Looking back on the afternoon's events, Jessie decided that the worst part hadn't been the betrayal. Not really. It hadn't been the shock, or the fear or the vast, gaping bewilderment. It hadn't even been the Walk of Shame (although that had been pretty damned awful, truth be told).

It had been the silence.

The silence in the woods. The wind in the leaves. The whisper of the grass; the faint echo of traffic crossing Lethbridge Canal. The tense, nail-biting quiet that seemed to descend over Queens Domain as the day wound down.

How had this happened to her?

Jessie replayed the scene over and over in her mind's eye, trying to make sense of her predicament:

Debbie had sprinted towards the nearby trees trailing the sunfrock behind her. Jess had hit the ground running, knowing precisely what was about to happen. Debs was going to make good on her promise, she was going to hurl the dress up into the branches, leaving Jessie in nothing but her bare knickers. It would hang there just out of reach, fluttering in the breeze while she performed an impromptu lingerie parade for half the town. Worse still -

The football guys would see everything!

Jess had immediately broken off the pursuit, falling back to the treeline before anyone could cop a good look. Concealing herself amidst the thickening underbrush, she'd peered out towards the playground, desperately hoping that this was all just a joke, that Debs would return to hand over her last shred of decency and they'd all have a good laugh about this abject humiliation. A real kidder was ol' Debbie Parker, no doubt about that, folks; she'd be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes. Any minute now. For sure.

Only Good Ol' Debs hadn't come round the mountain with her dress in tow. Neither had Lisa for that matter. One minute had turned to two, then two to five, then five to...what? Fifteen? Twenty? As the sun crossed the yard-arm, Jessie had started to suspect her friends had left her alone out here, taken off for greener pastures to celebrate their victory over Ridgewick's resident knicker-flasher. She could almost hear their silvery laughter tinkling through the wilderlands - soft, fading, gone.

How could this have happened? They were her friends, for cryin' out loud, boon companions she'd come to view as surrogate siblings. Girls she'd trusted with her deepest secrets (well, most of them, anyway). They couldn't have simply abandoned her in the woods like Snow White in the forest. They must've left the frock somewhere she would find it - maybe out in the open so she'd have to risk getting caught in her panties, sure - but they wouldn't have shucked her aside with nary a stitch to hide her shame.

Would they?

It must have been around four-thirty when the football guys started to disperse. Jess saw them drifting out of the oval in murmuring clumps; lean, stumbling scarecrows in the fading afternoon light. She knew a few of them by name - Richard Spaulding for one, Robbie McEwan for another - but didn't dare reach out for assistance. She could already hear the questions, the mockery, the derisive, cackling laughter that would ensue.

The minutes trickled past. Twenty five. Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. Still no sign of Debbie and Lisa. Aunt Cathy was probably back from work, wondering where her errant girlie-niece had vanished this fine October Friday. Jessie bit her lip, noting that the park was finally empty. She had to move, lope back to the playground, find her dress before anything else could go wrong.

She emerged near the cypress stand, shivering in the sharp Autumn mistral. Her long, golden ponytail blew out in thin, blonde streamers as she hugged herself against the cold. It was getting late, she couldn't wait any longer. She'd freeze to death if she didn't get indoors soon.

Padding down the trail in her liquid satin underpants, she conducted a quick search of her immediate surroundings. The swings, the fort, the monkey bars. No sign of her friends, no sign of her clothing. No sign of anything.

Damn it!

Where to look now?

The pines. Debbie had been making for the pines when she'd scampered off with the frock. It had to be there, laid out over a bench within easy reach (or so she prayed). Listening for the sound of approaching footsteps - none so far, thank heavens - she glanced about and retraced her mad plunge through the overgrowth, watching carefully for the slightest hint of pink. Debs might have tossed it anywhere, and Jessica couldn't afford to miss a single detail.

She arrived at the windbreak at the north end of the park, the trail markers lost in the foliage far behind. This was the final stop on the line, the literal clearing at the end of the path. Wrong way, turn back, go no further. She turned slowly about in a full three-sixty, pine needles crunching underfoot as she scanned the green depths. Nothing. Nothing at all. Just verdant archways receding back to infinity.

And silence, of course. The silence of the woods.

Then: raising her eyes, she saw exactly what she was looking for.

Jessie hovered at the edge of the grove, staring up at the sheer cotton sun dress. The flimsy remnant billowed gaily amongst the branches some fifty feet up. She saw at a glance that it was way beyond her reach; there were no foot-holds on the trunk and absolutely nothing she could grab onto for the first ten feet or so. The frock was trapped up there amongst the evergreens, she was trapped down here in her skimpy little knickers.

Jessie was struck speechless for maybe a full minute, gooseflesh zithering across her neck and shoulders as she pondered the full extent of her situation. There seemed to be no solution, no escape route, no evading the inevitable.

