****************** 
Title: Choices (Part One: The Party)
Author: Michael Noakes (noakes_m@hotmail.com)
URL: http://www.geocities.com/noakes_m/firstframe.htm
Summary: Part One. Forced by two interfering parents, 
Ranma unwilling accompanies Akane to the biggest Furinkan 
party of the year. But things don't go well: some bully is 
trying to pick a fight with him, Akane's patience is shorter 
than ever, and some of the guys are treating him a bit oddly. 
Throw alcohol into the mix, and it proves a most volatile 
night for Ranma. 

(Completed June 1997) 

****************** 


     Burning embers floated high on the night wind to flicker
briefly among the stars before flaring, fading, dying.  Their dizzying
dance twirled amongst the smoke and raucous laughter of boys as
they drifted into the sky.  As Hiroshi watched, one particular
particle of glowing ash was carried away, then reversed direction as
it was caught in an unexpected eddy.  It alighted upon a bare arm
and was unconsciously brushed away.
     "You sure you don't want one?" he asked, offering a bottle.
     Ranma glanced at the bottle with distaste and shook his
head.  "You know I don't drink," he answered.  Hiroshi shrugged
and kept the beer for himself, not entirely surprised.  The mere fact
that Ranma had showed up was amazing enough in its own right; to
expect him to actually unwind, drink, and have a good time was
probably asking too much.  Not that his attitude made any sense:
what was the point of Ranma coming to Kiyoshi's party -- easily
the biggest, best party of the year -- if he wasn't going to relax
somewhat and have some _fun_.
     Hiroshi settled comfortably into his seat by the fire.  Must
be nice, he thought, to be this rich, to have parents as well off as
Kiyoshi's obviously were.  Their house was absolutely huge: built
on slanted ground, the basement opened up onto the rear through
patio doors that led onto an attractive terrace; a beautiful porch was
suspended above it and gave a great view of the carefully
landscaped yard.  The property was fantastically expansive -- at
least, it was to a boy like Hiroshi whose idea of a backyard was a
square plot of earth with just enough room for his mother to grow a
few flowers.  There was even a low stone wall surrounding the
whole piece of land.  Ultimately, though, the most important aspect
of their house was, of course, the  outdoor pool.  It was --
unsurprisingly, considering the uncommonly warm weather --
currently the centre of much of the activity at the party.
     Whatever Kiyoshi's parents did for a living to afford this
level of luxury, it also kept them very busy -- meaning that on a
weekend like this, nearing the end of another year of studies,
madness, and chaos at Furinkan High, with both adults gone,
Kiyoshi's place became _the_ place to have a whopping huge party. 
Classmates, male and female, from Furinkan and elsewhere, were
standing and chatting, and presumably drinking, in groups, both
inside and outside the house; others were dancing or jumping
about, music blaring; many were already taking advantage of the
outside pool and were swimming and splashing wildly, bubbly
laughter and joyful shrieks punctuating their fun.  But he would go
swimming later, he decided.  Right now, Hiroshi was content to just
sit around by the convenient fire-pit set in the backyard, shoot the
shit with his buddies, and enjoy the contrast of the fire's heat on his
front, the refreshing wind on his back, and the cold beer in his hand. 
Yes, thought Hiroshi, this is turning out to be a beautiful party. 
Kiyoshi had another hit on his hand -- everybody was having a great
time.
     No, not everybody, he amended, looking sideways at
Ranma, who was absently brushing away another ember from the
turned-down sleeves of his usual red Chinese shirt.  At least one
person is not enjoying himself.  Not drinking, not talking, he was
just . . . sitting there.
     "Hey, Ranma?"  Hiroshi leaned towards his friend.  "What's
wrong?  You're just, you know, sitting there."
     Ranma shrugged.  "I dunno.  Guess I'm just not in a
partying mood," he answered.  Picking up a stick, he poked idly at
the fire.
     "Ah."  After a moment, he tried again.  "Hey, didn't you
come with Akane?  Where is she?"
     "How should I know?" muttered Ranma.  He gave the log a
sharp jab.  "Stupid tomboy."
     Ooookay, thought Hiroshi.  Obviously Saotome was not in
a very good mood tonight.  Probably another falling out between
him and his fiancee.  Again.  But if they were fighting, why did he
bother coming to the party with her?  Especially if he was just
going to sit there and sulk?
     Actually, he thought as he glanced around for Daisuke (his
friend having left for the house to grab a few more drinks from the
fridge), it was surprising enough that Ranma had come at all.  He
never showed up at any of the little get-togethers his classmates
organized.  Understandable, perhaps, considering the rather active
lifestyle he seemed to lead, but, still, if he was going to bother
coming out, he could at least try to have a little fun.  Ranma must
have read his thoughts, because a second later he turned to Hiroshi.
     "I didn't really even want to come," said Ranma.  "It was
my stupid pop's idea  . . . and Mr. Tendo's, of course.  They found
out Akane was coming to this party with some friends of hers . . .
so they thought it only natural that her fiance oughta accompany
her."  He scowled.  "Like I even wanted to go to some stupid party,
anyway.  Especially after she didn't even ask me.  Especially after
she told me she didn't want me hanging around with her!  Like I'd
want to hang around with a kawaikunee like her!"  He gave another
fierce poke at the fire.
     So that was it.
     "Here ya go, bud."  His thoughts were interrupted as
Daisuke plopped down next to him.  His friend passed a few bottles
over before glancing across at Ranma, who had returned to staring
sullenly at the fire.  "Hey. . . what's with him?" he whispered to
Hiroshi.
     Hiroshi suppressed a smile.  "Another fight with Akane," he
answered.  "She told him to leave her alone."
     "Again?  Sheesh.  Is it just me or have they been fighting
worse than usual, lately?"
     He shrugged.  "Probably.  Who can tell?"  He popped open
another beer and took a drink.  "Hey, by the way. . . what took you
so long?"
     Daisuke glanced around, then smirked.  "Heh.  Almost got
into a little tangle."
     "Huh?  How so?"
     "Well. . . I was grabbing a coupla beers from the bar fridge,
and when I stood up, I bumped into Ryuta, and. . . ."
     "Ryuta? Not Uehara. . .?"
     Daisuke nodded.
     "Shit!  Who invited him?"
     "Does it matter?  He probably invited himself."
     "Yeah.  So what happened?"
     "Nothing much, really."  Daisuke shrugged.  "I accidentally
knocked his drink into him.  He wasn't impressed.  Threatened to
kick my ass if I didn't get him another drink."
     "So did you?"
     "Yeah.  Gave him a few bottles," he nodded.  "But when he
wasn't looking, I swiped a couple of his bottles of sake."  With a
grin, he tossed over one of said bottles.  "Serves the jerk right,
threatening me over an accident!"
     Hiroshi looked down at the bottles with a small frown. 
"Shit, man, if he finds out. . . ."
     "What's he gonna do, eh?"
     "I already _told_ you what I was gonna do, you little shit,"
growled a deep voice from behind.
     With a surprised 'eep!', Daisuke spun and leapt to his feet. 
"Ah, hey. . . ah," he stammered.
     Hiroshi watched as the other guy stepped into the firelight. 
It most certainly was Ryuta: one of the local Furinkan bullies, one
of the few that had managed to survive after the various martial
artists had arrived and the regime of Miss Hinako had begun.  Big
guy, strong, tough, his face somewhat resembling something
chiselled out of granite, he was known for having a rather nasty
temper.  Not the kind of guy whose bad side you would want to get
on (not, mind you, that he had a good side anybody knew about,
thought Hiroshi), and not the kind of guy Kiyoshi would invite --
but that had never stopped Uehara from crashing a party before. 
Somewhere in the back of his mind Hiroshi wondered if any of the
bully's usual friends were hanging around, but his immediate
concern was on the nasty feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.
     "Hey, listen, it was a little joke, you know?" tried Daisuke,
as the larger youth grabbed him by the front of the shirt and hauled
him forward.
     "Yeah, sure, just a joke."  Ryuta sneered as he tightened his
grip.  "Funny."  Daisuke paled slightly. 
     Well, this certainly sucks, mused Hiroshi.  Trust an idiot like
this to ruin a perfectly good party.  With a sigh he started to stand
up to help his friend, noticing that some of the other guys around
the fire were getting up as well.  This is probably going to hurt, he
decided.
     "Sit down!" said the bully, eyes flashing, upper lip curling
with scorn.  "Or do I gotta beat the lot of you wimps up, too?" 
Hiroshi had no doubt that he could, too -- the guy was a nasty
brawler, always getting into scuffles with goons from other schools.
. . and usually winning.  Resigned to a whole lot of pain, Hiroshi
hesitantly raised his fists in something hopefully approximating a
fighting stance.
     "Ummm.  Listen.  Couldja, you know. . . let him go?"
stammered Hiroshi, despite his best effort to sound tough.
     "Oh, so you want it first?" demanded Ryuta, tossing
Daisuke aside and turning to his friend.  With a contemptuous
glance at the boy on the ground, he took a step towards Hiroshi,
one hammy fist rearing back. . . .
     . . . there was a sudden blur that zinged by, and a metallic
'ting'. . .
     . . . and suddenly the big guy was clutching his shoulder in
unexpected pain.  "What the?"
     Hiroshi opened his eyes, surprised he was still standing,
wondering what the delay was.  And suddenly, he knew, and
grinned.  Ryuta Uehara had chosen the _wrong_ group to threaten
this time.  With a narrowing of eyes, the bully took another step
forward.
     Something zinged by again.  Again Ryuta let out an
exclamation of pain, rubbing at his thigh.  "Hey!  Who's. . . ."
     Hiroshi smiled and stepped aside, revealing the attacker still
sitting calmly by the fire.
     "Why don't you just go away?" asked Ranma, bored.
     Ryuta peered at the pig-tailed boy.  Maybe he could not
make out who it was.  Maybe he did not care, or actually did not
know.  But Hiroshi watched as the larger youth flushed in anger. 
"You gonna make me, you little piece of. . . ."
     There was an audible sigh from Ranma, and then his hands
became a blur.  Things -- Hiroshi still could not tell what -- snapped
from his fingers.
     "I'm gonna. . . ouch!" exclaimed Ryuta.  "You. . . ouch! 
Ouch!  Dammit. . . ouch!"  He tried to take a step forward;
something pinged off his knee.  Then his chest.  Then his thighs,
shoulders, arms, and finally his forehead.  He staggered back, a
small trickle of blood beading from the small cut between his eyes. 
He glared at the group.  "I'll get. . . !"
     This one bounced off his groin.  His eyes bulged, briefly,
before he twisted away, moaning,  and stumbled ungracefully in the
general direction of the house.
     A small cheer went up around the fire as everyone sat down
again.  Hiroshi turned to Ranma, Daisuke -- who hadn't yet moved
from where he layed sprawled -- scrambling to his feet and stepping
in next to him.  Their friend looked up at them and grinned.  "Not
too smart, is he?  Still, good thing he left when he did," he added,
opening his hand.  "I was running out of ammunition."  Sitting in
his palm was a single beer bottlecap.
     "You. . . you were flinging beercaps at him?"
     "Yup!  Saotome School of Anything--Goes Special Attack:
Cap--oeira Strike; just one of the many moves that make up the
style known as 'Bar Fly Do'."
     Hiroshi and Daisuke stared at him for a moment.  "You're
kidding, right?"
     "Scarily enough, no."  With a snap of his fingers, Ranma
sent the last bottlecap tearing off into the night.  "It's a style my
pop developed while 'studying' in a string of bars across China. 
Uses all the usual bar accessories -- mugs, stools, bottles, beer nuts
-- as martial art weapons.  Pop always said it's meant as a
supplement to drunken--style Kung Fu."  He shrugged.  "I figured
he was just looking for an excuse to hang out at the local bar -- and
a way to get out without paying the tab."
     Daisuke looked at Hiroshi, who simply shrugged.  Tavern-
based fighting styles, drunken wandering fathers, trips across China
-- it was all part of a lifestyle he simply found impossible to
understand.  Ranma seemed to take it all for granted; somehow,
Hiroshi was not so sure that he would be able to do the same.


     The small metal disk winged its merry way through the
Nerimean sky.  Eventually, it began its rapid descent.  With a loud
'ting' it bounced off a late-night pedestrian's head.
     With a growl, he reached down and picked up the crumpled
cap.  He did not know where it came from.  He did not know how
it came to bounce off his head.  But somehow, Ryoga Hibiki knew
that Ranma Saotome was to blame.


