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

[Personalias]

Chapter 101: Conference

The rest of that day was a special kind of tense for me.  It’s difficult to describe.  In one long shouting, screaming, crying, fight, I felt like I had gotten through to Beouf in a fundamental and emotional way. Over the course of a single day, I felt like I had gotten my best friend back.  I felt raw and relieved like some strange invisible barrier between us had been lifted.

For a brief but precious few hours I was euphoric. I’d made her cry. I’d cried too, and I’d destroyed my enemy.  My enemy didn’t go away like I thought she would; she just turned back into my friend. Let me see that part of her that had been closed off in the name of cognitive dissonance and so-called professionalism. ‘Mrs. B.’ was gone and in her place was Melony Beouf, and I had no idea just how much I’d missed her until she was back.

Sadly, the first fact of a Little’s life is that the world isn’t fair. Good things don’t last.

I had my best friend back, and for a few amazing hours I felt more whole than I had felt in a long long time.  Then the reality of it kicked in:  Melony Beouf was still Melony Beouf. She still believed in Maturosis with all her heart and could not be dissuaded. That hadn’t been a dealbreaker before, but she had long convinced herself that I had Maturosis, too.

She was still technically my teacher. She was still in charge of forcing me to accept my infantile state. Highchair feeding and bottle feeding, diaper changes, naptime, and baby toys were still the order of the day.  Her recognizing my personhood or that I had thoughts and feelings beyond a fictional disease did nothing to make her recognize my adulthood.

Therein lay the problem.

As soon as school let out and Janet handed me off to ‘Auntie’ Jessica, my mind went to war with itself.

Now that Beouf and I had experienced some kind of breakthrough with each other, how did that factor into my other plans? Did I try to convince her that Maturosis wasn’t real? Or at least that I didn’t have it? My designs at long term freedom hadn’t factored in any kind of Amazon assistance. Having Beouf actively aid me in some form or fashion could speed up the timetable significantly. It wouldn’t be that different from all the times she defended me as my union representative.

No.

That wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to undo decades of self-delusion in any kind of realistic timeframe.

What if I could convince her that my Maturosis wasn’t as severe as she thought? I could get myself back into regular underwear; training pants at least. A toddler bed in place of my crib would be sweet sweet freedom by comparison (and the extra mobility at night could have some interesting implications).

No. Stop.  

Something didn’t feel right about that either.  Not that I didn’t want to get some semblance of outward maturity returned to me, or that I wasn’t quietly anxious about my steadily declining independence.  I quietly sighed in relief every time I woke up in the middle of the night having to pee so that I could get back to sleep. It meant I wasn’t a bedwetter yet. 

Being allowed underwear I could remove myself had other benefits: Like the status of being the ‘biggest’ Little in a room full of diaper dependent dolls.  That idea gave me a kind of joy. Every other Little in class, from the A.L.L. to the most mindfucked down to Ivy would see my success and have to acknowledge me. Big kid undies would mean that I was able to manipulate the bullshit system to the point where I’d convinced both a professional brainwasher and a full blown Yamatoan that I didn’t need diapers anymore.  Now that was power fantasy!

Now how to get Beouf to give me another chance at potty training and make her think it was her idea?

Nuh-uh. No. That wouldn’t work. 

I couldn’t explain why. It just didn’t. It was almost like baby monitor programming that kept me from telling Janet how much I hated her to her face was now giving static to my thoughts.  Every time I started to think of a way to manipulate Beouf the gears in my head stopped spinning. It wasn’t the same as not knowing what to do, like before, more like my brain was digging its heels in every time I started to plot.

Maybe I was overthinking things. I didn’t need to make Beouf an accessory to my escape or trick her into elevating my status.  Now that we were on good terms again, things could go a lot easier for me. I could get preferential treatment. Play teacher’s pet. Just because I wasn’t going to stay imprisoned didn’t mean that I couldn’t make my temporary stay as comfortable as possi-

No.

No. No. No.

I couldn’t do that either.

I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t do that, but I couldn’t.

“Clark?”  

I blinked myself out of my own plotting and planning. I was in my highchair in the kitchen. Janet and Jessica looked at me concernedly. “Hm?”

“You’re not eating,” Janet pointed to my tray. A plastic bowl with meatballs lay untouched in front of me. They had been freshly made and cooked from scratch so that I could handle them and eat them with one hand.  Janet and Jessica ate their own larger versions. Jessica had cooked dinner and had rolled them individually to size.

In all honesty, they looked and smelled delicious. Compared to school cafeteria food, they were amazing.  Other than being an Amazon Janet had many good talents; but she wasn’t a particularly good or fancy cook.

“Is it okay?” Jessica asked, seeming worried. “I hope I didn’t put too much spice in yours.” Her head turned back over her shoulder towards the pantry. “You got any spaghetti sauce, Janet? He might like that. We could mash it up and stir in some sour cream. He’ll get messy, but bathtime is soon, right?”

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Janet said to her bestie. She looked like that classic mix of cautiously suspicious yet caringly concerned. “Are you feeling okay, honey? Not getting sick again?”

She leaned forward and I let her hand press against my cheeks and forehead. “No J..Mommy,” I said. We weren’t in public, but Jessica technically counted in my mind. Oh. Janet! Maybe I could get Beouf to talk to Janet so I could call her Janet instead of…no. “I’m fine.”

“You look like something’s bothering you kiddo,” Jessica said. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Mutely I shook my head, and kept trying to puzzle things out inside myself. The puzzle wasn’t getting solved, however, afternoon had blinked into evening and bedtime was fast approaching.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” Janet said. “Did something happen at school today?”

Yes.  Something very big. Unpredictable. A minor miracle. How did she not know? Why didn’t Mrs. Beouf tell her at the faculty meeting? Or was this a test of some sort? Another plot? 

Maybe I could redirect the conversation to Skinner. That, however, would have required retelling her slip up about Cassie and revisiting feelings that I did not have the internal strength for.  Truthfully, beyond getting chewed out by Janet - an admittedly satisfying proposition- I wasn’t sure what else would come of it.  Maybe she’d get written up or something, but I found it hard to justify imagining her getting fired for that. It’s not like she hit me or something.

 I gave the only truthful answer I could.  “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Janet considered. “Okay. You can tell me if you want to.  You know that right?”

“Yes,” the lie came out naturally.

“Is this something we should discuss at the conference tomorrow?”

A ‘no’ would send up a red flag. I just shrugged. 

“Do you want something else to eat?” Jessica butted in. “Fruit? Or yogurt? Or…?

Janet’s attention immediately turned to Jessica. “I don’t want him spoiling his dinner or wasting food.”

“It’s meatballs,’ Jessica said. “They’ll keep.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” Janet said. Her tone was rigid, bordering on tense. A warning had been issued.

My honorary Auntie leaned back. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. Trying to help. Not to interfere.”

“I appreciate that but I want Clark to at least try a meatball before he decides he doesn’t like it.”

“Sure, sure. I’m just saying, sometimes babies…”

“Jessica…”

“I saw some of that jarred food that has all the right nutri-”

“Jess!”
 
In that millisecond sparks went off in my brain. In what was practically second nature, I started envisioning scenarios on how to escalate this fight between them. Imagine how awful Janet would feel if I started leaning into Jessica’s arguments and taking her side. She’d managed to listen to me when it was just the two of us.  Would my opinions have as much weight if there was another Amazon to lose face in front of.

This could be a wonderful time to find…

Oh no.

I realized what was wrong with me.

Melony Beouf was my friend, again. My wonderful, honest, well meaning, protective, Maturosis crazy friend. Every angle and possibility I’d considered that afternoon factored that in. I knew how to manipulate, agitate, and frustrate Amazons who were my enemies. Littles too. It was all about seeing them as a collection of behaviors, delusions, impulses and insecurities while turning off the part of my brain that registered the giants as people.

I could poke at and misdirect enemies all day long. It gave me life some days.  I just didn’t know how to do it to Beouf now that she wasn’t my enemy anymore. She was my friend.  And every scenario I started to scheme still relied on me needing to convince her of a truth she would never ever believe in or me using our relationship and my knowledge of her to manipulate her in some form or fashion. 

I had my friend again. I felt just a bit less alone in this fucked up world. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why did there have to be a step two and three? Why did my brain have to immediately start thinking of plans that would take advantage of her in some way? 

Why couldn’t I just have my friend back?!

“Can I please have some milk?” my voice croaked. 

Janet and Jessica stopped their argument.  “What’s wrong?” Janet asked. “Honey, you sound like you’re about to cry.”

“I just want to go to bed,” I said. “I don’t feel sick. I just feel…I just feel.”

Janet tilted her head. “Big emotions?” 

I hung my head in shame.  “Can I please have some milk to help me sleep?”

“Can you please take a bite of one of Auntie Jessica’s meatballs?” 

I picked up one and crammed it in my mouth. Even lukewarm, it was delicious. Savory with just a hint of spice, but nowhere near the volcano temperatures.  Some sweet spaghetti sauce would have perfected it.

“Thank you, Clark,” Jessica said. “I appreciate it.”

Janet walked to the refrigerator and removed another premade bottle of goat’s milk. I crammed another meatball into my mouth and swallowed it down. It really was that good.  “Do you want me to hold you while you drink it?” she asked.

I nodded, just barely. Some form of touch sounded good right then, and I could at least comfort myself knowing that I was using my captor in some small way while tugging at her heartstrings. In Janet’s lap, the milk went down easy, and her body flared up like a heating rock for a pet reptile. 

Janet skipped bathtime and changed me straight for bed. It was easy to get to sleep after that. 

***********************************************************************************************

Awkward and uncomfortable cannot begin to describe that Wednesday. On the outside, it appeared as any other day in the Maturosis and Developmental Plateau Classroom. We had a full day of the same numbing activities and propaganda designed to desensitize us to get to the point where we either believed we were infants and toddlers or at least didn’t object to the treatment.

Underneath it all there was the tension of walking a highwire. Beouf kept checking on me, and I don’t mean the status of my pants.  She would ask “Are you okay?” and “Doing alright?” and “How are we feeling?”.  To which I would reply, “Yes, ma’am,” and “Mmhmm?” and “Hanging in there”, as well as a mixture of awkward smiles and an inability to maintain eye contact on both ends.

Sometimes when Cassie and I would fight, we’d do this. The dust settling and the smoke clearing, we would think of all the horrible things we said to each other and inwardly recoil at what we’d just said and done. We’d check in on each other; overcompensate for the loudness and cruelty with a gentle shushing and a constant reassurance that yes, we still loved each other.

Beouf and I had just spent an entire report card period warring with each other. Our relationship was based on nothing like what Cassie and I had, but love comes in many different forms and flavors. So we walked on eggshells around one another and kept reassuring that yes, Tuesday’s screaming match had happened and that things were going to be different now.

It was still awkward.

That awkwardness spread to the class.  Chaz tried to start up another Why Day and love bomb Zoge, but it didn’t pick up any sort of steam. For obvious reasons, I wasn’t into it, and without me stoking fires the rest of us lost interest. Who knew: You give someone an immersive environment that treats them like a child and they start developing one’s attention span. 

Beouf seeming less tense put everyone else on guard, too.  It made the day go by faster and drag simultaneously. 

The dismissal bell rang, the buses came and went, and much too soon I was being picked up and put in Janet’s arms.  

“Ready?” Beouf asked her.

“Sure.” Janet said. “Your room?”

Beouf smiled. “I think that’d be appropriate. C’mon.” 

Looking at her face I saw that Janet was plainly confused. I don’t think she’d seen Beouf smile quite like that in a while. Neither had I.  Beouf led the way back to her classroom with an almost lightheartedness that I had forgotten. I was actually glad that Janet was carrying me this time. I don’t know if I could have kept up otherwise.

Nothing much had changed in the five or so minutes since we’d been corralled. With how Beouf and Zoge managed things all the tiny props, games, centers, and toys were cleaned up and put away by lunch time. Naps immediately followed lunch, recess followed naps, and dismissal followed that. 

Outside of changes in the adjourning bathroom, the classroom proper didn’t see any use by the end of the day. That gave the teacher and her assistant plenty of time to keep things clean, orderly, and have the room set up for the next day.  The only difference between Beouf’s room before school and after was the position of the sun and the amount of stress in its main occupant.

“Go ahead and have a seat guys.” Beouf said. “I just need to get something out of my closet.” 

“Okay…”  Janet looked at me, searching for answers.  Just as confused, I shook my head and shrugged.

She set me down and I took what had informally become ‘my spot’ at the kidney table.  Janet maneuvered the Amazon sized one from behind Beouf’s teacher desk and scooted up. We sat there, casting nervous, questioning glances at each other and back towards Beouf’s walk-in. 

A terrible thought: We were about to do some kind of therapy using stuffed animal proxies again.

All told we weren’t kept waiting longer than a minute, when she finally came out of her closet carrying a tremendous pot of steaming, freshly brewed, black coffee. My nostrils tingled at the smell of the stuff. Coffee tastes like chalk, but smells like mellow comfort and love. I will never stop loving the smell of coffee for as long as I live.

Beouf went over to the counter sink where sippy cups and bottles were washed and rinsed, set the steaming pot down and reached up above into an impossibly high cabinet to get a giant pair of mugs and a clean bottle.  “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Ms. Grange?”

“No, thank you,” Janet said. “If I have some now I won’t get to sleep until midnight.”

“It’s Decaf.”

“Oh,” Janet said. “Okay. Sure.”  She still looked confused. Which was good because I had completely lost the plot.  Whatever was going on, Janet and Beouf were not on the same page this time.  No predetermination had happened.
Beouf filled both mugs to near the brim and set them down on the kidney table. “Give that just a minute.” She went back to the pot and grabbed the baby bottle. Like watching a stage magician doing the set up for their grand illusion, I stared in a kind of wonder and awe as my oldest Amazon friend filled the bottle to about the halfway point, and filled it near to the top with water from the sink. “Almost done.”

She opened up another cabinet and took out a shopping bag. She reached in and took out sugar packets, non-dairy creamer, and flavored syrups.  

“Mrs. Beouf?” Janet said. “Mel? What are you doing?”

“I’ll explain,” Beouf replied. “Just give me a second to get this mixed up.”

All of the heavenly sugary sweet junk that I used to cut my morning coffee with was summarily dumped into the bottle. The cap was put on, and Beouf shook it and swirled around until the whole concoction was a creamy tan.

Without further explanation she took her seat across from us. “Should be good by now,” she slid the coffee mug across to Janet.  Janet raised the mug to her lips and took a polite sip.  “Can I give Clark this?”

My Mommy looked uncertain. “I don’t see why not…?”  Beouf plopped the bottle down in front of me.  I’d seen her prepare everything and mix it together, yet still I tilted my head and stared as though it were suspicious.

“Sorry I didn’t call you last night,” Beouf said and took a gulp of black bean water. “I had a lot to think about.”

Janet took another tiny sip; a matter of ritual more than thirst. “No problem. This week is crazy. Faculty meeting yesterday. Fall festival. Report cards. Were things okay yesterday?” 

“Mmmmhmmm…” Beouf agreed. “I don’t know what Brollish or the School Board is thinking. They just keep piling everything on.”

“Tell me about,” Janet agreed. Then a light came on behind her eyes. “Oh. Sorry I couldn’t help out yesterday. I couldn’t get away from my classroom.”

Beouf waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. It’s crunch time.”

“Thanks.” Janet’s next sip was slightly more in earnest.

I watched the exchange, arguably the first I’d been allowed to watch between them that wasn’t scripted in some way. Almost unconsciously, I held myself very still in my chair. If I didn’t look at my clothes or move so that I crinkled, I could almost imagine I’d traveled back in time.

Because someone had to and it wasn’t going to be me, Janet cut the small talk. “So? Clark?”

Beouf moved her already half drained mug off to the side. “Yes.  About Clark.”

“How can I help?” Janet rose up, a good Little Voices member eager to get her baby on the right track.

“I think we should revisit some of the expectations and procedures we have for him,” Beouf said plainly.  My temper didn’t flare. I didn’t feel anger as much as let down. 

Why Mel? Why? 

Practically reading my thoughts she held out her hand to me in a gesture telling me to wait.

“Okay,” Janet said. She nodded and tensed, ready for the next task that would no doubt be torturous to both of us in some degree. “Why? What’s happening?”

“I was up all last night reviewing everything I knew about Maturosis,” Beouf said. “Trying to figure out the best way to help Clark adjust and develop.”

“Yeah?” Janet said. “Did you find something? Some technique? Some therapy?”

My teacher was smiling but shaking her head. “Nope. Nothing like that. You can know everything there is to know about Maturosis and it’s still a case by case basis.”

“Okay…?” Janet bit her lower lip nervously. “Then what can we do?”

