Unfair- A Diaper Dimension Novel

Chapter 1
Chapter 111: The Trial of the Century

Chapter Description: Clark is sent to the Principal's office for striking a teacher. But he's just a baby, right?

Chapter 111: The Trial of the Century

There I was, again: waiting in the school clinic, awaiting a rigged trial while Brollish worked sight unseen to ensure my doom and damnation. The key difference between this time and the last was that I definitely needed that fresh diaper that the nurse kept on the corner of her desk. That and I had actually done what I was being accused of.

I’d rushed up to another teacher and sucker punched her right in her schnoz. Then she’d smacked me so hard I saw stars and spanked me within an inch of my life.  In the chaos of it all, students and ex-coworkers had been drawn out of their classrooms and witnessed the thrashing of my lifetime.  

There was no getting around this.  There was no way out. I was done. The best case scenario was that I would get expelled and Janet would find me a full time private babysitter. No daycare would take a Little with a documented history of violence against Amazons. The only place that would is a place I’d never want to visit.   

Maybe Jessica would do it, I fantasized.  She wouldn’t be so bad. She was something of a trust fund baby anyways, so she could afford to hang out with me for free everyday; at least until the end of the school year.  She wanted to be a teacher, too, and talked to me more like I was an adult (or at least a very smart child) than most.  

It wouldn’t be spending my afternoons with Melony sipping on coffee, but it wouldn’t be so bad, would it?  Yeah. That could be nice.

I shuddered as the most intrusive thought burrowed into my brain:  What if Janet didn’t have a choice but to send me to New Beginnings?  Yes, she was my legal guardian, my Mommy, but wasn’t it possible to take that away from her?  All it had taken was some typing on a keyboard to get my adulthood revoked and have me shoved into her arms.  Would it really take much more to declare Janet an unfit parent and then rip me out of those arms so that I could be re-raised in a so-called proper setting?

“Shhhhhhh,” Janet hushed me, rubbing my back and stroking my hair.  “It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. Mommy’s here.  You’re safe.”  I wasn’t safe. I just wasn’t being beat anymore. She cradled me, and bobbed me like I was still screaming, but I had been almost completely silent from the moment I’d caught my breath.  Based on her heart rate, her behavior was more to hide her own shaking.

She was just as afraid as me. Angry too.  She was just doing her damndest to hide it from me.  She didn’t want her ‘baby’ to see her this upset.  It made sense that she was upset, though.  Everything was coming undone, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.  Nothing anyone could do.

After Tracy saved me, events sped up and proceeded in an almost maniacal clockwork fashion.  Brollish power walked out, flanked by Forrest and every spare hand in the front office and guidance.  They took Ambrose away to the teacher’s lounge in the cafeteria, still nursing the bloody nose I gave her. I hoped she was telling the truth.  

Janet blitzed out of her classroom the second her students could be shuttled off to other teachers in her building. Word spread that fast.  Or maybe she’d been in the crowd that saw the aftermath of my stunt. Things were still kind of fuzzy.

Tracy handed me off to Janet and took control of the preschool class, expertly diffusing outraged cries from Mrs. Dunwhich. Tracy’s man mountain of a husband stalked off to the front office, a man on a warpath, and Beouf gave Tracy the bare bones of what she’d seen while Zoge did her best to regain control and herd the other Littles away.

We were waiting in the clinic for about ten minutes for the school nurse to come back from the cafeteria.  My left hand was starting to swell, and bruising discoloration was popping up above and below my backside. Every part of my body that Ambrose had connected with was throbbing, the right side of my face included.

The real pain happened in between the throbs; in the seconds before the aching blunt sensations crescendoed to the point where it was hard to think. When it hurt so bad that I had to close my eyes and hold my breath, I had something to focus on; something to not think about.  It was on the back end, as waves of physical discomfort receded back down and I was able to think as myself that I felt despair.

We were fucked. We were fucked and I’d been the one to fuck it all up.  As recently as last week, I might have been proud of that.  I’d burned the world to the ground around me one last time, blaze of glory as the explosions consumed me.

Unfortunately, my friendships had started to grow back like weeds in the garden of my life; seemingly nourished by the manure that had been dumped all over it. And here I was about to lose them all over again.  Tracy; Beouf; my students; maybe even Janet.  I was going to lose Zoge and Ivy as well.  Billy, Chaz, and Annie were bastards but they were my bastards. Tommy too.  I’d miss the other kids in Beouf’s class.  If nothing else they were a good challenge to poke at and gauge how far I was pushing things.

Would I even get a chance to say goodbye?

What about Amy? What about Pink Hair or the Block Guys, or Wutzhisname? Would I still get to see her once a week or would Janet stop going to Little Voices meetings, too overwhelmed by everything?  Would I still have her after today? Fuck, what had happened in my life that I counted a bunch of baby crazy Amazons and Adopted Littles in various states of emotional and cognitive decay as friends?!

The nurse walked in and went straight to the sink.  “Good,” she said to Janet. “You’re already here.” She started washing her hands and putting on disposable gloves.  She motioned with her head over to a vinyl backed medical couch; normally just used for children to nap on while waiting for parents to pick them up if they had a fever or had puked.  “Lay him down there and get him undressed.”

Janet’s head turned to the still-open door.  “Can we get some privacy? Maybe do this in the bathroom?”

“I’m a nurse, Ms. Grange.  Clark doesn’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“I meant from others,” Janet said. “I don’t want other children coming in.”  More to the point, the clinic was attached to the front office, and very close to the receptionist area by design.

The nurse sighed tiredly but put some artificial empathy into her tone. “Good point.  Wouldn’t want any of the other kids to worry too much.”  Translation: Wouldn’t want any extra sympathy to spread or parents to get involved in the wake of my upcoming expulsion.

Carrying me, Janet closed the door and locked it, then she laid me down on the soft medical mattress and began to undress me.  I shivered, as she popped open the romper button by button, peeling the green and blue striped garment off of me.  I’d broken out into just enough of a sweat to make myself uncomfortable and cold in the air conditioning.  

Even on the overly padded surface, a changing table pretending to be a mattress, I groaned and winced with my weight shifting and being moved around.

The nurse shuffled over and took a knee to examine me more closely.  “Mmm-mmm-mmm…” she said. “You really did quite a number on yourself.”  

“On himself?” Janet cocked an eyebrow.

“Just a turn of phrase, ma’am.”

I made eye contact with my caregiver. “Just a turn of phrase, Mommy,” I echoed a warning.  This lady spent all her time in close proximity to Brollish and Forrest. Pretty easy to guess where her sympathies lay.  Anything we said could and would be used in the kangaroo court of law.

