How I Became The Baddest Girl In Clarksville Part 5 Smells Like Teen Spirit free porn video

How I became the Baddest Girl in Clarksville Part 5 Smells like Teen Spirit -A thousand times good-bye - A rainbow of hand-lettered posters covered the lobby when I arrived at school on Monday, a little over a week since I'd gotten the call from Frank. Much had happen since then. I had learned what happed to Bradley Conrad. I'd pieced it together from snatches of conversations I picked up from other students; the halls were buzzing about it. Bradley had lost it Saturday morning after football practice. That's the way it was worded. "He just lost it, man. One minute he seemed normal, laughing with the other jocks over some prank they'd pulled on the assistant coach. Then he went bonkers! It was a real shame. Right when he was starting to get his memory back. Bad break for the team. He was the star quarterback. Now he's in the nut house." Define bonkers, please. No one could--or would. They didn't need to. I was pretty sure Bradley was spending all his time in a room with padded walls while men dressed in white coats spoon feed him and wiped the drool off his chin. Bad break for Bradley. Bad Break for Frank. Whammy Bradley once and THEY look the other way. After all, Frank was doing it for the good of the program. Whammy Bradley twice and people begin to ask questions. Suddenly, Frank's a liability. It wasn't the whamming itself that caused the fuss (that's what they called it I learned later--whamming), it was whamming Bradley after he began to remember things about the Barnes house, things he mentioned to Monica. (How did I know this? I'll get to that later.) The second whammy looked like a hit job (which it was). I wondered if Monica was next. I thought of how much of Clarksville went about their daily routines unaware of how controlled their lives really were. I imagined most would continue without ever suspecting anything. They might shake their heads at the tragedy that overtook the Conrad boy but they would never connect the dots. This was Clarksville, things like that didn't happen here. Except, Bradley and I knew differently. It began with the (mostly sleepless) night of the call where Frank threatened to whammy me. The few times I did doze produced nightmarish dreams. Mom found me shortly after sunrise, downstairs and awake, in granny's rocker, dark crescents under my eyes. She descended the stairs; her head cocked to the side, as if I might be a mirage, and then approached me with tepid steps. "What the matter baby?" she asked in a low voice as if she were afraid I might spook and run I bit my lower lip and sucked in a sniffle. I felt like an over-wound spring that wanted to break but couldn't. Frank warned if I told anyone....Then it all came flooding out, every word Frank said, all the threats, all the condescending savagery. Mom held on to me through it all. When I was done she led me to the sofa. I lay against her breast while her hands stroked my hair; her breath, soft and warm, whispered everything would be all right. Before long, I drifted off, thinking how much I loved her. Something loud and sudden jerked me awake. It took a moment to piece together how I'd ended up on the sofa. Then it came back to me, the call, the fear, Mom cradling me in her arms. BAM! There was the sound again. Someone had slammed one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen. "Steve, please," My mother's voice begged. "Dammit Ann, I can't calm down." Dad's voice rumbled like low thunder. "They promised me if we went along with them, passed her off as our daughter--" "She IS our DAUGHTER Steve," Mom cut in. "I know that." There was a pause. When Dad spoke again his voice was strained but controlled. "My point is... they promised if we kept what happened secret that would be it. It was an accident and they wanted to make it right, correct a mistake. That's what the birth certificate and school transcripts were for. It was supposed to end there. "She's was starting to adjust," Mom said. "And now... I don't know how this is going to affect her." "I'll blow the lid off the whole project before I'll allow Swartz to harass this family," Dad exclaimed. "I don't know Steve," said Mom. "I think you should be careful." "He crossed the line, Ann." said Dad. He was almost shouting. Mom said something too low to understand and both voices dropped in volume. A chill passed through me. Though I couldn't make out the rest of what they said, I knew they were talking about Frank's call. I eased off the couch taking the blanket with me. It slid silently to the floor. I hadn't realized it was there. Mom must have covered me with it when I fell asleep. I started toward the kitchen then realized I was wearing one of John's tee-shirts. I used them as night shirts and they covered me pretty well, hanging to mid thigh. But the large neck opening exposed a lot of skin and they were thin. I went back for the blanket, wrapping it around me Indian style, before padding across the thick carpet. Dad, cup in hand, was hovering over the coffee pot when I entered the kitchen. The machine chugged happily, pumping hot water over ground beans, oblivious to the strain that showed on my parents faces. Dad was dressed in rumpled pajama bottoms and a white under shirt. Mom still wore the faded violet bath robe cinched tight around her waist over pale green pajamas. They barely lifted their eyes when I came in. The pot beeped, signaling the coffee was ready but Dad ignored it, focusing on me instead. "Your mom told me what happened," he said, "Why didn't you come to me last night?! I'd never seen my father like this. I backed away toward the door, too afraid to speak. "Alex, I asked you a question." "Son of a bitch" he spat, when I didn't answer. He kicked out at a near by chair sending it screeching across the floor tile. I leapt back with a frightened squeal. The chair teetered for a moment threatening to topple then righted itself. Dad stood there, his breathing heavy, gripping the coffee cup so tight I thought it would shatter "That's enough Steve," Mom said. "Getting angry is not going to solve anything." She walked over