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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 38 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Wed,  1 Jun 2005 17:10:05 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 38.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mff, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 38 :: One Person's Revenge is Someone Else's Foreplay

When I woke up the next morning I sat up on the couch and
contemplated the door to my room.  Get out of here, Sir Walter
Raleigh!  Time to stop being nice!  Pammie had been asleep when
I'd gotten home and I didn't want to bug her by using the
computer.  Now, it was too early to swim and there were things I
could be doing... if I could get stuff from my room or use the
computer.  So far as I could tell, Pammie hadn't used the
computer once.  If she did want to, that wasn't a problem...
there was always Wanda's.

I'd been surprised last night when Mom had called Dr. Jacoby's
office and asked to talk directly to her.  Dr. Jacoby had called
back even though it was nearly ten.  I spent a little time
wondering if it was just my father that was highly thought of in
San Angelo, or was my mother also part of the pantheon of movers
and shakers?  How many other people were there in San Angelo like
them?  Like the Amaling twins?  Chief Ortega, for sure.  Dr.
Jacoby and her father had been seeing to the health of people
since Dad was a boy.

It was like a lock clicking open in my brain.  The other night
Dad said Mom "was with a friend."  Not playing bridge or golf or
tennis or anything else.  Who were my mother's friends?  Those
kinds of friends?  Any kind of friends?

Then there was last night.  Willy Coy had neatly distracted me
with his comment about the chooser of the living and the dead --
but he'd known I'd been to see Chris and he knew what the results
of her operation had been.  Had I told anyone on the phone?  I
didn't think so; I was positive I hadn't.  But Mom had known at
Doctor Jacoby's office.  I was sure she wouldn't have lied to me
on the way there, so she had to have been told there.  Had that
been a phone call?

Was it a good thing that Willy, Blade and Hammer knew so much
about my friends and me?  If they had bugs in the house, they had
to know about Mercedes, Shellie and me.  They probably knew about
Wanda and me, Wanda and Emily... Pammie?  Why not admit it? 
Someplace there was a government file with everything about my
sex life, my family and friends' sex lives.  How about Dad and
Pammie?  Was that there?  If they'd left bugs Dad's goose was
cooked.  We'd talked about Mom and Pammie, too.

Too much talk, I thought.  Way too much talk.  You think your
casual conversations are private; you just never think someone
else is listening.  I wasn't sure if the protection that they
were supposed to afford was worth the lack of privacy.  The more
I thought about it, the more positive I was that I didn't like it
at all.

Wanda came through, heading for the pool.  "Morning, Davey."

"Good morning, Wanda."  I eyed her.  She was wearing a long
t-shirt and nothing else.  Once again my eyes were drawn to her
humongous breasts.

"Another home game this week," she told me.  Was she sticking her
chest out?  I thought so, her breasts seemed like they were about
to push through the fabric.  "Next week we have a bye, then two
away games.  Then homecoming."

I nodded.  The football schedule was posted on practically every
wall and window in town.  It was featured on the refrigerator
door in our kitchen as well.  There was a reason we were off to
Corpus Christi on a bye weekend.

"Wanda, I'm going to kick Pammie out of my bedroom."

She looked at me.  "She does manage to piss people off, doesn't
she?"

I shook my head.  "No.  I just don't want to wake her up using
the computer or getting the stuff I need.  That's about sixty
percent of it.  The other forty -- that's because she's pissed me
off.  She just doesn't know when to stop."

"She talked to me about that.  I couldn't believe my ears, Davey,
I tell you true.  Her life is shit because of people butting into
her life  -- and yet, that's what she wants to do to everyone. 
Do you know what would happen if she went out on a date with
you?"

"I'd never!" I said, shocked.

"Sure, sure.  But that's what Pammie wanted, Davey.  The full
meal deal.  And if she'd have gotten it she'd have pissed off
half the football team, starting with Chuck.  She'd have started
fights, but that wouldn't be the worst.  Nope.  I'll say this
about cheerleaders: we're more understanding than most but there
are some things even we don't understand.  A senior dating a
freshman -- that just wouldn't fly."

"Ah, Wanda -- you and me..."

"What about it?  It's not like I'm shouting about it from the
rooftops.  Just the people in this house know about it."

"Plus Mercedes and Shellie," I reminded her.  Probably not a good
time to mention bugs and the others who might know.

"You know what, little brother?"

"We talk too much, yeah."  I finished her thought before she ever
started.

"We do.  We're doing it right now."  She waved at the door to the
outside.  "I need to do this.  Dad showed me how to test.  You
want to make sure I do it right?"

"Wanda, I'm not sure I remember how to do it right."

But between the two of us, we remembered enough.

I couldn't help noticing her nipples perking up.  It was a little
nippy outside...

She laughed at me, though.  "Davey, you have a one track mind."

"The one you're on," I replied.

She looked at me, then down at the tent pegs sticking up from her
t-shirt.  I stepped close and lightly ran my thumb over one of
them.

"And here I thought you'd given up on sex," she said, her voice
suddenly husky.

"Not with the people I care about," I told her.  I used my other
hand: good old "Double your pleasure, double your fun!"

A minute later she was sitting sideways on a lounge chair, while
I was sitting directly in front of her, my legs extending
underneath the chair, going down on her.  I pushed her t-shirt up
her thighs and waist, until it was bunched around her stomach,
while I licked and sucked, paying a lot of attention to her clit.
 I was really focused on what I was doing, right up until Wanda
came, while bucking her hips hard against my face.

"Davey..." her voice was almost a hiss.  "A girl can forget how
nice that can be."  She straightened up and leaned forward and
kissed me, using her tongue.  After a second, she giggled.

"What's funny?" I asked, relaxed and contented.  Maybe a little
smug.  Well, maybe very smug.

"Oh, I was just wishing you could give Jack a few tips on how to
do this.  Probably wouldn't be a good idea."

"Probably not," I agreed.

She sighed deeply.  "God, next weekend!  I'm going to die!"

"Why?" I asked, curious.

"Mercedes and Shellie would be failing in their womanly duties if
they left you with any energy at all."

"Emily?"  I asked.

She shook her head.  "Emily needed validation; that girl isn't
stupid, not at all.  Once she figured that just because her
fucked-up mother might have given her birth, didn't give her
mother a lock on being a good parent.  Emily is her own woman,
now.  She's got a good head on her shoulders, friends that made a
difference in her life.  And Rob, of course.  My, how that fellow
loves to hover!"

"So, no more you and Emily?"

"No more Emily and me," she agreed.

"I talked to Karen last night," I told her.

She reached down and lifted my chin.  "Tell me she's okay?  What
did she say?"

"Well, she really misses everyone.  I thought she was going to
squeeze me like toothpaste in a tube."

"You saw her, too?"  Wanda asked.

I nodded.

Wanda sat still for what seemed like forever.  "Mom took you,
right?" she finally asked.

Again I nodded.  "Wanda, I'm not sure, okay?  I think maybe Karen
and Pammie had a fight."

Wanda sniffed.  "You think?  Ever since Karen vanished, Pammie
looks like she's swallowed a sack of lemons.  She's helped to
look for her, but Pammie's heart was never in it.  At first I put
it down to her own problems... then I realized Pammie has
problems everywhere with everyone."

Suddenly Wanda started laughing.  Not belly laughs or anything
like that, just a long, sustained chuckle.

"What's funny?" I asked.

"Oh, Mom.  You know she's as queer as three-dollar bill?  She
loves Dad, and I don't really pretend to understand why, but he's
an exception, not the rule."

"I don't think it's any of my business," I told her.

"Yeah, I know.  We all talk too much.  So, I'm going to leave it
at that.  Davey, for her to trust you like that... little
brother, you have come of age.  And I guess I need to work a
little on things."  She laughed again.  "For years I was the
apple of my momma's eye.  She trusted me with a lot of this and
that.  I've known about her tastes since I was seven or so. 
She'd go out on Saturday afternoon, get her hair done and visit a
friend.  I'd sit in another room and read a book... but I'm not
stupid.  I figured out what was going on.

"When I started developing my own tastes, she pretty much
actively encouraged me.  Facilitated is a word I heard her use
once.  That's what she was doing for me, facilitating my
relationships."  Wanda leaned close and kissed me on the cheek. 
"Of course, Mom thought I was taking my own sweet time on those,
but hey, that's who I am."

"Me too," I told her.

"Yeah."  She stood up and tugged the hem of her shirt down so she
was covered.  She reached down and gave me a hand up, then
wrapped me up in her arms and thoroughly kissed me.  "If nothing
else," she whispered in my ear, "save a little energy for your
elderly sister tonight."

She grinned and vanished into the house.

It was an odd thing.  My lips felt a little dry, and I ran my
tongue over them.  They tasted of Wanda and I had an instant
erection.  I looked at the door and chuckled myself.  Barring
unexpected eruptions, there would be plenty of energy for later.

I swam for a while and then I got out and found that Pammie was
in the shower.  So I sat down in front of the computer and copied
thoughts on testing octopi down into the notes, then emailed them
off to Mercedes.

Pammie came back from the shower with a towel wrapped around
herself, then made a big production of taking it off and then
meandering about nude as she got her school clothes out.  I made
a big production of picking up "The Godfather" and turning away
to read it.

I'd hardly started when I felt Pammie come up behind me and rub
my back with her bare breasts.

I pulled a little forward, bobbed and weaved and came up a few
feet away.  "Pammie, we've got to talk."

