Amy 19: An Amy In The House Of Love free porn video

Amy 19: An Amy in the House of Love Copyright 2013 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) 2013 Amy Komori. All rights reserved. Chapter One: Doe Being at war with Heidi Fleegleman wasn't anything like a movie. Like "Heathers" or something, which my friends and I quoted all the time. I mean, we didn't play pranks or anything stupid like that. And we didn't physically fight, although I knew all too well what would happen if we did. Anyways, who wanted to make that kind of spectacle? I mean, this one time these two really fat girls got into it about something that happened in their study hall and on the way out the door, one grabbed the other one's hair and yanked and they scrambled at each other until a shirt and bra came off and it was like Boobs Jubilee time. Who started it remained a mystery. Nobody wanted that, except some of the boys. So the two times Heidi and I actually did mix it up were the exceptions to the whole "no fighting" thing. There were other considerations, too. Heidi had all the power, making it a totally unequal struggle and probably futile on my part. She was a junior and I was a sophomore. The next year she'd be a senior and probably Homecoming Queen and class valedictorian and all the other honors that came with being perfectly Heidi. Other than taking advanced placement classes and having briefly known a kind of infamy as the girl who quit junior varsity cheerleading in the middle of football season, I was sinking into anonymity again. Practically everyone loved Heidi and had good things to say about her. My best friends loved me but all I usually got from them were a lot of smart ass comments. The way I figured it, the best I could hope for in this war was just to inhabit my space and survive until Heidi graduated. Anyways, the point I'm trying to make is, Heidi and I didn't do mean things to each other after I tossed the snowball that bloodied but didn't break her nose. Not overtly. How our war actually played out was every so often there'd be a little wave of people talking shit about me behind my back or something and I all I could do in retaliation was fume about it, stare daggers at the back of Heidi's head, draw deformed caricatures of her in my notebooks or else just ignore it. That last thing was what I did the most. Rumors. There were rumors... Delacroix High was like the leading school in the state for that kind of thing. People there loved secret info about other people. It was sickening and one of my pet peeves about returning to school. Okay, I'd already been the subject of a rumor that I was a huge slut, back in junior high. That was just something hurtful girls got labeled as, sometimes even by other girls. It didn't help matters that I hung out with a lot of skater guys at the time (and still did). In fact, they figured pretty hugely in the whole story. But that reputation had finally died out by the time I got to high school. This new one had blossomed seemingly overnight, and one thing bothering me about it was that I couldn't be sure if even Heidi had started it--because I knew she was crushing on me as badly as I was on her. But worse than that was than the way it singled me out as some kind of alien in our high school environment. I was totally convinced it would wreck me. This one had it I was a dyke. "You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, Honey Bunny," my big sister Emily told me when we were talking about it on one of the rare times I got to see her, which was at this sushi restaurant downtown where she was working part-time these days. She had her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing this white oxford shirt, a burgundy apron and black slacks, plus some sweet black patent leather shoes with comfort soles because she had to be on her feet four hours a shift. As a contrast to my tall sis, I was slouched down in my seat and I had on a short-sleeve t-shirt over a long sleeve one and oversized army pants that had an interesting tear in the knee. It was straight as a slice, which actually it was. I'd poked it with scissors and snipped it out of boredom earlier that day. My shoes were Vans and the white rubber part had long since turned a shabby tan. I looked like a pre-teen boy right down to my puka shell necklace. Although maybe the beaded bracelets were a bit of a giveaway. "I'm not ashamed," I told her. This was true. I wasn't ashamed, not even about how I was working my sexual frustrations out manually every chance I got. What I was... was scared shitless. I wished I wasn't, but I was. I wished to be brave and daring and bold and badass, but I wasn't. Being gay was totally cool as far as my closest friends and I were concerned. In fact, it was more than cool, especially since Dallas' brother was gay. Unfortunately, our opinion didn't count for a whole lot in the larger scheme of Delacroix High life because the majority of my classmates didn't share our approval of differing forms of sexuality. And not only did they not share it, they didn't tolerate it any more than they did those forms. They actively opposed all that kind of thing. You