Monday April 5 2004
MacArthur University San Diego
"Check this out, dawgs." One of the three boys shooting the breeze between classes at the edge of the quad glanced at the time display on his cell phone. "One minute, tops, something very sweet is coming out that door." He nodded at one of several doorways facing the grassy inner courtyard of MacArthur's oldest structure.
"Who?" One of the boy's two companions asked.
"Wait and see."
"Bullshit."
"Wait and see."
"And you know this how? Been stalking, Mark?"
"Hell, no. It's not stalking if they come to you, right?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Spotted her walking this way last week. Just a little luck – and a copy of her class schedule." The big door swung open. "Ta-dah."
"Damn," said the third boy as a tall busty redhead stepped out the door, nicely packaged in stretchy jeans and a gray cardigan open over a white button-front collared shirt: 'Fantasy' Fairchild. His eyes went dry as the girl hugged her laptop bag to her chest, pushing up her breasts to strain against the top two buttons of her shirt, and strode towards them down a path that passed within twenty feet of their position at the midpoint of her traverse. The quad was fifty yards square, but the girl was tall and long-legged and walking with purpose; she was at closest approach in seconds. Against custom, they stared openly as she walked past, actually leaning towards her as she went by, like blades of grass tracking the sun. The boy who'd spoken last, his gaze swinging back and forth in time with her stride, went on, "I'd drink her bathwater, I'm not joking."
"I'd eat her washcloth," said the third. "What a waste."
"Yeah," said Mark. "Heading for the door like she's on tracks. She isn't even trying to catch us looking."
"So?"
"So, girls learn to catch guys staring at them as soon as they've got tits. It's all part of the game. Only, she doesn't bother to play. She already knows every guy in sight is watching her, and she's making sure we know she doesn't care."
"Stuck-up bitch," the washcloth-eater said as 'Fantasy' pushed through the opposite door. "But I'd still do her."
-0-
When the door closed behind her, Caitlin let out the breath she'd been holding all the way across the quad. She hated when guys stared at her, and she'd felt the eyes of half a dozen of them as soon as she'd stepped into the courtyard. She knew it was irrational to feel so threatened, but she just couldn't help it; when a strange man looked at her with appraising eyes, she felt as if she was doing something wrong and dirty just being there. And, after the events of the past weekend, she was feeling especially sensitive to male attention. She'd stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, and forced herself to walk the width of the quad to the Science Building instead of ducking back inside and going the long way around – or, worse, making a dash for it across the courtyard. She had the strangest notion that, if she'd panicked halfway across the grass and actually broken into a run, every boy on the quad would have given chase, like a pack of hounds after a fox.
She sighed again, put on a calm expression, and headed for class. At least the next hour should go easy. She'd be spending it within touching distance of a guy, but Joel was a guy you could feel safe with.
-0-
"Whoa. Bonus." Mark cast eyes at the same entrance as before. A little beauty stood in the opening, glancing around as if looking for someone. Her neck-length black hair was streaked with purple in two wide ribbons that framed her face and accented her eyes, so big you could see the color even from this distance, a light clear violet. She wore a mid-thigh skirt and thick-soled wedges that showed her legs off very nicely, and a black leather biker jacket that, rather than making her look tough, showcased her small size and femininity. She let the door close behind her and started their way.
Bathwater Drinker said, "Hey. That's-"
"Yup."
The girl glided down the same path the redhead had taken; unlike the redhead, she took her time, slowing and lengthening her stride to put a little something extra into the rock of her hips as she stepped along. She looked everywhere but at her knot of admirers, not explicitly acknowledging the boys' scrutiny but clearly aware of it. Mark nodded to himself: this girl knew how to play the game. The boys played too, pretending not to notice, stealing quick but frequent glances instead of staring openly. She passed by, drawing their eyes in her wake. After a few steps, she flicked an eye over her shoulder, catching them all staring at her ass. Three points to Roxanne Spaulding, Mark thought. Looking back again, she sashayed to the same door "Fantasy' had used and passed through, leaving the boys smiling at each other in shared enjoyment.
"Dang," said Bathwater Drinker. "Did you see her eyes?"
"Yeh," Washrag Eater said. "For a couple seconds or so. Good thing she only had em set on 'stun'."
"Hard to believe two chicks so different could be sisters."
Mark smirked. "Dawg, you never dated sisters."
-0-
Roxanne smiled to herself as she continued down the empty hallway. After this weekend, she hadn't been sure if she could enjoy a boy's eyes on her ever again. But the three in the quad had been gentlemen: they'd played by the rules and given her respect. They'd shown their appreciation of her looks and style and had made their interest clear while avoiding any hint of aggression, taking her little strut for what it was - a performance, not an invitation. The hunger she'd caught on their faces as she'd passed by had been better than applause. They'd made her feel like she was special and desirable, not some stupid skank with no sense of self-worth who'd let a guy she'd just met at a party take her home for a night of drunken sex; she wasn't that girl. Her three admirers had been just what her ego needed to clear away the last wisps of uncertainty about herself that she'd felt since Sunday.
