CHAPTER FOUR

Ali faltered at the door to the student center.

This didn’t need to be so hard. She looked good. And in the student center, the birthplace of the skirt revolution, everybody else would be dressed just like her.

When she returned to her dorm yesterday with a small collection of tops, skirts, jewelry and make-up from the clothing swap, she swore she was going to buckle down and actually get some work done. Her “protest outfits” for the next few days were taken care of, but nothing else was.

Most pressing was the Antiquities essay which was still only an outline. When she wrote that, Ali was ahead of schedule. But now the due date was fast approaching. She was falling behind, and her notes from the past couple lectures were pathetic. She needed to fix this.

Except Danica was at her boyfriend’s, and that meant Ali would have a night free from her roommate’s judgmental gaze. She could do whatever she wanted.

She celebrated with a short make-up tutorial. Just to unwind. But one video of pastel colors and soft-spoken narration turned into two, which turned into four. Before Ali knew it, hours of inane web surfing had passed. She clicked from page to page, mindlessly bookmarking clothes like the vapid girl Danica thought she was.

So today, Ali felt some shame. But she also felt pride. She looked good.

She tucked some hair behind her ear. The star-shaped earrings that dangled there clinked pleasantly. When she delicately slipped them through her oft-ignored piercing holes, leaning close enough to the mirror that her Berry Bliss lips almost kissed it… It felt like decorating a Christmas tree.

And the rest of her was just as ornamented.

She wore an off-the-shoulder blouse with a deep cut to her cleavage. The fit framed Ali’s breasts, shimmering folds of fabric draping off of them in deep U’s.

Ali’s ample bust was her biggest secret. She never showed her breasts, or even hinted at their existence. To Ali, boobs were nothing but back pain and bra strain. But because of the protest, Ali felt for first time in her life that they could be an asset.

They could grab ATTENTION.

Her blouse was tucked into a wrap mini-skirt, asymmetrical and black. She showed upper thigh now, and quite a bit of it. And if one followed her bare legs down to her feet, they’d find a pair of flats with dainty straps around the ankles.

A skirt as tight as this was a whole new sensation. Instead of swishing around her legs, it clung to her, conforming to her shape and stretching with her steps. In it, Ali was growing keenly aware of her body’s form.

The latest rule in the code of conduct still stared down at her. “Class is NOT a fashion show.” Just seeing it made Ali want to twirl, to show off her ensemble, to wear something even hotter tomorrow.

“Remember girls! TALK about your outfits in class. COMPLIMENT each other. We need SOLIDARITY!” Sheena preached from her soap box.

Sheena’s showy tendencies were escalating. Bright platform boots boosted her height six inches, and big hoop earrings framed her face. Her dark curls were wild and sprawling.

She wore matching tubes of tight neon that glowed against her dark skin. Ali could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her tube top. The skin-tight neon conformed to her pert breasts, and her nipples poked through small and hard.

“I’m also hearing stories of girls getting in trouble for talking about sex in class. We can talk about our BODIES! Don’t let a fascist rule make you feel like sex is inappropriate. We ALL have PUSSIES. We should be able to TALK about them!”

Ali recalled her chemistry lab, where Grace and the twins were talking sex. She’d blurted out that lie about Scott then, like she needed to have a boy to gossip about. Should that be normal?

“Talk about what makes you WET! It’s time to OPEN UP! That’s how we win!”

The Monroe girls seemed thrilled about Sheena’s crass suggestion. They pulled their skirts into place and pushed their boobs together, pursed their lips and fixed their hair. They wore sleeveless tees, backless dresses, belly shirts, crop tops, spaghetti straps and boob tubes. Their skirts were colorful swaths of fabric that swayed over thighs and teased butts. And they accessorized with knee-high socks, patterned stockings, delicate shoes, and eye-catching jewelry. Their lips and eyes were shaded, glossy, and bright.

They waved coyly at the boys around them.

And a lot of boys were here. More than usual. Many were already enjoying the views that the girls provided, and the ones that weren’t were seeing for themselves Henry’s latest demand. They studied it with furrowed brows.

“Keep your eyes OFF the GIRLS.”

“Hey! Ali!”

