NiS - Scars	Back to H	Back to main page

Collected by Djian
updated sep 18 - 2008

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NiS - Scars
THURSDAY 5


The hot water was absolutely glorious.

There wasn't much room in the shower for the both of us. For a while, we were all arms and elbows, bumping into each other as we each tried to find the best way to get hot water on our body without blocking it for the other. Within minutes, I realized that it was a really, really good idea that we shower together. I had no intention of leaving until every drop of hot water was gone!

For a while, the bottom of the shower swirled with shades of brown and black. We took turns shampooing and washing our hair. I wondered halfway through if washing each other's hair would be better, particularly with long hair. I shrugged. Might as well give it a try. "Here, Lizzie, let me wash yours." Lizzie was quite willing to let me.

I quickly learned that it wasn't an arousing endeavor, and became almost clinical as I worked to gently untangle the knots and briars that had woven into her pretty hair, grasping the hair above the knots and dragging my fingers through them. After several minutes, Lizzie had me turn around and did the same for me.

At that point, there was no denying that we were going to wash each other. And that quickly became more thrilling. I started first, washing Lizzie. I filled the bath sponge with liquid soap and began. She gave me one arm, which I soaped up, then the other. I moved to her shoulders, and felt a kick as I touched then and gently spread soap around her neck. I looked down at her naked front, a torso I had seen so much of since Monday. It held no secrets or mysteries for my eyes anymore. But my fingers were screaming all manner of excitement. I knew if I started with her front, the efforts of cleaning would degenerate all too quickly, so I had her turn around. And found myself admiring her back.

I began to wash her back, starting with her shoulders and working down to the small of her back. Warm pulses raced through me as I touched her skin. seeing the soap suds run down her back as water poured over her was delightful. When I traced down her spine, it felt electric. She made soft sounds that weren't helping. When I reached her bottom, soap and cleanliness became merely an excuse to touch and explore every inch of Lizzie.

It was crude, I was an amateur. Lizzie didn't seem to mind. She leaned forward, bracing her hands against the wall, and let me "frisk" her in a most delightful, wanton manner. When I touched the soft flower of her sex, every nerve came alive. Both in my body and, judging by her reaction, in hers.

The shower washed the soap from her almost as fast as I lathered it on, but that was no excuse not to rinse her. "Close your eyes," I whispered, loudly enough to be heard over the water. She nodded, closing her eyes angelically. The cute, trusting expression on her face made me want to... well, to do what I was about to do. I reached up and took the massager. I lowered it between her legs and introduced Lizzie to the best thing Dad ever bought me.

Lizzie gasped in delight and pleasure. She began to squirm as I worked the pulsating spray over her labia, knowing from personal expertise all the places to aim and all the settings to use. I made it a long, slow, delicious introduction, not stopping until she cried out in ecstasy. There was no doubt in my mind she wasn't faking. When I finally let up, she collapsed against the wall, and breathed excitedly, "After that, I think I'll need a shower."

All too soon, I had "cleaned" all of her. But that wasn't so bad as now it was my turn to be cleaned.

Lizzie never even pretended that washing me was her motivation. She ignored the sponge, lathering her hands and playing them gently, tantalizingly over my wet body. Not exploring, but massaging. Rubbing me in ways her trembling hands so clearly wanted to, but with my pleasure foremost. I felt all the pain, all the horror of the day melt away, my body both relaxing and turning electric. There were places I wanted her to touch me, needed her to touch me! Yet I was afraid if she did, I would melt!

I seriously underestimated the places that would melt me. Lizzie brought me higher with touches to places I clearly had never paid enough attention. My neck. My ears. The inside of my knees! What she did to me just playing with my lower back was so amazing it was hard to stand! She delighted in expertly showing me erogenous zones I had no idea I had.

She touched all those places, and all the places I knew already, save one: Lizzie didn't touch my pussy. Her fingers worked all around it, touching and massaging my inner thighs, my lower belly. Working in agonizing circles ever closer to my center, teasingly close, only to torturously slide away to find some other part of my body to devilishly work. She did this several times, by the third, I wanted to scream.

Lizzie finally dropped her hands from me, the water beginning to run cool. She left me gasping, my legs trembling with the effort to support me, my body alive and burning, my cunt aching terribly! She stepped out of the shower, leaving me totally, utterly frustrated!!

I turned off the shower and fell to my knees, panting. "You. Are so... evil!" I heard her give an angelic laugh. "How... how did you get so... good..."

"I've read a lot," came her reply from the other side of the stall door. Fuck! Suddenly, I wished we could have taken some of her books! What the hell has she been reading?!

I stood shakily and opened the door. She was wrapped in my towel, drying herself. She offered to dry me. With a soft pant I answered. "I don't think I could take it." Lizzie just smiled.

"Why'd you do that?"

Lizzie played innocent. "Do what?" I wanted to strangle her. Or maybe molest her. No, definitely molest her. She walked back to my bedroom (our bedroom, I hoped!) and sat on the bed. I followed her in, and knew what was coming even before she picked up the collar, handing it to me. "Looking forward to going to bed tonight?"

Damn fuck yes!! More than ever in my life! You pretty much guaranteed it, Lizzie!! Not only had my hungry tigress been awakened. It had been chained, and poked with a stick until it was in a frenzy!

I knelt, handing it back to her, and let her put it on. I started to think... but stopped as I heard the front door open and downstairs.

Dad was home!

*** *** ***

I threw on my pajamas and dashed downstairs (my breasts beneath doing a fair imitation of the bouncing that Mrs. Granger put Lizzie's through on Tuesday) to greet Dad. I left Lizzie upstairs to root through my clothing for something that would fit her.

Dad had made it into the living room, and was setting his coat and briefcase on the couch. He turned to me, quickly replacing a somber expression with a smile, and opened his arms. I flew into them, my breasts squashing against his chest as I hugged.

After a moment of letting me just revel in Dadness he put his strong hands on my shoulders and pushed me back. "So," he asked amiably, "When do I get to meet our new houseguest?"

I felt torpedoed.

"How...?"

Cocking his head to indicate the entryway, "You mean besides the mess parked inside the door?" Dad's smile became serious. "I got a call from your principal today."

Arrrugh. Of course. How stupid of me. Whose bright idea was it to give adults access to phones?

I shook off the momentary shock and self-bashing, my world becoming brighter at the thought to introducing Lizzie to Dad! And Dad to Lizzie! "I'll go get her."

He nodded. "And did the principal give you something to give to me?" I nodded and pointed to the kitchen table where I had left it.

I started back up the stairs, jumping three at a time, eager. But, halfway up, I stopped. I stooped, looking over the railing to him, "Dad?"

"Yes, Mandy?"

My words felt oddly important. "I know this is a lot to ask. A lot. Thank you."

Dad nodded, noting, "I haven't said yes yet."

I knew that. I also knew just how much he must be thinking about it. "Thank you for not saying no yet."

Dad seemed to understand. He was really good at that. "We have a lot to talk about." Dad smiled up at me warmly, "Now go get your friend."

I started to, then stopped once more. "Yes we do, Dad." More, I think, than he expected.



*** *** ***

How does Lizzie manage to make my own clothes, clothes I've known for over a year, look so damn good? I stared at her choices. She was wearing my old swimsuit from two summers ago (I hadn't done any swimming last summer, and hardly any the one before.) a tight, white, strapless one-piece; really quite conservative despite having virtually no back. Over that, she wore a long-sleeved pullover shirt that was even older and more conservative. The original black had faded to grey, and the neckline had worn to the point of unraveling. On Lizzie, the distorted, over-wide neck opening slipped down one shoulder, baring it.

The words printed across the front of the shirt had made it a favorite the summer after Baneridge. "I dress this way to NOT turn you on." Looking at Lizzie, I severely doubted it. The length of the shirt was just low enough over the swimsuit to give the false impression that I was getting peeks at her "panties".

"You're doing this to me on purpose, aren't you?" I teased back.

"You like it?" She twirled for me.

I patently avoided answering with, "Come on, I want you to meet my Dad."



*** *** ***

We sat at the empty kitchen table in silence. Dad was reading over the papers Mr. Tillerman had sent him in the letter.

Meeting Lizzie for the first time had gone well. She was polite, and he was friendly, and I felt nervous. She called him "Mr. Warren" and he called her "Elizabeth". My hopes soared when he welcomed her to stay the weekend, and caught in midair when he wasn't ready to say anything about longer, one way or the other.

Saturday, Dad said, he would take Lizzie's things by the Laundromat and have it all cleaned as best as possible. Until then, he asked if she was okay wearing my clothes. He said it with a smirk, not at all oblivious to the fun she was having picking and choosing.

Now we waited in silence. After a few minutes, Lizzie reached across the table and offered me her hand. I took it, grasping her for reassurance, squeezing her fingers with warm optimism. Finally, Dad looked up.

"Well, the good news is, there is a grant available through The Program to help ease the financial burden in such cases." I could read in Lizzie's eyes that she was as astounded as I was. "It's not a lot, but it would make food and basic clothing affordable. Still, we would have to do without a lot of the little things."

I nodded. "Lizzie's more important than movies and pizza." I can do without them.

Dad nodded solemnly. "More than that, however. I don't have enough saved up to put two girls through college. Unless the both of you manage scholarships, you'll probably have to settle for finding work after High School."

I frowned. First, because I knew he didn't have enough to get me through more than a couple years of college anyway. We had talked about two-year vocational schools before. Second, because the notion of me getting a scholarship was just slightly more realistic than my becoming a permanent nudist because of The Program.

"Also, since your tour in The Program ends tomorrow, I have to fill all this out tonight and have you turn it in to Mr. Tillerman tomorrow morning. He assures me that, if I do, he will make sure it gets taken care of promptly. However..." Dad looked at Lizzie and me very, very seriously. "I'm not certain if this is really what we should be doing."

It was time.

"Dad, I need to tell you about some things."



*** *** ***

I told him. I told Dad everything.

I told him about my week in The Program. About the incident with the Program Guard. He was upset about that. Particularly that I hadn't told him yesterday.

I told him about Lizzie. I hardly mentioned the sexual part of our relationship; I stressed the friendship and trust. I told him about Todd. About Kendra and the knife. By that point, I thought I'd scared him. But he let me continue, not interrupting. Knowing, somehow, what I needed.

I told him about Joseph. Lizzie told him a lot more. We explained her situation. Then I told him about the raid to get her stuff. About the chase (toning down the kind of driving involved and failing to mention any of the damage to Todd's car, of course). Even about the cops.

"There were easier ways to do that," Dad said. But for the moment he left it at that.

I told him about Mr. Stephans. And Mrs. Cranetree. And what Mrs. Palmers had said. Then I told him what I was really aching to tell him. What, I realized I had been aching to tell him for a long time.

It wasn't easy. And I couldn't have done it without Lizzie there, urging and supporting me the whole way through. Even when I got to parts I hadn't told her.

By the time I was done, I was crying heavily. Lizzie had long since gotten up, moved behind me, and wrapped her arms about me. Now Dad pushed himself up from his chair. He walked over to me, knelt and pulled me to him. I curled up against him like a newborn.

I was only peripherally aware that he looked up at Lizzie and said, "Thank you."



*** *** ***

I sank into the sofa and channel surfed, looking for something to escape in. Each tap of the remote nudged the screen one channel higher. I was in the up in the Spanish channels before I was really aware of what I was doing.

I felt sick. This cry hadn't been a refreshing, weight-lifting cry like the one before. It was a sick, hurting thing that left me feeling twisted and despondent inside. I had bared my heart to Dad and to Lizzie, more than I had to either of them before, and it left my heart feeling flayed. It wasn't them; they were both so wonderful. Maybe it was just the totality of it.

Dad was cooking up a little something for Lizzie and himself. I didn't feel like eating.

"Mister Warren?" I heard Lizzie ask in the kitchen.

I could almost see the smile in Dad's voice. I could hear the relief, but also sadness. A deep sadness, I think. "Elizabeth, you've helped give me back my daughter."

In a movie, I thought, such a statement would be followed with: "I don't know how I can repay you." But Dad did know. Lizzie would be staying.

Channel surfing brought me to a budget movie channel that was static green, a temp block. My mind dully recalled Mr. Stephan's last class lesson, and the sidetrack discussion of age of consent. California, I remembered, had been one of the very first states to go full bore Program. They had been one of the first to change the state's AoC law to fourteen.

What a mess. Suddenly, Hollywood was playing by a different set of laws that most of the country. Filmmakers could legally craft there what was child pornography in most other states. Mainstream movies and television didn't want to alienate viewers, but the amount of "indie" crap and triple-number channels that took advantage of it was staggering.

