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Hello everyone, long-time lurker here, thought I'd finally make an account to post a story I've been working on for a few days. Enjoy. :)

 

Now We're Even

 

If this morning served as any indication of how sixth grade was going to go, my prospects were grim. For one, I slept past my alarm long enough to have to fly out of the house to the bus stop, after getting ready in only the most important ways. Note that in my adrenaline-fueled frenzy to avoid being late on the first day, that list of “most important” things did not include going to the bathroom. That comes into play later.

 

Of course, I make the bus as it's pulling in and relax a little; everything seems to be alright. But unlike last year in elementary school, there were basically no open seats. Being bigger kids, people couldn't fit three to a seat anymore, and none were empty. I'd have to sit with somebody I didn't know on this apparently very full route.

 

I'd made it most of the way to the back when I found a spot. There was a spot next to this Asian-looking girl in a hoodie and headphones, resting her head on the corner of the seat back and the window with her eyes closed. “Excuse me,” I said. No response. I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up at me. I don't know what it was, but time seemed to stop for a second. While she pulled out an earbud, probably wondering why I tapped her, I just stared at the way her curious eyes looked back at me.

 

“Umm,” I continued, “Can I--” I meant to finish with “sit with you” but couldn't get the words out as the bus jolted forward and sent me tumbling half into the seat and half into her. The shock sent a twinge through my very full bladder, which did nothing to help my hot embarrassment while several kids laughed.

 

She separated herself from me while giggling and made space on the seat. “Yes,” she said, mostly understanding what I wanted.

 

“Thanks,” I said, fixing myself where necessary. I was too shy to say anything else. She put her earbud back in and kept her eyes closed all the way to school.

 

We got there and parted ways. I had a little time to figure out where Mr. Carson's class was, but didn't want to risk hanging out until the bell to start looking. The schedule said he was in “C-202” so now all I had to do was find the C building. The school was absolutely packed, so I had to deal with worming through crowds as well as trying to find either the right sign or at least a map of the school. There were bound to be bathrooms in there once I did find the right area.

 

*Beeeeeeeeep.* The distinct tone of the bell sent me once again running. I made it to the right doorway just as the second bell rang; I found out later the teachers tended to give students slack on the first day, because of course a lot of people don't know where they're going. Too late for me now though, since I was already here, and my bladder really began to protest. I squeezed my hand down on my crotch hard, hoping to suppress its surging and quivering. I didn't normally like to ask to go to the bathroom in class, mostly because you're basically announcing your bodily urges to everybody. But it looked to be inevitable now.

 

I quietly continued my battle, looking around at these new surroundings as the class settled in. Mr. Carson taught honors pre-algebra, so his walls were plastered with colorful posters of math formulas and other assorted brainy stuff. I wondered how hard this class was going to be now that there would be so many letters in the problems. And having to pee was not making it easier to get my head in the game. Before, I just felt full, and it was pressing up into my stomach. Now it was like the pee was actively trying to get out. But I was almost eleven and a half years old. Nothing bad was going to happen. I'd just ask to go when I got the chance. It wasn't really cold in there, but I got goosebumps, randomly shivered, and felt a little pee squirt into my boxers. No big deal yet. It happened occasionally when I had to go really bad, but it didn't show, and never preceded any problems holding it afterward. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the rapidly cooling wet spot.

 

The teacher was an old guy, probably in his late 50s at least, with white hair on the sides and back of his head, rimless glasses, and a big belly. He finished writing his name in capital letters on the whiteboard and sat at his desk, waiting for the last few stragglers to get in.

 

“Alright, folks,” he announced, standing up and waiting for the commotion to die down, “I'm Mr. Carson, nice to have you all. I'm sure you're just chomping at the bit to get started on some math first thing in the morning.” He chuckled at the clear insanity of saying that, the wise guy. “But I like to do a little activity to start us off that will get rid of some of that first-day ice. I see you all found some cozy spots next to your friends or whoever, but here's the deal-- I use assigned seats in here. Alphabetical order by rows, starting with A in this corner. If you know about where you're supposed to be, go that way, and ask the names of your neighbors to find your spot. If you're still stuck, I've got the seating chart up here.”

