Amy 15: Pretty In Punk free porn video

Amy 15: Pretty in Punk by Amy Komori The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2012 Amy Komori. All rights reserved. Chapter One: Willis Wallace on the Scene Even though I was feeling like a rock star, I still had to deal with the fact that in the real world, I was nothing but a teeny bopper who had to go to school five days a week, where half the people didn't know me, half the people knew me and hated me and the other half knew me and could give a shit whether I lived or died. Our gig wasn't exactly a schoolwide phenomenon and it had practically zero anticipation even with some kick-ass flyers by Dallas taped up all over downtown. Actually, Sarah had put one on her locker door, but one of the teachers made her take it down, citing the school rules against unauthorized decorations. Sarah was embarrassed but Gina seethed, Lena shrugged and I frowned. Nobody else commented, not even to tell us good luck. Out of who knew how many people made up the faculty and student body of Delacroix High, only Michelle and Dallas seemed to care about Silly Monkey. Besides the four of us who actually made up Silly Monkey, of course. We cared a lot. And obviously we didn't expect any of the teachers or staff to be even remotely interested. We preferred they stay out of it altogether. We were just kind of hoping against hope some of our classmates would come see us or wish us broken legs or whatever it was show biz people said. But the point was, even though I might be the world's shittiest bassist in Gina's garage every afternoon, inside the buildings that made up Delacroix High School, my narrow ass belonged to the faculty, staff, the stusenta in the desks around me in the classroom and whoever else decided to use my teensy-tininess against me, intentionally or otherwise. Because of this, my body showed up dutifully in the morning of the day before our show. Mentally, I was completely absent. All I could manage to do in class was doodle little basses in the margins of my notebook and write "Silly Monkey" over and over again in different ways, a lot like how some of the other girls practiced writing their married names in their notebooks. Just before English class, I realized I'd forgotten my copy of "Pride and Prejudice" back in my locker, so as soon as the bell rang, I burst through the door and sprinted down the hallway, managing to avoid people like Heidi and her clique and the teachers who liked to prowl around between classes checking for safety and dress code violations. In the clear and safe, I grabbed the book, slammed shut my locker and saw Willis Wallace beside me. Looming. Breathing hard. How long he'd been standing there, I had no idea, and even less of an idea why he didn't just say hi or something. He was clutching one of our flyers, and it was all wet from his sweaty hands. "Hey," I said, casual as you please. "Look, I know we're not friends, Amy," Willis began. I cut him off because I was scared half to death he was about to make some kind of emotionally revelatory speech bound to shrivel us both with embarrassment. "Sure we're friends, Willis. You saved my life. Thanks." "You... you're welcome," he said, and it obviously took a lot of effort for him just to stand there and not run away. "Well, what I wanted to know is, would it be all right with you if I came to your show?" What? I wanted to laugh. Instead, I smiled what I hoped was this friendly little smile and said, "It's a free show and open to the public. We're not exactly keeping anyone out." Apparently, I didn't do it right, because Willis looked crushed and said, "Sorry I asked." I tried again, with all residual traces of sarcasm and evil totally scrubbed clean. "Willis, I'd be honored if you came." His mouth made all these funny movements like one of those wiggly worms that lift themselves up off a branch and sort of feel around in the air. I couldn't tell if he was happy or what. "Willis? Are you okay?" "Thanks," he gasped, as if I'd punched him in the stomach, and he floated away with a big, happy grin. What a brave little freak. I made it to my English class with moments to spare. Breathing hard I fell into my desk, let my books drop where gravity took them and put my head in my hands. My eyes met Sarah's and she asked me a silent question about what was wrong. I mouthed to her that everything was okay, the bell rang and I went off daydreaming again. Chapter Two: Sister, Sister, Oh... I barely got any sleep that night, but I was in luck because the main event wasn't just on Halloween; it was on a Saturday. Lying in bed at 4am staring into the dark wasn't a problem because I could still be lying there at 9am staring at the sunlight and Mrs. Komori wouldn't have to knock on my door and remind me I needed to be anywhere in particular. Which is what I