Served Cold
By Mouse
An unauthorised sequel to 'Sweet Revenge'. Lynda Merkle is back...

You may make more sense of this story if you read 'Sweet Revenge', by Mac, first. 
You'll find it in the Power Company shelf in Diana's library. Too impatient? OK, 
just start reading, then.

-_-  *  -_-

"We’ll be back later, to finish you off. Wait here, ‘kay?"
 
-_-  *  -_-

Annabel Willow Martins curled around herself and fought conflicting impulses: to 
make the world go away, and to stay alert for danger. Her body shook with pain and 
fear, and she buried sobs and pained cries deep in her throat. Animal instinct told her 
to stay quiet and still and hidden so the predators would miss her and go away.

Outside the dark, windowless closet, silence had long since fallen, the chattering of 
her schoolmates faded to the dead quiet of abandonment. Still she shivered in fear and 
gathering cold, her ears straining for the return of her attackers. The dim light around 
the door was fading slowly, but her fevered mind was locked deep in fight or flight 
responses and barely noticed.

-_-  *  -_-

Katherine Miller stretched luxuriously and looked happily around her new domain. 
Her domain, now, not just the workplace left by Mr Harper, the old art teacher at 
Cornell Whyte High. Mr Harper had been a big favourite of his students, despite 
being well into his fifties, and reportedly had not been above playing the Beatles in 
class and creating outrageous science fiction images on the computer. Replacing him 
after his stroke, even for just the one semester, had been hard but oh, so rewarding; 
and the principal had informed her that afternoon that not only was he officially 
retiring, but that he had recommended her as his replacement.

The stack of assignments on her desk were all graded, she had lesson plans composed 
for tomorrow, a date for tomorrow night, and then the first weekend of her first 
summer break as a full-time teacher. She picked up her long coat, walked to the door, 
took one last look round her classroom, turned off the lights and locked the door 
behind her with an odd little stab of regretful pleasure. The halls were brightly lit but 
almost totally silent now; only one or two of the other classrooms were lit, betraying 
fellow teachers hard at work on grading or lesson plans. The sounds of the janitor up 
the hall whistling as he swabbed the floor echoed oddly without the students' noise to 
drown it out. She walked easily towards the nearest exit to the car park, her heels 
clicking crisply on the tiles.

She passed the access door down to the boiler room, long since unnecessary in the 
early heat of summer. Something interrupted her blissful reverie of achievement, 
made her look down at the floor. Her steps slowed, her face creasing with mild 
consternation. Finally, she stopped, and knelt. She touched the smear on the floor with 
a finger, and raised it to her eyes.

Dark red. It was dark red. She licked her finger gingerly.

Coppery taste.

Blood.

She took a longer look at the smear on the floor; it obviously was a smear, made by 
something dragged along the floor. *Someone* dragged along the floor, she corrected 
herself.

She stood again, and began to follow the trail. It wasn't continuous; the bleeding must 
have been slow, only reaching the ground when the person stopped for a moment. Katherine 
followed it around a bend in the hall, and then to a junction. The whistling janitor 
looked up as she paused at the edge of the glistening wetness left in his wake.

"Oh, you just walk on it. Its just soapy water, walking on it won't do any harm..." he 
trailed off as he looked up at her face.

"That's not what I'm worried about," she told him. "I was following a bloodtrail, and 
you've cleaned right across it."

"A what, Miss?" he replied, obviously disbelieving her.

"A bloodtrail." She pointed to the floor by the wall. "I spotted it back up the hall. I 
followed it to here." She stepped across the wet floor to the hallway he hadn't 
cleaned, and started looking at the floor there, hoping to find a continuation of the 
trail.

"You serious, Miss?"

"Yes. And it's not on this side of the hall."

The janitor peered myopically at the floor with her, then over where she had pointed. 
He knelt, and repeated her earlier actions, feeling and tasting the smeared trail. "Oh. 
Oh dear, Miss. I would have just cleaned this away, not even seen it." He ran a hand 
through thinning grey hair. "My eyes aren't what they were, Miss. Ears are fine, but 
my eyes..."

"Would you check the doors on the hallway you've cleaned, then? I'll go down where 
you haven't cleaned and see if the trail's there."

"Yes, Miss. I can do that." He stood, and tugged his check shirt down. "I can do that."
Katherine walked briskly down the hall past his bucket and mop to the dry floor. A 
few moments inspection told her the trail had never run past here, so she turned back 
and began checking the doors either side: classrooms, two offices, a storage closet…

-_-  *  -_-

Someone was walking up the hallway, checking all the doors, shoes squeaking with 
each step. Petrified, Annabel curled into a tighter ball, pressing herself back against 
the wall behind her. She bit back on her whimpers, staring at the dim light under the 
door, willing whoever was out there to stop, to go away, to find someone else...

A heavy foot fell outside, blocking the light under the door. Annabel squeezed her 
eyes shut, turned into the wall and huddled against the buckets and tins. The latch 
clicked and the door swung open.

"Miss? Miss, I've found her. Oh dear god..." A foot fell behind her, and she curled 
tighter still, ignoring the pain of her arm and leg. Brisk footsteps clicked up the hall 
towards the little closet. "Oh dear god, are you..."

"What's...Shit. Let me." Sounds of shuffling movements behind her; Annabel cringed 
in anticipation. "Honey, can you hear me?"

"She moved when I came in, Miss. Here."

"Thank you, in a moment." A touch, a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. "Can you 
hear me? Are you...Give me that, would you...Here, I'm just putting something 
round your shoulders, ok?" She shivered as the rough cloth scraped over her abraded 
skin. The hand came back to rest on her shoulder, gently patting her as she wept with 
fear. "Where does it hurt, honey? Please tell me. You're safe now, we're here."

The hand moved again, tucking the cloth in under her. "Look at me, honey. You're 
safe. Tell me where it hurts?" She shook her head convulsively, and tried to bury her 
face in her arms.

"I think it should be safe to move her. She's shivering all over, and..."

"I'll, I'll get a blanket or something. We've got some old ones in the stores, from 
when we were painting last time..."

"No, I'll use my coat. I'll take her down the hospital in my car." A moment's quiet, 
and a heavier weight lay across her shoulders and back. Then, the hand on her 
shoulder pulled her gently over. Panicking, she grabbed at the shelving, but a gentle 
hand freed her grip. "It's all right, Honey, you're safe now. Look at me now." A 
gentle but firm hand raised her chin. "Open your eyes, Honey, and look at me, please? 
You're safe now, look at me now." The clothes around her were gently pulled closer.

She opened one eye; the other didn't seem to be working.

"That's right, Honey, you're safe now. Where does it hurt?"

"MMMs M-Millr?"

"Yes, it's me, Annabel. You're safe now. Tell me where it hurts, Honey."

"M, Ms Mmillr?" She reached out to the familiar new teacher, who shifted closer to 
wrap an arm around her shoulders as she burst into relieved, agonised sobs.

"Sh, Sh, it's all right, you're safe, sh..." The teacher shook her head at the man in the 
doorway, and flapped a hand at him. He backed out into the hall. Ms Miller slid her 
other arm under Annabel's legs and pulled her closer. Then she stood up, lifting the 
junior in her arms.

Comforted by tactile memories from preschool days, of her father lifting her, Annabel 
let the world go black.

-_-  *  -_-

Gordon Martins followed his wife into the emergency room at the county hospital. 
She had almost run to the nurses' station against the wall, and was asking after their 
daughter. He arrived at the desk to hear the nurse say, "Yes, she's in bay four. The 
doctor is with her; I'll just ask if it's ok for you to go in. Would you wait here a 
moment?" Without waiting for an answer, the nurse slipped away down the room and 
ducked behind one of the curtains.

"Excuse me? Mr and Mrs Martins?"

Gordon turned, and found himself looking at a broad-shouldered young woman with a 
long leather coat folded over one arm. "Yes, I am. We are."

"I'm Katherine Miller, I..."

"Oh, you found her! Oh, thank you!" Tina Martins wrapped her pudgy arms around 
the taller woman and hugged her. "Oh, thank you so much..."

Surprised, Katherine hesitated before gingerly resting her free arm across Tina's back. 
Gordon, more used to his wife's outbursts, smiled nervously.

Tina sniffed suddenly and freed herself, looking up as she caught her husband's hand. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, you don't need me crying all over you. Thank you."

"That's all right." Katherine lifted her coat nervously, them went on in a rush, "I'm 
sorry to ask now, but I think I need to talk to you both, without Annabel. Can we 
arrange a time? Soon?"

Gordon stood a little straighter, and squeezed his wife's hand. "Is she in trouble?"

"Not from school. But she – well, she was beaten. That's my opinion, but I know 
what a beating looks like. So I need to know – has she complained of being bullied at 
school? Has she come home with bruises? Torn clothes? Does she ever try to evade 
questions about school?"

The Martins looked at each other. Tina spoke first, "She's never mentioned bullying 
to me. But some of her clothes, sometimes they have small rips. Or they go missing. 
Some of her favourites, too."

Katherine's jaw clenched, and she tensed.

"But she'd say if she was having any trouble like that," said Gordon. "We've always 
listened to her. And the school has a good record for that sort of thing."

Katherine shook her head slowly. "That's not the way it works, usually. Bullying is 
very difficult to control, and the victims often keep it quiet until far too late. Like 
this."

Tears started to well in Tina's eyes again. "Will she be all right?"

"I think so. The doctor will say for sure. But she'll be in no state for school 
tomorrow...Ah, Doctor Greene. These are Annabel's parents."

"Ah, good, yes. She's conscious, come in and see her. I want to keep her in overnight, 
but she can go over to one of the regular wards, no need to stay down here in ER."

"She's not badly hurt?"

"AH-um. Well. Greenstick fracture of the right radius, sprained right ankle – not too 
bad, really – what I'm worried about is she did pass out. Twice, Ms Miller tells me. I 
rather think she's got a concussion."

"Oh..." Tina's hands covered her mouth as tears began to fall. Then, suddenly, she 
pushed past the doctor to her daughter. Gordon smiled awkwardly at the doctor.

"I'm sorry, Doctor..."

"Better that way than the other. Hmph." Doctor Greene dropped his voice and 
continued soberly, "She was beaten. Not very expertly, mind, but it was a deliberate 
beating. And having her clothes torn off like that...Harumph. Now, I have recorded 
that in my notes. I will be willing to testify should you be able to find out who did it."

"I'm sure she'll tell us," interrupted Gordon.

Katherine and Doctor Greene exchanged glances. "Hmm. Well, as may be. The offer 
stands. Ahem. Now, if you'll excuse me?" Doctor Greene nodded brusquely at them 
both and moved away.

"Would you like me to empty Annabel's locker for her tomorrow? I could drop her 
things at your home after school, perhaps about six?"

Gordon refocused on the tall teacher. "That's very kind of you, but..."

Katherine shook her head. "It's no problem. I can explain why and get her locker 
opened quite easily, and it will save her coming in some time during the break. She 
can't keep her stuff in there over the summer."

"Well, if you're sure." Gordon glanced towards the curtained-off bed. "We'll be 
waiting for you. And thank you again."

"Not at all. I'll see you all tomorrow night." Katherine smiled professionally and 
turned to leave. The smile vanished completely as soon as Mr Martins couldn't see it, 
replaced by a frown of mixed worry and anger.

"Ah, Ms Miller?"

She turned her head. "Doctor Greene?"

"Thank you. I would appreciate your carrying a message for me, to the school 
principal..."

-_-  *  -_-

Katherine relaxed against the backrest, her feet still resting on the plate of the leg 
press machine. Her muscles burned pleasantly, and sweat dripped slowly from her 
chin to her breasts. She was, she knew, a magnificent figure of a woman, a lithe 
powerhouse able to overpower almost all comers.

The 'almost' was added without thought. Across the room, Lynda Merkle huffed 
briefly as she straightened, warming up with half a ton resting across her shoulders.

"So, you've got another Hammer to deal with?"

"That's what it looks like. Oh, there's nothing written down, so I can't find it by 
searching the school records..."

"Nothing?" interrupted the stronger woman sharply.

"Nothing with names attached. The locker the chess club used was torn open and the 
contents wrecked, but 'no one' saw who did it. But apparently there was a chess 
competition on the same day as a football match, and the captain of the chess team is 
also a cheerleader. The school nurse told me the frequency of injuries from falling 
down stairs has risen steadily over the last three years. The school counsellor got all 
evasive when I asked him, but his eyes were saying 'yes, yes, yes'." She stood 
abruptly and ripped a towel from the rack on the wall to dry her face. Muffled, she 
continued, "Worse, Patrick named names. His number-two school bully is a girl. And 
she's on the football team."

"And the other teachers?"

"Mostly won't talk. I asked straight out, but most of them seem afraid of her."

Lynda settled the weight bar in its rack. "And your Patrick isn't?"

"Patrick is a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism, keeps poisonous 
snakes as a hobby, is a brown belt in karate, and has a complete blacksmith's forge in 
his garage he uses to make replica medieval weapons. I think he might be afraid of 
heights, but not much else." She frowned at Lynda. "And he's not 'my' Patrick."

"Yet."

Katherine paused, then conceded the point, "Yet."

Lynda started to load the bar for her leg extension, tossing 45-pound weights like 
juggling balls. Katherine recognised the signs of deep thought, and stayed quiet. 
Eventually, Lynda sat on the bench and said, "Do you have another Lynda Merkle?"

Katherine let out a breath in relief, barely noticing the twinkle of amusement it 
evoked in Lynda's eyes. "No. What I have is one victim who won't admit who beat 
her and is in worse case than you were. And she definitely doesn't have your magic 
with biochemistry to give her a hand out."

" 'Worse case than I was'?" Lynda repeated. "Just how badly hurt is she?"

