Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Magnificent Mysterians, Naked In School by DrBill

   PART 9

   THURSDAY

   JOHN

   I am somewhere like school, but not quite.  All the people here have
beams of light coming out of their eyes.  They normally have them spread
out like a flashlight beam, but they can narrow them to something almost
like a laser.  Some of their eye beams wash over me and nothing much
happens.  I get uncomfortable.  I know that if one or more of them focus
their eye beams on me from up close, and narrow them down, something bad
will happen.  If they do it from far enough away, it won't be as bad.  I
think of science classes, and the phrase "inverse square law" comes to
mind. I can't run, that would just draw more powerful attention.  I am
outside, and I have to just stand there until the beams are turned away for
long enough.  I have waited, and now I can walk.  Beams sweep over me, but
turn to other people.  There is a girl walking toward me.  I know her, but
not well.  Somehow, I see a picture of another person, a woman, around her,
guiding her actions.  She walks up to me and focuses her eye beams very
small and right into my eyes.  I get a brief , dim picture of my parents'
anguished faces vanishing into the distance.  The world is black, and I'm
falling.  I can't feel anything, not even the wind as I fall.  Not even any
part of myself.  The world has gone away, and so have I.  Some lights
pulse, far away, and suddenly there is a loud noise and...

   I jump up in bed, almost jumping out.  I turned off the alarm and wrote
down as much of the dream as I could remember.  I wonder what it was
supposed to mean.

   I did my morning business, and made sure to wash thoroughly in my
shower. One way or another, every inch of me was likely to be seen today.
Meh!

   I checked my book bag to make sure the loads - and my homework - were in
there.  Then I got dressed.  I fought conflicting urges: on one hand, I
wanted to be as dressed as I could.  But on the other hand, I wanted to be
able to strip quickly and with an economy of motion.  I settled on a
somewhat stretched pair of briefs, and a shirt and loose pants.  No
undershirt.  I made sure my pants could easily slip over my new shoes.  I
was as ready as I was going to get.

   Thinking about that, and the five minute stand, took me well into his
safe place as I headed down to breakfast.  My folks took one look at my
face, and the usual morning pep talk died on their lips.  So did their
conversation, which had sounded like it concerned me.  What little talk we
had was all business.  I let them know that I would need my equipment for
the rehearsal, and Mom promised to deliver it all.  I also warned them that
I would probably need a smaller collection of equipment tomorrow morning.
And a lift to school.

   I grabbed the bag with the stuff for Perry, then we left.

   When we got there, Perry was waiting, talking to another boy.  He
introduced his friend as the one who would be "running" the Boombox.  I
showed him the controls, and how to adjust the relative volume of the
wireless mic.  The tape drive and CD player were pretty much standard, so
he would have no problem.

   Perry had burned a CD with a variety of music, from the funeral march to
The Stripper.  He would signal a track number to his friend, and keep
talking.  He had clean, new trash bags for clothes, and a mission: to get
as many Participants as possible (except us) to strip down where he was
rather than up by the boxes.  And to do naked interviews with them.  He
also had a stretch goal of getting at least one non Participant to strip
there.  Not necessarily to stay that way the whole day, but that would be a
bonus.

   He would keep the equipment until Friday.

   By that time, Emily had joined us.  I suggested that we keep our
recorders running from just before we undressed to the end of school.  They
had room for nine hours at high quality mode, and the batteries were good
for it.  They would be a help if there were any questions later.

   We went up the steps and mingled with the gathering crowd.  As soon as
there was a reasonable size audience, and some of the Participants were
getting close to his spot, he started his music.  He did a late night
television style monolog at first, while he was stripping and tossing his
clothes in a bag.

   Once the crowd was firmly interested in him, we quietly went to the
boxes and took off our clothes.  I looked at my watch, then went deep into
my safe place for the five minutes.

   Perry was pestering an arriving Participant, one of the girls who became
one of us for misbehaving.  He showed off the (temporary) tattoo on his
abdomen which said "THIS is NOT the Microphone!" and had an arrow pointing
down.  They got into a battle of wills (and won'ts) and the crowd loved the
back and forth.

   About three minutes into our exile, a girl I recognized as one of the
more popular and "involved" juniors went up to Perry and handed him a slip
of paper.  He looked at it, nodded to her, then continued his dialog.

   From there, she came up to us.  She asked to play with my cock, and I
let her.  I was deep enough in my safe place that I could (and did) dial
down my physical responses to pretty much nil, so nothing happened.  After
a few moments, I asked her to stop, saying that her dry fingers were
starting to irritate delicate body parts.  She moved to Emily and asked to
handle her breasts.  She allowed it, with much the same results.  Looking
somewhat shaken, she left.

   We watched Perry as the two boys who had (falsely) accused Emily
approached.  He called out to them and had them come to him.  "I've got
some bad news, guys.  Ms.  Ackerman wants to see you right away." He handed
them the paper, then continued.  "I think we all know where this is going.
Why don't you save yourselves some time and strip right here?"

   The boys looked horrified, and the crowd started chanting "strip! 
Strip! Strip!" to the beat of the music.

   By then, our time was long done and we went inside.  Being careful to
walk rather than hurry (as we had for the last few days), we made our way
to the office.  I wanted to make sure they knew that Perry would be keeping
the Boombox today and dropping it off sometime tomorrow.

   When we got there, we heard voices from one of the offices.  "...sorry,
but it really creeped me out.  They are normally nice enough kids, but it
was like someone sucked their souls out or something.  They did what I
asked, but did not respond to anything I did.  Not even an involuntary
response.  Nothing.  I'm not into dead bodies and that stuff.  And everyone
else..."

   The lady at the desk sort of shook herself and noticed we were there.  I
told her about the Boombox and Perry, and she said she understood.  As I
handed her the receipt for my shoes, the boys entered, looking nervous. 
And our requester came out of Ms.  Ackerman's office, saw us, and looked
embarrassed as she left.

   We headed for our lockers, and then on to class.  Even though we walked
and listened, nobody approached us.  Then again, nobody reproached us
either.

   EMILY

   I am standing outside the school, naked.  I know I am stuck, and I can't
move yet.  There are people all around me, with their hands all over me. 
It feels kind of nice, but there is something very wrong.  Something very
bad is happening and I can't move and I can't stop it and I'm not sure what
to do.  There is a sound far away, like a siren.  I can move now, but only
at a walk.  The crowd stays with me and their hands are still all over my
body and I walk and it keeps happening and the bad thing is still there and
getting worse and the siren is getting closer and I look back the way I
came.  There is a pile of dead bodies where I was standing, and more along
the hall where I walked.  And the people touching me, some of them are
falling to the floor and I can't do any thing to stop it and the siren gets
louder and louder and turns into a buzzing and...

   I sit up in my bed.  The buzzing is my alarm clock.  I hurried to write
the dream in the journal before I forgot it.

   I got up and took another shower.  I dressed in some older but
comfortable clothes.  I don't trust some of the people who are mad at me
not to do something to them.  I enjoyed the feeling of being dressed,
knowing that it would not last long.  That thought was enough to drop me
lightly into my safe place.  I could still feel the nice clothes, still see
and hear and smell what was going on, but a little of the reality was gone,
lost.

   I made sure I had everything for school and the rehearsal, and went down
to breakfast.  As I was eating, my mom tried to talk with me about this and
that, but I wasn't really in the mood for it.  For much of anything,
really. Eventually, she gave up.

   But she looked worried.

   When I got to the school, John was showing Perry and some other boy
something about the Boombox.  When he finished, we moved up the steps to
where the usual morning crowd was starting to form.  We blended in, and
waited for our cue.  Once Perry got started, everyone looked his way.  We
stripped, dropped our clothes in the box, and stood there inconspicuously.

   Perry really got going.  Some of it, like that tattoo, was pretty funny.
And even the rest was good theater.

   Most of the way through the five minutes, a girl (who was obviously one
of Ms.  Ackerman's agents) came up to us and made requests.  We accepted
them, but were so deep in our safe places that we did not respond to
anything she did.  And soon it was over.

   We walked to the office, and overheard part of her report.  It was clear
that we had gotten the effect we wanted.  She would leave us alone, and Ms.
A.  would have trouble getting many more spies like that.