Our state still hasn't changed the law. But then, we've always been unusually conservative. Of course, that means local providers have to censor a lot. Thus, the green screen of death.

I stared at it. It was nothing, but it was still better than nothing. I sank lower into the couch. Dad looked in. "Mandy, maybe you shouldn't go to school tomorrow. You don't look well."

"I have to," I replied dully. "Or I'll be in The Program for another week."

Dad frowned. He flattened his lips together in a scowl. "I'd think, with everything you've been through, and how much you've changed in the last few days, they'd call it good."

Equally dully, "Doesn't work that way, Dad."

I definitely wasn't going to survive another week of this. I looked forward to the weekend like a child with the flu looks forward to reaching the toilet, hopefully before she vomits.



*** *** ***

I took a second shower about nine. By ten, I was feeling a bit better. The nausea had passed, and the knots in my gut had loosened. I'd spent the last hour on the couch with Lizzie. Dad had brought in a blanket and we wrapped ourselves up in it like little girls at a sleepover.

About half an hour ago, Lizzie started taking advantage of the cover the blanket gave us. Her fingers searched over my body beneath and found those places she knew would make my heart skip. I started to tell her no, but I didn't. Instead, I let the feathery little touches and not so innocent caresses melt my stress and depression away.

I was hardly watching the television anymore. Half the time my eyes were closed. Lizzie's fingers became more daring, safe under the cover of the blankets. She lifted my pajama top up over my breasts, bearing them and my stomach to her fingers and the blanket alone. She played with my naval. Each touch was calculated to warm me in a way no blanket or fire could. Each stroke along the inside of my elbow, each time her fingers teased down my neck or under the swell of my breasts... soon it was all I could do to keep from giving a telltale moan.

The phone rang. Dad lifted his eyes from paperwork, glanced at his watch, put aside his paperwork and went into the kitchen to answer it.

Lizzie jumped at the opportunity. She shifted on the couch, pulling me to lean onto her, facing away toward the kitchen doorway. Lizzie reached her arms about me and begin to tweak and play with my nipples. Oh... Oh oh oh! Little bursts of pleasure fluttered through my breasts like the wings of birds taking fight. I let out a loud sigh, dissolving into her playful embrace.

"Hush now," she whispered. "Or he might hear." I doubted it. (Even from in here, I could hear the sound of Uncle Rory's voice booming robustly through the receiver.) Lizzie gave my left nipple a gentle pinch and twist.
I arched, remembering almost too late not to make a sound.

"You're being mean again, aren't you?" I whispered to her, not feeling this was mean at all.

A pleasant, thought-melting heat began to pool within me. I breathed faster to prevent from overheating. My body began to shift and twist of its own accord.

I felt myself nearing a peak when Lizzie suddenly stopped, cupping my breasts. No! "D-don't stop!" I urged her. And, after a moment she started again, whispering back that she thought she had heard Dad coming bad. I nodded, swallowing that acceptingly.

The third time she did it, I wasn't buying it anymore. Little calling-wolfer. "You know," I growled, "If someone has an itch, the polite thing to do is to scratch it. Not to pull out itching powder!" Lizzie giggled cutely. I had to wonder if Misty had given her ideas.

Lizzie drove all thoughts of Misty from my mind by lifting her hand from my right breast to my hair. She stroked through it wonderfully, then pulled it to the side and leaned closer... and licked the back of my neck! Her tongue was electric, the nerves in my neck burst with delight.

The pleasure galvanized me. I jumped up, dumping the blanket, and turned. "Bed. Now!" Lizzie looked joyous.

I scooted to the kitchen (almost forgetting to pull my top back down first), peeking in to tell Dad.

"...and I think they're lovers," I heard Dad telling Uncle Rory, his back to me and the doorway. I immediately gleaned that the call was about me. My body was buzzing electric, aching to consummate what Lizzie had started back in the shower. My mind was grasping for footing.

Uncle Rory's response, "Amanda's a lesbian!?!" clinched it. His follow-up, "This girl, is she hot?" made me blush to the bone!

"She's just changed so much, so fast," Dad worried, ignoring Uncle Rory's quite male interest in his possibly-newly-lesbian niece's potentially hot maybe-lover. "I'm concerned. I don't know if this much change in this short a time is... healthy."

"Jumping Judas sucking the scrotum of a dead donkey!" came the response. "This is what The Fucking Program is the fuck for! If it wasn't healthy, they wouldn't fucking do it, now would they?"

I coughed. Dad, turned, the expression on his face betraying just how unconvinced he was that sexual and emotional bombardment was in my best interest. "We're going to bed, Dad."

Dad covered the phone with his hand and nodded. His eyes read me, as if trying to determine how much I had overheard, and if it was a good or bad thing. "So," he asked conversationally, "Where will Elizabeth be sleeping? She could use the couch."

I hesitated. "That wouldn't be very comfortable. I'll share my bed. It's big enough." It wasn't really, but privately that made it more fun. Dad nodded, understanding without saying and without feeling the need to ask.



*** *** ***

Lizzie was on my bed when I reached the bedroom. She'd pulled back the blankets and bedspread; she was sitting on top of the sheets. The look on her face was so powerfully sexual that I nearly fell over. I quickly closed the door and jumped onto the bed next to her. I felt my hands wrap around her, pushing up that old shirt, sliding into the swimsuit to caress her buttocks and her spine. She cooed excitingly.

I moved to her side, one leg dangling over the edge of the bed, one hand now exploring her stomach under that tight white suit. I stroked her lower belly in circles while I let my other hand explore the small of her back, attempting to duplicate some of the things she had done to me.

Lizzie's breathing quickened. She flushed, her skin heating wonderfully. My own body was alive. My fingers sent excited pulses into my brain, which in turn sent shots of lust into my pussy. That sensation doubled when my fingers found her sex. Lizzie gasped at my touch, even as my own breath caught in the thrill of what I was doing. The feel of her precious place made my heart skip.

I pulled my hands away, eager now. The hungry tigress was straining within me, driven to hunt, prowl and feast! I pulled the old shirt up over Lizzie's breasts. I hooked the top of the swimsuit and dragged it down. Her breasts popped free-- the sight made sparks shoot through my brain!

Lizzie smiled, clearly enjoying what this was doing to me as much as what I was doing to her, and helped. She slid her arms out of the sleeves and arranged the shirt about her neck and shoulders so it wouldn't fall back down. Then she leaned back, arching her precious self towards me!

The tigress wanted to taste! And so did I!

I crouched, planting both hands on the bed to either side of Lizzie's body, and glided my face until my mouth came to rest pressing against her left nipple. I kissed. Then licked, feeling a shiver run through Lizzie. So I licked again. And again. Her nipples were delicious, soft yet hard, and getting harder with each lick.

I tried to figure a way to reach my hand to her other breast without compromising my balance. The bed really was too small, and I was a clumsy novice. I couldn't, but I tried anyway. I reached up, barely touching her right breast as my tongue playing against that wonderful left nipple. Then I toppled and fell into her lap. Lizzie laughed. She sat forward and stroked my hair. After a surprised moment, I found myself giggling too.

"Okay, let's position ourselves on this bed a little better."

Lizzie scooted back towards the head of the bed. I climbed onto it on all fours, feeling very much the tiger. I approached her, prowling. I put one hand behind her, supporting her, helping her arch, and lowered my head to lick at her right nipple this time. Lizzie spread her legs a little more, arching as she sank into my attentions.

I scooted my legs closer over the bed sheets, rumpling them. I kneeled next to her, lifting my head to lick at her neck. Lizzie moaned, and the sound was a blessing like water in a desert. My arm behind her held her in an embrace. My other hand slid down into the swimsuit, gliding down between her legs, down to that place where she tormented me by not touching. Oh, but I touched! I stroked and brushed, exploring slowly and deliberately until I found what I was searching for and coaxed it out from under its little hood!

Lizzie let out a surprised, joyful little cry. And whispered my name.

I began to rub. Lizzie shuddered, her hands clinching into fists, bunching up the bed sheet. So I rubbed harder. I alternatingly stroked and rolled that little nub while Lizzie climbed like a rocket. At one point, when I guessed she was close, I gave it a small pinch! She responded by wrapping her arms around me, still grasping the bed sheet in her fists, and letting out a perfect little squeal!

I kissed her. The sensation was the most beautiful I had ever felt! I drank her in, breaking the kiss only to breathe. My fingers played ever faster against her sex, concentrating heavily and mercilessly on that nub! Her hips began to buck softly, her body undulating beneath me!

I kissed her while she squealed with ecstasy, drinking in the taste and wonder of orgasming Lizzie!!

I held her as she slowly came down from her climax like a mountain climber negotiating down a treacherous slope. Her skin was slick with sweat, and the smell of her made little explosions want to go off inside me.

The tiger inside me, far from sated, yearned even more hungrily to be catered to! I watched Lizzie, trembling with excitement as her eyes regained focus and her heaving breathing slowed. (And OH how each breath made her bosom move enticingly!) I slid back from her, softly letting her down.

I had an idea!

I unbuttoned my top. Slid my pajama bottoms down about six inches, my panties down even further. And then sat on the bed opposite Lizzie, mimicking the pose from that poster in her closet as best I could. My outfit was all wrong, but I hoped to capture in essence and demeanor what I couldn't in attire.

The biggest part was the expression. If I could pull off even a shadow of that 'FUCK ME! THEN BRING THE WHOLE TOWN TO FUCK ME!' expression, the pajamas wouldn't really matter.

From Lizzie's hot, strangled squeak, and her stare (which was the very soul of 'deer in the headlights'), I guessed I'd done better than I expected.

Then, she blushed mightily. A soft whimper of "you saw that?" came from her as she clearly fought the conflicting urges to pounce me and to hide under the bed in embarrassment. (I mentally cheered on her "pounce" instinct. I so badly wanted, no needed it!)

Apparently, the moment was so intense between us that neither of us heard the knock. I only barely heard the door open, although Dad's voice cut through like a chainsaw! "Girls, come downstairs. There... oh!"

Lizzie stared in dawning horror, red with embarrassment, even as she pulled up the sheets in a frantic move to cover herself! I clutched my pajama top closed, snapping my legs together! The world spun away from me, my insides freezing. The only reason I didn't die from mortification was that I was facing away from him.

Dad hesitated and oh fuck he had to know what we were doing! Lizzie's state of dress alone made it as obvious as a sledgehammer to the face! I felt like dying. I wanted the ceiling to peel open and the night sky to suck me up and away.

"There's something on the television I think you girls should see."



*** *** ***

Lizzie and I cautiously tiptoed down the darkened stairwell. The lights were off in the living room, the television screen bathing it in a ghostly pallor.

Dad sat on the chair. He didn't look at us, locking his eyes on the local 10:30 news. Lizzie and I knelt next to each other on the couch, pulling our legs up under us.

The report was almost over, but we heard and saw enough. "...resulting from what has been officially deemed a Hate Crime," the news anchor was wrapping it up. "After the death of the young man, Brad Sines was transferred into federal custody. Prosecutors could not be reached for comment. We'll keep you updated as new information comes in."

Behind the anchor, an image of Brad, looking disheveled and dangerous and clothed, vanished to be replaced by an image of a huge concrete and glass facility with a giant red "P" on the front. "In financial news, the merger of Halevron Pharmaceuticals, Inc. and Avarice Technologies to form the new Pandora..." Lizzie and I tuned it out, staring at each other, a dark fear forming between us until one of us had to speak it.

The fear had a name, there was a word which described it. It was on the tip of my tongue, but it slipped through my mind, escaping each attempt to snatch it. I could describe it best with math:

Math is ideal. The real world is not. In math, one plus one always equals two. Add three ones, and you always get three. Add five ones, five. Ten, ten. A hundred, and you always get a hundred. But in the real world, sometimes, you get something more that the math says you should.

What it meant, what Lizzie and I could feel almost intuitively, is that Mrs. Palmers was wrong. This had not been a normal week. She was probably right that no one of us had been targeted more than usual in The Program (And less, as she said, than many outside it.) But there were so many of us who had been targeted-- so many bad, scary and violent things which had happened-- that the emotional impact had bled into the non-Participants around us. The student body as a whole had been affected. Even I, relatively blinded by my own Participation, had felt it. Mr. Tillerman, I remembered, had too. And each thing, no matter how relatively "normal" on its own, had tightened the screws. Increased the pressure.

South Uintah High School had become like a darkened, closed room, slowly filling with gas. And the news looked like nothing so much as someone striking a match in order to see.

Lizzie said it for me: "School's going to go to hell tomorrow, isn't it?"