“Honestly?” Beouf told her. “I took a step back, and started listening to what I’ve been saying, and I had a lightbulb moment.” She looked at me and gave me the warmest, kindest smile I could ever remember. “He’s still Clark. He might be my student and your Little boy, but he’s still Clark. So what do we know about Clark?”

Janet’s answer came in the very next breath. “He’s a cheeky brat,” she said. 

“Uh-huh,” Beouf nodded along. “He is.  What else?”

“He can be very emotional, but sweet when he wants to be.”

“Yup. That’s our Clark.”

It was like the night of the monitor switch, all over again. I was just in the room with them and in the present tense.

Janet kept going. “He’s nosey and paranoid and slow to trust.” She spared me an apologetic look. “But he’s spent a lot of time around people like Brollish, Ambrose, and Forrest. So I get it.”  

“And who are his two best friends in the world?” Beouf asked.  Janet looked confused. Her head edged to the side, like she was trying to remember my classmates. “You’re overthinking it, babe.”

“Us?” 

Beouf put her finger to her nose. “Got it, Mommy. Clark’s a baby. But he’s still Clark. Remember that block tower talk I gave last week? The early years are up at the top, but there’s still thirty-two blocks.”

The younger of the two Amazons, the youngest in the room technically, seemed to be understanding. “Yeah. Yeah. We have said that, haven’t we?”

“I think we’re leaning too hard on him. It didn’t work before, why would it work now?”

Janet took a long drink of coffee. “What do we do?”

“Three basic things,” Beouf said. “Number one is you stop visiting the classroom in the middle of the day. We tried it, it’s not working, and it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you.  You’ve got your own kids to teach. I shouldn’t need this much help for just one.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. 

“It’s not fair to him, either.” Janet agreed. “Nobody else has to deal with their Mommy and Daddy checking up on them in the middle of the day.”

“Except Ivy,” I interrupted.

“Except Ivy,” Beouf agreed, “but that’s different and you know it.”  A cheeky grin was coming to me and I couldn’t help it. 

Some tension left Janet’s body and she sat back in the chair. She liked the idea of getting her planning period and lunch breaks back as much as I did. “Two?”

“Two? Change the routine. I miss spending time with the cheeky brat.”  Her cheeks turned rosy. 

“Absolutely,” Janet agreed. “I can get him here as early as you need.”

“Why early?” Beouf asked in response. “Let me just take him back here after dismissal. You can get rid of the cramped playpen by your desk and do paperwork in peace.”

I was shaking with something besides rage or fear. I looked at the bottle across from me. Was I really hearing this? Was she suggesting what I think she was?

“What are you going to do with him?” Janet asked. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Beouf grabbed her mug and took a sip. “Not a bother. We’ll just hang out. Drink decaf. Play with toys. Watch UsBox Videos. Some of what we’ve always done. Some of what we do now. Whatever he feels like.”

It was happening. It was really happening! I was getting more than an old friend back. I was getting a piece of my old life with it! I couldn’t wait any longer. If there was a trap or catch to this, I needed to know. “What’s three?” I’d meant to blurt it out but it came out as closer to a stage whisper.

“Three,” Beouf said, “Is your Mommy and me get better about talking to you about important stuff.  You should be able to talk to us, and we should listen.”  So bizarre, I realized. She’d been talking this entire time in her regular voice, not her chirpy teacher voice. None of this was measured or performative. It was all Beouf.

“We might still decide on something you don’t like,” Janet added. She paused but Beouf didn’t object. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t see how you feel about it or try to come up with a better solution if we can. We should still talk to you and ask.”

Beouf turned all the way so that she was directly facing me instead of Janet. “Starting now. What do you think, Clark? Does this sound like a plan?”

I snatched up the bottle and put the rubber nipple to my lips.  The coffee was weak, watery, luke warm, and tasted more of artificial sweeteners than anything else. 

Best damn coffee I ever had.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Beouf chuckled. She raised her mug in cheers and finished the cup.

I didn't need to attack or hurt or manipulate my friend to get something nice from her.  Because she was my friend.  She was as crazy as ever, but not so deep down, she was still looking out for me.

If by some chance you're sitting down, reading this: Thank you, Melony. 

End Part 8 
 

[Samriis]

The compromise we've been waiting on... going to be really interesting to see how this plays out with the rest of the faculty and... if the Littles are lucky... how it will change Big Little integration... I have BIG hopes for them all!

[FloridaKid]

I absolutely LOVE how you’re bringing this together. The cynic in me is waiting for something terrible to happen, but the romantic is pleased with recent developments. Hang in there, Clark.

[Personalias]

18 hours ago, Samriis said:

The compromise we've been waiting on... going to be really interesting to see how this plays out with the rest of the faculty and... if the Littles are lucky... how it will change Big Little integration... I have BIG hopes for them all!

All of the players here are flawed, but the good ones are genuinely trying to listen to each other.   I love this chapter and the previous one for those reasons.

And if I may be ominous and cryptic:  There's one particular bit of potential backlash that this comment hasn't predicted.

 

8 hours ago, FloridaKid said:

I absolutely LOVE how you’re bringing this together. The cynic in me is waiting for something terrible to happen, but the romantic is pleased with recent developments. Hang in there, Clark.

There are many bumps ahead in the road and obstacles to overcome, but believe me when I say that this moment is very much a turning point for all involved. 

[BabyJilly_S]

Just got caught up on the last few chapters and oh my! 

So much going on, 100 was a monster, confirmation that Cassie burnt down the house, reconciliation and agreement. 

Very much looking forward to whats coming.

 

[Moon3ye]

One thing that really interests me: Do we still find out what's going on with Cassie?

Did she really start the fire?

Did she get away?

Was she taken by LPS after the fire as the neighbor suggested?

And when Clark sees her again does Cassie recognize him?

Does Clark recognize Cassie then?

[Personalias]

[Part 9: Shake-Up]

Chapter 102: Peer Pressure

Early Thursday morning, I walked into Beouf’s room feeling oddly empty. Normally, I’d use that term to mean something negative. Most people would. People don’t like the idea of ‘empty’; it implies that something that should be full is missing a vital component.  A hollow log is bereft of the tree’s life.  An empty cup lacks purpose until it’s filled.  You get the idea.

Empty can also mean that something bad has been removed. A wound can be emptied of puss, for example.  When you drink poison, the fastest way to purge it is to empty your stomach and puke it up.  Being empty can mean a fresh start.  That’s the kind of empty I  was feeling that morning walking side by side with Janet on the way to class.

I wasn’t neurotically looking for a trap.  I wasn’t bitterly planning one of my own. I wasn’t brooding on my own terrible circumstances.  And the absence of those base emotional states had nothing to do with being too exhausted or beaten down to do so.  Emotionally, a massive zit on my soul had popped and all of that irritating distracting pressure from it had gone with it.  

The weather that morning was warm enough that Janet had dressed me back in one of the plain toddler shorts and t-shirt that Beouf had gifted me.  I didn’t have pockets, and I would have preferred green- teal was not my color- but I didn’t feel a need to complain.  We were nearing the first official report card, a quarter of the way through the school year, yet I felt like I was at the start of something different, and not just trudging through another layer of the usual.

It felt like a different kind of first day.

Zoge opened the door for us.  Beouf was at her teacher’s desk. Ivy was on her hands and knees, rummaging through the toys in the class’s independent play area.  “Morning,” Beouf said. Her eyes were fastened to her computer screen.  “Happy Friday.”

“Happy Friday” Janet said back.  In teaching, the last day of the school week is effectively a Friday, and the first might as well be Monday.  Friday was the Fall Festival; technically a teacher work day but there are times where anything that isn’t direct routine academic instruction feels like a day off. Close enough. “Ready to go up?”  

“Just a sec,” Beouf replied. “I’m putting in a few more notes for progress reports.”

“I hear that.” Janet stifled a yawn.  “Gotta burn that midnight oil and get everything done for tomorrow.”

A feeling of great insecurity flashed over me.  “We’re still gonna hang out after school today, right, Mrs. Beouf?” Intellectually, I already knew the answer. Melony wouldn’t set up a plan and then cancel it the very next day.  Emotionally I needed to hear it again. I became aware of the subtle weight of my pacifier dangling from my shirt collar and ignored the itch in my lips. “Not that we have to. If you’re busy, you’re busy. I can respect that.”

“That’s very mature of you, Clark.”  I looked up and saw a tiny smile tugged at the corner of Janet’s mouth.  A sparkle of pride danced in her eyes. Relief permeated her voice. 

Beouf finished clicking at her computer.  “Don’t worry, Clark.  I’m looking forward to it, too.”
Thank goodness. Thank. Fucking. Goodness.  I wished I’d had pockets so that I could do something with my hands. I settled for fiddling with the binky. 

“Cool.” I didn’t feel cool.  My emptiness was quickly filling up with the strange tingly feeling of positive anticipation.  No question about it, I was looking forward to it.

My old friend, back from the grave as it were, strode up to us. “Before we go up…” she paused and looked down at me. “If you feel like you have to go potty, Clark. I want you to tell me or Mrs. Zoge. Okay?  Same if you need a diaper change.”

WHAT?!  
I felt completely wobbly. I was standing up yet felt like I’d just been smacked in the face with a pillow and put directly on my ass.  Any other day before this I would have immediately started searching for a trap. I’d instantly know in my heart of hearts that Beouf was trying to reverse engineer compliance or some other way to arrive at a predetermined conclusion.  Before this moment I would have started asking a questions and specifics, picking apart procedures, and looking for loopholes that both parties could potentially exploit.

“Okay,” I said.

Beouf spoke to Janet. “I’m not suggesting potty training, yet,” she said. “I just want to take a day or two to see where he is in terms of readiness.  Figure out where his plateau might be at this moment.”

If Janet was at all shocked or bothered, she didn’t show it. “Yeah,” she said. “I figured. I get it.” No more explanation required, evidently. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

I watched them leave and turned my back to the classroom. I had the biggest, dopiest, toothiest grin on my face.  I wanted to throw back my head and crow. I wanted to pump my fists in the air and scream something stupid like ‘Booyah!” or ‘I’m back, baby!’.  I wanted to pound my feet in the ground and stomp in place or do a victory lap around the entire school.

Beouf was coming around. I was convincing her and she was very likely convincing Janet in turn. Our years of friendship were stronger than her madness and Amazonian pride. My skin tingled just thinking about it.

I suddenly began to imagine a world where I was allowed to wear non-absorbent underwear, again. I gave myself no illusions of ‘growing up’. Ever since Amazonian baby crazy had mutated to Maturosis over the more direct accusations of calling Littles immature and the more honest mindset of ‘because I want to’, Adopted Littles’ chances of being allowed to regain their independence went from slim to none. One couldn’t earn their way out of an incurable medical condition.

That harsh truth that I’d been living with most of my adult life didn’t dampen my excitement. A future without diapers was a wardrobe without tapes, fasteners, snaps, and buckles meant to be impervious to Little hands.  If I could take my clothes down to use a toilet, I could later take those clothes off and switch out to something less conspicuous.  So much was going according to plan and I hadn’t even planned this part.

Crinkling, plodding footsteps, caught my attention a second before impossibly strong arms grabbed me from behind.  “You’re doing it!”  Ivy cheered.”I’m so happy for you!”  The iron grip was released just as second later. “Sorry! I forgot. Please don’t bite me.”

Ivy took a step away from me and let me turn around to see her.  She was fiddling with the hem of her dress, and looking frightfully ashamed.  Shame was not something I expected to see on my classmate.  I was too happy to care that she’d touched me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “And thanks.”  My own brow furrowed when I processed what she’d said. “Why are you happy for me?”

“You’re growing up!” Ivy said. “Going potty! Turnin’ into a big kid!”

I blushed despite myself. The doll’s words were an infantile mirror of my own thoughts.  “Thanks.  You’re not mad or something?” If Ivy had been allowed this mercy I would have hated her for it.

The brainwashed Little’s lip pouted out. “Why would I be mad?”

I chewed on the sides of my tongue, unsure of how to phrase it. “Because I’m beating you at something?” I guessed. “I’m growing up.”

“Growing up isn’t something you do, it’s something that happens to you. Like birthdays” Ivy’s face was a blank mask; a child reciting their lessons. It even had the slight musical quality of Zoge. Little girl was reciting her Mommy.  Leave it to a Yamatoan to separate the concepts of birthdays with growing up.   Her eyes cleared. “I’m still better at you than lots of other stuff.”  She sneakily stuck out her tongue at me. That last part was all Ivy.

“Fair enough,” I laughed. I was in too good a mood to do anything else.  

Zoge grabbed the line leashes and pulled back Ivy’s diaper.  “Just checking,” she said.  She fastened the belt around Ivy’s waist and moved to me. Those same probing fingers did not attempt anything similar to me. No crotch squeezes, bum pats, leakguard slips, or waistband pulls.  All she said was, “Do you need to go potty?”

“No ma’am.”  It was so hard not to grin, but I managed.

The three of us walked up to the buses together, the same as always, but I might as well have been skipping on the inside. I couldn’t wait until after breakfast. 

“What’s up, Gibson?” Billy elbowed me on the way to the cafeteria. “You look like you just got laid or something.” 

Playfully, I elbowed him back. “Like you would know, dude.” 

“I got a girlfriend,” Billy boasted. “Of course I know.”

“No he doesn’t,” Annie called over her shoulder two rows ahead. “He knows nothing. Nothing at all.” 

The girls  all laughed and a full round of “OOOOOOOOH!” erupted from the boys. Passing grade schoolers turned their heads at the sheer volume of it.

“Boys and girls,” Mrs. Beouf warned. “The day’s just started. Let’s make good choices.”

We had a distinct marching order that morning. Boys in back. Girls in the front.  No lectures. No discernible reason. We just got worked out this way. I put even money Beouf and Zoge wouldn’t intentionally do this again.

“You guys fighting?” I asked Billy. 

Billy flushed.  “She’s just in a ball busting mood or something. Probably on the rag or something.  We do it all the time.” 

“Cumming in your pants doesn’t count,” I said just loud enough so neither teacher would hear. Jesse and Tommy stumbled a step trying to contain their laughter. Billy’s jaw wiggled back and forth while he unsuccessfully tried to think of a comeback.  I elbowed him back in the arm. “I’m just messing with you, dude.”

Billy relaxed. “I know, dude.”

I leaned in and whispered. “Can’t make it into your pants ‘cause of the leak guards, can it?”

My head bully boy reeled back. Angry but amused. “Whoah! Gibson! Low blow!”  He patted me on the back just hard enough to hurt.  “Funny! But, low blow.”

Chaz cracked up in his stroller and pawed between his legs. “Awwww dang it!” he crowed. “I thought I was gonna stay dry till Circle Time. Good one, Clark.”

“Since when do you stay dry that long?” Billy said. “You’re unpotty trained. Everybody is.”

Any attempt I would have made to contradict him would have been drowned out by the overhead blast fans as we toddled into the cafeteria.  

The conversation drifted to other topics at breakfast. We munched on handfuls of dry cereal and downed milk and juice. Zoge and Beouf opened food packages and did their best to directly coax us to act babyish or twist what we were doing into something that was inherently regressive.  

So you know.  The usual.

I busied myself tanking up on cafeteria milk and juice, hoping that it would race right through me.  After breakfast I intended to use the bathroom as an actual bathroom, and I wanted to make sure that I produced more than a few pathetic dribbles as proof. 

“I’m not going to the fall festival,” Billy said. “I gotta go to a birthday party.”  He didn’t say whether it was a birthday party for an Adopted Little, or an Amazon kid, but there was no good answer either way. Best answer would be going to a drunken frat boy reunion because a sitter couldn’t be found. 

“Bummer,” Chaz said. “I have to be a racecar driver. My Mommy and Daddy are adding a steering wheel to my stroller.”

“I’m gonna be an alligator,” Tommy offered.  “It’s convertible. You can look out the mouth or snap it shut and peek out the eyeballs.”

“Nobody asked, Tommy.” Billy snapped. 

“Billy,” Zoge interrupted. “You can be nicer than that.”

“Yes ma’am,” Billy said.  “What about you, Gibson?”

“Of course Clark’s going,” Tommy said. “His Mommy works here. He has to.”

“Duh, Billy,” Chaz jumped in.

Zoge chose not to comment.  Everybody has their favorites, it seems.

Billy was having a rough morning. “But what costume do you have to wear?”  

I heard everything, but it took longer to realize that my gang was talking to me. My mind was firmly down in my pants, specifically my bladder. I was holding it for reasons beyond stubborn resistance, and very concerned about the state of my diaper. A single misstep could ruin this opportunity. 

“Gibson?”

“Hm? What?”

“What is your Mommy gonna make you dress up as?”  Chaz repeated.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s a surprise.”

My boys all perked up with interest. “What kind of surprise?” Billy asked.

It turns out I was the one having a rough morning. I should have seen this response coming. “What do you mean?”