It was Scott.

Oh fuck.

Ali crashed back to the world where she wore khakis and jeans, where she didn’t give a fuck about cute make-up and fun jewelry, where her boobs hid in plain sight under mountains of layers.

Now, they were pillowed up against each other in a low-cut, sparkly blouse.

“Hey.” She said.

“Ali, um. You look. Uh—”

“Protesting!” Ali said. “We’re supposed to like, dress up. And show our shoulders and stuff. And our, um…” She tugged at her blouse self-consciously.

In front of Scott’s eyes, Ali’s awareness of her own body exploded to new heights. Her legs, hugged by fourteen inches of snug fabric… her bare shoulders, her pushed-up boobs… It was all there for him to look at.

“Right. Yeah, I just came by cause I heard about the new rule. A few of the guys were saying— anyway. It doesn’t matter. I had to see the board, y’know.”

“Have to see what it says.” Ali muttered.

“Exactly. Anyway, uh. Yeah. Pretty crazy, all this.” He gestured around to the crowd of girls dressed even skimpier than she was.

They all looked so good. It made Ali hurt in the most dizzying way. And she stood among them. One of the girls. Solidarity.

“It’s a movement,” Ali said. But that suddenly sounded very stupid. Sheena had just been preaching pussy talk.

“Uh huh. Ali don’t you think this is going a little overboard? I mean some of these new rules aren’t all that unreasonable.”

“Are you kidding? I mean, this new one is treating dudes like animals!”

“Sure. I don’t need a rule to tell me not to ogle women. I try not to, anyway. Even if you girls are making it…” Scott glanced down to Ali’s chest, then his eyes lingered there. A muddled stupor swept over him. “…Hard…”

“It’s not our fault… you guys are so… Attention hungry…”

His eyes bore into her tits. Her soft, rounded cleavage, nestled in a push-up bra. Ali’s pulse quickened. She couldn’t move except to lean forward ever-so-slightly. The way he looked down her blouse, he’d all but fall in.

Deep inside, she started to get wet.

He snapped back to Ali’s eyes. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to– I– I need to go.”

He retreated into the crowd with his eyes at his feet. But the blossoming glow in Ali’s chest, and the dull arousal at her sex, lingered.

STOP showing off your BODIES.

ATTENTION HUNGRY.

“Get ready people! Here comes Dickwad!” Sheena announced through the megaphone from her neon lips.

Henry Hearst strolled through the student union, and the crowd of skin-bare protestors chanted in his direction.

“We will not submit! We will not submit! We will not submit!”

Henry’s reactions were always frustratingly reserved. It was impossible to elicit a reaction out of him bigger than a passing nod. But today, he stopped. He stood at the first stair and eyed the crowd up and down from behind his low set glasses.

It was Go Time. The girls taunted him with their bodies. They bent forward to squeeze their tits with their arms. They turned to the side and stuck out their asses, made kissy faces, raised their hands over their heads and tossed their hair like models. They showed Henry exactly what they thought of his new rule.

Henry waited for the chanting to die down, then spoke softly.

“I’m sure you all must be feeling very proud. You’ve managed to coordinate the mass subversion of yet another one of my rules. Bravo.” He brought his hands together in a slow, dignified clap. “However, this changes nothing. I will not stop until you are behaving exactly as I see fit.”

“Keep trying, asshole!” Sheena yelled back through her megaphone. “It doesn’t matter what you say. We’re never gonna be the sweet girls you want us to be!”

Henry’s eye twitched, then he smiled. “This we can agree on.”

With that, he vanished up the stairs.

In unison, everyone’s attention turned to the code of conduct. The screen warbled and buzzed in the silence, the fuzzy white letters almost swaying against the blue void behind them.

The room fizzed with quiet anticipation. The girls wanted something new to rebel against. Ali recognized the craving inside of herself, too. What student right was he going to step on next? Come on, asshole. Try us.

But a small anxiety nagged at her. Breaking the rules was fun, but wasn’t their goal the abolishment of all of them? Why was she excited for a new one?

She had almost mustered the willpower to peel her eyes away from the screen when, in a flash of light, it updated with new words.

