell the liquor on my breath.  I didn’t though.  Jessica helped me out of a lot of pain and talked to me better than most. Still, I blamed it on the milk.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to write that letter of recommendation?” Janet asked.  My eyebrows nearly lifted off my face.  The Grown-Ups had moved onto other topics, apparently.

“I’m sure,” Jessica sighed.  “I want to get that teaching position on my own.”

“And you will,” Janet softly murmured.  “As soon as one opens up.”

There in the darkness, my eyes peeked open, adjusting instantly to the pale nightlights.  Jessica was a teacher, too?  And unemployed?  And Janet had been trying to get her a job?!

Through blurry and drunken eyes, I peered out the bars of my crib.  It was hard to tell from the angle, the darkness and the blood alcohol content, but if I hadn’t known any better I’d have said that Janet was holding a box of candy in the palm of her hand.  Not just any kind of candy, either. From the outside, it looked like the kind for cream filled chocolate bon bons bought for fancy occasions, dates, presents, and the like; the kind that Rainne Forrest kept in her desk.  And were I in a betting mood, I’d have said that the shopping bag had more than a few duplicates of the same.

Why did Janet have so many?

“Let me just give him a kiss goodnight…”

[TerranV]

Ghost Pepper tequila? Holy fuck! Is it even tequila at that point?

Some more intrigue there at the end. Maybe the door isn't completely closed on Janet being involved with what happened to Clark. Maybe she isn't "one of the good ones" like she thinks she is. 

Or maybe she's getting desperate with how Clark has been and wants some

Or perhaps she just got them from Forrest not entirely aware of what they are. 

[Moon3ye]

I know I'm repeating myself and that this is often very boring when people repeat themselves over and over but I'll stick with "maturity" is real in the world your DD story is set in, Clark has it and he's losing his mind.

[YourFNF]

10 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

know I'm repeating myself and that this is often very boring when people repeat themselves over and over but I'll stick with "maturity" is real in the world your DD story is set in, Clark has it and he's losing his mind.

Ehhh IDK I feel like loosing it is just a natural reaction to being kept as someone's pet against your will, dehumanized and gas lit.

Clark seems like he's at the bargaining stage of grief

....

Also thinking it's Janet's friend now potentially and she wanted his job?

[TerranV]

2 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Ehhh IDK I feel like loosing it is just a natural reaction to being kept as someone's pet against your will, dehumanized and gas lit.

Clark seems like he's at the bargaining stage of grief

....

Also thinking it's Janet's friend now potentially and she wanted his job?

If it is her friend she kinda missed the boat there as Clark's position was filled almost immediately.  

Almost suspiciously so...

One of the things I like about this mystery is that no one's completely off the table. 

[Moon3ye]

2 hours ago, YourFNF said:

Ehhh IDK I feel like loosing it is just a natural reaction to being kept as someone's pet against your will, dehumanized and gas lit.

Clark seems like he's at the bargaining stage of grief

....

Also thinking it's Janet's friend now potentially and she wanted his job?

But I would also find it funny if the Amazons are not really the bad guys this time but the "mature" there is just really this time but it is only really clear to us later because we see everything from Clark's point of view. And compared to what we know from DD stories you can't say that Clark is treated badly so far.

[bobindiapers]

I don't think the box or boxes of training chocolates that Janet has are or were for Clark, I think it's all part a devious plan to get back at Ms Forrest and simultaneously get Jessica a chance at Clark's old job. Janet is going to slip every Little in Clark's old class a piece of training chocolate first thing in the morning. The onslaught of messy diapers later that day will overwhelm Tracy and the new teacher (I forget her name) causing them to call Mrs Brollish asking for help. Brollish won't want to change messy diapers so she will send Ms Forrest to help and she will have to spend the entire day changing messy diaper after messy diaper while the teachers try to actually teach the Littles. The new teacher will be so disgusted by the smell that she will quit and Janet will recommend Jessica for the job. Easy peasy. ?

[Kif]

Okay this may be a bit of a weird question given the serious turn this story took, but has anyone else been imagining Clark as Walter White / Heisenberg throughout most of the story? ?

Like...I knowwww he has been described with curly red/orange hair etc but...My head just GOES there and I have no guesses as to why...

[Personalias]

Chapter 58: A Million Ways to “Why”

“Pssst” Tommy whispered to me on our way out of the cafeteria after breakfast.  “Clark.”  

I snapped out of my haze and pivoted sideways as much as I could look at Tommy while still being forced to hold Ivy’s hand.  “What?”  

Unbelievably, I was more than slightly hungover and had been debating whether or not to go in my pants now or hold it till after Circle Time on the off chance that it would be an annoyance to Beouf and Zoge.  My stomach made it very clear that it might not give me the choice.  A baby wipe was starting to look awful good just then…

“It’s Why Day,” Tommy hissed.

“Friday?”

“No,” Tommy repeated himself.  “Why Day!”

Did Amazon grade booze affect listening comprehension too?  “What?”

“Just watch and go with it,” Tommy said.  “Oh, and don’t tell Ivy.”

I blanched.  “Why?”

“That’s the spirit, dude!”

The real spirit beame crystal clear during Circle Time.  Beouf had elected to do diaper duty and Zoge was in front of the class and ready to roll. “Alright boys and girls, let’s start off this Friday right!”  Sandra Lynn’s hand shot up into the air.  “Yes, Sandra Lynn? Do you want to be changed next?”

“Why?”

A bit of snickering floated into the air.

Zoge seemed slightly confused. “Why what?”  She was still using her gentle, musical ‘talk to babies’ voice.  “Why would you want to be changed next or…?”

“Whyyyy….” Sandra Lynn froze.  “Can’t we go to the playground instead?”

“It’s not time to go to the playground,” Zoge said.

From her place on the floor,  Shauna raised her hand.  “Why?”

It clicked right there.  I had had students in the past who pushed boundaries by saying “Why”.  Said, not asked.  The point wasn’t to find out ‘why’, the point was to stall; to make the teacher talk more than you and to talk about what you wanted to talk about, or to prevent them from teaching. I’d seen plenty of three and four year olds do it before. I’d heard stories of third and fourth graders resorting to it, too. Never though, had I seen a planned massive ‘group why’.  

This is what happened when you grouped people aged not quite twenty to almost forty together and treated them like children.

“We have a schedule,” Mrs. Zoge kindly explained.  Patient. Too patient. Cultural bias, perhaps?  Maybe a language barrier?  I’d have shut this down right away if not ignored it.  “Right now, our schedule says we should be doing Circle Time so we can start our day off right.”

Jesse took the lead “Why?”

Before he could be answered, Zoge came out of the bathroom.  “Clark, you’re up.”

Jesse redirected his question to Mrs. Beouf.  “Why?”

“I’m not answering that,” Beouf responded.  Yup.  Beouf was wise to it.  Damn, I hated that I still respected her on some level.

I waddled toward her and she took me into the bathroom. As if by magic, my shortalls became a dress when Beouf quickly unbuttoned them and slid the hem up over my still dry and clean Monkeez.  “Oops!” Beouf said.  “Not yet  Sorry, hun..”  I saw myself wince in the ceiling mirror.  The illusion of anything covering or secure was shattered with my ‘pants’ so far up above my waist and my diaper so easily accessible.  For supposed ‘underwear’, diapers didn’t stay under much.

“Maybe not long though….” Beouf brought me out of my padded naval gazing.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

Outside the bathroom, the others were drilling Zoge mercilessly.

“Guys?” Ivy asked.  “Why do you keep asking that?”

Beouf started buttoning me back up.  “Ugh,” she huffed.  “‘Why Day.’” She rolled her eyes as she reassembled the illusion of privacy and personal agency that were my clothes. “Not even two weeks in and they’re doing Why Day…”   Like any kid tradition, the adults were more than aware of what was happening and seemed to barely tolerate it.

“Jesse,” she called out of the bathroom.  “Come on, baby boy.  Diaper time.”

Chaz was close to giggling like an idiot.  “Why?”

