ED AND NATALIE NAKED IN SCHOOL

PART ONE

MONDAY

CHAPTER ONE

# ED

Yeah, I suppose I knew it was coming. And, when I got called down to the office that Monday morning, I knew exactly what it was about.

The Program.

Hey, I’d seen friends go through it—I’d seen them have a good time with it. Two friends even got True Love out of it. (Cool for them, though not something I’m interested it.) And I knew I’d have fun with it. So, I didn’t mind at all.

I’m Ed Bauer. Junior at Westport High School. Charmer, raconteur, man-about-town, all-World third baseman, and all-around nice guy. All that, and I’m cute, too. My friend Lily—she’s my best friend Mike’s girlfriend, and the best high school pitcher I’ve ever seen, guy or girl—calls me a pussyhound. Hey, I don’t have to hound. I just sit back and let ‘em fall in my lap. Whee, lookit dat! So, now I was going to be strutting my awesome Edliness all over Westport in der buff. Somebody hold the girls back, we don’t want a stampede.

Well, no, not really. I’m average-looking, and I don’t know if I’d really be considered charming. I do think I’m a nice guy, and I can play third base, and I do get girls. However, the reason I get girls is pretty simple—I’m funny. That’s one thing I will claim—being funny. Hey, remember “Singing In The Rain”? Only the greatest film ever made. I worship Gene Kelly. I learned to play third base by watching him dance. Seriously—it’s all in the footwork. Anyway, back to “Singing,” Donald O’Connor had it right. “Make ‘em Laugh”. It never fails. I meet a girl, and in ten minutes I’ve got them laughing so hard they can’t breathe—and in twenty minutes, they’re trying to undo my pants. Funny is sexy. I learned that early. It’s a hell of a gift to have.

And I’d need my sense of humor, if I was going to be naked all week. I’m kind of skinny, and I’m tall. I look “gawky”—I’m not, because of the whole third base thing, but I look that way—and moreso naked. Plus, I’m not exactly a giant between the legs. Hey, it works, and I know how to use it—but it ain’t gonna make anyone go “whoa!” That’s fine, I’ll joke about anything. Is that a thimble in my pocket or am I happy to see you?

Anyhow, I didn’t think The Program would be a bad gig. I knew that they tried to pair up people who didn’t really know each other—you know, learning new things—so maybe I’d meet a new chick. That’s always cool.

However, those hopes were dashed when I walked into Mr. Tillman’s office.

“Hello, sir, you ordered the Naked Third Baseman?” I said after walking in.

“Come in, Ed,” Mr. Tilling chuckled. “You obviously figured it out.”

“Hey, the only reason you call someone down here first thing in the morning is either The Program, or that they’ve been a bad boy. Now, I’m always a bad boy, but you’ve never called me down here. So, I figured, you know—two plus two equals three point six nine eight. Approximately. For varying values of two.”

“Is that how you figure your batting average?” he asked bemusedly.

“Nah. I count homers as four hits. I went from .238 to .446 in a hurry. As Charlie Brown once said to Linus, ‘Tell your statistics to shut up.’”

Mr. Tilling was laughing. I can even make the principal laugh. “Well, anyhow, you got it right. You’re in The Program. Say hello to your partner.”

I turned around and saw her, huddled pitifully on the chair, looking like she’d just found out her grandmother died.

Oh, shit. Natalie Weinberg.

Thus endeth any kind of extracurricular activities with my partner this week.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against Natalie Weinberg. I don’t know her that well. And that’s the point, nobody knows her that well. If you looked up “wallflower” in the dictionary, there she is. She’s so shy, if she tried to tell you that your hair was on fire, you’d be consumed by flames before she got the word “your” out of her mouth. She’s in four of my classes this year and I have no idea what her voice sounds like.

And she looked so scared. It was pitiful.

“Hey, Nat,” I said to her, sitting down next to her. She managed to give me a small smile. I took a look at her. Shit, this was going to be traumatic. She was wearing what she usually wore—a long skirt that almost hit the floor, and a baggy long-sleeve blouse that was practically buttoned up to her nose. It was a suit of armor. I mean, it was 70 degrees out! And now she’d have to remove the suit of armor.

