Grace woke up early.

While she’d never call herself an early bird, she reacted well to getting a full night’s sleep. Having dozed off at just past nine forty five, that gave her well over ten hours of sleep by the time she arose, stretching out her arms and bumping knuckles against the bars of her ‘crib’.

Right.

Reaching over, she checked her phone. It was eight twenty. If Pearce kept up his end of the rules, he’d have to come get her in the next ten minutes.

Dubious, Grace scrolled social media, trying to avoid the pressure in her bladder. She knew she’d have to use her diaper eventually, but she held it for two reasons–one, if she wet herself before Pearce came to get her, he’d inevitably tease her and call her a bedwetter. Better to show that she could still hold it, and give him less ammunition. Two, she suspected that once he failed to wake her up on time, he’d call it quits rather than cough up fifty bucks for the beer pool.

Minutes ticked past. Eight Twenty Five. Eight Twenty Eight.

At Eight Twenty Nine, she heard a stumbling crash from the room next to hers. Heavy footsteps fell, and Pearce waltzed in, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He had on only a T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, which hung loosely around his waist.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” Grace asked, rolling her eyes.

“I’m within the rules,” he grumbled, still too drowsy to quip beyond that. Walking over, he lowered the bars of her cage and bent down, giving the front of her diaper a squeeze. “Still dry? Cool. I’m goin’ back to bed.”

Grace pulled her lips into a line. “What about breakfast? Heck, what about clothing, I’m not going to wear PJs all day.”

Pearce raised two fingers with his left hand and put his right hand over his heart, in a mock salute. “I, your caretaker, do declare PJs to be appropriate morning wear. And I’ll make breakfast in like an hour or two. You’ll still get your three meals.”

Turning, he scratched the back of his head and wandered to his own bedroom.

Grace knew Pearce, knew that he wouldn’t be waking up until she came to wake him up–or until the afternoon rolled around. That gave her an opportunity, then, to get him in trouble while playing perfectly within the confines of the rules.

He’d be totally out of it for at least an hour. Probably much longer. So all she had to do was crap in her diaper, and he’d get a guaranteed penalty.

Smirking ruefully, Grace settled on her plan. All she had to do…was use her diaper.

“Hmm,” she said. Wetting it the first time had taken a bit of effort. Overcoming the mental block to do the other thing, well…

She shut her door. The last thing she wanted was one of the wasters walking by and catching her ‘in the act’. That done, she squatted down, closing her eyes, pretending she was sitting on a toilet.

Her bladder released, flooding her diaper quickly and thoroughly, but that was all. She couldn’t compel her body to obey, too much mental resistance in place that repelled the commands to fill up her diaper.

Standing, she blushed, though nobody had watched her attempt. Settling on another idea, she waddled out of her bedroom and across the hall, to the unoccupied bathroom. Closing that door, she walked over and sat down on the toilet, in an attempt to trick her brain into forgetting the layers of PJs and padding she’d been dressed in.

No dice. She just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Grace gave up on that idea after about a minute, and crossed to the bathroom cabinet, checking the various pill bottles and prescriptions they had lying around. She located a bottle of laxatives, and almost popped one, but thought better of it and read the label.

(Okay, glad I checked.) The pills said they took four to six hours to kick in, which wouldn’t help her plan in the slightest.

Groaning, Grace gave up on the attempt and left the bathroom. Working within the strict confines of the rules wouldn’t get her anywhere, so she instead needed to appeal to authority.

She found Brains in the kitchen, opening a box of ‘Frooty Crumbles’ cereal from the bottom. “Hey, Brains.”

“Grace,” he replied. “Morning. Where’s Pearce?”

“He went back to bed,” Grace pulled up a stool, sitting down at the kitchen island.

“Huh,” Brains said. Slicing through the cereal bag with a pair of scissors, he fished inside and took out a plastic toy of a videogame character.

“I wanted to get your opinion on that, actually,” Grace continued. “The rules have a hole, they don’t say when he’s got to feed me. I’m hungry, but knowing Pearce he’s not going to be awake for a couple decades.”

Brains paused, using a piece of sticky tape to seal up the bag. “Hmm.”

“You agree it’s a problem, right?”

“Yeah,” Brain conceded, sliding the cereal back into the box. He closed the bottom, used another piece of tape to seal it, and flipped it back upright. “But it’s not against the rules as written, so we can’t penalize him until we change that.”

Grace frowned. “The rules were supposed to make sure we played fair, they aren’t the point. Pearce said he was a good caretaker, and this pretty much proves he isn’t.”

“We can ask Melody, she’s better at this sort of… peopling stuff.” Brains walked over to the cupboard, sliding the fruity cereal back into its place and taking another box of choco-puffs. With that cereal in hand, he poured himself a bowl, moving to the fridge to grab some milk.