“I’m going to look at his hand, alright?” the nurse said.  She inched her hand closer to mine, but waited for Janet to give permission.

“Ask him, too.” Janet told her.

The slightest sharpest inhale, and then. “Clark, honey? I’m going to take a look at your hurt hand, okay?”

I nodded.

I flinched as she gingerly poked and squeezed at my bruising left hand.  “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Ow,” I said.  “Ow. Ow. Ow.  Ow.”  

She worked her tongue in her mouth and wiggled her nose with every ‘ow’.  “Good news is I don’t think it’s broken, just really really bruised.  What did you hit, kiddo?”

“I don’t know,” I lied automatically.

“He might not have hit anything,” Janet said. “Ambrose might have hit him there or he might have hit it on the ground when she dropped him.”This was a bold face lie and Janet knew it! If half of my face hadn’t been on fire, my own surprise would have betrayed me.  

Luckily, the nurse wasn’t looking at my face, just then. She doubled back to the sink and opened a cabinet, returning with what looked something like a giant aqua-marine tape measure.  She flipped open the top like it a massive box of dental floss and pulled out a length of thick moist ribbon.

“This bandage is covered with some powerful numbing nanites,” she said. “This should also help bring down the swelling.’  She started wrapping my hand in the wet stuff, binding my entire left hand in a mummy’s mitten.  “Does that feel better, hon?”

I swallowed my pride and let out a pitiful, “Uh-huh.”  It really did too.  The cold wetness of the stuff seeped into my skin and numbed everything and the air dried the outside. Ten seconds after she cut the soggy tape off, the pain in my hand was gone.

The nurse tossed the first pair of gloves, washed her hands, and then pulled on a second pair.  “In a few hours that hand is gonna ache again,” she said. “Baby aspirin or some other children’s pain killer will help over the next day or two.  Just make sure he’s not crawling around on it or banging on it for fun. It’s like the dentist where he doesn’t feel it now, he will feel it later.”

“Got it,” Janet replied. Then, to me she asked, “Got it, Clark?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I got it.”  

“You may want to put on some gloves,” the nurse advised Janet. She put the bandages back and took out a tube of cream.  “Let’s take care of some of those other owies.”

I chomped down on my tongue. The last time I’d seen a tube like that was after I’d been zapped and ninety-nine percent of my body hair had been scorched off.  I was already breaking orders by unconsciously digging my hands into the couch, gripping it like it was an animal whose guts I could rip out.  

“You take care of the bottom, and I’ll take care of the top?” the nurse offered.

Janet sanitized her hands, but only put on one glove.  She grabbed her cell phone out of her pocket and held it very close to my face.  “Sure thing,” she said.  “Juuuuust a second.”  There was a clicking sound.  “Roll over on your belly for me, Clark.”

I did. Then another several clicks.  

“What are you doing?” the nurse asked.

“Documentation,” Janet said. “That cream helps repair the skin, doesn’t it? Gets rid of bruising and discoloration?”

The nurse only smiled and said “Ah.”

I rolled back over and stared at the ceiling while one giant dabbed numbing cream onto my face, while the other ripped open my diaper and wiped my backside.  “Hold still, bubba,” I heard, before my legs were lifted up and I heard a few more clicks from her camera.

“You must have fallen really hard on your face, Clark” the nurse pretended to muse. “Did you trip while you were running around?”

“He didn’t trip,” Janet’s voice had turned to ice.  She was still changing me, spreading that goop filled with pain numbing nanites in it and slipping the fresh Monkeez underneath me. But her voice was looking for a fight.  “That’s where Ambrose started beating him.”

The nurse was still playing defense for Administration. “How can you tell?  Kids trip and fall all the time. Accidents happen.”

Janet taped me back up and rolled me over. “Concrete doesn’t leave hand prints.”

“Ah.”

A tense two minutes later, I was sitting back up and having a hand mirror shoved in my face. There was some slight discoloration, a bit of red irritation on my face, but it didn’t look like a bear had tried to maul me. I’d fallen asleep on my side in the sun and barely avoided a proper sunburn.

My left hand was bandaged up in bright colors, but the right side of my face, back, thighs, and buttocks looked like I had the barest beginnings of diaper rash. Nothing a bit of makeup wouldn’t fix, or even just dimming the lights. My damage was highlighted. Ambrose’s was faded.

Typical.

“Thank you, Mommy,” I said, looking at the bulge in Janet’s pocket.

“You’re very welcome, sweetie.” Janet told me.  She started dressing me back up.

“You don’t have to do that,” the nurse said.

“I know,” Janet replied. “Just easier for the trip home.”

“Trip home?”  the nurse asked. “School’s not over yet.”

“I’m leaving early.”  Her eyes were focused on me, and buttoning up all of the snaps on the aired out romper, but her body was tense. Waiting for the challenge.

It came. “That might not be such a good idea,” the nurse said.  “I have a feeling Mrs. Brollish will need to talk to him.  She’s doing interviews right now to figure out what happened. Make sure she gets all sides of the story.”

“It’s okay, Mommy,” I said, playing the perfect Little angel that I most certainly wasn’t. Only the guilty run, and running wasn’t going to get me anywhere.  “I can stay.”

Janet gave my forehead another kiss, and picked me up. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you back to class.”

“Actually…” the nurse interjected, opening the clinic door again.  “He should probably stay here. Might not be safe to let him back in the classroom.”

“It’s his naptime. I’ve got a pack and play in my room, still,” Janet offered.

The nurse gave a pleasant, yet hollow smile. “That’s not a good idea, either. Let’s just keep him here.  He can sleep on my couch if he needs to.”

“I’m not sleepy,” I said.

The Amazons went forward in the conversation without me. “You’re free to go back to your room to teach, Ms. Grange. I don’t mind watching him.”  They didn’t want me and Janet alone.  Didn’t want either of us unsupervised or unaccounted for.

Janet sat down in one of the chairs and held me in her lap, wrapping her arms around me, afraid that I might float away from her.  “We’ll wait here, then.”  I felt another kiss on the top of my head. I really wanted Lion right then. I settled for reaching down and gripping the side of Janet’s lap with my good hand and sucking on my pacifier.

Our first few visitors were students. Nothing major. Just kids getting afternoon medication and the like. One kid stopped and interrogated Janet. “Is he sick?” that sort of thing. Nothing that couldn’t be shooed away, with the worst one being a fourth grader that couldn’t resist saying “feel better”.

But then a familiar tone in a language I still barely understood came swinging into the clinic. Ivy waddled hand in hand with her mother past the clinic, but her head turned to the side and peaked in.  We made eye contact.