Mrs. Beouf stepped out of the bathroom.  “Mrs.Zoge?”

“Yes, Mrs. Beouf?”  

“It seems like our little ones are full of ‘Whys’ today.”

“It would appear so, Mrs. Beouf.”

“Almost like it was a Why Day.”

“Now that you mention it, Mrs. Beouf, I think the Little ones might be playing Why Day with us.”

There was a quiet but collective gasp from the others, punctuated by Ivy asking, “What’s Why Day?”

The Amazons went on without her.  “What are we going to do about this, Mrs.Zoge?”

Zoge tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness.  “I think that if our students have so many ‘questions’ about the playground, then maybe we should take the time to answer those questions instead of going to the playground.”

“I think that’s a very good idea, Mrs. Zoge,” Beouf continued on with the script.  “I think that if too many Little boys and girls decide to ask ‘Why’ without really meaning it, then the whole class is gonna lose playground time at the end of the day.”

Nine sets of teeth clicked together in silence.   “Go on Clark and sit down, I’ll check you later big boy.”  Big boy?  Eight pairs of eyes honed in on me and concentrated.  “Jesse, come on.”

Jesse walked past me and shot me a case of stink eye.  

I went back to the circle, my stomach twisting itself in knots due to nerves instead of tequila. I’d already done the social calculus:  My classmates thought that Why Day was a secret trolling tactic, Beouf just flaunted that it wasn’t.  I was the new guy who’d just been trusted with it and Beouf revealed what she already knew just after taking me into the bathroom.  The very Helper-ish nickname of ‘big boy’ was the nail in the coffin.

“What?”  I said.  “I...I didn’t need changing yet…”  I sat down, not even believing myself.

Zoge started leading the same songs we had sung every day that week.  The songs were so ingrained in just about everyone’s skulls, they were able to multitask by singing along and shooting me dirty looks every chance they got.  If looks could kill, I’d be shoved into that bug zapper again and left there until my skin peeled off.

I started clutching my stomach and rocking a bit to hold it in and distract myself. Besides the usual reasons an otherwise healthy thirty-something wanted to fill the back of their pants, the mob that might just form while I was being cleaned up gave me extra pause.

The worst luck of the draw, and I’d lost any momentum I’d gained in making connections with people who might talk to me like I was halfway myself.  Things had reset back to Monday.  Further back, even!  On Monday I was the former collaborator.  Today, in their eyes I was just a snitch. Whether on the prison or the playground, snitches didn’t get much; certainly not allies. At least I’d still have Ivy…?

I shivered from all the cold shoulders bumping me.  Chaz’s lip turned up in disgust crawling by me.  I took my token over to Mrs. Beouf’s teacher table, clenched my cheeks and sat down.  This was going to be a miserable day that might just spiral into a more miserable everything. I hadn’t even thought I could go lower.

“Hello, Ivy! Hello, Clark!” Mrs. Beouf chirped, taking her seat and gathering her materials; likely another cognitive dissonance inducing.    If a Little could justify how an apple and an orange were essentially the same thing, they could be taught to justify how their age could be measured in years and still be treated as if it were counted in months.

“Hi Mrs. B!” Ivy said back.  “Ready to play?”  Leave it to Ivy to talk to the Amazons in their own patronizing patois and unironically.

Beouf seemed pleased.  “Just about, Ivy. All I need to do is shuffle.”

I reached forward for the deck of flashcards.  “I’ll help!”  Who knows.  Maybe I could make ‘Whoops’ a thing.

Beouf cradled the cards away from me.  “No thank you, Clark.  Unless you want the mittens back.”

I brought my hands back to my stomach. “No ma’am.”

An audible scoff behind me. Damn.  That hadn’t been the way to build back any good will.  I stopped focusing on what Beouf was or wasn’t saying. All the social capitol I’d built up over the past week was being undone by a misconception.  

I had no idea how to fix it, either.  

I started grimacing to myself.  I couldn’t be alone.  I wouldn’t be able to handle it.  This place day after day after day?  With no one besides Ivy, Beouf, and Zoge to talk to?  They wouldn’t need New Beginnings to break me, just isolate me from all the other people that saw me as a person.

“Mrs. Beouf,” Ivy asked. “Why can’t we go to the new playground in the morning?”

Unlike Sandra, Ivy was legitimately curious.

Beouf prepared to deal out the game cards.  “Let’s not worry about the past or the future and just have some fun in the here and now.”

Lightbulb!

This was my chance.  The others wanted to see that I wasn’t a snitch or a collaborator?  Their memories had been that short?  Fine.  I’d show them.  I’d show them good.

“Why?”  I said to Beouf. “About the playground, I mean.”  I didn’t yell, but it was nothing like a whisper.

Beouf shot me a questioning look.  “Clark?”

I gestured over to Ivy.  “For Ivy of course.” I said.  “I think it’s an honest question.  Why can’t we go out to the playground in the middle of the day?”

The more experienced teacher adjusted her glasses.  “Because our playground time is at the end of the day, not the beginning,” Beouf said.  “It’s our schedule, and keeping to a schedule is important.”

I looked at the timer on the wall.  How long could I keep this up and how many people would notice?  The other inmates wanted Why Day but only wanted to say ‘why’?  Amateurs.  I might not make it the whole day, but I could stretch it out.  More to the point, I could make a scene.  Clock started.  Game on.

“Is it?” I countered innocently enough.  “Doesn’t research show that children learn better when they’re actively engaged?  Why not help with our collective learning by letting us learn through our interests?’  

I started turning in my seat, half gesturing to the others.  Heads were starting to turn.

“Research shows that children need structure and routine,” Beouf was still prepping the latest cognitive dissonance-inducing propaganda disguised as a flashcard game.  Correction, not prepping; more like absentmindedly shuffling while she tried to placate me.  

An errant thought: Was I getting more patience because of how long Melony had known me?

“How’s that?” I pressed.  I already knew the answer, obviously.  This time one week ago I was still a fairly well read educator.  But the answer was not the point.

Beouf gave me the answer I knew she would. “Because kids learn better when they know what’s going to happen.  It’s easier to play Hide and Seek when you already know the rules.”

That got Ivy’s attention in the wrong way.  “Hide and Seek?”

Beouf started trying to deal out the flashcards.  “Speaking of ga-”

I cut her off.  Loudly. “Is that so?”    Her answer made sense, but I wasn’t interested in understanding the world around me.  “We need structure? Repetition?”

“Tommy, eyes to yourself.” Zoge said.

Beouf was trying to regain control. “Yes.  Now-”

“Why can’t we do the game we did on Monday?” I interrupted again. “I liked that game.”  A lie, but arguing in bad faith doesn’t require you to tell the truth.

“That was Monday.  Today’s Thursday.”

Zoge stopped to redirect. “Shauna? Billy? Don’t look over there. Annie…”  I didn’t need to look around.  I knew who they were looking at.

“Oh,” I feigned understanding.  “So we’re going to play that game every Monday and this one every Thursday?”

“Not necessarily…”

“Sandra Lynn...Chaz…”

“I thought routine and structure was important.” I put on my best confused face; the polite and well meaning one I had mastered dealing with Brollish and a million others just like her.  “Do you mean that only some structures and routines are important?”

“Yes, Clark.”  Beouf replied.  She was getting impatient.  Almost snippy.  Had to keep it going. Had to keep Beouf talking.

New tack.  “Or do you mean that there’s a... like a…” I patted my leg as if I was trying to find the right words.  Accurate emotionally, but my definition of ‘right’ likely contrasted from Beouf’s. “Like, there’s a framework, but room for variation? Like jazz?”

Beouf paused and her demeanor became more pleasant.  “Yes, actually.”  She thought I was learning! Got her!

I was tempted to follow up with ‘Who decides?’ and add in a good old fashioned ‘Whyyyyyy?’ but a direct challenge to Beouf’s authority would get me shut down. Instead I chose, “How do you decide?”