"Broken arm, sprained ankle, concussion," replied Katherine succinctly. "Plus we 
found her half-naked, hiding in a storage closet after school hours. The doctor told me 
she might well have died if she hadn't been found that night. Shock and 
hypothermia."

Lynda's face showed her feelings – shock, distress, followed by remembered anger 
and then resolve. "Well then." She turned back to the exercise and started churning 
out the reps with even more force than usual. Katherine stayed quiet, waiting for the 
offer she was sure would come. Eventually, it did – obliquely.

"We can't turn her into an amazon without her wanting it. And there's no point me 
coming in to school next year and giving some talk on bullying, or even you giving 
one. We don't look even remotely bullyable anymore."

"So none of the students would believe anything we said, and the ones who need the 
reassurance won't believe they could get this sort of body in time to make any 
difference. While the ones who don't need it, might be spurred to try to build up."

"You're finishing my sentences again." Lynda finished her set, and sat up again. 
"There is a way I could help her directly, and I can nudge her in the right direction 
from there. I've been developing some tissue-regeneration therapies – I did my PhD 
on them – and the bone-regeneration therapy has just been cleared for clinical trials. 
We need test subjects."

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel looked up as Ms Miller stepped out onto the front porch with her. She was 
met by a wry but friendly smile, and relaxed a little; her parents had told her Ms 
Miller was coming, but the explanation why was not wholly reassuring. Surely no 
teacher would really go out of her way like that?

"Hi."

"Um, hi, Ms Miller."

She watched with poorly disguised apprehension as Ms Miller sat on the top of the 
steps, her back to the railing. Ms Miller didn't seem to look at her until she was 
comfortably settled.

"Your parents tell me you haven't got a family break planned for this year?"

"Th-that's right. Mom's in the middle of a commission, she can't afford the time off."

"Uh-huh. That happen often?" asked the teacher, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Annabel wasn't sure what Ms Miller had talked to her parents about, but they 
were adults – she'd never had just a conversation with a teacher before, and was sure 
there was something Ms Miller wanted. Surely she had enough of kids at school? 
Hell, *Annabel* had enough of kids at school, and she was one. Or was supposed to be, 
still. Nervously, she blurted, "We usually don't plan holidays early, Mom never 
knows when she'll be working so we have to go when she's free. We didn't go last 
year at all." She blushed.

"I wouldn't want a career like that." Ms Miller shuddered theatrically. "I had a bad 
enough time this last couple of years, taking replacement posts and fill-in jobs and 
starving every other month. Still, she seems to do well enough." She waved a graceful 
hand at the large house and garden. "I guess you'll be here in town all summer? Or 
are you going to summer camp?"

Now Annabel was seriously nervous – what was this leading up to? Still, she couldn't 
not answer without being rude... "N-no. I'll be here. All summer." Then, as Ms 
Miller nodded slowly, "I went to fat camp last year. I hated it."

"I hated it when I went, too."

Annabel's eyes widened disbelievingly. "You went to fat camp?" she squeaked.

Ms Miller laughed, "Wouldn't believe it, would you?" She held out a hand and 
rippled her fingers, muscle moving visibly under her blouse. "I've gone a bit the other 
way now, haven't I? I *taught* at fat camp last summer, and I hated that, too. But 
seriously, when I started high school, if I stood with my toes against a wall I would 
have fallen over backwards."

Annabel giggled at the thought.

"So, my parents sent me to fat camp. For three years running, until it stuck. Well, that 
and being bullied for not being able to see my feet." Ms Miller sighed reflectively. 
"And then, in my senior year, one of my friends got me into weightlifting, and 
suddenly I wasn't fat. Or being bullied."

Annabel didn't answer. This, she knew, was what Ms Miller had really come for.

After a few moments silence, Ms Miller looked away and said, "You know, I spoke to 
the assistant principal this morning, and he gave me a shortlist of people who might 
have beaten you." Another short pause, "And I called Doctor Greene, to check. He 
said you hadn't been raped, so it wasn't Michael Foster. And neither of the McKee 
twins were in school yesterday." She stopped talking again. Annabel sat in silence.

Ms Miller sighed, and said, "That only leaves Eleanor Pounds, doesn't it?"

Annabel stared silently at her teacher, who seemed fascinated by a tree on the far side 
of the road.

Finally, the older woman stretched and rubbed herself against the railing like a cat. 
She gave an odd, throaty grumble and started talking. "Eleanor's not the first high 
school girl I've seen on an offensive line. Jenny the Hammer was a bully, too, but she 
pushed a friend of mine too far and Lynda hammered her entire clique. Right on the 
front steps of the school, on the first day of the school year. And by the end of that 
year, they knew better than to try anything. Because by then, there were three or four 
of us, who would take them outside if they did." She turned to the girl on the porch 
swing, "Now, I'm a teacher, so I can't officially endorse that sort of thing, but it's the 
only way I know to stop bullying."

"But, but, she's – huge! I can't fight her!" protested Annabel.

"No, you can't. But Lynda, my friend? The semester she beat Jenny that first time, we 
had a gym class on weight training. Lynda bench-pressed with every single plate in 
the school gym. Most of the boys couldn't lift her one-arm curl weights however they 
tried. Before summer, she had weighed two-thirds what you do now, and couldn't lift 
a full shopping bag." Ms Miller stood up to leave. "She's working in town, at the 
Gallagher BioChem labs. She put me up till I found my own place." She straightened 
her skirt, and continued, "I've got to go; I've got a date tonight. If you want to talk, 
I'll be at school most days – I have to set up for next year." She smiled, and squeezed 
Annabel's hand. "I hope you will. Look after yourself. 'Bye now."

Annabel watched her stroll down the steps to her car and drive away. When her mom 
came out, she closed her hand around the little piece of paper Ms Miller had left there.

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel lay on her bed in the darkness, and fantasised. A face was in her mind's eye, 
a familiar face wearing an unfamiliar expression: fear. Respect. And bruises, although 
that wasn't an expression. Annabel wanted, just once, to see Eleanor Pounds to look 
at anyone with that expression.

Annabel dearly wanted to see Eleanor Pounds to look at her with that expression.

She dearly wanted to put her fist in that face.

Annabel's art-class enhanced imagination – the only sophomore ever asked by Mr 
Harper (the old art teacher) to help with his annual mural project, winner of the all-
state fiction prize (for a short story she had been ashamed of, it was so bad) – could 
easily project any expression onto any face she could remember.

She couldn't imagine getting strong enough to defend herself against Eleanor Pounds.

But Ms Miller had said her friend had been lighter than Annabel just one summer 
break before beating up a girl who sounded just like Eleanor, and even though 
Annabel was softly unfit, that surely meant she had been weaker than Annabel was 
now.

So maybe she should at least ask how to do it.

-_-  *  -_-

On Sunday afternoon, Annabel dialled the number written on the piece of paper Ms 
Miller had given her on Friday, and had a long conversation with her teacher.

On Monday morning, the telephone rang while her parents were eating breakfast. The 
caller, a Dr Merkle, apologised for disturbing them at home and explained that she 
was a friend of Katherine Miller, the high school art teacher, and was working on a 
treatment to accelerate bone regeneration. Would they be willing for their daughter to 
participate in clinical trials?

On Tuesday, Mr Martins returned home at lunchtime. Annabel was sitting on the back 
porch, a small easel in front of her. An impressionistic vision of the back garden had 
taken shape in watercolours since he helped her set up that morning; he peered over 
her shoulder as she chewed the end of her paintbrush.

"Hello baby. Are you ready for lunch?"

"Umm...yes, please, Dad. Does this look all right, Dad?"

"You should ask your mother that, really. She's the artist."

"Daaad, you always say that. And Mom won't be back for hours. Does it look all 
right?"

Gordon peered closer. The piece was similar to one she had done only three weeks 
before: same subject, same style, same viewpoint. And yet...

"There's something about the style...You're usually more...fluid? Flowing?" He 
scratched his head. "Something, anyway."

"It's this thing," she said, waving her cast-wrapped right arm. "I can't move my 
fingers properly, so all the brushstrokes are shorter. Does it look all right, though?"

"Ah. Yes, it does." He paused a moment. "Actually, it looks better than your usual 
work. Perhaps because you have to pay more attention?"

"Um." Annabel looked at the picture closely herself. "Thanks..."

"I'll make lunch. We have to be quick, I'm afraid; I got held up at the office, and Dr 
Merkle is expecting us at two."

-_-  *  -_-

Mr Martins parked outside the Gallagher BioChem Corporation's small research 
laboratory complex and helped his daughter out of the car; she hadn't mastered her 
crutches enough to get out without assistance. A burly security guard came out of the 
main door.

"Excuse me, sir. This is a private parking area."

"We have an appointment with Dr Merkle. Two o'clock. Annabel Martins – I'm her 
father."

"Ah." Suddenly they were important guests. The guard held the door for Annabel, and 
went to the phone in his cubical. "If you'll both sign in, I'll call Dr Merkle."

Annabel took one of the chairs in the comfortable reception area, and signed the guest 
book when her father gave it to her. The guard was just giving them their visitor 
badges when Dr Merkle walked in.

Annabel's first thought was that she was fat, but she corrected herself immediately: 
Dr Merkle was big. She was about 5 foot 10 tall, with shoulders over half as wide as 
she was tall. Her lab coat – spotlessly white, unbelted and obviously custom made – 
would have concealed almost any figure, but her effortless flowing movements were 
not those of an overweight woman. They were more akin to the movements of a 
hunting tiger. Annabel suddenly felt very small, and weak. The security guard 
suddenly looked average, her father feeble.

"Hello, Annabel, Mr Martins. I'm Lynda Merkle," said the powerhouse, smiling 
disarmingly. Brown eyes twinkled behind large spectacles, and straight white teeth 
shone between her lips. "Shall we take this to my office?"

Mr Martins stammered, "Y-yes, th-that sounds good, Doctor Merkle."

"Oh, call me Lynda. 'Doctor' sounds stuffy." She offered a hand to Annabel, who 
took it and found herself being lifted effortlessly from the seat. "Katherine – Ms 
Miller, that is – tells me you're an art type, like her?"

Annabel nodded dumbly.

"I guess you won't be interested in a lab tour, then. I couldn't show you much, really, 
confidentiality agreements and the like. We do a lot of contract analysis work." She 
shrugged, and went on, "If you'll come with me? Would you like a coffee?"
Soon they were sitting in Dr Merkle's small office, each with a steaming mug of 
coffee. Dr Merkle's desk was tucked against one wall, a packed bookcase opposite. 
Dr Merkle knelt on something resembling the mad offspring of an office chair and a 
piece of freeform sculpture, and had borrowed two guest chairs from a nearby 
conference room.

"Now, I have to explain something about the procedure. You both know this is 
experimental, tested on lab animals only to date, and there may be side effects. I know 
what some of those side effects will be, but I cannot know them all yet. I have to have 
you sign a consent, to confirm at a later date that you were aware of this. In your case, 
Annabel, your father has to sign. 

"The treatment is very simple, just a couple of tablets taken twice a day. It works by 
directly accelerating the normal healing processes, specifically those for bones. 
There's some overspill onto other tissue, as well, so I'll want to monitor that ankle as 
well as the arm. Now, as your ER doctor should have told you, it normally takes about 
four weeks before a broken bone is sound enough to remove the cast, and another two 
to four weeks to completely heal. The treatment should reduce that to two weeks total, 
perhaps a bit less. Given that you're already nearly a week into the healing at normal 
pace, I expect to have you back to normal in twelve days.

"For the experiment, I will need to closely monitor the healing, and that means x-rays. 
Now, normally you would not have, and no doctor would recommend, repeated x-rays 
at the frequency we will need. I have to tell you that, even with the modern 
equipment, there is the possibility of long-term effects from the x-rays. On the other 
hand, there is the possibility of tripping on your shoelace as you walk out of this 
office and breaking your neck when you fall."

Annabel raised a hand. "Um, how often will I have to be x-rayed?"

Dr Merkle smiled. "I'll want to see you every day. We have a suitable x-ray system 
here at the lab, so we don't have to clutter up the hospital facilities; they aren't a 
research hospital, so they only have the facilities they actually need themselves."

"Would you need me along every time?" asked Mr Martins.

"That depends entirely on you. I have no need for your presence, but I fully 
understand if you're reluctant to leave your daughter undefended at the mercy of a 
pack of mad scientists." She grinned at her own joke. "If you'd like, I have a 
suggestion, and it will be good for me as well. I have this bad habit of working until 
all hours; if we arrange for Annabel to come in at, say, five-thirty each night, we can 
run the tests and I can deliver her home again. Would that be acceptable?"

"That sounds good. Is that all right with you, Annabel?"

"Yes, Dad. I can get here on my own, too. It's close enough."

"Good, we'll do that, then." Mr Martins nodded. "Um, you mentioned side effects?"

"Yes. What I'm expecting is increased energy, restlessness. Generally, you'll be a bit 
hyper. Oh, and you'll have to watch your diet; the treatment accelerates the normal 
healing process, but if you don't take in enough calcium and so on, your body will try 
to extract it from healthy tissue. Which would be a bad thing," she added, smiling 
again. "Any other questions? No? Do you want to do this?"

Annabel nodded firmly before her father could speak, but Dr Merkle waited for him 
to decide.

"Yes."

"Great. I've got the consent form just here...You know, Annabel will be the youngest 
test subject so far. I have three others at the moment, but they're all adults. Thank 
you." She took the consent form back from Mr Martins, tore off and handed him the 
top sheet, and stood up. "Shall we go down to the lab, then?"

