Chemystery free porn video

Chemystery, by Karin Bishop May 15 I don't know why I'm writing this; something just made me want to start a journal. I'm not doing it for any class or anything; Mom didn't tell me to do it or even hint at it. I just have this ...feeling that I should write down things. Since it's my journal I should say something about myself. They say that people who keep journals or diaries look back years later and are surprised by what they thought 'way back when'. So I guess that's why I'm doing this. Okay, personal details. We had to keep a journal for one semester so I kind of know the things that are supposed to be up front, descriptions and such. My name is Christopher Hanson, and I live with my mom Ruth in a little house on the edge of the housing development. It's all forest behind us. I'm kind of short and have long light brown hair. I tried to grow it long so I'd look, I don't know, like a rocker, maybe. So it's always tied back in a ponytail. I go to West View Middle School, finishing up the seventh grade. I'm an okay student, B's mostly. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. My best friends are ...well, my only friends, really, are Craig Wesson and Tommy Donohue. Craig is the smart one of us three, always planning, always coming up with schemes in the name of fun. He's average height, I guess, with wavy sandy hair and likes to wear black a lot. Tommy's a big guy, all action, fighting Irish and all that. Short black hair and as many muscles as a fourteen-year-old can have--even more than some seventeen-year-olds. So Craig and Tommy are the brains and brawn, which makes me the follower, I guess. The third musketeer, whatever. I don't mind, because they've always watched out for me. That's because I'm...well, not short, really, like I said before. Not like a runt; there are guys shorter than me. I'm the shortest of my buddies, but that's okay. So, not short, but I'm just small. Small all over. Thin bones, skinny legs, that sort of thing. Not Little People small, just on the lower end of the bell curve for my age, according to Dr. Paulson. He's been my doctor since forever. No, wait. After my father left us, right after I started kindergarten, I think was when we started going to Dr. Paulson. So nearly forever. My father left us. Those four words say it all. For awhile I thought it was something I'd done or hadn't done; I think all kids think that way. Then I thought it was all Mom's fault and I wasn't nice about it. But now I think he left us. A little of both, and a lot of him. Mom says he's a traveling salesman now so I can't write him, and I've kind of lost interest in doing it, anyway. He'd worked at a supermarket, and worked in a church, so I guess he just drifts. I'm fine with it being just me and Mom. She works in the administration at St. Joseph's Hospital and is a really nice lady. I just think she's lonely, only having me. So back to Tommy and Craig. Because I have a feeling this journal's going to have a lot about them. We met in second grade. I was going through some of my nastiness with Mom about my father leaving, raging and being a jerk, and mouthed off to the wrong kid at school who clocked me. I mean, I never saw it coming until I was staring at the sky, dizzy. Then there was a blur and this voice yelling, 'Get off the little guy' and that was Tommy rescuing me from a fifth grader that had decked me. Meanwhile, Craig picked me up and the three of us have been friends ever since. I said that Craig's the brains of the outfit. He's always coming up with something for us to do. I don't mean like, 'Hey, let's go to the playground and hang out' types of things to do. I mean things like, 'Hey, I know a place where we can get a block of ice for less than a buck. Stick a cardboard box on it and ride it down the hills at the golf course.' That was a wild ride, let me tell you, just insanely fast! Then the golf course security guys came rolling up in golf carts--what else?--and busted us. But it was fun, Craig was right about that. Some of his ideas, though, are a little dicey. Mom and I have this ...thing about honesty, being honest and speaking the truth. So when Craig comes up with something that might be illegal I beg off, and that's usually enough for him to spike the idea and come up with something else. I don't mean illegal ideas like stealing something, or hurting somebody. Just things that are a little out there. A little...off.. *** Okay. I'm back. It's later, but I want to get this thing started right. I just have this uneasy sense that the whole world is off, somehow. I don't mean teenage angst, either. We learned about that in class the other day. Anyway, I'm going into the whole Tommy and Craig thing because it's all part of ...the off-ness. Three weeks ago, Craig had another of his ideas that was maybe a tiny bit over the illegal line but too enticing to pass up. The tiny bit was that it didn't involve breaking and entering, just trespassing. And then, as he pointed out, only if we got caught. Right. Like I said, some things Craig came up with were a little off. But the enticing part was too good to miss. There's an industrial park on the far side of the forest, just a featureless rambling monstrosity of huge anonymous beige buildings. Craig had some supposedly very good info that video games were made in one of the buildings. And not just video games, but that it was the headquarters of Intellia, the guys that make Omega Chronicles, the ultimate, ultimate video game. It's like the big brother mashup of Gears of War and Halo, only on steroids. And Halo was made in an anonymous building right next to a supermarket outside Seattle, so Intellia could very well be in our industrial park! Craig's plan was to try to slip in and see what we could see. Not to take anything--although I brought a little digital camera--but to find out about the new version if we could. Just getting in would allow us to score over all the other gamers we knew. I'm not totally into the games like Craig and some other guys. Tommy's not very good at them; he usually gets too angry and winds up throwing the controller. I'm not like that; I just don't get into them like other guys. Maybe because Mom and I are always reading, and I like to watch old movies. Well, any movies, but I really love the old ones. But I was sure aware of the gamer world, and if we could pull this off, the street cred we'd get would be massive and we'd roll into eighth grade next year as heroes. So we did it. Craig had been watching the place for a week before. He actually set up an old movie camera and let it record for six hours at a time and scanned what time people came and went. Then he targeted those hours and after a week of his surveillance we had a pretty good schedule. There was a way to slip in the loading area, he said, when the waste guys came for the dumpster. I asked about getting out, and Craig laughed and said locks are only to keep people from getting in, not keep people from going out. That made sense ...sorta. We did the thing of telling our moms that we were all at each other's houses, or in transit, so we had a few hours' time to skulk around. We hid where Craig had filmed from, and used the dumpster truck for cover to scamper alongside and sure enough the dock gate opened up and we were in, and scrambled around keeping everything between us and anybody watching the process and then crouched behind the now-empty dumpster. Craig pointed out the button on the wall that opened the gate, if we needed it. He's sharp like that. The gate closed and we grinned as the lights went off. Then we crept onto the loading dock and the door had a glass window. We scanned through it and then slipped in. Here was the dicey part; we didn't know what was inside so we had to move fast and improvise. It was a featureless hall with doors; most seemed to have the glass insert so we could peek in. The first three had people in them