     "Are you sure you don't want it?"
     Hiroshi watched as Ranma sighed and shook his head. 
"Yes, I'm sure," he answered, pushing away Daisuke's offer. 
"Listen. . . you don't gotta thank me for helping out.  That guy was
asking for it; can't stand jerks like that.  I hate bullies."
     Daisuke looked a little disappointed, but nodded and sat
down next to his friend.  With Ryuta gone, the conversation was
starting to pick up again.  Hiroshi looked around the fire -- mostly
people he knew, guys from his classes, or a grade above or below
him, but a few strangers that he guessed were from different
schools.  Coming around the circle, his eyes came to rest upon
Ranma.
     "Hey, by the way -- thanks."
     Hiroshi blinked and turned to his friend.  "Huh?"
     "For, you know, standing up for me," supplied Daisuke. 
"Against that asshole."
     He shrugged.  "What're friends for, eh?"
     "Yeah."
     There was a momentary pause, before Hiroshi continued in
a low voice.  "Hey, Dai-."
     "Yeah?"
     "Have a look at Ranma there."
     "Yeah?  And?"
     "What d'ya figure he's doing?"
     "I dunno," answered Daisuke.  "Looks like he's just sitting
there.  Why?"
     "That's just it -- he's just sitting there!" said Hiroshi, and
fell silent.  Daisuke gave him a quizzical glance, shrugged, and
returned to drinking and talking.  His friend remained fixated on the
pig-tailed boy's actions, or lack thereof.  He's just kinda pulled
back, Hiroshi finally concluded, out of the group, out of the circle. 
Why?  Why not join in the conversation?  After fighting off Ryuta --
without even standing up! -- they probably _wanted_ him to join in,
and certainly would not refuse him!  But he didn't.  Maybe he
thought he was too good for them?  Maybe he was bored?  Maybe
he simply did not care, did not even _want_ to be part of the gang? 
But then he saw Ranma glance up, give a sad, almost envious look
at the guys as their voices rose in mirth and mock argument, and
Hiroshi knew that that could not be why.  Well, whatever the
reasons, Hiroshi decided that, like it or not, Ranma was going to
have a good time tonight.  Already, Ranma, who looked like he had
come alive somewhat while driving away the bully, was
withdrawing into himself, returning to his earlier sullen demeanor. 
Now, how to break him out of it?
     "Are you NUTS?" exclaimed a loud voice from across the
fire, distracting him for a moment.  Hiroshi recognized Toshi, a
friend from one grade up.  "Keiko's better looking than Hiromi? 
Are you blind, man?"
     "No!  Are you?  There's, like, no comparison!"
     "You're right!  Hiromi's a hell of a lot better looking!"
     Getting drawn in despite himself, Hiroshi had to agree. 
Sure, the red--headed Keiko was cute, but the body on Hiromi was.
. . impressive.  Very impressive.  Besides, the one guy _had_ to
defend Keiko -- he was dating her.   "Sorry, man, but I gotta agree
with Toshi," he said, addressing Keiko's stalwart defender.  "Just
_look_ at Hiromi!"
     Somebody gave a little laugh. "Yeah, right.  Wonder what
he's looking at, eh?"
     At which point somebody else added: "Hey, should you
even be lookin'?  Ain't you and Sayuri, you know. . . ."
     "Hey!  It's none of your business!" exclaimed Hiroshi. 
"We've just gone on a few dates, that's all!"  Well, maybe not
_all_, but he did not see any reason to share his personal life with
these guys.  Friends are friends, but some things you simply don't
share.  Besides, Sayuri would kill him if she ever found out.
     "Sorry, bud," added Daisuke from next to him.  "But I can't
agree with you, here.  Keiko is _definitely_ better looking."
     "Ah, hell, you're both wrong!"
     Soon, a lively argument was underway.  As he listened (and
added the occasional comment), the conversation quickly grew to
encompass the largest part of the female population of Furinkan
High.  Seemed everybody had an opinion on who was the hottest
babe in school.  Hiroshi noticed that a couple of the girls walking
by gave them dirty looks, but he did not really care.  Looking down
at the empty bottle in his hand, he realized that he was starting to
feel. . . rather good.  Grinning without any good reason, he turned
to Ranma -- suddenly remembering his earlier decision -- and
noticed that, though not adding anything, his friend had drawn a
little closer to the group, was listening avidly to everything with a
slight smile and attentive eyes.
     "Whaddya think, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, and smiled. 
"Who's the best looking girl?"
     The group fell quiet, all eyes turning to Ranma.  And then:
"Yeah?  Who d'ya think, Ranma?  C'mon!"  Ranma paled slightly.
     "Well, ah. . . you know. . ." he stammered.
     Daisuke nudged him.  "C'mon, Ranma. . . you gotta have a
favourite. . . maybe that friend of Nabiki's, the one with the pig-
tail?  Eh?"
     "What?  No!  I. . . ah, you know. . . ."  He stopped when he
realized everybody -- or at least those who knew him -- were
grinning.  "What?"
     "Guess it wasn't really a fair question," said Toshi.
     "Yeah," added Hiroshi.  "What with him having Akane and
everything. . . ."
     "HEY!" protested Ranma.  "Akane?  No way!"
     "No?"
     "No!  That tomboy?  Ha!  She's. . . ."
     "KAWAIKUNEE!" chorused the crowd, and laughed.  
     After a moment, Ranma grinned sheepishly.  "Yeah.  That's
right," he said.  "And it's not like I 'have' her, either!"
     "Really?" asked someone Hiroshi did not recognize.  "You
don't love her?"
     "What?  No!" cried Ranma.
     "Oh?  So you wouldn't mind if I asked her out on a date?"
     "WHAT?" yelled Ranma, jumping to his feet.  "Akane's my
fia. . . ."  He stammered to a stop as everyone burst into laughter. 
Blushing in embarrassment, he sat down again.  "Fine.  Ask her. 
See if I care," he muttered, but cracked a little smile.  Leaning
forward a bit, he asked a question of his own.  "So, what, do _you_
guys think she's good-looking?"
     There was a brief and somewhat awkward silence around
the circle, which Hiroshi was the first to break.  "Ah, Ranma?  I
don't think anyone's gonna touch that one.  But. . .  just remember. 
Before you showed up here, Akane had to fight off about thirty
guys every morning.  What do you think?"
     "Yeah, I've still got the scar on my arm," muttered
someone.
     "Ok, ok," said Ranma.  "Well, then. . . what about. . .
Ucchan?"
     "Ucchan?"
     "Yeah, you know -- Ukyou?"
     "Isn't he a boy?" asked Toshi.
     "Nah -- just dresses as one," answered somebody else. 
"Actually, I've kinda wondered what she's like, under. . . ."  But he
petered off as Ranma glared at him.
     "Ranma?  I don't think you're gonna get an answer on that
one, either.  She's another one of your fiancees.  That makes her
off-ground for us, you know?" said Daisuke.
     "Oh,"  said Ranma.
     "Well, what about. . . ," started someone else, and the
conversation took off again in a new direction.  Hiroshi leaned back
again and cracked open one of the bottles Daisuke had
appropriated.  As the conversation turned slightly raunchier -- now
the guys were giving their frank appraisal of what women liked, or
why they did the incomprehensible things they did -- he noticed that
Ranma drew in even closer, avidly following every thread of the
discussion, though adding little or nothing himself.  Hiroshi
wondered why; if anyone here had the slightest clue on how to
attract women, or how they think, it was Ranma!  The guy had
three fiancees and hordes of women always chasing him!  And, of
course, there was the small matter of the curse. . . .
     "Hey!  Why don't we ask Ranma?" suddenly asked Toshi's
friend, Kenji.  "You gotta know what the women like!"
     "Me?"  Ranma started at his sudden inclusion in the
conversation.  "Why me?"
     "Well, gee, maybe 'cus you've got three fiancees?"
     "And all those other girls chasing after you?"
     "Heck, you've been living with two of the best looking girls
in the school for, what, a year now?"
     "Whoa!" interrupted Ranma, raising his hands.  "I didn't
_ask_ for any of my fiancees, or any of those other girls!  They just.
. . happened!"  He paused for a moment, as if in thought. 
"Although, I guess, I was partly responsible. . . what with my
devastatingly good looks and charming personality, and all. . . ."
     "Oh, please," gagged someone.
     "And, of course, there's the Saotome art of Making-
Women-Fall-In-Love-With-You, which, being a family secret, I'm
not at liberty to share."
     "I'm gonna be sick."
     "And, of course, the martial arts.  Chicks dig the martial
arts."
     "Yeah, right.  Of course they do." 
     "But. . . really. . . I don't have a clue how I do it!"  He gave
a grin -- half arrogant, half playful -- and shrugged.  "I guess some
of us are just naturals."
     "Gee, thanks a lot, Saotome," grumbled Kenji.
     "Seriously, though, guys," continued Ranma, shuffling in a
little closer.  "D'ya think if I knew what made women happy, I'd
always be fighting with Akane?  I may live with her -- but I
certainly can't figure her out!"
     "Oh."  There was a momentary pause, and then a curious
Kenji forged gamely ahead.  "But. . . still.  You must've had more
experience then most of us, right?"
     "Huh?"
     "I mean. . . well, between Akane, and Ukyou, and, ah. . .
you know, that purple--haired one, whatzername--"
     "Shampoo." 
     "Yeah.  Shampoo.  I mean, we've seen how they throw
themselves at you. . . ."  He turned to the other guys for support. 
"Right guys?"
     "Yeah!"
     Ranma gave an expression somewhere between a grimace
and a grin.  "Akane?  Throw herself at me?"
     "Ah, right.  Well, the other two, then," amended Kenji. 
"They sure seem to, well. . . like you -- especially that Shampoo."
     "Yeah?  So?"
     "So?  So you must've, you know. . . ."  He left the
statement dangling.
     Ranma totally failed to pick up on it.  "What?"
     "You _know_. . . ," he repeated.
     The pig--tailed boy remained blank.  "What?"
     "I think what he's insinuating," supplied Daisuke, leaning in
and grinning, "is that you must've had sex with at least _one_ of
them."
     There was a moment of stunned silence on Ranma's part,
and then a very odd look -- something between disgust, annoyance,
and outright panic -- crawled across his face.  "WHAT?" he
exclaimed.  "NO!  I didn't!  I haven't!"
     There was a round of "Yeah, right!"s and "C'mon!"s and
"As if!"s, and disbelieving cries all around.  Hiroshi did not bother
adding his own voice -- he knew better, and actually believed
Ranma, although having seen Shampoo around campus a few times,
could not help but wonder how his friend resisted the temptation. 
Probably a fear or love (or both) of Akane, or something -- or
maybe just a curse-induced lack of testosterone.
     "I'm serious!" insisted Ranma.  "I already told ya -- I didn't
ask for any of 'em!  I sure ain't gonna. . . you know. . . with them." 
He flushed a bit at the idea.  "Besides, if I _did_, and Akane found
out. . . she'd kill me!"
     "What if she was the one you did it with?"
     "That would be even _worse_!"
     Hiroshi snickered and patted his flustered friend on the
back.
     Kenji looked a bit disappointed for a moment.  "So, uh,
you're a. . . ."
     "What?  Virgin?" said Ranma, sounding a little angry.  Not
defensive, just upset.  "Yeah.  What's the big deal?"
     "Nothing!"  Kenji raised his hands placatingly.  "Nothing.  I
-- ah, we -- just figured that, with all those girls, you would've. . .
."
     "Well I haven't."  Ranma seemed to insert an air of finality
into his words, yet continued a moment later.  "Listen.  I spent,
what, the last ten years on the road.  The last few months before
coming to Nerima were spent wandering across China.  Training. 
That's where I met Shampoo."  He stopped for a moment, as if in
reflection.  He smiled slightly.  "But all she wanted to do was kill
me.  So, yeah, I didn't have much time to think about that kinda
stuff -- what with running for my life and everything.  And when I
got here, and moved in with the Tendos -- well, things've been
kinda. . . busy, you know?
     "Heck, I haven't even had a real kiss from one of 'em, yet. 
Shampoo did, twice: but one was the Kiss of Death, and the other
was the Kiss of Marriage, so they don't count."  He shrugged. 
     Kenji looked at him disbelievingly.  "You mean, with all
these babes throwin' themselves at you, you haven't even had a real
_kiss_ yet?"
     "Well. . . ," Ranma started to say, then hesitated.  A odd
look crossed his face: he seemed to remember something,
momentarily, that made him look slightly ill; then, his face flushed
and he suddenly seemed upset.  "No," he said curtly.  "I haven't
done anythin' like that -- with anyone."  Seeing the unexpected,
restrained anger, Kenji decided to let the subject end.  Hiroshi was
glad he did.  He could not fathom what had upset Ranma, but it
was obviously a touchy subject.
     There was a brief lull as the sound of bottles being opened
all around rang out.  Daisuke leaned forward after taking a drink. 
"So.  With all that said -- you're saying you don't know more about
the way women think than the rest of us guys?"
     "Nope."  Ranma shook his head.  "Why should I?"
     "I think," growled a voice from behind Hiroshi, slightly
slurred.  "I think they're askin' 'cus. . . 'cus you're a girl yourself!"
     There was a sudden frigid silence around the fire, and all
eyes turned to Ranma.  Under their scrutiny he stiffened, face
hardening.  Hiroshi had a bad feeling about this -- a very bad
feeling.  There were certain subjects you simply did not raise
around Ranma: his curse, his masculinity or lack thereof; and you
never, ever, called him a girl.
     "Excuse me?" the pigtailed boy asked, voice dangerously
cold.
     "I said, you'd know. . . 'cus you're a girl."
     "That's what I thought you said."  Slowly and smoothly,
Ranma rose to his feet and turned towards the intruder.  "I.  Am. 
A.  Guy.  Got it?"  He glared as the figure approached.  "You got
that, Ryuta?  Or are you stupid?"
     Ryuta stepped closer, striding arrogantly up to Ranma.  The
bully was, at a quick comparison, the more intimidating of the two;
he was certainly taller, and thicker set, with coarse, rigid features,
and a drunken wildness to his eyes that was decidedly
uncomfortable.  But a glance at Ranma, at his intensity, at the
sudden deceptive looseness with which he held himself, made it
obvious who was the one to fear.
     "Oh, yeah, sure, a guy," muttered Ryuta.  "My mistake."
     "I'm glad we got that cleared up,"  Ranma said, still glaring.
     "Yeah."  Ryuta turned away, then paused.  "It's just that,"
he started.  "You sure _look_ like a girl!"  Ranma hopped back as
Ryuta spun around and punched forward; he avoided the strike with
ease -- but the contents of Ryuta's glass hit him full in the face.
     Hiroshi groaned out loud.


     "Akane!"
     "Just a 'sec, okay?" she said, and turned away from Sayuri
as a friend hurried up with a concerned look on her face.  "Yes? 
What is it?"
     The girl came to a breathless stop.  "Akane!  There's. . . it
looks like there's going to be a fight outside!"
     Akane's countenance darkened.  "It's Ranma, isn't it?"
     The girl nodded.
     "That idiot," she growled.  And after I made him promise
not to fight!  Could she not have at least _one_ night to herself, one
night where her baka, unwanted fiance did not get himself into a
fistfight?  Well, she would show him!  "Where is he?"
     "I think he's with Hiroshi and the guys -- over by the fire."
     "So what's it about this time?"
     "I don't know -- I think the other guy started it -- but he's
not alone. . . ."
     The other guy started it?  Not likely, considering Ranma. 
Well, she would set everything straight -- even if she had to beat up
both involved parties to do so!