“Sweet girls. From now on, SWEETS are FORBIDDEN. No sucking of lollipops, hard candies, popsicles and gum on campus.”

The physical impact upon seeing the latest rule was stronger than ever. Her heart pushed a familiar swell of blood through her burning veins, and it traveled outwards to her head, her extremities, her toes, and her…

“Uuunhhh..!” Ali’s eyelids fluttered at the heat’s sudden arrival to her pussy.

It left her dazed, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. Off that sickening, flickering, blue display. And in a surge throughout the student center, the other girls shuddered and moaned, too. But Ali’s surroundings were fading fast, getting absorbed into blue light.

No… sweets? Did the Dean think he was being funny? What a completely superfluous, unnecessary, insipid rule.

“We’re never gonna be the sweet girls you want us to be.” That’s what Sheena had said. And so he fired back with this.

But now, Sheena was saying something else, under her breath and tinged with girlish falsetto. Her mutterings broke through Ali’s wavering awareness.

“Use my lips… Use my tongue…”

“Lick… Suck… Yummy, yummy sweets…”

Then her voice was gone, drowned out by a sweeping BUZZ of the screen and a thudding, roaring arousal.

Ali didn’t even like yummy yummy sweets. She couldn’t remember the last time she even had a lollipop. They did little except make her lips sticky and dye her tongue colors.

“Use my lips… use my tongue…” Ali whispered.

Cold fruity ice pops, round colorful suckers, and sugary wads of gum, Ali hated that syrupy sweet shit. She hated licking. And hated sucking. Hated licking and sucking yummy, yummy sweets. Hated it.

Her mouth watered anyway.

Two days after the infamous candy rule went into effect, Helen decided once again to take action. Enough was enough.

Thanks to Henry’s ridiculous rule, lollipops were the newest symbol of the protest. The hallways of every building smelled of ambient fruit, and wet slurping sounds were becoming a constant refrain. Not a single girl could be found who wasn’t sucking on some cartoonishly large lolli.

It made sense, in a twisted way. Candy was yet another visible way of eschewing Henry’s imposed order. And it was easy to distribute. In the student center, Sheena’s crew had boxes of it.

But it was more than just the candy. The state of dress, or undress, had reached untenable levels. Mini skirts were standard issue now, along with dozens of iterations of stockings, fishnets, and leggings to match. Upstairs, the girls squeezed their breasts into form-fitting tops, always leaving something exposed. They took to styling their hair in pony tails, pig tails, braids, and twists.

And the way they acted around the young men was even worse. In the presence of men, they’d smile devilishly and suck their candies a little harder, wrapping their silky lips over the pops suggestively while making smoldering eye contact.

The guys couldn’t help but watch. Why wouldn’t they? They had one of Henry’s condescending rules telling them not to. Besides, the girls were basically begging for it. The cards were stacked against decency.

The only ones who suffered were the faculty. And Helen didn’t even have it the worst. Craig Collins, in a moment of desperation, had cornered Helen to make it clear.

“This protest is becoming an ethical minefield.” He said. “I’m going to need to start teaching in a blindfold, Helen! They’re crossing the line.”

He didn’t need to explain himself. One of his students, a blonde girl named Triss, passed by in that moment wearing a particularly tight and slutty dress.

“Heyyy Professoorrr!” She waved, bending forward until her young breasts nearly fell out of her sequins. She sucked her popsicle long and slow.

“Help me.” Craig begged.

That was why Helen found herself at President Agatha Redmare’s office door. Henry, she knew, would be a lost cause. But Helen hoped she could get through to Agatha.

Agatha held the real power.

The door was slightly ajar, and the force of Helen’s knock caused it to creeeeak open.

“Oh, Agatha. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… intrude…”

Behind her desk, Agatha stared into a tablet. Blue light washed over her face, shifting hues in slow patterns. Her mouth hung fully agape, with nearly a full strand of drool hanging off her lower lip.

“…Agatha?”

Agatha’s saucer eyes moved from left to right. She was reading something, though she hardly appeared conscious. Her tight bun was a mess. Loose strands fell every which way, some stuck to the make-up on her face.

In her throat, she made soft noises that almost sounded like… moans. And her cheeks were flushed pink.