did--spend the whole night thinking and scared, imagining all kinds of disaster scenarios, making fun of myself for being such a wuss. I barely put any thought into Gina, which showed how intent I was on the show. I must have fallen asleep at some point because it was as if someone snapped on a lightbulb and suddenly everything was bright. I heard noise somewhere in the house, two voices talking low. I rubbed my eyes and stretched until it hurt. "Oh shit," I whispered softly to myself as if saying it might make it melt away like frost on a windowpane against the warmth of your breath, "Show day." Which I spent most of suffering from heart palpitations. I had no appetite for breakfast so I skipped it. Mrs. Komori insisted we have a big lunch since I had to leave before dinner time for the show. I still wasn't hungry but I showed up to eat it because I knew I needed at least something in me for energy or I'd never survive the night. Emily was there, minus Snowboard Boy (working, but he was coming to our show) and she asked me if she could do something. I looked at her with one eye closed. Her face seemed relatively bland and scheme-free, but I still felt kind of doubtful. "Do what?" "God," Emily said, laughing. "You're so suspicious." "I wonder why." "Since it's Halloween and all, I just want to braid up your hair." "Why? Why would you want to do that?" "You're not wearing a costume, but I want you to at least look a little cool for your amazing rock concert tonight." She did sarcasm like nobody's business and I hoped one day to be at least half as good at it. I narrowed my eyes, and made this dramatic face like I was thinking over her hair style suggestion. "Emily," Mrs. Komori said very gently, "I don't think she wants to look cool." It sounded more like an insult than helpful information. Mrs. Komori snorted helplessly, then covered her face and put her head down on the table beside her plate. I could hear muffled apologies, a whole string of them. We all had a little laugh about it and I agreed to let Emily do my hair for me. It's not as if I was seriously going to refuse. Not for long. Since I'd become her sister, I"d dressed like all kinds of crazy characters, like storybook Alice, like a shepherd girl-- a regular Little Bo Poop-- for her various paintings. She was forever talking me into costumes she rented from this big kitschy pop culture store downtown. God, I had no resistance to her. And to be totally honest, I really enjoyed it even if knowing that sickened me. So far none of my friends had seen any of the results and I would've died if they had. Especially Gina. Luckily, the paintings were all hidden away in Emily's apartment where Gina had never been and never would be. The only people who had seen them were Emily's university classmates and her close friends or whatever guy she was seeing. Our plates mostly empty, Mrs. Komori told us she'd wash up, gave me yet another apology and Emily took me by the arm and led me back to her room. "Sit on the bed," she said. With lunch over and the afternoon rolling on mercilessly, it was prep time. This was the start of the whole thing, the real deal. From here on out every movement and moment directed towards possibly looking like a complete dumbass on stage. A dorkless dork. Thinking that cheery thought, I found myself trembling from a sudden onset of show nerves as Emily braided up my hair. "You're wired, dude," Emily said. "I can't believe how you're shaking." "I'm nervous," I said in this chirpy little voice that sort of roamed up and down the music staff. "God, I can't even talk right." I felt Emily's hands working, pulling little clumps of my hair and working them into short braids. I could see both of us in her vanity mirror. For a few minutes it looked like I had devil's horns and I almost asked Emily to leave me like that, perfect for Halloween. I watched us, just two sisters. Jumpy and alert, but also kind of sad in a way. Not for things I had lost. For things I might lose one day, little moments like this that meant more to me than anything. I felt part of Emily. It made me want to open up and tell her my last little secrets, at least the ones I'd developed this year. "I have something to tell you," I said, my voice distant and soft. Here goes. "What?" "I'm pretty sure I'm a lesbian." "No shit. You listen to Indigo Girls nonstop." Which wasn't true at all. Folk gave me hives. "I'm serious." "Well, if you're still a guy in there, you're not a lesbian. You're just a guy who happens to have a girl's body who happens to still like girls." "I guess. I think I'm going to let myself just turn into a girl, though." "Really?" "Yeah. I want to. I mean, realistically, I may not even be letting myself. I don't know if I have any choice in the matter, but I guess I could fight it and be totally miserable. But I do know