*** *** ***

Lizzie and I lay next to each other in my bed. We held each other, occasionally caressing, bringing back the mood. After the news downstairs, we were looking to escape into each other. I needed the mood back, more than ever. It was slow in coming, but when it arrived, we were both eager for it.

I lifted one leg then sat up so I was kneeling, straddling Lizzie's tummy. My body was already burning again with desire. The anticipation was driving my tigress insane. She was all too intimately aware that so far tonight, my role had been to carry Lizzie to heaven, and Lizzie's role had been to frustrate me all to hell! "Listen, girl. If you don't finish the job this time, there will be dire consequences." The tiger roared within me.

Lizzie cocked her head, looking so innocent I wanted to beat her with her own stuffed animals. She reached up and touched my collar meaningfully. And my one thought was: oh no you don't! I grinned, giving her a hard but playful stare. "I don't care! Dire consequences!"

Lizzie grinned impishly, her eyes brightening. I wondered, for a moment, if she had just been waiting for me to set a limit. Or if she was just totally thrilled at the state she had brought me to.

Lizzie took my hands gently in hers. She lifted them and slowly pulled me forward until I had to break her grasp and brace myself. I found myself on all fours on my bed with Lizzie beneath me, squirming pleasantly as she moved downwards a handful of inches. She reached up, stroking my sides, my breasts dangling before her. Her fingers tickled down my ribs, making me bite my lower lip. She stroked over my ass, and little flares went up in my head. She caressed down my thighs and I involuntarily quivered. Her fingers found the backside of my knees and began to play. Oh... oh my!

The more she played, her fingers finding all manner of places, the more pleasure washed through me. And the harder it became to keep even this position! She trailed both hands towards my cunny, moving slowly. My anticipation grew with each inch closer. My sex was burning before they even reached it! And, when she did, her fingertips darted away! I growled!! And she rewarded me with a single brush of her magnificent hand over my needing pussylips! My brain violently misfired! My vision blurred! I nearly collapsed!

"Lizzie!" I breathed warningly.

Lizzie purred, "I'm sorry. Won't touch there again." My mind broke. I totally locked up. My breath caught, my protest coming out as a tormented squeak.

Then Lizzie, the wonderful little liar, stroked my pussy again!

My muscles went all to jelly. I floated down onto Lizzie, who rolled me over (and nearly out of bed), her hand never leaving the electric buzzing warmth that my nether lips had become.

Her hand continued to stroke, her fingers pressing between my labia rhythmically, as she scooted down to kiss and suckle my left nipple. My body arched, my brain sizzling wonderfully. I was barely aware of my moaning.

The warm moistness of Lizzie's incredible mouth left my nipple, kissing and suckling its way down my breast and stomach while her fingers played my pussy like a violinist plays her instrument. She paused to tease my belly button with her tongue. I was squirming so much I wasn't making it easy. Her lips worked down further. Every kiss, every playful movement of her fingers, was pushing me towards a ledge, and my mind spun with a golden mixture of fear of falling and desire to fly!

I almost screamed at her when, before I could quite reach that edge, her hand slipped away from my pussy, not to return!

But then her tongue found me there!


Sometime shortly thereafter, heaven itself ran over me like a bullet train! And somewhere in the house, Dad learned his daughter was a screamer.



*** *** ***

The nightmare does not come tonight. My sleep is the most peaceful it has been in two years. I do not dream, except maybe once.

I dream that I awaken. I am not sure why, but I think I heard something outside. I am the only one; Lizzie sleeps beside me, her warmth better than any electric blanket. I take that warmth and wrap myself in it. Then I step out of bed, moving to my bedroom window.

Outside, snow falls lightly. It blankets the ground like the bedding of angels. There is a patch of it illuminated by the streetlamp. The lamp has one of those energy-saving lights that make everything seem sickly and off-color. Our city is ugly with them. But, somehow, it doesn't take away the child-like wonder of the snow.

Below, I see the Behemoth idling at the curb. The red rear lights are on, splashing Todd with the color of blood. He stands on the curb, in the snow, looking up towards me.

I do not dream going back to bed. Or, if I did, I will not remember. The imagery will seem to have just ended, swallowed in a deeper and untroubled sleep.

[end of Thursday]



FRIDAY 1

I woke up the next morning to the feeling of Lizzie stretching next to me. I got up and, just out of curiosity, looked out the window. It had snowed. A blanket of white covered the streets. And there were no car tracks in the snow from the night before.



*** *** ***


"I must say, I'm a little disappointed," Dad said, doing a good job of pretending to be, almost completely hiding his smile.

The smell of pancakes filled the air. Lizzie and I sat at the kitchen table, my stomach doing rumbling cartwheels like a cheerleader trying to speed up the arrival of food with a cheer routine.

When we came down, Lizzie had been wearing the longest shirt of mine she could find, plus some of my socks. Fortunately, Todd and I had managed to snag some of her shoes yesterday, because mine wouldn't fit.

Dad had looked at Lizzie in shock. "You're not going to wear that at school, are you?"

"I'm not going to wear anything at school," Lizzie had reminded him morosely. Dad had decided we deserved my favorite to start off our last day of Program Hell Week. Well, not counting the funeral tomorrow. My day was looking up already!

Now, Dad brought in two tall glasses of milk with spoons in them, and placed one before each of us. Lizzie gave me a quizzing look: why would the milk need to be stirred? I was almost positive, but I quickly gave it a taste anyway. Yes!

"Special Milk!" I whispered proudly. I felt a thrill; I'd never gotten Special Milk for breakfast before! Whatever Dad was 'disappointed' about, if I was getting pancakes and Special Milk, he obviously wasn't that disappointed!

Lizzie sipped experimentally. With a look of pleasant surprise, "Vanilla?"

"Special Milk," I corrected her.

Dad took a seat opposite Lizzie. "I have something here that I'd been saving with the intention of giving it to my daughter's first boyfriend." He pulled something out of his breast pocket. "It looses something this way, but I suppose I should be giving this to you, Elizabeth."

Dad handed her a packaged condom! And grinned broadly as my face shot red! "Dad...!" I protested, embarrassed. And fuck, Dad was planning to give my first boyfriend a condom?!

Lizzie laughed!

"Not that I suspect you'll get much use out of it," Dad continued as I stared fixedly at my milk, my ears beginning to burn. Dad talking to my girlfriend about me having sex was just… ack! "Perhaps I can find a better gift." Lizzie saw my color and giggled, possibly having as much fun at my expense as Dad was.

Dad pondered a moment. "Perhaps a nice ball-gag to go with the collar?"

"DAD!" He just said that! He just SAID that!! I was having a little trouble breathing suddenly.

Dad, pretending not to notice my discomfort, poured gas on the fire matter-of-factly, "You are quite loud."

"DAD!!!" I screamed and sank in my chair until I was nearly hiding under the table. Lizzie and Dad were laughing.




*** *** ***

Lizzie shivered in her lack-of-outfit as we trudged through barely melting snow from the front door to Todd's car. Lizzie hadn't wanted to borrow more of my clothing than she had to, considering that it was all going to be thrown into the Program Locker anyway. "Rethinking that?" I asked amiably. She gave me a cold look.

Todd reached over and opened the passenger door of the Behemoth from the inside. I saw the mess that was our seats. Lizzie echoed my thoughts, "ew."

"Hey, it's your mud," Todd said. Maybe Lizzie was right not to try wearing anything nice. But then, what did it matter if my outfit got filthy before school. Who was going to see me in it anyway?

A crack of thunder sounded overhead. It was going to rain again. We got in, closing the door, taking refuge in the Behemoth's slightly smelly but very functional heating.

Todd looked bad. He was smiling and joking, almost like normal but with a slight edge that didn't come from being upset. His hair was unkempt and his eyes took on the look of both alert and exhausted. On the seat next to him was a pack of Mountain Dew Classic, torn open and partially consumed.

"Todd, did you sleep at all last night?"

Todd laughed. "Sleep is a poor man's substitute for caffeine, you know." Oh, yeah, like that one never gets old. "Besides, it's Friday. I can sleep as long as I want tomorrow."

I noticed the lost driver's side mirror was laying on the floor next to the gear shift. Todd had gone back to retrieve it. Remembering my dream, or fragment of a dream, "What did you do last night?'

"Spent all night on chat rooms. Did you guys hear about Brad?"

Lizzie and I nodded. Todd continued, "I was online with a bunch of the guys from Temple when the news hit. Checked out a few other rooms I knew. And let me tell you, I'm not the only one who stayed up all night. Today's gonna' be interesting!"

Interesting was a nicer word than the one Lizzie and I had chosen last night.

"It's just not fair!" Lizzie complained. "Brad didn't do anything wrong! And they're going to roast him! It's like being in The Program means you're screwed!"

Todd let out an odd breath through his nose. "Well, that's one theory I've heard. There are others."

"Like what?" I almost didn't want to know.

"Well, Brad's been transferred into federal custody, right? And nobody is saying anything about how the prosecution plans to proceed. A lot of people I heard last night think it's all going to be swept under the rug. That being in The Program means that Brad will get special treatment, and they're not even going to go to trial."

I boggled.

Todd slowed at the corner and merged the Behemoth into traffic. "The worst one, the really whacky one, is that Brad and his family are just going to 'disappear'." Lizzie was staring. I coughed, partially in disbelief and partially because I feeling a little sick again. "Some kind of relocation 'Program Protection Program' in the mind of one gal on Uh-Chat. Six feet under according to this other guy."

Lizzie squeaked. "That's paranoid," I muttered, although I found the latter uncomfortably easy to picture. "And I thought I was bad," I added, thinking about the fear I had felt but couldn't name last night.

Todd laughed, but without much humor. "You want paranoid? After what we witnessed with the cops yesterday, I spent a good portion of last night wondering about an apparently abandoned building on Division with security cameras, electrified fences, and a police response time of blink."

Wow. I'd never even considered that. And while I was pretty certain that was because there was no connection, the idea was just eerie enough I couldn't dismiss it entirely.

"I wouldn't worry about it though," Todd commented almost brightly. "If the rumor I heard is true, there's no way this going under the radar."

I sat back against the dried mud and began to worry about what was waiting ahead and about what had gone on before. And about students with wild, ugly, frightening theories. My insides felt unpleasantly squirmy. I was feeling sicker the closer we got to school. Lizzie changed the subject, apparently tickled that the Jewish population of South Uh was wired. I didn't pay much attention until something Todd said jerked me out of my trance.

"...were pretty pissed and wanted to do something about Kendra. I told them they should all come to school naked today in protest. A 'Protest of the Circumcised'." Todd laughed at his sense of humor.

I sat blot upright, a cold feeling blowing through me. "You did what?!"

Todd frowned in confusion at my reaction as he changed lanes, drawing a blaring protest from the minivan he cut off. Lizzie turned to watch it behind us. "Some of the guys over on Uh-Chat were talking 'bout doing something like that. I suggested it as a joke." He frowned more. "I was really surprised when they took it seriously." Then brightened. "Although the more I think about it, the better an idea it seems!"

Todd slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the car in front of him which had slowed for a red light. The Behemoth lurched and skidded on the wet street. The car ahead of us rolled on through the red light, oblivious of the near fender-bender, apparently thinking red meant "stop if there is cross traffic." (I remembered Dad once calling that a "California Stop". Being like seven at the time, and never having lived in California, I took his word for it without catching the irony. For about five years, I honestly thought you didn't legally have to stop at stoplights in California.)

"That's because the longer you think about it, the longer you've gone without sleep!" Lizzie admonished crossly. I mentally seconded that.

Todd rolled his eyes. "Look, it gives them a way to express their anger at the anti-Semitic kids like Kendra running free in the schools without actually doing anything dangerous, violent or... frankly, effective in any way." He smiled, "Besides, won't it be nice not to be the only naked kids?"

"Do you even know about the fight yesterday?"

Considering the fight that Todd and I had been in was clearly in the forefront of his mind, I couldn't fault him for his slightly offended confusion. "Which fight?"



*** *** ***

"She's baaaaaack!" Todd announced, mimicking a ghostly voice as the Behemoth passed the front entrance of South Uh heading for student parking.

Felicity, the girl who was originally supposed to be Todd's partner, was standing at the corner again, holding protest signs and handing out little booklets to whomever she could get to take them. But today was different. Today, there were a few other people there with her. Adults. And today, teens were stopping by to listen. Many of them walked away with a slightly damp booklet in hand.

The sky was an ugly shade of colorless as the three left the car and walked over to strip at the flagpole. The cold bit into our naked flesh. Our feet fell into puddles of icy slush as we hurried for the doors.