Ivy was looking back and forth at us like she was watching an expert tennis match.  Really, this was more of a verbal sparring match, and I was boxing way outside of my weight class due to authority.

“Can we play the game now?”  Ivy asked.  Her voice was steadily rising with impatience.

Idea!  Opportunity!  I pivoted in my seat and looked at Ivy.  “Is it a good game?” I asked her.  

Ivy nodded enthusiastically.  “Uh-huh!  Let’s play! I’ll teach you!”

“Better than the one where I beat you?”  I clamped down so hard on my tongue so hard it was in danger of bleeding just to keep from smiling.

“You didn’t beat me!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Beouf  “Clark, why don’t we play a new game?  Then you can see who does really well.”  Nice redirection, I thought. Now for one of my own.

“Mrs. B,” I pressed, “Who won on Monday; me or Ivy?”  I put her in the middle of it, when by all reasonable estimates she’d already put that snippet of Monday out of her mind.

Ivy stood up out of her chair and raised her hand. “Me-me-me-me-me!”

Beouf was beginning to show the first signs of being well and truly flustered.  “I don’t think of it in those terms, Clark. I think of it as an opportunity to learn-”

“Like what?” I started to stand out of my chair but another cramp forced me back down on my ass.  A diaper change would be a great way to get me shut down. “What are we going to learn?”

Beouf made a lowering motion with her palms.  “Hold on, hold on, no need to get ahead.  Ivy, go ahead and sit down.“

Like a good girl, Ivy sat right down. Me? “Can I play standing up?”  I asked.  Knees shaking, I stood up. Any moment now my body would start pushing on its own.  I was fighting two battles at once and no realistic chance of winning either.

There was such a thing as a moral victory.

“Turn around, Mandy.”  I still had an audience.

“How about we just sit down?”  Beouf was getting frustrated.  Nice.

I pressed my own agenda. “What will that accomplish?”  Beouf was dealing out the cards and no longer waiting.  I was losing her.  The baiting could only go so far.  “Mrs. Beouf?  Mrs. Beouf?” I would not be ignored.  “Mrs. B.?  Beouffy?  Beouf?”

“Clark, I need you to sit down so that I can teach.”  She was doing her best not to feed into me.

“Why do you need that? I can be quiet and pay attention while standing up.”

Beouf avoided eye contact and just kept dealing cards.  “Because unless all students are sitting down, my head will explode.”

My face contorted, and not because of what my insides were threatening  “What?”

“If you don’t sit down,” Beouf repeated herself, “My head will explode.  It’s a teacher thing.”

I opened my mouth to argue the absolute absurdity of that.  No one with any common sense would think that! Not even someone as far gone as Ivy! Instantly, my brain generated a dozen counter arguments and I almost started to give them.

Instinct kicked in! This was a trap!  Don’t debate on her terms!  

“Oh yeah,” I said.  “Exploding teacher head syndrome.  I used to get that all the time.”  I looked Beouf directly in the eye as I ‘yes anded’ her.  “Mine always grew back after a second.  My students loved it.  Does yours not grow back?”

Frozen there in her chair, I saw the slightest hint of anger from the woman.  Considering everything I knew about her, that likely meant that her head did feel like it was on the verge of spontaneous combustion.  “No, Clark.” she said.  “Mine doesn’t grow back.”

“How do you know it’s going to happen if it’s never exploded?”  If smiles could kill, Beouf would have been a dead woman.

“I just...know.”

Fuck it.  Prepare for killshot.  “Whyyyyyy?”

Beouf huffed for a second and closed her eyes.  When they opened, I knew that this round of my new game was over.  “Clark.  Sit down.”

“But-”

“I don’t argue with my children,” she replied flatly.  “You can either sit down at the table and play this game with me and Ivy, or you can sit in Time Out.”  

I jolted a bit.  Time out?  Pushing Beouf far enough to where she’d send me back to my old classroom?!  The sensible part of me was terrified at the prospect of seeing yet another aspect of my world turned on its ear.  The reckless nihilist in me was cackling in delight that it was this easy to push Beouf’s buttons.  Guess which part was winning?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the timer.  Had I really been keeping this charade up that long?  “How long do I have to choose?”

“Choose now, or I’m choosing for you.”

I put a slight tremble into my voice.  “Are you gonna be mad at me if I make the wrong choice?”

Beouf started to shake her head.   “This isn’t about me being…” she stopped herself, wise to my ploy.  “Clark.  Choose.”

BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!  

The timer went off!

I stepped out from my chair and pushed it in.  “New center! Gotta go check the schedule like a good-!”

“Clark.”  Beouf was around the table and picking me up.  “You’re done. My choice.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything!”  A blatant lie but if it could work for politicians...

“You know what you were doing.”

Truth.  “What’d I do?!”

Instead of carrying me through to my old classroom, she took me over to her desk and dug out a tiny yellow footstool.  She plopped me right down on top of it.  “Stay,” she said, like I was a naughty puppy.

“I’m just aski-”

“Sit.”

I settled.  “I’m just trying to learn,” I insisted.  When you lie, lie big. “Why are you being so mean?”

She put the pacifier Janet had clipped onto the bib of my shortalls that morning up to my mouth.  “Open up.”

I moved my head to the side so that I could squeak out, “Is it a gag?”  Another question that I already knew the answer to.  Of course it wasn’t a gag.  

“Open up,” she repeated.  An involuntary moan of pain gave Beouf the opening she needed. The bulb entered my mouth and I didn’t even have to wait to be told to close down.  “Don’t spit it out.  Don’t talk.  Just sit there.  You can suck it if it helps calm you down.”  She turned her back to me.  “Mrs. Zoge, can you see Clark where he’s sitting?”

“Yes, Mrs. Beouf.”  Zoge wasn’t the only one.

“If you see his pacifier out or his mouth or him trying to get up before it’s time.” Inwardly, I smirked.  What was she going to do?  Tell Janet? Big whoop.  I already knew she wasn’t a spanker.  “...take his pants for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Zoge called back.

My lips puckered when I heard that. My knees angled together and wrapped my arms around them, teetering on the stool.  On perfect ironic timing, on cue, the inevitable happened and my irritated guts got revenge on me for inexplicable binge drinking.  Bladder joined in on the fun.  At least it wasn’t a loud one.

My jaw clenched and as a result the pacifier started bobbing a bit in my mouth.  The big rubber bulb didn’t inflate, but I still started sucking on it, nervously.  In my show of solidarity, I’d opened myself up to a thousand tiny anxieties.

It had only been a week and I’d already lost track of how many diapers I’d been forced to wear, but I was still infinitely more comfortable with them being concealed.  Not even a full week and Beouf had figured out a big button of mine to push.  Big enough that I would have rather sat in my own mush and suck on a pacifier than get up and suffer a repeat of Monday’s Dress Code.

I pictured myself being paraded to Lunch or the bus loop with no coverage whatsoever and felt my face flush.  Everyone important already knew...but then everyone would see.  It was irrational, I know, but the thing about irrationality is knowing about it doesn’t help.  If only the Amazon strength rubber could be bitten through.  At least I wasn’t hurting my teeth working out something that felt halfway comfortable on the stool.

“You can check your schedule in two minutes,” Beouf said.  She held up two fingers as if I couldn’t understand her or count that high.  Victorious, she walked back to her teacher table while the other Littles hustled and bustled to their next activity. “I’ll set an extra timer and let you know.”

That settled it in my mind beyond a shadow of a doubt. Gloves were officially off.  Honeymoon was over.

I sat there, sucking on the pacifier, wincing with every inhalation. The looks of admiration from my peers were giving me strength and regaining my nerve while sulking in my setback.

Setback.  Not defeat. I wasn’t done yet.  Not by a long shot.  My mouth continued working on the pacifier, fuming.  Two minutes?  Two minutes!  How old did she think I was?  The nature of the penalty told me she was serious, but the duration communicated a perceived fragility.

