Mark Lansing never wanted to stand out. He was perfectly happy disappearing into a football huddle with the rest of the team until one play made him the talk of the town. Thrust into a spotlight he never wanted, every choice can reshape his future, and every decision could transform him in ways he never believed possible. Mark’s destiny will be determined on the field … assuming he can figure out how to dress the part.

Chapter 27

The clock on Mark’s bedstand glowed red as it urged him to rise. 530am. He’d heard countless complaints from his sister about the unfairness of a girl’s need to rise before the sun. Now, he was about to experience it firsthand.

For years, he’d observed Missy going through her morning routine. He’d viewed it as a luxury, something to be savored, but it felt different in the darkness of his room.

Mark stood still for a moment and took a deep breath. The silence of the house amplified the beating of his heart. As he stretched, he couldn’t help but notice the unfamiliar bounce on his chest or the soft flexibility as his hips rid themselves of stiffness. And in the dim light, he could feel long, cherry-colored strands of hair brushing shrunken shoulders. This wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t pretend. To the rest of the world, he’d become Marcella, and her day was just starting.

When Bridget and Mark discussed the possibilities for today, he’d expected to have Emily’s help. Instead, he'd spent half the night reliving yesterday’s memories, remembering the look on her face, and knowing a simple 'I'm sorry' wouldn’t bring her back to his bedroom any time soon. But that was a problem he’d need to deal with later. Marcella had more pressing concerns.

A year ago, Mark could have knocked on Missy’s door and asked her for help. He could almost hear her response - a sharp laugh, a roll of the eyes, followed by a relentless stream of ridicule. That, in his experience, was how older sisters showed love.

Yet beneath the teasing, he’s always wondered if she had sensed the truth long before anyone else. Maybe she had some sibling superpower that signaled his inner thoughts long before Mark had known them. They had never spoken of it again after that summer. She was bound like the others by a mutual promise and knowledge of their father’s explosive wrath.

But Mark had left her signs - a moved blouse here, a wrinkled dress there. He made it a game, making his invasions more obvious over time as if to dare Missy to say something but she never did. Perhaps she didn’t see or more likely, it was a kindness, a sister’s unspoken apology for sparking a fire she knew her brother couldn't put out.

Mark couldn’t imagine a world where sister would turn him down. It was too bad she wasn’t here.

In a parallel world, Mark might have knocked on his mother’s door. He could imagine her broad smile as she helped Marcella "put on her face". But the distance between Mark’s bedroom and his Mother’s dressing table wasn’t a chasm he wanted to attempt right now. Instead, he’d spent the last few days treating his parents like strangers, unwilling to face whatever fucked up thing the magic had done to their relationship.

That left him to navigate this situation alone. It wasn’t like he was a complete novice. He’d played with Missy’s makeup table over the years, though his results had typically looked closer to an absurdist painting than the symmetric perfection expected by the girls at school.

An even bigger crisis was his hair. He had watched his sister braid her locks before bed, not realizing until this moment she hadn’t done it out of vanity but with a purpose. He woke to find hair going in every direction, even finding some in his mouth. He’d tried to fix the problem with shampoo and water, but wetting his hair only acted as a catalyst, transforming the mess on his head into an unruly mass of curls.

*** BEEP ***

Across the room his phone beeped a text notification. A look at the screen showed he’d received a series of texts from Bridget, the first starting at 3am, all of them saying the same thing - ‘Call ASAP’. When he dialed the number, the phone rang four times before someone picked up.

“Took you long enough.” the voice snapped.

“Who is this?” It clearly wasn’t Bridget.

“Fiona.”

An image of Fiona’s red hair flashed in his head, the memory far away and yet so close Mark thought could smell the tobacco and cheap perfume. “Why are you calling me so early?”

“Why are you calling me so late?” Fiona replied. She sounded tired. “There was another massive reality change last night. Bridget said you expected it.”

“Yeah.” Mark said, his morning brain doing its best to process the information.

‘Reality change’. It was one thing to come up with a plan - quite another to live it. Fiona’s words felt heavy, like the world turned on its head. He’d spent half of yesterday trying to force the change and half the night fearing what he’d done. Now with confirmation Mark wasn’t sure what to think.