She sighed softly. Boys could be so wonderful when they knew how to treat a girl.
-0-
"Kay." Caitlin looked over the top of her laptop at her companion. "I get sixteen point five six for a final result."
"The same," Joel said, studying his own screen. "Sixteen point five six four, actually."
They were seated on opposite sides of a small table tucked into an out-of-the-way corner of the Science Building. MacArthur's older buildings had quite a few such random niches, architectural oddities resulting from additions and remodeling over the years. Joel, a man who liked peace and privacy while he worked, knew them all, and shared freely with his redheaded partner whenever he got the chance; Kat liked solitude when she worked too.
She said, "You really think our margin's tight enough for three points' accuracy?"
He began setting up the formulae for the next data set. "Maybe. If not, we can throw it out later. Suits?"
"Suits. Joel, do you think I'm pretty?"
"You kidding, you're a goddess," he said absently, intent on the next set of figures. Then his brain caught up with his mouth and he lifted his eyes above the display. Kat was studying her work so intently that, for a moment, he wondered if she'd really asked the question. But she didn't lift her gaze to meet his stare, a dead giveaway. "This is one of those female trap-questions, isn't it?"
She kept her eyes on her screen, but the corners of her mouth quirked. "Maybe if I was Alex." She met his eyes. "I was just curious."
"Curious."
"You treat me so different from other guys. I'm just trying to figure you out."
He frowned. "Honest answer? No girl games?"
She nodded solemnly.
"You remember that first day in lab together?"
The little smile came back for a moment. "I'm not sure, it was so long ago."
Has it really been just a couple of weeks? "I told you that girls like you aren't supposed to be smart."
"Uh huh. That's when I started thinking about working alone."
He dismissed her statement with a roll of his head. "I never liked pretty girls. No, that's not right. I mean, I'm a normal male and everything. Looks matter, but I just never had any respect for girls who thought looks were too important. And I just thought a girl with your looks would have to be in love with the mirror, you know?" Joel searched for the proper expression. "One of those girls who…" He trailed off, wondering whether he was treading on firm ground.
"You have no use for girls who'd rather be pretty than smart." She dropped her eyes back down to the laptop display.
"Exactly." Joel nodded gratefully. "I see a hottie, I still want her … but that doesn't mean I have to like her."
"Hm. But you like me, right? Even though I'm a 'hottie'." She grinned down at the display. "So, you want me, then?"
He mock-glowered. "You said no girl games."
"Sorry. It just slipped out. I had no idea it would be so easy. Guess it's hardwired in after all."
"You start acting like one of those hormonal half-bright bimbos, I'm going to start calling you 'Fantasy'."
She snorted. "'Fantasy'? Where did you come up with that?"
He blinked. "Ah…" She doesn't know? Suddenly the niche seemed a lot smaller.
She focused on him. A line appeared between the ginger eyebrows. "What?"
"That's what everybody calls you. It's your nickname, sort of. 'Fantasy' Fairchild." He waited for a reaction, not knowing what to expect and ready to apologize, though he wasn't sure what for.
"'Fantasy'." She considered a moment, then huffed softly. "Perfect, really. A fantasy's an illusion, right? Just something somebody wants that isn't real." She dropped her eyes again. "I get eighteen point zero one six for the next solution. You?"
-0-
Between classes, Sarah was standing in the corridor with a hand on her open locker door, chatting – flirting, actually - with Cynthia Heiman, a freshman in her Lit Hist class who'd been showing an interest. "No," Sarah said, "last names like 'Rainmaker' are pretty common where I come from. Nobody's ever given me a hard time over it."
"Lucky you." The girl, a couple inches shorter than Sarah, grinned up at her. "I've been getting shit jokes over mine since junior high."
Although Sarah liked the older girl, she was a bit reluctant to take the relationship past friendship. In the first place, Sarah was sure Cyn was more ambivalent about her sexual orientation than she claimed. Like Sarah, she'd started with boys, but Sarah didn't believe Cyn had really put them behind her. Sarah classed her as 'curious' rather than gay, prepared to experiment while she was on her own far from home, but likely to return to a conventional hetero life when she was back among family and old friends. Sarah had met a few such girls already at MacArthur – and before that, at Darwin – and didn't usually find them to her taste. But Cynthia was bright and funny and cute, and willing to let Sarah take the lead role in their relationship, which Sarah preferred; although Cyn was three years her senior, Sarah was ahead of her in school, and Cyn thought was older. And Cynthia had a lovely mouth…
Thinking of kissing Cynthia brought to mind another kiss: the one she'd witnessed the day before, between Bobby and Caitlin. What was going on with those two? She was sure it wasn't romance – fairly sure, anyway – but some kind of emotional intimacy had passed between them, some secret or shared experience that had demanded an extraordinary gesture from the normally- reserved redhead.
