Jessica puts Patricia to the test, as does Sister Carmela of St. Ann's. Patricia returns the favor and makes initial contact with her target, Gretchen Hobbes. Themes and Elements listed apply to entire story, Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Patricia! We need to be leaving in the next ten minutes! I have to be there early so they can explain my duties.”

This is the third time I’ve shouted upstairs in an attempt to get her moving. She practically kicked me out of her room, insisting that she would do everything herself. I tried to explain to her how she could benefit from my years of experience but she assured me that she could handle it, this being a test of her abilities. I reluctantly agreed. Now, I’m questioning that decision. We would be on time if I had stayed with her.

“PATRICIA!”

“I”LL BE DOWN IN FIVE MINUTES!”

Well, at least she answered this time.

She has been very busy the last two days, reworking her school uniforms. She made at least four trips to the fabric store for supplies. Again, she won’t let me see what she’s doing, says that she wants it to be a surprise and that I should trust her, that she’s the expert here and that’s why we hired her. I tried to argue but she was adamant. Polite, but adamant.

Unfortunately, her nightmares returned, despite her nightly sessions with the therapy toy collection. We call it therapy due to Thomas’ suggestion at our last meeting, we both still get a laugh out of that. With any luck, he may be able to figure something out when he analyzes the data from the recorder I dropped off today at his office.

It was a little strange inserting that wire into Patricia’s faux freckle. It was another reminder of her eventual death. I teared up a little when I did it and she asked me what the problem was. I said it was nothing, just tired. She told me that I should get some rest and she’d try to do more around the house to help, with all she already has to do. The changes in her since we started this are almost beyond belief. I didn’t realize how fond I had grown of her until I began to think about life without her.

But right now, she’s starting to make me … I hear her door close and her boots on the upstairs floor. Just then, she appears at the top of the stairs.

She’s chosen her gray sweater mini dress with the flounce hem and the U neckline. It shows off her breasts but not too much, just enough to let the boys know that there’s more to see. She’s not wearing hose of any kind, just going with bare legs. If she plans on energetic dancing, that’s probably a good idea. When Robert and I went dancing and I wore hose, things often got a little uncomfortable. From this distance, her makeup is perfect. Not over done at all and highlights her best features; her beautiful eyes and that radiant smile. She’s let her hair down, reaching below her shoulders but swept back away from her ears, held in place with a couple of silver barrettes which match her silver dangling earrings.

We found those at a thrift shop, black with tarnish, and cleaned them up after supper two weeks ago … She can’t die! I won’t let her! But what about Peter Harris? It’s his life too. I start to cry again and Patricia races down the stairs, stopping on the step above me so that we are nearly eye to eye.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I reach out and gently touch her cheek. “You are very beautiful, you know that?”

She averts her eyes. “You’re my mom; you’re supposed to say stuff like that.”

“Mother or not, you are beautiful and don’t you let anyone say otherwise.”

She takes my hand in both of hers. “Thanks. We better get going.”

I wipe my eyes with my free hand. “You’re right. Have you got your purse?”

“By the front door.”

“Any condoms?”

“MOTHER!”

“Just checking.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The dance is going to be in the main gym, where the basketball court is. We’re way early, like almost an hour, so I’ve got time to kill. I’ll admit that I’m nervous about this. Mom refuses to tell me what she expects me to do, just be yourself she says. What the heck does that mean? I don’t even know who I am anymore. Dressed in this hot outfit. Schtuping myself every night with those wonderful toys. I’m a sixty year old man for heavens sake! My birthday was last week and even I forgot about it until today. If I’d have mentioned it, she’d probably have bought me another sex toy … though there is this one I saw online that actually thrusts up and down by itself. That could be fun.

I slowly stroll around the gym, checking it out. They’ve got a portable stage set up at one end. It’s not very big, just about a hundred fifty square feet and two feet high. Big enough for the equipment already set up but the singer better not do a lot of jumping around or he’ll end up falling. There’s a bunch of big, double doors along one wall. I check the handles and they’re all locked except one. I open it and look in. It’s mostly empty, probably where they store the stage when not in use. There’s a bunch of basketballs in a mesh bag. I’d shoot around if they hadn’t already cranked the hoops up for the dance. I pull one from the bag and start to dribble as I walk around the floor.

