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 The Magnificent Mysterians, Naked In School by DrBill

   Part 12

   SATURDAY

   JOHN

   I'm walking down the hall, headed toward my locker.  I am enjoying the
fact that I am doing so fully dressed.  There must be a new 3D movie out or
something: most of the students are wearing those tacky cardboard glasses
you get at the theater.  As I pass groups of people, I notice that the ones
with the glasses are pointing at me and laughing.  I duck into the boys'
room, another luxury, and check myself out in the mirror.  I don't see
anything wrong.  No notes on my back, no open fly or ripped pants. 
Nothing. I notice a pair of the glasses on the sink.  I put them on and
look in the mirror.  I can see through my clothes.  Damn!
I go out in the hall, and look around.  I can see through some of the
people's clothes, but not others.  I recognize some of the people with the
seethrough clothes.  They were all in the Program.  Double damn!  I take
the glasses off.  There are red and blue searchlights coming out of the
eyes of the people with the glasses, and they are sweeping the area with
the lights.  Sometimes they go across me in passing, and it is

uncomfortable.

   I have to protect myself.  I dive into my safe place, only to bounce
right back out.  I try to go in more carefully, but I can't really get in.
I try to become the Magician, but he isn't there.  I'm stuck.

   A group of them is coming toward me.  I panic, try to run.  I grab a
door, but it won't open.  I'm cornered, and they are all moving in toward
me.  Their eye beams are all either on me or swinging toward me.  I feel
like I am dissolving, coming apart.  They don't notice that they are doing
it to me, and they keep moving in and looking.  The feeling is nasty,
terrible.  The world goes dark, and I'm falling.  I'm falling...  and I
bounce.

   I was sitting up in bed.  I looked at the clock.  Time to get up and get
ready for school.  Then I remembered it was Saturday.  The talent show was
over and done with, and all that was really on the schedule was homework,
an article about digital recorders, and unpacking the crates.  Plenty of
time for that later.  I rolled over and went back to sleep.

   Two hours later, I was awake again.  I stretched, enjoying the luxury of
sleeping in.  By my standards in the summer, it was still early, but what
the heck.  I grabbed my bathrobe and went to take a shower and do the
usual. I noticed on the way back to my room that I was careful to make sure
that my bathrobe was closed and stayed that way.  I got dressed, enjoying
the idea that I would stay that way all day.

   I went down to get myself some breakfast.  When I got to the kitchen, I
found my mom already there, frying an egg.  She offered it to me, and I
thanked her.  There were some sausage patties draining on a paper towel,
and she offered me some of them as well.  Then she asked me to pour us some
milk while she fried herself another egg.  There was some toast sitting in
the toaster, so I grabbed it and dropped a couple of slices of bread in.  I
poured the milk, then sat down to eat.

   I don't know if it was because of my earlier dream, or the pressure (now
moot) about the party, or what, but I was in my safe place.  Not deep, but
there.  And I couldn't come out.  Not all the way.

   We sat and ate for a while, mostly in pleasant silence.  Then I
remembered something I needed to talk to her about.  Well, either or both
of them, really.  I told her about the promise to do something with Bridget
this coming week, and asked her thoughts.  She looked happier than she
should have, but then got control of herself.  She suggested a Sunday
afternoon movie.  It could be a low pressure thing for both of us, and
could remain ambiguous as to whether it was "really" a date.  We could go
and have fun together as friends, or we could get closer as something a
little more.

   Now I was glad I was in my safe place.  The advice was good, but there
was just something about talking about this stuff with your mom...

   I thanked her and dealt with my dishes.  It was still kind of early to
call, so I went and watched cartoons for a while.  I may not admit it to
the others at school (except Emily, who caught me once), but I do still
like some of the Saturday morning cartoons.

   Late in the morning, I got a call from Principal Murrow.  The Committee
had met and, in addition to reorganizing and selecting next week's victims,
had decided Perry's "appeal".  They found that our actions, and those of
the strings, were technically within the rules for those limited events. 
However, they found that cumulatively, Perry had engaged in "frivolous
attempts to skirt the intent of the program" and had given him another
week. He took it well.