“Like your Mommy won’t tell you?” Chaz clarified, “Or…?”  he jerked his head backwards near the front of the cafeteria where Picture Day had taken place. “A different kind of surprise?” He coughed for emphasis.

As brutish and brash as Billy could be, he was quite capable of subtle manipulation and innuendo. “Is it a Mommy Grange surprise or a Gibson surprise?” We collectively held our breath, waiting for Zoge to react. She didn’t.

Damn. I’d accidentally put myself into a corner. I’d just thought what Janet had bought was kind of cool and worth a few laughs.  These guys were expecting Picture Day Part two.  “I’d rather not say,” I said. “Just in case.”

They all leaned back and nodded appreciatively. Bullet dodged. When nothing spectacular happened on Friday I could bullshit something about how I was just scared Janet was going to get something awful and embarrassing but I changed her mind at the last minute. Less lying than having to concoct a plan that wasn’t going to happen.

“What’s with you, dude?” Billy asked. “You seem kinda out of it.”

“Maybe he’s pooping,” Chaz teased. “He kinda looks like he’s pooping.”  Everyone at the table laughed.

Billy shouted over to the other table,  “Hey Mrs. B, how much longer? Clark pooped and needs an emergency change!” That got another round of laughs; the girls too. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it to Circle Time!”  Humiliation is funny as long as it isn’t you. 

“Is that true?” Zoge asked me calmly. “Did you go poopy already?”

“No ma’am,” I replied. “Billy’s just being Billy.”  I gave him a healthy dose of sideeye that did nothing to dampen his spirits.

“We’ll see when we get back to the room, just in case.”  

A strange sense of disquiet came over Billy and the others. I could see it on their faces.  Murmuring from the girls’ table told the same story.  Suspicion. Confusion. Zoge asked me directly about the state of my pants. She neither inspected me herself or assured Billy that I could wait to be changed.  Something about the way she said ‘already’, too.  She didn’t even use the word ‘change’. 

Not that any of the assembled Littles actively picked up on these things. But when you’re used to hearing people talk as if you’re a baby, something as subtle as them talking like you’re a toddler capable of not shitting yourself sticks out.

Ivy just came out and said it.  “Clark didn’t poop!” She sounded mildly offended. “He’s getting potty trained!”

Every other Little looked like I’d just slapped them in the face.  Billy was thunderstruck. Chaz frowned, contemplating something.  Tommy was screaming at me inside his own head. Annie was exchanging looks with the other girls that screamed ‘I told you so’.

Ivy clapped for me.  “Yaaaaaaay, Clark!”

Breakfast wrapped up soon after.  People eat faster when they’re not talking; walk faster, too. We were unleashed at the door and went to our usual spots for Circle Time. I didn’t get the chance. “Come on, my love,” Mrs. Zoge said. She took my hand and walked with me to the bathroom.

We squeezed into the bathroom together as nine sets of eyes watched me like a hawk. I did my best to ignore them, too focused on the trial in front of me. What if I tensed up and couldn’t?  What if I got excited and let loose before the diaper was all the way off.  What if I’d forgotten how to aim?  I took a deep breath to chase out all of the paranoid scenarios that had refused to leave my brain up until then.  

“Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”

Zoge leaned out and closed the bathroom door for me. Would wonders never cease? I’d never thought I’d see the door close from the inside. “Just a second,” Zoge said. She lowered her knees in the space between the changing table and the opposite wall. There was no other space where she could reasonably fit. “I need to get down.”

I stood in front of the toilet, pursing my lips together in a thin line, and breathing through my nose.  “Take your time,” I said. Just had to keep cool.

“Face me, please.”  I turned ninety degrees. I hadn’t seen her this low since she literally bowed to me. “I need to get your diaper off first.”  I hadn’t thought to pull my pants down, so she did it for me. I silently cursed myself and hoped that it wouldn’t count against me. Not wanting to immediately drop trow better not be the thing that kept me in diapers.  

Zoge grabbed the front of my waistband and ripped the tapes off my Monkeez one by one.  The diaper practically wafted to the floor like a gentle leaf. The Yamatoan picked it up and examined it. It was bone dry.

“See?” I asked.

“Yes,” Zoge replied, neutrally. “Dry.”  More than dry. My cock, balls, and ass, were still coated with the powder Janet had used that morning.

It was awkward for a second. Not because I was naked from the waist down, Zoge had seen me naked more times than either of us could be bothered to count.  It was more like I was afraid to do anything that she didn’t explicitly instruct me to do, and she was hesitant to instruct. Ivy’s mom was much more comfortable changing diapers than helping people get out of them. I didn’t want to give her an excuse.

“Ready?” Zoge asked.

“Mhm.”

I didn’t expect her to pick me up and sit me on the toilet. It was the rare model that was sized for Littles and small children.  I wasn’t exactly surprised, though.  She scooted back.  “Okay,” she said. “You can-”

My own personal floodgates opened up instantly. The sound of liquid hitting liquid echoed around the tiny bathroom. Holding on had been the tricky party. Letting go was easy. I stared down at my penis and watched urine shoot out into the bowl beneath me.

I was peeing and not feeling instant wet heat surrounding my genitals!  No quiet hiss in my ear but a loud tinkle bouncing everywhere! My ass was cold from the seat!  It had been ages since my ass had been cold. A tiny eternity since I’d been allowed to sit down without a padded cushion beneath me.  (And no, baths don’t count)  I reached down between my legs and adjusted my angle. I was touching myself!

I was peeing! Not peeing my pants! Not wetting myself! Just peeing! 

Euphoric. There’s no other word for it. There just isn’t. That freedom. That luxury. That unexpected bliss.  You never know how much you’ll miss something until it’s gone, and never love it more than when you get it back without asking.   

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” My cackles were loud enough to the already muffled voices of Mrs. Beouf and my classmates on the other side!

Zoge stood up and stepped back. “Whoah!” she said.

Between ten and twenty seconds later- I suddenly wished I’d counted-I was finished. “Done.” I said.

“Do you need to poop?” 

Nine weeks ago, I would have been mortified if not furious at her for asking me this. Sitting in front of her, I took this as a major kindness on her part. Funny how things change. “Not right now.”

 With the Yamatoan aide watching, I shook myself, ripped off a piece of toilet paper, dabbed for bonus points, stood up, and flushed.  Oh what a wonderful sound that toilet made! I’d have Janet pipe it through the monitor if I could.

“Very good,” Mrs. Zoge said. “Let’s get you dressed.” She took out a fresh diaper and laid it on the changing table.

I looked back down at myself, and the rumpled teal fabric gathered at my ankles. It was probably too much to ask that I be allowed to go commando. “I don’t suppose you have any training pants,” I said.

“No,” Zoge said simply. “Your Mommy hasn’t given us any.”

I pointed to the diaper I’d been wearing before on the floor. “Can’t I just wear that one?” 

Zoge picked it up off the floor and pressed her thumb into one of the tapes. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t want them to come undone.”

I tried to keep my body language and voice as neutral as possible. “Okay. I’m ready.”

It was a long trip back up to the changing table. Hard looking at myself in that ceiling mirror. I tucked the pacifier under my arm so I wouldn’t have to look directly at it. The rest went as it usually did.  

Except for one small yet significant feeling detail. I saw Zoge reach for the bottle of baby powder.  She stopped herself, and did a double take at my naked lower half. “Don’t need it,” she told herself.  

“Nope,” I agreed. Not at all.

“I love you,” Zoge said after she’d finished yanking my shorts up.

“Thank you,” I replied. “You too.”  That still felt weird.

What was weirder was the looks I got upon walking out of the bathroom.  “Mandy,” Zoge called. “Your turn.”   Mandy trudged by me, her diaper bulging beneath her clothes. She might have been wet since the bus ride to school. 

When she passed me, I heard a word I hadn’t in a while whispered.  “Helper.”

Oh no.
******************************************************************************************

The timer went off and everyone sprang into action. Seats were abandoned and pushed in. Toys were put away. Games were cleaned up. Crayons were dumped in boxes. Worksheets were handed over. Books were shelved. Teachers were thanked. And as soon as those minor instances of upkeep were done, we all went to the schedule wall and took the next token off of our visual schedules. 

It wasn’t organized chaos but the inverse. It was structure that appeared random from afar just because of the modicum of independence allowed to the actors. Center rotations when done right most resembled how ants scramble to repair and defend their nest after it’s been kicked over.  Everyone has their own individual job and route, but the ultimate objective is the same.  

It’s marvelous when done with children. Much less so with Littles.  Everyone knew their schedule.  Beouf hadn’t altered it in some time.  Any one of us could have rattled off their own particular rotation schedule.

Presently, it was snack time for the entire class.

“I hope it’s not animal crackers today,” Chaz said, reaching up and ripping off his token. Beouf had been kind enough to adjust his token board for a crawler. His strip ran left to right instead of top to bottom.

“Better than plain popcorn,” I groused.   We traveled together towards Beouf’s activity table. The rest of the A.L.L. had parked there, and two seats were left for us.

“Yeah,” Chaz agreed. “I’m sick of biting off the legs.”

“Why don’t you just bite off the heads first?”

“I’m just sick of eating body parts.”

“That’s fair.” 

Annie pulled a chair out wide for Chaz to sit in.  “Help me up?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”  I extended my hand down and he reached up. We repeated the process.  I braced my arms and planted my feet so that Chaz could climb to his feet.  It wasn’t hard. Like with Amy it was more a matter of balance than anything.

FLICK!
A blunted sting registered in the bottom of my left ear.  “Ow!”  I released one of Chaz’s hands and instinctively swatted at my ear. The fuck had bit me? Billy pushed the chair right underneath Chaz and he dropped into it.

FLICK!

It was my right ear time. I slapped the side of my ear and barely noticed the movement on my left. “Mother ffff…Tommy!”

Tommy was just sitting down, himself, but played it casual as if he’d been at the table the whole time.  “Hm? What?” he asked.  “How can I help you?”

I roughly pulled my seat and sat down. “What the hell?” I growled. He’d slid into the farthest seat away from me, the bastard. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Tommy said. “You okay?”

“Zoge,” Billy said.  We all sat straight up in our seats with our hands folded, like good Little boys and girls.  We remained that way until after she came by with paper towels to serve as napkins and placemats.

Soon after she’d turned her back…  

FLICK!

My right ear lit up again, and I dug my teeth into my bottom lip to stop from yelping in surprise.

“Annie,” I said. “What’s your problem?”  Annie looked vacant and spaced out, like she’d been zoning out all along.  She was the only person on my right, though.

FLICK!

The sound of Chaz’s finger just barely missing my left lobe still registered a booming shockwave in my eardrum.  “Chaz!”

“Sup?”

“B!” Tommy said.  We all resumed the position. I ignored my throbbing ears.  Whatever this was- and it was something- the rules of engagement meant no Amazons allowed.

As if pre-ordained, Beouf shook out a handful of bland non-buttered, unsalted, room temperature popcorn. It was the kind that was sold pre-popped in potato chip bags. I don’t have the data to back this up, but I feel like those kind of snacks are violations of some sort.  This must have been some kind of karmic balance for not having to pee my pants this morning.
“Eat up,” she said. 

“Yes ma’am,” we answered in unison.  No one made a move to eat it. Besides this stuff being the Mark Horsey McDoucheface of snacks, we clearly had more important things to hash out as a group.

Beouf didn’t leave us, though. “I’ve got checks and changes today,” she told Zoge. Then she remembered, “Clark, do you have to go potty?”

Big mistake, Mel. Big mistake. Four other Littles were staring at me with murder in their hearts.  “I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you sure?” Beouf asked. “You haven’t gone in a while. It’s okay if you’ve had an accident. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“Yeah Clark,” Billy echoed. “It’s okay if you have an accident.”

That’s what this was all about. Jealousy. Stupid green eyed jealousy.

“I’m fine,” I lied. 

“Okay…”  Beouf sensed the lie, but not the cause. She leaned over and scooped up Chaz.  “Come on, Chaz.  I can smell you from here.”  She started carrying him away.

“It’s not me!” Chaz whined.

Beouf laughed.  “Your seams are about to burst, darlin’. If it’s not you…”  The rest of her remark got drowned out by distance.

No matter.  I leaned forward towards the center of the table, and the others joined me. “What the hell, guys?”

FLICK!

“Goddamnit, Annie! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Or else what?” Tommy broke in. “You’ll tell on us? Like a baby?”

“It’d add up,” Annie said. 

“Helper’s can’t help it,” Billy spat.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

“Naw,” Annie talked over me, “I think he’s goin Full Native. Ivy’s got a new best friend.”

“Oh fuck you,” I swore. The image of me slapping the shit out of Annie flashed across my mind’s eye.  Comparing me to Ivy? Them’s fightin’ words.  “You’re just jealous.”  My hand shot up and blocked Billy’s salvo.  He was farther away from me and I was ready.

“”I don’t know,” Billy said. “You spent almost all day Tuesday hanging out with Beouf. Yesterday you were awfully chummy with her.”

“I toldja,” Tommy said. “I saw him crying with her on the playground.”

Billy popped in a stale piece of popcorn. “Now you’re getting potty privileges back?” He took a swig from his bottle, likely regretting that one decision. “She broke you dude. You sold out.”

Tommy copied Billy’s body language note for note. “Teacher’s pet.”

Fuck. Me. Sideways. 

“You gotta admit,” Annie said. “It’s not a good look.”

“It’s not suspicious,” I said. “I’ve just tricked her. I broke her.”

“How?”

Fuck. Goddamn it.  Motherfucker. I couldn’t tell them the truth and my brain was coming up with no other plausible lies. “I…I…I…”

“Knew it,” Billy said. “You gave up. You sold out.  Like Taylor.  Are you in Pull-Ups? Pull down your pants.”

That worthless lie about a Little I barely remembered was biting me in the ass full force. My entire pitch to getting the others on my side was that any sign of added privileges was proof of compliance to our oppressors. How was I supposed to know Beouf would actually treat Maturosis as a science and want to replicate an experiment.

Beouf came back with Chaz reeking of baby powder.  All of us were sucking on pacifiers when she looked.  She pointed at the small piles of popcorn. “Not hungry?”  We shook our heads. “Alright, but I don’t want to hear you complaining if your tummies start growling before lunch.”

Tommy popped his pacifier out.  “We won’t.”  

“Okay then. That’s your choice.”  She quickly checked everyone at the table. No one else was found messy or ‘wet enough’ to merit a change. 

Except for me.  I wasn’t checked at all.  I was asked. “Are you sure you don’t need to go potty?”  I nodded. Then I shook my head. “Use your words.”

I took the pacifier out.  “I’m sure, ma’am.  Maybe later.”  I really could have gone just then, but taking Mel up on her offer would have been a bad look right then.

She didn’t believe me but was sticking to her guns. “Okay…”  

“What’d I miss?” Chaz asked.

“Clark’s a Helper,” Billy said.

“He’s broken,” Annie said.

“He’s a hypocrite,” said Tommy. 

 Okay, Tommy was right.  Still…  “I just figured it out,”  I said. “I’m tricking her into giving me a chance and letting me grow up.” It felt dirty just saying that about her.  It would have been real nice to hate Beouf right about then. “Give me time and I can get her to give you guys…” I was loathe to finish a promise I knew I couldn’t keep.

“It’s not about growing up,” Chaz said. “They’re never going to let us grow up. We can’t grow up because we’re already adults.” As he spoke there was a fire in Chaz’s eyes the likes of which I’d never seen. ”It’s about making it difficult for them. It’s about turning their rules against them. Doing ‘yes and’ stuff, and making them cry as much as they make us cry.  It’s about getting even because we’re never gonna get ahead.”

“I said that,” I sighed.

“Or someone who looks like you.”

I’d created a monster. Four of them to be precise.  And I couldn’t control them unless they thought I was one of them. They’d make my school days torture if they thought I’d gone soft. I’d certainly given them enough tips.  Telling on them and weaponizing Beouf to make them stop would feel dirty. That would make me feel like a sellout.  I’d be like Ivy, or how I’d imagined Taylor because I really would have known better.  I could openly be friends with Melony Beouf, or I could be the plotter of the playground.  Not both.  At least I’d have my afternoons.

“What do you need me to do?” I asked.

I tensed when Annie put her hand on my shoulder. I half expected another annoying flick. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Annie repeated.  The others silently conferred and agreed.  They’d found a way to gossip and confer before snack time. Not all that impossible. I’d done a poor job of masking my feelings. They all rode the same cheese wagon back and forth to school.  Conversation and plotting are easy to do quietly in short bursts. Super easy if all involved have made up their mind in advance. 

 If they were taller I’d say they were acting very typical, but that wouldn’t be fair to them regardless.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Chaz said. “Hang out with some of the others.”

“Like the other babies,” Tommy said. “You might like it better.” Billy maintained eye contact with me, but reached back and gave Tommy a fist bump. My status in my own pecking order was greatly reduced indeed.