“The change occurred last night.” Mark heard Fiona take a long draw on her cigarette before exhaling. “Last night at 932pm to be exact.”

Mark didn’t check his phone. He didn’t have to. He’d looked at the time right after he’d hung up with Jeffrey. He’d set his alarm and barely made it into bed before falling asleep.

Mark asked, “What changes were made?”

“You’d be a better judge of that than me but we guessed at the likely result. Bridget made the call to make the system changes. As far as social media is concerned, Mark Lansing doesn’t exist anymore. Thankfully there weren’t many mentions of him before last Friday.”

The casual way Fiona mentioned Mark’s previous obscurity felt like a gut punch, but she wasn’t wrong. “Is that all?”

“Ha. Is that all?” Fiona scoffed, “Do you know how much work that is?”

“Sorry.” Mark said, not sure why he was apologizing.

“We also went into every database at your school to make sure the name ‘Marcella’ and ‘sex assigned at birth’ was female on all your records going back to kindergarten.”

“Wow.”

“Wow is right.” Fiona repeated. “The order’s data teams are amazing when put to the test.”

“What do I do now?”

Fiona sounded mad. “How the fuck should I know? Bridget asked me to wait for your call and tell you what happened while she went to bed. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Sorry.” Mark looked in the mirror. The tingling in his spine was back. “Thanks for your help.”

“Well … yeah … congratulations. You did it. You’re officially a girl.” Fiona yawned, “Oh … there’s one more thing. We didn’t make changes to the DMV or any state or federal databases. Those are a bitch to change and not worth the effort when we’re going to change them back in a few days.”

Mark asked, “What does that mean?”

Fiona said, “It means don’t get a traffic ticket. It could lead to some very uncomfortable questions for everyone involved with a bunch of memories to erase and a ton of very expensive work to fix.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t have a car.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Fiona yawned. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m off to bed.” The line clicked off a second later.

*****

‘You’re officially a girl’. Those four words kept repeating in Mark’s mind as he stared in the mirror.

A look at his desk showed the clothing they’d purchased - the blouse/skirt Caitlyn had picked, the sweater/pants combo Emily chose, and the black tee/skinny jeans combo they both liked. Beside it lay the undergarments and bras Mark had tried on yesterday and now hesitated to touch. It wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter but without Emily to help him, Mark felt his bravery waning.

He reached for the flesh colored bra, the fabric feeling strange in his hands. The clasps closed easier this time, his eyes closing when he pulled the straps over his shoulders, enjoying the feel of a perfect fit. The pink panties went on next, picking a more daring color this time, a choice he couldn’t deny as feminine.

Mark opted for the skinny jeans, thinking it the safest bet for his first day as this new Marcella. The jeans were a struggle, requiring some hip-shimmying and tugging he hadn't expected, but once they pulled into place, they fit like a glove.

Last was the black tee, an innocuous piece of cotton cloth but more troubling than expected. The t-shirt pulled on like the other t-shirts in Mark’s wardrobe, but the V-neck on this one plunged deeper than expected showing an uncomfortable amount of cleavage, and the pleats leaving little to the imagination.

Last came the hair.

His curls were still wild, but after twenty minutes spent in front of the mirror using one of his sister’s combs and a bit of water, Mark managed to pull through most of the knots until the curls of hair fell loose past his neck. Not knowing what else to do, Mark pulled the whole back into loose ponytail.

Mark caught a glimpse of himself as he headed toward the kitchen. He saw the way the jeans hugged his waist, the shirt tight around his ribs, the cleavage on his chest, and the barely controlled mess of auburn curls on his head. He wondered what Emily might say if she saw him. Would she see his fearlessness now or a coward still trying to hide in plain sight?

Mark entered the kitchen just as his father was pouring a cup of coffee. The silence that followed was absolute. His father didn't turn around immediately; he just stood there, the steam from the coffee rising in a slow spiral. When he finally looked, his eyes traveled from Mark's long hair down to the skinny jeans and back to his tee. There was no scream, no explosion of wrath, no recognition. Instead, only there was silence as the man took another sip of coffee.

Chapter 28

"Hey Marcy. You walking to school now?"