didn't have to look very hard at the news to find examples of how people expressed this opposition. We had also all seen "Boys Don't Cry," which really put a chill in me and was one of the few movies ever to make me cry. And even famous people weren't totally immune. It was bad enough Ellen DeGeneres had to kiss her show goodbye when she came out. She at least had Hollywood friends and lots of money and protection to soften the blow somewhat. Like Ellen, I had good friends who would be cool with it, but totally unlike Ellen, I was exposed and vulnerable to more than just career reprisals, just some skinny little kid who would be stepping into a world of trouble and at this particular point in my development, this was way more than I was prepared to handle After all, even high and mighty Heidi Fleegleman, who could possibly have made a big difference in school opinion, kept things to, although I couldn't be sure about her motivation, just my own. So yeah, I wasn't ashamed at all. Petrified was more like it. Petrified and pissed and depressed. I wanted to ask Emily how she handled these feelings, but she was still seeing Snowboard Boy and her free time was their time. And with our history, talking about romantic stuff with her always had a weirdness to it. "I'm glad about that, at least. We'll talk about this later," Emily said and got up from my table. Break time was over. She took breaks whenever she felt like it, but when she was ready to get back to work, off she went. "I don't wanna talk about it at all," I told her, although I kind of did. "I'm totally okay with being into girls and all, but I just think people have enough shit on me at stupid school as it is." Kind of true, if not the whole story. "Okay, okay," Emily said, and ruffled my hair, which she knew I hated. Kelly Kitagiri, the manager, came over. "Are you working today, Emily?" "Looks like, Kelly." "Okay, then. Tell your sister goodbye and see about some other customers." "I was on break." "That's what you always say." Emily glared at Kelly, who was already walking away. Then Emily smiled sweetly at me and was off to another table, leaving me with my last California roll, an empty bowl that used to hold miso soup and the last bits of ginger dressing-soaked lettuce from my salad. I finished up, drank a little water and watched Emily flit from table to table. Everyone (except Kelly Kitagiri) liked her and she made it seem so effortless. Funny, when I was a guy I never wanted to be any particular girl (or a girl at all), but not for the first time and not for the last time I found myself sincerely wishing I were Emily. I paid Kelly, who was always so nice to me even considering who my sister was. She was always offering me a job for some reason, and I constantly had to remind her I wasn't even old enough to drive, much less work. "See you again," she said cheerfully as I left and I smiled back, felt like I was stabbing my sister in the back and ran down the sidewalk until I got to the crossing in front of the university campus. Lots of people were around me, mostly college students and retail employees from the various shops downtown. It was a nice Saturday in early spring, and I was on my way back to the skate park where I hoped Michelle was still guarding my skates and armor. She was. "The prodigy son!" Michelle shouted from the top of vert. I didn't bother to correct her. She was sitting on the side with her legs dangling over the edge. My stuff was beside her. I climbed up, moved my stuff, took a seat and scooched up to her so our hip bones were touching. "How's your sister?" Michelle asked. "Is she still tall?" I shrugged. "What's wrong?" "I don't know. Everything." I pulled off one shoe and stared at my sock. Just a heavy baby blue sock, nothing special. My feet are tiny, I thought for no particular reason. "You sound like you're depressed." "I'm not depressed." "You're pissed off, then. With who? Me?" "Oh, just someone. Everyone." I took off my other shoe. Everything I did seemed to take too much effort and I didn't really feel like thinking. I started to put my knee pads on. "When are you going to buy some gloves?" Michelle asked. "When you buy some real skates." I began working my foot into one of mine, one of this kick-ass pair of Salomon STs I knew made Michelle drool. For the second time that day, I found myself wishing I were someone else. In this case, Michelle. I'd have given anything to be her and have her problems instead of my own. Actually, Michelle was nursing a broken heart and not doing so well, either. She'd been hanging out with this older guy, Bob, for the longest time and had everyone wondering what the nature of their relationship was. Well, she got tired of wondering herself and had made some major moves on him back on New Year's, only to have him tell her no, she was too young and they were just friends. The way Michelle handled it, though, was to pretend it didn't happen. At least most of the time. I'd heard from Dallas there'd been a few moments of tears. I couldn't imagine Michelle crying, and I was so glad I hadn't been forced to watch. At least she didn't have two cases of unrequited