To more fully enjoy this story in living, breathing HTML, please visit our website at: /~vivian Now offering over 140,000 words of pure prurience! -------------------------------------------------------- Therapy [part 2] by Vivian Darkbloom Stalled in the line awaiting service at the cafeteria, my nostrils gingerly picked their way (like detectives at the morgue) through the noxious mixture of scents escaping from the direction of the kitchen, the array of fleeing aromas yearning for the freedom of fresh open air. Then I spotted the answer I was looking for. I walked over and tapped her on the shoulder. "Nelda, what's the forecast for today?" She turned to examine me through her bottle-bottom glasses, the kind with the thick black frames scientists used to wear in those old black-and-white movies. She had a narrow black tie to match. "Which variable are you attempting to maximize?" she queried. "Um, edibility, I guess." Meanwhile, someone passed by, dropping some little slips of paper on the pile she had gathered next to her laptop. "Here are some more results," they said. "Thanks," replied Nelda, still examining me. "Well, not counting the specimens I haven't entered yet," she placed her hand on the pile of little slips, then clicked a button on her laptop that made all the numbers dance around the screen. "We have the pizza-balls rated at a mean average of 7/3/10." "A 3, eh. Pretty high for edibility I'd say." "Heavy chiseling required to break through the outer surface, but the inner filling seems to be fairly tasty." "The 10 is pretty impressive too." "It's provisional, actually. Dimples Brown discovered that the usefulness as a projectile was enhanced by moistening a small circular region on the surface, causing the pizza-ball to explode on impact. While creating a spectacular effect. . ." she gestured at a tomato-sauce-splattered wall in the corner of the cafeteria, ". . .however, pending the injunction passed by Mrs. Pennywhistle, further testing has been severely limited." A kid I had never seen before sat across from Nelda looking baffled. "What on earth are you guys talking about?" Nelda fired back like lightning: "The triple-rating refers to three aspects of the food item: visual gross-out factor, edibility, and suitability as projectile. We collect results from multiple participants in real time, computing a running average as data-entry progresses." Before I met Nelda, I had never met a girl who wore a white cotton dress shirt every day, its left pocket filled with pens and mechanical pencils guarded by plastic pocket-protector. Every day. Her long chestnut curls (held in check neatly by a hairband decorated with logarithmic slide-rule scales) plus the hideously gaudy skirts and bright red flashing-LED athletic shoes completed the incongruous ensemble, an assortment of individually horrible stylistic options which she put together in a way that somehow managed to wind up being irresistibly cute. "Thanks a million, Nelda!" I called back gratefully as I resumed my place in line. "Any time, Orion," she grinned back at me. Next to me I saw a couple of school bullies gawking at her. I didn't know either of their names, but recognized both from the football team. "Look at the little 4-eyed nerd," leered one of them. "She could make a million dollars by recycling all that glass in her glasses." He chortled with delight the cleverness of his words. As the bullies started to walk over in her direction, Mr. Farnes, the P.E. teacher, appeared behind them. "Hey boys, I got a riddle for you. What do you call those nerdy kids in high school twenty years from now?" The bullies were stumped (a common occurrence) especially because it wasn't a situation where they could use their fists to answer the question as they customarily did. Finally one of them said, "I don't know. What?" "Boss." They both started with raucous laughter. "Good one Coach. Funny joke." "Joke," said Mr. Farnes. "Right." At this point, Ms. Fenwick, the School Principal, happened to stroll by. Mr. Farnes winced visibly as she threw a withering gaze in their direction. "Ah Mr. Farnes," she inquired condescendingly. "Keeping the rowdies in check, I see?" "Yes, Ms. Fenwick," he muttered obediently. "Good work. Ah, and what an industrious young lady." She placed an approving hand on Nelda's shoulder. "It's so good to see students so dedicated to their schoolwork." "Um, thank you ma'am," murmured Nelda, blushing. As Ms. Fenwick walked off, one of the bullies smacked his fist into his palm. Mr. Farnes cleared his throat audibly. "Say, I think it's time you boys helped me move out the blocking sleds out for practice this afternoon." "Gee Mr. Farnes, I was kinda busy actually, and. . ." "You want to play in the game on Saturday?" "Aww, Coach. You wouldn't." "Yes, I would. Now, move it. Pronto!" The gloomy atmosphere lifted as Mr. Farnes ushered the downcast bullies out of the room. _______________________________________________________ For more stories, please visit our site: /~vivian