She grinned at me.  "Another name for intercourse."

"Yeah.  Tonight, I'm going to be sleeping in my bed and you're
going to be on the couch.  Saturday nights," I told her, "you can
sleep here Saturday nights, because of the poker game.  Unless
you want to crash on Wanda's bed.  But I need my room, Pammie."

"You're kicking me out?" she laughed and wiggled her tits.

I nearly lost it then, laughing so hard.

"What are you laughing at?" Pammie demanded.

I shook my head.  Wanda's breasts, when she wiggled them, were
impressive in how much they moved -- whereas Mercedes and Shellie
barely jiggled.  Pammie was well into the middle ground. 
Average, in other words.  I was tolerably sure though, Pammie
would not deal well with an honest answer.

"Pammie, you and Irene Feeney both contributed to my education. 
You've taught me how to take it -- or leave it.  I'm not running
you down, Pammie.  You're cute and sexy and all of that, but
you're not my type.  Not to mention it's just a little deflating
to the ego -- and other body parts -- to think that you're just
waiting for part of me to grow to match your expectations. 
Pammie, I'm who I am, okay?  What happens in the future, I'll
deal with it then.  I'm in no particular rush."

I grabbed up some jeans and a shirt and headed for my own
shower.

We'd just sat down to breakfast when the phone rang.  Mom hopped
up to get it, saying, "I'm expecting a call from Dr. Jacoby."

Instead, she brought it back to me.  "Mercedes."

"Hi, Mercedes!" I said, feeling cheerful.

"Davey, I'm not going to school today."

"Bummer!  You okay?"

"That time of the month, Davey.  I called Shellie and asked her
to tell you, but she's right.  That's a rat thing to ask a friend
to do.  I feel like shit the first day of my period and you
wouldn't like me."

"You know it's my fondest hope to learn to like you any time at
all."

"Trust me, I don't like me on days like today.  I doubt if I'll
be at the game tonight, either.  Tomorrow, almost certainly I'll
be at practice.  I won't be chipper, but I won't be eating nails,
either."

"Talk to you tonight, after school?"

"God, I hope I can be civil by then!  I'm straining it, right
now."

"Okay, well, until later.  I'll at least try to call."

"Yeah.  One last thing, Davey.  Because we're friends, I told
you.  Normally I'd rather cut off my arm than tell anyone, even
another girl.  Don't tell anyone.  Not anyone."

"Sure, Mercedes.  Take care!"

She hung up and I gave Mom the phone back.  "Mercedes isn't
feeling well," I told her.  "She's not going to school and she
wanted to let me know."

I saw Wanda give Mom a sardonic look, saw Mom shake her head. 
Emily and even Pammie just nodded.

Dad was munching a bowl of Grape-Nuts flakes, eaten dry.  Dad
thought that pouring milk on top of cereal and making it soggy
was a form of desecration.

The phone did ring a few minutes later, and Mom went into the
living room to talk.

When she came back, she nodded to me.  "Everything is set for
later this morning."

Emily looked at Mom, then at me.  Wanda, though, was eating
shredded wheat and didn't look up.  After a second, Emily went
back to her own Grape-Nuts.   With Mercedes' call, it was Dad who
was clueless, after Mom's it was Pammie who missed everything. 
Another thing to think about, I thought.  How many things in my
life had I been oblivious too?  Like what my mother did on
Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons?  Were those the only
days?  I laughed to myself.  Davey, she helps at the hospital
most days!  I'd missed that every single day she'd done it,
because I had no idea.  Had I known that my dad did things for
the Lions Club?  Nope!  Never had a clue!

I was a poster child myself for blind ignorance!

We were nearly to school when my cell phone went off.  "You're a
right popular guy this morning, little brother!" Wanda said.

I picked up.  Chief of Police Ortega said hello, then asked if I
could spare him and one of his detectives a little time during
the school day.  "Lunchtime is good," he told me.

"How about eleven?  In the school office?"  I was willing to take
each and every opportunity to ditch the Office class that
presented itself.  In the school office with the Chief of Police?
 Ironclad alibi!  Er, excuse.

"What was that, Davey?" Wanda asked.

"I have to talk to the police today.  They'll come by the school
at lunch."

"What about?" Pammie asked, suddenly pale and nervous.

"Well, there's the four times people have tried to kill me," I
told her.  "There's Irene Feeney..."

"Who is this Irene Feeney person?" Pammie asked.  "You mentioned
her earlier."

"A nympho Davey met," Wanda told her.  "Daughter of a friend of
my mom's.  She got in with a bad crowd, a really bad crowd.  Now
she's involved in that cop killing in San Antonio last weekend."

"And you compared me to her?" Pammie said, turning around to face
me.  My goodness!  She was angry!

"Teaching me how to say 'no,'" I told Pammie.  "That's all."

She laughed sarcastically.  "A guy saying no to a nympho?"

I saw Wanda's eyes on me in the rear view mirror.  I saw her say
something silently; it sure looked like the word "please."

"Okay, Wanda," I said, feeling like a shit.  But it was a little
late for Irene to worry about her reputation around school.  It
was a little surprising Pammie hadn't heard about it, but she did
have a few distractions of her own.

"Right in the middle of things with Irene, Davey realized what
was going on and stopped," Wanda told Pammie.

"Ran out of gas, more like," Pammie snarled in a very catty
fashion.

Wanda laughed.  "Pammie, let's just say that I doubt it.  And
then, Pammie, he ratted her out to Mom, who told the girl's
mother."

Pammie looked at me in stunned amazement.  "You ratted her out?"

"Yeah, Davey gets points for the attempt," Wanda told her, "but
he was too late.  She was already over the edge.  I heard about
what was said at the game last Friday from a couple of different
people.   And the next day she was with a woman who shot one
policeman dead and shot at another."

"You don't suppose being ratted out had anything to do with going
off the deep end, do you?"  Pammie was really, really pissed. 
More than I had ever seen before.  Then she got to "why" and I
understood why she was pissed.

"I guess I'm lucky, Karen's lucky, that Davey's such a nice guy,"
Pammie spat at me, just like her Aunt had days before.  "If I'd
have known you were a rat, I sure wouldn't have agreed to tell
you about Karen and me."

The next thing I knew, we were parked in a No Parking zone along
the street, and Wanda was glaring at her friend.  I sighed. 
Probably, now that I understood, former friend.  Who could blame
her?  It was what I'd always heard: a rat is a rat.  Period.

"Pammie, Davey doesn't think what you and Karen and a whole bunch
of other people he knows suffer from a sickness that needs to be
cured.  That's your old man, not Davey.  Irene Feeney was a
catastrophe, and Davey was right to do what he did, Pammie! 
Maybe you should listen to gossip from the junior high, eh?  Like
Irene Feeney hit on every adult male at her school, including the
fucking principal!  The first couple nearly got totally fucked
over by her, because she didn't care who knew who she was
fucking.

"She stood with those rat bastards who've bugged Davey since
kindergarten, bragging about how she could fuck the socks off all
three of them.  She was letting two of the bastards grope her
tits in public, Pammie!  That's sick, do you understand that,
Pammie?  Sick!"

Wanda turned to me.  "Tell her about Karen!"

I sighed.  "Pammie, do you want to know about Karen?"

Oh she was pissed!  If her eyes had been lasers, I'd have been
sliced and diced in a second.

"What does the little rat bastard know about Karen?"

"I know that she'll be seen by a doctor this morning.  The police
will be there.  They tell me that if there's nothing wrong with
her, she can go back to where she's staying now.  The police will
tell her parents and yours, Pammie, that Karen is fine and
doesn't want to be found.  That she's with suitable adults and
after that, I don't know what will happen."

"Pammie," Wanda picked up.  "Karen didn't come to you.  Which is
no surprise.  But she didn't come to my mom or me, either.  And
of the three of us there that day in my family room, which of us
did she want to see first?  Davey.  Whose suggestions is she
listening to?  Davey's.  Who are the adults in this trusting?  I
don't know for sure, but it sure seems to me that they're
trusting Davey.  So maybe, Pammie, you should shut up and trust
Davey, too."

It was scary, just then.  Really scary.  I shivered like I was
back in the pool, just after getting in.  What had the Colonel's
daughter said when I'd come in yesterday?  "I take it he isn't
one of the ones you want dead?"

I started to talk, then stopped.  I didn't know why Karen felt
like that, but I didn't want to find out.  "Pammie, I'm sorry you
don't trust me.  I was tempted to ask why Karen doesn't trust
you, but we just talk too damn much about things that should be
private, not public.  Pammie, no matter what you think, I want to
help you.  I want to help Karen.  I want to help anyone I can who
can use it.  I might not want you in my bed, but that doesn't
mean I want you to leave, either.  I don't.  We all make
mistakes, Pammie, don't we?  Some mistakes are big, some are
little... some only we know about and no one else does.

"We're going to be late for school," I told her.  "I'd rather
continue this conversation -- in about four years when we can all
look back on it and laugh."

Emily reached over and squeezed my shoulder and then kissed my
cheek.  "Ha, ha!"  she said, most unconvincingly.  "I'm laughing
already!  Let's go!"



At English I smiled at Shellie when she saw me coming.  She was
waiting out in the hall.  "Did Mercedes tell you she wasn't
coming?"

"Yes, and why," I added the last two words very quietly.

"I'll get her homework assignments for the other classes," she
said.  "Was there anything in biology?"