   My accusers arrived just before we left.  They looked afraid.

   We split up.  John walked to his Algebra class, and I made my way to
English.

   JOHN

   I might as well have been a ghost.  I strolled down the hall, passing
any number of students.  They paid no attention to me.  There were no signs
of hostility or the like.  Some groups just kept talking as I walked past,
a few others stopped or dropped their voices.  But none of them did more
than glance at me, and none of them approached me or moved away from me. 
They didn't even turn away.

   It was a lot like when I was using the OBL, but I was walking.  I was
still deep in my safe place, but I kept the screens and speakers active to
catch what was going on.

   I got to my classroom in plenty of time.  I went to my desk, then set my
stuff down.  Nobody approached me, so I spread my towel and sat.  I got out
my stuff for the class, and waited.  While I sat there, I thought about
those reactions and those of the students coming into the room.  Or rather
their lack of reactions.

   Other weeks, with other students, there were a few common patterns. 
Monday was generally the most intense day in some ways.  The Participants
were either scared stiff (literally, in many cases), embarrassed, or (in
some cases) eager and excited.  They were also "fresh meat" - new
Participants, novel and untried.  There was a certain excitement for many
people in the process of exploring the limits, and the previously unseen
geography, of these newbies.  By Wednesday, the novelty had worn off and
one of two things had generally happened.  Either the Participant had
adjusted and started having fun exploring limits, or they had gotten
somewhat fragile.  Most students concentrated on the first group, finding
fun in their explorations.  Some liked going after the others, especially
if they had some sort of personal grudge against the Participant.

   In addition to the regular Participants, there were often a few one day
or late start Participants for disciplinary reasons.  They took up the
slack of novelty as that of the original group wore off.

   We were no longer new.  We did not react like either of the usual
groups. In fact, as far as most of them could see, we didn't react at all.
We were not novel, and we were not fun to play with or to torture.  To all
intents and purposes, we had dropped off the radar.  We did not really need
to take extraordinary measures to protect ourselves from most people.  We
might have to watch for a few with grudges, but that is about it.  Of
course, there was still the problem with teachers (those who have not given
up on us), Ms.  Ackerman and her agents, and the Talent show.  But other
than that, we just had to stay unresponsive and they would leave us alone.

   Why wasn't I happier about that?

   I had answered automatically when my name was called for roll, and noted
the announcements.  There was a brief announcement about some Participants
being honored by the National Board for innovations and service to the
Program, but it did not mention us by name.  That was a relief.  Some
people looked a question at me, anyway.  Class started for real, and I
followed as usual from my safe place.  We were still doing graphs, and I
already understood most of the material anyway.

   As class ended, I noticed a couple of girls hanging around outside the
door.  I had seen them around, but didn't really know them.  I did know
they did not have their next class in this room.  They did not have
reputations for abuse or the like, so I suspected they were more plants. 
Slipping a little deeper into my safe place, I gathered my stuff and headed
out the door.

   I was half right.  One of them was waiting for a classmate of mine, and
went off with her as soon as she walked out the door.  The other called me
aside and told me she had a Request.  I looked at her and waited.  She
started to look uncomfortable, like she had been prepared for resistance or
the like, but not for my reaction.

   After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I spoke in my safe place
monotone.  "You don't really have to do this.  She'll understand." Her head
whipped up, and her eyes widened.  I was right, another agent.  "Just tell
her the truth.  How you feel.  What we did and said.  It will be enough."
She looked depressed and defeated as she turned to go.  There was really no
sense in leaving her that way.  She did not mean me any harm.

   "Then go find a Participant you DO want to do something with, and enjoy
it." I advised.

   She straightened up and walked away.

   EMILY

   Between the early time and the crowd watching the show out front, there
were not many people in the halls.  But even at that, I was surprised at
how little attention I drew while walking to my locker.  Here I was, a
reasonably attractive girl walking stark naked through the halls, and
nobody even turned their head to watch me walk by.  If I hadn't spent more
than half the week trying to build such a reaction, I think I would be
insulted or something.  But I had, and I wasn't.  Not really.  It should
have been very satisfying, but it was a little sad instead.

   At least that part of the VP's requirements should be reasonably easy.
But that thought led to thinking about the other part, with her agents
making requests.  That thought took me deeper into my safe place.

   When I got to the door of my English class, Dave was just outside.  He
was surrounded by girls, who seemed to be having a contest.  While the
others were rubbing their hands over his body, one was going down on him.
At a signal from one of the other girls, she got up and moved aside while
another took her place.  It looked like the Rushin' Roulette game I had
seen before, where each had a certain amount of time to stimulate him, and
the one doing so when he came won.  He seemed to be enjoying it.  When he
saw me, he gave a little half smile and a shrug.  I nodded at him and went
into the room.

   Mr.  Weber looked at me as I entered, looked at the clock, then looked
at me again, with mild amusement on his face.  It looked like he was going
through any number of comments in his head, but in the end he didn't say
anything.  I didn't blame him.  This was the first time I was on time this
week, much less early.

   I was still a bit early, so I took my time as I spread my towel, sat,
and took out my stuff.  There was a little commotion outside the door, and
then Dave stepped inside.  From the wilted state of his cock, it would seem
that someone won the game.  I wondered what the stakes were, other than the
obvious.

   Mr.  Weber called the class to order, then took roll.  Since the Program
had started, unexcused absences had gone way down.  But procedures are
procedures, I suppose.  When he read the announcements, there was a blurb
about some students being honored by the FOSA, and the honor it brings to
the school.  Luckily, it didn't say which students.

   He started class by reading the joke that gave the name to the Panda
book.  Our assignment was to come up with one or more sentences which have
a different meaning with the punctuation changed.  We then had to diagram
both versions.  I won't say what mine was, but he turned a little green
when he saw the second version.

   I don't know what's gotten into me.  First French, then English.

   When he read some of the examples and diagrammed them on the board, he
pointedly skipped mine.  Probably just as well.  Probably just, as well.

   Class ended, and I gathered my things and left.  Just outside the door,
I stopped Dave and asked him how he was doing with the program.  He said
that he was enjoying parts of it, but other parts were a pain in the ass. I
looked at him, and he suddenly realized what he had said.

   "Not literally.  Ok, sometimes literally.  But mostly, it's just hard to
get a moment to myself, to relax and think.  Even the Meditation Throne
isn't any help, since I've usually got either interested spectators,
neighbors angry or upset at my invading their domain, or both.  But if I
could get the occasional break, I could really get to like the attention
and all."

   With that, we took off for our next classes.  I walked fast, but I
walked.  Even on normal days, this was one of my tighter class commutes.

   I stepped through the door just as the bell rang.  Followed by two other
students.  Mr.  Moyer impatiently waved us to our seats.  As usual, he
found a way to tie the lesson to current events at the school.  He was
mostly talking about enforcement of regulations, laws, and policies.  We
went through punishments, with brief mentions of some of the events of the
week's events.  Then he asked about the other side of the coin.  Most of
the class looked puzzled, and I had my usual safe place look.  Finally, one
boy raised his hand.  When called on, he hesitantly asked "Rewards?"

   "Exactly!  Rewards, incentives, and other forms of encouragement." He
went into things like tax breaks which were only available if you did
certain things, grades, and even competitions.  He briefly mentioned the
honors in the morning announcements, without mentioning my part in them. 
As usual, he was thorough and interesting.  From deep in my safe place, I
enjoyed much of the lesson as I took in the information.

   Even though I strolled toward Geometry at a casual pace, there was
plenty of time left when I was approaching the door.  It didn't entirely
surprise me when a voice behind me piped up with "I have a request." But it
did startle me when I recognized the voice as Perry's.

   He apologized for stopping me that way.  His request wasn't even a
Program issue.  He wanted to know if he could use a couple of flashpots
tomorrow, and whether they could be set up for "more than smoke".  I told
him that could be arranged, but he would have to make sure everyone was at
least five feet away when they went off.  Preferably, at least ten feet. 
He also wanted a couple of the confetti cannons, which I told him we could
provide.  It sounded like the Friday Morning Show would be more elaborate
than we anticipated.  I told him we would want at least five and a half
minutes between the start of the show and the time he called on us.  He
asked whether that had to do with our "on display" time, and I said it did.
I didn't bother to ask how he knew about it.  This was Perry.