Sarah had stayed close to Bobby that night, but he'd made no mention of what had been on his mind that afternoon, and offered no clues. Sarah wondered if telling Caitlin had purged it from his system, or if it was simply something he didn't want to share with her.
She wondered why that notion bothered her. Wasn't he entitled to his privacy, and to withhold personal secrets from whomever he wanted?
Should she bring the subject up with Caitlin, then? Sarah thought she should at least mention that the two of them had been seen, in case Anna told someone. But when would they have a chance to speak privately? They didn't share a lunch on Monday, and Caitlin spent her free periods with her lab partner Joel whenever they coincided. Sarah didn't want to do it at home; you never knew who might be listening. The big redhead would be at the pool today, a water polo scrimmage or something, and had driven separately; if Sarah stayed to watch, maybe they could talk on the trip home.
Cynthia, who'd been chattering away about the local bar scene, suddenly fell silent. Sarah thought the girl had noticed her moment of inattention until she realized Cyn was looking over Sarah's shoulder. "Creeps."
Sarah turned casually and saw two male students passing by, watching her and Cyn with knowing eyes. They took up station in a nearby doorway, arms folded, backs against the wall on either side: at ease but not casual, and they were still looking this way. Sarah said, "You know them?"
"I've had run-ins with them. Look at them staring at us. You can see the damned porn flick playing behind their eyes."
Sarah raised an eyebrow at the girl. "Ah, but do they want us, or do they just want to watch?"
The girl hid a smile behind her hand. "It's not funny. I bet they think if they could get in our pants just once, we'd swear off girls forever."
"That's not uncommon. The attitude, I mean." Sarah studied the two boys: Gym-rat types, solid and muscular and dressed to show off all that hard work in the weight room. Was it coincidence that they were standing in front of the door to Cyn and Sarah's next class, a class they didn't attend? She doubted it. "But I don't think that's what they're after. Not at all."
Sarah believed that nearly all male-female relationships contained a readily discernable amount of lust mixed with at least a little hostility. But the proportions were usually reversed between straight men and lesbians. Sarah suspected that 'normal' men regarded a woman who interested other women as a challenge to their macho sensibilities. Whatever the reason, men's antagonism towards gay women too often went beyond gossip and cutting remarks. She looked again at the two door guards; to her, they appeared ready for a little fun with the new sappho in school.
But Sarah Rainmaker was long past being intimidated by ordinary men. She cooled her resentment, closed her locker door and turned toward the classroom entrance. "Stay a few steps behind me."
She walked briskly down the hall towards the classroom. The door guardians watched her approach, and their interest sharpened. A silent signal passed between the boys, and they casually drew closer together until only six or eight inches of space remained between them, effectively blocking the doorway. She smiled inwardly. So predictable. If they'd stood actually touching shoulders, they'd have been much more difficult to manage, but straight males would encroach only so far on each other's personal space. Mutual defense was an exception to that rule, but they couldn't let this little scene look like a real contest; that would spoil their fun.
At three or four steps' distance, she slowed and eyed the human barricade, seeming to hesitate. Next, according to the script in the boys' heads, she might demand they let her by, which would cue some clever remarks they were waiting to drop along with other verbal harassment. Or she might try to push past, a bluff they'd call by standing their ground, certain she'd stop short of touching – because everyone knows lesbians are secretly afraid of men, she thought. After a moment, she'd surrender, either by asking their permission to pass or by some other acknowledgement of their power over her by virtue of sheer size and strength. She took another careful step, letting events unfold according to their plan until she was close enough to strike. She smiled suddenly, and gave them just enough time for surprise before she moved.
She quickly turned sideways and wedged herself between the two boys … without trying to squeeze past. In reflex, the one behind her tried to step back but immediately bumped up against the door jamb. She stepped back too, pressing her backside against him, and he stopped as if pinned. The door guard in front of her froze as she slipped four fingers into his waistband. In a husky voice she said, "Are you boys lost?" She tugged gently, drawing him even closer. "Or, looking for something, maybe?"
She heard their breathing roughen, and smiled again. She cocked a hip, grinding a buttock against the crotch of the boy behind her, and felt his helpless involuntary response. She brushed her breast across the bicep and pectoral of the boy in front of her, and felt the material in her fingers stretch in the same reflex reaction.
She looked up at him through lowered lashes and moistened her lips; he stared down, lips parted, and swallowed. She touched a tongue to her upper lip and breathed, "If you have a class next period, I think you're going to be late." She released them, and they separated as if the three of them were magnets with the same polarity – which, in a way, she supposed, they were.
"I don't believe you. How could you do that?" Cynthia watched the boys slinking away, their gait bent and clumsy, their packs held low in front of them. "And you say you don't even like guys."
Sarah watched them leave as well. "Believe me," she said, "not liking them makes it so much easier."
