Amy spent all day Sunday studying, trying to pretend the previous day had been a dream so she could focus on algebra and history. She had always felt non-committal towards math, but now told herself that, since it was needed for science and science was important at the Academy, she needed to give it her best effort. All her school subjects, in fact, had taken on renewed importance from the fact that her grades would help determine her admission to the Academy.

She breathed a sigh of relief after school Monday, feeling confident she had done well on her tests. During lunch she had gone to the office for permission to take a "college visitation day" the following day, pleased that she had an entirely honest excuse for missing school, though she did admit to herself that, in fact, she would take advantage of the time in a few ways not covered by the excuse.

On the way home from school she picked up a bottle of hair removal cream from the drugstore. After diligently studying the instructions on the side of the bottle, she used it to get rid of the light downy hair covering her legs and, feeling a little more self-conscious but also a little excited, the thicker hair of her pubic patch. She spent the better part of an hour afterwards running her fingers lightly over her legs, marveling at their new smoothness, and a similar amount of time brushing her fingertips over her denuded mound, shivering and tingling, stopping short of bringing herself to orgasm because she wanted to do that later, in her room, with the terry belts.

Tuesday morning she was at the shopping mall the minute it opened. Armed with her rarely-used debit card, funded by a mostly untouched allowance put in a bank account monthly by her father, she went into the anchor department store. She stopped by the hair salon first, and looked through their flip-book of styles until she came to one that most closely approximated the one Miranda had described. She looked in the mirror open-mouthed when the stylist had finished -- it looked just the way she had imagined it! The stylist told her it looked just right for her. Amy made sure to ask how to take care of it to keep it looking this way.

Makeup counter next. Amy sat still as the woman did her face, showing her how to do eyeliner, eye shadow, how to do highlights and avoid overdoing anything, how to apply lip gloss, how to decide what color of everything was right for her, all the while patient with Amy's ignorance as good saleswomen often are. Amy bought a makeup kit, carrying it in the shopping bag for now until she had a purse, and took a brochure of makeup tips, then walked to the clothing section.

The clerk in the teens section was, again, very helpful, eager for the opportunity to begin building a seemingly wealthy girl's wardrobe almost from scratch. Amy bought several outfits -- including one with a dark beige skirt and matching halter top, for Beth's hanging, the length (above the knee, but much longer than the skirt Miranda had worn) and bland color chosen so as not to distract any attention from Beth's no doubt more flashy costume. The outfit she wore leaving the store was a little more conservative but chosen, with the clerk's help, to emphasize her most attractive features while still looking appropriate for presenting herself to a prospective "college": a denim skirt, and a lacy white blouse with short puffy sleeves, a low neckline that went straight across her chest just above her breasts, a lacy bosom that cupped her breasts individually though loosely, and a lower half that hugged her tummy tightly. She admired herself in the mirror, while the clerk exclaimed how lucky Amy was to have a body on which the outfit worked.

Over to shoes next, where she purchased three different pairs, walking out wearing a pair of low-heeled sandals, each held on by a complex web of straps anchored by one encircling her ankle, which the clerk said looked very sexy. Another pair was high heeled, and she determined to practice with those later, since she didn't want to chance stumbling clumsily around the Academy today.

Finally to purses, where she bought several which the clerk there assured her went with each outfit.

She noticed a bookstore adjacent to the department store. She went in and bought several fashion magazines.

She waited in line at the food court, to order a soft drink, and when she reached the front and gave her order, the boy in line behind her, about Amy's age or perhaps a little older, stepped up alongside her and said, "And I'll have a large Sip Fizz."

Amy spun her head quickly to look at him, wondering how anyone could be so rude, as the clerk asked, puzzled, "Is this together?" His memory seemed to be telling him they had arrived separately.

The boy smiled. "Yeah. I'm paying."

Amy suddenly realized what was going on, though nothing remotely like it had ever happened to her before. She examined him more closely. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

As the clerk handed them their drinks, the boy passed some money across and said to Amy, "I've been trying to decide that. I think I've seen you around. You go to the university, right?"

She smiled. "Mistaken identity. I'm at the high school. I graduate next month, though."

He blinked, but smiled. "I guess I don't know you, then. But we could fix that."

Her heart was fluttering. The sudden attention was wonderful, and he was kind of cute, but there was one thought foremost in her mind. "Look, before we start anything, I should tell you I'm not available for anything long-term. I'm going to go to the Hanging Academy in the fall. So you know what that means, right?"

He sighed, and smiled. "Okay, that's useful to know. But you'd be free this Friday, right? We could go to a movie, and maybe go get a girlburger afterwards?"

