Martina Marie Sanford had a ring to it, Marty decided for the thousandth time, sitting in the back row in a classroom in the most boring math class ever. Patrick Sanford, the boy of her dreams, would take her stupid name away and give her his own. And she would give him everything she had in return. Everything!

McKnight wasn't even really her last name. Her real name was Juandalos or something like that. Her father had abandoned their roots when he'd come up from South America to find work in the what he called "the real world", way back in the 80s, before she was even born. He'd named himself after McKnight's Drug Store, where he'd gotten his first job as a stock boy. She was glad they changed their name of course. When she'd told the girls what her real name was, they started calling her Marty "One-dollar" McKnight, and rolled over laughing while she sat red-faced and horrified. They'd been friends for over a year now though. They didn't tease her anymore.

She was an insecure girl to say the least. She hid it well enough, but the more you got to know her, the more you realized she was only a few taunts away from a total breakdown. She was so lucky to be Chelsea's friend. Chelsea had gotten her in with the cool crowd. Chelsea had taught her how to dress, how to talk, how to stand her ground when she felt like running away and crying. She owed the girl so much.

The trouble was, lately she'd been finding herself profoundly annoyed with Chelsea Winter, almost offended by her. She kept it to herself of course, but she felt it, every time she got a disapproving look for flirting with a guy, for joking about kissing them, or whatever else happened to happen when you let a boy have fun. Chelsea, she realized, was trying to teach her how to think as well, and that's what really got to her. She wasn't stupid, and Chelsea seemed to think she was. Maybe Chelsea was secretly jealous. Marty had the best body out of all of them, and she knew it. She knew damn well Jessica was jealous. There was no doubt about that. Jessica was too dumb to hide it properly. She stared when Marty flirted, she rolled her eyes. Marty noticed every time, but she ignored it. They were her breasts though! It was her body. It was her life. She could do whatever she wanted with it. Sometimes she felt like it was all she had.

It was Chelsea she was really worried about though. Chelsea was her connection. Chelsea was the brains, the leader, and Marty needed her. This was why she was still a virgin at the age of sixteen. Chelsea was as bad as a hovering grandmother. Marty was dying to give it up, give it away, give it a try, just once. She was almost aching for it, but Chelsea's disapproval kept her in check.

Patrick Oliver Sanford was in her dreams almost every night though. His hands were between her thighs during her afternoon fantasy sessions, locked alone in her bedroom, wishing it could be real. She turned to gooey sticky mush every time he got within a few feet of her. She stammered like a little girl and her accent even came out a bit before she corrected herself. Patrick Sanford was the boy of her dreams. Tall, strong, dark-haired, and brooding. If she could have him, she'd have all the world.

And there he was, sitting a few rows over from her, a few rows up, in this ridiculous math class. The teacher was about a thousand years old and nobody understood a word he was saying. He scribbled with a marker on the overhead projector and nobody could read what he was writing either. Marty occupied herself with thoughts of Patrick.

Martina Marie Sanford. It had a ring to it. Marty Sanford. Martina M. Sanford, wife of Patrick O. Sanford. Her beautiful, glowing, swollen breasts were his, her sweet curvy ass and hips were his, her full red lips were his. Everything, in her mind, had already been given to him, if only she could get him alone.

If only he'd show interest!

Christie kept telling her he was interested. She kept telling her she caught him staring when Marty wasn't looking. She teased her to distraction, almost mocking her burning hot desire for the boy, like it was a game or something. Christie had her own sights set on Rick Henderson. God only knew why. The boy was bumbling, goofy, and sloppy, not gracious and poised like Patrick. Christie was a little odd herself though, with her weird, spiky hairdo, and the crazy slogans on her clothes, buttons with bands on them she'd never heard of, and a different perfume every week.

Marty liked Christie though, better than she liked Jess. It's not that she didn't like Jess. Jess was mostly okay when she was in a good mood, but Christie was just easier to get along with. She felt like she could just be herself around Christie, even when Christie was in a bitchy, cunty, nasty-ass mood as she often was. She was the only one who didn't make Marty feel like shit for wanting to be with a boy, any boy, but especially Patrick.

She would have a chance apparently, at this chess thing of Chelsea's. Possibly the only chance she would ever have, if Chelsea won. The deal was apparently, if Chelsea won, Clark and his friends would have to leave them alone. Marty didn't want any part in being left alone. She liked being smacked on the ass. It made her hot. It made her tingle. It made her feel in. She even liked it, in spite of herself when one of them reached out and gave her breast a squeeze now and then. She knew she shouldn't like it, but she couldn't help it. It made her tingle. Why was that wrong?

And now Chelsea was trying to take that away from her. It was stupid, but she went along with it if only to get a chance, one last chance to be alone with Patrick. Once she got alone with him, she could snag him for herself. Once she was his girl, she wouldn't really need Chelsea anymore. She loved Chelsea as a dear friend, but she wanted to be who she was, outside the control of the mother hen.

Could she really snag him though? What if everything fell through? What if he used her and tossed her away like Chelsea said he would? It was a risk she was willing to take. Even if her heart was completely crushed, at least she could say she'd finally gotten laid. At least she could say she'd finally made a decision for herself for once.

