Chapter 1

Monday 1^st

Connor

So, there's this thing called 'The Programme'. Public nudity. Or is it private, because it's just expected within a school? I'm not sure, matter of opinion, I suppose. And I'm in it.

Hi, I'm Connor and I'm naked in school.

I understand it's traditional to start like that... so there it is. I'm not really sure where it goes from there. I've read over some other people's accounts — it's the first week we've done this here at Westchester, and most of the accounts we were given were American. I think this really makes it clear what the difference is between Britain and America, there really is a reservation about things here, even now.

We were told at the start of term this was going to happen — not to whom, just that it was — but... now that it's here, the same shell-shocked looks are out there, waiting. You can see them through the office window, the crowds gathering, waiting... vultures circling, Alban called them. He's not taking this well, he doesn't show it, but he's not. He hated the idea in the first place. 'Let the exhibitionists go nude if they want' he said, which is like Alban, really. He doesn't tell anyone what to do, and doesn't expect anyone to tell him. What they want, what they expect, what they'd like... but not orders. It's a nice way to work, if everyone else would join you... and with Alban they generally do.

I don't like to think what Alban's account's going to be like... mine will be dry and technical, that's just me. Alban's... there's an anger in Alban, a really deep, abiding anger. He keeps a rein on it, I don't think anyone's ever seen it except me and maybe Pete, but... it's there, and if this kicks in properly it'll bring it out.

There's a lot going on with us, and we'll get to that eventually, but I suppose we should start at the start of Monday — this is Monday's account, after all.

We're all supposed to be on school grounds by eight thirty, even though lessons don't start until nine, but we tend to try and arrive by about quarter past, party to avoid the rush and partly to make sure if something goes wrong we've got some leeway. We don't have a PA system, so as we arrived there's a teacher at the gate with a list, and he just seemed to be cherry-picking people — not many, there was one before we arrived, he picked Alban and I out, and apparently there was one after us as well. Pete just shrugged and let us go, what else could he do?

"Go to the office." He said. And we did. Alban was already tense, which isn't a good sign. Nothing usually phases him, nothing catches him. He seems to expect nothing from anyone, and doesn't get disappointed when it doesn't come. I'm talking a lot more about Alban than I am me, aren't I? Well... Alban's important, you'll see why. I'm important too, I suppose, in my own way, but... well, Alban's easier to talk about, in some ways.

I don't really understand him, but then I don't really understand me, either. And I can at least see the expressions in his face. It's really easy not to notice your own moods, sometimes, isn't it. I do it all the time. I miss other people's moods a lot, too, if I'm not paying attention, but Alban's familiar, so I don't need to spend as much effort with him as I do other people.

So we traipsed up to the office, we've all been there before, at least once. The headmaster has a habit of pulling people in every now and then for an informal chat, just to see how they're getting along with things. A few people get called just about every day, so he gets through everyone eventually. He seems like a nice guy, on the whole. There we are, Alban and I, hanging around in the little sort of unofficial waiting room outside — it's just a wider part of the hallway, with chairs and a table full of magazines. It feels a bit like a dentists waiting room, three copies of the same issue of Reader's Digest from the beginning of last year and a gardening magazine. Maybe it's one of those strange 'laws' of society — all waiting rooms must have Reader's Digest and a gardening magazine...

Anyway, there was already one girl there, whom I didn't recognise. Alban did, Alban knows everyone.

"Marissa." He greeted her. Still didn't mean anything to me, but then I don't tend to hang around with people from my own year group much, I'm placed in the year above for my classes.

"Alban." She smiled, wanly. "Is this what I think it is?"

"I don't know... I know it's due to today. I didn't sign up, I'm pretty sure Connor didn't, either."

"What do you think it is?" I asked. I don't make the jumps well, always. Give me science and I'm fine, ask me to read between the lines and you get blanks — that's what's actually between the lines, if you look.

"The Programme." Marissa's slight smile disappeared.

"Programme?" Yes, I can be that dense, sometimes. I'm just... focussed, Alban calls it, but then Alban tries not to be nasty to anyone.

"The Naked in School Programme." Alban reminded him, picking up the pamphlet from the table — maybe there wasn't just Reader's Digest and gardening... who knew?

