Getttting on with things
The rest of the week was uncomfortable; I got asked out a couple times. One guy was really up front about it, saying he wanted to see my boobs too. I didn't accept any dates and ignored the whiffs of slut-shaming directed at me. It's not so much that my classmates are Puritans--not outwardly, anyway, even those from Returned families who have not adapted to newer morality appear to be ok with the new norms at school--but it's a way to exhibit superiority by putting somebody down. You'd think that since topless nudity is legal and widely acceptable that seeing anybody's boobs wouldn't be any kind of big deal, but it is. Sure, the girls with boobs that they like and are proud of don't wear swimsuit tops, but the rest of us--and that includes most of the girls who are either still developing or like me, apparently doomed to a life of flat-chest jokes, certainly do. And kids are really good at spotting each others' weaknesses. Almost everybody hates our school uniforms, but I'm ok with them. I think of the skirt or slacks, button-up blouse, and blazer with the school crest on the left chest as armor. Especially now, layers on my torso are good.
That weekend, I went to a movie with Jane Brown, one of my good friends, but I stayed away from parties. So I missed seeing the scandal of two drunk sophomores screwing on the patio, but recordings were made and surreptitiously shared. These days, any device that is owned by a minor--and you have to register your fingerprints, which are also required for recording--automatically blurs the faces of anybody who is completely nude or having sex and prevents transmission to other devices. There are some very complicated algorithms, first developed at Wayne, that make this possible. So while you couldn't tell from the recordings who the enthusiastic kinksters were, everybody was happy to whisper the names. This was a whole lot more diverting than my rumor, which was promptly forgotten.
Fall weather arrived with a bang and I dug my overcoat out of the closet. And by me, I mean Alan, who came upon me when I was looking through the hall closet and efficiently extracted my navy coat, automatically checking it over and whisking it away to sew on a button that was in danger of falling off. Tuesday was Girl Scouts. I wish I could have joined the troop sponsored by Valkyrie, but that was strictly for girls who lived in the neighborhood, which was mostly low-income. A few others had tried to finagle their way in too, and blamed me for their failure. Everybody wanted to join that troop. They had the cream of the city movers and shakers lecture or teach the badges. Grandma Alex's position was that girls like me had opportunities because of who their families were. I didn't even disagree with that, but our troop leaders didn't have the clout to compel the really talented to teach our badges. The Valkyrie troop got the Hawkeyes for their archery badge and Steve Rogers to show them how couture was constructed, learned how to cut out patterns and sew simple pieces with easy modifications to make them custom. In his atelier. We had an instructor from US Archery and Mrs Astor's maid taught us how to sew buttons and tack up hems. And this was useful, but we didn't achieve any level of skill. The one time I had a problem with my skirt hem at school, I sewed it up at lunch, feeling proud even though the stitches were pretty big. Alan had put it in perfectly when I saw it in my closet again. I know this sounds like I'm whining, but I'm not. It's just frustrating to have everything I try redone so that it's perfect. You'd think that with so many talented people in the extended family, it would be no problem to get lessons, but you'd be wrong. They're all as busy as they are talented, and promises to check schedules never seem to have any result. I could pester people, but I kind of feel like if they wanted to show me, they'd remember on their own. It's not like it's one or two people, it's almost all of them. Grandma Alex's Uncle Bucky showed me around the zoo, taking me to a few staff areas, but there are no exceptions for interacting with the animals, and you have to be an employee even to shovel poop in the bird cages. His wife showed me around City Hall, but as the mayor's spokeswoman, she goes to a lot of meetings, takes notes, and cultivates relationships with members of the press. I did learn about shmoozing there, though. It's another thing I'm not very good at. I can either be direct or hold my tongue, there's not much in between. It would be a good skill to have, though. Scratch being a politician off my list of possible careers. And Grandpa Mark was helping us with our Marketing badge. He had a hug for me after our work was done for the day and we started in on the snacks.
I toiled through school and activities until Halloween. I'd made arrangements with my best friends Jane, Eleanor Fitzgerald, Hope Kennedy, and Molly Sullivan to go to the school dance on Halloween. I'm not very creative, so I hit the attic for a costume. We have hundreds of years of clothes in storage, so if I could find something that wasn't too tight (wasn't planning on wearing a corset or anything) I could probably manage to tack it down enough over the bust for it to look reasonable. The clothes were stored in special closets so they weren't even wrinkled. I dreamily sorted through a huge array of styles and fabrics, and jolted when I heard my mom's voice on the house audio system, asking where I was. "What are you doing up there?" she asked, puzzled.
"Looking for something to wear to the Halloween party," I said, distracted by a beautiful dress that put me in mind of a peacock's feathers with its rich dark blue and green. I held it against me; the hem looked in the right place, so I skinned out of my t-shirt and pants. It was heavy, with the hugely draped skirt, but the waist actually fit perfectly, the sleeves perched on my shoulders perfectly, and even the bust wasn't completely awful. The woman who had worn it hadn't been excessively bosomy. There were seams where I could tack things down discreetly. I smoothed my fingers on the velvet of the bodice and moved to a pier glass, taking off its cover to look at myself. The colors made my skin look brighter. Maybe I needed to expand my color palette; I usually wore light colors. I swayed a little, enjoying the feel of the skirt, feeling lovely, I couldn't remember the last time I felt this pretty. I twisted my hair up into a temporary chignon to see the effect. I looked over when the door opened; Mom came in, accompanied by Deri.
