Early the next morning, before classes, breakfast in the surprisingly bright and sunny school cafeteria proved to be a challenge.
“God, here they come,” Maryanne breathed to me, not looking up. “Velda and her gang. Just pretend like nothing happened last night.”
I gave her a quick look. The three of us, she and I and little Pamela, were sharing the same long table by ourselves.
“You mean, last night when I licked their cunts?” I asked, looking to each of my new roommates. “Or when I licked both of yours?”
Both of them giggled at that, but nervously so, still refusing to look up or otherwise acknowledge me.
Maryanne and Pamela were both in their school uniforms, dark plaid skirts, knee socks and crisply starched white blouses, like every other student in the room, while I was wearing almost the same outfit I'd arrived in yesterday evening: jeans, tennis shoes and a different pullover top.
A minute later, Velda-followed by the almost-as-large blonde Carol and little redheaded Ingrid-joined us at our table without being asked. They sat down, set down their trays and gave me a look.
Like daring me to complain.
“Hello, sluts,” Velda started right in. Then, “Emily, how sore is your little butt this morning? Was that paddling fun?”
I just looked to her with a smile, then nodded.
“It wasn't so terrible,” I said. “At least when Carol did it. That was kind of fun, especially when I pissed in the bed and she licked my pussy anyway. I hope my pee tasted good.”
And Carol gave me a surprised look, which quickly darkened to one of pure malevolence.
My little roommates were suddenly concentrating even harder on their food, their heads lowered as they forked in blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs and toast. I didn't blame them: this was my fight, not theirs.
At least, not yet.
Carol's expression changed as she saw someone across the room, and as I turned to see who it was, she reached out and scooped up my stack of pancakes, syrup and all, and squeezed them into a large round glob.
She set the gooey glob back on my plate, then put her hand under the table and wiped it off with a napkin. I could tell by her smile she was up to something, but I wasn't certain what. I only knew it would be bad.
A moment later, the tallish tough-looking woman I was earlier told by Maryanne was the gym teacher walked by our table taking her tray back. She was about 35 and rangy, with short cropped blonde hair and a no-nonsense manner about her.
“Hello, Ms. Dykstra,” Velda looked up with a smile.
Ms. Dykstra stopped abruptly, looking at the large glob that used to be my blueberry pancakes. She then looked to me.
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“She's a comedian,” Carol volunteered. “And we got her a new uniform last night, but she refuses to wear it for some reason.”
Ms. Dykstra studied me a long moment, then again looked to the large ball of pancakes and syrup in the center of my tray. “Make sure you eat that,” she told me. “And we'll see how funny you think gym class is this morning…”
I just sat there as she walked away. Then I looked to Velda, Carol and Ingrid.
“Not bad,” I admitted to them. “I guess you got me.”
They all three stood up then, their breakfasts barely touched.
“It's just a start,” Velda assured me. “Just a start.”
Great.