-0-
Bobby sat at an empty table in the school's science library, pushing his eyes and mind through a reference work that tried to explain Einstein using some seriously strange examples involving trains and lightning bolts. Kat would have breezed through it like it was a comic book, he was sure. Maybe Rox, too: she was way smarter than she usually let on. He probably wouldn't have been able to read the text if not for the patient tutoring of Darwin's instructors. He wondered again whether those teachers, who'd seemed so dedicated to his education and proud of his progress, had been partners in the conspiracy or fellow dupes. And if they'd been dupes, what had happened to them after all their students had been spirited away?
The chair on the other side of the table squeaked as it was pulled back. "Is this seat taken?"
He looked up: a girl from his American History class, name started with a 'J'; they'd traded maybe twenty words. She was resting a couple of books on her hip, waiting for his answer before she put them on the table. Tall, slender, light brown hair, glasses. He saw now that the eyes behind the lenses were hazel, and pretty. Nice smile. He didn't have to look around the room to know there were plenty of empty tables.
Sarah appeared behind the girl and tapped her on the shoulder. "My seat."
The girl glanced from Sarah to him. "Oh. Sorry." She turned away.
Sarah sat, and watched the girl set up at an unoccupied table twenty feet away. In a low voice she said, "I'm sure she'll come back as soon as I leave, if that's what you want."
Instead of answering, he said, in an equally low voice, "Long walk from the Natural Science building."
"Long walks are good for you. I'm especially fond of long walks on the beach."
He grinned. "Sounds like an online profile." When she didn't smile in return, he asked, "Something wrong?"
"No. Nothing." She seemed to think a second or two. "Anna and I were up by the pool, and we saw you and Caitlin together. It looked like you two had a moment."
Suddenly uncomfortable, he said, "Guess we did. It passed."
She held his eyes. "She's always liked you."
"And I like her." He started to say more, but she went on.
"I've wondered why you never went forward with that."
Have you really? He swallowed a twinge of irritation. "It would be like dating my sister. I'm sure she feels the same way."
"I see." She broke eye contact. "Well. I just thought you should know you weren't entirely private. Whatever you were talking about, I'm almost certain Anna heard."
He nodded. "Yeah, I don't think much goes on around the house she doesn't know about. But she doesn't have any trouble keeping stuff to herself."
"Hm." She leaned forward, eyes on the table between them. "Bobby, if you ever need to talk to someone…"
He felt his butt clench and his face turn to stone. He looked at the Apache girl, thinking of her childhood on the reservation, cared for by loving parents in a house filled with happy sibs. No. You couldn't understand. And I don't ever want to see you look at me with pity in your eyes. "Thanks. Appreciate that."
She raised her eyes to watch him a moment, face smoothing to a cool mask. She stood. "Okay then. Got to catch a class." On her way out, she passed the table where Glasses Girl – Jackie, he remembered now - sat poring over her books. She leaned close. "All yours." She headed for the door, leaving the girl blinking at him and blushing.
Pissed off again. Bobby sighed and shut his book, knowing he'd never get back into it today. I love her, he thought as he gathered up his stuff, but, sometimes, I simply don't know why.
San Diego
Joel eyed the slip of paper in his hand, glad that he was sitting. "That's… an interesting offer."
"It's an outstanding offer." One of the two men sharing the linen-covered table, the one who'd handed him the slip, smiled from behind his champagne glass. "Mr. Richards, my firm can only afford to hire the best. Second-raters are a waste of our money."
Joel's 'job interview' had taken place at a pricey downtown restaurant right after his last class. He'd felt like a hick, standing at the maitre'd's podium in his cheap suit, but when he'd given his party's name, the man had treated him like visiting royalty and escorted him to the table, where two expensively-dressed business types had waited, flutes in hand.
Over appetizers and drinks, they'd talked. Joel had listened, mostly: the 'interviewers' hadn't asked him any questions about his professional interests or studies or accomplishments or ambitions, seeming to already have the answers. Instead, they'd talked about their firm, making it sound like every research geek's wet dream: generous budgets, minimal paperwork and elbow-jiggling, supportive management. "Our hiring program screens its prospects very carefully, looking for genius, and then senior management pretty much turns that genius loose. It's been a very successful policy, which is why we can afford our salary scale. By the way, that's just the base salary, there's a hefty bonus schedule as well."
Joel looked at the slip again. The number on it was twice what he'd been thinking of asking for, and these guys hadn't even negotiated. "I, ah, I haven't really been looking at job offers yet. I mean, I've been contacted…"
"I'm not surprised we're your first prospects. We have a very aggressive scouting program." The man who'd been doing most of the talking smiled. "Do yourself a favor, Joel. If you want to compare apples to apples, don't tell any other recruiters you've spoken with us. Otherwise, you'll hear a lot of talk about their firm's traditions and corporate philosophy, their work environment, educational and travel opportunities – all the stuff you're not interested in. But they won't talk money, because they know they can't match our offer."