The moment I got inside from the cold, looked around for the Guard who would take our bundles of clothing to the Program Locker. And froze at what I saw.

One look at the teeming naked bodies in The Commons was enough to blow all our minds.

"ooookay..." Todd stared, rocked by the sight. His sleep-deprived brain was clearly trying to process the bizarro reality before him: nearly half the students forming the normal Commons crowd were wearing little or nothing. "Remember what I said before? I take it back. This is just creepy."

Lizzie nodded, her expression one of reserved dread. It wasn't just clothing, or lack of it. It was the atmosphere. It was the emotional expressions, the rebellious postures, the voices that seethed just below the surface, and snippets of dangerous conversations. We could all feel it, like the air itself was tense, and more than a bit pissed off.

My threat detector was storming. And the nudity before me was grating against my nerves like the sound of a dentist's drill.

A Program Guard caught us as we entered. "Hold it!" He looked us over, his eyes lingering on me, and oh joy if it wasn't Mr. Would-You-Like-Me-to-Get-You-a-Lunch-Tray! I groaned inside.

"You're all together. That makes things easier." I wasn't totally convinced he was happy to see me with company. "Follow me to the recital room." Another Program Guard approached us from the side, taking our clothing to the Program Locker.

I clutched the envelope of papers Dad gave me for Mr. Tillerman in my hand, suddenly finding myself without any pockets to put them. "I need to take this to Mr. Tillerman right away," I claimed, but the Guard shook his head as a third Guard walked up to join us.

"If it's important, ma'am, just give it to me. I'll take it to him as soon as you all are where you belong." The bastard reached out his hand, and I was hit with an impulsive certainty that if I gave him something important to me, it would fall off the end of the earth. I clutched the envelope tighter and shook my head.

"That's what I thought," he smirked. "Now come along. Briskly now." The new Program Guard fell in behind us as we were marched across The Commons and down a hall I normally only used when going to lunch.

When our path took us away from the other nude students, I was surprised at my relief-- not at being away from the perceived threats, which was expected, but at being away from all their nakedness. Even though I was naked myself, as was Todd and Lizzie, we were still "us" and they were still "them". For some reason, the other students' voluntary nudity didn't make me feel any better about my subjugated nakedness. In fact, it made me feel worse.

"What's this about?" Lizzie finally asked. The Program Guard just smiled as he opened the door to the recital room.

"You'll see."



*** *** ***

It reminded me of one of the mandatory counseling sessions at Baneridge after Black Monday. A group of chairs sat semi-circle around another one. There was a black laptop case beside it which was clearly being used to carry possessions that didn't include a laptop. The logo of The Program was printed in red on the cover pocket. The latches had code locks.

There were two other boys in the room with us, both Program Kids. Us. Wesley was back, bearing several new skin potholes. Sitting cross from him was the senior; I still didn't know the senior's name. The center chair was vacant. Probably waiting for the bell to ring.

"So, what's up?" Todd asked as he claimed a chair for himself, leaving Lizzie and me the two empty ones between him and Wesley.

"Outreach," the senior informed us, apparently a little surprised that we didn't already know.

"Yeah, Outreach," Wesley echoed. He crossed his arms over his chest, slumping in his seat. "This is where The Program will try to bribe or coerce us into going naked even after our Week is over."

Lizzie took the seat next to Todd, wincing a little at the cold metal of the folding chair on her bare ass. I just stood there, somewhere between aghast and enraged. "What?!?"

Todd leaned forward to see Wesley past Lizzie. Almost conversationally, "You're shitting me?"

The senior chuckled. "You guys read The Pamphlet, right? We are strongly encouraged to take up Outreach. Did you really think that meant they would just let us consider it on our own?"

Honestly, I did. In retrospect, I realized how idiotic I was to do so. The Program wasn't going to let me consider my sexuality without interference; what made me think they were going to leave this to my own discretion?

I looked back the way we came. The two Program Guards had taken up positions outside the door. Presumably to make sure we were able to listen to what was coming in peace, without interruptions. More realistically, I figured, to make sure none of us did what I was seriously wanting to do. Just walk out. Preferably slamming the door as hard and loud as I could.

If I tried, would they stop me? Would they use force? Or was I just being paranoid?

No, I decided. I wasn't being paranoid. Even if someone else in this room would be paranoid to think that, these Guards had it in for me. If I tried to walk out now, there was only two places I would end up: back in here, or in the hospital.

And I couldn't go anyway. I couldn't leave Lizzie here to go through this alone.



*** *** ***

"Look at this as an opportunity," Stan was telling a petulant Wesley when the side door opened and a stunning woman walked in wearing nothing but an armband with The Program's logo and a well-rehearsed smile.

Stan was the name of the senior.

"Hello fellow Participants!" We all turned and stared.

The Outreach Officer, as she introduced herself, was named Veronica Purks. Her body was voluptuous, her skin flawless, her breasts ample yet without a hint of sag; as if gravity itself left them alone out of reverence. Her face was an ideal of beauty. She was like a masterwork marble statue carved not by one of the ancient Greeks but by one of their immortal gods. And her body left me just as cold. Looking at her felt like looking at perfectly sculpted stone.

"An opportunity for what?" Wesley turned and hiss-whispered to Stan. I noticed both Wesley and Todd had grown hard-ons. Stan, however, had not. And Lizzie wasn't flushed. If anything, she looked paler.

As Veronica Purks walked across the room to take her seat, Stan answered confidently, "To talk to The Program. To tell a real Officer of The Program-- not a teacher or one of these rent-a-cops-- how you feel about it."

Veronica started off with introductions. As each of us gave our names in turn, I realized Stan was right. From Todd's smile and Lizzie's furtive glances at the rest of us, I figured they were coming to the same awareness. Wesley was suddenly so deep in thought he had to be prompted twice to give his name.

As I watched Ms. Purks, I allowed her to become The Program made flesh in my mind. Every sick, abused, hateful, loathing emotion within me crawled up from that hole where Freddie lived, which is where I had been shoving them down into all week. Now they transformed into black little monsters that oozed with rancid teeth and serrated claws.

"Now then, I'm sure many of you have had a wonderful, erotic and mind-opening handful of days being in The Program this past week..." Ms. Purks trailed off as she really saw us for the first time. "Well, at least some of you." She looked into faces that were cold at best, downright hostile in most cases. I drilled my gaze into her head, picturing myself somehow puncturing her skin with it, tearing apart her flesh and splattering her oh-so-perfect body with her blood and grey-matter.

"Any of you?" she faltered.

Wesley was the first to speak, although it was really more of a growl. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves."

Ms. Purks recovered quickly, putting on a practiced and condescending smile. Clearly, she was used to a few dissenters in these meetings. I think it was merely the sheer volume of us, and the utter lack of friendly faces, that threw her. We were an ugly room.

"I understand the unfortunate problem with the Sines boy..." she began, only to be cut off sharply by Lizzie.

"His name is Brad!"

Veronica barely broke stride. "...Brad..." she modified, "Has had an emotional impact on each of you. We at The Program feel your pain, and we are terribly sorry that this event has marred your experience. Still, we ask you not let one unfortunate occurrence..."

Todd broke in. "And Felicity." His would-have-been-partner was apparently not far from his mind.

Feeling sick, I added dourly, "And Barbara." My heart twisted as I hoped for the baby.

Veronica fell silent, taking each of us in, one at a time. Finally, she settled on the one of us who seemed most workable. "Stan. How about you? Haven't you found being naked a rewarding, or at least eye-opening, experience?"

Stan folded his hands together and smiled. "Being naked?" He shook his head. "No. But then, I have a father, two sisters, an uncle and a cousin who are all nudists. We all live in the same apartment community, so I've been exposed to nudity all my life. I was allowed to experiment with it when I wanted to, with the loving support of my family. I discovered it just wasn't for me. So, if that was really the intended lesson here, I'm afraid I already learned it, and done so in an environment far more appropriate than The Program."

That was clearly not the answer perfect-looking Veronica was looking for. Her patented smile faltered a bit. "Nudity is, of course, just an element of The Program. You are also meant to explore your sexual identity and help define yourself."

"To have sex," Todd offered helpfully. Veronica was not amused.

Stan shook his head again, still smiling bemusedly. "Wasn't going to happen. I've already found my sexual preference, and made the commitment." He held up his hand and pointed to his ring.

"You're married!?" Todd and Veronica managed to voice the surprise that slapped all of us.

"Since August," Stan grinned happily. "Married on my eighteenth birthday, soon at it was legal." Lizzie moved closer to ooh at the ring appreciatively. I tried to feel good for him, my there were monsters crying for blood in my mind. At the Outreach Officer's look, Stan added, "Sharona is a year older than me, and has already graduated."

Todd sat back and chuckled. "Wow. The Program really picked a bunch of winners this time."

Veronica ignored him, focusing on Stan. "Well, obviously The Program isn't really intended for people like yourself, but for those not fortunate enough to have your family situation."

I was out of my seat! "What the fuck is that supposed to mean!?" Everybody jumped. Lizzie came out of her seat to grab me as I took a step towards the Outreach Officer, my hands becoming claws with the desire to scratch and tear. "You're saying my Dad isn't good enough!?" I was trembling.

The Outreach Officer stood abruptly. "Sit down!" she barked. "Or I will have the Program Guards come in here and restrain you!"

Lizzie pulled me back to my seat. I blinked tears from my eyes, and thought murderous thoughts. As if nothing had happened, as if my outburst and my pain meant not a thing, the officer turned back to Stan. "As I was saying..." Lizzie looked at me worriedly. She had good right to.

Stan frowned. "I'm afraid if you're looking for support for The Program, you're looking to the wrong person. I think The Program is a tragedy. You've taken something that should be good and wonderful, and turned it into something horrific."

Veronica Purks was taken aback. Stan continued, "I believe that I have a right to choose my own sexual identity, so much as it can be chosen, and to pursue the happiness to be found in sex on my own terms. In America, that's supposed to be guaranteed. And I believe that should include choosing when, or even if, I explore my sexuality. This is my body."

Wesley crossed his arms and huffed. "No it's not. Your body belongs to The Government. Or haven't you been paying attention?"

Stan gave Wesley a cross look, then turned back to the Outreach Officer. "I've learned a lot this week, mostly about my country. When I graduate, Sharona and I will be moving up to Canada, where there aren't programs like this." He leaned forward, "You see, we plan to have children." He smiled. "Lots of them." Then he frowned. "And we want them to grow up someplace where they are free to explore their sexuality when the time is right for them, when and if they desire to. And under the caring, loving guidance of my wife and myself."

We were all silent.

I heard a small voice beside me. Lizzie's. "It's rape."

We all turned to her. I could hear the quiver in her voice, each word a little louder, carrying more hurt, more righteous anger.

"Being stripped. Forced to obey. Turned into meat, nothing but tits and a cunt, for guys to get their rocks off! Helpless, disempowered, subject to their sexual desires as long as they don't break your 'Reasonable' rules!" Now Lizzie was the one out of her chair, tears streaming down her face, her voice raised and her fists clenched. "It's RAPE! Only purer because there isn't any actual sex to muddy it up! To make me feel good!"

Lizzie's voice rose to a scream.

"IT'S MORE RAPE THAN RAPE IS!!!"

I was totally stunned by her vehemence. For several seconds, I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Then, I jumped up, grabbing Lizzie, and pulling her close against me.

I took Lizzie into my chair with me. I stroked her hair gently, turning her head away from the Outreach Officer. I tried to calm her down, soothing her with words, attempting to make the officer, the room and the world go away for her. We'd done it before, made the world just her and me.

I wanted to do it again.

I told her I loved her.

Veronica Purks shook herself off, mentally discarding what had been said, and smiled at us. "Two students, who would probably have never met, so clearly in love. You see, that's what The Program is all about. Helping you."



*** *** ***

Veronica Purks regained control of her meeting while I comforted Lizzie. She unlocked her case, and distributed Outreach Pamphlets. Ms. Purks began to explain Outreach, which essentially boiled down to us going naked in public view and saying pleasant things about The Program. Veronica kept a slight cheeriness in her voice, as if out of habit, but I think even she was just going through the motions. I couldn't imagine she actually expected to recruit any of us into The Program's propaganda arm.

"Why in the world," Wesley asked unkindly, "Would any of us want to spend one more minute naked. Much less want to make you look good?"

"The Program offers a variety of benefits and incentives to those young men and women who become active in Outreach," the Outreach Officer announced. "Now, public exhibitionism in your own community is the easiest and most enjoyable way to get involved in Outreach. However, there are other ways to qualify for the support of The Program through Outreach that some of you might find more to your liking."

