M.1

When I got the letter, I almost tore the house down.  My mom was all, you know, "Zach, calm down and shit," but I was way too excited.  This is the coolest thing ever!

Hi, I'm Zachary Crane, and I'm naked in school!

A lot of us were kinda concerned that they'd shut it down, after all the crap that fell on Brandon last September.  And that woulda sucked, you know?  A lot of us want to go through it.  But they didn't shut it down, it came back in the spring.  And even better, they picked me to be one of the first ones in March.  Sure, it'd be a little cold, and we'd had the whole long-winter-without-any-Program stuff, but hey, I'm all for it.  A chance to strut my naked stuff in public?  Hell yeah.  You know how the girls are when you're in The Program.  Little Zach's gonna be gettin some, if you know what I'm talkin about.  It's time to get naked and cut loose!

So I showed up on Monday morning and went straight to Principal Zelvetti's office, which is where the letter told me to go.  People gave me weird looks, for no real reason—okay, I was dancing.  Hopping up and down the sidewalk, jigging like an idiot.  Wouldn't you be excited?  It's like your birthday!  Okay, Brandon wasn't excited, but, man, that guy's screwed up, isn't he?  I mean, tryin to kill himself and all.  He's gotten better, but...  I mean, Christ.

This time there were sixteen of us, which makes sense.  They already figured out that it's a little easier for the Program people to ease in if there's lot of 'em, of both sexes, so that people are distracted.  And since there were two from each grade when Brandon and Arie went through, I wasn't surprised that there were three other juniors this time.  "Hey," I said, "we're about to become Program people!  Program people.  That's a stupid word, isn't it?  We're about to become Programites!"

Dude.  Don't give me looks like that.  Huh.  See if I keep trying to make jokes with this crowd.

Some of the Programites I recognized.  Like, Claire Redecker—you can't help but notice her.  Walks around with a mohawk and a pierced lip and a skewed-off tie in black and red stripes.  I don't think anyone was surprised to see her there; she's practically an exhibitionist as is.  Plus she's graduating come summer, so they'd better get her through it now.  And I also recognized one of the seniors from the basketball team, Bill Kaspar.  And one of the sophomore girls was really hot.

I dunno how we all crowded into that little room—Zelvetti's office ain't big, you know.  It was so cramped in there that I figured it must be time to start—but the Big Woman On Campus (and believe me, she is big) just kept sitting and waiting, and though I had to count on my fingers, I realized there were only fifteen of us there.  A bit more counting on my fingers (look, math isn't my strong point, okay?) and I realized we were missing the fourth junior.  Since the other two were Pat Gardner and Louise Malatesta, that meant our other girl wasn't here yet.  Which was fine with me.  Louise Malatesta has a face like a squashed dog.  Not exactly what I'm lookin for, if you know what I'm talkin about.

Finally, when everyone was starting to get a bit impatient, someone knocked on the door.  "Ah," said Dr. Zelvetti.  "Christa, there you are.  Come in."  The person who entered was kind of short, at least a head shorter than I am, and slim—petite, that's the word—with short blonde hair in sort of an oxbow, curling past her ears, and just the sweetest smile you ever saw.

Oh please make her my partner oh please make her my partner.  Not just because she's hella cute.  But, I mean...  Louise Malatesta?  Okay, so she doesn't really look like a squashed dog, but she's definitely not who I wanna spend the next week talking to.  Dour little expression and enough pimplle grease to make OPEC drool.  I mean, you know?

"All right, now that we're all here," Dr. Zelvetti said.  "As you know, The Program has resumed activity here at Mount Hill High.  And in case you haven't realized it yet, you've all been selected to be this week's participants.  We've spent the past five months refining The Program and evaluating different possible changes.  One of them is the duration of this week—those of you who have been watching your calendars know there is a Teacher In-Service day on Friday, meaning you will only be attending school for four days.  We decided that a slightly shorter trial time would be wisest.

"We also decided to keep the written records—for those of you who don't know, Arie Chang and Brandon Chambers were asked, after the fact unfortunately, to chronicle the events of their week as part of the evaluatory process we underwent for the past five months.  We decided it was a good exercise, and you'll be asked to keep records as well, to be turned in at the end of the week.  This isn't an assignment you'll be graded on; if you turn something in, we'll check you off and you're done.  We'll be expecting some sort of record, but you needn't say anything you don't want to.  Records from Program pairs will also be composited together as appropriate.

"A third change is this."  She gathered a bunch of crap off her desk—a set of whistles on long strings—and passed them around the room.  "You're permitted to wear these around your neck—in fact, you're encouraged to.  If you should come across...  Threatening circumstances, shall we say...  Then blow on these.  We'll announce to the school at large that if anyone hears a whistle, it means there's trouble."

"Like, when Coach Wolfe wants to chew somebody out," I said.  God, Coach uses that whistle like a stick.

"Actually, no, Mr. Crane," Dr. Zelvetti said.  "To facilitate more effective use of the panic whistles, all the sports coaches have agreed to use other methods for getting their athletes's attention.  We feel that Program participant safety is of paramount importance."

"As opposed to what happened to Brandon in the fall," Claire said, lounging on the arm of a chair.

"Yes, as opposed to that," Dr. Zelvetti said.  "And of course you are all instructed to stay away from the badlands.  We've made every effort we can to increase the safety of the participants, but don't go tempting trouble."  And she glared at us, like driving the point home with dull iron nails.  I rolled my eyes.  Like I'm gonna go looking for trouble.  How stupid do you think I am?

Dr. Zelvetti passed out the pamphlets and ran over the basics.  I knew the drill: teacher aide, visual demonstration, Rule Three, blablablah.  Everybody knows that stuff.  Get to the interesting part already, get to the stripping!

Finally she did.  The seniors went first, each of them being called on by name to strip and then meet their Program buddies.  The seniors also had some other extra duty—they had to, like, watch out for us or some whatever—but that was their problem.

Sometimes it's surprising to find out who has pubic hair and who doesn't.  Tells you a lot about what the person expects or hopes to expect.  Kinda like finding out what color a girl's bra is, only more direct.  Like, Claire Redecker—all gone, no surprise.  I mean, you just look at her, you can tell she thinks of herself as one of those Liberated Youths (TM) or whatever.  Of course she's got nothin.  But her buddy was also bare—and I mean completely.  Leg, underarm, groin, ass...  The whole works.  Which made me wonder what the hell he was thinkin.  (Later I found out: speed.  He's a professional swimmer, hair slows you down underwater, so he shaves bare, except for his head, and even that's really short.  Every tiny bit of a second counts.)

Guess who got partnered with Louise Malatesta?  I breathed a sigh of relief on that one, I can tell ya.  And after she and Patrick Gardner had been sent on their way, there was only the question of whether me or that other girl—Christie?—was gonna strip first.

"Christa Sternbacher," Dr. Zelvetti said.

Christie stood up.  She was wearing a mustard-yellow backpack and a shirt the color of an evergreen tree and brown corduroy pants.  And then she wasn't wearing them anymore, just standing there in white cotton panties and bra.  And then she wasn't wearing those either.  And the whole time, she hadn't lost that cheery little smile.  Either this girl's just got a lot of spunk to her, or she's smoking something.

She was cute, too, in a sort of pixie way.  Not my type, though.  Kinda sucks, you know?—gotta spend an entire week looking at someone you don't really like.  Boobs too small, ass too small...  Not like she was a stick or anything.  I've seen girls who look like boys.  That's really not my taste.  The more voluptuous, the better.  Yeah, you like that?  Brandon taught me that word.  Well, Meredith, through Brandon.  Damn, speaking of which.  You want someone who's, like, non-voluptuous?  That's Meredith.  Not like she doesn't have boobs, but...  Jeesh.  I dunno how Brandon stands it.

"Zachary Crane," Dr. Zelvetti was saying.  Oh yeah.  Gotta strip and all that.  When I was finished, I presented.  "So, guys, whaddaya think, eh?"

Sheesh.  See if I ever try to make jokes 'round this crowd again.

So after that, they turned us loose and let us start making our way out.  The bell wasn't gonna ring for another few minutes, so I went back to my friends at north Stetsen.  I kinda wanted to sneak up on them, but Kelsey was looking the wrong way at the wrong time.  "Whoo!  So that's where he's been!"

Sajel took one look at me and buried her head in her hands.  "Oh God."

"Yes?" I asked cheerily.

"No," Sajel said, not looking up, "fuck you, you don't get to say that today, you're naked, you're going to be insufferable as it is."

"Man, three of us from the same cluster of friends," Brandon said.  "There must be something wrong with us."

"What, isn't it obvious," I asked.  "Dr. Zelvetti thinks I'm hot."

Everyone stared at me.

"And...  This led to...  Arie and Brandon... in The Program...  How?" said Meredith.

