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 miniskirt. "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?