Chapter 59: Another Million Ways to “Why”
The rest of that Friday morning passed by without either open defiance or clever subversion. The rebellion that was ‘Why Day’, once quashed, turned into a bunch of quiet whines and attempts to suck-up in order to get playground privileges back. No more ‘Why?’. Instead the question became varying degrees of ‘Am I being good?’.

“Yes,” Beouf, or Zoge would sum up. “That doesn’t mean you’re getting the playground back today.”

Honestly? It was kind of pathetic. Just the threat of going one day without going to the playground and all of them were starting to crack. I couldn’t be too mad at the sudden tail tucking. All it had taken to put the fear of Beouf into me was the threat that I might have to walk to the cafeteria in nothing but my Monkeez.

Naptime came and went, but had been no longer than usual. Those of us who could fall asleep after a bloating lunch of spaghetti and meat sauce did so. No chocolate milk was handed out, the true sign of the Amazons’ displeasure.

I managed to stay awake staring up at the ceiling. I wasn’t afraid to sleep; I’d come to the conclusion that the gentle music Beouf would sometimes play in low barely perceptible volumes was not subliminal or hypnotic, just boring. I just wasn’t tired.

Occasionally, I’d roll over and look at Shauna, also staring at the ceiling. She’d sometimes roll over and face me; we’d make eye contact briefly and then one of us would turn away. All the excitement of waiting at a bus stop. It was still more interesting than Tommy in the other nearest crib. Tommy was asleep. Every now and then, I’d see him paw at his face or smack his lips. I started placing bets with myself on how long before he started sucking his thumb.

No one talked. The baby monitor right by the door would pick up anything louder than a fart. It was an older model than the one in my nursery but it would keep Beouf aware of any and all conspiracies and whispers.

We did not languish in our cells the rest of the afternoon, however. The threat of an extended or prolonged naptime did not manifest. Just like every other day that week, we were taken out of the cribs, changed, and then made to wait for the process to be repeated down to the last not-quite mindfucked prisoner. And Ivy, too, I guess.

I did my best to hide my own grimaces of disbelief. As much as I resented her on a personal level, there was also a little bit of professional training that was also shaking its metaphorical head at her.

She’d made a threat of withholding playground time for our disobedience. If she didn’t follow through with it there’d be less of a reason for the class to take future threats seriously. Getting us out of the cribs after mentioning that we’d have a much longer naptime was such a bush league move.

Perfect. Underestimate us. Don’t follow through when they’re cute and the prisoners would just learn to act cute when they were in trouble. The exact wrong type of lesson to teach.

It’s why I winced when Billy had the gall to ask, “are we getting to go to the playground?”

Goddamnit, Billy. Never correct your opponent when they’re about to make a mistake.

As it turned out, Beouf wasn’t going to make that kind of mistake. She wasn’t going to force us to wait in a prolonged and restless timeout. She was going to do something much worse.

“Mrs. Zoge and I gave it some thought while you were down for your naps, and we decided that keeping you in your cribs for naptime longer than usual wouldn’t be fair.”

A collective cheer went up. I held my breath.

“You still haven’t earned your playground time,” she said. Cheers immediately turned into groans.

Zoge turned on the classroom projector and shined it onto the board. “Are we going to get to watch a movie?” Annie asked. If we were, we certainly weren’t now that she said something about it.

“Not quite,” Beouf replied. “You might not be going outside, but you still need your exercise!”

The screen synced with Beouf’s classroom desktop and an UsBox video was paused, just past the opening credits. Frozen in place were a man and a woman, Amazons likely, standing on a hardwood floor. Behind them was a mirror wall with a wooden rail running along it horizontally to the floor. In other words, a generic dance studio.

Based on the neon colors of their unitards, the lady’s big curly hair, the pastel trim on the walls, and the faded quality of the footage signaled that this show was anything but new. I was very likely in diapers the first time around when this schlock was filmed; even if I didn’t know what schlock it was. I might not even have been born yet it looked so terribly retro.

“Oh no!” Sandra Lynn moaned. “Why?!” Ivy just sighed and looked deflated. Evidently it had been a while since Beouf had broken out this particular punishment.

“Spread out and give each other room so that everyone can move and see.”

Even as we complied, Sandra Lynn repeated herself “Whyyyyy?!” It wasn’t a question. Neither was it a challenge or attempt at subversion. This ‘why’ was the whining plea of desperation; the call out to an unlistening higher power to intervene on one’s behalf. No help was coming.

Zoge clicked play and an annoying synth keyboard assaulted our ears while the two models stared blankly at the camera. The camera closed in on the man, an Amazon with a spray-on tan and what might have been a mustache or a dead caterpillar. “Hi kids! It’s your old pals Newton and Olivia!” He better have been a fantastic workout instructor, I thought, because the man sure wasn’t an actor.

The camera swung over “Are you ready to work up a sweat, stretch it all out and have fun?”

“NOOOOOO!” More of us were joining in. It wasn’t going to fix anything, but when complaining is your only avenue, you take it.

“THEN LET’S DANCERSIZE!”