to where the chair skidded and carried it back to the table. "Sit," she told him, relieving him of the still empty cup. "I want you to take a breath and relax. Then we'll discuss this like a family." "You too Alex," she said to me while she filled my dad's cup with coffee. Do you want some juice?" I nodded. After Mom served us and poured coffee for herself, she took a seat next to my father. She put her hand on Dad's arm. "I think you should talk to Dr. Swanson," she said. "He was very helpful at the hospital." Dad snorted. "You don't know how these things work, Ann. Swanson is jus--" The shrill electronic warble of the phone and we all froze, Dad's protest dying in mid-sentence. For a moment no one moved. Bits and pieces of Frank's call flashed in my head. I wondered if my parents felt it too. Then Dad was out of his chair lifting the receiver. He listened; eyes narrowed, scratching at the bristles on his chin with a finger. "Give me an hour," he said at last. "I need to shave and dress. See you then." He dropped the phone back on its charger then turned to us. "That was the plant," he said. "They need me to come in. Something's happened. They wouldn't say what. I'll be back as soon as I can." I followed my dad up the stairs, stopping off in the bathroom to pee. While I was about my business I checked my pad. I couldn't find any discharge. I sighed; Mother Nature was done with me for the moment. I wished I could say the same of Frank. After slipping on fresh panties sans a pad, pair of jeans and a top I joined Mom in the kitchen. Dad peeped in a few minutes later wearing dark gray slacks, a light blue shirt and maroon tie. He'd shaved and combed his hair. The smell of Old Spice trailed behind him. He gave Mom a quick peck of a kiss then surprised me with one. Before either Mom or I could react he was gone. I hurried to the window that looked onto the street in time to see him turn off the cul-de-sac and disappear around the corner. By the afternoon I was a wreck. I'd spent the day imagining Dad running into Frank at the plant and confronting him. My mind replayed the same scenario over and over until it was frayed as an old rag. The outcome was never good. It ended with my dad hauled away by heavily muscled thugs, never to be seen or heard from again. I was lying on the bed flipping though the copy of Teen Vogue Shelly insisted I read (when I'd declined, she'd snatched my book bag and crammed the magazine inside, zipping the bag closed to settle things). Most of the magazine dealt with fashion: the newest designer clothes (I'd never be able to afford), half-a-dozen ways to braid your hair (wasn't interested), make-up tips (not ready for that), with a few celebrity exposes sprinkled in. One article did catch my attention, a piece on indie bands. I'd just begun reading when Mom burst in with the portable phone. "Here," she said jabbing the phone at me like an amateur boxer wanting to spar. "It's for you." "Who is it?" I asked, snatching it away before she poked me in the eye. "Your father," she said, then disappeared out the door, closing it behind her "Dad?" I said into the phone, staring at the empty spot my mother occupied moments before. "Hi princess," said my father's voice in my ear. I took a breath, dizzy with relief. "I was so worried about you," I said. "I kept thinking I got you in trouble. His laugh was full and healthy. "I wanted to tell you not to worry," he said. "Schwartz has been relieved of duty. They're transferring him out this afternoon." "What did you do?" I couldn't believe the news. "Nothing," he said. "We were ordered into the briefing room as soon as I got here. They broke the news there. So, problem solved. Look, I've got to go. I'll tell you and your mother the rest when I get home. We have some stuff to discuss." "Daddy I -" The line went dead before I could finish "I love you". I sat for a moment holding the receiver as if I could magically get him back on the line but the only sound was the spastic buzz of white noise. The absence of his voice left a hollow place in me. Suddenly, I wanted to feel his arms around me, to drink in the smell of Old Spice and maleness, feel the roughness of his cheek against my smooth one. I laid the phone down and opened my magazine to the place I left off. There was nothing to do but wait. Dad pulled into the driveway a little after six. Humor had replaced the anger burning behind his eyes that morning. He strolled to the stairs, as if he were on a leisurely afternoon walk. "I'm going to change clothes. This shirt and tie makes me feel like I'm still at work. We'll talk about things over dinner," I plopped into a chair and sighed. I'd have to wait some more. "They're closing the government section of the plant," said Dad, arranging the napkin in his lap before filling his plate with my mother's lasagna. (Mom had been on an Italian kick recently.) He paused to take a long sip of iced tea before continuing. "We spent today removing hard drives from computers and packing biological specimens. Everything has to be out before Friday. That's when the new owners arrive." "New owners!" Mom exclaimed. "You're losing your job! Did they fire you? Steve, what happened?" "We're not going to move are we?" Tyler cried. "I like it here. You can go without me. I'm not moving." Dad held up his hands. "Hold on," he laughed, "One at a time. First, I'm not necessarily losing my job. Or to be more precise I've been invited to apply for a position to take the place of the one I have now. Actually it pays better. It won't be as glamorous, I'll be developing new types of fertilizer, instead of designing viruses but I think we've had enough of that. Am I Right Alex?" I nodded only half comprehending what he was saying. Too many other questions were swirling in my head. "The program was scheduled to operate for two more years, but with everything that's happened they decided it was best to shut down now. I suspect the decision was made weeks ago, after Alex was infected but they kept it to themselves until today." I suppressed a shudder at the "I" word that my father seemed so comfortable with. Mom noticed and placed her hand on mine, reassuring