   He agreed, and we headed for the door.  He waited a few seconds after I
went in to make his own entrance.  Inside the door, he struck a pose and
stood there as though basking in the admiration.  A number of the people
laughed.

   There was still some time before class, so he went from desk to desk and
dropped off slips of paper on each.  They said "Please do not volunteer to
give me relief tomorrow (Friday).  I have a plan, which you should enjoy."

   I suspect it had to do with his trying to choose the teacher on Monday.
What the heck, I wasn't going to volunteer anyway.  Why is that thought a
little disappointing?

   The bell rang, and Ms.  Lesmeister asked whether Perry needed relief. 
He said yes, while bounding to the front.  She went through the motions,
asking whether he wanted help, and whether there were any volunteers.  By
the time she had the words out, there was a sea of hands.  Perry looked
briefly at me (and my conspicuously unraised hands), then a couple of seats
ahead of me.  Patty Mareno sat there with her hand barely raised.  Her face
was a striking mix of desire and hesitation.  When Perry chose her, her
face lit up.

   Patty was a mousy girl.  A freshman like me, she was a little overweight
(apparently due to a glandular condition which kept the weight treatments
from helping her) and had some small scars on her face from a childhood
illness.  While not as shy as John and I, she lacked confidence and didn't
mingle much.  She was exactly the sort of person the Program supposedly
helped a lot, but also the sort in danger of cruel reactions from the other
students.

   She knew what to do.  She admitted she had not done this before, and
asked for him to let her know if she was too gentle of rough.  Then, oddly,
she asked whether he would trust her with a free hand to do this however
she wanted.  He looked amused, and agreed.

   She sort of squatted in front of him, and started pulling on him in a
conventional manner.  She asked him to slide forward a bit, and he obliged.
She moved her pumping hand lower on his shaft, then reached out with her
tongue and gently, hesitantly, touched the head.  She caressed it with her
tongue.  She wrapped her hand around the lower shaft and let the rest slide
into her mouth.  I really couldn't see what she was doing there, but he
seemed to like it.  She stopped and removed her mouth, holding the shaft
tight for a moment (presumably to keep him from cumming yet).  At the same
time, she reached under her skirt with her other hand.  The rest of the
sequence is mostly guesswork, but what I think happened was that she
lubricated her finger with her own juices, started stimulating him again,
and then slipped her lubricated finger up his ass and massaged his
prostate. A moment later, he shot off so violently that some of it landed
on a second row desk, and more on the desk in front of it.  If nothing
else, that was impressive.

   They thanked each other, and returned to their seats.  I suspect she
will be more popular once word of this gets around.

   The rest of class was pretty much routine.  Lots of sides and angles. 
Safe and sound in my safe place, I took it all in.

   By the end of class, nature was calling rather insistently.  Luckily, it
was a short walk to science, so I had the time.

   I ducked into the boys' room, and luckily found an empty stall.  And I
found reason to appreciate one aspect of this hideous Program week: I
didn't have to open anything, take anything off, slide anything down, or
otherwise prepare; I just sat and let loose.  Even deep in my safe place as
I was, I could appreciate that.

   Something caught my awareness.  I heard sounds of muted protest, then a
solid THUNK, as though a deadbolt had been thrown.  Listening more
carefully, I noticed that the background noise in the room had dropped a
lot.  This was not a good thing.  I slipped off my whistle and palmed it
while I finished my business.  I stepped out to pretty much my worst case
suspicion.  There were the four boys who had tried something similar on
Tuesday.  But this time they were better organized.  They not only had the
doors blocked, they had almost certainly locked at least one.  They had
cleared out everyone else, leaving just the five of us.  One of them had
even managed to get behind me.

   I knew my recorder was still running.  I also knew that they were not
likely to kill me outright.  So I had to make sure there would be a record.
A record that would make it clear what they did, and keep them from lying
their ways out of it.

   Without pausing, I went to one of the sinks and washed my hands.  Then I
moved toward the door.

   "Where do you think you're going?" asked the apparent leader.

   "To my next class.  Now please let me by.  I don't want to be late." I
deadpanned, continuing my walk toward the door.  The one at the door moved
a little to make it obvious that he was blocking the door.  "Why are you
blocking the door?" I asked, in my emotionless voice.

   "The bitch wants to know why we are blocking the door." the leader
responded.  "Can you believe that?  We're doing it so we can have a little
privacy while we do what we want with you.  You, you little Program cunt,
you will do exactly what we say, one way or another.  If you don't put up a
fight, maybe you won't get hurt so bad."

   "Are you threatening me with violence if I don't do what you want?"

   "No, you stupid bitch.  I am saying we might get rough anyway.  But if
you don't do what we say, we will get a whole lot rougher!" He spat.

   "Why do you think you can get away with that?  Everyone will see any
bruises and stuff you make.  And they will know you were the ones who did
it."

   "It will be our word against yours, bitch.  Four against one.  And there
are some who will say we were somewhere else all this time.  And just so
you can't use that damn recorder of yours, Josh!  Grab her bag.  Now!"

   I held on tight.  "You don't want to do that.  The bag is dangerous. 
Let go of it." I knew I couldn't get out of this myself.  I moved my other
hand to my face as though I was going to use it to try holding the bag
better.  Once the whistle was in my mouth, I started blowing for all I was
worth.

   The leader backhanded me across the face, knocking the whistle from my
mouth (even though I rolled with it somewhat).  I screamed in pain.

   "You stupid cunt!  Do you think anyone will come just because you blew
that little toy?  Or because you screamed?  Nobody cares, bitch!  They are
too busy trying to save their own asses to give a damn about yours.  When
we are done with you, we will walk out of here and nobody will do a thing
to stop us, but you won't be walking."

   He was interrupted by a loud banging at the door, and a man's voice
demanding "Open this door at once!"

   "Nobody can get in here in time to stop us, or to save you.  By the time
they can get through that, we will be done with you and out the window."
Just then, there was the sound of a key in the lock.  They pushed trash
cans against the door, then made for the window.  The first one was about
halfway out when he jerked and went limp.  The door opened, revealing Vice
Principal Pruitt.  The leader rushed him, trying to knock him out of the
way and make his escape.  Instead of escaping, he ended up doubled up over
the VP's fist and falling to the ground.  Once there, he started puking his
guts out.  Two male teachers grabbed his arms and dragged him away (to the
nurse's office, I found out later).

   The other two started trying to babble some story about it all being my
idea, that I wanted some privacy and promised to do things with them, then
went psycho instead.  They were escorted away as well.

   Dr.  Pruitt asked how I was doing.  I told him about the backhand to my
face, but told him that otherwise I was ok.  He had me go to the nurse's
office to get checked out.  I had a small cut on my lip, and some bruising
on my face.  She gave me an ice pack for my face, and told me to rest for a
while.  Dr Pruitt took my statement, and then I silently got out my
recorder, made sure he saw me stopping it, and handed it to him.  He
nodded, and left.

   This time I didn't get to watch the statements, the confrontation with
the recording, and the boys being led off in handcuffs.  But I did hear
that they were.

   After resting for a bit, I asked the nurse for a late slip so I could
catch the last little bit of class.  She looked like she was going to
argue, but she gave it to me.  I knew how quickly news got around in this
school, and I didn't want Dr.  Burns worrying again.

   I got to class, and Dr.  Burns and some of the class gasped.  I guess my
bruise and swollen lip were showing pretty well by then.  I handed Dr. 
Burns the slip, and took my seat.  There wasn't much of the class left, but
I was really there to talk to him afterward.

   When class ended, I went up to him and assured him that I was ok.  I
gave him a brief description of what happened.  He thanked me for that, and
reminded me that if I needed anything he was there.  I thanked him for
that, and went to meet John for lunch.



   JOHN

   There is not too much to say about History and English.  Not with what
happened after the latter.