   I wondered what would be written there on Monday.

   That call made me aware that it was a reasonable time of day to make a
phone call.  Nervous, I dropped a bit deeper into my safe place and dialed
Bridget's number.

   It startled me when she answered the phone knowing it was me.  Ah, the
wonders of modern technology.  I reminded her of my earlier promise, and
asked whether she would like to go to a movie tomorrow.  She asked her
parents, and got permission.  We made the arrangements, then said goodbye.

   That went better than I had any right to expect.

   I knew that Emily would be coming over later to work on the article with
me, and deal with a little MMM business.  In the meantime, I took the
crates downstairs and started unpacking them.  I put Emily's costume and
robe aside so she could take them home.  Some of the things, like the
flashpots, would have to be cleaned.  It was a bother, but important.  I
took them to the area set aside for preparations.

   When I unpacked the fire extinguishers, I made a note to replace them
next time I saw them on sale.  They were not the rechargeable kind, but
could be pretty cheap when some place featured them as loss leaders.  I
still had a few in stock, but better to be careful and all that.

   As I was going through and checking the props for damage and wear, Emily
came over.

   "It never seems quite real, the day after a show," she commented, as she
helped me with the inspection.  Even the things we hadn't used needed to be
checked - including the contents of our book bags.

   "This week more than others, I would say." I replied distractedly,
resetting a used confetti cannon, in preparation for another charge of
confetti.

   "I know what you mean.  Enjoying your clothes?" she prodded.

   "Yes." I answered simply.

   We talked about Perry and the principal's phone calls.  Neither of us
was surprised at the outcome, or that Perry took it so well.  That boy
lives for attention.  What was it someone called him?  An attention slut, I
think.  Pretty much sums it up, I'd say.

   We also noticed the signs that we were in our safe places.  She asked me
if I even knew why I was, and I said not really.  I speculated it was just
habit from the last week.  She asked whether I regretted not having played
more with our temporary freedom.  I had to stop and think about that one.
In the end, I had to admit that I regretted it a little, but that I
suspected the cost might have been higher than I wanted to pay.  She said
she felt largely the same way.

   She told me about the appointment with the police.  I asked whether she
would need me, and she said probably not.  It would mostly be about how
seriously to prosecute them, and that sort of thing.

   We even talked about my upcoming date.  Or was that "date"?  She
admitted that Bridget was the first person in a long time to get inside her
"shields" so quickly, and that she liked her.  Maybe the three of us could
do some things sometime.

   Then we got to work on the article.

   EMILY

   The Carnival is leaving.  I knew it would only be here for a short time.
I did my bit for the school, working the booth, walking around in the
mascot costume, even doing a magic show with...  someone.  John.  It must
have been John.  I even survived the House of Screams.  But it might have
been fun to play games on the midway.  Or go on some of the rides.  But to
go on the rides, I needed to take off the mascot mask, and show everyone
who was inside the costume.  That would be a bad thing.  It would spoil the
illusion, ruin everyone's fun.

   But still, it might have been fun to go on some of the rides.

   The trucks are loaded up.  The rides and booths all taken apart and
loaded.  The trucks are going by, and the lead trucks are already vanishing
in the distance.  I turn around as they pass, watching them go.  All those
rides.  My feet are tangled, and I fall.  I land on something soft, but I
am tangled and trapped.  I struggle to free myself, and finally pull myself
free of the blankets.

   I'm in bed.  At home.  But my eyes sting a little, and my cheeks are
wet. And my body feels heavy, in an odd way.

   Looking at my clock, I saw it was still early.  I got my journal and
wrote down the dream.  My nose was a little runny.  Maybe I'm getting a
cold or something.  I didn't feel like getting up yet.  More sleep.  I
needed more sleep.

   First, I wrote down the dream.  Maybe I'll start keeping a dream diary
after I turn this thing in.  Something tells me it would be a good idea. 
Now that I've written what I can remember of the dream, I'm going back to
sleep.

   I woke up a couple more times, but it didn't seem to be worth getting
up. But after the last one I couldn't get back to sleep, so I got up.