Bella stood just outside the property line of the school, draped in layers of oversized black lace and wearing black platform boots that clicked against the pavement every time she took a step. As usual, Kaya stood next to her, in a tattered black gown that flared out at the hips with pale skin that contrasted sharply against the eyeliner that surrounded both eyes.

"I guess." Mark replied, as he shifted his athletic bag from one hand to the other.

“Where’s Emily?” Bella asked, stepping closer. Her gaze drifted upward, towards the stray curls that had already escaped Mark’s ponytail. “You usually ride with her.”

“We had a fight.”

A dozen other kids stood nearby, some sneaking glances at Mark, but most were more interested in getting their nicotine hits before the first bell.

“Awwww …” Bella leaned in to fix Mark’s stray hairs. “I hope it’s not serious. You two make a cute couple.”

“I know some girls who’d definitely be interested if you’re on the market.” Kaya said, “They’d love your new look.”

“Don’t mind her, Marcy. Kaya loves playing matchmaker.” Bella flicked a hair out of Mark’s face, “But I agree about the outfit. Add a little black hair dye and some eyeliner and you’ll be ready to hang out with us in detention.”

Mark held up the large athletic bag he normally used for football equipment. “No detention for me today.” The bag was almost empty now except for a purse, two sports bras, his lucky football undershirt, a clean pair of socks and his old football cleats which somehow still fit. “Miss Ryan got me out of it.”

“You got out of detention?” Bella said. “That’s not fair.”

Mark shrugged. “I’ve got to help the field hockey managers set up equipment for today’s practice.”

“I’d rather do detention.” Kaya said, before taking another drag of whatever she was smoking.

Mark couldn’t help noticing the young guy standing beside Bella. Every couple of seconds he would take a peek at Mark. Specifically, Mark’s cleavage.

Bella saw him too. “You like what you see, Ian? Wow … the girl has boobs. Amazing.”

The boy, worried at seeing three goth girls glaring at him, turned and made a hasty retreat.

Bella said, "Don’t mind him, Marcy. That boy’s brain is controlled between his legs. He’s mostly harmless."

The boy ran halfway across the parking lot before tripping over a curb, his phone flying from his hands, and hitting the concrete with a loud thump. "Ha! Serves him right." Kaya laughed. Only when the guy stood did he dare to turn around.

Mark watched the display but didn’t say a word. All this talk about his overexposed boobs made him uncomfortable, but at least it took his mind off Emily.

In his nightmares, this walk was a gauntlet. For as long as he could remember, Mark had made this walk in his dreams. He imagined students forming at his approach, the wall of sneering faces mocking him as he passed under the threshold. He’d seen the news stories, the politicians and parents hurling insults at people like him. But no one said a word as he passed wearing this disguise.

Mark knew better than anyone the temporary nature disguises. He’d worn a different sort of mask on the football field, pretending to be someone else. No one recognized him there either until fate ripped off his helmet and the taunts and jeers began.

But for now, no one seemed to notice anything wrong with ‘Marcella’ as she made her way down the hall. It was as if the social hierarchy had shifted overnight, absorbing her into the student body like she’d always been there.

“Marcella!”

The crowd parted, revealing a cohort of girls moving down the hall in a synchronized sway of pleated skirts. At the center stood Gina, her expression cold as she scanned Mark from head to toe.

"I heard you and Emily broke up."

Mark shrugged. They had an argument, but he wasn’t about to discuss his personal business in the middle of a crowd. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jeffrey was your first call. He told me.” Gina’s voice dropped a whisper. “ I know what you’re doing. It’s not going to work.”

“Oh.” Mark said, still surprised Gina would bother to speak to him, “It’s not what you think.”

Gina didn’t listen as her crew continued to surround Mark on both sides with a practiced efficiency that was almost scary.

Gina’s eyes flicked down to the cleavage of Mark’s V-neck tee. “You think wearing a slutty top is going to win him over? My Jeffrey isn’t so easily swayed.” Gina poked a manicured finger into Mark’s chest. “He’s the quarterback and I’m the captain of the cheerleaders. Who do you think you are?”

Mark bit his tongue. He knew why Jeffery liked Gina and it had nothing to do with school spirit.

“I’m no threat to you. Jeffrey and I are just friends.” Mark wanted to say more.He wanted to tell her Jeffrey was a lot more than a boy with cannon for a right arm that every football power in the area coveted. His friend had a kind heart, something a girl like Gina could never understand. But telling her that would have only made things worse.

