Losers

by Isaac Byrne

  Chanda sent out a text blast, but the only replies she received were automated responses informing her that Kelsey’s and Tiffany’s cell phones had been permanently deactivated. She wouldn’t be surprised if Brandy and Mya soon followed, but regardless, they didn’t respond. Busy, she supposed.

  Those were the issues her friends were facing now.

  As for Chanda, she supposed she could – by all rights should – be on her hands and knees being knocked up by some gross stranger right now instead of waking up getting her face licked by a particularly snuggly Bumper hoping to get a little taste of her bacon. She took her time getting up, her thoughts fixated on what her friends were doing at that moment. And what she’d done to sidestep the same fate.

  Survivor’s guilt, she knew, was a thing, but in all her obsessive reading on the Lottery, it wasn’t something she’d dwelled on. Never in her wildest dreams had she dared to imagine she’d be a survivor. Really, it was less guilt she felt right now, and more…

  Chanda stepped out of the shower and toweled off. The mirror was all fogged over, but a few quick wipes was sufficient to reveal her reflection. She studied herself, trying to discern if there was some flaw, some previously unnoticed quality that had driven tickets out of her pot.

  It wasn’t her skin. That much was plain. Even had they not blurred it – whatever pig of a clerk at City Hall who was responsible for collecting and editing candid footage of naked teen girls – her compHeidion was pristine. She had a small mole on her left cheek and another on her shoulder, but other than that it was naught but soft, inviting, and every bit as rosy pink as Yvonne Vernier’ wardrobe. Pinker than usual on account of the hot shower, but pink.

  Her hair? No, impossible. If there was a feature for which Chanda’s confidence transcended into open vanity, it was her hair. Jet black, thick and wavy with the occasional natural curl snuck in to add it an almost fey mystique. Wet, it hung straight and down past the top of her ass; dry, it would only come to mid-back, but still. She’d been growing it out since she could remember, trimming mostly to keep herself from sitting on it. Once, at a time when sleepovers were more age-appropriate, Tiffany had joked about cutting it off in her sleep. Chanda had kept vigil all night, a female Samson guarding the source of her strength.

  Her face, then. High plump cheeks, naturally red lips, delicate bone structure and a dainty little nose… Seemed unlikely. Even more so beneath two big green eyes, themselves accented by freshly tweezed eyebrows and long, up-turned lashes. (She’d dreaded the thought of some jerk changing her aesthetic, so Chanda had gotten a full makeover only last week, her last purchase before transferring her bank account’s contents to her parents. She’d hoped her winner would find it hard to alter perfection.)

  If not the face… no way it was the body. No way. It was a point of silent pride that she’d literally almost killed someone with it once, sophomore year. She’d been walking to Brandy’s house after school, wearing a skirt, and when she’d bent over to tie her shoe, and some guy in his car on his way out of the school lot had drifted into the pedestrian crosswalk and rammed right into Gia Mendes. Gia hadn’t been hurt, but only because Chanda stood up in time for him to snap out of it before he completely ran her over. Or so the legend was told.

  That had only been the sight of her legs. They gradually widened into a thick, glorious ass. And it was widely said that her breasts put her ass to shame. She cupped them in the re-fogging mirror, and even Chanda herself had to admire them. Heavy, massive even, but still untouched by age. Perky and prominent, capped with a pair of even brighter pink nipples. These were some huge, symmetrical, mouth-watering sexy boobs. If Chanda ever actually hooked up with another woman, she was exactly the kind of woman she’d want to be with.

  So what the hell, guys of Clark? Her reflection glared back at her until it was lost beneath a fresh coat of vapor. She was absolutely smoking, and still not one man in the whole city had thought she was worth a single ticket?! Maybe she’d given the all-consuming libidinousness of her male classmates too much weight.

  Last night had been the time for sentimentality; today, her parents went back to their normal lives. Her mom was putting in a shift at the hospital, and Dad was engaged in spring cleaning. (Ordinarily it was a shared responsibility, but a week back, with bittersweet humor, he’d offered her the year off, and she wasn’t noble enough of a daughter to voluntarily reject it now.) On a normal Saturday, especially the first Saturday of spring break, she’d be making plans with her friends. Spring had come early, and though the high was only in the high sixties, coming out of winter it felt positively tropical.