Ah, well, I could see what this week was going to be like. Good Ol’ Ed shields traumatized naked wallflower. Ah, well. I am a nice guy.

“I’m really not supposed to be here, Mr. Tilling,” she said. Well, now I knew what her voice sounded like. It was nice—light and airy—though painfully soft. “I’m supposed to be on the exempt list.”

“Your mother called me three weeks ago and insisted you get selected,” Mr. Tilling told her.

She almost started crying. “That bitch,” she hissed under her breath. “And I don’t have any say in this?” she asked Mr. Tilling.

“I’m sorry, Natalie, but you don’t. It’s parental discretion. Now, it’s time for you two to strip.”

“Stand back, everybody stand back,” I joked, standing up. Then I proceeded to take of my clothes while humming the “Stripper’s Theme.” I threw ‘em all at Mr. Tilling. “Bag those, James,” I joked to him. “Now, is this the most impressive specimen of manliness you’ve ever seen, or what?” I asked, while making mock Mr. America poses with my nonexistent muscles.

Natalie smiled a bit. Hey, it even works on wallflowers. To a degree.

“Your turn,” Mr. Tilling told Natalie.

The smile vanished in an awful hurry, and she really did look like she was going to cry. Her fingers hovered above the buttons on her blouse for a good minute. “I can’t do this, I just can’t do this!” she finally sobbed.

“Hey, sure you can,” I told her, sitting down next to her. “Hey, all kidding aside, if I can parade this scrawny body around school, you can do it. And at least you don’t have to go out like this and play third base..” I looked at Mr. Tilling. “I’m telling Lily Woodard to pitch outside all day tomorrow. No inside changeups to right-handed batters. All I need is line drives raising welts.” He chuckled, and I turned back to Natalie. “You can do this. I’m not saying it’s easy. But you can do it.”

“OK,” she sighed, and went to work on her blouse. The buttons came slowly undone, and then the blouse came off. She reached around and undid her bra. Then the skirt. Then the panties. It took forever, but she did it. She ended up huddled in the corner on the chair, almost trying to shield herself. Mr. Tilling told her to stand up. Reluctantly, she did.

Oh my Christ!

Standing before me was the most incredible body I’d ever seen. Look, Natalie had a very pretty face. She was a blue-eyed blonde with a flawless complexion and adorable features. But now, as I looked at all of her, I was dumbfounded. Huge, firm tits, tapering down to a wasp-like waist, and out to a nice set of hips and a firm yet voluptuous ass. Her legs were long and firm. Shit, even her arms were perfect. I couldn’t believe she had been hiding this under her suit of armor. Shit, it was all I could do not to drool. This girl was going to be followed around by every guy in the school.

And that’s when it hit me. This petrified girl was about to become the center of attention. Damn. It almost would’ve been easier if she’d been ugly. She was obviously loathing walking around naked—and she was going to be noticed. This was going to be hell week for her; I could see it coming. And the last thing she needs, Bauer you idiot, is for you to be standing there ogling her like a 12-year-old that just saw his first copy of Playboy.

I put my tongue back in my mouth.

But she was looking at me, and I felt I had to say something. So—in a very casual, friendly, non-ogling tone of voice, I said, “You’re absolutely gorgeous, you know that, right?” She looked at me in complete, utter shock.

Oh, help. This was the most incredible girl I’d ever seen, she had no clue how gorgeous she was, and she was petrified.

Why in hell did her mother put her in The Program?

I thought back to a friend of mine, Amanda Frazier. Amanda had gone through the program at the beginning of the year. Now, when Amanda first started the program, she was shy—as far as guys went—and fairly sexually repressed. But, the thing was, she wasn’t shy in general—in fact she was Miss Congeniality. So she came to terms with being naked, tried to keep her chin high and the smile on her face while doing it—and, in the process, opened up to an incredible degree. She also fell in love with her partner, Jared, which helped. And I’m talking “I don’t care if they’re only sixteen, where’s the wedding invitation” love.