and the fourth was empty and unlocked. I'd shot photos--without a flash--of the halls and through the corners of the windows as quickly as I could, and then followed the other guys into the room. The room had eight amazing computer workstations, with three monitors each surrounding ergonomic keyboards, all with screen savers going with the Intellia logo. I shot that as Tommy and Craig posed high-fiving each other in back of the screens. Craig tried each station but they all had password protection. We went back to the window and saw somebody walking down at the end of the hall. We shrank back to the walls, which was kind of silly when I think about it. The guy's footsteps stopped briefly in front of our door and I thought my heart stopped when the doorknob turned and the door opened an inch. Then it closed and we heard a key slipping in the lock and the footsteps started away. Tommy started to mutter something but Craig whispered that it was just a routine guard thing, and he found an unlocked lab so he locked it; that was all. He grinned and reminded us that it wasn't to keep people from going out ... ...and then he was proved wrong. We couldn't get the door opened. It was somehow locked on both sides. We sat at separate workstations and debated what to do. Craig said no problem and pulled out his cellphone but there weren't any bars so we looked at each other, wondering just how much trouble we were in. Then The Voice began. "Stay calm, boys," came a disembodied, deeply male voice. "We'll get you out in a moment." There was a pause. "Stand up." Craig and I stood; Tommy looked at us with disgust. "You, too," The Voice said to a startled Tommy, who quickly stood. "Yes, we have cameras. We've monitored you since the loading dock. Now, there's no need for this to be ugly. You guys thought you'd sneak in, get some cool photos to show to your buddies and be heroes, right?" It was strange nodding to an unseen voice, but we did. The Voice actually chuckled. "We understand. Okay. Help's here. Stand by the door and no hassles, big guy, okay?" I guessed that the hidden camera or cameras had shown Tommy getting in a defensive crouch. He looked at us and then loosened up. The door clicked and a bearded guy with black curly hair and a dark blue polo shirt with the Intellia logo stood there with two other guys in the same getup. "Come on, guys," Bearded Guy sighed. Like this was an everyday occurrence, he said matter-of-factly, "You're not the first and you probably won't be the last that tried this stunt. Let's make this as painless as we can, okay?" I'd been freaked by The Voice but what he said now relaxed me a little; Craig, too, I think. We meekly followed them to another room with several chairs and a computer workstation and we sat. Bearded Guy said, "Any ID?" and we looked at each other, knew we were screwed and fished out our wallets and handed them over. He grinned. "Well, you're not the first but you're certainly the youngest, I'll give you points for that." He made photocopies of our ID cards, those crummy handwritten ones that come with the wallet, and copies of our West View Middle School student IDs. Then he handed them back to us. "Right. Craig, Thomas--go by Tommy?" On Tommy's nod, to me he said, "Christopher--go by Chris?" I nodded and he gave another deep sigh. "Right. You know you're trespassing, yada-yada-yada. No sense getting police records over this. Are all of you gamers?" Craig said he was and Tommy nodded. I shrugged. Bearded Guy said, "Not a gamer, Chris? Why'd you risk the cops, then? For your buddies? Thought so. Oh, camera, please. Canon, was it?" I nodded, impressed with their surveillance cameras, and handed it over. He pushed the buttons like he'd done it a zillion times and handed it back. Wiped clean, of course. "Sorry if you had shots of your girlfriend there; she's gone, too." Tommy snorted and Bearded Guy looked at me a little gently, I thought. "No girlfriend, then? Right. Well, you're young yet. You guys ...well, you know that you've found Intellia. But there's a complication. Usually I'd let you back out the loading dock and that would be that ...but you picked a bad night to show up." He inhaled deeply and looked up. "And it's Showtime," he said to our puzzlement. Especially because he looked almost ...sad. We turned as the door was flung open and a guy came in, wearing mostly grays, even his windbreaker. From all the movies I'd seen, something about him said military or ex-military. And he was followed by two big guys in black who dwarfed everybody in the room. The other two Intellia guys probably felt that, because they quickly left without a word, leaving Bearded Guy looking kind of stranded. The two Bully Boys stepped on either side of Military Guy, flanking him. Only then did I see they were carrying what looked like big flashlights but were probably stun rods. Military Guy stood looking at us for a moment and then surprised us by smiling. "Gentlemen. Points for bravado. But you understand that we can't allow any trespassing. Now, I want you to know that I will not involve the police if you'll answer some questions for me. Are we clear?" We knew enough to say, 'yes, sir' and, as freaked as I was by the stun rods, I could tell Tommy and Craig were as relieved as I was that we could avoid police. We'd been grounded forever for the ice block-golf course thing. "Fair enough," he nodded. "We'll move to another room, get out of this fellow's hair." Bearded Guy gave us a quick frowning look and said, "Do you think it's wise?" Military Guy said crisply, "Already been decided." To us, all smiley, he said, "You guys want something to drink? Soda? Juice?" We looked at each other. They wouldn't be offering drinks if we were really truly busted, right? So we started to smile--Craig was grinning. Tommy said, "Pepsi if you got it." "Sprite. Or Seven-Up, something like that," Craig said. "I'm fine with water. Or juice," I said. "Health freak," Tommy muttered. "Excellent choices," the guy said, and pulled out a walkie-talkie and relayed our requests. "Follow me." We got up and left Bearded Guy. I was the last in line and turned to sort of wave and saw that he was staring at us, and looked worried. Military Guy led us down another featureless hall to another door like all the others. Inside was a table and three chairs, with our drinks set next to glasses with ice cubes and a napkin. Two opened cans of Pepsi and Sprite and a bottle of Dasani water with the cap next to it. Like a hotel, I thought, cool! We couldn't be in that much trouble if we were getting like room service, right? There was a desk and computer and Military Guy sat there; the Bully Boys took chairs on either side of the door. I thought it was interesting that the room had been set up so precisely and quickly and anonymously. Maybe it was always like that. The three of us sat by our drinks, Craig in the middle, and since Military Guy was silent, just watching us and nodding pleasantly, we went ahead and poured and sipped. After we'd swallowed and did the 'ah!' thing, he grinned, leaned forward and launched into a long speech about the need for secrecy, bootlegs giving new games a bad reputation, blah, blah, blah. It was all stuff we'd heard before or could figure out on our own, but I guess he thought he had to give the speech. I figured it was the price we had to pay for not involving the cops. The speech ended, Military Guy fired up the computer and asked each of us what games we played, how old we were when we started playing video games, and other marketing-type questions that he entered, a page for each of us. He asked about our social lives, to flesh out the profile, I guess. He said it was to get a better grasp of gamers, and said the industry had learned a lot after the screw-up with Halo: Reach Again, and we all nodded, remembering that with a laugh. Some of the questions were personal but they were personality data Military Guy said the marketing guys needed. And it would keep us from the cops. So we told him about our grades, girlfriends--that was easy: None--siblings and parents, what type of computer systems we used, what kind of internet feeds did we have, did we play online, that sort of thing. We'd finished the drinks long ago and Tommy said he had to whizz, one of his favorite words. Military Guy nodded and Tommy was escorted out by a Bully Boy. Craig and I looked at each other and Military Guy laughed. "Look, we all got rules and protocols. I have to have one guy on the kid ...whizzing, and one guy here. That way the head guys don't get all freaked out that we let you wander alone, you understand?" We did, and Craig went when Tommy came back. I sat there thinking, first Bearded Guy, now Military Guy, and he's talking about Head Guys ...how many layers were here? Although Military Guy didn't sound like he actually had any Head Guys, from his attitude. Then Craig came back and I went. Boring hall to a restroom, like all the other doors but it had the male bathroom symbol where the little windows were on the other doors. Industrial plumbing, not unlike school but absolutely spotless--so not like school!