     Ranma wiped the liquid from her eyes.  It was not water --
it was slightly sticky and smelled sweet, and stung a little -- but
obviously it had been enough to do the job.  With unconscious ease
developed over innumerable accidental encounters with cold water,
she tightened the belt around her waist and adjusted her clothing.
     "See what I mean?" mocked Ryuta.  "You _are_ a girl!" 
Ranma berated herself for not dodging the splash, and proceeded to
eye her opponent critically.  The guy obviously knew how to fight;
not as a martial artist, perhaps -- he lacked that unconscious air of
calm confidence and discipline -- but most definitely as a brawler,
with an intensity that only experience brings.  Big, strong, and
probably pretty tough; drunk, too, which never helped -- enough
fights with Pop after he would come home after drinking too much,
yet stubbornly insisting on training, had taught her what to expect. 
Not that it mattered: after one got used to fighting the likes of
Ryoga, chumps like this simply failed to measure up.  There was
only one problem: the promise to Akane.  She would not go back
on her word; she could not, even though every instinct was
screaming at her to beat the shit out of this jerk.
     "So, c'mon, Ranma."  Ryuta stepped forward.  "What's it
like?  Eh?  What turns a girl on -- what's it feel like?"
     The redhead took a deep breath.  She would _not_ be
baited into a fight.  This was. . . training, like for the Hiryu
Shotenha; she just had to keep a level head, and stay cool.  "Go
away, Ryuta. . . ." Ranma forced her voice to stay calm, though
there was a slight tremor she could not avoid.  "I'm not interested
in a fight."
     The larger boy ignored her and moved closer.  Ranma
noticed that he was not alone; the bully had brought along a few of
his bully friends, two of them flanking their leader and the other
making a pathetic attempt at sneaking up from behind.    "You
telling us you don't know?  You telling us you've never. . .
experimented?"
     "No.  I haven't," said Ranma, anger starting to grow.  "I'm
not some kind of pervert!"
     "I find that hard to believe.  C'mon, what's it like -- having
your breasts felt up?"
     "I wouldn't know."
     "No?  Maybe you've gone further. . . maybe tried it with a
guy, eh, you little sex-changing freak?  What's it like, feeling some
guy inside of you, huh?  Grinding away at you, thrusting, his hands
all over. . . ."
     Ranma felt the blood pounding in her ears, her rage
building, the leash restraining her anger slipping.  The presence of
the crowd thrust itself upon her awareness, their whispering coming
to her peripherally: some of the guys she'd been chatting with, who
knew her, wondering why she hadn't taken Ryuta down yet; others,
who hadn't been there, but recognized her, unsurprised that she'd
started a fight -- "oh, look, it's Ranma, fighting again, big surprise. .
. ," they said; and the others, the curious, the surprised, wondering
"who's that girl" or "shouldn't we do something, she's going to get
hurt," but no one actually doing anything, after all, it wasn't any of
_their_ business, and Uehara was a really _big_ guy.  And then the
other whispers, the ones that hurt: "Do you think she telling the
truth?", "Maybe Ryuta's right. . . .", "I always knew he was a
pervert!"  So she spoke, to drown out the voices with her own,
words half-choked with fury and shame, louder and shriller than she
would have liked.  "Don't. . . don't, Ryuta.  Don't push me.  I -- I
promised I wouldn't get into a fight tonight -- don't make me break
my word.  Don't."  A deep shuddering breath, an attempt to regain
control.  And then, "I'm a man."
     Uehara swaggered a step closer, sneering down at the
diminutive girl, close and towering over her.  "I always knew it," he
stated in a cold, hard whisper, drunkenness fading before sudden
meanness.  "Scared.  You're all lies and reputation.  A joke."
     "You're the joke, Ryuta." she replied evenly.  "You're just
a pathetic bully."
     To her surprise, he nodded.  "Maybe I am.  But at least I'm
honest about it."
     Her eyes narrowed.  "What?"
     "I'm a bully.  Sure.  I know it.  But so are you -- but you
don't even know it.  Who's the one who's pathetic?" 
     "I am _not_ like you!"
     "Yeah?  Funny.  I've seen the guys you hang around with. 
You ever think twice about grinding them down?  Humiliating them
and hurting them whenever they even slightly annoy you?  'Course
not!"  He made a sudden, wide gesture, taking in the silent,
straining crowd surrounding them.  "Now look around.  Look at
those wimps, those little shits.  They're afraid of me, of what I can
do, and they do what I want 'cus of that fear.  Now do you _really_
think they fear you any less?  Idiot.  You're kidding yourself.  Did
you think they were your _friends_?"
     "They. . . they _are_ my friends!" insisted Ranma.
     Ryuta stared down at her for a long moment, before one
corner of his smile twisted up in a sneer.  "I just realized how well
that body suits you.  You're a coward, Saotome."
     "Am I?  Challenge me and find out, asshole!"
     He looked at her for a moment, then laughed.  "I couldn't. 
I don't fight girls," he said, loudly, and turned away.
     The words resounded through Ranma's mind, Ryuta's
patronizing laugh a taunt, his turned back an insult.  She felt her fist
clench convulsively by her side.  "I'm a MAN!" she yelled after
him.  "You hear me?  I'm more a man than you'll ever be!"  No one
turns their back on her, her mind screamed, not while she was still
standing, not after insulting her like that -- not Ryoga, not Mousse,
not Kuno, and most certainly not a pathetic, weak, _lying_ little
bastard bully like Ryuta Uehara!  "Come back here and face me like
one!  I'll show you how much of a man I really am!"
     He paused, and after a beat, slowly turned around to face
her.  Ranma could feel the tension around her, everyone holding
their breath.  And then he smiled, and gave her the most
infuriatingly condescending look.  "Cute, ain't she?" he smirked. 
"Must be that time of the month."
     Sudden shame possessed her, so intense it nearly brought
tears to her eyes.  It quickly transformed into anger and hatred. 
She flowed forward, riding the fury, feral grin and furious eyes
lighting her face, animalistic gleeful snarl escaping her lips.  Her
tormenter could not follow, he was slow, far, far too slow to react
in time.  His tentative guard was knocked away, yanked forward,
her other hand latching onto his armpit, fingers and thumb digging
into muscle viciously, leg hooking in, snapping straight, breaking
his stance.  She could smell the alcohol clinging to him, the sudden
fear, feel as he tried to pull away, see the surprise and pain rise in
his eyes as he stumbled forward, and then the sudden wince, the
eyes almost rolling completely back, as she buried her knee into his
crotch.  He curled up and collapsed, but still she held him; her grim
smile tightened as she smashed her fist forward, downwards, the
rush of adrenalin proving that she was a _man_. . . .
     "RANMA!"
     Her fist froze, bottom three knuckles flush against the arc of
Ryuta's nose.  A sudden coldness and dread seized her stomach,
almost painful in its intensity.  She glanced down at the arm still
held in her right hand, relaxed her hold, saw the line of red jagged
marks in the wrist left by her tight grip and nails.  Absently
releasing the limb, Ranma turned to face Akane.
     "A-- Akane."
     "What are you DOING?" she demanded, stalking forward.
     "I. . . It's not my fault!" Ranma protested.
     "How can you _say_ that?  Look at you -- bullying that
guy!"
     "Bull. . . bullying?"  Ranma stepped over Ryuta's crumpled
form, her anger shifting to Akane.  "The jerk started it!"
     "Like I'm going to believe that!  Like I care!  You promised
me -- no fighting!"
     "I didn't want to!  What could I do!"
     "Ignore him!  Walk away!"
     "What?" Ranma cried.  "Are you stupid?  You didn't hear. .
. ."
     "What did you call me?"  Akane yelled.
     "Oh, so you listen to me _now_, huh?"  She yelled back. 
"Stupid tomboy!"
     "You jerk!" she screamed, her hand lashing out.  Ranma felt
the all-too familiar pain explode in the side of her face, and
staggered slightly.   "You just had to ruin my night, didn't you! 
Everything was going fine, and you just had to screw it up!" 
     "But I -- I. . ."  But what can I say, thought Ranma, and the
anger suddenly drained away.  Akane was right.  It was unfair --
totally so -- but Akane was right.  I broke my promise; I've ruined
Akane's night.  A groan displaced her attention: Ryuta, clutching
his groin, one foot scrabbling in the dirt and vainly trying to stand,
to push away.  The fight had never been about who was stronger,
Ranma suddenly realized.  Uehara must have known he could never
beat Ranma in a fight.  But the fight he had initiated -- the real fight
-- Uehara had won hands down.  I shouldn't have lost my temper,
she berated herself.  But what else could I have done?  Ryuta had
pushed, pushed too much and too far.  Ranma was surprised she
had managed to hold back as long as she had.  She looked around:
the other bullies were backing off, obviously frightened now that
their leader was down; Hiroshi and the guys were staring at her and
Akane, mixed glances of curiosity, amusement, and annoyance; the
others watched with surprise at the sudden violence, victory, and
words of the strange and small girl, or still in shock as the curse
was revealed to them for the first time; and, buried just beneath the
surface of it all, did Ranma detect just the slightest glimmer of fear
at the unexpected viciousness of her attack -- was Ryuta right?
     And then, turning back to the source of the new conflict, he
saw the girls who had followed Akane: Sayuri, glaring at Ranma
like she was some kind of bug, the cause of all their friend's
problems; the others, obviously annoyed and tired of the whole
thing; and finally Akane, disgusted, enraged, sick of her fiancee and
angry as usual.  Everything was so quiet, everyone looking at
Ranma, the party disrupted, the fun ruined.  She was not wanted
here.  She did not belong here.  Ryuta was right.
     "Fuck this," muttered Ranma.   "I don't know why I
bothered."
     She turned her back on them all and walked away.


     "Ranma. . ."  Whispered Akane after a moment of shock,
taking a hesitant step toward the pig-tailed girl.
     A hand fell on her shoulder.  It was her friend, Sayuri. 
"Don't bother, Akane," she said.  "There's no point.  You'll just
end up fighting, you know you will.  Give her a chance to cool
down."
     "But. . . ."
     "Didn't you come here to have a good time?"  Sayuri
waited a moment, until Akane nodded glumly.  "Well, it's not going
to happen if you chase after Ranma.  This is your night out, isn't it? 
Then let her sulk!  Maybe she'll come back and apologize -- though
I doubt it -- but why worry?"
     Akane looked after Ranma's retreating form.  She could
hear the whispering around her;  maybe it had not been Ranma's
fault, after all.  But Ranma had promised!  And yet. . . and yet, he
had seemed so tired, so sick of the fighting and the arguing, so open
and hurt right before turning away.  Should she go after him?
     "Hey, look!"  Sayuri's hand suddenly grabbed Akane's. 
"My friend from Tomobiki just got here!  C'mon, you just gotta
meet her!  I know you'll just get along great!"  Akane found herself
being dragged back into the house.  
     She spared a last look outside after Ranma; he was already
gone.


     When he caught up, she was already stepping out onto the
street, heavy iron gate about to clang shut behind her.  She paused
for a moment and stared down at the ground, one hand holding the
gate open; then, with a shaking of her head, she seemed to come to
a decision.  She moved away from the house.
     "Ranma!  Wait!" shouted Hiroshi.
     The redhead hesitated for a moment, and stopped.  She did
not turn around, but allowed Hiroshi to catch up, stopping the gate
from closing with one foot.
     "Ranma," he started, slightly winded.
     "What do you want?" she sighed, sparing him a brief glance. 
He was surprised at the look on her face -- never had he seen
Ranma like this, never seen a depressed nor tired side to her.  Was
this what she was like outside of school?  Or at home?  I really
don't know much about her, he suddenly realized.
     "I. . . don't go, Ranma," said Hiroshi.  "You don't have to
leave."
     "You're right, Hiroshi.  I don't _have_ to leave."  She
turned away from him.  "I _want_ to leave."
     "But. . . ."
     "But what?" she interrupted in a tired voice.  "What's the
use of staying?  So I can start another fight?  Piss off Akane again? 
Maybe ruin the night for everybody else, too?  Yeah.  Good idea,
Hiroshi, just great."  She gave him one last look through the bars of
the gate, then stepped away.
     Hiroshi watched as his friend left.  Damn, but it wasn't fair,
he thought.  For once, it really had not been her fault; for once,
everybody _wanted_ her to beat up the jerk.  If she had not been
there, Ryuta would have doubtlessly started the fight with
somebody else -- and probably won as well.  Maybe the party had
been disrupted, a bit, but at least no one had been hurt!  No,
decided Hiroshi, Ranma was not going to leave that easily.  She
deserved to have fun, too, once in a while.  He slipped through the
gate and ran up behind his friend.
     She tensed as Hiroshi pulled her back with a hand on her
shoulder.  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
     "I'm stopping you from leaving, Ranma.  What happened
back there wasn't your fault, no matter what anyone says!  If you
hadn't been there. . . well, Ryuta probably would've beat up
Daisuke earlier, and picked a fight with someone else, anyway!"
     Ranma shrugged her shoulders.  "Probably.  So what?  I'm
not leaving 'cus of the fight, Hiroshi.  I'm not even leaving 'cus of
Akane."  Hiroshi noticed her face darkened as she spoke the last
name.
     "You're not?"
     "Nah."  She shook her head, and sighed.  "But I realized
something, right after.  I looked around, Hiroshi.  Looked at
everybody, looking at me.  And Akane.  And I realized -- I didn't
belong there.  Maybe Akane does -- she grew up here, she's gone
to Furinkan all along, she grew up with these people -- but I don't. 
The way everybody was looking; not like I was their friend, but. . .
but like I was some kinda freak."  Her gaze dropped to the ground. 
"Like some kind of _dangerous_ freak."
     "Hey!" protested Hiroshi.  "That's not true!"
     "Isn't it?  Maybe.  But if not that. . . then I was the guy
who's always fighting.  Or causing trouble.  I'm the cross-dressing
pervert, or the Casanova, the guy who's always arguing with his
fiancee.  Akane and I aren't even a real couple -- we're a sideshow
to keep you guys amused."  She let out a deep breath and leaned
against the outside wall of Kiyoshi's residence.  "I just don't fit in,
Hiroshi.  Those guys in there, everybody. . . they're just not my
crowd, I guess."
     "Then who is?"
     "I. . . don't know, Hiroshi.  I really don't know."
     He stared at his friend in disbelief.  Was Ranma. . . lonely? 
Hiroshi had trouble reconciling that idea with the attractive young
girl before him.  Ranma had everything: the good-looks (as both
guy and girl), the skill, the strength, the charisma; she had three
fiancees, and other gorgeous girls chasing after her; she was
engaged to, arguably, the most popular girl in school, and Ranma,
herself, was arguably the most popular guy.  How could Ranma
possibly be depressed?  She could have any girl at school, if she
wanted, or, for that matter, probably any guy.  Try as he might,
Hiroshi could not understand.  But whether he did or not was not
important; his friend was feeling down, and it was his job to cheer
her up.
     "Listen, Ranma," he said, after a few moments of silence.  "I
don't know about all that; maybe you're right, maybe not.  But I do
know that, before Ryuta came along, you were having a good time. 
Weren't you?"
     She seemed a little surprised.  "Ye. . . yeah, I guess so. . . ."
     "Did you feel out of place?  Like you didn't fit in?  Didn't
seem like it, to me at least.  We were talking, you were talking, hell,
everybody was laughing and drinking and having a good time!  I
don't see what the big deal is!"
     "But. . . ."
     "But what?  So you had a fight with Akane!  So what?  You
think any one of those guys sitting around the fire hasn't had at
least one argument with a girlfriend?  So yours are a bit more
violent, a bit more. . . vocal; that's just the way you and Akane
are!"
     "But. . . ."
     "No," stated Hiroshi, grabbing Ranma's wrist and pulling
her towards the party.  "No excuses.  You're coming back with me. 
You're having a good time tonight, no matter what!"
     "Hey!  Waitasec!"  The girl easily slipped her wrist free
from his grasp.  "Listen, thanks, I appreciate it, but I just _can't_
go back with you!"
     "Why the hell not?" he asked, a little confused.
     "Well, just look at me!"
     He did so.  He liked what he saw.  "Yeah, so?"
     "I'm a girl, stupid!  That group around the fire -- they're all
guys.  It's an all-guy thing, Hiroshi, and I'm a girl.  I don't belong."
     With a snort of disgust he grabbed her wrist again and
yanked the gate open with his other hand.  "That's a pretty lame
excuse, Ranma.  You're a guy -- we all know that!  We don't care
what you look like!  And we can get you some hot water from the
house, anyway."  He noted with some satisfaction that this time, at
least, she allowed herself to be pulled forward.  She had a
thoughtful look on her face, and the slightest of smiles.
     "Ok.  Fine," she said.  "I'll stay for a little while.  But forget
the hot water.  Akane's in that house -- no way in hell I'm risking
bumping into that kawaikunee, violent. . ."
     "Tomboy?" supplied Hiroshi.
     "Yeah.  I'll just stay like this."
     "'kay," agreed Hiroshi, leading the way.
     "Oh, and, bud. . . thanks.  I appreciate this."
     "No problem, Ranma."
     "And, Hiroshi. . . ."
     "Yeah."
     "Would you mind letting go of my hand?"
     He grinned.  "Oh.  Sorry."
     They rounded the corner of the house.  Before them, the
party was once more in full swing.  The pool was splashing, the
music was blaring, and the guys were sitting around the fire.  With
a nod in their direction, Hiroshi led the way.   "C'mon, Ranma. 
You won't regret this!  We'll make this a night you'll never forget.
. . ."