Natalie wasn’t trying to keep her head held high—she was trying to roll herself into a ball and hide under Mr. Tilling’s desk. And her partner—that’d be me—doesn’t do love. All I could offer was friendship. And, watching her misery, I didn’t know if that was going to be enough.

“OK, guys, time to hit the hallways,” Mr. Tilling said. Natalie visibly cringed.

I smiled at her, and said, “Come on. You’ll be all right.” We got to the outer door of the office, and I said. “I’ll go first. You just follow behind.” She nodded, and I swung the door open, jumped out in front of the gathered crowd, and yelled, “Naked third baseman on the loose! Hide the women and children! Naked third baseman on the loose!” My cronies were there, of course, laughing. I thought being my lunatic self would divert some attention off of Natalie. Stupid, Ed, stupid. She slipped out of the door behind me, and I heard a collective gasp from every guy in the hall.

Mike and Lily were there. “Somebody’s number got called!” Lily teased.

“You just make sure there’s no line drives hit at the third baseman’s naked hiney, Pedro,” I grinned.

“Hey. Natalie Weinberg, huh? Wow. Who knew? She’s stunning,” Mike said.

“She’s stunning, she has no idea how stunning she is, and she’s absolutely terror-stricken,” I told them.

“Not a good combination,” Mike agreed.

I tried to get Natalie’s attention, but she was surrounded by guys. She looked like she wanted to die as they touched her. Then, something strange happened. She was standing, crouched a little, arms tight at her sides—like she was trying to pull herself in—until someone stuck a finger in her pussy. When that happened, she stood ramrod straight, arms at her sides, legs spread apart a bit. In other words, she clearly let him do it with no protest. The frightening part was her face. Her eyes were practically glassed over. And, though the guy diddling her was being gentle and obviously trying to make her feel good, there was no reaction. Just a steely glare. She was obviously getting no pleasure from the act. After a minute, he withdrew her hand, she slumped herself together again, and tried to get out of the crowd.

“Pal, there’s something seriously wrong there,” Mike said astutely.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I told him. “Natalie! Come on,” I pulled her out of the crowd. “Our first classes are close, I’ll walk you there.” I did, arm around her, as she miserably shuffled down the hall. I delivered her to her first class and said, “See you in Accounting,” which was both of our second period class. Then I went to my class.

Depressed, if you want to know the truth. I had counted on a good Program week. Now, it looked like I had been buddied up with someone who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown over it. I suppose I could just ignore her and go on my merry naked way.

Yeah, sure I could. That’s not me, it’s just not me. I can’t pass a wounded animal without trying to help it. I was just going to ignore this terrified girl—who, don’t forget, I had been assigned to buddy up with? Not my style.

So, I had to try to help her get through this. How was the question.

CHAPTER TWO

NATALIE

You ever want to commit murder? I mean, really want to? If I had had a gun and my mother in front of me, I don’t know if I would have been able to hold myself back.

I’m Natalie Weinberg, I’m almost seventeen years old, I’m naked, and I’m a mess. A complete mess. I have no friends, I have no one to talk to, I have no life—and I have the mother from hell. And now I had to show my body off to everyone in the school.

When I ever got called down to the office, I figured it was something else. I thought I was on the opt-out list for The Program. When I ever found out, I almost died.

And they paired me up with Ed Bauer! Ed’s one of the nicest guys in school—I know that—but he’s also notorious for fucking anything that moves. Although he was nice this morning. Telling me I was gorgeous was nice. Of course, that was probably just a line.