“You want proof?” I said. “Fine. Give me a second.”  I slugged back some water and relaxed my bladder.  It was easy. Like my body was almost happy to have the familiar sensation back.  I stuck the pacifier back in and bit down. I leaned forward on the table and raised my rump off the chair.  Pooping was more difficult, but not nearly difficult enough. By my own estimation I could have probably held this load in for the rest of the day and gotten it out just before bath time. Whatever Janet was feeding me was greasing my guts enough so that I didn’t have to sweat.

I filled my pants up in less than a minute. Peed a little more, too. A kind of inertia and muscle memory just took over. It wasn’t a helpless feeling. I had to actively push most of the way.  It was a choice.  That made it worse.  I groaned into the pacifier when I’d finally emptied myself and sat back down, smooshing the solid mass entirely.

“You gonna ask to get changed?” Tommy asked.

I stared dead ahead at Beouf’s empty seat. “Nuh-uh. Don’t want to make it convenient for them.”

“Attaboy,” Billy said.  He reached over past Chaz and lightly clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m proud of ya.”

We’d razzed Tommy for walking around in a dirty diaper. Said he was too babyish and mindfucked. Now me doing the same thing was a sign of loyalty and commitment to sticking it to the man.  

The Adult Little League was never about that. It was about dragging people down to our level. Down to my level.

“Snack time’s over,” Beouf announced. “Go check your schedule.”

It was Ivy who called me out for having stinky pants. Fucking Ivy. When the most mindfucked Little in the school if not the town is the one getting you busted for messing your Monkeez, that’s a new low.  I’d normally question what I’d done to deserve this, but for once I knew the answer.

******************************************************************************************************

Janet walked with us back from the buses.  She was carrying me so that the two giantesses could speedwalk.  “How was he?”

“He was great,” Beouf said. “Really good day.”

“What about the potty?”  Janet likely saw the answer in my face before Beouf gave it.

Beouf shrugged. “He went first thing after breakfast. Mrs. Zoge said he started going the second she sat him down.  It’s a common enough reflex.”

 “Reflex?”

“Yeah. One year olds can do it. Especially boys. Penis plus open air, plus full bladder and boom. If you time it right it’ll save you a diaper first thing in the morning. Keep him dry longer.”  Leave it to Beouf to know enough random trivia so she could chalk up success in one scenario as coincidence and a statistical outlier as concrete proof.  

Janet waited for Beouf to hold open her classroom door. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”

“No buts,” Beouf said. “It’s about what I thought it would be. He showed no interest whatsoever the rest of the day. Said no every time we asked him, even when he had an accident.” 

Janet failed to hide how much she liked what she was hearing. She sat me down in my usual chair at the table. “Didn’t know, or didn’t care?”

Beouf got out an empty bottle and mug and started mixing up the coffee. “Maybe a bit of both. Only went when we made him and timed it right. Every other time he didn’t produce anything or it was already out of him.”   Melony was the kind of person who would have bet on professional wrestling. 

“Good,” Janet said. “To know, I mean. Good to know.”

“But that’s okay,” Beouf’s voice shot up to motherese levels of cutesy squeak. “Just meant he was busy doing more important stuff. Like learnin’ and playin’.”  I buried my face in my hands. Just let this day be over.  “Sorry, bud,” Melony said in her normal voice. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.”
“You’re fine.”  A lie, but one meant to keep the fragile peace. I’d done a lot of that already. 

Janet gave me a kiss on the top of my head.  “I’ll let you two hang out. I’ve gotta go prep for tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Beouf said. “Take your time. I’ll be here till four.”  

Janet left, Beouf handed me my bottle of watered down sugared up coffee, poured herself a mug of black, and we sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

Finally.

She took a sip of hers. “Clark.”

I pulled from my bottle. “Melony.”

“Anything you want to talk about, friend?”

“Does it have to be about today?”

My friend took another sip. “Nope. School’s not in session. Your Mommy’s not here. This isn’t a conference. I’m off the clock.”

“Your workday doesn’t end for at least forty-five minutes,” I told her, “and you’re still liable for anything that happens to me until my Mommy or somebody else relieves you of custody.”

“You know what I mean,” Beouf said. She pantomimed backhanding me. “Booger.”

“Oh no,” I said, “I took your words and used them against you. Oh shock of shocks.” 

Beouf slammed down her mug and looked like she was on the verge of doing a spit take. I took another sip from my bottle, playing coy.  It’s harder to sarcastically sip from a container with a rubber nipple on top than it is from a coffee mug.

“I missed this,” Melony said. “I really did.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

“Thank you for letting me be your teacher,” she said. “Thank you for letting me be your friend again.” 

My first instinct was to parrot her sentiment and thank her for being my teacher.  That would have been a lie, though, so I went with “You’re welcome”.  We sat for several more minutes of amicable silence.
In the silence I realized that I had to pee again. Not a lot. Just enough to notice. Very holdable. Why bother, though?  I was about to relax and then I realized… “Would you mind taking me to the bathroom?”

A flash of annoyance crossed Melony’s face. “Clark, I love you. Please don’t start.”

“What are you talking about?” I was genuinely confused. “Start what?”

“Every time somebody points out something about your behavior, you stubbornly lean the other way or try to start a fight. You only try to be an adult when you think somebody’s calling you a baby.” 

Blasphemy! Total bullshit! More typical Amazon baby-crazy.  “Like when?”  There was an unintended edge to my voice. I couldn’t help it.

“Using your pacifier,” she said. “You had no problems soothing with it until me and your Mommy pointed it out.  Saw you using it today.”

That was just one time.  “What else?”

“Playing with friends. Having someone help feed you. Drinking from a bottle. Potty training. Calling Janet your Mommy.  Everything, bubba. Literally everything.”  That response came way too quick to be just off the top of her head.

I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess. This has something to do with my Maturosis? Only babies care about not being babies so therefore I’m regressing?”

“Nope,” Melony said.  “Just you. You’ve always hated it when people call you out. Like you think that people knowing you makes you vulnerable.”  She pointed to my right. “You moved your bottle to the side as soon as I brought it up, by the way.”

I turned my head left, racking my brain for a counter argument. Why wasn’t I good at this today?

My oldest remaining friend reached across the table and laid her hand over mine.  “Hey,” she said softly. “That’s why it means so much to me that you let me in.  Twice, now. I don’t want to fight.”

“Me neither,” I muttered.

“Don’t be worried. Everything will be okay. Let’s just take this slow.”

The toilet thing or our friendship or this school year, I wondered. “Take what slow?”

“Everything.  We’ve got time.”  As far as she was concerned that was true.
I was never going to be allowed to use that toilet ever again.  Oh well.  One less dry diaper that day.  “Okay.”

We both took a few deep breaths and a couple shallow sips.  “Got a costume picked out for tomorrow?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Melony looked concerned in the same way my peers looked excited. “What kind of surprise?”

The back door flung open with such force that it thundered against the rubber stop. I expected Ambrose but lowered my gaze when Tracy marched in. ‘Marched’ is the wrong word for how my Tweener friend moved. ‘Marched’ has an image of strength with shoulders back and held up high.  Tracy moved like a marionette with half of its strings missing, all bent over and broken.

Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were pink. Her face was red. Her cheeks were wet and snot was bubbling up from her nostrils. “I CAN’T DO IT!” she wailed. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!” She sat down right next to me and folded her arms and buried her head in them. It was like she couldn’t see me. “I QUIT, MEL! I FUCKING QUIT! THEY WIN! I QUIT!” 

Beouf slid out of her seat and quick stepped over to the back door, quietly closing it.  “What happened, hon?” 

My assistant picked her head up. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!”

“Take what?”” I asked.

Tracy stopped crying. Looked at me. Blinked. And then started crying all over again.

I looked to Beouf for answers. “Take what?”
“It’s complicated,” Beouf said.

“It’s bullshit!” Tracy banged her fist on the table. “BULLSHIT!”

Beouf grabbed a box of tissues from her desk and placed them in Tracy’s reach. She started trying to softly rub Tracy’s back, but Tracy shrugged her hand away.

“What?” I repeated myself.

“This is a school thing,” the Amazon said. “A faculty thing. A gr…It’s nobody’s business unless Miss Tracy wants to tell it.”

“THEY’RE TRYING TO GET ME ADOPTED!” Tracy bawled. “THEY’RE TRYING TO KICK ME OUT.”  Tissues started flying and Tracy’s nose was doing a solid impression of a flock of geese.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.  “They can’t do that.”

Melony took off her glasses and started rubbing her temples. “Unfortunately they can.”

“Who is they?”  I knew the answer as soon as I finished asking.

Tracy looked away from me. “Ambrose and Brollish.” She was still razor thin close to breaking down again.

I was irate enough for all three of us. “WHAT?!”

Beouf waited for Tracy to give her the okay.  “Tracy got reprimanded for coming here last week.”

“When you were in timeout,” Tracy said.

“When Mrs. Zoge interrupted and saved me.”  I liked where this was going even less.

“They’re framing it as disobedience and wandering off due to Maturosis flaring up.” Beouf said. “It’s not as common in Tweeners, but it’s not unheard of.”

“Mrs. B,” I said. “Not. Helping.”  Beouf actually looked ashamed for once.  “Okay. This sucks, but we can fix it. Just everybody start cleaning and be on the lookout for planted evidence, right?”
  
Tracy buried her face in her arms again and shook her head. “They’re trying something different this time,” Beouf explained.  She nudged Tracy. “Tracy?”

My assistant sniffed and dabbed at her face with a fresh tissue. “They’re doing a longer con. Saying how anybody can fake being an adult for one day.” I winced at what had to be a parting jab at me. “I thought Brollish was on my side for a second, because she didn’t want me getting changed in front of our kids, and reamed her out in front of me for this stupid trick she tried to pull with trick paper; but she was really just looking for something I couldn’t get out of.”

Against my more sensitive judgment I said the quiet part out loud. “Like the diaper they had you wear last Wednesday?”

“And Thursday,” Tracy said. “And Friday. And Monday. And TUESDAY. AND WEDNESDAY. AND TODAY!”  She was struggling not to break down into a ball of snot and tear again. She was losing, too.  “I have to show up early,” she squeaked. “Then let Brollish put a diaper on me in her office. Work all day. And if I have even one accident, a tiny dribble, then that’s proof. BUT I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TAKE THE DIAPER OFF TO GO TO THE FRIGGIN’ BATHROOM!” 

“I thought the deal was you had to stay dry at school for a week,” Beouf said. “It’s been a week.”

Tracy laughed. It was a terrible bitter thing that just barely masked her wailing.  “Brollish did say a week. But she didn’t say what kind of a week!” More crazy laughter laced with sorrow followed. “On Tuesday, she told me that last week didn’t count; that it had to be a full school week.  And guess who isn’t scheduled to work the Fall Festival?! This gal!”

“Oh no…” I gasped.

“And my period is due in a couple days,” Tracy rambled, “so Brollish might not count that for all I know! If we have an early dismissal day, or if I have a doctor’s appointment, that whole week won’t count.”  She giggled, “And the best part? I just went back to our room to get my backpack from behind Ambrose’s desk because that bitch won’t let me store my own stuff…and guess what I found?”

I didn’t want to know.  Beouf saved me the trouble of asking. “What?”

“An email left open on Ambrose’s computer. They’re talking about ways to cut my hours!“

I felt completely empty in that moment. The bad kind. “There’s gotta be a way around this. Can’t the Union help?”

“I’ve been talking it over with other reps,” Beouf told me. “It’s possible, but those maturity clauses are tough. We’d have to go to court.”

“Then take Brollish to court!” 

“Not Brollish, hon. The school board.  Principals are technically just middle management.  We’d have to prove this test is a violation of contract or that the clause needs to be amended. That takes time.”

Tracy stood up. “I don’t have time, Melony! I’m miserable! They’re just gonna keep turning up the heat.”

“What about your husband?” I asked.  “Can’t he just adopt you.”  I was grasping at straws.

“That’s not the point.”

“She couldn’t work in education,” Beouf clarified. “Couldn’t work in a lot of places. Nothing that needs a degree or does more than part time.”

 Tracy motioned to Beouf.  “Exactly. So I might as well quit. That way I can get a new job.”

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.  Right as I was starting to get my old friends back, they were being forced to leave me. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair, but this was worse. This was fucking rigged.   

Why wasn’t I allowed to be just a little bit happy? Just for a second?!  Why couldn’t the fucking universe let me have this one win!  Why?

Why?

WHY?

WHY?!

“No.” I said.  “No. You can’t.  You can’t do this. What about the kids?”  What about us? What about me?  Best to leave those parts unsaid.

Tracy looked like her heart was about to explode just looking at me.  “I’m sorry, Boss. I just can’t.”

I stood up and kicked the chair over. I didn’t care if it could be written off as a temper tantrum. “It’s not right! You saved me! You saved me and now you’re being punished for it! Because I was a jackass!”

“Honey,” Melony said. “It’s not your fault. Nobody blames you.”

“It doesn’t matter if nobody blames me! I’m still to blame!”  I threw myself up against Tracy hugged her as hard as I could.  

“Boss…” She whispered, petting my head like the scared puppy dog I felt like. If only I could have taken a dump in Ambrose’s slippers… “I’m sorry.”

“Give it a couple days,” I begged her.  “A week. Just next week.  Give us time to think of something.  Give me time.  I’ll find a way.  I’ll think of something.”

She was crying again.  We both were. All three of us.  If Janet and Zoge had been there they’d have cried too.  “How?”

“I’ll find a way. I promise.”  That was Clark for “I have no idea.”

[FloridaKid]

Wow. I knew you’d knot things up again. Such a great story.

[Samriis]

Yeah, this was a great move into a new line of thought... bravo!

[Personalias]

Chapter 103: Little Voices: Limited Options

I told Janet everything that had happened as soon as we were back in the car. I didn’t have much of a choice. I’d stopped crying by the time she came to get me but my eyes were still irritated.  Janet didn’t have anything else to say beyond “I’m sorry, baby. Do you want to skip the meeting tonight? Stay home?” 

I declined the offer.  I still had work to do.
 
Just when I was getting ready to sow some seeds, Amy crawled up, yelled “Hi, Clark!”, asked me how I was, and I made the mistake of being honest with her. I wasted a good five minutes telling her about Tracy. I skipped the drama with the A.L.L. and how getting toileting rights back was turning into yet another bit of bait and switch against typical Amazon crazy.

“So yeah,” I huffed after I’d told Amy the bullet points.  “That’s how it’s going. What do you think?”

“I think that Quarterly Summaries are Summers you get every quarter of the year cuz it helps break up the monotony if you pretend it’s summer and everything is better with snow cones and summer clothes we just wouldn’t appreciate it as much if you did it all the time it’s like vegetables without cheese and sour candy. You gotta take the bad with the good.”

I stared at her, more confused than annoyed that she hadn’t been listening. “What?”

“I asked my Mommy to tell me about her job again,” Amy said. “Then I realized she was making stuff up so I had to figure out what it really was.”

My eyes narrowed in incredulity. I could never tell when she was joking.  “Why do you think she was lying?”

“Banking has to be more exciting than what she told me,” Amy said. “Why else would Grown-Ups do it if it wasn’t?”

“Did you try to be a zookeeper because it was fun?”

“Yeah.”

We were getting off track. Eyes closed in frustration and rubbing my temples, I rephrased my question. “What do you think about what I just told you?”

“Oh yeah, that totally sucks,” Amy agreed. “Are you gonna make your friend a goodbye card or something? Let her put it on her refrigerator so she can remember you?”

“No,” I scoffed. “Not at all.”  Besides being absolutely childish, such a thing felt like giving up.

“That’s probably for the best,” Amy sighed. We’d both been sitting on the floor.  She laid down and rolled over on her back so that I appeared upside down to her.  “She might not be at your school on Monday.  Don’t wanna waste good crayons.  What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Amy…” I warned, “I am in no mood.”

“Okay, bud. Whatcha wanna talk about?”

“How to get Tracy to stay,” I crossed my arms. There was more to this. There was something I was missing. There had to be.

The gap toothed Little girl rolled her head to the side. All around us were perfectly gaslit and mindfucked Littles engaged in pockets of pretend and parallel play. “Do you want her to get Adopted or something? That’d stop her from leaving, kinda.”

That felt like a slap in the face.  “No.”  I sounded offended because I was. Also that wouldn’t have accomplished anything. I’d neglected to tell her about Tracy’s husband and her backup plan.

“Okay,” she said. “Then what are you going to do about it?”

“Write a letter to the school board,” I suggested. “Email it. Go over Brollish’s head.”

Amy rolled over to her stomach and propped her head up.  “You’re a baby.”

“No I’m…!”  I stopped when I saw her cocking an eyebrow. She wasn’t diagnosing me, she was predicting the reply.  I was a baby as far as the school board was concerned.  “I’ll get my Mommy to send it for me. She can sign it.”

