American History

The bell rang soon afterwards and Monica was onto her next class: American History. The first obstacle was finding the class itself. Monica called up a Guider to escort her. Even though she never left the AI’s side, the teen had quickly become lost. The two had ventured into one of the round stark-white buildings which was like navigating the inside of a grandfather clock. Every hall had sharp turns that led to smaller corridors that seemed more intricate than the last. Everything was so foreign and futuristic to her. Monica tried to enjoy the architecture, despite having to witness a dozen naked students pass by her everywhere she looked.

The raven-haired girl was surprised that none of them were relying on Guiders like she was. It made her a little concerned, thinking back to all the Namish students on campus who also needed Guiders. The teen silently prayed that the system could handle the increased amount of users. Monica didn’t want to be **** into a situation where she needed to find a way out on her own.

Shockingly, the two found their way to Delta room 237-B before the teacher had arrived. Students gathered together around the door in various clumps. All of them were naked except for one student. Monica immediately gravitated towards him. He was African-American, probably her age, with short curly hair and baggy clothes and looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. At least he’s wearing pants. Monica thought to herself.

“Hi.” she said as cheerfully as possible. Her classmate broke out of his trance but kept his eyes to the floor. “Hello,” he answered back.

“You’re Namish like me, aren’t you?” the teen asked. Monica’s classmate struggled for a second to lift his head up and face her directly. “Yes.”

“Is everything okay?” Monica asked. She glanced at his arms. “You’re all sweaty.”

“It’s from the showers, I swear!” he exclaimed. He hoped that would be enough for the raven-haired girl; that she could make the assumption without knowing too much. However, Monica’s eyes begged for an explanation. He leaned in ever so slightly, lowered his voice and said, “I just c- I just took my gym class.”

Monica glanced back at her classmate’s arms and hands. They were holding a folder in very curious position. Monica turned beet red. She covered her mouth, thinking that she was going to scream. The teen felt so embarrassed for him and for herself. “I’m so sorry!” she spouted before covering her mouth again. She tried to get her breathing under control.

“Don’t be,” her classmate groaned as he tuned back to face the ground. The two stood in silence for a few seconds before Monica, wanting to distract herself from her own mental imagery, asked, “What’s your name?”

Her classmate mumbled under his breath. It was too difficult for her to understand. Monica pressed her luck and asked again. Her classmate sighed and said, “It’s ‘Peter.’”

The teen swallowed a bit, trying not to laugh at him or at how comedic this situation was becoming. “My name’s ‘Monica,’” she replied.

The chatter around the two of them ceased, leaving only the sound of high-heeled shoes walking towards the group. Monica turned to see a woman similar to the one she met a few days ago. She was tan with wavy jet-black hair; wearing nothing but heels which accentuated her already voluptuous form.

“Good morning, class.” she said as she pressed in the code to open the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Clarice!” everyone, save for Monica and Peter, replied.

Ms. Clarice opened the door and the students picked their seats. Monica sat in the front, hoping that she wouldn't have to interact with any of the students behind her. Her teacher stood in front of the class, not bothering to cover-up in any manner, and called out the names of every student. Monica’s eyes ran along the woman’s contour, taking note the little shifts in balance she made when checking off the names. The teen almost jumped when she felt her own tongue begin to curl in her mouth. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. Monica wanted nothing more than to hide her face and get this day over with. However, fate had other plans.

“Wait!” a student exclaimed. “Ms. Clarice, we have two new students with us!”

Monica’s heart sank. I know that voice. The teen slowly turned to her left, fearing that her suspicions were true. She was greeted with the image of a pink-haired girl, clad in only knee high sock and sneakers, looking back at her with an ecstatic grin. Monica became cold, thinking of how warm she was when their bodies pressed together.

“Thank you, Terri!” Ms. Clarice pointed to the two Namish students. “You two, could you please introduce yourself to the class? You don’t have to get out of your seat. Just make sure that your voice is loud enough.” Neither student stood up during the introduction.

Once the two were done, the teacher continued, “Well, it’s nice to meet you! I’m ‘Ms. Clarice.’ My real name is Clarice Farn. I tend to go by my first name because ‘Farn’ is just too easy to make fun of. There’s ‘Ms. Farm,’ ‘Ms. Barn,’ …. sometimes ‘Ms. Fart’ but that one doesn’t rhyme.” While it was clear the class had heard all of this before, there was still a few chuckles among them. Ms. Clarice resumed by saying, “Since our curriculums are pretty much the same, you probably could guess what we’re going to be studying next. Could one of you tell me what is the ‘date that will live in infamy?’”

I know this one, I think. Monica reluctantly raised her hand, “February 1st, 2004: In which Justin Timberlake-”

“I’m sorry but that’s wrong,” Ms. Clarice gave Monica an apologetic smile. Laughter was building amongst the other students but she motioned them to be quiet. Monica was close to crying.

Her teacher tried to move the subject along, “Today, we’ll be talking about the Attack on Pearl Harbor -December 7, 1941- which led to the United States’ entry into World War II. However, let’s get into our groups first. Terri, could you help bring Monica and Peter up to speed?”

“Sure!” the pink-haired girl said, nearly springing out of her chair.

Every student moved around and reorganized the desks to accommodate their group. Monica once again noticed how light the desk was compared to those at her normal high school. The teen was confined to her seat; stuck between a wall and Terri’s desk. Peter moved his workstation so that he was facing the other two members of his group. Monica tried to ignore the bulge nesting inside the pants of her fellow Namish.

“So, what are we supposed to do in these groups?” Peter asked as he eased onto his seat.

“We’re supposed to remind our classmates what we did last time we met like what we studied, our homework et cetera.” Terri said before placing a hand on Monica’s shoulder. “Well, last time we met, we almost reached second base.”

Monica stiffed up as Terri slipped her hand into the teen’s shirt. Peter flinched, trying not to stiffen up any more than he already had.