I don’t think I’m gorgeous. I don’t like my body. My boobs are too big, my ass is too big, I’m a ‘dumb blonde’—I’m like a Barbie Doll come to life. It doesn’t help that my mother treats me like one. “You got a body, you’d better use it, because that’s all you’ve got.” I’ve heard that since I was twelve. My mother got knocked up by some asshole at seventeen. Why she kept me—or even had me—escapes my comprehension. She must’ve had some sort of maternal instinct flash when she was pregnant. Trust me, she hasn’t had much of one since then. Abortion is pretty nonexistent nowadays, due to the effectiveness and availability of all types of birth control—but it was available back then. Of course, decently effective birth control was available back then, too. My mother says she was pressured by her parents to not have an abortion—they were into that whole religious “right to life” movement back then. How people think that a seventeen-year-old who was too stupid and irresponsible to carry a condom in her purse was equipped to raise a child is beyond me.

Westport’s a nice town, but it has a small “bad side.” That’s where we live, in a rathole apartment. All my mother wants is out, and she’s gone through more guys than I can name looking for a way out. Of course, when you work as a cocktail waitress in a dive, you don’t exactly meet a high-caliber class of guys. So, now all her hopes of getting out are on me. If she had her way, she’d just whore me out to the highest bidder, and come along for the ride. A year or so ago, she took to arranging “dates” for me. She fixed me up with guys—older guys—and made it clear that, if a guy showed you a good time, you were obligated to “repay” him. I had my virginity taken by a thirty-year-old stockbroker. I was fifteen at the time. This happened twice more. The fourth time—with a guy who was completely disgusting—I revolted. I ran out of the car and ran home. My mother was furious—but stopped arranging “dates” for me.

This must be Plan B. Make me parade my grotesque imitation of a Barbie-doll body around school naked, and have some rich guy “claim” me. Lovely, huh?

I know nobody at school. I have no friends. I’m scared to try to make them. I can’t bring people home to my apartment—and I can’t go over someone else’s house without getting a third degree. I go to the mall, I get grilled. So I go from a school where I’m nobody to a home where I’m a set of tits to be used as a meal ticket. And people think I’m shy. Which I am to a point. What I more am is scared—scared people will use me, scared people will find out about all the bile I have stored in my gut, scared that I’d have to explain my life.

Suicide? You bet your ass it’s crossed my mind.

However, contrary to what my mother thinks, I do have other things going for me. I’m smart. Really smart. Mother never cares to read my report card—if she did, she’d see a whole list of A’s. So, I have a way out. College scholarship. My grades are good enough to get one. Then I’m getting out of here, without selling my body, and my mother’s not invited. A year and a half—that’s all I have to wait it out.

Of course, this week looked to be longer than the rest of the year and a half combined.

First period was miserable. I just wanted to crawl under a rock. Second period was better, only because Ed was there. I’ll say this for him—his antics take attention away from me. I’ll say another thing for him—he’s funny. Genuinely funny. He actually made me laugh. I went from looking for razor blades to laughing out loud. That’s a pretty neat thing to be able to do to someone.

The next two periods were torturous.

I kept getting fingered in the hall. I hated every minute of it. I hate being touched. Everyone just wants something from you—a touch here, a fondle there. It was excruciating. Like I said, I’m afraid of being used. And I was being used left and right. And all I could do was sit there and take it.

Anyhow, I got to lunch. And got my customary table in the corner, away from everyone, where nobody could find me. I was wrong about that. Ed found me.

“Hey,” he said, sitting down. “How’s the morning going?”

“Hellish,” I admitted.

“You need to loosen up,” he said.

“Yeah. Right,” I snorted.

“Is it really that bad?” he said.

“Yeah, it’s really that bad,” I told him.

“Why?”

Now, there was a question. A question I didn’t want to answer. I barely knew this guy. “Because,” was all I said.

“Hey, Natalie, I’m trying to help.”

“Why?” I asked him back. “Because you were assigned to be my buddy by Mr. Tilling? Because you’re obligated? Don’t bother.”

Damn. He really looked hurt at that. Now you see why I don’t talk to anyone.

“I was assigned, that’s true. But I’m trying to help because that’s what I do. I hate seeing anyone in as much pain as you are.”

“Sure you do,” I snorted. “You hate seeing someone in pain because you’d rather see them getting in bed with you.”

You see? I just can’t shut up. He looked like I had slapped him.