“You’re a baby. She’s a teacher.”  

Janet might not let me write it to begin with and an employee complaint might be taken less seriously. “I’ll make it anonymous.”

“You’re a baby or you don’t exist.”

“I still know most of my old students’ parents’ contact info,” I said. “We had a good rapport. Most of them are Amazons. What if they don’t all know what’s going on with Ambrose? I’ll tell them and they could complain for me.”

“Baaaaaaaby.”

Good point. “What if I look over her contract? There’s gotta be some kind of loophole or something. Then I can tell Beouf to tell Tracy or…or…”

Amy’s mouth twisted to the side. “Listen,” she said. “You’re. A. Baby.”

“Then what am I supposed to do!” I was so angry and in denial that I had a powerful urge to wrap my hand around Amy’s neck and strangle her.  Not that I would have, but the mental imagery was there.

My regressed friend pushed herself up back to fours.  “I’m trying to tell you your options,” she said calmly.  “You can do nothing, like a Grown-Up… orrrrrrr…” She paused. 

We were not alone.  Clemmons, the older balding man who usually ran the Little Voices meetings had drawn the short straw for Little sitting and diaper duty while the others swapped stories and tricks. Fair was fair, at least among the big people.

‘Scuse me, kids, ' he said. “Amy, you’re soaked. Let’s go get changed.”  

“What about the song?” Amy asked.

The giant chuckled. “Right you are, baby, right you are. How quickly we forget!”  He warbled out one of that night’s lap bouncing songs.  It sounded vaguely like ‘Polly put the kettle on,’ but with very different lyrics.

“It’s time to get your diaper changed,
It’s time to get your diaper changed,
It’s time to get your diaper changed,
Let’s get. You. Changed.”

That night’s group instruction had focused on musical transitions as a way of reducing anxiety.  There had been a clean up song, a bathtime song, a feeding song, a bedtime song, and a wake-up song, too.  The irrational rationale was that if Amazons sang a cheap little ditty it would prepare their pretend children for the inevitable humiliating task they were about to endure. 

As if there weren’t enough stupid songs in their repetoire! Even if the songs were fun, adding them into something pleasant was unnecessary and putting them into something awful just made the song awful by association.  Like most things in Little Voices, the technique was just more window dressing to make Amazons feel better about themselves.

None of the other Littles looked up from their activities and gossip for more than a second. They’d sat through the same indoctrination. They were already numb inside. Broken. Full Native.  The song wasn’t directed at them so they didn’t much care.
Amy was getting her snaps undone and chewing on a teething ring that I sincerely hoped was from her own diaper bag, when I decided to lay some groundwork for the night’s activity.

Time to get into character. I picked myself up, hiked my shorts back up- they’d been slipping- and waddled over to the boys who were constantly playing with the blocks.  I clasped my hands behind my back and put some extra bass in my voice to sound more official and serious. “Gentlemen,” I said. “We need your help.”  I spoke in the confident monotone of a leader prepping his men before an alien invasion or a meteor strike.

Rightfully suspicious but also curious, they looked at each other in silent conference and then to me.  “We?”

I leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I don’t want to cause a panic, but we are in grave danger gentlemen. Top geological scientists have discovered a tectonic fault line beneath this very building. Based on extensive surveys one plate is about to slip over another which will cause a surge of molten rock to surge up right beneath us.”  I should have taught upper elementary school. I never got to use this kind of vocabulary when teaching my students. 

Their faces puzzled out what I was saying.  “Like a volcano?”

“Yes, gentlemen,” I said. “A volcano. Forming right beneath us. All the way up to the floor. Can we depend on you to help save us by constructing improvised lava proof life rafts?”

Something clicked when I specifically said lava. They clicked their heels together and saluted. “Aye aye, sir!”  Their block tower clattered to the ground and they started constructing and foraging for makeshift stepping stones.

“Danny!” I called out to the white haired kid.  

“It’s…!” He did a double take. “Oh. Yeah. It is Danny.”  He came to me like a puppy. Gaslight someone so they think you don’t remember their name, and when you finally do it’s a treat. “What’s up, Clark?”

“We’re about to have a disaster here.” I pointed down to the carpet. “We’ve got less than five minutes before a volcano erupts and this carpet is melting the feet of everyone on it.  I need you to spread the word.  Quietly, so as not to start a panic.”

Darwin was quicker on the uptake than the builder kids.  “Got it.”  The announcement of tonight’s hijinks would soon begin spreading like wildfire.

“Now as I was saying,” Amy said before she was done being set down on the floor. “You’ve got some options that you haven’t considered.”

A calloused Amazon finger pulled back my waistband. “Yeah? What’s that?”  I asked.

“Not poopy,” the caretaker said. 

“Accept that your friend will be leaving you and try to appreciate what time you may or may not have together.  Maybe ask if she can babysit you sometimes or your Mommy will hang out with her more.”

I wasn’t going to like this, but I had to know. “Or…?” 

 My answer didn’t come right away. The Amazon man’s hand cupped the front of my diaper and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t flinch. “Still pretty wet.”

“Or…?”  

“Tell you when you get back.” Amy said

On cue I was lifted up and carried to the changing table at the front of the room.  I groaned at the timing and looked the man in the eye.  “No song, please.” 

“Okay,” he chuckled. “No songs for you. To tell you the truth, my Little boy doesn’t like them either.”  He laid me down and pulled the strap over my chest and started pulling down my shorts.

“Why do you sing them then?” I asked. 

“Some Mommies and Daddies and their Littles love them,” he said.  I lost sight of him for a moment when he reached down and plucked up my diaper bag from the floor. “It’s not a one size fits all thing, it’s about giving options.”

“Options…right…” He was no better than Beouf or Zoge or Janet. Options wasn’t the same as freedom. 

I turned my head to the side so I wouldn’t have to watch him tear the tapes off of my Monkeez. Thankfully there were no mirrors in this place.  “No two Littles are exactly alike. Same for Mommies and Daddies. It’s all about finding what works for you.”

“Except for potty training,” I groused right as the first wipe touched my penis. 

“No no,” he chuckled. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to go potty anymore. Diapers are perfectly fine for you. For your Mommy too.”

Fucker missed my point entirely. Whether it was on purpose or not, I couldn’t say. I looked out at the Littles in the nursery. They were scurrying about like ants. The builders had recruited others to start making  stepping stones and life rafts out of whatever was lying around.  Danny was having people overturn toy plastic  bins and hoisting the crawlers boost up on top. 
Interesting.

The fresh diaper was taped on my hips, the strap was undone, and I was on my feet. Good thing I wasn’t planning hide and seek. The crinkling of a fresh diaper is a major handicap where stealth is concerned.  While a sagging or bulging one impacted speed.  Maybe I should keep putting myself through the frustrations of potty training diplomacy.  I wouldn’t have any kind of trade off in big kid undies. Time might not be on my side for that, though.

 “Alright champ. Go play.” 

Oh, I’d play alright.  Right by the changing table, which was right next to the mound of diaper bags, which was in turn a hop skip and a jump away from the door, I cupped my hands to my mouth and shouted.  “ATTENTION EVERYONE! FIVE SECONDS AFTER THIS SENTENCE, THE FLOOR IS LAVA!”

The room burst out into excited giggles. Everyone, even Amy, scrambled onto blocks, stuffies, bins and boxes. Anything that could hold a Little’s weight without breaking or could act as a barrier was being utilized.

 I jumped on the pile of diaper bags as an island. “FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!”

We were still, but not quiet.  Some Littles pointed at the floor, screaming ‘Lava’.  Others were saying overly dramaticized goodbyes to each other or shouting calls for rescue.

“I love this game!” 

I looked up and saw the Amazon was sitting cannonball style with his legs neatly tucked up on the changing table. The changing table was a wiry metal and hollow legs that one made for easy transport instead of something sturdier. The table wasn’t bending but it was groaning beneath his weight.   “Mr. Clemmons?”

“Daddy?!”  That was maybe the first time I ever heard that particular Little talk. 

“Go on,” he waved at us. “Keep playing, kids.” 

This time the coin had landed heads up for me in terms of rubes. Like so many Amazons he had more than a touch of that prideful competitive streak, but I wouldn’t need to coax or cajole his ego into playing along. He was either secure enough in his adulthood that he could lower himself to playing with us or the childlike wonder that he attributed to Littles was very much a projection. Some people had kids because it was the ‘next step’, others because it gave them a pretense to act childishly again.  

The cause didn’t matter when I could use the symptoms.  “ATTENTION EVERYONE!” I shouted. “TOP MEN HAVE REPORTED THAT IF WE CAN FIND A WAY TO LOWER THE BARS ON THAT CRIB OVER THERE,” I pointed all the way across the room to my preferred sulking and skulking spot, “THEN THAT WILL REDIRECT THE FLOW OF THE LAVA AND MAKE IT GO AWAY!”

“What men?” Amy called out.  “What are their academic credentials? Who are they?”

I glared back at her, over seriously.  “Top. Men.”

Mumbling and murmuring filled the room as a room full of people who lacked the strength to remove their own underwear tried to brainstorm a way to slam down a crib gate. Most of the suggestions involved strictly imaginary workarounds, like laser beams or dinosaurs.   Meanwhile, I clutched my pacifier and twiddled it in my hands, hoping that I wouldn’t have to give any more hints. 

“Psst,” the balding Amazon said. “Toss me up that diaper bag,” he pointed down into the pile. “The robin’s egg blue one.”  

YES!  

I fumbled and stumbled, shifting my weight and pouncing along the row of bags. I heaved the bag up to my chest and grunted. It was heavier than it looked. “What did you pack in here?”

The low groaning of the metal was like nails across a chalkboard to my ears. He leaned over and reached his arm out.  “Hee-hee-hee. Just give it to me, Clark.”  It would be so tempting to strand him there or have him tip the whole damn thing over.  It would also be counter to my long term plans.  

If I could impress upon the grand poobah of Oakshire’s Little Voices chapter that I was just a silly LIttle boy who liked to play silly games, that reputation would spread among the other Grown-Ups within a week.  I needed that.  I needed that badly. Tactically speaking, I needed that more than I needed Tracy to be in my life.

I kicked another bag as far as I dared and took a massive step onto it so I could be that much closer.  The bag I was standing on was stuffed too and I would have fallen if I hadn’t been able to lean towards the nearest wall for balance. The older gentleman groaned louder than the steel supporting him and snatched the bag up by the strap.

“Got it!” he said. “Don’t worry, kids. “I’ll save you!” 

He rummaged through the diaper bag and took out an entire stack of Monkeez. “Daddy!” his Little protested. “Those are mine!”

He unfolded them and started wrapping them around his shoes. “Don’t worry, bud. This is for a good cause.” Very quickly he coated his left foot until it was entirely swaddled in plastic and pulp.  “Darn,” I heard him say. “Not enough for two.”  

He slid down off the changing table, but kept his right foot up in the air like a flamingo.  He wobbled slightly, gaining his balance. It wasn’t until he started comically going “WHOAH WHOAH WHOAH!” Eliciting giggles that I knew he had it.  Theatrically he lowered his right foot down to the floor, big toe pointed down.

“OW! OW! OW! OW!” He shrieked the instant his right toe grazed the floor. “HOT HOT HOT HOT!”  He jerked his leg back up and grabbed his foot, hopping around in a circle and trying to blow on his toe.  “HOT!”

All eyes were on him. I suppressed a snarl seeing what he was up to.  Damn it. I should have said something like ‘clothes don’t count’ when the game started. I wanted him to be preoccupied and hopping from obstacle to obstacle having to plan out his route like a chess match. This wouldn’t take him a minute. 

I could have objected, but he had everyone eating out of the palm of his hands. The idea of a Grown-Up hopping around in a diaper shoe was too funny for most of them to complain. I would have been overruled in the court of public opinion.

“HOT! LAVA! HOT! LAVA! HOT! LAVA!”  He bounced and huffed and puffed his way across the room to the crib while cradling his ‘injured’ toe.  “Good thing I got this shoe covering.” He threw in a wink and elicited the desired response of hoots, giggles and claps. 

I politely applauded myself, the way one does when watching a particularly skillful shot in a game of golf.  Well played, old man. Well played.  I’d have guessed he would have tried to find a way to the lone rocking chair and try to scoot across the floor using that for a good five or ten minutes.  He’d played this game before.

“TA-DAAAA!” He said to thunderous applause and took a bow. He huffed and puffed a little and wiped his brow.  “Let’s not do that again,” he said. “Heh. Not for a while.”  The others dismounted from their stands and rafts and play resumed as normal.

We met each other halfway.  “Good game,” I offered my hand up to him. He took my hand in both of his and shook it gently.

“Thank you very much,” Clemmons said.  “Been playing that one since I was just a bit bigger than you.” 

“Can we play again next time you’re taking care of us?” I asked.

“We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll see.”

We parted ways with the gears going in my head. That hadn’t gone according to expectations, but the goal wasn’t to win, it was to engage. On that front, Operation: The Floor is Lava was a massive success. This morning notwithstanding, my grip on the Thursday Night Littles was getting almost as strong as it was with some of my classmates.

“Hi Clark!”

Twice! Twice in one night she’s gotten the drop on me!  

“You’ve gotta teach me how to do that, Amy.” I said, slumping back down.

“The key is enunciation,” Amy replied. “You really want to open your throat when you say ‘Hi Clark’ and project from your diaphragm. Consider buying a parrot to practice and name him Clark.“

“Nevermind,” I sighed. “Where were we? I mean what were we talking about?”

Amy looked disappointed that she didn’t get to purposefully misunderstand my question.  “We were talking about how you were a baby.” 

“We were talking about how to keep my Tweener friend from getting picked on by Amazons.”

“Besides letting her find a new job.”

“Yes,” I said. “Besides that.”  Enough horrible things had happened to me and my loved ones. I couldn’t let another injustice stand. I just couldn’t.  I wasn’t ready to let go.  If Tracy left, who would take care of my students? Ambrose would get another aide that would likely actively help her in turning them into a generation of spiteful pricks.

Amy ran her tongue between her teeth again, and moved her eyes from side to side and all around.  “One of my friends, Morgan, didn’t like what a Grown-Up was doing and hit them in the face.”

“I can’t hit Ambrose or Brollish.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “Grown-Ups are tall but if you get a boost or they bend over, all you gotta do is…” she pantomimed by balling up her fist and punching the air. She clicked her tongue when she swung and made a little bop sound.  “It’s easy.”

My eyes were begging me to look at the inside of my skull. My companion was in rare form tonight. “I mean I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Because I wanted to. Because I would enjoy it too much and had been fantasizing about it ever since poor sweet Elmer had been dragged into Beouf’s room bawling his precious eyes out. Because I’d have more to lose than Ambrose or Brollish if I got violent.  “Violence is never the answer.”

“Does your Mommy not read you bedtime stories?”

“Adults don’t use violence.” I was being stubborn and trying to reason with the unreasonable. 

“You’re a….” she paused and looked at me expectantly. “Say it with me now.  It starts with a ‘bay’...”  When she saw I wasn’t going to budge, she took a deep breath and said, “Calls for peaceful protest and civility are a tool of the oppressors.”

If I hadn’t been already looking at her I may have broken my neck from whiplash turning it so fast. “What?!”

“You’re a baby.”

“Maybe I could find a way to make Ambrose look like a baby,” I mused. “That’d give her hell. Tracy could get some training chocolate and plant it in her coffee.” Wait. “Does Ambrose even drink coffee?”

Amy shrugged. “I dunno.”

My hopes and dreams were seeming more and more just that. The odds were stacked against us even more than usual, and any plan of revenge I had relied on enemies being forced to play fair.  If events stayed contained solely within the microcosm that was Oakshire Elementary, there wasn’t much I could do.  And as Amy had pointed out multiple times, there wasn’t much I could do outside of Oakshire either.  To anyone who might give a damn I was just a baby.

“Can we talk about what I wanna talk about now?” Amy asked.

“Sure, friend.” I sighed. “Sure.  What do you wanna talk about?”

“Amortization is when you fall in love when you thought you had given up love to pursue your career as a hotshot financier and business lady. Then find love in a small town in Vermont. Compound Interest adds into this. That’s a love triangle or some other many sided shape I totally know the name of.”

“Vermont only exists in those sappy made for T.V. movies,” I said.

Amy pointed at her heart. “It exists in here, sir! It exists in here!”

“Mmmhmmm.”  I would have laughed but I couldn’t shake the feeling of oncoming loss hovering over me like a raincloud charging up a lightning bolt just for me. 

A few minutes later, we were ‘treated’ to a clean up song that Mr. Clemmons refused to stop singing until everything was put away. Again, well played old man.

Janet and Helena came in together laughing. “That sounds like such a great costume idea,” Helena said. “I can’t wait to see it tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to see yours,” Janet replied. She looked down at me and tilted her head. “Clark? Where are your pants?”

