"Wendla Bergan, you are not wearing that dress on your first day of high school."

Wendla whipped around and gasped, catching sight of her mother standing in the doorway of her bathroom. Wendla had been trying on the dress she'd worn for eighth grade graduation, which had only happened three months earlier. But over the summer, she'd grown considerably taller, and had also attained curves. In consequence, the dress was far too revealing.

"Mama, I was only trying it on," Wendla laughed, turning back to the mirror to admire her figure. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"I most certainly have not," her mother replied. She glanced at her phone, and then tapped her foot impatiently. "Hurry up, now. School starts in an hour."

"Wait," Wendla replied absently. Her eyes widened in a haze-like manner, and she turned to view her mother. "You have seen it before. A woman's body, I mean."

"And why would you think that?" Frau Bergman questioned. There was a look of pure astonishment in her expression.

"Because, Mama! You've looked in mirrors! And, well... You have a body yourself."

"That's enough, Wendla," Frau shook her head and began inching away from the door. "I'll be in the kitchen, waiting. And don't forget, after school we're going to visit your aunt in the hospital."

"The aunt who's expecting another child."

"Yes, of course."

"And how is that possible, exactly?"

"What on earth do you mean?"

"Well, I mean... Why is she expecting a child?"

The color flushed to Frau's face. "Oh, Lord... Just pick an appropriate outfit and be ready by seven thirty. I don't want to have this discussion."

Once Frau was out of the bathroom, Wendla sighed and leaned against the counter. She knew if she had normal parents like the other girls at her school, she could merely google all of the burning questions she had; but her mother prohibited the internet, and television channels were monitored with a microscope.

She sighed, changed into her school uniform, and then got a ride from her bustling mother.


"Our senior year of high school," Melchior sighed with a sly smile as he took his first steps on the front lawn of Wedekind Catholic Preparatory School. He turned to share a mutual look of disdain with his trailing sidekick, Moritz Stiefel.

Moritz blinked apprehensively as his bead-like eyes scanned the school building. "I don't know, Melchie. This isn't going to be all sunny and easy. Senior tests can be pretty intense, I've heard..."

Melchior laughed. "That's what they want you to think. But in the end, if you know how to defeat the system..."

"The system?" Moritz squeaked.

"The system of grades. It's an intricate ploy of recipient and manipulation. Just watch and learn, Moritz."

A cluster of giggling girls passed the boys, each glancing briefly into Melchior's cool eyes.

Melchior turned to Moritz and chuckled. "Girls." He shook his head and slung his bag over his uniformed shoulder.

"Hey, come on," Moritz shrugged, attempting to appear uninterested. "Let's get to first period. German Literature, right?"

They entered the school, strolled past groups of excited freshmen, and found seats in their classroom.

"So much clutter in the hallways," Melchior observed. His body was twisted so he could view bystanders pass by the door. "Off to their classes. They have no idea..."

"No idea about what, Melchie?" Moritz questioned. Once again, he found himself perplexed by his best friend. How cool and at ease he always seemed to be, how he always knew about nearly everything before anybody else.

"You'll find out yourself one of these days," Melchior shrugged, turning to Moritz.

"Hey, Melchie, you doin' soccer this year?" a handsome blonde classmate, Hanschen, asked, shoving past a couple of boys to get a good seat near Melchior.

"Nope Hans," Melchior shrugged with indifference. "I'm afraid I'm not doing soccer or any sport, for that matter. I've got other things to attend."

"Like what?"

The entire classroom was listening.

"That's enough," an old gruff voice yelled, cutting their conversation short. Through the door entered the teacher, Herr Seyda. He was an old, bitter man, hunched over on a cane, with eyes dead set on ruining the boy's lives with mountains of homework.

"This is your senior year..." Herr Seyda began rambling from the front of the room. "There will be no monkey business..."

Melchior sighed loudly so that the entire classroom could hear his boredom; he then lowered himself in his seat with his black boots jutted out, eyes half-closed in a sleepy haze.

It's the first minute of class, and Melchior's already acting like a douchebag, Moritz thought, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

"Melchie..." Moritz whispered, leaning over. "Melchie, sit up. He's gonna' notice if you-"

"Melchior Gabor."