love for one of her best friends and worst enemies. And another thing was bothering me, too. And that thing came over the top of the coping on his skateboard, all blonde hair and big grin (I knew his super white front teeth were fake, too, because I'd been there the day he broke out the real ones). "Hey, Ayumi," he said, using one of my many nicknames. "Patrick," I said softly and tried not to look at him. "Are you gonna do your famous flatspin today?" he asked, nudging my shoulder with his knee. "Get off me, dude," I told him. Patrick instantly went away (as if I'd ordered him) to mingle with his guy friends and set up for another run. All the energy in me just seemed to flow out of my ass and down the vert to the asphalt, leaving me drained. I wanted to lie back and stare at the sky, but I was afraid someone might skate over my face. "Why are you pissed at the world?" Michelle asked. "I'm just tired of people talking shit about me," I said. "I'm tired of being dumped on. Fucking guys." "Stop fucking guys, then." "I'M NOT!" "I'm just messing with you." "I'm not in the mood for teasing and stuff, okay?" "Jeez. I'm sorry." I half turned and watched the gaggle of guys, with their helmets and their gloves. Some were holding their boards, others were punching each other or telling outrageous lies and then being punched in turn for them. They seemed... well, cocksure. With their fucking cocks. It wasn't enough I had troubles with them, but I couldn't seem to get along with girls, either, outside of my own little group of friends. And Patrick kept looking sideways at me. Thinking his guy thoughts. I knew what they were because years before I'd had them, too. They were faded and tattered and kind of printed over by what I assumed were girl thoughts now but they weren't gone. I wanted to hide. Instead, I jumped up and shoved my way in front of them all and dropped in. I heard a couple of angry voices, but then everything blurred and up the other side I went, turning at the top and letting gravity take over. I landed cleanly, crossed back, then rocketed back up, picking up momentum. Down and up, then over the coping, into the air, weightless for an instant before the world pulled me back. My skates landed true and even though my stomach was churning, I hurtled to the other side, upward again, going for big air, getting ready to twist my body into a 360 or a 540, however much spinning speed I felt I had. Only as I came down, I overspun and stabbed the vert planking with my front skate, which sent me tumbling and I smacked the bottom and just kind of stuck there. It sounded like a giant hand had slapped an equally giant face. There was a loud OOHHHHHHH hanging in the air. It wasn't from me because I didn't have enough wind in my lungs to make a sound. I rolled over, my arms over my boobs, and I sucked in air. I saw a lot of round mouths and that's when I realized what I'd heard was the collective horror of a bunch of people who thought I'd killed myself. Then the boys were mostly laughing and shouting things like, "Oh fuck! Oh fuck!" and "Holy fucking Jesus did you see that?" and "Ay-fuckin'- yumi!" Plus the ever-popular, "HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!" while I kicked and tried to get up. Michelle and Patrick came down to help me, lifting me by both arms. I bend over still trying to breath, genuinely sick to my stomach from shock and pain and right on the verge of puking out my sushi. "Are you okay?" Patrick asked. I nodded. And then it came. A sushi gusher. Chapter Two Last Light I wasn't hurt, just shaken up. I mean, things like that happened all the time and you just had to deal with it and get over bruises and cuts and scabs and things if you wanted to skate. At least I'd never knocked out any teeth like Patrick. Still, taking a spill like that and then barfing in front of everyone as a result proved the perfect capper for a perfectly shitty, emotional day. And even though she took her own frequent spills, Michelle was all sisterly concern the next day at school. "That's all anyone talked about after you left," she informed me. "I'm sick of people talking about me," I grumbled. "Stop doing wicked shit," Michelle suggested. "You know, like crashing that hard. People talk about things like that. You're memorable." I shook my head. My other best friend, my closest friend and confidante Sarah with her curly red hair, millions of pink freckles and moist green eyes came up to us. It was lunch and Michelle and I had been holding down our usual table in the cafeteria. No sign of Gina or her freckles, or Dallas and her gloom. Lately Sarah was seeing Cream Corn Superstar's guitarist, this really cute guy who was just a year out of high school himself but possessed of musical skills of someone twice his age. Michelle and I just called him Guitar Genius and never used his real name. Even Sarah called him that a lot. At the moment, Sarah had the dewy look of love about her, was chirpier and more nervous than ever. She was such a good singer and since she started this whole relationship it was almost as if she sang all the time, like she'd become a song or music or something. She