   Susan had just waded into the usual sea of hands (and other body parts)
outside the door, and Bridget and I had made our inconspicuous exit, when
one of the guys from Track came running up to me.  He was out of breath,
but told me about Emily being locked in the bathroom with the four thugs.
The three of us took off in that general direction.  As we ran, I thought
about it.  With the doors locked (and probably covered by the crowd), they
wouldn't be getting out that way.  "The Window!" They followed me to the
side door and out.  As I opened the door, we heard the whistle, then the
shriek.  We went tearing around the corner, and saw a crowd gathering at
the window.

   Just as we got there, a boy started trying to go out the window.  He was
about a third of the way out, when a girl with a baseball bat in her hands,
poised and ready to strike brought him up short with "Please!  Give me an
excuse!" He jerked his head upward, looked at her, and slumped in defeat.
There was a loud thump from inside, like a door being slammed into
something, and then it was all over.

   By the time we could get around to the bathroom door, it was long since
over.  A custodian was throwing some pink powder on what looked (and
smelled) like vomit, just outside that door.  Someone told us that one of
the boys had done the ralphing, after the VP punched him in the gut.  He
also told us that the four boys and the girl were taken to the nurse.

   On the way to the nurse's office, I found out some interesting things.
The girl with the bat had "allegedly" been raped by the same four boys
during her week in the program.  They gave each other alibis, with the help
of a couple of friends.  In fact, they had pulled the same thing with at
least two other girls.  She really had wanted an excuse to beat him with
that bat.  Nobody knew how Emily was, but she had walked to the nurse's
office under her own power.

   Bridget had to get to class, but I had a few extra minutes.  With the
nurse's note, I wouldn't be "dressing" for track, anyway.  I headed for the
nurse's office.

   When I got there, she looked pretty busy.  She turned and asked whether
I was hurt again, and I responded with a no.  I asked her about Emily, and
she said that she was apparently alright, except for a bruise and a small
cut.  She also told me she was being interviewed by the VP, and was under
orders to rest after that.  She could probably see me at lunch, as usual.

   I headed out to the track, and gave Coach Firestone the note from the
nurse.  Even though he already knew about it, he flinched.  He directed me
to go to the PE office and get a clipboard and stopwatch.  I would help
time the others, and watch for problems.

   When I got back out to the track, I noticed that the assistant from
yesterday was not there.  I asked the coach about it, and he told me he was
not at school today.  Nothing to do with yesterday.  Sometimes, things
really are a coincidence.

   We were doing the longer distances today, so I really didn't have much
to do.  I was assigned some of the runners in each group, and noted their
lap times and final time on the form I was given.  Other than that, I was
just another pair of eyes watching the runners for signs of problems or the
like.  The closest thing I spotted was one boy who hadn't noticed one of
his shoes had come untied.  Ah, yes, disaster averted and all that.  Yawn!

   About three years later, we were done.  I didn't need to shower or
change, so when the class went in I turned in the clipboard and stopwatch
and headed for the nurse's office.  When I got there, I found out that
Emily had gone to the last part of her class.  I went toward our usual
meeting place, so we could talk on our way to lunch.

   As we ate our lunch, she told me about what happened.

   "It was really strange.  I was so deep in my safe place that it didn't
seem at all real.  It was like I was somewhere else, telling this robot
body what to do and say.  I knew they might try to hurt that body, but they
couldn't reach the real me.  I was too deep, too protected.  I wasn't even
very afraid or angry.  It just wasn't real enough for that." She chewed on
her food for a moment, winced, then went on.

   "I didn't even notice the cut until the nurse said something about it. I
think it must have happened when he knocked the whistle out of my mouth.  I
knew they wouldn't risk seriously injuring me, and I knew that this week
people would respond to the whistle.  And if they tried to rape me, they
would get a really nasty surprise.  But more than that.  I somehow knew
that even if they seemed to get away with it, something very bad would
happen to them because of it."

   "The recorder?" I asked, around a mouthful of fries.

   "Maybe that was part of it.  But there was something else.  Something in
the background, that I don't understand.  But it is just a feeling.  I've
had it before, but usually it was about someone who I didn't want anything
bad to happen to.  This time I felt they were digging their own grave." She
shuddered, then shrugged.  "Strange.  Then, when it was all over, I didn't
really care all that much.  It was like 'Ok, I knew this would end like
this, and now it has.  I hope I can get to class before I'm too late.'"

   "It wasn't like shock.  I've been there and done that, and this was
different.  And there was no adrenalin crash afterward.  I think that's
what got to the nurse.  I was acting sort of like I was in shock, because I
was so deep in my safe place.  But no shivers, no eye stuff, none of what
she expected.  She kept me for a while, and when it was long enough that it
was clear I wasn't going to have problems, she let me go to the end of
class."

   Our audience at the table were shaking their heads, and quietly
discussing it among themselves.  Somehow they managed to convey that they
were there for us, especially for her, but they weren't going to push
themselves on us.

   She went on to tell me about Perry's request for the flashpots and
confetti cannons, and showed me the slip of paper from that class.  I told
her I wished I could be there to see what happened.

   We finished lunch, and then sat there for a moment contemplating our
next move.  The rules said we had to be in public parts of the building and
generally "available" from the time we finished eating, and if we went
anywhere we had to walk in an available way.  That pretty much left out all
the things we usually did after lunch.  Emily decided that they had
probably finished downloading the file from her recorder by now, so we
decided to walk to the office and retrieve it.

   This walk was different than the earlier ones.  Some people stared at
Emily's face, and others turned away, looking embarrassed.  And some looked
angry, but I think they were angry because of what happened rather than
angry at us.  We were symbols again, rather than people.  Especially Emily.


   In an odd way, that helped.  The attention was impersonal, not really
directed at us.  It was directed at our bruises, her injury, our condition,
the attack, the Program ...  but not us.

   Then we turned the corner near the office, and saw quite a crowd walking
our way.  They were talking about something exciting that they disapproved
of, and I concluded that they had been watching the attackers being led
away in handcuffs.  Someone near the front of the crowd spotted us and word
rippled back through the crowd.  A wide path opened up in front of us.  But
then another path opened up from the back of the crowd.  When the two met,
we saw two senior boys walking toward us.  They were dressed similarly to
the attackers, and seemed associated in some way.  They regarded the crowd
with some apprehension, as though afraid of an attack or something.  Then
they saw us.  One turned white.  The other looked at Emily's face and
gulped.  After a second, they moved aside (and the onlookers moved to give
them room), clearing our path to the office.

   When we got close to the office door, a girl stepped out and blocked our
way.  We stopped and looked at her.  I didn't recognize her, but she looked
like a junior or senior.  Overall, she was fairly pretty, but there was
something about the way she carried herself.

   "Thank you," she started, in an emotional voice.  She pulled her hair
aside, showing a scar at the edge of her face.  "When those bastards did
that to me and left me with this, those slimes," she waved toward the two
seniors, "helped them get away with it.  But not this time!" There was an
answering growl from the crowd, with many looking angrily at the two boys.
"So thank you.  They'll finally get what they deserve!"

   She stuck out her hand to Emily, who shook it.  Then she shook my hand,
and went to confront the boys.  We didn't stay to hear what she said. 
Instead, we ducked into the office.

   We warned them about the confrontation in the hall, and they said they
would keep an eye on it.  Then we asked about the recorder.  One of them
called someone (Principal Murrow, we found out), said we were here, and
asked about the recorder.  She nodded and acknowledged something and then
hung up.

   "Please have a seat over there.  Principal Murrow will be with you in
just a moment." She got a bit of a twinkle in her eye.  "You know, two more
visits and you will qualify for reserved seating." We shared their chuckle
at that, then lapsed comfortably back into our safe places.

   A moment later, the door opened and Dr.  Pruitt walked out.  He asked
Emily how she was doing and, with her reassurances, went to his office. 
Then Mr.  Murrow asked Emily to come in.  He asked me to wait outside his
office, adding that he was sure I understood.  I was pretty sure I did. 
Now Dr.  Pruitt was under the microscope, probably for the punch to the
boy's stomach.

   I settled in to wait.

   EMILY

   I met John at our usual place and we headed to lunch together.  He asked
how I was, and apologized that he didn't get there in time to help me.  But
I reminded him that it was over fairly quickly, and there was not much that
he could have done.