Gently, Helen reached out and shook her shoulder. Even through Agatha’s wool coat, she radiated heat.

“Huh? Oh! Helen. Hi. Sorry. I must have zoned out there.”

Agatha put down the tablet and smoothed herself out. “I was just reading another one of Henry’s reports.”

“Of course…” Helen said. Another one of Henry’s screens, which had such a strange effect on the readers. “Agatha, I don’t know what he’s saying in that report, but it’s wrong. Class has become impossible to teach, and campus has turned into a… A fashion show.”

“Yes. And class is NOT a fashion show. I specifically said that in the rule I suggested to him.” Agatha said.

Helen winced. She didn’t mean to throw Agatha’s own rule back at her.

“You’re right, Helen. The rules aren’t working. They are backfiring massively.”

“Yes!” Helen said. “They need to stop! Can you do something? He’s too stubborn to listen to anybody. The administration needs to step in. You need to step in.”

“Absolutely. I’m afraid I’ll have to go over there right now and give him some lip. Some talking to, I mean.”

Agatha didn’t seem like herself. And based on how that last meeting with Henry went, Helen didn’t quite trust her to represent their position alone.

“Maybe I should join you?” Helen offered.

“No, no. This is my job after all. I need to lay down for him. Lay down the law for him, rather. Bend over and show him who’s in charge.”

“Agatha, sorry?”

Agatha stood up and straightened out her coat. “I said, head over there and show him who’s in charge.”

The President checked herself in the mirror. “Oh dear, my bun is a mess. That won’t do.”

She undid the tight knot and let her crimped hair fall around her face in loose tangles. She fluffed it with her hands until it settled. Then, she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, oily and scarlet.

“I must thank you for your support, Helen. I know I seem so in control. Henry’s reports keep referring to me as ‘the indomitable Mrs. Redmare.’ Such a high bar. Sometimes I feel as if I’m not at all… dominant.”

Staring into the mirror, Agatha zoned out for a moment.

She snapped the lipstick closed.

“But of course I am. And I’m going to prove it. Show him I am not weak willed. And I will not…”

Agatha shivered.

“Submit… to his every demand. Now if you’ll excuse me, Helen.”

From the bottom of Agatha’s long coat, she took easy, click-clacking steps on six-inch high heels. Her hips swayed luxuriously from side to side as she vanished down the hall.

“So then Tom like, fucked me in the locker room.” Grace said through a wad of bubblegum.

The girls gasped.

While they gossiped, Grace, the twins, Sheena and Ali watched the men’s basketball team do drills. According to Grace and the twins, they weren’t very good. But they were easy on the eyes.

Ali felt bad. And not in a bad way,

She was missing an Antiquities lecture right now. It was the first class she ever skipped. But that shit was so boring. Sitting through it grew more torturous by the lecture, and it’s not like she learned much from showing up.

Instead, Ali told herself that she earned this skip. She’d turned in what was sure to be an A+ paper for her Shakespeare class. After her recent struggles, Ali was proud to finally have written something up to her usual standards.

Grace blew a big pink bubble until it popped.

“Absolutely no one was in the building, but it was kind of hot, you know? I think I’m like, an exhibitionist.”

“Totallyyyy!” Sheena said. “I get that, girl. I mean, this protest has like, seriously awaken some stuff for me. Showing off my body and all. Hot.”

Ali sucked on her lollipop, a sphere of deep red cherry. One of the benefits of the candy was she could always pop it in her mouth when she was afraid she would say too much. Nowadays, all the girls talked about was sex. It meant that Ali spent a lot of time sucking candy.

Her body definitely agreed that getting looked at was exciting. She learned that lesson majorly over the past few days. It was disconcerting getting turned on by male attention. And it was even more troubling how badly she wanted to talk about it. She sucked more cherry off the lollipop. It was almost down to a nub. Ali was starting to see why some of the girls had taken to sucking giant ones. They lasted longer.

An errant basketball bounced towards the bleachers with one of the players in pursuit. Instinctively, the girls straightened their postures at his approach. This was Cody, the point guard. An absolute dreamboat, according to Annie.