“That was a low blow,” he said in a low, serious voice. “You don’t know me well enough to say something like that. But, suit yourself. If you think that’s all I want from you, suit yourself. I won’t bother you anymore,” and he started to get up.

Dammit. Dammit all to hell. This was the guy who had me smiling in Mr. Tilling’s office, and laughing in accounting. Now he looked like he either wanted to cry, or strangle me.

“Ed, wait,” I said as he stepped away from the table. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was uncalled for.”

“Apology accepted,” he said curtly, and started to walk away again.

“Ed,” I said, “please don’t go.” He reluctantly turned around and sat back down across from me. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m on the verge of a nervous breakdown—and I’m taking it out on you. This is why I don’t talk to anyone around here.”

“Do you feel like this often?” he asked.

“Often enough. Having to parade my body around isn’t helping.”

“Look,” he said, with a deep breath, “I have to tell you this. Your body is magnificent. You’re one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever seen in my life—maybe the most. You should be parading it around with pride.”

I sighed. “Why should I do that? It’s just a body. And now it’s all people will see. Look, that’s all you see. I’m not saying that to be nasty or accusative, but that’s all you see.”

“That’s because I don’t know you. Nobody around here knows you.” He smiled slightly. “And I’m not saying this to be nasty or accusative, but that’s not our fault.”

“You mean you think if I had revealed more of myself to other people, it wouldn’t be so bad being forced to reveal my body?”

“Got it in one,” he said.

I thought about that for a minute. If I had a friend, would this be easier? “Look,” he continued, “I’m naked, too. And I don’t have your kind of body. I’m getting teased. I’m also getting groped. The thing is, I’m getting teased and groped by pals. When your best friend’s girlfriend walks by you in the hall, grabs your dick, and starts singing ‘Make it grow’ to the tune of ‘Let it Snow’, you’d better be comfortable with the person that’s doing it. Lily and I are great friends. It’s easier.”

I laughed at that, and then said, “You have a point.” I smiled at him. “You’re right, nobody knows a thing about me. Did you know I’m ranked seventh in the class?”

“Really?” he said. “I didn’t know that. I hold my own, but nowhere near seventh.”

“I like to draw, “ I continued.

“I play a mean third base,” he said.

“My favorite food is Chinese.”

“Mine’s the seafood special at The Mariner. Chinese is a close second.”

I took a breath. “My mother is the evil bitch from hell.”

“My parents are very cool,” he laughed. “It’s my older sister that’s the evil bitch from hell. She’s at Syracuse University right now, which is a good place for her.”

I giggled. “My favorite color is blue.”

“Mine’s purple.”

“School colors?” I asked. He nodded. “My favorite number is 2.”

“Mine’s eighteen. The number I wear on my back when I’m playing ball. I got it assigned in Little League and it’s always been lucky.”

“I have no siblings, I don’t have a father, and I like cats but don’t have any.”

“Besides the sister, I also have an older brother, my father is great, and we have two dogs. I like cats, too, but the dogs don’t.” He grinned at me.

“OK,” I thought, “If asked for one word to describe me, most people would say quiet.”

“For me, I think it would be funny.”

“I’d figured that out,” I giggled. “Besides drawing, the thing I like to do best is go to the park downtown on a nice day and curl up on the grass with a book.”

“Besides baseball, the thing I like to do best is hang out with my pals.”

“My idol is Katharine Hepburn.”

“An old film buff?” he said. I nodded. “Yeah! My idol is Gene Kelly.”

“Really? Do you like Hepburn?”

“But of course,” he said. “How about Bogart?”

“Bogart makes me weak in the knees,” I admitted.

“For me, that is Julie Andrews—especially in The Sound Of Music. I had a crush on her when I was three,” he laughed.

“Nah, Christopher Plummer. He was gorgeous in that movie,” I said.

“Well, if I swung that way, I might agree with you,” he laughed.

“Uh-huh,” I giggled. “Knowing your bent towards humor, you must have some favorite comedians,” I said.