  The only problem was… as of today, Chanda didn’t have any friends.

  The thought came to her first with a pang of self-pity that she squelched the moment she detected it, but it was true. She’d never had any male friends on account of the Lottery, and every last one of her female friends was gone. Not only her close friends, but even the friends of friends. Was it shallow to only hang out with Lottery-worthy friends? Maybe. But if Chanda had ever felt superficial about the thought that basically every female at any party she ever attended would be snatched up in the Lottery, she’d rationalized that it would cause less pain when none of the losers left any survivors behind to miss them.

  To make sure nobody else had enjoyed the same surprise she had, she texted them one by one. Julie, Big Jenn, Corinne, Annie, Elsie, Jen Junior… one after another text went unanswered and unread, and several returned that same disconnect notice.

  Finally, early that afternoon and right as she was beginning to accept she was truly alone, Chanda received a response.

  Krystal: Hey Chanda!

  It was followed by the same panda emoji that had followed her since her classmates had received phones. The rhyme was a bit cutesie for Chanda’s tastes, but pandas were adorable enough she’d never fought it too hard. Besides, it had been kind of cool to be a middle schooler with a brand.

  Chanda: omg omg omg Krystal! I’ve been texting people all morning but nobody’s been answering . Her fingers moving like lightning in her excitement.

  Chanda: How are you?

  Krystal: Living the dream lol

  Krystal: My winner’s passed out from an all-nighter, so I’m just sitting around his house bored af

  Chanda: Who’s the lucky buck?

  Krystal: Do you know Bart Schlegel? He was in choir with us

  Chanda did, and that was precisely the lens through which she remembered him. Both girls had dropped choir as they moved into high school (and Chanda quietly conceded the ears of Clark were grateful for it, at least in her case). Still, she’d had plenty of classes with Bart over the years. He’d seemed like a nice enough guy, from what she’d observed. Or at least before she considered what he’d been up to the previous night.

  Chanda: I do

  Chanda: So he let you keep your phone and stuff? Do you still feel “normal”?

  Krystal: Ya I guess? Other than Bart stuff anyways lol

  Chanda: Bart stuff…?

  Krystal: Ya you know how it is

  Krystal: lol

  Krystal: Hbu? Who’s the new envy of the boys of CHS?

  Chanda was trying to formulate a response that conveyed her status with appropriate humility when Krystal followed up.

  Krystal: Hey you wanna come over? If you’re not busy… ;) She included an eggplant and a peach, in case it was somehow unclear what she presumed Chanda might be busy with.

  Chanda deleted the text she’d been drafting. Could she go over there? Should she? What if Bart tried to… She shuddered. But he couldn’t. She wasn’t processed. She had no winner he could trade with. If Bart got fresh, she could simply leave.

  Besides… she was curious. Heaven help her, she was.

  Chanda: What’s his address?

  Brookstone was one of the town’s newer subdivisions, and suffered from a lack of architectural imagination that even Chanda’s novice eyes couldn’t fail to note. Every last house was beige. The ran
ge of shades was so narrow that it almost made it seem as though beige were an entire spectrum. Two and three-car garages were framed with grey brick or greyer cobblestone. Yards were still bare from diligent raking last fall, each lawn cut to the homeowner association’s prescribed length. Nearly every back yard featured a privacy fence to make sure they’d never have to interact with neighbors.

  Chanda had to pull her dad’s jeep over and call Krystal for directions before she finally found the place. She’d driven past it twice. The door swung open as Chanda approached, and waiting for her inside was Krystal.

  Naked.

  “Hey there, babe!” The blonde-haired blue-eyed and oh-so-unmistakeably shapely homecoming queen waved her inside, peering behind her. “What, no winner?”

  “Just me,” said Chanda, trying to avert her eyes. She’d told herself on the drive over that she’d have to start expecting and getting used to lewd displays. She might not have friends to hang out with, but the town wasn’t that big, and winners loved showing off their losers. She’d simply figured it might be more Bart kissing her in front of him, rather than… this.