Lisa and Debbie - her friends, her best friends - had left her like this. Not just a prank. A setup. Like one of those gags in a high school comedy, the kind where the girl ends up going viral on Youtube, her name doxed in the comments.

"No," she whispered under her breath, "no, no, no, no, no!"

How was she going to get home? She couldn't walk through the center of town in nothing but her gleaming white panties. What if someone saw her (or worse yet, recognized her)? She'd never live it down, particularly if word got 'round that she wasn't exactly a girl.

What am I going to do now? she thought, glancing furtively around the glade, flinchingly aware of her lithe, pale thighs, her slim, ivory waist. Everything she had was on clear display to every passing stranger. It was late in the afternoon, almost early evening, and she had to be back in her room before 6.00 pm. That was the rule; she couldn't afford to wait any longer. The very idea of explaining all this to Aunt Cathy set her pulse racing even faster. She had no choice in the matter, no choice at all.

It was time to get moving.

O'Connell Park stretched ahead of her like a battlefield. Wide open. Dotted with trees, yes, but not enough to make a difference. Most were scrawny saplings, ornamental things planted by the city with little plaques reading Donated in Memory of Harold Reeve, 1931-1995.

Thanks, Harold. Your tree sucks.

Jessie stuck to the shadows where she could, heart pounding every time a car rolled past on the nearby road. There were voices up ahead - laughter, the slap of flip-flops. She ducked behind a bench and waited, every inch of exposed skin prickling.

From her hiding place, she saw them: Mrs. Callaghan from the bakery, two little kids in tow, and then - because the gods of humiliation never slept - the town's vicar, Reverend Pearce, wandering by like something out of a cartoon, tossing breadcrumbs into the duck pond and humming a hymn.

Jessie didn't breathe, didn't blink. Her knees trembled, but she didn't move until they were out of sight.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she darted from tree to tree like a startled deer.

By the time she hit Coronation Drive, Jessie's nerves were frayed raw.

Everything felt louder now - the cars, the dogs barking behind fences, the shouts of kids in backyards. She flattened herself behind a hedge and listened as a group of boys passed by on skateboards, their wheels rattling like gunfire.

One of them said something about getting slushies.

Jessie pressed her forehead against a smooth eucalyptus and thought about how easy it would be to just stay there. Maybe someone would find her. Maybe they'd throw a blanket over her and take her to a hospital. Maybe this was how legends were born - The Phantom Panty-Flasher of Olde Ridgewick Towne.

She didn't cry, but tears were close. That hot pressure behind the eyes. That sticky, swollen feeling in the throat. Small torrents of rage and shame swept through her system in sensual waves, accompanied by some other emotion she couldn't quite identify.

And then a voice - oddly familiar, strangely cheerful - said:

"Uh...are you OK?" Jessie turned, and there he was.

Robbie McEwan.

Tall. Ginger. Irish. Wearing a football jersey with the St Patrick's logo stitched onto the breast pocket. One of the lads from the Rugby game she'd seen earlier. He stood on the footpath with his gym bag slung over his shoulder, staring quizzically at her through the hedgerow.

Jessie almost screamed, stepping deeper into the thicket to cover her nudity, then allowed herself to relax. Robbie McEwan didn't pose a threat to her (or anyone else for that matter). He had the kind of good nature that only came from being too big to ever be bullied and too nice to ever hurt anyone else. Jessie blinked at him like he was a hallucination. He was craning his neck to get a better view, his expression one of blank curiosity.

"Don't come any closer."

Robbie took a half-step back, eyes widening in vague alarm.

"Are you… okay?" he repeated, his face now a mask of confusion.

"No. I'm not okay."

He looked hesitantly around, wondering if he'd missed something obvious - like a runaway truck or a falling piano.

Jessie gestured to herself. "They took my clothes."

"Who did?"

"Lisa and Debbie. My so-called friends. It was a prank. Hilarious, right? Now I'm crawling through bushes in my pants, and if anyone else sees me, I'm throwing myself under a bus!"

Robbie frowned. "Wait… so you're in your underwear?"

"Yes!" she stammered, blushing visibly all the way to the hairline. She twined her hands protectively in front of her girlie-pants, barely aware she was doing so.

"That's why you're, uh…hiding in the bushes?"

"Yes!" OMG, she thought, biting back down a scream, can this day get any worse?

"Oh." He blinked again. "I guess that is kind of bad."

She just stared at him. Then:

"Could you...could you lend me your jacket, please?"

"Huh?" Robbie asked, genuinely puzzled, then understood what she wanted (and why). His look of exaggerated surprise might have been comical under any other circumstances. "Oh! Yeah, sure."

He shrugged off his navy blue windcheater and handed it over.