   After we got our food (his usual cholesterol fest, and my usual chef's
salad, plus fruit, drink, and dessert for both), we went to our usual
table. As we ate, I described the events, then my reactions.  It was funny,
the whole thing was so unreal and I was so deep in my safe place, that I
wasn't even very upset about it.  It was a bad thing, and I am glad that
the sons of toads who did it will be locked up for a long time, but it
almost feels like it happened to someone else.

   When I told John that I had been sure that something bad would happen to
them, he took it in a shallow way.  He asked whether that was because of
the recorder, and I said I didn't think so.  It was something else,
something from deep inside of me.  Something very powerful.

   I know I wasn't in shock.  Been there, done that.  By now, I should have
had the shakes and the whole thing would be making itself known to me. 
There was nothing.  As far as I could see, it hadn't even affected my
appetite.

   After all that, I told him about Perry asking for the flashpots with
more oomph, and the cannons.  He agreed there would be no problem.

   We decided to go to the office to get my recorder back.  I figured they
were done with it by now.  Besides, we needed to do something with the rest
of lunch period.  The walk there was different.  People were looking at me.
But it was my face they looked at and reacted to, not my stark raving naked
body.  And it was hard to read their reactions.

   We got a weird reaction from a crowd near the office.  The split open
like we were gunfighters in an old western.  At the other end of the open
space were two thugs, as far as I could see.  They reminded me of the four
in the bathroom.  They looked nervous at first.  Then they saw us, and got
out of the way in a hurry.  A girl stepped out of the crowd and confronted
us.  Her attention was very uncomfortable.  So was the way that people were
watching the three of us.

   She thanked me for taking out the garbage.  She showed me a scar they
had left her with.  She was angry at them, and their two friends in the
hall, but looked at me like I was some kind of superhero.  We acknowledged
her speech, then, as she turned to go after the two thugs, we beat a hasty
retreat into the office.

   We warned them about the possible lynching out in the hall, and asked
about my recorder.  We ended up in the chairs outside the principal's
office again.  One of the office ladies made a joke about how often we had
been in those same chairs.

   The door opened and Dr.  Pruitt came out of the office.  Mr.  Murrow
invited me into the office, but made John wait outside.  Like before, but
with our roles reversed.  I guessed it was about what the VP did at the
door, because he would have let John in for just about anything else.

   After inviting me to sit, he told me that we were being recorded.  For
the sake of form, I asked him why John had to wait outside, and what this
was about.  He told me it was policy that the interview be individual (and
recorded), and that it was about what happened in the bathroom.  Or rather,
what happened at the end of that event.  He asked whether I was feeling
well enough to do this, and I assured him I was.

   He had me recount the events in the bathroom.  When I got to the part
about the voice through the door, he stopped me and asked about the voice.
Did I recognize it?  I thought I did, as the VP, but it was distorted by
the door.  Did he sound angry?  No, but he was using the "command voice"
you all use sometimes.  Then what happened?

   I told him about the taunts, the key sound, the barricade, and the dash
for the window.  Then I got to the part I suspected he wanted, the rush and
collapse.  I admitted that my view of the contact was blocked by the boy's
body.  I told how he charged at the VP, sort of tucked in the position
football players use when going through the other team's line.  I said that
it looked like he slammed into the VP, then folded over.  He asked me
whether I had actually seen him make contact with the VP, and I said no, my
direct view was blocked.  But the VP's clothes moved like he had been hit
in the chest, just before the boy folded over.  We went over details for a
couple of minutes, then went on.

   The teachers taking the thug away to the nurse's office.  The two others
trying to blame me, then escorted to the office.  Did he do anything to
them?  No, just ordered them to go.  Two teachers took charge of them.  Two
each?  No, one each.  Did they do anything to those boys?  Not that I saw.
Him asking how I was, then sending me to the nurse.

   What happened next?  As I was leaving, he asked the boy in the window
whether he was hurt.  A voice outside answering "Not yet!" His voice?  No,
a female voice.  What happened then?  I don't know, I was in the hall by
then and on my way to the nurse.

   Anything I want to add?  I'm happy he got there when he did.  Things had
gotten ugly and were getting worse.  Those thugs bragged about the other
girls they had done that to, and I hope they get the book thrown at them.

   And may I please have my recorder back?  He smiled, and typed something
on his computer.  Then he handed me my recorder and thanked me for my help.
He asked whether I wanted to have the attackers prosecuted, and my answer
was an enthusiastic "You bet your ass I do!"

   He admonished me about my language, but accepted the answer.  He looked
at the time, and apologized for making us late to class.  He wrote late
slips for both of us, and gave them to me.  He walked me to his door as the
bell was ringing, and thanked me for my help.

   I gave John his late slip, made sure he saw me starting my recorder and
dropping it in its pocket in my bag, and started off toward the hall.  As
we walked down the hall, I asked what he saw outside the window.  He told
me about the girl with the bat and the attitude.  Then we came to the place
where we went in different directions; him to chemistry and me to Aerobics.


   Deep in my safe place again, I hurried into the boys' locker room, and
went to my locker.  I quickly changed shoes and socks, and hurried to
class. My attention was drawn to the fact that everyone was giving me
plenty of space.  I acknowledged it, but let it be.

   I got to class and gave the late slip to Ms.  Morris.  The class was
just getting into position, so I took my place and joined in the warmups.
There was a bit of tension in the air, which I figured was about the
incident in the bathroom.  But once we got moving, there was no time for
such side issues.

   By the end of the workout, my face was kind of throbbing and my lip hurt
a little.  When I wiped the sweat off my face, there were a few drops of
blood on the towel.  Apparently, my lip opened up again.  I reached up and
touched it, and the sweat on my finger made my lip sting.  Still, I
obviously wasn't bleeding much.  I could see if I needed something after my
shower.

   I went in to shower.  After getting my towels, and putting my stuff in
the locker, I headed for the shower.  I stepped in, to the apparent
disinterest of all the boys there, and went to the corner shower.  I
stepped under the water and started rinsing off, when I heard a voice
behind me.  A girl's voice.  I turned to see who it was.

   It was Mary Reilly, one of Bridget's Irish dancers.  She didn't have a
PE class this period that I know of, but there she was.  "I have a
request," she was saying.  I noticed a bottle of body wash and a scrubber
in her hand.  I looked at her, and waited.

   "May I wash your face?  I can see where the damage is, so I don't have
to go by feel."

   I couldn't think of anything unreasonable about it, so I nodded.  As she
got the scrubber nice and foamy, she leaned in and said "Thank you for what
you did.  That girl outside the window was a friend of mine, and she heard
and saw some of it." She started gently washing my cheeks, then encouraged
me to close my eyes.  "Those bastards left her with a nasty scar on her
face, and a worse one on her soul." She was doing my forehead, then around
and down to the neck.  "Thanks to you, they'll pay for what they did.  In
your quiet way, you've been helping all of us, all week.  Thank you for
that.  Rinse." I put my face under the water, rinsing the suds off my face.


   "If you want to use this for the rest, you're welcome to.  I can get it
back at the rehearsal." I nodded, and she handed the bottle and scrubber to
me, stepped briefly under the shower next to mine, then left.  Hey, the
body wash was a lot nicer than the crud they give us for soap here.  I
quickly finished washing, and stepped out to dry off.  As I walked back to
my locker, I noticed that the row was empty.  That was a bit odd.  There
were usually at least a few boys there.  I briefly flashed back to the
bathroom, but there were a lot of boys and a couple of other Program girls
in the room, and most of them seemed to still be here.  Just in case, I was
extra careful when opening my locker.  Nothing was wrong there, though.

   I "dressed" in my shoes and whistle, grabbed my bag and the borrowed
supplies, and walked toward the door.  I got a strange vibe from the room,
as my dad would say.  Some people were just ignoring me, a few openly
looked at my face, but I somehow got a feeling of support from most of
them. Strange.  But I'll take it.

   Once I was out the door, I walked to my locker and put away the borrowed
things.  Grabbing my books, I walked toward French class.  Nobody bothered
me on the way.  Nobody turned a cold shoulder, either.  Some looked at my
face, some even smiled at me as I went by.  But nobody said anything.  And
even those who smiled did so in passing.

   I made it to French well before the bell.  For all that, the class was
remarkably unremarkable.  More words and phrases, more exercises, nothing
unusual.  Not even a flash of the scissors.  Then it was over, and I left.