“Clark!”

She slipped out of Zoge’s grasp, climbed up on top of a neighboring seat.

“Ivy!” Janet laughed. “What are you doing?”

As an answer, the Little Yamatoan gently leaned over and wrapped her arms around me. Light as a feather, she applied the barest bit of pressure so that I could sense the loving intent.

“Ivy,” Zoge said, her voice retaining its innate musicality. “Make good choices.”

Ivy stood back up and hopped back down. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Hana,” Janet giggled, forgetting the perilous position we were in.  “What’s going on?”

Zoge picked her daughter up, and positioned her on her hip.  “It seems our children are picking up bad habits from one another,” she said, cryptically.

“No, I mean, what are you doing here?”

“Ah,” Zoge nodded.  “Mrs. Brollish wishes to interview everyone she can that witnessed...” a beat of hesitation, a glance at the nurse, “the incident.  Ivy and I were reporting what we saw happen.  Mrs. Beouf and Miss Tracy are watching the children.  I am on my way to relieve them so that Mrs. Beouf can report. We’re already calling parents to inform them what happened and to have them come and pick up their children early.”

“Oh,” Janet said. “Alright.”  

“Good luck,” Zoge said. “And see you tomorrow, Clark.”  That earned her an upturned eyebrow from the nurse.

Speaking of the nurse, both Ivy and Zoge’s back was to the woman.  “I’m sorry, Clark. You taught me to never ask for a hug without permission.”  The way she said it sounded rehearsed and phony.  She did something with her eye, too.

Did…did Ivy just wink at me?!

“Ivy,” Zoge said, then she said something in Yamatoan.  Probably the word for ‘quiet’.

“Sorry, Mommy.”

“Good luck,” Zoge said, and then slipped with her daughter back out into the reception area and out the door.

Calling parents. Interviewing students and teachers. Sequestering witnesses. Interrupting afternoon classes. Brollish was in high gear; full damage control. She wanted this over now; after school just wouldn’t do.  I’d probably just ruined her day; so I at least had that going for me.

A brief knock on the side of the door, and Emiliano came striding in. The top of his head didn’t quite touch the massive frame, but he ducked out of habit.  “Hey, Jefe,” he said, his hoarse yet friendly growl just above a stage whisper.  “How you holdin’ up?”

“He’s fine,” Janet said. “He got hurt, but he’ll be okay.”

I’m not sure how it’s possible to give someone the side eye when they’re standing directly in front of them, but Tracy’s husband found a way.

“I’m shook,” I said. “But I’ll heal.”

Emiliano hunkered down on the balls of his feet. “Good. Good.  You took a heck of a whoopin’.”  A mischievous grin played at the corners of his mouth.  “It’s a good thing you’re not taller or I might be scared of you.”

I chuckled. The biggest man I’d ever met just told me that I took a beating like a champ.  How could I not?

“Sir,” the nurse tried to interrupt. unless you’re a parent or a teacher, you need to leave.”

He waved her off. “Mmmhmm. Sure. Uno momento.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He ran his hands through his thick black hair. “I was here to help Tracy quit,” he said. “Bring her in. Let her talk. Bring her out. No funny business. Comprende?”

A rock dropped in my stomach.  “Yeah,” I said.  “I understand.”

“Yeah,” the big man nodded sympathetically, “Good thing we saw you, first, eh?”

I jolted up in Janet’s lap.  “You mean…?” I dared to hope. “Tracy’s staying?”

“Sir…” the nurse tried to catch Emiliano’s attention.  She went ignored by all of us.

He shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?” Janet asked. She squeezed me a little tighter. I squeezed back.

“On how scary I was,” Emiliano flashed his teeth. “How smart Brollish is. If Tracy wants to keep coming here.”

“Sir. You need to-”

Emiliano stood back up to his full height and the nurse stopped talking.  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m going.”  A boulder sized fist floated down to me.  “You stay strong, eh, Jefe?”  I took my good hand and bumped it against his.  “Right on.  See you around, Boss. I’ll stop by your class and tell her you said ‘Hello’ before I go.”

The nurse was visibly relieved when she heard the exit door swing open.

Right on the man mountain’s heels, Beouf popped in, holding of all things, a baby bottle.  It wasn’t filled with milk, exactly; none of the overly processed cow stuff from the cafeteria. This stuff had more of a creamy tint to it.  More off-white than white.  Kind of like goat’s milk.

“Hey,” she said, quietly. “How you holding up?”

“We’re fine,” Janet said just as softly.  “Got some owies but they’re taken care of for now.”

My old mentor nodded.  “Good.”  Everyone was talking so low right now, afraid of saying something too loud or having something overheard.  All parties on both sides of this trial were in cloak and dagger mode.  Nobody wanted the other to hear something they shouldn’t, and both words and the volume that they were spoken at were being chosen very carefully.

She looked at me and shook the bottle. “Do you want a bottle, buddy?”

Janet reached for it instead.  I looked up at her and caught a mixture of concern and confusion.  “The bottle is yours,” Beouf said. “I popped by your room and grabbed it out of a mini fridge.”

“Oh,” was all Janet said. I felt her entire body heat up for some reason. “Goat’s milk.”

Some combination of looming existential dread and topically applied pain killers kept me from questioning why Janet would have goat’s milk at school. She couldn’t even remember to bring the diaper bag half the time.

In hindsight…

“If you want, we can start stocking it in my room,” Beouf plowed over the thoughts that wouldn’t quite come to me.  “Give it to him for snack time or something.  Take it with us to lunch.”

“Lunch?” I echoed.  Did Beouf really think that I’d be back for lunch this time tomorrow?

“We’ll still have to keep it in the classroom,” my oldest friend said. “You know how the cafeteria folks are. They don’t like holding onto anything that isn’t theirs. It’s already a stretch to get them to wash and dry the bibs everyday.”

There was a nervous frenetic energy underpinning Beouf’s speech. It had the cadence of someone on death row talking about what they were doing tomorrow.  We weren’t going to win this, but she was going to go down kicking and screaming with me anyways.

“Yeah,” Janet said. “I’d like that.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Beouf looked down and crossed her arms.  “What’s going on is that I’m kinda miffed at you, young man.” She switched instantly to her stern teacher tone.  It was the worst kind, too. Not mad…just disappointed.  “You made me a promise, and broke it.”

I was leaning back into Janet before I realized it, trying to bury the back of my head in her so that she would somehow magically envelop me.

“What promise?” Janet asked.

The volume of conversation had jumped up more than a notch.  Anyone listening in would barely need to strain to overhear.  The nurse looked up from her desk again, her fingers drifting over to the computer keyboard.  