A technician met them outside the lab, a room fitted out as a medical examining 
room. She helped Dr Merkle take the x-rays of Annabel's arm and ankle, and took 
notes as Dr Merkle measured her carefully. 5 foot 7 tall, 170 pounds ("A bit high, 
there."), 38" bust, 31" waist, 40" hips and 26" thighs; oddly, Dr Merkle measured her 
in places no one had ever needed to measure her before. 16" calves, 12" upper arms, 
10" lower arms – at least the one not encased in plaster – all softened by a layer of 
subcutaneous fat cultivated by sedentary hobbies and a sweet tooth.

While she was carefully measuring Annabel's neck, and her father was distracted 
talking to the technician, Dr Merkle murmured, "Katherine told me what happened. 
Told me about the talk you had on Sunday, too." Then, as Annabel's eyes widened, 
"Can you come in a bit early tomorrow? I may be able to give a hand."

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel arrived at four forty-five the next day. Dr Merkle had her come up to her 
office again, and they sat down. This time, instead of simply sweeping the lab coat out 
of her way, Dr Merkle hung it on the back of the door before she sat. She sipped her 
coffee for a few moments, letting Annabel stare.

Dr Merkle wasn't big. She was huge. She had to weigh twice what Annabel did, and 
yet, except for her breasts, she seemed to have no body fat at all. She was wearing 
snug-fitting jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. Her thighs were almost as wide as 
Annabel's overly thick waist, and her relaxed biceps dwarfed Annabel's calves. Her 
breasts pushed the soft blouse away from her abs, but a Sam Brown belt pulled her 
jeans in to a waist most of Annabel's peers would have died for. Annabel found 
herself shrinking in her chair, totally intimidated by this mountain of muscle.

Eventually, Dr Merkle placed her coffee cup beside her computer – her lats flaring 
like wings as she reached behind her – picked a small journal off her desk and turned 
her full attention on her guest. "So, now you have an idea of what the human body 
can be built into. I built myself into this," she gestured at her imposing physique, 
"because I wanted to pay someone back for a year of brutality. It took dedication, 
determination, and work." She looked seriously at the young girl in front of her.

Annabel simply stared back at her, like a mouse watching an owl.

"I'm frightening you, aren't I?"

Annabel nodded jerkily, never taking her eyes off Dr Merkle.

"Just because I'm so big?"

Annabel nodded again.

"And you don't believe I was ever bullied, do you?"

Annabel shook her head.

"You don't believe Katherine – Ms Miller – was ever bullied either, do you?"

Another shake of her head.

Dr Merkle sighed. "That's what we thought. And you may well be in worse case than 
Katherine thought." She opened the small journal at the first page, and held it out to 
Annabel. "Here, read through this."

Annabel didn't move for several seconds, paralysed by sheer intimidation. Dr Merkle 
sat totally still, holding the journal still, as though trying to feed wild birds from her 
hand. Annabel eventually took the book. She looked at the first page, glancing back 
up at Dr Merkle instantly; but she hadn't moved, still patiently waiting for the bird to 
come to her hand. She looked back at the journal.

The first page had three Polaroids taped neatly to it, showing a near-naked, 
bespectacled high school girl standing in her bedroom. One showed her facing the 
camera with her hands at her sides, one showed her in profile, and the last showed her 
in a classic double bicep pose. She was tall, but not much short of anorexic: her ribs 
showed all around her bra (which was barely needed to hold her underdeveloped 
breasts), her knees were actually wider than her thighs, and in the biceps pose her 
tensed muscles seemed hardly more defined than in the relaxed images. Fresh bruises 
peppered her arms and body. Opposite, below a heading of 'Day 1', two neatly 
handwritten tables recorded vital statistics and performance in several identified lifts. 
A tersely worded report indicated that she had spent two hours with a personal trainer, 
learning the use of weight-training equipment and working out a program of 
exercises.

She turned the page. Once again, three Polaroids showed the girl's figure in the same 
poses; except for a different bedspread, the first two were distinguishable from the 
first page only because the girl was no longer bruised. In the third, her muscles were a 
little more defined, but that could have been a trick of the light. Opposite, under the 
heading 'Day 8', the same two tables recorded exactly the same vital statistics and 
performances. The report stated only that two hours of daily exercise was cutting into 
reading time.

On the next page, the three Polaroids once again displayed little change; a precarious 
pile of textbooks in the background, definite but still small improvements in muscle 
definition. Under the heading 'Day 15', the tables showed slight increase in muscle 
size and slight improvements in strength. The short report expressed disappointment 
with the progress so far, stating in uncharacteristically emotional terms that 'I will 
need ten years to get anywhere at this rate.'

Underneath, a final paragraph read: 'Day 16, 11:50pm: I have decided to apply my 
own strengths to this project. I will ask Mom for some lab time at breakfast.'

On 'Day 22', the fourth set of photographs showed distinct changes to the girl's body; 
Annabel's artist's eyes picking out the increased definition and mass so easily she 
didn't need the increased statistics in the first table to confirm them. The second table 
showed what those enlarged muscles could do, almost as big an improvement in one 
week as in the two before. Below, the report read, 'Started taking 'Power Shake' 
before afternoon workout on Day 19. Immediate subjective effects detected, 
confirmed by figures recorded above. Some detail refinements of formula appear 
possible; anticipate completion of this work will take some time, so I will continue lab 
work at least two days per week.'

The fifth set of photographs showed even more dramatic gains, and Annabel started to 
flip through the pages quicker, only occasionally reading the reports, even less often 
reading the tabulated figures which reduced the spectacular growth portrayed in the 
pictures to soulless numbers. As she became more engrossed in the growth recorded 
in the innocent-looking journal, she started skipping pages, flipping ahead to see ever 
more outrageous displays of feminine muscle.

Finally, the little post-it note stuck out about halfway through the journal attracted her 
too much. She looked up at her hostess for the first time, to see her leaning back 
against her desk with an indulgent smile. Emboldened, Annabel turned straight to the 
marked page. The report read, 'Provoked attack by Jenny Hummer and her gang as 
soon as I entered school grounds. Combination of bodybuilding and T'ai Chi a 
definite success; one against five was unfair in my favour. Jenny attempted a 
retaliatory attack at lunchtime, and received a detention for breaking one of the chairs 
in the canteen; she hit me across the back with it. Several other students approached 
me about my growth; am considering helping some to build up over the school year, 
and teaching them T'ai Chi.' The tables documented a body of mammoth proportions: 
58" chest, 26"waist, 40" thighs, 22" calves, 18" forearms, 23" upper arms, 32" across 
her shoulders. Her strength was amazing: 2500 lbs in the leg press, 1250 on her 
bench, 300 lbs for one hand bicep curl (which surely wasn't possible with any normal 
dumbbell). All had the mysterious notation '10 reps' beside them. The heading read 
'Day 86'.

The photos drove home the difference, to Annabel; to her, the numbers were of 
limited use, the image much the better way of conveying the sheer size of this 
superwoman. She nearly filled the frame, heavily muscled arms falling from bowling 
ball shoulders, treetrunk thighs supporting steel plated abdomen, vast sports bra 
supporting huge breasts while a slender thong merely accented her lower body. The 
difference between her appearance in the 'relaxed' poses and in the 'biceps' pose was 
dramatic, too, muscles bulging that Annabel didn't even know existed, that sports bra 
obviously stressed almost beyond it's ultimate limits. Annabel turned back to the first 
page: the stick figure there was standing in the same room, with the same spread on 
the bed and the same glasses on her nose. She couldn't possibly have moved the 
heavy wooden bed herself; the amazon in the later picture probably picked it up 
instead of kneeling to look under it.

The photos drove something drove something else home to Annabel. She hadn't 
noticed in the first photographs – the physical discrepancy was simply too great even 
for her to see past – but the last page definitely showed a teenaged Dr Merkle. 
Annabel looked up, and back down, comparing the photographs with the woman in 
front of her.

The third time she looked up, Dr Merkle had her hands raised above her head; when 
she was sure Annabel was paying attention, she began slowly tensing her arms and 
upper body into a biceps pose like those in the journal. Gradually, her upper arms 
expanded, turning from smooth, bulky promise to huge reality; her lats spread, pulling 
her blouse taut across her breasts; her shoulders grew, from rounded hills to high 
mountains; and still she stressed her muscles further. Annabel watched, mesmerised, 
as the sleeves of her blouse started to roll up away from those football-plus sized 
biceps, as wrinkles developed in diagonal lines across her chest from shoulder to 
nipple, as the material pulled gently apart between the buttons; and still she flexed. 
Annabel's eyes started to bug out as Dr Merkle broadened, lats pressing with insane 
force against a blouse obviously designed for this treatment, shoulders rising, her 
biceps expanding until they were as large as Annabel's thighs.

Suddenly, Dr Merkle's chest leapt forwards, her breasts taking up the last of the slack 
in the blouse as they flattened out against the fabric. Annabel leapt back in her chair, 
startled by the split-second surge of growth. Dr Merkle stifled a laugh, and relaxed.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't very kind of me." Unselfconsciously, she opened several 
buttons of her blouse and reached in to refasten her bra, explaining, "I undid most of 
the hooks on my bra before I came down to collect you. Still, it's a graphic 
demonstration of just how muscular I am." She bent forwards and picked the journal 
up off the floor, placing it neatly on her desk. "How strong do you need to be?"

Annabel stared at her, amazed. Surely she wasn't suggesting... "H-how strong?"

"Mm-hm."

"Could I be as strong as you?" she whispered.

Dr Merkle paused in thought. "It would take a lot of work. I didn't reach this size 
until nearly three years after I left high school."

"B-but..." Annabel gestured slightly towards the journal.

"Oh, most of it came in that first summer. But I kept building up for another four 
years, so you shouldn't expect to reach my size before school starts next year." She 
shook her head. "Still, that isn't what I asked – how strong do you need to be? Who 
do you need to defend against?"

"Elean," Annabel stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fearful. Dr Merkle watched her 
soberly for several seconds, compassion clear on her face, but Annabel didn't finish.

Finally, Dr Merkle said, "Well, that's something for another time. For now, can you 
stand on that ankle? Without the crutch?"

Hesitantly, Annabel nodded.

Dr Merkle stood, and held a hand out to Annabel. "Come with me, then. We need a 
bit more space for this."

She led the way through the building to a medium-sized room on the ground floor. It 
had obviously been intended as a small laboratory, and a workbench with power 
points still ran along one long wall under the windows, but the floor had been cleared 
and several exercise machines moved in. One end of the room had been left empty 
except for thin crashmats on the floor. The only occupant of the room was a thin 
elderly man using a rowing machine with surprising vigour.

Dr Merkle led Annabel to the edge of the crashmats, saying, "I can't start you on 
weight training until your arm and ankle are properly healed; you'll only do yourself 
even more injury. But, you don't always need strength to fight. Do you, Harry?" she 
added to the elderly man.

"No, indeed, Lynda. No, indeed."

"Harry was mugged three weeks ago. What did you do to him, Harry?"

"I cleaned his clock, Lynda," said Harry, with evident pride. "Are you going to be 
teaching her too?"

"I am, Harry."

"You listen well to Lynda, girl. She knows what she's doing."

"Thank you, Harry." Dr Merkle kicked her shoes off. "Now, what I'm going to teach 
you is called T'ai Chi. I've been studying T'ai Chi for seven years now; my teacher 
studied for over forty before she took me as a pupil, and still thinks she is learning. 
T'ai Chi can be a martial art, but it's much more than that; it helps you gain an inner 
balance, physical and mental. It focuses your energies, your *chi*, and calms your 
emotions, and helps you to think clearly." She turned to Annabel, and drew her onto 
the mats. "It also won't aggravate your injuries. We'll start with a warm-up, and then 
you'll learn the first section of the Yang T'ai Chi Chuan solo form."

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel lay on her bed in the darkness, and thought. A face was in her mind's eye, a 
familiar face wearing an unfamiliar expression: fear. Respect. And bruises, although 
that wasn't an expression. Annabel wanted, just once, to see Eleanor Pounds to look 
at anyone with that expression.

Annabel dearly wanted to see Eleanor Pounds to look at her with that expression.

She dearly wanted to put her fist in that face.

And she could already see how the basic moves she had been taught could be applied 
to let her do it.

Dr Merkle had patiently led her through the first movements of the solo form, helping 
her to find the right postures, and the artist in Annabel had immediately been drawn to 
the intrinsic grace of the art. Half an hour of tuition was enough to hook her for life.

Half an hour of tuition let her know that Dr Merkle had a lot she could teach, and that 
she was willing to teach it.

The question was, did Annabel have the courage to learn?

-_-  *  -_-

Day by day, Annabel's focus improved, her *chi* strengthening as she began to 
understand the mysteries behind the exercises Dr Merkle showed her. At Dr Merkle's 
suggestion, she started practicing T'ai Chi each morning when she got up, as well as 
for three quarters of an hour each afternoon at the lab before her x-ray.

On the Saturday, Dr Merkle had her follow the T'ai Chi with a session on the 
exercise bike, as the machine least likely to injure her still-weak ankle and arm. She 
got home later, but still in good time for dinner; so Dr Merkle made that a regular part 
of her visits.

After the Monday session, Dr Merkle considered the arm well enough healed for the 
cast to come off, so on Tuesday she took Annabel back to the hospital, where Dr 
Greene took a second x-ray and then, much impressed by the treatment, cut the cast 
off. That afternoon, Dr Merkle gave Annabel a diet sheet, and a tougher workout than 
any before.

On the second Friday, Annabel asked Dr Merkle to teach her as much as possible over 
the holiday. Dr Merkle had nodded slowly. She also checked out Annabel's old bike 
when she took her home, and declared it adequate for Annabel to ride to the lab on the 
next day.

