Chapter 1

Monday morning. JOHN

"... John Whittaker..."

"Oh, no. Oh, hell no! Not that! Not THIS week!" I began my silent litany as the disturbingly familiar list of names was read off, I hoped that at least Emily would be spared. I gathered my bag and got ready to leave.

"... and Emily Watson, please report to the Main Office." So much for that hope. I glanced at Mr. Brown, shrugged my shoulders, and shuffled down the hall. Maybe it wasn't. Most of the names were people I knew were in the upcoming Talent Show. Maybe, just maybe, this had something to do with that, instead.

But I knew it didn't. In my heart of hearts, I knew. And I hated it. And since I am writing this journal, you know as well.

As far back as I can remember, I have been shy. I am told that I was the shyest boy in my kindergarten class, and by then it was nothing new. I was afraid to socialize. And I was afraid to talk in class, even (especially) when I was supposed to. My grade reports were contradictory, because I would do really well on most tests, but getting me to participate in class was like pulling teeth. If I had to give an answer, I would choke it out in the fewest possible words. If I was asked my opinion by the teacher, I would just shrug.

I didn't hate school. Far from it. I loved the books, the learning, even the ancient educational videos and the teachers' lectures. As I said, I did well on most tests. I just did not do well on anything that required interacting with other students, teachers, or the like.

I learned the tricks of invisibility. You don't hide on the fringes, you hide in the middle. You don't dress in black or camouflage, you dress like the average of every other boy your age (or girl, if you are one). I learned the faces and postures that encouraged people's eyes to slide right past me. The bullies ignored me because I seemed nonresponsive. The others did as well, for much the same reason.

As time went on, my parents got very concerned. While I didn't feel lonely, they thought I must be the loneliest boy in the State or something. They tried getting me involved in things, like dance classes and social stuff. No effect (other than sore legs). They tried taking me to some child shrinks, but the answer was always the same: nothing pathological. I was just shy.

After their failures with summer camps, classes, programs, and just about anything else they could think of, they heard some offhand comments on tv and decided to see if I could get interested in magic. One of the local magicians was teaching classes to interested youngsters. I had been fascinated when I saw magicians on tv or on the stage, so I agreed to do my best. And I was hooked. A lot of magic is the art of misdirection. So was a lot of my life. It was a perfect fit.

At first, my parents thought their nefarious plan was working. When I would demonstrate a trick or an act for them, I would seem confident and comfortable. I even got to the point where I was performing in front of the Magic Club (made up of graduates of his classes and those of other local magicians) and even demonstrating tricks at the local magic shops sometimes.

But then they started noticing that it did not carry through. Any time I wasn't doing my magic thing, I was back to my old ways. And when I was doing the magic, it was as though I was a different person. A very different person. They started to worry about things like MPD, and so it was back to the KidPsych circuit. Again, the results were the same: no MPD. No horrific mental disorders. Just a well-honed mask I used for being The Magician. I had no problems with reality or identity, and I knew exactly how artificial and superficial that persona was. But when I was just me, it was back to the same-old, same-old.

The closest things to friends I had were other members of the club. And a lot of them were no better off socially than I was. My closest friend and fiercest rival was a girl named Emily. Emily Watson. As far as I could tell, she was just as shy as I was. If not more so. She also crafted a personality mask for when she was The Magician. We spoke, compared notes, and helped each other. And we competed with each other. By high school, we were both in the same school.

It was abundantly clear to both of us that there was no "there" there. We were colleagues, and shared a fascination with magic. And we were still painfully shy.

When we started thinking about the school Talent Show, the club encouraged us to make it a joint act. So we did. Seeing us practice, our parents got their hopes up again. But that didn't last long. They recognized in her the same patterns they saw in me.

Our skills in magic were somewhat complimentary. While we were both competent with the basic skills and showmanship, I was more into designing gimmicks and hard props, while she was more into costuming and soft (cloth) props. Between us, we could outfit a fair sized show. We even had some of our products sold by the local shops.

All this was going through my mind as I numbly made my way to the office. As I had practiced, I became aware of my surroundings again as I approached the door. Even there, I was largely invisible.

"Can I help you... ?"

"John Whittaker. I was paged?"

She glanced down at her list, then gestured me into the conference room. I recognized the few people already in there, from the Talent Show rehearsals. I found a strategically placed seat, then dived back down inside myself to wait.

EMILY

Both of us? Now? Someone up there must hate us! It is bad enough that I have to go through this horror, but John? He was probably the only person in the school who was even more shy than I was. He was also my partner in the Talent Show magic act, and this was really going to screw that up. Our costumes were a major part of the act! I spent weeks getting them right, not to mention all that rehearsal time.