“We had a talk this morning about following rules and procedures, didn’t we, Clark?”

My face burned hot and I stared down at my knees.  “Yes ma’am.”

“And who got out of line when they shouldn’t have?”

“I did.”

“And do we get out of line when we’re transitioning from the cafeteria to the classroom?”

“No ma’am…”

“And did you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Should you have?”

“No ma’am.”

“What do you say?”

I swallowed my pride.  It was the least I could do.  “Sorry, Mrs. B.  Sorry, Mommy.”  

I braced myself for the next question.  Something about controlling my temper or not letting bullies get the best of me.  No such line of questioning came.  All that happened was Melony ruffled my hair.  “Mrs. B. is still upset with your choices,” she said, “but she still loves you very much.”

I mumbled something.  It might have been “I love you, too”.

The bottle’s rubber nipple brushed against my cheek.  “Drink your bottle, hon.”

I accepted the bottle, and Janet jostled me around so that I was cradled again. Letting her hold it for me was easier with my injured hand.  Our breathing started to sync up while the cool creamy milk filled my mouth.  Waves of relaxation started to settle into me. My pulse dropped as my belly filled. I wasn’t even that thirsty, but the behavior mixed with the body heat and the familiar flavor mingled together to give me a sense of calm.

I wasn’t about to get expelled. I was just chugging my own version of a breakfast shake first thing in the morning.  Or having liquid desert right before a weekend nap.  Speaking of breakfast shake, something was off about the flavor of this batch.  It was actually a little too creamy; with something unnatural about it.  I pulled back and threw my head out so that I could get the nipple out of my mouth.  “Vanilla?”

Beouf blushed. “I hope you don’t mind.  I put some syrup in from the coffee mix.”  It was directed at Janet, not me.

“It’s fine,” Janet sighed. “I just want today to be over.”

“You and me, both,” Beouf agreed.  “You and me, both.”

In the far distance, past the reception area, the sound of a heavy door slamming closed and equally heavy footsteps registered.  Someone was making a very loud exit from Brollish’s office.  Probably not Brollish from the sound of it. That witch could glide across the floor.

“That’s my cue.” Beouf said. “Time to put out some more fires. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Janet said while I took the bottle back in my mouth.

Beouf brushed shoulders with the next visitor in my own private cell.  “I just got done talking to that principal of yours,” Martha Dunwhich said to the nurse.  Her hair was frizzier and her face was still red, but her eyes weren’t puffy and her makeup was intact. She’d been yelling and she wasn’t done.  She slammed her palms on the nurse’s desk and leaned over so she could shout directly into the other woman’s face.  “Are you also going with the story that a Little broke that awful woman’s nose?!”  

“I”m not allowed to divulge that information,” the nurse replied, coldly.

Dunwhich wasn’t having it. “You examined her. Is her nose even broken? Let me see her! I bet she just got kicked”

“I’m not allowed to divulge that information.”

“You expect me to believe that a grown woman was attacked?” Dunwhich shrieked. “Attacked by…by…a baby?!”

“Ahem…”  Janet cleared her throat.

The Amazon turned around with a sneer.  “Wh-?”  Then immediately melted when she saw me her shriek turned to a squeak. “Awwwww!”  

My entire body tensed.  Feeling it, Janet drew me in closer, cradling me so that half of my vision was obscured by her breasts.  It was a nicer view than I’d been previously treated to.

Dunwhich trotted over to Janet, her eyes white saucers. “You poor dear!” she gushed. “You’ve had quite a day haven’t you?”  Uninvited, she took the seat next to Janet.  “Does it hurt bad, baby boy?”

“Hello,” Janet said. “Do we know you?”

Dunwhich regained her composure. “No. Not at all. Martha Dunwhich, pleasure to meet you.”  She extended her arm out.

“My hands are full,” Janet said just warmly enough to not put the other woman off. I.E.P. meetings or not, teaching is too often a customer service industry as much as anything. Janet had that skill set on lock.  

The start of this nightmare took her hand back. “Of course,” she said. “Of course. I met your Little boy right as he had his first accident.”  Not this story again.  I kept my eyes straight up so I wouldn’t roll them.  “You’re his Mommy?”

“Thank goodness!” Martha Dunwhich said. “For a second I was worried that…that…that bully had Adopted him and that’s why she was spanking him.”  Janet shifted in her seat subtly, so that her knees were starting to face away from the other woman.

“So do you know Clark besides that?”

“Oh no, no, no,” Dunwhich corrected herself.  “I haven’t seen him since.  That and today.  I gave his class some extra cupcakes!  He was so cute!”  Her hands fidgeted her lap, like she was just envisioning reaching out and pinching me on the cheek again.  “So well behaved too!  A bit rambunctious and silly, but that’s natural for them.”

I sucked on the milk harder, almost wanting to gag myself.  Janet’s face was a placid lake, but based on the subtle shifting in her lap, I had a feeling we were in this boat together. For once, the whole ‘seen and not heard’ thing was playing to my advantage.  I didn’t want to talk to this woman.

Oblivious to our own discomfort, Dunwhich continued to yammer. “I’m going to have to go home, and explain to Emily why hitting Littles is wrong, now.  She’s probably traumatized, watching your poor sweet boy get…”  She topped. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Janet said evenly.

“And that principal is making up some story like he hit her!”

I stopped the flow of milk with my tongue.  What was she talking about? She was there when I marched right up to Ambrose and threw my whole weight into that punch.

“As if such a sweet Little boy would purposefully attack an adult!”

Except she wasn’t!  She’d been handing out those cupcakes on the side of the cafeteria, while Ambrose had been dressing Elmer down- literally- around the corner closer to the front entrance!  Could it be?  Had the angles accidentally worked in my favor?!

“Hmmm…” was all that Janet said.

“He might have been a tad naughty and excited! But he didn’t deserve that!”

“Ma’am,” the nurse said. “You really shouldn’t be-”

“I shouldn’t what?” Dunwhich turned on Brollish’s eyes and ears here.  “Tell the truth?”  She took out her phone.  “I saw the whole thing and filmed it!  Right in front of the kids, this abusive monster just picks up a baby and STARTS…!” She looked at me again and lowered her voice. “I’ve already told her.  If that brute is in Emily’s classroom tomorrow morning, I’m pulling my daughter out and taking this to the School Board.”

I let the milk flow again. Administrators feared two things: Angry Parents and School Board members.  If I was going down, I was happy to know I was taking Ambrose down with me.  But maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t going down, either.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Dunwhich said. “I’ve got to get my daughter out of here.  I hope things turn out okay for you and your Little.”