   Why was I waiting for the other shoe to drop?

   JOHN

   The office was busy that day.  People came to get or turn in paperwork.
People came to meet with the VPs, clearly not by choice, and came out
looking unhappy.  One girl came to the office with a plate of homemade
chocolate chip cookies, offering some to the ladies there.  They responded
by wishing her a happy birthday.  She offered me one as well, and I
accepted.  I thanked her and wished her a happy birthday.  She left a few
for the principal and the VPs, playfully admonishing the ladies to actually
save them for them.

   Just as the bell rang, Emily came out and handed me a late slip.  As we
left, she verified that it had been about the VP.  Then she made sure I saw
her start her recorder again and put it away.  She asked about what
happened outside the window, and I told her about the girl with the bat.

   We turned and went in different directions.  She went to PE, and I went
to Chemistry.

   As I enjoyed the comforting feeling of being covered by my lab coat,
class started.  We opened our logbooks to our homework, and exchanged them
with people next to us (other than our lab partners).  We were to take off
points if they did not record the time of day that they did the test, and
if they did not describe collection or generation of the sample.  Then he
asked how many collected the sample then tested it, and how many simply
peed on the strip.  None of the girls collected the sample first.  About
1/3 of the boys did.

   There were some variations in the readings.  A lot were between 7 and
7.5.  Some were lower, some were higher.  We found out that the "normal"
average was 7.3, and that it usually varied somewhat over the course of the
day.  And varied with what we ate.  He suggested that any with a reading
below 6 or above 8 try the test when they got home, and if it came out that
high or low, consider consulting a doctor.  It could be a bad reading, or
it could be an indication of something wrong.

   That done, we traded back our books (with some groaning about the
grades).  Then we went on with class.

   All too soon, it was time to rejoin the ranks of the involuntarily
naked. As much as I enjoyed the coverage of that lab coat, I wondered
whether it made what was coming next that much worse.  I gathered my stuff
and headed for Health and Humiliation.

   All the talk at the beginning of class had had an effect on me, so I
headed off to the nearest girls' room.  I had a lot of company from class.
I had to wait for a stall, and I noticed another difference from the boys'
room: the line moved much more slowly.  It made sense, in a way.  The girls
had to half undress, take care of business, clean up, and then dress again.
We just had to pull it out and let loose, most of the time.  I wondered if
the time limit included this waiting in line.  I also wondered whether I
was going to make it.  Maybe I shouldn't have had the extra large milk with
lunch.
It was finally my turn, and I took care of things.  With everyone
watching, I made it a point to put the seat back down this time.  I washed

my hands, and headed across the hall to class.

   As I walked in the door, I saw that Susan was in front of the class
again, and looking unhappy about it.  Or about the video camera pointed at
her.  Ms.  Prothrow gave me the assignments from yesterday to pass out. 
Most people were there, so she didn't wait for the bell.

   "You will notice that some of you got questions on your papers from
yesterday.  Please take a moment to answer them now, and turn them in by
the end of class."

   I finished handing out the papers just as the bell rang, and took mine
back to my desk.  I noticed that she had asked "But how did it make you
feel?" on mine.  I thought for a moment, and wrote my answer.  "Some of the
smells were mildly unpleasant.  The visual and tactile parts helped satisfy
my curiosity.  It made me feel the way I do after any other reasonably good
class demonstration of something."

   She wasn't going to like that.

   She was saying that we would be going into stimulation and arousal.  She
said that the most intense arousal, especially for women, required
interaction between the source of the stimulation and the person becoming
aroused.  When both are the same person (masturbation), there are limits to
the intensity of the likely arousal.

   She called me forward, and nodded at the girl operating the camera.  "We
have a fairly unique opportunity to demonstrate the difference.  You may
have noticed that Susan's level of excitement has been falling off since
she arrived in class, and dropped even more when I called John up.  Her
animosity and his apparent indifference combine to create a response that
is anything but aroused.  This gives us a chance to see the difference
between impersonal stimulation and interactive stimulation."

   I dropped my paper on her desk when I got up there.  She had me stand a
little to the side of Susan, facing the class.  I went deeper into my safe
place.  She pointed out signs of Susan's tension, and directed me to stroke
any part of her but her breasts, genitals, or butt.  I knew what should
work, in theory.  And it was easy to keep it coded in my mind as something
routine, uninteresting.

   Starting at her forehead, I gently caressed from the center outward.  I
turned my hands downward, just before the ears, and trailed them downward.
I brought them forward along the jaw, and gently down the throat to the
collarbone, and then out to the shoulders.  I lifted my hands and returned
to the temples.  I went behind the ears this time, stopping briefly just
under the earlobes.  I could feel muscles relaxing as I went along.  I went
down the sides of the neck, then across to the shoulders and partway down
the outside of the arms.

   Ms.  Prothrow kept up a quiet narration of what I was doing, reluctant
to spoil the effect.  I also caught her looking down my body, apparently
hoping for some sign of response.  Not likely.

   I repeated the movement from the temples down a couple more times, then
threw in a variation.  Instead of just pausing behind the earlobes, I took
them between my fingers and thumbs and gently rubbed and pulled them.  I
then released them and ran my hands down the face and across the neck just
under the jaw.

   That changed the nature of the game.  I pulled my hands outward to the
shoulders, then up the sides of the neck, pausing just behind the earlobes
for an instant before going back down and out.  I rotated around the
shoulders, then back up again.  This time, when I paused behind the
earlobes, I gently rubbed the back with fingers before going back down.

   On my way back up, Ms.  Prothrow stopped me.  I stopped about an inch
below the ears.  She briefly pointed out the way the relaxation had given
way to a different kind of mild tension and anticipation.  She also
indicated the signs of early arousal, then allowed me to proceed, giving me
permission for everything above the waist.

   I started at the shoulders and moved across the back, then pulled down
on either side of the spine.  At the small of the back, I pulled my hands
apart, stroking the underlying muscle.  I repeated the spine and part,
separating somewhat higher.  Twice more, and I was doing the shoulder
blades.  After that stroke I kept going, around the collar bone, and down
the center of the chest.  At the lower ribs, I parted again.  Once I got to
the sides, I lifted my hands and put them lower on the sides.  With a very
light touch, I moved my fingers in toward the navel.  When I got close, I
let go with one hand and drew the other in an arc above the top of the
navel.  Then I established a pattern by spiraling my fingers slowly around
and toward the navel.

   Like any performance, it is very useful to establish and use
expectations.  I had established that the subject was susceptible to such
patterns with the earlobe exercise.  Once I had spiraled in, I dipped one
finger inside and swirled it around, eliciting a small gasp.

   The narration continued as I moved my hands away and up.  I briefly
hefted the breasts, running my fingers up the often neglected undersides.
Just short of the aureole, I pulled my hands away, then returned one to the
base.  I traced a slow gentle spiral up the right breast, occasionally
moving my thumb as though I was pinching it, but not actually catching any
flesh between thumb and finger.  Again, I was building expectation.  This
was just another trick, another show.  After a moment, I started the other
hand counter rotating on the other, with the same pattern but different
timing.  If I got this right, I should reach both nipples at the same time.
By about half way up, both nipples were prominently erect, and the legs
were rubbing against each other.  About two thirds of the way up, the
teacher stopped me again and pointed out the nipples.  She looked
conspicuously at my lack of any visible arousal, and then pulled the legs
apart to show the signs of arousal there.  She noted that, in the absence
of any real feedback from me, the subject was providing some ancillary
stimulation (with the legs) and some simulated feedback.  She also noted
the speed with which the arousal declined once my stimulation stopped.

   Leaving the legs open, she directed me to continue, with no more
limitations (other than the time remaining in class.  This approach could
easily take a couple of hours).  She also promised no more stoppages.

   I started with one foot, carefully stimulating each toe before moving
slowly up the arch to the inside of the ankle.  There, I started upward
with little swirling motions interspersed with the simulated pinches.  The
expectation built again.  Once I made it past the sensitive back of the
knee and a little way up the thigh, I suddenly ran both hands quickly up
the thighs, meeting at the clitoris.  With this break from the expected
pattern, the subject nearly jumped off the desk.  I started playing around
between the upper thighs and outer lips, occasionally darting in to graze
the inner lips near the clitoris.  I always managed to just miss the
clitoris, creating a sense of tension.  The inner lips had puffed up, and
there were small dribbles of lubrication leaking from the vagina.