He surveyed the group. He did it blatantly, tossing his ball between his hands while he admired each girl one at a time.

It was the Dean’s fault. Before Henry targeted the guys, they would have been perfectly content to play coy and sneak peaks. With the girls dressing the way they were, it wouldn’t have been hard. But the men were just as eager to spite Henry as the girls were, so now they caught eyefuls at their leisure, making a show of it.

Logically, Ali knew she should feel objectified. She shouldn’t be posing alongside the others, displaying herself like a piece of meat to be leered at and admired. But every time she came close to shaking off the impulse, Henry’s rule flashed in her vision.

STOP showing off your BODIES.

It was her body, she’d think in righteous fury. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted with it. So she’d preen, thrusting out her chest and flashing a smile, making a meal of herself and eating up the attention in return. It was just so juicy, all of it, to consume and be consumed like a sweet, colorful piece of hard candy.

When he saw Ali, Cody let out a long whistle.

Fuck, the attention was dizzying. She braced for a swell of arousal, biting her lower lip and closing her eyes as it came. Goosebumps rose across her skin. And there was a lot of skin. Above her pleated mini skirt, her cardigan crop top was nothing but sleeves and boob, which meant Ali’s whole stomach and ribs were naked to his eye.

Together, they did the dance. Cody’s eyes may have triggered the scene, but this was Ali’s show to direct. The protest had become a collaborative effort between man and woman. It was unifying, in a way.

She uncrossed her legs and crossed them to the other side. Predictably, Cody’s eyes followed, and he searched, fruitlessly, for a view up her skirt. They were getting more shameless about it, always trying to see more no matter how much the girls were graciously willing to show them.

Ali bit her lollipop and grinned coyly. Not today, big guy.

Except he was still looking. He leered at the soft meeting of Ali’s thighs, draped over by pleated fabric. She could give him another chance. One more crossing. Maybe even leave them parted a second longer to make it a little easier for him. If he was going to keep looking like that…

ATTENTION HUNGRY.

In between her legs, it was getting awfully sticky. She was going to need to readjust anyway. And so what if he caught a glimpse of her dampening panties? He wasn’t supposed to look, and she wasn’t supposed to show. Together, him and her could stick it to Henry Hearst. They could stick it– he could stick her– stick her sticky—

Fuck. He was kind of hot, wasn’t he?

“Cody, let’s go!” A guy hollered from the court.

Then the moment ended. Begrudgingly, he tore his eyes off Ali’s legs and returned to his team. And Ali’s logic centers turned back on. What was she about to do?

“Ohmigod Ali you should totally make a move on that guy.” Sheena said when he was gone.

“Nooo! Sheena, no!”

“Why not! He obviously thinks you’re bangin’!”

“Ali wants Scott Lyman!” Annie added, unhelpfully.

“Wait, for real?!” Sheena

“No! I don’t know!” Ali groaned.

It was getting difficult to separate the things she said to the girls from her own true feelings. Wasn’t that thing about Scott a lie? So what if his eyes on her butt was a direct line towards her pleasure centers?

“It’s a simple test. Do you think about him when you touch your pussy?” Mae asked.

“No!” Ali said defensively. “I don’t do that. Masturbate.”

“You don’t masturbate?” Sheena asked in astonishment.

“I’m not a super sexual person!” Ali said, although that claim wasn’t currently holding up against her warm, sticky sex, which still ached from Cody’s attention.

Ali sucked another juicy mouthful of cherry off of the lollipop before realizing that it wouldn’t help her case. Self-consciously, she pulled it from her mouth.

“At least I never was sexual person.”

Now, sexuality seemed to ooze out her as effortlessly as the sugary strands of saliva clinging to her Midnight Moon lips.

“Okay, that’s it Ali. Say no more. Aunt Sheena has you covered.” Sheena said with a smile.

“Sheena, no. What do you mean? What are you going to do?” Ali asked in panic.

But Sheena just stuck her ice pop in her mouth and sucked it, a gleam in her eyes.

“Hey, guys, watch.” Annie said in a hushed voice.

The redhead gestured to the court, where Cody stepped into position for a foul shot. He dribbled the ball a couple times and bent his knees, eye on the net.