     Releasing a sigh, Akane stepped out onto the second floor
balcony, looking out over the backyard and the festivities.  Damn,
she was trying, but she simply felt unable to relax!  Stupid Ranma --
leaving like that, leaving her all tense and stressed out and. . .  and
worried, she added with a frown.
     Why?  Why did she let him get to her like that?  It was not
fair -- he starts the trouble, yet she was the one left feeling guilty. 
The jerk was probably over at Ukyou's, anyway, eating
okonomiyaki, complaining about his 'kawaikunee' fiancee to his
'kawaii' fiancee.  Her grip tightened on the railing.  Stupid jerk! 
She glanced back into the house, towards the party noises and her
school-friends: the balcony led into the master bedroom, and she
noticed for the first time the silhouette of a couple making out on
the bed.  She blushed and turned away, but for some reason the
afterimage remained with her.  Akane suddenly realized that she
felt. . . envious, of that unknown couple on the bed.  Kissing,
hugging -- what is it like, she wondered, to be _close_ to someone,
a friend, someone who cared for her?  But I hate boys!, she
reminded herself, but it did nothing to alleviate her melancholy. 
She tried to imagine her and Ranma in a similar situation, and gave
a mirthless laugh.  Not likely.  Stupid baka.
     Maybe she could go for a swim, she thought, trying to
distract herself, then remembered that she would likely drown if she
did.  She looked down at the pool enviously.  One day, maybe. 
Wandering eyes carried her gaze to the scene of the fight.  The
fight.  What had happened?  Had it been Ranma's fault?  Whatever
had happened, it had left him furious -- she had seen the intensity,
the savageness of his assault.  Whatever.  She did not want to think
about it, about Ranma.  Sudden movement caught her eye:
someone joining the group sitting around the fire the guys had
claimed as their own.  Rather unfair of them, she thought.  But. . .
wait!  She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who was sitting
by the fire.  It was hard, the light was directly behind them, but. . .
was that a flash of red hair?
     And then a cry rang out, a chorus of 'KAWAIKUNEE!',
and the figure glanced back nervously.  Their eyes met -- it was
Ranma, laughing.  Upon recognizing Akane, his smile faded.  A
moment  passed, and then Ranma frowned and looked away,
turning his back to Akane.
     Akane growled in frustration.  Here I was, worried!, she
thought.  And there's the jerk, yukking it up!  Well, fine!  If he can
have fun -- then so can I!  With an indignant sniff, she spun away
and stormed back into the house, ignoring the motions on the bed
as she passed them by.


     "Quiet," hissed Ranma.  "You tryin' to get me killed?"
     The guys looked at each other for a moment, and as a
group, shouted: "KAWAIKUNEE!", which quickly degenerated
into a fit of somewhat-drunken giggling.  Hiroshi watched in
amusement as Ranma, laughing as well, glanced around nervously. 
For a moment she froze, staring up at the house; Hiroshi followed
her gaze and thought he caught a glimpse of Akane.  When Ranma
turned back to the fire, she was frowning.
     "Hey, what is it?" he asked, nudging her.  The conversation
carried on without them, Daisuke desperately trying to convince the
guys that _he_ had dumped his ex-girlfriend, and not the other way
around.
     "Nothin'," muttered Ranma in response.  A moment later
she turned to Hiroshi with an intense look in her eyes.  "Listen. . .
do you have any of that beer left?"
     "Uh, yeah, I guess," he answered, surprised.
     "Would'ya mind if I borrowed some?  I'll pay you back, I
promise."
     "Don't worry about it."  He pulled one out, but hesitated
before handing it over.  "Are you sure you want one?"
     She nodded.  Almost reluctantly, he gave Ranma the beer. 
She immediately popped it open and sucked down half the bottle in
a single swig; it seemed Ranma drank the same way she did
everything else -- wholeheartedly.  When she came up for air her
face wrinkled in a grimace.
     "What, you don't like?" asked Daisuke, leaning over.  She
shrugged and took another drink. 
     "Say. . . you ever drink before, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, still
a little worried.  He had the sudden feeling that maybe Ranma was
not in the best of moods to be drinking.
     "Yup," she answered.  "Remember that stupid Romeo and
Juliet play from way-back?"  Hiroshi and Daisuke, and a few of the
other guys who were listening, nodded.  "Remember that bottle of
sake Kuno poured down my throat?"
     "Oh yeah!" said Daisuke.  "So, what, that was your first
time drinking?"
     "Well, as a girl, anyway," answered Ranma.
     Daisuke looked at his friend and shrugged.  It was not like
Ranma needed him to look over her or anything -- she could take
care of herself, realized Hiroshi.  He was not too sure why it was
bothering him; it was just that he had this nagging feeling that
maybe she should not be drinking -- at least not until she got things
squared with Akane.  That brought a grin to his face; if Ranma
waited for _that_, she would _never_ get to drink!  With a shake of
his head he decided to let it go, and instead of worrying he sat back
comfortably and drank a bit more, and listened.  The name of Kuno
had come up, and everyone was taking potshots at the oh-so-well-
respected Blue Thunder.  Ranma, in particular, had some rather
caustic things to add, growing in vehemence as she started her
second beer (this one donated by Daisuke).  Seemed she was quite
tired of being groped by him, fondled by him, and having flowers
sent to her.  When asked why she did not just tell him who she was,
or tell him she was not interested, or just beat him up, she
responded that she had tried all three, several times, sometimes
simultaneously -- but he just refused to understand.  There was a
general laugh at Kuno's expense, and the conversation moved on.
     The time flew quickly.  They talked, they laughed, they
drank, wood was piled on the fire as it started to burn low.  From
time to time someone would leave, or someone new would join,
and in a few instances the newcomer was not from Furinkan;
Ranma would draw a few odd stares from them, but they quickly
learnt that this lone girl was 'one of the guys' and that there really
was no reason to treat her differently from anyone else sitting
around the fire (in fact, she rather vehemently insisted that they did
not).  One stranger actually made the mistake of hitting on her;
_that_ had been good for a laugh, as Ranma (once she figured out
what the guy was doing) shifted from extreme embarrassment to
righteous anger and promptly booted him away.  There were brief
lulls, occasionally, especially after someone mentioned something
particularly deep or moving (or what passed as such after a few
drinks), but eventually conversation would start up again.  And no
matter what range of topics they passed through -- be it school,
teachers, parents, sports, martial arts (initiated by Ranma, of
course), Nerima, plans for the future -- they would always
invariably return to the opposite sex.  And so they talked, and
drank.
     One particular comment caught Hiroshi's attention.  Kiyoshi
-- the party-thrower himself -- had joined the group for a moment,
and was complaining loudly about his girlfriend, Kaori.  He was not
all that popular of a guy, aside for his parties, but since he was the
host, everyone listened politely.
     ". . .and so she cancelled on me!  Just like that!  Broke the
date!  And do you know why?  I can't believe this -- she ruined a
perfectly good date I'd been planning for weeks, and I lost the
reservation money and everything! -- she said she couldn't come
out because of cramps! -- because of her period!  She said it hurt
too much!" he said, ending by mimicking a girlish whining voice. 
"As if!  I know girls hafta deal with that crap, but as if it hurts that
much!  If she just didn't want to go out with. . . ."
     "Oh, shut up!" interrupted Ranma, sounding disgusted. 
"You don't gotta clue what you're talkin' about, okay?"
     "Huh?" responded Kiyoshi, obviously wondering, somewhat
drunkenly, who had interrupted him.
     "If Kaori said it hurt that much, believe her, 'kay?  'Cus it
does -- it can.  Sometimes it ain't so bad -- and some other times,
well. . . it is.  You ain't never felt it, Kiyoshi -- it bites, man.  It
really, really sucks."
     "And how would you know, huh?"
     Ranma glared at him evenly.  "Think about it, moron."
     He did so, for a moment, and his eyes widened.  "Oh. 
Ohhhh, oh yeah.  I. . . forgot," he ended lamely, and soon left.  An
uncomfortable silence was left in his wake, during which Hiroshi
leaned towards Ranma.  She was staring down at the ground,
blushing furiously, perhaps suddenly realizing that maybe she'd
admitted a bit more than she'd cared to, and probably wishing that
she had skipped that last drink.
     "So, you mean, you, ah. . . ."
     She nodded mutely.
     "And it, ah, hurts?"
     "Yeah.  Sometimes."
     "Sheesh.  I never, ah, realized that, you know. . . ."
     She shrugged.  "It's not something I like to talk about,
obviously.  It's. . . it's kinda embarrassing; I'm a guy, but I gotta
deal with that crap."  With a depressed sigh she drooped a bit,
finger tracing an abstract doodle in the dirt.  "Hell, if it was just the
pain, it wouldn't be so bad -- I'm used to pain, I can take it no
problem; it's the other stuff.  The blood and other shit.  Or the way
it makes me feel, right before.  It really sucks."
     "My girlfriend says that sometimes it makes her cry, for no
reason," supplied a classmate from across the fire.  "Well,
sometimes, anyway."
     Ranma raised her head and glared at him.  "I _don't_ cry!"
she insisted.  "Men don't cry."  Then she softened slightly.  "But,
yeah, I've seen Akane act that way a few times.  Really had me
confused 'till I figured what was wrong with her -- 'till I felt it
myself.  Well, kinda -- it doesn't hit me that way; but I can still tell,
I know it's affecting me, I find myself acting. . . weird, sometimes,
reacting in ways I know ain't normal for me.  It scares me."
     Hiroshi looked at his friend with some surprise, as Ranma
returned suddenly unseeing stare to the dancing flames.  He had had
no idea about any of this; everyone knew that Ranma hated turning
into a girl, was desperate to do anything to get rid of the curse --
but it had never occurred to Hiroshi that it affected her this deeply,
so profoundly. . . that it _scared_ her.
     "That's when it really hit me. . . ."  Hiroshi suddenly
realized that Ranma was still talking, hardly above a whisper, more
to herself than anyone.  He doubted that anybody else could hear. 
"When it happened the first time.  I was still in China, and there
hadn't been any hot water for a while.  When the cramps started, I
ignored them -- I figured it was the strange food, or something. 
And if I was a bit short tempered, or depressed -- well, I figured I
had every reason to be.  But then the bleeding started.  It freaked
me right out.  Pop wasn't much help, either: first he was ashamed
of me, and then, when he actually explained it, he messed it up and
ended up scaring me worse.  But that's when I first truly realized it
-- I was a girl.  In every way.  Every month, it reminds me of what I
am -- every month, it scares me, and makes me wonder if I'm a
little less a man, if a little more of me has slipped away, has. . . has
bled away."  And then suddenly Ranma was looking right at him,
eyes burning in the firelight, very serious.  "I don't know why I'm
telling you this, Hiroshi.  But I'm trusting you, man.  I. . . I don't
want anyone else knowing about this stuff."
     Stunned, Hiroshi could only numbly nod his head.  He was
not sure how he felt.  Did he even want to know about all this?  But
he could not help but feel a little honoured that Ranma would share
something this deep, this personal with him.  Sure, the alcohol had
probably been largely responsible, but this still meant something. 
He wondered if Ranma had even shared these feelings with Akane -
- if she even could.
     When he looked back up, Ranma was answering another
question.  That moment, that look, when she had been whispering
and baring her fears to him, was gone.  There was the same slight
roughness, that cocky self-confident if somewhat discomfitted
attitude that he used with the other guys.  
     "Sheesh.  Can't we just let it drop?"  She was saying. 
"Yeah, I learnt to keep track of that stupid cycle -- my stupid cycle. 
I had to suffer through a crash course in feminine hygiene, how to
use all that stuff and clean myself and everything.  I think I woulda
died if it hadn't been Kasumi doin' the teaching.  Can you imagine
Akane showin' me?"  Ranma gave a grim chuckle and took a drink
-- a long one.
     "What about your mom?  My mom showed my sister all that
stuff," asked someone.
     Hiroshi was not sure if anyone noticed the flash of pain that
crossed her face, or the sudden tightening of her grip on her bottle. 
"No," she answered in a voice that sounded strained.  "My mom. . .
isn't around."
     "Oh."
     There was a moment's silence.  Someone elbowed the guy
who had asked the offending question, and there was a hurried
exchange of angry mutterings.  Ranma did not seem to notice,
submerged in a sudden melancholy.  Then she snapped out of it and
forced a smile to her lips.  "So.  Yeah.  There ya have it.  The
bottom line is: it sucks.  Tho' I've got it easier than most girls, I
guess -- after all, if I can get my hands on some hot water, it all
just. . . goes away."  Then she muttered something about stupid
rain, stupid curses and stupider fathers, and took another drink.
     A hesitant question interrupted her complaining.  "So. . . ah.
. . what does, you know, it feel like?"
     She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it.  She ended
up just kind of waving her hand around uselessly in a gesture meant
to convey something she could not explain.  "I. . . I don't know. 
You couldn't understand.  It's well. . . well, you feel it in. . . damn. 
You just don't got the right parts, you know?  I can't describe it. .
."  A couple of the guys squirmed uncomfortably after that, and
finally let it drop.  But Hiroshi had one last question.
     "Ranma, if you have, you know. . . ."
     "Yeah."
     "Then I guess that means that, as a girl, you've got, you
know, all the. . . parts, right?"
     She stared at him for a moment before nodding.  "Yeah."
     "So that means that, ah, theoretically speaking, you could,
you know, get. . . ."
     "I don't like to think about that," she said, glaring at him. 
"And neither should you."
     Hiroshi wisely decided to drop the subject.  It took several
moments for everyone to pick up again, but eventually people were
talking, obviously trying to not think about Ranma's little
admission.  She seemed all too happy to let it go and drink some
more.  She did not stay quiet for long, however, as Toshi, who had
disappeared for a while, returned and sat down.
     "So, Ranma. . ." he asked from across the fire, his speech
slurred.  "You never. . . you didn't tell us. . . which girl it was you
liked. . . thought was cutest!"
     The redhead blushed, her face already rather flushed from
drinking and her last contribution to the conversation.  She had a
slightly glazed look to her eyes.  She looked at the ground in
embarrassment, and mumbled something unintelligible.
     "Huh?" asked the guy next to her, prodding her.  "We
didn't get that."
     "Ah. . . aka. . . Akane," she muttered, then glared defiantly
(if somewhat unsteadily) at everyone.
     "I knew it!" cried the group, more or less in unison.  "She
_does_ like her!"
     "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "I didn't say that!  I didn't!  I only
said she was cute!"
     "Sure, whatever!"
     "No!  S'true!  And only when she smiles!  And 'specially
not when she's chasin' me and tryin' to beat me or cook me
somethin'!"  Her protests were overridden by laughter, and after a
moment of false anger, she joined in.  Around that time Daisuke
plopped down heavily next to Hiroshi.
     "Hey man, where were you?" asked Hiroshi, dropping out
of the conversation.  Ranma was still protesting loudly his feelings
for Akane.
     Daisuke smiled.  "Just checkin' on something.  For later,"
he said, then nodded towards the group.  "What's up?"
     "Nothin' much," smirked Hiroshi.  "Ranma just admitted
that she likes Akane."
     "What!" cried Daisuke.  "And I missed it!  Shit!"
     "Yo, Daisuke!" called out Ranma, drawing both guys back
into the talk.  "What about you?  Which girl you like?  Which one
you think's the cutest?"
     Hiroshi watched as his friend blushed, looking away.  He
was curious himself -- Daisuke never really spoke about it much. 
Except. . . Hiroshi caught the brief, momentary sideways glance
that his friend tried to hide, and suddenly, he knew.  He had almost
forgotten, actually: all the little looks Daisuke secretly threw her
way, the occasional subdued comment, the mild infatuation he
seemed to have.  He could not help it -- Hiroshi burst out in
laughter.
     "What?  What is it?  You know?" asked Ranma.
     "Oh yeah!  I know!" he chortled.
     "Who?"
     "Oh, good choice, my friend!" he said, slapping his friend
on the back.  "Excellent taste in women, I must say!"
     "Who is it?" asked Kenji, echoed by the others.  "She good
looking?"
     "You betcha!  You even know her -- she's at this party!"
     "Really?"  The guys started craning their necks, looking
about to see what had clued Hiroshi in.  "Where is she?"  Next to
him Daisuke was shaking his head, a slightly panicked look on his
face, but Hiroshi ignored him.
     "Oh, she's closer than you think.  In fact -- you could say
she's right here. . . sitting with us!"
     There was a brief silence, and then everybody's eyes slowly
turned to Ranma.  She looked around in confusion for a moment,
then down at herself, then back up at the group.  Her eyes widened
in shock.  "What, me?"
     The guys looked among themselves for a moment, then
shrugged.  "Hell, Daisuke's got a point."
     "Yeah.  Cute face."
     "A redhead!  With long hair!"
     "Nice legs."
     "Hot bod."
     Ranma stared for a moment in disbelief as they laughed. 
The oddest expression crossed her face, profound embarrassment
struggling with a certain perverse pride.  Apparently, ego was the
stronger of the two as a glimmer entered her eye.  "What?  Guys. . .
I'm. . . I'm hurt!" she said, arching her back slightly, reaching down
and cupping her breasts, lifting them a bit.  "You forgot to mention
how stacked I am!"  She grinned and took a drink.
     A couple of guys spurted out their drink when they saw her
response; a few looked a little uncomfortable, squirming slightly, as
Ranma lifted her hands behind her head and showed off her curves,
still grinning.  For a moment no one seemed to know exactly what
to say, until Hiroshi lifted his bottle.  "Uhhh. . . yeah." he said, but
then after a moment's thought he smiled wickedly and added:
"She's got a point!  We weren't doing her justice!"  He turned to
her and bowed slightly.  "On behalf of everyone here, I apologize." 
Then, returning his attention to everyone else, he continued.  "And
on that note, I think we have a winner, don't you think?"
     There was a brief exchange of glances, at first confused but
quickly clearing up, and soon everyone's grin matched Hiroshi's. 
There was general nodding all around, except from Ranma who
appeared somewhat confused.  "Huh?  Winner?  What for?" she
asked, stopping her impromptu modelling.
     Hiroshi smiled as he explained.  "Well, you see. . . every
year, when Kiyoshi throws this party of his, there's a tradition we
guys follow ('tradition?' someone added, 'it's only the second
time!'): after much deliberation ('and drinking!' someone else
added), we, the men of Furinkan High, declare the official hottest
babe of Furinkan.  And you, Ranma, by unanimous vote, have been
declared that babe!  Congratulations!"
     There was a round of applause, and then Daisuke stood up. 
"Well, that's done," he declared.  "Time for a swim, I think." 
There was a quick chorus of agreement, and everybody leapt to
their feet, some more unsteadily than other.  They were halfway to
the pool change-room before they realized they had left Ranma
behind, still sitting stunned by the fire.


