Brigid proudly wears her new uniform

        Rod tried to fight his way in to see what the crowd of kids was looking at, without seeming like he was trying to imitate the gametime moves of the football team guys who were in their uniforms on this “Uniform Day”.  There was one overhead light that was brighter than the others, in the center of the lobby, and that was what they were crowding around.  Rod was not a short guy but he couldn’t get a glimpse, especially since some of the Tunemasters even came to school in their tall shako hats.  Unsuccessful at getting a view from the front, he went around the other side and finally burst through between Jaycee of the football team and Lorenzo, his fellow trombonist.

        His mouth dropped open at the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

        The naked white girl, seen from behind, her skin gleaming in the bright light, arms extended, showing herself off to the people in front of her, her bookbag on the floor next to her bare feet, with her baton threaded through the shoulder straps.

        She can’t really be naked, Rod told himself, as he caught his breath and licked his dry lips and gulped.  They wouldn’t take away Brigid’s uniform entirely, and actually make the band’s majorette march absolutely stark raving naked, without a stitch, every private part of her fully on view, in front of crowds at football games, down the main street in town, in front of her friends and her parents and brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and teachers and the TV cameras, in rain, wind, sleet, snow storms, marching herself into frostbite and hypothermia -- it would not only be downright cruel but against the law, indecent exposure --

        As he thought these unbelievable thoughts Rod looked at Brigid’s tight, tiny, white-girl butt, the cute dimples over her butt crack, her slim waist, the thinly muscled shoulders.  And now the lovely slope of her breast came into view, jiggling as she turned slightly, then more.  .  .

        “Beautiful”, a girl said as Brigid turned, her arms still out, her toes flexing as she slowly rotated.  Now she caught Rod’s eye and said, “Hi Rod.”  Rod smiled weakly and in shock -- the naked white goddess has singled me out --

        He looked down to her breasts, then down to her totally shaved crotch.  He had never seen a totally naked live girl before, and certainly not so close in such strong light.  Now his eyes strained as he noticed something odd.  Her nipples weren’t pink, really.  Well no, the circular areas -- it was called the areola, everyone could see now that Brigid’s were a little bigger than the size of quarters -- were pink .  .  .  but the actual nipples were -- green??

        “I like your new -- circlets,” Jaycee said.

        “They’re called ‘bits’,” Brigid corrected him, padding a couple of steps toward Jaycee, and then holding her breasts up to him to show off the “bits”.  Rod gulped again.  As they looked, they saw that the end of each nipple -- not the whole nub, the size and color of a pencil eraser, but the top of it -- was wrapped in green thread.  The thread was tied on, in a little latticework, rather pretty in its own microscopic way, which slightly compressed the nub tip.  The green circular cover made a pleasant contrast with the pinkness of the rest of the nub, and the pinkness of the areola.

        “You must be good with crochet,” a girl said.  Brigid smiled, and blushed with pride, still holding out her breasts, as if showing off a prize-winning cake.

        “Nice job on the nails,” Debra said.  Brigid extended her fingers in front of her breasts, then looked down and spread her toes.  Green nail polish.  It figured the new uniform would be green, for the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

        Looking downward at her pretty toes brought everyone’s attention to her crotch.  A lower-pitched older woman’s voice was heard.  “The bottom is pretty too, Brigid.”  It was Ms. Thomas, one of the guidance counselors.  Rod suddenly noticed there were teachers around too.  Maybe Uniform Day had developed an informal tradition of its own, the majorette showing off her new uniform.

        “Thanks.  You should thank Ms. Kleinfelter,” Brigid said, edging her feet apart and spreading her legs.  What bottom part?  Then Rod realized that the slit between the shaved pussy lips was green also -- a thin thread, running from the top of the slit to somewhere below.

        “How does that stay on?” Virginia asked.

        Brigid smiled and rolled her eyes.  “It’s tricky.  I’m glad though.  Those straps” -- she motioned around her hips -- “were uncomfortable, cutting in when I moved around.”  Actually they hadn’t been “straps”, they were more like “strings”.  Again, Rod mused, they changed the majorette uniform in the direction of taking something away, when they could have just as well made the “straps” more comfortable by widening them, like they were last year, or widening them more, like the year before.

        They watched as Brigid turned around again slowly, proud and happy to have the privilege of wearing what everyone agreed was a beautiful uniform.  “The committee really outdid itself this time,” said Mr.  Haufenstedt, the Typing and Data Entry teacher.

        The Homeroom bell rang.

        “Okay, kids, break it up, get to class.”  It was Mr. Poznik, one of the hall attendants, a little old guy, but not someone to be disobeyed.  As the crowd dispersed Rod pulled up his bookbag and began the trudge to Social Studies, one of the classes Brigid was not in.  He turned and saw her walking away with Debra and Lucia, her bookbag slapping her bare buns as she practically skipped to class on her (tough) bare soles, the baton in her hand.  Debra was in her full-coverage Tunemasters uniform and Lucia, not on any team, was in her big black pants and jacket, both girls in boots, a strong contrast to the naked, barefoot girl in between.  But of course, she wasn’t really naked.