I don't want to fight it anymore. It's not even that I want to avoid misery. It's that every day I feel more girl-like and I can accept that now. In fact, I've made up my mind I really want to be a girl like you. I don't know, but ever since I met Sarah... and I guess Gina, too. And definitely Michelle. Sometimes I want to be Michelle. But most of the time I just want to be you." "That's so weird. And flattering. And so weird." "It's true. And I'm totally head over heels in love with Gina." "Oh shit. Have you told her?" "Oh fuck no." "Is she into girls?" "I have no idea. I don't think so." "What about Michelle? Is she? Sometimes I get this vibe from her." I shrugged. "I don't think so. She hangs out with Dallas all the time so..." "They're a couple?" "No. Maybe. I don't know. Actually, I kind of doubt it. I think she had a thing with that guy Bob from the band we're opening for." "He's old enough to be her dad." "Her older brother maybe." "It's still gross." I snickered. Who knew what was up with Michelle? Who would even dare categorize her? As for me, I was self-defining. Once I'd been in the dictionary as a guy named Martin, and his entry was still legible, if faintly. Now it was printed over with Amy. That scared me for the longest time, but now I knew it was right. Life is change. We can't always control it. So maybe I wasn't a guy trapped in a girl's body anymore, maybe I was free of that. I wasn't going to be just any old girl, though. I'd still lived two lifetimes and my big sister wasn't about to let me go conventional. Plus, I didn't want to. There was more than one way to be a girl. Many ways, in fact. I'd finally found mine, or at least I'd gotten close enough to finding it I could see it, and now I had to figure out how to grab it and use it. It felt good unburdening myself like this to Emily, and I was feeling really relieved at how she was taking it. I wasn't just feeling different. I was looking that way in the mirror, too. I hadn't seen my forehead in a long, long time. Now I could see the shape of my face and my black hair above it looking like a collection of really thick hedgehog spikes. With my ears exposed and my thick, curved eyebrows high above my eyes I looked almost like a little boy, but there was no mistaking that small mouth and slender neck. I'm going to be a girl from now on, I thought. I'm going to just let it happen, just be menstrual or whatever the fuck from now on and one day, I'll be a woman. I could fucking carry a child for nine months and give birth if I ever decided to get artificially inseminated or something. Or not. At the moment, at my age, that didn't exactly appeal to me. What appealed to me? Marrying Gina and traveling the world together as rock stars! "It's cool, Honey Bunny," Emily said. "You be whoever you have to be. Love whoever you have to love." "I will." "And I'm finished. Hey, want me to Kool-Aid dye it?" "What's that?" "It's Kool-Aid. Used as a dye." "Fuck yeah!" I said, my eyes wide with enthusiasm. In fact, it sounded like the second best idea I'd heard in years--behind the marrying Gina one, that is-- enough so I shifted back into over-excited mode, quaky and all herky-jerky, sped up and clumsy. An electric bundle of nerves. I wanted to have fun again. That's all I wanted. "Anyways," Emily said as she got up, "I'm not surprised. You've been flying the girl flag for a while now. I'm surprised you haven't noticed before now." "I did. I just didn't want to admit it. I've known I was kinda headed in this direction for a while now. Oh wow, it feels so weird saying it. I want to be a girl." "Are a girl." "Yeah." "Get ready for more misery, sis. It never ends." "Thanks for the encouragement!" "You know I'm on your side. I just want to be honest with you. You think things have been crazy up until now. Just wait. But Mom will always be here for you, and me, too. And your friends. Just don't count on anybody else. You're entering a whole new world. It's hard on girls. It's hard on everyone, but it's really hard on girls." "Okay. This is still what I want." "I'm not trying to talk you out of it, Honey Bunny. You've been on the other side. You still know what it's like." "Yeah, I do." "Well, this is different. It may be different from what you've been going through so far." "I'm ready." Emily looked kind of fleetingly melancholy, her dark eyes shiny, her lower lip pushed out slightly, the edges turned down and a little flicker below on her chin. Then she leaned over and kissed me on my forehead, where my bangs would have been if she hadn't braided them away. I blinked and Emily bounced out of the room and was gone for a while. I could hear her talking to Mrs. Komori and knew from a few snatches of words I was the topic. Nerves, talking a mile a minute. Kool-Aid. Things like that. I could hear Emily opening cabinets. I