"No."  I realized another cosmic truth.  "Teachers don't give
much homework over the weekends, and none if there's a home
game."

She smiled the Shellie smile at me and I wiggled like a happy
puppy.  "One last thing," I told her, making a determined effort
to remember things.  "I've got another get-out-of-Office-free
card to play today.  Hopefully it won't take as long as the
doctor visit."

She smiled at me, and we went in.

Sure enough, Mrs. Saunders handed me a note when I went to tell
her I had to go to the school office.   I wondered if there was a
polite way to ask her if I could take a test in Office
applications and get out of the class on a permanent basis.  I
wasn't likely to learn anything useful...

I didn't wave goodbye to Shellie, but she was smiling, which was
better than a wave any day!

Two seconds after I got into the office, Chief Ortega waved me
into a seat.  Chief Ortega indicated Mr. Two Crows, who was
sitting at the little table in the room.  "Davey, I asked Mr. Two
Crows if he'd mind sitting in, as some of this concerns the
school."

"No problem, sir."

"And with me, Davey, is Ranger Sergeant Emil Hochstetter."  The
Chief nodded at the man who wasn't a real detective, but was a
real Texas Ranger.  I couldn't help it; it was reflex.  I held
out my hand and shook his.

"First, Karen Grissom," Chief Ortega said.

I could see from Mr. Two Crows expression that was unexpected. 
"We had a conference between various official groups this
morning.  Miss Grissom has agreed to have a Children's Advocate
appointed for her.  The Children's Services Division had already
assigned a social worker to the Grissoms, in an attempt to work
out the family's problems.  You understand that I'm not at
liberty to say much about those problems?"

"It's not like the Reverend Grissom hasn't made his opinions
clear and public," I said dryly.

"Be that as it may, the official resolution of the issues will be
taken under advisement by the proper authorities of the City of
San Angelo and the State of Texas."

"I understand," I told him.

The Chief turned to Mr. Two Crows.  "This is one of the issues
that concerns the school.  Children's Services has, at least
temporarily, assigned her to a teacher here at the high school."

I saw Mr. Two Crows turn pale.  He thinks it's Ms. Weaver or Ms.
Churchwood.  I waited for the delicious surprise that I knew was
coming.

"The teacher was specifically asked for by Miss Grissom, he's
older, a widower with a grown daughter, Colonel Ralph Terrell."

It was amusing for a second to see the relief on Mr. Two Crows
face.  Then it struck me: his expression wasn't shock and horror
that Karen was being assigned to a gay woman to look after her,
but concern that she might be.  His relief wasn't "Thank God the
girl isn't going to be living with a pervert!"  Rather it was
more like "glad they weren't involved."

"I'll check with the principal," Mr. Two Crows said evenly, "but
I doubt if there is a problem."  His eyebrows furrowed.  "Because
of the concern for the young woman, I've talked to her teachers
about what, if any, problems she might have encountered here. 
Colonel Terrell isn't one of her teachers."

"Nonetheless, she has stated in front of witnesses that she
wishes to stay with him.  Colonel Terrell's daughter is home for
a few weeks on leave from her duties in the US Marines.  She's
just back from Afghanistan.  She'll help for a few days."

Mr. Two Crows sighed.  "I was a sailor for a couple of years.  A
couple of months leave for her, then probably into Iraq."

"Which is neither here nor there," Chief Ortega said.

"Irene Feeney," the Ranger broke into the conversation.  "Mr.
Harper, this is a pro forma question that you will be hearing
every few days from someone or other.  Have you heard from or
seen Miss Feeney since a week ago today?"

"No, sir.  I promise, sir, should I do so, I'll have my phone in
my hand a second later."

"As you should," Chief Ortega agreed.

"Who is Irene Feeney?"  Mr. Two Crows asked.

"This is in regards to the investigation we explained earlier in
the week, regarding Terry Toohey and his two companions.  As we
told you earlier, they are persons of interest in a murder case
in San Antonio."

"The Highway Patrol officer," Mr. Two Crows supplied.

"Yes," Chief Ortega said flatly.  "The Rangers are coordinating
with the FBI and other federal agencies in that investigation.

"Which brings me to my next question," the Ranger segued.  "Terry
Toohey, Sean Forth and Alan Guiterrez.  Have you seen any of them
since a week ago this evening?"

"No, sir."

I kept waiting for more questions, but it was like the deposition
I'd made.  Once they got past what I really knew, they weren't
much interested in anything else I had to say.  I was coming to
admire people who focused on keeping it simple, facts and only
those facts important in the matter they were interested in.

"Nicolas Fesselhof," Chief Ortega intoned.

"My turn for a question, then," I told him.  "Has anything
changed about your assurance that he's not going to get out of
jail before hell freezes over?"

The Chief laughed.  "I don't think I expressed it that way.  But
no, he's going nowhere.  When his attorney asked for a bond
hearing, we told him that if such a hearing was granted, we'd
apply to the judge for a Patriot Act warrant for Nicolas
Fesselhof's arrest.   They weren't eager to see if we could get
it.  I don't think there is much doubt that we could."

"And what would that mean?"  I asked.

"Under the terms of the Patriot Act we could hold young Fesselhof
for several months without arraignment, incommunicado, in fact. 
That is, he wouldn't be allowed to consult with his attorney."

I frowned.  "That doesn't seem right," I said.  "What about the
laws about speedy trials and all that?"

"In wartime, you make adjustments," the Texas Ranger said.  "None
of us really want to go down that route; Fesselhof has some new,
very expensive attorneys from San Antonio.  They don't want to go
there either.  They are willing to let Mr. Fesselhof sit in jail,
without bond and without final charges filed for the time
being."

"While we and other agencies pursue our investigations," Chief
Ortega added.  "Which is what this part of the interview is
about, Davey.  A couple of times you've come forward with names
of people that have proved of interest to the investigators. 
What I'd like you to do now is take some paper."  The Ranger slid
a yellow notebook pad and a pen across to me.

"I want you to write down all you know about Terry Toohey, Sean
Forth and Alex Guiterrez.  All the times you've met them, what
you were doing, what they were doing, the times of day --
anything you can remember.  Above all, the names of any friends
of theirs.  Start with the current time and work backwards."

"Chief, I've known Terry and his asshole buddies since forever. 
I've been in classes with Terry and Alan.  I can't remember but a
tiny bit of what happened and when."

And I'd thought Dr. Jacoby's food list was unreasonable!

"Take as much time as you need," Chief Ortega said helpfully.

I glanced at the clock.  It was twenty minutes until lunch.  Dr.
Jacoby... that gave me an idea...

"I went to see Dr. Jacoby yesterday, myself," I spoke to Chief
Ortega.  "I haven't been eating or sleeping right; I'm not
supposed to miss any more meals.  Could I get this back to you
tomorrow?"

"Monday will be fine," the Ranger said.  "Don't be later than
that.  Plus, I have some instructions for you."  He handed me a
little 3x5 card with printing on it.

"Don't tear pages out, write things longhand from latest
recollection to earliest recollection.  If you fill up the one
notebook, get another similar pad; they are available almost
everywhere, including most grocery stores.  Keep the receipt;
we'll reimburse you.

"Work steadily, without going back to put something in.  You can,
if you like, make notes elsewhere, but don't interrupt the flow
until you get to your earliest recollection.  Then, go back to a
place where something occurred to you, and write down a number,
starting with one.  At the end of the notebook, circle that
number, and write in your additional information.  If you feel
like you've included something by mistake, or omitted something,
do the same thing, don't actually strike things out or attempt to
insert them... do that all with numbered entries at the end."

I grimaced.  It wasn't so much hard as it was going to consume a
lot of time.

"No one likes this sort of thing, Mr. Harper," the Ranger told
me.  "But if you ever want to be a Ranger or do a lot of other
interesting jobs, they will require something like this.  And in
my line of work, I do this at least once a year.  Every last
thing I can remember.  A waste of a couple of days.  On the other
hand, my biographer is going to have a slam dunk!"

Everyone chuckled.

"Davey, it's clear that Nicolas Fesselhof is probably connected
to Hannelore Kimmel.  While there is no definite proof of that,
his actions speak loudly.  The stolen car waiting for him was a
scream for attention.  There is virtually no doubt Hannelore
Kimmel has had contact with Irene Feeney, which means almost
certainly Terry Toohey and his friends.

"No one has a clue why a possible terrorist would do the things
she's done, or involved young people in doing whatever it is she
is up to.  Up until the shooting last week, we'd have only been
able to question her.  If we arrested her it's unlikely we could
have held her for very long.  Now that's changed: she is
demonstrably armed and dangerous.

"Hannelore Kimmel spent from April to September here in San
Angelo.  None of the young people thought to be involved with her
were in a class she taught.  We are still looking into how she
met them, where and when.  But in little more than five months
she talked at least four, possibly five people into being willing
to undertake acts of violence, almost certainly up to and
including murder."

He kept talking about certainty, which I thought was odd, what
with everything else.  One thing I was certain of: these words
weren't his, but Blade's.  Or maybe Willy Coy's.

"The thing is, Davey, what must concern all of us is just how
many people she came into contact with and how successful she was
in recruiting them.  I'd like to think that four or five would be
the maximum possible.  Except if anyone would have asked me a
month ago, I'd have said none in that time frame.  Obviously, I
was wrong.  Thus, not only do we have the known dangers still
roaming loose: Hannelore Kimmel, Terry Toohey, Sean Forth and
Alex Guiterrez, but Irene Feeney and an unknown number of
others."