   The show must have taken more out of me than I thought.  I had more
sleep than usual, but I felt heavy, slow.  I dragged myself to the shower,
which woke me up some more.  It made me feel a little better.  I dried off
and wrapped myself in my bathrobe and went back to my room.  I dressed for
comfort.  I wasn't doing anything today but homework and that article with
John.

   I went down to the kitchen and got myself a bowl of cereal.  I took it
out to the living room, put it down on the table, and flopped on the sofa
to watch some cartoons.  After a few of my favorite shows, I started
feeling better.

   I took my bowl in the kitchen, then went to the computer.  I went
surfing to find specs for the current generation of digital recorder, then
saved the pages to my thumb drive.  As I was saving the last one, my Mom
came into the room.  She looked at me and asked what was wrong.

   But there was nothing wrong.  I was in my safe place, and I didn't have
any reason to be.  I was just kind of tired or something.  I told her that
I was just kinda wiped out from yesterday, and she seemed to accept it.

   She told me that the police had called, and we needed to set up a time
to talk with them about my two sets of attackers.  We looked at the family
calendar and decided that Monday evening would be a good time for all of
us. We called the officer who had left her number, and set up a time.

   I had a little bit of homework to finish, so I decided to get it done
before I went over to John's house to work on the article.

   I was well into an assignment when the phone rang again.  I guess it
says something that I hadn't heard the phone the first time.  I'm not sure
what, but something.

   Anyhow, it was Principal Murrow this time.  He asked about my injury,
and complimented me on our show last night.  Then he told me that the
Committee had met (sounds like some bad spy novel or something).  The
bottom line was that John and I were cleared, and Perry got another week
for being a wise ass.  And the Program would continue.

   I thanked him for calling, and we said goodbye.

   I told my mom the news.  Her reaction was hard to read.  She seemed
relieved but somewhat disappointed, with something else thrown in.  I
decided I didn't want to know.  I wasn't completely sure how I felt about
it, myself.

   I finished my homework fairly quickly.  I got my stuff together and
headed over to John's house.  It was a nice day.  Warm, but not hot.  And
nice and sunny.  But something at the back of my mind kept insisting that
there should be clouds.

   Whatever.

   When I got to John's, he was downstairs dealing with the equipment and
props.  I went down to help.  Most people don't seem to have a clue how
much work goes into cleaning and maintaining these things.  But even a
little problem, trivial to most people, can cause a trick to fail.

   While we were working, we talked.  We talked about the after show let
down, and how the end of the Program week made it seem that much more
unreal.  I couldn't resist asking him how he was enjoying his clothes. 
They were as casual as mine.  He was so absorbed in what he was doing that
his answer was a single word: yes.

   While we were talking, John's mom came down with sandwiches and milk for
us.  She is well aware how wrapped up we can get in these things.

   As we ate and drank, we talked about the principal's calls.  Neither of
us was surprised about the outcome.  As we got back to work, we speculated
about what he would write on himself.  And where.

   I noticed that John was in his safe place, something he normally
wouldn't do under these circumstances.  Of course, I was in the same
position.  I asked him whether he knew why he was there, and he said that
he didn't.  Not really.  He speculated that it was just habit from last
week.  That got me thinking.

   I asked whether he regretted the fact that he took so little advantage
of his situation.  Our situation.  We had permission, even encouragement,
to go beyond just about every sexual boundary, and to flaunt our nakedness
in places and situations we would not have even thought about before.  But
we did almost nothing.

   He thought about that for a while.  He admitted that he did regret it a
little, but he had an idea that the price would have been higher than he
wanted to pay.  I kinda felt the same way, and said so.  But for me, it
didn't seem quite the same.  There was something I couldn't put my finger
on, something that made it different for me.  I left that unsaid.

   I told him about the meeting Monday, with the Police and prosecutors. 
He offered his help, but I declined.  If I do need him there for anything,
he is usually just a cell phone call away.  I told him that it would likely
just be a time for them to get a handle on how vengeful my parents and I
were feeling.

