1. Sunday
Dana Partlow
It was Jeanette who reminded me, late Sunday night. I was doing algebra
homework on the dining room table, waiting for her to come over for bed.
I’d almost decided she wasn’t going to make it and I was going to have a
lonely night when Jeanette leaned over the back of my chair and nibbled my
ear. I sighed, and melted — I always do when she does that — so when she
cupped my breasts, I let her. For a few lingering moments — even though
my parents were still awake.
“Ready to get naked, ma petite amie?”
I started. I could hear my parents talking in the den — they could
come out any time. “What, here?”
Jeanette giggled. “No, in school, silly. Of course, here.” She resumed
nipping my earlobe.
“Upstairs,” I said firmly. And then I remembered — she hadn’t been
joking about school. I stiffened.
The Naked in School Program was coming to Grant High School. They’d
done a pilot program last year in Whitman, the arts magnet school “inside”
Grant (it’s hard to explain), but now it was here for real. I’d forgotten
about it because the year began with a half-week, for orientation, and then
the second week everything was still settling down. Now, the start of the
third week, the Program was starting up.
Jeanette left my ear and bent around the chair to look at me, one hand
resting on my neck. “Ah, come on, Dana. You’ll love it.”
“Just because you love it doesn’t mean I will.” Jeanette’s school has
had the Program for three years — she volunteers to go naked all day as
often as she can. “Besides, they won’t pick me.”
“Ha!” I swear, she smirked. “First week of the Program, they’ll take
every high-status kid they can. They’ve learned from past mistakes at
other schools. You’ve got to make it the In Thing to make it work.”
“But I’m — ”
” — head of your class, in the Drama Club, and on the student council.
The only thing missing is track star.”
Put like that, it made me sound popular. I tried to ignore the open pit
in my gut. “And cheerleading,” I said. “They’ll pick cheerleaders first.”
They had to.
Jeanette clucked, and then kissed me. Then seriously, she said, “You’ll
go through with it, yes?”
I took a deep breath. “I have to, don’t I? I just — ”
Jeanette made an encouraging sound.
“I hope I’m not picked the first week. It’ll be easier, if I see others
go through it first — go through it okay, I mean.”
Jeanette nodded. “That makes sense. It’s not like you’re shy.”
“But before that,” I said, “I need to go to bed and be held by you.”
“For courage?” she said with a laugh.
“Yes,” I said, because it was the truth. I stacked my books and papers
neatly and took her hand as we headed for the stairs.
We met my father in the front hall, carrying an open sociology textbook.
“Dana, have you seen the chemistry dictionary?”
“On the sideboard.”
“Hello, Jeanette,” he said, finally noticing her.
“Good evening, Mr. Partlow,” Jeanette said. “Is it okay if I stay the
night?”
Because of course I don’t really have a live-in girlfriend. I mean, I’m
only 16 and my parents aren’t THAT liberal. So it’s not official. But
pretty much five nights out of seven, Jeanette sleeps with me. My father
thinks it’s just that we’re such good friends, and Jeanette doesn’t get
along with the sister she shares a room with. Mom knows — I’ve been out
to her since day one.
But that’s why Jeanette always asks Dad for permission.
“Of course, Jeanette. Don’t stay up too late talking,” he said, kissing
my forehead. He walked past us.
“‘Night, Dad.”
My father’s ability to not see things that aren’t hidden will never
cease to amaze me. I mean, I’ve been openly sleeping with Jeanette since
we were twelve, and had girlfriends besides, and he still hasn’t figured
out I’m gay.
Jeanette and I aren’t girlfriends, as in steadies — we both date
others. Or rather, Jeanette sleeps around at her school, with both girls
and boys. With her encouragement, I’ve gone out with a couple other girls.
Nothing permanent, yet — though I was thinking about Liz. Or even,
hoping.
Halfway up the stairs, Jeanette let go of my hand to pull off her shirt.
Her breasts bounced when they were released from the clinging fabric. She
wears tight clothes whenever possible, and bras only during practice. She
has the curvy body to pull it off — and lovely to look at with them off.
But I was still too upset to take it well.
“Jeanette!” I tried to hiss (it’s harder than it looks — no S’s).