I quickly realized that the reason I hadn’t seen this particular video before: It was awful. Just plain awful. I have since learned that Dancersize was, in fact, a single season workout program aimed at promoting physical fitness for children and adopted Littles. It was sold to Pennycade and ran in syndication for nearly five years before an executive decided to pull the plug and take it off life support.

It claimed to combine elements of ballet, yoga, and aerobics to a hip soundtrack that would really make children of ‘all ages’ want to ‘get out there and dance’. In my personal, unbiased opinion it counts as psychological and physiological torture. I don’t know who the target audience should have been, but it wasn’t actual children, and it certainly wasn’t Littles used to the playground.

“Let’s do some plies!” The woman, Olivia strained while smiling. “Assume first position! Up on your toes!”

“You heard her!’ Beouf said. “Let’s do this!”

Newton started counting. “Plie-one-two-three, up-one-two-three. Plie-two-two-three, up-two-twothree”

“Only six more to go!” Olivia beamed.

The groans and moans from our Little audience almost drowned out the cheesy synth soundtrack that was put in place for anything that might have merited a royalty fee. “Uuuuug! Why?!”

“That’s right! Feel the burn!”

“Don’t forget to tuck those tailbones!”

Ballet is hard. There’s a reason there are so few professionals. It’s also impossible to do well dressed like a toddler. Even with perfectly clean and dry diapers, not yet swollen or expanded from use, it’s difficult. ‘Graceful’ is not a word that would be used to describe us.

Chaz, our classroom crawler, got no reprieve either. Zoge placed two chairs beside him facing out and hovered over him ready to catch him. Apparently, Chaz’s reduction to rugrat was a matter of impaired balance and equilibrium instead of weakened leg strength. Their chairs might have offered him some support, but not enough to stop the intense burning we were all feeling. “WHY?!”

The jumping jacks, running in place, torso, and place toe touches came fast and furious. “That’s right, kids! Keep it up! You’re doing great! Really get the blood pumping!”

“Why?”

“Why?!”

“WHY?!”

Newton and Olivia weren’t even sweating. They either did all of this in multiple takes that were masterfully edited together to make it look easy or they were on drugs. Based on the glazed over looks in their eyes and the too wide smiles, it was probably drugs.

I was at least able to keep up with the yoga segments. The downward facing dog transitioned naturally into the child’s pose which was just a quick segway into cat stretches. All of that was just a resting warm up for the pushups, sit ups that followed.

“I’m so pumped,” Olivia said, “I think I could do fifty!”

“Fifty? Why not a hundred?” Newton smiled back.

“Wanna race?”

“You’re on!”

“Let’s go, kids!”

No. I did not do that many pushups or situps. No one did. “Keep going guys,” Beouf nagged at us. “This is your exercise for today. You don’t have to keep count, but do your best!” To show off, Beouf spread out on the carpet in front of everyone and started keeping base with the thirty-something year old workout tape. “See? I’m doing it too!”
“WHYYYYY?!”

I might be bragging on myself, but I felt great. I was panting, and burning, and sweating with the rest of them, but I was exhilarating in it. This bizarre and painful workout was the most adult thing I’d been allowed to do all week. Even with the terrible keyboard notes and the way too peppy voices egging ‘kids’ on to do the impossible, it still felt like I was being treated closer to a thirty-something in boot camp than a naughty child.

The marathon ended and the two Amazons on screen climbed to their feet. “Now that we’re all warmed up,” Olivia smiled. “LET’S DANCE!”

“WHYYY-HIGH-HIGH-HIGH-HIIIIIIII?!”

The classroom became a herd of yowling cats. The ‘Why’s’ were of the damned. To my classmates, this was torture. They were Sissyfuss, forced to push a boulder up a hill unless someone saw up his too short skirt and then he had to start over for all eternity. They were Tantrumuss forced to stand in a river of pudding that would forever lower whenever he went to scoop up a glob and a bottle that was just out of his grasp being hung directly overhead. Amazon and Greasian myths are messed up.

Point being: being deprived of their precious playground time was punishment for my classmates. Having to ‘Dancersize’ was torture. If not for my own stubbornness and pride, I would have agreed and joined in with the moaning and groaning.

“Five-six-seven-eight!”

The screen froze. Beouf was back up and standing in front of the class. We all stopped, aching and sore and panting. Beouf looked at a clock on the wall. “It looks like we’ve got about ten minutes left before we have to get everybody ready to go home,” she announced. “You all were very good just now. Would you like to finish the workout video?”

“NOOOOOOOO!” came the response.

“Would you like to get some fresh air and go play on the playground!”

“YEEEEEEAH!”

A small, knowing smirk crept into Beouf. “Then line up, my good Little boys and girls.”

WHOOOOSH! The other nine all lined up at the door, quiet and orderly. Chaz crawled up into Zoge’s arms. Their resistance shattered and traded in for ten minutes of playtime.

I lingered for a second, feeling completely baffled. I went up to Beouf. “Why?” I asked.

“Because,” she said. “Punishment is just the consequence of a bad choice. You were good, so you earned another choice.” She shrugged. “That and you’re all basically good kids. And it’s Friday.”

Feeling defeated, I shuffled into line and went outside with the rest of them.