That Saturday, Dr Merkle had her do fifteen minutes on the rowing machine instead 
of the cycle, and then set the pace as they cycled to Annabel's home. Annabel was 
impressed that Dr Merkle wasn't even breathing hard when they arrived; she was 
mortified when Dr Merkle left at nearly twice the speed they had come.

That Sunday, Dr Merkle decided Annabel's arm and ankle were both fully recovered; 
it was time, she said, to start getting serious about training.

"Serious, Dr Merkle?" panted Annabel, not yet recovered from twenty minutes on the 
rowing machine. Inside, she felt excited and nervous; excited that she might, perhaps, 
be able to avoid being beaten half to death next year, nervous because she had really 
no idea what the training would be like. She trusted Dr Merkle, but was still afraid 
that being taught to fight would hurt until she learned how to fight back.

"Serious, Annabel Martins. You'll need hard exercise until you go back to school to 
be sure of being ready." Ready for what, she didn't say – out loud. "Katherine and I 
are going to Bryson's Gym and Bar. Meet us outside, at eight o'clock, and I'll get you 
started."

"Will they let me in?" asked Annabel, "I mean, I'm only sixteen, I'm not allowed in 
bars."

"You're allowed in gyms, though." Dr Merkle sighed. "It's a posing shop, really, but 
it's the only place in town with a decent range of equipment. Jimmy will let you 
become a member if I say so."

And so it proved. Annabel arrived at Bryson's promptly at eight o'clock to find Dr 
Merkle and Ms Miller chatting near the side entrance on Brick Lane with two or three 
friends. Annabel hovered nervously, but Dr Merkle must have seen her arriving and 
called her over, casually introducing her to the others. Dr Merkle then led her inside, 
and talked the owner into giving her membership in the gym.

When that was done, she led the way to a room partitioned off from the main gym. 
One wall was mirrored almost floor to ceiling, pictures of people in karate clothes 
were pinned up on another, and crashmats were stored in a pile in one corner. It 
seemed their entry was a signal, because Ms Miller and all the other people from the 
group outside followed them in, and several others as well. Annabel looked to her 
mentor for explanation, which was forthcoming: Dr Merkle led an informal T'ai Chi 
session every Sunday and Wednesday night, and on Saturday mornings. Entry was by 
invitation only.

Then she turned to the others. "All right, everyone. This is Annabel; she's only just 
started T'ai Chi, so I'll be coaching her for the session. Katherine, you lead; Harry, 
would you take the back of the group. Is everyone ready?" A few people threw off 
sweatshirts or shoes, but soon everyone was in a space and ready. Annabel stood 
beside Dr Merkle near one wall. "Warm-up, please, Katherine."

Ms Miller, reflected in the mirrored wall, smiled, laced her fingers together and 
reached forwards in the first move of the familiar warm-up.

An hour later, her heart beating firmly, Annabel sat beside Dr Merkle on the stack of 
crashmats as the other members of the group left. Dr Merkle opened her bag and 
removed three bottles, but waited until only Ms Miller was left, standing quietly 
inside the door to the room, before talking.

"You remember reading my journal?"

Annabel nodded.

"Do you remember how I spent just over two weeks with almost no progress at all, 
and then started bulking up?"

"Y-es..."

"Can you remember why?"

Annabel paused, and thought. The journal had mentioned something… "I...It said 
something about a 'shake'? Something shake..."

" 'Power Shake,'" confirmed Dr Merkle. "I developed it, extended the theory into my 
PhD, and then into the tissue regeneration therapies Gallagher BioChem are testing 
now. Like the one you've been on." She held up one of the bottles. "This contains one 
dose of the final version of the original 'Power Shake,' after I spent six months 
optimising it. It's the main reason I could build up so big, so fast."

Annabel looked at the innocent-looking bottle suspiciously; she had been reading a 
few of the weightlifting and martial arts magazines since deciding to learn how to 
fight back, and had learnt about supplements...and other things. "Steroids?"

Dr Merkle smiled, like a teacher encouraging a favourite pupil; Ms Miller laughed 
softly. "No. Steroids don't work that fast, unless maybe if you take them in the kind 
of quantities we aren't ever going to do medical trials on. And they have side effects I 
wanted nothing to do with, and still don't. No, this is a cocktail of totally natural 
substances in a milk base which, together, boost the body's ability to build muscle 
tissue."

"Oh." Annabel looked at the bottle for several long moments. "Does it have any side 
effects?"

Ms Miller laughed again, and walked over. "Yes, it does. Annabel, what, other than 
our muscles, is most prominent about Lynda and I?" She picked up one of the other 
two bottles, checked the handwritten label, and unscrewed the top. Annabel stared at 
her art teacher, trying to answer the question. Ms Miller took a long drink from the 
bottle, inhaling deeply. Very deeply; and she was looking at Annabel out of the corner 
of her eye with a quirk of a grin on her lips.

Annabel blushed, and stuttered, "You, your b-breasts, are, are..."

"Big?"

Annabel nodded, dumbly.

"Side effect number one. What are the others, Lynda? I forget them all, I've gotten 
used to them now."

"Increased mental acuity, increased general stamina, reduced requirement for rest, 
improved skin tone, and some age-related effects I don't fully understand yet. They're 
not dangerous," she reassured her prot้g้, "just counterintuitive and confusing. I'm 
still working on them."

"Is it safe?" pressed Annabel.

Ms Miller tapped the bottle in her hand. "This is a modified version, for those of us 
who don't want to grow any more. Just a maintenance dose for the side effects," she 
said. "Lynda and I have been drinking these for seven years now and the only time I 
ever see my doctor is my annual checkups."

Annabel took the bottle from Dr Merkle, who picked up the last bottle and drank from 
it. After a moment's thought, Annabel followed suit.

"I'll give you a package of the basic ingredients for the 'Power Shake' when we finish 
tonight. Start with one shake before your afternoon workout each day." She finished 
her bottle, took Ms Miller's empty and put both back in her bag. "Now, finish up and 
we'll introduce you to weightlifting."

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel put everything she had into the weightlifting, but was still humbled when Dr 
Merkle rescued her from a too-heavy bench press bar with one hand. At the end of a 
one-hour session, Dr Merkle told her to do a similar session each day, weights after 
T'ai Chi, and another session of cardiovascular exercise; riding her bike somewhere, 
or jogging, even swimming, would be more interesting than the treadmills, rowing 
machines and stationary bikes which were all a gym could offer. Annabel wasn't to 
worry about how much she ate, only that she ate healthily, and was welcome to come 
to the T'ai Chi sessions.

Annabel threw herself into the exercise, devoting four hours of the day to it, and 
another one and a half to preparing and eating the meals she suddenly found she 
needed. Her parents would have noticed, and worried about, the sudden increase in 
her appetite, except that her mom was buried with problems with her current 
commission and had even started going to work on Saturdays regularly, and her father 
got a sudden assignment to a branch office in South Africa. Annabel watched the taxi 
take him away to the airport on Wednesday, made dinner (leaving her mother's 
serving in the oven to stay warm) and set off on a seven-mile cycle ride which just 
happened to end at Granny Carver's, the buffet across the road from Bryson's. As she 
was settling into a corner booth with her tray, a soft voice caught her attention.
"Annabel?"

She turned; Marcia Jacq, president of the school chess club, captain of the chess team 
and cheerleader, stood behind her wearing the long skirt, starched blouse and apron 
Granny Carver insisted on for her female employees. "Annabel, you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why, what...?"

"It's just, last day of school, Nicki said she heard one of the teachers say you were in 
hospital, and Janine said she saw you with crutches like on Friday after that and," she 
dropped her voice to a whisper, "the Pounder was boasting about beating you up last 
time I saw her in Bryson's."

"She goes to Bryson's?" hissed Annabel.

"Yeah, every day," replied Marcia. "Why so surprised? Her dad got her a membership 
like, five years ago or something."

"When does she work out?"

Marcia looked at her quizzically. "Late mornings, mostly. She's too lazy to get there 
before. Most of her gang go along as well." She rubbed her arm uncomfortably. "You 
weren't thinking of trying to get back at her were you? She'll beat you to a pulp!"

"She already did," said Annabel shortly, and turned her attention to her tray.

Marcia's mouth dropped open. "Oh god how bad?"

"Don't ask. I'm better now."

Marcia was a compassionate young woman; the deep pain buried in Annabel's voice 
and body language called out to her core. Rather than pressing her, she changed the 
subject. "Are you doing anything this summer?"

"N-nothing much. Painting, writing, you know."

"Same as me, then. 'Cept, of course, no painting, no writing, and full time for Granny 
Carver." She took a deep breath, and said, "Look, if you want to get back at..."

"No!" interrupted Annabel. Then, blushing, she looked around the restaurant; none of 
the few customers seemed to have noticed her outburst, but Tommy Carver was 
looking curiously out of the kitchen. "No, I...I can't. I...I..."

Marcia's shoulders fell slightly in disappointment. "I've gotta go..."

Annabel nodded, but neither girl really wanted to end the conversation; Marcia 
hesitated before leaving, and Annabel watched her go.

Marcia did notice when Annabel left, and noticed that she mounted her bike and rode 
it down Brick Lane instead of towards her home.

Annabel walked through the back entrance into Bryson's; the receptionist recognised 
her and waved lazily. It occurred to Annabel that she was already a familiar face here. 
She went to the women's changing room, opened a locker and changed from jeans 
and t-shirt to sweats. As she did, several other women arrived and started changing; 
one recognised Annabel and struck up a conversation, and Annabel walked out to the 
T'ai Chi session with her.

Once again, Dr Merkle took a place beside Annabel for the session, coaching her 
through the moves of the solo form as Ms Miller lead the group. When the session 
ended, Annabel picked up the bottle of 'Power Shake' she had brought, irritatedly 
pulling on her cuffs. Dr Merkle noticed.

"Outgrowing your sweats?"

"A bit. These were already a bit small." Annabel took a swig of the 'Power Shake'. 
"What's odd is, they're getting looser around my waist and ass, but they're getting 
short."

"Oh." Dr Merkle seemed nonplussed. "Well, when you replace them, go for a set 
that's a good bit too big; you'll grow into them."

Annabel grinned around the neck of her drinks bottle. That sounds good, she thought.

After the weights session that followed, she asked Ms Miller if there was anything she 
needed help with to prepare for the next school year.

On Thursday, she started helping to reorganise things in the art department, mornings 
only.

On Friday, she was surprised to find her mother in the kitchen when she came in from 
her morning T'ai Chi session in the garden.

"What was that you were doing, dear?" she asked.

"T-T'ai Chi Chuan, Mom."

"Where did you pick that up?"

"Dr Merkle – the doctor who fixed my arm? – she's been teaching me."

"Oh. It looks beautiful." She turned back to the stove. "Would you get me some 
orange juice, dear?"

Annabel got out the orange juicer and grabbed the fruit bowl. A silence fell as mother 
and daughter made breakfast together. Neither spoke – beyond 'pass the milk' – until 
Mrs Martins got up to leave.

"Would you tidy up, please, Annabel?"

"Sure, Mom."

"Thanks." Mrs Martins picked up her bag and opened the door.  "Would she teach 
me, do you think?"

"What, Mom?"

"Dr Merkle. Would she teach me T'ai Chi?"

"I – I don't know Mom. I can ask her…"

"Thank you, dear. Have a good time today. Oh, I forgot – I've got my clients coming 
today for an update. I expect I'll be having dinner with them tonight, so I'll be late 
home."

"Ok Mom."

-_-  *  -_-

By the end of June, Annabel's mom was a regular at the Sunday and Wednesday T'ai 
Chi sessions at Bryson's, and was joining her for T'ai Chi on the back lawn every 
morning. Annabel was spending her mornings with Ms Miller organising the art 
department, or sometimes on loan to one of the other teachers, often the librarian. Her 
afternoons were spent with her easel, painting, often in the woods near the town.

One afternoon had been spent at the mall with some of her friends. While Tara bought 
a pair of earrings the size of her palm, and Carolyn bought a book about horses, 
Annabel picked up two sets of sweats (two sizes too large, as advised) and a heart rate 
monitor. She also bought two new bras; she had gone down one band size, but up a 
cup size to an honest, if still slightly fat-augmented, D.

In the gym, she was lifting respectable weights: she was up to 180 pounds for reps on 
the bench press, curling 75 with both hands, and could leg press 400 pounds. Her 
plump starting point meant that her old workout clothes were actually looser than 
when she started, as the layer of fat was slowly replaced with an equal mass of 
muscle. She was surprised by her trainer's response to this.

"Eat more," Dr Merkle told her.

"What?"

"Eat more. You need to maintain a minimum amount of fat on your body, and you 
could develop muscle quicker if your body didn't have to pull resources out of the fat 
you already have to do it," she explained. "If you keep exercising, and stick to the diet 
I recommended, you won't gain fat; only muscle."

"Oh. OK, I'll try. It won't be hard; I've been hungry."

"Yes, you will be." Dr Merkle said. "Your body knows it needs the nutrients. That's 
why hunger hurts."

Annabel looked at her mentor with a quizzical expression. Dr Merkle explained, 

"Pleasure whispers. Reason speaks. Pain shouts. That way you pay attention."

"Oh. Right."

"How strong do you want to get? You're doing quite well as it is, but you could do 
better."

Annabel thought, looking down at her hands. She moved her fingers, gently flexing 
them in the air, thoughtlessly loosening the joints of hand and wrist. She could see her 
muscles moving under her skin, and had already decided she liked it. She looked up 
where her mentor had picked up a pair of 50-pound dumbbells and was idly trying to 
juggle them. Annabel had learned to juggle once.

"Those aren't balanced right for that."

"What? Oh, these? They don't feel bad..."

"No..." Annabel leaned over and took a third dumbbell off the rack, and quickly 
moved all the weights to one end of the bar. She balanced the result in one hand, and 
suddenly made a decision. "You get me strong enough to do it, and I'll teach you how 
to juggle these properly."