I started to breathe through my mouth to try to calm myself. Sit still in a dirty diaper long enough and your brain stops noticing what’s going on down there.  Turns out that can happen in less than two minutes.  That and I was on a roll. “Why Day’ wasn’t over.  Not by a long shot. But how-?”

DING!

An egg timer went off.

“Clark, you can take your paci out.”  Zoge called.

“Do you want to go check your schedule now, Clark?” Beouf called from her table.  “Or do you need some more time?”  Several heads turned to look at me, wondering what I would do.  Baiting Beouf had been the first step. Cementing my status and ensuring solidarity would need at least a second.   “Either is okay, but you’ll have to wait the rest of the activity.  I’m not gonna check on you every two minutes. It’s cool down in time out or go play on the toy shelf.”

Cool down?  Something was starting to cool but it wasn’t me. Resiliently, I grabbed the pacifier and held it close to my lips. “Whyyyy?”

“Okay, that sounds like a choice to me,” Beouf said.  “Paci back in, bud.  We’ll see if you feel like acting like a big boy when the regular timer goes off.”

Big boy?  Big boy!? Big boy didn’t mean ‘big boy’. It meant being compliant; being a teacher’s pet; being a Helper.  I was a lot of things, but by the end of the day, once and for all, no one would accuse me of that.

Step one was baiting Beouf.  I’d been doing that since Tuesday.  I’d just now completed step two; defiance.  Granted, it was defiance reshaped as a form of compliance, but the glances that my new peers spared me validated it. They all knew what was going on.

Meanwhile, I took the time to stew and ponder.  Fucking ‘big boy’.  What a joke! I would never be ‘big’ enough.  I would never be ‘mature’ enough.  I would never be anything more than a ‘child’ not fit to argue with.  Always under someone’s thumb to be cooped up or put away and have to follow standards that even a teacher couldn’t follow with reliability.

DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPOSSIBLE IT IS TO GET A TEACHER TO RAISE THEIR HANDS IN A DAMN FACULTY MEETING?!

Sucking on the pacifier, putting on a quiet show, I started to plan my next move.

Extended time out was a  strategic move, I told myself. A longer time out possibly meant throwing other routines off.  I might become a distraction to the others, possibly put more pressure on Zoge to keep peeking up from her small group to make sure I was complying with Beouf’s directions.

No such luck nor such willpower. I was being quiet and wasn’t ready to act out further. I just ended up chilling on the footstool; looking complacent and compliant like a good Little baby.  Even if the others did occasionally sneak a glance at me, it didn’t achieve what I wanted it to.  It disrupted nothing.  It accomplished nothing.

I was too stubborn to go to a play center and get back with the program. Too afraid to get off a simple stool.   Well played, Beouf.  Well played.

She’d found my limit.

They’d found my limit.  

I’d found my limit

BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!

“Check your schedule, everyone!  Clark? Getting up or do you need more time?”  Even the way she said it was infuriating to me on a personal level.  She didn’t even sound particularly bothered or angry anymore; like she was doing me a favor and offering me extra time to sort myself out instead of threatening me with more isolation.  Knowing that was the point didn’t make it any better.  Admitting that after a fashion that was exactly how I’d used the time made it so much worse.

I stood up and stepped into Beouf’s view.  “Getting up,”  I said reluctantly.

“Okay,” she said.  “Go check your schedule.”  Reluctantly I nodded and marched to the visual schedule.  “Hold up!”  I felt her reach out and hook a denim shoulder strap. I cringed as she patted me.  “Yup. I smelled something. Mrs. Zoge, will you reset my center real quick?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mercifully, the change was quick, and Beouf didn’t talk to me until I was sealed back up.  She carried me back to her table, set me down on my feet, and got down on one knee. “Mrs. B. loves you,” she said softly, “and I know you’re going through a lot, but I can’t let you misbehave and set a bad example.”

Play it cool, Clark.  Play it cool.  I averted my eyes to control my temper.  “Yes, ma’am.” I said.  

“If you need to go and sit back on the stool, it’s okay to tell me,” she said.  “Just tell me with real words and not fake questions.”

‘Yes ma’am.”  Suitably cowed, I went and took the icon off for the reading center.  Dropping off the token,  I plopped down on the nearest bean bag and continued to sulk.

Ivy looked up from an easy read book she’d have to have read at least three hundred times cover to cover.  “You got in trouble,” she teased.

‘And you don’t?” I asked her.  Another question I already knew the answer to. In a way I was using Ivy as a warm-up to an eventual re-match.  Easy mode.  

Ivy grinned from ear to ear.  “Nope! I’m a good baby. I don’t pretend to be big.”

“Why not?”  I ignored the implication that I was only pretending.  I’d only get so far with someone like Ivy.  Ivy was the poster Little for collaborators, tattletales and yeah, Helpers.

“Cuz I’m not. I’m a baby.’

Now that my downstairs were cleared, something was brewing in my upstairs.  “I thought pretending is what babies did best,” I said.  “Does that mean you were really a frog on Tuesday?”

A befuddled expression warped Ivy’s features.  Based on a whopping four days of data and a decade of the briefest of glimpses, I’d already deduced that she was something of an outsider. Even the girls who talked to her seemed to do so out of a simple pity. This might have been the most complex conversation she’d had since Zoge had snatched her up back in Yamatoa.

“No…?”

Like a tumor, an awful idea took root in my brain.  “So why don’t you pretend to be a grown-up like the other babies do?”  

Like the advice I’d given Chaz and so many Littles before him, I was looking to rebel, looking to disrupt, looking to subtly piss in somebody else’s cereal. Ivy Zoge was such a perfect Little success story, paired up with me to be a ‘good influence’.  Right before me was a golden opportunity; or at least a fun one.

“What do you mean?” Ivy asked.

I pursed my lips together and took in my surroundings. Beouf could technically see me, but she was preoccupied. Zoge could hear us if she was listening, but Chaz was yacking her ear off and we had the bookshelf as a visual blocker. “We’re not grown-ups, right?  Just pretending?”  I forced my voice into a conspiratorial whisper.

“Uh-huuuuuh…”

“But you’ve never.pretended to be a grown-up?  Ever?”

“Yeah…”  She paused.  “I mean, no. I haven’t.”

“Maybe that’s why the others won’t play with you as much, Ivy.  You won’t play our favorite game.”

This was it.  This was my win condition that day.  

Step One: Bait Beouf and do it better than the others.  Make it obvious that I was on board with these Little tricks and that I could do it better than most.

Step Two: Openly defy Beouf to cement that I wasn’t anything like what anyone suspected.

Step Three: Subvert expectations and coax the ultimate teacher’s pet into playing along.

A week prior, I would have said something like this was beneath me. Back then I had a life, a house, a different last name and a wife.  I’d wanted to live my life being a good influence to Amazon children.  That didn’t work out, so I might as well try to be a bad influence on my fellow captives.  Or so I reasoned.

Ivy’s skull might as well have been transparent. I could see the gears turning with every word I spoke..  “You think that’s why?” She whispered back.

“Maybe,” I lied.  “One way to find out.”

She scooted up close to me.  “How do I play?”

“It’s easy,’ I told her.  “Just ask questions.”

“Why?”

“Now you’re getting it!” I winked. “Grown-ups ask each other questions all the time.”  I felt like a certain snake in a garden.  I was loving it!  “All you have to do is ask as many questions as possible.  It’s a game.”

Ivy thought for a second. “Sooooo, do what you were doing?”

I clicked my fingers and pointed to her. “Exactly!”

“What if I get in trouble?”

“Everybody gets in trouble,” I told her as nonchalantly as I could.  “I just got in trouble. Would it really be so bad if you were like everybody else?”

Ivy pouted out her bottom lip.  “Hmmmm…I don’t think-”

“Come on Ivy,” I dared to place my hand atop hers. Cassie forgive me.  “I thought we were friends.”

Calling myself her friend was like giving a shot of whiskey to a recovering alcoholic.  When she stopped and breathed in, I knew I had her.  Getting Ivy to agree to it was too easy.  If a thirty something woman is convinced that she’s a baby, you can convince her of anything.