Mr. Two Crows was now expressionless, but he spoke up anyway. 
"And this is why we now have two armed officers, here during all
school functions?"

"At least that many," the Police Chief said.  "There will be
more, for instance, tonight at the game.  We'll have pictures of
the suspects posted in all of the ticket booths and entrance
gates.  We'll have extra officers at the game and the dance
afterwards."

"I know this sounds crass," Mr. Two Crows asked, "but earlier
when we asked for an officer we were told we'd have to pay at
least part of his salary.  Our budget doesn't have any slack in
it, Chief Ortega.  None."

"We're all in the same boat," Chief Ortega told him.  "I've gone
to the Mayor and the City Council held an executive session; they
voted to ask the Feds for money.  We just started our new fiscal
year, but I could be out of money by the spring if we don't get
this resolved sooner."

The Chief's eyes focused on me.  "Ranger Hochstetter and I will
make much nicer poker partners tomorrow, Davey, than the Amaling
twins."

For the first time the Ranger cracked a smile.  "Run along, Mr.
Harper.  The Chief has been filling me in on how it will be our
civic duty to play poker with you and your father tomorrow."

"It'll give an officer a chance for a night off," Chief Ortega
grinned.  "And the Sergeant and I are overtime-exempt."

Mr. Two Crows laughed.  "My father told me, 'Son, one day you
will feel the urge to play poker.  Beware of little old ladies! 
They don't know that it's not nice to scalp Native Americans any
more!  They will leave you with nothing!  Nothing!'"  He laughed
again.  "They did, too."

I excused myself and left; they were back talking about budgets
before I was out the door.

I got to the Office classroom about five minutes before lunch.  I
grinned to myself, told myself I was doing a civic duty by not
interrupting the last few minutes of the class.

Shellie and I went to lunch, joining Emily and Rob.  It was
interesting; the conversation picked up where it had left off the
other day about movies.  Evidently, that had been the topic of
conversation yesterday, as well, when I was off at the doctor
being poked, prodded and bled.

We'd only been talking for a few minutes when Karen appeared,
walked over and sat down next to me.  "Where's Mercedes?" she
asked.

"Under the weather," I said simply.

"I'll sit on the other side Monday.  Thanks, Davey."

"Anytime, Karen."

"Are you okay, Karen?" Emily asked.

Karen shrugged.  "Nothing's resolved, not in the long term."

"Is missing class going to mess you up for the honors classes?" 
Emily seemed genuinely concerned.

Karen laughed.  "You have no idea.  Let's just say, I never
lacked for schoolwork and ah, incentive to work on it.  Not to
mention plenty of time.  What have you guys been doing?"

"Talking about movie making," I told her.  "Rob knows a lot about
it, and Shellie's learning some, too."

"Making a movie would be cool," Karen said.

"We're thinking about it," Rob said.  "And yeah, it would be
really cool!"

So there was a lot more talk until the end of lunch.  I glanced
at the clock on the wall and I turned casually to Shellie. 
"Almost time for geography."

"I wonder what's next?" Shellie said.  "I'm sure he's got
something up his sleeve."

Karen spoke right up.  "Too late: snap quiz."

Shellie looked at Karen, then at me.  "Oh."

From outside there were loud shouts, very loud shouts.  It was
like a wave in slow motion... at first a few people near the
doors started moving towards it.

Suddenly, there was a sudden surge... away from the door.  I saw
Jack who was waving frantically at me.  I didn't know what was
wrong, but it was obviously something.  I jumped up and ran
towards him.  He saw that I was coming and turned around and
headed back the way he'd come.

It wasn't hard to follow him; Jack beats a very wide path,
whether it's through bushes or people.

The crowd was silent, in the classic "It's a Fight!" ring.  The
first person I saw was Pammie.  A woman teacher I didn't know had
her hand on Pammie's wrist, her other hand on Pammie's shoulder,
lightly restraining her.  A few feet away  it was taking three
male teachers to keep my sister from going after Pammie.  Wanda
wasn't saying anything, just struggling with them.  One of them
had his hands around her waist from behind, trying to pull her
back; another had her right arm in some sort of grip that looked
painful, another was struggling to get ahold of her other arm.

"Wanda!" I said as loud as I could.  It wouldn't have worked if
the crowd had been making any noise or Wanda had been yelling --
but none of that was true.  She looked at me.  "College!" I
called out.

It was like I'd tossed a bucket of cold water on her.  She
stopped struggling and seemed to focus on me.  After a second, I
realized she wasn't looking at me, but Karen, who was just behind
me.

"Davey," Wanda sounded calm and collected, "call Mom, not Dad. 
Tell her I need to talk to her right now."

Karen spoke up before I could do much but nod.  "I don't need
your help."

Wanda's face was a mask, a rigid hard mask.  "Karen, I'm not
doing anything for you.  It's the rest of us."  Wanda turned to
one of the teachers.  "Do what you want -- just don't put me in
the same room as that," she gestured at Pammie.  "I step on
creepy crawlie things."

Wanda lifted her eyes up to Pammie.  "I told you once what you
had to do.  I'd get started, if I were you."

They hauled the two of them away, while I made the call.  Mom
picked up quickly.  "What, Davey?"

"Wanda's in trouble at school," I told her.  "She got in some
sort of fight with Pammie.  Mom, she's really upset."

"I know, Davey.  Don't call your father unless you must.  I'm
already on my way.  Is Karen Grissom, per chance, close?"

"Yes," I told her and handed Karen my phone.  "My mom."

She took it and listened for a minute.  The only thing I heard
was Karen say, "No, I didn't talk to her.  I told you I
wouldn't."  And, a few seconds later, a final, "Okay."

Karen gave the phone back and said, "I have to get to class."

She turned and walked away without another word.  I saw Shellie,
Emily and Rob a few feet away.  "I guess you should get to class,
too.  I've got to go check on Wanda."

I put the phone back up to my ear, but Mom was gone.  I decided
that soon enough, I'd know.

The crowd was dispersing rapidly and I headed for the office.

It was kind of funny, really.  Ironic in a sad way.  I'd actually
had experience in the school office after a fight.  Mind you, I'd
never done more than minimally defend myself, but the teachers
and principal never seemed to care about that.  In one of the
rooms of the office, Wanda was sitting with someone watching her
like a hawk; Pammie was sitting in another room, ditto.  Someone
would talk to the teachers, then student witnesses... then they'd
have a little confab and tell you your fate.  They never, ever,
not even once asked me what happened or to explain myself.

Not unsurprising either was a refusal of anyone to tell me where
my sister was, or to let me talk to her.  I was mildly
frustrated, but then I saw Mr. Two Crows talking to one of the
teachers who'd been holding onto Wanda.  I walked directly
towards them and stopped.

"Not now, Harper," Mr. Two Crows said politely.

"Sir, I just want to tell you two things."

"What?  Make is quick."

"I've called my mother, she's on her way; she'd prefer to deal
with this herself, so please don't try to call my father.  That,
and I think you should talk to someone from the Police Chief's
office or Colonel Terrell before you make any decision."

I don't think I've said it before, but Mr. Two Crows' eyes are
dark brown.  When he gets angry, they seem to turn black.

I grinned at him.  "Yeah, I know, I understand.  I hear all the
time that I'm a kid, what do I know?" I said, laughing at him. 
"But, I'm growing up at a prodigious rate; why, this time next
week I'll be a year older than I am now!  At that rate, by the
end of the month, I could be a lot older!

"You're an adult and I understand that.  All I'm doing is
offering you some advice.  I'd take my time until I understood
completely what was going on."

"Based on your virtue and wisdom, no doubt," Mr. Two Crows said.

"Sir, I've had the utmost respect for you since the first time we
met.  If I didn't, why, I'd just turn around and walk away.  All
I'm saying is you might want to look beyond the surface and check
with people who might know something about the issues here that
you don't understand yet.

"I'll get along to my geography class now," I told him.

I walked away, but stopped outside in a section of hallway that
was untenanted.  I'd thought it earlier.  About all the parts of
the puzzle.  I'd said or thought about each and every part of the
puzzle and it wasn't until I saw the rage on Wanda's face that it
came together.  One thing would upset her the way it had.

Wanda had been upset with Pammie for pushing me.  Of all people,
my sister would not be sympathetic to anyone who went beyond
pushing.  Sympathy?  Oh no!  Not my sister!  Not even to someone
who'd been her friend since before I was born.  What a can of
worms!  What a hell of a thing!

What would happen to a town like ours if what Pammie must have
done became common knowledge?  Everything would unravel, all the
skeins of events that my own family played more than their fair
share in.

"Davey?"

I looked up and saw Jack and Chuck standing a few feet away.  My,
I could really be oblivious when I wanted to be!

"Davey, how's Wanda?" Jack asked.

"I don't know."

"What happened?" Jack pressed.

I shook my head.  "You don't want to know, Jack.  You really
don't want to know.  If I was you, I'd never, ever ask Wanda
about it."  And Wanda might tell him about it in another forty or
fifty years.  And then, maybe not.

"And Pammie?" Chuck asked.

I contemplated Chuck.  We'd had words a few times, friendly and
not so friendly.  I sighed.  "Pammie, Chuck, is the least of your
problems.  Trust me.  I know, I know," I said, seeing Chuck's
expression, "I'm just a stupid freshman with an attitude and a
big head.  Why should you care what I think?

