Chapter 7: Hadiya Naked in School

Sunday is a quiet day in our house. No radio, no TV, no phone, no computer. Cha even turns off the answering machine. Speak low if you speak at all. It's his day to meditate.

He follows the religion of his ancestors, a mix of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. And if that's not confusing enough, Me tells me each Vietnamese village has its own variation. The main thing is devotion to thần, which are sort of like spirits or gods. Or maybe they're ghosts of ancestors. I think you have to be born into it to understand it. I don't.

Cha's a good dad, but we're not real close. I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. It's an oriental thing; boys matter more than girls. But it's more than that. As hard as I try I can't replace the son he lost. I try not to take it personally.

On the other hand I'm tight with Me. She was raised Catholic and Sunday meant early Mass for me and Bao. That gave Cha his quiet. After church the three of us brunched at the local pancake house, and after that maybe went to the park or the zoo.

It was part of her mission to make me pure American -- speak only English and all that. It didn't take, at least not a hundred percent. No amount of that could turn me into a tall, blue-eyed blonde. And then Bao was subversive. He told me Vietnamese stories at nap time or bedtime. He was always slipping Vietnamese words in when he could. A few of 'em stuck.

When he was killed in spite of all our prayers Me and I split with the so-called Almighty. Losing a son/brother does that to you. At first Me cried a lot. Cha meditated more than ever. I went out back to scream and throw stuff and play in the dirt, climb the persimmon tree. Eventually we got past that. Except for my relationship with the persimmons tree, that is.

Now Me and me spend Sunday morning in the kitchen. We close the door to the living room, 'cause Cha's incense makes me sneeze. Me unbraids my pigtail, washes my hair in the kitchen sink, dries it and combs it and re-braids it. It takes most of the morning, so we've got lots of time to share our doings. This time, given the week I'd just had both the hair-ing and the sharing took longer than usual. Along with the ribbons still in my braid there was Hadiya and Dolph, Terrell and Matt, Mrs. Devers and Ms. Andrews, diving and cheerleading, and back around to Hadiya and Ashley and Dolph and the football game, all mixed up inside my head. And next week -- I mean tomorrow! -- there's The Program, if Hadiya's up for it. I haven't seen her, can't reach her. I'm really worried.

I was so tired when I got home from the game I'd barely rinsed off the glitter. I fell into bed without even getting the ribbons out of my braid. This morning Me helped me untangle my mind while she untangled my braid, setting aside the ribbons to use at the next football game. Then she listened some more as she washed my hair over the sink, applied her own secret herbal conditioner, dried and braided it and finished off the end with the usual rubber band and a little red bow.

She knows what's going on with me. I don't keep any secrets from her. I learned that from Dee. When she was done I leaned back in her arms and listened to her doings, knowing my hair was beautiful and that I was loved.

After lunch I headed off on my usual Sunday pilgrimage, leaving Cha to his meditation, Me in the kitchen cooking up a mess of stuff to be served at the Church of Christ the Teacher's meals for the homeless. It's not a religious thing with her. That's as close as she'll get to God these days. You won't find promises of salvation and forgiveness there. I think the credo is "Listen and learn and do good. Let the afterlife take care of itself."

So that's what she does.

Reaching the cemetery I folded my legs to settle down on the grass. I'd heard through the grapevine that Dee blamed some of her adventures on an imaginary friend she called The Stick. I have my brother Bao. I am his Kim-Ly, his Golden Lion and he's my thần.

For a long time I just sat there, feeling his touch in the sun on my face, hearing his voice in the breeze and the rustle of the leaves, trying to figure out where things stood with Terrell and Matt. Were they just friends with benefits? Being just a "benefit" was kinda demeaning. I decided I needed more.

And how would tomorrow go?

Oh! I was dressed. The Program didn't start until tomorrow. Though I kinda wished I was naked. I'd feel closer to the world that way, closer to Bao. The breeze would brush me, the grass'd feel soft and sweet and cool under my butt...

"Judy?"