“Hey, Coooddyyyy!” Annie called just as he made his shot.

Cody looked, and swiftly Annie pulled her top over her naked tits. She shook them, plump pale bouncers that hung off either side of her chest, and they jiggled loosely and lively. Her nipples were wide and pink.

The ball went very, very wide.

Annie pulled her top back down proudly, and Mae and Sheena giggled giddily.

“Oh my God, you guys!” Ali said in disbelief.

“Fuck, that was hot.” Annie said. “Like, instant gush hot.”

Ali was pretty sure that the sight of her friend shaking her naked tits in public was supposed to illicit some strong emotion. Something like embarrassment, or shock, or maybe even shame. But when she searched for that feeling, deep through all the muddled thoughts in her head, she could only muster one.

Jealousy.

I should have shown him my panties.

Helen recited her e-mail exchange with Agatha back to herself over and over.

After their meeting, she’d followed up a little too eagerly. “Agatha, was just wondering how your conversation with Henry went. Thanks, Helen.” Her concern was thinly-veiled, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to know the results.

And Agatha’s response was an even more concise, “It went very, very well.”

Very, very well.

The ambiguity concerned Helen. God knows the code of conduct still stood, otherwise the girls wouldn’t still be strutting down the halls wearing increasingly impractical footwear and the boys wouldn’t still be catcalling them. So what happened?

She was headed to Henry’s now to find out.

The protest corner of the student center had again expanded. They’d set up a small dance floor, a square space closed off between the tables where girls gyrated to the loud swell of pop-club music. It boomed out of hastily installed speakers on the floor, the bass sending vibrations through the lobby in rolling waves.

The young men of Monroe watched the girls dance, their presence on the floor thwarted by only a “GIRLS ONLY” sign. Instead, they drank in the swaying, sweating hips from the sidelines and howled in approval.

It was official. The Monroe University student movement had officially become obscene.

Upstairs, Helen knocked on Henry’s office door. The music thudded from below, the heavy bass passing through the floor with ease into the stuffy academic halls upstairs.

Helen listened through the music for an answer, but didn’t hear one. She knocked again.

“Yes, yes. One moment, for God’s sake!” Henry said through the door.

Helen didn’t bother waiting. She was out of patience with this man. And there was nothing he could be doing that was more important than the student union turning into a dance club. She opened the door and barged in.

She nearly collided with Agatha Redmare.

“Helen! Hi. I was, uhm. Just leaving.” Agatha said.

The President’s hair was a frazzled mess and her face flushed with sweat. Helen caught the last glimpse of what she wore beneath her coat, nothing more than a blue lace set of lingerie, before Agatha buttoned it hastily.

“Agatha, what is going on here?” Helen asked.

Agatha’s eyes were glassy. “I’ve… I’ve decided to work very closely under Henry. Very closely, indeed. I’ve realized I’m quite unequipped to handle this crisis on campus on my own.”

“Agatha, are you… Are you sleeping with him?” Helen asked, unable to contain her suspicions.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Henry interjected. “We are doing nothing of the sort. Agatha is simply stepping in as my assistant. As my Secretary, if you will. From this point forward she will be working out of my office.”

“But– but what about what we talked about?” Helen asked her. “About putting an end to his rules! You have the authority!”

“Agatha, would you mind giving Helen and I some privacy?” Henry asked.

“Yes, Henry. I mean– Henry, Sir.” Agatha stammered, stepping out into the hall on wobbly legs and click clacking heels.

The door closed, heavy.

“Helen, I’m growing quite frustrated with your continued insistence on micromanaging my work.” Henry said, packing a pipe with loose tobacco. “It is entirely under my good graces that I continue to entertain your complaints. As you can see, I’ve worked things out with the administration and they are allowing my work to continue.”

“Yes, but–”

“But nothing! You are a professor! You hold no authority over me!” Henry jabbed.

He took a small puff of his pipe, and glared at Helen with pure, undisguised malice. Helen pulled a sheet of paper from her bag. She wasn’t done.

“This is an essay written by my best student, Ali Burke.” Helen said, her voice shaking with adrenaline and nerves. “Please. Just listen to this.”