--and then my Bully Boy and I went back to the room. There was a little speech for the need to keep quiet, although we hadn't really seen anything, and he'd see if maybe he could get the three of us an advance copy of the new game. It was obviously the bribe to keep our mouths shut. The Bully Boys took us back to the loading dock, opened the gate, we walked through, the gate closed, and that was it, just like it never happened. May 16 Whew! That took me hours to write yesterday, but I think it's important to know every moment of our little adventure. Because something is happening to me, and I think it's because of that night, three weeks ago. We got home and considered ourselves heroes, even if we couldn't tell anybody what happened. And we'd never tell our buddies because we'd sound lame. They'd say: "Let me get this right. You say you snuck in to Intellia. You say they caught you, interrogated you, and conveniently wiped your camera. So, basically, you've got nothing." Yeah, right; there was no point in telling anybody anything. Three or four nights after that night, though, I felt ...funny. I felt soft and kind of ...squishy. There wasn't anything to put a finger on; I figured I'd caught a cold that night because the timing was right if I was coming down with it. It passed the next day, and although I had a few sessions of diarrhea in the morning--thank goodness it was a teacher workday, no school--I felt fine afterwards. I went over to Craig's house to hang out but was just kind of tired, I guess from all my time on the toilet. He just thought I was coming down with something and we didn't do much; he was fiddling with Omega Chronicles while I read an old Rolling Stone, so I went home early. It wasn't until about a week later that I woke up in the middle of the night, sweating. I'd had a weird dream but couldn't remember it; just a flash of images that made no sense. And the next night, and the next night. It's been two weeks now and I'm sleeping okay; I haven't had a dream for two nights now. I still feel soft and squishy, though. But the reason I started writing all this is because of something Craig said. The three of us were in the park, sitting on the merry-go-round. Just sitting, not doing anything, just talking. There weren't any little kids around so it wasn't like we were hogging it or anything; just hanging out. At some point Tommy said, "Man, I think I'm coming down with the flu or something. I feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy." Craig shot me a look but didn't say anything. A while later, Tommy said he had chores and had better head home. We watched him leave the park. Craig said, "He never does chores." "Maybe his dad is reading him the riot act," I said. He snorted. "His dad doesn't read; he might hit him with the riot act, all rolled up." Tommy had a rough family life, full of a bad-but-true clich?--drunken macho brawling between his father, his older brother, and Tommy. Craig said, "Did you hear what he said about the Pillsbury Doughboy?" I nodded. Craig squinted. "That's weird. I've been ..." He stared into the distance. "Ever since that night at Intellia, I've been feeling weird. You?" I sighed and nodded. "Only way I can put it is, I feel sort of soft and squishy." Craig nodded enthusiastically. "That's it! I was thinking that I felt kind of ...I don't know...fragile, I guess, like walking on eggs, but, yeah! Soft and squishy; that's exactly right! And weird dreams." "I got those, but not the last couple of nights." Craig gave me a look. "Something very weird went down that night." I nodded. He said, "Something in our drinks, maybe?" "Or the ice cubes, or the glasses, or the toilet paper, or the air ...weird chemicals in the room ...anything." He stared off into the distance for a long silent moment. "Well, unless we start having convulsions, or like ...dying or something, we'll just have to keep quiet and ride it out. We can't tell anybody anything. Oh, and don't say anything to Tommy. He'll freak, probably think it's some curse or something. You know how his folks go on about curses." Tommy's parents were both devoutly Irish Catholic and also amazingly superstitious. "Probably just got sick on dirty glasses or something," I offered. "In that place?" Craig snickered. "It was so sterile we could've eaten off the floor." May 24 Still soft and squishy, but now there's a weird calmness. Everything is fine. I got a crummy grade on a test, one that I'd studied for, but I didn't focus on the questions and did the thing wrong, pure and simple. Usually I would have blown up but now I thought, no, the teacher's right. I need to pay more attention. I need to get along with him. I did ask if I could re-take it, or a different test. The teacher looked at me like he'd never seen me before and agreed to let me take a different period's test. I aced that one. So maybe the calm thing is working out. May 28 I don't know if it's a late spring fever, or what. I'm still calm, but hearing all the boys talking the usual talk is bugging me. It's all ranking and trying to top the other guy. For the first time in my life, it seemed ...silly. I was thinking about that while I walked to lunch and heard some girls talking. Jenny Allen, Miranda Stevenson and their buds. They were talking about Evermore, a new pop band and what they were going to wear to the concert and it sounded like fun. I thought, the guys are just trying to outdo each other but the girls are joining in, sharing their hopes and will share the concert experience together. Guys wouldn't even go to an Evermore concert because it wasn't cool. And if they did go, all they'd talk about later was how great their seats were and how they could play the riffs faster in Guitar Player than the guitarist himself. Never thought like this before. Maybe it's growing up. Maybe that's part of the calmness, just taking life and thinking about it. June 1 Two more weeks of school left. I'm getting used to this odd feeling; I mean, it isn't odd anymore. Craig and I were talking about it, figuring we were just 'coming out of it', whatever it was, when Tommy came up to us. He had a black eye and a swollen cheek, and told us his big brother told him that he'd been whining like a baby and just slugged him. We'd seen Tommy's bruises when he was younger, but not for awhile. "What'd you say to piss him off?" Craig asked. "All I said was that we should maybe spend time as a family, talking about our day, instead of just eating and back to the TV." Craig and I looked at each other. I asked, "Why'd you say that? I mean, you're right, but ...why'd you say it?" He shrugged. "I'd helped Ma with the dinner. First time I'd done that. Ever, I think. She just looked so tired and I thought of the four of