Ms. Purks passed around a flier. "Many fine young citizens such as yourselves have chosen to participate in Outreach through modeling for the various pamphlets, posters and commercials produced by The Program. By doing so, you provide an invaluable service to your country, help promote and educate, and heighten public awareness." I stared. She really, really was trying make us part of The Program's propaganda machine! "And, of course, you qualify for the benefits of Outreach."

Lizzie returned to her seat, reluctantly taking the flyer and picking up the Outreach Pamphlet that Todd had left on the metal seat of her chair.

"Better be one hell of a benefits package," Todd joked, smiling. "I'm thinking a house, a car, and sex with women who look like you."

Veronica smiled back, almost purring. "Well, I'm not authorized to promise you a house and a car..." She left the sentence dangling. Todd's face went into a slack, dumbfounded stare. His jaw nearly hit the boner in his lap.

"Wow. Program Whore. That's pretty special." Wesley said it, but I was thinking it. Veronica masterfully pretended to not have heard. But her eyes flashed hatred for a brief moment. Apparently, not her favorite title.

With a body like hers, no wonder she was chosen for the job.

"Plus," the Outreach Officer said, "It isn't as if you have anything to hide now!" It was meant to be a joke, albeit a pointed one. It was a critical mistake. I snapped. Again.

"Is that what this is about? Stripping us of the last of our dignity? Making us go around naked so that we no longer have any reason to save ourselves because, hey, everybody's already gotten a taste anyway? No reason not to show off the goods since we've already been porned!"

I stood up, tossing the pamphlet and flier to the ground. "That's it, I'm outta here." I grabbed the envelope from Dad, turned, and turned towards the door. Then look back to Lizzie and Todd, to see if either of them wanted to follow.

Lizzie got up. Todd did not. "I'm intrigued. I think I'll say and listen to more," he said.

Even with the temptation of marble-bitch, I couldn't believe it. "Todd! The Program nearly got you knifed!"

Todd turned towards me with a cross look. "No. Kendra nearly got me knifed. She brought the anti-Semitism and she brought the knife!" Almost sullenly, he demanded, "Don't push the blame onto anyone else."

Veronica's voice, cold as evil, stopped me. "I see you have brought the papers to apply for a Program grant." I froze, staring at the door. "A good word from the Outreach Office can virtually guarantee your application will be accepted." The threat was clear in her tone. She didn't say what a bad word from the Outreach Office would mean. She didn't have to.

My skin went an icy numb. My hatred and anger melted into artic despair. Slowly, I turned back towards the smiling Outreach Officer. Dad needed that money. We needed it. For clothes. For food. I knew it. She had me.

I walked the walk of the doomed back to my chair. Lizzie watched, then timidly returned to her own seat. The air in the room seemed thicker, the atmosphere now stultifying and heavy. The other Program Students stared at me, each painfully aware of what Veronica Purks had just done to me. Todd no longer seemed at all intrigued. Or amused.

My insides twisted and rolled poisonously as reality sank in. I was going to be involved in Outreach. What choice did I have?



*** *** ***

I sat in my chair and tried not to cry, hopeless depression blanketing me. Suffocating me. The Outreach Officer prattled on about the benefits of Outreach. She started with such psychological rubbish as citizen pride and the joy of helping The Program help others. My stomach queezed like I was going to vomit. The nausea lingered, sinking into my lungs as she went on to discuss Program-related scholarships and job placement assistance. "A glowing recommendation from a government institution like The Program looks very good on a resume!"

Finally, "But perhaps the biggest benefit The Program has to offer is the one right in front of me." I looked up at her. And followed her gaze. She was looking at Lizzie!

"The Program is ready and able to help its Participants relocate out of bad family situations. We will help place you, swiftly and with a minimum of difficulty, into a more caring, tolerant and right-thinking family unit. As The Program is currently assisting with Elizabeth..." She paused and looked to Lizzie rather than at her. "I'm sorry, I missed your last name."

"Warren," Lizzie stated. It was enough to reach me even in my pit of horror, and make my heart swell proudly. Bless you, Lizzie!

The Outreach Officer chuckled at that. "Of course. Elizabeth Warren. Not quite officially yet, but it should be by this time next week." And with that Veronica Purks began to prattle again.

"You've done this before." Came Lizzie's voice, next to me. She was staring at the ground, speaking softly. Not like before, where she was struggling on the verge of an explosion. But calculatingly, like she was putting the last piece into a fragile puzzle.

"Excuse me?" Veronica questioned.

Lizzie looked up. "The Program has done this before," she repeated, clarifying. "Offered to help people in The Program out of terrible families."

Veronica smiled and nodded professionally. "Yes. We do it all the time. It's probably the best part of the job!"

Lizzie's voice remained smooth and even as glass. "That's what happened, isn't it?" I watched her closely, somehow knowing this was important. Gravely important. "That's what you offered Franklin Ulysses. All he had to do was become The Program's own model naked boy."

Realization dawned on me with a thunderclap. My head started to swim. Lizzie had taken what I told her and Dad last night and had managed to put together what I never could. Like an expert safecracker, she had found the right combination just by listening and twiddling. And then suddenly all the tumblers fell into place, everything clicked and the door swung open.

"You gave him hope," I accused. My gaze moved from Lizzie to Veronica. I focused on the Outreach Officer. "You gave him the belief that he could get away from his father. You must have known that, once he tasted even the idea of such freedom, he would never be able to go back to the way things were. And with you offering him the only chance out, you would own him." I added, with acid, "Like you own me."

Veronica Purks was becoming quite unhappy. Fucking good. My mouth was dry. My voice was hoarse. "But your price was just too fucking high for him. And Franklin found another way to get out from under his father, didn't he?" Bet you fuckers never imagined he could.



*** *** ***

Things had gone from bad to worse.

I left the Outreach meeting feeling pale and clammy. Around my right wrist was an officially sanctioned paper bracelet reminding me in red and black that I had an appointment with the Program Office downtown tomorrow morning. Smile, grin, pose for the camera and pretend The Program was my bestest friend ever. Lizzie had a similar armlet on her left wrist. They were close together when we held hands, like a sick perversion of wedding bands. Lizzie was going to pose and pretend with me.

At least, this way, it would be over. With our ads or fliers or whatever living on forever in Spin Doctor land, our active participation in Outreach could be finished before the weekend. Still, the idea of coming across posters or shit, months or even years later, of Lizzie and I promoting The Program made me want to vomit.

Outside, the bell to end First Period had not yet sounded, and The Commons was filled with people. Naked people. That twisting dissociation overwhelmed me again. I felt alone, naked and helpless, even in a throng of the nude. It was becoming hard to pick out kids with clothes now. The noise level was on par for lunchtime.

"What's going on?" Lizzie asked, her voice between wonder and fear.

"I wonder how many of them even went to class," Todd said as he held the door to the recital room open for Wesley and Stan. I wondered too, although the idea of hundreds of kids skipping class to run around naked in The Commons was just so 'what the fuck!' that I couldn't wrap my brain around it. Attempting made me feel queasy. "I'm not so sure that 'Protest of the Circumcised' thing was such a good idea anymore."

Stan stopped to look at the chaos. "Heh." He shook his head and strode off down the hall away from the mess. Wesley paled at the sight and looked like for a moment he was going to retreat back into the recital room.

Todd did something weird. Leaning against the opened door, he tore off a piece of his Outreach Pamphlet, wadded it up, and stuffed it in his mouth. I felt instantly sick and turned away. My mind immediately warped with the idea that he was figuratively "eating" the naked girl pictured on the cover. It took effort for my brain to work back to the more reasonable "spitwad".

When I looked back at him, he was walking past us, the spitwad nowhere to be seen. (And it wasn't like he had hiding places. And the few he did... eeeeew! No, not thinking about that!)

Three naked guys flashed past us, laughing. I spotted a teacher staring across The Commons with a lost expression. According to the Commons' Clock, the bell was still three minutes away. He should definitely have been in class.

A boy jumped up on one of the trash cans and gyrated his hips, apparently trying to make his dick swing in circles like the tassels on a belly dancer's boobs, shouting, "Woo HOO!" I thought I recognized him.

Lizzie grabbed my arm and pointed. Partway up the stairs, someone had spray-painted "Brad is INNO..." Apparently, the mad artist had been stopped before he could finish.

"Considering what they put us through each week," Wesley said in disgusted disbelief, "I'm surprised these guys can get so worked up about The Program."

Something inside me went off like a grenade. I spun on Wesley, suddenly furious. "They're NOT!" Wesley stumbled back in surprise as I yelled at him.

My ears hurt like they were bleeding. My skin crawled with tension. "They're not mad about The Program, or how it treats us! They're mad because of BRAD!" Either for him or at him, it didn't matter. "Because he's a jock!" Hell, more than a jock. A member of the wrestling team in a school where that's such a big deal even I recognize most of them on sight! "All these fucking guys are naked and it's not about The Program at ALL!"

It was like a fucking mockery!

I hated them. I hated every single one of those naked fuckers!

I stopped my rant for lack of breath. I panted, trying to suck in large quantities of air. Todd and even Lizzie had backed away from me. Wesley looked near tears. I didn't give a shit. None of them seemed real. The whole world went yawning away from me. The distance to the floor became a great yawning chasm. I couldn't hear words. The noise in the air became a cacophony both deafening and insignificant. Like the sound of screams after a nearby explosion.

I clutched my hands to my ears, dropping to my knees as the blasting shit storm in my mind turned equilibrium into a fond memory. I sucked in a breath, and let it out in the loudest, longest SCREAM I had in me. I poured all my hatred, all my frustration and all those poisonous, clawing monsters I wasn't allowed to unleash on that fucking perfidious Outreach Officer into one statement of exactly how I felt.



*** *** ***

When the scream ended, it left me with nothing. A dangerous explosive sort of emptiness I intellectually knew that I had felt once before. But the memory, like everything else in the world, had lost all emotional content. All significance.

Todd and Lizzie helped me to my feet. I knew Todd and Lizzie. I knew I liked them, and that I thought they were good people. None of that really felt like anything, but when my mind failed to conjure any reason not to let them, I allowed it. Lizzie picked up the envelope from Dad. That was nice of her. I knew it was important, but only at the same level that I knew it was rectangular.

I followed their lead as they took me to the library. I knew the library. That was where my next class was. Only today, technically. But since today was today, that was all right. So the library was a good place to go.

We were going through The Commons. That was a bad place, my mind told me in the same neutral, unconcerned voice that it might tell me the letters S, T, O and P spell "stop". But without any sense of meaning or imperative.

We passed the spot where JD fell. I wondered what that felt like. I turned from my escort and started walking towards the stairs. Part of my mind realized I was going to jump off the balcony. It wouldn't be that hard. I'd just have to wait until people moved out of the way. I wouldn't want to fall on them because that would ruin the experiment. As I started up the stairs, Lizzie grabbed onto me and redirected me towards the library again. Which was okay. The library was good too.

The bell rang. It was loud.

We passed a teacher yelling at a couple naked students to go to class. One of the students yelled back, "Fuck that! I'm naked in school!" I wondered how that made sense. I could probably puzzle it out. Then the boy jumped up and climbed onto one of the rows of first floor lockers. I wondered if I could do that. But Todd and Lizzie were tugging at me, so I continued to the library.



*** *** ***

Halfway through second period, my entire body washed sick with cold chills as I realized what I had almost done back in The Commons. Horror invaded me. If Lizzie hadn't been there...

I sank frozen into my chair, hardly watching the streams of students, none of whom were where they were supposed to be, rampaging through the Library. Mike had his hands full.

Todd was there with me. His worried eyes alternated between me and the scene outside the double-paned, wire-meshed windows that looked out into the hall. What was happening out there was scary. But for me, what had happened inside was far more frightening. All the more so because it had happened once before.

"...I think most of the school's naked now," Todd was saying, more to himself than me. I wasn't paying attention. "Thousands of kids, hundreds of causes, nothing unifying. Some of them are stripping due to peer pressure. Some just because. It's not a protest anymore. It's chaos..."

I tuned him out, dealing with my own terrors.

I will never know how long I had been shaking before I realized it. But as soon as I did, I tried to stop myself. I clamped my hands down on the arms of the chair, forcing my body rigid. No help there.

I was certain I would have died out there. If it hadn't been for Todd and Lizzie.

Mrs. Habberly's voice ("...they say the cops found her covered in the blood of another student...") came back to me in a phantom memory.

For the first time, I entertained the idea that maybe Tillerman was right to try to exclude me from The Program. I had regained enough emotion to hate myself for the thought.

