One boy is about to learn that he has already passed such an event, and nothing will ever be quite the same…

Dr. Van de Meer saw that Brandon’s courses began with Jeanette Becker’s German 1. She remembered helping him enroll in the course. Foreign languages had interested him greatly, but he had to secure special permission to enroll in not just one but two foreign languages.

Xenia opened the instant messaging screen for the campus and entered the course code for German 1 and Jeanette Becker’s room number.

Brandon usually enjoyed his first class of the day, German 1. He felt excited hearing himself think in other languages. Not only did his morning begin with German, but his afternoon began with French. He’d have enrolled in Spanish as well, but Spanish 1 was only taught the same time as French 1.

Due to the structure of the language lab, enrollment was limited to 24 students in German 1. The twelve desks, each accommodating two students, were arranged in four rows of three. At each desk was an audio-visual digital interface with inputs for two microphones, outputs for two sets of earphones, and USB ports for two laptop, notebook, or tablet computers. The instructor’s console had a comprehensive digital interface that allowed it to link any set of users, from each individual student to the whole class with the teacher. The default configuration was the same three-way network for everyone: the two partners at each desk were linked with one another and the instructor.

So Frau Becker hit the button that allowed her to listen in on the conversation between Brandon and his lab partner, who happened to be Alice Johansson from his homeroom.

„Du warst das schönste Mädchen gestern, Brandi“, said Alice.

„Nein, Alice!“ Frau Becker interrupted their dialogue. “Remember that in conversation, German prefers the present perfect tense even though English uses the simple past tense in the same circumstance. So that’s: ‚Brandi—oder Brandon—du bist gestern das schönste Mädchen gewesen‘.” Brandon could hear Frau Becker and Alice giggling in his earphones.

„Brandi, du bist gestern das schönste Mädchen gewesen“, repeated Alice, still giggling.

Brandon put his face down on the desktop, covering his head in shame under his hands. “No! Not that again!” he wailed.

„Brandon, auf Deutsch, bitte!“ his teacher insisted.

„Nein! Nicht dieses wieder!“ repeated Brandon in German.

Frau Becker pushed another button so that only Brandon could hear her. He noticed that his own privacy light had lit up on the console.

„Fräulein Doktor Van de Meer will dich sofort in ihrem Büro sprechen“.

„Ja, sie hat sofort gesagt. Nimm deinen Bücher mit! Vielleicht kannst du heute nicht mehr zurückkommen“.

Brandon sighed as he pushed a button on the digital interface. He turned to address his lab partner.

„Ich muss Fräulein Doktor Van de Meer jetzt sehen, Alice“.

„Ich will mit dir am Mittagessen sitzen“, she suggested.

„Kelly Harrigan will auch mit mir am Mittagessen sitzen“, he told her, but with a look of exasperation on his face. He’d rather have lunch with Alice than Kelly any day. Besides, Brandon could chat in German with Alice. He didn’t want to get it wrong, so he switched to English.

“If you can get to the cafeteria before Kelly, please join me for lunch! She invited herself, after all.”

Alice nodded with a grin and giggled.

„Tschüß, Brandon!“

„Tschüß, Alice!“

Stowing his book and materials in his backpack, Brandon slung it over his shoulder and started toward the door. Frau Becker arose and quietly addressed him in English as they each stepped through the door of the classroom. “You must realize that Alice is right,” she said. “You made such a charming girl yesterday.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’d like to forget that now.”

“Oh?”

“I really don’t like how I feel about it today, so I just wanna put it behind me.”

“Alright, Brandon,” conceded his teacher. “But you’d better hurry along to talk to Doctor Van de Meer.”

„Bis Morgen, Frau Becker!“

„Bis Morgen, Brandon!“

Brandon stepped and leapt his way downstairs to the Guidance Office. Marla Peterson glanced up as the boy crossed the threshold with an impetuosity befitting a teenager.

“Good morning, Miss Peterson!”

“Good morning to you, too, Brandon!” Marla addressed him. “Doctor Van de Meer is expecting you.” The office assistant arose from her chair and escorted him to the guidance counselor’s office.

“Brandon MacDonald to see you, Doctor,” she introduced the student.

“Would you get the door, Marla?”

“Of course, Doctor,” she affirmed, closing the door until she heard the bolt engage.

“Take a seat, Brandon,” ordered Dr. Van de Meer. “We need to talk.”

The boy anxiously seated himself in the vinyl armchair. “What did I do wrong now?”