 

I groaned and joined the mayhem in rearranging ourselves. Dealing with the crowd in such tight rows was not easy while having to go pee so badly. I was hoping against hope we'd be done with the ceremony soon.

 

We had finally found our seats, and I had told half the people in the back that my last name was “Wallace.” I was in the second-to-last seat, but was apparently the very last one on the list, having nobody in the last spot. He went from desk to desk in the front row, handing the kids stacks of papers to pass back. It was the usual stuff-- a syllabus, supply list, classroom rules. On that last sheet was a section titled “Breaks.” It read:

 

--One opportunity to leave the classroom for a break will be given halfway through the period. A pass, handed out at Mr. Carson's discretion, will be needed otherwise. Please time your requests with respect to class activities.

 

“With respect to class activities?” What did that mean? I guessed it was that he didn't want us leaving in the middle of something. But you can't exactly time nature.

 

There was one more paper percolating back through the rows. It was a monster. Simply titled “Benchmark Quiz,” it lay down a series of fifty math problems, gradually harder the farther down they went on the page.

 

“Now, before you freak out,” he announced (too late), you'll see it's called a 'benchmark quiz.' It's not graded, but I'd like to see your best effort. If you dog it on this, you won't be challenged on some material later because I'll think you know less than you do. So do yourself a favor and put forth 100 percent.”

 

I'm already giving 100 percent, I thought to myself, while crossing my legs and trying not to be too obvious about holding it. I looked around at the other kids. They all appeared focused on the work. Was I the only one who had to go?

 

A turn of the door handle drew everyone's attention. The Asian girl from the bus murmured “Sorry” with a meek flash of a smile before sitting down beside me. She had tied the arms of her hoodie around her neck in the meantime, which better showed off her dress; its sleeveless, knee-length cut in turn highlighted the tone of her dancer's body. Her straight-cut bangs and neat ponytail gleamed a deep, lustrous black in the fluorescent lights, which also highlighted the freckles dusted across her nose. I'm not sure if she noticed I was there as the teacher delivered the handouts, whispering “Miss... Wasserstrom? Thank you for joining us.” He returned to the front of the room, where he put some classical music on the radio for atmosphere while we worked. Things went well for a few minutes I guessed, as my spot in the back corner and the music made it easier to fidget without being noticed. Then out of the corner of my eye I noticed 'Miss Wasserstrom' tear a sheet from her binder.

 

Naturally I thought nothing of it, as I had better things to worry about, like the heaving water balloon in my crotch that had me hanging on for dear life. I assumed she used the sheet for working out the harder problems. But then I caught her sandaled left foot kicking out something. She had flipped the paper, intricately folded, so that it bounced to a stop against the leg of my desk. She motioned for me to open it. I girded myself for getting out of the pee-dance rhythm to reach it. I dropped my pencil near it for cover, and secretively grabbed both items. A surge of pressure hit me and I lost more than a small dribble into my pants. I squeezed myself with both hands and was able to stop, of course acting like nothing was wrong when opening her note.

 

The kid from the bus! U okay?” it said, in attractive, loopy print, followed by a sad face. A glance at her showed she looked back, anxious for my answer. I drew a line under her writing and replied, “Just tired, quiz sucks. U?” I waited for a good opportunity and slid it back to her, resisting another little swell of desperation from the sudden move.

 

Despite that I had to use the bathroom worse than I ever had in my life, I managed to keep a low-profile while holding it, and even beat a good pace on the math problems. I passed the multiplying and dividing ones about halfway down, and started getting into the multi-steps. I had only ever heard about these, so was sort of winging it now. Before long she sent the paper back again.

 

U look lk u have 2 go potty lol.”

 

Crap! My secret was out, to the one person I'd most prefer not to know. A hot flush prickled up in my neck and cheeks, and I made a point to sit really still after reading that. It didn't work for long. More pee threatened to break through and I had to jam a hand in my crotch and jiggle my leg again to keep it back, all right in front of her. No sense in trying to lie.

 

“Yea rly bad. Need to go like now or we all drown.” I never knew I could be so bold. Here I was, the ever-modest and good student, passing notes in class and telling the prettiest girl I've ever met about my pee emergency. But getting away with it was easy enough in the back corner, and her easy grin drove me to trust her.