One of the pushiest Amazons I’d ever encountered (and that was saying a lot) showed herself out, and left me to finish the bottle and be burped in relative privacy with only the nurse for silent company.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Janet whispered over and over again, patting and rubbing at my back.  “You’re gonna be fine.”  She didn’t fully believe it either.  Some unexpected blessings were blowing our way but we were far from out of the woods.  I belched without complaint, doing everything I could not to make things more difficult than they were.

Beouf came back in, only poking her head through the open door.  “Come on,” she whispered.  “It’s almost time.”  Janet carried me past reception on her hip. Beouf lead the way, despite us all knowing where we were headed. “Won’t be long. We’ve only got one person ahead of us.”

Like a shadow, the nurse followed us, keeping her distance but still doing her level best to mind anyone’s business but her own.  We still couldn’t speak freely.

We were waiting in the hallway just outside of Brollish’s office, when a mighty need came over me; one that had nothing to do with bodily functions or autonomy.  “Can you please put me down?” I asked Janet, tapping her on her shoulder.  “I need to walk into the office.”

“Why?”

“I just…I just do, okay?”

That was good enough for Janet.  She set me down softly on the carpet, leaning over so she could still hold my good hand.  I gave hers a squeeze. She squeezed back.

The door opened slowly and quietly. Out of the office came two relatively tiny figures.  They were a mother and son; Tweeners. The Mom was about the same height as Tracy, but skinnier, practically stick like, her face wrinkled prematurely with the constant worry lines of someone walking life’s tightrope. There were a handful of fifth-graders taller than her. By graduation, that number would shoot up with growth-spurts and early onset puberty.  The boy, a four year old, and because of his heritage, he was one of the few students that I was still slightly taller than.

“Mr. Gibson?”  Elmer asked.

“Hey, buddy.” I waved meekly, trying not look as ridiculous as I felt right then.

Elmer’s face scrunched up and his mouth opened, but no sound came out.  His face turned pinker and pinker and tears started dripping down his cheeks before finally a tea kettle of a wail issued forth from his throat.

Oh no! Not again!  I stared at the floor, ashamed at the monster I’d become to my own student. He couldn’t even look at me without breaking down into a panic attack.  I gripped the pacifier dangling from my collar and considered shoving it into my mouth.  Or would that make things worse?  

Two arms, slightly pudgy with baby fat wrapped around my torso and a not-quite kindergartener’s head buried itself in my shoulder. “THANKYOOOOOOOOU!” Elmer bawled into me.  “TH-TH-TH-TH-THANKYOOOOOOOOOOOU!”

“Thank you?” my voice started to crack.  “Elmer? B-b-buddy. What are you-? Why are you-? Why?”

“I’M SORRRRRRRRRRRY! I’M SORRY! I’M S-S-S-SORRRRRRY! I’M SO S-S-SORRY!”

I dislodged my arms from the tiny Tweener’s grip, just so that I could hug him back with all the strength I had left in my body.  “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered. “It’s okay.  You don’t have anything to be sorry for.  Nothing.”

“Awwwwww,” Beouf loudly cooed over me. “Looks like you finally got that hug you were both looking for. Isn’t that sweet?”

“Yeah,” Janet’s voice cracked. “It really is.”

Their comments went completely over my head.  My entire focus on the child who needed me right then and there.  “I LOVE YOU, MR. GIBSON!” Elmer blubbered. “I LOVE YOU! I’M SORRY! I LOVE YOU! I! LOVE! YOOOOU! THANK YOOOOOOU!”

I’d done a lot of crying since my Adoption. A lot. A lot, a lot.  I’d shed more tears in the last several weeks than I had in the several decades prior. The freedom to scream and shout and cry at every thing that vexed me was one of the few freedoms I was still permitted.  One type of crying that I hadn’t done a whole lot of, however, was happy crying.

My face broke out into the biggest, mushiest, dopiest grin, and as my eyes scrunched together, the drops of water came out as if squeezed from a nearly wrung out sponge. For a moment, just for a moment, I was my old self.  I was a teacher, an adult giving comfort to a poor child who was overwhelmed with everything that had happened in the past few hours.

For just a second, I was Clark Gibson, preschool teacher, and it was the greatest goddamn feeling in the world.  “It’s okay, buddy,” I said as calmly as I could, my voice fluctuating with the tightness of my throat.  I just kept rubbing his back in the same way that Janet had taken to rubbing mine.  “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”  For just a bit, I believed my own lie.  

His mother’s hand landed softly on his shoulder.  “Okay, Elmer. It’s time to go home.”

Elmer stepped back from me and wiped his nose on his shirt.  “But-!”

“You were a good boy and told Mrs. Brollish what you know,” his mother said. “Now it’s time to go.”

Always more mature for his age than people gave him credit for, Elmer sniffled, wiped his nose on his own shirt, and took his mother’s hand.  “Bye.”

I wiped my own nose on my bicep. “Bye, bud.”  The pair walked out into the empty reception area and off into the front parking lot just by the bus loop.

Janet knelt down and brushed away my own tears. “You okay?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No. Not really. But I don’t have a choice right now, do I?”

My Mommy’s lip quivered like she was about to start. “No. I don’t think we do. Come on.”

Flanked by Beouf, Janet and I walked into Brollish’s office hand in hand. Brollish didn’t get up from her desk. Scooted off to the side, was another older woman staring dutifully down at her county issued laptop and typing up a storm.

“Ms. Grange. Clark. Please, have a seat.”  She gestured to the familiar face.  “Miss Bankhead, our Resource Compliance Specialist, is here simply to record.”

Bankhead acknowledged our presence with the briefest glimpse.  “Hello.” Then she went back to typing as if she were a court stenographer.

The flaps in Brollish’s throat went taut as she craned her neck over us. “Mrs. Beouf, would you please shut the door on your way out?”

Beouf shut the door, but joined  us by the seat next to where Janet and I were standing.  “I’m here as a representative and advocate.”

“Of?”

“I’m Clark’s teacher, and Ms. Grange’s union representative. I have every right to be here if Janet as either the child’s legal guardian or faculty member allows me to be.”

Janet sat down and pulled me into her lap.  “Yes, please. Thank you,” she said immediately.

Beouf did not take the seat beside us, yet.  She was staring at Brollish, the old crone busy making calculations.

“You weren’t here for Ivy,” Brollish said.

“Mrs. Zoge is both her mother and a school employee,” Beouf said matter of factly. “You needed at least one adult minding my class.” There was a moment of clacking on Bankhead’s laptop.  “Correct? We have that in writing? We still have that in the email you sent to me immediately after and the notes from when we talked?”