This really sucks!

I grabbed my stuff and made for the door. I let my body and face slip into the familiar "girl urgently headed somewhere official" pattern, and made for the office. I had learned long ago that people barely noticed students acting that way. And even when they did notice us, they virtually never tried to interrupt our progress. If they tried, we could pretend we hadn't noticed them. It's all part of what John calls the art of invisibility.

I hadn't always been this shy. Apparently, when I was a toddler I was very outgoing. Then something happened. I don't know what it was, but I do remember my parents getting nervous when I was around other kids, and that it quickly got very difficult to get myself to meet or deal with other people. By the time I started school, I was the shyest girl in class. I wasn't bothered by crowds, as long as nobody was paying attention to me. But being alone with a few people, or a center of attention, made me physically ill. The thought of someone deliberately touching my skin, almost anywhere, was downright frightening. Accidental bumps in the hallway I could handle. Go figure.

After a few years of mixed report cards (learning: excellent. Participation: zilch), the 'rents dragged me to some odd men and women. Now I understand that they were psychotherapists, but then, they were just strange adults. I never saw them more than a few times, and I heard a couple saying something about "hoping mechanisms" (which I now understand was "coping" instead of "hoping"), something being understandable, and "drama" (trauma). It didn't do much for me directly, but they stopped acting so frightened when I was around others.

Eventually, I ended up in a magic class with the other oddballs and social cripples. And I liked it. After learning the basics, we all started developing specialties. Some did big performance things, stage effects. Others went into close-up routines. And a few, like John and me, went into design. I found I had a flair for making things of cloth, leather, vinyl, and the like. It didn't hurt that my mother had been very insistent (and persistent) about teaching me sewing and the like. John was a wizard (heh) with mechanicals, and had a real talent for building things. Together, we came up with a few things that even impressed the pros. How many 14 year olds do you know who have had their products featured in a Las Vegas headline magic act?

We had also turned our talents toward preparing for our impending doom. We pooled our efforts on a couple of special book bags, and other surprises to get us out of Program inspired problems.

As I walked into the office, I saw John disappear into the conference room. The secretary waved me in that same direction. I think she recognized me from having turned in some paperwork last week.

I found a seat next to John. I hung out the nobody's home sign with my face, and tried to brace myself for what was to come.

JOHN

Once we were all there, Principal Murrow entered and told us all to sit. "By now, I would imagine that you all know why you are here..." he started.

Perry interrupted, with "To tell us that we are the most promising acts in the Talent Show? Or just to give us some more information about it?" Perry (his real name is Peter, but with a last name of Mason and a reputation as a "barracks lawyer", he gets called Perry. I think a teacher started it a few years ago, and it stuck) gave a big smile. "Well, either way, thank you."

The principal looked startled, and then looked around the room again. An unpleasant look crossed his face, quickly banished. His professional expression returned in its place. "No, you have been chosen for the Program."

Everyone but Emily, Perry, and I laughed. That stopped abruptly when he pulled out a stack of Program Pamphlets, the familiar naked couple clearly visible, and handed them to Perry. "Please pass these out, Mr. Mason. I want everyone to spend the next few minutes reading these things carefully. You will be held responsible for every rule in there. When I come back, we will discuss any questions you have." Perry made as though to say something. "When I come back, Mr. Mason."

With that, he walked out the door. He carefully closed it behind himself. Because of the position of my seat, I could look out around the side of the blinds. I saw him go to the front desk and ask for something. He was handed a few pages, stapled together. After flipping briefly through the pages, he threw it back down on the desk. One of his hands balled briefly into a fist, but I could not see the other one. He seemed to compose himself, then turned back toward the room. I picked up my pamphlet and quickly glanced through it.

He walked in and looked around the room. When it looked like everyone had at least skimmed through the Pamphlet, he asked "Any questions so far?"

Perry piped up "Why us?"

Principal Murrow looked startled, then a little unhappy. "That is... a good question. The selection process starts with a random list of students who have not been participants and are not exempt. The Committee then narrows the list, working to avoid some kinds of predictable problems, and assigning a higher priority to those they feel would most benefit from their participation. I am then given that list, and have a brief chance to make last minute changes. If I do that, I have to justify those changes before the Committee at its next weekly meeting." He paused, and took a deep breath.

He slowly let it out. "At least that is how it is supposed to work. For some reason, today's list didn't reach me in time for review. But even if it had, I might not have connected those names with an Irish Dance group, a Magic act, and half a string quartet. I did recognize one name well enough to associate it with a comedian." He looked Perry in the eye.