us, you know, it's a lot of work. So I asked if she needed help. I learned a lot of stuff, you know, about cooking. And then watching my dad and brother suck it down and thinking they'd just get up leaving their dishes and not even a thank you to Ma, and ..." He shrugged again. Craig and I locked eyes. We were both thinking the same thing. Tommy helped cook dinner? And then lectured his father and brother about their eating habits? He was lucky he got off with a black eye! June 6 I had a long talk with Jenny Allen today. I realized we've been classmates since kindergarten, and when I heard her before Math telling Elaine Blackwood all about the Evermore concert, I thought, she's a nice girl. Lainey is, too. And so on the way out of class I asked Jenny about the concert. She looked startled that it was me asking, but launched into another enthusiastic telling. I was right; it sounded like fun. Way more better than the guys standing at the locker room talking about a NASCAR crash. Jenny smiled. She has pretty auburn hair. "I never thought you were into Evermore, Chris. I mean, I don't know any boy that likes them." "I don't really know them, I've got to tell you up front. It was just, well ...hearing you tell Elaine about the concert made it sound like it was a really cool experience." "Oh, it was!" She lit up and went on telling me about it. We separated at one of the hall junctions and I headed down my hall. Tommy was leaning against a locker, watching her go. "Jenny was telling me about a concert she went to," I explained. He nodded. "Cute skirt," he mumbled, then blushed. That bothered me a lot, because it wasn't something he'd say, and he knew it. And he was right; Jenny's skirt was cute. June 7 I thought about it last night, lying in bed. And a weird dream came, based on the events of the day. I was sitting at a concert next to Jenny Allen, and we were screaming our heads off. Everybody was screaming. Over the screams and the band I could hear 'cute skirt'. Then Jenny and I were holding hands and jumping up and down giggling and then separated and I ran home to call her and talk to her some more. It was all so warm and so friendly and so fun and so nice ... June 8 Craig had some bad news. Really bad. His dad has gotten transferred to the East Coast, and they hadn't told Craig or his sister Teresa--she's a senior in high school--until the end of the school year. But Craig's sister is pretty smart and found out a week early. So the parents have already made their plans and school ends the 12th and Craig leaves the 14th and that's it. After all these years. Bummer! June 10 Tommy, Craig and I decided to spend a last day together. It'll be the 13th, when we should be enjoying the first day of summer vacation but we'll be saying goodbye. I don't want them to know it but I cried last night, thinking about it. I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess it's the end of the school year, Craig moving away, it all just piled on and I hugged my pillow and bawled. Mom came in and asked what was wrong. It was so nice with her sitting next to me on my bed, stroking my hair and saying, 'there, there'. I felt really close to her and rolled up and hugged her, crying. Finally, I had to say something. "Mom, I'm ...sorry, I'm getting your blouse wet. It's really pretty, too," I said, brushing it. "Thank you, honey." There was an odd tone in her voice. "Don't worry about the blouse. I know you're crushed at Craig leaving." "You knew?" "They told me last week, and said that they couldn't keep it a secret from their kids any longer so you'd be finding out and they wanted me to be alerted to how sad you'd be. I know you've been friends for so long ..." I started blubbering again. She did the 'there, there', adding 'hush' every so often. Finally I got the crying under control. Oddly enough, I felt better. "Mom, I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's the growing-up thing, but I feel all out of sorts and having weird thoughts." "Well, it's all part of being a teenager. You just turned fourteen a little while ago so it's all so new." "I don't think it's that. I think it's ..." How could I put it? "I think it might be something more. But I don't want to tell you until ...well, until a little while longer." "I understand. I remember this time, being your age," she said, smiling. "Dimly, of course, because I'm so ancient!" she teased. "You are not ancient!" I retorted. "You are just about the prettiest mom ever! I love that you're so ...well, so you." "Why, thank you, Chris, and I love you, too. Now try to be brave about Craig leaving." *** I don't know what she thought about our little talk. Did she think I was a normal boy dealing with being fourteen? Did she think I was gay and losing Craig was breaking my heart? How could she ever guess that I thought that all three of us were being changed somehow by that night when we'd been doing something illegal? June 13 Oh, God. Craig's gone. Or he will be, tomorrow. It was weird going to his house, where I've been a zillion times, and it was all empty and they were living out of suitcases. Oh, and school's over. Just a couple of half-days and time for the three of us to hang as much as we could, and all day today. Craig's parents sprang for us to go bowling and have pizza and then unlimited game room time, just like a birthday party, but none of us wanted to celebrate. Craig's sister Teresa is a basket case; apparently a cute boy had just asked her out, finally, and now she's got to move. The high school let out a week earlier for seniors so she's already done the graduation thing and all that. Craig told me that he felt closer to his sister than he ever had before. He said this while Tommy was bowling and the parents weren't around. Craig said that it was probably the move that brought them closer; they'd been living separate lives with separate friends and schools and now they were just two kids again, doing what their parents wanted. I told Craig, "You're lucky. Your sister is so cool. And so pretty! I can't believe that guy took so long to ask her out!" "I know!" he nodded. "Chump." "Yeah. I mean, I love her hair, with that new style. And she's always dressed really nice, you know? Not a total Hollister clone like a lot of girls." He nodded again. "That stylist got it right. I like the new cut, too. It frames her face." Tommy came up from the lane. "Frames? How many?" He'd thought we meant 'bowling frames' so Craig said, "You can do one more, if you want. My arm's kind of tired." I looked at my right hand. "I think I'm getting a blister on my thumb. I'm going to lay out, too." Tommy nodded and then, to our shock, hugged Craig. "I'm going to miss you so much," he sniffed, and turned away back to the lanes before we could see his face, but I think he was starting to cry. "We're all pretty emotional," Craig began. "And having interesting dreams," I added. "And we're soft and squishy. Have you noticed Tommy's getting a little ..." "Rounder?" I'd noticed it in his face. "Eating better, maybe," Craig said, but something in his voice said he didn't believe it. "Craig, we've gotta admit it," I said, looking around to see that we were alone. "Whatever happened to us at Intellia that night did something weird." He shook his head. "Not just did something weird; it's still happening." "You've noticed, too?" He turned to me. "Look, Chris, you're the only one I can talk to about this. I can't talk to Tommy ...he's got too many other problems at home and I don't want to lay it on him until I'm sure. But you, you and I ..." He looked around. "Have you ...felt yourself lately?" "You mean, like, playing with myself?" He grinned. "Well, that, too, but I meant ...well, start with that. Have you played with yourself lately? And come on, we know we all do." I blushed. "No. I mean, yeah, I did, but I hadn't thought about it until you just said that. No, I haven't played with myself since ...yeah," I