I never was a ball handler when I played. In high school, I was on an intramural team. If I could dribble twenty times without booting it, that would have been a record for me. I just did the dirty work and was the enforcer if someone tried to rough up one of my guys. Now though, the ball feels really good in my hand, small as it is. I switch to my left hand and keep dribbling. Just the same. I’m ambidextrous! Why didn’t I find that out sooner? Picking up the pace a little, I try a few between the legs and some hesitation dribbles. Smooth as glass. Will wonders never cease. I don’t want to hurt the floor with my boots so I stop and head for the closet to return the ball. I hear someone slowly clapping, the sound echoing through the gym. I look around, there’s someone standing on the second level landing, watching me. It’s Coach Tobey!

I wave at him. He waves back and starts down the steps to the main floor. When he gets close, I give him a bounce pass with reverse English so that it pops up in front of him.

“Whoa! Nice pass Da’Pee. I’d ask you where you learned all those moves but you’d probably say you picked it up here and there.” He passes the ball back to me, a chest pass.

“Try me.” I pass it back to him.

“Okay. Where’d you learn all those move?” Ball back to me.

“Oh, picked them up here and there.” I throw another bounce pass out of his reach to the left but the spin brings it right back to him. He catches it.

“Smart ass … ‘scuse my French.”

“What you doing here, Coach?”

“I’m one of the chaperones. In the past, some of my boys caused a bit of trouble at one of these shindigs so I decided to be here, make sure they all behaved like gentleman instead of a bunch of shitheads … ‘scuse my French. Haven’t missed one since. They serve a mean ice cream punch.”

“Straight or over the rocks?”

“Completely straight. No one spikes anything. Anybody tries it and they’re out on their ass. We run a clean show here, no funny business. That way, tender flowers of femininity such as yourself can feel safe and secure.”

He’s a cute old guy. “Thanks Coach, but I can take care of myself.”

“Don’t I know it! If there’s trouble tonight, I’m hiding behind you.”

“There’s not much to hide behind.”

“Just as long as you’re between me and whoever is stupid enough to try something. Show doesn’t start for almost forty five minutes, why you here so early?”

“My mom’s also a chaperone.”

“Oh, so she’s here to watch out for her beautiful daughter’s safety too?”

“Bull shit … ‘scuse my French.”

He laughs loudly, the sound magnified by the echoes in the gym. “Well, I better get to the meeting Da’Pee. Already late. Be seeing you tonight.” He starts to walk away but I call out to him.

“Coach, any of the team showing up tonight?”

“Most of them, I think, though if they knew you were coming, it’d be all of them. You made quite an impression.”

“Is ahhh … Spikeman coming?”

He smiles at me, then winks. “Never misses one.”

Good. At least I’ll have one person to talk to.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

There’s at least ten people at this meeting, split equally between men and women. I thought that I’d be one of no more than four chaperones. Seems to be overkill to have this many. A middle-age woman enters the room and steps to the front. Everybody else sits down on the folding chairs scattered around the small room, so I did the same.

“Hello everyone, I’m Martha Zendahas, director of youth activities. The Y would like to thank you all for volunteering today. I see mostly familiar faces so I can keep this brief. We are here to prevent trouble, not to prevent the children from having fun. Everyone in this room is a parent or has been a parent so you know the difference. I expect to have the usual mix of ninety nine percent good kids and one percent trouble makers, most of whom you already know from prior dances. I am aware that it would be easier to just keep the bad element out but part of our goals is to help turn those kids around, we want then to use the Y as much as possible, unless they abuse the privilege, then we will escort them out.”

Just then, another person enters the room, a man. Several people quickly waved at him, nodded towards him or quietly saying “hello”. He acknowledged their greeting with a smile and a responding wiggle of the fingers on his right hand. He scans the room and sits down in the empty chair next to me, then leans towards me.

“How you doing, Ms. Connor?” he whispers.

How does he know me? He is familiar but I … oh, he’s the coach of that fight team that Patricia worked out with.

“I’m fine, how are you Coach … Tobias is it?” I whisper back.

“Yes ma’am, but everybody calls me Tobey. I’d be pleased if you did too.”