Dr Merkle bounced the weights in her hand. "You'll have to get nearly as strong as 
me for that."

"That's right."

"Ah." Dr Merkle bit her lip for a moment, and then nodded sharply. "All right. You'll 
need start drinking the 'Power Shake' and doing a weights session twice a day, and 
keep up your cardiovascular work as well. And one other thing. If you're going to be 
teaching me, would you please call me Lynda? This 'Dr Merkle' business is...There's 
something else, isn't there?"

"Yes. Elea..." Annabel took a breath. "The girl who beat me? She's a m-member 
here. One of my friends says she works out here every day. Every morning."

"And you've been working out every evening?"

Annabel nodded.

"I noticed you looked stressed on Saturday. I take it you don't want her to see you 
building up?"

Annabel shook her head firmly. "No way. This has got to be a surprise."

"It will be. In fact, if you build up like I did, it'll be a shock." Dr Merkle grinned 
coldly. "All right, start taking two 'Power Shakes' a day, and do more cv work until 
one of us figures out how to get you some weights time in the morning. I've got one 
idea, but I can't just offer it straight off."

-_-  *  -_-

'Doing more cv work' had been running – not jogging – into the hills each afternoon 
after lunch with her sketchpad in a small backpack. She would run until her heart 
pounded violently and the sweat ran down her face and sides. Then, she would take a 
drink of juice and dry herself off on a towel which she could then use as a head rest as 
she leant against a tree and sketched. Often she would use it as a pillow for a short 
nap. When she was rested she jogged back home. Each day, she ran out and jogged 
back greater and greater distances.

Lynda found a way for Annabel to work out each morning; she got permission for 
Annabel to visit her each morning and share her own workout in the private gym at 
her apartment complex. Annabel soon became a familiar sight to the guard on the 
front gate.

On Wednesdays, she developed the habit of going to Granny Carver's for dinner 
before going to the gym, and Marcia took her break when she arrived. They would eat 
their meals together, and tell each other silly stories. Marcia would sometimes tell 
Annabel what Eleanor and her friends were doing at the gym; Annabel never told 
Marcia about her workouts with Lynda and Ms Miller.

She finally grew out of the clothes she had been wearing at the start of the holiday, 
and took to wearing her oversized sweats all the time rather than waste money on 
smart clothes she expected to outgrow. Only her waist was smaller than when she had 
started, and her body was now hard and toned from head to toe. She had outgrown her 
new bras; hard muscle had replaced soft fat, making the band uncomfortably tight, 
and the cups were decidedly too small. She had also pounded her trainers to death, 
and chose to replace them with a good pair of hightops for the gym, and a pair of light 
hiking boots for her daily cross-country runs. Oddly, she was a size larger for them as 
well.

The football team had taken to practicing on Tuesday and Thursday, from about 
lunchtime onward; Ms Miller assisted in ensuring that she never had to meet any of 
the football players as she left the school each day. Nonetheless, Annabel made sure 
to watch the practices from a safe distance – sometimes from one of the school 
classrooms – and saw Eleanor dominating the team. If pure aggression was the only 
criterion, she was second only to a linebacker called Terry O'Neele. O'Neele, 
unfortunately, was almost too stupid to be a successful linebacker. Eleanor might even 
be the team captain next year...

Around the middle of July, Annabel had an idea for a series of pictures, and started 
researching the history of her hometown for the first time. She had to dive into 
records dating back almost to the War of Independence.

Ms Miller started meeting her at Lynda's in the morning, for T'ai Chi and 
weightlifting; when Mrs Martin heard of this, she suggested that she and Annabel 
could do their T'ai Chi session with the others. And so, all four of them would see the 
sun rise as they moved in graceful synchrony on the mowed grass between the 
apartment buildings.

-_-  *  -_-

In the middle of the month, her father confirmed that he would be home for the last 
week of July, just a few days before Annabel's birthday. Less welcome was the news 
that his sister intended to visit, and would arrive a few days before he did. She called 
and left a message on the machine telling them when she would be arriving, 
completely out of the blue and blithely sure that it would be convenient for Annabel's 
parents.

Aunt Evalyn was a beautiful woman who wasn't married for a very simple reason: she 
was as self-centred as a spinning top. She had a Homeric lack of tact and Narcissistic 
vanity, and was obsessive about health, fitness and beauty treatments. Remarkably, 
she had never had plastic surgery.

On the day Aunt Evalyn was to arrive, Annabel was leaving the public library when 
she saw Eleanor. Eleanor was with Jason McKee, a boy who would be retaking his 
senior year before going to college and had as bad a reputation as Eleanor herself, and 
some of their respective gangs. Jason was slightly shorter than Eleanor, and wore a 
leather jacket and biker's knee boots despite the summer heat; Eleanor was barely 
dressed enough to avoid arrest, in short shorts and a crop top stretched tight over her 
torso. Their friends were dressed similarly. Annabel ducked back into the library 
before they noticed her, and hid behind a stand of leaflets.

The gangs were clustered about the bike rack outside the library. They were looking 
at one of the bikes, and talking loudly, although not loudly enough for Annabel to 
understand what they were saying. Eleanor unwound Jason's arm from her waist and 
knelt beside the bikes. Then, in a display of casual strength, she ripped the rim off the 
rear wheel of one of them. She stood, laughing at a comment made by one of her 
friends, then made a face at her hand. Amid more laughter, she wiped it on the 
pannier of another bike before walking off with Jason. The rest of their gangs 
followed obediently.

Annabel stormed out after them; she was unsurprised to find it was her bike that had 
been wrecked. A librarian walked out behind her.

"Oh dear. Do you know who those...vandals were?"

"Yes," replied Annabel through clenched teeth as she knelt to undo the chain.

"Oh, is that your bike? Do you want me to call the police?" fluttered the little old 
woman.

"No," answered Annabel, her fist closing almost without her awareness. "I'm already 
working on putting her in her place." She stood, with a bagful of books in one hand 
and the bike in the other. The librarian was almost as intimidated by this display of 
strength as by Eleanor and her cohorts, because she scuttled back to the sanctuary of 
her library without further conversation. Annabel walked home carrying her bike.

Aunt Evalyn arrived later than she had said she would, after Annabel had left – 
considerably later than usual, and on foot instead of on her bike – for the gym. When 
Annabel returned home, feeling pleasantly fatigued from her exertions, her aunt's 
Jaguar was parked in the driveway, blocking in her mother's Neon. The lights were on 
in the front room; there was no chance of getting in and upstairs without being seen, 
and anyway she didn't have any clothes which would fulfil Aunt Evalyn's 
requirements. Not even ones which didn't fit any more. She tugged at the hem of her 
sweatshirt, which was riding up again, and opened the front door.

She was right. Aunt Evalyn interrupted her mother before she had even shut the door.

"Annabel? Is that you?"

"No, it's an axe-murderer," muttered Annabel under her breath. Then, louder, "Hi, 
Aunt Evalyn." She dropped her small gym bag quietly inside the door, and went to 
meet her doom.

As soon as she stepped into the living room, her aunt started to size her up. 
Predictably, she decided Annabel didn't come up to scratch, and said so, in the rudest 
way possible.

"Annabel, I thought you went to fat camp last summer?"

"Yes, Aunt Evalyn."

"Well you could have kept the weight off, at least. And wearing baggy clothes doesn't 
hide your weight at all, dear." She turned to Annabel's mother. "Really, Tina, you 
shouldn't have let her off her diet. I thought when I saw you that perhaps she had been 
encouraging you to lose weight."

"Well, I have been doing some exercise," murmured Tina.

"Not really enough, Tina. You'd look so much better if you just took some care of 
yourself," interrupted Aunt Evalyn, preening herself and lighting a cigarette. "You 
know, while I'm here, I could start you both on a simple fitness program," she said, 
with the air of a queen bestowing a great favour.

Mother and daughter were both stunned silent, which Aunt Evalyn accepted as her 
due; but Annabel hatched a devious plan. As her mother started to protest – before she 
had said more than a couple of words – she put it in progress. Plucking at her cuffs in 
feigned nervousness, she asked, "Would you? I, I mean, um, mom has to go to work 
so she, and I can't go back to school looking like this."

"Of course. I know all about looking after myself." Yeah, we noticed, Aunt Evalyn, 
thought Annabel. "The first thing is general exercise. I can't really start toning you up 
until I can see what to tone, so you'll have to lose some weight. I go jogging every 
day. Early in the morning is best, there's less traffic and exhaust fumes."

"Oh. How early?"

"Very early, dear. It takes a lot of dedication" Implying, of course, that neither 
Annabel (high school honours student) nor her mother (successful professional 
illustrator) understood hard work. "I'll be leaving at half-past seven tomorrow 
morning, before breakfast."

Annabel nodded earnestly. "Will you wake me up?" Annabel's mom suddenly 
coughed violently. Annabel would normally be winding up her first weights session at 
half-past seven...a fact which her mother knew well.

Annabel's mom excused herself for the night soon after, telling Annabel not to stay 
up late if she was going to be getting up early the next morning. Annabel nodded 
politely and said goodnight as well. As mother and daughter climbed the stairs, 
muffling laughter, they heard the television turn on behind them.

The next morning, without discussion, they were both extra quiet getting up and out 
of the house at their usual time of five-thirty. They even cleared breakfast away 
completely before they left, to leave no evidence of their early rising. During the T'ai 
Chi session, they explained what they were planning, and Annabel beat her mentor at 
'Pushing Hands' for the first time; admittedly because Lynda started laughing in the 
middle of the match. Annabel cut her weights session short, and Katherine gave her a 
ride back home on her motorbike, dropping her off at the gate so the noise wouldn't 
rouse Aunt Evalyn.

Annabel snuck into the house, opening and closing the front door carefully and 
climbing the stairs silently, avoiding the loose floorboard in the upstairs hall with 
finicky care and finally hiding under the covers of her bed. She left her bedroom door 
ajar so the latch wouldn't make any noise, and relaxed into fake sleep when she was 
sure that only the top of her head was visible above the covers.

She was nearly asleep for real when she heard the guest room door open and Aunt 
Evalyn stumbled down the hall to the bathroom. She clattered around in the bathroom 
for several minutes before emerging more gracefully – or at least more quietly – than 
she had entered. As she walked back past Annabel's room, she stuck her head in.

"Are you coming? I'm almost ready to go, and I won't wait for you."

Annabel groaned dramatically, and flailed under the covers.

"I can't help you if you don't put some effort in." Aunt Evalyn walked back to her 
room. Annabel sat up, and put on her pulse rate monitor. A glance at the clock told 
her it was nearly seven forty-five.

A few minutes later she joined her aunt in the kitchen, deliberately forcing her feet to 
land on the steps with heavy clumps instead of moving with the feline grace she had 
unconsciously adopted. She had her hiking boots in one hand, and had spent several 
seconds artfully disarranging her hair. She wore the same sweatshirt and pants as the 
previous night, with her cuff carefully pulled down over the heart rate monitor.

Her aunt looked at her with disfavour. "Oh, couldn't you at least brush your hair? 
There's really no excuse for not trying. And those shoes aren't suitable for running."

"But they're the only ones I've got!"

"Well, you'll have to go into town when we get back and buy something suitable." 
She sighed. "I suppose I'll have to come with you to show you what to get. Well don't 
just stand there, put your shoes on and we'll go." With that, she stubbed out her 
cigarette in her coffee cup and walked outside.

Annabel put her shoes on in the kitchen, using the time to calm down from her aunt's 
bad temper. Before she stepped outside, she put the coffee cup in the dishwasher.

Aunt Evalyn was standing in the drive, disdainfully kicking at the gravel. As Annabel 
came up to her, she said, "I'll set the pace. I want a route about two and a half miles 
long. About an hour's walk for you, I suppose. Can you think of a route?"

"Y-yes. Um, turn left out of the drive?"

Aunt Evalyn set off; no warm-up, no stretching, straight into a fast jog. Annabel 
started the stopwatch function on her heart monitor and set off after her. When she 
caught up, her aunt started talking.

"When you're jogging, it's important to breathe properly. The easiest way to 
remember how, is to breathe in for a count of three, hold for three, and then breathe 
out for three. Like this." She demonstrated. Annabel *was* concentrating on her 
breathing; she wanted to look out of breath, at least until her aunt was too worn to 
notice. If she tries breathing like that, she thought, that won't take too long. 
Meanwhile, Annabel settled into the easy pace her aunt was setting.

Three-quarters of a mile later, Annabel gasped, "Left here, and right up the little side 
path," from her position behind her aunt, who followed the guidance off the paved 
road. 'In three, hold three, out three' had degenerated into explosive pants; Annabel 
wasn't even breathing hard, and was frankly amused by the traces of sweat running 
down her aunt's back.

Another quarter of a mile on, her aunt gasped, "Are you sure you know where you're 
going?" as she was slapped across the face by yet another low branch.

"Sure. Want me to go ahead?"

Evalyn wheezed for a few moments before accepting, and Annabel sped up just 
enough to pass. Immediately, she turned up a narrow track between the trees, ducking 
agilely around trunks and under branches as she headed for one of the steepest hills 
for five miles.

At the two-mile mark, Annabel was leading the way back down the hill at exactly the 
same pace Aunt Evalyn had set leaving the house. She was feeling only a mild 
endorphin rush as she held herself back to a pace which wouldn't kill the older 
woman in her wake. She vaulted a couple of fallen trees on a shortcut down the slope, 
grinning to herself at the sounds of her aunt's now frantic gasping and stumbling.