I jumped. That wasn't Bao! Looking around I recognized Matt's sneakers beside me and squinted up, the sun behind him giving him a halo. I guess I was about to find out about at least one of my boyfriends, if that was what they were.

I looked away before I went blind from the sun. "How'd you find me?"

"I went by your house. I called. Don't your folks even have an answering machine? No one came to the front door. Something smelled good so I went around back, like we used to. Your mom was in the kitchen, stirring a big pot. She told me to look here. Where'd you go yesterday? You took off like a shot and I lost you."

From his shoulders I'd leap-frogged right over the top of his head to get to Hadiya, but it was too late. Feeling a twinge of guilt I patted the ground in invitation. "How's your neck?"

"It's okay." He sat down beside me, a few inches away. I resisted the urge to lean toward him, not sure where we stood -- or sat, in this case.

"I went looking for Hadiya, but she was gone. I was worried about her."

"Hadiya? Why?"

"Didn't you see? She dropped outta sight."

He nodded. "I saw something happen to her. She sorta vanished after the point after. What was that all about?"

"Try it happened probably four times. I didn't see all of 'em myself, but that's how many times they fired that cannon. I figure it was flashbacks. PTSD."

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Her?"

At least he'd heard of it. "You know she got blown up?"

"Oh, yeah. Shit. I didn't think. That sucks."

"Yeah," I agreed. He moved closer to me. I didn't move away.

We were quiet for a minute and he cautiously slipped his arm around me. It felt good and I leaned into it.

"Your brother?" he asked, gesturing with his free hand at the low granite stone with its bronze plaque. The brave little American flag, faded a bit and frayed, was still there from Memorial Day, barely stirring in the breeze.

"Yeah." I didn't want to talk about Bao, so I changed the subject. "I hope she's okay. I think Mrs. Devers and Ms. Andrews probably took care of her. I guess I'll find out tomorrow. She and me are s'posed to be partners in The Program this week."

"Huh? You two Naked in School? How do you know? And two girls as partners?"

"It's complicated. She volunteered and I'd already told Devers I wanted to partner her if it happened."

"Call her."

I shook my head, explained about the family's Sunday rules.

"You're not home now. Use my cell."

"I don't have her number with me. Besides, she probably just needs time. Maybe I'll try her tonight. I know where she's coming from. I've been there myself, where she is, sort of."

I plucked some grass, glad he didn't ask me about that. "Besides, if she's not there tomorrow what difference will it make? I said I'd be in The Program. They'll have to find someone to partner with me I guess. As long as it's not Dolph!"

"After what's already happened between you 'n' him? No way!"

I shrugged, leaning forward to brush some grass clippings off Bao's headstone before settling back against Matt, his strength supporting me. It was nice not talking, just being close to him.

"You okay?" he asked after a little bit.

"Yeah. Better now. Thanks for finding me." Still, I felt unsettled, having him there right then. "It's just -- well -- this is kind of my time with Bao."

"Oh. Sorry."

"S'okay."

He fidgeted a minute, then nodded, starting to get up. "I understand. Okay. See you tomorrow?"

Still feeling confused I didn't try to stop him. "Yeah. See you."

I looked up at him, squinting into the sun again. "Thanks for finding me. Oh, don't say anything about the whole Naked in School thing. It's s'posed to be a surprise you know."

"Yeah. Not a word. " Matt stood, fidgeting. "Uh -- are we okay? What's going on with you and Terrell?"

I could tell it was hard for him to ask. "You 'n' me? We're okay. Better than okay, even," I answered, feeling a sort of warm chill, if that makes sense. Warm 'cause I felt close to him in a new way, a good sorta chill 'cause I knew what it meant. Benefits.

"I think it's over with Terrell," I admitted, as much to myself as him, feeling a pang. Terrell knew where to find me. His church stuff should've been done hours ago. He was the one had said we needed to talk. He wasn't here. Matt had gone to the trouble of tracking me down.

'Nuff said.

"Too bad, for him. If you need me I'm here for you, anytime. If you want me."

That made me feel good. "I think I do."