At least this time, it was short. This time, it hadn't lasted long enough...

("...Uncle Rory? I've been thinking a lot about Charlie recently...")

...to do anything harmful.

I closed my eyes, my body aching with ebbing horror. I could smell the blood again. I imagined the scent never really went away. That it just became a constant. Something that my mind learned to ignore, like the sound of the refrigerator or the feeling of being naked. Something that was only noticed when things were too quiet, or when things got bad.

A dream floated to me. Mrs. Pignotti.

("...what happened after you left the assembly?...")

FRIDAY 2

There was a stupid waterfall thingie behind me. It was supposed to be relaxing, but all it did was make me want to pee. I didn't say this, of course. I was too pissed off to be bothered by something like urination. I knew Dad meant well, but this was stupid, stupid, STUPID! I detested being here!

"Amanda," Mrs. Pignotti tried again, oozing professional friendship like a snail oozes slime. "Why don't you tell me what happened after you left the assembly that day."

I crossed my arms over my breasts, then decided that wasn't comfortable so crossed my arms beneath them. My jaw worked as I tried to exude an air of non-cooperation. If I just didn't jump through the hoops, perhaps they'd be taken down and I could go.


Mrs. Pignotti feigned looking at a paper, but I knew she wasn't. It was an act, for my benefit. She had this all memorized. "You slipped through in the chaos. According to this, a squad car picked you up hours later on Cranoak Road," (...covered in the blood of another student...) "four miles away from the school. Where did you go?"

Attempting an unpleasantly disinterested stoicism, "I went for a walk."

Mrs. Pignotti didn't buy it. "But according to the police report, you were walking back towards the school when they found you." She waited for me to feel the urge to say something. I totally didn't. Why the fuck should I. She was just another adult trying to pry into my head.

"There aren't many homes that far out on Cranoak," she offered. She waited again. The silence was bliss. But it was also heavy. And the longer it stretched, the heavier it got. I felt like I was holding it up by the will not to talk, and it was beginning to crush me. And that stupid waterfall kept running behind me.

Fucking hell! I didn't want to deal with this shit. "It was a long walk," I lied. "You can put that in your report."

Kindly, Mrs. Pignotti leaned forward and again fed me what I knew was a toasted balls-and-crap sandwich. "I'm not writing a report. Everything you tell me stays just with you and me. Nothing that goes on in this room leaves this room."

Bullshit! What I do stays in this room? Sure. Until I do something you don't like! Or say something that the cops or those sick bastards at The Program want to know about! Or something that makes me sound nuts. Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you!

Dad was trying to help me, but I knew bitches like this were just out to make money off my suffering, and if she could prescribe all sorts of expensive shit we could in no way afford to make me a zombie, all the better! I had her "nothing leaves this room" right here!

I was getting madder. Things were whirring inside me, crawling in my skin. I just wanted to go the fuck home and never talk to anyone ever again!

"Amanda, we both know who lived on Cranoak Road..." Don't say it! Don't even! I don't want to think about that, and you can't make me!

Mrs. Pignotti took no prisoners. "After what happened at the school..." she started in her professional I'm-your-friend voice. I was gonna' fucking deck her. Let's see how fucking 'in this room' that stays!

"...Why did you go to the Ulysses' house?"

WHAP!



*** *** ***

I snapped out of the memory when Todd suddenly came to alert.

Oh fuck, what now? I looked around. Lizzie had just entered the library. She looked scared. I rummaged through my memory, but no, I hadn't heard the bell ring. It was still second period. I checked and, no, Misty wasn't with her. I had a sinking feeling in my chest.

Lizzie walked to the library lounge and took a seat opposite us, looking shell-shocked.

"Everyone in my class was naked, 'cept one girl." Her voice was too calm, bleached with disbelief. "The others... they grabbed her and tore off her clothes. The teacher tried to stop them. They threatened to tear his off too."

I didn't know what to say.

Lizzie looked at us with grim determination. "I'm not going to P.E.!" I'd forgotten Lizzie had Mrs. Granger next period. Fuck. I didn't blame her.

The shouting and ruckus surged outside as a band of naked kids ripped by the library, apparently carrying someone.

Todd leapt to his feet. "Oh shit!" He launched after them, bolting out the door and leaving Lizzie and I alone in the eye of the storm.



*** *** ***

The bell rang.

Lizzie and I sat there, neither of us looking to leave. Somehow, I just couldn't give a crap about missing "Math with Rick". Well, actually I did worry a little. I was good in that class, and didn't want to suffer in it. Well, any more than I had already this week. However, that worry was nowhere near strong enough to push me out into the madness. I noticed Lizzie was still clutching the paperwork from Dad.

The doors banged open, making both of us jump. A dozen kids ran in, raising hell.

"Is Todd in here?" Lizzie and I turned at the urgent sound of Mike's voice. He looked harried. His hair was a mess. His face creased with concern. He had a bruise forming on his left cheek.

Lizzie shook her head. "No," I circed. Then tried to redeem myself by adding, "He ran out about, what, ten minutes ago?"

Mike nodded. "I know. A bunch of the Jewish kids found another student with..." he paused uncomfortably. "With the same tattoo that Kendra had," he finished. Lizzie looked to me with alarm, clearly remembering the story. "They tied him up to one of the poles in The Commons. I think..." Amazed disbelief and terrible apprehension competed in Mike's voice. "I think they were going to set him on fire!"

"WHAT?!?"

"They said they were going to 'illuminate' him. They'd dumped his textbooks at his feet." Mike swayed a little. I felt the blood drain from my face.

"What about Todd?" Lizzie, cautiously.

Mike shook his head. "Todd jumped in. Tried to stop them, started a fight. Brought the attention of the faculty. Good thing too. We broke it up. Me, Mr. Sharklin, a few other teachers." He was rambling. He looked unsteady. "Ms. Palmers is removing the student, the one with the tattoo, from the school. For his own safety. Is Todd here?"

Lizzie shot me a look of concern. My gentle angel was almost screaming. I pushed out of my seat, my legs wobbly from the aftermath of my personal horror. I moved to Mike, coaxing him to sit down.

"Todd's not here. We told you that."

Mike looked momentarily confused, then ashamed. "Oh, right. Sorry about that." He smiled at me, looking relieved to be sitting down. His eyes wandered down me to fix on my breasts, making me feel naked again in a way that was totally not Mike. Lizzie moved up next to him opposite me.

Something was very wrong. "Mike, were you hurt?" I asked.

Mike blinked, then smiled, shrugging it off. "One of the kids knocked me back into the support column. I just have a little headache." He looked at me, his smile fading. "Todd was hurt. But he's not in the infirmary. I don't know where he is." He began to look around, and I felt like I would scream if he asked if Todd was here again.

Instead, he said "ow".

"Amanda!" Lizzie's voice held a tremor of fear. She lifted her hand from the back of Mike's head. It was red and tacky with blood.



*** *** ***

Lizzie and I hauled Mike to the infirmary. Towards the end, we were nearly carrying him.

The journey was dangerous. Something had happened to transform the halls into a labyrinth filled with monsters. The other kinds seemed to be feeding off each other, descending into a mad, mutant mob-think. My mind dredged up something from Mr. Stephan's last class: the Two Minute Hate. The population of South Uh had been agitated and primed, ready to explode.

What Mike had described-- those students attempting to re-enact the Witch Trials-- I would have expected that to be the explosion. But things weren't calming down. They were getting worse.

("You did this!" the little voice of FU accused nonsensically. "You screamed and let out all the monsters in your head. Now they've infected the rest of the school. And they're breeding.")

School hadn't been safe for us all fucking week. Now this.

Lizzie moved ahead, looking around corners. Checking for danger. We had to detour once to avoid a particularly ogre-ish gang. I watched her. This was the helpless princess I had rescued Tuesday! The girl who totally panicked when faced with the Monday Assembly now scouted ahead to warn of threats. Lizzie had changed. She was braver and stronger now than before. I wondered what Ms. Palmers would say.

When we reached the infirmary, we found a small crowd. Mostly kids. One teacher, a pretty lady who I'd never had a class with. Her clothes were in shreds and she was oozing blood from a few places where fingernails had broken skin. I couldn't tell if she was there for herself or one of the students sitting close to her. I didn't see anybody whose injury seemed worse to me than Mike's, so I pushed forward. "Where's the nurse?" The teacher pointed towards the nurse's office. Her door was slightly ajar.

Lizzie helped Mike sit down. There were no chairs left, and the exam table had two people on it already, so she gingerly guided him to the floor. He met it with a plop.

I passed a boy bleeding from his nose and a split on his lip. He was cupping two small white things in his blood-smeared palms, staring at them. It took me a moment to realize they were teeth.

Where are the police?

"This is insanity. The faculty has completely lost control. I think this school's a breath away from a full-fledged riot."

I didn't catch who said it. It might have been me.

I nudged open the door to the office quietly. I expected to find the nurse on the phone, perhaps with a hospital. Why else would she not be out there? I was half-right. The nurse was with Coach MacIntyre having a conference call with the Principal and Ms. Palmers. I was in time to hear the coach demand, "This is intolerable! We have to take back control of this school!"

Principal Tillerman's voice sounded tired and edgy. "And what exactly do you suggest we do? If we call in the police, there will be violence."

"There's already been violence!" came the nasty voice of Ms. Palmers.

"Even more violence!" Tillerman explained to her like she was a small child.

Fucking perfect! The people in charge didn't have a fucking clue what to do! I wasn't willing to wait for them to figure it out. Mike might not have time for this. Fuck knows how bad he's been hurt. I hailed the nurse. "Mike's been hurt! I think it might be bad!" Both of them turned to stare at the interruption. "Mike from the library," I explained, knowing that it would prompt better action than Mike-some-shit-they-don't-know. I was right. The nurse immediately jumped to her feat and pushed past me out into the infirmary.

From the conference call, Tillerman's voice piped up. "Is that Amanda Warren?" Fuck! I really have been in his office too damn many times this week!

"Before you ask," I pre-empted, "No. It wasn't like this. It's never been like this!"

I walked out, focused on Lizzie and Mike. Let them solve their own fucking problems.



*** *** ***

The diagnosis was a concussion. The word 'mild' was, very noticeably, not attached.

Lizzie and I waited as the nurse disappeared again, ordering the coach to do what he could and complaining that even on a good day a school this size needed more than one nurse.

Another student came in, cradling his arm. It didn't look broken, but there were some ugly bruises forming.

The loudspeaker crackled to life. Tillerman's voice, turned slightly tinny, barked over the P.A. system. "This. Stops. NOW!"

Lizzie's hand grabbed my own. I turned to see her staring up at the speaker. Her mouth was moving without sound. But I could make out the words on her lips. She was mouthing "Don't say it, don't say it" over and over.

I didn't guess what was coming, but Lizzie clearly did. She is very good at that sometimes. Somewhere beneath her lovely face lurks a mind very good at puzzles.

Mr. Tillerman, I had come to realize, was not a monster. He was a man, and a good one, dealing as best he could with rotten circumstances, imperfectly, sometimes poorly. I am certain the Principal meant well. But I am also certain that his next words were the worst possible ones.

"All students who are not in The Program will put on their clothing and return to their classes immediately!"

He said something about the police after that, but it was lost in a deafening cry of outrage and defiance that ripped through the school. Lizzie's hand tightened about mine painfully. She looked into my eyes and whispered the first real order she had given me.

"Run!"



*** *** ***

Lizzie and I made a mad dash for the west wing exit. All round us, students roared and howled. Most of them running in the opposite direction. But not all. A few apparently decided the best way to show their disapproval was to smash things. Or to steal them.

We were nearly there, freedom in sight, when I noticed again that Lizzie still had the envelope from Dad. The envelope filled with paperwork vital to helping Lizzie stay with us. Fuck!

I stopped running, Lizzie kept going, reaching the door before she realized I wasn't with her. She turned to me, her eyes wide. She was clearly terrified something had happened to me in the few seconds I had fallen behind.

I clutched my knees. Each breath was hard, ragged and didn't draw enough air. I felt burning stitches rising along my right side. I shook my head, my hair a mess, my face sweating and not just from exertion. "We have to go back!"

Lizzie clearly didn't want to. "For Todd?" Fuck. Hadn't even thought about getting Todd! Why wasn't I thinking of him, too?

I wasn't going to let her in on my brief lapse of humanity, so I nodded. Swallowing, I added, "And that!" I pointed wearily to the envelope, straightening back up. "We've got to get that to Tillerman."

Lizzie looked at the envelope in her hand as if wondering how it got there. She looked to me with understanding. And we started back.