"...Well, she needed an excuse, obviously," I said.  "I mean, she couldn't just say, 'Oh, I want Zach naked so that I can ogle his hot bod, I need to ease it all in first.  So who's that guy who hangs out with him?  Brandon?  I think I can...'"

Derek chuckled.  "Zach, do you ever live in the real world?"

About then the bell rang, though, so I didn't really get a chance to answer him.  Live in the real world—what the hell does that mean?  Who actually lives in "the real world" anyway?  Stupid MTV show.

When I got to my first class, Geometry, I noticed there was another naked girl there.  For a second I was really confused—was that a seventeenth Program participant?  But then I remembered that Christie—Christa—whatever—is in Geometry with me.  'K, that explains that.  Oh yeah, we're supposed to be buddies.  Maybe I shouldn't've just run off and gone and talked to Brandon and everybody.  Ah well, I'm sure she has friends of her own to go talk to.

Ms. Sheldy called the class to order.  "I see we have two Program participants in our classroom today."  She's actually kind of young—probably not older than thirty, and kinda pretty.  She teaches math, though, which is like a total turn-off.  "I don't suppose either of you need relief at this point."  With that, she started the class.

I guess it's kinda funny how much something will make you notice somebody.  Most of the time you're just walkin around, doin yr own thing, you know, just chill, cruisin...  You pass by the same girl every day and you don't give her a second look.  But then, some circumstance—something changes.  Maybe she's wearing her hair different.  Maybe she's showing a bit more skin than usual.  Maybe she just says hi to you when she never has before.  And then boof!—suddenly, you're gone, and she's all you can think about.

Tell you the truth, I hate it when that happens.  Sure, she's hot, but...  I mean, Christ.  How come you can just be wanderin around mindin yr own business, and suddenly this random pile of girl-flesh has you twitching around campus like some perverted sprinkler that shoots jizz?  I mean, there's like...  No point.  No point at all.  Why bother to try and have self-control when someone can just undo it in half a second by wearing a differently-cut shirt?

So I was kinda annoyed that first period.  Because Christa sits one seat over and two seats ahead of me, and I kept looking at her.

It's not like I could see much.  The back of her neck, sure, and some of her shoulders; the curve of her cheek, depending on how her head turned.  And that was it; the chair, the person sitting behind her, blocked it all out.  I couldn't even see her ass, 'cause the guy's knee was in the way.  (Really in the way.  Betcha that guy had an erection all day.  Hell, betcha her ass had jeans-patterns imprints for the rest of the day.)  So, I dunno what I was staring at.

Though I kept seeing her face as she came into Dr. Zelvetti's office: that broad, pleasant face and its smile and its dark blue eyes, like the sun lingering in the sky at dusk; and the strange sheen of her hair—bet you she dyed it; and her body, slim and proud even though most of the girls and maybe some of the guys had bigger boobs than she; and even though she wasn't the sort of girl I normally go for, I couldn't get her out of my head.

...Of course, I'm probably playing it too strongly.  See, she's in my English class too, along with Sajel and Arie and Brandon, so I had nearly two hours to be constantly distracted by her.  But, like.  I think I had it bad.

After Geometry ended, we had to walk across Stetsen to get down to Mr. Cavanaugh's English in the basement (one of the reasons we hang out there is because everybody's classes seem to be there), and of course I tried to talk to her.  "Hey, so, how's this naked thing going for you?"

"I dunno," she said, giving me a dose of that ever-present smile of hers.  "It's only been one period.  Ask me again later."

"'cause, you know, not everyone adjusts to it really well," I said.

"I know," she said.  "I heard about all that stuff with Brandon...  Well, I saw some of it.  Remember when nobody wanted to give him relief that one time?"  Like I said, we're in that English class together.  And we were walking to it, too.  Talk about serendipity or whatever.

"I hope that never happens to me," I said fervently.  I mean, it's okay for losers like Brandon, but it'd be embarrassing if I turned out to be such an outcast.

She smiled at me.  "It probably won't.  I'm kinda worried about myself, honestly.  I mean, I don't flatter myself—I'm not, like, the hottest girl in school or anything—but I hope people don't think I'm that unattractive."

"Oh, well, there's an easy solution to that," I said.  I think, at this point, my mouth had sort of disengaged the safeties and was running off on its own.  It does that kind of frequently, sometimes.  "If you want relief, I'll volunteer.  And you can do the same to me."

Christa gave me a sort of weird look, kind of skeptical and kind of amused.  And then said, "Okay, I guess.  At least we won't be embarrassed."

Heh.  Score.

"I mean, I guess that's what Program buddies are for," she continued.  "It makes sense, if you think about it."

Heh.  Score!

Mr. Cavanaugh didn't arrive until most of the passing period had passed—he's always late like that—so we had time to stand around talking.  The last time I'd come down this hallway and seen people naked, they'd been Arie and Brandon.  Today, the situation was reversed: they came in whooping.  "Look at him," Sajel said.  "Isn't it cute when they're so thin you can see their ribs?"

"Is this your buddy," Brandon asked.

"Yeah," I said.  I was going to introduce her, but Sajel beat me to the punch.  "Wow, Christa," she said, "I hadn't realized you were the type to sign up."

Christa shrugged.  "It sounded like fun."  She turned to Brandon.  "Though I understand it wasn't so great for you."

"Ah, well," Brandon said, shrugging it off.  "It could've been worse.  No harm done."

"What's the whistle for," Arie asked, and Christa explained.  "See," Arie said, "they learned something from you, Brandon."

"It must've been really hard for you," Christa said to Brandon.  "Having to go through that.  You must be really brave."

Brandon and Sajel and Arie and I exchanged glances.  What, was she crushing on him or something?  Or maybe she's just always like this.  You look at Christa, there's something really uncomplicated about her—she probably means everything she says.  And probably says what she means.  Wears her heart out on her sleeve, you know?  Except, she didn't have a sleeve today.  Maybe she could hang it off her nipples instead.

"Well, if there's anyone I know who's brave, it's Brandon," I said grandly, wrapping my arm around his shoulders.  "Did you know this guy once faced down—"

"Off, off with the naked guy," Brandon said mildly, pushing me away.  "You know about the rules on hugs, Zach."

"What, what rules on hugs," I asked, confused.  Is there something I'm missing?

"Only on special occasions," Brandon said, a secret smile hovering about his face.

"Like bank holidays," Sajel said.

"Or if something bad happens," Arie said in her little-girl voice, "like if your mommy's on fire, or you misplace your elbow, or—"

"And you didn't fill out the required forms, so..."  Brandon heaved a sigh of inestimable regret.  "I'm gonna have to write you a ticket."

"I see how it is," I said loftily.  "My friends turning on me."  I slung an arm around Christa's shoulders.  "Well, at least I have my buddy to rely on."

"Whoa, off with the naked guy," Christa said, grinning, and everybody laughed, and I removed my arm.  Sheesh.  Some friends.  Ganging up on me.

Mr. Cavanaugh seemed somewhat amused by our nakedness.  "Two from my class the first week, two from my class the second week.  I wonder if Principal Zelvetti is trying to send me a message."  I saw Brandon and Sajel and Arie exchanging glances.  More like, I wonder if Principal Zelvetti is trying to send us a message.  But, then again, since Sajel's the only one who hasn't done it yet...

The rest of the morning passed pretty smoothly.  A couple of girls stopped me in the hall to do some medical examination, if you know what I'm talkin about, and I'm all like, Sure, step right up!  I mean, you know!  But then they said they had to go get on to class and left before they'd barely started.  I didn't get it.  If you're not interested, why ask?

"Ah, Señor Crane.  ¿Me parece que éste significa que estás en El Programa?"

"Si, Señora Tchabalala."  Yes, that's her last name.  She's from Africa.  I don't know how she got involved in Spanish.

"¿Necesitas alivo?"

I said, "Nesse-what??"

"Relief, Mr. Crane, relief," Ms. Tchabalala said.  "Alivo.  The English word is alleviate.  Do you require relief?"

"Oh, no.  No."  English word.  Who needs fancy English words?  Oh crap, I'm supposed to be speaking Spanish.  "Uh.  No necesito, Señora, gracias."

After that class was over, it was break time, and I headed back to Stetsen.  Surprisingly, I saw Meredith and Sajel and Christa all walking back together, deep in conversation.  Meredith knows her too?

"What class was that," I asked them.  "That you just got out of, I mean."

They all blinked at me.  "AP US History," Meredith said blankly.

Christ.  Christa's one of those brainy girls!  Code Red, Code Red, situation Brainy!