She almost said yes, then hesitated. "I'd like that, except I've got this big thing coming this weekend. I'll have to... take a raincheck, if that's okay." She looked at him apologetically.

He smiled. "It is if the raincheck could be used the following week."

She grinned open-mouthed. It was so stunning, not just being asked for a date for the first time in her life, but him being so persistent about it.

What made up her mind was the thought that it would be really useful to have some sexual experience, if it came to that, before she started at the Academy. Miranda had said they would teach her a lot about it there, but she was willing to bet any amount that none of her classmates would be virgins. "Sure." She looked in her new purse, but found only the items she had come to the mall with, which didn't include a notepad. She turned to the clerk at the soft-drink counter. "Could you tear me a sheet off your order pad? And let me use your pencil a second?" She wrote down her phone number and signed it "Amy" underneath, and smiled as she handed it to the boy. "I'd usually be home after six."

The boy grinned and tucked it into his wallet. "Great. I'll call you soon, Amy. I'm Scott." He gave her a little wave as he turned away.

"Oh, thank you for the drink!" He looked back and held up both hands in a think-nothing-of-it gesture, and soon was lost in the crowd.

Amy sighed deeply. It would be tricky, working on getting sexual experience without getting involved with anyone.

One useful thing she could do occurred to her: There were local clubs kids went to, to hook up someone of the opposite sex, usually without expectation of commitment; there were similar clubs for girls only. Amy knew she needed some experience with girls as well as boys; aside from the parties at the Academy, all of her potential sex partners in the future would be girls. Amy shook her head. So many things to think about. She'd have to make another list.

Amy's heart was pounding when she drove into the Academy parking lot. She understood, though it was disappointing, that she would almost certainly not see any of the students today, as she would only be in the open-to-the-public area, and would most likely not see anyone very important either. But first impressions are always key.

Finding the Admissions Office, she took a deep breath, waited until she felt somewhat calm, and went in. A woman behind a long counter looked up at her. "Can I help you?"

"I'd like to apply for admission."

The woman took a more complete look at Amy, and Amy's spirits soared when the woman smiled. She looks like she thinks I belong here!! she thought. The woman's next question almost took Amy's breath away. "Would you like to speak to our director of admissions, Vonda Bennett?"

"Oh, yes, please, if I could."

The woman picked up a phone. "I'll see if she's free."

A few minutes later, Amy sat in a chair in one of the offices behind the counter, her legs demurely together, her head spinning, listening to Ms. Bennett saying, "It's nice to meet you, Amy. I understand you'd like to join our entering class this fall."

Wide-eyed, Amy breathed, "Yes, very much."

Ms. Bennett laughed. "I think Sheila must have seen that same eager look on your face. I don't usually meet like this with every applicant. Most of them do it by mail, in fact."

Amy nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"I do like having a chance to meet the applicants if I can. You understand, this isn't an interview right now. Dean Porter does those, and we can schedule a time for you later. This is just more of a get-acquainted session. Of course, one natural thing to ask you is whether you know what's expected of students here. I mean, really know."

Amy nodded again. "Oh, yes, ma'am. I was a sub-assistant at a hanging last Saturday. And I'm doing another this Saturday."

Ms. Bennett's eyes opened wider. "Oh, my. That's a rare amount of experience." She looked to the ceiling, thinking. "Saturday. That must have been Miranda Warren. Next Saturday is Beth Downey." She looked questioningly at Amy.

"Yes, ma'am. Beth is doing the Runaway Slave show, and I'm looking forward to seeing that. Oh, I have this... tell me if you're the right person to give this to." She reached into her purse after fumbling with the latch only for an instant, and extracted the form Miranda had given her, handing it to Ms. Bennett.

The woman read it, her eyes quickly narrowing as she read it more closely. "Miranda said some very nice things about you."

Amy beamed. "Yes, ma'am."

Ms. Bennett nodded. "I'll be sure this gets in your admission file. Let me give you an application..." She reached into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a form. "...and we can set up an interview." She began typing on a keyboard under a monitor on her desk. She looked intently at the screen. "Could you come... June 18, at 9:30 am? That's a Wednesday."

Amy didn't hesitate. It was after graduation. And she didn't care what else might be happening that day. This took priority over everything. "Yes, ma'am!"

The woman nodded and typed again on the keyboard. Minutes later, she reached under the desk as a memo came out of the printer. "Here, you can take this with you to remind you."

Like I'd forget!! thought Amy. "Yes, ma'am. Besides that, do you need anything else other than the application and my high school transcripts?"

Ms. Bennett smiled and shook her head. "No, that will take care of it, on your end. On our end, we'll send out letters of acceptance by August 15. Classes start in mid-September, so you'll have about a month to clear up any loose ends in your life before you get here."