Joel leaned back. "So what's the catch?"
The two men smiled at each other. "Told you," said the other man.
The spokesman said to Joel, "Do you have any problem working under government contract, classified stuff?"
Joel swallowed a lump. "Weapons research?"
The man shook his head. "Not specifically. We do a great deal of pure research, and then look for ways to use it. But any new technology is likely to have military applications, and anything advanced enough is likely to be held close. That's another thing we look for, Joel – people who can be trusted to do their jobs and not jeopardize national security, just because they think they've got a better use for what they've developed than the people signing the paychecks. You've got a clean history: no memberships in subversive organizations, no questionable friends, no activist history. No stupid gaffes on Facebook or online forums. You've never even written a school paper critical of government policy. That's the reason we can offer you a chance to work on stuff nobody in private industry will see for years." He leaned back and regarded Joel with hooded eyes. "The pay is compensation for the inconvenience of some pretty stringent security rules. If getting your name in science journals means more to you than working with the best equipment and the brightest minds on the most significant discoveries of our time, all for a six-figure income, then we're done talking."
With the paper still gripped between thumb and forefinger, Joel said, "I don't have a problem with any of that. But, no offense, I'd still like to look around some."
"Of course. That's exactly what I'd expect from the sort of man we're looking for." The man blotted his lips with his linen napkin and stood, followed by his companion. "I hope this doesn't seem abrupt, but I think we're done talking for now, and I have an appointment at USC."
The second man said, "I'm headed back towards school, Joel. Can I give you a lift somewhere?"
"Sure. My house is about six blocks from campus, if you don't mind."
"Not at all."
While they waited for the valet to bring the cars around, the man who'd offered Joel a ride said, "Joel, do you have a driver's license?"
He nodded. "I don't use it much. My sister's usually got the car. I get by bumming rides or taking the bus."
"That's very sensible, for a young man with limited means. Cars are expensive."
A black Mercedes glided silently up to the curb in front of them, shining like a jewel. The trunk's lid opened and the hardtop folded itself away into it, revealing tan leather upholstery. The valet got out, shutting the door carefully, and placed the key in the agent's hand as if handling a treasure. The man tipped him, and turned to offer Joel the key. "Take the wheel, why don't you? It sounds like you could use a little practice."
Joel stared at the beautiful machine. The smells of leather and Armor All filled his nose. "Uh no, thanks, I-"
"Come on," the man coaxed, swinging the key on its leather fob. "I'm going to be driving all day. It'd be nice to have a short break from that."
Thirty minutes later, in front of his house, Joel handed back the key, feeling a little dreamy. "Thanks."
"It's a sweet ride." The man got in and inserted the key in the ignition. "Just got it, you might have noticed from the odometer."
"Uh, no."
"I trade in every year or two. There's always something I like better by then."
Joel's family owned three cars: the newest of them was four years old, and the hand-me-down sedan Mel drove was twelve. "You don't mind my asking, what's something like this cost?"
The trunk lid opened, and the car's convertible hardtop rose up and began to unfold. The recruiter met Joel's eyes. "Son, if you don't sign with us, you'll never afford one. If you do, the price won't matter." The top covered him and snicked into place. "You've got our number. We'll see you, I hope." He reached through the window to shake Joel's hand, then put the car in gear and drove off.
A block away, the recruiter engaged the car's hands-free phone. "I just left him. I'll be there in ten minutes."
The other recruiter asked, "So?"
He grinned at the sharply-raked windshield. "Are you kidding? Geek or not, he's still a kid. He had to fiddle with every control in the damn thing. I pretended not to notice a little detour he took past the campus. He almost rear-ended somebody trying to spot everyone who looked his way. It was kind of pathetic, really, watching him show off for a bunch of kids he tries to act like he doesn't give a rat's ass about. He hit the bait hard."
"Okay, no need to turn up the pressure then, we'll just wait. He might interview for a couple other places first, but he'll sign with us."
"They always do. But it's nice when they come along quietly. By the way, this guy Zysik says he's got another kid we should check out. Richards' lab partner, a girl." A left at the next light would take him to the school. "He doesn't say, but I get the impression she's cute, too. She's got a swim class or something. I can just pop over, take a quick look."
"Forget about it, perv," the man said. "Some of these guys, one of their students gets an offer from us, they want to put in a word for every half-bright kid in their class. If this chick was any good, she'd have been scouted years ago, and we'd already have instructions to approach her."
"Fine then." The intersection came up; he went straight, to meet his partner. "You sound pretty happy with Richards."