He scuffed his feet in the grass. "Need me? Or want me?"

"Both," I admitted, feeling shy for some reason, looking back up at him. I could see his smile even against the glare of the sun.

"Just not right now, huh?"

"Yeah. Thanks for understanding. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah! See you." He turned and walked away, a gymnast's bounce in his step, like he wanted to jump and click his heels.

Feeling better I turned back to Bao's headstone, hearing in my mind a soft Well done, Kim-Ly, well done.

All was right with the world, at least this part of it. Eventually I got up, brushed off my fanny and made my way home. I had homework to do.

I should've known nothing would keep Hadiya down. Monday morning we met in front of school and she told me everything was okay as she started her painstaking way up the steps. They were probably her most frustrating obstacle. Wheelchair ramps aren't much help. On steps she locked her prosthetic straight, stepped up with her left leg, used it to get her right one up one step, repeated that until she reached the top. I'd seen some stupid pricks in school mocking her, exaggerating her lurch. I matched my pace to hers.

"Who are those people across the street? And what are they yelling about?" she asked, concentrating on her next step. "Are they the same ones who were at the football game? On the far side of the field?"

It was the first day of The Program, so the anti-program forces were out in strength with their signs and placards and sandwich boards. The climb gave me time to explain. "Not necessarily the same ones, but the same mentality. They don't approve of the Naked in School Program."

I wondered where they went over the summer. I bet they sat around the pool, leering through their dark glasses at the girls in their teeny weenie bikinis or, depending on their gender and sexual orientation, at the guys in their Speedos.

Or the naked little kids. Sometimes you'll see one of them standing and peeing in the wading pool. Bet that gives some of the pervs a real thrill!

"Why?" Hadiya asked.

"Why what? Oh, why do they want to kill the Program? I guess they think being naked in public is bad. They think it leads to sex between teenagers and other ugly stuff."

"Is sex ugly?"

"Usually not. It depends on the people."

Why did I think of Dolph and Ashley?

Inside everyone watched us head for the school office with the other Program people. Once there Hadiya wrapped me up in a tight hug, right there in front of everybody, and I returned it without hesitation. It felt so good to be with her again. Finally drawing back I put my hands on her cheeks, my left palm on the silken scarf covering the right half of her face, the other on her soft, smooth cheek skin and I lost myself in her eye.

She met my look.

"Are sure you're all right?" I asked softly. I wanted to do my happy dance and sing "we're going to be naked, we're going to be naked in school this week!"

She nodded silently, but I could feel her tension. It felt good that my hug and touch sucked some of the stress out of her.

Instead of her usual loose tunic and pants she was wearing a sort of hooded robe, sort of like Obi Wan Kenobi's, but beautifully embroidered. Buttons held the front of it closed from the high neck down to about her waist, where it was solid, loosely draping down to her ankles.

What was under the scarf? It was under the hood and tucked into the robe, hiding her neck and more of her face than usual, only that incredible bronze eye showing. From my hug I suspected the robe and scarf were all she had on.

In about five minutes she'd lose all that.

What had Alphonse and his teams done?

The blinds covering the corridor windows were drawn. At least we didn't have to strip in public in front of a bunch of jeering gawkers. That came on day two, on the front walk. But we could hear the voyeurs gathering outside the office, more of them than usual, even for the first day of Naked in School.

No surprise there. Word got around fast. Seeing where we'd gone everyone knew we were among this week's Chosen Ones. It wasn't so much me, of course. For the last week Hadiya had been the veiled mystery woman haunting the halls. Everyone wanted to know what she was hiding.

Devers cracked the door for a quick look out, slipped out for a moment. I heard her say something and the noise level dropped and she ducked back inside. Hadiya's visible eye flicked around, from Devers to Andrews, to the office staff, to the other Program candidates, and back to me.

Ms. Andrews had to ask. So did Mrs. Devers.

Hadiya's answer was very firm. "Yes. I am going to do it!"