“What are you doing?” Grace asked, appalled.

“Oh, Skip picked up groceries to share, but they always time it to get the toy first–”

“Not that,” Grace corrected. “Since when do you put the cereal in the bowl before the milk? It’s going to get all soggy. Everyone knows you do milk first.”

Brains reeled in revulsion. “What? No, then you just get sad dry cereal and bland milk. This way the milk gets all chocolatey.”

Before Grace could explain just how horrendously bad his cereal-preparation method was, Melody waltzed in, yawning her way to the coffee maker. “Morning, Grace. You’re still at it?”

“Yeah,” Grace said. “And we need your opinion.”

“Sure, just let me wake up a bit first,” Melody said, moving to start the coffee maker percolating. “Why does it smell like…pee. Right.”

Grace blushed. “So, it’s like this.” She explained the Pearce situation again, summarizing just like she had to Brains. “He’s violating the spirit of the bet, but it’s not technically against the rules.”

“You want to talk spirit?” Melody asked. “You’re playing the baby, right?”

“Right,” Grace confirmed.

“So, how many babies give their sitters step-by-step instructions on how to make dinner and do all their stuff? You’re practically coaching him,” Melody said.

Grace furrowed her brow. “Well, yeah. He was going to make crap for dinner and I don’t want–”

“I’m not saying don’t object,” Melody said. “I’m saying, make him hold up his end of the work. Don’t come whining to us because he’s not acting like a babysitter–act like a baby.”

Staring, Grace took that in. “So…”

“So don’t tell him how to make dinner, wait until he fucks it up and then make him redo it,” Melody suggested. “Or, hell, do whatever you want. It’s not my problem.”

Grace had the idea, and got to her feet. Melody was right, there was no need for arbitration and more rules–she just had to fight for the results she wanted.

Walking back to the stairs, she went up to Pearce’s bedroom door, rapped sharply, and called, “Hey.”

A groan. “What?”

“I’m hungry. Get up.”

“I’ll make breakfast later,” Pearce replied.

(Yeah, this works.) Grace rapped on the door again. “I’m hungry.”

“So I’ll–”

“I’m hungry!”

Finally, he got up, staggering over to the door. Opening it, he looked her in the eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“I’m–”

“Yeah, yeah. You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Nope.”

“Fine. I’ll go make you breakfast.”

“And something to drink,” Grace said.

He wiped his eyes. “Okay. Coffee? I’m going to need coffee.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Grace beamed. “Thanks.”

She followed him down the stairs, smirking triumphantly all the while. It didn’t matter to her that her victory came by way of nagging, only that she’d pushed Pearce one step closer to quitting.

Pulling up a seat at the table, Grace sat back and waited while Brains munched on cereal and Melody waited on a toaster pastry. Pearce checked the coffee maker, but Melody’s only made enough for herself, so he started another brew, adding two extra scoops of grounds to make it extra strong.

While he got the milk out of the fridge, the back door opened, and Skip walked inside. “Hey–oh, wow.”

“Wow?” Grace asked.

“Just can’t remember the last time we were all up in the morning like this,” Skip said. “It’s like old times. A Wasters classic.”

“‘Cept we aren’t being carpooled to detention in half an hour,” Brains added, over a mouthful of cereal.

“Oh god, now I’m having flashbacks to my mom’s minivan,” Melody groaned. “Those were the dark days.”

“Hey, no dark days means no Wasters, and I don’t know anybody else I’d be happy to split rent five ways with,” Brains said.

Skip walked over to the cereal box, taking out the Frooty Crumbles. “There enough coffee to share?”

“Sure, I made it extra dark though,” Pearce said, wiping his eyes. “Might keep you up.”

“I’ll make it work,” they replied, grabbing the milk off the table to pour into a clean cereal bowl. Emptying the rest of the bag with a generous pour, they looked down the box. “Hey, where’s my toy?”

Grace glanced at Brains, smirking. He just said, “Must have been a manufacturing defect.”

Skip stuck their hand through the bottom of the bag. “Yeah? And they closed up the bag with sticky tape at the factory?”

“Weird,” Grace commented.

“Stranger things,” Melody added.

“Maybe the toy’s just invisible,” Pearce finished. “Look again.”

They fell into uncontrolled snickers, save for Skip, who just rolled their eyes good-naturedly.

Pouring three cups of coffee–one for himself, one for Skip, and one into a baby bottle for Grace–Pearce passed them out, downed his cup, and finally started to make cereal for Grace. He made it milk-first, the correct way.

“Airplane or choo choo?” Pearce asked, raising a spoon.

Grace snorted. “Surprise me.”