nodded. "Since at least that night." "My point exactly. So, what I said before ...have you felt yourself? Like ..." He looked around, made as if to stretch, and traced his fingers over his chest. "..this?" "Not really." "You will, I'll bet. Have you been thinking about girls differently than you used to? I know you have, because you're talking with Jenny Allen all the time." "Not all the time ...but, yeah. Maybe it's just growing up." He shook his head. "No. It's more. Have you thought about ...about their clothes?" "No, not beyond any ..." I stopped myself, suddenly remembering how we'd just been talking about his sister, and then I remembered complimenting Mom on her blouse. "Yeah, now that you mention it. And I remember Tommy saw Jenny a week ago and said, 'cute skirt'." "Which Tommy would never say." "Which Tommy would never say," I agreed. "So you think we're ...oh, God ...do you think we're turning gay somehow?" He gave me the saddest smile imaginable. "Not gay. Not that simple. Maybe, but ...no. I think we're turning into girls." "Into girls?" I almost blurted loudly. "Why ...how ..." "Why, I don't know. The how is obvious--our beverages at Intellia. Something that all three of us got, in the drinks or the ice cubes, and I think ..." He sat up closer to me and lowered his voice. "Everything I'm saying applies to all three of us, okay? And so we've got to be completely honest with each other because we can't not be--because we're the only ones who know. And it's not us being weird, it's something that was done to us. So there's no shame in that." "But not telling Tommy right now--" "Is because of his family. You want him to maybe get an arm broken? Neither do I. Okay." He ticked points off on his finger. "First of all, everything odd started that night. That's a given. Next, we're all feeling, like you said, soft and squishy. Next, we're all having strange dreams. Dreams about girls and boys and different feelings." "I haven't dreamed about boys." "Not yet, but you will, I bet," he said bleakly. Strangely, that thought didn't revolt me; it almost sounded ...neat. Craig sighed. "We're using words and speech patterns closer to the girls around us than the way we spoke before, or the way guys speak around us. Next ...well, I'll bet you've been seeing the guys as school in a new light. Differently than before. Same with the girls." I nodded. He did, too. "Next, the clothes ...girls' clothes ...are really, really fascinating. Like the way my sister's skirt swings when she walks." "God, I know! Teresa's so cute!" "See, there you go, doing it!" he grinned. "But we used to watch her butt. Now we watch her skirt. See the difference?" I stared off at the lanes. "We're becoming girls." He nodded. "We're becoming girls." "But how far?" *** So we spent the rest of the day not talking about it. We promised each other that as soon as the time was right, I was going to have to tell Tommy without Craig being there. But Craig's got a fancy video hookup on his computer, and mine is cheesy but works. We figured we'd be emailing each other, and then get Tommy in front of my computer for a three-way conference. Our Intellia Conference. June 16 Craig was right, as usual. I discovered my fingers tracing lazy circles around my nipples while I lay in my bed, reading. There was a puffiness to my nipples; I lifted my t-shirt and sure enough, there were little swellings under my nipples. I pulled my shirt down and tried to read but my mind was on my body. About an hour later I checked my computer and finally there was an email from Craig, all apologetic about how the movers didn't have all of his computer in one place so it took a while to track it all down and reassemble it. He wrote a bit about the new house and neighborhood and then got to it. He said 'that thing' we'd talked about was on his mind and for me to email him when I'd be alone in my room for a video feed. I emailed right away that I was there for the rest of the night. I ran down to tell Mom that I might be getting a feed from Craig and I'd be on headphones and I didn't know if the signal would be any good so if she needed me for anything to wait until I came back out. She said she completely understood and to say hi to Craig for her. About five minutes later I sat with the phones and microphone boom awaiting the feed. It was funny; when it came through it was just like when Craig lived in my neighborhood. It was weird thinking that he was in another time zone now. His head loomed in the monitor as usual. "Hey, Chris." "Hey, yourself. I read about your new house. Sounds neat." Small talk out of the way, he asked if we were 'secure' and I said yes. He asked if I'd been thinking about what we'd talked about at the bowling alley. I had; I asked him if he remembered an old spy movie where they used the code 'Moscow Rules' and he did, grinning. It meant we'd only speak when absolutely sure nobody could hear. And we'd tell each other the truth. And no recording! We both agreed and said the phrase 'Moscow Rules' and I told him about my kind-of puffy nipples. He said, "They're kinda puffy, huh?" and unbuttoned the green shirt he was wearing and flopped it back over his shoulders. The camera showed his nipples were puffy, sure ...but there was a small mound rising around each nipple. "I saw Teresa when she was first getting her boobs. I look just the same." "Well, yeah, same genetic stock," I said, lamely. "You know what this means?" "We start shopping at Victoria's Secret?" Lame, again. He grinned, though. "Not yet, but maybe soon. This is way faster than Teresa's. I've been reading up on this thing called 'gynecomastia', which basically means boobs on boys. We sort of qualify, but not on the timetable, and definitely not with everything else." "You mean the dreams, the ...thoughts ..." I trailed off. "Boys?" he said oddly. I nodded. "I was looking at a People magazine, just browsing, you know? And suddenly my heart went thumpa-thumpa and it was this guy with six- pack abs and was only seventeen and I was almost panting." Just remembering it made me breathe faster. I wasn't surprised when Craig nodded. "I saw this boy down the street and my brain said he was cute and I wonder what kind of girl he likes ...and I realized that my brain meant, 'girl' as in me being the girl." "What the hell is happening, Craig?" "I don't know. I mean, yeah, we both know; something was done to us on purpose or by accident at Intellia. But how and why a video game company would have the ability--or even the stuff laying around--for that to happen ..." "We've got to dig up info on Intellia, beyond the games." "That's the starting point, sure. The one thing that confuses me--I mean, that doesn't fit--is that it's the wrong demographic." "Oh, sure, of course; I was thinking along the same lines," I teased. "What the heck do you mean?" "Their games--the whole range of games, even ones we don't play?