...Not that it's bad if a girl has brains.  They're really useful for study sessions that way.  And for group projects.  But that's just not, you know, just not what I'm looking for.  Why?  Well.  Because, in my general experience: the brainier a girl is, the less likely she is to put out.  I mean, cripes, look at Jane.  She's like the smartest person I know—but we saw what happened with her.  Probably be a virgin on her death bed.  And look what it got her: Brandon's got Meredith now.  Who does put out.  Guess she's not in any of the smart person classes.

Oh, wait.  US History AP.

Huh.  Weird.  Way to throw everything I knew about girls into disarray.  Well, maybe she's the exception that proves the rule.  Or...  Something.

Brandon and all the others were talking to Christa.  "How are you adjusting?"

"Pretty well," Christa said.  "Some guys stopped me in the hall and felt me up, but nothing, like, serious has happened."  Does nothing faze this girl?  You could, like, just whip out Mr. Happy and she probably wouldn't bat an eyelash.

Sajel grinned.  "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, well, passing period's only five minutes, and it takes a little more than that," Christa scoffed.  "But, yeah.  Ask me again after lunch.  I bet I'll have a better answer."

"Better hurry," Sajel said, "you've only got four days total."

"Yeah, that's kinda of disappointing," Christa said.  "I mean, talk about getting ripped off."

"Well, at least people are actually touching you," Arie said blandly.  "Took them until about Thursday to get used to us."  She indicated Brandon with a toss of her head.

"That must've been hard," Christa said, sympathy in her voice.

"Well, it kinda depends on whether you wanna be touched or not," Arie said with the same faceless blankness.  She does that really well.

"I suppose that's true," Christa said.

"I mean, you're just okay with people randomly feeling you up," Sajel asked.  "Damn.  I'd consider myself open-minded, but I think it'd take me some getting used to."

"No, it is weird," Christa said.  "Don't get me wrong, it is a little weird.  I mean, I've had my share of boys touching me there, but people just coming up to you is a little different.  But it's okay.  I want it to happen."

I saw a curious look in Sajel's eyes, but Derek just laughed.  "Isn't that kind of a reversal?  I mean, you'd think it'd be the guys going in because they want to get felt up.  And I bet there are girls who'd look down on that sort of motive."

"Well, I'm not one of those old-fashioned prudes," Christa said sharply.  "It's a new world now.  I'm not a virgin, I like sex, that's normal, and anyone who doesn't agree with me needs to wake up and join the 21st century."

I met Brandon's eyes, surprised.  Christa?  Militant?

"And besides," Christa said, "now I'm making an impact.  Too many people just don't notice me—and the people who do, they're the wrong kind."

"I guess that explains your massive repertoire of sexual experience," said Sajel, so smoothly that Christa missed the sarcasm.  I almost would've too, if I hadn't known Sajel for years.  Why did she think Christa was lying about that?

"I don't understand why nobody would look at you," Arie said, "you're really pretty."

"Thanks," Christa said, smiling and pleased.

"And you, like, actually have boobs," Arie added.

"Oh, Christ," Derek said.

"Arie, hon, we've been over this," Meredith said.

"What, what," Christa said, her eyes darting from person to person, confused.

"Arie thinks her boobs are tiny," I explained.  I don't know what that girl's on, sometimes.  They aren't.  There's nothing wrong with them at all.

"That's nonsense," Christa said immediately.  "Arie, they're very nice boobs."

"Now if you were me, on the other hand," Meredith said, a dry smile on her face.

"Yes, but you look good too," Arie retorted.  "Everyone loves your face.  They all think you're cute."  To which Meredith didn't know what to say.  I think they're all stoned—I honestly don't see what's so pretty about her face.  It's kinda pointy; she has a really prominent chin, enough that it almost makes a dimple with her lower lip, and some crazy cheekbones.  But everyone else likes it.  I mean, it's practically school-wide unanimous.  So, that shut Meredith down.

"Okay, look," said Derek, "let's just put this to rest once and for all.  Arie, what—  Never mind, you're not gonna tell me.  Arie, stay still."  He pulled the back of her shirt up.  "36B."

Arie's eyes grew wide when she realized what Derek had just done.  But Sajel immediately said, "Well, I shouldn't be telling you perverts this, but I'm about a 32A, sometimes a B.  Depends on the brand, maybe, or what time of the month it is."

To my surprise, Christa volunteered.  "32A."

"Hah," said Meredith, grinning.  "Beat you all.  30AA."

"And we have a winner," Brandon said, smiling and looking into her eyes, and put his arms around her and gave her a big kiss.  Gag.  Those two.  Alarmingly, Christa was giving them that look that means she thinks it's cute.  Cute, my ass.  Get a room before you contaminate the world with love bubbles.

"And weren't you saying that sometimes you need a C instead, depending on the circumstances?" Derek said.

"You're actually the biggest here," Sajel said, grinning.  "So no more whining, bitch."

"Aww," Arie said.

"And if we find our stats scrawled on a bathroom stall somewhere, we're killing all three of you to be safe," Sajel said.

"Ooh!" said Arie.  "I'll help!"

"And Arie," Meredith said, "I think your response during The Program was a little bit biased.  People...  Well, people think you're weird sometimes.  If you hadn't had that stigma, you know you would've gotten a lot of attention otherwise.  There are a lot of breast-men out there."

"Did somebody call my name," I asked cheerily.

"Dude," Brandon said, his arm around Meredith's waist, "last week you said you were an ass man."

"I'm an everything man," I said, shrugging.  "Female in general."

"Heh.  I hear ya, brother," Brandon said, and we high-fived.  Meredith looked somewhere between irked and amused.

"Well," said Christa.  "I should probably go talk to my friends and assure them I haven't been killed or anything.  Thanks, guys.  It was nice talking to you."

"It was nice talking to you," Brandon offered diplomatically.  "Drop by any time, we're always here."

Christa set off, heading up into Norter wing.  Before she reached the first row of lockers, somebody had already accosted her with a Rule Three.  We all watched for a minute as he pawed at her tits.

"She's a nice girl," Meredith said.

"Very nice," Brandon said.

"I hadn't realized I shared so many classes with her," Sajel remarked.  "But now that she's naked..."

"I guess people weren't noticing her in general," Meredith said.  "I mean, she's pretty, but...  Sometimes it takes that extra something."

"Yeah, like naked," Derek said dryly.

"She does have nice tits, though," Sajel said.  "Maybe 10% too small, but just the right shape."

Derek scoffed.  "What's a girl doing looking at tits?"

"Hon, who's more competent to judge?" Arie drawled.  "The ones who's drooling over 'em, or the one who has 'em?"

Christa's naked ass twitched from side to side as she walked.  One thing I did like was her haircut—short.  I dunno why, it's just my taste.  And that smile was nice too.  And the way she just absorbed everything...  So calm.  Couldn't make her jump if yr life depended on it.

"What do you think, Zach," Brandon asked.

I wasn't paying attention.  Something came out of my mouth.  "I dunno, I don't think she's my type."

After that, it took about five seconds for me to realize everyone was staring at me.  "What?" I said.

"Well, I kinda meant about who'd be competent to judge," Brandon said, "but..."

"If she's not your type, why are you staring," Arie asked.

"I..." I said.

"Well, she is the first naked woman he's seen in almost ten days," Sajel said, "maybe his hormones are overwhelming him."

"Yeah, but even then he doesn't stare like that," Brandon said.  "I'm not sure he was even listening to us."

"I think Christa would be good for you," Meredith said.

Everyone looked at her for a second.  Including me.

"Wow," Sajel said.  "Meredith's right for once in her life.  Christa would be a marked improvement over the girls you normally date, in that she has brain cells."

"Very much not airhead," Derek agreed.

"Hey, what's wrong with the airheads?" I protested.

"You just explained it," Derek grinned.

"Well, so, maybe they can't hold like a philosophical discourse or somethin," I said.  "I'm not looking for quantum physics.  I wanted that, I'd date a textbook."

"So what are you looking for?" Meredith said.

"You have to ask," Brandon said.  He pointed between my legs.  Meredith's eyebrows went up, and she nodded.

"What, so what," I said.  "What's wrong with sex?"

"Zach, there's more to life than sex," Brandon said, grinning from ear to ear.

Yeah right.  Maybe for him, but he's a freak.  What's up with him, anyway.  What's up with all of them.  Just because I'm looking at someone I've never looked at before.  That isn't any reason to, like, interrogate me.

Only, I was asking the same questions they were.  So, what's up with this Christa girl?  Why am I staring?  Why does it make me glad to know that someone approves of me staring?  And what am I gonna do if she doesn't put out?

You're in it big time, Zachary Crane.  Big time.

M.2

I was really glad when I got the letter.  My parents weren't really amused.  "Christa Mackenzie Sternbacher!  Young lady, why are you tearing around the house like an overexcited dog!"  Honestly, though, I didn't care—I had gotten into The Program!  For once I'd have a chance to shine!