sat next to me in the chair she always sat in and just grinned as she put a straw in her orange juice, which she promptly knocked over and spilled all over her tray and also on the table. "Oh no!" Sarah cried. One of the lunch room staff, this older woman who looked like someone you'd see in a TV show with her perfectly gray hair and drill sergeant build--plus like these gigantic boobs--came over with a big terry cloth rag and started mopping it up. Sarah apologized, and the lunch person was making it like it was no big deal. "Accidents happen," she told Sarah in this surprisingly gentle voice. Then she went away. "Holy shit," Michelle said. "I think I got a boner." "What? From that lunch lady?" I asked. "She's fuckin' hot, dude." "Since when are you into the ladies?" I asked. "I'm not. I'm just kidding." "Well, you probably should be more careful about what you kid about." "Why?" "You know why. We were just discussing this very thing. People and their rumors and talking shit about other people." "So what if they do?" Michelle said, but this time she'd turned down the audio to practically a whisper. "Dallas is bi as fuck and she doesn't give a shit what people think. Why should anyone care what stupid asses think?" Along with the whisper, she took this tone as if talking about this was the same as talking about buying a shirt or getting your hair cut. "Dallas is buying what?" Sarah asked in this chirpy little voice. "Bi. Not buying." An understanding expression appeared on Sarah's face. Then she smiled. "She is? That is so cool." Michelle ignored her and said, "Oh, I get it now. This whole thing since yesterday. Mopey Amy. You're upset because of that rumor, all those stupid people are saying you're a lesbian." "I'm not a lesbian," I said. Then out of the blue, I surprised even myself by saying, "I like guys." "Whatever," Michelle said. "You like guys, you like girls, you're my friend and Sarah's friend and we like you whoever you like. Right, Sarah?" Sarah nodded. "Well, thanks for that. I like guys." "I believe you, dude. I just mean as long as your friends support you, who cares what people think or the dumb lies they tell?" "Look," I said, "I know it's easy to say you don't care what everyone thinks and a lot of the time I don't. I really don't. But for one thing people shouldn't be talking about your personal life in the first place. And for another, if I was gay I'd at least tell my friends, right?" "You'd tell me," Sarah said confidently. "Right," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie. I would tell her. Eventually. I leaned out over my tray and said in a very low voice, "The last thing is, in case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly living on Castro Street here. This happens to be Bible Belt central. Right? We don't even have a LBGT club here." "They do at the university," Sarah said. "Yeah. The university. But at Delacroix High, we're totally subject to the law of the jungle." "The law?" Michelle said with this funny look on her face like I'd just told her she was growing butterfly wings from her forehead or something. "Of the jungle?" "You know what I mean. And anyways, I like guys." And that was how I came out as a fake heterosexual. As we ate our lunches and talked about classes and music and our usual topics, I kept thinking how was I going to prove to everyone just how fake-straight I was. By the end of lunch and just before the bell rang, I knew. I knew exactly who was going to be my beard, too. Chapter Three I Walk to Where He's Sitting "I have a confession to make," I told Sarah when we were studying at her house after school that afternoon. Sarah looked up from her math assignment all intent on whatever it was I was about to say. I almost chickened out, but for a moment it was like I was outside myself and this other person was using my voice to say, "What we were talking about at lunch today..." "The rumor?" "No, the part where I said I like guys. Not guys. One guy. I really like this one guy... He's a skater and--" "Patrick." That froze me. It was easy to forget sometimes just how much Sarah noticed and knew. Sarah was clumsy and insecure and too easy to agree with people, but she was smarter than all of us put together. Her report cards for the longest time had consisted completely of vowels. Well, it wasn't as if this was such a difficult mystery to solve, but it still threw me for kind of a loop. I'd been expecting to have her drag it out of me in this whole begging-please-please scene. After I recovered, I said, "Yeah, it's him." "He's liked you forever." "I know he has. I just never... I only just started feeling this way so I wanted you to be the first to know." "You didn't like him ever before?" "I didn't like anyone ever before." "When did you start liking him? I mean, how?" "Recently. I don't know but for the past couple of months I've just been... um... noticing guys and he just seems really cool." "You sound like you're trying to talk yourself into liking him." That was another stopper. Holy shit, I thought and clenched up. I had to make myself relax, and I hoped Sarah didn't notice that, too. I slowed my voice a