stared at myself in the mirror, wondering if I'd really seen the briefest of sad looks on Emily's face, or if I was just projecting. Mostly, I felt really pleased with what I'd told her, happy as a fucking clown about my big decision, scared to death about the future. Then Emily was in the room again and dragging my ass to the bathroom. She had Kool-Aid packets and a bowl. "Sit on the edge of the tub," she told me, being her usual bossy self. "Ever hear of a little word called 'please?'" I asked just to give her a hard time. "Ever hear of a little word called 'murder?'" she replied. There was no beating her. So I surrendered. Emily mixed the Kool-Aid mix and hair conditioner in a bowl and then dyed the end of each of my short braids reddish (Hey, Josie!). The whole time my heart was going crazy, like a psycho trying to batter down the walls of her padded cell. Emily ignored my bizarre Brownian motion, went out, came back with a fat black marker and calmly drew kanji on my arms, without even asking. I happily let her. She didn't know that many kanji, actually, but she did know the ones people usually used for the name Emi. I asked her why and she told me how even though they really should have used katakana because her name was English, her Japanese speaking relatives called used to send her birthday cards with the Japanese version in kanji, which meant "rich with beauty." Oddly enough, it was actually pronounced like Amy. I gasped and kind of laughed incredulously. "Oh fuck, you totally named me after yourself!" Emily gave me this wicked grin. "You did! You named me after you!" "Of course I did. You're like a shrunken clone version of me." Well, that part wasn't true. We both had black hair, but beyond that, we looked nothing alike. People had often commented on it, sometimes they mistook Michelle and me for sisters, and a few of them even found out I was adopted, but it had also become an in-joke in the Komori household. "How come you never told me before?" I asked. "I dunno. This is 'rich,'" she said, and pointed at my arm. "And this, the 'mi' part, is the character for 'utsu,' from 'utsukushii,' which means 'beautiful...' Which is what you are." I smiled, got all choked up and nearly started crying like a little idiot and the effort not to caused my temperature go up a few notches. Beautiful? Was I really? It made me feel all dumb and awkward, like I was fully of fluffy cotton candy. Oh shit, my eyes began to well up... "Turn your head," I told Emily. "Why?" "JUST DO IT, OKAY?" She laughed and looked away while I wiped my face on a hand towel. "You fucker," I told her accusingly, but we were both smiling. With my fingers I trapped another tear on the outside corner of my left eye and flicked it away. "Don't think it's because of you. It's just show nerves." "You should start taking heavy drugs. They have a calming effect. That advice is my gift to you as a big sister." "You're so full of helpful hints. What would I do without my helpful big sister?" While I got dressed for the show, alone now with all my swirls of emotion and jumbled thoughts, I pondered what it meant to be beautiful, how that related to me specifically, looking at myself in the mirror while I listened to Happy Monkey Do at top volume. I tried to think myself into Mitsuyo, all smart and kick-ass crazy. But all I could think was, Beautiful little Amy Emily-sister. No, I was dumb looking! My haircut--usually--was too precious, my eyebrows too high, my eyes too big, my nose too long, my mouth too small, my chin too pointy. But what if I were beautiful? Why couldn't I just let myself be beautiful for my big sister? She meant inside and out. I could be. I could measure up to her. I could be just like her one day, as cool, as smart, as independent. Like Michelle, like Gina! I could totally do this! When I finished dressing and had myself psyched up, I had on this burgundy velvet tank that laced up the back (I bought it months before but was always too chickenshit to wear it because it was so girl-tastic), my baggiest jeans that hung low on my hips (showed a band of my brown little tummy, which I usually never freaking did) and a bunch of beaded bracelets. Instead of my lucky gray sneakers, I wore these brand new black platform oxfords with thick, clunky heels. They were all shiny and heavy and made me feel as though I could kick down a wall. Before I went out the door with my bass, Emily stopped me. "Amy?" "Yeah?" Emily looked so serious. "You look fucking gorgeous." Again! I beamed despite myself. To hide it, I rolled my eyes, and stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and playfully bit it with this crazy face, but I went all mushy inside for the second time that night. Thanks, Emily, for totally blowing my hard-won cool! I'm going to cry! Again! No, I'm going to pee in my pants! Chapter