Max Caulfield took her place in the middle of the hallway amidst the bustling students, who had just been released from class. <i>Okay, this is it,</i> she thought. <i>Time to find out if this is the real deal.</i> A bead of sweat dripped down the side of her face. Her breathing quickened, and her fists clenched up tightly in anticipation. She looked down: Her jeans had been good at hiding what was underneath that day, despite a slight crinkle that emanated with each step she took. The material was thicker than what she was used to, and it warmed her throughout the day despite the cool October breeze. Slowly, carefully, she unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped the fly. She looked back and forth suspiciously. <i>Geez, it feels like I’m in an old Western movie getting ready to draw.</i> She looked at the clock on the wall in front of her, the second hand only a few ticks away from the number 12. <i>Well… 3:02 PM isn’t exactly “high noon,” but it’ll have to do.</i> She readied her hands on the waistband of her jeans. Her breaths were quick, her heart pounded a mile a minute, and her mind seemed to be drowning itself in frantic thoughts. <i>Okay, I’m doing this. Geez, I can’t believe I’m doing this… WHY am I doing this?! To prove to myself that I’m not crazy? You really couldn’t have thought of a better plan than this, Max? I’ve fantasized about it for so long, but now… Oh, God…</i>

At last, as the second hand hit the 12, she shoved down hard with both arms, letting her jeans fall to her ankles. She heard a few gasps, and soon she had gathered the attention of everyone in her vicinity. They gaped and whispered as they gawked at the girl, now dressed in only a jacket, a pink shirt, and a thick, white diaper.

***

Earlier in class, Max sat bored at her at her desk, barely listening as Mr. Jefferson droned on about Alfred Hitchcock and who knows what else. <i>God, when is this lecture gonna be over…</i> She squeezed her legs slightly, feeling a flutter in her stomach as the thick plastic enveloping her groin greeted her thighs. <i>At least I get to be cozy.</i>

Having a diaper on in class was not particularly new for her. Ever since returning to Arcadia Bay, Max had had her own dorm at the school, allowing her to indulge in some latent fantasies that she had suppressed for a long time. She took great pleasure in snapping pictures of herself doing things that she could never reveal to anybody. Though she still had to keep things on the down-low, she had ample private time and hiding space now. However, as she wore and used her diapers numerous times within her own space, she found the act growing stale. She had to mix it up. So, one fateful day, she decided to wear a diaper to class. And at first, it was exhilarating! Wearing diapers alone in her dorm was one thing, but wearing them in close proximity of her friends and classmates was completely uncharted territory. It satisfied her growing desire for a thrill, but only for so long. As the weeks wore on, it began to dawn on her that nobody was paying attention to her. Even wetting herself had lost its punch. Nobody was curious about her slightly altered walking pattern. Nobody even paid a glimpse to her jeans, which hid the diaper too well. <i>Oh, stop it!</i> she yelled at herself. <i>You actually WANT people to notice you? You understand that’s social suicide, right??</i>

<i>And yet… God, what if I were actually found out? What would they say? I bet they would make fun of me. Humiliate me. Call me a disgusting baby who poops in her diapers… Nngh….</i>

As she fought with herself internally, her eyes caught sight of the polaroid camera on her desk. <i>This is too much… I gotta distract myself.</i> Without regard to what was going on in the glass, she picked up the camera and snapped a photo of herself.

“Ah!”

Max looked up and saw Mr. Jefferson’s eyes looking into her own.

“I believe Max has taken what you kids call a ‘selfie’... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Max... has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for ‘selfie-expression.’ Sorry. I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Max, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

“Uh… You’re asking me?” Max replied.

“You either know this or not, Max,” Mr. Jefferson replied angrily. “Is there anyone here who knows their stuff?”

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created ‘daguerreotypes,’ a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Max looked over to see Victoria, who had smugly answered the question without hesitation. Victoria turned to look at Max, a smug curl in her lip. “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

“Very good Victoria. The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people’s faces…”

Mr. Jefferson continued speaking until the bell rang, at which point all the students began gathering their belongings. However, as Max grabbed her journal and stood up, she tripped over her chair. Her hands reached toward the ground instinctively to catch herself, but as she looked up, her expression turned to utter dread as she saw Victoria standing over her, the journal in hand.