"Didn't realize you were, y'know...in trouble."

She yanked it on. It was warm from his body, smelled like cologne and fabric softener, and hung down to the top of her thighs.

Finally. Something resembling decency.

She exhaled. "Thanks."

"You want me to walk you home?"

"No," she started to say - then saw a car pull into a nearby driveway, and changed course. "Actually. Yes. Please."

They walked in silence for a while, crossing Lethbridge Canal to avoid the downtown area. The residential district was running on low pulse this evening. Curtains were sensibly drawn and station wagons sensibly parked. The sky was darkening in the west. Has to be around five thirty, Jessie thought forlornly, What's Aunt Cathy gonna say?

After a couple of blocks, Robbie started chatting about nothing in particular, waffling amiably along as if they'd been friends more than half their lives. Jessie let the words wash over her. It helped. A little. Eventually - and perhaps inevitably - he got round to asking her name.

"Jessie," she answered, "Jessie Taylor."

Robbie considered this for a few moments, as if solving The Riemann Hypothesis.

"You live up on Oakleigh Terrace, don't you?"

"Yeah." She kept her eyes fixed on the pavement.

"So, why'd your friends steal your -"

"I don't want to talk about that," she cut him off sharply, surprised by the knife-edged tone of her own voice. She'd never spoken to anyone like that before, particularly not a Straight Winger.

Robbie nodded, unperturbed. "Fair enough."

"I'm sorry," Jess started, a little ashamed of herself. He'd been very nice to her, all things considered, and here she was, snapping at him like a salt-water crocodile.

Robbie shrugged his reply; hey, I get it, no big deal. They continued along Merryland Avenue, watching the afternoon fade into twilight. There was a lull in their unspoken conversation, and somewhere between the pauses, Jessie decided that she liked him.

Maybe a lot.

They reached her house just as the street lamps began flickering in the gathering dusk. No car in the driveway, no light on over the porch. Good: Aunt Cathy wasn't home yet. Jessie stepped up to the front door, reached for her key -

and stopped.

"Oh no."

"What?"

"The keys are in my dress."

Jessie stared up at the house, trembling on the brink of tears. She'd wondered if the day could get any worse, and apparently, here was her answer. Damn Debbie Parker and her practical jokes! Damn Lisa for running off with her! Damn her keys, damn the park, damn her dress and damn this whole STUPID day!!!

Robbie's hand touched her shoulder.

"You have a spare?"

"No. Not any more. I...lost it." Damn damn damn!!!

"Want me to break in?"

Jessie blinked. "What?"

"I mean, not like break in break in. I could climb the trellis and go through the upstairs window. It's how I used to sneak into my cousin's place when we were kids."

Jessie raised an eyebrow at this weirdly specific reference, then shrugged her assent. "All right. But if you fall and die, I am not explaining this to your folks." Or to your cousin, for that matter.

Robbie smiled, an easy, lop-sided grin that made her heart skip a beat. "Noted."

To his credit, Robbie scaled the trellis with practiced ease, disappearing into the second-story window with all the panache of an accomplished cat burglar. A minute later, the front door clicked open.

"Ta-da," he said with a bow.

Jessie stepped inside, the cool air of the hallway wrapping around her like a blessing.

She turned to Robbie, slipping out of his jacket, momentarily forgetting she was virtually naked underneath. "Here. Thanks. I really owe you, Robbie."

"No problem," he said, taking it. "Glad I could help."

Their fingers brushed, and his eyes glided down her lithe figure, taking in her girlish contours and supple thighs.

Jessie voiced a tiny gasp, crossing her hands in front of herself. What was she doing, standing before him in nothing but her socks and panties? Her head seemed to spin with a cocktail of conflicting emotions, not the least of which was exhilaration. After everything they'd been through, she supposed she owed him a little treat.

What was the old saying? I'd pay a dollar for that!

The thought almost had her giggling. Despite her overwhelming embarrassment, she suddenly found herself hoping he wouldn't leave...at least, not right away. Paradoxically, she would've felt...well, disappointed if he hadn't caught a glimpse of her knickers. They were extremely pretty, after all.

They both hesitated, not quite sure how to proceed. Jessie looked down at herself in an agony of indecision, wishing it wasn't so late in the day. She had a fleeting vision of herself, blushing beet-red while she modeled more of her underwear for him up in her room. The thought left her almost breathless with a kind of guilty excitement. Maybe she should invite him in; they could go upstairs before -

Jessie shook her head, dismissing the image from her mind's eye. It was nearly 6:00 pm, she couldn't go wandering off into Fantasyland (no matter how enticing the daydream happened to be). Stepping forward to meet his gaze, she chose her words carefully, knowing she had to leave him with...what? An opening? Yes, that was it. An opening. At the very least.