  “Well come on in! You can kick your shoes off, if you don’t mind. Mrs. Schlegel’s a stickler for keeping things tidy.”

  “Oh! Sorry.” Chanda took off her sneakers. Lord, her feet were better concealed than Krystal’s entire body. She wondered if her pubes had been shaved before yesterday, or if that was for Bart’s benefit. Chanda had always sort of liked the aesthetic, but never indulged in it herself. She’d figured if her winner wanted her pussy bare, he’d have to wait on her to wax it for him. Take that. Perhaps now that it was all hers, she’d give it a try – though the waxing places were probably booked for weeks, with Drawing Day come and gone.

  “It’s all good. Mr. and Mrs. Schlegel left for the week so Bart and I would have the whole house to ourselves. Isn’t that sweet of them?”

  “Um, yeah, I guess so. Nice of them to give their son a whole week to break in his… you.” Chanda grimaced. She’d gotten so used to being glib about it as a mental defense that she was going to have to adjust and incorporate a little more sensitivity.

  Krystal didn’t seem to mind, though, and lead her casually down the hall to a spacious living room. It really was tidy. One of the couches even had those plastic covers on it like you saw old people using back when on TV. Krystal flopped down on it, and Chanda seated herself at the far end. As far as she could.

  “You’ll want to keep your voice down,” Krystal said, modeling her advice. “I don’t know how sound of a sleeper Bart is yet, and I doubt he’d appreciate me waking him up. At least, not by chit-chatting with friends.”

  “Looking like that, I don’t think he’d throw a fit.” She managed a smile. May as well break the ice. No sense pretending things were same old any more.

  “I know, right?” Krystal giggled. “Took the guy’s cherry last night, and after that he couldn’t get enough. I woke up at one point and he was sucking on my tit in my sleep.”

  “Yikes.”

  Krystal waved it off though. “But hey, what about you? You can’t tell me your winner already got bored of you, did he? Or are you here to arrange a trade? Geez, one day in and we’re already about to be shared around like Netflix passwords.”

  “What? No, no you’re not being traded. Me either. Ever, actually. See, as it turns out…” Chanda took a deep breath, and filled Krystal in on everything. From her panic attack to her fainting spell to being turned away at the gym to getting to go home and sleep in her own bed, all by herself, wearing actual pajamas.

  “Wow, that’s so unreal! I thought for sure you were gonna break records!” exclaimed Krystal, casually scratching an itch on her upper thigh. Chanda tried not to stare too hard. “Are you screwing with me? I mean, I know how some girls get turned, you know, weird. I heard Bart talking to one of his friends on the phone last night and it sounded like they were saying Lacie Steiger was crawling around in diapers and drinking her dinner out of a bottle.” Both girls made a face at that.

  “I am happy to say I am not screwing with you,” Chanda assured her. “Have you heard from anyone else? I texted around, but you were the first one who answered.”

  “You’re the only one who even tried reaching out to me. I sorta figured nobody would answer. Either I’ll see girls in school Monday, or I won’t, you know?”

  Chanda brightened. “So he’s sending you back to school?”

  “I guess so. Gonna suck too, because I totally told Mr. Amedori he was a fucking loser and a pervert and knocked a bunch of his shit off his desk on my way out the door before they zapped me with the baton. I wonder if he’ll still be pissed, considering.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think students tell him that often enough that he’ll forget. True, though. I heard he tried to bid on some of his own students a couple years ago.”

  “Heard the same. My ex-step-brother goes to Newton, and he told me once that one of his teachers has not one, not two, but three losers. Like, how do you even make yourself keep doing a suck-ass job like teaching when you have three of us waiting at home, right?” She paused. “Well, three of me, anyway. Oh, well. Mr. Amedori can deal with me. Not like it’s going to be the same anyway.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you could, I dunno, tell me what changed. Always figured I’d wind up learning firsthand, but now, here I am, the only surviving non-uggo at CHS.”

  Krystal took on a pensive look. “What changed. Hmm. It’s sort of hard to gauge. It’s like everything still feels the same, for the most part.”