She cleared her throat.

“If Lady Macbeth were alive today, she’d rock a bold, red lipstick that screams ‘Don’t mess with me!’ Ophelia from Hamlet would be about that natural look, a dewy foundation with a little shimmer in the eye shadow. Juliet, of course, would use mascara to get those fluttery eyelashes to accentuate how in love she is.”

“What is your point, Miss Paisley?” Henry asked, thick with impatience.

“This whole essay is drivel! This is a serious young woman making a mockery of my class.”

“Then perhaps you should speak to her and not me.”

“Henry. The girls are taking your rules as challenges and specifically disobeying them! It’s almost like… Like they can’t help themselves! This essay is not the work of the Ali Burke I know. Whether she’s writing this crap on purpose, or genuinely doesn’t give a shit anymore, I don’t know. But I do know that the further you take this, the worse it’s going to get.”

“Thank you Ms. Paisley. I am well aware of the situation. I have seen their latest little display downstairs. I can hear it for God’s sake. This has become a crisis.”

“That is why President Redmare has given me emergency powers to expand my authority. I actually agree with you, Miss Paisley. Maybe the blame does not rest entirely on the students. Maybe there is another angle by which to approach this.”

Helen’s chest twisted itself into a knot.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked. “What emergency powers? What other angle?”

Henry pulled another puff from his pipe, the cherry flaring to a bright red smolder.

“Have a good day, Miss Paisley.”

She raced downstairs.

Back in the booming domain of music and candy and dance, the music blared over still bodies. Everybody was already looking up, their blank faces bathed in blue light.

No… Helen thought. No, no, no…

She didn’t want to look. Whatever waited for her on that giant screen, it couldn’t be good. Henry had been too smug.

What new powers did Agatha grant him? Helen suspected she already knew. He was the Dean of Students, except the campus wasn’t composed of only students. It was also composed of…

“FACULTY.”

Seeing the word on the screen was like being dropped into icy water. Her tightened heart sent frost through her veins as she read the rest of it.

“Keep in mind that you must set a GOOD example for the students. From now on, you MUST obey the CODE OF CONDUCT, too.”

The ice in Helen turned hot. Flaring hot. How dare he.

The message was clear. He blamed the faculty.

That was ridiculous. Just because the students couldn’t behave themselves, that was somehow Helen’s fault? She was the only one trying to put a stop to this madness! And now she was being punished because the students were using the protest an excuse to skip class and act…

“Slutty.” Helen whispered.

It was unjust. It was an insult to her professionalism.

Helen scanned the other rules. So she’d be expected to wear long skirts. She’d be forbidden from her tasteful make-up. She’d be treated no different from her ATTENTION HUNGRY students who loved to show off their bodies and suck on candies and be–

“Sluuuttyyy…” It rolled off the tongue. She hardly even realized she was saying it. It tasted good in her mouth, like candy.

It was unfair. SO unfair. She didn’t need rules to tell her not to do any of that stuff. Like Helen would be caught dead dressing like an oversexed teenager, sucking a nice, big, juicy, yummy lollipop and bending over in a tight, tight–

“Slutty little skirt on my slutty little ass.”

The heat threatened to overwhelm her. Helen felt like she was going to pass out. And the pulsating music continued to pound at her skull. Underneath the synthetic beats and swirling melodies, Helen could almost hear her own voice muttering something delicious, but the words were drowned out by music. The screen vibrated from its rhythms, the words shuddering erratically until she couldn’t even read them anymore.

And then she was back in her body, which was wired with rage. Her hands were in tight fists, every muscle tensed. Her pantsuit clung to her, holding the heat inside of her, stifling her.

So this is where good-faith criticism got her. This is where professionalism got her. Well, if this is how Henry was going to respond to reason, then two could play at that game.

Helen walked with purpose to the skirt swap, now a veritable flea market in its own right. Nearby sales at the mall had flooded with supply with all manner of new options, scandalous, short, and shiny. Indiscriminately, she grabbed handfuls of clothes off the racks and stuffed them into her bag. Her head spun in anger, around and around and around, as she took her fill of every kind of apparel available.

She was done playing nice. Helen was going to send a message.