--they're all boys' games. I mean, not just Omega Chronicles and shooters, but hard-core sports things like football and basketball. There's not even softer stuff like Bejeweled or that Dance-Dance thing or Guitar Hero--heck, even Teresa plays Guitar Hero!" "Well, that's part of what makes them so cool, so hard-core. Gamers wouldn't want the same place that makes Halo, say, to make an Easy Bake Oven." Craig actually giggled at that, but said, "That's what I mean about the demographic being all wrong; they don't ..." He paused, thinking. I said, "The only thing I can come up with for Intellia to do something like this is that maybe they figured we're hard-core gamers; we proved that to them, with all the questions they asked. So if we turned into girls, would we still be gamers? Like they could find out what we didn't like about the game--as girls, I mean--that we did like as guys? And then come out with a ...I don't know, a unisex Omega, maybe?" "It's a stretch, yeah," Craig nodded. "Except that it doesn't quite fit. If there was a girl-gaming community besides the hard-core fan-girls--I mean, if it was perfectly normal for girls like Teresa and Jenny Allen to game--then your idea would fit. But they'd have to already be into gaming, and they're not, so it would have to be a whole new social restructuring. It's a good idea you had, but it would be like testing two different car models on some remote villager who only drives ox carts. The poor guy wouldn't have the experience to determine if five cup holders was a good thing!" We agreed that the demographic-test idea was unlikely, and then Craig went on to tell me some of the stuff he'd dug out about boys turning into girls. There were some rare conditions where it happened, but for all three of us to do it and in the exact same time frame was 'statistically impossible'--one of Craig's favorite phrases, I remembered. Plus, like he'd said, the timetable was all wrong, all sped up, based on how fast he was developing compared to his sister's rate as a normal girl. I had a weird sudden flash of, 'I wonder when I can wear a bra?' Not if, or have to, but when can I ... I said it was time to get Tommy in on it, and we agreed I'd get him over for a Moscow Rules session and we laid out a basic schedule for another video feed and then ended the connection. It was still early enough that I called Tommy and got his brother who was normally nice but kind of sneered and asked 'Why did I want the little faggot?' and all I could think of was, poor Tommy. He came on the line sounding very, very strange. "Chris. Hi. Uh ..." "Listen, Tommy, how you doing?" "Okay." He was definitely not okay. "Can you come over tomorrow some time? For at least an hour or so?" "Um ...hold on." The phone was muffled and there were voices and a bit of shouting. When Tommy came on he was sniffing. "Not tomorrow. The next day, maybe. Five or six. I've got to be back home by seven." We agreed on five and I emailed Craig and got a response that he'd be on day after tomorrow at 5:15, our time. I lay back in bed and thought. And my fingers were gently stroking my nipples. June 17 I decided to help Mom today. I do, anyway, but we did a big day of laundry and dusting and vacuuming. I wore a t-shirt and shorts and suddenly flashed on several things. First of all, girls wore t-shirts and shorts. Other than underwear, my clothing was truly unisex. I was wearing flip-flops, too. All of the moving and stretching involved in the work made me realize my nipples were rubbing against my t-shirt and it both hurt and felt good at the same time. Kind of like that icy-hot feeling with Ben-Gay or Atomic Balm. But I knew that it was only a matter of time before I became noticeable. And then what? Mom went out shopping and I flipped through the new magazines from the mail and I found myself checking out the girls and boys--but entirely unlike any time I'd looked at magazines before. I'd looked at cute girls in magazines but now, the girls I was rating as cute--but cute but in a totally different way. 'Cute' like, that was a cute outfit; I really liked the skirt. Or, that looks like a cute top. Or even, I wonder if my hair would look that cute if I got that hairstyle. When Mom came home I was unusually quiet. She gave me my space but asked if I'd join her in a movie on the couch. It was an old rerun of Miss Congeniality and I watched it with new eyes. The ugly-duckling becoming the beautiful swan ... June 18 I spent most of the next day on the internet, after a bike ride. Mom was working late so I was completely undisturbed, and we'd get our video conference done with before she got home. I also uncovered a bunch of stuff to tell the guys. And I had a shock at five. Tommy did not look like Tommy to me. Oh, the black eye was nearly gone, but there was a swelling along his cheek, and when he reached for something his t-shirt sleeve slid up and I saw his upper arm was black and blue. We'd seen stuff like that over the years and it made Craig and I really crazy and sad at the same time. Helpless, too. We learned to ask once how he was doing and then shut up about it. So I asked but knew he'd just shake his head and not say anything. But instead he put both hands over his face and burst into tears. Tommy? In tears? I sat next to him and hugged him and we sat there for awhile until he got himself together. He was still sniffing when the video feed came through. After Moscow Rules--and explaining it to Tommy--Craig immediately laid it all out. He apologized for us not telling Tommy sooner, but we'd only just found out ourselves and talked at length yesterday. Not entirely true, but it satisfied Tommy. Craig said quite bluntly that something happened to us at Intellia and whether by accident or on purpose ...all three of us were become feminine. Possibly becoming females, he said. "God, I knew it!" Tommy squealed. "I'm becoming a sissy!" He burst into tears again. It took us a bit to get him calmed down. Craig said there were some things that seemed to mean that it wasn't just becoming girlish males. He asked about Tommy's chest and the way he shook his head vehemently led Craig and I to look at each other and nod. I went first. I lifted my shirt. "Tommy, look at me. Look at me, please." Tommy glanced and did a cartoon-worthy double-take. I had the puffy nipples and now the slight mounds that Craig had shown me yesterday. Then on the monitor, Craig grinned and unbuttoned his shirt again and turned sideways. Tommy and I stared at Craig's boobs. There was no other word for them--his profile showed the mounds unmistakably. Tommy gasped and Craig looked at him, still with his shirt off. "Well, Tommy?" I said, gently. He hung his head, then took a sharp, ragged breath and undid his baggy shirt. There were two mounds, puffy nipples and all. Suddenly we all broke out laughing, giggling uncontrollably. Eventually we calmed down and buttoned up. But at least Tommy felt way better. I told them the results of my net searches. There was that statistical impossibility to overcome, and I told various theories about different species that changed sex. Tommy said, whoa, maybe we're just growing boobs, but I confessed to thinking about cute dresses and cuter boys. Craig said, "Not to play one-up-man-ship, but I think I've got you beat." He'd been sitting at the computer and now stood from the chair and stepped back. Omigod! Craig was wearing a denim miniskirt! He sat back down. Matter-of-factly he said, "One of the advantages of having a sister." I asked if he'd told her; he said not yet but he'd grabbed a few things that might be explained as 'lost in the move'. He said it just felt right, but that he was going to take a bath later tonight and shave his legs. He said then he'd feel right. Tommy just stared at him. I just thought about how cute Craig had looked in the skirt and thought about myself in one. Maybe like the cute one Miranda wore the last time I saw her? Focus, Chris! I told myself. Craig then told about his researches, and it seemed that Tommy really needed to hear it. And I was staggered by what Craig had found. Intellia was a state-of-the-art video game company, but it was so 'bleeding edge' that it had been acquired by another company. And another company had that one as a subsidiary, and another one ...it was like that cartoon with a fish coming to eat a little fish, with an even bigger fish right behind ready to eat the first fish. Infinite regression, I remembered from a thing I'd read about M.C. Escher and murmured his name. "No," Craig said, grinning wickedly. "Not Escher. Pentagon." He'd tracked them one by one until it became obvious that the ultimate 'parent company' of Intellia was the Department of Defense. "I don't think Intellia is doing anything for the D.O.D.," Craig said. "I think it's just part of a blind, a front, maybe. And lord knows it's a profitable one." I said, "So you think that the Military Guy wasn't Intellia ..." He nodded. "I think he was directly