The group leader came forward with two diaper bags on his shoulders. “I slid ‘em off when I changed him,” he said. “Easier to do when they don’t have snaps. I was gonna have him step back in, but then the floor turned to lava. Darndest thing.” He chuckled. “They’re in the bag.”

“So he wasn’t naughty or anything?”

The bald man let out a full belly laugh. “Goodness no! Good as gold and then some!”

My entire being felt numb. Everything stated had been true. I’d had my diaper changed up at the front of the room and had crinkled around bare legged and not even taken note. Not because I wasn’t aware of it, but I genuinely hadn’t cared. I’d been too busy thinking about Tracy and orchestrating another round of full room play to be bothered. I’d continued trying to have a conversation with Amy while somebody else was checking my diaper!

What was happening to me?

 

[BabyJilly_S]

Poor Tracy, I guess she helped Clark too obviously and put herself in the firing line...

Not sure what way out there is for her that keeps her job.

[FloridaKid]

Thank you for my Clark fix. 🙂

[Personalias]

Chapter 104: Of Costumes and Masks

Why? 

Why, why, why?

Whyyyyyyy?

I’d been mentally kicking myself ever since I woke up that Friday morning. Why hadn’t I gotten out yet?  Why wasn’t I still resisting as hard? I’d kept talking to another Little while a stranger checked and changed me. I’d been too caught up in a moment to care about wearing pants.

Why?

Not so deep down, I knew all the answers.  Knowing them didn’t make me feel any better.

I should have already escaped by now.  I should have set the building blocks up faster than I had and been hundreds if not thousands of miles away with Cassie and the Brauns.  I should be doing off the books under the table work as a nameless but rugged Little man who didn’t talk much and doing craft work while Bert slowly taught me.

Me…rugged…heh.  That was almost as funny as the thought of me not talking.

The Fall Festival came and I was still a padded prisoner of one Janet Grange.  Too many curve balls. Too many things fell through.  Too much reliance on the kindness and bravery of non-Littles.  Just thinking that stung.  Tracy was my friend. So was Beouf.  It had been foolish of me to expect either of them to take the fall with me.  Tracy was no revolutionary and Beouf was in way too deep. 

So I’d had to re-build my own escape plan from the ground up.

I still should have been ready to escape by now.  I should have been biting down on my tongue from nerves until it threatened to bleed.  I should have been a walking contradiction, so exhausted from tossing and turning all night because I kept going over some plan or another, but acting saccharine sweet so that the Grown-Ups wouldn’t expect a thing.  

Fall Festival was an annoying but big event for a small podunk town like Oakshire.  Everyone in silly costumes.  All the families going from school to school not to mention any number of participating businesses. A bird’s eye view would have probably shown an entire city moving around like ants just after the hill had been kicked over by an errant sneaker.

With the right costume I could have slipped off campus by tailing the right family, jumped into the back of a pickup truck, and been halfway to Elizabeton, the next city over.   It would have taken more luck than skill, but I could have stood a chance.

Damn.  

Wouldn’t it have been nice to wear that mockup of my old teacher attire today?  It was still very babyish, but at a glance I could pass for a free Little. My old coworkers would have gotten a kick out of it too; thought it was precious enough to let down their guard and make them think I’d accepted my assigned lot.

Wish I’d thought of that sooner.  Fuck.

As things stood, I was wearing a train decorated onesie, sitting in the corner of Janet’s room so that I was out of sight of the open door, and nursing a pacifier like it was a cigarette.  Damn I needed a cigarette. I didn’t even smoke, but it would have been nice.

I closed my eyes and huffed, beating myself up. I still wasn’t ready to blow this popsicle stand. I was getting there, but getting all the pieces together and setting everything up from scratch was proving harder to do than I’d imagined. 

That or I was still afraid to try…

I should probably find a way to log onto MistuhGwiffin again at some point, too, I thought. See if there was a way to reach out or gather additional intel.  Hiding spots to look for. Places to avoid. Routes to plan.  

Maybe see if there was anyone out there who had advice on how to help Tracy… That at least was a good reason for me to stick around, or so I told myself. Couldn’t leave my kids or Tracy to Ambrose’s continued abuse. I couldn’t properly ghost this place when I still had unfinished business to settle.

Tracy was a later problem, though. My current problem was much more tedious and embarrassing: Making sure nobody saw me. Janet was passing out cheap candy and cheaper toys at her classroom door while children made the rounds around campus.  I’d been dressed in something easy to strip off when it came time for costuming, and had gained enough of Janet’s trust not to be plopped into the playpen by her desk.

Her back was turned. I should have been looking for potential escape routes or finding a way to sabotage her classroom. Maybe there were a few errant papers I could have ‘graded’ or something.  

No. That would have been cruel and unproductive. Slipping out would have gotten me noticed and caught. This wasn’t the time.  I was merely an actor waiting in the wings to play my part. Get Janet to lower her guard even further. 

Maybe have a bit of fun in the meantime. I’d never actually taken the time to dress up for Fall Festival; only passed out candy. Costumes, by their nature, were a form of playing pretend, and playing pretend could have been just enough pretense to activate an Amazon’s Adoption instincts. That ship had sailed, so I might as well enjoy what I could. Just because an inmate went to the prison dance, didn’t mean that they weren’t still digging their escape tunnel.

I leaned into the corner, just listening to the exchanges and letting my thoughts drift. Better than staring at a clock or playing with one of the clinking, clacking, squeaking toys Janet had stashed in the diaper bag.

It would have been nice to have Lion, admittedly.

“Tricker Treat!” 

“My! What a wonderful witch costume! I don’t know who you could be!”  Janet handed out a piece of candy to yet another child.

“Thank you!”

Sounded young. Not one of mine.  A kindergartener or a first grader, perhaps. Or a kid from another school. It was a possibility.

“Tricker Treat!”

“Excellent Zombie, Joshua.  Very realistic.”

“Does that mean I didn’t trick you, Ms. Grange?”

“I think it’s okay to still give you candy.”

“Thank you!”

Joshua. I’d seen that name on a couple of papers. Third grader. One of Janet’s this year.

“Tricker Treat!”

“Wow! Hyacinth! What a lovely costume!”

My skin broke out in goosebumps.  Fourth grader. One of mine, too, from way back when. I squeezed myself further back into the corner.  It was stupid, but I didn’t want anyone to see me dressed like this, today.  

Almost everyone had seen me wearing a onesie by now, but on a day where the entire town dressed up as something they weren’t, I dreaded the thought of someone seeing me like this and asking “Where’s your costume?”  I wore a costume everyday.

Unable to read my thoughts, Hyacinth took the compliment. “Thank you, Ms. Grange.”

Janet asked. “What land are you the princess of?” Sounded like she had as much of a soft spot for Hyacinth as I had. Any educator who tells you they don’t have favorites is lying.

“I’m not a princess,” came the haughty reply. “I’m a queen!”  

My laugh was stifled thanks to the binky. I stomped down on the idea of coming out of my corner to get a peek. If I could see her, she could see me.

I opened my eyes and looked sideways. Janet curtsied. “Oh, please! Forgive me, Your Majesty! I should have recognized your station with how regal your gown was!”

“Crown too,” Hyacinth said.

“Very true!” Janet replied. “That’s no tiara. Please forgive me.”

“You’re pardoned,” Hyacinth said. “Carry on, goodly school marm.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. You have tricked me twice. May you add many foil wrapped trinkets to thine coffers.”

“Um…?”

“Get lots of candy, kid.” 

I bowed my head and closed my eyes again. It really was a shame that Janet had gotten into Adopting Littles. She would have made a great mom to an actual child. Granted, it was still very possible for her to become a mother the old fashioned way, or adopt a real kid; I just wouldn’t be around long enough to see it.  I was behind schedule, but not nine months behind.  Maybe, just maybe, after I got loose she’d decide that Littles were too much trouble and find other ways to fill that void in her life.  That thought made me kind of happy.

“Hello!”  

My eyes didn’t stay closed long. I bit down into the pacifier and dug my fingers into my naked thighs.  

“Hello Ivy!” Janet chirped.

Ivy said, “Can I please have some candy, Ms. Grange?”  At least she didn’t call Janet ‘Clark’s Mommy’ or something.

“You have to say the special words,” a new voice said. That wasn’t Zoge. It had the same musical quality and way of speaking, but it was much deeper and more masculine. Mr. Zoge?

“Happy Birthday!”

Janet almost giggled. “No honey. The other special words.”

“Tricker Treat!”

“Here you go.”  I saw Janet bend over low so that she could put the treats directly into Ivy’s basket.  “Have a wonderful day, baby turtle.” Ivy’s giggle was loud enough that I thought she’d somehow teleported beside me.  Janet looked up, but didn’t straighten back up to her full height. “Did I say something funny?”

“Ivy is a Kappa,” I heard Mr. Zoge say. “A fairy tale from home.”

“Ah,” Janet said. “Then in that case, Have a wonderful day baby kappa.”

“Thank you! Is Clark coming?”

Janet stood and pointed right at me. “Clark is already here.”  She saw the panicked expression on my face and me violently shaking my head.  “But he doesn’t want anyone to see him until he’s in his costume.”

“I hope to see him before I have to leave,” I heard Ivy say. 

My heart rate slowed. She wasn’t barging in. I wasn’t going to have to deal with her just yet. No stupid questions. Or getting in my space. Or practiced toddler niceties. Later. Just not now. Later was fine.

I closed my eyes again and inhaled.

“Tricker Treat!”

No one I knew or recognized.

“Tricker Treat!”

“Tricker-!”

Janet’s hand lightly tapping me on the shoulder stirred me. I hadn’t gone to sleep, but I’d definitely zoned out for about ten minutes there.

“You doing okay?”  Janet was standing over me, her brain melting in baby crazy bliss at having caught me off guard. 

I took the pacifier out, but didn’t let it dangle. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“You’re being very patient,” she said, like I needed to know. “I’m pr…” Her lips stopped and retracted inward. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

I blinked.  She’d almost said she was proud of me and changed it into an expression of appreciation. There was a subtle difference there, and it meant enough for me to not be lying when I said, “You’re welcome.” I uncoiled myself slightly. “How much longer?”

“Someone should be coming to take over in just a few minutes.”   Her face was placid but her eyes were positively beaming with delight. I was showing interest and investment in something she wanted to do, too.  She’d earned that concession from me.

“Who?”

“Whomever the office sends,” Janet replied. “Probably a parent volunteer.” She leaned further and slipped her fingers into my diaper. “Just a little wet, but I think we’ll change you anyways when we suit up. Your costume doesn’t have any leg snaps.”

“I know,” I said. That had been a bonus feature.

She stood up and grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer. “I might use some extra baby powder so you don’t sweat too much. Put it all over.”

“Okay.”  

“Just wanting to prepare you.”

“Thank you.  I appreciate that.” No lies detected or intended. “Can I put some back on you?”

She hesitated, but not for long. “Sure. Why not?”

I fumbled with my pacifier and stuck it back in my lips to hide my surprise. I thought I’d just been messing with her when I asked. Did this mean she’d be changing in front of me, too? I hadn’t seen her unclothed since…since…since the last time we took a shower together.

“Tricker Treat!” came a call from the door. Some kid in a skeleton costume poked their head in and looked around. 

“Be right there!” Janet called back. She gave me one last pat on the head and skipped back to the door.  Meanwhile I did my best to zone back out and not think about certain things…like green goopy gel and extra pillows left in cribs.

****************************************************************************************************
Within the hour, Janet and I emerged triumphantly from the front office bathroom. We hadn’t made it fifty feet of shuffling outside when the comments came rolling in.

“Oh my gosh!”

“Really???”

“Ms. Grange, is that you in there?”

“COOOOOOOOOL!”

“Look at Clark! Look at Clark!”

“Holy-!” 

“Guys! Look at Ms. Grange’s Little!”

Mix in a cacophony of piped in carnival music, and audible gasps and giggles from all ages and sizes, and you have the barest sliver of an idea of what the Oakshire Elementary courtyard sounded like that first minute and a half.

‘What were we wearing?’ you may ask: We were clad in the perfect so-called Amazon Mommy/babified Little theme costume.  

My costume was a baggy, khaki colored, full body jumpsuit. From the shins down, the material was colored coal black. The soles were stiff and hardened to function as shoes. Being costuming, I wouldn’t be running any marathons, but it was oddly nice wearing boots, even pretend boots.  Likewise, the belt and the elbow pads were just sections of the same one-piece that had been colored differently.  Bonus as far as I was concerned. No waistline and a baggier fit completely hid the puffiness of my Monkeez.

The one part of the outfit that I didn’t love was black name tag with red lettering that had been stitched over my left breast.  “GRANGE”.  Janet had paid extra for that. I ignored it and instead favored the crossed out wispy ghost silhouette patterned on my right arm.  

Janet’s costume was the true wonder of it all, however.  It was so cartoonishly bloated that she needed portable fans to fill out creamy fatty folds and milky lumps of the costumes arms, legs, and torso. Not even Ambrose could fill this costume out without assistance. Every movement, no matter how small, made the suit wiggle and jiggle. The sewn in strawberries, sprinkles, and jelly beans- some half as big as my face- threatened to slough off as if  the skin really was made of whipped cream and fondant icing.

The brown liner around her waist and between her legs was a kind of upturned skirt and made of a thick crinkling crinoline with extra bits of butcher paper to really nail home the aesthetic.  For once, it was the Amazon that had the more pronounced waddle in her walk.  Janet’s face could narry be seen through the viewing window that was the monster’s mouth. Most people’s gaze were inevitably drawn to the glaring cartoon eyes and the not-so-tiny-cherry on top of the head.

Connecting us together was a high end toddler leash that literally plugged into Janet’s costume. My end was buckled firmly around my chest that I had no hope of slipping out of.  The harness was part-backpack too, and I was forced to tote around my own wipes, powder, and spare diaper.  I didn’t mind that at all, since the bulky thing had patterns and etchings meant to resemble the dials, switches, and meters that were commonplace tropes in every science-fiction movie yet made. No one would be surprised if they found out I was toting around my own diaper bag, but no one would think it just from looking.

The best part of all, the part that sold me on the idea to the point where I’d been willing to negotiate with Janet, was the rest of the leash. There was a long, hard, stiff plastic wand, almost like a rifle, attached to the harness that I could carry or holster in a designated side pocket and loop as I felt inclined. Jutting out of the wand was the rest of the leash that went all the way up to Janet’s costume.  Instead of something woven, clear plastic tubing connected us together.

Bathed in the smiles and adulation of children and adults alike, I led the way to the center of the main courtyard. I unholstered the rifle wand, spun around and aimed at Janet.  My left thumb hovered over a shiny red button near the wand’s base; one so sensitive that even a Little could press it.  “LIGHT ‘EM UP!” 

My thumb smashed down on the button and yellow, blue, and red lights lit up all through the clear plastic tubing between Janet and myself. The lights blinked and traveled all the way up the leash, really giving the illusion I was shooting her with my laser pack 

What really made it was Janet’s reaction.  “RHEEEEEEEEAAAARGH!”   From underneath her monstrous blow up suit, she convulsed and shook her arms as hard as she could, roaring and screaming in pain as if actual laser beams were slicing into her sugary flesh. 
Had it ended there, we would have only gotten mild chuckles and appreciative applause; maybe a few “Awwwww’s” from Mommies and Daddies who thought it was cute that a Little was being humored so.   We got more than just that, though, all because of Janet.

Going further than we negotiated, she slipped her arm out of one of the inflated sleeves and switched off the fan belted around her waist.  “RHEEEEEEEEEEEEEARGH!”  She squatted, then knelt, then laid down on the concrete while the costume collapsed around her.  “BLEEEEEEEEEAAARCHK!”

The Creampuff Cupcake Woman was melting!  It wasn’t as explosive as it had been in GhostHaunters One, but it was practically a high budget special effect considering. 

“OOOOOOOOOOH!”  The assembled yokels cheered. Peels of laughter rang through the air and applause came down like heavy rain.  Teenagers who’d been forced to come with younger and Adopted siblings pumped their fists and howled like they’d seen an actual fist fight. Middle aged Amazons put their hands on their hips and looked at the ground as if showing mirth might somehow be illegal. Others had to swat away their jealous brats telling them in no certain terms that no, they were not doing that next year

Someone went so far as to start a chant, just like in the films. “GHOSTHAUNTERS! GHOSTHAUNTERS! GHOSTHAUNTERS!.GHOSTHAUNTERS!”

The illusion was complete. I was a GhostHaunter. Janet was the Creampuff Cupcake Woman.  I’d won.  What else could I do, except take a bow?

Janet stood up and reinflated the suit. She waddled up, bouncing with every footfall, and picked me up into her arms.  That made for another round of applause just as the last bit was dying down.  “That’s one,” she told me.