They returned to the house across the fields at the back, Annabel exuberantly vaulting 
the back gate and maintaining her pace all the way up to the door. She returned to 
meet her aunt halfway across the lawn with a glass of orange juice, and stretched 
extravagantly as they walked to the back door. At the threshold, she bounced up the 
steps ahead of her aunt, saying, "Throw your clothes in the washing machine, we'll 
clean them for tomorrow. I've got my summer job to get to, so you're on your own till 
about four." She pulled her sweatshirt over her head as her aunt came in, keeping her 
face completely straight as she enjoyed her aunt's expression reflected in a mirror. 
She took her top into the utility room, coming out moments later in her underwear and 
checking her heart rate monitor. "I won't come out with you tomorrow. It's just as 
well me and mom had already had our workout, that was pathetic."

Her aunt was still gasping harshly on the couch when Annabel left for the school. She 
hadn't said a word since the mile-and-a-half mark.

At school, Katherine laughed heartily at the story, and suggested bringing Evalyn to 
the gym for a weights session.

Annabel got home at four, as she had promised. Seeing her aunt sunbathing in the 
garden as she descended the hill, she repeated her vault over the back gate and trotted 
easily up to the house. As she passed, she offered to get her aunt a drink. Her aunt 
answered with her usual imperiousness; so she stripped off her sweatshirt and served 
the bacardi and coke in her bra, deliberately lifting the cast-iron patio table – with the 
drink on it – nearer her aunt with one hand. The ripple of highly developed muscle 
silenced the older woman until dinner, when she commented on the fact that Annabel 
needed a better-fitting bra.

Being told that the local store didn't stock E cup sports bras shut her up until Annabel 
left for the gym. 

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel lay on her bed in the darkness, and thought. A face was in her mind's eye, a 
familiar face wearing an unfamiliar expression: fear. Respect. And bruises, although 
that wasn't an expression. Annabel wanted, just once, to see Eleanor Pounds to look 
at anyone with that expression.

Annabel dearly wanted to see Eleanor Pounds to look at her with that expression.

She wanted to put her fist in that face.

She knew she was fast approaching the point where she could do it.

But a second face was in her mind's eye, with an expression she didn't need to 
imagine. Her aunt's approval had never been an important consideration for her, or 
her parents either, but the older woman had been proud of her fitness. A fitness which 
Annabel now recognised as fragile, a thin fa็ade sufficient to convince a family of 
average people.

A fa็ade she had used to hide her feelings of inferiority. A fa็ade she had used to 
bully her family from, even if only verbally. A fa็ade which had fallen effortlessly 
before Annabel's powerful physique, leaving Evalyn feeling – and looking - lost.

Was Eleanor's strength hiding similar feelings?

-_-  *  -_-

By the time Mr Martins got home from South Africa on Thursday, his sister had 
almost stopped her catty remarks and prima donna attitudes towards Annabel and her 
mother, for the first time since either could remember. Annabel hadn't showed off her 
strength deliberately again, but for the first time was dressing to emphasize her body, 
even if only at home. Elsewhere, she kept to her loose sweats, so news of her 
awesome growth didn't get out to Eleanor Pounds or the other bullies.

George took a taxi back from the airport and was met at the door by his wife. As she 
threw her arms around his neck, Annabel strolled out of the house and helped the 
driver get the bags out of the car. The driver was a cutish guy, maybe twenty-two, 
built like a baseball player but losing his high-school fitness. His eyes tracked her bust 
as she approached, which she had half-way expected – after all, the short-sleeved 
blouse she had borrowed from her mother didn't quite fit round her full bosom. Her 
shorts did a better job of hiding her behind, but only because they weren't stretched to 
the limit. He handed her the first, small case with a small grunt; his eyes widened as 
she reached past him and lifted the larger case from the trunk with her free hand and 
no particular effort. She turned towards the house, holding both cases easily above the 
ground, and asked the driver to bring the carry-on to the front door. He quickly 
grabbed the small briefcase and followed in her wake.

Annabel found herself putting a wiggle in her hips, enjoying the thought of the young 
man watching her. Never before had she had a body anyone would want to watch, and 
having something to show off was a heady feeling. She slipped past her parents, still 
kissing in the doorway (her mother saw her carrying the cases, and moved out of her 
way – coincidentally turning her father so he didn't see) and went upstairs.

Her parents released their embrace reluctantly, with one last kiss, and George turned 
to pay the driver. Seeing the young man standing there with his carry-on, he said, 
"Oh, thanks. Did you get the other bags as well?"

"No, I've taken them up to your bedroom," said Annabel. As her dad turned, she 
came down the stairs in a controlled catlike rush and wrapped an arm around him for 
a quick hug. "It's good to have you back home, Daddy."

"It's good to be home, Bells," said her father, using her childhood nickname. She 
thought he was squeezing her gently, and then realized her strength had grown so 
much while he was gone it only felt unusually gentle.

She squeezed back – very gently – and gave him a dutiful peck on the cheek. Surely 
she used to reach up to do that? "Would you like a drink, Dad?"

"Oh, would you? A coffee, please." He kissed her mother again. "In the garden?"

"Sure."

Annabel made coffees for all three adults, and a 'Power Shake' for herself, and 
carried them out to the patio. She put the cups on the table and moved it closer to the 
chairs.

"When did you get that strong, Annabel?" asked her father, from where he sat 
cuddling his wife.

She looked at the table thoughtfully. "Um, couple weeks back?"

"Really? You've been busy while I was gone, then."

"Yes." Annabel changed the subject quickly. "Did you see any lions in Africa, Dad?

"No, I didn't have time to go out to the preserves. I don't think they have lions that far 
south anyway. They do have steam trains, though. Ran past the office window every 
few hours."

"Really? That must have been noisy."

As the adults chatted, safely distracted from her, Annabel quietly sipped her drink.

-_-  *  -_-

That Saturday, Annabel let Lynda photograph and measure her as usual before they 
went to the weights room. While she was running the tape around Annabel's upper 
arm, Lynda suddenly stepped back and took a long look at her prot้g้.

"What's wrong, Lynda?"

"I'm not sure...Is it me, Katherine, or is she taller?"

Katherine took a long look as well. "Maybe. Annabel, come stand here," she said, 
walking over to the height stick on the wall. She adjusted the bar to touch Annabel's 
head as Lynda flipped back through the little journal. "How tall was she when you 
started?"

"Five foot seven, I think. Here it is. Yes, five foot seven."

"She's taller. Five foot eight and three-quarters. Nearly nine."

"Interesting. That's never happened before. We'd better go down the lab and run 
some tests," said Lynda. "Are you having any other problems?"

"No-o. Well, my breasts are getting bigger..."

"We expected that one. Is it worrying you? I can change the formula of the 'Power 
Shake' to reduce that."

"Oh, no. Not yet." Annabel thought. "Um, when I bought those?" She pointed at her 
hightops. "I had to get a size larger than usual."

"If the rest of you is growing, your feet will. They're usually the last thing to stop 
growing."

"There's something else as well." Katherine had taken the journal, and was comparing 
Annabel with the first Polaroids. "Her hair's grown."

"I haven't cut it all holiday."

"Neither have I, but mine's only grown, oh, half an inch? When I took you to hospital, 
you had shoulder length hair."

Annabel pulled her ponytail forwards over her shoulder. The end dropped below her 
nipples. "I take your point..."

"All right, let's finish this off and we'll go to the lab afterwards. I don't think any of 
this is harming you, Annabel, but best to be sure ahead of time," said Lynda, reaching 
out with the tape again. "Hold out your arms again."

Lynda took careful note of what Annabel was lifting at that session, although Annabel 
herself noted only that Lynda now had to be careful with the weights she handed her 
prot้g้ instead of waving them around like pool cues. Katherine had long since 
stopped helping, and went off to do her cv session. Still, the numbers were 
impressive: she managed 10 reps with 450 pounds on the bench press, and 820 on the 
leg press.

-_-  *  -_-

On Sunday, Lynda admitted she would be analysing the results of Saturday's tests for 
some time.

On Monday, Katherine arrived at Lynda's apparently on foot, but said there was 
nothing wrong with her motorbike.

Tuesday was Annabel's birthday. Her father had found her a spectacular painting of 
Table Mountain, behind Capetown, while he was in South Africa. Her aunt gave her a 
cosmetics set and went home. Her mother bought her a new mountain bike, to replace 
the old 'shopping bike' Eleanor had wrecked. Lynda and Katherine bought her a set 
of juggling clubs between them.

On Wednesday, Annabel accidentally put one set of sweats in the washing machine, 
and turned it on, with both of her other sets already in it. She had to go to the gym in 
shorts and tee-shirt for the first time since she started. She wore her mother's short-
sleeved blouse for the ride into town, having to leave one more button undone than 
she had when her father came home. She stopped in the lingerie store and put yet 
another bra on order before heading off for Granny Carver's. When she walked in, she 
attracted the attention of several people, although even Marcia didn't recognise her 
until she walked right over and said, "Yes, they're really too big for this bra."

Marcia looked up, her mouth open at the outrageousness of the statement (even if 
Annabel had spoken softly enough only Marcia could have heard); her jaw dropped 
even further when she recognised Annabel.

Annabel grinned at her. "Aren't you going to take your break now?"

A few minutes later, Marcia slipped into the chair opposite Annabel, saying, "God, 
I'm sorry Annabel, I didn't recognise you. I mean, I could see you'd been, um..."

"Growing?" suggested Annabel impishly.

" 'Growing?' God," Marcia shook her head. "Why the sudden display of cleavage?"

"Mom's blouse is too small for me."

"You know most girls wouldn't want to admit that?" asked Marcia, gazing with 
fascination at Annabel's private canyon. She shook her head again. "Don't answer 
that. Why are you wearing your mother's blouse?"

"I made a slight error of planning, and put all my sweats in the washing machine at the 
same time."

Marcia blinked at Annabel's matter-of-fact tone, and then started giggling. "You are 
wearing the most revealing outfit possible short of a bikini because all your workout 
clothes are in the wash?"

"Something like that, yes."

"You're crazed." Marcia shook her head slowly. "Totally crazed. Could you show me 
a muscle?"

"Just one?"

Marcia nodded, so Annabel looked around the restaurant. No one was paying any 
attention to the two girls, so she placed her left hand on her head and flexed almost 
every muscle on that side. Marcia's eyes went wide; Annabel felt her sleeve bite into 
her upper arm, and another button on the blouse popped open.

"Jeeze louise, you're buff."

Annabel nodded complacently, and relaxed. She adjusted the blouse and refastened 
the errant button. Both girls concentrated on their meals.

Marcia broke the silence. "I'll tell you someone else who's buff."

"Hm?"

"Ms Miller. The new art teacher?" Annabel nodded vigorously around a mouthful of 
steak. "She came in here on Sunday, with Se...my uncle Patrick, and she was wearing 
a dress like, up here, and bare shoulders? I mean, she's not in your class, but she's the 
first woman I've seen him with who didn't look like he was dating a doll."

Annabel swallowed. "On Sunday?" Marcia nodded. "I think they may be a serious 
couple."

"Huh?"

"Look, I've been working out every morning with her and...and my coach, before 
going to work with her for the morning, right? Most days, she comes in on her 
motorbike and gives me a lift in to the school, but on Monday we had to walk in 
because she had 'come on foot.'"

The two girls looked at each other for a few seconds, grinning in deductive glee. Each 
was delighted that someone important to them had found a 'special' friend.
Later, as they got up, Annabel asked, "Marcia, do you know what Eleanor is lifting?"

"At the gym?"

"Yeah."

Marcia shook her head, "No, I mostly do stairs and rowing, and she never leaves the 
weights room when she's at the gym. Or the bar."

"The *bar*?"

Marcia nodded and shrugged. "Jimmy throws her out whenever he catches her, but 
the regular barman's scared of her." 

-_-  *  -_-

A week later, Lynda told her why she was growing: the bone-repair therapy had 
reacted with her natural growth, and produced a burst of bone growth. While the 
'Power Shake' had probably extended the duration of the growth spurt, it was safe to 
keep drinking it. The effect should wear off over a few months – the trace chemicals 
in Annabel's bloodstream which had tipped Lynda off were at much lower 
concentration than when she had just finished the treatment – but Lynda was going to 
report that the treatment was unsuitable for children and adolescents.

The same day, Marcia told her that Eleanor and the McKee twins, and most of their 
respective gangs, would be taking a road trip to the coast for two weeks, having heard 
them discussing it in the gym. Annabel immediately felt more confident about buying 
and wearing clothes other than gym sweats, although she still chose outfits with some 
growing room.

On Friday morning, she and her mother arrived at Lynda's to find her already 
working out. Her partner was a small Chinese woman, and they were moving around 
each other with a three-foot bamboo stick in their right hands. They fenced delicately 
in a choreographed sequence. Eventually, the Chinese woman backed away and 
nodded.

"You do well, Lynda. You learn as fast as ever."

"Thank you." Lynda turned to Annabel and her mother. "Ah, Rose, let me introduce 
Annabel and her mother, Tina. They are part of my T'ai Chi group here." To Annabel, 
she said, "Rose is *my* T'ai Chi teacher."

Rose bowed slightly, smiling inscrutably. She was unusually busty for an oriental, 
about as muscular as Katherine (enough that her relaxed muscles were discernable 
through the loose linen of her pants and shirt) and looked about thirty-five, although 
her hair was almost pure white. "I think perhaps Annabel has been learning more from 
you than just T'ai Chi, am I right? I am pleased to meet you both."

"Yeah, um, hi." Annabel stuttered, suddenly nervous with this woman who stood, 
perfectly centred with years of T'ai Chi practice. "Um, what were you doing?"

"Ah. That is called *san shou*. It is one of the exercises with the *chien*, or 
double-edged sword."

"Is it T'ai Chi?" asked Tina, surprised.