Three: Gone With a Rock Promoter I didn't have time to do either of those things. Bob picked me and my gear up in this white minivan thing and drove me over to Gina's. On the way, he tried to make all this small talk to me, but I felt weird being alone in the car with him and I couldn't take my mind off what I'd become, and what I was about to do. The fact that I was still kind of trembling also worried me. I hated for some guy to see me all strung out and exposed like that. I wasn't exactly unfriendly to him, it's just that my answers were short and half the time I didn't even know what he said to me, so they were probably also totally nonsensical. It turned out we'd all dressed super-special for our night. Gina had on a guy's tuxedo shirt she bought at Moldy Oldies, the vintage clothing store; she rolled the sleeves back and wore some black wrist bands, and also had on these red pants and some kick-ass platform boots. Sarah looked extra beautiful, with glitter on her face and this long, black velvet dress; the rest of us kind of felt like girl hobos next to her. She always so quiet and meek, chewing her fingernails, so it thrilled me to see her looking like some kind of elf princess. Lena had on a greenish plaid housedress out of the 70s, black tights and gleaming, brand new eight-hole Doc Martens. Between the four of us, Sarah got most of the compliments all night long, and turned many spectacular shades of red, including some that matched her hair. "Silly Monkey," Lena sighed, and gave me this wry little smile. But it was way too late to change the name now. "Let's go, kids," Bob said, rattling his keys. El Banditos. What a shabby place, not even in the prime music spot downtown, which was like a block or two over and had the coolest bars and little show venues. But we thought it was a rock palace. A long, narrow room between a bank and a Thai restaurant, with dumb murals of sombrero- wearing bandits that turned out to be cartoon cacti when you looked closely. For Halloween they'd pasted some orange jack-o-lanterns with the traditional black triangle eyes and noses on the wall, and worked some fake white cobwebs into the corners. We lugged all our junk in ourselves and it seemed to take forever. Plus it was all super heavy and my oxfords, it turned out, were not practical footwear for manual labor. Cream Corn Superstar had beer out in a cooler in the trunk of a car and no one thought anything about it when Gina asked them to hook us up, too. It hadn't taken too long to set up, and we still had lots of time to kill before we started, which we spent sneaking out, drinking beer with the guys, then bopping back in, our breath sour with hops. In, out, in, beer, no beer, beer. In. Because it was a Saturday Halloween in a university town, the freaks were out in force, too. The sun wasn't even down but there they were, and it was bound to be crazier later after all the townies and junkies got off work at their part time jobs. We girls shrieked every time we caught a glimpse of some incredible costume or other and the boys just smirked and said snide things under their breath. The first group we saw consisted of four people out as the Simpsons, minus Maggie. It really helped that the Homer was naturally bald and fat, but they had all really nailed it. Up close we even realized the Bart was a girl. Gina and I were laughing so hard, tears came squirting out of our eyes. Lena looked at us in horror. Michelle came running up dressed in no costume at all, but it turned out she was with a lollygagging Dallas who had finally given in completely to her Tim Burton tendencies by going full-on Winona Ryder in "Beetlejuice," with the veiled hat and camera and everything. "What are you supposed to be?" I asked Michelle. "I'm you," she said. "No fucking way," I told her. "I'm you." "You wish." "You have no idea," I said and smiled mysteriously, but Michelle took zero notice, running off at the mouth as was her way. She had been in the middle of mocking Dallas but stopped short and was now looking at Willis Wallace, who slipped in by himself. He looked scared and out of place, his eyes shiny and wide. Of course he wasn't wearing a costume, either. I gave Michelle a little push out of my way, then bopped over to him. "Hey," I said. "Oh, Amy. Nice... costume." "It's not actually a costume." "This place smells like stale tacos." "Yeah, I think it's a Mexican restaurant. Where tacos abound." Willis narrowed his eyes. "And you abound with the smell of a brewery." "Don't tell anyone." "You're drunk." That was my cue to act crazy. I laughed and hugged him. "I am! I love you, Willis." I let go and he looked like a jigsaw puzzled falling apart. A piece missing here, a piece missing there. "I-I..." was all he said. "I mean it. I love everyone." "Oh. Drunk talk." I nodded. Then we got separated