Hi, I'm Christa Sternbacher, and I'm naked in school.

You have to understand, people tend to overlook me.  Meredith, Sajel, Brandon, Arie—they've described the same.  We're not really sure what goes on; maybe it's some unexplained scientific phenomena.  But there are some people who are simply good at blending into the walls.  The problem is, it's not always a conscious effort.  Me, I can't make myself noticed.  It just doesn't happen, no matter how much I try.  I do well in school, no one sees.  I play well in the orchestra, no one sees.  I bring home good grades, no one sees.  It's really getting to be ridiculous.

So it's time for desperate measures.  Like taking all your clothes off.

Megan and Deborah already knew what was going on, because I'd come back to our normal hideout in the little courtyard between Norter B and C wings and the Norter Administration buildings.  The Norter complex, seen from above, is this big sort of square, bisected from left to right.  The bottom side of the square is Norter A; Norter B is the one that cuts across.  The top of the square is connected with the right side; they're technically one building, but the top is called Norter C, and the side called Norter D, to save confusion.  And then the left side of the square is two smaller buildings, one with such things as the Nurse's office, and the other a population locus known simply as the Student Lounge.  That's where we congregate, near the door to that building.  And that's where I found Meg and Debbie, even though there were only a few minutes of break left.

"Hey, Christa," Megan said.  "Where've you been?"

"Over at Stetsen," I said.  "My Program buddy is Zachary Crane, and I was talking to him and his friends."

"Zachary Crane," Megan said, looking skeptical, and I can't say I blamed her.  That boy is...  Well, when he opens his mouth, you're never sure if he's going to produce something obscene or just stupid.

"I still can't believe you're doing this," Debbie said.  "You're actually walking around naked in school."  She's actually a little shorter than I am, and kind of broad—not, like, overly so, but she's...  Quite substantial, let's just say.  She's very mild; sometimes I think the sexual revolution of the past few decades has totally passed her by.  I mean, she's aware of the new standards, but they never fail to shock her.

I shrugged.  "Hey, we gotta attract the boys somehow."

"Yeah, but...  That's kind of blatant, isn't it?" Megan asked.  She's more with the times, but she'd still rather play conservatively.  She's thin, and quite tall—probably as tall as Zach—and willowy; the cast of her eyebrows and the shape of her chin and lips make her look like she's constantly about to start weeping.  She has lovely long dark brown hair—about the same color mine used to be before I bleached it.  I can't decide if I like being a blonde more.  Blondes turn more eyes, I think, but nothing seems to work for me, so, who knows.

"I guess it is," I said.  "But...  It's pretty cool, too.  I mean, it's nice to have the sun shining down on all of you.  Feels really good."

Deb and Meggie looked at me like I'd spawned a third ear or something.  I think the one thing I have over them that lets me do this Program thing is a secure body-image: I'm okay with myself.  Clearly, there's something wrong with me, because I'm not turning eyes the way I should be, but I'm okay with myself.  Megan and Deborah aren't.  Debbie's...  Well, society isn't as fond of large people; that's just the facts.  And Megan is just really self-conscious.  It doesn't help either of them.

And while they're okay with sex, they don't really want to draw attention to themselves in that way.  At least, not impersonal public scrutiny.  They don't want to think about that.  So I couldn't exactly tell them how tingly it was to feel the breeze whispering between my legs.  They'd have had an aneurysm apiece.

All too soon, the bell rang, and it was off to more classes.  The teacher was a Mrs. Haynes, and the class was called Comparative World Religions.  It's a purely scientific, objective discussion, but people of the appropriate faiths are often asked for eyewitness reports.  Hey, nowadays when we say the Pledge of Allegiance, it's a huge gaggle of noises—instead of "under God," people are allowed to substitute any deity they want.  Of course Zach tends to make jokes about it—I think once he said "under chicken."  He's so disrespectful.

Yes, Zach is in this class with me.  With me, and Meredith, and Sajel, and this other girl that they've pointed out to me named Jane Myers.  According to scuttlebutt, she used to date Brandon.  Which says a lot about him, I think.  She's so...  Representative.  I mean, she could look better if she wanted to, but she doesn't; she sticks to her own guns, her own beliefs.  And I think Brandon liked that about her—he liked her integrity, even though it means she looks like a train wreck and gets nervous about kissing him.  We "honors track" students end up in a lot of the same classes, so I've shared quite a few classes with Jane and had some chances to talk to her.  She's nice, and generally friendly, but really touchy sometimes.

"Hmm, I see I have a pair of Program participants to work with today," Mrs. Haynes said.  The overhead flourescent lights were dim and a slide projector gave vague illumination to the room.  Mrs. Haynes stood just to one side of that square of light.  "I believe the procedure is for me to ask if either of you two need relief?"

"Actually, I do, Mrs. Haynes," Zach said.  I looked over at him—and suddenly I wasn't really sure I trusted him.  He was reclining back in his seat and there was a strange light in his eyes.

"I see," said Mrs. Haynes.  "Class, is there anyone who would like to assist Zach?"

"Actually," said Zach, "I would like to ask Christa."

Now everyone's eyes were on me.  Especially Sajel's, and Meredith's.  Further away, further up the classroom, Jane looked on with an expression on her face that I couldn't read.  I felt a little confused.  Why was everybody staring at me like that?  So he wanted me to help him out.  I'm sure weirder things have happened.  Like, they're still telling stories about the time Shannon asked Steve to help her out.  (They're the two seniors who went in the fall, with Arie and Brandon.)  I mean, it's been six months, but they still whisper about it in the halls.  Next to that, how was this a big deal?

And then Zach, sitting there, that strange smirk gone from his face, looking at me, totally serious.  "It should be easy for you, right?  You've been with tons of guys, you said."

And that really cemented it, because I couldn't very well let him catch me in that lie, right?  Because, of course, I hadn't been with tons of guys; I hadn't even been with one; the comment had been sheer bravado and even then I was starting to wonder why I'd said it.  But, Program Partner or not, I wasn't going to let Zach get me.

"Sure," I said, shrugging.  Couldn't hurt.  Besides, I'm as curious as anyone else—I've never handled a real live you-know-what before.  I have to admit, I was kind of excited.  —Intellectually, I mean.  Well, and maybe a tiny bit the other way too.

As I stood up, Sajel's eyes flashed from me to Zach, and she leaned over to Meredith and whispered something I couldn't hear, and Meredith's eyes went from me to Zach, and she nodded.  I didn't understand it.  If I had heard, I wouldn't've understood it anyway.  I hadn't been there when the term was defined.  But I found out what was said later, and it was totally appropriate.

What Sajel whispered was, "Bitchinger."

Zach, grinning, stood up and preceded me to the front of the classroom.  When he got there, he turned around, a showman's grin on his face, his arms spread wide, as if to say, ta-da.

His penis swished with the momentum of his turn and then flopped back to rest.  It seemed very small and not exactly prominent.  Either my (admittedly limited) knowledge of anatomy was all wrong, or...

"Uh, Zach," Meredith said.  "You don't look very hard to me."

"Maybe that's just how big it normally gets," Sajel observed, and the class—predominately female—tittered.

"Zach, what's going on here," someone asked.  It took me a minute to place the voice.  Jane.  She was sitting in the front row and she looked quite angry.

"Well, I do need relief," Zach said.  "There's just a certain preliminary that I'm going to need help on first."

"You lied to me," I said.

His eyes hid nothing.  "You said you'd help me."

"If you needed help," I spat.

He shrugged.  "I need help."

"Forget it."

His eyes drilled into me.  "You said you would.  Don't tell me you're gonna back out now."

All right.  Yes, I did say I would.  I don't know how he cued in on it, but it's important to me that I keep my word.  Too many people have hurt me in the past because it was convenient for them.  I refuse to be that kind of person.  I keep my promises, I do what I say I will.  I try to be considerate of others.

Even idiots like Zach.

The good news is, it was over quickly.  I had barely touched him and he was already hardening; in a few moments he was obviously at full mast, his cock tapping vague time to his heartbeat, slightly curved, arching there in the air.  His skin was soft, but I could feel the warmth underneath, the hardness, the contained pressure that hinted at the explosion that would shortly occur.  His head was spongy, a darkish red, a large mushroom tip that gave under my fingers and made him moan.

I was fascinated.  This was undoubtedly the most incredible thing I had ever had a chance to work with.  It begged to me, it cried out, to be touched and held and loved.  To be kissed, even.  It made my mouth water.  I wondered if he'd object if I—but, no, I was supposed to be mad at him.  I wouldn't touch it with my mouth; I would just rub it until he came.  Too bad.