   The narration mentioned all of these points as well, commenting that the
lubrication was less plentiful than that of the day before, indicating a
less intense state of arousal.  She commented that, with care, this level
of arousal would be sufficient for an aroused partner to initiate
penetration.  She looked pointedly between my legs when she spoke of an
aroused partner.  Yeah, like there was anything all that arousing about
this artificial performance.  There was a certain degree of artistic
satisfaction to be had, but that was about it.

   I started moving a couple of fingers and a thumb over the perineum,
edging close to the vagina as though I was going to penetrate it.  Again, I
kept the rhythm uneven, to keep it unpredictable.  When I had collected
enough lubrication from those trips, I slid up between the inner and outer
lips and grasped the clitoris between the lubricated fingers and thumb.  I
rubbed it between them, an action somewhat similar to jacking off but
without the range of motion.  After that, she quickly reached a climax of
sorts.  It was a come, but not as intense as it could have been.  As I felt
the reaction relax, I pulled my hands away and stood impassively waiting
for more instructions.

   The teacher pointed out my lack of arousal, then thanked me and
dismissed me to my seat.  While I was on my way back, she asked for
volunteers for the more interactive demonstration.  She let Susan choose
her partner from among them, and she chose the boy Bridget had swapped
seats with.  Soon they were at it.

   Using his hand and mouth, he hit most of the same places that I had. 
But he did so more quickly, talking with her and listening to her
responses, making his own arousal clear in the process.  He very quickly
had her nipples erect and when the teacher stopped them, they stayed that
way.  She let them continue, and soon he had her flowing like a fountain.
She started bucking her hips, and built to a truly impressive release.  The
wet spot on the front of his pants indicated that she was not alone in her
response.

   For the few minutes remaining of the class, she had us start to write up
our observations.  We would be able to finish them tonight.  As an
afterthought, she told us that the Talent Show performers would be excused
from the assignment, but could complete it for extra credit.

   As I was writing, I saw her pick up my earlier paper and read my later
comments.  Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head.  I also noticed
that Susan was just sitting there in a daze, not doing much of anything. 
But when the bell rang, she seemed to snap out of it and got herself (and
her things) together.

   We gathered our things as well, and prepared to leave.  We watched Susan
step out into the sea of reaching hands that seemed to have appeared for
her.  When we passed Ms.  Prothrow's desk, she handed my paper back to me
without a comment.  Bridget asked her whether she was alright, commenting
that she looked upset.  She replied that she was fine, just disappointed
about something.

   When we stepped out into the hall, we were greeted in passing by some
people (Bridget more than me), but otherwise left alone.  Bridget said she
would see me at the rehearsal tonight, and set off for her next class.  I
made my way to Art Materials.

   This time I really did have to hurry.  As I trotted to class, I noticed
that most people seemed to act as though I was just another student, as
though I wasn't naked.  Most ignored me as they would when I was dressed. A
few waved or nodded in passing.  Nobody tried to approach me for a request,
or even a conversation.

   When I entered the room, I was startled (and unhappy) to see the camera
and screen set up again.  But when I looked at the table, I saw a variety
of objects on it, including my finger mold and the sand box.

   Emily was already in her seat, waiting for me (and class).  The bruise
on her face had come up a rather vivid purple, and her lip was visibly
swollen, but she didn't seem upset about it.  I knew that we could deal
with those things with makeup for the show.  And in school tomorrow, if she
wants.

   Today's class concerned casting metal items.  Since a couple of the
demonstrations would involve pouring molten metal into a mold, it was
decided that it was safer to keep us at a distance and use the screen.  It
was probably just as well.  One of the molds cracked and started leaking
molten metal.  It quickly pooled and hardened, and nothing so exciting
happened the rest of the class.  In the end, we compared the metal copies
of my finger from the plaster mold (which had to be broken to get it out)
and the sand mold.  They had been poured earlier in the day, so they would
be cool enough to handle now.  We got to see the video of that pour.  We
also learned about tapping the mold to eliminate bubbles.

   We found out that we would be discussing lost wax casting, and a weekend
project, the next day.  As we were being let out of class, Ms.  Johnson
told me that they wanted to see me at the office before I left.  What else
is new?

   We gathered our stuff, and headed for the office.  For a change, it was
fairly trivial.  There was a note for my parents about the HHS video,
saying that a copy and a release form would be sent home over the weekend.
Maybe I should've made a quarter appear from her vagina or something.

   We went to our lockers, and got ready to go home.  Then we went to the
front, to dress.  Some of the others were there, playing the crowd.  We
quietly slipped into our clothes and left.  We both had things to do to get
ready, and things to talk to our folks about, so we walked to our own homes
for a change.

   When I got there, I was not entirely surprised to see both cars were
there.  They had promised to do their best to get off early today and
tomorrow, to help with our part of the show.  Apparently, they succeeded
today.

   When I got inside, Dad was just starting to tell Mom about the state of
the investigation.  They had fairly conclusively narrowed it down to Mrs.
Conway, with something or other eliminating the "possible frame" scenario.
But the proof wouldn't hold up in court, and she would certainly take it to
court if they tried acting directly on it.  I made a bitter comment about
the way she had screwed me over, and Dad looked kind of uncomfortable. 
After a bit of stalling, he told me that I was on the original list and
that it seemed likely that seeing that gave her the idea for what she did.
He cautioned me that I wasn't supposed to know about that fact, or discuss
it with anyone.  Not even Emily.

   That cut the legs out from under my Righteous Fury in a big hurry.  Duly
deflated, I got down to the more immediate issue: food.  Dinner would be in
about a half hour, time enough to gather the flashpots, loads, and confetti
cannons for Perry.

   Over dinner, I told them about the taping in HHS, and gave them the
note. I also told them about the attack on Emily.  They took the taping in
stride, but the attack had my mom rushing to call the Watsons to offer our
support.  As if they had any doubts about that.

   After a rushed dessert (with hints of something special after the
rehearsal), I changed into the robe I had chosen for the ride back and
forth.  I helped Dad and Mom load the equipment into the car, and then we
were off.  We took two cars, since the equipment took up more than one
car's worth of room.  For a "real" show, we would rent or borrow a truck.

   The plan was that I would shed the robe just before walking into the
school at the theater loading door.  Dad and Mom would carry the equipment
into the theater, and I would move it (with any help I might get inside) to
my staging area and assemble the larger pieces (such as Zig Zag).  At some
point, Emily would arrive and help with the preparations.  The parents
would leave, to be a cellphone call away.

   And things almost went that way.  Because of crowding, they weren't
letting people park in front of the door to unload.  We were directed to
the side, where we unloaded Mom's car first, and then (as she went and
parked) Dad's.  We had to wait for Mom to get back before Dad could drive
away and park, we had to have him park before we could take anything in. 
Luckily, Emily and her folks arrived at almost the same time.  They
arranged who would do what outside, keeping someone with the pile of stuff
at all times.  We headed inside, shedding our robes at the door and
checking in.

   Inside, we found that someone had been thinking.  Or we had been
unusually lucky.  We had a nice, big staging area away from the door, and
it was on the opposite side of the stage from Susan's area.  Frankly, I
didn't trust her around our equipment.

   We had just finished getting everything inside, and our folks were about
to leave, when we heard a commotion on the other side of the stage. 
Wandering over, we saw Susan Conway and her mother arguing.  Mostly, they
kept it soto voce, but finally the mother blew up.

   "NO!  I already wasted 500 dollars on a costume you can't use!  I did
not risk everything handicapping those competitors to have you try to quit!
You WILL go on!" Her voice dropped a little.  "Besides, it is against the
rules.  Do you really want to spend another week that way, on top of the
weeks you have already earned?"

   The room had gone almost silent.  She turned and looked at the gathered
crowd, and her eyes got very big for a moment.  She suddenly realized what
she had said, and in front of whom.  Including both vice principals and my
father.  She went a bit white, then turned and stormed out.  My dad went to
confer with the vp's, while my mom and Emily's parents left.