Towards the Principal's Office. On the other side of The Commons.

Through the heart of the storm.



*** *** ***

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The idea that Todd was hurt fully penetrated. I had an ugly flash of the dream from last night. Todd, standing outside, bathed in red light. Bathed in blood. ("Was it a dream?" a stray thought wondered. "He had the mirror and cube of pop. Is home between his and where he got either of those?" It was a stupid question. He probably got the mirror on the way home, and probably already had the pop.)

How badly was Todd hurt? Did he get to the infirmary then leave? Or never get there at all?

Lizzie and I drew less attention than we had all week. We moved through the multitude like ghosts. We were no longer running. The goal was to keep as low a profile as possible. Let other targets be more appealing. Being naked actually helped us blend in. Irony of all Program ironies.

A teacher and several loyal students were trying to force a band of marauders out of their classroom, enacting the Chemistry Lab's Last Stand. I wished them well, not wanting to think what might happen if the vandal-minded overran that particular room.

Shortly after we passed, a brilliant flash of fire, there and gone in an instant, sent the rioting student's running. Never count a chemistry teacher unarmed. The chem. Lab's door slammed shut and I could hear the kids inside locking and barring the door.


We detoured to the other side of the west wing after spotting a few kids ahead spilling thumbtacks across the carpet like caltrops. Another artist had spray-painted "NUDITY is a RIGHT!" across the wall of the connecting hallway. The "Y" was broken where it ran over a drinking fountain.

We passed the library, where one boy was trying to smash the windows with an improvised club. There were spiderweb cracks running all through the window he was venting on, but it was proving frustratingly hard to break.

Then the Principal was on the loudspeaker, saying the cops were on the way.


*** *** ***

The students were a massing, teeming, boiling horde of nudity in The Commons. Mr. Tillerman, Ms. Palmers and a handful of others had barricaded themselves in the offices. The windows looking in were made of some sort of very clear plastic, not glass, and were proving impossible to break. That wasn't keeping people from trying.

There were students at every door, every window into the offices. Most were just pounding, slapping bare palms rhythmically against the surfaces, sometimes adding in a whoop or holler. I imagined it must be terrifying for those inside. Out here, it reminded me of one of those movie riot scenes with the mob rocking a police car. Frightening, but otherwise really stupid.

"We're not going to be able to get in there."

Stymied by the mob, I cast about for another approach. Or, barring that, some idea of how to help Todd. "Any idea where Todd is?"

The roar around us had dropped a little, allowing us to talk without shouting. Lizzie pondered briefly. "He could have gone out to his car."

The thought brought a sick wave of terror. The idea of Todd behind the wheel of the Behemoth flashed before me like an ominous premonition. This morning, Todd was barely awake enough to avoid an accident. Now he was injured too. Todd was in no condition to be driving!

"Or, he could be back in the recital room," Lizzie offered confusingly.

"The recital room?" I asked as the hammering mercifully began to dissipate. Why the hell would Todd want to go there? To bask in the afterglow of the Outreach Meeting? The notion was absurd, but I quickly realized it was also impossible. "The door would have locked behind us when we left. He can't get in."

From the look Lizzie gave me, I knew I was missing something, probably something obvious. The look she gave was neither reproachful nor condescending, but honestly bewildered at my statement. Which made me feel even stupider.

Lizzie opened her mouth, but her question died on her lips as the noise around us dropped another decibel. A hush was washing through The Commons, spreading like a contagion. I heard somebody run. Somebody screamed. People began to back away. The crowd was parting like the sea in that movie about Moses. And it was parting towards us.

The crowd in front of us fell back, gasping quietly. I saw why, and my heart seized.

Todd was walking through The Commons, carrying a knife.

He was naked, like everyone else, but unlike them, he was red with blood. A large gash was split open on his forehead. Blood still oozed from it. His face was thoroughly washed with crimson. Glistening trails of blood etched down his neck and over his chest. Dark, dried tendrils formed alien veins over his side and left leg. His hands were covered in blood. Terrified, I wondered who he had murdered. My mind sluggishly realized that the blood was his own, his hands stained through wiping the crimson flow from his eyes. The parts of his flesh that would have been clean were smeared thinly with blood from wiping his hands as he had no clothes to use for a towel.

("Todd was hurt," Mike had said.)

Todd moved slowly, deliberately. His eyes were cold, determined, focused. One of his hands wrapped around about the handle of a large kitchen knife, wickedly serrated. The blade gleamed in the overheads of The Commons, the metal (unlike the handle) free of blood.

(It's probably not as bad as it looks, right? Head wounds bleed a lot, don't they?)

I heard Lizzie whimper.

Everyone was backing out of Todd's way, including us. Lizzie was whipping her head around, looking away in the direction Todd was heading, and back. Wherever he was headed, he was clearly set on it. Nobody, it seemed, wanted to be the one who blocked his way.

Even as I thought it, I saw I was wrong. A red and black had managed his way into The Commons and stopped at the sight of Todd and knife. As I watched, he let Todd walk past, then unclipped his taser. Other eyes began moving between him and Todd as the crowd tensed for what was about to happen.

Ugly futures played through my head. Despite the blood and the knife, I couldn't believe Todd was going to hurt anyone. Even injured, sleep-deprived and harassed. For some reason I couldn't quite formalize, I knew Todd would never pull an F.U. But self defense? The echoes of Brad were too powerful.

Todd passed us without acknowledging we were there.

The Program Guard made a rush for Todd. To my utter surprise, and obviously his, Lizzie ran forward, intercepting him with a shocking kick to the groin. The Guard went the fuck down. Hopping back like she hurt her foot, eyes tearing, Lizzie yelled at him.

"HE'S NOT GONNA HURT ANYONE!"

The Guard pulled himself back up, eyes full of rage, taser crackling. I moved to protect Lizzie, Todd totally forgotten again. The guard lurched forward, and somebody in the crowd shouted. Lizzie backed up, stumbling. I reached her, drawing her behind me, just as a wave of naked students came crashing down on the Program Guard.

I stared, backing up with Lizzie, as angry kids vented by beating the red and black to a pulp. I was trembling as we moved out of sight. Lizzie was guiding me more than I was leading her now. I kept looking back at the crowd of bodies, fists raising and falling.

I knew things had just gotten a lot darker, a lot worse.

Lizzie led me up one of the stairwells and to the second floor windows opposite the lockers. As we passed the coffee vendor, I realized we were cornering ourselves. I finally turned my attention to Lizzie.

Lizzie let go of my hand and pressed up against the window. Heavy rain splotched down on the glass, trying to soak her but thwarted at the last moment by glass. I followed her gaze down into the web of sidewalks and grass.

Todd had left the building.

His long stride took him over the wet concrete, the rain washing his blood away. He marched, knife in hand, out to the flagpole that marked the limit of school grounds in the eyes of The Program. Three days of stripping naked there, making myself vulnerable and exposed to the nastiest elements of weather and man, flooded my memory. The flag still flew at half-mast, reminding me of Brad. And, by extension, of all the fallen.

Todd stopped.

"The spitball," Lizzie said vaguely. It took a moment for my mind to track. I remembered Todd holding the door open for everyone as we left the recital room. I remembered the spitwad that disappeared before he let it close.

I remembered Kendra's words: "The kitchen, you dumb slut. They never lock the door between it and the recital room."

Todd was gazing up at the flag. He grasped the flagpole ropes in his free hand. The knife went up. I realized what he was going to do a moment before he did it.

Abruptly, the reason Todd would never pull an F.U. crystallized in my mind. Todd had a singular talent for sticking the blame where it belongs. He didn't hit innocent bystanders. Or even not so innocent ones. Even in the brief time I knew him...

("No. Kendra nearly got me knifed. She brought the anti-Semitism and she brought the knife!")

("Don't blame you. I could have said no.")

("Israel launched first.")

Memories. Snippets of Todd. I knew what he was going to do.

Todd held the knife still but a moment.

A fury of cutting, and the American flag came down.



*** *** ***

"I saw another of those fucking Red Shirts back by the east bathrooms!" called out one naked boy, looking bruised, sweaty and full of his glory. A gang chopped off the crowd and ran with him down the east wing. The human violence was spreading. I stood by the window, watching numbly.

A rolling crash like metallic thunder echoed up to us. I jumped. There were screams of shock and delight roaring up from below us. Somebody had toppled one of the first floor lockers, and they were all coming down like dominos.

It was like the fucking revolution down there.

I clutched the envelope from Dad in one hand, Lizzie in the other. I looked at her. She looked out the window. Neither of us had any desire to move. The only exit that didn't take us through a war zone was the front doors. And that was assuming the chaos below didn't extend to the bottom of the stairs. If it did, our best bet was to fucking jump.

Even as the riot spread its tentacles of violence outwards through the school, The Commons had suddenly become unnaturally calm. The eye of the shitstorm.

Everyone down there waited, staring out the glass of the front doors, as Todd strode back to the building. He had the flag folded in his outstretched arms like a dead infant. I heard the automatic doors hiss open as he reached them.

Todd marched up the stairs, a silent crowd gathering around him. My eyes tracked him as he rose into view. There was a heaviness in the air that threatened to crush my lungs. The sounds of shouts and breaking things in the distance seemed to mute, dreamlike.

Todd's skin was slick with frigid rainwater; it gleamed in the light. The rain had washed the red stains of blood from his naked body. It had also washed the clotting out, and the gash across his forehead had begun to bleed freely again. He was no longer an image from a horror movie. He looked like a soldier in one of those patriotic war paintings. He looked... iconic.

I watched, mesmerized like the rest of them, as Todd reached the second floor lockers and marched to the very place JD fell. He disappeared, obscured by the curious, stunned throng of people. Then I could see him again as he lifted himself above the others. Icy water ran down my skin and up my spin as Todd stood precariously on the railing! The crowd was behind him; nothing but air was in front of him. JD's fall was in front of him.

My mind spun, the drowning feeling I had felt all week returned with a sickening, horrified vengeance as I saw Todd standing on the railing. He was going to jump! To kill himself! No, no Todd wouldn't do that, my mind insisted.

It didn't matter. I screamed as three students suddenly thrust their arms at him. Several hands grabbed at his ankles and legs! His balance staggered a moment! They were pushing him! No, they were holding him!

With the sudden support of strangers, Todd reached out and unfurled the flag! The sopping canvas splayed out, hanging over the balcony!

Suddenly, I had to move. I had to see. Not from up here. From down there!

Dragging Lizzie with me, I ran for the stairs. I let go of her hand as I bounced down them, dangerously taking three at a time, ignoring the sharp pangs in my chest as my breasts bounced freely.

I hit the carpet hard, stumbling more than dashing between staring students. Above and around me, I heard the alien silence splinter then explode as people began to shout and chant! There was no coherence to it, but there was a clear rhythm.

I dashed to the wall near Ms. Palmers' door. Only minutes ago, a teeming madness of students had surrounded this wall. Now, it was nearly vacant. All eyes were where mine went: Todd.

Clearly confident in the grasp the other students, Todd had begun to wave the heavy, wet canvas. The cacophony barked up from the students in sync with the flapping of the red, white and blue. Blood ran freely down his face, blinding his left eye.

A girl next to me, probably the only clothed student in miles, pulled her videophone out of her purse. In the distance, I could hear sirens.

The door near me opened. Under cover of Todd's distraction, Mr. Tillerman and a teacher I'd never met dashed out into the storm. They moved to the fallen, bloody Program Guard, lifting him up. Moving quickly, looking about like soldiers in enemy territory, they hurried him back towards the safety of the offices.

The bizarre, almost patriotic reverie that had briefly overcome me broke. It was time to go. It was time to fucking go NOW!

As the other teacher hauled the Program Guard into the office, I turned to the Principal, thrusting Dad's paperwork at him. "We're leaving!" He just took it, nodded mutely. Technically, I knew, he could give me an extra week in The Program, maybe even suspension, for ditching. He was fucking welcome to.

Principal Tillerman must have had the same thought because maybe, just maybe, there was a hint of a smile. Then he disappeared and I heard Ms. Palmers locking the door again.

In a heartbeat, I grasped Lizzie. This time it was I who was urging Lizzie to run. Forget Todd. Todd was fucking lost. I dodged behind the girl with the recorder, not wanting to be spotlighted on the evening news tonight.

Todd had done it again. Like at the Monday Assembly, he had transformed himself into the center, the focal point of the conflict. I should have known something like this was coming!

We got halfway to the doors when somebody set off the overhead sprinklers. The fire alarm screamed. Water sprayed down from above soaking everything. It was as if the weather had moved inside!



