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"Come to my house," Stuart said. I didn’t want to study for finals, but I didn’t want to go to Stuart’s either. He’s annoying. In fairness, that’s no reason to ditch him--but that’s the reason everyone else ditches him. When we walk out of school together we walk alone. Being alone with a pariah makes you a pariah too, and I’m sick of it.
"I really have to study…"
"Cmon…Five minutes! I have to show you something. Study later!" Stuart gets good grades. He’s always reading but never studying. He doesn’t respect the amount of time it takes for most people to pass with Cs and Bs—and I think he doesn’t care. Come to think of it he has no respect for time either—"five minutes" was more likely four hours. Like I said—he’s annoying. And, like I said—I didn’t want to study. His house is sort of on the way to mine, and I had no reason to argue.
Stuart was carrying a few books, too, and he had to keep shifting his backpack from one skinny shoulder to the other so that his load didn’t tip him too much to the left or right. Even though this made him zigzag all the way to his house, I had to hurry a bit to keep up with him. He was in an animated rush, chattering the whole way, and I have to admit by the time we got to his basement my curiosity was up.
Stuart’s parents left a sectioned-off portion of the basement to his use, so all the crap he garbage-picked was undisturbed on and around the warped, unsteady workbench that he had found and leaned on one wall. His computer was on a nearby TV stand, and it had a new wallpaper image that caught my eye. It was a side-by-side photo of a group of Asian stewardesses. In what I assumed was the "before" part of the picture, they were dressed in immaculate and flattering uniforms. The "after" picture showed them completely naked except for their uniform caps and shoes. They were lined up in the same order as the "dressed" photo and were smiling serenely.
"That’s one of my motivational shots," Stuart said. He dropped phonebook-sized piece of hardware on the bench, which caused everything else on it to jump and noisily resettle.
"Motivational?" I asked, not really looking from the monitor.
Stuart tipped the piece of junk over and slammed it back onto the workbench. He started working at one of its panels with a screwdriver. "Yep. The problem with pulling off an outrageous stunt is that you just have to have bragging rights or you go nuts. Every once in a while, in my, uh, online research, I find a gem." Stuart gave up on the screwdriver and stepped across the small room to reach for a clawhammer. He gestured to the monitor with it. "That guy uploaded a few details of his prank to verify it. There seems to be a small but devoted worldwide tech community that deals with very practical applications of cutting-edge quantum physics theories. These aren’t guys you want to screw with. They’re territorial and vindictive, and they have selective memories. But if you keep your distance they’re always interesting—even when they’re spouting crap." Stuart returned to his hardware—it looked like it was originally the metal case from an ancient vacuum cleaner--and started chipping at it with the hammer and screwdriver.
"These girls are models, Stuart. Models." I stepped from the monitor to look over his shoulder as he tortured his bizarre electronic handiwork. He finally worked the panel off and reached inside the thing to pull out a handful of wires. It was disturbing to see those broken-up printed-circuit boards jammed in there so close to each other, and at such odd angles. Stuart sorted the wires, selected several and stretched them to another component.
"Nope. Not models. Those are Japan Airline stewardesses. They flew together several times as part of a crew in 1998. They caused quite a sensation in Tokyo in July—made all the papers. I have some of the articles. More importantly, I have a few key schematics." Stuart closed the panel on several of the exposed wires, and smacked it with the heel of his palm. He smacked it again and again and again until it clicked in place and stayed shut. Then he turned and looked me in the eye. "I’ll give you five hundred dollars to carry this equipment around the school with me this afternoon. I’d do it by myself, but I have to work the interface and the damned thing weighs a ton. It’s important."
"You don’t have five hundred dollars."
"I can get five hundred dollars."
"I can get five hundred dollars. In three weeks. If I work for it."
"I can get five hundred dollars this afternoon. In five minutes. If you help me first. And, I’ll put my computer up as collateral—keep it until I pay. But don’t break your back lugging it home." Stuart patted the filthy and unattractive component. "Lug this first."
I looked at Stuart’s monitor, with its Japanese stewardesses glowing sweetly, patiently, as Japanese stewardesses will. "Don’t delete the porn," I said, weakly.
"No, you don’t delete the porn. I’ll be buying it all back, and quickly, too." Stuart shoved the metal box towards me, roughly.
