After School Special/Part Two

by Marlissa

That has to be it for my Sam Spade routine for a while, Glen
thought. He put the file in his brief case, soon forgetting about
Brenda Porter. For the rest of the morning he buried himself in
evaluation forms and talking to college admissions offices as he
requested information for next year's seniors. At noon, he heard
the cries from the kid's recess. With an effort he freed himself
from his paperwork and looked out the window.

The day's weather had turned out well and a beaming May sun
was streaming in. He looked across the school grounds at the
various kids-- the girls gossiping in groups, the boys tossing a
baseball, and then... Brenda. She was leaning against the main
building wall, reading the latest issue of Seventeen. She
seemed so intent on her magazine she couldn't see Tommy
Jacobs sneaking up behind her. Glen could see on Tommy's
face there was going to be trouble and with what he guessed
about the girl, he knew that one of Tommy's pranks was the last
thing needed. He sprang to his feet.

He had just swung open the door when he and the entire
freshman class of Benston High saw Tommy pluck up the hem
of Brenda's red hip hugging spandex miniskirt to reveal what
was underneath-- a pair of red cotton French-cut bikini panties
that clung high on her slim hips. The kids filled the schoolyard
with laughter as Tommy triumphantly cried "I knew it, I knew
it! Brenda wears slut red panties! Hahahahahahah!"

He ran to Tommy, pushing him away and trying to obscure the
view of the kids. The eighty or so kids in the yard roared with
the laughter, boys looking over and around Glen to get a peek at
Brenda's underclothes. I turned back to her and she was
hysterical, struggling to yank her skirt down, but Tommy was
holding it up, not allowing her to. Brenda flayed at him
weakly, her arms flying to cover her pantied crotch.

"Tommy Jacobs, leave Brenda alone--now, mister! Or it's
Detention Hall!"

The boy gave me a lame look and let go of the skirt. As he did,
his eyes caught a flash of Brenda's now-infamous panties.
Tommy, unwilling to risk further trouble had walked off and the
kids had turned away as well, not interested in being implicated.
So Glen was the only one who saw the bright reflection of sun
on what looked like metal. The glint had come from where
Brenda's panties disappeared between her legs, as if from some
metallic surface underneath the skimpy undergarment. He
looked quickly away. As he did, he thought he caught Brenda
slipping a finger under the panty crotch and pull it over the
metal.

"Brenda, go inside and pull yourself together. I'll speak to
Tommy."

Brenda looked at me, face beet red and thoroughly humiliated.
"I didn't do anything, Mr. Simmons! He kept bothering me,
asking me what color panties I was wearing! When I told him
to leave me alone, he called me a tease and he did this!" She
was shaking.

"Go on in, Brenda. And I think I better give you a ride home
tonight after school, all right? Riding the bus with Tommy is
asking for trouble."

She nodded and trotted off to the Girl's Room to compose
herself. As she did, Glen watched what had probably started the
trouble. Brenda's spandex skirt was so tight, that her panty line
underneath was as clear as day. As she swiveled her slim hips,
it must have seemed to Tommy that yes, she was being a tease.
"Good" girls just didn't sashayed around that way. Glen sighed
and took Tommy to Skinner's office for a "discussion."

An hour later, Glen returned to his office. On a hunch he called
the Nurse's office. "Has Brenda Porter had any surgery that you
know of?"

No, not that she knew of, the nurse answered as she consulted
her records. Any corrective surgery she'd need a metal brace
for? Was there any mention of hip problems? No, none of that.
Last time she'd been seen by the nurse?

"Haven't seen her actually. The day we did Physicals, she was
out. Then she came in with a note from her mother giving her a
clean bill of health. I wouldn't worry about Brenda's health at
all, Mr. Simmons. You see her mother is a doctor."

He hung the phone up. Glen knew it was wrong to be so
beguiled by the mystery of what was under Brenda's panties. It
was pretty indecent actually. But even though the girl was
undeniably sexy in a fresh way, he told himself he was only
interested in the answer as it fit with the rest of the pieces. And
yet even as he tried to distract himself with his mounds of
paperwork, his mind kept returning to the sight of that pantied
midsection, so taut and trim under that panty. the panties were
cut so sheerly they practically disappeared up the girl's privates
giving him the impression that the girl either hadn't grown much
pubic hair or that she kept it closely shaved. Or entirely shaved.
But that was crazy! A fourteen year old girl shaving her sex?
He wondered how wild Miss Brenda Porter was and what
exactly she did after school. He stopped. There had been a
small bulge under there. Yes, now that he thought about it,
there had definitely been a mound. All this daydreaming had
brought it back.

He had only begun to ponder what the metal item was that
perhaps caused the mound when he remembered to check the
fax machine. There it was, waiting for him at three-thirty on the
dot. He took the fax to his desk and began to read. It seemed
the Central Massachusetts State School wasn't your run-of-the-
mill junior high. It was a reformatory. And a mistake had
obviously been made in the records. The "D. Porter" listed was
a twelve year old boy! He had the phone in hand to call the
Records Department to ask make another request for the proper
file when he saw the grainy head shot. He looked at the fax
closely. The photo was that of a twelve year old boy, Danny
Belmont. The familiar hazel eyes, the black hair, the pointy
chin-- it was as if Brenda had a brother! No dimples or Adam's
Apple, and Danny's lips were thinner than Brenda's, but other
than that they might have been siblings. Weird.

He looked at the notes in the file. "Danny's birth parents
unknown. Brought up in a number of foster homes. Caught
shoplifting at eleven and remanded to the Central State School
for correction. Placed for adoption by state to Mr. and Dr.
Mason at age eleven and a half." So Brenda had a brother? But
the other information was identical. Danny Belmont's Social
Security number was 034-99-6669. And so was Brenda
Belmont.

Glen heard the knock on the door. It was Brenda, here for her
ride home. Glen gathered up Brenda's file and the fax and
threw it in his briefcase. "Ready?"

Brenda nodded, her ponytail bouncing. "Yes, thank you Mr.
Simmons."

"Say Brenda, can I reach your parents at this hour? I'd like to
see them after I drop you off-- about, uh, what a good job
you're doing in Home Ec and Gym class."

Her hazel eyes widened in fear then glee as he added the
reason. "Oh would you, Mr. Simmons? It means so much to
them that I do well in those classes. They would be so pleased
with me!"

"Well, fine. I'll be happy to do that. Just tell me where I might
find them. At their offices?"

Brenda thought a minute then shook her head doubtfully. "Oh
no sir. They're always home when I get off the bus. They're
always there after school."

And so they were. Glen could see the matching black and silver
BMW convertibles there at the head of the long drive, even as
he pulled in with his old Pontiac Firebird. The house was
practically an estate, easily two hundred yards off the road,
hidden behind huge, immaculate hedges and a mason wall. It
stared down at him imposingly, three stories of white Victorian
excess of cupolas, verandahs, and French windows. A
gorgeous house, certainly in the million dollar range. He
looked at Brenda again, silently contemplating some inner
concern in her trampy little minishirt. "General classes at
request of parents." Even if Brenda was adopted like her
brother, why would the new parents who lived in such affluence
restrict her to go-nowhere courses? Why would they place such
a premium on Home Ec and Gym class? Why would they
allow her to leave the house dressed this way every day?