little so I'd sound extra-casual. "I'm not. I really, really do like him. Over the past like two or three weeks we've been talking a lot more at the skate park." "And you haven't said anything to anyone before now? Not even me?" "Yikes, dude! When did you turn into a detective?" I wasn't kidding, not fully anyways. I really wanted to know. Sarah blushed and looked down. "I'm sorry." Then she looked up with this big smile on her face. "I'm really happy for you! I'm just curious because you're my best friend." I smiled, too. Only my smile was as fake as my fake love for Patrick. "Thanks." "Has he asked you out?" "Again with the questions!" Only this time I said it in a legitimately joking way and we both laughed about it and I told Sarah I felt like Patrick wanted to, but he was scared to. After all, we had a history. That was all true. I was pretty sure he still liked me. Maybe it was something that waxed and waned like the moon or the tide or whatever it was that waxed and waned, but no matter how small it got--and I was pretty mean to Patrick all the time, practically--it was still there. I was about ninety percent convinced of that, anyways. I told Sarah I had this big plan to ask him out, just some casual hanging out in the afternoon kind of thing and see where it led. After all, neither of us could drive. And while Mrs. Komori mostly kept out of my business, she did try to protect me from the worst knocks life had to offer. She knew how vulnerable I was in a lot of ways someone who hadn't gone through what I had wouldn't be. I couldn't be sure she'd sign off on a date-date. Actually, while Sarah babbled all kinds of joyful nonsense about how great it was I was going to have a boyfriend too, but that we'd still find time to hang out together just as friends like we were doing now, I thought long and hard about how to pull this off. It scared me half to death just the thought of presenting myself this way to a guy, especially to Patrick. It hurt that it wasn't Gina. For a brief moment, I even thought about calling it all off. But it was out there now and with Sarah's chipmunkish approval, it seemed to be growing. The next day, at the skatepark, right there on top of the vert, while wearing my helmet and a black tank and these baggy dark jeans I favored, I rolled over to where Patrick and his friends were huddled and said, "Hey." Patrick looked kind of shocked for a second, then put on his cool guy act again. "Hey, Ayumi." "Can we... can I ask you something?" I said with my mouth dry and my throat all gummy. "Yeah. I guess." I looked at his friends who were no doubt already totally aware of what was happening. Like they were reading my mind. "Can we like... go over there or something?" I asked in this surprisingly shy voice and I tilted my head a couple of times to the far end of the lot, under a little oak tree where we could stand in the shade. "Okay." Boys snickered. Patrick's face darkened and he swallowed. We went down the steps and he put his deck down. I didn't take off my skates, so I rolled over to my destiny. Under the tree, Patrick said, "What do you want to talk about?" I tried to say it, but I couldn't for the longest time. I mean, in my mind I was saying it, but physically I was just standing there, looking up at Patrick's blushing face and feeling my own temperature rise. Coming way over here had been a huge mistake, because now no one was skating. They were all standing on top of the vert looking down at us, the perfect vantage spot to watch me humiliate myself in the worst way ever. Ten times worse than being a bullshit cheerleader. One hundred times worse than the spill I'd taken the last time I skated. "Come on, dude," Patrick said. "Tell me this thing that's so important." "I've decided I wanna go out with you sometime. That you and I should go out. We should." Okay, the embarrassing thing is as I flicked my eyes down so I didn't have to look at Patrick's face anymore, I happened to look right at his zipper and I couldn't help but notice the front of his pants were starting to bulge. It wasn't just a weird wrinkle. It was his thing starting to go nuts on him. I mean, fucking guys! I knew he couldn't help it, but it made my heart start pounding really fast and I wanted to run away. And Patrick was shifting uncomfortably. That was how I knew just how much he really did like me. He said in this choked voice that kind of wavered its way through the octaves but never once came close to the sound-region of normal speech, "Okay. Like when do you want to go out?" He swallowed again and he was really fidgety. How could he stand it? I tried to remember what it was like when I had a dick and talked to girls, but it was like I knew I had at some point but it was all fuzzed out. Maybe if I thought about a specific time, but there were so many and they were overwritten by my more recent memories and I just didn't have time to go searching all through my brain. I put aside thoughts about penises and managed to go all cool, at least on the outside. My voice surprised me with how nonchalant it sounded. "Maybe Sunday? We could meet somewhere and just hang out. It doesn't have to be