Was she really okay? I guess that depends on how you define it. She'd survived the bomb that had killed her brother, but no one could come out of that without scars. Saturday's cannon had exposed the ones inside. Now everyone would see the ones on the surface. How would they react?

My attitude was that if it bothered them, tough! Hadiya dealt with it all day every day. They'd have to deal with it, or deal with me and Hadiya's other friends.

The frosh kids looked more scared than Hadiya. Gosh they were young! The girl was a plump blonde. She had what Dee would've called precocious boobs, impressive enough to give the snots someone else to rag on. Maybe her hooters would take some of the heat off Hadiya.

I gave myself a mental slap for that thought.

The girl's partner wasn't much better. A scarecrow, his arms and legs had gotten a jump on the rest of him. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down his skinny neck, and he had acne. Judging by the way they stood they knew each other, but not well. When he reached out to her I decided he was okay. When she took his hand I was certain they'd know each other a lot better by Friday.

The soph guy was stocky, built like a football player. He was trying to look macho, his thumbs arrogantly hooked into the pockets of his jeans. That was an act. His partner, a chubby redhead with lots of freckles, was keeping her distance from him, trying unsuccessfully to look casually confident. I knew that wouldn't last. They were about to learn that being in The Program was a lot different from seeing other people do it.

The seniors were the least unsettled. I knew them both, but not real well. The girl, Mason, was a cheerleader. Three years of naked cheerleading and only now she's in The Program? Huh! I guess that's the way the coin flips. But no need to worry about her. Barry was a swimmer and had to be used to the locker room mixing. He was not one of Dolph's group, thank God.

Mrs. Devers finished reading us the rules -- reasonable requests, no penetration, yada yada yada -- and suddenly everyone in the office, and I mean everyone, was watching me and Hadiya -- especially Hadiya.

"I feel like a bride on her wedding night!" Hadiya whispered nervously, giving my hand a squeeze. I didn't mention that if things went as usual, by the end of the week she might feel like a bride after her wedding night. A lot of last Friday's lunch table chatter had been about The Program. Who'd be in it first was topic A. No one knew at that point, of course, except maybe Hadiya, and she wasn't talking. Along with the usual good-natured teasing there'd been serious talk about relief and reasonable requests. Hadiya wasn't talking but she listened intently. It had to be a lot for a virginal 15-year-old Pashto Muslim girl to absorb.

She had to know there's a reason the Program comes with a contraceptive shot.

"Let's go, folks," Mrs. Devers urged with a clap of her hands. "Get 'em off."

I'd heard some schools still have security on hand for those reluctant to disrobe. Thank God we didn't need that! We were all volunteers -- sort of. Participation in The Program is a big part of the Spirit of Central High, a point of honor even. Credit people like Carl and Beth and especially Dee for that.

Everyone was looking at me and Hadiya. Figured.

"Ready?" I asked her.

She nodded tensely, her eye glinting resolutely.

Leaning close to her, getting a whiff of her wonderful scent concentrated under the hood, I whispered in her ear. "Let me go first, then I'll help you."

She nodded tensely.

I simply stripped, dropping my clothes in the box as I went. Being sans bra I was immediately topless, my nipples perky. My shorts and panties went down in a single swoop and there I was in nothing but socks and sneakers, the air fondling my naked pussy. For some reason I thought of Skyler and her brother happily capering through the mall, naked as the day they were born. It's such a great feeling.

Ignoring everyone else I turned to Hadiya. I surprised her when I first took her by the shoulders and leaned up -- like everyone she's taller than me -- and my lips brushed hers through the scarf. Since it was tucked under the hood and down into the neckline of her robe I started with the top button. The whole office held its breath as more of her chest was revealed.

I was right. All she was wearing was the robe and the scarf.

Reaching the bottom button exposed a narrow strip of her from her neck down to her waist, but still her breasts were concealed. I brushed the hood back off her head, leaving the scarf. I saw the determination in her eye.

Pushing the robe back off her shoulders I let it fall around her ankles.

There were gasps.

Concentrating, I unwound the scarf and passed it off to Ms. Andrews.