The end came quickly.  Maybe he really had needed relief.  But I had only been going for a little while, my hand stroking up and down his shaft, before he groaned and I felt his cock stiffen—and then his cum was rushing out in jets, out onto the linoleum-tile floor, while he throbbed in my hand and I stared, entranced.  His cum was white.  I could smell it from where I stood.

Wow.  Did I do that?

"Oh dear," Mrs. Haynes was saying.  She handed Zach a box of tissues.  Zach was standing stock-still, staring but not seeing, breathing hard.

I sighed.  "Here, I'll do it."  It was half a minute's work to wipe it all up.  I wasn't sure if that was a lot of cum or not.  Some of it soaked through the tissue and got on my fingers—that unmistakable smell, somewhere between chlorine and plastic.  Not so savory.  I hope it tastes better than it smells; I hope to try that too someday.  Maybe soon.

When I stood up to throw the tissues away, hands appeared on me.  One landed on my shoulder, the back and wrist covered in sparse, coarse hair.  The other curled under my arm, onto my breast.  "Hey," Zach was saying, his voice loud behind me.  "I want—"

Anger surged back.  You want.  I spun out of his grip, leveling a hand at him—the soggy tissues clenched in a wad, in the air between us.  "Don't touch me."  'You want'.  Yeah, that sounds about right.

"Whoa," said Zach, startled.

"Don't touch me," I said again.  Jeez.  Pushes me into jacking him off, and then thinks he can just grab my boobs whenever he feels like it.  Excuse me.  "Here, get rid of these yourself."  I threw the tissues at him.  They bounced off his

chest and onto the floor.

Then I flung myself back into my seat, and watched—along with the rest of the class—as he walked slowly to the trash can, dropped them in, and then subsided back to his desk.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Well," said Mrs. Haynes, evolving out of the patchy darkness of the room.  "Thank you for that, err...  Informative display, Zach, Christa.  Now, class, as you'll recall, the homework was to read..."

I was squirming.  "Are you okay," Sajel asked.

"I'm fine," I said, fretting.  I was not fine.  But I wasn't about to let anyone know that I needed relief.  Now that I had time to work past the moment, and past my anger, I realized that the whole episode had rather turned me on.  In retrospect, I wasn't surprised, or very upset: I'd always figure that getting to handle someone's prick would probably get me wet in a hurry, and since I intended to do it quite often, I was glad my prediction was true.  (Especially since, preferably, whichever boy I was with would offer to return the favor.)  The problem was, trying to sit still and upright with my pussy lips kissing the wooden surface of the chair was a little difficult.  And distracting.  The Program rules forbid me from taking care of things myself; and besides, I rather doubted my ability to get myself off without attracting all sorts of attention.

Stupid Zach.

Thankfully, by the time class ended and we had to go, my libido had dried up.  And nobody asked to feel me up as we walked.  Which was, actually, probably a good thing, because Jane and I both have Chemistry AP next, and we tend to walk together.  I like her.  I don't know what Zach's and Brandon's and everybody's opinion of Jane is.  I figure, Brandon had his reasons, and Jane had her reasons, and what they do with themselves just isn't my business.

"I'm surprised you said yes to him," Jane said.

Ugh.  Zach.  "Can we not bring that up, please," I gritted.

"Well, sorry," Jane retorted.  "I was just going to say that if I were you—"

I rounded on her, suddenly angry.  What makes this ridiculous prude think she has the right to judge me?  "You wouldn't've touched his dick with a ten-foot pole?"

"No," Jane said, holding her ground.  "That's what I would've done if I were me.  If I were you...  I would've have wanted him lying to me.  Beyond that..."  Distance drained from her voice.  "I dunno what I would've done.  I'm not you."

"Oh," I said.  I would've...  Well, who knows.  I remembered suddenly the soft, alive feeling of his dick in my hand, and felt a tinge of hunger in my mouth.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's all right," Jane said, evidently unconcerned.

I envy Jane sometimes.  She doesn't do much for people physically—her hair alternately curls and tangles into itself; you run your fingers through it and you realize just how badly she takes care of it.  She slouches a lot.  She dresses no-nonsense, not drawing attention to her assets—almost doing the opposite.  And she has these crazy hips.  I've never understood them: they're just really wide.  She doesn't have an hourglass figure as much as she does a diamond figure.  (As Zach once joked: "Well, she's not gonna have any problems giving birth.")  I've met her mother and her younger sister, and they're both shaped exactly the same way.  I guess it's just a family thing.  The point is, she's not really attractive.

But if she wanted to be...  I mean, it's impossible to tell, because of the way she leans over, but I bet her breasts could give Arie a run for her money.  (What is up with Arie, anyway?  She's got great boobs.)  And I bet you could do some incredible things with that hair—it's this awesome dull gold color—and if she were to stand up straight for once, with something approaching real posture, it'd do wonders.  And though she doesn't do it often, when she smiles, I absolutely know why Brandon asked her out.

She has all this, and she lets it go to waste.  I mean, I know she'd rather attract someone for her brains and her personality, as opposed to by T&A, but she's turned "don't emphasize T&A" into "total physical neglect."  And then here's me, wearing things that make me look good, keeping up with the Joneses, doing everything I can to turn eyes...  And it doesn't work.  I mean, I'm sixteen and nobody's ever asked me out before.  Versus Jane, who had a boyfriend for close to a year.  And I bet you she didn't have to wait until somebody practically blackmailed her to touch her first dick.

(Yes, I know I was wrong.  I didn't at the time.  Keep your shirt on.  I'll be set straight in a few minutes.  You have to realize that Jane and I didn't know each other well at the time.  We were casual friends—we talked sometimes, but we rarely said anything.  That Monday was the first time I ever got a look into her psyche.)

Sometimes, I thought to myself, the world is just not fair.  But are you gonna whine about it? or do something about it?  Something drastic, preferably.  Like taking off all your clothes.

"You're really brave, you know," Jane said.

"How so," I asked.  What for?  For giving Zach relief?

"Well, I mean..."  Jane gestured expansively.  "Look at you.  You've got no clothes on."

"Ah, I'm sure everybody could do it," I said.

"I couldn't," Jane said.  Her eyes were on me, intense.  "I'd die of embarrassment."

"Well, there's a simple answer to that," I said, covering my shock.  I'd kind of expected her to be a little more hip than Debbie and Meg.  "Just don't sign up for The Program."

"I didn't," Jane said.  "Thankfully."

"Why don't you think you could do it," I asked.

"Well..."  Jane looked down at the sidewalk.  "I'm...  Just not a believer in that sort of promiscuity.  It's not for me."

"You don't want people to fondle you," I asked.

"God, no," Jane said, coloring.

"What, what's wrong with fondling," I asked, half teasing, half curious.  "It feels good.  Didn't you like it when Brandon touched your boobs?"

"Uhm, no," Jane said fiercely, "because he never did."

"Whoa," I said.  Okay, scratch that about the touching-first-dick thing.  It had never occurred to me that Brandon could be such a pussy...  "I'm kind of surprised he's dating Meredith, then, she's probably too adventurous for him.  Unless she dragged him into bed with her and convinced him it was okay or something..."

"Well, if they want to do that, that's their problem," Jane retorted.  "If that's the kind of girl Brandon wants, I'm glad I broke up with him."

Oh!  Okay, that makes more sense.  Yeah, Brandon seriously hadn't struck me as being that timid.  But I also hadn't ever considered that a girl—any modern, knowledgeable girl—would actually be so totally guarded about her sexuality.  She doesn't know what she's missing, but she's determined to miss it anyway?  Well, I guess, if that's really what floats her boat...  The funny thing is, I probably should've anticipated it, because of Megan and Deborah.  I mean, they're really squeamish about it too.  But at least they've had their boobs fondled.  Deborah even jerked a guy off once.  When she says that cum makes her skittish, she's not talking from imagination or apprehension.

I'm not sure where my attitude comes from, to be honest.  I'm more like Debbie and Meg—and Jane—under normal circumstances.  I mean, Jane and I eventually became very good friends, mostly because we have so many things in common: grades, ambition, love of family, things like that.  So why was I so gung-ho about sex, when all the others weren't?  I didn't know at the time; actually, I never even thought about it at the time; all this came later.  The conclusions I came to, eventually, were simply that...  Well, I wanted to know.  If you look in the Bible at the stuff about people having sex (it's mentioned in passing), it says stuff like "And Adam knew his wife."  'Knew'?  Is that how they thought of it then?  It's certainly how I think of it.  I wanted to know—and not just know other people, but myself.  And I had reached the point where being self-taught just wasn't yielding anything more, and to learn more I had to put myself in the path of somebody else and see what they could teach me.

That, and I really, really wanted a boyfriend.  We'll get to that shortly.