"I'll tell you a big secret," I paused for dramatic effect.  "We
gossip too much.  We talk too much; we're too casual telling
people things that should be private.  And if it goes on much
longer, things are going to blow up.  That's if they don't blow
up now.

"Just standing here in the hall is talking too much," I told
them.

I turned and walked away.  Chuck had to have the last word,
though.  Just because you're a senior, doesn't bequeath you
brains.  "Hey, Davey!  We're hall monitors!  We need to see your
hall pass!"  He was laughing.

I turned around, extended my middle finger, turned around and
continued towards geography.

Colonel Terrell was leaving the room as I arrived.  "I left your
girlfriend in charge," he said grinning.

"I don't know, don't want to know, anything of what Karen told
you.  Your daughter made me think, though."

"I spoke to her about that."

"Right now my sister, who has been friends with Pamela Grissom
since they were toddlers, is sitting in the office, after giving
three male teachers a run for their money, keeping her from
getting at Pamela.  I know my sister, sir.  I think there were
extenuating circumstances."

He waved at the door.  "You may defend your friend, Mr. Harper,
in the unlikely event she needs it.  I'd keep some offers of help
in reserve, in case of need."

He walked away.  Mildly chastened, I went in and sat down.

Shellie was standing in the front of the class.  She looked at me
and said severely, "You're late, Harper!  I'll see you after
school!"

It was clear about two-thirds of our classmates knew that was a
joke; it was pretty clear because they laughed.

"Yes, ma'am," I said and sat down.  I folded my hands in front of
me, smiled at her, and looked all ready to go.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by the tardy
student, earlier Colonel Terrell talked about rivers and their
size.  There was a brief mention on the handout about their
sediment load."  She pointed at one of the brighter guys in
class.  "What is sediment?"

"Soil, suspended in the water," he told her.

"Close," Shellie agreed.  "It's undissolved particles; they can
be suspended in water, or deposited after they come out of
suspension.  One type of rock is called sedimentary, which is a
reference to their origin.

"What, besides sediment, can be found in rivers?"

It took a few minutes before we found the answer was pollutants.
Shellie didn't ask as many questions as the Colonel, but she was
clever and articulate.  No one talked; no one gave her any
trouble.  By the end of the period I was beaming with pride.

And maybe it was a little suspicious that Colonel Terrell
appeared about one second before the bell rang.  Surely a Colonel
of Marines wouldn't have stood outside in the hall, listening?

Waiting outside in the hall was my mother.  She snagged me by the
arm as I came out.  Shellie was a few steps behind, and managed
to join us.  "I'm about to run Wanda over to the plant for a
while," my mother told me.

"Okay," I said mildly.

"I'm still working on what to do with Pammie.  She can't stay
with us any longer."

She met my eyes.  "You figured it out, didn't you?"

"I don't know anything."  I put some emphasis on "know."

"Sure, of course not.  Anyway, after I take care of Wanda, I'll
deal with Pammie.  Then I'll be back here right after school...
if you want to spend a bit of time visiting Chris."

I looked at Shellie.  "Can Shellie come?  We were going home to
study, until time for the game."

Mom laughed.  "For the life of me, I've never understood Monday
instead of Friday.  But, your choice."

I looked at her, mildly furious to be hearing that in the hallway
at school, with a g'zillion of our peers walking past inches
away.

"Sorry," she said.  "Anyway, yes, Shellie can come, if that's
what you want.  Chris is still weak from the surgery.  You can
read weak as 'tires easily' and that means she sleeps a lot."

"I figured that out.  Is Wanda in trouble?"

"Aside from verbal threats, she didn't do anything except
struggle against overpowering force.  Well, I'm sure the three
teachers thought they were overpowering.  Wanda's intent, I'm
sure, was to tell Pammie that it was time to move on."

"Okay," I told her.  "I really don't want to hear all this
shit."

She smiled at me.  "Your father mentioned a mouthful of soap to
you the other day.  It could still happen."

"Then keep to what's important."

She looked at me and then shrugged.  "We'll talk later.  Now I
have to collect Wanda.  See you right after three."

I nodded and she turned and walked away.

Shellie squeezed my hand; I hadn't even noticed she was holding
it.  "You know what I think, Davey?"

"Nope," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

"You're starting to sound a lot like I did in geography."

"Do you want to come and meet Chris?" I asked, thinking that was
it.

She laughed at me.  "Of course.  But that wasn't what I was
talking about.  Meet you at your locker after school."

She walked away.  I didn't think she was mad... in fact, I think
she was laughing at me.

I hardly had time to start changing when Jack was back.  "How's
Wanda?"

"Home," I told him, continuing with the task at hand.  "I didn't
hear anything about suspension or being kicked off the
cheerleaders."

He nodded.  "Pammie quit the cheerleaders.  That was something
Wanda was yelling at her.  To quit.  Or else.  Davey, what was
Wanda talking about?"

I picked up my glove and gathered my new bats.  "Jack, I said it
before, we talk too much.  Ask Wanda.  Ask Pammie.  Don't ask
me."

Warm-ups.  I contemplated asking Coach Delgado about the
cool-downs Dr. Jacoby had suggested.  On the other hand, I
secretly thought that baseball didn't exactly push the envelope
of hard exercise.  You had bursts of hard exercise... but then
the burst stopped.

I'd dropped the new bats in the rack before I'd gone out to
warm-up.  When we got done, I could see Coach Delgado holding one
of them, looking at it.  Thus, I wasn't surprised when he
gestured to me.

"Batting practice again," he told me.  "You first, Davey."

"Yes, sir."

He motioned to the mound.  "Up there is a young man who pitched
for me in San Antonio, years ago.  He played triple-A ball until
he decided that he would rather do something useful.  Now he's
one of Chief Ortega's officers."

I eyed the man.  Oh.  Not one of San Angelo High's finest, one of
Chief Ortega's officers.  Well, Coach Delgado was right, he
didn't pitch like any of the rest of us.  He was a lot better.

I was the first up to face him this time.

I saw it; I understood, it could happen to anyone.  He went into
a regular windup, not one of his stealth versions.  A second
before he let go, I saw the bobble: he'd lost his balance or
slipped.  A millisecond later I saw that the fastball was
arrowing towards my big fat head.

There wasn't time for anything, much less thought.  I threw
myself forward, not back.  Even so, the ball hit the top of my
batting helmet and went straight up.  I was lying on the ground
when it thumped me in the ribs.

It seemed like a thousand people sprang up from the ground to
check me out.  I shook myself off, ignoring them.  I dusted my
jersey and looked at the pitcher.

"Sorry," he said.

I laughed.  "Hey, it hit me in the head.  You probably need a new
ball."

There was a concerted sigh, and everyone moved back into
position.

I wasn't angry when the next pitch came.  And it was a fastball,
only thrown right, unlike the first time.  I got a small piece of
it and sent it crashing into the backstop, quicker than the ump
could say, "Foul!"

I'd followed the ball with my eyes.  Thus it was, I saw Pammie
standing at the edge of the bleachers.  She saw me looking at
her, turned quickly and dropped her jeans, mooning me.

Maybe a half dozen others saw her in the instant she had her
jeans down.  It was just for an eye blink, and then she was gone.
 I'd have suspected a particularly vivid daydream except I
doubted if I'd ever daydream about Pammie again... and those half
dozen were laughing.

Our pitcher, I saw, had been following the ball and saw it as
well.

The next pitch wasn't a fastball, wasn't anything but awful, very
high, over my head high.

I took a deep breath.  Pammie was a moron; a stupid moron, bent
on risking everyone.  I could feel the anger inside me; I could
taste it.

I watched the pitcher windup, then throw.  It was one of his
hardest, trying to make up for the one before, and low instead of
high.  And I hit it as hard as I've ever hit a ball.  The air
horn sounded again, behind me.

I turned and stalked back to the chain link fence.  "Don't!" I
commanded to the universe, since no one was foolish enough to be
displaying an air horn.

Coach Delgado walked over and stood next to me.  "It's marketing,
Davey!  You need to get used to it!"

I contemplated the things my father had told me about marketing.
"Fine.  Wonderful.  Marketing.  Market me to people with money
and interest.  Here, I'm practicing.  Give me a break."  I turned
and walk away.

The next pitch was a floater.  I bided my time and really
walloped it.  Four more pitches, all different, including one
that seemed implausibly low to be a strike, but the ump called it
a strike, anyway.

Then I was told to take the mound.  I threw a few warm-up
pitches, then Coach Delgado called to me, "This is pitching
practice now, not batting practice.  Put them out."

The next batter was Jack.  He ticked one, missed another, and
then ticked two more, before he missed a fifth.

Then it was Chuck, and Trace was signaling a curve.  I grinned
and threw it, knowing full well it would look like it was
targeted at him.  Sure enough, Chuck threw himself back.  He got
up on one elbow, glaring at me.  Killed by the ump's "Strike!"
call.

The second curve he stayed at the plate, but he sucked in his
gut.  It was still a strike.

The mighty Casey couldn't have fanned at a pitch better than
Chuck did at the third pitch.

Rob was up next.  I didn't recognize the sign Trace gave me. 
Then he repeated it.  Instead of shaking him off, I stepped back,
and motioned for him to come forward.

"What's that?" I asked.

Coach Delgado arrived.  "You don't know the signs?"

"Not that one," I admitted.

"Slider, Davey," Trace told me.

