High School Yearbook Ch. 03

"Too bad. What product did Hodgson assign you to market?"

"A walker."

"A walker? One of those things elderly people use to help them walk?"

"Yeah."

"He's a dickhead. What would two such beautiful young women know about walkers."

Serena's displeasure - had this nerd just commented on her looks? - was not offset by his criticism of Hodgson, as Bryan continued, "Maybe we should try brainstorming."

Before Serena could reject the idea Andrea said, "What's that?"

"A technique for generating ideas on group projects like this. We used it with the Yearbook staff. You suggest any thought, any idea, you have and make a list of them. No criticism is allowed. You don't reject, grade, or evaluate; just collect. It stimulates creativity. When done you put the list aside, wait a day or two, then return to it and pick out the best."

Seeing the look on Serena's face - she made no effort to disguise that she thought the idea stupid - Bryan said, "Serena I know, you think it's the Nerdbook, but why not try. I'll go first. How about something straight-forward. A television commercial opens with an elderly lady, slim attractive dignified, walking on a rough but inviting surface, like a brick sidewalk in Savannah. She's smiling. Then you cut to a product testimonial from a distinguished older physician and return to clips of old people praising the walker in both general and particular terms - how it helped one with her Parkinson's, how it gave another his life back - so the commercial covers everything."

Serena didn't respond, her silence thick with disapproval. Andrea, making eye contract with her stepbrother, filled the void. "Okay. How about this? An infomercial on one of those cable channels that runs 1950's and 1960's television programs. It would look like an impartial medical inquiry about choosing the right walker, but the right one would always be ours."

Breaking the rules Serena said, "Who watches those channels?"

Enjoying the chance to goad Serena, Andrea said, "Old people. Our target audience ain't big on social media."

Bryan said, "Guys, remember the rules," then threw out an idea.

They worked for another thirty minutes, with Serena, if not wholly dropping her hostility, relaxing a bit, adding a couple of suggestions to the pot. After forwarding the notes he'd made to Serena and Andrea, Bryan said, "Let's review the list tonight, then get together tomorrow or the day after to discuss."

Andrea said, "Good idea. Serena, how about my place, this time tomorrow?"

At the moment Serena was of two minds. On the one hand: she was cool; she was beautiful; it was her right, her duty, to exploit nerds. They'd made more progress in the last thirty minutes than they had to date. If this nerd wanted to do her work, who was she to say no? On the other hand, who did this nerd and his flat-assed sister think they were, trying to arrange her schedule. Did they think this project made them friends? Would they expect her to acknowledge them in public?

"No, I like doing it right here, its more convenient for my tennis practice."

Eye's boring in, Andrea leaned forward, ready for a fight, but Bryan placed a hand on her forearm and said, "I'll ask Ms. Richards about using the room again."

Wondering, not for the first time, why the very hot very classy and very well-off Bianca Richards had fixated on Bryan, Serena said, "Good, now I've got tennis practice," packed her things, and with a desultory, "See ya," breezed out the door.

Andrea exploded. "What a fucking stuck-up bitch. She's too important to come to our home or us to go to hers! Stupid cunt. And did you hear how she kept putting you down, shit after you tried to help save her ass?"

"Yeah, but consider the source. Thanks, by the way, for standing up for me. It's appreciated."

"You're welcome, but don't tell anybody. Not that it was for you. I just couldn't let that bitch get away with it."

With that there was a knock and Bianca Richards, smiling, leaning against the door frame, arms folded across her ample chest, said, "You guys finish? Where's Serena?"

"We're done. Serena split, said she had to get to tennis practice."

"Bryan, would you mind staying a few minutes. I'd like you to take a look at some ideas I had for the editor's guide."

Andrea said, "Bryan, I can stick around and give you a ride home."

Bianca said, "That's sweet of you Andrea, but we may be awhile. I'll give your brother a ride."

* * * * *

Feet propped up on Bianca's desk, Bryan said, "So you listened to the whole thing. What did you think?"