"He fits our candidate profile to a T. Not only does he have the smarts, he has the temperament and the history, too. We've run half a dozen background checks on him since he was fourteen, the last one just a month ago, and they all come back the same. He's a loner with no friends and a small loose-knit family that he mostly ignores. He's obsessed with success at school, and with making big money at a job that doesn't bore him and where he doesn't have to deal with people. Nothing else matters. He's never had a girlfriend, not even one of the nerd chicks in his classes. He could take a job with us, move away, and drop off the face of the Earth, and nobody'd be suspicious. Just what we're looking for."
MacArthur University
Twenty voices chanted, their voices echoing off the hard walls of the school's indoor pool, alternating with the stamping of feet on the bleachers, a sound like cannon fire.
"Feed the Kat!"
Stomp, stomp.
"Feed the Kat!"
Stomp, stomp.
"Feed the Kat!"
Stomp, stomp.
"Feed the Kat!"
Treading water with her knees up in front of her and just her head and shoulders exposed to the air, Caitlin watched a dozen swimmers churning through the water towards her. They took positions and paused. Not another point drive then, a maneuver the USC team had been fond of early in the game, but which had failed at every attempt. Instead, the ball was tossed from one offensive player to another, neatly eluding the defenders' efforts to intercept and taking them out of position, then sent skimming the surface towards the corner of the net. She heaved sideways, batting at the ball, and sent it sailing back.
The packed stands erupted. Caitlin had no attention to spare for a look, but the crowd seemed bigger than usual, and louder, the voices nearly all male. She put that thought aside and concentrated on the business at hand, watching the action at the opposite goal.
Her coach had told her that USC fielded a first-rate team, and Caitlin could see it in the way the opposing players worked together, seeming able to make the ball appear at the goal as if by magic. But Caitlin's senses and reflexes seemed tuned preternaturally high today, making the ball's final flight toward her seem as lazy as a beachball's. And the University of Southern California team was too used to winning: they'd come here thinking they were going to massacre a geek squad at an exhibition game, and were only now recognizing the MacArthur girls as a serious challenge.
The USC coach called a time out. Both teams swam to the pool's rim to take a rest. She stood, stretching her legs and raising her top half out of the water, which was only four feet deep at this end. Someone whistled; she ignored it, giving her attention to the conference poolside.
The USC coach was huddled with a referee and her trainer, Miss Huston. When the other team's coach gestured Caitlin's way, the referee shook his head and spoke a few words, and Miss Huston looked vindicated. It was another argument about whether Caitlin had touched bottom, she supposed; the referees, knowing her height was an issue at every game, watched her carefully, and knew she always played by the rules.
She glanced at the bleachers and saw that they were indeed packed today; the USC players had a sizeable following for a girls' team. She heard another whistle; this time she tracked the sound. On the top tier, Sarah sat, flanked by a couple of girlfriends – straight or otherwise, Caitlin couldn't tell. The Apache Princess gave her a closed-lip smile and a little wave and Caitlin smiled back, just as the ref's whistle called the end of time out and she dropped back into the water.
The match ended with MacArthur on top, two goals to none. The MacArthur team climbed out of the pool to loud applause. Feeling euphoric from the upset win, Caitlin stayed in the pool, intending to swim a few laps to cool down after the crowd dispersed; the place usually emptied out five minutes after the end of play. But today a good third of the fans seemed glued to their seats. One of her teammates stood at the rim, grinning down at her. "They're waiting for you, Miss Shut-out. Sometimes I wonder why the rest of us show up to play anymore."
"I just guard the net, Deanna. You can't win if you don't score." Caitlin gave up, placed her hands on the pool's lip, and pushed herself out. The applause freshened. She got a foot under her, stood, and was face-to-face with a very large male specimen offering a pool-issue towel and a sheepish smile.
She looked on him with cool eyes. "Hello, Gary." What was the point of the towel, she wondered, since the team was headed for the showers?
"Kat," Deanna said with a glance toward the other girls heading for the locker room, "do you want me to stay?"
She got it then. "No, thanks, Dee. Go ahead, I'll be right there." She looked down at the puddle at her feet and took the towel from his hand.
A chorus of low moans and a "hoo!" came from the stands. She flicked an eye that way and saw a large knot of young males in USC varsity jackets watching them. Gary, a member of USC's diving team, had apparently brought his own rooting section.
She resisted the impulse to push past him and head for the showers. She wasn't some little mouse to be chased into hiding by every predator – at least, not this moment. But she wasn't going to get angry, either. She was going to be cool and adult and listen to whatever he had to say; then she'd decide what to do. Her resolve hardened. She pulled off her cap and combed out her damp hair with her fingers, waiting.
"I really crossed the line, I know," he said. "I was drinking, but that wasn't it." He flashed her a shy little grin that she was sure he'd used to good effect in the past. "I was just all caught up. All I could think about was showing up at that party with you on my arm, you know? Every guy there would have wished he was me."
She glanced up again at Gary's jock buddies, who were watching their friend's performance; one bent close to another to pass a quiet comment that made both boys grin. Is that supposed to be a compliment? Telling me what a fine trophy I'd make? Do you and your friends call me 'Fantasy', too? She looked away towards the lockers, the better to keep her temper in check, and blotted her face dry and started wiping down her arms. "You weren't just a boor to me, Gary. You insulted my friends."