"Slider?"  Once upon a time, Blade had shown me how to do a
slider.  I'd thrown maybe a half dozen attempts since, most of
them awful.

"Sorry," I told Trace.  "We'll go over the signs again after
this."

Coach Delgado just turned around and trotted back to the bench,
while Trace went to get set.  I stood looking at Rob, hoping he
was as quick on his feet as Chuck had been.

I reached down, trying to remember everything I knew about
throwing a slider.  It seemed to flow naturally; the ball flew,
Rob took a good rip at it and missed.

I, on the other hand, was massaging my arm.  That had hurt!

Trace called another and I simply shook him off.  A fastball
seemed almost a relaxing break after the slider.  Still, my arm
was tender, and it wasn't really a very good pitch.  Not, mind
you, that Rob hit it, or anything.

I waved to Coach Delgado.  "Sir, my arm is tender."

He stared at me, so I explained.  "The slider... it felt really
natural, smooth as silk.  But afterwards, my arm hurt."

"Go inside, shower, get some liniment on the arm, Davey," he told
me.

I worked my arm, debating if I should keep on.  It seemed to me
that he was thinking I was shirking.  Coach Delgado dropped his
voice.

"One thing that a good coach develops is the trust of his
athletes.  I haven't done that with you.  You don't trust me and
now I find I don't trust you."

"It's a sad world we live in, isn't it?  I find I can't even
trust people I thought were my friends."

He laughed suddenly.  "Shower, Harper!  Then work on the arm!"

I went off and Rob grinned at me as I went past.  I wished it
wasn't happening, because I was sure there were those like Coach
Delgado who thought I was either dogging it or that I was a
wuss.

To my surprise, the other pitcher was showering too.  He looked
at me and laughed.  "Coach Delgado must be asleep at the switch,
to send you to the showers."

I shrugged.  "I threw a slider.  It seemed as smooth as silk, but
my arm hurt afterwards.  I threw another pitch, and it wasn't
good."

He nodded.  "That's because a slider can only be thrown right if
you dislocate your arm as you throw it.  It takes a lot of
conditioning before you can do it right.  Usually we learn that
sort of pitch in the bigs."

He looked at me.  "Where did you learn to hit like that?"

I shrugged.  "I have a temper.  An attitude.  I just think angry
and swing away."

"Remind me, then, not to piss you off!"  He gestured at my arm. 
"Does it still hurt?"

I nodded.  Okay, so I was staring at his erection.  It wasn't the
first I'd seen in the showers, but in this case I could pretty
well add two and two.

He glanced down, then at me.  "My father told me when I was your
age it's called 'the gallant reflex.'  There is," he told me, "a
great deal of difference between desire and action."

"Well," I told him, "there's zero desire for either here."

"Try thinking of me beaning you on the head, instead," he said.

"You slipped," I told him.  "I saw it."

"You see a lot of things, don't you?  I could see you watching my
pitches.  You pick up the spin, don't you?"

This was, I thought, a far safer topic.  He was back to normal,
and I was mildly curious... about the topic of conversation.

I nodded.  "I couldn't see what you were doing, so all I had to
go on was the spin."

"Maybe a dozen guys in the bigs can pick up the spin on a pitched
ball," he told me.  "And you can pitch?"

"Well, I like to think I can, but so far, I haven't had much to
pitch against.  There are only a few people on the team who can
hit anyone.  None of them can hit against me."

I realized I sounded like a pompous asshole, and promptly shut my
mouth.

He laughed.  "Hey, I've pitched batting practice since Little
League!  At first, my coaches did it to toughen my arm.  Then
they did it to toughen our hitting!"

An older man appeared in the door to the shower.  "How's the arm,
Kyle?"

"Just fine, pops!  Delgado didn't leave me in as long this time."
 He gestured at me.  "This is Davey, boy wonder.  Hitting and
pitching.  Don't suppose you'd look at his arm?  He threw a
slider and says it's messed up."

The man looked at me and shook his head.  "Son, next time someone
tells you to throw a slider, flip the fucker a bird!  College,
maybe.  If you're ready.  You want to keep pitching in high
school?  Keep it simple.  Fastballs, a few curves."

He actually walked into the shower, still dressed in street
clothes and ran his fingers over my right arm.  How did he know
which arm?

"Jesus, kid, what do you do in your spare time?  Nothing but
pushups?"

I looked at him.  "I swim, I do chin-ups."

"Not for five minutes in the pool, or a couple of reps on the
bar."

"No, sir."  I didn't think he needed to know that I'd lost it a
couple of times and exercised until I just about couldn't any
more.

His fingers went down my arm, probing and pushing places.  I was
surprised when he found a tender spot in my wrist.

"What's that?  Christ, kid, you've got a cracked wrist!"

"I took a hard comebacker, during tryouts," I told him.  "It
stopped hurting after a couple of days."

He pushed again and I winced.  "Right, it stopped hurting. 
Sure."  He pushed again.  "You told your coach, right?"

"Actually, sir, I did.  I told him it hurt for a bit, but it was
better."

"Tell me that was Wells."

"Yes, sir."

There followed a staccato barrage of questions about what I'd
been doing since I'd been hurt.  Once more into personal history
time.  It wasn't lost on me that Dr. Jacoby wanted one thing,
Chief Ortega and the Texas Ranger wanted another and now this man
wanted something else.

The pitcher had vanished and it was just the two of us alone.  He
looked around.  "My son is a nice fellow, not your type,
though."

"Not my type," I agreed.

"I'm not my son, okay?  But, once upon a time, I wanted him to be
the best pitcher in the world.  He was a good student, but not
perfect.  It turned out I was a better coach than he was a
student.  You understand that?"

"I surely know what it's like not to live up to my father's
expectations, sir."

"Your father is disappointed in how well you play ball?"  It was
clear the thought shocked him.

"Well, until a while ago, anyway.  He was a football player,
sir."

"Ah!  But now he's coming around?"

"He hasn't been paying attention to my stats.  My coach hasn't
been paying attention to my stats."

I swear he rubbed his hands in glee.  It was like watching the
classic Wizard of Oz movie, seeing the Wicked Witch rubbing her
hands.  "You have stats, son?"

"I haven't kept track of them either.  But I hit really good; I
throw really good.  I have a bad attitude about coaches."

"Son, two out of three would give you a Guinness World Record
when it comes to hitting.  Would you like a coach?"

"Sir?"

"Don't sir, me!  Would you like a coach?"

"I guess."

He chuckled.  "If I was a Marx brother or Larry, Moe or Curly,
about now I'd whap you upside the head.  Tell you what: you let
me watch how you play, let me make a few suggestions.  A week
from now, we'll revisit the 'do you want a coach' question."

"Yes, sir."

"In that case, my first suggestion is to get out of the shower
before you turn into a complete prune.  Oh, and slap down that
son of mine.  He's not serious... for one thing, he has a new
wife."

I blushed.




There was a lot for me to think about, while I stood waiting for
my mother to appear, after school.  Shellie was happy to talk
about her story and how the learning curve for Maya, the graphics
program she was learning, was flattening out for her.

Then Mom finally showed up.  It didn't take but about a
millisecond before she'd let me know, by look alone, to keep my
mouth shut.

A little while later, she left me in front of Chris' hospital
room door.  I turned to Shellie.  "I think you'll like her."

Shellie smiled her smile and licked her lips.  "Yummy!"

I blushed and shook my head.  She nudged me towards the door and
I went through it.

Chris was sitting up in bed, her head still wreathed in bandages.
 She was, I realized, playing a video game.  She deftly knocked
off the bad guys, then grinned at me.

"They tell me my memories won't come back," she told me.  "But
still, I close my eyes and I know what to do in this game.  I
just know.  I can move around on the map, even though I don't
remember it.  I know what the weaknesses of my opponents are and
I can plan against them.  Even if I don't 'remember' anything
about them."

She nodded at Shellie.  "Who is this?  Your girlfriend?"

"One of them, anyway." Shellie told Chris.  "I'm Shellie.  If you
give Davey half a chance, he'll forget..."  Shellie stopped and
froze.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry..." Shellie was close to tears. 
Actually, over the edge.

Chris shook her head.  "Hey, I can't go through my life going
nutzo every time someone says the word 'forget.'  Davey forgets
things?"

"Stress, bad nutrition, not enough sleep," I tried to explain.

"Well, if good nutrition is what they give you in a hospital, I
would really like to go out for the worst there is, the day I get
out of here!" Chris said.

"We can do that," I told her.  "My dad's favorite steak house. 
Huge steaks, huge platters of onion rings.  Quite socially
unacceptable!  Yummy, though!"

Shellie dipped into her backpack.  "I wasn't sure if I was going
to show you this.  'Cause I was afraid you'd freak."  She handed
Chris a piece of paper.  I went around and looked.

It was a cartoon of me, only as a caricature.  I looked clueless
and drooling.  The legend was lengthy: "In 1992 Davey sailed back
to the future with Christopher Lloyd, in a blue Delorean."  There
was a blue car next to me in the cartoon and a man with wild
white hair.

"Well, it only looks like a little like Davey," Chris said.

"Here's another," Shellie said, and handed Chris another piece of
paper with the title: "Davey, Tigger and Christopher Robin set
out in search of the Lost Fountain of Utes."  This was another
caricature of me, plus the cartoon characters, and a picture of a
water fountain, with a Native American standing in the middle,
his eyes shaded by his palm, peering towards the viewer.