me with a gentle squeeze. The males seemed oblivious to what passed between us. "So it doesn't have anything to do with Frank." I said as Mom drew her hand back. The idea the Rat Pack moved into a town, messed with people, and then packed up and left without anyone doing or saying anything made me angry. "I'm not sure," said Dad. "But since he's not going to be around I don't see where it matters." "Who's Frank, anyway?" Tyler asked. "Alex is always talking about him like he's some kind of badass." "Tyler!" Mom said. "Watch your language." "He's a pervert," I said, "and he needs to be in jail." "Okay," Dad broke in. "End of conversation. I told you what you needed to know. I shouldn't have to say that none of this gets repeated to any one. Got it? Tyler, Alex?" "Yes sir," we said in dutiful unison. "Good," He took a sip of tea, replaced the glass on the table and then turned back to me, a wicked look in his eye. "Have you decided what movie you want us to see?" "Movie?" The question confused me. "For Saturday," Dad said. "We were going to do something together, remember?" With all the worry about Frank, I'd forgotten Dad and I were going to spend a day together. "I'll have to see what's playing," I said. "You don't seem very excited Alex," said Mom. "Weren't you complaining a couple of days ago about your father never spending time with you?" "I'm just tired," I said. "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night." "You don't have to decide tonight," Dad said. "Pick out something you'll enjoy." "Watch what you say Dad," Tyler smirked. "Or she's going to drag you to one of those chick flicks." "You're a chick flick," I shot back at my brother. "Brooke thinks so," Tyler grinned. "She can't get enough of me." He made humping motions with his hips. "That's obscene Tyler," Mom said. "Stop!" "If you don't mind, I'm going to my room," I said to my parents. "I don't feel too good." "Night sis," Tyler laughed. As I pushed away from the table, it was hard not to flip him off. Sitting on the floor a pillow in my lap, my back against my mattress, I probed myself for why I had these feelings all of a sudden. Things couldn't have worked out better. For the first time since leaving the hospital, I wouldn't have to worry about being spied upon. I wouldn't have to be afraid. I should have been happy, hell I should have been dancing madly on a big puffy cloud. But I wasn't. I felt depressed and confused. I wanted to cry. It took a few minutes to sort through my emotions and figure out why. The Rats packing up placed a big fat period on things, like the one at the end of a novel. Where it says they all lived happily ever after, except in this case the prince becomes the princess without the pedigree while the dark knight whisks away the kingdom scot-free. Cinderella in reverse. Why was I so bothered? I'd made peace with the girl in the mirror. We'd accepted each other, warts and all. I laid the blame on exhaustion. Things always looked distorted when you were tired (didn't they?). At least I hoped that was it. -I think I'm going bald- In a flicker of movement last week's memories scattered like a murder of starled crows. I was back at my locker focused on Shelly dancing excitingly in front of a poster (baby blue) her finger poking at the hand lettering. She skipped toward me her face flush. "Did you see what's posted there," she asked, pointing at the blue rectangle. "Some crap about homecoming," I said. "There's a whole wall full in the color of your choice." "Do you think you could be a little more negative, Alex?" Her face lost some of its brightness, fading into half-light. She studied me for a moment visibly irratated, then her bottom jaw dropped. Her eyes lit up with suprise. "You got your ears pierced!" she exclaimed. She did a little jig. "Why didn't you say something?" "I only saw you just now," I said, not in the mood for conversation. My head was full of residue from last week, stuff I was still sorting out. "That's so cool, Alex," Shelly squealed, grabbing my arms. "I thought you said you were allergic to metal. So what made you decided to do it? Tell meeeeeehhhh." "There's nothing to tell. I went to the beauty shop to get my hair trimmed and they were doing piercings so...." The first period bell rang. I let my my words die. We were caught in the swelling current of bodies moving toward rooms where smiling teachers waited by opened doors. Shelly continued to bombard me with questions that were lost in the chatter of a hundered other students relaying what they'd done over the weekend. I ignored them, my mind drifting back to my conversation with Mom. I was sitting at the kitchen table with movie page from the Sunday paper. I'd salvaged it from the trash. I was checking for a film both Dad and I would enjoy when Mom sat down beside me. "Have you decided what you're going to wear?" she asked. "For what?" I asked. "When you and your father go to the movie," said Mom. The question was a little weird. "Jeans I guess. Why?" I didn't see how it mattered. We were only going to a show. "I think you should wear one of your dresses," said Mom. "He needs to get to know you as his daughter. I'm pretty sure that's why he's doing this." "I thought he wanted spend time with me, not my clothes." I said. "Of course he does," said my mom. "But your relationship with each other has changed, He's trying to acccept things as they are now, but he needs your help. It wouldn't hurt to look feminine." "I'll think about it," I said. "Well we ought to a least get your hair done," Mom said. "No!" I cried. "I like it this way," I'd come toappreicate its length. I wasn't sure I wanted it cut. "I'm talking about having the split ends removed and having it shaped a little, Alex. Don't be such a baby. We'll do it on Friday." Her voice final. "What about school?" I asked. "I suppose it won't hurt for you to miss a day," Mom said. I bit back a smile. Skipping school would make a trip to the hair dresser worth it.. By the time we arrived at the hair salon Mom was pressing a case for my nails as well as my hair. I'd begun to wish I'd gone to school. "No, Mom," I argued, "I don't want my nails painted. I'll