How to talk to boys

_This is bullshit, _you think to yourself as you stare at the chalkboard. For forty-five minutes your first-period teacher, Ms. Applebaum, had been very enthusiastically explaining the importance of flattery. Not how to receive flattery, not how to use flattery to achieve economic gain, but how to use flattery to get a boy to like you.

Seriously.

When you had first realized that you'd be stuck in this girl's school, a part of you had been a little excited. Maybe you'd be able to get close to one of these reform school girls, maybe get a little action.

That excitement didn't last, however. Once Miss Jones had shown you your very feminine uniform, you knew your life had taken a bad turn. Now, sitting in this weird class wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and heels, you were pretty sure that your life was entering one of the rings of hell.

You crossed your legs at the knees, hoping to hide what you considered an embarrassingly small bulge in your panties. So far the teasing from your classmates had been focussed on what you wore, rather than what you were packing, but you knew it was only a matter of time before one of the ladies pointed your lack of endowment. Sure, you only had to get through the one day in just the bra and panties, but there was a lot of opportunities for embarrassment and exposure in a school day.

"Be completely absorbed in the boy, in what he is saying, in what he is doing," Ms. Applebaum gushed, "This type of attention can make a boy feel strong, important. If he feels good being around you, he will want to be around you more and more!"

You wanted to argue, to point out how old fashioned and sexist this class was, but for some reason you couldn't quite concentrate hard enough to form your argument. At first you hadn't noticed it, but as the class had gone on and on, it became more and more evident that there was something malfunctioning in the school's PA system. The deep, droning buzz it was putting out was probably a loose connection somewhere, but it was utterly distracting. Every time you wanted to put up your hand, to say something, the buzzing seemed to grab your attention, momentarily taking your mind away from the action.

Around you, the faces of the girls in the class seemed to have a slightly confused look as well, as if there was something they were trying to figure out but couldn't put their fingers on it.

"And of course there's nothing wrong with playing dumb every once and a while," Ms. Applebaum continued, "Boys love to be helpful! Ask them to explain things to you, even if you understand them. Pretend that you can't make up your mind on things without their help. Always ask for advice. When they give it to you, boys love it when you thank them, since of course their help is the best kind of help!"

Crossing your legs the other way, feeling the weight of your high-heeled Mary-Jane balancing on your raised foot, you wondered how you would ever get through the day.