Leaning against the corner of that desk, enjoying the pressure on her backside, wishing it was Bryan's dick, Bianca said, "What do I think? Well, first of all, what's going on with your sister? She was nice to you, spoke up for you, defended you. She's also buying into the team-working-together-thing. "

Bryan deflected the question with, "I guess I'm growing on her," but he'd been asking himself the same thing, and didn't have an answer. In any clash between cool kid and nerd, Andrea sided with cool, family or not. Now his stepsister was defending him from Serena. She'd deferred to his leadership when he'd joined she and Serena. And why had she returned Bree's shoes to the master bedroom without a fuss, forfeiting the opportunity to humiliate or blackmail him. The behavior was consistent with the white noise machine, but the machine worked in tiny imperceptible steps, not in leaps. He'd have to check the equipment when he got home.

Bianca watched Bryan: she loved his face. He was thinking about something, but his jocular response said he'd talk about it later, when he was ready. Giving him space Bianca said, "I understand that, you've been growing on me since we met. So, now that Andrea's coming around on Hodgson's project, how do we get Serena to play nice?"

"Y'know, there's no good reason for Serena and Andrea to be enemies. They should be friends. They're both beautiful narcissists, drama queens, fashionistas. They care about the same things, are contemptuous of the same people - which, admittedly, is most everyone. They're shallow, but not stupid: always ready with a nasty zinger and have a genius for manipulating people. I've seen it: five minutes after they've put on a friendly facade some poor smuck they've mistreated for years decides Serena or Andrea is really her friend. They just misunderstood. Then the smuck does what Serena or Andrea wants and starts getting shat on again.

"The problem is they both want to be Queen Bee and there's only one hive. But that they see other as the competition reveals an underlying respect. The best athlete in school doesn't worry about me stealing his crown. I was hoping they're mutual antipathy for Hodgson would let them bury the hatchet, but every time they sit down together they're ready for a fight."

"You've got it pegged, but what to do my darling?"

"Andrea's trying, we need Serena to do the same. Get her to dial it down, come to the meetings in a constructive mood, not ready to play bumper cars. We need her to use a white noise box. It won't fix the problem, but it's a start."

It would be, Bianca thought, a small beginning, but a beginning. The white noise machine did calm things down.

"How are you going to get her to take one from you?"

"You mean," and adopting Serena's tone of voice Bryan said, "Yeah right, nerdboy, keep nerdtoy to yourself."

Laughing, Bianca said, "Exactly."

"You're right, she'll never take it from me, and even if she did she wouldn't use it. From you however, the best dressed, Jaguar drivingest, hottest teacher in the district, with a wealthy husband, from you she'd take it."

Bianca, thoughtful for a second, added, "You're right. Especially if she was told she couldn't have it, if she thought she was putting one over on you, and me."

"This evening, while I'm working on the white noise box, you think about how to ensure Serena uses it. We'll get together with Bree over breakfast tomorrow, discuss everything."

Unbuttoning her blouse, revealing the white lacy bra she wore underneath, Bianca said, "That sounds like a lot to do, but still, do ya' reckon' we can find the time to squeeze in some fun."

* * * * *

That evening Bryan finished Serena's white noise box. Its programming, encouraging a friendship with Andrea, had been straightforward and gone quicker than he expected. He was getting good at this. Now, earphones on, he listened to what had played on his stepsister's machine the night before, then the two nights before that.

Why the transformation in his stepsister? The changes in the material over the three days had been tiny. If you didn't know they were there you wouldn't notice them. He checked the equipment, found no glitch, no problem. Was Andrea especially susceptible to the process? No, up to now Andrea had progressed like Bianca and Bree, the difference between any day undetectable from the day before or after.

He took off his headphones, leaned back, and calling up a Mozart piano sonata on his phone cleared his mind of details. He'd been looking at the trees, now it was time to visit the forest. Why the leap forward? What was different about last night? There was no change in the white noise machine's programming. No aliens had visited, no witches, wizards, or ghosts had dropped in, what was different about last night, what was different about last night? What was ... Oh shit...

He'd missed it because he'd been focusing on the machine and it wasn't the machine, except it was. He'd fucked Bree last night, the first time he'd done so with complete abandon when Edward and Andrea were also in the house. After months of flawless performance he'd been so confident in the deep sleep induced by the white noise machines that he hadn't cautioned Bree to modulate her moans or modulated his own.

Andrea had slept a few feet away. Her subconscious mind wide open she'd heard everything. Her subconscious would have sponged it up. The noise was raw, sexual, and ecstatic, affirming everything the songs extolled. Was that what happened? He couldn't be sure, but he had no other explanation. He'd have to replicate the experiment.