by a flow of people into the restaurant. I had to backpedal to keep from being crushed--Michelle and Gina caught me before I stamped on their feet-- and the last I saw of Willis he was pressed against the wall just inside the door looking terrified. So many Halloween celebrants. There was a solo Han Solo, a Dana Scully without a Fox Mulder (she looked just like Gillian Anderson, too), a brave crazy fucker in a skintight naked man suit complete with a dangling dong, assorted doctors and sexy nurses (Gina booed after about the fifth one) and at least three Hunter S. Thompsons, although there might have been more or even fewer because it was so confusing. The reason for that was, Willis was right. I was drunk. Just from little sips of beer. Many of them. I remembered I hadn't been drunk since that college party we crashed way back when. The first time Michelle introduced us to Bob. Wow, I'd really paid a heavy price for that night. I probably will again, I told myself and tried to laugh it off. Poor Mrs. Komori. If I make it home, I promise not to puke! Things happened fast. The restaurant had filled, the sidewalk outside--under a purpling sky, streetlights coming on-- was thronged with costumed weirdos and we were just minutes before start time. We packed into a booth, too many of us for the confined space, bodies jammed together, laughing and acting stupid, but I couldn't help noticing how the garish neon light inside El Banditos at night just made Gina's freckled skin very alluring, the way it softly glowed kind of aqua blending into orange. Michelle and I were mashed up against the wall and Bill sat on my other side and took every opportunity to touch my leg with his own nasty, bloopy, probably covered- in-pimples thigh. He flipped my braids from time to time, too, trying to annoy me. Fat pervert. Cream Corn Superstar's new guitarist was this tall, thin, very young guy with curly black hair and dark eyes and kind of a shy way about him. One look at him and Sarah's eyes went wide. He and Sarah kind of went into this world of their own, having this conversation within the conversation. That was cool by me, and it kind of made up for the fact I wanted to stab Bill in the face with a fork. "You guys ready?" Bob asked. "Bob!" I piped. "Yeah?" "Bob! And Bill! Bill! And Bob!" "You're a drunk little monkey, aren't you?" Bob asked. "Don't call her that! She's not a monkey, you racist mother fucker," Michelle said. "Okay, actually, she's a Silly Monkey." "Let's go," Lena said impatiently. "We were supposed to play twenty minutes ago." Gina, Sarah and I kind of looked at each other, and Lena was already climbing out of the booth, heading for the stage. I followed her, buzzed enough to feel relaxed, but not so drunk I couldn't play. Incompetence was the reason I couldn't. I stumbled over the little monitors on the floor and picked up my bass. Sarah was leaning over my shoulder, whispering something. "I can't hear you," I told her. "I don't wanna do this." "God, Sarah, it's too late now." I strapped on my bass, saw Gina was tapping her toms, her ear cocked to hear if they'd gone out of tune from the last time she checked them, Lena was tuning her guitar like a pro, plus glaring at Sarah and me. I gave Sarah a little push towards the microphone. She looked back at me with big puppy eyes, then turned to face the crowd. There was some scattered applause, Michelle shouting something unintelligible that might have been Korean but could just as easily have been Spanish because I was too freaked out by the inescapability of it all to understand language at the moment. I got set, planted my feet, wanted to pee again, wanted to cry. My heart was in my throat and I knew what Sarah meant about not wanting to do it. Then Sarah squeaked into the mic, "We're the Monkeys." "SILLY MONKEY WOOOOO!" Michelle screamed, her hands cupped around her mouth. The room went totally quiet and Michelle's face went red and she disappeared, sinking down in shame and embarrassment behind all the costumed people waiting for us to make music. Then Gina was counting us off and we were playing! The first song, then the second. Sarah sang so well and Gina pounded the drums so hard no one could really tell how many times I fucked up, and I fucked up a lot. All in all, the sound quality was pretty bad in there. We could tell right away. But I doubted anyone cared, plus they were mostly there to see Cream Corn Superstar, not some stupid high school girl band. I kept my eyes half-shut and this cool rock star expression on my face. I bounced up and down while I played, and sometimes I danced, just letting go of every insane thing that had happened over the past couple of months. Because of my age, other than my stint as a Blue Devil, I didn't get many chances just to dance (just in my friends' bedrooms when we played Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" on the stereo), but it seemed like the thing to do. I couldn't play bass for shit, but I knew now I could dance, so at least I could add something visual. I proved contagious. Lena beamed at me and then she couldn't stop moving either, and she was way shyer than I'd ever be. I wanted us to be like Happy Monkey Do, and they sproinged like springs all over the place on stage. The room seesawed crazily, all the faces rocking back and forth as I performed. It felt like raw power, like we were projecting it, but I could have been mistaken. I was pumped up on beer-y energy and adrenaline and I felt expansive, happy, bigger than the room, bigger than the world itself. There was Dallas in her veil, taking photo after photo, the flash popping in my eyes, Michelle-- over her embarrassment easy as pie-- pogoing next to her, shrieking along with Sarah. Then our moment was over. Abruptly. The weird part was, we played everything much faster than we usually did in practice. Adrenaline, no doubt. The end result was, we'd played out set in just over half the time it took us in Gina's garage. People clapped and whooped and all that, but there was this kind of confused energy, the unspoken question being, "Was that all you've got?" It was, and we were sweaty and still a little drunk, all of us breathing hard, our hearts beating as we broke into nervous giggles like we'd just gotten away clean from the scene of a crime. Chapter Four: Let's Hang Out and Be Cool, All Right? We took down our amps and Gina's kit and stowed what we could out to Bob's little van--he and Bill helped us and also helped themselves to more of their beer as fast as they could gulp them down-- then melted back into the growing crowd to enjoy a real band. Emily appeared out of nowhere--I hadn't even known she was there--and hugged me, and all her college friends told me I looked really cool, and that we'd "put on a good show." Snowboard Boy surreptitiously slipped me a full bottle of beer he wasn't supposed even to have inside El Banditos that night. The bottle felt wet and cold against my hand. In a kind of amazed state, I drank it openly and no one moved to stop me, no one said a word. Looking down the bottle, I saw Willis, but he never said a word to any of us. He just sat there, smiling. "How'd we sound?" I shouted to my gorgeous big sister over Cream Corn Superstar's first song, which was incredibly loud. "Um... not bad," Emily screamed. I cracked up. That shitty, huh? Cream Corn Superstar. If only they'd practiced as hard as we did, their name would've been more than a joke. Their songs were awesome, but they played sloppy and dicked off too much. What I liked about their songs (and made a mental note to steal for ours) was they actually had bridges that went somewhere and the lyrics were so cool, with these Elvis Costello plays on words that actually made sense in a twisted way. They used more than 3 or 4 chords in some of them, too; revolutionary, for our town. And that supposed guitar genius, pale and gorgeous, who had Sarah's face so lit up? He was every bit as brilliant as Bob had made him out to be. Even I had trouble taking my eyes of him as he played. I watched his fingers find all the right notes, then watched Sarah as she found all the right feelings. My beaming, beautiful friend. Aw yeah, drinking him in with her eyes, falling in love. I found a big plastic trash can, dumped my still half-full bottle, and slipped out to breathe some cool night air. It was a shock on my damp skin, and I felt suddenly clammy all over. Velvet had been a really shitty idea. I also gaped in disbelief as Heidi, wearing some kind of shapeless white dress that I realized was the remnants of an angel costume, sweat and mascara running down her cheeks, came stumbling up the sidewalk towards me. She was alone, no Superboy anywhere in sight. My first idea was to duck back inside, but she'd seen me. Nailed to the spot by her tear-filled eyes. "Amy," she slurred, her voice harsh. Way drunker than I was. "Uh, hi, Heidi. Shouldn't you have your hand down some frat guy's pants right now?" "Fuck 'em." Funny, that's what I thought she did. Frat guys, high school guys, any guy with rich parents, a cool car and short hair. I wondered what Willis Wallace would say if he saw how ugly her expression made her face that night, and the brown streaks. I thought about introducing them, but decided against it since he might have a heart attack. He had a hard enough time talking to me. "I'd love to stay and catch up on old times, but I'm kind of doing this band thing tonight," I told her, and started to turn. She grabbed me, turned me back, shoved me up against the wall, the cool brick thumping against my spine. I made a weird sound against my will and took a deep breath. Shit, not tonight! I'd