"Oh... don't you have to volunteer for that?" I remembered reading the pamphlet, now that I saw it again.

"Or your parents can do it for you." Marissa pointed out, with a bitterness that even I notice — yeah, that bad.

"That's not exactly likely for us." Alban pointed out, with a frown.

"So... what's going on?" Me. Remember... making the leaps...

"I don't know... let's wait and see, shall we." So we did. It was nearly half past when the last person practically bounced up the stairs, beaming smile and on her toes with excitement.

"This is it!" she squealed, and at least I knew who this was.

"Kelly. I'm surprised you're excited by all this." Marissa pointed out. "It's not like you're going to appreciate the view, after all." Which, looking back, is kind of tactless really, what with Kelly being blind and all. It's the sort of thing I'd say, it's that tactless. Turns out they know each other, at least in passing, but... still.

"Who cares about the view?" she giggled. "I'm a tactile person." She wiggled her fingers in the air stifling another laugh, and felt for the chairs, seating herself next to Marissa. "What about you? Are you a tactile person too?"

"Reticent." She replied.

"So, who else is here? I know they can't just be putting two girls out there, that's not the way it works."

"Connor... I'm sorry, Connor, I don't know your surname." Marissa turned to me briefly.

"Murphy."

"Oh, the smart one." I nodded, blushing, then realised she'd not notice either, but she was already moving on.

"And... who else."

"Alban."

"ALBAN DARCH!" she almost squealed, and he broke a slight smile.

"Good morning, Kelly." He managed, wryly.

"Well, well, well... this could be an interesting week."

"Don't bet on it." He assured her, which drew her eyebrows together. I'd never really thought of it before — I don't tend towards the spontaneous, you realise — but Alban is pretty much the perfect guy in a lot of ways. He's tall — not as tall as I am, but close, about six feet, and broad shouldered. He keeps himself in shape and he is quite simply the nicest guy there is. Nothing's too much trouble, no-one I know has a bad word to say about him.

"There's a school-full of girls out there waiting to get to know a little bit more about Alban Darch." Kelly pointed.

"And they'll still be waiting." He told her, not nastily, but it seemed like a declaration. "I'm not doing this. No-one asked me, no-one told me, and no-one can make me."

"I'm not happy with the idea either." Marissa pointed out, "but what can we do? I didn't volunteer, but your parents can sign you up if they want."

"My parents are dead, and have been for some years now. Connor and I both live in, effectively, an orphanage — we weren't signed up by parents, and we didn't sign up ourselves."

"Oh..." there was an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"I'm... I didn't know." Kelly managed. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK, there's no offence, I don't advertise the fact." He smiled, and his tone was warm. He's good at that, I'm never sure what my voice is like.

"You don't advertise any facts, Alban." Kelly pointed out, and the smile came back quickly. It's a nice smile. Most smiles are, but... Kelly's not fat, exactly, but she's well rounded. It looks good on her when she smiles, it all seems to fit, but when the smile goes... some people can look miserable and attractive, I suppose, but Kelly isn't one of them.

Then the door to the office opened, and Dr Hibbert's head popped out, looking tense.

"Good morning." He offered. "I know that some of you weren't expecting this... why don't you come on in?"

Marissa

I can't believe she's done this. My mother and I are close, closer than most kids are with their parents. I mean, you'll find girls who talk about their mum being like a sister, and we don't have that. There's still a clear gap between mother and daughter, but... well, life has forced us to be close. Which is why I can't believe she went against me on this.

I bought the leaflet home, dropped it on her as a joke — we had to take it home and get the usual 'I've done as I'm told and handed this over' form signed. But she actually thought about it.

"You don't date enough for a girl your age." She told me. Like there's a quota. How many do I have to do before I get the rest of the year off? I mean, it's not like anything's going to come of it. My dating life's done, now, I realised that three years ago. I mean, I'm normal, I'd like to date, there's guys I like, but... it just wouldn't work. Everyone has secrets, some of them you can keep and they only get in the way if you let them.

I'm not sure I could keep this one if I wanted to, and I don't. So I don't date, I won't lie to people. It's who I am. But my mother won't have it that way.