She laughed. “Your brother’s back in college — he won’t see.”
“Jeanette, you know it bothers me.”
She paused in the hallway to peel off her terrycloth shorts. “You, my
little cabbage, are a prude.”
“I’m not a prude — I’m just private.”
Jeanette laughed. But she let me shoo her into my room.
I closed the door. “Seriously, no one who loves sex the way I do is a
prude. I really just don’t want to share it with others.”
Jeanette just shook her head. I gave up — she was never going to get
it. I mean, half the time Jeanette walks home naked every morning, and
volunteers for the Program to get as much officially sanctioned public
nookie she can. I love her dearly, but I’ve known for a while there’s
reasons we won’t be forever.
Which is why we make love every chance we can. When Jeanette opened her
mouth to argue, I took her in my arms and kissed her. Which was sweet.
Very sweet.
Within five minutes, she had my clothes off. And that’s all I’m going
say about that — it’s private.
Dana Smith
It was my semistepsister who reminded me. It was an up day and I was
working on cypher challenge from the crypto board, which meant I was so
focused on that, I’d forgotten.
“I said, so you gonna get naked, Dana?”
I looked up from my laptop to see Ginny leaning her elbows on my desk.
She was grinning. It took me a moment to pull my brain back to reality and
a second moment to recall: tomorrow the Program started at Grant High
School. I laughed. “Yeah, like they’d pick me.”
Ginny cocked her head, considering. “Why not?”
“Because, Squirt, they’ll do the In Crowd for the first few months.
It’ll take a few months to get to an outsider boy like me. If ever.”
She stood up and hmphed. “But you know everybody.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. How would she know? She goes to Johnson
Middle School. Probably, I realized, from my talking about people at the
dinner table. I can have a big mouth when I’m up. “Yeah, but that’s not
the same thing as popular.”
Ginny pouted, which she knows makes her Too Cute For Words. “Well, when
you do, I want to hear ALL about it.”
“No, you just want to DO it,” I said, with a sudden insight. Sometimes
Ginny acts like twelve going on twenty. She’s been playing doctor (and
other naked games) with boys for a while now, and wears shirts that say
things like PORN STAR and STRIPPER — or tries to, until Scarlett or Mom
takes them away. If ever there was a girl eager for the Program too young,
it’s my semistepsister.
In reply, she sneered at me, hips cocked. Oh boy, this was going to be
fun in a few years. Not. I was glad I’ll be off to college when she hits
high school.
Scarlett stuck her head in the doorway. “Ginny, bedtime.”
“Yes, MOTHER,” she said, suddenly totally twelve again.
“Ginnifer,” Scarlett said in her best Mother Voice. She’s good at it —
even I pay attention to her.
“Good night, Squirt,” I told her, reaching up and ruffling her hair.
“Hey!” She squirmed away from my hand. Sometimes the best way to get
rid of Ginny is to treat her like a little kid.
Scarlett looked at me. “Take your meds?”
“Yes, MOTHER,” I said, imitating Ginny.
“Watch it, punk,” she growled. “There’s exactly NO ONE who gets to call
me that, and you ain’t her.”
Ginny giggled.
I squinted at Scarlett’s hair — shocks of rainbow colors sticking every
which way. “Weren’t you pink earlier?”
She laughed. “Not since this morning, Mr. Token Male.”
I shook my head. I like to claim I’m being raised by wild lesbians. I
mean, Mom’s a total flannel dyke, and Scarlett’s a riot grrl — she plays
bass in a queer punk band, and has more piercings and tattoos than you can
shake a stick at. And Scarlett’s young, too — she had Ginny when she was
15. Nana still worries at me about Mom’s relationship with her. But as
far as I can tell, Mom and Scarlett are good for each other. And I love
Ginny almost as much as she loves having a big semistepbrother.
I blew Ginny a kiss, which she returned and left my room. Scarlett
shooed out Princess Fuzzybutt, Ginny’s cat, and closed the door behind
them.
I stared for several seconds at the poster on my door — all the digits
of 2^13466917 – 1 — not that I can read the tiny print from my desk. It
was almost time for me to get to bed myself. After just a little more work
on the challenge. I turned back to my computer.