"Stuart, we aren’t allowed in school after hours."
Stuart smirks so often that I don’t think he knows when he’s smirking. He has an annoying smirk. "A detail," he shrugged.
Stuart was wearing an old batter’s helmet with modified lab goggles attached. Wires ran from the LEDs on the sides of the goggles through the helmet and down his arms to printed circuits that were stitched to his worn-out winter gloves. Wires also ran from the gloves and helmet to the old vacuum console that I was to carry. After emptying my backpack I was able to stuff the console inside. With a little forethought we worked our way up the basement stairs, and with a good bit of regret I stepped through Stuart’s side door as he held it open for me. Stuart nearly spun me completely around as he closed the door behind us. It was a beautiful sunny day and I just hated life. We couldn’t sneak through bushes tied together with this gear. There was nothing for it but to walk, quickly and casually, within about eight inches of each other, all the way to school. I felt stupid but I was ready for a new PC and I wanted to see what Stuart’s goofball plan was.
As we reached the school grounds I was about to ask Stuart how he planned to get us inside the school when he walked right in. I, his larger, handsomer Siamese twin, followed immediately. "Field test," he said. This made no sense to me but again, I followed as he went through the lobby to the to the basement stairway doors.
|
Once down the stairs and in the basement hall we sidled, somewhat noisily, to the door of the weight room. Stuart cautiously leaned to peek through the open doorway, dragging me along, and then snapped back to avoid being seen and smacked the back of his helmet on my chin. "Get ready," he said as he readjusted his helmet, and then jumped through the door, dragging me along, to face the room’s sole occupant. Amanda Sorensen was in the midst of her workout but paused to look at us. A bemused smile briefly lit her angelic face. "Holy crap, its Mandy…" I said, rubbing my sore chin. (pic1) "You guys don’t belong here," she said. She almost worked her pull-down bar again, but decided against it and continued to consider our ridiculous get-up. I bet she would have screamed for help if we didn’t look so stupid. |  |
"Of course we belong here, Mandy. We’re just inspecting the equipment. Wouldn’t want any…loud colors to interfere with such heavy weights. That would be dangerous…Such heavy, heavy weights…" The LEDs on the sides of Stuart’s goggles flared brightly and in frantic sequences. He seemed to be typing on an invisible keyboard as he continued to mumble his nonsense patter. The LEDs collectively formed a foggy glow around Stuart’s head—the light was almost a solid thing. "Bright colors, Mandy!" the little maniac yelled. The helmet’s coalescing glow was a beautiful, strange thing, but the thing I saw next was beautiful and impossible.
 |
"Bright colors, OK…" Mandy said as she stood to pull down her, um, dangerous workout shorts. She sat to continue her workout, but before she touched the bar she seemed to realize something. "Yellow, uh-oh…" she said. She looked at us with an innocent smile as she pulled her top over her head. The way things were going, I didn’t mind looking stupid. "Oh no…more yellow…" Mandy put her thumbs in the waistband of her yellow bikini panties and slid them down her bottom without getting up. Then she leaned from side to side as she shoved them down below her hips, left and right and left again, and then down her beautiful thighs, down her legs and over her tennis shoes. |
| "Whew! That was close!" Mandy seemed to consider resuming her workout, then undid her bra and pulled it off her incredibly firm and lovely breasts. As she was deciding whether her colors were muted enough for safe weightlifting, she considered our appearances again. "You guys should get rid of that, um, hat and stuff," she said. You might get in trouble, or, you know, beaten up…" Bless her heart, she completely removed her bra. I guess she just wanted be absolutely sure that no bright colors would interfere with the weights. |  |
I grabbed Stuart by the neck of his t-shirt and physically propelled him from the room. I waved to Mandy with my other hand as I left. "Good-bye, Mandy. I love you!" Still holding Stuart’s shirt, I choked and dragged him down the hall until we could duck into the boys’ restroom. I pinned him to the wall. "Stuart, what just happened?"
Stuart’s face was bright red and covered in a sickly sheen. "Do you remember this afternoon when Mrs. Webster’s dress fell off after third period?"
"I remember that rumor, Stuart." As I said this, I had a mental image of Amanda Sorensen completely naked. Stuart was kind enough not to point out the impossibility of what we had just seen. "Wait a minute. You didn’t drag this console to school in a wagon without anyone noticing, did you?"