Our next class was Chemistry.  I've heard stories about crazy things that happen to you in science classes when you're in The Program.  Thankfully, none of that happened in my Chemistry class, because sex generally doesn't affect things down on a molecular level.  Though one person did suggest a litmus test to see if vaginal fluid was acidic or basic.  Jane looked vaguely repulsed.  I vetoed the idea immediately, on grounds of potential paper cuts.  Reasonable Request does not cover risk of injury.  There probably wasn't any risk—those little litmus strips are really soft, they're almost like gauze—but the very idea was enough to get people to shut up.  In this way the rest of the period passed calmly.

Lunch, though, was anything but calm.  Because of the vagaries of space assignment at our school, the sports equipment shed is adjacent to the Student Lounge—little more than a closet whose door opens to the outside, but enough.  And that's where Megan and Deborah and I usually loiter.  There's a pretty consistent stream of jocks that pass us by every day (I imagine Zach and his friends have to deal with the same thing with the science nerds).  And remember how I said I wanted to into The Program to start attracting guys's attention?

Well...  It worked.

Most of the guys who stopped by had a reasonable request or two.  I think my boobs got more attention in that lunch period than they had for the rest of my life.  And a couple of guys ran their hands over my pussy lips as well, which was very nice, enough that I was willing to forgive them for not asking permission first.  I just hope they didn't have any sorts of weird infections or anything.  Sure, the Medical Revolution gave us wide-spectrum antibiotics and antivirals, but that whole area is still pretty delicate.  Meanwhile, off to one side, Deborah and Megan looked vaguely scandalized.  I decided that that was their problem.  I was having the time of my life.

The real highlight was Mark Spencer, though.  Who actually addressed us by name.  Even Meg and Debbie couldn't help squealing over that one.  Mark Spencer is so hot.  He looks like Leonardo DiCaprio, except that he's not drowning in the Atlantic.  And he wasn't just out to cop a feel—no Rule Three from him.  And he knew our names.  I had no idea!

"Hello, Christa.  Debbie.  Megan."  He gave us each a nod.  "How are you fine ladies making out today?"

In writing down this line of dialogue, I have just realized how much subtext there could've been.  But he wasn't like that.  I think most other people wouldn't've been able to say that with a straight face, but he seriously did.  That's just what Mark is like.  He can be really sincere and honest.

Megan giggled.  She's tall and she likes to look like one of those girls on the fashion magazines—lidded eyes, lots of eye-shadow, very white skin—but right now she bent over and pressed a fist to her mouth and giggled, her unflappable shell totally demolished.  Next to her, Debbie simply stared.

"We're just fine, thank you," I said calmly.

"Christa, I must say, I'd never realized you were such a beautiful girl," he said.

"Oh, well," I said.  "Thank you."  I knew he was flattering me.  I knew.  But it's perfectly nice to hear, you know?  "Maybe someday you'll go through The Program and we'll find out how beautiful you are."

It was a pretty strange thing to say, but he nodded as if it made perfect sense.  "Maybe."  A pause.  "Well, I'd better get going.  See you girls around."

"Bye Mark!" said Megan.

"Oh my God," Deb squeaked as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Did that seriously just happen," Megan asked.  Her eyes were wide and suddenly she slumped to a sitting position against the wall.  "I can't believe he stopped and talked to us!"

"He's been passing us by for years," Debbie said.

"They all have!"

"Well, girls," I said airily.  "Such are the benefits of appearing in school naked.  People begin to notice you."  And Megan and Debbie exchanged glances, and I thought they actually might be considering it.  They may be weird in some ways, but when it comes to boys, they're absolutely average.

As for me, I had my own considerations to make.  All this increased boy attention...  I mean, wow!  For someone who's never been kissed, that's a really good thing, you know?  I think it's time to get kissed already!  And it looks like it's going to  happen!  How cool is that?

Looks like smooth sailing, Sternbacher, for the first time in a long, long while.

M.3

Okay, I don't get what was up with Christa.  She was being such a snob.  See if I ever try to thank her again.  I mean, a girl gives you a hand job, you wanna return the favor, right?  Especially when you got a crush on her.  Great way to win points, you know.  So I'm like, "I wanna," and she's like, "Don't touch me, bitch," and I'm like, "Well, fuck this!"  Sheesh.  There may be all sorts of advantages to being Zach Crane, naked in school, but polite Program buddies ain't one of em.

After that class I had to head off to Biology.  And that was not fun.  I mean, there's only so much you can stand and take up there.  Especially when, since your normal buddy is missing, they lump you up with Louise Malatesta, who looked wide-eyed and very acne'd.  I've heard stories about really crazy things happening in Biology periods at other schools—I think over at Westport, somebody like fell in love with the Biology teacher?  Or was that the one who fell in love with his partner?  Or was that the one who fell off the roof of the Biology building?  Well, there are crazy stories, let's just leave it at that.  And I did not want to start some new ones.  Not with goddamn Louise Malatesta standing there.

Now, if Christa had been there...  But, hey: if wishes were fishes, then everything would smell bad.  Imagine how many dead fish there would be lying around.  And, like, you could just be standing there, and then suddenly this fish pops into existence and starts flopping around, because somebody somewhere made a wish.  Be kinda weird, you know?  You're just walkin around mindin yr own business, and then suddenly, fump—face full of thrashing tuna.  God, if somebody made a big wish, a whale might appear and, like, squash everybody.  Yeah, I'm kinda glad wishes aren't fishes.  I wouldn't've minded having Christa in my Biology class though.

Christa must've been hanging with her friends over lunch, because we didn't see her.  Nor did we see Tim and Kelsey; they've just haven't showed up as much as the year went on, for whatever reasons they have.  So it was just the six of us, the usual six, which was okay with me.  I think Tim and Kels started feeling left out when it turned into two couples.  Which, I can understand, only...  It's not true.  As in, they weren't being left out.  Oh, sure, Arie and Derek sometimes go off into their own little world (okay, sometimes they go off on their own, period, and when they come back they always look very smug and satisfied), but not that often, and Brandon and Meredith even less so.  Most of the time it's just a big circle of friends where there happen to be two pairs holding hands.  But I guess even that gets annoying sometimes.  I know I used to get jealous.  More of Derek than Brandon, really—I don't think Brandon gets much poontang nowadays.  I don't understand it.  Word is that Meredith practically lives at his house some weeks, and they aren't getting it on?  What gives?

So, anyway.  That's Brandon and Meredith being their normal stupid selves, and Arie and Derek being their normal horny selves, and Sajel just sort of standing off to one side laughing, which is what she does a lot...  And then me.  And I, at least, was getting some action.

...Sort of.

I did get Rule Three'd a couple of times, but nobody stayed around long.  I don't get it.  You wanna get a look at the Crane family jewels, go ahead—I ain't gonna stop you.  But why get scared off?  It doesn't bite.  I don't bite.

As I dropped back into my spot in the circle we had formed as we ate, Brandon gave me a look.  "Sheesh, Zach, tone it down a bit, you know?"

"Dude, what are you talking about," I asked.

"Tone it down," Sajel asked caustically, peering over her sandwich at me.  "As in, cut it out, stop it, quit it, give up?  That tone it down?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said.

"That's obvious," Sajel snorted.  She turned to the others.  "You should've seen what he did to Christa."

"He did something to Christa?" Arie asked.

"What!" I said, exasperated.

"What happened?" Brandon asked.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing," I said.

Meredith looked Brandon square in the eye.  "He basically tricked her into giving him relief when he didn't need it," she said.

Brandon's face showed nothing.

"And she went along with this," Derek said, disbelieving.

"She did, for reasons that surpass my understanding," Sajel said.  "They must have had some sort of agreement."

"They were actually thinking about making that a rule," Brandon said, his eyes still far and away, his face giving nothing.  "After what happened to me in English.  Back in January they called me in, and Arie, and all the rest from the fall, and asked if we thought they should implement a rule."  Suddenly his eyes were back, and he looked at us again.  "Sort of a Rule Four-and-a-Half.  If your buddy asks for relief, you have to volunteer."

"It's a good idea," Derek said.

"Did they implement it?" Sajel said.

"No," Brandon said.  He and Arie exchanged glances.  "They eventually decided it would sort of defeat the purpose of The Program.

Sajel snorted.  "You and your little speeches.  Depriving people the world over of sexual release."

"What, I don't get it," Derek said, looking confused.  "You lost me a long time ago."  Oh, yeah: he hadn't been in that class.  How had he gone this long without hearing about it?

"Brandon stood up and asked for relief on his Wednesday," Meredith explained.  She sat with her legs folded to one side, leaning on an arm.  "No one volunteered.  Which was sad for him, of course, but Brandon turned it right around.  He turned the whole Program on its ear—he said it wasn't just about the participants getting used to their sexuality, but about everybody getting used to the participant's sexuality.  Everyone's participating, even if only a few people are naked.  So the people who won't volunteer are being..."  She shrugged.  "Non-patriotic or whatever.  Non-Program-otic.  Someone bring back Senator McCarthy."