look like a hooker." "Just a coat of clear polish, Alex. Do you really want your nails to look like they do now?" They did look rough. I'd chewed on several as a way to deal with nerves. "Hair and nails but no shopping or makeovers or whatever, Promise?" "I think hair and nails will be fine," Mom said. The shop was a cramped square building constructed of concrete blocks with a single large rectangular window that looked onto the street. The words "Styles by Myrtle" graced the glass in the same purplish-pink color as the front of the building. Mom led the way inside where a woman who looked to be in her early forties, in a teal colored smock, greeted us from behind a glass counter. Several bottles and jars littered the shelf behind her. I glanced around, two stylist chairs sat empty in the center of the room. A row of cheap plastic seats, also vacant, lined the wall opposite the counter. A small card table and two folding chairs finished the rooms furnishings. The smell of Florida Water and chemicals tainted the air. "Hi Ann," said the woman. She moved around the counter and into the open area, toward us. "Perfect timing. I just finished with my last customer so I'm not running late for once," she laughed. "And you must be Alex," she said, her eyes dancing merrily as she looked me over. "Aren't you the pretty one. I'm Myrtle, I'll be doing your hair today." Before I could react she steered me to one of the chairs and covered me with a pink haircutting bib. "Let's give you a quick wash then we'll get started." I flashed my Mom a seriously drity look. How had the hairdresser known my name unless my Mom had set everything up ahead of time. As if Mom could read my thoughts, she smiled and made a motion with her hands as if to say, sorry, deal with it. My chair tilted back, I felt warm water wash over my scalp and the gentle touch of Myrtle's fingers. "I just want the ends snipped," I said, "nothing else." "You got it sweetie," said Myrtle, her voice juanty. "I'm not going to do anything you don't tell me to do." Myrtle finished washing my hair and righted the chair. Then she crossed the floor to a cart holding scissors and combs and guided it over. Realizing she was about to get down to business, I tensed. Mytle noticed and smiled. "I'm guessing this is her first time in a beauty shop," she said to my mother. "Alex has always been a sort of tomboy," Mom said, "she's a little nervous." Myrtle turned back to me. "I was the same way. You couldn't get me into a dress. My momma had fits. Then when... how old are you honey.?" "Fourteen," I said, quoting my new birth certificate. "I guess I was about that age, maybe a year older when I became interested in girly things." She said snipping at my hair. "I think hormones have something to do with it. Anyway it would be a shame to waste all your prettness on jeans and baseball hats." She worked on my hair for another minute and then combed it out. She helped me from the chair, she positioned me so my back faced the large mirror over the sink. Then she passed me a hand mirror so I could see behind me. My hair fell in an even line across my back. "What do you think?" Myrtle asked. I nodded. "Funny how little things make all the difference," said Myrtle. "I noticed you don't have your ears pierced. Have you thought about getting them done? We could do it today when Frankie does your nails. She does both." "I've tried to get her to," said Mom. "But she refuses." It was true Mom had urged me to consider it. They funny thing was when I was John I wanted my left ear pierced Mom forbade it. I had male friends that had both done. I found it ironic that what was wrong for me as John was fine for me as Alex. "I'll tell you what," said Myrtle. "If you let Frankie pierce your ears I'll only charge you for the posts. What have you got to lose? If you don't like them, you can always take them out and let the holes close back up and no one will ever know." She smiled her eyes searching my face as if to see if her charm took effect. "I'm thinking the blue sapphires. They would really bring out the color of your hair." I shurgged and Myrtle smiled. "I'll take that as a yes," she said. "The blue sapphires it is." . Frankie (who'd been at lunch in the back room) was a thin woman with close cropped red hair and a frown I thought might be a permanent fixture. She seemed the exact opposite of Myrtle. I wondered how they'd found each other. Despite her sour demeanor, Frankie knew her stuff. She shaped my nails with quick efficient strokes. When she finished, I was surprised at how nice they looked. "See Alex," said Mom catching me admiring my new look. "I told you. Now aren't you glad you got them done." Good ol' Mom. Just when you thought she couldn't embarrass you more, she found a way. "Now Ann, leave her alone. "Nobody likes 'I told you so'," Myrtle said, coming to my rescue. "They look really pretty honey. Let's do those ears and get you out of here before your momma digs a hole too deep to crawl out of." I expected Frankie to use a gun to pierce my ears, that's what I'd always seen them use in the malls in Sacramento. Instead she produced a pair of forceps with special tips (the ends were curved to form circles, open in the middle) and a long thick needle. She clipped the forceps on my left ear, I felt a little pressure and a pinch and then she was moving to the right. "You're done," said Frankie packing up her tools. The entire process had taken less than three minutes. Myrtle had pulled my hair into a pony tail so it wouldn't be in the way while Frankie worked. She loosened it now and arranged it behind my ears. "Well I'll be. You look like a regular young lady," she said handing me a mirror. I looked at my reflection. The face that looked back was so completely feminine it frightened me. The mirror fell from my hand striking the table with a clatter. I grabbed at it trying to cover my shock. "Are you okay?" Myrtle asked. "I'm fine," I said. "I got dizzy for a moment but its gone now." "You scared me," said Myrtle, "I was afraid you had a reaction to the piercing. Sometimes people do." Then as an after thought "You're sure you're all right?" "I'm probably