   John talked about his upcoming date with Bridget.  He might kid himself
that it is something less than a real date, but I knew better.  Bridget
likes him, a lot.  And he likes her, which is unusual for him.  Especially
this quickly.  I like her, too (No, not THAT way, I just like her).  She
got close to us that first day, and passed through our "shells" as though
they weren't there.

   I suggested the three of us might share some "friend" time sometime.

   We finished with everything but cleaning the flashpots and the like.  We
even put fresh batteries in our recorders and restocked our bags.  Now it
was time to do the article.

   With my spec sheets and his notes, the article came together fairly
quickly.  I would have my mom look at it for style and the like, since she
is a Technical Writer, but it looked pretty good to us.

   I got ready to go home.  John gave me my costume and robe, and promised
to let me know how Sunday went.  John's mom invited me to stay for dinner,
but I really wanted to enjoy eating at home.

   MONDAY MORNING

   EMILY

   Nothing of note happened the rest of the weekend, other than the fact I
started my dream journal.  I think I'll be glad to get rid of this thing,
even though I'll end up with a copy.

   JOHN

   The date with Bridget went well.  Nothing sexual, we just had fun. 
Nothing worth writing about the rest of the weekend though.  Goodbye,
journal!

   End Part 12

   EPILOG

   David Murrow, Ph.D., Ed.D.

   I have asked John and Emily to comment on some of the events which took
place after they turned in their journals.  But there are some things I
should probably address.

   John and his parents signed the release for the Health and Human
Sexuality video, but it became a moot point.  Bertha Conway refused to do
so, and Susan was largely silent on the matter.

   Peter "Perry" Mason apparently enjoyed his second week in the Program.
For the rest of the school year, he would sometimes pop up naked at school,
the nearby mall, or other places.  I would classify him as a Program
success.  One other thing of note: he did not ask Ms.  Lesmeister to help
with his Relief during his second week.

   Susan Conway showed up on the following Monday with her hair in rather
distinctive style, significantly shorter than before.  Her shoulder was
well on its way to being healed.  By Wednesday, it was neither sensitive
nor discolored.  Her behavior was another matter, but not really
appropriate for inclusion in these journals.

   In the weeks after their time in the Program, John and Emily behaved in
ways which were uncommon among Program alumni.  They tended to overdress,
compared to their pre Program habits.  They went back to their stepped up
"practical invisibility", even though they were fully clothed.  They
became, if anything, less social than they had been before their Program
week, with the single exception of their new friendship (and in John's
case, maybe something more?) with Bridget Donnache.

   Their negative response to their Program experience caused a crisis of
confidence in at least two of the more ardent Program supporters among our
faculty.  Ms.  Prothrow, in particular, complained that it tore her up
inside to watch John's reactions in her class, during and after that week.
Many of their other teachers expressed distress at their reaction, as well.
They commented that they seemed more withdrawn both in class and outside
the classroom, and more socially disconnected and shy than they had been
before the Program week.  Whereas before that week, they would often seem
engaged in a class (even if active participation seemed out of the
question), after the week they were never seen in that state.

   A few of the students, especially those who had acted on Vice Principal
Ackerman's request and approached one or both for Reasonable Requests,
ended up seeing the counselor for their own bad feelings about the changes
in John and Emily.

   Directly, at least, I would count the two of them as significant Program
failures.  Not that they failed the Program.  The Program failed them.

   Indirectly, it may have helped them get help.  We spoke with their
parents about our observations and concerns, and they agreed with us from
their own observations.  As a result, they have gotten therapeutic help,
which seems to be showing some positive results.

   Ironically, they came in second in the Participant of The Year
competition.  I seriously doubt that the efforts we made to boost their
chances could have gotten them into first.  The girl who won was an
energetic activist, organizing community outreach programs, Program themed
campaigns, and a variety of other things.  By the time of the voting (at
the end of the school year), she was very well known nationally, and
moderately well known internationally.

   We didn't have a chance.

   But second was good.  And the pictures and descriptions we sent in
probably helped make the difference between second and third.  Luckily, the
competition is about public image rather than reality.  These journals
played no part in the judging.

   It reflected very well on the school, and they got a nice trip and a lot
of prizes (which I'll let them tell you about), and some more publicity for
their act and company.