...Who?

"If you had somebody who had to give you relief, who was obligated to give you relief," said Brandon, who apparently knew who Senator McCarthy was, "then all the other clothed people might as well not be there.  So they decided not to implement that rule."

Derek nodded his comprehension.

"Of course, people can still form such alliances out of sympathy," Brandon said, looking at me, and suddenly I thought I might have his support in this.

"Well, yeah, of course, man," I said.  "I mean, I don't want to be caught up there with no one volunteering."

"I wouldn't want you to be either," Brandon said, infinitely gentle.  "But still.  After you formed that partnership, you used it against her."

"What!" I said.  No, of course not, I hadn't...  Well, of course I had!  What else was it for?  You try to trick them, they try to trick you.  That's what life's all about, man.

Brandon's eyes drilled into me.  "Somebody offered to do you a favor, out of the kindness of her own heart, and you used it to force her into doing something she didn't want to do."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I said, turning away.

"That's like rape, man," Brandon said.  And the worst part was how he said it—he wasn't accusing me or anything.  He was just stating a fact.  A mathematical equation.  If [this], [this] and [this], then...  "It's not exactly a nice thing to do."

"Yeah, well, she's free to do the same thing to me," I said angrily.

"Is that what you want," Meredith asked me.  I didn't look at her either.  The pitying tone of her voice was bad enough.  "You want to fight her over this for the rest of the week?"

"Sure, why the hell not," I retorted, feeling ashamed, angry at being made to feel ashamed.

"Forget it," Sajel said.  "He's being an asshat.  It's pointless.  Meredith, you think you're be ready for that Haynes test next week?"

"I hope so," Meredith said.  "We haven't covered all that much stuff in class since the last one, and I still have a week to prepare—"

"Hey, don't ignore me like that!" I shouted.  Bastards.  Just ignore me and leave me stewing there just because they don't like what I—  "Don't treat me like a child!"

Sajel looked at me, her eyes glittering.  "Then don't act like one."

Stupid poopy-head.  I am not acting like a child.

This Program thing isn't all it shaped up to be.

The next class was surprisingly tolerable—it's History, and I've never been one for that sort of stuff.  Thankfully, the teacher limited it to 20th-Century America, so at least we had World Wars and things.  Right now we were just getting into the Sixties and all that hippie shit.  Cool stuff.

What was really gonna kill me was my last class of the day: Art.  Brandon told me to watch out for Mr. Trineer, though he didn't quite explain why.  Besides that, Meredith's in that class.  And so's Christa.  Two people who supposedly call themselves my friend.  And then me naked.  Gee, I wonder where this is going.

"Ah, Program participants," said Mr. Trineer, a disturbingly feral grin showing behind his glasses.  "I'm sure we'll have an interesting week."

See what I mean?

"Now," said Mr. Trineer, once he had both Christa and I up at the front of the class.  "Do either of you need relief?"

"I'm all right," I said.  I turned to Christa. "Do you?  I'd like—"

She turned her back on me.  "I don't want to hear it."

—to apologize.  And return the favor.  I'm sorry for being an ass earlier.  Oh, you do need relief?  Well hang on, sister, it's gonna be one hell of a ride.

"All right, well," said Mr. Trineer, clapping his hands and rubbing them together—probably because the temperature in the room had cooled about fifty degrees.  "Let's get started, shall we?"

Mr. Trineer posed us one at a time while he taught the class the basics of life-drawing.  Half the time I'd be looking up over the heads of the class, assembled in rows at the long tables, stuck in whatever weird stance Mr. Trineer put me in; the other half I was standing off to one side, watching Christa get the same treatment.  I got a lot of looks at her in profile, as she stood there looking sweet and pleasant like she always does.  I tried not to look.  I really tried.  But every now and then my mind would drift off, and I'd stop concentrating, and whenever I came back to myself, there she'd be, right in the middle of my gaze.  Her tits sometimes, her ass sometimes.  Once even her face.  And then Mr. Trineer would say, "Mr. Crane, if you please," and I'd jump, and we'd switch.

Christa gave me an angry look when we passed each other, and I realized I was hard.  Crap, I hadn't even noticed.  And the look on her face meant she knew why I was hard.  Crap.

Helpless, I looked out over the students again.  Meredith met my gaze, and her eyes were surprisingly sympathetic.

On the way out, I was finally able to catch her as she was walking away.  "Christa."

"I have nothing to say to you," she said, without turning.

"Yeah, well, I have something to say to you," I said.

"There's nothing I want to hear from you either," she said.  She wasn't even angry about it—just polite, and cold, cold like midnight at the north pole.

So, with no other choice left, I just opened my mouth and shoved the words out.  As fast as I could, so that they wouldn't stick in my throat or catch on my teeth.  "What about, 'I'm sorry'?"

Now she did turn, her hair shifting with loose momentum.  Her eyes focused on me, unreadable, incomprehensible.  I met her gaze and tried not to start sweating.

"Keep talking," she said.

"I made a mistake," I said.  Christ, but it doesn't get easier to say the second time.  "I shouldn't've done...  What I did... in Religion class.  I'm sorry.  I promise I won't do it again."

"Wow," Christa said expressionlessly, "every time I try to say that, it sticks in my throat."

"So don't make me say it again, okay," I retorted.

She stared at me for another moment, things going on behind her eyes that I couldn't understand.  Then she gestured—"Come on"—and we walked down the hallway together.

"So, where are you going next," she asked.

"Basketball practice," I said.  "Locker first, then basketball practice."

"Hmm," she said.  "I'm for orchestra, myself."

"God," I said, "I seem to have surrounded myself with music people.  I can't even play the piano."

"Do you want to," she asked.  "I can teach you."  She was being her usual friendly self—I think she would've offered to teach just about anyone—but something was missing from behind it.  The conviction.  That's sort of the scary thing: normally she means everything she says.  This time, though, I think she was just saying it.

"Naw, it's okay," I said, feeling startled.  She isn't being enthusiastic, is what I was thinking.  For the first time ever, I've seen her not enthusiastic.  Well, I'm not gonna take that offer if she doesn't mean it.  I already made that mistake once.  "Thanks, though."

There was a silence while I thought of something to say.

I finally settled on, "You don't play the piano in the orchestra, do you?"

"Oh, no," she said.  "No.  Clarinet."

"Yeah, I was like, 'Whoa, I didn't know they let piano people do orchestra.'"

It was lame, but it got a laugh from her.  "No," she said.  She fiddled with the combination lock on her locker.  "I started with piano when I was like seven.  Then I got tired of it and a friend of mine got me interested in the clarinet.  And..."  Open came the locker, out came the black case.  She waved it in an amused fashion.  "Here I am."

"Whoa, two instruments," I said.  "You're like a miniature Beethoven or something."

"Yeah right," she said, laughing again, "no way I'll ever be that talented."  She shut her locker.  "Well, I guess...  This is where we split up."

"Oh," I said.  Well.  "Okay."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Zach," she said, and smiled at me—not that normal sort of half-there smile, that pleasant little face she puts on, but a real smile, just beaming...  And all of a sudden I was having a little trouble keeping my knees stiff.

"See ya," I said, and turned away before I spilled myself onto the concrete.

Oh Jesus.

I guess I wasn't paying the slightest attention to the rest of the world, because the next thing I noticed, I was in the gym, warming up for practice.  We had a game on Wednesday and I knew Coach Wolfe would ride us hard.  But that was all in the back of my head, 'cause I was just way zoned out.  When I came to, the guy next to me, Gavin Strickland, grinned and said, "Oh, good, you with us now?"

"How'd you know I was out of it?"

"Quiet down over there, Crane," Coach Wolfe growled without looking up.

Gavin grinned and nodded.  "Because normally Coach has told you to shut up about three times by now."

"You shut up," I said.  Okay, so I make a little noise...  ...Okay, so I make a lot of noise, evidently.  I don't make that much noise, do I?  Sure, maybe I joke around when nothing's going on, but when it's time to get serious, I'm serious.  ...Right?

My god, I have never seen a smile like that.  I mean, sure, she normally has that little thing on her face—sort of a half-smile, like she's going through the motions.  There's no warmth in it.  But that one was...  Just...  Wham.  Grinning.  And it lit up her eyes, and it made her dimples show up—Oh, Christ, she has dimples?  I hadn't even realized.  I guess she never smiled like that before.

I've seen people smile.  Normally it's nothing special.  Meredith, who needs Meredith?  And Sajel has a big smile—white teeth on brown skin, you really notice—but it's nothing like that.  I've even seen smiles like that before—where it's not so much a smile as it is a ray of light, just, like, wham: all the joy one person could have, and it's flooding out.  But still, that never did anything for me.