any big deal." Patrick's face flashed red, his eyes darted away from me. He kind of turned a little sideways, to keep me from seeing the front of his pants straight on, I guess, but that just made the bump down there more obvious. And the more I tried not to look, the more it felt like my eyes were going there. And my brain was like, Don't look but don't look like you're not looking! Patrick managed to say, "You're really... asking me out? I mean for real? I thought you didn't like me like that. Like back in junior--" I interrupted him in hopes he would kind of forget the harsh way I'd brushed him off way back then, get pissed off at me all over again and tell me to go fuck myself. And also to get this conversation finished before either of us died from embarrassment. "Let's not make this huge big thing out of it. It's like a test. Let's just test ourselves and see how it goes, okay?" He smiled, and I knew we were in agreement about finishing things up because his eyes were kind of telling me to get this over with like right now so he could go back to thinking about skateboarding and walking like a normal person. "Okay." He'd agreed, and I looked like I was nothing but ice inside. But really, standing there opposite Patrick and his boner, I did not feel as accomplished as I expected. Maybe because my own heart was speed- drumming away in my chest and this big imaginary blockage was gumming up my throat. Imagine that. In this really choked voice, Patrick said, "Dude, I've really got to get home." He sounded like he was about to strangle. "Okay, dude. Call me later. We're the only Komoris in the phonebook. Well, my sister. But she's E. Komori, so obviously that's not us." Shut the fuck up, Amy. "Yeah." Off he went, and before I looked away, I saw his hand go down and he adjusted himself. You poor mother fucker, I thought. Chapter Four: It's All Salty, Timmy... Reviews came in and they were mixed-to-positive at best. The first was the harshest. That one was from Emily, who I determined would be the first to know. But telling her took all afternoon and into the night. I had to keep calling and calling her apartment and leaving messages on her answering machine. Then, even though we were sisters and all, I felt really sheepish about it and just stopped. I did some of my homework and kind of moped about not being able to reach Emily and also because I desperately wanted to tell Sarah but was forcing myself to keep to my decision to tell Emily first. About 9pm or so the phone rang and I almost jumped out of my chair. As it was, my pen went flying and I grabbed for the phone before Mrs. Komori could pick up. It was Emily and breathlessly told her the big news. And as I expected, she told me I was being stupid, even stupider than when I joined the cheerleading squad. Her point was kind of the same as Michelle's had been, only she was more eloquent about it. Towards the end of telling me off she said, "I mean, I can't see why what all those little fuckers think about you could drive you to doing something like this. If you really liked the guy, that would be one thing..." I have to admit I saw a little red for just a second and came very close to blowing my top at her. "Look, dude, one of these days I'm going to come out and be all loud and proud and all that good stuff but for now I have to do this my way. And my way is to protect my ass from premature annihilation." "Okay, okay. I just don't want you hurting this stupid kid just to--" "I'm not going to hurt him. We're going out a few times, then I'll do something or whatever to make him feel good about himself and break it off." "Wow. Just wow, Amy." "Wow, what?" "Wow at how your mind works." "Guhhhhh!" "Do you really think that's gonna work? I mean, seriously?" "Yes. Why wouldn't it?" "Maybe you should fill Patrick in on your plan just to make sure." "Fuck you, sis. I'm not getting him to marry me. We're just going to hang out and have some fun. In the meantime, people can get off my back about being gay for a while until I'm ready to tell everyone." "Whenever that will be." "It will be whenever I'm ready. You don't know what it's like for me." "Maybe you should think about what it's like for other people for a change." I let out a deep breath of total exasperation. So she thought I was being selfish. Or completely self-centered. Which I was. But what really irked the shit out of me was how was Emily so able to dig into my soul like that? Every time I talked to her, I came off exactly as what I was. An immature person who didn't think things through. Even when I had been a guy and older than her, Emily had always been the cooler and more rational of the two of us. More mature. I wanted to cry from frustration at not being able to get that across to Emily, who knew me better than anyone else possibly could, who had seen me on both ends and through the squishy middle of the transformation, was my spirit guide and all that. But the end result was I was just her kid sister now and we were separate people beyond that, not conjoined psyches. When my silence was too much for her, Emily told me, "Just... do what you have to do, Honey Bunny, but be