“Okay.” She whispered back.  “I’ll play.”

“If you can’t think of a question,” I reminded her, “ just ask ‘why’.”

“Just ask why,” Ivy said to herself.  “Just ask why. Just ask why. Just ask why.”

A few minutes later…

BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!

Schedules checked.  Tokens deposited in basket.  Seats taken.

“Hello, Clark.  Hello, Ivy.”  Mrs. Zoge said in her gentle, quiet way.  “Are you two ready to have some fun?”

She slid out a blank sheet of paper to each of us.  “For this you’ll want to be using your non-dominant hand to color your emotions.”

“Why is it called ‘dominant hand’, Mommy?”  Ivy started.

I slid my pacifier back between my lips to hide my smile. Game on.

“Dominant is the hand your brain wants you to use, my love,” Mrs. Zoge passed out some thick crayons.  “It’s the hand that is in charge.”

I kept silent and urged my proxy onward with my eyes.  “So it’s like the Mommy and Daddy hand?” Oh?  That was a pretty good one.

“You can call it that if you want to.”

“Okay!”

I grabbed a crayon so that I could resist the urge to slap my own forehead.  I cleared my throat, and mumbled past the mouth guard.

Ivy bit her lip.  “Oh yeah! Who is more Mommy and Daddy hand?  You or Daddy?”

“Me.”  Beouf’s assistant didn’t so much as hesitate.  Yikes.  I’d never met Zoge’s husband, but an unpleasant image that I never wanted to picture jammed it’s way into my brain.  An air of suspicion settled of Zoge and she noticed the still-blank paper. “Ivy, my love, what are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Ivy was such a rookie at this sort of thing that beads of cold sweat started forming.  “Why?”

“Are you feeling well, Ivy?” her Mommy asked.

“Whyy?”

Zoge narrowed her eyes, peering intensely through her glasses.  “Why do you keep asking why?”

Ivy was all but shaking. “Um...why?”

Zoge started speaking Yamatoan.  It still had that gentle, musical quality she had when she spoke, but Ivy started to look very, very tense.

“Whyyyy?”

A few more words from Zoge that I couldn’t understand.  This time more clipped; less musical; almost forceful.

“Dōshite?”  Ivy wasn’t having nearly as much fun as I had been having.

Zoge kept speaking, but I couldn’t understand her. Her words all tumbled and folded in on each other.  It might as well have been one unbreaking string of babbling tongues to me.

Ivy understood. “Dōōōōshite?”

The only word out of Zoge’s mouth that I understood next was “Ivy”.

“Dōōōōōōōshite?”

Zoge placed both palms flat on the table.  “Ichi…”

“Dōōōōōōōshite...?”  Ivy looked to me for support.  I pretended to look away.

Zoge continued “Ni…”  

Uh oh!  I didn’t know Yamatoan, but even I recognized the tone and steady pace of a warning count.  If I had any mercy or decency left in me, I would have spoken up or told Zoge to stop, or asked my own inane questions to draw the heat off of Ivy.

It’s not what Cassie would have done.

“San!”

Ivy broke like a dam, blubbering in her seat.  I don’t know what punishment her Mommy threatened but it was enough to traumatize her. Bawling, she pounded the table with balled up fists. “Dōshite! Dōshite! Dōōōōōōōshite!”  The girl sounded like a death sentence had just been handed down.

“Mrs. Zoge?”  Beouf called over sounding concerned.  “Is Ivy alright?”

“All will be fine, Mrs. Beouf.” Zoge called back.  “Ivy just needs to learn a lesson.”

I looked around the room.  All eyes were on Ivy. Bit by bit, I saw our classmates piece what had happened through half-heard snippets.

“Did Ivy say ‘Why’?”  Jesse asked.

Very quietly, Zoge replied. “Yes.  She did.”

“Why?”

That elicited a chorus of giggles.  

Beouf tried to reassert control. “Don’t worry about it, dear. Back to work.”

“Why?” Tommy asked.

“When someone is making a scene we tend to our own business, remember? Don’t pay it any mind. ”

“Why?”  Sandra Lynn now.

“That’s between Ivy and her-”

“Why?” Chaz interrupted.

“Why?,” Jesse said.  

Mandy and Shauna piled on with their own “Why?” a second later.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Why?”  Billy and Annie looked like they were on the verge of trying to start a chant.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Why?”

Someone listening in might have heard it as an overlapping flock of seagulls. To us though, it was victory. In that glorious moment, Why Day was back on!

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Beouf said in a very scripted monotone.  “Mrs. Zoge do you think the children should have a longer nap this afternoon?  Maybe skip the playground altogether?”

‘I think that would be very appropriate, Mrs. Beouf.”  

The squawking stopped, and was replaced by a discord of  ‘AWWWWWWWW!’  and general grumbling.  We had flown too close to the sun and were being punished.  I was part of that ‘we’ however.  

No playground and the other Littles saw me as one of them?

Win-Win.

[Personalias]

Chapter 59: Another Million Ways to “Why”

The rest of that Friday morning passed by without either open defiance or clever subversion.  The rebellion that was ‘Why Day’, once quashed, turned into a bunch of quiet whines and attempts to suck-up in order to get playground privileges back.  No more ‘Why?’.  Instead the question became varying degrees of ‘Am I being good?’.

“Yes,” Beouf, or Zoge would sum up.  “That doesn’t mean you’re getting the playground back today.”

Honestly? It was kind of pathetic.  Just the threat of going one day without going to the playground and all of them were starting to crack.  I couldn’t be too mad at the sudden tail tucking.  All it had taken to put the fear of Beouf into me was the threat that I might have to walk to the cafeteria in nothing but my Monkeez.

Naptime came and went, but had been no longer than usual. Those of us who could fall asleep after a bloating lunch of spaghetti and meat sauce did so. No chocolate milk was handed out, the true sign of the Amazons’ displeasure.

I managed to stay awake staring up at the ceiling. I wasn’t afraid to sleep; I’d come to the conclusion that the gentle music  Beouf would sometimes play in low barely perceptible volumes was not subliminal or hypnotic, just boring. I just wasn’t tired.

Occasionally, I’d roll over and look at Shauna, also staring at the ceiling.  She’d sometimes roll over and face me; we’d make eye contact briefly and then one of us would turn away.  All the excitement of waiting at a bus stop.  It was still more interesting than Tommy in the other nearest crib.  Tommy was asleep.  Every now and then, I’d see him paw at his face or smack his lips.  I started placing bets with myself on how long before he started sucking his thumb.

No one talked.  The baby monitor right by the door would pick up anything louder than a fart. It was an older model than the one in my nursery but it would keep Beouf aware of any and all conspiracies and whispers.

We did not languish in our cells the rest of the afternoon, however. The threat of an extended or prolonged naptime did not manifest. Just like every other day that week, we were taken out of the cribs, changed, and then made to wait for the process to be repeated down to the last not-quite mindfucked prisoner. And Ivy, too, I guess.

I did my best to hide my own grimaces of disbelief. As much as I resented her on a personal level, there was also a little bit of professional training that was also shaking its metaphorical head at her.  

She’d made a threat of withholding playground time for our disobedience.  If she didn’t follow through with it there’d be less of a reason for the class to take future threats seriously.  Getting us out of the cribs after mentioning that we’d have a much longer naptime was such a bush league move.  

Perfect.  Underestimate us. Don’t follow through when they're cute and the prisoners would just learn to act cute when they were in trouble.  The exact wrong type of lesson to teach.

It’s why I winced when Billy had the gall to ask, “are we getting to go to the playground?”  

Goddamnit, Billy.  Never correct your opponent when they’re about to make a mistake.

As it turned out, Beouf wasn’t going to make that kind of mistake.  She wasn’t going to force us to wait in a prolonged and restless timeout.  She was going to do something much worse.

“Mrs. Zoge and I gave it some thought while you were down for your naps, and we decided that keeping you in your cribs for naptime longer than usual wouldn’t be fair.”  