“Why d’you think you did anything wrong?”

“Because whenever someone tells me, ‘we need to talk,’ it’s so they can tell me what I did wrong.”

“Young man, when I say, ‘we need to talk,’ I mean we have important information to discuss. It might be upsetting, but it also might be uplifting, exciting, or even fun.”

“But whenever I hear it, I just know I’m in trouble.”

“Well, this time I can guarantee that you did nothing wrong,” she tried to assure him. “Anyway, what I wanted to discuss is if you liked yesterday? I mean, Gender-Bender Day?”

Brandon’s body language tensed up. Did she know already? Maybe she’d called Mom and they’ve talked? Or did Sheila talk to her? Sis knew how much fun he’d had dressing up, but he couldn’t let anyone else know—not even Dr. Van de Meer. He didn’t know how to answer. Even worse, he didn’t know how not to answer.

“So, how did you feel dressing up like a girl?” Dr. Van de Meer rephrased her question.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know,” answered Brandon, the frustration visibly showing on his face. “I mean, it was really fun yesterday, and I liked the clothes and spending more time with girls. But today, I feel foolish and ashamed, like it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“You dressed up all the way yesterday, I bet,” the counselor guessed, continuing to smile. “You even wore lingerie under the dress, didn’t you?”

“Yeah…”

“You said it was fun yesterday,” Dr. Van de Meer followed up Brandon’s previous statement. “How was it fun?”

“Well, Mom and Sis helped me get dressed up yesterday. Mom styled my hair and Sheila did my makeup. I know part of the fun was just seeing how much they liked it.”

“What else?”

“I liked the feeling of being just a little naughty,” admitted Brandon. “Boys aren’t supposed to dress like girls, so I think that’s where most of the fun came from. At least it did for me. But what surprised me is that now, girls are telling me I really looked like a girl. And they spent a whole lot more time around me than usual. I think a few want me to dress up for them again.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They told me.”

“Who told you, if you can tell me?”

“Well, both Debbi Snyder and Valerie Schmidt did when I gave them their things back this morning, and—”

“What things?”

“I had swapped my suit for Debbi’s dress to wear and borrowed shoes and a matching purse from Valerie. Mom and Sis gave me everything else.”

“Okay,” acknowledged Dr. Van de Meer discreetly jotting notes down on a pad unnoticed by Brandon. “Anyone else express a desire to see you dressed up again?”

“Kelly Harrigan did on her way out of homeroom this morning,” he reported, then paused a moment, wondering if he should tell her about the unwanted kiss, but then continued. “After that she invited herself to lunch with me again. And I’m fairly certain what she wants to talk about—getting me into another dress!”

“Where are you eating lunch today?”

“Nowhere fancy—just the cafeteria.”

“Any others interested in seeing more of your feminine side?”

“Well, in German class, Alice complimented me on how I dressed yesterday.”

“Alice Johansson?” guessed Dr. Van de Meer. She knew that the girl was in the same circle of friends with Valerie, Debbi, and Kelly.

“Yeah, but she didn’t talk about me doing it again,” recalled Brandon. “Even Frau Becker brought it up as I was coming to see you. I just wish everyone would forget it.”

“You seem to have made a strong impression en femme.”

“But I didn’t mean to,” Brandon dismissed her observation. “I just dressed up pretty because I thought I was supposed to.”

Dr. Van de Meer noted that remark especially. Then she let her intuition take over. “Brandon, what are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want everyone thinking I’m something I’m not. I don’t want people thinking I’m gay or—.” Tears began welling up in Brandon's eyes. “What’s that word for a boy who thinks he’s really a girl?”

“Do you mean transgendered?” Xenia extended a box of facial tissue to her young client.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he affirmed, accepting a few tissues.

“Have you had feelings that might make you wonder if you’re gay or transgendered?”

“No.” Brandon wiped his face dry.

“Then why are you worried about it now?”

“Because Sheila said that two guys asked her to fix them up on dates with her ‘little sister.’ So, they either think I’m a girl or they think I’m gay,” he related as tears flowed again. “But I’m neither of those.”

“Have you ever felt like you really should’ve been a girl or wanted to be a girl?”

“No, but it’s kinda worried me that I looked so much like one yesterday.” Again, he dried his face of tears.

“Brandon, do you know the word androgyny? ”

“Yeah,” he answered, relaxing with a deep breath. “It’s like when you wear unisex clothes?”