   I will let Emily comment on the fates of her two sets of attackers,
other than to say that the "finger gang" boys had their expulsions reduced
to 30 day suspensions, plus probation.  The School Board took their other
punishments into account, as well as the request of the victim.

   We have made several changes to Program Committee procedures and
policies, as a result of the events and suggestions of that week.  In
addition to the tightened conflict of interest rules, we have changed the
selection process somewhat.  All members of the Committee are present when
the initial list is printed out, and each must sign the page.  Also, the
Committee gets a list of competitions and events that the Program might
effect that week, and (where practical) lists of students involved in each.
Certain kinds of activities qualify the students for a one week deferral,
and others do not.  There is now a delay between the time a requested
exemption is turned down and the time the student can be Selected.  The
time runs from when that student's parents have verifiably received
notification of the refusal.  There is also an appeal process that stops
the clock on the process, if started within that delay period.  The
decisions on the exemptions must be logged into the system, along with the
dates and times of delivery confirmations.

   We are confident that some of the specific problems we identified have
been eliminated.  That won't stop other things from going wrong, but that
is life.

   JOHN

   It is the beginning of my junior year, and I have been asked to comment
about a few things.

   The talent show was a great success.  And not just for us.  The irish
group (who have asked me not to mention their group name in the journal)
impressed Bridget's father and his associates at the Consulate so much that
they got some gigs at Consulate sponsored events.  Perry got some tv
appearances, and (like us) some Program related appearances.

   It was gratifying to see that my designs and my alter ego's performance
(and those of Emily and her alter ego) came together to produce such a good
result.  But some people who should know better, like our parents, actually
seemed surprised that the successes of our Magicians didn't somehow
transform us.

   I found out that all the debate and discomfort we went through at my
house before deciding to sign the release form for the HHS video was
wasted. Susan and her mother wouldn't sign.  Mom thinks Mrs.  Conway was
just being spiteful, in response to losing her Committee and PTO posts.

   Over the next few weeks, I became aware that I was pretty much stuck in
the pattern I had lived during my Program week.  I was pretty much in my
safe place 24/7, even at home.  I used the OBL to get from class to class.
I avoided individual attention.  I no longer slept naked or casually walked
to my room after a shower.  I avoided unnecessary social contact with most
people.  That last part was especially difficult the week after the show,
since many of my fellow inmates mistook me for my Magician, and tried to
interact accordingly.

   My sex drive pretty much stayed low.  I masturbated maybe once or twice
a week, and my fantasies always involved me being clothed (and usually my
partner being naked or close to it).  Before the week, it was more like 10
times a week, and fantasies that often included me being naked.

   That didn't stop me from getting close to Bridget.  We started seeing a
lot of each other (but not in the way we did that Monday), and are still
considered an item.  And her parents still like me.  I even got her to come
along with us on some of our trips, designating her as our "roadie".  We
still don't know if it's really love, but it is a pretty strong case of
"like", at the very least.  There is a quality to our relationship that is
missing in the relationship between Emily and me.  Emily is close, but it
is like a sister.  Bridget is definitely more like a girlfriend.

   Eventually, my parents and the school decided that my decline wasn't
temporary.  It was back to the shrinks for me.  This time, there was no
question.  My condition was interfering with my life, and I no longer moved
easily in and out of my safe place.  I had definitely crossed the line into
"clinical", according to them.  Since then, I have spent a lot of time in
that office answering questions and imagining things.  But I haven't been
alone.  He convinced my folks that I couldn't fully recover until they
worked out some issues of their own.  And similar things were happening to
Emily and her parents.  Of course, we may be our parents' age by the time
we are done.  One other thing we had in common: our shrinks found these
journals extremely useful for our diagnosis and treatment.

   On the other hand, our act and our company thrived.  The IVDs were a big
hit, and we quickly sold out of four production runs of them.  We
subcontracted fulfillment, which means we ended up paying another company
to process and ship the orders.  It cut one more piece out of our profits,
but we just didn't have the time to do it.  And we wanted some time in our
lives to just be teens.