“Yeah, and a lot of them are old-time, too. Groucho. I worship Groucho. Abbott and Costello. I also love Steve Martin, George Carlin. For really outrageous stuff, the late Bill Hicks. There’s a guy who died too young—he was brilliant.”

“How about comic actors?” I asked.

“It’s funny, my ultimate collection of comedic actors is actually in a TV show—the old Dick Van Dyke show. Van Dyke, Mary Tyler Moore, Morey Amsterdam, and Rose Marie. That’s an awesome collection of talent on one show. They were all brilliant, and Morey Amsterdam was a fucking genius. And even Richard Deacon was one of the great straight men of all time.”

“I agree, but you know what came close?” I said. “The Bob Newhart show. The first one, the one with Suzanne Pleshette.”

“Yeah, that was a great show. What’s your favorite movie?”

“The African Queen,” I said. “Hepburn and Bogie? How can you go wrong? Yours?”

“Singing In The Rain.”

“Do you know, I’ve actually never seen that.”

“WHAT?” he said incredulously. “You’ve never seen Singing In The Rain?”

“Nope,” I admitted. “I’ve seen An American In Paris, and the one he did with Sinatra, when they’re sailors on leave…”

“On The Town.”

“Right. And I liked both of them. But I’ve just never caught Singing In The Rain.”

“Oh, missy, you need some educatin’,” he teased. “So, I declare that, as soon as it is convenient for both of us—you and I, Miss Weinberg, have a date. You will come over to my house, where you will find a wide-screen TV, Singing In The Rain on DVD, and an abundance of popcorn. This offer can not be refused.”

“OK, then, I won’t refuse it,” I giggled—surprising myself, actually. “I’d love to see it.”

“Good. Then that’s settled.” He smiled at me. “You see, you tell me a few things about yourself, I return the favor—and we’re chatting like old friends.”

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“And I bet you haven’t thought about being naked for the past ten minutes.”

“Wow. You’re right,” I said. “Of course, you did have to go and remind me!”

“Well, you would’ve been reminded anyway, it’s almost time to go to Bio.”

“True. Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But don’t thank me until after you’ve seen Singing In The Rain.”

CHAPTER THREE

# ED

Good Goddammit, a breakthrough. There really is a person in there—and an interesting one, too. Yay for Ed.

I’d seen The African Queen of course—like Natalie said, who can go wrong with Bogie and Hepburn—so we discussed it while we were walking to bio.

“You’re a die-hard romantic, aren’t you?” I teased.

“Only in fiction,” she sighed. “I know that real life doesn’t work that way.”

“Well, sometimes it does. Considering my two best friends—that’d be Mike and Amanda Frazier—are both involved in romances that even defy romance novels. So sometimes it works the way it’s supposed to—but not for the Edmeister.”

“What?” she giggled. “Mr. Entertainment is a cynic?”

“Mr. Entertainment has been there and has done that, and thus became a cynic.”

“Ah,” she said. “That’s not my particular problem, but I certainly can see it.”

“What’s your particular problem?”

“Bad role model,” she said. “When your mother brings home a different guy each week looking for The One, it tends to sour your viewpoint. There’s only one thing that guys want, and it’s not romance.”

“That’s not true at all,” I maintained.

“Oh, come on, Ed. You yourself just said you don’t do romance—and I know what your reputation around here is. You’ll do anything in a skirt.”

“Most of the guys in school will do anything in a skirt,” I argued. “I don’t do romance for my own reasons, but I do do non-sexual female companionship. You know who my two favorite females in the world are? One is Lily Woodard. The other is Ellie Kirkland. Lily is my best friend’s girlfriend—and, even if she weren’t, we’re not each other’s type romantically. But I’d rather spend an evening talking baseball and stuff with Lily than I would having sex with anybody. And Ellie is Mike’s mom, and she doesn’t go for guys, at least not anymore; she’s in a committed lesbian relationship. Plus she’s 39 years old. So obviously there’s nothing to do with sex there. And Ellie is one of the coolest human beings on the planet. Given a choice between sex and friendship, I’d choose friendship every time. Hands down.”

“Really?” she said, amazed.