*** *** ***

The first squad cars were pulling in as Lizzie and I burst out the front entrance. The flashing arcs of blood and blue painted the rain. It was almost pretty.

Two cars had just stopped in front of the school. Several more were circling around each side. Like Indians ambushing covered wagons, I associated loosely. Probably nothing like that, but the sense of threat was just as strong.

As our feet slapped the wet cement, I realized belatedly that our clothes were still in the Program Locker. We would have to wait until Monday to get them.

("If there is a Monday," the little voice of F.U. said bitterly.)

There were more cars with flashing lights on the way. The rain was heavy enough it almost concealed us. Right now, it would be possible, if not easy, to slip out one of the open gates along the fence. Without Todd, we didn't have a ride. The walk home ahead of us in the freezing cold seemed foreboding. But the real concern was that we'd be spotted as students from the school too easily. They'll be looking for naked kids out on the street. We'd have to be careful. Hug alleys. Take routes I would normally avoid...

I stopped dead when I saw her.

Misty. Standing under the overhang. Cold, but relatively dry. Naked.

My hammering heart skipped a beat. Something warm slewed inside me. My brain fritzed. I was totally not ready to deal with seeing Misty Naked.

Misty was grinning that Misty-grin. It would have alarmed me more if I had been able to keep my eyes on her face. But they kept sliding down her skin like rain. And my brain kept shorting. I felt abnormally hot for someone being doused by November rain.

Somewhere in the back of my head, voices were screaming at me. I knew that we had to move, to run, to go. I was too dazed to pay them the attention I should. What was Misty doing naked anyway? She didn't seem the bow-to-peer-pressure type.

I shouldn't feel this warm, I thought. It's freezing out. Just look at her nipples! GAAH! Fuck! Look away! Look at Lizzie! Look anywhere else!

I fixed my gaze on Lizzie. And damn if she wasn't stifling a giggle. I was so screwed.

The sound of sirens seemed omnipresent. I marveled how, even as the world fell down around us, I was being given cause to contemplate my sexual screwedness.

"Amanda. I was hoping I'd catch you. I have something for you." Misty's words provoked fear. It was a learned response.

However, when she held out her hand, instead of something nothing nasty or wicked, there was a white envelope. I quickly reminded myself that written words could be as nasty and wicked as any of Misty's clamps.

Misty caught my hesitation. She smiled, and the smile almost succeeded in not being predatory at all. "It's a letter from my father. You two are trying to move in together, right?" A gear in my head skipped and spun wildly. What a way to put that! "A letter of recommendation from my father should help facilitate that. Don't let those Outreach Bastards get you worried." The gear locked back in place and my brain started functioning again. That's right. Didn't Misty say her father was on the school board or something?

I reached out and took the letter like the blessing from heaven it clearly was. I was speechless. Lizzie thanked Misty heartily for both of us while I just nodded mutely.

Misty tilted her head, falling naturally into a pose promising such hot, dangerous sex it made my clit hurt, and winked. I think I saw Lizzie blink, stunned. I felt a brief twinge of jealousy, but just a tiny one. Why should I be jealous? I wasn't a possessive bitch. And, besides, they both had eyes for me. Primarily, at least. I should be grateful (Or scared.)

I tore myself from the sight of Misty and began to walk away. Alarm was mounting in the back of my head. I was surprised that police were not rushing from their cars at us. Looking out at them, I could see the perimeter they were creating around the school. A fire truck had joined the black and whites. Lizzie gripped me and pointed to a black and red vehicle from the Program Office rolling to a stop.

We took a few steps, urgency upon us, but again I stopped. I turned back to Misty.

"How did you know?"

Misty licked her lips coyly. "Know what?" Then she supplied a guess of her own. "That your family was adopting Elizabeth? Ms. Palmers told me yesterday." The fuck!? "Now don't look like that; I was asking. Besides, father gets reports from the principal about the Program participants at least once a week. He always talks about it over supper. I talked my father into the recommendation over supper last night." Stood to reason her father already knew about it. I could too easily imagine Tillerman feeling the need to inform the school board. Especially as to why he was keeping a student overnight.

The idea of Ms. Palmers sharing that sort of information with Misty, school board daughter or not, struck a dark chord in me. But I let it pass. That wasn't what I had been asking. As I thought about how to phrase what I wanted-- no needed-- to know, my hand went subconsciously to my collar.

Misty laughed. "How I knew you liked girls?" She licked her lips again, and gave Lizzie a grin. "Girl, I've been in two classes with you for months now. I watched you. You might not have known it, but it wasn't hard to figure out." I reeled. The idea that I was somehow broadcasting signals when I didn't even have a clue! Fuck! What, what signals?!? How did she...?

Misty chuckled. "There's a word for that, you know."

I tried to protest, but my mind was going in too many directions at once. I was flustered. Blushing. Off balance. Just how Misty wanted me. That I was almost sure of.

Misty turned serious, going for the kill. "Or did you mean how I knew you would be open to my..." She licker her lips a third time, and breathed the word in a way that made me hurt inside. "...explorations?" There was a powerful twinkle in her eye. She smirked at me, and for a fleeting, horrific moment part of me wanted her to hurt me. To reach out and pinch something tender. It was insane.

Misty gave an answer I couldn't have expected. "I didn't." My breathing stopped. "But when my father told me that you could have gotten out of The Program, but you refused to..." Lizzie squeaked in surprised. I started, exhaling suddenly, feeling like a caught rat. That was a secret I hadn't told Lizzie!

Misty concluded, "You were willing to put yourself through a week of hell just to show you could." I was struck by an irrational anger. It was unfair! Misty had all this secret information because of her dad. It was like... like insider trading or something! "Didn't mean you were a masochist or submissive. But it was something I could work with."

It wasn't fair! I never stood a chance!

"When father told me about the incident with the Program Guard, and how you protected Lizzie," Misty shrugged. "I knew how this had to play. I made the collar Wednesday night."

Lizzie found her voice. Mine was still hiding somewhere. "You made the collar?"

And for the first time, I saw Misty blush. "I have a kit." The blush gave her an innocent quality that was totally false. The idea she had a kit for that sort thing was downright sinful. Together, they made her... I didn't have a word. Sinnocent. Whatever it was, it made her fucking hot.

The moment was broken by the sound of shattering glass. My eyes flitted upwards towards the huge picture windows above The Commons, then glided across rows of classroom windows along the school's face. The loud, horrible world of sirens and fire alarms came crashing back.

Misty looked past us, focusing on the police cars, worry crossing her face. "Care for a ride?"



*** *** ***

"I never thought of you as the pickup sort of girl," Lizzie said as we buckled in. Misty had a dark blue Toyota Longbed. The back of the pickup was covered in a lighter blue waterproof tarp. At her feet were her clothes, her Student ID on the top. Unlike us, she had been prepared.

Misty gave a little laugh. "Can't imagine owning a vehicle you can't stretch out a pet in." Fuck! Made me trepid about just what it looked like back there under the tarp!

"What were your other options," I asked darkly.

Misty started up the pickup and began to maneuver through the parking lot. "Well, I always thought a hearse would be fun." Figured. Would even have that feeling of dread appropriate to a dungeon-on-wheels.

The exit was blocked by cop cars. Red and blue flashers. Misty slowed down. I clenched my hands anxiously, braced for the pickup to make a sudden turn as Misty tried for another exit. But she didn't.

She pulled to a polite stop in front of the police as they flagged her down. One of them walked up to the driver's side door, flashing in his light at us. All my nerves jolted. I felt panicky. Misty rolled down the window.

"It's bad in there," she said simply. "Dangerous. I'm getting some friends to safety. Sorry."

The cop looked at her, his face a stone mask. "I'm giving you my license," she said calmly, reaching up above the sun visor and pulling down her card. She'd clearly left nothing of importance behind in the school. Now I really had reason to feel jealous. Fucking-girl-fucking-scout Mistress.

The officer looked at it, then did a double-take. "Young Miss Styles?" Holy fucking henhouse!

"Yes, officer."

"Know your father. Good man." He shone the light on us, then back to her. "A little underdressed, aren't you?"

With utterly unruffled pleasantness she asked, "Not against the law, is it officer?" How could she be so calm when I felt like my body was trying to crawl out of my skin?!

He laughed. I nearly jumped out of my skin. "No. Of course not." He waved us through.

Misty pulled onto the street. I suddenly had a new worry. Did I really want Misty to know where I live? Assuming she didn't already? As we passed by the black, boxy, militaristic chain of S.W.A.T. vehicles fast approaching, I decided it was far less dangerous than to be back at the school.

Misty and Lizzie looked to each other.

"No wonder the police were only setting up a perimeter. They're going to use gas."



*** *** ***

I watched Todd fall for the eleventh time.

Misty was right. They did. They gassed the naked kids. Ended the riot in minutes. It was all over the fucking news. Local station by noon. National by ten. Before midnight, somebody had gotten hold of footage of Todd's flag waving. The sopping Red, White and Blue exploded onto the networks.

I shouldn't have been surprised. And I wasn't. I'd even seen the girl with the video camera. She kept it on Todd, only wavering when the men in black armored suits and gas masks rushed into the building.

I watched screaming students. A naked mob becoming a panicked stampede. Strangely off-white smoke and S.W.A.T. officers in masks with shields. And Todd wavering, twisting as he tipped. The flag slipped from one hand. But he never let it go, not with the other. Not even as he fell.

City S.W.A.T. take down student waving American flag-- film at eleven.

The news anchor asked for a replay of the footage. For the twelfth time tonight, I watched Todd fall.

Lizzie had gone up to bed, crying. I had told her Todd was probably okay. It was the same place JD had fallen from, making it seem predestined not to be. I had pointed out to Lizzie that Todd hadn't fallen head first. Lizzie nodded, looking hopeful. But only a little.

I told myself now that Todd was probably okay. Maybe a few broken bones. Some bruises. But we wouldn't know for sure. Not for days. It was chaos downtown. On the news now was a man from the school board, stately and a bit pudgy in a nice business suit that one of the teachers couldn't have afforded. He was talking about South Uintah High closing down for a week. Maybe more. For safety. He was promising it would be temporary. Talking about lingering gas. Broken glass. Safety of the students first. The bar below him announced him as William Reynold Styles.

Todd was probably okay, I repeated to myself grimly. He had a lot of soft bodies to break his fall.

Yeah, that was it. Besides, falls like that didn't have to be bad, did they? It wasn't that much higher than the porch roof at Lizzie's old place, was it? And I fell off that without much more than getting the wind knocked out of me.

I changed the channel. And watched Todd fall for the thirteenth time.

The moment the gas grenades started pouring out chemical mist, Todd's support hands had disappeared. Lack of sleep, loss of blood, and just how heavy was a wet flag anyway? It was a miracle he didn't fall sooner.

Dad walked in, grabbed the remote and plunged the world into a televisionless darkness. "You don't need to watch that anymore, Mandy. Why don't you go up to see how Elizabeth is doing?"

I nodded, feeling chastised.

As I ascended the stairs, I thought how Misty was right. I had chosen to go through with The Program. I had, in essence, volunteered. But it was Todd who ended up really making a stand.

I understood, at least in my gut, what that stand was.

It shouldn't be this way. Wake the fuck up, America. It shouldn't be this way.

I wanted to blame The Program. That would have been easy. But I know Todd would be disappointed. Todd was a living lesson in not laying blame where it's just most convenient.

The Program didn't make it this bad. The society of people with brain tumors who made The Program, who allowed it to happen, made it bad. All this talk about how America has evolved, become better than it used to be. More liberal and free. More tolerant and open-minded and the way things should be. It's all bullshit. Fucking bullshit.

We haven't gotten any better than we were way back when. We've just gotten bad in a different direction.

I wondered if we even fuck can get better. Maybe it's an American thing. We get bored. We get lazy. We get stupid. We make mistakes then don't bother to fix them. We freak the fuck out. Worst of all, we like it that way.

We tell ourselves we've gotten better than we were back in ye old dark ages of our past. And then we invent something like The Program just to prove how fucking wrong we are. Because we all have brain tumors. And because we get off on it. (Fuck what Mr. Stephans said, I'm certain somebody out there is beating himself to the concept of The Program right the fuck now.)

Maybe it's just a human thing.

I found Lizzie on my bed, laying on the top of the covers. I laid down, sliding my body up next to hers. We went to sleep holding each other. Not for sex. Just for comfort.

*** *** ***

For once, are no dreams.




[end of Friday]


Copyright © 2005 Kkat
Contact: Kkat
Revised: January 16, 2006

URL: http://www.shadowgard.com/~brooke/erotica/scars/5-friday-2.html

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