A collective cheer went up.  I held my breath.

“You still haven’t earned your playground time,” she said.  Cheers immediately turned into groans.

Zoge turned on the classroom projector and shined it onto the board.  “Are we going to get to watch a movie?”  Annie asked.  If we were, we certainly weren’t now that she said something about it.  

“Not quite,” Beouf replied.  “You might not be going outside, but you still need your exercise!”

The screen synced with Beouf’s classroom desktop and an UsBox video was paused, just past the opening credits. Frozen in place were a man and a woman, Amazons likely, standing on a hardwood floor.  Behind them was a mirror wall with a wooden rail running along it horizontally to the floor.  In other words, a generic dance studio.

Based on the neon colors of their unitards, the lady’s big curly hair, the pastel trim on the walls, and the faded quality of the footage signaled that this show was anything but new. I was very likely in diapers the first time around when this schlock was filmed; even if I didn’t know what schlock it was.  I might not even have been born yet it looked so terribly retro.

“Oh no!” Sandra Lynn moaned.  “Why?!”  Ivy just sighed and looked deflated. Evidently it had been a while since Beouf had broken out this particular punishment.  

“Spread out and give each other room so that everyone can move and see.”

Even as we complied, Sandra Lynn repeated herself “Whyyyyy?!”  It wasn’t a question.  Neither was it a challenge or attempt at subversion.  This ‘why’ was the whining plea of desperation; the call out to an unlistening higher power to intervene on one’s behalf.  No help was coming.

Zoge clicked play and an annoying synth keyboard assaulted our ears while the two models stared blankly at the camera. The camera closed in on the man, an Amazon with a spray-on tan and what might have been a mustache or a dead caterpillar.  “Hi kids!  It’s your old pals Newton and Olivia!”  He better have been a fantastic workout instructor, I thought, because the man sure wasn’t an actor.

The camera swung over  “Are you ready to work up a sweat, stretch it all out and have fun?”

“NOOOOOO!” More of us were joining in.  It wasn’t going to fix anything, but when complaining is your only avenue, you take it.

“THEN LET’S DANCERSIZE!”

I quickly realized that the reason I hadn’t seen this particular video before: It was awful.  Just plain awful.  I have since learned that Dancersize was, in fact, a single season workout program aimed at promoting physical fitness for children and adopted Littles.  It was sold to Pennycade and ran in syndication for nearly five years before an executive decided to pull the plug and take it off life support.

It claimed to combine elements of ballet, yoga, and aerobics to a hip soundtrack that would really make children of ‘all ages’ want to ‘get out there and dance’.  In my personal, unbiased opinion it counts as psychological and physiological torture.  I don’t know who the target audience should have been, but it wasn’t actual children, and it certainly wasn’t Littles used to the playground.

“Let’s do some plies!” The woman, Olivia strained while smiling.  “Assume first position!  Up on your toes!”

“You heard her!’ Beouf said.  “Let’s do this!”

Newton started counting. “Plie-one-two-three, up-one-two-three.  Plie-two-two-three, up-two-twothree”

“Only six more to go!” Olivia beamed.

The groans and moans from our Little audience almost drowned out the cheesy synth soundtrack that was put in place for anything that might have merited a royalty fee.  “Uuuuug!  Why?!”  

“That’s right!  Feel the burn!”

“Don’t forget to tuck those tailbones!”

Ballet is hard.  There’s a reason there are so few professionals.  It’s also impossible to do well dressed like a toddler.  Even with perfectly clean and dry diapers, not yet swollen or expanded from use, it’s difficult. ‘Graceful’ is not a word that would be used to describe us.

Chaz, our classroom crawler, got no reprieve either.  Zoge placed two chairs beside him facing out and hovered over him ready to catch him.  Apparently, Chaz’s reduction to rugrat was a matter of impaired balance and equilibrium instead of weakened leg strength.  Their chairs might have offered him some support, but not enough to stop the intense burning we were all feeling.  “WHY?!”

The jumping jacks, running in place, torso, and place toe touches came fast and furious. “That’s right, kids! Keep it up! You’re doing great!  Really get the blood pumping!”

“Why?”

“Why?!”

“WHY?!”

Newton and Olivia weren’t even sweating.  They either did all of this in multiple takes that were masterfully edited together to make it look easy or they were on drugs.  Based on the glazed over looks in their eyes and the too wide smiles, it was probably drugs.

I was at least able to keep up with the yoga segments.  The downward facing dog transitioned naturally into the child’s pose which was just a quick segway into cat stretches.  All of that was just a resting warm up for the pushups, sit ups that followed.

“I’m so pumped,” Olivia said, “I think I could do fifty!”

“Fifty? Why not a hundred?” Newton smiled back.

“Wanna race?”

“You’re on!”

“Let’s go, kids!”

No.  I did not do that many pushups or situps.  No one did.  “Keep going guys,” Beouf nagged at us.  “This is your exercise for today.  You don’t have to keep count, but do your best!”  To show off, Beouf spread out on the carpet in front of everyone and started keeping base with the thirty-something year old workout tape.  “See? I’m doing it too!”
“WHYYYYY?!”

I might be bragging on myself, but I felt great.  I was panting, and burning, and sweating with the rest of them, but I was exhilarating in it.  This bizarre and painful workout was the most adult thing I’d been allowed to do all week. Even with the terrible keyboard notes and the way too peppy voices egging ‘kids’ on to do the impossible, it still felt like I was being treated closer to a thirty-something in boot camp than a naughty child.  

The marathon ended and the two Amazons on screen climbed to their feet. “Now that we’re all warmed up,” Olivia smiled. “LET’S DANCE!”

“WHYYY-HIGH-HIGH-HIGH-HIIIIIIII?!”

The classroom became a herd of yowling cats.  The ‘Why’s’ were of the damned.  To my classmates, this was torture.  They were Sissyfuss, forced to push a boulder up a hill unless someone saw up his too short skirt and then he had to start over for all eternity.  They were Tantrumuss forced to stand in a river of pudding that would forever lower whenever he went to scoop up a glob and a bottle that was just out of his grasp being hung directly overhead.  Amazon and Greasian myths are messed up.

Point being: being deprived of their precious playground time was punishment for my classmates.  Having to ‘Dancersize’ was torture.  If not for my own stubbornness and pride, I would have agreed and joined in with the moaning and groaning.

“Five-six-seven-eight!”

The screen froze.  Beouf was back up and standing in front of the class.  We all stopped,  aching and sore and panting. Beouf looked at a clock on the wall.  “It looks like we’ve got about ten minutes left before we have to get everybody ready to go home,” she announced.  “You all were very good just now.  Would you like to finish the workout video?”

“NOOOOOOOO!” came the response.  

“Would you like to get some fresh air and go play on the playground!”

“YEEEEEEAH!”

A small, knowing smirk crept into Beouf.  “Then line up, my good Little boys and girls.”

WHOOOOSH!  The other nine all lined up at the door, quiet and orderly.  Chaz crawled up into Zoge’s arms. Their resistance shattered and traded in for ten minutes of playtime.  

I lingered for a second, feeling completely baffled.  I went up to Beouf.  “Why?” I asked.

“Because,” she said. “Punishment is just the consequence of a bad choice. You were good, so you earned another choice.”  She shrugged.  “That and you’re all basically good kids. And it’s Friday.”

Feeling defeated, I shuffled into line and went outside with the rest of them.

********************************************************************************
Less than half an hour later at the bus loop, two giant, feminine hands covered my eyes, blocking out the world. “Guuuuess who?”

A long, weary exhale just made me deflate and slump my shoulders.  With the exception of Wednesday’s magnificent cry fest, this was how Janet greeted me after school.  “Hi…” I mumbled halfheartedly.

Up, around, and over and I was back on her hip.  “How was he today?”  She sniffed.  “Wow, you’re sweaty.  Someone’s getting a bath as soon as we get home.”

Beouf clicked her tongue.  “He was a handful,” she said.  “I think it might be a full moon or something. All the kids were acting up today.”