     "The guys are going swimming!  Let's go join 'em!"
exclaimed Sayuri, turning from the window and back to her friends. 
A small group of them -- Yuka, Hiromi, Keiko, Akane, Akemi --
were lounging around one of the rooms of the house, loud and
annoying pop music blaring from the far end of the room (but
changing every few minutes as two guys clustered around the
stereo continuously switched the CDs).  The current topic died as
they responded with vigorous nodding.
     "You coming?" asked Yuka.
     Akane shook her head.  She sank back into the sofa, feeling
strangely depressed and out of place.  Somehow, her friends'
conversation had seemed less interesting, the gossip dull, their
problems and complaints relatively minor.  Why?  What had
changed in her life, that these classmates, friends for years, suddenly
became less appealing to her?  All she knew is that suddenly, at one
point, she found herself wishing that Ukyou -- of all people! -- had
been able to come.  
     "Why not?  Didn't you bring a swimsuit?  I thought you
brought that red one.  It looks good on you, you know.  Very sexy! 
Red is definitely your colour!  Akane?"
     Akane sighed.  Yuka was a good friend, but, as she had
recently discovered, annoyingly talkative when drunk.  Most of her
other friends were a little drunk by now as well; Akane was the only
one who had refused anything to drink.  She wasn't too sure why. 
She had never really experimented with alcohol much in the past
and, somehow, tonight had not felt like the night to start --
problems with Ranma notwithstanding.  "Yes, Yuka," she
answered.  "I did bring it -- you kind of forced me to, remember?"
     Yuka giggled and nodded.  "That's right!"
     "But I don't think I'm going to go swimming.  I. . . don't
feel like it."  I don't feel like drowning or embarrassing myself, she
mentally added.
     "Aw, c'mon, Akane!" begged her friend.  "You haven't
even had a chance to show it off!"
     Another sigh.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I guess I'm just not in
a partying mood."  She gave a slight grin.  "Maybe I can get Ranma
to model it. . ."
     "That's mean!"  Her friend giggled again, then frowned
mockingly.  "But. . . she'd probably look better 'an us!  We can't
have her drawing the guys away, now can we?"
     "No, I guess not."  She suddenly felt annoyed at the idea
that Ranma probably _would_ look better in the red two-piece than
she would.  Now there was a problem her friends probably never
had to deal with -- having a boyfriend who looked better in your
clothes than you did!  She frowned.  As for drawing the boys away
-- heck, he had spent the whole night with them, not even bothering
to stop by and check up on her once.  That jerk.  She spends the
night worrying about him, hoping to catch him sneaking in for some
hot water, and he never even bothers to show.  He must have found
his water elsewhere -- would he have remained in his girl-form all
night, even with all those guys around?  Even he's not that much of
a pervert, she decided.
     "So, you're coming?"  This time it was Sayuri, pulling off
her top.  She was already wearing her suit beneath, a nice blue one-
-piece with a black stripe across the chest, the midriff left bare.  It
accentuated her body nicely.
     Akane stood up from her place on the couch.  "Thanks,
really," she said.  "But. . . no.  I'm feeling kind of tired."  She
looked around at her friends.  She felt a small hurt when she
realized that none of them looked all that surprised, or
disappointed.  Had she really been that much of a drag all night?
     "You sure?"
     "Yeah."  She nodded.  "I. . . I guess I'll just head home. 
See you on Monday?"
     They nodded.  After a moment of hesitation she turned
away, somehow feeling that she had missed out on something
tonight.  


     "Hey!  I might be drunk -- but I'm not _that_ drunk!"
exclaimed the pig--tailed girl, maybe a little too loudly.  "You
perverts just wanna see me without my top on!"
     "Aw, c'mon, Ranma!" insisted one of the guys crowding
around her, while a few others snickered.  They were all changed
into swimming trunks and were headed for the pool, towels
wrapped around waists or hanging over shoulders.  It was Hiroshi
who had first noticed that Ranma, with a slightly disconsolate and
wistful look, was not following them.  When asked why she was
not coming, it turned out that for obvious reasons she had not
thought to bring a girl's bathing suit -- and was not about to go
swimming in her clothes, or without a top (despite several lewd
suggestions to that effect).
     She gave a crooked little smile but shook her head.  "Sorry
guys.  I guess I'm out."
     "Are you sure, Ranma?" asked Hiroshi, nodding in the
direction of the pool.  "Sure looks tempting, ne?"  The party was
still going strong, but the pool had quieted down slightly since
earlier in the evening.  Already a few of the guys, shrugging, had
left the discussion and made their way over to the water.  With a
drunken howl Toshi launched himself off of the low diving-board
and cannonballed next to a small group of girls calmly talking by
the edge of the pool, eliciting a few outraged shrieks.  Giggling, he
fled from their ferocious retaliatory barrage of splashing.
     Ranma gave a sad nod.  "Yeah.  But that doesn't change
anything."  She gave a small sigh.  "Listen.  Hiroshi -- don't worry
about it.  It's not the first time I miss out on somethin' 'cus of my
curse, 'kay?  I'm used to it."
     "But. . . ."
     "Nah.  Listen.  It's not a big deal, really.  It's getting late,
anyway.  Maybe I oughta just head home."  She glanced down at
the mostly empty beer bottle in her hand.  It was her third -- no,
fourth.  Fifth?  "I've probably drank enough as it is."
     "Couldn't you just, you know," tried Hiroshi, gesturing
around the party, "just, ah, borrow a bikini or a t-shirt or something
from one of the girls?"
     "Bikini?" asked Ranma, raising an eyebrow.
     "Uhhh. . . you know what I mean!"
     "Right."  She tried a grin -- one that almost, but not quite,
masked an odd sadness lurking in her eyes -- and placed her hands
on her hips.  "I think you're just trying to keep Furinkan's 'best
babe' around!"  And then, a moment later, suddenly serious, she
asked, "Why are you tryin' to keep me around, Hiroshi?  Not that I
don't appreciate it, but. . . why do you care?"
     "Because you're a friend, dammit!" exclaimed Hiroshi. 
"What do you think?"  They were alone standing by the change-
rooms, all the other guys having already moved on to the swimming
pool.  A small halogen light flickered from its hook on the wall, a
moth sending disproportionate shadows scuttling across them.  
"I'm just trying to look out for you, man!  You've never come out
with us before, I just wanted you to have a good time -- to be one
of the guys!"
     She smirked and glanced down at herself.  "One of the guys
-- with these?" she said, gesturing at her breasts.
     "Enough with the curse already!  I already told you -- it
doesn't matter!"
     "But it does matter, Hiroshi."
     "No, it. . . ."
     "Yes it _does_," interrupted Ranma.  "Maybe not to you,
Hiroshi!  But to them, the other guys, the girls at this party, to
almost _everybody_, it does!  Sure, most of them know that I'm a
guy, that I'm really a man, but they don't _care_.  Maybe you don't
notice -- can't notice.  But they act differently when I'm a girl. 
They do!  When we were all talking, sure, they tried, they
pretended I was just 'one-of-the-guys', but they didn't believe it; I
didn't either, even though the beer helped.  I could see it in their
eyes, the way they looked at me, looked me over -- not as another
guy, but as. . . well, as the 'best babe'!  No -- it's worse than that. 
The guys here at the party, those who don't know I'm really a guy,
that I'm cursed, at least they're honest!  They really think I'm a girl,
and treat me like one, approach me like one.  But the others, those
who know what I am -- they _still_ look at me that way. 
Sometimes I think they're more interested in my girl-body simply
_because_ they know I'm really a guy.  Maybe they see somethin'
in me that they. . . oh, I don't know!  Maybe they think it makes me
more of a challenge, or somethin', to them: which guy'll be the one
to get Ranma in touch with his feminine side?"  She gave a little
snort of disgust.
     "That's not true!" retorted Hiroshi.
     Ranma shook her head.  "Ah, hell, Hiroshi.  Look at me! 
Of course they're interested!  You heard 'em back there!  I'm hot! 
A babe!  Sure, maybe they were joking, maybe it was all in fun, but
they still meant it!  Every word.  A joke?  Maybe -- but I was just
startin' to really feel like one of the guys, for maybe the first time,
until you pointed out Daisuke's little interest.  It just reminded me:
I'll never be 'one of the guys', not as long as I've got this curse. 
And you don't know what it's like, man.  Having guys look you
over: breasts, legs, hips, ass, sizing you up.  I'm almost used to it
now -- which kinda scares me -- but it still makes me feel queasy
when I notice."  She sank down onto a convenient bench with a
sigh, beer bottle dangling limply from one hand.  She passed one
hand tiredly across her face.  When she looked back at Hiroshi, her
eyes glimmered with -- something, some emotion.  Hiroshi could
not tell what.  They certainly could not be tears -- not from Ranma.
     "I can hear 'em, too, you know," she continued.  "I've
heard the guys talking over the last year.  Some think I'm a jerk. 
Fine.  At least they're talking about _me_.  It's when they start
referring to my girl side that it bothers me.  When they refer to it. . .
rudely."  She shuddered.  "I've even heard 'em say they'd be happy
if I _never_ turned back to a guy, if I was stuck like this forever." 
Her fist clenched spasmodically.  "They. . . they would just curse
me, leave me like this, without. . . without. . . ."
     She let out a deep breath.  "Ah, shit, I'm sorry, Hiroshi.  I
don't mean to lay all this on ya.  I'm not even sure why I'm talkin'
about it.  I'm exaggerating.  It doesn't really bug me that much. 
Really."  Her head sank back until it rested against the smooth
wood of the changing room wall.  Her eyes flickered, closed, and
she sighed.
     Hiroshi slumped onto the far end of the bench, one arm
draped over the edge.  A certain awkwardness fell upon him.  This
was a whole new side to Ranma, a vulnerable, pained side that, he
suspected, very few had ever seen.  But what could he say?  How
could he possibly understand what the curse felt like, what it felt
like to change into, to _be_, a girl?  A certain guilt gnawed at him:
Ranma had excluded him from her generalization concerning guys,
and how they treated her -- but was he really any different?  Even
now, looking at her -- laying on the bench, slightly turned towards
him, smooth curve of the neck, slight straining, pulling, tautness of
the shirt across rounded breasts, a slight glimpse, maybe, of flesh
where a tie had come undone, knowing that beneath she would not
be wearing a bra -- he felt a familiar stirring, similar to what he
would feel gazing at any attractive woman.  No.  He gave his head
a firm shake.  This was his _friend_, a man, just like him, it was the
alcohol making him feel that way, making her seem so defenceless;
yet the urge was there, the image, of leaning over, drawing her into
a comforting embrace, allowing her to release her pent-up sorrow,
and then. . . .
     "Is this what most parties are like?"
     He started.  "Ah. . . huh?"  He felt the blood rush to his
cheeks.  Her eyes were open, half-lidded, staring upwards.  They
flicked his way, briefly.  Sounds of merriment floated over from the
pool. 
     "Just askin' a question.  Are most parties like this?"
     "What do you mean?"
     She sat up slightly, turning to face him, drawing one leg up
beneath her.  "Well. . . like this.  Just two guy. . . er, two people,
sitting around, talkin'."
     Hiroshi smiled.  "Yeah.  Well, the good ones, anyway."  He
swirled the little bit of sake left in his little bottle, then downed it in
a gulp.
     "Really?"
     "Yeah."  He nodded.  "The dancing and group stuff and
partying is all fine, but for me, any good party has a time when a
guy and his friend -- maybe a few buddies -- just kinda break away
and talk, you know?"  He chuckled.  "Bond, I guess.  It's what
guys. . . ."  He hesitated.  "It's what we do."
     Ranma finished off her drink, then proceeded to idly twirl
the bottle at the tip of one finger.  "Ah," she answered.  After a
moment, she added, "It's just that, you know, I haven't really been
to too many parties."
     "Really?"
     "Yeah."
     "Not even on your birthday?"
     "Nah.  Not for the last few years.  Training."
     "That sucks."
     She shrugged.  "I guess."
     Silence.  Not awkward, or tense, simply contemplative. 
Ranma spun her bottle a few more times before snapping it into the
air with a flick of her wrist, deftly snagging it, and setting it down
on the ground.  She sighed again and pulled her legs up to her
chest.  She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them
close.  She shivered.
     No, decided Hiroshi, it was just too difficult.  Ranma was a
friend, a guy, a buddy; she was also a damn good-looking girl, cute,
and seeing her curled up in the corner of the bench, he felt this
stupid urge to offer her his jacket or something.  Dammit, he
berated himself.  Just forget it.  You're here to help her.  She trusts
you.  Don't betray that trust.  He gave his head a shake and decided
that, for now, just looking away might be a better idea.
     But when he glanced back, Ranma had leaned forward a bit,
chin resting on one knee, gazing at him speculatively.  It was a cute
pose, attractive.  A curious half-grin played across her face.  "You
can't do it, can ya?" she asked.
     "Uh. . . ah, huh?" he stammered.
     "See me as a guy."  She shrugged.  "Don't worry 'bout it,
pal.  It's not a big deal."
     He shook his head unconvincingly in denial.  "No, but. . . of
course I know you're a guy!"
     "Really?" she breathed.  Ranma snaked forward smoothly,
uncurling, sliding across the bench towards her friend.  Her eyes
burned with a sudden passion; their mesmerizing half-lidded
sultriness ensnared Hiroshi.  He sat, frozen, surprised, heart
pounding in his chest.  With a sinuous, swift movement she rose
above him, artificial light silhouette, one hand resting firmly against
the back of the bench for support, the other held loosely behind her
neck.  Her back arched slightly, top tie of her shirt slowly,
accidentally unravelling; she peered down at him, lips curved in a
pouting half-smile.  "What," she purred huskily, "you don't find me.
. . attractive?"
     "I. . . I. . . ," stammered a flustered Hiroshi.
     "See?"   She giggled, eyes clouding momentarily, and she
drew away, pulling her legs up again and scooted back to her end
of the bench.  Her gaze drifted off into the distance for a few
moments, contemplatively, and when she turned back to her friend,
her voice was serious.  "Listen, Hiroshi," she said, "don't worry
about it.  The only guys I know who can ignore my curse are the
ones who wanna kill me.  I'd rather have a confused friend than an
indifferent enemy."  She seemed to debate whether to add
something, but fell silent.
     After a moment's indecision, staring at the girl across from
him, he hung his head.  "I. . . I'm sorry, Ranma."  A slight
queasiness formed in his stomach.  Though he may academically
understand that Ranma was really a guy, his body had had a
pointedly physical reaction to her sudden closeness - one he was
still shamefacedly trying to conceal, shifting uncomfortably in his
seat.  If I'm attracted to him, he thought worriedly, what does that
mean about me?  Hiroshi suddenly had an inkling of what Ranma
must feel every time she underwent a change, every time a man
looked her over and deemed her attractive.
     There was a rustling as Ranma uncurled and sat up straight. 
"Ah, c'mon man, I said don't worry about it!  S'not your fault I'm
such a hot little number!" she said, smiling wryly.
     Hiroshi returned the grin.  "You know, egotism like that can
get you hated."
     "Bah.  Who cares?  I've already got plenty of rivals --
what's a few more?"
     "If you say so."  Hiroshi gave a little laugh.  "Hey, you
know, I just realized something."
     "Yeah?"
     "Yeah.  If I'd been talking to any other girl for this long --
especially alone like this -- Sayuri would've killed me for sure!"  He
grinned.  "See!  People might treat ya a bit different. . . but, heck,
they know you're not a _real_ girl!"  Pretty lame consolation, but it
was something.  Beside, Hiroshi was starting to feel good again. 
He hopped to his feet.  Looking over at the pool, he saw that some
of the girls had joined the gang.  Sayuri was lightly stepping around
the edge of the pool, avoiding the good-humoured threatening
splashes of her friends.  He turned back to his friend, who once
again looked slightly disconsolate.  "Ranma, I'm. . . ."
     She smiled and nodded.  "Yeah.  Go swim, Hiroshi.  Have
fun."
     "You sure I can't convince. . . ."
     "Nah."
     "I think I understand why, now," he said.
     After a moment, she gave a slight nod.  "Maybe you do."
     He took a few steps away when her voice called him back. 
"And Hiroshi. . . ."
     "Yeah?"
     "Thanks."
     He gave her a long, serious look.  "Any time, man."  He
placed an emphasis on the last word.  "Any time."
     "Thanks."  There was a pause.  Hiroshi almost stepped
away again.  Ranma's voice made him hesitate.  "It's just. . . I don't
know what's with me tonight.  All this talking.  Whining.  It's not
me.  I _never_ complain like this."
     "It's not whining, Ranma," said Hiroshi.
     "Whatever.  But it's not me."
     He shrugged.  "Ah, gee, Ranma, you've been drinking! 
You're just a bit drunk, is all."
     "Really?"  One foot prodded the empty bottle sitting next to
the bench.
     "Yeah."  He looked at her.  "You've never really been
drunk before, have you?"
     She shook her head.  "Aside for that play?  Not really."
     "Then don't worry about it.  Some people get violent. 
Some people get silly.  You -- well, you seem to get melancholy, or
kinda serious, or something.  Introspective.  Heck, you might as
well enjoy it!"  Another splash and shriek escaped from the pool. 
Someone had just picked up and thrown Sayuri into the pool. 
Ranma noticed his glance.
     "Listen, you go," she said.  "I'll see ya on Monday at
school."
     Hiroshi nodded, flashed her a smile, and stepped away.  He
thought he heard her whisper something, before the splashing and
laughing and talking drowned her out: "I don't like being drunk; I
don't like thinking."