"Oh, Lys." She sounded startled. I always had to go by vocal cues with her since I couldn't see her face. Her hand went up; I thought she might be tapping her lips. "That seems... a bit much for a high school party."
"Yeah, I like it, though," I said, twisting at the hips a bit to make the skirt sway.
"There's a big gape where the bust is," Deri said matter-of-factly.
"I could tack it down temporarily." Man, the skirt was getting heavy.
"How are you going to dance in it?" she wanted to know.
I sighed. "Nobody's going to be doing the Virginia Reel. I could just move my feet and sway." Deri rolled her eyes and scooted behind me, checking the back facings. I swatted her.
"That's an original Worth," she pointed out. "You'll probably ruin it. Somebody will spill on it or you'll step on the hem and rip it."
"Perhaps it isn't the best choice for a high school party," Mom said, sounding concerned, and asked Alan if he could join us in the attic. He had a look of horror on his face, quickly erased, when he saw me in the dress.
"Lys is looking for a dress to wear to her high school Halloween party," Mom said. "...I'm a little concerned about the abundance of skirt with this one. Would you have any ideas for something that would be fun to wear?"
Alan's face cleared and he went to a regular closet across the aisle, stripping off a garment bag as he returned. "This is a variation of a flapper dress, made for Master Mark's mother," he said. It was silver, with wide shoulder straps and a straight dress that ended mid-thigh. There was some beadwork around the neck, and there were a few rows of long fringe starting at the hips that hung down to my knees. There was a little bag with it, which contained a bandeau for the hair. "She wore it to a party when Master Mark was in school himself."
"That looks pretty," mom said encouragingly. "Go try it on, dear." I reluctantly went back into the closet where the beautiful dress lived and hung it back up, carefully, smoothing and arranging the fabric before dropping the flapper dress over my head and fastening the bandeau, which also had some beading, around my head. It was pretty, but it wasn't special, like the first dress, and the color wasn't doing me any favors. But I knew without being told that this was what I'd be allowed to wear, and truthfully, I didn't want to ruin the beautiful dress. I just wanted to feel special.
"--really should be in a museum's collection," Alan was saying to Mom as I came out. It irritated me that he was trying to tell her what to do with our things.
"Oh, that looks much more appropriate," Mom said, sounding relieved when she saw me.
"The chemise style suits you," Alan told me, which irritated me again. I wasn't asking for his opinion.
"That's one style where having no boobs is an advantage," Deri said carelessly. I glared at her.
"Girls," Mom said reprovingly. "Thank you, Alan, that's a wonderful choice." I went back to change again, putting the dress on its hanger and pulling on my regular clothes. I stuffed the bandeau into its bag. When I stepped out again, Deri had gone into the closet and was looking at a long dress. Alan was telling her that it was based on a design from the Middle Ages. She was reading The Hobbit and thought it was something an elf might wear. Alan turned when he heard the closet door close.
"I'll take that from you, Miss Lys, to be sure it's ready," he said.
"I can't imagine that it's in anything but perfect condition," I said, smiling slightly, and went down to my room to put it in my closet. I arranged the clothes hanging on the rod slightly and trudged down to pre-dinner. Dad was gone on business. Mom accepted a cocktail from Alan and started to grill Deri and me about our days. I sipped seltzer and lime. I didn't have much to report.
"And how was your algebra test, Lys?" she asked. "Have you gotten it back yet?"
I wish they'd stop pretending that they don't know what our grades are. Parents have access to the e-gradebook at the school and can see our scores for tests, quizzes, papers, and assignments right when we can, so kids can't fudge the truth about their grades if things don't go to plan. "Got a C," I said briefly. A crease appeared between her eyes. Ha. Like she ever uses algebra. Nobody does, it's mostly a stepping stone to more advanced mathematics.
"Do you need--"
"I signed up for a tutor today," I said briefly. The high school had peer tutors, and I'd known this was coming. God forbid that a Wayne should be anything less than brilliant. She sat back, looking more reassured.
"I got an A on my pre-algebra quiz," Desi bragged, and for a second, I hated her. Everything she's tried comes easy to her. She has time for a lot of social stuff, setting trends, all that shit because she's not grinding away at something she doesn't really understand. I sipped my seltzer and waited for dinner. Alan served a roast promptly, we ate promptly. We have dinner a little early, he and his family have dinner a little later, so we try not to do anything that cuts into his family time. Desi asked questions about a new artifact that Mom was examining at work. Suck-up. Mom didn't make me hang around for tea and cookies after I said that I wanted to do some extra studying, so I got to go sulk in peace.