   As we returned to our area, I spotted Perry.  He was telling someone
about what had just happened.  We asked him to come with us, and gave him
his supplies and equipment for the morning show.  He thanked us, gave us
some of his plans for the morning show, and went to get ready.  Of his
costume, he had kept his hat and oversized shoes.  And a badly tied
necktie.

   I went and gave the final cues to the tech people, along with the clip.
They looked it over, and asked a few questions.  We got it all worked out,
then we went backstage for the hardest part of all: waiting.  We were close
to the finale of the show, partly because of fears we would run long
(Please!  We're nothing if not professional), and partly because nobody
really wanted to follow the act.  Except Bridget and her dancers.  I guess
they like a challenge.  Anyhow, they were the final act.  If that didn't
get people to leave the theater with their blood pumping, nothing would.

   After her dancers, there would be brief announcements of the judging. 
There were two basic categories of acts in the show.  Competitors (/pros),
and amateurs.  The first category was made up of those of us who had done
the same kind of performance in competitions other than a talent show like
this one, and/or had done so professionally.  That included all of the
groups originally chosen (in whole or in part) for the Program, plus Susan
and the ribbon dancers.  The rest were lumped into the other category.  The
first group were ineligible for many of the awards, but there was
recognition (and prizes) to be had even for us.  And there would be people
in the audience who could advance certain careers.  Even ours.

   The rehearsal dragged on for what seemed like days, while earlier acts
worked out technical details and the like.  The rehearsal had started at
5:30, but at this rate it would be time for school before we went on.

   Actually, it was only three hours until our turn.  Some of the earlier
acts were pretty good.  Some were pretty bad.  Perry would open the second
half, after the intermission.  He fumbled a few gags, but recovered nicely.
Susan, on the other hand, was listless and unenthusiastic, and did not
recover well when she fumbled the lit (flaming) baton.

   It gave us lots of time to do homework and start mapping out the FOSA
article.

   Our assigned stagehands helped place the equipment, then stood back and
watched.  Most of our illusions are pretty angle proof, so they didn't see
much the audience wouldn't.  Our runthrough went fairly smoothly, except
for the clip coming a little late and a couple of missed lighting cues. 
None of that would be a disaster, although the thing with the clip could
hurt the pace of the show.  After the runthrough (to thunderous applause
from the other acts, techs, etc.), we talked to the techs about the
problems.  With luck, they were all worked out.  If not, we would work
around whatever.

   We called our folks, then watched Bridget's group dance.  They were
great.  After that, there were the light and sound cues for the awards.  We
were reminded that we would be expected to collect our awards (and
applause) when called, so we were to pay attention to the announcements at
the end.  We were also reminded about the after-show party, and that we had
to clear out our stuff BEFORE going to that party.  We weren't going
anyhow, so that part didn't matter.

   We finished breaking down our props and locking them in their crates
(paranoia is your friend!), and left.  As we stepped out the door, we
slipped our robes back on.  We all went out for ice cream, then headed
home.

   I was too tired to shower.  I barely got out of my robe and into some
pajamas before I went to sleep.



   EMILY

   When I got to Art Materials, I thought the other shoe had dropped.  The
camera and screen were there again.  As I got to my seat, I dropped deeper
into my safe place in preparation.  When I looked at the table and screen,
I saw that there were some molds and stuff on the table.  But the closest
thing to any casting material was the sand box, and it seemed to have
something in it.  Maybe I was wrong.

   I saw john come in, and pause when he saw the setup.  Then he came in
and sat next to me in his usual place.  It was a relief when it became
clear that the demonstration only involved the existing molds of our
fingers, rather than some current use of our bodies.

   When she poured the molten metal in the plaster mold of my finger, it
cracked and leaked.  It was not the mess it could have been, but it was not
good.  While she was demonstrating, she was also discussing various
techniques and safety measures.

   At the end of class, John was told to go to the office again.  Maybe we
WILL qualify for those "frequent visitor" seats.

   All they wanted at the office was to give John some paperwork about the
video they made in his Health class.  Sounds like good training for what
NOT to do to Program Participants, if you ask me.

   After that, we got our stuff and headed for the door.  There wasn't all
that much of a crowd there, and those who were seemed to be focused on some
of the other Participants.  I saw Mary Reilly quietly finish dressing and
leave, so it seemed safe for us to dress in the "normal" way instead of
using the quickchange outfits.  I was largely right.  Some people looked at
us while we dressed, but they seemed more interested in my face than my
body.  We dressed and headed for our homes.

   I hadn't gotten ten feet down the sidewalk before a car pulled up next
to me.  It was my mom, telling me to get in.  Once I had my seatbelt
buckled, she told me that we were going to the doctors.  She had made an
appointment as soon as she was called about the attack in the bathroom.  I
told her it was nothing, that it didn't even hurt.  But once she makes up
her mind about something, especially about me, there is no sense arguing.

   The doctor told her the same thing I did.  The damage was entirely
superficial, and should heal in a few days.  I could dab antiseptic
ointment on the cut to avoid infection, but otherwise, there was really
nothing to do.

   While we were there, Daddy was getting some chinese take out for dinner.
Not as healthy as Mom usually liked, but good for the current
circumstances. Besides, I liked it, and I was their Poor Wounded Child.

   I changed into my traveling robe, and got the costumes (which were now
props) ready to go.  We got to the school in time to help unload the
Whittakers' car, and then check in.  We shed our robes at the door, and our
folks brought things from the pile by where the car had been into the
theater.  We moved them from there to our staging area, and put them
together.

   Just as our parents were about to leave, we went to investigate an
argument.  I could not believe it when Mrs.  Conway admitted to having
sabotaged the Program selections to sabotage Susan's "competition" in the
Talent Show.  One mystery solved, anyway.

   Perry had some interesting ideas for the show in the morning.  He
planned to exploit some loopholes in the Program rules, as usual.  I
thought it was risky, and I didn't want to spend any extra days in the
Program.  He assured me he would take any heat.  I reminded him about the
five minute gap.

   During the three (eternal) hours we waited for our turn on the stage, we
checked the equipment, did our homework, talked about the recorder article
for the Feds, and got roaringly bored.  I used some of the time to
experiment with makeup, to cover the bruise and downplay the lips.  That
only killed about twenty minutes, but it was something to do.

   I found Mary and gave her back her body wash and scrubber, with my
thanks.  That took another five minutes or so.

   Other than some nit picking, our rehearsal went well.  Some others
(including Susan) did not have such an easy time of it.  Let's face it,
some of those kids just weren't prepared for the show.

   We watched Bridget's group dance (they were great!), and still had our
stuff packed away and locked up by the time our rides arrived.  We never
did find out what took them so long.

   As soon as we were out the door, our robes were back on.  We headed to
the cars, and drove to our favorite ice cream place for a family treat. 
They maintained a Family theme, so the people working there were all
dressed.  There was some nudity among the customers, especially at one
table of kids from another high school.  It seemed to be some sort of team
thing, but not necessarily a sport.  Another mystery I never found out the
answer to.

   While trying to enjoy our ice cream, our folks asked us whether we were
going to the after show party.  We said that we hadn't planned on it
before, and we certainly didn't plan on it now.  I pointed out that we had
answered no on the contest forms, long before we were fraudulently chosen
for the Program.  They said that the form was only intended to help them
estimate food and such.  I asked them point blank what was going on.  They
admitted that they had been asked to encourage us to attend.  When John
asked who asked them to do so, they just said "the school."

   We reluctantly agreed to think about it, but cautioned them that it was
unlikely to change our minds.  We never did like such parties in the first
place, and having to be there naked would just make it worse.  John pointed
out that the rule about commitments could not apply because we had said we
were not coming so much earlier.

   On that note, we tried to lose ourselves in the enjoyment of our
overpriced, semi frozen confections.  By the time we left, the mood had
lightened again.

   On the way home, I was falling asleep in the car.  When we got home, I
wished my parents goodnight, dragged myself up to my room, and got ready
for bed.  Tempted though I was to just sleep in the robe, I needed it for
tomorrow.  It only took a moment to slip into a long, soft nightgown and
underwear.  And only a moment longer to slip into bed and fall asleep.

   End Part 9