Stuart had a far-away gaze in his smirk. "No, I didn’t convince Mrs. Webster to take off her dress. I took it off myself."
I let go of Stuart’s shirt and rubbed my sore chin. "I give up. Go ahead, Stuart."
"I…came across this gun. It’s not a gun, really, but it looks like a gun. I can stop time with it."
"What do you mean, stop time. Like, end the world?"
"No, just stop every process in the world. For a while. For everyone but me. It’s like a pause button."
"Holy crap…"
"I stopped time, walked right up to Mrs. Webster, and took her dress off. I spun a twist into it and made sure that she was standing on it, too. When I re-started time the dress was too tangled to put on and she had to run down the hall in her underwear and get dressed in the lounge. I can’t tell you how good that felt. Ha! Just let her give me a detention again. I’m out of order? She’s out of order! This whole school’s out of order!"
Holy crap. Holy crap, he took her dress off…
"Unfortunately, Martinez was there to break up the crowd, and she confiscated the gun. It doesn’t look like a real gun, it looks like a chrome ray gun, more like a squirt gun, but Mrs. Webster ran down the hall in her underwear so Martinez had to make a show of force. ‘No toys in the school, young man,’ she said. I want it back. Not just for selfish reasons—if anyone else really wanted to abuse that thing there would be no end of trouble. Plus, I’m not sure that it’s stable. That is—I think it isn’t. If it doesn’t get some cool-down maintenance, it’ll blow up. Tonight."
"It’ll blow up, eh? Hmmm, a bomb…" I had a hard time picturing Mrs. Webster in her underwear. She was always so serious, so professional—full-figured, yes, but she carried herself with dignity and grace, she always had her make-up and hair done up just so and a warm smile for any student in the halls that looked her way—my God, her breasts must have been huge once they were released from one of those stuffy outfits she wore..."Was…was she wearing flowered panties like I heard? O’Malley said she had flowered granny panties, and Thompson said they weren’t granny panties but they had flowers, only faded…Junie Washington said they were white panties, but they were faded or off-white…"
"They were some kind of lace mesh—in a floral pattern. Off-white is the best description of the color, I guess. Not faded—they were in very good condition. Like new, I’d say."
It wouldn’t want to be seen believing that Stuart could walk up to a real, live woman in broad daylight and undress her. However, there is the beautiful naked girl I just saw. Exhibit A. Oh, well. Dignity will have to wait until college, I guess. I hefted the backpack to a more workable grip. "Let’s go, Stuart."
We shuffled out of the restroom and tried to act casually. We sneaked up the stairs to the main hall door and cracked it open to look both ways, and then crabwalked in tandem across the hall to the lobby. We looked both ways at the lobby before starting across. As we reached the lobby’s halfway point, we bumped into each other, drew our connecting cables to maximum tension, snapped back to bump into each other again and then stretched the cables out again. I grabbed Stuart by his neck and held him at an optimal distance while we trotted across the main lobby of the school. I was so embarrassed by this that I throttled Stuart a bit and then bounced him off the wall when we passed the lobby. "Wind chimes, Stuart," I hissed as I banged him repeatedly off the wall. "You and me are wind chimes…" It was just occurring to me that this behavior was unacceptable and that I really should stop when I heard the sound of a woman clearing her throat from behind me.
"I think that you young men should explain your outfit and your disagreement to me in my office, right now."
We awkwardly spun to see Mrs. Martinez standing there, arms crossed. She was angry to see unauthorized students after hours, but she seemed livid to see Stuart at all. He might have skipped key elements of the afternoon’s events in the story he had told me. This, of course, was a wonderful time for me to figure that out.
The LEDs on Stuart’s goggles flared to life and my deep mortification was slightly offset by a dim hope. "But, Mrs. Martinez," he said. "We needed to get changed so we can go outside and do our push-ups. We just came to school for the fresh air…the fresh air and the push-ups…"
"OK, boys…" Mrs. Martinez had a strange look in her eye as she slowly walked away from us. It was downright eerie. She stepped around the corner and headed towards the front door. When she was gone, we walked to the office door and made our clumsy way inside.
 | Mrs. Young looked up from the copy machine as we stepped in. "Can I help you boys?"