Ivy moaned and said something in Yamatoan.   A tap on the head from her Mommy was enough to silence her.

Janet caught on quickly enough.  “Wow.  Even Ivy misbehaved?”  Ivy hung her head in shame like she was being carted off to the stocks and a mob of angry villagers were tossing rotten fruit at her head.

Stoically, Mrs. Zoge explained.  “She did.  My daughter is learning the cost of being naughty.  No dessert tonight.”   I actually craned my neck so that I could properly glare down at her.  That was why she’d been so upset? That’s what had her breaking down into tears? Dessert?  Really?!

Playground time and dessert.  My rebellion had failed due to playground time and dessert.

Beouf and Janet went on without me.  “Though he is using his paci more, so that’s good.  He’s learning to self-soothe and placate an oral fixation.”

Shit! I let the pacifier drop out of my mouth. All that hiding guilty smirks all day had had an effect on me, and of course the typical Amazon response was to attribute it to something they preferred.

“Awww,” Janet said, picking up on it right away.  “You shouldn’t have said anything about it. Now you know he’s going to go out of his way to avoid using it again.” The two teachers shared a knowing laugh at my expense.  Sad part was that they were right.

Back in Janet’s arms at the bus loop, I sulked reliving the relatively lax punishment.  So close to some kind of victory; moral or otherwise; and yet so far away.  Story of my week.  Story of my life.

“It might have been his babysitter,” Janet said. “She’s a good friend, but a real softie at heart.  I think someone might’ve gotten the wrong idea about what grown-ups will let him get away with.”  More knowing tittering at my expense.

Beouf  removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, showing the first signs of wear and tear.  “Babysitter?” she yawned.  “Why a sitter?”

“I had a meeting to go to.”

Beouf’s yawn came out low and loud.  “A meeting? What kind of mee-...” She stopped her yawn.  “Oooh!” She placed her glasses back on her face.  “You know you don’t have to get a sitter for those.  You can bring him along.”

“Yeah,” Janet said.  “I know now.  Next time.”

“Next time.”

There was that somewhat lazy, somewhat awkward pause that so often happened between good friends who didn’t know how to end a conversation.  My frustration and anger settled into a tiny bit of sadness thinking that I should have been a part of that instead of a prop on Janet’s side.

“Whelp.”

“Yep,” Beouf echoed the sentiment.  “Gotta do that paperwork and lesson planning so that we can get the weekend started.”

“Same here,” Janet agreed.  “Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” Beouf started walking away. She paused long enough to wave at me.  “Bye Clark! See you Monday!”  Her voice lilted up to a quirky squeak.  I openly rolled my eyes.  That only made her cackle.

“Let’s go, baby,” Janet murmured to me, shouldering her purse.  I cocked my head and stared at her opposite shoulder.  That was new. Why would she have her purse if we were just going back to her classroom?

“Where are we going?” I asked.  My question went ignored.

Zoge saw something, too.  “Ms. Grange?” she asked. “Where are you going?  Your classroom is that way.”

“Gotta stop by the front,” Janet tried to say nonchalantly.  Tried; but failed.  Her voice had acquired a certain nervousness to it that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Janet had answered Zoge’s question loud enough that Beouf stopped and doubled back. “Up front?  Now?  Are you sure?”  Now Beouf sounded concerned.  When Beouf sounded worried, it was time to either celebrate or worry too.

Given the circumstances I chose option B.

“Yeah.  I’m sure.”  Janet said.  I was completely lost, and it was becoming unnerving.

Beouf pursed her lips together and squared her shoulders like a soldier psyching themselves up for battle. “Want us to come with?”

“No,” Janet shook her head.  “I’ve got this.  Thanks.”

“Okay…”

What were they so concerned about? I had no idea.  I’d been cut off completely from their communication. Amazons now talked over me when they were unconcerned and hid from me what they were really bothered about. Good thing I didn’t have to wait long.

Like a recurring nightmare, the events of Monday afternoon started repeating themselves. I gripped into Janet’s shoulder, hooking my fingers into her bra strap beneath her shirt while she opened the door to the front office and practically glided in.  Raine Forest was directly across from us and talking on the phone. I tightened my grip, making myself false promises that I would be able to hold on instead of being torn off.

Please not again.  Please not again.  Please not again!

My prayers went unanswered.  Janet whisked her way to the side and put me down on my feet despite me trying to sink my claws into her.  She held my hand to keep me rooted in place while we waited for Raine to hang up the phone. I could feel my throat tightening up.  Not again. Couldn’t someone else watch me while she peed?  Anyone? Literally anyone?  

“Hell-o” Raine addressed Janet after she’d hung up the phone.  “Signing out early again?”

“No,” Janet said.  Her tone had become casual as if she were making small-talk. “Once this week was enough.  Can’t use up all of my time off at once.”

Forrest faked a chuckle while her gaze drifted down to me.  “Need me to watch your Little one for a bathroom break?”  I saw that same vicious glint in her eye.  “I don’t mind.”

Softly, Janet let go of my hand and reached over to her purse.  “Actually I wanted to talk to you about that.”  She flipped open her bag and dug inside.

“Oh, I didn’t mind,” Raine repeated. “No trouble at all.  He was an absolute angel.  For a Little, anyways.”  Bitch had the gall to wink at me, as if we shared some precious secret together.

By the time Raine had finished winking, Janet’s hand had stilled itself. She had found what she was looking for. “Oh, I know. Clark can be a handful.  Mrs. Beouf was just telling me how his entire class was acting up today.”

Raine put on a face of mock surprise.  “Clark!” she said to me.  “Really? You too?” She shook her head and clicked her tongue.  “Littles,” she switched her attention to Janet.  “What are you gonna do?”

“Just love them the best we can,” Janet smiled.  “It’s all we can do.”

Raine was so relaxed she was leaning back in her chair.  “Couldn’t agree more,” she said.  “Couldn’t agree more.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Janet said.  “It’s why I wanted to share one of these with you.  As a gift. As a way to say thank you.”  Janet showed Raine what was in her purse.

Out came a very familiar looking box. One containing cream filled chocolate bon-bons.  Janet lifted the lid and Raine’s eyes got wider and wider all while her mouth puckered up smaller and smaller.  “A...gift?”

“Yes,” Janet said.  “As a gift.  To say thank you.  Between co-workers.  Maybe even friends…?”  Slowly, deliberately, Janet reached in, into the middle of the box where the safe chocolate lay.  “They’re good.  See?”  Slowly, deliberately,  she offered the box over to the school receptionist.

Still sitting in her chair, Raine scooted back, appearing smaller than Janet. “No, that’s fine.”  Her voice was wavering.  “Thank you for the offer.  I’ll be happy to watch your baby anytime.  For free.  No payment necessary.”

Janet pressed forward.  “Please.  I insist.  As a friend.  You don’t want to be rude, do you?”

A new type of deja vu was setting in.  This time with a queer kind of role reversal. I took the chance and inched closer next to Janet.  I saw Raine close her eyes and gulp.  “I’m on a diet.”  Her voice had acquired a nervous crackle.

“Are you?” Janet said.  Said. Not asked.  It’s very possible to ask a question without really asking a question.  “So if I open that desk drawer of yours I won’t find a box just? Like? This?”

“Ha-ha…”  Forrest’s smile and her eyes were miles apart.  “You got me, Ms. Grange.  You got me.”

Yes.  Yes she did. “Please,” Janet said.  “Call me Janet.  We’re friends.  Aren’t we?”

Raine was starting to quiver.  She had to reach up and dab the droplets of cold sweat off of her forehead.  “Yyyyeeeeah….?”

I heard Janet’s fake smile fade from her voice.  “Then take one, Raine.  Take a chocolate.  I’ve already had one.  Why won’t you?”

Forrest’s eyes darted to the lower right of her computer, then up to Janet.  She was calculating on whether she could eat one of the training chocolates and make it safely to a toilet ...or to a doctor.  This late in the afternoon, Raine was in no real danger of messing herself at work; but her dinner plans might suddenly be altered.