     She curled up into a ball again, alone.  Chin resting on knee,
eyes closed, Ranma's mind wandered.  Hiroshi was right. 
Something about the slight fuzziness she felt, the detachment
brought on by the alcohol, relaxed her, left her. . . open.  More
likely to talk.  Not good.  It was a weakness, something she knew
one of her many rivals would probably use to their advantage. 
Ryoga, if he ever found out, would probably try to embarrass her in
front of Akane, try to take her away.  She smiled mirthlessly. 
Amazing, how easy it was to admit that she liked her, when drunk. 
No, she decided, I really don't like drinking.
     Yet there was so much more she had been tempted to
mention and say, things a little nagging voice in the back of her
head had forbid.  This same voice warned that consequences would
follow from what she had already foolishly told the guys -- come
Monday and school, there was bound to be teasing, ribbing,
mocking, laughter, locker-room pranks and menstruation jokes. 
Somehow, it had been easy to ignore the admonishing voice back
then; worse, she knew with another beer or two, other topics --
deep-grounded fears for her masculinity, of her sexuality, her true
feelings for Akane -- would no longer arouse its anxiety.  She
shivered.
     She stood up suddenly.  A sudden wave of dizziness struck
her, but she overcame it quickly.  She grinned.  I guess I'm not all
that drunk after all, she thought to herself, heading back toward the
house.  There was a slight numbness, a pleasant tingling through
her as she walked; it seemed, when she turned her head quickly,
that the world took a moment to catch up with her eyes.  People
passed her by, and smiled, and she smiled back without recognizing
most of them.  But everything was fine, she was warmly happy, she
felt good. . . .
     She shivered again, and her steps faltered, smile slipping. 
The patio doors leading into the house were right before her;
instead, she stepped aside, leaned against the cool brick of the wall
and slowly slid to the ground.  What was I _thinking_, she asked
herself, why did I _do_ that?  Joking with Hiroshi, leaning over him
playfully seductively -- it had been spurious, a spontaneous act,
Hiroshi had seemed so serious and worried.  And then. . . .
     Hiroshi had, comically, instinctively, flinched away from her
advance.  His arm had skipped back, leaving the feathersoft brush
of fingertips across the back of her hand.  No doubt he was
unaware of the contact, but. . . .  There had been a. . . jolt,
discomfiting pleasure shooting up arm, through chest, rushing to,
ending at, in, between her, her. . . .  A quick tremulous breath
helped her hold down the shaking that threatened to overwhelm her
as she recalled the encounter.  In the wake of that fleeting electric
sensation, she had become aware of a. . . sudden rush? flush?
warmth? tingling? through her, dangerously pleasant, and far too. . .
female in nature for comfort.  It had been there, passively, a soft
expansive hum throughout the entirety of her body for some time
now; she had mistaken the warmth of drunkenness for the warmth
of arousal.  She shuddered.  Arousal.  How -- why?  That feeling --
nebulous indefinable wash -- she had felt once or twice before in the
past.  It terrified her.  But that shock, jolt, the resonating escalating
glow that followed, enhanced, the echoing pulse in her breasts --
her breasts! -- was new, worse, impossible!  
     Even now, cool evening air brushing by, solid wall behind
her, she was aware of the strange, exhilarating, troublesome
sensation fading, dulling, but still present, threshold prickling of the
skin and mind.  It was too much -- brief, perhaps minor, but new,
alien -- too much, too much.  She had barely hidden her shock from
Hiroshi, forcing a small smile and then quickly withdrawing.  Odd,
though, that even then, after a moment's hesitation, she had felt
tempted to mention what had just transpired within her to Hiroshi;
something else the little voice had fortunately clamped down upon.
     Ranma sighed, closed her eyes.  That moment of arousal
was not the only thing disturbing her.  Immediately after, while
trying to bury the unwanted sensation, she had become aware of the
small. . . problem, that Hiroshi had faced.  How could she not?  She
knew exactly what Hiroshi had felt, had felt it herself often enough. 
He had been aroused, and had found it somewhat harder to conceal
than she had her own experience.  Releasing a whisper of a breath,
an outward gasp, she slumped against the wall, head back, turning,
cheek pressed lightly against the cool, rough surface of the brick,
and shivered.  I have that effect on _men_, Ranma realized: at that
moment, Hiroshi no longer saw me as a man, a classmate, a
troubled friend -- he saw me as a sexual object, as sexually exciting,
as a _girl_, possessing something he wanted, desired, yearned for,
with his. . . body.  Her skin crawled at the prospect, something
deep down inside, the pit of her stomach, hurt, she felt like curling
up in a tight ball around the queasy ache.  What did that _mean_? 
That she could excite Hiroshi physically -- worse, than he could
excite _her_, physically, as well?  It was something she had been
aware of before, an ability she had even used to her advantage
against her many male opponents -- but never had she realized the
full import of what it entailed.  No, not true.  She had never
_allowed_ herself to be aware of it, deliberately blocked out the
realization, the acknowledgment that, while in female form, she was
something men were attracted to, no, an object they _desired_. 
And was she. . . was she attracted as well to. . . .
     "Hey.  Hey there, you ok?" interrupted a voice.  She
glanced up and saw a guy, her age, probably from a different
school, looking at her curiously, smiling, the patio door open
behind him.  "You drink too much?  Huh?"  The guy smiled.
     Her eyes narrowed.  "I know what you're doing!" she
growled at him.  "I know what you want!"  She stood, glared, and
brusquely brushed past him into the house.  Enough of this.  Drunk
or not, this isn't me, she berated herself, I don't sit around and
moan, whine and complain.  The heir to the Saotome School of
martial arts _confronts_ her problems, deals with them.  No. _His_
problems, he emphatically insisted: this body isn't me, these breasts
and hips and. . . and other parts aren't me -- and I know a sure fire
solution to all this crap.  If he was not going to go swimming, he
decided, if he was going to leave the party, then there was no point
in remaining female.  Time for some hot water; time to be a man
again!  
     Only, looking back, hesitating, brushing the bangs of red
hair from his face, he realized he really would have liked to join his
friends.


