OMG! I'm Naked in School! Ch. 01

Wide--eyed in the darkness, Carolyn lay awake in her bed staring up at the ceiling. Before she could stop it, another heavy sigh slipped out. There wasn't any getting around it; like it or not, the sun was going to come up.

Go to sleep already! Her thoughts chased themselves as they had all night. You're driving yourself crazy with all this worrying. It's all in your mind.

Turning onto her side, she yawned an empty, sleepless yawn and tucked her hand under the pillow. Not being able to fall asleep is just one of those weird psychological quirks, like last summer before the trip and I was afraid I'd over sleep the alarm and miss the flight. My anxiety is fueling itself. All I'm doing is worrying and getting myself all stressed out. It won't be as bad as I imagine! It can't be!

Carolyn kicked off the rumpled sheets. Since going to bed almost eight hours ago, her every attempt to rationalize away her growing sense of dread provided no peace. No matter how she tried to convince herself she had nothing to worry about, she knew full well there are some events in life when reality outstrips any imagined consequences, and you find yourself living a nightmare far worse than anything you can possibly dream up.

Where her thoughts led her next, didn't help at all. A convict on death row must experience apprehension like this as the final hour approaches ... the ultimate count down of terrifying anticipation. She swallowed dryly and her toes and fingertips went a bit cold and tingly as a vision of her coming reality loomed in her mind. Pushing back the pangs of paranoia, she fled back into her thoughts. What you've been going through over these last few days must be similar to what a condemned prisoner experiences. Time passes slowly, then as the date get closer, time speeds up. It seems like it'll never really arrive, never really be 'that' day. Then suddenly it's here, that day, the day you've dreaded; and when time has run out, facing the reality of what comes next must hit the doomed prisoner with an intensity most of us will thankfully never know.

But, I'm about to know! With the dawning of that realization, her toes went from tingling to numb. The curtains were brightening, and the walls had lightened from gray to yellow. The sun was coming up. That day was here. The weekend had dissolved away in a blur, and over the last twenty--four hours, her every thought lay impaled upon the pins and needles of knowing what was coming.

Reluctant to get up, she watched the numbers on the alarm clock change with unsympathetic regularity. At 6:29, she hit the button rather than endure the alarm's irritating beep. When her bare feet touched the carpet, she was awash in an absolute sense of dread; and yes, she had to admit it, strangely, there was excitement too.

In the bathroom, she showered, though she'd bathed before going to bed. There really was no need to shave again, as she'd done that last night as well, but she couldn't help but do another quick touch up with the razor. Back in her bedroom and standing before her dresser mirror while considering what she should wear, which was usually a fun thing, caused the most unsettling emotions to swirl within her. She pulled open her underwear drawer, thumbing through the things on top. She knew there was no way she would dare wear anything old, or anything even slightly sexy, so she grabbed one of her newest bras along with a pair of pastel pink cotton panties. She dropped both on the bed, looking down at them for a long moment while thinking about what's next. A skirt might be easier, but since she didn't wear one very often, she didn't want her friends to suspect anything's up. She opted for the pair of Vanilla Star jeans and the L'Amore sleeveless button down shirt she'd bought on sale at Penny's before the semester began. For shoes, that was easy; she knew she couldn't go wrong with her pink Mary Jane ballet flats with the cute little straps and chrome buckles. Once she'd made her choices and had all her clothes lain out on the bed, her fingers were trembling and her palms were clammy as she began to get dressed.

When she stepped into the kitchen, her father looked up from his newspaper and offered, "Good morning, kitten," then quickly hid his eyes back in the sports section. Her mom launched into a valiant effort at run--of--the--mill conversation, as though today was just any other Monday, yet her anxiety showed through. Saying things like, "You look like you slept well," and, "Your hair sure looks pretty today," she was just a little too bright and perky. Then withdrawing into silence, she couldn't seem to stay still, wiping down the counter and moving things around while downing cup after cup of coffee.