 

“Y don't u ask?” her next message said. She had a point. I stashed the note away, raising my hand to catch the teacher's attention.

 

“Yes,” Mr. Carson answered, looking at his seating chart for my name, “Kyle. Question?”

 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” I pleaded with my body to calm down so that I didn't look like a toddler while asking. I also hoped he wouldn't pull the teachers' old “I dunno, can you?” routine.

“Can it wait until you finish the quiz?” he fired back.

 

No, I thought. The pee churned inside me, and I had begun to concoct vivid horror fantasies of wetting myself in school. I didn't remember peeing my pants beyond dribbles at two or three years old. If that happened now, in middle school, life over. I could officially move to Mars and not ever worry about wanting to come back. “Um,” I answered, my response lukewarm in comparison to the steamy liquid at the gates. It was just a few questions to go. “I'm done now,” I said, springing up and walking a little too rigidly with my paper in hand. Mr. Carson looked it over at his desk while I waited.

 

“The directions at the top say to try all the problems, Mr. Wallace,” he said, pointing out the wording for proof, “You've only got a couple lines left, so just pump them out and I'll let you go right after.”

 

I returned to my seat, defeated and ready to pump out piss. The girl I only knew as Wasserstrom seemed to understand, giving a consoling expression before focusing on her quiz.

 

My own incomplete paper teased me to the rhythm of Mr. Carson's classical music. These remaining math questions were pure Greek, and it's not like I could focus even if I did understand them. The relentless pee sloshing around made my stomach ache and my lower muscles burn. My body told me the whole time to just let go, but my brain told me I'd hose the room if I did. I kept at it, holding myself and writing what was certainly gibberish for every step. I'd get to go soon.

 

It began to happen before I fully knew what was going on. In one series of pee surges, no amount of squeezing let me clamp down like I could before. Trying to hold it harder this time only caused my bladder muscles to flutter and open. A little trickled out at first, but against all efforts it swelled until I was peeing a full stream right there in sixth-grade math. I just froze. Alarms went off in my head, hot pee slicking my hands as I tried to stop the geyser. It splashed back from my boxers and foamed when flowing over my thigh until it pooled in my chair. I winced when one or two drops ran from the seat onto the floor, praying for the tiny splats to stop. I was so wet. Even my forehead was wet with the sweat that had formed there.

 

There was no way that thunderstorm of piss went unheard the way it attacked the crotch of my pants. But when it let up, the relief enveloped me, and all seemed initially okay. Most of the others were still working on the quiz. A few people had finished and were doodling, daydreaming, or sleeping. Wasserstrom must have been preparing another note while the whole thing happened. She scribbled on it and slid it across. While looking down I noticed I miraculously avoided getting more than a few clear drops on the floor. My jeans must have been thick enough to keep the spilling down. The odor of pee began to waft up to my nose. If not by the sound or smell, I'd be found out by the thudding of my own frantic heartbeat.

 

“Did u have n accident?” her note read. What in the world did she mean? There must have been some people in remote reaches of Alaska who didn't notice, but anyone closer was probably lucky to have avoided being sprayed. It was safe to assume she knew what happened.

 

“Yeah, so so srry! I didn't mean 2 let go. I'm gross and u mst h8 me now.” I dressed up the note with a crying sad face and gave it back to her. I couldn't steady my quivering breaths. It was only a matter of time before the news of my disaster got out. The other kids would know, the teacher would know, my parents... time to start packing for Mars. I wrote in some random numbers for the last couple math problems and lay my head in my hands until Wasserstrom's note came back.

 

It's ok,” her message said, its letters as lovingly shaped as before, “I don't h8 u. Not like it nvr happns 2 me. U can't evn see it frm here with you're dark pants lol. Jst go anyway to clean up. I won't tell.”

Was this real life? This stunningly gorgeous girl was supposed to call attention to my shame, or at the very least, never so much as look at me again. But her reassuring words were there, freakishly real as the pungent, sopping mess in my clothes. But then again, as I looked down at my pants, she might have been right. The jeans were brand new for the school year and really dark. Unless you knew what you were looking at, you would honestly have a hard time seeing the wet spot. And God, she was being amazing about it.