     After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching upstairs, Akane
remembered that she had left her jacket and bag with her swimming
suit and towel downstairs.  Tired, annoyed, melancholy and anxious
to get home, she quickly hopped down the stairs.  She turned out of
the sunken staircase -- and solidly slammed into someone.  Her
victim stumbled back and Akane fell, hitting her rump on the
bottom step.
     "Ow!"
     "Watch it!"
     "I'm sorry," she quickly started to apologize, lifting herself
off the stairs.  "I. . . Ranma?"  Her eyes widened as she realized
who she had run into.
     "A. . . Akane?" answered the redhead, equally surprised.
     An awkward silence for a moment.
     "You're still. . . ."
     "What are. . . ."
     They both stammered to a stop.  Ranma placed one hand
nervously behind his neck; Akane wondered if she ought to be
annoyed or not.  She was, from the slight pain, for having bumped
into him, for being responsible, and for Ranma ignoring her all
night; on the other hand, she felt strangely glad to see him again.
     "A girl?"
     "You doing?"
     They both tried to finish at the same time.  They both
tentatively giggled and relaxed slightly.  "You first," offered Akane.
     He smiled.  "Oh, er, yeah.  I, ummm, was just wondering
what you were doing.  In a hurry?"
     Akane shrugged.  "Not really.  I'm just tired of the party.  I
want to go home."
     "Ah."  Ranma nodded.  Akane thought there was something
a bit odd about him: his eyes seemed a bit bloodshot, face a bit
flushed, stance slightly wobbly.  Almost like her friends upstairs. 
"Ah," he repeated.  "So, errr, you're leaving?"
     "Yes."  She stepped away from the stairs, beckoning for
Ranma to follow.  They wove their way through the rec-room,
several partiers already passed out uncomfortably (and uncaring of
the fact) across the floor, on couches and chairs.  Surprisingly soft
music was drifting from speakers in the corner; a few subdued
whispered conversations added to the background noise.  They
navigated by the pools of light slicing through the curtains from
outside, eliciting the occasional muffled grunt when they stepped
too close to a sleeper.
     They stopped outside the door to Kiyoshi's sister's room,
Ranma reaching out and tapping her on the shoulder.  The redhead
nodded back at the minefield of exhausted partiers.  "You ever been
to somethin' like this, Akane?" he asked, smiling slightly.
     "No," she answered.  "Not really."  Seeing his curious look,
she added, "I mean, yes, I've been to parties my friends have
thrown -- but none of them were like this.  With drinking and
everything, I mean. . . ."
     "Ah," said Ranma.  "But -- why not?  You were at Furinkan
last year, right?  The guys said Kiyoshi threw this thing last year --
why didn't ya come?"
     Akane's expression darkened.  "Dad wouldn't let me," she
grumbled.  "He didn't like the idea of all these boys and alcohol
around.  Neither did Kasumi.  They couldn't stop Nabiki, but they
could stop me!  I was so mad!  That's why I wanted to come this
year so badly, especially after my friends told me how good of a
time they had!"
     "So why was it ok to come this year?"
     "Because," she felt a familiar annoyance and flash of anger,
"because you came, too.  After all, who'd try anything with my
'fiance' around?"  When would her father learn that she could take
care of herself?  She did _not_ need Ranma to look after her, she
could take care of herself!  She could handle any _boy_ who tried
anything with her!  With an angry huff she turned away, not caring
to see the inevitable cocky, egoistical expression bound to cross
Ranma's face.
     Instead, much to her surprise, the girl's hand fell on her
shoulder, softly.  "I'm. . . sorry, Akane.  I guess that's why you
didn't want me coming, right?  I didn't know.  Really."  There was
a brief hesitation, then a slight squeeze from the hand.  "I'm, ah. . .
sorry."  Akane's eyes widened.
     "Ranma?"
     The pigtailed girl gave his head a little shake.  "Er, nothing."
     "Did you just. . . ."
     Ranma smiled.  "Of course not.  C'mon, lets get your stuff."
     After a slight prodding, a confused Akane slid into the dark
bedroom, her fiance following close behind.  "We piled all our stuff
on the bed," she hissed.  "Can you see it?"  The pigtailed silhouette
shook a negative.  It took Ranma tripping over a stack of discarded
coats on the floor to finally locate Akane's possessions.  She
grabbed her coat, Ranma took the bag, and the two silently left the
room.  They politely ignored the couple making out on the bed.
     With a giggle, Ranma clicked the door shut.  "Didja see," he
started to ask.
     Akane blushed.  "You pervert!" she exclaimed, giving him a
slight shove.  "You were looking!"
     ". . . my jacket?" he finished, grinning.  "What were _you_
thinking about, Akane?"
     "You didn't bring a jacket, baka!" Akane said, but smiled
slightly.  Then she shrugged and brushed past the girl.  "Maybe I
was just taking notes -- you never know when it might come in
handy."  She left the stunned redhead behind, glad that the darkness
hid the sudden redness of her own face.  It took Ranma a moment
to recover.
     "Hey!"
     "What?"
     "You --"
     "I what?"
     "Notes?"
     "Yup."
     "For. . . ."
     "Forget it, Ranma."
     "Wouldja please shut up?" mumbled a voice from around
foot level.  Their discussion had carried them through to the centre
of the impromptu sleeping hall.  Ranma shrugged and turned his
attention to rummaging through Akane's bag.
     "Hey!" she exclaimed.  "Get your nose out of there!"
     He looked up, grinned, and continued.  "Hey," he said a
moment later, "where'd you get this?"  Out came Akane's new and
(for her) daring crimson bikini.  He held it up to the faint light
filtering in from outside.  Slate-blue eyes widened at the smallness
of the ensemble; the colouring, though -- a fiery orange--red at the
top of each piece, gradually darkening to a deep crimson, almost
burgundy by the bottom -- he seemed to approve of.   "Haven't
seen this one before -- kinda sexy, ne?"
     Akane blushed.  "Gimme that!" she whispered, grabbing the
bag and its contents from Ranma's grasp.  "It wasn't my choice. 
Yuka and Sayuri kind of forced me to buy it.  I didn't really want
it."
     "Really?" said Ranma.  "That's too bad.  I think you'd look
great in it. . ."
     For some unknown reason, her heart beat just a little bit
quicker at those words.  "You really think so?" she started to say.
     ". . . though I'd look better, of course!" Ranma finished.
     "You jerk."  She glared at him and spun away.
     "Aw, c'mon, Akane!" exclaimed Ranma, hopping over a
sleeping figure and catching up a few steps later.  "I was just
kiddin'!  Can't ya take a joke?"
     "Hmph," she responded, slightly disgruntled by the fact that
she knew it was true.  Well, whatever.  At least she had finally
found Ranma; now, the two of them could head home.  She was a
little anxious.  The party had not been everything she had hoped
for, although she blamed Ranma for some of that.  But, she
grudgingly admitted, that was not entirely fair.  The last year had
changed her -- changed her a lot -- and she simply did not have as
much in common with her friends as she once had; or, maybe, there
had never been as much there as she had supposed.  Either way, she
was tired and home was still a fair walk away.  "C'mon, let's go,"
she finally added.  "You ready?"
     "Huh?"
     "To lea. . ." she started to say, then looked at Ranma.  They
were standing by the patio doors now.  The doors were slightly
open.  A cool breeze swirled around their ankles.  Faint, cheerful
laughter and sounds could be heard from outside.  The redhead was
gazing outside, a wistful look in his eyes.  "Ranma?"
     Ranma was silent for a moment, staring into the night. 
Then he turned back to Akane.  "You, ah," he started nervously,
oddly, "you're goin' home, right, Akane?"
     Her brow creased.  "Yes. . . ."   She noticed a thoughtful
look on Ranma's face.  He was looking at the bag in Akane's arms. 
"What?" Akane asked suspiciously.
     "So you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your bathing suit,
would you?" 
     "WHAT?"
     "Well, I wanna go swimming with the guys, and. . . ."
     The sudden, fierce feeling of betrayal and anger that seized
Akane shocked and confused her.  Ranma kept talking, but the
youngest Tendo was oblivious to the words, trying to understand,
restrain the sudden fury that filled her.  He was gesturing towards
the outside, relaxed, half-grinning, happy.  It was too much.  She
failed to understand, but expressed her hurt in the best way she
knew how.  "You pervert!", she hissed, eyes flashing.
     She immediately regretted the words.  The sudden twisting,
torturing of his features, hardening of soft facial lines, the way the
easy pleasure faded from the eyes, the immediate tenseness of body,
cut her deeply -- even as it gave her an unpleasant bitter joy. 
Ranma spun back to her, surprised, and this one time her trademark
insult seem to have struck him hard.
     "Wh -- what?" he whispered, voice pained and devoid of the
jocular tone he had bantered with since bumping into Akane.
     "You want to stay, don't you?  What kind of _guy_ hangs
around other guys wearing a _girl's_ bathing suit?"  As the words
escaped her mouth she knew she should stop, let it drop, apologize
even -- but she did not.  Her unexpected anger still simmered
within, pushed her.  "A pervert!  That's what kind!"
     The pigtailed girl's eyes narrowed, face flushing
unpleasantly, the look of bewildered, stunned hurt turning ugly.  He
took a step -- almost threatening -- towards her.  "I'm a pervert, am
I?"
     And, surprisingly, Akane no longer felt like continuing the
argument.  That sudden burst faded as quickly as it had come,
leaving her feeling ill and frightened and terrible.  But -- but
everything would be fine, she had called him a pervert countless
times before, why should it bother him _this_ time?  "I. . . I just
want to go home, Ranma," she answered softly, bowing her head. 
Please, Ranma?
     "Fine then.  Leave," he hissed coldly.  "But you'll be going
home alone."
     She glanced up at him in shock.  "But -- but you're
supposed to walk me back!  Father said so!"
     "Hey!" he exclaimed angrily.  "You wanted to come here,
alone, right?  Well, fine.  Then you can leave here, alone, too!  You
didn't want me hangin' around you at the party?  Fine!  Then why
should I hang around you _after_ the party?"
     "Ranma, don't. . . I'm sor. . . ," she whispered.
     "After all, being alone suits you, ne?"  He threw his arms up
wildly, expressively.  "S'not like anyone _here_," and he gestured
about the room, "cares if you stay or go."  He gestured at himself
and leaned forward.  "_I_ certainly don't!"
     And the anger returned in full.
     "You jerk!" she howled, and punched forward, target
blurred by watering in her eyes, not that it mattered, she never
missed Ranma, not when he deserved it.  Only this time, she did
miss; no, she registered a second later, he had blocked her,
effortlessly deflecting the wild swing aside.
     "I don't think so, Akane," he said.  "Not tonight."
     It took her a moment to overcome the surprise and
irritation, to think rationally again, to respond.  How dare he have
the gall to actually stop her righteous retaliation to his words? 
"Yeah," she sneered.  "I wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face,
would I?  That smooth, feminine complexion of yours.  Might stop
the men from chasing after you, and you wouldn't want _that_
now, would you?"
       "At least I _can_ attract 'em, unlike a certain kawaikunee I
know who'll never get a guy unless he's forced ta be engaged to
her!"
     She ignored the barb, attacked the first statement.  "That's
right!  You _can_ attract them, you pervert!  And you _like_ it,
don't you, Ranma, don't you?"  She advanced on him, punctuating
the statement with a jab of her finger.  "Some man, some fiance you
are!"
     Ranma's face flushed an ugly red, and he glared up at
Akane before spinning away, falling against the glass of the door
with one arm, clenching the frame fiercely.  "I _am_ a man!"  He
grinded the words out through clenched teeth.
     With a snort of derision, Akane thrust the bikini in his face. 
"What kind of man _wants_ to wear this, huh?"
     "You know I -- I can't just wear guy's shorts when
swimming, I. . . ."
     "Swimming?  Why, huh?  Not done flirting with Hiroshi
yet?"  And she knew that last one was unjustified, did Ranma and
Hiroshi even spend that much time together tonight?  But it struck
and hurt its target, and the pigtailed girl flinched.  "Maybe you
_want_ him to make a pass at you?"
     Ranma turned away, stalked back into the room.  Akane
followed, heady with success and released frustration.  But when
she came up behind him, she suddenly decided that enough was
enough.  She softened her voice, or at least lessened it, though
without sacrificing an authoritative tone.  "So are you going to stay
here?  Like a girl?"  She held the bikini out to be taken.  "Because,
fine, here's my bikini.  See if I care, maybe you really _are_ a girl. 
Or. . . or are you going to get some hot water, change back, and
walk me home -- like a man?"
     Back still turned, crimson pigtail hanging limply, Ranma
gave no response, beyond, perhaps, a stiffening of his back.
     "Ranma?" she prodded.
     Still no answer.
     "Ranma?" she tried again, this time louder.
     Again, without a word, he ignored her.
     "RANMA!" she screamed at his impassive back.
     No answer.
     "Will ya answer the stupid bitch," muttered some boy laying
at their feet.  "Some of us are tryin' to sleep here. . . ."
     This time he responded.  Turning quickly, smoothly, he
reached down and snatched the speaker by the throat, hauling him
to his feet, grip tight and bruising.  "That's my fiancee you're
insulting there," he intoned.  "If anyone's gonna do that, it's me." 
He gave his victim a shake.  "Understand?"  Receiving a frightened
approximation of a nod, he tossed the guy aside.  All around,
people were standing, waking up, propping themselves up on
elbows to observe the argument.
     "Ranma. . . ," whispered a surprised Akane.  But when he
finally turned back to her, and she saw his eyes, she knew that he
was angry, far angrier than he had ever been with her before; and
she knew that there would be no simple reconciliation for tonight's
fight, that she had somehow injured her fiance badly -- and that the
worst was yet to come.
     "And, man, is she _ever_," he exclaimed, gesturing widely,
speaking to the sudden audience.  He advanced on Akane, eyes
narrowed, cold, voice colder as he addressed her evenly without
inflection.  "A bitch, that is."
     Stunned, her breath caught in her throat for a moment; she
hissed it out between tight lips, blood pounding, intense wrath
reddening and contorting her visage.  "What did you call me?" she
demanded.
     He actually hesitated, uncertainty clouding his eyes.  Akane
stepped closer.  "Ranma?  What.  Did you.  Call _me_?"  Her voice
rose with each word, unpleasantly shrill and loud to her own
throbbing ears by the end.  The front of Ranma's Chinese shirt
twisted in her grasp, fabric likely drawing painfully against his
breasts as it bunched in her hand.  He glanced down at her hold,
then slowly met her inflamed glare with steady eyes. 
     "You're violent.  You're ugly and mean and cruel.  The
name fits, ne?" he said.  With casual deliberateness he laid both
hands over Akane's.  "I think you'd better let go, Akane."  Eyes
peering from beneath red bangs hardened. 
     Her own widened.  She knew the technique.  A small
twisting of her hand, a half bow at his waist, light pressure applied
to the wrist -- simple, painful, and he would drive her to her knees. 
The Child Worships the Buddha.  Never.  "You wouldn't dare," she
whispered.
     One eyebrow arched.  Fingers trembled but tightened lightly
over the hand.  For a moment his steady stare cracked, begged her
to let go; when her fingers tightened in the folds of the shirt, the
weakness disappeared, determination resolved itself in his features. 
With an utter lack of haste he slowly started to twist her wrist. 
"Let go," he demanded softly.
     "No," she responded.
     He twisted further.  Twenty, thirty, forty-five degrees: the
first phantom spasm of pain.  Again, briefly, the pleading in his
eyes, quickly covered up.  "Akane," he whispered.
     "Do it," she hissed.  "You can't."
     Continue turning, wrist bending, forearm unwillingly
following the turn; ninety degrees, her grip now awkward, but shirt
still grasped fiercely in hooked fingers.  His grip on her hand solid
yet oddly shy and tremulous.  A final exchange, unflinching stares. 
And then, a sad, almost apologetic sigh, soft release of breath; the
shivering left Ranma's hold.  She felt him push down.
     She released his shirt.
     He released her wrist.
     "I hate you," she said.  She turned, stepped away.  An
unpleasant emptiness filled her as she massaged her tingling hand. 
Something was gone, a certainty, a foundation, torn away by his
newfound willingness to force her down.  Ranma was drunk, she
now recognized the shift in his demeanor, the earlier unusual
looseness; but his threat had been perfectly lucid.  Inexcusable.  "I
HATE YOU!" she cried, spinning back.
     "I'm sorry," he answered tonelessly.  "I. . . ."
     "No!"  She stormed back, towered over the shorter girl. 
"No excuses!"  She blinked, unwanted tears returning.  "You
bastard!"
     "I wanted to stay, Akane.  With my friends.  Why couldn't
you just let me stay?"
     "Your friends?"  She nearly yelled.  "Your friends?"  And
then, almost a whisper.  "Aren't I your friend too?"
     He simply levelled a silent, steady stare at her.
     "Thanks," she said after a long moment.  Voice heavy, eyes
hot, throat thick, she pushed past him towards the stairs, pausing as
she passed by.  "Thanks for totally ruining my night, Ranma."  She
thrust the bag, the bikini within, into his unresisting hands.  It fell to
the ground when he failed to grab it.  "Here.  Enjoy.  I hope it was
worth it."  Wiping the back of one hand clumsily across her face,
she mounted the first step.
     "Akane, no, wait," she heard from behind.  A hand fell on
her shoulder.
     "Don't you dare touch me!" she howled, spinning savagely,
arm swinging, dead weight slamming Ranma upside the head.  He
fell back with a cry, surprised, hurt.  "Don't you _dare_ ever touch
me.  Never again!"  She pointed an accusing finger at his fallen
form.  "You. . . I can't. . . no fiance of mine would ever _think_ of
hurting me like that!"
     "Who said I ever _wanted_ to be engaged to you?"  His
voice cracked strangely as he spoke.  He knew where this was
leading, she knew as well, they saw it in each other's eyes, but the
challenge had been thrown, the words released.
     "You're right, Ranma," she said softly.  A voice inside her,
buried deep, cried out, begged her to stop.  Don't, don't, not like
this, don't -- but she was long used to ignoring that little voice, and
the hurt Ranma had inflicted tonight easily drowned out the pained
sobbing from within.  "You're right.  Fine.  Fine.  Our engagement
is over, Ranma.  You're free.  Go snuggle up to Hiroshi, or some
other guy, or girl, I really don't care, I never want to see you
again."  She turned away and slowly walked up the stairs. 
"Goodbye, Ranma.  Have a good night."


     Hiromi watched stunned from her seat on the ground, her
boyfriend wordlessly holding her hand.  Akane and Ranma had just
split up.  Again.  But this time -- this time it was different.
Somehow she knew this was not going to be resolved by Monday.
     As she watched -- as the whole room watched, silently --
Ranma stared up the stairs for a long, long time, or so it seemed. 
Finally, without a sound, she picked herself off the ground, reached
down and looked in the bag lying by her feet.  Ranma pulled out a
red-hued bikini and simply looked at it.  She glanced once more up
the stairs, back at the clothing in her hands, once outside towards
the pool.  She bowed her head, staggered slowly in the direction of
the patio doors.
     And then, as she walked, a trembling overcame her, grew,
violently, till she was forced to stop, whole body shaking
spastically.  With an explosive release of breath she nearly doubled
over, clutching herself in a fierce shivering embrace, a moan,
escaping, sounding nearly like a tortured word -- Akane; and then,
uncurling, nearly incoherent keening scream ripping from her
throat, she smashed her fist into the wall.
     Ranma gazed dumbly at the hole in the wall for a moment
and then slowly withdrew her hand.  Without another sound she
shuffled off in the direction of the pool change-rooms.
     "Shit," breathed Hiromi's boyfriend.  "Shit."
     She nodded, feeling weak before the sudden show of
violence, left drained as overly high tensions and emotions faded
from the room.  Whispers, murmuring, louder commentaries and
gossip and discussion erupted all around.  Shaking her head, Hiromi
stood.  She had to find Sayuri and tell her what happened.  She
would want to know what had just happened to Akane.