The guidance counselor grinned at him. “Well, there’s more involved than just unisex clothes,” she said as she wrote androgyny on a small notepad. She tore the page off and gave it to Brandon. “Go look it up online and think about it for a day or two. Now, you’ve never had any attraction to boys?”

“No, I like girls and just girls. To be specific, I like Jenny Chang and I was hoping that wearing a pretty dress yesterday might get her attention.”

“Did she say anything about it to you in class?”

“No, but she smiled at me and giggled a lot more than usual.” Brandon grinned slightly and blushed.

“So you’d like Jenny to compliment you on how you looked yesterday, but not really anyone else?”

“Is that okay, if I do?”

Xenia flashed a smile at him. “Brandon, you sound to me like a boy who likes girls and you already have one special girl in mind,” she assured her worried student. “So let me give you some advice. First, go after what you want. You can make it happen. Don’t ask if? but how? Next, stand firm for your own choices. Don’t let anyone push you into anything that’s not right for you, or that you’re not ready for.

“Already, you’ve had girls telling you they want you dressing up like them again. Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Then don’t! It’s that simple.”

“I do have a question about Gender-Bender Day and all that, Doctor Van de Meer,” continued Brandon.

“Was there a specific lesson I was supposed to learn from dressing up like a girl?”

Dr. Van de Meer set her elbows on the desk and clasped her hands together against her forehead. He would ask her that, wouldn’t he? And it was a good question, but one that she could not answer. She jotted down yet another note to raise it as an issue at the next faculty meeting.

“I don’t know quite how to answer your question,” admitted Xenia. “But I think that what you’ve learned—and may yet learn—about yourself is a lot more important. That’s one reason I gave you that word to look up.”

The bell ending the first period classes rang.

“Did we discuss everything you wanted to talk about with me?” Brandon asked as he picked his backpack up and put the word that Dr. Van de Meer had given him into the watch pocket of his blue jeans.

“Yes. Yes, we did,” the counselor replied. She felt relieved that she had managed to give Brandon a subtle message without revealing other confidences, but she would liked to have followed up more about why crossdressing had been fun for him. “You go have a nice day now.”

Xenia slowly followed him out as he dashed from her office into the corridor. She paused before Marla’s desk and turned to her. “Marla, you okay with lunch in the cafeteria today?”

“Sure. Can I ask why?”

“Something’s gonna happen there today at lunchtime and I have this feeling I need to watch that boy’s back.”

Marla nodded and on her computer, pulled down a menu to request their preferred entrees for two faculty/staff lunches.

On his way out, Brandon wondered if he ought to have mentioned the kiss that Kelly had stolen from him earlier in the morning. She’d had a crush on him for a long time, back to at least the sixth grade. And he liked her well enough. She was cute, like cinnamon-flavored eye candy.

But Brandon had always been frightened of Kelly. She was fun-loving but always pushing the envelope. She tended to be very aggressive, going after whatever (and whomever) she wanted. But most of all, Brandon feared Kelly’s Irish temper. She fully realized the stereotype—he’d seen it enough that he would never consider anything beyond a casual friendship with her.

He climbed the stairs to the top floor for his Earth Science course. All of the science and mathematics classrooms were on that floor with Mr. Markham’s classroom for history and Mrs. Holly Lloyd’s for economics and civics. Since his locker was close to his next class, Brandon went to it and left his textbook for German. Then he decided to leave everything but his text for Earth Science and his three-ring binder. The Men’s Room was close by, so he decided to go in and clean his face.

Jennifer Chang was already at her seat. She and Brandon shared a lab station and sat together.

“G’morning, Jenny!”

“Good morning, Brandon. I see you’re back in your own clothes today.”

“And none too soon!” Brandon had worn his usual blue jeans and sneakers, a royal blue polo shirt and his khaki windbreaker.

“I wanted to tell you this yesterday,” whispered Jenny, “but I couldn’t believe how cute you looked. It’s not fair that a boy gets to dress like that and I don’t!”

“Why not?”

“Mom won’t let me,” pouted Jenny. “She makes me wear these frumpy clothes all the time.” She was attired in a brown corduroy skirt that came to her knees, a plain white cotton blouse and an olive green pullover. Her long black hair was controlled by a white hairband. She wore plain white kneesocks with penny loafers. At least her small glasses, wire rims with hexagonal lenses, complimented her delicate facial structure instead of dominating it.

“Well, I know how pretty you really are, anyway.”

“Thanks, Brandon. It’s just wrong that you get to wear prettier dresses than I do,” she complained but still giggled.

