Electra


Electra was a gymnast before she sylphed. She was also a cheerleader, of course. And smart. Wicked smart. Certainly, smarter than me.

She was our class president, she was in all the college prep courses, probably headed for valedictorian. The only reason I was anywhere close to her when she sylphed was that as class clown, they’d elected me to do the school announcements on the PA each morning, and that day it was her turn to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

So we were both in the office that day, when suddenly, the voice leading the Pledge went high and soft.

I looked over to see her clothes implode like Obi Wan’s. We had dead air for half a second. I reached for the mike and finished “…with liberty and justice for all.”

Electra stood up from the cup of her bra, eyes wide and scared. She didn’t move as I picked her up and eased her into my jacket pocket. “Ladies and Gentlemen, and Freshmen, Miss Jennifer Beatty has just sylphed while reading the Pledge.

“I’m claiming her by the President’s famous ‘finders keepers’ law, and I shall name her ‘Electra,’ because I always wanted a pet cheerleader named Electra.”

Being class clown that I was, no one believed me. Partly, I think, because it sounded like something I’d have invented, and partly because if anyone else had grabbed up a tiny Jennifer, they’d have run to the registration office before telling anyone.

For a week, seriously, seven full days later, people were coming up to me and asking, “So, what was it, laryngitis?”

Then Electra would pop up out of my pocket and pretend to be hoarse and shout, “Yep! Too many cheers!”

She wasn’t thrilled about shrinking or becoming a pet, but she did like the sudden release of pressure. She didn’t have to worry about test scores or deadlines or college visits or scholarships.

The only school work in her life any more was mine, and I never forced her to help. Sometimes she took an interest out of boredom.

What she really did love, though, was what her shrinking did to her gymnastics. She could jump over her own head and it sometimes looked like she could hover during a flip.

And she got to explain her new body muscle-mass ratio, and physics, to me every time I looked amazed. She was still way smarter.

For that reason, when I got a carrier for her, I built a little gym set that folded up around the carrier.

It made us the best babysitters in the world. Certainly in Springwater.

Any kids I sat for, no matter how rambunctious they got, would sit down and be still at the threat that I’d take Electra away.

I seldom had to go to the point of closing her up in the carrier before they’d swear to behave, and only once got as far as dismantling the gym.

Mom made her a body suit that showed her curves, but hid all the tantalizing details. No nude sylphs lounging around in the Loudon home.

Dammit.



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Index

2. Mrs. Branch