     "Anything-Goes Special Manoeuver: Mirthful Otter
Springing Double Board Dive of Death!" cried out a voice
breathlessly.
     Hiroshi spun in the water towards the source, unconsciously
treading to keep from sinking.  "Is that. . . ," murmured Sayuri in
his arms, as a red-bikini clad girl cleared the fence in a single jump
and bounded towards the diving boards, pigtail streaming behind
her.  With a yell the newcomer leapt onto the low board; she sprang
off, hurtling straight up, flinging up and over the high board; she
landed at the very tip of the second platform, and it bent, curved
beneath the sudden weight, almost to the breaking point; for a
second she seemed suspended there, frozen; and then, with a savage
snap, the board flung her high up over the pool.  For a moment she
actually disappeared from sight in the darkness overhead, her
gleeful scream the only sign of her presence, and then, her spinning,
flailing, twisting, plunging form reappeared, speeding towards the
water.  People desperately pushed themselves away from where
they thought she would land as her compact form hurled towards
them, and then, at the last moment, she started to uncurl, and. . . .
     There was a thunderous, gigantic slap and spout of water as
she slammed into the pool's surface.  "Ranma?" chuckled Hiroshi,
disengaging from Sayuri's hold and drifting towards his friend,
pushing through the waves caused by her entrance.  "Yeah, I think
so." 
     Ranma slowly drifted to the surface, face down.  After a
moment she rolled over, exposing skin almost as red as the bikini
she wore.  "Ohhhh," she moaned.
     "Nice bellyflop, buddy," smirked Hiroshi.  "Impressive
move.  Methinks the 'Mirthful Otter' might wanna practice that a
bit more."
     "I shouldn't have tried for that last twist," she groaned. 
"That HURT!  She allowed her feet to sink and slowly treaded
water, turning to face her friend.  Her skin was still a delicate pink
beneath the water's surface.  Hiroshi had a nice view of her as she
moved away and drifted towards the pool's edge, breasts just
hovering half-submerged at the waterline.  That crimson bikini --
where on earth did she get it from! -- looked just fabulous on her:
simple design, a little too small and a little tight around the breasts;
the colouring suited her perfectly, complementing or accentuating
her hair.  He found himself staring at her shapely rear as she pulled
herself from the pool, water cascading down her back, material
glistening wetly, bottom part of the bikini tightly and firmly
conforming to her shape.
     "Getting a nice eyeful?" hissed a voice at his side.  Sayuri
glared at him.  "Done ogling her yet?"
     He raised his hands in defence.  "Hey, hey!  I. . . C'mon, it's
Ranma!  She, er, he's my buddy!"  In response she dunked his head
and paddled away, scowling.  He grinned at Sayuri's retreating
back, which, while certainly attractive, did not have that healthy,
lithe beauty which Ranam possessed.  Wiping the water from his
eyes, he shrugged, acknowledging that, yes, he _had_ been looking. 
For some reason that fact no longer bothered him.  Perhaps it had
something to do with the couple of bottles of sake he had shared
with his girlfriend in the last half hour or so, or maybe it was simply
a result of that last conversation with his friend.  Whether or not
Ranma was really a guy or a girl. . . she looked damn fine in that
bathing suit.  He propelled himself to where she was standing at the
water's edge.
     "Isn't that Akane's suit?"  Yuka had apparently wasted no
time in confronting Ranma after her arrival.  "Where did you get it? 
Did she lend it to you?  Where is she?  Hey, you know, it _does_
look good on you!  But, really, should you be wearing your
fiancee's clothes like that?  Isn't that a little perverted?  Do you
share other. . . ."
     Ranma fell back beneath the barrage of questions and
comments, desperation in her eyes.  Opting for a quick escape, she
dived backwards into the pool, and, with a few, strong kicks of her
legs, sliced underwater towards the middle of the deep end. 
Sighing, Hiroshi kicked off the edge and followed.  Yuka merely
snorted at the retreating figure that had ignored her and turned back
to her friends.
     "So you made it!" he said when he finally caught up to
Ranma.
     She nodded.  "Yup."
     "So. . . is that really Akane's bikini?"
     A momentary blush, a momentary frown, and then she
answered.  "Yeah."
     "It, ah, looks good on you."
     "Thanks," she answered, and grinned.  "I think."  Hooking a
finger beneath the material that bound her breasts, she tugged
uncomfortably at the top.  "S'bit tight, though."
     Hiroshi grinned.  "Yeah, I noticed," and made an
exaggerated leer at her.
     "Hentai!" she smirked, and splashed him.  They hovered in a
circle for a moment, Ranma scoping out the pool and company,
until she noticed a few guys and girls heading towards them.  One
was Daisuke, who looked pleased to see Ranma; the other was
Sayuri, who did not.  "Uh oh," Ranma said.  "I'm in for it now."
     Hiroshi noted the angry expression on his girlfriend's face. 
"What. . . it's your fault she's mad?"
     "Probably," she said, nodding.  "Me and Akane. . . ."
     "You mean. . ."
     "Yeah, we got in another fight."  She sighed.  "Sayuri
must've heard 'bout it."  
     "Not again!"
     She nodded.  "Yeah.  Oh well, shit happens."  
     "Ranma!"
     "Hey, I'm tired of always treading on eggshells with her,
man!"  A passionate, heated undercurrent filled and raised her
voice.  "I'm not gonna live my life watchin' every word!  I -- I
don't know why I put up with her!"
     "I though you said it was because you loved her?"  Hiroshi
smiled.
     The smile was not mirrored, and she stared angrily at the
water directly in front of her as she muttered her asnwer.  "Yeah? 
Well I was drunk when I said that, 'kay?"
     They turned as the newcomers finally floated up alongside
them.  "Hey, Ranma!" said Daisuke, voice rather slurred and
sounding quite cheerful.  "How's it. . . ."
     "Where's Akane?" interrupted Sayuri.  There was a sharp,
accusing edge to her voice.  
     The pigtailed girl looked at Hiroshi's girlfriend for a long,
hard moment before answering in a strong, level voice that left little
room for argument.  "Don't wanna talk 'bout it," she said. 
Ignoring Sayuri's incensed stare she turned back to Hiroshi.  "Hey,
bud, you got anything else to drink?"
     "Don't you think you've had enough?" demanded Sayuri.
     Ranma turned back to her, face hardening further.   "Bite
me," she said.  She held Sayuri with her gaze a moment longer, and
then turned her back and swam off, flicking her pigtail in the girl's
face.  The small splash from her departure caught Sayuri straight
on.
     "I'll, er, go check on her, okay?" said Daisuke, made an
apologetic glance at the girl, and took after the redhead.  "Hey,
Ranma, wait up!"
     Hiroshi floated up to his girlfriend, who was rubbing the
water from her eyes and trying to glare after the retreating pigtailed
girl.  She appeared very upset, and returned no affection as he
gathered her into his arms.  "Hey, you ok?" he asked softly.
     "That bitch!" she snarled.
     "What?" he exclaimed, surprised, a little taken aback by her
vehemence.  "You mean Ranma?"
     "Yes."
     He tried a tentative smile.  "I don't think that's quite the
right," he started to say, then petered off when she gave him an
unimpressed glare and pushed away, turning her back to him.  "Aw,
c'mon Sayuri.  What'd I say?"
     "I just knew you were going to try and defend her," she
grumbled.
     "What?  But I -- I'm not tryin' to. . . she's just a. . . ."
     "Buddy.  Yeah, I know.  So it's Akane's fault, right?" 
Sayuri spun on him.  "Typical.  You guys always back each other
up!"
     "What, first she's a bitch, now she's a guy?"  His voice he
purposefully kept light, but nevertheless felt himself coming to the
defence.  After all, why should it be Ranma's fault?  Akane was the
abusive, violent one in the relationship; sure, the guy could be a bit
insensitive at times, but she was the one that kept flying off the
handle at the slightest provocation.
     Sayuri's eyes narrowed.  Without another word she paddled
off.
     "No, wait!" exclaimed Hiroshi.  He slid in front of her,
rested one hand soothingly against her shoulder, played his finger
softly up and down her moist arm.  "I'm sorry, ok?  Listen, honey,
I'm not trying to take sides here.  Really.  I don't even know what
happened."
     She softened slightly.  "It's. . . well, I didn't see it myself. 
But I heard that Akane ran off crying.  Ranma said some really
mean things to her -- mean enough that she killed the engagement."
     "WHAT?"
     "Yeah.  Big stuff.  That jerk."  Her lips curved in a tight
smile.  "Or, as I prefer, bitch."
     This time it was Hiroshi who refused to respond.  Twisting
to see his friend, he saw Ranma and Daisuke engaged in
conversation.  They both appeared happy, smiling; but now, he
wondered if Ranma's smile was hiding a deeper sorrow.  "Poor
guy," he murmured.
     "Poor _guy_?" asked Sayuri incredulously.  "What about
Akane?  She was the one who was hurt!"
     "So was Ranma."
     "Yeah, right."
     "He was!" he exclaimed, turning back to her, taken aback
by the volume, the strength of his own voice.  "She was!"  Seeing
the surprise on her face, he calmed himself.  "You didn't hear her
tonight!  She's hurting -- she feels alone and depressed and. . . ."
     "Ranma?" she said skeptically.  "That Casanova?  As if!"
     "No, she does!" he insisted.  "I -- Listen, I also thought that
way, but, but she doesn't have it as easy as we thought!  She's tired
and confused!  She's. . . she's scared!"
     "The mighty Ranma, scared?"
     "Yeah, scared!  Him. . . her -- whatever.  Her too!  Like. . .
like -- like how'd you feel when you had your first period, huh? 
Think it went any easier for her?  And at least you're a. . . at least
you had your. . . ."  And then, seeing her shocked, blushing face,
suddenly realizing what he'd said, he stammered to a stop.  "I, I
mean, she. . . ."  Shit, Hiroshi thought, I just betrayed her trust, I
couldn't keep her secret for even a single night.
     The little 'o' of surprise on Sayuri's face twisted into a
nasty, pleased grin.  "She's had her. . . and it _scares_ her?  Oh,
that's just too rich!"
     "Hey, hey, no, wait!" he said, slightly panicked.  "I
promised her I wouldn't tell anyone how she feels about that stuff -
- you can't tell anyone, Sayuri, you can't!"
     "Oh, relax, Hiroshi," she said.  "Everybody probably already
knows about her little 'problems'.  It's not like you guys were all
that quiet talking about it."
     "No, no, you don't understand!  Sure, she told everyone
about her. . . her 'girl' problems, but the other stuff, like that she
was scared and confused, and, and, really worried about it -- that
she only told _me_.  She asked me to keep it a secret!  If you tell
anyone else, she'll never trust me again!"
     Sayuri's countenance darkened slightly.  "Yeah, and we
wouldn't want _that_ to happen, would we?" she said, a slight
bitterness to her voice.
     "What?"
      "Nothing."  Without another word she presented her back
to him, arms crossed.
     "No, not nothing!"  He pulled on her shoulder; she resisted,
but the water provided lousy support and she spun anyway. 
"Something's bothering you.  I want to know what."
     "You should be able to figure it out on your own!"
     "Oh, don't give me that, Sayuri!  How can I?"
     "Well, gee, it's only been bugging me all night!"
     "Yeah, but I've been with the guys all night, and with
Ranma all. . . ."  Seeing her arch one eyebrow he stopped, and
grimaced.  "Oh.  Er, you mean. . . ."
     "Yeah, I do.  I don't care if you spend some time with them,
but, dammit, Hiroshi, you could've at least passed by a few times!"
     "I, ah, I'm sorry?"
     She floated a little closer to him.  "You don't seem very
sorry. . . ."
     "But I am," he said, reaching up and wiping away a few
droplets from her face, smoothing back a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear with a delicate touch.  "How can I prove it to you?"
     "You'll have to think of that yourself," she answered,
smiling, drawing closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. 
Hiroshi responded in kind, arms lying comfortably around her neck.
     "Is this on the right track?" he asked softly, laying a soft line
of kisses along her neck.
     "I'm not quite convinced you mean it," she said, legs curling
around his torso, water buoying her up.  One of his hands played
along the open back of her swimsuit, tracing the seams, the length
of her spine; the other treaded water.
     "This any better?"  The next kiss was on her ear, a brief
nibble, then lightly across her face, where small drops of water still
glittered against her skin.  Finally his lips brushed gossamer soft
against hers.  "Hmm?"
     She sighed softly, lips parting slightly, eyes half closed. 
"Yes," she breathed, and embraced him tighter.  He felt her breasts
press up against his chest, the sleekness of her suit, her damp,
clinging hair brushing against his hand now clasping her back; the
smell of chlorine, her wetness, moist hair, the night wind filled and
aroused him.  Pressed fully against him, shifting her hips against his
a little, she smiled and repeated, "Yes."
     His lips brushed against hers again, parting a bit more.  She
responded, their tongues flicked, touched briefly, but, as he pushed
forward, she drew back teasingly, eyes closed, smiling.  Hiroshi
growled in the back of his throat, moved his hand from her back to
her neck, held her head, tilted slightly, kissed again; this time they
met, breath hot on each others cool, wet face, embrace tightening,
the pair spiralling slowly in the pool, tongues meeting once more,
and. . . .
     "KIYAAAAA!"  Sudden water and strong waves doused
them.  Sayuri lost her hold on her boyfriend, but, anchored to him
by her entangled feet, was unable to disengage; with a surprised cry
she fell back and sank beneath the water, one leg still hooked
around Hiroshi.  Wiping the water from his eyes, he gasped and
reached for her, yanking her back up above the surface.  She
gasped in surprise, coughing, clawing clinging hair from her eyes,
blinking and looking angrily around for the disruption.  Said
disruption surfaced between the two.
     "Oops!" giggled the redhead.  "I, ah, didn't mean to land so
close to ya!"  Ranma stuck out her tongue at Sayuri and kicked off
before the furious girl could retaliate.  "Hey, Dai!  You were right! 
She's pretty pissed!" she called out as Sayuri, furious, spitting up
water, glowered in rage.
     "Ohhhh. . .That, that. . . _bitch_!" Sayuri exclaimed, and
swam off angrily.
     Hiroshi sighed, glanced between his girlfriend, and his friend
who currently happened to be a girl, and wondered which one he
ought to talk to first.


     Water cascaded off of her lithe form as she effortlessly lifted
from the pool, pulling herself up and swinging smooth, curvaceous
legs over the edge of the deep end.  The redhead unconsciously
tugged at the strings of her top as she stood and talked animatedly
with a classmate, gesticulating expressively.  After a few moments
she shrugged, accepted an offered drink and stepped away,
laughing, obviously enjoying herself.
     "What'cha lookin' at?"
     Sayuri glanced up as a rather drunk Daisuke plopped down
next to her.  Looking away, she muttered, "Ranma," and nodded
towards the girl as she clambered up the ladder to the high diving
board once more.
     "Ah, yes.  Lovely, ain't she?"  Daisuke grinned and leaned
back.
     She glowered at him for a m