just barely gotten over the black eye she'd given me. I pushed hard against her shoulders and Heidi stumbled back then came right into my face again. She shoved me against the wall once more, but not with as much force. It was as if the heart was going out of her. "I wanna tell you something," Heidi said. "Just fucking stand there until I'm finished and then you and your Monkeys or whatever can go do whatever the fuck you do..." Her breath smelled like the El Banditos' bathroom. Whew, and she'd puked at some point. And then she told me, and I knew exactly why she hated me so much. She hated me because she was kind of in to me. It was hard to follow, slurred and fast, the words coming off her tongue twisted. She didn't want just to fuck me, she wanted me to be her girlfriend, in a crazy way she even sometimes wanted to be me. That was the gist of it. She wasn't gay, being gay was sick and disgusting and she wasn't into girls at all she only liked boys but for some reason from the first time we clashed, something kind of clicked and she'd wanted me and it was all my fault. All this, the scheming, the plotting, the ass-kicking was all about Heidi Fleegleman, future-queen of Delacroix High having a crush on me, of all people. "But you know what? No matter how wrong and perverted being gay is, I probably wouldn't mind so much if it was anyone but you," Heidi said in this crowning achievement of drunk logic. "It's casual," I said. Then, before my brain could stop it, my mouth said, "If you have to know, the only reason I joined the stupid cheerleading squad in the first place was because I pretty much feel the same way about you." There. I'd admitted it finally and everything was out there in the open. Undeniable. Not coming back. I wanted to be a girl now but I also was every bit as in love with her as I was with Gina, wanted to fuck Heidi or be fucked by her and we both knew it. What's more, I didn't care which one it was, as long as one or the other happened. That was the final, horrible secret I'd been trying to keep from myself. That was the ultimate reason for everything I'd done. Heidi's eyes went wide and she shoved me yet again--which was getting old fast-- her hands slapping my bare shoulders. "I fucking knew it! You sneaky little bitch! I swear to god, Amy, if you ever tell anyone, if you ever so much as look at me in a dykey way, I will kill you." I had no choice but to shove her back. I pushed her as hard as I could this time, shouted, "I'm as embarrassed about it as you are! Cheerleading is stupid and you fucking suck! If you fucking push me again I'm going to kick your ass!" I shut my eyes, ready for my well-deserved pounding. It didn't come. Neither did a kiss, which I was also sort of expecting. Okay, hoping for. I opened my eyes and I was alone. Cream Corn Superstar was still kicking it inside El Banditos, and kicking it loudly. People in costumes were off in the distance having the time of their lives. In a weird way, so was I. Heidi was trotting unsteadily down the sidewalk, waving down one of the local cabs. God, she was fucked in the head. But I guess I felt sorry for her. She was so trapped in this image of herself as the perfect hetero-cheerleader girl, she'd do anything to protect it, even fight reality itself. I knew then what Emily had tried to tell me back home, which seemed like yet another lifetime ago, when I was a different person than I was now. I understood that sad look. I was for me and the choice I'd made, because the world could be a shitty, shitty place where you weren't free to be who you really were. It was grinding Heidi between the wheels of expectations. And there I was, standing there alone, with a lot of fucked-up feelings of my own. Almost two years before I'd been a guy, not much of one, but a guy. A year ago I'd lost my chance to go back to that, permanently settled into being physically female. Now I was pushing towards total girlhood, towards becoming a woman one day, turning my back at last on my lost life. All those memories tucked away, the ones I'd made in the past two years now making up the bulk of who I was. And for the future, it meant a lifetime of putting up with Heidis and Bobs and Bills and fuck all. I was small and skinny, I was young, I was full of crazy emotions I couldn't control and I was in for it. A life of danger. It scared me, but I was ready to do it. Someone's arm wrapped around my shoulders and I was so glad to see it was Sarah. She planted a wet one on my cheek and told me she was completely in love with Mr. Guitar. "I mean, it's the real thing," she said over and over, in complete amazement at having this lighter than air feeling. "Yeah," I said, laughing kind of crazily. Unstrung, weak in the knees. "There's a lot of that going around." She and I were sisters, too. So I knew now how she felt.