Except for Christa.

Yeah, okay, uhm.  Has anybody else noticed just how badly Zach Crane has got it right now?

This is not good, okay?  This is Not.  Good.

Just...  Not.

M.4

I'll tell you the truth about it: Zach confuses me.  You can never tell when he's lying, or when he's telling the truth.  Or when he's joking, or when he's being serious.  He wears the same face for all of them.  It makes it hard to understand him.

I'm Christa Sternbacher, and I'm confused.

I mean, what if he was just joking about being sorry?  But, alternately, what if he were telling the truth?  I can't tell one from the other anymore.  I hope he was telling the truth—I like to think that there's some goodness in everybody, but Zach rearranged that in a hurry.  Which is really depressing, you know?  You meet someone, and less than six hours later they're already trying to screw you over.  I'd rather not have to deal with people like that.

Ms. Bickson seemed amused to see me.  "Well.  We instrumentalists certainly seem to be contributing our share of Program participants.  When are we going to see a man naked in orchestra, though?"  Her voice made it a challenge.  We all laughed.  Ms. Bickson has a history of strident feminism.

One of the second violinists teased, "When are we gonna see Trina naked," and there was more laughter.  One of the flautists, a tiny slip of a girl, blushed frantically.  Oh, yeah...  That's Arie Chang's sister.  First Arie, then one of the woodwinds players.  It must seem like The Program's closing in on her.

We generally rehearse in our school's little auditorium—a bit cramped, but good acoustics.  There's only one other clarinetist besides me.  His name is Jerome Fairweather and he's a nice guy, if a little loud sometimes.  We don't really need any more; there's never more than two clarinet parts.  And even the really big fancy orchestras—symphonies and the like—only have four clarinetists.  So Jerome and I are our own little cluster, with the oboes on one side and the bassoons on the other (and Trina, in case you're wondering, on the far side of the oboes).  Really, the whole woodwinds section (all eleven of us) are our own little club, but we tend to sort by instrument too.

(In case you're wondering, we have fifteen violinists—eight in the first section, seven in the second.  And then six violists, four cellists, and two bassists.  Twenty-seven versus eleven, and then sometimes Ms. Bickson still has to ask us to keep it down.  Take that, o mighty string players!)

At present we're learning the Blue Danube waltz by Johann Strauss—I can't describe it here, but everyone's heard it.  Which means we have a pretty big advantage in trying to learn it—we can tell when we mess up.  We're also working on some general patriotic music: Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever, which Ms. Bickson had to rearrange to give the strings something to do, and of course The Star-Spangled Banner.  Last semester we learned tons of Christmas stuff, but it's March now and we can't use that anymore.

Jerome had a lot to say to me.  For instance: "Wow.  Who'd've thought you were such a babe underneath all those clothes."  And: "Maybe I've just been blind, but you're really hot today."  And: "Don't suppose you've learned to play anything besides the clarinet."  Stuff like that.  Which made me smile, because that means it's working.  I mean, Jerome and I are friends, but he's never really shown much interest in me before.  And because he's my friend, I managed to escape from his flirting too.  I mean, with people who aren't your friends, you can't necessarily joke with them.  You never know how they're going to react.  But Jerome I can deal with.

By coincidence, Mr. Gunderson over in the choir room let his singers out for a break the same time Ms. Bickson did, so there was a mess of kids pouring into the little lobby area, climbing over each other to reach the drinking fountain.  There was also a mess of well-wishers and general Rule Three people stopping by to talk to me.  I wanted a drink of water, but it took nearly three minutes of turning and posing and presenting before everyone had gone away and I could finally cross the lobby.

"Looks like you're having fun," Brandon said to me, a trace of wry amusement in his voice.

"Well, I just wanted a drink of water," I said, "not to get mobbed by a bunch of horny choirboys."

"It happens," Brandon said with equanimity.  He smiled.  "Next time you'll just have to race over here and get a drink before anyone has a chance to grab you."

"Oh, great," I moaned.  "Do you have any idea how much my...  Um.  Breasts.  Flap when that happens?"

"It'll certainly get attention," he said, his smile growing.

"Yes, but it hurts," I retorted.  Bounce bounce bounce—but I guess some people have it worse, if they have like double D cups.  I was surprised Brandon hadn't experienced it.  Well, he didn't have boobs.  But he did have...  "Doesn't it hurt your...  You know, your..."  Right, how to say this.  "Doesn't it hurt your balls when you run?"

Brandon's face took on an aspect of puzzlement.  He peered down between his legs for a moment.  "No," he said, shaking his head.  "Why?"

I made a disgruntled noise and took my drink of water.

Later that afternoon, when I had already gotten my clothes on and my mother was driving me home, I was still thinking about that conversation.  Not so much because Brandon was teasing me, but because he hadn't been flirting with me.  It was my first failure in The Program—the first time I hadn't managed to turn someone's head.  And not just anyone's head—Brandon Chambers's, the one who pioneered the way for people like me to take part in The Program—the slightly weird ones that nobody would look at otherwise—whom I respected and admired and...  All right, I had a little bit of a crush on him.

But that was neither here nor there.

My mom swung by and picked me up.  I have my license, but we don't have enough cars for me to drive to school.  There's one for Dad and one for Mom, and I get one of them during weekends if I need to go somewhere.  In the meanwhile Mom has done some wrangling on her work schedules to come in half an hour early, get out half an hour late, and pick me up when orchestra ends.

While I was putting my clothes on, it struck me.  I had worn my favorite canary-yellow blouse, along with a pair of cargo pants in olive drab.  Maybe not the most appropriate wear, but distinctive, enough to catch the eye.  But why had I bothered?  I hadn't worn them all day.

"Hello Christa."  "Hello Mom."  "So, how was school today?"  "Oh, well.  You sure you want to know?"

My mom looked over at me.  Her face is lined, but she's just as active as ever.  "Why would I not want to know what happened in school today?"

"Well, you're driving," I said.  "Maybe I shouldn't tell you until we're out of a life-threatening situation."

Mom pulled the car over and set the emergency brake.  Then she turned her full gaze on me.  "All right, Christa.  What happened."

Well.  That solved that problem.

"Well..." I said carefully.  "I got put into The Program today."

My mom jammed on the brakes—which achieved nothing, of course, since we were pulled over.  But nonetheless.  See, that's why I said she ought to pull over.  I'm such a smart girl.

Once Mom had ensured that the car was out of harm's way, she spun back to me.  "How did this happen?"

"Well, I signed up," I said.

"We never heard about this," she cried.  'We' means her and my father.

"I didn't tell you," I said.

"Why not?" my mother challenged.

"Because I knew you'd try to stop me," I said.

"What self-respecting mother wouldn't!  Letting her daughter parade around naked at school!  I hope nobody's getting any bad ideas!"

"What do you mean by that, Mom?"

"Well, as we used to say: Look, but don't touch.  I hope you're enforcing a strict policy of—"

"Actually, Mom, according to Rule Three, if they want to touch, I have to let them."

Mom let out a sort of squeak.

"And personally," I said, plowing on.  "I don't mind.  I like being touched.  I like that people are looking."

"How could you possibly like being on total display!" my mother cried.

"Because at least anyone's noticing me?" I retorted?

My mother said nothing.  Despite her overreactions at times, we're able to talk, and she knows how I feel, how completely dysfunctional I feel to be sixteen years old and unkissed.  Unless you count all that weird fumbling around with Billy Chao behind the portable classrooms in first grade, and I don't.

"Mom, I'm sixteen," I said.  "Nobody's noticed me for years.  Now they're noticing me.  People who wouldn't give me the time of day a week ago are stopping to tell me they think I'm pretty.  I like that.  I'm tired of being the quiet one nobody thinks about."

Mom's expression softened.  "Then I'm glad for you, Christa.  If it's important to you, then I'm glad."  Her smile faded.  "But please be careful.  I'm sure there are easier ways to get a boy's attention in this world.  And the ones who have only noticed you because you're naked...  Well, be careful of them."

"I will, Mom," I said, smiling.  Of course I'd be careful about them.  I wasn't worried about them.  I knew what they looked like.  They looked like Zach Crane, for instance.  I mean, he's a nice boy, but I know what's going through his mind, and I certainly know to keep my distance from him.  Now.  Mark Spencer, on the other hand...  Or Brandon...  You can just tell when a guy isn't in it for the T&A, and it's them, most definitely.  See?  I can recognize them when they show up.  And once we've become friends, then we can have some fun.  And ta-da, everybody's happy.

See, I thought to myself as Mom pulled the car into traffic, settling back into the bucket seat with a satisfied sigh.  What could go wrong?

Of course, Mom turned out to be right.  But that's a story for another day.