just hungry. I didn't eat this morning," I lied, I wasn't about to tell them what I'd seen or the uneasy feeling it produced. That was private. Mom gave me a questioning look. "I'm fine Mom," I said. "I think I owe Myrtle some money," said my mother. Mom counted out several bills and passed them to the hairdresser. "Nice meeting you Alex," Myrtle called after me as we headed out the door. Mom's car had mirrors built into the visors. I flipped mine down as Mom steered us on to the road and home. The girl in the mirror had changed. She still had the large blue eyes and pouty lips but the tom-boyishness, that anchor that kept my soul and body together was gone. How had it happened? Having my hair and nails done wouldn't have been enough to change me that drastically. Was it my new posts? They did add an element of femininity but more like the dot above an "I" than anything else. Something else was going on. "What's wrong, Alex? Why are you looking at yourself in the mirror?" Mom asked sounding annoyed. "You've been acting funny since before we left Myrtle's" "I'm just looking at my new posts, Mom. Gee!" "Don't get an attitude Alex Tetras," said Mom. "Are you having trouble with your period?" "My period's been over for a week," I said. "Well something's bothering you. I can tell. That reminds me. You haven't had a physical other than with Dr. Swanson at the hospital. There's a very good gynecologist in town, a woman. I think maybe we should schedule a time to see her. Just to make sure everything is functioning right" "No!" I said. "I don't want someone poking around inside me." Mom turned her attention back to the road. "We'll see," she said. -Color him father- The last thing I wanted was to turn my day with Dad into some kind of formal coming out. But Saturday morning, Mom's comments about Dad continued to play on my mind. Why did every fucking thing have to be so complicated? I flopped down on my bed to think. In the construct of the familial mystery, I saw my family from a different perspective now. Not strangers but not the people I grew up with either. It was if we'd played a game of supernatural musical chairs and when the music stopped I was left standing while all of them had changed seats so I saw each of them from a different angle. I had a new appreciation of my mother (although she aggravated the hell out of me). After all we were both members of the sisterhood. Tyler was still my asshole brother but he was a boy and I wasn't. My Dad was becoming daddy. I was developing that special bond that only daughters and fathers share. So what would other girls wear for a first date with their father? I thought I knew. I rummaged through my dresses lifting them off the rack one at a time, working my way thourgh them until I'd narrowed my choice down to a one piece rose print with a cool layered skirt. I thought this was a perfect choice, not dressy but not jeans. I slipped it on experiencing that swishy, near naked feeling again. My parents were downstairs. I'd left with Mom doing the breakfast dishes while Dad nursed a final cup of coffee as he scanned the morning paper. I padded down the hall toward my parent's room passing Tyler along the way. He glanced at me wearing the dress but other than a nod didn't comment. Standing in front of the large mirror I checked my appearence then brushed my hair tucking it behind my ears so my posts were visible. The sapphaires catching the light from the ceiling, twinkled merrily like tiny blue stars. "We really need to get you your own vanity," said Mom's voice behind me. I followed her movements in the mirror turing to face her only when she was beside me. She made some small adjustments to my dress and then produced several bobby pins from a small plastic case. "This will keep your hair in place so it doesn't slip and hide your posts," she said pinning my hair just above the top of my ears. "There, that should do it. You're father wants to know if your almost ready." "I need to put on shoes," I said angling for the door. "You might want to wear a coat or sweater," Mom called behind me. "It's cool out today." I combed through the footwear I purchased at Just Girls before deciding on my pink high tops. I added the denim jacket then headed downstairs to meet Dad. He was standing near the front door hands clasped in front of him. Dressed in kakis and plaid button down shirt he rocked back and forth on his heels anxious to go. I descended the stairs forcing myself to take slow even steps, acutely aware of my dad waiting at the bottom. He hadn't been privy I would wear a dress. His placid features gave no clue to whether he approved. "You look very nice Alex," he said as I came up beside him. "Are we ready to go?" I asked deflecting the complement a revisit of the feeling in the beauty parlor, awaking mixed with shame. A reminder I was different now. "Ready if you are," he said. Then he suprised me reaching out to take my hand. Our fingers brushed, our palms touched, then the phone rang, my dad's cell. "Just a second honey," he said his hand withdrawing from mine, diving into his pocket. "Hello?" he said, turning away from me as if the conversation was for his ears only. I waited thrusting my hands down to my sides only to realize my dress didn't have pockets. I shoved them into the pockets of my jacket. Dad frowned. "I promised to spend the day with my daughter," he said, turning to face me, mouthing the word "work." "It's okay, Daddy," I said. "We can do this another time." He looked at me and shook his head. "I don't care who it is," Dad said into the phone. "My family is important too... I undrestand but you need to know that I'll have Alex with me. What... I don't care what the rules say..." "Daaadddd," I said waving my arms to get his attention. "Just a moment," he said into the phone. He gave me a questioning look. "If going to the movies is a problem today we can do it later." I said. "I need to meet someone at the plant," he said a relived expression on his face. "It won't take long. We'll go to the movie as soon as I get back." "Sure," I said trying to keep disappointment from my voice. "Great!" Dad brightened. "Make sure you're ready." After