Right now, for Carolyn it was a relief to sit down and have breakfast with just her mom and dad. Her little sister, Charli had left earlier. Charli attended middle school, which started an hour earlier than high school. Due to the school district being in such a financial bind, the administration was trying to save money by staggering school hours and using fewer busses. The financial situation was also a major reason why the school district had opted to participate in the study. What it all boiled down to was, if it weren't for a need for money, she wouldn't be in this situation at all.

To his credit, when her mom fell silent, her dad stepped in and did his best to act as though there wasn't anything different about today. They managed a little light conversation, and even laughed together when he read aloud one of the foam--at--the--mouth letters to the editor published in the paper's editorial section, which was in dire opposition to the controversial new study in social dynamics. According to the letter's writer, if the community allowed the study to happen as planned, rivers would boil with blood, flaming meteors would hurtle down from the heavens, and Obama would get elected to a third term.

Though her dad did his best not to show it, the tension was there. This was going to be tough on him, too. She could see it in his eyes. When he was just nineteen, only a year older than she is now, he joined the Marines. In his first tour of duty, he saw some of the fiercest combat during the Gulf War, and when she was about ten--years--old, at the scene of an automobile accident, she'd personally witnessed him risk his life pulling a woman and her two kids from a burning minivan. Yet here, this morning, her fearless hero couldn't manage to meet his daughter's gaze for more than a few seconds without looking away.

Again, he checked the wall clock, then rechecked his watch, downed the last of his coffee, and got up and gave his wife a quick kiss goodbye. Standing in the doorway framed by the morning's warm light, he smiled at his daughter and offered, "You really do look nice today, kitten."

Carolyn returned the smile, but it didn't feel real. "Thanks, Dad."

Her back to the kitchen counter and wringing her hands, her mother spoke up for the first time in a long while. "Come on everybody. We all knew today would come. Let's try to be positive. Remember what they said at the family orientation. Our attitudes are what will make all the difference, not just for the study's overall success, but for each individual's success, too."

Carolyn nodded. "You're right, Mom."

Her mother walked over and lightly touched her hair. "You're going to do just fine, baby. Just fine."

Staring down into her bowl of cereal as though she might be able to divine a glimpse of the future in the soggy flakes floating on top; Carolyn dropped the spoon in the bowl with a clank, then exhaled and picked up her cell phone, checking the screen. She peered up at her mom, rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Marcie's texted me at least ten times in the last five minutes." Scooting her chair back and slipping her phone into her backpack, she got to her feet. "I guess that means I'd better get going."

She gave her mom a quick kiss on the cheek, and with her dad holding open the door, Carolyn stepped out into the carport. What followed was another awkward moment, as it was obvious her dad was searching for something else to say. All that came out was, "Well, I guess ... I guess I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah," she swallowed dryly as they both cast away their eyes. "I guess you will."

Traffic was light, and the drive to school was only about fifteen minutes. She purposely avoided the school's front entrance, instead driving in through the back parking lot gate. As soon as she parked in her assigned spot, she immediately checked her phone. Marcie had just texted again: where r u!?! She quickly tapped in a reply: just parked, C U inside.

While walking through the parking lot, everything seemed normal, except she noticed students were hurrying in as soon as they parked. Usually, many would hang out by their cars until the first bell rang, but today, it appeared almost everyone was going straight in. She walked towards the main building amongst the other students, friends talking and laughing, no one noticing her at all. Yet no sooner did she come in the main doors and pass though the security scanners, than Marcie, Jordan, and Megan pounced.

Jordan grabbed her by the elbow, spinning her around. "Carolyn! Where've you been?" Always hyper, the painfully thin girl appeared on the edge of a frantic meltdown. "Assembly's in fifteen minutes. Come on! We have to hurry or there aren't going to be any good seats left."

"I still need to put my backpack in my locker." Carolyn chose her words carefully to avoid having to tell a white lie. "You guys go on ahead. Don't wait on me. I'll be there. I promise." With her heart pounding, it really was difficult to gauge if she was acting normally, and she desperately wanted to appear normal.

Marcie, short, buxom and broad--shouldered, looked as though she could hold the school record for the shot put. Sporting a shock of flaming magenta hair and matching freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks, she could wield a vicious, "don't bullshit me" squint she was more than able to back up if anyone was foolish enough to put it to the test. Her eyes narrowed, and she dropped a hand on Carolyn's shoulder. "So what's up, girl? You don't look so good. Are you feeling alright?"