   The article for FOSA was well received, and we were asked to write a few
more.  That helped boost our sales of IVDs and the other Program products
we added.  And we got a lot of interest for our magic products, especially
the customized ones.  We even got write ups in a couple of the journals.

   We got to do a lot of traveling, at other people's expense.  People
wanted to have us perform all over the country, and were willing to pay for
transportation (of us and our stuff), lodging, and food.  When we took
second place in the FOSA thing, we went to Washington, DC for the ceremony
and the photo shoot.  We posed with the President, with FOSA leaders, and
even our Congresscritters.  Naked, of course.  We also posed at various
National Landmarks.  Of course, that "we" includes the girl who took first
place (and apparently worked very hard to do so), and the one who took
third place.

   While we were there, we did a show (for which we were well paid) at some
formal function at the Irish Embassy.  The FOSA people didn't mind.  In
fact, they made it a point to mention it and use a few photos as part of
the competition publicity.

   We got lots of prize stuff, too.  Emily and I each got $25,000
scholarships.  I think the girl who won first place got a "full ride"
scholarship.  Speaking of rides, she got a car.  We got Vespas.  Oh, well.
I didn't even have my license yet, anyway.  We also got computers and other
electronics, gift certificates for all kinds of things, and nice little
trophies.  All in all, it was a pretty good haul.

   While my week in the Program really screwed me over at the time, some of
the less direct, longer term effects have been pretty good.

   EMILY

   I thought I was done with this thing!

   John pretty much covered the stuff that sent us back to the shrinks.  My
results were a little different than his, I think.  For one thing, I don't
think they added depression to his diagnosis.  For another, there are
apparently specific events in my past that helped shape my condition,
rather than just my personality and the actions and reactions of my
parents. I was not suicidal or anything, so they held off on medicating me,
but there was a lot of talking and stuff.  Bleh!

   Ok, so it has helped.  But it still isn't exactly fun.  For the most
part, it isn't even entertaining.  And I wasn't happy that he read the
journal, even though he assured me it was completely confidential.  He did
say that it was very helpful in understanding my condition.  Now he has me
keeping a similar journal, in addition to the dream journal.

   One thing that John didn't cover was the criminal cases.  When we went
down and talked to the police, my parents and I took the position that we
wanted something strong enough to really get the finger gang's attention,
but we didn't want to destroy them.  But the other group, the serial
rapists, were another matter.  I asked whether castration was an option. 
The policewoman sympathized, but said it wasn't.  But we all agreed that we
were prepared to push for serious charges and prison time for them.

   In the end, both groups took plea agreements.  The finger gang were not
really criminals, just stupid.  They got a lot of community service and
several years of probation, and the charges were not sexual.  They all
apologized to me and my family, and to the other girls they had victimized.
For the rest of the school year and the summer, they were apparently models
of good behavior.

   The thugs from the bathroom were a different matter.  They were going to
fight the charges, until they were told that two of them (who had turned 18
before the attack) faced the death penalty under the modified Lindberg
laws, and the other two faced life without parole.  Then they started
listening to their lawyers.  The leader accepted several counts of rape,
for many of his victims who, hearing that he would finally face justice,
had come forward.  He also plead to counts of aggravated assault and
conspiracy.  The others accepted one count each of rape, aggravated
assault, and conspiracy.  They went to jail for a long time, and if they
get out they will have to register as convicted violent sex offenders for
the rest of their lives.  A lot of girls at the school are a lot happier
now.

   My therapy has spent a lot of time dealing with that whole mess, as
well. I wonder if I will ever be back to the way I was before my week in
Hell, much less better than that.

   I disagree with John and Mr.  Murrow on one thing.  The Program may have
helped the school, the community, and the Program Office itself in the
indirect way it mentions.  But it screwed us up and screwed us over.  The
benefits we got, from the Competition prizes to the increased sales at MMM
and increased bookings of our act, were a result of what WE did in response
to the Program.  And especially against the Program.  Saving Bridget, the
IVDs, even the morning show - all against the program.

   As to the "benefit" of getting all this therapy, that came from the
love, concern, and support of our families.  We were functional before that
week, and our families have gone through a lot to try and get us back to
that state.

   J'accuse, FOSA!
   End