“I know,” I answered back. “Are you going to do that nine more times?”

“Don’t bet on it, babe.”

Damn.  “Fair. Had to ask.”

“I know.”

The assembled crowd which had parted for our impromptu performance closed in on us like rushing water the second Janet put me back down. We were both instantly swarmed with compliments and questions.

“That’s so neat!” a second grade girl in a black cat costume said. “Did your Mommy buy that for you?”  

I grinned. “Of course she did. Why? Do you think I’m rich?”

She giggled. “No.”

“Who bought your costume?”

“My Mom and Dad.”

I chuckled back. “Seems silly to ask, doesn’t it?”  
“Yeah…What cartoon is your costume from?”

A better question.  “Not a cartoon,” I said. “Old movie. GhostHaunters.” 

“Ooooooooh!” She’d never seen it. Maybe she would.  Whatever happened, she lost interest and walked back to her parents.

 A couple of older kids patted me on the shoulder to get my attention and turned me around. They looked vaguely familiar. Middle schoolers coming back for candy, carnival games, and bounce houses. Not my kids, but familiar. They wore dark clothes and black eyed goblin masks made out of glow in the dark materials.  Someone was gonna have fun when it got dark tonight.  “That was awesome, Clark!”

One of his buddies jumped in. “Yeah Clark, that was so cool!” 

“Yeah, Clark!”

“Yeah!”

They lifted up the masks and wore them like visors so I could see their faces. Their expressions were the same encouraging smugness that the kitty cat girl had, mixed with a tinge of covetousness.

“Thanks guys,” I said. Looking at their faces I was able to pull their names out of my backbrain.  “Dwayne, Michael, Ricky.”   I hid my annoyance at being called by my first name with a toothless smile.  Kids thought they were grown just because I’d been reduced.  That or they thought they’d get brownie points by remembering my name. I knew just what they wanted, too.

“Can I have a turn?” Dwayne asked, pointing to the wand end of my toddler leash. There it was!  Called it! 

I held my rifle wand close to me.  “Nope,” I said casually. 

“Awwww, c’mon.” The giant pre-teen said. “Don’t you know how to share?” There was just enough edge in his voice to make me worry. Michael and Rick flanked him. “Mrs. Beouf not teach you that, yet?”  

Not quite bullying. I’d seen bullying. This was more a bizarre form of peer pressure and deception. They thought they could convince me to let them in on the gag under the guise of sharing.

I took the opportunity to educate. “You guys wanna wear this costume?” I asked.

“Naw, we just wanna borrow the zapper thing for a second,” Ricky said. He thought I was the one who was misunderstanding.

Let’s fix that.  “You guys going to the haunted house at the Middle School after this?” I asked.

“Yeah…?”  The trio looked suspicious, like I was threatening something. Hypothetically I could have. Ms. Grange’s reputation was much more fearsome than Mr. Gibson’s.  

I wasn’t threatening. “And the rides at the High School? You get to do that too, right?”

They nodded along. “Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s gonna be awesome.”

I held the one part of my costume that simulated some sort of freedom for me.  “I don’t.” I jerked my head towards the Creampuff Cupcake Woman. “This is all I got today.” 

I pressed the button.

“RRRREEEEEARGH!”  She didn’t deflate that time, but she waved the massive lumpy arms in the air as high and fast as the costume would let her. Her reaction was delayed, but not by much. Amidst her own fawning admirers complimenting the lengths she’d gone to, Janet was still keeping a close eye on me.  “THAT’S TWO!”  The polite laughter of parents recognizing a child being indulged accompanied that announcement.

“I only get ten zaps,” I explained.

New understanding came over the boys. Some combination of being reminded of their comparative freedom, and knowledge that my resources were strictly limited gave them the empathy to not insist that I share. 

“Oh! My bad!” 

 “Nevermind.” 

“You keep it.”    

They offered me high fives and ran towards the P.E. field.

“Duuuuuude!” A brawny teenager gently put forward his fist. “ Way to go, Little guy!  You zapped that monster good!”   The teenager was holding the hand of a child who was young enough to be in my classroom. I briefly examined the pumpkin clad tot just long enough to make sure it wasn’t one of mine. Kid looked to be Elmer’s size, so maybe he was a Tweener. Sometimes families had mixed size depending on parentage and recessive genes.  

Kid could just have been younger, too. Two years old  instead of three or four. Hard to tell the difference between a preschooler and a toddler when they were in pumpkin form.

“Dude,” the very big brother said, still holding his fist out. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”

‘Dude.’ ‘Bro.’  The kind of stuff you said to children to make them feel older and adults to make them feel younger.  I took it as a win. I bumped his fist and nodded respectfully.  A full blown teen. The one thing that all ages and sizes feared, made less intimidating by virtue that he was clearly taking care of his sibling.  “Pretty funny, right?” I asked.

“Heck yeah!” He winced, worried that he shouldn’t say ‘heck’ around either me or his little brother. I tilted my head, seeming bemused at his embarrassment. This was as close as I’d gotten to power in a while.  

Meanwhile, the actual child  was staring at Janet’s inflatable costume like it was a poisonous snake that might bite someone. His lip started trembling. Big brother noticed. “What’s wrong, Kyler?”  

I  tapped the child on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Kyler,” I said. “The monster’s afraid of this now. She won’t hurt anybody because if she does, I’ll zap her. See?”

“REEEEEEEARGH! THREE!”

The child’s eyes lit up and he started reaching for my toy. This was decidedly more of an Amazon baby than a Tweener Preschooler.  Big brother was on it instantly, pulling the kid back and hugging him up against his chest..  “Whoah whoah whoah. That’s not yours. We don’t snatch. Remember?”

“I need it to protect myself,” I lied to the child. 

The pumpkin child seemed to consider this, and then nodded. Slightly concerned about the so-called monster, but no longer frightened or greedy. I threw a wink at the big brother.  He laughed under his breath and nodded his head upward in respect.. “Alright, Little dude. Alright.”  He picked his sibling up and went to get candy from the teachers and volunteers handling it out.

I breathed deep and allowed myself a smile that wasn’t a matter of beguiling or disarming someone bigger than me. I felt in control and legitimized in a way I hadn’t been for a long time.  I was getting to do more than just pretend to be a GhostHaunter.  In my own way, I was getting to teach again; getting to direct young thoughts and minds so that they could think of me as something besides an incompetent patronize or take advantage of.  If only it weren’t temporary.

My feet shuffled towards Janet.  The leash was wound up like an old telephone chord and retreated and coiled in on itself while I closed the distance. Janet was still fending off questions and compliments from parents and students alike.  People poked and prodded and asked how hard it was to get the costume on. Children showed off their own costumes and lifted up buckets of cheap candy as if proud of an accomplishment.

A sad bit of wishful thinking and nostalgia mixed into a toxic brew at the pit of my stomach. Why hadn’t we done something like this earlier? Before Adoption? We’d both worked here for several years prior. We could have set up our own game for the students; a softball toss or something.  Or buddied up our kids during the week for reading; mine the Haunters and hers the Ghosts.  

And we would have brought the house down with this! This would have been a hit!  At her worst Brollish wouldn’t be able to criticize us for a lack of spirit or saying we were doing the bare minimum.

Except I would have been terrified of Janet the second I saw that it was a Mommy & Me costume…

Somewhere out there, there was a parallel timeline, or universe, or dimension or whatever where Janet and I got to be friends without all this Adoption bullshit and baggage.

If only…

I tugged on the leash sharply to get her attention. “Can we get going Creampuff?” ‘Creampuff’ was preferable to ‘Mommy’. 

“Sure, hon.” Janet waved the others off. I could barely make out Janet’s face through the viewing scream.  “‘Scuse us, everybody. We gotta go haunt someplace else.”  If someone’s voice could smile, Janet’s was doing it. “Just a second. Hold still.”

The costume seemed to melt again, while she crouched down to access my backpack. Blow up suits aren’t meant for kneeling.  I stayed still so she could zip open a shallow flap on the backpack leash and take out a sturdy piece of posterboard. 

On it was a map of the campus, modified for the Festival. The front office was accessible only to staff. The main courtyard past the front office served as a gathering hub, with concessions sold in the cafeteria.  The classrooms facing the courtyard gave away candy; the breezeways and classrooms on the outside perimeter had dinky games as well as arts and crafts stations, and the P.E. field had been decked out in bounce houses, relay races, and games that took a smidge more athleticism than throwing a plastic ring or a ping pong ball.

“Play first, then candy?” I suggested.

“I like it,” Janet said. “Less time to have to lug candy around.”  

It then occurred to me that we didn’t have a bucket or bag to put the bite-sized spoils in.  “What are we gonna lug it in?” 

“Your backpack.”

“Oh…” I’d gotten a close enough look at my harness to guess what would happen.  Any candy I got would be piled on top of what passed for my hygiene products.. Maybe I’d just tire myself out and not be up for shouting ‘Tricker Treat’ dozens of times.

“We’ll empty it out in my room first.”

That put a skip back in my step. “Sure.  Bounce house?”

“Bounce house.”

We walked side by side, through the breezeway I normally associated with going to and from the cafeteria, or being herded to OT/PT now that my old classroom was off limits as a shortcut.  
 Mr. Renner sat lazily on a chair up against the brick wall. To his right was a slanted plywood ramp with a hole cut in it near the top. To his left was a small kiddie pool loaded with cheap plastic wrapped toys salvaged from several hundred fast food Little’s Meals.   “Wanna try to toss the beanbag, y’all?”

“What do we win?” I asked.

“You get a prize just for playing,” he said. He gestured to the tub with out of date burger prizes.

“But what if we win?”

“Get all three bean bags in a row, and you’ll get the grand prize.”

“Which is.”

Renner sat up straighter. “Come to think of it, I haven’t decided yet. Nobody’s won yet.”

I wanted to tell him what a rip off that was. I remembered my manners and settled for a  “No thank you.”

“Fair enough.” 

“Can I just take a prize and pretend I played?”

Renner dug a marker out of his pocket.  “Sure. Just lemme mark it off your map so you don’t double dip.”

I took a toy. I tried to hand it off to Janet. “Carry it or it goes in your bag,” she said, not unkindly.

I settled for tossing it back into the pool.  We kept walking.  I looked up at Janet. Her suit didn’t have a neck but I had the distinct feeling she was shaking her head.  It was hard to tell if she was thinking about me or Renner.  Maybe both?

We power walked through the breezeway, bypassing the face painting station and the Make Your Own Slime stand.  Beouf had parked herself at the corner just outside her classroom.  She had a metal basin filled with water. It was so small I could have only splashed in it if I’d done a cannonball.  Bobbing up and down on the surface were an entire flock of rubber ducks.

 To finish the presentation, she’d dressed herself up in hunter’s camouflage and had on some rubber waders. A gray false beard hung loosely around her neck.  It was a silly, cheap costume, likely commandeered from an actual hunter of some sort, but it was endearing in a way.

“Hey, Clark,” Beouf greeted me. She gasped when she realized who was next to me. “Janet…? Is that you?!”

“Hey Mrs. Beouf,” Janet said. She had to yell slightly to be heard over the fans.

Hearing Janet’s voice come out of the massive monster’s mouth made Melony bark with laughter.  “Wow, oh wow! That’s nuts! How much did you pay for that thing.?!”

“Enough so that this is going to be our go to costume for a long while,” Janet said.

That was my cue.  “LIGHT ‘EM UP!”

“RRRRRREEEEEEEARGH!”  Janet gave an even more full spirited performance than the first time, melting into a rubbery faux cream puddle and adding in death rattles. “I’VE BEEN HAUNTED!” Not at all from the movie, but I’d allow it.

Melony laughed so hard her glasses fell into the tub.  “Oh no-o-o-o-o!” Even in her shock she couldn’t stop laughing. “Stop! STOP! CAN’T! BREATHE!”  

Chain link rattled and a new cacophony of laughter joined Beoufs. The Little’s playground was more than close enough to see the sight, and a certain big oak tree, devoid of nearby play equipment was just a quick jaunt from the shenanigans. Two Littles, an alligator and a racecar driver marveled at the sight of my vanquished foe.

“Hey Tommy. Hey, Chaz.”  I waved, bathing in their silent admiration and jealousy. Two Amazons, what I could only assume were Chaz’s and Tommy’s Adoptive Mommies respectively, boosted them up to watch the last of Janet’s death throes. At least I assumed they were their legalized captors. It’s not like Adoption left much in the way for family resemblance save by coincidence.

 More Littles and their captors joined them at the fence, Including a lizard-turtle-duck thing. “Ivy?”  Ivy’s entire face was painted with a sharp beak pattern over her mouth. Her arms were covered in scaly sequins and her hands had webbed gloves on them.   It was kinda badass and made Tommy’s alligator costume with the convertible mask seem paltry by comparison.  Not that I’d tell her that…unless I was sure it would bother Tommy…then I might.  Fucker had it coming for trying to flick my ear.

Ivy whined something in Yamatoan and a well dressed older looking man nudged past the crowding Amazons to boost Ivy up on his shoulders.  Yamatoan. Definitely Yamatoan. Wow, he and Ivy looked a lot alike!  And he was significantly shorter than every other Adoptive parent.  Tracy might have had an inch or two on him.

Mrs. Zoge married a Tweener?!  I did not see that coming. 

Janet groaned, getting herself up off the ground.  “Clark, honey,” she panted. “I don’t think Mommy’s gonna be able to do that again. Getting up and down off the concrete again and again hurts.”  

“Okay.”  I made a note to do more yoga with her over the weekend. “How about I count that last one as two so we’re up to five?” I offered.

“Yes, please,” Janet huffed. “Thank you, baby.” She hiked up the cupcake wrapper and dusted herself off.

I slyly threw a thumbs up to an astonished Tommy and Chaz. They mirrored the thumbs up right back. I was wearing a costume they might actually want to be in, and they’d just witnessed me melt an Amazon down into a puddle only for her to beg me to stop. By playground time on Monday, my reputation would be restored as the Amazon breaker.  

Beouf finished wiping her glasses and then her eyes. “Oh that was good,” she chuckled. “That was good. Thanks. I needed that laugh.”  She coughed once to regain her composure. “Should’ve filmed it.”

“HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK!”

I nearly jumped out of my costume from surprise. “Amy?!” It had slipped my mind that anyone, even Littles not enrolled could attend the Fall Festival so long as they bought a ticket.

 I spun around the wrong way and got tangled up in the leash.  Out of habit I looked down expecting to see a gap toothed maniac grinning up at me and only found furry Amazon sized clodhoppers.  The momentum, the leash, and the fact that I still had a Monkeez throwing off my gait caused me to trip with nowhere to go but the ground.

“Gotcha!” Janet squeaked, catching my fall.  She lifted me up in puffy balloon sleeves and untangled me from myself. “Maybe next time, we’ll bring your stroller,” she said to herself. “Make it the GhostHaunter mobile or whatever.”

“Hi, Clark,” Amy repeated herself once Janet was cradling me.  ‘How ya doin’?”

Amy’s Mommy was dressed in tan fur, floppy shoes, a dragging tail, with a matching hoodie, triangle shaped ears, and a black nose and whiskers painted on her face.  Amy was dressed almost exactly the same and riding in an outward facing chest harness. 

A Mommy kangaroo and her baby. I shouldn’t have expected anything more.

“Hey Helena,” Janet said.  “Good to see you.”

“Hey Janet. Same. You two look cute.”

‘So do you.”

I tried to retain my composure, considering the circumstances.  ‘Hi, Amy.”

“Actually,” Amy said, “I’d prefer it if you called me Josephine, I’m trying to stay in character, and be in the moment, I’m finding I’m something of a method actor, I’d do more but Mommy won’t let me have more mucus for the pouch.”

I had nothing to say to that. Nothing to do but to change the subject. “Having fun?”

“Don’t know. Just got here.” Amy reached up and poked her Amazon under the chin. “Mommy can we go to the playground?”

“I think that’s my cue,” Helena said to Janet. 

Janet put me down. “Mine too.” She made sure my feet were all the way unwrapped. “Ready to go bounce?”

 Beouf audibly sucked in her breath.  “Actually, that might not be such a good idea, Janet.”

My mood instantly started to sour. I knew that tone.  “Why?” I asked.

“A bunch of the big kids are down there right now. It’s kind of crowded.”

My face was starting to sink.  “So?”  

“Coach is having a time keeping it organized from the sound of things. Had a couple volunteers bail at the last moment.” 

The P.E.field beyond us was alive with activity, joyful shrieks, and pounding bass from a rented stereo system. “Then why is anybody allowed?”

“Admin pitched in…”  

That told me everything without saying it out loud. Somewhere among the controlled chaos, Brollish was on the prowl. Probably Ambrose too. Definitely Forrest.  I’d thought it was lucky that I hadn’t laid eyes on that unholy trinity yet. It had been a vile portent, instead.