or indirectly D.O.D. or at least worked for them. Did you see the look on the guy with the beard? It was like he was scared of those guys." "And was helpless," I mused. Tommy spoke for the first time. "I think the Bearded Guy was going to let us go really quick." "Yeah, before the Black Hats arrived." "Hats?" Tommy asked. I explained the term, and he nodded and then I said, "So are we being punished ...or tested?" Craig shrugged. "I'd say we're being tested." Tommy said, "Tested to do what?" Craig and I exchanged one of our countless looks over Tommy. Craig patiently said, "Not tested like in school, tested like ...well, like lab rats." "What?" Tommy almost jumped from the bed. I calmed him down and reminded him that what was happening to us had been done to us; it wasn't our fault. Tommy seemed frantic. "Yeah, but we're still growing tits! I can't ...I can't do this!" "Calm down, big guy," Craig said. "We don't know--" "Big guy? Ha! What a laugh!" Tommy almost sobbed. "You two are going on and on about your tits, but what about your dicks?" Craig and I exchanged looks; we hadn't gotten to that part yet. At least, I hadn't ... Craig calmly said, "Yeah, my dick is smaller. Yours, too?" Tommy groaned. "Yeah ...oh, God!" I said, "Look, Tommy, this isn't God's Divine Punishment or anything like that," knowing his religious bent. "This is something those guys did to us." Tommy said, "So let's just go back and tell them to fix it." It was stunningly simple except for one thing. I cleared my throat, getting their attention. "Guys, I rode my bike over there today." "Great!" Tommy said. "Oh-oh," Craig said. "Yeah, oh-oh," I agreed sadly. "They're gone." "Gone?" Tommy gasped. Craig said, "I was afraid of that. We ...breached their security. They 'fixed' us and then had to pack up." "Intellia's gone?" Tommy said dumbly. "We'll just have to track 'em down," Craig said. "In the meantime--" "In the meantime," Tommy almost snarled, "you think we're turning into chicks!" Neither Craig nor I spoke. Then, just to get onto a different subject--sort of--I asked generally, mostly for Tommy's benefit, "Why would they turn us into chicks? Why even come up with something like that?" I didn't bother telling Tommy about our 'demographics' idea; I knew it would only confuse him and Craig and I had pretty much discarded it, anyway. Craig said, "Ah ...I may have an idea. Two ideas, really. Okay, I've been reading a lot of odd websites lately, and one of my bookmarks is for a site talking about cutting edge weapons. Not weapons that go boom!--but weapons that make the enemy not want to fight you. And some of them are just crowd control, like for riot situations." "Or political protests," I said, getting cold at the thought. I'd read something about it. "Yeah," Craig nodded solemnly. "They're really strange, all over the map technically. They've got sound cannons that send a special sound frequency that is like the ultimate fingernails-on-the-chalkboard. And one frequency that'll make your stomach sick and you crap your pants." "God!" Tommy exclaimed. "I don't think God's involved in these; He's probably embarrassed by the ways we come up with to hurt each other," Craig said dryly. "There's another 'cannon' thing--I think anything that outputs something is called a cannon--only this one doesn't put out heat, exactly." "I read about that one!" I said excitedly. "In Wired magazine, I think. It makes you feel like your skin's on fire; supposed to be total agony without anything actually burning." "Yeah, that's the one. There's things about super-glue, and sticky nets, and all sorts of stuff. And you're right, Chris; most of those were all crowd-control things for protestors. But the weapons for armies, or maybe like a terrorist training camp ..." He broke off, lost in thought for a moment. It went on so long that I said, "Craig? We still doing Moscow Rules?" "Yeah, Moscow Rules. I just had a thought. I was going to tell you about bio-weapons, like plague and that Ebola virus and stuff, and there was something about tranquilizers in the water supply. I suddenly had a thought ..." He paused for a moment, holding his hand up. Tommy and I looked at each other; we knew that when Craig got like this, his wheels were turning at high speed. Craig nodded and spoke. "Yeah, it makes sense. Think about this. The terrorists--I mean, the ones we're mostly fighting now--are religious fundamentalists, really conservative and all, and you know how they keep the women hidden and wearing those big black things?" "Burkhas," I said. "Yeah. Veils, the works. Women are second-class citizens, if they're even considered as 'citizens'. Sort of like 'failed men'. Not all Muslim countries are like that, and not all Arab countries." "Just the fundamentalists," Tommy nodded. "Like those Christian fundamentalists with like sixteen wives and they all dress alike and look like robots." We'd all seen that on TV when their compound had been raided. "Exactly, Tommy," Craig nodded. "Yeah. So, I'm just going off the top of my head here, but I said I had two ideas. The first is, religious fundamentalists. And I don't mean just Islamic guys. Tommy was right about the Christian guys, and I don't know about any other religions really well, but it seems that in every single one of them, the back-to- basics, fundamentalist kind? In every single one of them, women are downgraded. Second-class citizens, or really just slaves, good for babies and keeping house." I said, "I saw something about that on the History Channel, and I never thought of it before, but you're right. They're all really macho, me- Tarzan-you-Jane sort of things." Tommy actually giggled at my Tarzan reference and put his hand over his mouth, fingers straight up. "Sorry!" Craig and I exchanged a glance at that, both the giggle and the gesture. Craig went on. "Okay, so any of the fundamentalist crazies, any religion, all seem to be rough-tough macho male-dominated groups, that look down on women?" He paused and Tommy and I nodded. "Oh!" I said as the thought came. "The Taliban and one of those Christian camps up in Montana or Wyoming or something, the one the FBI raided?" "Where they shot the FBI guy?" Tommy said and Craig was nodding. "Teenagers," I said. "They're all teenagers. I mean, not every fundamentalist and not every religion, but I know the Christian guys were like seventeen--at least the one that shot the FBI guy was--and I think the Taliban's really young." Craig's face was grim. "Yeah; I remember a phrase somewhere that few things are more frightening than a sixteen-year-old boy full of God and carrying a Kalashnikov." The image made me shake, like a sudden chill. Craig's mouth quirked in a wicked smile. "So what do you guys think would happen to a big old terrorist training camp, like a hundred rough-tough guys--especially macho teenaged dudes--when they all start turning into girls?" "Omigod!" I gasped. Tommy cracked up. "They'd be so busy disciplining each other, even when they were turning into girls themselves!" Craig laughed and said, "They sure wouldn't be spending too much time on training how to shoot and blow up Americans." Tommy said, "Maybe they'd all take up baking instead!" We all giggled at the vision--as politically incorrect and ignorant as it was--and there's no other word for it; we all were giggling. Then I said, "What's the second idea?" Craig said, "That Intellia is the legitimate public image, the respectable front, with labs in front designing software, and in the labs in the back rooms one of the Black Hat outfits tinkers away at their experiments, completely hidden." I put it together. "So you think they were working on a ...call it a 'girl-bomb' somewhere in the building we snuck into? And they infected us, exposed us somehow ..." I nodded grimly. "Our drinks, yeah. You said that before, Craig. And all of them were opened. Maybe in the ice, but definitely in the drinks." Tommy said, "So, why? So