Brollish didn’t respond, but Bankhead gave a subtle head bob in the affirmative.

“You weren’t here for the last student I interviewed,” Brollish tried.

Beouf pushed her glasses up my nose.  “Elmer is not my student. He had his mother with him. Beyond basic supervisory duties to ensure his safety that all faculty and staff have, I have no connection with him or his mother.”

Brollish tried a verbal parry. “So are you saying I should have let Miss Ambrose be present when I spoke privately to Elmer and his mother?” I winced at the idea.

“I am saying that I have the right to be here if my student’s parent or guardian requests it.”

Janet spoke up. “I request it.”

“Will you be doing this for all of your students if their parents request it?” Brollish asked, her face a grim mask.  Now that we were in there, the entire office was smelling strongly of potpourri; dead flowers meant to cover up the smell of rotting flesh held together by a wicked soul. Maybe that was just my imagination.  

Like the last time, I decided to sit back and trust my mentor.  “If they ask me, yes,” Beouf said. “Assuming you feel the need to interview eight other Littles about what a member of staff did.”

A lump moved from one cheek to another with Brollish sliding her tongue all around her teeth behind closed lips.  “Are you sure you’re allowed to be here, Mrs. Beouf?  I’m not sure this is necessary.”

Janet adjusted me on her lap. “I would like to also officially request union representation,” Janet said.  “And for Mrs. Beouf to remain as a witness to go over the notes with Miss Bankhead and ensure that digital and hard copies are sent out to the necessary parties.”

Brollish’s face had barely shifted. Through half closed eyes she said, “Do you really think union representation is necessary for this, Mrs. Grange? This is a conference and investigation concerning Clark’s behavior this afternoon. You’re not here as a teacher.”

“Can you guarantee in writing that nothing said here will directly affect evaluations as a teacher?” Beouf butted in. “If he’s suspended or expelled, are you going to hold it against her taking time off to see to his needs?  Or can you assure us that such penalties are off the table?”

I focused on the little hairs of Brollish’s upper lips, checking across the room to see if they were still moving; hoping that maybe the old bat had died sitting down with her eyes open. “You’re very welcome to join us, Mrs. Beouf.”

Beouf sat down next to us. Too bad the additional context as to why she was allowed to sit was the exact opposite of comforting.  “Much appreciated,” my old friend said. “Thank you.”

A thin smile that came nowhere close to her eyes creaked up Brollish’s skull.  “You’re very welcome.”  Her eyes moved over to Janet’s lap.  “Clark?”

I waited for her to say something.  Several seconds ticked by.  She didn’t.  “Yes, ma’am?”

“Why did you punch Mrs. Ambrose in the nose?”

“We don’t know that he did,” Beouf interrupted before I could react.

The slightest eyebrow raise from across the table.  “Don’t we?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Beouf fired back with equal calmness. “Are you accusing him of something?”

“Mrs. Ambrose is on record saying Clark ran at her screaming, and punched her right in the face as she was bending over to get at eye level with another student,” Brollish explained. Funny thing is that it was true. “Her nose is broken. That’s good enough for me.”

“How do we know that he did it on purpose?” Beouf asked. “He could have accidentally hit her when she started spanking him.”

“Why would she spank him then?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Beouf said. “That’s not something that is allowed, not without written parental permission.”

“I did not and do not give permission.” Janet added.

Like a chess player viewing the board, Brollish put her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers in concentration.  “It’s true,” the crone admitted, “that corporal punishment is frowned upon.  Certain bits of wiggle room are permissible in the name of self-defense.”

“Self-defense?!” Janet sneered. “You’re kidding. Self? Defense?  From a Little? A Maturosis Little? A baby?”

“Maturosis or not,” Brollish replied, “I can’t allow a student on this campus who is a danger to others. An unprovoked attack on a faculty member is by definition dangerous.  An entire afternoon of instruction has been lost because my preschool teacher has a broken nose.”

“If you take her word for it,” Janet snipped, barely keeping her cool.

“Why would I take the word of a child over an adult?” Brollish came back icily.  “Not only a child, but someone I had to fire due to breach of contract?”

My everything was getting ready to burst with how angry I was.  I must have passed that energy into Janet because she said, “You haven’t even heard his word, yet!”

“Janet…!” Beouf warned too late.

“Yes,” Brollish pretended to agree. “Let’s hear what Clark has to say for himself.  Clark? Please. Tell us in your own words. What happened?”

I so wanted to shout every obscenity over at Brollish.  She had me over a barrel and she knew it.  Elmer had said what happened.  So had Ivy. Both had the mindsets of literal children. Brollish just wanted to catch me in a lie or get me to confess.

I needed to scream. I needed to thrash. I needed to think. I needed time.  A fullness in my gut, newly irritated by the addition of heavy cream and vanilla, no doubt, made me need to do something else.  

I inhaled. Fuck it. Might as well.

I leaned forward, stared off into the middle distance directly in front of Brollish, pretended I was giving her the middle finger, and filled my pants up sitting in Janet’s lap.  It was easy since I’d had so much practice. After the initial three second push, my body sped right past the point of no return and a veritable mudslide gushed out of me and into the seat of my Monkeez.  

“Is he…?” Brollish looked genuinely disturbed.

“Pooping?” Beouf said, casually. “Probably. That’s what the diaper’s there for, right?”

Janet scooped me up by the armpits, taking more pressure off my rear. That made things go along even faster, the front of my diaper swelled and sagged beneath me with added pee as my bowels finished clearing themselves. The snaps between my legs were doing more than their fair share to hold the increasing mass up.

Was it my diet? Fiber? Fruits and veggies?  Was I slightly lactose intolerant?  Had I just done it so much by this point that I’d become good at it?  Hard to tell.  But there was a certain happiness that came over me, watching Brollish’s nose wrinkle and her being forced to sit there awkwardly, trapped in her own office, looking at me taking a dump right in front of her.  If it had been a potted plant, it would have been better, but this would have to do.

Janet lowered me back down to her lap, and I felt the warm muck and mess spread around beneath my redistributed weight. I allowed a goofy, happy smile,and gave out an audible sigh of relief.  Watching Brollish’s lip curl ever so slightly, witnessing that breach of composure made the lack of dignity gratifying.

Comparing their faces a new realization occurred to me:  Beouf seemed relaxed, oddly amused. Not only was she used to seeing Littles poop their pants on a daily basis as to be immune to disgust; but she very likely knew me well enough to sense the joy I was taking at Brollish’s discomfort.  Janet was already settling me back into her lap and cuddling me in her grip, but she was being much more still and steady with her legs. Me pooping myself was gross, but I was her Little, her baby, so that made it more than bearable. Bankhead’s eyebrows twitched slightly, but she went right back to typing as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.  She’d been in so many I.E.P. meetings over the years, that the idea of a Little having an accident right there at the meeting was only foreign in that most Littles didn’t get to attend their I.E.P. meetings.