"I got a cattle prod shoved in my ass for it, too."
"No, you got stun-gunned for threatening them. I wasn't going to mention that."
"Okay, I guess I still owe them an apology too."
She rubbed the towel across the top of her shoulders; she was still dripping freely onto the concrete. It seemed like her new suit held a pint of water under and between those dratted mutant growths on her chest. "Then tell them, not me."
"I will, as soon as I see them. Want some help with your back?"
"Thank you, I'm quite capable." She grasped a corner of the towel in each hand and sawed it up-and-down across her shoulder blades, then side-to-side down her back to her derriere.
"Anyway, I …" His voice trailed off.
She gathered the towel in one hand and rubbed the backs of her dripping thighs just under her bottom, moving slowly to give the terrycloth a chance to do its work and pressing hard on her hiney to blot up the water seeping from the suit. "Anyway…" She prompted.
He didn't answer. Not used to apologies, Gary? She repressed the comment and continued to act as if he wasn't there, waiting for him to swallow his pride, or overcome his embarrassment in front of his friends, or whatever else was immobilizing his tongue. She turned the towel and bunched it again, this time pressing it against her sternum under the shelf formed by her bust. "So," she said, "have you changed your mind, or do you have something to say?"
"Uh." A pause. "Not yet."
Pushing down her impatience, she slowly slid the wrinkled towel down her front, letting it wick away the moisture through the fabric of her suit, until she reached the tops of her thighs. She turned to the bleachers and placed a foot on an empty spot on the bottom bench. She rubbed the leg dry from her ankle to where the suit met her thigh, then did the other. She glanced up at the stands: Gary's cheering section was staring down, silent and sort of glassy-eyed: bored with waiting for something to happen, no doubt. She looked farther up and saw Sarah still sitting on the top bench, alone now, watching her with a strange little smile.
Still nothing from her tongue-tied wolf. Idly, she ran a palm up and down her calf and knee and thigh, checking the state of her recent shave: still smooth. No surprise, really; the nearly transparent hairs that grew on her legs were superfine, and she'd only run the razor over them Saturday afternoon. But Saturday seemed like a long time ago. "Gary, if you don't have anything else to say, I need to go." She dropped her foot to the floor.
"Wait. Kat, I'm sorry. Really sorry." When he saw she wasn't about to turn her back on him, he went on, more slowly, "My behavior was… well, I don't have words. It'll never happen again. Please accept my apology."
She nodded. "Apology accepted." She flipped the towel over her shoulder and gave him a thin little smile.
An answering smile took root on his face and spread. "No hard feelings?"
"Not a one."
"So, maybe we can meet for coffee sometime."
"Maybe in another life, Gary." She turned and headed for the locker room.
When Caitlin was out of hearing, a girl in the second row said, "You almost had her for a minute there."
Gary pulled his attention from the tall redhead's derriere to regard the girl. "Really?"
She snorted. "No, not really."
In the locker room, some of the girls were out of the showers and dressing by the time Caitlin entered; the humid air was loaded with the scents of soap and shampoo and lotion and cosmetics and all the other gear college-age females applied to face the public. She perched on the bench in front of her locker, feeling sort of washed out from the past few minutes' emotional roller coaster. While she gathered the ambition to strip and head for the shower, she made small talk with her team mates who stopped by. A few of them talked about the game, but most, alerted by Deanna, circled around the topic of the hunk from USC who'd come to see her. "We met at a party Saturday night," she said over and over. "He thought we hit it off. I didn't. End of story."
"Saturday night, huh?" One girl asked. "You're not talking about the mixer at the Chi's, are you?"
"That's the one," she said cautiously.
"You've only been here two weeks. How'd you get…" The girl looked down at her and shook her head. "Never mind, stupid question. Every Chi who goes here must have referred you for an invite."
"A couple of girls in the art college invited me, actually. I went as their guest," Kat said.
"So," said another team mate, "who else did you meet there?"
"Nobody, really. I stuck close to my friends. A few guys came up and introduced themselves, but we didn't talk much." She head-shrugged. "I'm just not the party type, I guess."
Deanna shook her head. "You went to a 'do where every girl has her pick of jocks and millionaires' sons, hot guys just dripping through your fingers, and you didn't get one phone number." She turned away. "You're mental."
The room cleared and grew quiet; eventually Caitlin was alone. She took off her suit and was reaching for a towel when Sarah's voice came echoing into the room. "Hello, who's in here?"
"Just me." Caitlin wrapped the towel around herself; being a standard-size towel, it needed careful adjustment to cover her booty and bust at the same time. She tucked it in just as the Apache Princess appeared, alone. "Sorry I'm taking so long. Where are your friends?"
