This is the fifth installment of the short story "Ink" by Steve Metcalf as it first appeared in the second Event collection "Iron Bay."
INK
Steve Metcalf
Chapter Four
The Skirt
Bren slept, but it was a fitful sleep. It was a nightmare dressed as a dream. Had she awoken right now, she would find her bedclothes – a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of running shorts – to be soaked through with sweat. Her heart was hammering against her chest and her hair was plastered against her forehead.
It was Tuesday, of course, which meant it was PE day. Physical Education – the bane of many high school girls’ existence. She was no different as she struggled across the odd amalgamation of gym equipment. Since the summer Olympics were coming, the school had decided that students would learn certain basic moves. There was nothing so complex – and potentially injurious – as the pommel horse or the vaulting horse, but the children were encouraged to try the balance beam, the parallel bars or even the uneven bars.
They always ended class 15 minutes early for the students to shower, change clothes and make themselves presentable for next period. Teachers loved nothing more than to be closed in a room full of 30 sweaty teenagers. As she exited the large, multi-stall shower room, she let out a small yelp of panic.
Someone had gone through her gym bag.
In real life, she tossed and turned and moaned.
In her dream, she rushed over to the bench where her bag rested. It was open. Not a lot, but more than she had left it. The last few girls in the room were finishing, chatting among themselves, and leaving. No one was paying her any extra attention.
She quickly sat down and put the bag on her knees. She started pulling items out. Shoes. Socks. Blouse. Skirt. Bra. Hairbrush. A few more items and the bag was empty. No underwear. She had worn a matching set of bra and panties – robin-egg blue with a small, pink rose. The bra was there. No panties.
And her knee-length skirt.
She blushed the entire time she dressed. Demure, petite high school freshman with no underwear. The length of her black cotton skirt was the only thing that could protect her. She walked, books clutched to her chest, with short strides to Economics, her third-period class. The rosy hue never left her cheeks and had managed to crawl down her neck to the top of her chest. She sat in her assigned seat near the center of the class. One of her bullies, Chad, sat behind her, smiling.
Asleep, she tossed and turned and scratched at her neck.
In class, she didn’t know why the kids behind her were snickering. In slow motion, she looked down to realize Chad had lifted up the side of her skirt with his foot … exposing her thigh and her entire right ass-cheek to the class.
She woke up physically in pain.
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