Brollish was quietly repulsed. Children, which I was supposed to be, were dirty things that were tolerated and humored in small doses.  Moreover, the gears were turning in her brain, looking for the next angle of attack.  In short, three of the Amazons strongly believed that I was actually a baby for all intents and purposes.  Brollish? She either didn’t believe it or it just didn’t factor into her calculations.

Interesting.

Bonus points, my spite shit had bought me some time.  Just not enough.

“If you’re finished,” Brollish said. “Why don’t you tell me why you hit the teacher.”

“Can I change him, first?” Janet asked. “I don’t want him getting a rash.”

She moved to get up but Brollish motioned her back down. “No no.  That can wait.  That’s what the diaper’s for, right?” She burrowed her gaze down into me “Talk to us Clark. Please.”

“He was…”

“No thank you Mrs. Beouf,” she cut Melony off. “Your testimony has already been taken. No need to coach.”  Melony gripped the arms of her chair and stared at me with as much fervor, her jaw working and grinding like she was trying to send me a message via telepathy.

I blinked

“No need to coach.”  She was coaching me, wasn’t she?

Two blinks.

“You’re free to go back to your room to teach, Ms. Grange. I don’t mind watching him.”   And they were keeping me away from the others, and under watch so that they couldn’t tell me something.

Three.

“You needed at least one adult minding my class.”  That would mean Ambrose’s class too, wouldn’t it?

“See you around, Boss. I’ll stop by your class and tell her you said ‘Hello’ before I go.”  So it stood to reason that Tracy was watching our kids alone, too.  School had to keep functioning as a school before the buses pulled out.

Four blinks.

“It seems our children are picking up bad habits from one another.”

 “I’m sorry, Clark. You taught me to never ask for a hug without permission.”

“Looks like you finally got that hug you were both looking for.”

It was a good thing I’d just shit my pants because then someone could shout ‘You-Reek-Uh!’

“I saw my friend Elmer,” I said. “And I really really missed him because when I was a big boy I used to be his teacher.”  I tug my bandaged left hand up over my bottom lip and started playing with.  With my right hand I started fiddling with the pacifier.

“And?”

“I got Ivy to get me out of the harness so I could run over to Elmer and give him a hug.”  The first few syllables were garbled until Janet gently pulled my fingers out of my own mouth.

“And?”

I looked out of the corner of my eye. Beouf was leaning further back in the chair with each passing second. Tension and nervousness was exiting her body, practically evaporating.

“I tried to give him a hug,” I continued, “but then somebody grabbed me and I got scared and I turned around  and my hand hurt and then,” I started to sniffle.  I made my throat close up and crushed my face into itself so I could let out one pathetic falsetto, “owie!”  

“Shhhhh,” Janet said, rubbing my back again. “It’s okay. It’s okay.” Then with more volume, Janet said. “So my Little boy went to give a friend a hug, hopped out of line, ran away, and interrupted Ambrose giving some kind of instruction to a child. Does that sound correct?”

Brollish removed her glasses and exhaled through her nose.  “According to the majority of reports I have received? Yes. It seems that way.”

I’d done it! We’d done it! Brollish didn’t want to give us time to coordinate and create a cover story, but she still needed to keep the school running!  Beouf, Zoge, and Tracy all had time to talk with each other and communicate, get their story straight and pass along hints to me!  Tracy must have even gotten Elmer and his mother in on the act when parents were called.

That doesn’t seem like self-defense to me,” Mrs. Beouf said. “Even if it was, it has no merit regarding expulsion.”

Defeated, Brollish asked. “Why do you say that?”

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that everything Ambrose said is true.” Beouf said. “A student of mine slipped his harness, ran up, and attacked an adult unprovoked.  Clark has a Developmental Plateau somewhere between eighteen and thirty months. Higher in some areas, lower in others. One and a half to two and a half years old, tops.  Functionally a toddler in almost everything but raw intellect; fairly common in Maturosis when diagnosed and treated correctly.” She chuckled under her breath. “I’ve got a model I can show you using blocks if you’d like.”

Brollish replaced her glasses. “Get on with it,” she sighed.

“If a not even three year old sucker punched an adult and then was publicly beaten, do you think it would be a good idea to expel a student for that?”

“I do not.”

“Expulsion should only be considered in extreme circumstances,” Beouf quoted as if from a written document (which she very likely was). “Such as when a student is a danger to other students.”

“Yes,” Brollish agreed, a bit too readily.  “You’ve got a point.” She leaned over in her desk, opened up a cabinet, and from her witch’s cauldron, she took out a manilla folder. “Which is why I’d like to discuss this.”

She opened it up. Stapled to the inside was a clear plastic sandwich bag containing an absolutely vile looking bottle of what used to hold cinnamon. Worse than the bag, in the folders were pictures of a Little boy in a sailor suit coughing up clouds of brown dust, a single one showing the first round of vomit coming out of his mouth.

“The photographer saved a few of these for me,” Brollish said.  “Care to explain, Clark?”

The feeling of victory I’d experienced planted itself right between my shoulder blades; a nagging itch that I just couldn’t reach.  I’d been so close, too.  “No…” I said. “I don’t.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember that,” Beouf tried.

“It doesn’t matter if he remembers it or not,” Brollish answered. Her tone a quiet mockery of Beouf’s early confidence. “I have evidence to suggest that he poisoned himself and several other students.  That’s dangerous. Very dangerous.  He even hid the evidence in the diaper pail somehow. That signifies intent, don’t you think.”

She’d held onto this as a back up plan in case her original gambit failed.

“I thought it’d be funny,” I said.  Honestly? In hindsight? It kind of was.  Playing the idiot had gotten me this far.

Beouf scowled, “Clark…”  I wasn’t helping myself.

“Speaking as his parent and a teacher,” Janet said, “I think you’re reaching, ma’am.”

As if all that she needed were the pictures, she slid them across the desk so that Janet could get an even better look.  “Oh?”

“If Clark were a thirty two year old adult,” Janet stated, “I would agree with you.  That’s a fireable offense, for sure.”  

Behind her glasses Brollish was grimacing. She suddenly saw where this was going.

“Clark is legally a baby, now,” my Mommy continued. “He doesn’t even have the identification number he was born with.  He’s legally a different person. Fresh start.  It’s not fair to hold him to one set of standards and then another when as it suits us.”