Brandon felt a little weird that Jenny of all people was jealous of him wearing a dress. But he could understand. She likely had no pretty dresses of her own. Her home life had to be horribly repressive. Brandon had wanted to ask Jenny to the Homecoming Dance, but she had mentioned that her mother had already forbidden her to attend.

“I only did it because I thought I was supposed to,” he tried to explain. “Now everyone seems to want me in drag.”

Their teacher, Robert Danvers, Ed.S., approached them as he examined a document on his clipboard. “I see that it’s your turn to take observations at our weather station.” The two lab partners glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. Mr. Danvers placed a key on their lab station.

“I forgot my coat!” Jenny said.

“That’s okay,” Brandon assured her, shedding his windbreaker. “You can wear mine. It shouldn’t be too chilly up there.”

She donned the extra garment and took their notebook from the lab station while Brandon took the key. Mr. Danvers led them towards a spiral steel staircase in the rear corner of the lab. Brandon climbed up through the ceiling first and Jenny followed him up into a small shack-like structure opening onto the roof. The weather station was housed a few yards (metres) away in a cabinet with slatted walls that protected the instruments from the weather while measuring it.

The wind vane pointed into a fresh breeze, while the cups of the anemometer danced vigorously, both testifying to the wind’s velocity across the roof. Brandon wasted no time unlocking and opening the slatted door to the cabinet protecting the weather instruments. He began by reading the wind speed and direction, then reading the regular list of data that they and their classmates recorded daily. Brandon was especially adept at handling and using the sling psychrometer and reading the meniscus on the barometer, the thermometers, and the rain gauge. Jenny would usually record the measurements as he called them out. But she handled the paper strips from the heliometer better, and Mr. Danvers had recommended that she retrieve the previous day’s strip and replace it with the new one.

“Jenny, is that everything?” Brandon asked one more time before he locked the weather station up. Another pair would be up later in the day to take more readings.

“We’ve got all the data,” she answered, dropping their lab notebook in her shoulder bag. “Let’s go.”

Brandon turned to start back toward the stairs when he felt two hands reach around behind his neck and pull him forward. A soft pair of lips pressed against his own.

“Jenny!” he whispered, nearly out of breath. She smiled, took him by the hand, and led him back to the roof door. Brandon then stopped, pulled her closer to himself and returned the kiss, lingering a moment longer than their first one. “I like you,” he confessed.

“I know,” she confirmed. “How you looked at me yesterday—like you so needed my approval—was almost as if you wore that dress just for me.”

“In a way, I think I did,” he agreed, although it seemed almost like a new discovery to him. Strangely, Brandon felt a huge anxiety quelled within himself. Jenny smiled at him and passed the door to start down the winding stairs.

“What took so long?” Mr. Danvers asked when Jenny stepped onto the floor. She was concealing a smile with her hand as she continued back to her seat. But as Brandon came down the stairs, the teacher winked to acknowledge his students’ new achievement.

“Jenny, would you read the new data you’ve recorded to the class, please?” Mr. Danvers asked.

Brandon listened to the melodic lilt of Jenny’s voice as she seemed to sing the observed data. Well, it sounded that way to him. And no one else noticed when Mr. Danvers awarded him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

Brandon’s course in Geometry & Mathematical Reasoning met the period just before lunchtime and today there was a quiz at the end of class. While most of his classmates whined at the prospect, for him it meant that he might leave for lunch fifteen minutes early or thereabouts. Mathematics had always been easy for Brandon. His only real problem was that his fingers couldn’t move his pen as fast as he could figure the solution out. Indeed, his teacher, Savannah Lang, Ed.S., Ph.D., even had remarked that he skirted the boundaries of arrogance by using pen instead of pencil to write his assignments and tests. In his defense, Brandon had pointed out to her that ink was neater, and also that so far, he hadn’t needed to erase anything that he had submitted.

Dr. Lang had allowed half an hour for the quiz, which Brandon still completed in only ten minutes. Jenny, Alice, and Kelly were also in the same class. Jenny would likely finish before the other two girls, but the chance of who would finish next between Alice and Kelly he adjudged as even.