Carolyn glanced to the hand on her shoulder, but didn't dare make eye contact. Quickly looking down at the floor, she mumbled, "Yeah, no problem here. I'm fine."

Megan was standing between Marcie and Jordan. More than a bit overweight and with innocent, child--like blue eyes she peered closely at Carolyn as though searching for something. "You know?" She looked over to Marcie. "Caroline does look kind of pale."

Jordan rolled her eyes and nodded knowingly. "That time of the month, huh?" She shook her head with real disgust. "Don't you just hate it?"

Marcie slid her hand off Carolyn's shoulder and stepped back, declaring, "Oh My God!" so loudly, people walking nearby stopped and turned to look.

Startled by Marcie's reaction, Megan and Jordan appeared completely bewildered. For a few moments, Jordan's eyes darted back and forth between Carolyn and Marcie, then suddenly she slapped a hand over her mouth and took a step back to stand alongside Marcie.

"You're one," Marcie hushed, "aren't you?"

Her cheeks burning, Carolyn couldn't look up.

"Oh, my gawd!" Jordan squealed. "No, Carolyn. No!"

Looking from face to face, Megan still didn't have a clue. "One what?"

"I really do need to go to my locker." Aware the bloom of heat she could feel burning upon her cheeks would give her away, even if her friends hadn't already recognized the anxiety darkening her eyes, Carolyn nervously tossed her hair left then right over her shoulders. "You guys go on ahead and get yourselves good seats. I promise I'll be there."

The three girls staring back at Carolyn appeared as shocked as if a horn had suddenly grown out of her forehead. Jordan, appearing almost as flushed as Carolyn, swallowed dryly, but Megan, clearly worried but bewildered, still didn't appear to have a clue.

Marcie broke the silence. "Okay. Come on." She tugged at Megan but kept her squint trained upon Carolyn. "We will see you in the auditorium, right?"

Carolyn tried to swallow back the lump in her throat. "Yes, you can count on it." Her shoulders heaved as she took in a deep breath, taking solace in the thought, that at least that wasn't a lie.

Keeping close together while whispering, her friends moved off, each of them taking turns looking back at Carolyn until they blended into the crowd.

When Carolyn arrived at her locker, her heart was pounding so hard, she had to pause to catch her breath. Even spinning out the combination to open her lock seemed surreal, and her fingers were so shaky, it took three tries to get the numbers right.

Last week, even though the impending reality of today had weighed heavily on her every thought, she felt as much a part of everyone and everything as ever. Yet now, nothing felt or even looked the same. The light from above, and even the echoey and far--off quality of the sound seemed as strange and unreal as if she was lost in a state of dreams.

Taking a long, deep breath, she put her backpack in her locker, slammed the door shut, spun the combination, then turned and joined the flow heading towards the auditorium. In the main hall, she passed the administration offices, and as she neared the auditorium, along the walls to either side ran tall glass cases filled with trophies for everything from football to debate. In one case off by itself stood Jack the Bulldog. He was the school's original mascot, which some members of the alumni had stuffed and mounted after he died.

The auditorium entrance had multiple doors, but students were entering only through the two middle ones, which were standing open. A large crowd had built up waiting to get in, which she recognized as a glaring example of the herd mentality. Even though all eight doors were probably unlocked, the herd would wait in line to file in through the two doors everyone else was entering. Carolyn had just become aware of the herd phenomena in her AP Psychology class this semester, and ever since her teacher called the peculiarity to her attention, she made a point of being the person who would dare to try passing through another door. In being so bold, she learned once she had opened a new door and gone in, some, but not all of the herd would break off from the others and follow her lead.

Going around the throng, she walked unnoticed through a single door off to the side of the main entrance, which led backstage. Last year as a junior, she played the role of Amaryllis in the Drama Department's spring musical presentation of The Music Man. Knowing she was about to perform on stage in front of hundreds of people, she'd walked down this hall many times filled with an electric tingling of anticipation. Yet now, a much more powerful sense of stage fright gripped her, which had her acutely conscious of each squeak of her sneakers echoing off the polished floor.