we'd turn into girls and be too busy shopping for purses at the mall to say that Intellia's got Black Hats in it? They've already left; what's the point?" "The marketing," I said, stunned. "Huh?" Tommy asked. "Not the demographic thing we first thought," Craig nodded. "Remember the 'marketing survey'?" I used air-quotes. "The one that Military Guy did? Remember the questions? Some were typical marketing things like what kind of computer do we use." Tommy said, "Maybe so they'd know which computer was ours if they broke in?" Craig said, "Possible, big guy. Or they--" "Stop calling me 'big guy'," Tommy said, glumly. "I don't know what I am, or what I'm turning into, but ..." The tears came again. This time I handed him a box of tissues and went on speculating. "The questions were also about our parents, siblings ..." "Girlfriends, sex questions," Craig went on. "Yeah. All mixed together. Brilliant. But, hey, they're the D.O.D. so taxpayers pay 'em to be brilliant!" "But why turn us into girls?" Tommy whined, sniffing. "To test the stuff. They know how much they gave us, and--" He broke off and went into his deep thought mode briefly. "Hey, Chris; you mentioned the Taliban and I just remembered something about them ..." Then he had it. "Yeah. There was a thing I watched on terrorists, that was like the life cycle?" "Not a long cycle," I joked. "Hate those guys!" Tommy blurted out. Craig gently said, "Tommy, remember we talked about how hate makes us stop thinking? Those guys want us to hate them so much that we do something stupid." "Hate 'em, Tommy," I said, rubbing Tommy's shoulder. "But don't let the hate rule you." We both realized that it was odd to be sitting there, knees together, with me rubbing his shoulder. I stopped. Craig might have seen all that but let it go. "So in the documentary, these kids go into religious schools when they're like five or something, and by the time they're our age, they're so conditioned in the religious craziness that they happily go shoot people or blow themselves up." "Yeah; Chris was saying the guy was like seventeen or something," Tommy said. I didn't correct him that the Christian guy had been seventeen. "Don't you see?" Craig nodded. "It's our age. We're like almost prime terrorist age, so they could test it on us and know that it would be similar to the guys in the terrorist camps. Maybe a little younger, but cut 'em off before they strap on the explosives, you know?" I said, "And even the older guys that do the training, if it worked on them but slower ..." Tommy said, "Like we said, they'd be so busy screaming at each other, totally freaked out, that the whole thing would fall apart. The camp, I mean." Craig said, "So we were perfect test subjects. Just three normal guys, and willingly gave them all that 'marketing info' so they know who we are and where we live, and we're probably being monitored right now. And will be, too." Automatically I glanced at my windows; my curtains were down. I shrugged. "Which probably means they're intercepting this transmission, Moscow Rules or not." Craig obviously hadn't thought of that; he was visibly shaken. "Damn. Okay. I'll contact you again in a few days. We all hold tight. Maybe ...maybe talk to our moms. Not our dads--sorry, Chris." "Do we have to?" Tommy pleaded. "We're not going to be able to hide it much longer," I pointed out. "And you're already getting beaten up just for helping your mother in the kitchen." Tommy rubbed the bruises on his upper arm without thinking; and then nodded sadly. Craig said, "We'll back you up, Tommy. It's happening to all three of us, so they can't be totally down on you." "You can't even begin to know," Tommy said quietly. June 19 I spent the last two days pretty much on the toilet. Mom said one more day and we'd call the doctor, but I told her it must have been something I ate at a friend's house--not from her cooking--and so I did a lot of reading (thank goodness I'd gone to the library a couple of days ago!) as I squirted my guts out. And I know it's gross, and that guys sort of like talking about icky body junk, but this is factually accurate, I think. I'm pretty sure that's kind of what I've been doing--squirting my guts out. At first I thought my cover story was true, although I hadn't eaten at anybody's house or at the mall or anywhere else. But the night of the 18th when there was no letup in the thing, I began seriously checking the toilet's contents and I think that I was ...well, this morning it struck me ...I was dumping parts of me. No other way to put it. It wasn't the usual stuff of poop and it wasn't the usual stuff of the flu. It was yellowish liquid with ...all I can say is, chunks of skin. Or flesh. Chunks of me. When the idea struck me, it was only because of something that Craig had said, about the Ebola virus, and I remembered reading about people 'bleeding out' as their tissue sort of liquefied and they died. I was freaked at first except for two reasons. First, I felt fine. No fever, no other symptoms, nothing--just a periodic cramping below my belt and then another half-hour of more reading time. And thank God for the bathroom deodorant spray! Second, I was pretty sure that Craig was right. We'd been 'tested' with Intellia's 'girl-bomb' so we were changing, not dying. If they'd wanted us dead it would have been a straight, undetectable and time-delayed poison so there was no connection with our Intellia night. Or they could do it quick and just toss our bodies in a dumpster. No; for whatever reasons, Intellia wanted to see what their little mixture could do. So I wasn't worried about death. It was kind of unfair to keep using the word 'Intellia' as the source, since we were pretty sure that Bearded Guy was Intellia and wasn't part of the girl-bomb testing, because he was going to let us go right away, and because he was scared to death of Military Guy. *** I got to discuss that with Craig, because yesterday I got an email that looked like spam but had the words 'M. Rules' in the subject line. It turned out to be Craig using an anonymizer that would hide our email signatures. It had instructions for me with contact times and how to anonymize. So we had a quick flurry of very lengthy emails with the agreement that he'd use a different anonymizer type and contact me again with the subject code word 'Lisa'. He said--and of course he didn't 'say', he 'wrote', but it's just easier to think of it as 'talking'--he'd explain then, and I had a hunch that Craig was becoming Lisa. It was the kind of name his family would choose, like Teresa, his sister. The upshot of our emails was that he wasn't cramping and pooping like me, but he said that he'd had cramps but a lot of what he was calling 'bone pain'. Like the arthritis commercials on TV, he said. His chest was developing and his brain, well ...he just said there was no doubt he was getting 'more girly' in his thinking. I figured he was too embarrassed, even with our vow to be totally truthful, so I told him how I'd found myself thinking very sexually about cute guys in magazines, and then he confessed to that, too. We talked about that a little, and about how different the three of us were, physically. Craig said that if we went 'all the way'--by which we meant that the girl-bomb made us complete girls--then I'd be the luckiest because I was short for a boy but normal-sized for a girl, and because I already had long hair. I pointed out that he'd probably be okay, tallish for a girl, and after wigs, his own hair would probably be really pretty if he took after Teresa--she could do shampoo commercials--and he seemed to agree. But we both worried about Tommy because he was big. Would the girl-bomb shrink us, too? That would help Tommy but I couldn't afford to shrink too much or I'd have to get a job in the circus. Craig gave me an 'LOL' on that one. Finally, the biggest development. Craig told his sister. He swore her to secrecy up one side and down