  “He didn’t, like, change stuff about you? I know they can tweak all sorts of stuff.”

  “I still seem normal to me, but it’s probably hard to tell if you’re normal when the weirdness would be in your brain and it’s your brain that tells you you’re not normal, ya know? But Bart told me he wanted me pretty much as is.”

  “Really? Not that you’re not super cute and all, Krystal.” Chanda flashed her a smile. “But surprised he didn’t at least play around a little.”

  “He probably changed some stuff, but actually, he told me on the bus ride home after school that he liked me the way I was, the hot blonde bimbo, ditzy cheerleader and all that shit. Which was fucking rude, but hey, I’ll take it. He doesn’t have to know I have a 3.4 GPA.”

  Chanda had actually thought Krystal was a little on the dim side too, but she kept it to herself. “What about the process? Do you remember what happened? What they did to you in the gym?”

  “Yeah, but you can’t talk about it. They told me that, and I guess it stuck because I’m trying to but I guess I’m not, am I.”

  She laughed. “You’re definitely not. Hmm. But what about after? You texted that it was normal ‘except for Bart stuff,’ or something like that. What’s that about?”

  Krystal folded her arms behind her head, breasts thrust out casually as she considered. She really was pretty fine. Bart was a lucky guy. For a split second, it occurred to Chanda that now that she was effectively her own winner, she might be able to arrange some kind of trade herself. But she couldn’t take advantage of a loser like that.

  The blonde finally seemed to give up finding words for her experience. “It’s hard to describe. I’ve definitely never felt anything like this. It’s like… like he’s my dad, kind of?”

  Chanda gasped in horror. “Your dad?! Ew!”

  “No, I know. But I mean, not like ‘Hay Daaaaaaddy,’ but more like ‘yes, sir.’ Like there’s something in my head that tells me I have to do what he wants, like it or not. Like, I got grounded once – shut up – when I was in sixth grade because I was in this huge fight with Kelsey about something, I forget what, and I told everyone her scar was from her parents tried to abort her but it didn’t take and that’s why they lied about her age on her birth certificate so they could Lotto her a year early.”

  Chanda’s eyes widened. “Oh shit, I remember that! Oh man, she was… wow. I don’t think I ever knew you were the one who started that
rumor.”

  “I didn’t start the fight, for the record. But whatever. I’m not proud of it. Actually yeah, that’s sort of my point.” Krystal adjusted her position, scooting closer. There was a squeak as her bare ass rubbed across the plastic sofa cover. When my dad found out, he was… ugh. Just the way he looked at me, so disappointed. And he grounded me until he said I thought I deserved to be ungrounded. And I tell you what, that look… I didn’t leave the house for like three months because I hated knowing I’d let him down and I just wanted him to know I was sorry, and I was better than that.”

  Chanda didn’t interrupt her as she went on. “So anyway, it’s sort of like that with Bart. Like I want him to approve of me, and I can’t stand the idea of letting him down. And now there’s this whole part of my brain that just knows things about him. That’s a change, I guess. What he likes, what he hates, and all of it is wrapped in this, like, bubble? Of wanting to be on his good side, like with my dad. That’s the best I can describe it.”

  The more she talked about Bart, the harder it was not to notice how hard her nipples had gotten, two big brown pebbles on sun-kissed breasts. Chanda smelled her pussy before she actually saw it, but from this close, it was impossible to miss how that thing was glistening with readiness. In fact, she noticed, there was a small puddle where she’d first been sitting, smudged to where her ass was now. Good foresight on Mrs. Schlegel’s part with the cover. As for Krystal, everything about her was clearly showing her readiness for sex.

  “So, was the nudity his idea then, or yours?” Chanda asked, still trying to maintain sociability in spite of it all.

  “The nudity…?” Krystal looked herself over as if surprised someone had noticed, like Chanda had pointed out a chunk of lettuce in her teeth. “I don’t know, it didn’t occur to me to wear clothes around Bart’s house. Why, is it weird? I guess I always used to wear clothes around you, huh. It doesn’t feel weird, but your eyes are telling me it’s another loser thing.”