So as soon as he finished his quiz, Brandon handed it to Dr. Lang and dashed down the stairs and into the cafeteria, housed in an adjoining structure to the main building. He saw that his best friends, Jeff and Mark, were already sitting at a table with their lunches. They waved at him and catching his eye, they signaled that they’d saved him a seat with them. So Brandon took a tray and stepped in line for lunch. He quickly decided on the veggie lasagna—not so much that he were a vegetarian, but that neither the appearance nor the aroma of the other entrees seemed appetizing. Somehow, the cooks always got the pasta al dente, and whenever they overcooked the sauce, it seemed to taste roasted rather than burnt. Only Italian cuisine seemed apparently immune to their culinary crimes.

He approached the cashier whom he presented his smartcard from the School District. She swiped it through a point-of-sale card reader and her screen registered the purchase of one subsidized lunch. Usually, Brandon’s mother packed his and Sheila’s lunches, but since they had additional items to carry with them this morning, they had decided to get theirs from the cafeteria.

Approaching the rectangular table where his friends were sitting, Brandon moved to the end and placed his lunch tray there. “Here’s the deal,” he began, pulling a chair to the end of the table. “You guys are on each side of me. If Kelly Harrigan shows, hold your positions and freeze her out. Alice Johansson is welcome. And if Jenny Chang comes over, she sits next to me.”

“Yeah, I kinda thought you might be into her,” answered Jeff as Mark nodded in agreement, munching on a sandwich.

“Well, I found out this morning that she’s into me, too,” Brandon confirmed. “We kissed—twice!”

“Alright, bro!” Mark praised Brandon as the friends all high-fived one another. They all had grown up in the same row of houses, dwelling in three adjacent homes. The “Three Musketeers,” as they were known to their neighbors and classmates, had been together since kindergarten and from even before.

Brandon bit into his lasagna and ascertained that it was palatable, even somewhat better than usual. That he had it fresh from the oven helped, as no doubt did his mood of friendship with his buddies and his giddy feelings over Jenny. And it was a larger portion than expected as well.

“Tell us,” said Jeff. “How’d it happen?”

“We were on the roof at the weather station and just finished the readings,” recounted Brandon. “When I turned around to go, she threw her arms around me and she kissed me right on the lips. We took a breath, went back to the stairs, and then I kissed her. We held that one a moment before going back downstairs. I think Mr. Danvers knew what we were doing, because he winked and gave me a pat on the back.”

“That’s cool, Mac!” Jeff congratulated him. “The race is on ’tween me and you now, Mark.”

“Race?” wondered Mark.

“To see which of you gets the next girlfriend,” Brandon reminded him, teasing him a little with his own success. “I just hope it’s easier for you guys than it was for me.”

“Oh, what did it take you?” Jeff inquired.

“I’m not entirely certain,” explained Brandon, “but from what Jenny said, I’m afraid what clinched it was how I dressed up yesterday.”

“Oh, no!” Mark objected. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll stay a bachelor.”

“Me, too,” agreed Jeff. “Yesterday was more than enough gender-bending for me. I’ll keep my blue jeans, thank you.”

Mark and Jeff had participated by replacing their blue jeans with denim skirts, but otherwise wore their usual clothes. It had been the second most common method of compliance. Most boys had simply worn pantyhose under their trousers. It was the least intrusive technique and compliance was easily checked by rolling up a pant leg. Mark and Jeff had planned to go with that, but when Brandon said that he would dress up all the way, they felt as if they were wimping out, so obtained skirts from neighbors.

“At least I had something positive to result from all that yesterday,” Brandon concluded. “The downside is that the other girls I know have expressed a desire to get me in drag again. Apparently, I overdid it yesterday—I looked too nice.”

“Well, Mac, the truth is you were one hot-looking babe!” Mark assessed his friend with unwelcome praise. “I’m just glad I know you’re a guy and yesterday was not for real.”

“Yeah, you looked as good as any of the princess-types around here and prob’ly even better than most,” added Jeff. “Maybe they want to make you one of them.”

“Now don’t even think anything like that!” gasped Brandon shuddering in mock fear. “They might pick it up by telepathy.”

They all laughed at the idea, then Brandon noticed Jenny coming into the cafeteria and waved her over to their table. Her face lit up and she half-ran to greet them. Jeff, sitting to Brandon’s right, moved over one seat so that the yet bonding couple could sit together.

“Thanks for loaning me your windbreaker this morning, Brandon,” offered Jenny, returning it. “That was kind.”

“You’re most welcome to it anytime, Jenny,” Brandon accepted the garment from her. “Allow me to introduce you to my best friends. This is Jeffrey Padgett and Mark Albertson. Jeff, Mark, this is Jennifer Chang.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said. “And just call me ‘Jenny.’ Besides, ‘Jennifer’ is what Mom calls me, especially when I’m in trouble.”