“You’ve always held him back.” Gina continued in a mocking tone, “Jeffrey is a winner. Losers like you aren’t worthy of him. Don’t mistake my boyfriend’s pity for interest.”

One of the cheerleaders leaned forward with a smirk. "Look at her. She’s a joke. She's practically shaking."

Mark was shaking, but not from fear. Hot, suffocating anger welled up from deep inside, a stark contrast to the icy change he’d felt the past few days. It radiated outward until his fingertips tingled, the primal feeling of frustration of being trapped inside new skin and judged by people who didn't know him. As the pressure in his chest tightened, hot tears blurred his vision, spilling over on his cheeks in an undeniably feminine fashion.

“Yeah.” Gina said, her eyes gleaming at her victory. “Marcy’s a walking disaster all right. Jeffrey might feel bad for her, but he’s never going to want her. Right, girls?”

Mark saw the predatory glint in Gina’s eyes. She wanted a reaction, and was waiting for him to snap, to lash out, so she could report it to Jeffrey. But while Mark’s body might have changed, he was still a guy in his heart. And guys don’t attack girls.

A loud voice boomed down the hall. “Move along ladies. You’re blocking the flow of traffic.”

Mark recognized the voice before he saw Coach Ryan. Onlookers scurried in every direction but Gina didn’t move until she had a final word. “This isn’t over.”

Mark watched Gina turn on her heel and saw the other cheerleaders do the same, the synchronized manner of their steps looking more like a choreographed retreat than a walk to class.

“Miss Lansing? Don’t you have someplace to be?”

Mark turned to see Coach Ryan standing in the hallway, her eyes inspecting Mark’s outfit before she too turned her head and marched in the general direction of the principal’s office.

“Don’t let her get to you.”

The new voice took Mark off guard. “Huh???”

Mark saw Tina Miller leaning against his locker.

“Don’t let Gina get to you.” Tina said, her voice carrying a strange weight. “That’s what she wants. She feeds on fear.”

Mark nodded, “I know.”

Mark looked at Tina, really looked at her, and felt a flicker of confusion. She’d always been part of the inner circle that comes with being a cheerleader, but he’d always considered her nicer than most. He hadn’t known her well, only what Jeffrey told him, and he knew her reputation. Everyone seemed to like her. She didn’t seem anything like her brother.

“She’s afraid of you.”

Mark stared at the girl who last week wouldn’t have given him the time of day. Now he was standing so close he could count the tiny freckles that dotted her face.

Mark pointed at his chest. “She’s afraid of me?”

Tina gave Mark a sly smile that would bring any man to his knees. “She’s spent her whole life with one goal - not just to become a cheerleader, but to become THE cheerleader. The problem is her reign ends after tomorrow night’s game and she feels the clock ticking. The juniors on the squad are already making plans for next year and Jeffrey … well you know him better than me.” Tina’s expression turned to something like pity. “Gina is lashing out because she feels her world falling apart and you’re an easy target.”

Mark looked around. The halls were emptying as everyone headed to class, “Why are you telling me this? Aren’t you friends?”

“Me and Gina, friends? Hardly.” The hairs on the back of Mark’s neck rose as Tina began to speak. “Girls like you and I have a greater destiny.” Tina continued, her smile wide enough to be unsettling. “Gina doesn’t understand that true power isn’t about ordering people around. It’s about getting what you want without anyone ever realizing who is pulling the strings.”

A cold chill filled Mark as he remembered what Bridget had said about the Miller family. They were a powerful family in her world with an ancient lineage going back to colonial times.

“What are you trying to say?”

Tina returned a mischievous grin as the final bell went off, “No time. We’ll talk later, Mark-sy.”

Mark snuck into his seat but Mr. Popson didn’t seem to notice as his lecture had already begun and he droned on without stopping:

“... in 1828. Jackson runs for president again and the campaign is ugly.”
A student laughed. “Like today?”
“Not a terrible comparison but the election of 1828 was particularly vicious."
A girl asked, “And Jackson won?”
Mr. Popson nodded. “Jackson won.”