 

Emboldened, I took her advice at the end, turning in my quiz a second time, with the mother of all poker faces while I passed the others and approached his desk. Mr. Carson checked over the sheet as he did before. He gave me a funny look once he got to the last ones, which I didn't even really try. But he said nothing, so I prodded him for the pass. He handed me the protractor which read “HALL PASS” in thick marker. I vacated with a speed somewhere between walking and “fighter plane ejection seat” somehow without running.

 

The hall echoed empty enough. I tugged at the fabric of my pants, stretching it out and rubbing it in an attempt to get dry. The front actually wasn't too bad. Since I was sitting down, most of it ran to my butt. My strategy from then would be to focus on the denim in the back while making sure to face towards anyone who might notice. Walking with your hands behind your back was a little weird though, so I put more effort toward acting natural than trying to fix myself as fast as possible.

 

I made it to the bathroom without incident. As luck would have it, it did come equipped with hot-air dryers. I'd just have to pray nobody came in and saw me using it on my butt. It was right next to the door which opened in, so I braced one heel against it while trying to dry my backside. Of course somebody tried to come in like a minute later, but my technique gave me enough warning to turn around and pretend I was drying my hands. He did his business and left.

 

Once alone again, I looked in the mirror at the remaining evidence. Even what I could see on the back didn't show too badly. I opened my pants button and fanned the back part, airing out the strong stink. If I could get away with the smell, I might be home free.

 

It occurred to me in there that while it was hardly distinguishable amid the bitter funk of stale urine on the floor, the distinctness of my own pee by itself wasn't unpleasant. In a weird way I sort of liked it. I kept drying myself for a few minutes, meanwhile savoring the pissy air and trying to suppress feeling totally filthy for it. Outside of the devastating embarrassment I had yet to completely dodge, it was easy appreciating the novelty and warm relief of having peed all-out in my pants, not needing to care where it went.

 

I returned to class after cooling my heels awhile, content that the reduced scent and wet spot would not give me away. I sat back down a few minutes before the teacher confirmed everyone had finished, so he let the class out for a break. We all filed out to the courtyard. The girl named Wasserstrom called out “Kyle!” and made a beeline to me. It was my recent ordeal or looking at her sunny expression which made it hard to keep standing.

 

“Miss Wasserstrom,” I said, imitating Mr. Carson.

 

She giggled at my impression. “My name's Mei,” she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “How'd it go? If I didn't know better I'd say nothing happened.”

She looked directly at my damp crotch as she said it. A blush bloomed on my cheeks. “I think I mostly dried out,” I said, my hands in my pockets. Now that we were talking about my accident I couldn't look her in the eyes.

 

“Don't even worry about it,” she said, touching my shoulder. “You saw my note, it's not like you're the only kid to ever pee their pants. It was fun to watch though.” My mouth hung open at her last comment, and I was put back on guard. “Relax! I was kidding. Sort of.”

 

I settled on a nervous laugh. It was pretty clear she wasn't going to shut me out or make fun of me too bad. “You know, you're hard to figure out,” I replied, beginning to get the swing of conversing with her. “You said in the note that the same thing happened to you?”

 

“It has, yeah,” she said, scuffing her foot and angling away a little, “But that's a story for another time. Today is your day.” She winked at him. “So, do you usually make friends with a person by falling on them and peeing in class?”

 

“No!” I answered, aware a split-second too late she was still joking. I rallied decently enough, “Did it work?”

 

“Well, we're talking right now, so yeah.” My boxers were still very damp, but I dared eye contact anyway. Her irises glimmered a deep green, accenting the abstract pattern on her dress. Thank God I was sort of thrown into talking to her, because it never would have happened otherwise. I brought up the first thing I could think of.

 

“So, where is your family from?”

 

“Here, why do you ask?” She put her hands on her hips and acted offended. “Just kidding, I know my name sounds sort of... white. My dad's family is from Germany, and he met my mom, who's full-blooded Chinese, in California. So I look more like her and have a name like an anime character.”

