Chapter 1: Event day
The physics lab always smelled like ozone and despair. Nessi Bellweather inhaled deeply as she pushed the heavy door open with her hip, the familiar scent filling her lungs like ambition. It was better than the library, which just smelled like dust and regret.
Her reflection wavered in the glass of a dormant projector. She’d chosen the outfit with care: a loose, sky-blue crop top that brushed the top of her leggings, and those leggings—stretchy, black, so tight they felt like a second skin, highlighting every curve of her hips, the soft swell of her belly, the generous round of her thighs. She adjusted the stack of textbooks in her arms, their weight a comfortable, promising ache against her chest.
“You look like a walking, talking heart attack.” Bethany Davies was leaning against a lab table, arms crossed over her medical textbooks. Her roommate’s expression was pure pragmatism etched on a petite frame. “And not the medical kind. The ‘why did I agree to this again’ kind.”
Nessi’s laugh bubbled up, genuine and loud, echoing off the tiled walls. “It’s tradition, Beth! It’s the one day the Physics Department stops talking about theoretical spin and actually applies some pressure.” She hefted the books, making them wobble deliberately. The top one, Principles of Compression Mechanics, slid with a soft thump onto the floor.
“Tradition,” Beth echoed, rolling her eyes. She bent to pick up the book. “Last year, the Chemistry Club used you as a ‘reaction vessel’ and stacked beakers on you until you couldn’t breathe. The year before that, the Engineering Society built a literal bridge across your… midsection.”
“And it held!” Nessi’s eyes shone. “Seventeen textbooks and a freshman! It was magnificent.”
“It was a concussion risk.” Beth handed the book back. “I’m just saying, maybe there’s a club that needs a poster model. Or a… I don’t know, a comfortable chair. Something with less potential for internal bleeding.”
The door swung open again, and Professor Alistair Finch entered, a gust of chalk dust and focused energy following him. His tall, thin frame was draped in a lab coat that had seen better decades. His magnified eyes behind thick glasses zoomed past Beth and fixed on Nessi with the warmth of a scanner.
“Ah, Nessi. Excellent. You’re pre-loaded.” He bustled over to a whiteboard, uncapping a marker. “We’ll be recording the deflection today. Last year’s data was intriguing, but messy. Too many variables. Laughter, primarily.”
“I’ll try to stay scientifically solemn,” Nessi said, placing her stack of books on a table with a solid thud that made the microscopes rattle.
“See?” Beth muttered, but she was smiling a little. It was hard not to catch Nessi’s enthusiasm, even through a filter of concern.
The lab began to fill. It wasn’t an official event, not on any campus calendar. But word traveled. Grad students drifted in, then a few undergrads from Finch’s advanced class, their phones discreetly angled. The air changed, charged with a low hum of anticipation that competed with the flickering fluorescent lights.
Nessi felt it too—that buzzing, joyous tightness in her chest. This was her moment. Not just being helpful, but being central. Essential. A living, breathing part of the equation.
Professor Finch clapped his hands, the sound sharp. “People. We are observing applied compressive force on a semi-rigid organic structure. This is not a spectacle.” He adjusted his glasses. “It is a carefully monitored experiment. Nessi, if you please.”
All eyes turned to her. The familiar grin spread across her face. She met Beth’s gaze across the room—a quick, reassuring flash—then turned her back to the gathered students.
She started to move. It wasn’t really a dance, but it had rhythm. A slow roll of her hips, a shrug of her shoulders that made the crop top ride up, exposing an inch more of the soft, pale skin of her lower back. A few whoops echoed, quickly shushed by Finch’s glare. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of the leggings and pushed them down, stepping out of them with a practiced ease. The crop top followed, floated to the floor like a fallen flag.
She stood there for a second, in just her bright red bikini, the fabric strained over the full curves of her breasts and the gentle dome of her belly. The lab was utterly silent save for the hum of a refrigerator in the corner.
Then she walked, slowly, to the center of the cleared floor space, her bare feet silent on the cool tiles. She didn’t look at the faces. She felt them. The attention was a physical warmth, a blanket. She lay down on her back, the linoleum chilly through the thin bikini bottom. She settled, arms at her sides, and took a deep, settling breath that made her chest rise and fall dramatically.
She tapped the soft, yielding flesh of her stomach with her fingertips. It made a soft, faint sound.
“Okay,” she said, her voice clear and bright in the quiet room. “Let’s see what she can hold this year.”
Professor Finch stepped forward, a digital tablet in his hand. “Starting with controlled weight. Standard hardcovers. Journal of Applied Physics, first.”
A grad student placed the first book squarely on Nessi’s abdomen. She let out a soft oof, more theatrical than pained, and a wave of relaxed laughter eased the tension.
“Note the initial compression,” Finch intoned. “Minimal deflection. Proceed.”
Book by book, they built the tower on her. The weight was a deep, familiar ache, a satisfying press that pushed her into the floor. She watched them stack, her view of the ceiling lights slowly blocked by the descending wall of spines and pages: Thermodynamics, Quantum State Theory, Structural Integrity.
Beth appeared in her narrowed line of sight, placing a book on the lower part of the stack, over her ribs. Her friend’s face was a mask of clinical focus, but her eyes held a question. Nessi gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. I’m okay.
The tower grew. The ache deepened into a burn. Her breathing shallowed, each inhale a careful expansion against the immense pressure. The laughter and chatter had died. The only sounds were the soft thuds of books, Finch’s muttered measurements, and Nessi’s own controlled breaths.
Then Finch paused. “We’re approaching last year’s record. Do you wish to continue, subject?”
Nessi swallowed. The weight was immense, a dense, constant presence. It was becoming hard to draw a full breath. A flicker of something—not fear, but a sharp, thrilling recognition of her own limit—darted through her.
“Yes,” she breathed out.
“Add the compendium,” Finch said.
The University Physics Compendium was a monster, a three-inch-thick slab of dense knowledge. Two students lifted it together, lowering it with grunts onto the top of the pile.
The world compressed. A sharp, shocking pain lanced through Nessi’s sternum. The air whooshed out of her lungs in a desperate, uncontrolled gasp. The carefully balanced tower shuddered. A book slid from the side, crashing to the floor.
The lab erupted in noise—concerned shouts, Finch barking for stability. Spots danced in Nessi’s vision. Beth’s face was above hers, close, mouth moving, but the sound was muffled by a roaring in her ears.
For the first time, the weight felt less like an embrace and more like a burial.