Mark stared into the wood grains lining his desk, wondering how he got himself in this predicament. He’d never wished for it. He never thought something like this was possible. Would he have asked for it if he’d known it were a possibility? It was impossible to know from his current vantage point.

"Jackson's victory was celebrated as a victory for the common man.”
A girl raised her hand. “Is that because he wasn't part of the establishment?”
“Jackson's supporters said the government was controlled by special interests."
A student spoke up. "Sounds like he was draining the swamp."
A girl raised her hand. “But women couldn’t vote.”
“No. Women couldn't vote. Slaves and Native Americans couldn't vote either.”

Then there was Emily. They’d been best mates as kids and he thought they’d worked through a lot of baggage in the past month only for it to fall apart when old jealousies resurfaced. He wanted to be mad at her but knew she had good reasons for being mad at him. But her disappearance couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

“Jackson rewarded political supporters with government positions.”
A boy added, “Like bribery?”
“Not technically bribery. Critics certainly objected to the practice.”
“So why did he do it?”
Mr. Popson turned to a particular student, "You mentioned ‘draining the swamp’. Should government jobs be awarded based on loyalties that change with every administration or should they be more permanent, based on merit?”

Emily made her feelings clear about Jeffrey, or rather her assumptions about Mark’s true feelings for his best friend. Gina made the same accusation though they came at the subject from opposite directions. The thing was … Mark was born a guy and Jeffrey liked girls. Nothing could ever change that.

“The rise of Andrew Jackson changed the United States."
A student raised his hand. “Was Jackson a dictator?”
"Jackson operated within the American constitutional system."
The student responded, “He sounds like a dictator."
Mr. Popson nodded, "But Congress existed. The courts existed. Elections existed. Jackson did believe the president had significant authority, and used it as he saw fit.”

Bridget, Fiona, and the other witches had been helpful but they clearly had their own agenda. And as Bridget, and now Tina, made it clear, Mark was truly out of his depth in this world.

“The rise of Jacksonian politics wasn't just about one man. It was about a changing America. More white men voted. Political parties became stronger. The country became richer."
"Wasn't that a good thing?"
“The same era that expanded political participation and opportunities for many white men excluded women, Black Americans, and Native Americans from that expansion. So when somebody says, ‘Jacksonian democracy expanded democracy,’ your response should be…”

“Miss Lansing? Are you with us?”

Mark looked up to see Mr. Popson staring at him. “What was the question again?” A look around the class showed half the students asleep. A couple had their hands raised hoping they’d be called on so they could give the answer.

Mr. Popson sighed, “I asked what should be the response when somebody asks ‘Did Jacksonian democracy expand democracy?’

Mark shrugged. He’d read a lot about the time period and saw both the good and the bad in the man. “I guess it depends on who you ask.”

Mr. Popson nodded. “Good answer.”

Mark ran from the classroom as soon as the bell chimed, finding refuge in the gender-neutral bathroom on the 3rd floor as he knew it had a lock. He waited for it to click into place before pulling out his phone and dialing Bridget.

“Everyone sees me as Marcella now.”

Bridget responded coolly, “I figured as much.”

“The head cheerleader, a girl named Gina, absolutely tore into me,” Mark continued. “She thinks I want to steal Jeffrey from her.”

“Don’t you?”

“Gah!” Mark exclaimed, “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Bridget sighed, “I’m not here to play peacemaker in a teenage drama. Is that all?”

Mark lowered his voice. “Tina Miller spoke to me. She knows.”

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the line. The casualness in Bridget’s tone vanished at once. “What do you mean, ‘She knows’?”

“About me. About Mark.”

“She admitted it?”

“Not exactly. She called me Mark-sy. Get it?”

“I got it.” Bridget sighed. “Tina’s mom swears she hasn’t done a thing and unfortunately it’s not like I can accuse a family like the Millers without proof.”

Mark said, “But what about what Tina said?”

“She’s toying with you. Don’t worry about her for now. Tina is a promising witch, but she’s not powerful enough to cast a spell as powerful as ‘Maiden’s Delight’,” Bridget said.

“She said we’d talk later.”

“Good. Let me know what she says”
Mark waited for more. “And?”

“And … that’s it.” Bridget said simply, “I’m not accusing a founding family of illegal spellcraft without proof, Mark. The Millers have money and contacts that go back centuries. If you speak to Tina, report back anything you think I should know.”