 

“I like it.” Whoever said talking to girls was hard? Here I was doing it while covered in my own piss. Although I was beginning to think it helped a lot more than hurt in Mei's case.

 

We went back to class and did not have nearly as many opportunities to talk, as Mr. Carson had begun lesson 1.1. We received our homework and parted ways after first period. My pants had dried enough by then that nobody could tell what had happened.

 

The rest of the day passed with much less spectacle. Towards the end, I looked forward to seeing her on the bus almost as much as simply getting away from school.

 

Finally, I got my wish. I spotted her looking around near the bus lane after classes had let out. “Mei!” I shouted over the mayhem of bodies, waving to her. “How was your first day?” I asked after jockeying through the crowd.

 

“Eh, it was school,” she said.

 

“Any cool classes?” I probed further.

 

“Not really.”

 

Sheesh. Earlier she was talking my ear off, and now I could hardly get two words. “Everything okay?” I asked.

 

“Yeah, I'm sorry,” she said, her aloof shell cracking some, “I'm just ready to get home.” I left it at that.

 

I felt much better on the way back, now that I had eaten and didn't have to pee half as badly as before. Mei looked out the window, but something was definitely off. She sat stiffly, squeezing her knees together on every hard bump in the road. Seeing as the bus was no luxury car, there were plenty of chances for me to see the pattern.

 

Talking about my accident for most of first period relaxed my nerves to bring up the bathroom subject again. “Do you have to go pee now? You're squirming like crazy,” I chuckled.

 

“Yeah, actually,” she mumbled, giving up the act and pressing a palm between her legs, “The bathrooms here are so gross I didn't want to go.”

 

“I don't blame you; the guys' was pretty gross and it's not as easy for you. We'll be home soon though.”

 

She seemed to want to sit in silence, so I let her. What I didn't expect was how much of a treat watching her desperation proved to be. The twitches around her mouth, the way she rubbed her knees together, and knowing she felt the same things I did earlier all played parts in driving me crazy. I didn't think she would pee herself, but it didn't stop me from imagining.

 

When we got to my stop, she jumped up right behind me, saying “I know my stop is next but I'd rather get off here.”

 

I wasn't about to question it. “Okay,” I said. This day kept getting better.

 

The bus finally roared away and we were relatively alone. Mei grabbed herself with both hands, driving fistfuls of her dress into her crotch now that nobody was around to see. She did little hops around and sang “I have to go potty or I'm gonna pull a Kyle!” to her audience of one. I couldn't help but laugh with her.

 

“You can go in my house if you want, can you hold it until then? It's right over there.” I pointed to the corner of my roof visible behind some trees. She agreed, doing a sort of hobble to cover the distance.

 

I led her in cutting through some tall bushes in the side yard; it was quicker than going around to the driveway and I figured by her pee-dance she would need every second. When I turned back to make sure she got through okay, she let out a series of squeaks, throwing her hoodie off and grabbing me, shaking. I held her while watching a pretty big spider scamper off the discarded sweatshirt back into the grass. Ick. She let go a few seconds later, but I had already felt a too-familiar warmth on my leg for the second time today, right under where she stood against me.

 

Her thighs shined with fresh wetness and big yellow drops pattered into the dirt from the hem of her dress. We were collectively speechless for a moment.

 

She clasped her hands above her head, staring at me with mouth agape. “Ohmigod, I am so sorry! That spider on me was a monster and I just... sorry.”

 

Secretly, I was on fire. What earlier occupied only the pit of my imagination just happened for real. My heart pulsed and I blushed a little, but somehow I kept a clear enough head to play it cool. “It's okay, really. I promise.”

 

“Some of it got on you too though!” She gestured at the wet spot on my knee, easier than before to see in the sunlight. Trust me, I noticed. I insisted it was fine, since I had been way wetter hours earlier. She turned her attention back to herself. “Ugh, my dress is soaked!” she lamented, wringing out the front.

 

I offered, “You can come in and borrow some dry clothes if you don't mind wearing boy stuff.”

 

“That'd be nice, thanks.” She smiled at my offer, bringing heat back to my face.

 

I returned the expression, commenting, “I guess this makes us even.” Maybe sixth grade would go well enough after all.

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