my father left I went to my room and changed back into jeans and a top. After a long glance at the dress I returned it to the closet with its sisters. Then I sat at my desk and removed the bobby pins so my hair fell over my ears covering the posts. I sighed. I was back to being the old Alex. I wondered why I'd thought anything could be different. Dad was a long time getting back. I spent the first hour in my room rearranging my closet then shopping online to get ideas of how to give my room a more girlish look. There was too much John here. I found a site that offered paint swatches and scribbled down the names of several colors that I thought I might consider. I also wanted to replace my bed spread ( a south west Indian design that had covered my bed since I was ten) with something softer and more personal. Pretty soon I'd exhausted my shopping. I headed downstairs to see what Mom was into. I found her, where else, but in the kitchen. (It seemed like she spent the majority of her time there.) She'd challenged herself with the daunting task of rearranging the cabinets for the umpteenth time. The beginnings of a smile faded when she saw I was alone. "You can't be finished this soon," Mom said. "Was the movie sold out? Where's your father?" "We haven't gone yet," I said. "They called Dad into work. I'm waiting for him to get back." "You took you hair down," she said, and I thought she looked a little sad. "You didn't like it?" "I liked it, I really did. I took it loose to work in my room.". "Well if you want help fixing it back just let me know." On the way back to my room I had the strongest feeling I'd lost something very small and very precious but I didn't know what. Dad returned home just before two. I was on the computer again. With Frank out of my life I didn't have to worry about him snooping into my personal stuff. I decided to set up a Facebook account. This way I could chat with Shelly and my other friends when we weren't at school. I thought I might even get Cal to friend me. I was almost done with the setting when I heard someone tap. "Alex? Are you in there?" Dad called through the door. "I'm just finishing something," I called back. "You need to get ready. If we hurry we can make the 2:30 show. I'll be waiting downstairs" I checked my settings, then saved and shut off the computer. Though I'd lost some of the excitement of the morning I still felt something of a thrill doing something with my father. I fastened my hair into a quick ponytail before trotting down the stairs. Dad took my hand at the bottom and we walked to the car. "I thought you were wearing a dress today," said Dad opening my door and holding it for me to get in. "Why did you change your mind?" I shrugged not knowing how to reply. He climbed in the driver's side. When we reached the end of the street I waited until he rounded the corner to say anything. "Dad?" "Uh huh." "Did you want me to?" I asked. He stole a quick glance my way, his face puzzled. "To what honey?" "You know," I said feeling self-conscious. "For me to wear a dress." He chuckled. "Only if that's what you wanted." "What's so funny?" I asked. "That we're having this conversation," said Dad. "How do you mean?" "I never thought you and I would be talking about whether you should wear a dress," he said with a laugh. His answer hurt. How could I've been so dumb as to believe he would understand or care that I tried to look nice for him. I turned my face to the window, sliding to the edge of the seat, afraid he'd see the tears building in my eyes. "You think I'm stupid don't you." I said. "Well, you're right. I am. I don't blame you for being ashamed of me and for only wanting to spend time with Tyler" I began to cry. I felt his arm encircle me. His hand gently squeezed my upper arm. "I don't think you're stupid at all," he said. "I think.... Dammit, why is this so hard?" I turned to face him. I could see him struggling with something, some inner battle. I remembered my own. "What do you think Daddy?" I asked. His jaw clenched then he took a breath and looked away. "I think..." he paused. "I think you're beautiful, Alex," he said stumbling over the words. Left speechless, I was helpless to do anything but stare. Dad pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face. He was breathing heavily." I have something for you," he said, after a moment. "It's in there." He jabbed a finger toward my side of the dash, still keeping his eyes on the road, avoiding eye contact. "It's in the glove box." I lifted the catch and lowered the door to the compartment. A small metallic red gift box rested on a stack of tag receipts and insurance verifications. As I reached for it I noticed my hand was shaking. Holding it in my lap I watched the light ripple across its surface like waves across a red gold sea. "What's in here?" I asked shaking it lightly. "Open it and see," said Dad. I lifted the lid. A bracelet made of thin gold chain lay in a bed of white cotton. A small golden heart with "precious" engraved across its face dangled from one link. I could tell it was expensive by the way it gleamed in the light from the window. "What do you think?" asked Dad. He was smiling. "It's beautiful," I said. "It's a memory bracelet," said Dad. "You add charms to commemorate important events." "What does the heart commemorate?" I asked. He reached a finger to his eye and dabbed away a tear. "The day someone new came into my life." "Her name is "Precious"?" I asked. I didn't understand. "Honey," he said. "The charm represents how I feel about you. You're precious." The Movieplex consisted of three theaters housed in one building along with a concession stand and an alcove devoted to video games. This week's offerings were "Despicable Me," and a couple "B "grade movies with minor actors in the staring roles. One was a war film (some place in Africa). The other was a romance about a middle aged couple that reunites through a series of accidents. I felt Despicable was the lesser of three evils. I'd seen Despicable Me the year before in Sacramento and was surprised it was being billed as a new movie here. Apparently Clarksville's was a year behind the rest of