And whatever the cause, Andrea had leaped weeks ahead in her training. Bryan reset her white noise machine, increasing the power and intensity of its training.

* * * * *

The next morning, wondering whether her mother and Bryan would continue yesterday's flirtatious behavior, Andrea hit the snooze button only once. Still, when she got downstairs she found only Edward. "Where are Mom and Bryan?"

"They left a few minutes ago. They're meeting Bianca for breakfast. They said they had some things to discuss."

"What things?"

"I don't know, it's none of my business."

Taken aback, they were talking about Edward's wife and son after all, Andrea started to ask, "If it's none of your business, then who's in charge here?" but she swallowed the words, for an answer was assembling in her mind: Bryan was in charge.

* * * * *

Serena would normally dodge a lunch invitation from a faculty member; she had better things to do, but Bianca, Bryan, and Bree had correctly measured their prey. When Bianca mentioned a feature article in the city's eponymous magazine and a video on its web-site about the state tennis champion who eschewed scholarships from traditional collegiate powers, Vanderbilt, Stanford, Florida, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, to attend historically black Spellman, Serena and her vanity were hooked, for she knew this was no idle promise. The magazine was part of The Roberts Companies print division.

Opening the door to her office, gesturing to a chair facing her desk, Bianca said, "Serena, it's so good of you to come. I appreciate your taking the time. I need to apologize, it's a mess in here. It's been a hectic day; I didn't get the chance to clean up. Can I get you a bottled water?"

Although not in its usually immaculate condition, Bianca's office - a book lay open and a few papers were scattered about - was far from a mess, but Bianca knew opening the conversation with an apology and an offer to serve would feed this young woman's ego and she wanted the little bitch at her entitled worst.

"That would be wonderful Ms. Richards, thank you."

Removing a bottle of water - good stuff, imported from Poland - from a small refrigerator in the corner of her office, Bianca placed it and a napkin on the desk before Serena, then gestured to a white plastic box on a side table.

"Serena, do you mind if I turn this on?"

"What is it?"

"A noise box. It eliminates distracting background noises, helps me concentrate. There's one in the Yearbook room, where you met with Bryan and Andrea yesterday."

Serena said, "Yeah, I saw it," then curious. "Go ahead."

For the next thirty minutes the two women discussed the article and video, making swift and, because the story would portray her positively, Serena thought excellent progress. When they finished, as she shut down her computer, Bianca, a hint of a plea in her voice, said, "Serena, I shouldn't have mentioned the noise box. I'd appreciate if you'd keep it to yourself."

"Why?"

"Bryan Danielson gave it to me. It's something he put together, an over-the-counter product and a bit of programming. Bryan had one in the Yearbook room and when I saw how everyone was focused, how much they got done, I asked him to make one for me. He was reluctant, said it was just an experiment, but I talked him into it. I didn't think of it at the time, but I broke the rule prohibiting teachers from accepting gifts from students. As for Bryan, the last thing I suspect he wants is for word to get around. People would be lining up for these machines and I'm sure he has better things to do."

Throughout the rest of the day Serena replayed the conversation with Ms. Richards in her mind. The time Serena had spent with Andrea and her nerdy stepbrother yesterday and with Ms. Richards today had been productive. Serena was a busy girl, she could use help getting things done. That it might embarrass Ms. Richards or be a burden on Bryan? Who the fuck were they to say she couldn't have what she wanted?

Serena imagined Ms. Richards asking Bryan for a machine. When that bitch turned on the charm Nerd-boy must have melted. And if Ms. Richards could do it, so could she. Ms. Richards was hot and all, but she was pushing thirty.

* * * * *

That afternoon Andrea was surprised to find her mother home; she rarely left work early. When Bree mentioned Bianca Richards had just texted, she was giving Bryan a ride home, Andrea headed for her room. Curious after recent events, she wanted to watch the three of them without being seen. Her second floor bedroom window was perfect.

When she heard an unfamiliar purr in the driveway, Andrea went to the window. It was Ms. Richards' Jaguar: top down, Bryan driving, Bianca sitting in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, thick brown hair loose. Stopping the car, Bryan walked around and opened the passenger door, offering Bianca his hand. She took it and stood. Bryan closed the door behind her.