"Yes. There are four weapons used in T'ai Chi: the double-edged sword, the 
broadsword, the staff and the lance." Rose smiled reassuringly. "Oh, this is not 
*kendo*, or worse, Western fencing. We do not aim to strike our opponent, even 
in sparring, merely to touch them on the wrist."

"Oh." Annabel bounced on her toes. "Could you teach me?"

Lynda laughed. "Ask again in about four years."

Annabel's face fell. She didn't notice her mother relaxing, but Rose reassured her, "I 
could show you a little of the small idea sword form, but it would do you little good 
yet, and Lynda is not proficient enough to teach it herself. In time, if you choose, you 
will learn all the weapon forms."

Just then, Katherine arrived. She pulled off her crash helmet, crying, "Rose! Lynda 
didn't tell me you were coming!" She dismounted from her bike. "How are you? And 
Tao-ling?"

"I am well, thank you. Tao-ling has fallen and hurt his elbow. The doctor tells him he 
is lucky to have a young woman to look after him in his old age."

Both Lynda and Katherine stopped short, and looked at Rose oddly. The Chinese 
woman returned their gazes serenely, even when first Katherine and then Lynda 
started laughing. Eventually, Katherine regained her composure enough to speak, and 
determinedly turned to commonplaces. "You'll be joining us for practice? Oh, have 
you been doing 'sticky swords'?"

"No. I have been leading Lynda through *san shou*."

"Oh! Will you teach me?"

"Of course. Lynda tells me there will be an hour before you need to leave for work. 
For now, are we ready to begin?" Just like that, Rose took leadership of the group.

On Saturday, she led the T'ai Chi at the gym, Lynda taking the back of the group for 
the first time since Annabel had started.

On Sunday, Annabel sat entranced with the rest of the group, and several other 
patrons of the gym, as she demonstrated the sword form in the car park with Lynda 
and Katherine, steel swords flashing silver in the afternoon light.

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel lay on her bed in the darkness, and wondered. A face was in her mind's eye, 
a familiar face wearing an unfamiliar expression: respect. And bruises, although that 
wasn't an expression. Annabel wanted, just once, to see Eleanor Pounds to look at 
anyone with that expression.

Annabel wanted to see Eleanor Pounds to look at her with that expression.

She wanted to put her fist in that face.

She was pretty sure she could do it.

She had scored against Rose at 'pushing hands', and received an ungrudging approval 
of her progress from the experienced practitioner. Still, she could sense the towering 
*chi* of the other woman, and wondered.

Those wonderings were not random. She remembered Lynda and Katherine laughing 
when Rose had mentioned the doctor's comment, and also remembered Lynda 
mentioning her T'ai Chi teacher once before. She remembered Lynda saying her 
teacher had had over forty years experience at T'ai Chi when she took Lynda as a 
student.

Rose was, surely, younger than Annabel's mom. No way was she old enough to be 
Lynda's *first* teacher.

Was she?

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel's growth seemed exponential; she was already doing reps at over twice the 
weights she had been using at the start of the month, and showed no signs of slowing 
down. Lynda had started taking records on Wednesday as well as Saturday. She was 
rushing towards the limits of the gym, and of her sweats: her fully-pumped biceps 
were enough to strain the seams of her sleeves, and the combination of G-cup breasts 
and huge pectoral muscles had burst the seams under her arms as she bench pressed 
900 pounds. The following Saturday she went to the mall again.

This time, Marcia joined her and Carolyn. Neither Marcia nor Carolyn bought 
anything, although Marcia came back to admire a small Japanese water sculpture 
more than once. Annabel replaced her sweats with the largest size the shop had in 
stock.

Bras were a dead loss. She had taken to making halters on her mother's sewing 
machine; they weren't as comfortable as a proper bra, but they were easier to enlarge 
as her chest widened, and she could put in elastic sections to allow for flexing her 
muscles.

As they approached the end of the school break, Katherine announced that almost all 
the work needed before the new year was done, and she no longer needed Annabel's 
help every day. In fact, she wouldn't be going in to work every day herself. Since the 
other teachers were in the same state (even summer school was winding down), 
Annabel only went in if Katherine asked her to in the morning. 

Her cardiovascular workouts were extending dramatically; with Bryson's 'safe' 
during the day, she was rowing, running and cycling on a three-day cycle. On rowing 
days, she covered the simulated equivalent of eight miles at a steady ten miles per 
hour before leaving to find somewhere to sketch. On running days, she ran and jogged 
a half-marathon, cross-country, with a break for drawing in the woods. On cycling 
days, she went forty miles, starting with a fast run of fifteen miles to the interstate, 
and then back by a longer route along back roads and woodland tracks.

Occasionally, Katherine arrived to the morning T'ai Chi sessions outside Lynda's 
apartment 'on foot'; once, she didn't come at all, telephoning Lynda to cry off. 
Annabel kept her face admirably straight each time.

About a week before the end of the holiday, she was in the town museum, quickly and 
carefully sketching from some old photographs of the centre of town. She was leaning 
back in her chair, chewing the end of her pencil, when a voice interrupted her 
musings.

"Excuse me, could you move forward a bit please?"

She looked up at the curator of the museum. Her eyes slipped straight past his 
shoulder at the man behind him, leaning heavily on a crutch. "Mr Harper!" She smiled 
widely. "How are you?"

The old art teacher looked blankly at her for a moment.

"Annabel Martins? From high school?" she said, slightly hurt by his lack of response.

Mr Harper looked closer, and a spark of recognition lit in his eyes. "Annabel? Good 
lord. What have you been doing to yourself?"

Annabel shrugged and grinned. "Well, I decided that an artist doesn't have to look 
like a sack of potatoes. I've been working out some."

"Just some?" Mr Harper smiled back amiably. "May I assume my replacement 
inspired this exercise in sculpture?"

"Ah – well, sort of. But how did you guess?"

"I met Katherine – Ah, sorry, Lewis. I've gotten scatterbrained since my head fell 
off." The curator smiled thinly at Mr Harper's reference to his stroke. "Annabel, can I 
come back in a moment? Lewis has something I want to look at, and I don't want to 
waste too much of his time."

"Sure. I'll be right here." Annabel pulled her chair in to let her old teacher through, 
and settled back to her sketching.

Half an hour later, the chair beside her scraped back, and Mr Harper lowered himself 
heavily into it. Seeing she was concentrating hard on the drawing forming under her 
fingers, he peered at the sheaves of paper on her workspace. When she sat back again, 
he said, "I see you haven't spent all your time working out. Your technique's better, 
as well. Much more controlled; you used to smudge the details too much."

"Thank you. Yes, I've been drawing a lot this summer."

"It shows. Has Katherine seen these yet?"

"No. This is a private project, she doesn't know I'm doing it."

"A project? What sort of project? Lewis tells me you've been in here on and off all 
summer."

"It's, well..." She took a deep breath. "I'm trying to draw a record of how the town 
has changed. A set of pictures from the same viewpoints, about every fifty years. It's 
been quite hard, finding all the information."

"I should think so. How have you chosen your viewpoints?"

"Really by what I can find pictures of in 1800 and 1850. If I can find pictures then, I 
can almost always find enough to put a picture together for the other three."

"Ah." He looked through the pictures on the table again. "All pencil drawings?"

"N-no, I've got some paintings at home. And I've done some maps in ink. They 
haven't come out very well. Would you like to come see them?"

"Yes, if your parents don't mind. But not today. My wife is expecting to pick me up 
here in a few minutes." He smiled wryly. "They won't let me drive any more, you 
see." 

-_-  *  -_-

Mr Harper and his wife visited on that Saturday, and Annabel spent some time 
showing them the fruits of her summer's drawing. She caught herself getting a bit too 
enthusiastic once or twice, as she explained how the shape and buildings of the town 
had changed over the decades. She also noticed that Mr Harper, left-handed his whole 
life, held his drink in his right hand and kept his left tucked in the pocket of his jacket.

As he was leaving, Mr Harper suggested that she show Lewis Pritchard, the museum 
curator: the series was just the sort of thing he would be interested in, and he might 
even want to show the pictures in the museum. He could suggest it to Lewis, if she 
wanted. Annabel accepted; the series wasn't finished, but Mr Pritchard could see what 
she had done so far. Perhaps Tuesday?

Late on Tuesday morning, Annabel scattered loose chippings in the car park as she 
cycled exuberantly into Bryson's. She didn't need to look at her watch to tell she had 
broken her record for the forty-mile ride; she cut a few seconds off her time every 
time she went out. She was feeling particularly energetic today, so she locked her bike 
to the railing and bounced up the steps to row as well. As she walked purposefully 
through the gym reception area, a familiar voice came to her ears.

"Where's those fucking beers, Billy?"

Annabel stopped dead. As the quieter voice of William, the barman, answered, she 
stepped over to the glass door between the gym and the bar. Eleanor was leaning over 
the bar, making a rude gesture to William at the other end.

"She's back, is she?"

Annabel jumped. "Jimmy! Don't sneak up on me like that."

"In my own gym you give me orders?" Jimmy laughed. "Do I have to throw her out 
myself or do you want to do it?"

Annabel looked back into the bar, where Eleanor was now leaning over a table, 
kissing Jason McKee as if she intended to rape him right there. She unclenched her 
fists deliberately.

"No. Maybe after school starts, though."

Jimmy looked at her soberly for a moment, and then pushed open the door. Annabel 
watched as he padded silently up to the oblivious couple, then turned away sharply 
and left. Perhaps she could spend an hour in the museum, browsing through the old 
photographs. Or perhaps she should go straight home, and chop wood or something.

Later that afternoon, Mr Pritchard came to see her pictures of the town. By his body 
language she could see he was coming more as a favour to Mr Harper than in any 
expectation of seeing anything truly worth his while, but he soon changed his mind. 
He was particularly interested in her series of the Garvey family house, one of the few 
buildings still standing from when the town was founded, and specifically asked if she 
had similar series of other buildings. She was able to show him preparatory sketches 
for two other buildings. He asked about what references she had used; she produced 
notebooks with exhaustive records of exactly where she had gotten the pictures she 
had referred to, even to the reference numbers he had applied to everything in the 
museum. She could see him becoming more and more enthusiastic as they went on; 
he even unbent enough to smile once or twice.

She didn't know if Mr Harper had suggested it, but Mr Pritchard proposed putting the 
pictures on show in the museum when she was happy the series was finished. She 
wouldn't be paid for such an exhibition, unfortunately, but he hoped she would help 
plan the display. More, if she was willing, and he could get the funding from the town 
council, he would like to buy the exhibition from her, complete, with the reference 
material she had accumulated. Whatever he offered, he said, wouldn't be what the set 
was truly worth, but he hoped she would be interested.

Annabel went to bed that night with her ears still ringing – her first art sale, almost in 
her hands!

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel continued to grow for the rest of that week. Not wanting Eleanor and her 
friends to see her, she changed her workout schedule, running and cycling on alternate 
days and rowing every evening before hitting the weights. She also was more careful 
about being seen in anything other than the loose sweats – which weren't so very 
loose any more, at that.

After their Saturday workout, Katherine tried to play a practical joke on Annabel and 
Lynda by swapping their bras over while they were in the showers; but Annabel 
spotted the substitution immediately, even with her eyes still stinging from the soap. 
They did, however, try each other's bras on, just to see if they could. Lynda could fit 
in Annabel's bra, her broader chest stretching the elastic panels quite noticeably, but 
the cups were significantly too big. Annabel found the band of Lynda's bra a little too 
loose for comfort, but her breasts spilled over the cups. Lynda also tried on 
Katherine's bra, and paid her back for the attempted practical joke by seriously trying 
to pull it on. It snapped cleanly between the cups. Lynda kept a straight face long 
enough to apologise.

Lynda also took a blood sample from Annabel, intending to run the test that afternoon.

On Sunday, they had a final measuring after the afternoon workout. Annabel was 5 
feet 10ฝ tall, with 19" forearms, 25" upper arms with mountainous biceps, 25" 
calves, and 43" thighs. Her hips were 38" around, her waist just 26ฝ", and her chest, 
below her breasts, a round 60". Her shoulders were nearly 33" across; she had long 
since become accustomed to turning sideways as she went through doorways. Her 
bust measurement had to be estimated; the 72" tape was about eight inches too short! 
Lynda told her that the effects of the bone-regeneration therapy were wearing off, and 
would probably become indiscernible by late December; by which time she could 
expect to be six feet tall, perhaps more. Annabel shrugged, unconcerned; she had 
found she liked being tall.

She had rowed ten miles in 52 minutes before hitting the weights, after a day cycling 
with her friends; she had noticed that Katherine was slowing Lynda and herself down. 
She had beaten all her records lifting; starting with her 1450-pound bench press and 
400-pound bicep curl (with either hand) and finishing with 3000-pound leg press and 
2200-pound squat. She even managed a 1500-pound hack squat and 1200-pound 
shoulder press.

Lynda patted her on the shoulder as they walked out of the gym. Even with her 
increased weight, Annabel felt the blow; it occurred to her that had Lynda given her 
the same pat at the start of the summer, Annabel would have been hospitalised. As it 
was, she grinned at her mentor and elbowed her back.

-_-  *  -_-

Annabel lay on her bed in the darkness, and thought. A face was in her mind's eye, a 
familiar face wearing an unfamiliar expression: respect. Annabel wanted, just once, to 
see Eleanor Pounds to look at anyone with that expression.

Annabel wanted to see Eleanor Pounds to look at her with that expression.

She was pretty sure she would, and soon.

She was easily the strongest girl – the strongest student, and unless she was mistaken 
the strongest person – in the school now. Eleanor respected strength.

Unfortunately, Annabel realised, Eleanor only respected brutality, and Annabel knew 
she couldn't match her there. Even though she could roll a car over on her own, and 
could win one out of four matches against Lynda at 'pushing hands', she had no 
desire to hurt anyone. She even found herself worrying that she might intimidate her 
schoolmates, just by her sheer size.