"Gone. Not a problem." Sarah glanced around the empty room. "I'm glad we're alone in here, actually. A lesbian in the locker room is such a dilemma for straight girls. If they're too casual about being undressed around me, they call their own sexual orientation into question." She gave Caitlin an eyebrow shrug. "But if they make a big deal about it, as if I was a man…"
"They call their sexual orientation into question." Caitlin turned back to her locker to gather up her shower things. "I'm going to skip my hair. I won't be long."
"Don't hurry. I don't have any plans." Sarah stepped close beside her. "Except … well, I thought we might just spend some time together. It seems like it's been forever."
Caitlin nodded. "It really has." She missed the easy intimacy she and Sarah had shared at Darwin, before her transformation. They'd been such unlikely friends, the cool clever Apache girl and the geeky little child prodigy, but Sarah had seemed to understand her thoughts and feelings better than anyone. They'd talked about family and school and books and philosophy and politics and a hundred other things, and found common ground even when they didn't agree. They were still good friends, and still spoke easily on many subjects. But it felt now like they were always talking across a chasm: narrow, but deep and uncrossable.
The shift in their relationship hadn't been gradual, and the physical changes triggered by her Gen had had nothing to do with it. Caitlin knew the exact moment it had occurred: between third and fourth classes on her seventeenth birthday, standing in front of her school locker with Sarah beside her, much as they were now.
Sarah must have sensed her unease; she stepped back and stilled. "I could wait for you up in the stands, if you want."
"No. Listen, I'll make it quick. Just take a seat." She tied her hair up, carried her toiletries and her clothes into the shower room, and did a quick lather and rinse. She shut off the water and, as she began toweling off, eyed the neat bundle of clothing on the sink. If it had been Roxy waiting by her locker, would she still have brought her clothes in here to change? "We don't have a lot of time," she called to the girl in the next room as she stepped into her panties. "Dinner's at six."
"Fem Fare, right," Sarah said absently, her voice echoing on the hard surfaces. "No doubt the boys will find an excuse to ditch."
She struggled into her bra, putting it on backwards with the shoulder straps under her arms so that she could secure the hooks in front of her, then turning it around. One at a time, she slipped her arms under the straps and pulled them up over her shoulders, then performed a few adjustments to properly holster her guns. "Bobby's home for dinner every night. And he's never complained about anything Anna served." And he never will, she thought, remembering what he'd told her the day before. Not after what he lived on for two years. She braced her rear end against the sink to pull on her socks. "Then he's headed to practice at Melanie's. They're doing two sessions a week now. We could check it out if you want."
"Maybe," Sarah said. Her tone turned teasing. "Will Joel be there?"
"I hope so." Caitlin pulled on her jeans. They were the same ones she'd taken off; the size of her wardrobe dictated a minimum of daily changes. "He has a job interview today. I'd like to hear how it went." She slipped a fresh top over her head. "We're just friends, Sarah. Besides, he already has a girlfriend."
"Alex, the pretty little blonde with the wry sense of humor."
She tucked her shirt in and gathered up her things. "Was it that obvious?"
"Only to me."
Caitlin nodded to herself. Sarah had a talent for reading people's interactions: at Darwin, she could always tell you who was dating whom, which couples were struggling or on the outs, even which kids were just beginning to develop mutual interest – sometimes before said kids realized it themselves. When it came to relationships, Sarah Rainmaker was a hard person to keep a secret from.
Caitlin rounded the corner to find Sarah straddling the bench a short distance from her locker. Kat said, "I don't think they're trying to keep it a secret or anything. I just think Joel's not certain how to handle her. I'm pretty sure she's his first girlfriend."
"I'm very sure." Sarah leaned back with her hands gripping the edges of the bench. "Gary was just the way you described. He was hitting on another girl twenty seconds after you turned your back on him."
Caitlin pulled her bag out of her locker and began to load it. "Any luck?"
"After what you did to him?" Sarah scoffed. "That story will be all over both schools by this time tomorrow. The only girls who'll be giving him time for awhile will be bubbleheads who want him for a trophy."
Caitlin shut the locker door and hoisted her bag. "Ready. Well, he only has himself to blame. He shouldn't have come at me in public, not that I would have mentioned that stun gun business. He told on himself."
Sarah followed her out the door into the pool area, which was now deserted. The Apache girl said, "I wasn't talking about that. I was referring to your performance. You showed everybody in the stands that you weren't buying it, and you knew what he was really after. Frankly, I'd never have guessed you had it in you."
"Was I really that hard? I accepted his apology. I just refused a date, is all."
Sarah stopped. Caitlin halted and turned to see her friend frowning at her. "What were you doing with that towel?"
She glanced at the spot at the foot of the stands where she and Gary had had their talk: the concrete was still dark. Puzzled, she said, "I was drying off."
The girl studied her face a moment and shook her head. "Incredible. Caitlin Fairchild, you need a keeper, you really do."