the country in entertainment. I stood by the curb while Dad got in line for tickets passing time watching the other patrons shuffle around. Most were teens or tweens. A few were toddlers, hovering around their parents like tiny moons. After a few minutes Dad returned, his mission accomplished, and we passed between the double glass doors where picked up popcorn and a small cokes. Armed with our overpriced munchies, we navigated through the dimly lit corridor to our theater guided by the foggy plastic rectangle bearing the word DESPECABLE, in crisp black letters. After enduring the commercials and coming attractions, the feature film began. Dad slipped his arm around me while I wiggled up against him. On my wrist, the charm bracelet, with the heart named precious, sparkled in the reflected light of the big screen. As I snuggled against my dad I realized, today anyway, I was fine being Alex. I didn't want to be anyone else. "Have you heard anything I've said at all? Alex, I'm talking to you!" The warm images of my father slowly faded away. I became aware of students moving past me. Someone was tugging on my arm. "Alex! Snap out of it!" Shelly's face floated in front of me. "Are you on drugs?" "What? No!" I said, trying to gather my thoughts. "Well you were really zoned out," Shelly said. "You scared me." "I'm fine," I said shifting my book bag to a more comfortable position as I took a step forward. Shelly jerked me back. "Where are you going?" She said. "Our classroom is right here. English 9. With Ms. Boyd. Remember? You almost walked past." I sighed. It was going to be a long day. -I've got a secret can you keep it- The Homecoming posters were everywhere. There was no escaping them. Now they had encroached on the sacred ground of the cafeteria. Lunch and gym were the only two times during the day we were not forced to sit at ridged attention listening to some adult expound on useless trivia we'd never use unless we became a contestant on Jeopardy. I didn't appreciate the twenty-five minutes we were allowed to eat and chat spoiled by the eyesores plastered on the walls. I was pretty sure the concept of Homecoming had been developed as propaganda, for the administration to evoke school spirit to better control the student masses. But regardless of its purpose, Homecoming was the most moronic week of the entire school year. The student body was expected to dress up in ridiculous costumes, depending on the day (Monday silly hat day, Tuesday 50's day, Wednesday Nerd day -that one wouldn't be difficult for Brett and Abby) and on and on. The week culminated with the last home game of the year and a dance where the homecoming king and queen were crowned. It was the talk of the table at lunch. "I'm sorry," I said picking at the gray slab on my plate the cafeteria claimed was meatloaf "I just don't see how it's such a big deal. We're freshmen, remember, the bottom of the food chain. You have to a sophamore to attend the dance." Shelly brightened again. "That's what I'm saying smarty. They've changed the rules this year." She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my seat to where a half dozen posters were taped to the white enamled wall. "See," she pointed to the neat black print on a neon yellow poster. "You would have known about it if you had come to school last Friday," she said. I read the words: HOMECOMING SOCIAL. FRESHMEN ONLY. FRIDAY NOVEMBER 3RD 7:00-10:00. TICKETS $5.00 SINGLE $8.00 COUPLES. D.J. BARRY B. I shrugged. "I guess its okay for people who get into that sort of thing." "It's Homecoming Alex," Shelly proclaimed in a near shout. "We get to be part of it. I can't believe you're not excited." Abbey and Bret met us on the way back to our table. They set their trays down beside us and I noticed they both had the same gray meat and runny potatoes we did. "Can you believe Alex is dissing the Freshman dance," Shelly said to the newcomers. "The Freshman Social is going to be the biggest freshman event at school ever, "Bret said. "Yeah," Abbey chimed in, "Like everybody is going. That's all the other kids are talking about." "I don't do socials," I said. "And even if I did, I've got some stuff going on." "Well if it was me," said Brett, "I'd put it off. This is going to be the only dance there is for freshmen." She paused to take a bite of the pseudo meatloaf, made a face and then pushed her tray to the side. "Have you guys picked out your dresses yet?" "Mom's taking me to look for mine after school," Abby said. "We're going to Just Girl's in the Mall." "I love that place. Isn't that where your mom works, Alex?" Brett asked. "Yep," said a voice behind me. I turned to see Brooke Simmons with her own tray holding a salad. She'd been smart enough to dodge the meatloaf. "She's the bookkeeper." "Shouldn't you be rutting in a mud hole somewhere Brooke," I said. "With the other pigs." Shelly stifled a laugh. Brett and Abby looked down at their plates trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. "That's a good one, Hobo," Brooke said. She turned away from me to face Shelly and the others. "Actually I stopped by to say I'm looking forward to seeing all of you at the dance Friday to watch me be crowned Miss Freshman. You can wear that blue dress, Hobo, the one that you stole from me. I can't wait to see you in it. Bye." Shelly clenched her hands into fists. "She makes me sooooo mad," she said. "Did you really steal one of her dresses?" Abby asked, "How'd you do that?" "No, that's just some shit she likes to spout." I said. "She wanted a dress I saw first, and she got pissed when my mom bought it for me." "That is so wicked Alex," said Brett. "Isn't it Abby? I don't think anybody else in Clarksville would have had the guts to do that. Brooke's father like owns this whole town." "Alex you have to go to the dance now," said Shelly. "If you don't, Brooke is going to make a dig deal of how you were too chicken to face her." "I really don't care what she does," I said. Brooke was the least of my problems. My issue with the dance was boys. At school I could feel their eyes crawling up my body lingering on my breasts and ass. The sensation made me feel cheap and dirty. Some