Chris laughed at the drawings, then looked at me, then back at
Shellie.  "You're really his girlfriend?"

Shellie smiled and repeated, "One of them.  There are two of
us."

"He has two girlfriends?" Chris seemed confused.

Shellie giggled.  "Most guys only have one, but Davey has a lot
of good friends.  And some of us are friendlier than others."

Shellie started showing Chris more of her artwork, only this
time, just characters from anime.  Chris recognized several of
them, and after a few minutes, the discussion was between the two
of them, comparing anime stories.  They were still at it when my
mother appeared to haul us off for dinner; I don't think I had
six words to say.  Both of them, evidently, were fans.

Dinner was everyone, plus Shellie.  Mom and Dad, Wanda and Emily.
 Mexican, this time, though.  And interestingly, we had a private
room where we ate by ourselves.

After the waitress took our orders, my mother spoke as I'd rarely
heard her speak.

"I am preempting any and all comments about Pammie," she
started.

"Pamela Grissom," Wanda was nearly snarling.   "I had a friend
named Pammie once.  She's dead now."

Mom rounded on Wanda.  "What part of 'put a lid on it', didn't
you understand?   I'm not Reverend Grissom; I won't shut you
away.  On the other hand, my sister lives in Murfreesboro,
Tennessee.  If that's your idea of a haven, keep talking."

"Sorry," Wanda said, shutting up.

"Exactly.  We're all going to shut up, do you understand?"

We all chorused our agreement.

"I took the person that Wanda no longer likes and whom I want to
punch in the nose to the social worker assigned to her case.  She
will look after her."

I saw my father grimace, but he didn't say anything.

I felt a twinge in my arm and that reminded me of a few things. 
"Would it be appropriate to change the subject?" I asked.

"Please!" Wanda said.

"Coach Delgado had a guy pitch batting practice yesterday and
today; I found out that he used to pitch Triple-A ball.  I met
the guy's father this afternoon; he's a coach."  I held up my
right hand.  "He thinks I have a cracked bone in my wrist from
the time I caught that comebacker last month.  He also asked me
if I'd like a coach."

Dad sighed.  "Did he talk about money?"

"No, sir."

"Well, that means he's not a total fool."

"His son is one of Chief Ortega's officers.  Oh, and I talked to
Chief Ortega today too.  And a Texas Ranger.  They gave me a
homework assignment: list everything I know about Terry and his
friends, and describe what happened each and every time they've
bugged me since the dawn of time."

Dad nodded.  "Vic called and asked if he and the Ranger could
play a little poker tomorrow.  I'm not brave enough to try the
Amalings any time soon."

"Chief Ortega said it was a way to save some overtime for his
officers.  Both the school and the city seem to think I'm a
budget catastrophe."

"I heard about the City Council executive session," Dad agreed. 
"They are going to bring it up at the next regular meeting.  It's
not much of a plan, but I don't see any alternative to going, hat
in hand, to the Feds and begging for more money."

Dad paid the check and we gathered around Mom's car.  Mom spoke
to Wanda, "If you want to go to the dance let me know; otherwise
Davey can give me a call if he wants to go."

"I am not going to let this mess up my day," Wanda said firmly. 
"Nor my week, month or my life.  I will go to the dance, I will
have a good time, and what Davey and his friends do is entirely
up to them."

Shellie leaned close and whispered in my ear, "For a little while
-- then I'd like to talk."

That was fine with me, even if all we did was talk.  "We want to
go home for a while," I told Mom.  "But not a long while."

"If Wanda isn't going to come home soon enough," Mom told me,
"call.  I'll fetch you.  How about you, Emily?"

"I think I'd like to go back with Davey, if it's all right.  I
told Rob I'd do a bunch of reading before tomorrow."

We were later than usual getting to the game and as such, now
found ourselves even further back from the field.  We had hardly
gotten seated when Karen, Colonel Terrell and his daughter,
Charlotte, appeared.  "These seats taken?" the Colonel asked,
waving at the seats next to us.

"No, sir," I told him.

"Reinforcements," Charlotte Terrell said with a laugh.

I'm not sure how the seating worked the way it did; Karen ended
up next to me, with Colonel Terrell's daughter on the other side
of her.  The Colonel sat down next to Emily.

We were playing Lubbock, which was usually a pretty strong team.
I was a little nervous at half time when the score was 14-13 in
our favor, but after halftime our guys came out and buckled down
to some serious running and tackling, and we finished 28-13.

We stayed seated while everyone else was leaving, talking among
ourselves.  Finally we stood up and Karen reached out and touched
my arm.  "We've got to go, Davey."

"I understand."

Charlotte Terrell interrupted.  "Girl, if you're about to say how
sorry you are about all this, forget it!"

"Karen," I said, hoping I wasn't going to hurt her feelings, "for
a while I felt really bad about the things that were happening. 
My friends being told they couldn't see me because I was 'too
dangerous.'"  It still hurt, too.

"One day I realized it wasn't me.  I don't make a habit out of
starting fights; people started them with me.  It's not your
fault, either.  Friends, real friends, Karen, understand where
the problem is.  You don't ever have to apologize for what
someone else does."

"A long time ago, Wanda said to trust you.  My cousin said it was
probably a mistake, but she didn't have a better idea.  I'm not
very proud of what's happened since then, Davey.  No matter what
you said, I made mistakes.  I screwed up."

"We all do that," Charlotte told her.  "Davey's right, though. 
We should give our friends a break when they screw up.  And when
it's something outside our control... don't apologize."

Emily entered the conversation.  "Dr. Jacoby told me that we
should apologize for our mistakes, but not the mistakes of
others.  At the time, I didn't know what she meant.  I'm
learning, though."  She ran her hand over her stomach.  "This
wasn't my fault, but I made a choice.  It's my choice that's my
responsibility.  And it's not apologies I want to make to those
helping me, it's just my thanks."

"Amen," Colonel Terrell said.

They started walking ahead of us, the three of them, while
Shellie, Emily and I walked behind them.  Wanda showed up and
promptly hugged Karen.  It was clear that Karen was uncomfortable
and Wanda picked it right up.  She backed away and shook her
head.  "I thought about hitting her.  But then, we'd have been
alike, wouldn't we?"

"No," Karen said, her eyes on Wanda.  "Pamela never hit me,
because I didn't resist."

"But you didn't want to?"

"Wanda!" I said, completely outraged.  "What part of shut up
didn't you understand?"

"I guess."  She looked at Karen for a second and shook her head.
"Pain, Karen, is the look you just gave me.  I am sorry."

"It's just... I can't.  Not yet."

I growled and Colonel Terrell laughed.  "I think we should save
this for another day, another place -- one where we can get Davey
to calm down."

Shellie spoke up.  "I'm a little slow.  I write stories.  I watch
them on TV.  I read them.  I never expected to experience any of
it in real life.  Being Davey's friend has been educational. 
Start with me when you want to calm someone down, because Davey
is a lot calmer right now than I am."

The Colonel smiled.  "I'll remember that.  You did well today in
class.  Not what I'd have done, but as I'm forced to remember
every day, no one is like me."

Shellie reached up and kissed my cheek.  "The other day with
Pammie... I wasn't sure how I felt when Wanda made her stop. 
Glad -- I was that.  But a little angry that she was interfering
in my business.  She wasn't though, was she?  It was her
business."

"I think so.  We promised we weren't going to talk about this,
Shellie."

She smiled at me; this was a new one, one I didn't recognize. 
She patted my shoulder.  "Not to worry, Davey.  Mercedes and I
have it figured out.  You get to think you're in charge, while we
actually are.  Everyone gets what they want."

"I don't get to be in charge?" I laughed, not sure if this was a
joke or what.

"No, Davey.  Because the truth is, you're bold and brave... you
like to be the best at what you do.  But you don't want to stand
out from everyone else.  It took us a bit to figure it out.  Not
to worry."  She giggled.  "We won't abuse our power.  Much."

Wanda had been close enough to hear, so, for that matter, had
Emily.  "Davey, relax and enjoy!"  She walked over and high-fived
Shellie, who seemed a little surprised.  "Women are really the
ones in charge; we're just more subtle about it than guys.  Look,
here comes Jack and Rob."  Wanda giggled.  "You have to promise
not to tell them about their leashes."

"Okay," I said docilely.   "But like a dog getting a bone, I
expect my reward."

"It's a bone you want?" Emily said, laughing with the others.

That had, I figured, come out wrong.

Jack and Rob, however, didn't do much better.  "What's the joke?"
Jack asked.

"We were talking about you, as a matter of fact," Wanda told
him.

"Do you want to tell me what happened today?"

"No," Wanda told him.

"And the cheerleaders?  Where are they?" Jack went on.

Wanda took a step towards him.  I moved hastily, because this
time she was serious.  She bumped into me and glared.  I smiled
at her and bumped back, aiming for her breasts.  The thought in
my mind when she backed down was that even furious, Wanda liked
having her breasts touched.  Then I realized I was close to
committing a spectacular form of suicide.

I turned to Jack.  "Jack, amigo.  How about if the cheerleaders
show up for baseball practice tomorrow?"

"It's football season."

"Jack, do you decide or do the cheerleaders?"

"It's tradition!"

Rob tugged at Jack's arm.  "Jack, I think it's tradition that the
cheerleaders decide."

"And not traditional to stand at the gate of the football stadium
to talk about it," I told him.

Wanda reached out and took Jack's hand in hers and yanked hard. 
She pulled him about ten yards away, well away from anything.