Melchior raised his eyebrows slightly and parted his mouth, but his careless posture remained intact.

"Sit up, Gabor, unless you want to stay after class on your first day."

In the slowest manner possible, Melchior nonchalantly raised himself up.

"I won't tolerate disrespect," Herr Seyda growled. "Especially not from the likes of you. Oh yes, Gabor, I've heard all about you and your antics from your previous teachers... But I'm not like them. I'm not soft. I won't tolerate an arrogant waste of talent."

"Waste of-" as he was about to question Herr Seyda's comment, Melchior froze in his seat and ceased talking. His jaw clenched, and his eyes were wide and fixated on the classroom door's window.

"Well," Herr Seyda said, pleased with himself. "I seem to have made my point. Not another word from you, Gabor. Now then, class..."

The teacher rambled on, but Moritz found Melchior's abrupt shift in mood to be strange.

Once the bell rang, Melchior immediately piled his belongings into his arms and then shot out of the classroom before Moritz could reach him in time.

"Shit," Moritz mumbled as he navigated through the cluttered hallways. "Shit, shit, shit. He's fucked. No, I'm fucked."


It was only a few hours later, after gym class in the old yellowed gymnasium, that Moritz found Melchior sitting alone in the school's courtyard.

Melchior had been lounging beneath an oak tree, his school uniform unbuttoned to expose his summer-tanned chest, and his brown hair damped against his forehead. He was reading a tattered copy of "Faust".

"Getting a head start on German Literature?" Moritz questioned, having a seat by his friend.

Melchior blinked and seemed almost startled as Moritz positioned himself. "Oh, hi," he said. "Faust is beautiful. I couldn't care less if it was required reading or not."

"So," Moritz sucked his cheeks in, dreading the awkwardness. "Why'd you get so weird in Herr Seyda's class earlier?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb."

"I'm truly clueless," Melchior lied.

"You stared at the door and allowed Herr Seyda to win the argument. You let him win, Melchie."

"Oh, that."

"No shit. Why'd you do it?"

Melchior ran his fingers along a loose page of his booklet. "I saw somebody, that's all."

"Well, who was it!?"

"Ilse," Melchior grinned widely, nudging Moritz in the shoulder.

Moritz grimaced, feeling a tingle in his stomach at remembrance of his middle school crush. "Really, Melchie... Who did you see?"

"Alright, alright." Melchior glanced around the empty courtyard and then leaned in closer to his friend. "I saw Wendla Bergman."

It took a moment for Moritz to process the name. "Oh, Wendla! The one who played pirates with us when we were little. She goes to school here now?"

"She's a freshman," he replied automatically. "I remember her now. All the details. And she walked by the classroom." In a more fascinated tone, Melchior added: "She's got breasts."

"Really?" Moritz's eyes shot up.

"I mean, she's a freshman. But she definitely doesn't look like one."

Moritz nodded and ran a hand along his eyes. He stiffled a yawn and lazily tried to think of a good reply to Melchior's comment, but to no avail.

"Have you been sleeping well?" Melchior questioned suddenly.

"Oh," Moritz waved his hand. "Sure. My mattress is sore, that's all."

"No," Melchior shook his head, getting a better look at his friend. "You were like this when we camped last week. What's up?"

"It's really not an issue, Melchie," Moritz shrugged a shoulder. "But if you must insist, I guess I could spare you the details. Long story short, I've had some pretty fucked up dreams."

A dark emotion wavered in Melchior's eyes. "Like, violent dreams-?"

"Shit, of course not," Moritz said quickly. "I'm not one of those psychos. I mean, dreams about... You know."

The realization dawned on Melchior, and an explosive grin erupted on his face. "Wet dreams!"

"Shhh," Moritz hissed, jumping to his feet and pinning Melchior against the tree. "I can't help it! They come to me, I don't come to them!"

"That's nothing to be ashamed of! Men get them all the time. Women, too. It's the movie of evolution."

Moritz's eyes wouldn't leave the ever so interesting freckle on his wrist. "... Really?"

Melchior glanced around. People were beginning to enter the courtyard, leaving their last classes of the day. "Moritz, I'm going to give you a special Internet URL... When you get home, take your laptop and lock yourself in the bathroom with the shower on so nobody can hear you fap to this beautiful website."