"I will look into this. It does seem an odd coincidence. In the meantime, we need to deal with the issues at hand. Congratulations. You have been selected as this week's participants in the Naked In School Program. Now, are there any questions about the rules?"

A few came up. Yes, the Talent Show is a school activity. No, you cannot withdraw now. No, bras are not classified as safety equipment, even when you are dancing vigorously. Yes, you can carry your book bags, but you can't cover yourself with them. All pretty predictable. And predictably, it was Perry who came up with the unexpected one.

"How do you appeal a refusal?"

"You come to the office and let the secretary know why you are there. One of the vice principals or I will hear both sides and render a decision. But it is better to go along with any reasonable requests in the first place."

"Can we appeal that decision?"

"Yes. You can appeal it to the Committee. But even if they find in your favor, they can decide that the appeal was frivolous and send you back for more weeks in the program or detention." He turned and looked at the violinist, who had asked an earlier question. "And no, Mr. Gunderson, such detention would not disqualify you from the Talent Show."

With no more questions, we were divided into partners, and three sets of us were taken to different offices for the grand unveiling. Since Emily and I were in different grades, we knew we wouldn't be partners. I was paired up with the other sophomore, Bridget, who was one of the dancers. Emily was paired with Dave Gunderson for the freshman contingent.

By the time we got to Vice Principal Ackerman's office, Bridget was quietly crying. I had dived so deeply into my "safe place" that I looked like a zombie. While she tried her best to be reassuring, she knew she had potential problems. She waved two of the PE teachers into her office with us. There were two chairs in front of her desk, each with a box in front of it. Each box contained a gym towel and a whistle on a lanyard. After we sat, she asked whether we had any more questions. Bridget curled up in a ball, crying and shaking her head. "I was supposed to be exempt! We filed the papers and everything! This can't happen." Bridget Donnache was the daughter of some Irish diplomat. The dance act was, in part, a gesture of friendship between the dance societies back there and the dance schools here. This could get messy.

Ms. Ackerman looked startled, and took a moment to check the files on her desk. "It says here that the exemption was denied. A notice was mailed to your parents. I'm sorry, but we have no choice in the matter." She wrote something on a sticky note and put it on the sheet she had just read. Reading upside down, I saw it said "Date?"

I just sat there, deep in my safe place. Then she told us it was time to strip. I just sat there passively, but Bridget shrieked and started thrashing around. The teachers stepped forward, glanced at both of us, and moved to restrain Bridget.

I was so deep in my safe place that I barely registered the blow that knocked me from the chair. I knew I wasn't badly injured, so I just sat there on the floor. The wrestling coach restrained Bridget, while the VP and the girls' track coach undressed her. I knew that I would attract more attention by waiting than by undressing while they were dealing with her, but I couldn't bring myself to move. All too soon, she was huddled on her chair again, naked and crying. It was my turn.

I kept enough awareness to keep contact with my bag, but otherwise just let it happen. Soon enough, I was standing there as naked as Bridget. Mechanically, I put my socks and shoes back on, slipped the whistle around my neck, and tucked the towel in my bag. Ms. Ackerman was reminding Bridget that she could not cover herself. When she got to the part about restraining her, and maybe even handcuffing her, her hands dropped away from her body and she turned very pale. The track coach helped her to her feet. She held her upright with one hand and put the whistle around her neck with the other. While she was doing that, the other coach was puting her shoes and the towel in her book bag.

We were led out into the office. Emily was there, naked as the rest of us. She was in Magician mode, and it was time for me to do the same. I took a deep breath, thinking of stages and audiences. I slowly blew it out and straightened up. It was time to make an entrance. The audience was waiting outside that door, and we were here to give them a show. We were in control.

EMILY

It could have been worse. It was bad, but it could have been worse. As we were led to vice principal Pruitt's office, I sank deeper into my safe place. I just sat there while he went through the usual with Dave. Then came the moment of truth. While Dave reluctantly stripped, I quietly transfered my body loads to my bag. I used puting the towel in there as a cover. It being Monday, most of them were there already. I believe in being prepared. That done, I suffered a brief flash of someone touching me as I was being undressed. With that horror to motivate me, I undressed as quietly as I could, moving as little as possible. Most of me remained deep in the safe place. Since I did not have to remove my shoes or socks, I finished much more quickly than Dave. By the time his difficulties were sorted out, I was sitting there wearing nothing but socks, shoes, and a whistle. And looking just as blank as before.