A minute later, Jack was back, talking about the nice weather it
had been for the game.

Shellie really didn't want to dance, Emily didn't want to dance;
Wanda agreed to one with Jack.

Ellie came by, walking hand in hand with Desmond.  She smiled at
him, let go and held her hand out to me.

We didn't so much as say a word while we danced; probably
wouldn't have mattered anyway, the music was so loud.  When it
was over, she grabbed my hand again, squeezed it, and went right
back to Desmond.  No words, but a clear message.  Thanks for all
the fish and goodbye.

I'd never cared for the book; it didn't seem to make sense to me.
 But that line had stuck in my mind.  And 42, of course.

Rob came with us; well, maybe better to say he drove himself and
Emily over to the house, while Shellie and I were with Wanda.

As soon as we were in the door, Wanda said she had a headache and
vanished.  Emily and Rob were in the family room, talking
lighting and acoustics.  I led Shellie into my room and we hugged
and kissed, before sitting down on the bed.

"I never called Mercedes," I told her.  "I said I would."

"Too much happening, Davey."

"I break too many promises like that."

She kissed me again, really hard.  "Mercedes and I talk a lot,
you know that, right?"

"Yes."

"One thing we agreed to do was we deputized each other.  If you
do something that might piss one of us off, and the other of us
is the only one around, in this case me, I get to accept your
apology and tell you we understand.  Or Mercedes gets to accept.
Davey, we love you, okay?  Warts and all."

"And no one has ever, ever been as lucky to have two people fall
in love with him than me.  Nor has anyone been so lucky to get
you two."  I kissed her this time, using my tongue.  She kissed
back, her hand going, though, to deflect mine away from her
breast.

"I have a question, Davey."

"Anything, Shellie."

"How old is Chris?"

"Twelve.  Her birthday is the day before mine.  For one day a
year, we're the same age."

Maybe a month before I'd not have understood what Shellie was
talking about.  But that was then and this was now.  "You like
her."

Shellie nodded.  "And you like her, too, don't you?"

"Not that way," I told her.

She laughed at me.

"Okay, maybe a little.  There's still Mercedes."

"As long as Mercedes stays the queen bee, she'll be content. 
Chris and I are alike in a lot of ways, Davey.  Time will tell
how many other ways than the ones we found in common tonight."

"She's still pretty sick," I explained.  "Well, maybe not so much
sick, but recovering."

"She thinks she might be able to leave the hospital in a week. 
She's upset... they're going to want her to wear what amounts to
a football helmet whenever she's out of bed.  Let's face it,
going around in public in a football helmet is going to be a
little hard on her self-image."

I'd completely blown the "Western Dress" plan.  How about
football chic?

I smiled at her and grinned.  "Right back!"

I walked out into the family room, and found that Rob and Emily
had assumed we were going to be a while and had passed from set
design to designs on Emily's body.

Both of them were blushing, but at least Rob was still fully
dressed.  I waved at the patio door and we went outside onto the
pool deck.

"Sorry, man." I told him.

"Emily said we could go in her room," he sighed.  "I have a
little trouble believing your mother or your sister won't go
ballistic.  I don't even want to think about your father."

"Well, trust Emily, if no one else, Rob.  She isn't going to lie
to you.  Trust me, trust her.  Use her room.  Not that Emily
isn't pretty without her blouse..."

He blushed again.

"I have a question, then a favor to ask.  Of you personally, and
if possible, the football team."

"What?"

"Would you be seen in public, wearing just a football helmet and
none of the rest of the uniform?"

"I missed that.  There's a week before school starts that
freshmen who want to try out for the team can't be seen outside
without a helmet."

"Really?"  Better and better.  Of course, I'd never noticed,
which suggested that they didn't get out much.

"Yeah.  I don't know if I'll have to do it."

"What I'd like to know is if you, and maybe some of the other
guys on the team would like to go to a pizza party in a couple of
weeks.  A Saturday afternoon, I think.  And everyone would wear
their helmets, but nothing else of their uniforms."

He looked dubious.  "I don't know, Davey."

"A friend had brain surgery this week.  She's going home next
week, but they're going to make her wear a football helmet for a
while, when she's up.  It would be cool if the team would show up
for the party in their helmets."

"That wasn't just BS?  I thought it was BS... about the brain
surgery thing."

"No BS.  It's been pretty rough on her, on her family."  I
dropped my voice.  "Rob, she lost a month or two of her memories.
 She says it doesn't bother her, but I think she's lying.  Her
parents are pretty torn up as well."

"And how is everyone wearing football helmets going to help?"

"It won't.  It'll make people laugh, though.  The good kind of
laugh.  And if someone would mention what happens to the
freshman, having to wear their helmets... why it just might make
it easier for Chris to go outside."

"Sure, Davey, no problem.  Well, speaking for me of course. 
Pizza?  There's always room for one more piece!"

We went back inside and Emily had her blouse back on.   I went
straight to my room and found Shellie sitting at my computer,
doing things.

"I need to load some programs on your computer," she told me. 
"Tomorrow afternoon, maybe, when Rob is making his movie?"

"Sure," I told her.

She got up and came to me and we kissed again.  This time she was
happy and content when I caressed her breasts.  Still, after just
a few minutes she pulled away.  "I have to be home by eleven
thirty."

I gulped.  I hadn't heard a peep from Wanda or my mother since
we'd gotten home.  I hadn't heard my dad get back, either.  Oh to
be sixteen instead of fourteen next Wednesday!

She giggled.  "I've been practicing," she told me, then dipped to
her knees, pulling on my zipper.

I reached down and undid my belt and the snap on my jeans, saving
myself in the nick of time from intimate contact with the zipper
as she pulled it out.  Shellie didn't notice, but instead wrapped
her hand around my erection, grinned the Shellie-smile at me and
took me in her mouth.

It was really clear, almost at once, she had spent some time
practicing!  Her hand was firm, moving up and down my cock, her
head bobbed, causing her lips to drag repeatedly over the head. 
In two seconds, all I was able to do was put a hand on one of her
shoulders and balance myself.

Just as I was about to erupt, she slowed down and pulled away. 
"The other day," she said softly, "you were mean to Mercedes. 
You teased her."

"She liked it."  Maybe true, I realized, but a really stupid
thing to say when someone has come within an inch of making you
come.

"Maybe, maybe not.  She wanted me to send a message, though."

She started again, and this time I was so close to coming that I
could taste it.  Still, when her hand ran down the outside of my
thigh, things slowed down.

"She said, she wanted you to think about what happens if two
people tango," Shellie told me.

"Oh!"

Her fingertips ran lightly along my cock, sending me nearly there
again.

"I was thinking and thinking, for a couple of days, how three
could tango."  She smiled at me again.  "How am I doing?"

"Ah!" I said, distracted and wanting to come so bad!

"Mercedes hasn't done this much, but I talked to Wanda the other
day when I had the chance.  She's pretty much an expert."  Her
hand cupped my balls, gently.

"She says there are all sorts of things you can do to a guy, that
while nice enough, distracts him.  'Don't let a guy get close,'
she told me, 'and run your finger down the inside of his leg. 
He'll shoot.'"

She did just that; I didn't shoot, but she surely had my
undivided attention.

"And of course, the basic technique: if he's in your mouth, it
doesn't matter if you move or not, because if you don't, he
will."  She licked me again, then swallowed a good part of my
erection, then pulled away, audibly smacking her lips.  The sound
was distracting, and I was back to being in urgent need.

"Whatever you want, whatever Mercedes wants," I told her.  "It's
yours!"

"Why did you go talk to Rob?"

I explained, and in the telling, was reduced to a pale shadow of
my former self.

"Now that, Davey, is a genuinely nice thought.  I told Mercedes
that my heart wasn't in this; teasing you back.  I told Wanda the
same thing.  You know what she said?"

She engulfed me; I had no idea what Wanda said, and after
engulfing me, Shellie's tongue flicked around the head of my
cock.  This time the reaction was immediate, intense and
sustained for a remarkably long time.

I ended up sitting on the edge of my bed, with Shellie standing
over me, grinning.  "She told me that your heart shouldn't be
involved, because as soon as it is, the guy will come."

She ran her tongue over her lips and I nearly came again; in
fact, if there had been anything there to come, it would have,
because my cock jerked a few more times.

There was a knock on my door.  "Ready, Shellie?" Wanda asked from
the other side.

"Yep!"  She started for the door, and I did my best to stand and
reach for her hand.

"Shellie," I said, smiling at her.  "I love all of you, you know
that, right?"

"Never doubted it for a second.  Wanda will be back in a few, not
to worry.  Take your time."

She laughed and went out.

The most bizarre thing of all?  She'd been out the door for about
two seconds when the computer screen lit up, the screensaver. 
Only it wasn't flying toasters, it was lips and cocks, with lips
making a beeline for the cocks.  After a few seconds, there were
gobs of white fireworks exploding all over the screen before it
would recycle.

After I got done spending a few minutes laughing, I wondered if
there was a way to get it on all the computers in the Office lab.
 I decided that it could probably be done, but if it ever came
back to Shellie or me it wouldn't be good at all.

I wished I knew a computer hacker I could slip it to,
anonymously.  "Slip it to."  Maybe the wrong choice of words,
while sitting on my bed, waiting for Wanda to come and join me
for the night.  Besides, I was planning on starting with my
tongue.

<1st attachment end>


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