“Eat. A. Chocolate. Raine.”

“Okay!” Raine’s voice came out as a pitiful, almost Little squeak.  She reached in, grabbed a chocolate and stuffed it into her mouth.  Her eyes slammed shut and remained.  Her mouth worked and scrunched up, knowing that not only was she eating poison, but not even one that her spice loving palette liked the taste of.

She swallowed and her eyes fluttered open in...pleasant surprise? “Chili flakes?”  She licked her teeth.  A surprise bark of a laugh tumbled out of her.  “Not a training chocolate?”

“Not a training chocolate,” Janet echoed, simply.  Then she leaned over and in a soft, monotone whisper she said.  “This time.” The color from Raine’s face started to drain.  “If you ever give food to my baby boy ever again, if you so much as talk to him without my permission, that will be a real training chocolate you eat.”  If I hadn’t inched in previously, I wouldn’t have heard the threat.

Raine was now rearing back in her chair with nowhere to go.  “I...I...I…”

“I don’t care if you’re Brollish’s pet,” Janet hissed. “You mess with him, you mess with me and I’m crazier than you’ll ever be.  Do you understand?”

“I...I...I..”

Janet stood high and spoke up.  “Do? You? Understand?”

“I...I...I...I’m sorry!” Raine blurted out.  She put her hands up like she was afraid she was going to be physically assaulted.  Her voice was loud and rang out, implicitly calling for help.  No one came.  The health clinic had already been shut down, no parents or coworkers were present, and Brollish’s office was too far away.  Janet had either been lucky or had chosen her moment perfectly.

Janet calmly backed up and put me back on her hip.  The lids to her eyes lowered halfway, like a lioness contemptuously viewing a mouse.  “I don’t care.”  Then we left.

“Where are the other chocolates?” I asked once Janet whisked me out of the front office back towards her classroom.

“Down the garbage disposal.” Janet told me, her voice shaking from adrenaline and rage.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about there, hun.”

I asked the only question I had left. “Why?”  

“Because I don’t want you getting into them and thinking they’re regular candies.  Those are for toilet training big kids by making them have to go potty more often.  Those are why you’ve been having more poopy diapers than usual.”

I brushed aside the fact that I had no ‘usual’.  “No.” I said, pulling back and twisting so I could look her in the eye.  “Not that.  Why?”  She knew what I was really talking about.  She had to have known me better than that.

Janet came to a stop just outside the door to her classroom and looked me directly in the eye.
“Because sometimes me saying I’m sorry just isn’t enough.”

Wow…

Didn’t see that coming. Neither the action before it nor the answer.

Atypical?

(End of Part 5)

[Sarah Penguin]

[TerranV]

Great chapters! Another pair that worked best together.

I'm glad I was wrong about what Janet was going to do with those chocolates she bought. When she found out that Clark had been given one of those chocolates, she absolutely should have been pissed at Forrest for giving it to him without her permission. 

I remember back when they went to the salon, Janet would express her disapproval of other amazons behind their back but not to their face. Can't upset the status quo after all. Maybe this is signifying a step in a better direction?

[Guilend]

This is my second favorite chapter so far. 

[Moon3ye]

The beginning for me is again just "Yes Clark is losing his mind".

I know the "why" game from my time as a kindergarten teacher. 

Real children also play it this way.

My respect for Janet has just increased a bit.

As always, I am curious to see what happens next.

[Panther Cub]

1 hour ago, TerranV said:

Great chapters! Another pair that worked best together.

I'm glad I was wrong about what Janet was going to do with those chocolates she bought. When she found out that Clark had been given one of those chocolates, she absolutely should have been pissed at Forrest for giving it to him without her permission. 

I remember back when they went to the salon, Janet would express her disapproval of other amazons behind their back but not to their face. Can't upset the status quo after all. Maybe this is signifying a step in a better direction?

Here's hoping! I always got the sense that Janet was just blinded by her Amazonness and lack of knowledge of the struggle for Littles.

[Princessamaryllis]

I think she went to a little voices meeting. Also I think they might actually be a group that help littles and Amazon’s come to a sort of compromise where the little acts as little as possible in public but at home they get adult time. 
 

[BabyJilly_S]

That was unexpected !

The little-amazon dynamic is getting more and more complicated....

[Personalias]

12 hours ago, Sarah Penguin said:

11 hours ago, TerranV said:

Great chapters! Another pair that worked best together.

I'm glad I was wrong about what Janet was going to do with those chocolates she bought. When she found out that Clark had been given one of those chocolates, she absolutely should have been pissed at Forrest for giving it to him without her permission. 

I remember back when they went to the salon, Janet would express her disapproval of other amazons behind their back but not to their face. Can't upset the status quo after all. Maybe this is signifying a step in a better direction?

So I will never say what is going to happen next.  Or what another character is thinking.  I'll just say, "perhaps" most times.

11 hours ago, Guilend said:

This is my second favorite chapter so far. 

Okay. I'll bite.  What is it?  (Or has it been posted publicly yet?)

10 hours ago, Moon3ye said:

The beginning for me is again just "Yes Clark is losing his mind".

I know the "why" game from my time as a kindergarten teacher. 

Real children also play it this way.

My respect for Janet has just increased a bit.

As always, I am curious to see what happens next.

I will say that Clark is an unreliable narrator, because no one can be 100% reliable when telling their own story.  Take that as you will.

With regards to Janet and most other characters I'll keep my opinions to myself so as not to overly influence interpretation.  We're all reading them through Clark's lens, so I don't think it's fair (ironic) to give my personal interpretations at this time.

Anything else I will leave up to reader interpretation and opinion, unless a message is received SO FAR off base as to be completely not what I had intended and possibly damaging. (Had someone think in a future chapter that Clark was contemplating suicide based on how I phrased something.  Clarifying statements in the comments and edits to the original draft were made soon after.  Clark is not suicidal and I don't think he ever will be.)

But yes, I drew on some of my own experiences as a little in the non-DD sense and as a teacher irl when coming up with the "Why Day" concept.  The only thing I really added was the idea that a bunch of "kids" might collaborate to the point where it's a shorthand open secret and classroom tradition of sorts.  Usually it's one actor and others are smart enough to catch on and impulsive enough to go along with it.

 

10 hours ago, Panther Cub said:

Here's hoping! I always got the sense that Janet was just blinded by her Amazonness and lack of knowledge of the struggle for Littles.

Perhaps.  I will say that most of the characters have more flaws than they'd like to admit and more virtues than Clark will attest to.  Because that's how I think people are. The real question is do the impacts of the flaws outweigh the impact of virtues or vice versa?

10 hours ago, Princessamaryllis said:

I think she went to a little voices meeting. Also I think they might actually be a group that help littles and Amazon’s come to a sort of compromise where the little acts as little as possible in public but at home they get adult time. 
 

Little Voices is...complicated, like most things.  You'll see it soon enough.

1 hour ago, BabyJilly_S said:

That was unexpected !

The little-amazon dynamic is getting more and more complicated....

Yes, and that's what I love about it.

[Personalias]

And because these chapters got so much attention, let me take the time to thank everyone for reading and commenting, even if I don't reply to every comment every time.   

Let me also take the time to remind everyone that writing these stories is my primary source of income.  It's how I pay for my family's groceries.  So supporting me on patreon, even if it's just a dollar a month, is helpful to me.

For $5.00 you will get access to 30 chapters of Unfair that have yet to be released to the public, as well as approximately 6 months worth of short stories that have yet to be published elsewhere.  

If you can't afford that or do not wish to spend that kind of money, I understand, and the only price to pay for the stories here is your patience and vigilance in looking for new stories and updates.

 

[Guilend]

1 hour ago, Personalias said:

Okay. I'll bite.  What is it?  (Or has it been posted publicly yet?)

The first was around the beginning. I’m not sure what chapter it was. Ms Zoge disrespected Clark back when he was a teacher.