“Really. Look, Lily calls me a pussyhound.” She let out a little embarrassed giggle at that. “But I’m not, really. I just don’t turn down opportunities when they present themselves. Look, if you turned to me right now and said, ‘Ed, you big stud, fuck me until I scream,’ I’d have to be insane to turn that down.” She giggled again at that. “However, if you gave me a choice between that, and bonding over a bowl of popcorn watching Gene Kelly strut his stuff, I’d pick the latter. And that’s the truth.”

“Hey, girls like me,” I told her. “They like me ‘cause I make ‘em laugh. If they want to go for it, and we both enjoy it, why not live it up, right? But it’s not the be-all and end-all of my existence. Not even close.”

“When you put it like that, it makes more sense,” she admitted. “I’ve never enjoyed it, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Waitaminnit. You’re not a virgin?”

“No,” she said tightly, “but that’s something I’d rather not discuss.”

“Fine by me,” I said, but it was another worrying sign about this girl.

We got to bio, and it was fine. I sat next to her, and she was alright. Ms T., sensing the situation, directed the questions about the program to me, and I did the Wacky Ed thing long enough to make Natalie crack up.

Evidently, things started to go awry again in the following period—gym. It was another class we shared—however, that didn’t help in the locker room, because she was in the guys’ and I was in the girls’. When she emerged from the locker room, she looked horrible again.

“Hey, Nat, are you OK?” I asked her. I don’t even think she knew I was there. She just walked past, all hunched over and glassy-eyed.

Ty Christopher, a buddy of mine from the ball team who was also in that class, pulled me aside. “Three guys had her in the corner of the shower the whole time. They were feeling her up and stuff, and she just stood there like a statue. I tried to get them to stop, but they just said, ‘Hey, she’s in The Program, she has to let us.’ Ed, man, I have to tell you, she did not look good.”

“Damn,” was all I could say.

We didn’t meet up again until last period, when we both had trig. And she was a mess. Completely withdrawn and all curled up into a metaphorical ball again. I tried my best—when I sat next to her I leaned over and sang, “I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain,” but that only got the faintest hint of a smile.

Damn. I didn’t see how she was going to make it through this week.

CHAPTER FOUR

# NATALIE

Oh God, oh God, what am I going to do?

I tried, I really tried. And Ed really is a sweetheart. And he did help.

But gym was just mortifying, and painful, and altogether horrific. They had me in that corner, and they kept touching me. I don’t care what The Program’s rules are, it felt like rape.

It felt like I had been being raped all day—by hands, by eyes. And I know this isn’t normal, dammit, I know that. But I can’t help how I feel.

Then, after that—and poor Ed trying desperately to get me to lighten up—I got to go home, and get raped again. By my mother.

“Did they put you in The Program this week?” she asked as soon as I got home.

“Yes, they did, and I can’t believe you did this to me,” I said angrily.

“Well, it’s time you learned. You better get that body out there in circulation, before it’s too late.”

“Do you know how traumatic this day was for me?”

“Oh, stop being such a goddamn priss. You think your some kind of special. Spread your legs like the rest of us. You need a man.”

“I do not need a man.”

“You going to live in this hellhole for the rest of your life?”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m going to college. You don’t pay a damn bit of attention to me, you don’t care about what I think.” After the day I had had, I wasn’t holding back anything from her. “You have no idea what my grades are. I’m going to get a scholarship, and go to college, and make my own way out of here.”

“You? That’s rich. You’re too stupid for that.”

“No, I’m not. You just think that way because you’re stupid. I don’t know if the asshole who knocked you up was a closet genius or I’m a genetic hiccup—but I’m smart. And you can’t recognize that because you are as dumb as a box of rocks.”

I never talked to my mother this way. This day had really gotten to me. And my little tirade earned me a nice slap right across the face. That didn’t surprise me. She’s not shy about hitting me.

I went a few more rounds with her, then went to do homework. She went to work. At least I had some peace and quiet.

Four more days. I had to do this for four more days. Help.

--End of part 1—