days were so bad I wanted a shower the minute I got home. Not all the boys were assholes, a few tried to be friends because they liked me as a person (go figure?) but I couldn't bring myself to hang out with them. I always shied away. Some faded away after a few failed attempts at friendship, speaking to me less and less when we passed in the hall until it was like I wasn't there. Others took a more abrasive attitude labeling me "that stuck up bitch, Tetras." I didn't want to be that way. Everyday I saw kids, boys and girls, laughing or just being friends, enjoying each others company. I envied those girls, comfortable with their gender and who they were. But no matter how I tried, I couldn't get over the hurdle of boys being different. The couple of times the two boys who worked with Shelly as student helpers joined us for lunch something inside of me tightened and I made excuses to leave. Nathan just looked lost. I knew he was still interested in me. I caught him staring my way on the bus, to and from school. When I returned the favor, he would drop his head or look the other way. Watching him drag himself up the walk at his stop, head down, book bag dangling from one hand, scraping the ground, should have made me feel bad. But rejection was part of life, right. I'd dealt with plenty of it as John. Besides, I was pretty sure he only wanted to get into my pants. Making myself up, and going to the dance, would be asking for trouble. It would look like I was putting myself out there for the boys and raise things to a level I didn't want or need. If Shelly wanted to go fine but she and the nerds would have to go without me. "You've sure been weird today," said Shelly. We'd emptied our trays in the garbage bin, and then handed them to the cafeteria worker to be washed. "There's a reason to stay in school," I said. "What?" Shelly asked. I nodded at the trash can filled with rejected food in front of the service window where the dishwasher waited collecting trays. "I wouldn't want to do that for the rest of my life," I said. "Don't change the subject Alex," Shelly warned. "Look, you're my best friend so don't take this wrong." "I told you. I'm not interested in the homecoming dance. Brooke can say whatever she wants about me. She's going to anyway." "It's not about that. It's about you," Shelly said. "There's something different about you. You're not like other girls. "Why? Because I don't want to go to the dance?" Where she was going with this?" "Will you forget about the stupid dance!" Shelly said. "It's you. It's how you talk and how you do things sometimes. You don't do them like a girl would. You need to act more feminine" "I didn't know there was a certain way girls did things," I said, "I thought we were all individuals. I guess I got skipped when they passed out the rule book. Deal with it or don't. I don't give a fuck either way!" "See, I knew you'd get mad," Shelly said. "Then why did you say anything!" I fired back. "Because that blonde girl, you know the cheerleader, Monica Bond. She's saying stuff about you." "Like what?" "Like you used to be some guy named John." "My brother?" "All I know is his name." "What if I was?" I said. "We have gym together. I've seen your girl parts." "Shit," I said. "Guess I can't fool you." "It's not funny Alex," she said. "Look. You're my best friend. I just don't want you talked about, okay." "Thanks," I said and I realized meant it. Monica was waiting outside after school, her blue Honda Accord parked against the curb directly in front of the exit doors. She met us as Shelly and I stepped into the warm light of afternoon, blocking our path. "I need to talk to Tetras," she said to Shelly, "Alone." Shelly looked at Monica and then at me. "Alex I didn't know," she said. "I promise I didn't say anything." "It's okay," I said. "I'll see you tomorrow." Shelly started forward then glanced back, uncertain. I nodded for her to go on, watching as she wedged herself into the press of students flowing toward the bus and waiting cars. After she was gone I turned back to Monica. "You were at the Barnes house weren't you," Monica said. "You're the kid that ran into our car." "I'm going to miss my bus," I said. "Fuck your bus," Monica spat. "I know who you are, who you really are." I tried to appear unconcerned, as we faced each other. I could see none of the Monica I'd worshiped as John. Her taut features, mouth curled into a cruel snarl made her look older. There was no beauty there only a savagery she barely held in check. "Bradley and I were going to get engaged at the end of the year." she said. "Then you came along and fucking ruined everything. If you'd kept your dick under control none of this would have happened you sorry son of a bitch. " She glared at me. "I want Bradley back," she said. "He was beginning to remember things. He told me what happened. How he tricked you into going to the Barnes house, and infected you with the virus sample he got from his dad." I felt disconnected, as if none of this was real. Across the parking lot the last students were climbing into the bus. I thought of the long walk home if it left without me. "No one believes me," Monica continued. "They think I'm crazy. Coach Wiggins suspended me from the cheerleading squad; she said I was starting rumors. My mother threatened to have me committed. She thinks Bradley and I were on drugs and they affected out minds." "What do you want?" I asked. I could see she was losing it fast, starting to come apart. Tears began to form in her eyes. "I want you to tell me it's true. That it really happened like Bradley said. That I'm not crazy." "I'm done with this," I said, noting the now empty spot my bus occupied a minute before. "I'm not done with you," Monica shouted, as I began to walk away. "Get back here you fucking bitch." I glanced at Monica one last time. She sat, half collapsed, beside her car her face buried in her hands. I should have been moved by how pathetic she'd become. But all I felt was a kind of disgust. "How does it feel to be dickless, you freak," she screamed behind me. "I hope you fucking rot." In a moment I'd turned the corner and couldn't hear her anymore.