“Said that it might be kind of rough,” Beouf’s voice rang hollow. She believed with all her heart that Maturosis was real but didn’t believe what she was saying now. “They’re worried that if Littles went down there, they might get hurt on accident.”

Some things started to click into place. That’s what my classmates were doing in the fenced off Little’s playground like always. It might be the one place they were allowed to go.

The higher the peak, the lower the valley.  I was consigned to the most babyish class, required to attend the most babyish part of a stupid fundraising party that I didn’t want to go to, and even beyond that my options were limited. “You’re saying I’m too Little.”

Beouf did not address me directly at first.  “She can make that call because of the volunteers dropping out last minute. It’s not directly related to teaching, or curriculum. It’s just one day. So…”

…no amount of complaining to higher ups or invoking proper procedure would do anything about it.

I said nothing. Nothing left to say. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear that Brollish or one of her cronies called those volunteers and told them they weren’t needed. Just another typical day in my life.

“You can play on our playground,” Beouf offered. She was dangling a booby prize and she knew it.  “Lots of Littles to play with there.  And their Mommies and Daddies.” 

“How would that be different from any other day?”  Those words, straight from my brain, came out of Janet’s mouth.

Beouf’s heart was breaking, but she was trying her best to tow the party line; make the best of a bad situation that she disagreed with but had little power in the moment to correct. She lifted up one of the rubber ducks to reveal a square painted on its underside.  “We could go for a duck hunt. Get a match and win.”  She thumbed her open classroom door.  “Mrs. Zoge has a fishing game set up if you want to try that.”  

If I’d seen Zoge wearing those goggles and snorkel thirty seconds prior it would have been endearing.

I didn’t want to play a dumb baby game. I had to play those every single day. I didn’t want to go onto a stupid fucking playground. I had to do that every other day and just thinking about it was turning my brain into a goddamn hornet’s nest.  

I wanted to try out a goddamn bounce house! I wanted to do something designed for the young at heart instead of the smooth of brain!  I wanted at least the illusion of freedom! Just for one day! Not even a whole one! A morning would have been enough! If I’d made it into the early afternoon without directly being told that I had to or couldn’t do something, I would’ve counted it as a win!

Tantrum. I was going to throw a tantrum. I was going to see red, start crying, and then shout every single nasty thing I could think of until I turned into a raw throated sobbing angry mess.  

Things had been going so well l too…

Janet cut the fans, and ripped off her mask. Her dark hair was a mess, her face was dripping with sweat and she looked like she was wearing a suit made out of used pail liners. She looked infinitely more terrifying than the monster she’d been masquerading as.  Mommy Janet was checked out, and Ms.Grange was looming large in her stead. “That’s bull...”  Her voice was eerily calm.  Distant. Empty. Cold.

Melony looked at me and hung her head for just a second. “You’re right.” She stepped forward. “Come on. Let me see what I can do. Maybe I can work out something with Coach.”

Janet stopped her. “No.”

“No?”

Janet called out. “Helena?”

From the other side of the fence came a, “Yeah?”

“They’re saying Littles aren’t allowed in the bounce houses.”

Helena Madra leaned up against the fence overlooking the sidewalk. Amy had already been removed from the kangaroo costume’s pouch and was off prowling around on the raised plot of land. “What? Not even with just other Littles?”

“Not as far as I know,” Janet said. 

“What if parents are supervising?”

Janet did not shrug. “Don’t know.”

The blonde haired Amazon went from bougie soccer mom to the first member of the world’s most polite angry mob. Without hesitation she leapt over the fence and down to the walkway.  Amy made just a tiny bit more sense right there.  “Amy, don’t do what Mommy just did, sweetie.”

If Amy heard, she gave no reply.  

“Charlie! Delilah! Ginni!” She called. “Somebody doesn’t want to let the Littles bounce.” Mumbling and murmurs rippled out over the playground. There were far more so-called Adults supervising than was usual or needed.  “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding…”  The rest needn’t have been said.

A small platoon of Amazons I’d seen in passing at Little Voices exited the playground via ramp. A few strangers in tow, too. I would not be surprised if I ran into Tommy and Chaz at a future Little Voices meeting.  

Janet unhooked the leash from her costume and passed me off to Beouf.  “There’s been a miscommunication” she said to the half dozen giants. “We’re going to go see if we can help get some accommodations. I’ll point out who we need to talk to.”   

Though my head was still buzzing and my face was still flushed with frustration, a bit of hope sparkled behind my eyes.  There were two things Principals feared more than anything else: Angry parents and School Board Members campaigning for re-election. 

It sounded like Janet was playing it smart to boot. She wasn’t leading these crazies, they had just asked who they needed to speak to to correct an uncomfortable oversight.  A few parents with prisoners currently enrolled mixed in with townies playing tourist turned up the pressure. This was the sort of thing I was envisioning when I imagined saving Tracy.

Alas, I was just ‘a baby’ as Amy had said.

I hoped Janet would point out Brollish before anyone else. The most spiteful part of me would sacrifice a bounce house for the novelty of knowing Brollish was having to backpedal on some shitty take of hers.

Beouf carried me up the ramp to the playground.  “Sometimes, I love your Mommy,” she whispered to me.

“Yeah…” I said, but I gave no reply other than that.  

Beouf set me down on my feet. “Just a second,” she said. “Don’t want you dragging this stuff around in the mulch…”  I stood there turning my head to try and pick out the dirty half-dozen Karens going to destroy whoever got in their path.  

“I think the leash part is connected to the backpack,” I said. “Just take that off…?”  

Her hands circled around me and started fiddling with my harness. “Seems kind of stuck.”

“Would it help if I faced you?”

“Maybe.”  .

Ivy game bounding up. “I’ll help! I’ll help!” 

“Ivy, n-!” Beouf didn’t get the second word out in time. Ivy’s hands shot out, squeezed both sides of release mechanism, and just like that, I was free. “Never mind.” Beouf stood up with the backpack harness and wrapped the cord around the body of it on her way to her usual bench. “Everything okay down there, Hana?”

With a snorkel still in her mouth, .Zoge stuck a thumb into the air between tying trinkets to a Kindergartener’s mock fishing pole.

“Come on!” Ivy waved for me to follow her.  “Come meet my Daddy!”  She pointed to the Tweener leaning against the chain link fence. 

As much of a curveball as Ivy’s Dad being almost as tall as Tracy was, something greater merited my attention. “Did you just undo my harness?”

“Yes,” Ivy said. She looked briefly anxious. “I’m sorry I touched without asking. I was trying to help Mrs. Beouf. Please don’t bite. I will hit.”

I wouldn’t dare bite Ivy after that. I knew she was strong for a Little, freakishly so. I just didn’t realize how strong. Amazon tech is designed specifically with keeping Littles confined and restrained. With a grip like hers, she could do more than hold hands. Ivy might have been a Littles who could take off her own diaper.  And if she could take off hers….

 Now how to find that out without sounding creepy?

“Does that mean you could undo the line they put on us for bus loop and stuff?” I pressed.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s against the rules.”

I didn’t have enough time to properly poke at the circular logic. Tommy toddled over with Chaz motoring behind on all fours.  “Wanna go hang at the usual spot?”

“Come meet my Daddy!” Ivy spoke over him.

“Guys,” I said. “Did you see Ivy just now? She took off my harness!”

“Yeah,” Chaz said. “I saw.”  he sounded much less impressed than I felt.

Tommy was equally blase. “I’ve had to hold hands with her before.”

Why weren’t they seeing the possibilities? Where was their imagination? “Why don’t you care?”

“She’s a baby.”

The lizard-turtle-duck girl raised her hand like I was her teacher. “Come meet my Daddy!”

My upper lip curled. “I see what you mean.” 

“H-!”

I pivoted on the balls of my feet. “Hi Amy!” I pointed at the crawling kangaroo. “Ha! Gotcha.”

“Good one, bud,” Amy said. “Finally got me.  I like what you’ve done with the place. Is Jessenia still in good humor? I think there’s a wonderful spot by the tunnel that could make a lovely garden.”

Chaz and Tommy looked at one another with suspicion; save that it wasn’t directed at each other.  “Who’s your friend?” Chaz asked.

“Hi Amy,” Ivy said. “Come meet my Daddy?”

“This is Amy,” I explained.  “She’s uh…nuts. She’s nuts. But she’s okay.” 

Ivy raised her hand again. “Am I okay?”

“I’ve been doing some experiments,” Amy rambled, “about the taste of one’s fingers compared to toes.  I find that fingers get saltier and more delicious as the day goes on, thus rewarding delayed gratification, but toes are much more difficult to obtain so the reward centers of the brain are more um…rewarded.  But that might be research bias and effort affecting the flavor profiles.  I’m considering hiring a research assistant to lick both fingers and toes back to back for comparison but I’m not sure how to quantify the variables. Also I’m ticklish. Any suggestions or volunteers?”

The boys took a step back.

Amy crawled an equal distance. “Oh sorry. How rude of me. Amy Madra, attorney at law. I used to go to this program.”

That got another step back.

I rushed behind them. I stuck my leg behind Chaz and pulled Tommy in closer.
“Guys, guys, guys,” I told them. “This is the last person who broke Beouf.  I’ve heard Beouf talking to my Mommy about what a nightmare she was.”

Amy nodded. “This is true.”  She paused  and looked positively distrubed about something. “No! Wait! My name is Josephine right now! Curses! I’ve lost my method! Wait, wait, let me start over.  I’m Josephine Kangarella, marsupial at law. I’ll be happy to represent you in Kangaroo Court! I accept payment in mucus!”

Honestly, I don’t remember if I said “Please don’t do this right now” to Amy out loud or just begged her in my mind. Whichever it was, she answered me with her eyes, and that answer was ‘no’.

“Dude,” Chaz said much too loudly. “I think that’s worse.”

“She got broke right back,” Tommy agreed.

More familiar voices called out to me. These voices, however, I normally only had to prepare for once a week. 

 “Wanna play ‘Clark says’?”

“”The floor is LAVA! The floor is LAVA!”

Shit. Fuck. Ass. Fuck. Motherfucker. Fuck!  I had two groups of marks converging on each other, and both had very different images of who I was.  I couldn’t keep the image of a cynical malcontent of Mrs. Beouf’s class and the rehabilitated nursery game leader of Little Voices.

Except I could!

I bent over and whispered in Chaz’s ear. “Dude. Shut the fuck up. I’m trying something. Give me a break.”

My first and most loyal disciple nodded in understanding. “Gotcha.”  

I was about to give some form of a half-truth and veiled threat to Tommy, but was interrupted by the loudest, most mournful crying I could ever remember hearing before or since.

My friends and I followed the noise to the very edge of the playground.  An impeccably dressed Tweener was holding a Little turtle-duck-lizard monster and rubbing her back.  I’d forgotten all about Ivy.  Somewhere in Amy’s rambling and me trying to do damage control, she’d stomped off and run right back to one of two people guaranteed to give her the time of day.

“NANDE?!”

Ivy just kept saying that word over and over again. Long wails. Short gasping bursts. Everything in between.

I don’t speak Yamatoan.  Besides a handful of phrases and nursery rhymes that I learned through repetition and osmosis, I know nothing of it.  I probably mispronounce the few words I do know.  I did not recognize the word.  I’m probably misspelling it here.

The cadence spoke to me, however.  “Why?!” she was screaming. “Why, why, why?! WHYYYYYYY?!”

One foot led me in front of the other, steps crunching on the mulch. 

Amy called after me.  “Clark where are you oh nevermind I see it talk to you later, bud.”

What did Amy see that explained it to her?  What did I feel?  Pity at a mindfucked Little? Opportunity for an escape if I could butter her up? Fear of being punished because I wouldn’t include a Full Native Doll in my circle of friends?  Or did I just feel guilty because this time I did a a kinda shitty thing on accident, instead of on purpose? 

I thought that if I wrote it down I’d know.  Still don’t, though.

“Excuse me, sir,” I spoke softly to the old Tweener.  “My name is Clark.  Would Ivy like to play?”

[Samriis]

As always... well... when intended <Grin>... that was a lot of fun.

[Personalias]

11 hours ago, Samriis said:

As always... well... when intended <Grin>... that was a lot of fun.

Thank you!  

[CDfm]

I just got caught up with a true masterpiece. This story is awesome. You had me hooked from the very beginning. I got so into this story it has even visited me in my dreams. 
I can’t help but put myself into Clark’s shoes as I was reading this.  I can’t fully comprehend the anger and frustration that would go along with having his life taken in this manner.  This has to even be worse than being executed for some heinous crime. In that case you know you did something and the punishment will come to an end.  Having your life taken this way you are reminded every day of what you had and how things are now. I actually give the Amazons credit for mindfucking the littles.  It would actually be a blessing to take away their minds. I think at first I would try and resist or escape but eventually I would either want my mind erased or my life ended. 
I have to see this one come to an end and will be looking for the next chapter. 

[Personalias]

On 11/3/2023 at 11:31 PM, CDfm said:

I just got caught up with a true masterpiece. This story is awesome. You had me hooked from the very beginning. I got so into this story it has even visited me in my dreams. 
I can’t help but put myself into Clark’s shoes as I was reading this.  I can’t fully comprehend the anger and frustration that would go along with having his life taken in this manner.  This has to even be worse than being executed for some heinous crime. In that case you know you did something and the punishment will come to an end.  Having your life taken this way you are reminded every day of what you had and how things are now. I actually give the Amazons credit for mindfucking the littles.  It would actually be a blessing to take away their minds. I think at first I would try and resist or escape but eventually I would either want my mind erased or my life ended. 
I have to see this one come to an end and will be looking for the next chapter. 

Shameless plug.  There's 30 extra chapters of Unfair and plenty of other stories on my patreon. 1 buck a month for a tip. 5 bucks a month for first access.  (Pirating sites make it so that I never promise exclusivity)

I ALWAYS release the stories and chapters eventually, though.  So if patreon support isn't in someone's budget or preference, the only price I ask is patience.

Writing these types of stories is my full-time job and I'm able to do it with the help of my patrons.

[something101]

1 hour ago, Personalias said:

Shameless plug.  There's 30 extra chapters of Unfair and plenty of other stories on my patreon. 1 buck a month for a tip. 5 bucks a month for first access.  (Pirating sites make it so that I never promise exclusivity)

I ALWAYS release the stories and chapters eventually, though.  So if patreon support isn't in someone's budget or preference, the only price I ask is patience.

Writing these types of stories is my full-time job and I'm able to do it with the help of my patrons.

is there ay other site beside patreon that you use? Id like to support you here and get early access but i wont touch patreon.

[Personalias]

1 hour ago, something101 said:

is there ay other site beside patreon that you use? Id like to support you here and get early access but i wont touch patreon.

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

[something101]

2 hours ago, Personalias said:

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

alright but let me know if you do find something else that works

[CDfm]

6 hours ago, Personalias said:

Shameless plug.  There's 30 extra chapters of Unfair and plenty of other stories on my patreon. 1 buck a month for a tip. 5 bucks a month for first access.  (Pirating sites make it so that I never promise exclusivity)

I ALWAYS release the stories and chapters eventually, though.  So if patreon support isn't in someone's budget or preference, the only price I ask is patience.

Writing these types of stories is my full-time job and I'm able to do it with the help of my patrons.

Honestly I would support you on patreon but it doesn’t work.  I had been supporting a couple other writers and every month was a struggle to get my bank to send the money.  The bank was convinced it was a bad site.  But even when I did get the money to them I could never get access to their stories.  When it finally got to the point the bank would even allow me to override the site warning I just let it go. 

[Personalias]

Putting this here in the hopes that my readers will see it.  

Patreon is coming down hard on abdl content and redefining their terms of use and how they enforce it.  As such, my patreon no longer exists and has been deactivated without warning or appeal.

https://www.subscribestar.com/personalias

Please subscribe and follow me on subscribestar.com/personalias if you'd like to continue your support.  

It's gonna be empty and messy for a few days as I'm switching gears and re-uploading content (pending approval)  But I hope to hit the ground running.  

[Guilend]

17 minutes ago, Personalias said:

Putting this here in the hopes that my readers will see it.  

Patreon is coming down hard on abdl content and redefining their terms of use and how they enforce it.  As such, my patreon no longer exists and has been deactivated without warning or appeal.

https://www.subscribestar.com/personalias

Please subscribe and follow me on subscribestar.com/personalias if you'd like to continue your support.  

It's gonna be empty and messy for a few days as I'm switching gears and re-uploading content (pending approval)  But I hope to hit the ground running.  

Oh wow. That sucks. I got a message from another Patreon that they too might be moving to that site if they get shut down. 

[Kif]

So sorry they're doing this, will help do what I can to help on subscribestar!

Speaking of... I think you need to update your signature here on DD!

[Baby Billy]

I'm sorry for your loss, are you going to post what you have so far of this story here?