And so her thoughts went around and around and around, like a hamster on a wheel in the most boring math class ever. Then, to her surprise a folded paper note dropped onto her desk from the kid in front of her. The teacher had his back turned. The kid feigned a tired stretch and the note fell from his hand. Marty opened it.

You going to that chess thing? - P.S.

P.S.? It was from Patrick! Oh my dear sweet loving lord, Marty thought. Patrick wanted to know if she was going to the chess match. Why? Wow! What the hell!? Crazy! Awesome! Her mind bounced from one thought to another, back and forth, around and around, like a mental pogo stick. She pulled a sheet from her notebook and wrote a reply.

Yes. Why? - M.M.

She passed it forward. A few agonizing minutes later another note dropped into her hands.

Just wondering. Think she'll win? -P.S.

Now was Marty's chance to be bold.

I hope not. -M.M.

That was the end of their correspondence. There was only a few minutes left of class. Patrick turned back and smiled at her. The last few minutes suddenly rushed by. Kids started packing up their notebooks before the thousand-year-old man was finished. He grumbled his disapproval at them and they groaned in response.

It ended though, and Marty let other kids wander out ahead of her. The day was done. The last class was over, and she wanted to walk along with Patrick for a few minutes before the brood rushed in and whisked her away.

Patrick waited for her and they walked out of the room together.

"Was that frickin' brutal or what?" he said to her.

"I almost went into a coma," she replied.

"The class that wouldn't die. It's like something out of the Twilight Zone."

Now what? Now he was silent. They walked along. She scrambled for something clever to say, something relevant, but found nothing. He smelled amazing. Her brain turned to goo. Her thoughts died on their way to her lips. He smelled amazing.

"Chel's so gonna kick Clark's ass," Patrick said. "He doesn't stand a chance."

"Probably not."

"What was the bet anyway? He can't touch her ever again if she wins? What a tight-ass. What a prude."

"Apparently none of you guys can touch any of us, if she wins," Marty said, rolling her eyes as though she were in complete agreement with him.

"That's stupid. Nobody even asked the rest of us if we wanted to play along."

"Nope. Us neither."

"So you think it's stupid too?"

She didn't want to admit that she liked being groped, especially by him, but she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"What the rest of us do with our bodies shouldn't be any of their business."

"Exactly."

Then they were quiet again. Marty felt a whole new connection between them. She began to believe that he really might one day be hers.

"Chelsea agreed to play by Clark's rules though. I wonder if she knows what she's gotten herself into."

"Why? What are Clark's rules?"

"It's kinda naughty, I hear. Every piece is worth some sort of sexual thing. So even if he loses, he still kinda wins."

"Oh my god! Really? What sort of sexual things?"

"You think she'll actually go through with it?"

Chelsea Winter was proud and stubborn. Marty had no idea if she would actually go through with it. She wouldn't know until she saw what Chelsea was wearing the next day, until she saw what kind of mood she was in.

"I would," Marty said, with a sideways glance and a slight arch of her back.

"You play chess?"

"Chel tried to show me once. I suck balls at chess, totally."

"That might literally be true, if you play by Clark's rules."

Marty giggled. "Nice word choice, I guess, huh?"

"Yeah."

The connection deepened.

"There's gonna be booze involved too, apparently. If you lose a pawn you gotta do a shot. You girls better arrange to be out all night, or have some really good breath mints on hand."

Marty had only ever had wine before. She stole a sip at Christmas time the year before and got all giddy and gooey. She had the best masturbation session ever.

"I'll let the girls know."

"Don't tell Chelsea though, okay? She might freak out and bail."

"She might do that anyway, once she hears the rules for herself."

"I have a feeling she thinks a little too highly of herself," Patrick said. "She may just go for it anyway, assuming she kill him quickly and walk away victorious."

"She just may do that though," Marty said.

"Yeah."

And he looked at her with a hint of sadness in his eyes. At least it looked like sadness. She wanted it to be sadness anyway.

"Patrick."

"Yeah?"

"No matter what happens tomorrow, I hope you and me can be friends. I think you're really cool."

He grinned a grin that was way more potent than wine. She suddenly felt drunk in front of him, swaying on her feet a bit.

"Of course, Marty. I think you're awesome."

Then he reached out and pinched her ass, giving it a little pat, a little feel. She let him, arching her back again, thrusting her chest out without even meaning to. There it was though, her incredible rack, and he looked down at them, only a quick glance, but she caught it, and she knew he wanted her. Suddenly her world had a centre, and she was willing to do anything she could to make sure Chelsea Winter lost to Clark Anderson the next day.

"If I gave you my number, would you call me?" Patrick said.

"If I'm not at Chel's place all night. I probably will be."

It was the last place on earth she wanted to be, but her family was almost as boring as the math class that wouldn't die.

"Kay," Patrick said. He scribbled it down and gave it to her. Then he was gone.

"What was that all about?" Christie said, approaching after he walked away.

"Heaven," Marty sighed. She leaned against her locker on weak, shaky legs, and willed the world to stop spinning.

"You got it bad, girl," Christie said, chuckling. "Don't let Chels catch you swooning like that."

At that moment, Martina McKnight didn't care if Chelsea Winter caught her impaled on Patrick Sanford's big fat dick, bouncing up and down on it like a jockey heading for the finish line. At that moment, the only thought in her mind was getting home, crawling into bed, and coming over and over again until she couldn't even feel her legs.

She did too.

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