"Look, I'd offer you milk and cookies or something, but my Aunt will go nuclear if she comes home and sees a strange boy in the house." She'll probably ground me for life as it is, she thought ruefully.

Robbie nodded, that lop-sided smile playing across his lips again. Jessica felt wild roses standing out on her cheeks and discovered she quite enjoyed the sensation. He was tall, he was funny, he was cute. And he'd seen her prim white undies.

I'd pay a dollar for that!

"OK, then." Robbie stepped down off the front porch, shouldering his gym bag to a more comfortable position. "I guess I'll see you around."

OMG I hope so, Jessie thought, almost fainting with anticipation.

He lingered for a second, then said, "Hey, we're playing Dunwell next weekend. You should come. Bring your friends - if you're still talking to them, I mean."

Jessie snickered in spite of herself. "Maybe I will."

She watched him walk down the driveway, the last of the Autumn sunlight catching the back of his sandy hair. When he reached the sidewalk, he turned and gave her a final wave. Jessie lifted her hand, feeling the polished floorboards under her bare feet, and waved back.

Then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the house was suddenly, blessedly, quiet.

Did he know? Had he figured it out?

Questions for another day. Right now, she had to head upstairs and slip into something less comfortable. Blouse and jeanskirt, maybe a pair of those over-the-knee stockings Aunt Cathrine had bought her last week. How would you like to see me in those, Robbie? Wouldja pay a dollar for that? Jessie suddenly doubled over clutching her belly, fighting down the hysterical laughter that threatened to escape. It had been a long afternoon, and now that the danger had passed, it was time to indulge in some plain, old-fashioned absurdity.

At that exact moment, the landline rang loud enough to make her jump. Jessie trotted out to the living room, calculating it was probably Aunt Cathy, calling up from the store downtown. Late nights, stock-taking and inventory; it came with the territory. Jess lifted the receiver, carefully modulating her voice to sound as calm as possible.

"Taylor residence."

Needless to say, it wasn't Aunt Cathrine at all.

"You got home, then?" a high, warbling voice asked. "Hope you're not mad. It was only a joke!"

Jessica stared at the handset in near-astonishment. It was Debbie: Good Ol' Debbie Parker, best friend, boon companion and Purveyor of Harmless Pranks, no doubt calling from a payphone a few blocks over. She could hear the traffic in the background. She listened apprehensively, caught completely off guard for the second time that day. Before she could even begin to formulate a response, Lisa's voice cut in across the line:

"We figured you'd catch a ride or something. Did ROBBIE MCEWAN help you? We saw you two WALKING together..."

Did you now? Jess thought darkly. Apparently she hadn't been alone in the woods after all. They must've followed her all the way from Coronation Drive. Slinking about in the background for more than half a mile, sneaking and spying and chuckling up their sleeves.

Debbie: "Sooo...you are mad?"

Jessie took another calming breath, determined to keep her temper under control.

"You stole my dress and threw it up in a tree. I had to sneak through O'Connell Park in my underwear. What do you think?"

There was a pause, then:

"OK, yeah. I - we're really sorry. You want to meet at the youth club tomorrow? You can tell us all about Robbie."

Jess rolled her eyes hard enough to hurt.

Unbelievable.

After all the torment they'd put her through, that was the only thing they could think about? She shook her head, imagining how the gossip-mill would be running overtime for the next six months. She'd never hear the end of it, not even if she packed her bags and relocated to Siberia.

"Debbie?"

"Yeah?"

"You owe me a new dress."

She hung up the phone and started towards the hallway, her plump, pantied bottom turning in outraged little circles. The nerve of those two! Not content with stripping her down to her pants in broad daylight, they now wanted to hear every sordid detail.

And oddly enough, she wanted to share every sordid detail.

She couldn't have put it into words, but somehow, she needed to talk, needed to laugh and cry and vent the complex emotions she'd experienced that day. And who'd understand better than her two closest friends - arch-traitors though they were?

Well, she could deal with them tomorrow.

Right now, she had more pressing concerns.

Aunt Cathy still wasn't home yet, so she guessed it was all right to raid the pantry. Padding out to the kitchen, she opened the cupboard, pulled out a box of cookies, and poured herself a glass of milk. She could almost see him sitting across the table from her, rambling on about forward passes and differential penalties. All night long and into the dawn hours if she let him.

Next time. Perhaps.

Jessie sat at the kitchen table, dunked a cookie, and smiled to herself. Okay, yes - she'd been humiliated. Yes, she'd been hurt and frightened and defenseless. And yes, she'd probably have nightmares for weeks to come.

But if she were being honest?

She wouldn't mind running into Robbie McEwan again.

Maybe, just maybe, Debbie and Lisa had done her a favor. Either that, or the universe moves in mysterious ways.

Anyway…it wasn't the worst way a day could end.