There were more gasps. Someone choked off a little squeak, one of the secretaries I think. Wordlessly I knelt and helped Hadiya step out of the robe. Someone took it from me. I couldn't take my eyes off the vision in front of me as I stood back up.

Central High had its Goths, of course, with their tattoos and piercings and heavy makeup, but this was a whole 'nother leap up from that.

The spa's cosmeticians, along with the crew from the Needles 'n' Skins tattoo parlor, had gone all out for her. It wouldn't be fair to say they'd turned her into a work of art. It was -- what's the word I want? -- a collaboration. The canvas -- her feminine athletic body with its gentle curves and small breasts -- contributed to the overall effect as much as the artists' work.

Even I couldn't take it all in at once, so I started at the top. A satin band, gold, circled Hadiya's brow, widening to cover the empty socket where her right eye should be. Centered there was a glittering amber jewel bigger than my thumb. It was probably nothing valuable, but it was eye-catching, if that's not a sick expression.

But the patch itself was actually a part of the whole. I knew she'd keep that. It was a blossom at the end of a tendril, part of a web, a maze of vines and leaves spreading over the right half of her head, face and neck.

It was exquisite. Rather than hiding the damage the artists' intricate patterns used it. Even the ruin of her right ear faded from view, the flash of a jewel glittered there, a drop of morning dew on the half-opened bud of some exotic flower.

A tattoo? No. Tats take time to heal. It had to be henna. Some wannabe Goths used it. It dyes the skin and lasts only a week or two. That would be enough.

She was trembling. I gently brushed away a tear and reassured her. "You're beautiful!"

And oh God was she!

"Let's go, everyone!" Devers ordered, getting the other people moving.

I wanted to eat her up, taste that sweet shy half smile. Her courage. That single bronze eye, the jeweled eye patch where the other should be!

There was more, of course. From her shoulders down the cosmeticians and tattoo artists had continued their work down the right half of her lovely body. A former dancer and soccer player she was strong and fit, lithe and female.

No bra. She didn't need one. Her breasts weren't much larger than mine, young and firm. Her left boob was wonderfully soft and rounded, unblemished, no hint of a sag, a small, dark areola tipped with a stiff nipple that I wanted to lick, suck on, and love.

There were scars -- patches, lines, seams and dimples where she'd been burned and torn -- all the way down her right side, to where the prosthetic's socket hugged her thigh. But they were incorporated, a part of the lush whole of vines, leaves and shoots. The spa's artists had transformed her scarred right breast it into a flower like a rose or a peony, her areola and nipple at its heart. Above it a delicate humming bird hovered, his slender beak sipping from her sweetness.

I was jealous of it.

The rest of the right side of her torso? They'd done wonders incorporating the carnage. From where I stood I could still see the scars, but the decorations took advantage of them. It was like I was studying a painting in a gallery. Giving her a reassuring touch, I stepped back a pace, then another, and they vanished. The patchwork of differing skin tones became leaves and shadows.

I must have made her self-conscious. She hunched, shivering, folded her arms over her breasts. To reassure her I stepped close again. A gentle tug and she relaxed both arms. A touch to her chin lifted her head so her eyes met mine, and I smiled. Even as a tear traced one glittering tracks down her cheek -- only her left cheek -- she drew her shoulders back, spreading her arms to reveal the full effect.

As far as I was concerned she was to be savored. From even that short distance away the tracery of dark brown vines and green leaves fooled the eye. What was that French term the art teacher'd used last year? Trompe l'oeil, fool the eye. Breathing a sigh of relief I stepped close again, ran my hands down from her shoulders. I could feel the seams of her wounds. I embraced her, my skin to hers, and gave her another well-deserved kiss, on her bare lips this time.

She was more accepting.

The tattoo artists obviously hadn't stopped at her waist. Shielded between her thighs, Hadiya's pussy lips were mercifully un-scarred. Lalita, the Minute Spa's wizard of wax, hadn't missed a hair. Had she checked for stubble as carefully as Jason had checked me? My mouth watered.