“He nearly killed himself choking and several others could have been hurt too.  They also vomited everywhere.”

“He’s a baby,” Beouf jumped in. “All of my students are. That’s why they’re my students. Babies stick things in their mouths all the time. High sensory seeking behaviors. They talk other babies into doing silly things, too. Low impulse control and a desire for recognition.”

The clacking of Bankhead’s computer, then, “Does that mean,” Brollish asked, “that you failed in your duties to prevent that behavior?  You allowed the contraband to be snuck in?”

“Yes ma’am,” Beouf nodded. “And if you would like to put that in my yearly evaluation or have that otherwise affect my performance review this year, you have every right to do so and I accept it.”

The Principal seemed so shocked that Beouf would accept a penalty of some sort so quickly that Janet was able to get in, “If it’s about vomiting on purpose, ma’am, then you need to have words with some fourth and fifth graders who chugged pop rocks, pixie sticks, and soda at the Fall Festival.”

A low grunt rumbled out of Brollish as the dusty old processor that was her brain ran the numbers.  “You make a very good point, ladies,” she said. “That is why, effective tomorrow through the end of Thursday, Clark Grange will be suspended.”

No one said a thing.  It could have been so much worse. Still… “Suspended?” I asked. “Why?”

“I am a firm believer in restorative justice,” Brollish said. “You did a very bad thing, and need to face consequences for that action. Because of your status, I can’t have you mopping floors, so I’m giving you time out to reflect on what you’ve done by giving you the maximum amount of suspension for that type of infraction.”

“Vomiting?” Beouf asked, incredulous.

“Vandalism,” Brollish said simply. Okay. Yeah. That was admittedly fair.  “Ms. Grange, I trust you have either enough emergency sub plans and time off to watch him or the means to ensure for his care?”

Janet stood up with me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Mrs. Beouf, you may take your student back to the classroom for the remainder of the day.”

I was quickly passed over to Beouf. I’d already forgotten what was going on beneath my waist because of all the adrenaline pumping in me.  “Yes, ma’am.’

“Thank you for your time, ladies.”

We walked stiffly and silently out of the office, out into the reception area, and then circling around into the courtyard.  Janet gave me a final kiss on the cheek.  “We’ll talk more at home,” she promised.

Beouf didn’t say anything till we were almost in the classroom. “Big boy?” she said. “Really?”

“What?” I blushed. “I was trying to sell it.”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, bud? Anybody who knows you knows that you don’t talk like that!”  She tweaked my nose and winked. “Good thing Brollish doesn’t really know you, huh?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m Cwawk,” Melony lisped all the way into an obnoxious falsetto. “An’ I’m justa widdle baby. Notta big boy! Ooowooo!”

I gasped in half-mocking exasperation.  “Are you making fun of me for actually talking like my Developmental Plateau Melony Beouf?”

“No, Clark Gibson Grange,” Melony smirked. “I’m making fun of you for doing a bad impression of what you think I want your Developmental Plateau to sound like. You taught preschool for how long and that’s the best you can do?”

“Shut up,” I laughed, and stuck out my tongue at her.  She stopped at the door and stuck hers out right back at me.  “Gibson Grange?” I said.  “What’s up with that?”

“Slip of the tongue,” Beouf shrugged, bobbing me in my messy Monkeez with it. “I don’t normally know people’s pre-Adopted names.  I messed up and self-corrected in the same thought and hoped you wouldn’t notice.” She grabbed the door handle. “Come on, stinker, let’s get you changed.”

“Deal.”

It had been a day of terrible and wonderful miracles.  As it turned out there was still one left.

“Hey, Boss!”

Beouf’s room was in total chaos. The normally well organized classroom was littered with stuffies and toys from every activity center and bit of closet space.  Rather than attempt any form of discipline or instruction, Zoge had just given up pretense and initiated a kind of indoor recess.

Zoge hadn’t been the only certified adult in the room, however.  Standing amidst the chaos, my favorite Tweener surveyed the real life three and four year olds playing amongst the eighteen to thirty five year olds forced to act younger.  What’s more, they were playing with each other.  No shouts of ‘baby’ or shoves or pushes from the bigger children.  No fear or manipulation from the smaller adults.

“Okay kid,”  Chaz said. “Put that block there.”

“But that’ll make it all fall.”

“Exactly!” Chaz snapped his finger. “It’s not good fun until something is falling down!”

“Hold still,” Annie said to a former student of mine. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Are these gonna make me look pretty?” the massive three year old asked, while Annie fiddled with hair clips.  

“You’re gonna be the prettiest dolly in all the land. Promise!”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the Littles were kind of…babysitting?  Not with any kind of actual authority, but the children were following their lead.  Lots of questions of “what next?” and declarations of “follow me!”  Over in the reading nook, Mandy and Shauna were giving an impromptu phonics lesson.  Jessie and Sandra Lynn were working with finger paints and giving an art seminar.

“Tracy?” I gawked. “What in the world is happening?”

“Mrs. Zoge and I decided to combine classes for the afternoon. This place has better toys.”

“But…but…but…” I spread my arms over the entire scene.  If I hadn’t known any better I’d say Ambrose had never indoctrinated them.  “We had a talk after lunch.”

“About what?”

“Treating people the way you want to be treated,” Tracy said. “Gold Rule.  Oh, and about how Littles with Maturosis were very experienced babies, and you could still learn a lot.from experience. That and I promised them extra cupcakes if they were nice.”  Her nose started to wrinkle at my smell.  

“Come on,” Beouf said. She started high stepping over blocks and playsets.. “Let’s get you cleaned up, oh experienced one.”

Peering over Beouf’s shoulder, I saw Tracy bend over and whisper something into Tommy’s ear.  Whatever she was telling my least favorite asshole, he was digging it.

I stared at my reflection in the ceiling mirror, smiling up at myself. As far as Little victories went, this was easily the Littlest.  I’d won with the help of my friends because I’d done something so incredibly stupid as to be nearly suicidal and they all covered for me.  My only punishment was three days off.

“Just like old times,” I whispered.  I was so tired and over the moon with relief that it didn’t even bother me seeing Beouf’s hands unbutton my romper again and expose my ruined diaper.

Beouf grabbed a fresh diaper and started unfolding it.  “What was that?” she asked, her hands already going for the tapes.

From the classroom, shouting so loud that it could be heard over everything else came Tommy’s thundering voice. “ALL HAIL CLARK GIBSON! THE GIANT KILLAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

My change was delayed by a good two minutes with both of us cackling and gasping for breath in the bathroom, Beouf becoming so weak that she fell to her knees and had to steady herself and climb back up to her feet using the changing table’s shelves.