Up ahead, she could hear voices. Rounding the corner, she walked into the left wing of the auditorium's backstage area. Near some old props and scenic backgrounds left over from past plays stood a group of adults engaged in conversation. Across from them and lined up in a corner, stood a collection of wan and pasty--faced students, who all appeared like a group of frightened refugees. These were the same students she'd seen at the final orientation, yet in seeing their faces now she couldn't help but wonder if she looked as frightened as they did.

"Finally!" Mr. Morris, a senior class counselor, broke off his conversation with the woman he was speaking to, and glaring directly at Carolyn, he snapped, "You were almost late, Miss Timmons."

She took her place with the other students, and when she looked into his angry eyes she felt so intimidated, her voice came as little more than a dry whisper. "We were told eight--thirty." She pointed to the clock up on the wall. "And it's exactly eight--thirty."

Ignoring her, he turned to Mrs. Winslow. "They're all accounted for now, correct?"

Mrs. Winslow worked in the attendance office, and had probably been born with that clipboard she held clasped in her arms, as well as that sour scowl upon her face. Marking off the last name with a flourish of her pencil, she declared, "Eighteen subjects exactly. All present and accounted for, Principal Rogers."

The school's principal held up a finger to indicate he wasn't quite through with his discussion with Dr. Martin, Superintendent of the Board of Education.

Carolyn had shouldered in next to Richard Johnson, a guy she knew from her Psychology AP honors class. Though they only sat one row apart, the first time they'd ever spoken was at the study's initial orientation. She'd been milling about amongst the other potential participants when he'd spotted her and come straight over and introduced himself. After the orientation, they'd said 'Hi' a few times in class, but she still didn't know him all too well. He hadn't told her much about himself, other than his family had just moved here from Alabama last summer. He was one of those lanky, countrified guys who looked really good in his faded jeans, and his sandy, blonde hair always seemed a bit wind--tousled and wild. Serious and quiet in class, he had this calm and unhurried attitude about him, exemplified by his soft and slow Alabama drawl. As she stepped in beside him, at first neither of them spoke; but finally, they looked to each other and made a quick and commiserative connection with their eyes.

"So?" Richard took in a deep breath, then let it out. "You're going through with it?"

Still stressed from Mr. Morris hollering at her, she couldn't seem to get her breathing settled enough to reply. "I guess so," she finally managed. "But I'm a mess. I don't think I slept at all last night. And it's like nothing is real, like I'm walking around in some kind of crazy dream."

The smile Richard showed her wasn't at all the confident grin she'd always seen before. He had these soft brown eyes, and it seemed she hadn't noticed how deep they were before now. Suddenly, feeling awkward about gazing into his eyes, she looked away and sought for something, anything to say. Her throat dry, she offered, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

Richard shook his head. "Are you kidding?"

Trying to smile, she hoped it didn't come off as grim as she felt. "Funny thing is, though I should feel totally wiped out, I'm not the least bit tired at all."

Leaning forward, Richard snatched quick looks left and right. Then leaning back, he shook his head. "Just look at everybody? We could do one hell of a report on this group for our psych class. Every nonverbal signal for stress we've learned about is on display."

It was Carolyn's turn to lean out a bit so she could peer down the row. Immediately, one guy caught her attention. His face was pasty white, his eyes had a foggy glaze, and his right leg was bouncing a mile a minute. Just down from him, Karen Loeffler, who was also in their Psychology class, was standing with her hands clasped before her waist. She had her fingers so tightly clenched; her knuckles were red and white. Staring off into space, her lips were moving unconsciously, mirroring whatever thoughts were racing in her head.

A small, dark and shrewish woman separated herself from the adults and sharply clapped her hands twice. "Participants! Young people! May I have everybody's attention, please?"

Carolyn recognized her as Dr. Celia Robinson, the professor administering the grant and in absolute control over every aspect of the study. Out of all the teachers, administrators and students, she alone appeared resolute, calm and entirely unflustered. As she faced the participants, those steely gray eyes of hers swept across the line of students like an icy wind.