"Pretty girls your age should be out there enjoying life." Right. I have fun. I'm not the class clown like Pete, but I enjoy my time, usually. As for pretty... I know it's a question of taste. All the big-chested girls seem to wish they were smaller, all the small-busted girls wish they were bigger. No-one's ever happy. Guys don't seem to get worried about it. There are good looking guys, there are scrawny ugly guys, but they don't seem to have the hang-ups we do.

Maybe they just hide it better. Anyway, on the whole I'm happy with my look. I'm small, really small, like not even five feet small. It's been a problem once in my whole life, and it means I can get away with small boobs and still look in proportion, which is good. My face is a little narrower than I'd like, and my eyes are slightly too big — no really, it can happen. But I'm not bad, on the whole.

And I'd like to date, I really would. I guess what I'm trying to get across is that I'm normal, really I am. I'm just not in a completely normal situation. And just like alcoholics probably shouldn't hang around a bar if they're trying to quit, I can see how having to take my clothes off will get in the way of trying to keep people at a slight distance. Of course, my mum knows this, so... I can't believe she's done this too me.

Hi, I'm Marissa Wright, and I'm Naked in School. And betrayed. And worried... too many 'ands' really.

Kelly

Hi, I'm Kelly, and I'm naked in school.

YES!!!! I can't believe they let me do this. This is what I've needed for the last five years. At last, someone's going to see past the white stick. I mean, there's no way on Earth they can miss a naked chick, right? Even a blind one. Someone's got to be able to see past it now, surely.

God, what if it doesn't work? What if I end up naked and overlooked rather than just overlooked. Well, then I'll try something else, I guess. Pole-dancing during assembly, that might work...

So, I'm Kelly, and I'm naked in school, and I'm blind. Let's get it all out the way, because I know it's coming. From birth, no I've never been able to see anything, no there's no cure, no it doesn't hurt, no I don't mind talking about it. It's like having an arm, to me... it's just who I am. Except that, when people see you're arm they see it as a part of you, but when people see the white stick that's all they see.

I'm seventeen years old, I want to have a real life, and I just get to parade around on the fringes hearing about everyone else moving on, and I'm stuck. It's like having a disability makes you illegible. I can't play sport, usually, fine, but that doesn't mean I can't do anything.

And God do I want to do something... anything... anyone, even. Well, not anyone, obviously, but... I'm desperate. I've got no experience at all. You know, the whole 'never been kissed' thing, that's me. No-one asks, no-one even thinks about me like that, I don't think.

So this is my chance. This is where the world has to acknowledge that I've got the plumbing, if nothing else. Maybe someone'll work it out. If I thought I could get away with it I'd leave the stick behind, dye my hair and pretend to be someone else. Of course, the extra stone of weight is a bit of a give away, and walking into walls and people gives it away. And I tried to dye my hair once... my face took the colour better than the hair did, and no-one had the courage to tell me for three days... blushing, apparently, didn't help.

So that's why, when Dr Hibbert popped his head out, I was up like a shot.

"Let's do it." The absence of a chorus of approval was not lost on me. "Just me up for it?"

"So it would seem, Kelly." Dr Hibbert managed, with a smile in his voice. Alban offered his arm — most people take mine, which is actually kind of uncomfortable, like you're being steered rather than guided — and led me in to the office.

I quite like Dr Hibbert's office. It always smells of coffee, which is nice — you know how they say you should have a pot of coffee on when someone comes to buy your house, it's true. No matter where you live, coffee smells of home. Of course, the slight undercurrent of photocopier toner isn't quite as nice, but you can't have everything. There's a plant in there too, I don't know what sort, but it sort of reminds me of butter, and he switches his computer off whenever you're talking, so there's not even the hum of the fan to disturb you.

But the very best bit is the couch. This huge, leather couch against the wall that just seems to wrap you up when you sit in it, and it smells like old leather should: warm and welcoming and... serene. I directed Alban towards the back wall, and he navigated me around the two chairs before the desk so I could sit down. I don't think he did — Marissa and Connor both sat down while we were still walking, and I didn't hear anyone sit down after that, so I guess he stayed standing.