Stuart didn’t miss a beat. He looked at Mrs. Young with his brightly-lit goggles and warned her to be careful of the toner in the photocopier. "It’s acidic, you know…" he said. "That’s nice, boys. Don’t go into Mrs. Martinez’ office," she said. "We won’t," we replied as we stepped through Mrs. Martinez’ door. |
We walked to Mrs. Martinez’ desk and looked through the papers spread across it. There was no sign of a gun, so I shoved Stuart out of my way to reach for a drawer. He was engrossed in some of the papers from the desk. I checked a couple of the drawers, and then dragged Stuart a little further along so that I could reach the next one. I finally found the gun in the fourth drawer. "Here it is, Stuart," I said. "Ouch! Crap, it’s…cold?"
Stuart looked up from his reading. "Hmm? Yes, negative entropy. An unusual power source—quite counter-intuitive. Here, wrap it in this." He offered the sheaf of papers that he was reading, and I dropped the gun in it like it was a cleaned fish.
I rubbed my injured hands together. "Let’s get out of here," I said.
 |
When we stepped out of Mrs. Martinez’ office, Mrs. Young was still photocopying, but instead of wearing her blue suit she was in her bra and panties. "Mrs. Young, where are your clothes?" Stuart asked as we walked and clanged up to her. I noticed a corner of blue fabric sticking out of the gap between the photocopier and the wall. |
Mrs. Young shook her head sadly. "The toner got them, boys. Dissolved them completely."
"You should have made a copy of your clothes first thing, Mrs. Young," he said as he stepped behind her. "Skipping that step was a stupid thing to do…" Mrs. Young nodded, still sad. Stuart pulled the back of her panties down and patted her bare bottom. "You’re a stupid, stupid girl…" he said.
I grabbed the neck of Stuart’s t-shirt again. "Time to go, Stuart. Good-bye, Mrs. Young. We just came to see you, and we never went into Mrs. Martinez’ office."
"I know, boys," Mrs. Young said as she vigorously rubbed the goosebumps on her upper arms. Her panties were still pulled down in back. "Good night, then. I’ll just finish doing this copying in my bra and panties."
It was easier to jog out the building if I kept the scruff of Stuart’s neck tightly gripped.
 | As we stepped out of the building, however, I had to stop, even though all I wanted to do was go home. Mrs. Martinez was kneeling on a bench, doing modified push-ups in her underwear in the school’s front yard. She had laid her skirt and jacket neatly on the wet lawn a few feet away. "Hello, boys!" she said. "I’m doing my push-ups!" |
"Hello, Mrs. Martinez! Wha-augh-kk!" Stuart yelled, as he tried to rush towards Mrs. Martinez while I continued my grip on the neck of his t-shirt.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Martinez," I waved as I jogged Stuart away from the school.
Sore as my back, neck, arms and hands were, I gladly snagged Stuart’s PC and limped home with it. Its processor was two generations ahead of my poor beaten-down piece of trash, and it was a joy to operate. "Hi, angels," I said to my desktop as soon as the PC finished its swift boot-up process. I made sure to copy Stuart’s browsing history and bookmarked web addresses immediately. And then, sadly, I turned to my accumulated unread textbooks.
I saw Stuart a few times over finals week, but only from a distance. I would have said hello to him, but I was distracted and worn-out from finals stress—and from spending every waking minute with Amanda Sorensen, who despite all physics, logic and common sense walked up to me out of the blue after my History test and let me hang around near her ever since. Later, it occurred to me that Stuart was preoccupied as well, and not by his tests—school never interested him.
It’s high summer now, and I haven’t heard from Stuart. I’m working part time, except when I’m going out with Amanda. I go by Stuart’s house sometimes, but I really don’t want to ask his parents if they’ve seen him. I wonder if he’ll turn up at school in the fall. I wonder if he’ll say what he’s been up to. None of the postings on any of his web sites seem to be from him. I figure I’d hear of it if a bomb went off near my house, and I keep picturing Stuart accelerated for the rest of his life, eventually dying of old age before even a nanosecond passes from the firing of his "time gun." But I figure that every skirt, blouse, dress and Hostess Twinkie in a five hundred-mile radius would instantaneously vanish if Stuart were permanently accelerated. I don’t know what he’s up to—so I continue my readings online, begin my studies of electronics and Applied Physics, and I keep my eyes open…
END