"You guys suck!"

Kitty’s on her way to class, jogging across the Old Quad in her comfiest old band T-shirt and denim shorts. She spots you and Meg sitting on a bench and immediately changes course, trying to veer behind one of the shady oak trees so you won’t spot her. But it’s too late.

“Hi, Kitty!”

“Ah! Not again!”

You and Meg laugh yourself silly as Kitty glares daggers at you. Her band shirt and denim shorts have been teleported back to her dorm room closet, leaving her in just her rainbow-striped cotton panties and spotted blue bra. A medieval ball and chain has been shackled around her ankle. It’s light enough for her to drag along, at the rate of about a foot every ten seconds.

“You guys suck!”

“I don’t know about that,” you say, helpfully, openly eyeing up Kitty’s lithe panty-clad figure. “We’ve got all our clothes on. Seems to me like the girl walking across campus in her undies is most likely to be the one who sucks.”

“He’s got you there,” says Meg. “What an excellent point you make, Sitri.”

“Just… I… but…” Kitty’s already attracting attention from the usual college crowd of nerds, geeks, theater kids, frat boys, athletes, punks and normies, none of whom feel any compunction about stopping to gawk at a pretty girl caught in her underwear on the main lawn. “Can’t you at least strip someone else so I have company?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know, that sorority chick?”

“But I don’t know that sorority chick,” Meg points out. “She’s not my best friend. Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, so…”

“Wait! How am I supposed to get to class like this?”

“You’ll figure it out.”