Normal cafeteria chatter died down as soon as Mark emerged from the lunchroom line. Every head turned to look. He’d heard the whispers all morning about his confrontations with both Emily and Gina and now he was on display. Mark found his courage to move when he saw Jeffrey smiling at him. A look at the cheerleader’s table showed a less happy welcome. Mark decided the best course was a hasty retreat towards the field hockey table.

Emily shook her head at his approach. “The seating is a bit crowded today.” She said, pointing to the other side of the room. “Don’t you think you’d be more comfortable sitting by the windows? There’s lots of room over there.”

Mark tried to speak under his breath but the whole cafeteria was deathly quiet in an attempt to hear. “All this over a fight?”

Emily didn’t say a word, and her face didn’t crack a smile. Neither did any of the other girls at the table. Mark tried to see if this was some sort of hazing ritual but no one at the table dared to look up.

“OK. I get it.”

Murmurs of laughter followed as Mark crossed the room. It grew to guffaws by the time he sat down. It appeared he’d be eating alone today but at least he had a good view.

“Is this seat taken?” The voice surprised him for the second time today.

Mark knew who it was before looking, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to sit with me? I’m not the most popular person in school right now.”

“Have you ever been popular?” Tina laughed.

Mark smiled at her joke, then pointed to the open chairs all around him. “Take your pick.”

Tina picked the chair directly across from Mark, “I’m sure you have questions, Mark-sy.”

Mark tried not to react at the mention of the word Mark-sy. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Trust me.” Tina waved her hands around, mimicking a voodoo priestess. “No one can hear us.”

“Can I trust you?”

“That’s a good question.” Tina laughed. “I probably wouldn’t if I were in your shoes.”

Mark felt the warmth pressing against him from the other side of the table. “So why are we talking?”

“My … my Mark-sy. You’ve gotten quite feisty over the past week.” Tina grinned. “Perhaps womanhood suits you.”

“So you know.”

Tina said, “Of course I know. I’m a witch. It’s part of our nature to notice things.”

Mark asked, “But how do you know?”

“Are you asking me if I cast the curse on you?”

Mark nodded, “To put it bluntly, yes.”

Tina asked, “Would you believe me if I said no?”

“Probably not.”

Tina said, “So why should I confirm or deny anything?”

“Because you’re a nice person.”

“Am I?”

Mark shrugged. “I always thought so.”

“That’s sweet. I’ve always liked you too, Mark.” Tina paused. “Is that the name you want me to use or do you prefer Marcy?”

Mark said, “I don’t care what name you use.”

Tina said, “Now who’s lying?”

Mark crossed his arms. “Why are you being like this? What have I ever done to you?”

“To me? Nothing.” Tina said, “My brother, on the other hand, hates you with the fire of a thousand suns.”

“And?”

“He’s my brother.” Tina said the words in a matter-of-fact way as if they were a final statement in a closing argument.

“Your brother is an asshole.”

Tina smiled. “You certainly have a way with words when asking someone for a favor.”

“A favor?” Mark said, “Why am I asking you for a favor? You owe me a favor after what you’ve done.”

Tina grinned, “First, I’ve never confirmed I’ve done anything. Second, you need help. Third, I can help you.”

Mark said, “I have help.”

Tina laughed, “Are you talking about those order stooges in the strip mall? Really?” Tina laughed, “How much help have they really given you? The order always gets bogged down in rules and red tape.” Tina smiled. “I’m not bound by rules.”

Mark shook his head. “You’re trying to mess with my head.”

Tina shrugged, “Perhaps. But I really did come over here to help you.”

Mark gave her a condescending stare. “Really? You’re saying you want to help me?”

“Yes.” Tina nodded, “I’ll give you one for free - have those strip mall witches told you the truth of your power?”

Mark returned a blank stare.

“I thought not.” Tina said, “I can help you tap into that power but I’ll want something in return.”

Mark felt a sickening feeling as he responded, “What’s that?”

“I want you to help my brother.”

Mark answered without thinking. “Fuck that.”

Tina shrugged, “Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.” Tina waved her hands and Mark felt the pressure around them lessening. “Lunchtime is almost over anyway. It’s time to go to class.”

---

---