More than anything, Poetry wished she had a button. Failing that, she would have settled for an out-of-the-way corner in which to pin her shirt closed. She had neither. What she did have was forty-odd students and a handful of passers-by, gawking at her and her lime green bra.
She could flee back into school for a bathroom. Of course, the sharks had already scented her blood. Just crossing her arms to cover her chest would be like opening a vein into the water. She was never going to live this down. Poetry stood up straight.
“Could I have your attention, please?”
She already had everyone’s attention; the gigglers, the whisperers, the nice kids cringing in sympathy. Even the man across the street was staring.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please.” Calmly, without looking down, she began working on her shirt. “Public viewing hours for Poetry Wu’s Wondrous Heaving Bosom are now over.”
It was then that she heard a popping noise from her waistband and felt a sudden draught round her legs. She rolled her eyes. The jeans had proved just as shoddy as the shirt, and now Poetry Wu's Amazing Jiggling Ass was open to the public.
One thing at a time, she thought. She concentrated on the shirt and tried to ignore the increasingly hysterical voice at the back of her mind - the one that kept reminding her she'd bought the underwear on special at Wal-Mart too.
Opening: Lianne.....Continuation: Steve