You WILL have a month, thought Amy. Not "would have." Will have. Stop it, Amy. Don't read too much into everything. It's just a one-word difference. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now, do you have any questions you wanted to ask?"

Amy laughed, tension starting to release now that today's hurdle seemed crossed. "I have so many questions, we'd be sitting here until the middle of September if I started asking them. But I just want to tell you that I really, really want to be a student here."

Ms. Bennett laughed in turn. "You didn't have to tell me, Amy. I can see that."

Amy almost floated home, and danced her way up the stairs. Passing the door of Andrew's room, she saw something that promised to top off her day. Andrew, having taken Miranda's head out of the preserving fluid, the three days having passed, had taken her to a shop to have her mounted. He must have just arrived home, and was now clearing a space on one of his shelves for Miranda.

Amy smiled. He'd chosen a shelf-mounting rather than a wall-mounting. That was good. Amy wouldn't have to change it then. She didn't want Miranda looking like a hunting trophy. Miranda's neck was secured to a square wooden base, with an inch-high metal sleeve encircling the bottom on her neck, within which hidden bolts held her securely with her head upright. For want of a better conversation gambit, Amy cleared her throat.

Andrew looked around sourly, and did a perfect double take, his eyes wide. He stared at her for several beats, and Amy almost laughed out loud when his eyes, probably unconsciously, flicked for an instant towards his bed and then returned to staring at her. Oh, right, Andrew!! she thought. As if!! Amy was aware that, of the girls of her acquaintance who had brothers, several of them had experimented with in-family sex to practice for the dating game. Amy had no general objection to the idea other than that, in her case, it would have involved Andrew.

Andrew finally recovered his normal self. "What'd you do, dipshit, decide to be a girl for awhile?"

She smiled in a way that would be sure to irritate him. "Oh, I've decided a whole bunch of things. One of them is, I was just thinking Miranda would look a lot better in my room."

He snorted. "At least you're not any less crazy."

She maintained the smile, expanding it a little. "What's she worth to you, Andrew?"

He laughed. "What, you're going to offer me some of Dad's money I could just as easily get from him anyway?"

She shook her head. "I'm not talking about money, Andrew. What's it worth to you for all your friends not to find out you shot your wad all over your stomach like a teenaged dork, before you even got her panties off?"

Instantly he straightened upright and whirled around to face her, glowering. "What the fuck are you..."

Over the next five seconds a montage of expressions passed over his face in sequence. Amy burst out laughing because she could read the thought behind every one of them: (1) How could she know?? She couldn't know! (2) She does know! (3) The bitch told her! (4) The bitch couldn't have! There was never an opportunity! (5) She saw me! No, she couldn't have, there's no way she was in there! (6) I don't remember seeing her at the party for like an hour. Shit, SHE WAS IN THERE!

Andrew shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving her, though their earlier sexual attraction to her was long forgotten. He growled, his voice shaking, "They'll never believe you."

Amy said airily, "People always believe exactly what they want to believe, Andrew. Tell me, is this something your friends would like to believe?"

He stared at her again silently for an extended time. Finally, in a low, tight voice, he rasped, "What do you want?"

She looked at him with satisfaction. "I just want two things, Andrew. Just two. And they'll be easy. One is, I want you to treat me with more respect. I don't want you to call me dumbshit, doofus, any of those things. I want you to call me Amy. That's my name."

He breathed through his nose with gritted teeth. Finally he asked, "And what's the second thing..." Long pause. "...Amy?"

"I already told you. I want her." She pointed at Miranda's head.

He stood there a long time, his fists clenched. At last he moved to the side and indicated Miranda's head with a "Fuck it, take her" gesture.

In her room, Amy sat on her bed, feeling completely at peace, cradling Miranda's head against her chest. Then she set Miranda carefully on top of her headboard, and unclipped the tiara Andrew had left in place, afterwards combing out Miranda's hair to look the way it had when she'd arrived at the house. She didn't want Miranda in her Princess role. That was something she'd been doing for Andrew. Amy wanted her to look the way she looked in everyday life.

Miranda's eyes were unfocused, of course, but with a soft, quiet expression. The edges of her lips were curled in a tiny smile. The preserving fluid often had that effect.

Amy spent the next hour carefully teasing the stitches out of Miranda's choker that had spelled, "Property of Andrew Cameron," leaving it saying only, "Miranda."

She heaved a deep sigh when she finished. "We'll stay here for a few months, Miranda. Then I'm going to take you home. To the Academy." Miranda made no reply, but Amy didn't need one. She knew how Miranda would feel.

Read about Amy's quest to be admitted to the Hanging Academy in Book 2, "The Applicant." Click here to go to Chapter 1.