“Yeah, that’s when Mom includes my middle name,” Jeffrey concurred with a laugh. “But please, just call me ‘Jeff.’ ”

Brandon waited until Jenny sat before reseating himself. She removed two covered plastic bowls, a small thermos, and a pair of chopsticks from a nylon bag. She looked around for a moment and realized that she had forgotten something.

“I need some hot water for my tea,” Jenny told Brandon.

“I’ll get it,” he said and went right to the large cylinders of hot water and coffee, grabbed a styrofoam cup, and filled it up. He carried the cup, of steaming hot water back to the table carefully.

As he arrived, Brandon noticed a Goth-looking girl standing next to Mark and chatting with him. She was dressed mostly in black, wearing a calf-length black velvet skirt hemmed in lace and black boots with three-inch (8 cm) heels. She wore a black corset over a white peasant blouse. Her fingernails were painted black and her lips were colored black as well.

“Brandon, have you met Melinda?” Mark asked him. “She’s in the Art Club.”

“No, I haven’t,” Brandon answered. “Just a moment, please.” He put the cup of hot water down in front of Jenny. He offered Melinda his hand. “Nice to meet you, Melinda. I’m Brandon MacDonald and this is Jenny Chang.” Jenny extended her hand after she dropped a teabag in the hot water.

“Nice to meet you, too, Melinda,” Jenny added.

“We were just talking about class projects we’re working on,” Mark explained. “She’s got a couple of ideas I might be able to use for mine.”

“I like your skirt, Melinda,” Jenny remarked.

“Thanks, Jenny,” said Melinda. “This one’s prob’ly my favorite.”

“I wish I could wear something like that,” dreamed Jenny aloud.

“Go for it, girl!” Melinda suggested. “I think you’d look good in Goth fashion.”

“How ’bout Brandon?” Jeff injected with a chuckle. “He might want a new wardrobe now.”

“Jeff!” Brandon reproved his friend as everyone at the table but Melinda laughed. Then she bent down and Mark whispered in her ear.

“Omigosh!” blurted Melinda. “That was you?” This time everyone laughed, even Brandon in spite of himself, as Melinda’s surprise was complete. “Someone told me that was Sheila’s little sister.”

“I’m Sheila’s younger brother.”

“That explains it then,” concluded the Goth girl, seeming to relax as it all now made sense to her. “You were so pretty yesterday!”

“Must everyone remind me of that?” complained Brandon.

“Yes,” said Jenny, turning to whisper in his ear, “but only because it’s true.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. Then looking up, she noticed a number of girls in line picking up lunch trays and starting towards their table. “Here comes the ‘Swarm’!” Jenny announced.

“The Swarm?” Brandon asked.

Melinda made eye contact with Jenny. “You mean the ‘Queen Bee’ and her ‘Wannabes,’ don’t you?”

Jenny nodded.

“Queen Bee and Wannabes?” Mark wondered, thinking out loud.

“The alpha-female and her betas,” explained Brandon.

“Or the Queen and her Court?” Jeff offered an alternative idea.

“You got it, bro,” Brandon confirmed.

“But who’s the alpha?” Mark followed up.

“Prob’ly the tallest one,” guessed Jenny.

“That’s Valerie,” Brandon remarked. “She loaned me her purse and high heels for yesterday.”

“Sorry, but I gotta go,” announced Melinda. “I just can’t deal with all the princesses right now.” She kissed Mark’s cheek and finger-waved to everyone else. “Bye bye! Nice to meet all of you! See ya later!”

With that, Melinda quickly vanished from the cafeteria, no one certain whither she went. No sooner than she had left, the foursome at the table were approached by the group of well-dressed girls that Jenny had designated as “the Swarm.”

“Hi there!” Valerie greeted them as she set her tray at the end of the table opposite Brandon. “Mind if we join you for lunch?” Without waiting for an answer, Debbi and Alice sat down on the same side of the table next to Jeff, while Kelly and Teri sat across from them, leaving an empty seat next to Mark.

Jeff and Mark sat there silently as they realized they were acting as the first line of defense between their friends and the Swarm. Brandon reached for Jenny’s hand under the table, grasping each other’s firmly and warmly.

“Bees only sting when the hive is threatened,” advised Jenny sotto voce.

“That’s true enough for honeybees,” Brandon whispered back to her. “But might these belong to a more aggressive species?”