The dog apparently decided he’d better catch up with and stood, shook himself off, and took a couple of huge, lumbering steps that would have wiped out about half of the freshman class, and sat back down beside me.

“You look scared,” he pointed out.

“No, I’m getting used to this, I think,” I shrugged.

“I mean, it isn’t like I haven’t had weirder dreams than this.

One time, I…”

“That you,” he interrupted, nodding towards the figure still struggling up the steps.

“It was my first day,” I said defensively.

“I didn’t know anybody, and I didn’t know what to expect.

I think most people would be at least a little scared.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the dog agreed.

“Do you think she was, then?”

He didn’t give any indication of who he was talking about, but I didn’t need it, since it was right then that I caught sight of Maria, taking the opposite tack as me, and trying to get up the steps as quickly as possible.

I tried to look away from her, only to have her pass right through me on her way inside.

“Well, yeah, I suppose so,” I answered.

“But it is different.”

“How?”

I opened my mouth a time or two before settling on, “Do I really need to explain?”

By then, the other me had made it to the top, and thus stopped dead in her tracks, right in front of me.

“Hello?” I held up one hand, waved it slightly.

There was no response, though that could have been from the shock of seeing a slightly older version of herself and a gigantic white dog, so, to be sure, I turned to the dog.

“Can she see us?”

My answer, such as it was, came as the younger me’s hands clenched even tighter in her pockets and she walked inside.

I jumped off to one side – having one hand briefly inside a younger version of myself was freaky enough for me, thank you very much.

The dog got back to his feet, something that puzzled me for just a moment.

“We’re following, huh?” He nodded and proceeded to step through the outer wall of the school.

I took the more civilized route, joining the other students, although I had to cut through several of them in order to catch up with myself.

Even then, I was too late to see that fateful collision, coming in only in the aftermath.

Me and Maria were on the floor, her backpack open and upside down, notebooks and folders encircling us.

Luckily, most people were ignoring and going around us, making us a sort of eye in the storm.

“I’m so sorry,” I was babbling, gathering up the nearest folder.

“I must not have been looking where I was going, and…”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Maria insisted, eyes darting madly about at the chaos surrounding us before snatching for her backpack.

Except that I, trying to be as helpful as possible, already had ahold of it, and was starting to turn it back right-side up.

I hadn’t been paying her much attention then; now I could see Maria’s mouth working anxiously, eyes large as the dog’s, arms outstretched, but not far enough.

“I’ll just put these back,” I mumbled, narrating my own actions for some strange reason.

I stuffed the folders back into her backpack, my attention almost turning immediately back to the rest of them down on the floor.

Somewhere in that almost, however, my eyes picked up just the slightest hint of something strange inside the bag, and without thinking, I took another look.

I only had a second or two until Maria started moving again, with her first action being to tear her backpack away from me, yet that was long enough for me to see all I needed to, and for my eyes to go just as big as hers had been a moment before, telling her instantly that she’d been too late.

“Th-They’re not mine,” she stammered. “I live with my grandmother, and I just… I mean, I guess I just accidentally put those in there.” She gave a nervous, totally unconvincing, laugh.

Unfortunately for her, my eyes had gone from her backpack to her waistband, the top of which was still visible since she had yet to readjust her size and a half too big for her shirt after plopping down on the floor to get her stuff. She remedied that as soon as she let her gaze follow mine, but again, she was a hair too late.

Her voice got quiet as she scooted closer to me, and I could see tears welling in her eyes. “Please,” she started. “Please, you can’t…”

I’m not sure what I was thinking. Maybe I was happy to find someone worse off than me, or maybe I was feeling charitable. “Don’t worry,” I winked. “I won’t tell a soul.”

She sighed and slumped back in obvious relief. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how freaked out I am.”

“A lot,” I wagered a guess, getting a smile. We finished getting her stuff picked up and put away before either of us spoke. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I said, my tone showing that I obviously figured she -would- mind, “why…?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “It’s a long story,” was her answer, short and simple, and I could tell that was all she planned to say on the subject, even before she abruptly changed it. “So, where’s your homeroom?”

“115?” I’d written it down the day before so I wouldn’t have to remember, and then, of course, forgot to bring that piece of paper with me. “Something like that.”

“No way!” she giggled. “Me, too!”

Maria and I walked away, nervously chattering away, as I did my best to keep from staring down at her diapered ass. I could tell I was being a little more reserved than usual, and not completely because of what day it was.

Before I could follow any further, the dog galloped over me, taking up the entire hallway.

“Are you ready for your next memory?”

I almost said no to see what he’d do – none of the other “guides” had bothered to ask what I wanted – but shrugged instead.

The hallway blinked out, replaced by the cafeteria, where I was wandering about, seemingly aimlessly, Maria trailing behind.

We were wearing different clothes than we had been, so it was at least the next day, though if memory served me, it was more like three days later.

I looked much less like I was going to have a heart attack at any moment.

However, there was still a hint of nerves there, probably brought about largely by the fact that I had yet to make any friends there, other than a girl who wore diapers and was tagging along behind me.

She looked much happier, though there was still some temporary worry there, a little less deep than my own, likely triggered by our survey of the cafeteria that had revealed a complete lack of empty tables.