Bree came out of the garage. The women exchanged kisses and then, Bryan leaning on the car, the women standing close to him, they began talking. Bree lay a hand on Bryan's shoulder and absent-mindedly, as if doing it for the millionth time, kneaded his neck muscles. Holding Bryan's hand, Bianca ran a perfectly manicured nail on his fingers and palm. Imagining how good that felt, an involuntary shudder ran down Andrea's body.

What were they talking about? Whatever it was, it was serious - the three of them were focused, paying close attention to each other — but not so serious that an occasional comment wouldn't leave everyone laughing. And while they talked freely, Andrea noticed that in the end the women deferred to Bryan, nodding their heads in agreement as he summed up.

Most of her classmates, if surrounded by two such stunning attentive women, would turn into fumbling bumbling fools. Those who didn't would puff up into arrogant buffoons. But Bryan was calm, in control. How had she so badly underestimated her stepbrother? Was Bryan bad at being a high school boy because he was already a man?

When the conversation ended Bryan and Bree walked Bianca to the driver side of the car. The women kissed, then Bianca, laying her palm flat on his chest, kissed Bryan's cheek, whispered something in his ear, and slipped into the driver's seat. Damn, the woman made sitting sexy. As Bryan and Bree, holding hands, stepped away, Bianca waved good-bye and backed out the driveway.

Andrea hurried downstairs, joined moments later by Bree and Bryan.

"Your stepbrother has an excellent idea: Family Move Night. I'll have Edward pick-up dinner on the way home. Then we'll pop some popcorn, watch a movie. Bryan, you pick the cuisine; Andrea and I will choose the movie."

Surprised that she didn't she hate the idea, Andrea said, "Yeah a movie without aliens, where nothing blows up; something romantic and gooey."

Bree said, "I have just the thing. Bianca recommended it, Malcolm & Marie. She said it's stormy, steamy, sexy and stars some very pretty people, Zendaya and John David Washington."

Looking to Bryan, a teasing friendly taunt to her voice, Andrea said, "So what do you think stepbrother?"

"Gooey away ladies."

* * * * *

After eating - Bryan chose Thai - bags and plastic utensils in the garbage, dirty dishes in the dishwasher, leftovers in the refrigerator, Bree excused herself. She wanted to put on something less confining. While she did Andrea remained in the kitchen catching up on text messages and Edward hung up his coat and tie, exchanged his work shoes for favorite slippers, straightened and cleaned the kitchen, then started on the popcorn.

Minutes later Bryan said, "Movie's ready to go."

Returning to the living room, carrying bowls of popcorn, Edward and Andrea found Bree cuddled into a corner of the couch, covered in a silk sheet, legs tucked under her body. She'd combed out her hair and touched-up her make-up. Bryan sat on the floor in front of the couch.

"You comfortable son?"

"Yeah. Bree says her feet hurt after a day in heels in the courthouse and its marble floor. I'm going to give her a foot rub during the movie. Everybody ready?"

Edward and Andrea, sitting in their favorite chairs, said, "Yeah."

Bryan called up the movie and flipped the remote to his father. "Okay Bree, the baby oil."

"Oh I'm sorry Bryan, I left it in the bathroom. Edward honey, do you mind, I'm so comfy."

Pausing the movie, Edward said, "Of course not dear," returning moments later to hand his son a small bottle of oil. "Here champ, take good care of her."

"Will do Dad. Ready Bree."

Bryan ducked between Bree's legs and scooted forward on the couch. Her legs draped over his shoulders, her feet resting on his chest, Bryan squirted baby oil onto his hands, rubbed them together, saturating them, then lathered Bree's right foot. When he reached her toes, working the oil on and between them, Bree squealed. Bryan then gave her left foot the same preparatory treatment, but as he worked her toes Bree's squeal morphed into a low moan.

Her feet now ready, Bryan started with her right. Beginning with her Achilles tendon he worked down her foot. Ankle bones, top of the foot, sides, ball, heel, arch, staying at each spot until her muscles flowed with his fingers. When he turned to her toes Bree responded with her most intense moan to date.

Laying Bree's right foot on his chest Bryan turned to her left, giving it the same ardent treatment. Bree was paying no attention to the movies as her blatantly sexual moans, groans, and sighs grew softer, more personal, more intimate.

Andrea glanced at her stepfather. Somehow he remained fixated on the movie. Zendaya and John David were hot, but so was what was going on in the real world right in front of him. How could he just sit there? This wasn't a foot massage, it was foreplay.