really, really careful." "I will." "Really careful." "I will. You're my conscience." "Oh fuck, you're doomed." Everyone else let me off pretty lightly. Mrs. Komori, knowing zero about my personal feelings and slightly more about my social circle, was all for it. She was all cute smiles and asked me if I wanted to go buy something special to wear for the "big date." That made me feel embarrassed as fuck, like the silly kid I'd become and I went totally inarticulate about it. She clammed up and promised not to ask me too many questions. Gina and Sarah were enthusiastic (Sarah too much so, Gina in a cool way that just reconfirmed my commitment to loving her and made me wistful and sad at the same time), Michelle was kind of for it but still down on the whole idea of love. I didn't find out what Dallas thought because she missed the entire rest of the week at school. In the meantime, I stayed away from the skatepark although I had this massive itch to hit the vert over and over. I couldn't face Patrick and his over-active dick, at least not until the actual date. Or hanging out. Whatever. We talked on the phone a couple of times, which lead to more embarrassment because both times he phoned Mrs. Komori picked up first and had to call me from my room. So she gave me more of those mom-type looks, all beaming and glowy and slyly conspiratorial. The whole cycle of life thing, all the bad times receding away and my weird-ass origins kind of forgotten in this blur of impending wedding bells and maybe a semi-grandkid. Well, at least that's what I thought she was thinking. She probably wasn't, but all I could think was here I am doing this really dumb thing for really dumb reasons, using this totally innocent guy to make a point to a lot of nobodies. I knew I was wronger than the wrongest wrong I had ever wronged before, only at this point, getting out of it was worse than going through with it. Just do it, you're not marrying him, I constantly told myself. Just go out a few times then let him down easy and you'll have earned your Hetero merit badge and he can use this experience to get with someone who isn't so problematic. Or fucked up. So when Sunday came, I put on my usual stuff. A tee, boy jeans, gray Vans. My puka shell necklace, my power beads on my wrist. I fucked around with my hair, pulling it back into loose pigtails behind my ears with these little elastic stringy bands. The end result was oh fuck, I'm a girl. Which I most definitely was, on the inside as well these days. I asked myself, Then why are you so mixed up about it? But maybe that was part of being a girl, too. Two seconds after that, I decided my hair like that made me look like I was about ten years old, so I tore out the bands and spent forever combing out any traces of them. That left my big black helmet hair, which kind of disappointed me now. And yeah, I had makeup but there was no way I was wasting any of that on Patrick. I wanted to look like I'd put some effort into this, but not so much he'd get the idea I wanted to have his first born child or something. Okay, fucking good enough, I told my reflection and left my room frowning, thinking about our plan, which was to have lunch at this vegetarian restaurant and then take the bus to a movie theater in a shopping center and see a movie. Only none of the movies currently in town really thrilled either of us. So that part was still pretty iffy. Feeling like the littlest dumbass, I quietly went into the living room where Mrs. Komori was balancing her checkbook. She looked up and gave me the once over, but I wasn't anything spectacular. I thought I could see the tiniest hint of disappointment in her expression, as if she'd expected me to come out in like this lace dress I had but never wore and my satin-finish mary janes. Instead I continued an unbroken consecutive day streak of looking like the skinniest gay boy in town going back to around Valentine's Day. "Are you ready to go?" she asked. "Yeah." Ready as I'll ever be, I thought, along with a lot of snippets of my conversation with Emily. "Let me grab my keys." Mrs. Komori tried to be all cool for me, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. She seemed to be looking at me more than usual. I wanted to sink through the floorboards of the car. And downtown was bustling, which was typical of a Sunday when the weather was nice. All the parking spots seemed to be taken, not that Mrs. Komori planned to park. She dropped me off, told me to have a nice time--choking back whatever motherly advice she wanted to give me--and drove away and there I was, left to fend for myself, looking around at the people walking their dogs and expecting Patrick and his dick to walk up at any moment. And there he was, a woman walking a dog passing in front of him, then his blonde hair shining. He was dressed as casual as I was and then we made eye contact. At that moment, he smiled and his teeth were all I could see, looming ever closer. The front ones were fake, I remembered. He'd smashed the real ones out skating and now he had these perfect implants. It occurred to me things that were fake were really foremost in my brain lately.