At least Eleanor wouldn't consider bullying her now.

Perhaps she could be persuaded not to bully anyone else?

-_-  *  -_-

The next morning was the first day of school. Annabel and her mother got up at five 
o'clock, as they were now accustomed, and left for Lynda's long before her father 
woke up. Today, Tina intended to be back before he woke up; she had finally finished 
work on her summer-long commission, and didn't need to go in to her studio at all for 
a few days. Annabel checked the contents of her bag one last time before she left.

As usual, Lynda met them with a smile. She told them that Katherine had already 
called off, but she could take Annabel to school herself on the way to the lab. The 
three women went through their usual T'ai Chi routine in near silence, neither 
Annabel nor her mother needing to be talked through any part of the exercises, or 
even coached on their form. After Tina left, Annabel and Lynda retired to the small 
gym in the complex, for their weights session.

Afterwards, Lynda took Annabel up to her apartment so they could each shower and 
change, and eat breakfast. Lynda nodded approval when she saw Annabel's outfit for 
the first day of school: she was wearing a pair of cream slacks, neatly tailored and just 
loose enough to disguise her quadriceps and calves, and a sweater dress, which was 
tight around her breasts but fell in unflattering swags to her wrists and halfway down 
her thighs, completely hiding her powerful arms, trim waist and tight buttocks.

Even though they took their time over breakfast, Annabel was still one of the very 
first to arrive at school. Lynda smiled at her, and left her at the front entry. Annabel 
stretched, her bag dangling from her fingers, and then wandered around to the art 
department. Katherine obviously hadn't arrived yet; the lights were off, and the door 
firmly locked, so Annabel went back outside and sat on the edge of one of the planters 
beside the wide path to the main doors.

Her friends found her there; first Tara sat beside her, then Carolyn arrived, and finally 
Marcia. Greg Harris sat on the other side of the planter, with Paul Dodd, discussing 
computer games and totally oblivious to the girl talk behind them. Others arrived and 
spread themselves out across the campus, groups forming based on friendships, 
popularity, and common interests; discussions started, what had been done over the 
last months, what would be done over the new year.

Annabel caught up on her friends' summer; she didn't tell them about her working 
out, although she did mention the possible sale of her pictures to the museum. All the 
while, she kept one eye open for Eleanor or her gang.

Eventually, they arrived: a Firebird and an ancient Dodge Charger pulled up at the 
curb with a rumble. Eleanor climbed out of the passenger seat of the Firebird, Jason 
McKee from the driver's side; his twin brother Jonathan followed from the back, with 
Jolene, the head cheerleader, clinging to him. One of the McKees' followers got out 
of the Charger, and three members of Eleanor's gang, and they followed their queen 
up the path.

Annabel sized them up; most of the girls were wearing crop tops and shorts, and it 
was easy to see that all had spent time in the gym over the last few months, possibly 
augmented by steroids. Eleanor, in particular, was about ten pounds heavier than 
before, all of it muscle; but the swagger to her step was clumsy to Annabel's eyes, 
attuned to the smooth grace of martial artists.

Eleanor scanned the onlookers as she walked, making sure everyone acknowledged 
her superiority. She saw Annabel's measured gaze and mistook it for fear; so she 
stopped in front of them.

"You been fattening up for something special, Martins?"

"Like thanksgiving?" chirped Jolene from Jonathan's shoulder. "You always were a 
turkey."

Annabel raised an eyebrow. "You been working on that insult long, Pounds?"

Eleanor growled, "You've got a smart mouth, Belly. Hey girls, shall we call her that 
this year?"

"Belly?" repeated one of her friends. "Whatever works."

"No, you won't. I'm not fat, after all."

"Not fat? Fucking look at you. You're huge."

"A-Annabel, you have gotten a lot, um, bigger..." started Tara.

"Tara, you don't have to agree with her just because she's the school bully," said 
Annabel, without taking her attention off Eleanor. "Besides, she's only jealous. She 
only needs one hand for both her tits."

Jolene piped up again, "Hey, what? I wouldn't be seen dead that size. God, you must 
need help standing up."

"Yeah, you want a hand standing up? Here, let me," said Eleanor, grabbing Annabel 
by the upper arms. Annabel, seeing the move coming, relaxed as much as she could 
and let Eleanor take her full weight.

Eleanor was strong enough to lift Annabel to her feet. "Fuck, you're heavy. I almost 
can't lift you," she yelled. "What can you say to that, Belly?" People across the school 
realised that the Pounder had chosen her first victim of the year.

"Step up to seven stars," replied Annabel, looking down at the other girl.

"What?" said Eleanor, bewildered, looking at Annabel's open hands held at chin 
height.

Annabel grinned, and named the next move in the T'ai Chi form, "Step back and ride 
the tiger." Her hands snapped outward, at full speed now, breaking Eleanor's grip and 
clamping about her elbows as Annabel started a turn to her right.

Normally, one does not apply strength in T'ai Chi; in fact, had she done so against 
Lynda or Katherine, or even her mother, she would have been quickly placed on her 
backside. This time, though, Annabel powered through the turn, accelerating until she 
was facing back the way she started. Then she let go. Eleanor passed through the 
shrubbery in the planter opposite, feet first and facing down. Annabel strolled after 
her.

Jason, seeing this, started after her. Marcia had risen, alarmed, when Eleanor pulled 
Annabel to her feet, and now kicked Jason in the sternum. He crashed backwards, 
folding at the waist to pile up at the bottom of the planter. Annabel turned to Marcia.

"What was that?"

"*Yoko-geri-kekomi*," replied Marcia absently, watching Jonathan free himself from 
Jolene's clutches.

"Get the bitch!" shouted Jonathan to the combined gangs, still pulling himself free of 
the stunned cheerleader. The sole member of the McKee gang went after Marcia; the 
three girls went for Annabel.

Annabel focused on the oncoming girls, settling her weight on her feet and bringing 
her hands up to meet the first blow. The first girl came in far too fast and was simply 
deflected to one side. The next tried a high kick to Annabel's chest, and Annabel 
deflected her foot straight up and held her ankle as high as she could reach while 
returning the third girl's punch with the other hand. She slammed her hand back down 
and across into the second girl's abdomen, letting go at the same moment and sending 
her flying.

The third girl came in for another try, her fists raised. She seemed to have realised that 
Annabel was less a victim than her friends were used to dealing with, and threw two 
quick feints before trying to punch Annabel in the face. Annabel dodged the punch 
easily, caught the girl's elbow and pulled firmly, tripping her into the planter.

As she straightened from that, someone grabbed her from behind, slipping arms under 
hers and locking hands behind her head in a full nelson. They dragged her back and 
around, and Annabel was so surprised that someone could be so stupid she let them.

A male voice yelled in her ear, "Get her now!"

The first girl had regained her feet, and obviously recruited one of the school 
wrestling team. She threw a fierce punch at Annabel's stomach.

Annabel tensed her abs, and nearly broke the girl's knuckles. Then she swung her 
knees to her chest, and drove her feet out into the girl's sternum. The girl didn't fly 
far; she collided with Jolene. Annabel, heavier and stronger than the boy holding her, 
fell backwards with him, tucking arms and legs in to bring the maximum weight down 
onto his chest. As the air was crushed from his lungs, he released her arms and she 
rolled backwards over his head.

As she rolled to her feet, a foot drove solidly into her right side, sending her to her 
knee. She turned, irritated at her lack of attention, and caught the follow-up kick. She 
pulled down and forwards, her other hand driving up into her attacker's groin to push 
powerfully upwards. She didn't recognise her attacker until after she let go; by then 
Eleanor was starting her second involuntary flying lesson.

She turned back to the battlefield. The first girl was lying semiconscious on top of 
Jolene; the third was wiping her face and spitting to get the soil out of her mouth. The 
second was running madly across the campus. Marcia was facing off against Jonathan 
McKee, who was wearing a desperate expression and a considerable amount of blood 
on his face; his sole lieutenant was sitting on his backside throwing up in his own lap. 
Jason McKee was getting to his feet, having nearly been hit by Eleanor as she passed. 
He was turning towards Annabel, and Annabel went to meet him.

He reached for her, aiming to grab her head and shoulder. She let him, taking a firm 
grip on his shirt as he tried to drag her close and another on his belt when she let him 
succeed. Then, as he swung a fist wildly, she stepped into him, lifting in a single 
sweeping movement which turned seamlessly into a two-handed overarm hurl. He 
didn't hit the ground for twenty feet.

In fact, he didn't hit the ground at all; he landed on the Firebird...

Eleanor was struggling to her feet. At some stage, her top had torn, and now hung 
loosely from her neck. Annabel turned back to her, walking over to the fallen bully, 
breathing easily. Eleanor burst into a run, trying to drive Annabel to the ground. She 
normally played on the offensive line, but she knew how to tackle; more than one 
opposing player had been forced off the field for the game by 'the Pounder', and the 
many spectators fully expected her to do the same to Annabel now she was using her 
skills.

She slammed into Annabel like a freight train, arms closing tightly about Annabel's 
legs and throwing her weight down.

Annabel fell, all right, but under complete control; she pulled her knees up as she 
rolled onto her shoulders, settling her feet into Eleanor's stomach. She was careful to 
roll to one side before straightening her legs, firing the jockette across the campus to 
fetch up against the front wall of the school.

Annabel walked after her, noticing that several people got out of her way. She arrived 
over Eleanor with anger burning in her heart – for this bitch she had turned herself 
into something her schoolmates were afraid of? Eleanor was forcing herself to her 
feet, and Annabel grabbed her by what was left of her top, closing her other fist at her 
ear.

Eleanor shrank back, pressing back against the wall. She was hyperventilating, her 
eyes wide in outright terror. Annabel held her up with one hand, looking at the bloody 
mess of her face.

Suddenly, Eleanor's top broke and she dropped bonelessly to the ground. Annabel 
opened her fist and shook out her arms.

"Was that really necessary?" asked a familiar voice.

"Doctor's orders, Katherine. Take one as necessary until symptoms cease...Oh."

Katherine stood a few feet away, looking thoughtfully at Eleanor where she lay. 
Beside her, and looking simultaneously elated and nervous, was Marcia. Katherine's 
nearer hand was resting in Mr O'Keefe's. Assistant Principal O'Keefe's.

" 'Oh', indeed," he rumbled soberly. "Still, no lasting harm done, I think."
Eleanor squeaked incoherently, attracting a frown from Mr O'Keefe. "Miss – ah, 
Martins, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Are you decently dressed under that - tent?"

"Y-yes, sir. Well, um..."

"More decently dressed than her?" her pressed, nodding at Eleanor, who was futilely 
trying to pull her shredded top over her body.

"Yes."

"Good. Take it off and give it to her," he ordered. "She can give it back tomorrow."

Annabel hesitated only a second; after all, she had intended taking the dress off later. 
This wouldn't spoil the effect much. She pulled it smoothly over her head and 
nonchalantly extended it to Eleanor.

She kept a straight face; Mr O'Keefe did also, she noticed. Katherine was working on 
it, too, but Marcia's snort of hastily suppressed laughter gave Annabel an excuse for a 
well-acted disdainful glance. She reached around her bust to pull the Velcro tabs back 
into place over the elastic panels they had released for action, restoring the red bustier 
to immaculate order. A quick tug straightened the two yellow ribbons sewn along the 
upper seam, dipping between her breasts in a familiar emblem.

"Miss Pounds, be sure to return that top in good condition tomorrow," said Mr 
O'Keefe. "And now, I think, I am going to my office. You should all be heading for 
homeroom, I suspect." He turned towards the door, Katherine walking with him.

"B-but she threw me at a wall! They beat up my friends!" whined Eleanor.

Annabel and Marcia both tensed.

Mr O'Keefe checked his watch. "School doesn't start for twelve minutes. None of my 
business."

"What?" Katherine's voice was calmer than Eleanor's, but not much quieter. Annabel 
and Marcia were both stunned silent.

"Well," explained Mr O'Keefe, "Coach Doran let her off because she beat people up 
outside school hours. Must be alright to beat her up outside school hours, too." He 
opened the door and gestured her in with overplayed courtesy. The three girls watched 
them go inside with varying expressions of surprise and shock.

"But she could have killed me!"

"Oh, shut up," snapped Annabel, throwing the dress into Eleanor's face. "You nearly 
killed me last semester." She walked off, Marcia stepping up beside her.

"You know, I was worried you were just building muscle without thinking how to use 
it."

"Oh, no fear. Lynda wouldn't have let me do that." She grinned at her friend. "Still, I 
notice I wasn't the only one learning to fight back."

"Yeah. Uncle Patrick's idea, after the last football match."

"You might have said your 'Uncle Patrick' was the Assistant Principal."

The two girls fell silent as they walked. Tara and Carolyn were still standing silently 
beside their bags, where the fight had started. They stayed silent, moving away 
slightly as Annabel approached.

Marcia noticed, and spoke, "Annabel, have you got a lasso to go with that top?"

"Be serious, would you? No. Anyway, they don't make calf boots to fit my calves."

"I don't think you bought that top in any shop I know of. Couldn't you have made some
boots, too?"

"No!" protested Annabel, laughing. After a moment, she admitted, "I am wearing blue
panties. Can't really show them off in school, though."

Marcia laughed wholeheartedly, and Tara spluttered helplessly. Annabel grinned at her
friends as Carolyn started to smile too; surely, if they could laugh with her, they wouldn't
fear her. And, of course, they would need more than just herself and Marcia to deal with the
bullies properly this year...

-_-  *  -_-

Comments and praise (especially praise! Please!) gratefully received. I'm at: 
     anon.mouse@virgin.net