“Well, there’s only two people over there… I guess that’s our best bet.”

I didn’t turn back to see if Maria agreed, though I saw now that she nodded in response.

“I don’t need to see this,” I told the dog, who didn’t reply.

So I just started to walk away, only to find the whole room spinning around me.

I stumbled, starting to feel dizzy, and by the time I had regained my balance, Maria and I were sitting with Laurell and Ivy, as I heard them introduce themselves after I’d done the same.

They were juniors and seemed to be infinitely entertained by watching the two of us nervously eating, uncertain whether we should try to make some polite conversation or just pretend we weren’t there.

It wasn’t long before I “solved” that problem, by accidentally knocking my glass down and across the table.

The two older girls jumped to their feet as the water began to spread over to their side of the table, while I did the same to start gathering napkins, apologizing profusely, cheeks burning red.

“Look, I know what happened!” I pleaded with the dog.

“Sometimes, we have to see things more than once,” he said sagely.

Laurell and Ivy were laughing now, while I scrambled around the table, trying to gather up the napkins I’d just ended up throwing all around like gigantic flakes of snow.

Later, I’d told myself it was all good-natured, friendly ribbing, but at the time, it hadn’t sounded that way. And looking at it now, I wasn’t so sure.

“It wasn’t my fault!” I growled at the dog.

“I didn’t do it on purpose! People are allowed to make mistakes, you know!”

Then I heard Maria’s giggles joining the other two girls, and felt my hand’s spasm into fists like I saw the younger me doing across the cafeteria.

My face was redder than I think I’ve seen anybody’s before, and though I wasn’t close enough to see, I was pretty sure I was at the very least on the verge of crying.

“Maybe we should just get you a bottle to drink out of if cups are too difficult,” Maria laughed.

The color drained from my face as I turned towards her.

“Well at least,” I said, my voice louder than it really needed to be, just like hers had sounded to me, “I don’t wear diapers!”

They all went silent at that. Laurell and Ivy seemed set to start laughing again, amused at a weird little joke, except for the look Maria gave me, so full of betrayal and hurt that it was obvious that there was no joking going on.

“See?” I pointed out to the dog. “It was her fault! If she had just stayed cool, it would’ve been fine, but she had to go and freak out about it!”

“And she didn’t have to make fun of you, to begin with, did she?” the dog asked.

It sounded pretty rhetoric, but I nodded anyway. “And if she hadn’t been so clumsy the first day, you never would’ve found out to begin with.”

“Exactly! Finally, someone understands!”

He didn’t answer before blinking us a few weeks further into the school year, into the hallway outside of my, and Maria’s, Algebra class.

It was the first memory the dog had shown me so far that I hadn’t immediately recognized, so I was kinda curious, in a cautious sort of way.

It took a moment to find myself in the throng of people – I actually found Maria first and then saw myself approaching.

Obviously, it was either right before or right after class, probably before.

Maria was clutching her backpack, eyes nervously scanning the crowd.

“Maria,” I told her in a stage whisper.

“You might want to get a quick change.

You’re leaking.”

She gave a light gasp, tried to get a look at the back of her pants, which was, of course, difficult, and resulted in a scene that looked remarkably like a cat chasing its own tail.

I watched myself go back through the crowd, over to where Laurell and Ivy were waiting, barely containing themselves.

Laurell slapped me on the back and they gave up, their laughter filling the hall.

I was a touch behind them, and a little uncertain at first, but it happened just the same.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I tried to explain.

Blink to Halloween.

“Here we go,” I smiled.

I guess the dog knew I wasn’t such a bad person after all.

“Come on, Laurell, quit it,” I was saying, sounding even more authoritative than I remembered.

“This is stupid.”

We were in the girls’ bathroom, alone – we’d locked the door, if my memory was correct – and Laurell and Ivy were busy unloading plastic bags.

“You agreed, Cheyenne,” Ivy reminded me.

“Don’t back out on us now.”

Laurell stepped away from me, surveying the big, adult diaper she’d just taped on over my jeans.

“That looks pretty good,” she nodded. “Do you have the pacifier?”

Ivy nodded and handed it to her.

It was one of those costume ones, humongous and obviously fake, which made me wonder why they hadn’t used the fake diaper that came with those instead of buying a whole package of real ones.

“Nobody’s gonna know what this is,” I pointed out.

“Nobody but Maria,” I added in, letting the dog in on my internal monologue.

“This is pointless.”

Ivy put the pacifier around my neck.

“Of course nobody would get it like this,” she agreed.

“We’re not done yet, dummy.”

Laurell was the one who had the package of name tags, which she was opening then, while I fidgeted, not noticing her, trying to keep my pants legs from bunching up in the diaper.

“This is what’ll do it!” Laurell proclaimed, slapping the finished tag onto my chest.

I didn’t have to look down to see what it said, nor did I really have to then, and yet both sides of me did.

I’m not sure what it had been about seeing Maria’s name on me that had set me off – perhaps some deep, repressed memory of my own teasing, back at the hands of that little boy, or maybe a fresher memory of when she had actually considered me her friend – but something did.