“I see that Coach Tobey has joined us again” said Zendahas. “If you have any questions or you think you’ve spotted a potential problem and you can’t find me, find Coach Tobey. He’s been doing this longer than I have. If he doesn’t have the answer, then no one does.” A wave of quiet chuckles rolls through the room. “If no one has any questions, you can each take your normal posts, Jeff and Judy at the doors, Frank and Thelma at the refreshment table, the rest with Coach Tobey as floaters.”

I raise my hand. “Excuse me, but this is my first time as a chaperone. I’m afraid that I don’t know any of the normal routines.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ms. Connor” said the Coach. “You hang with me for awhile and I’ll show you the ropes. That okay, Martha?”

“Fine with me Coach. You couldn’t have a better guide Ms. …”

“She’s Jessica Conner and her beautiful daughter is Patricia,” said Coach Tobey. “But you may know her better as the famous Da’Pee!”

“So, she’s back! That’s one girl I want to meet! You must be very proud of her Ms. Connor.”

“Uhhh certainly. Every mother is proud of their daughter … or son.”

Several other people come over to me, introducing themselves and asking to meet Patricia. As everyone begins to leave the room for their assignments, I pull Coach Tobey aside.

“What was that all about?”

“Your daughter’s pretty famous around here. The way she ripped my guys up, that gets talked about. If a boy had done that, he’d be cock of the walk, but a girl … that’s unheard of! Some people didn’t believe it actually happened and frankly, I don’t blame them. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it either. Too fucking amazing … pardon my French, ma’am.”

“It’s Jessica, and you’re pardoned.”

“Thank you, Jessica. That little girl of yours is something else. When I came into the gym just now, she was dribbling a basketball, doing a kinda Harlem Globetrotter thing, in boots no less. She threw me a couple of passes that almost had me diving the wrong way, then the ball bounces right to me, easy as you please. She’s a natural athlete if I’ve ever seen one. Too bad she’s so short.”

I’m a little insulted. “What does her height have to do with anything? I believe she does quite well as she is.”

“No doubt Jessica, no doubt about that at all.” He takes my arm and we walk out the door towards the gym. “If she was just three or four inches taller, she’d have college scouts all over her. As it is, she’s more of a … now don’t take this the wrong way, promise?”

“I promise, she’s more of a what?”

“A curiosity.”

“How do you mean?”

“A kinda freak of nature, not in a bad way you understand, she’s just hard to pigeon hole.”

“I think she’d be very happy to hear you say that Coach Tobey.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’ve been hanging around the stage, checking out the equipment. I recognize everything and I’m pretty sure I know how to play both lead and rhythm guitar, though I’ve never touched one in my life. I could also handle the keyboard … but some how a piano seems more familiar. I wonder if there’s one around here.

I hear voices, male voices, approaching from down the hall. Sounds like a group of several boys, laughing and joking as they get closer to the gym. I hastily check my makeup as best I can in my reflection in the chrome of a nearby amp, then straighten up as they enter the gym at the far end.

It’s the guys from mixed martial arts team! I recognize Javier, Crunk, and Joey. A couple more guys trail in. There’s Cruz … and Spikeman. I start to run toward them but stop after a couple of steps. Gotta be cool about this, don’t want to seem anxious or needy. Dropping down to a slightly slower than normal gait, I drive my heel into the wooden floor with each step, making sure that there’s a sharp, loud click each time my foot hits the surface. The hem of my dress also bounces with each stride.

When I start walking towards them, the guys are all talking among themselves but by the time I reach midcourt, they’ve stopped talking and are all watching me … intently, some a little hungrily. I slow up just a bit more, drawing out the moment. Just the simple act of walking and I’ve got the full attention of every one of these testosterone charged boys. There’s a feeling of power … and control.

Is this how women feel all the time? It’s intoxicating! I’m trying to look all haughty and distant but the closer I get to them, the more I want to smile. This is so darn cool!

Cruz is closest to me, so I fix my gaze on him and slow down a tiny bit more until I’m just about four feet away, then I stop, one booted foot in front of the other, front knee slightly bent, back knee locked, hands on hips, chest out, chin forward, head cocked slightly to the side. None of them recognize me.

He glances back at the rest of the guys and they subtly encourage him to say something, tipping their heads towards him, making little motions with their hands. He turns back towards me, making slight adjustments in his posture, trying to appear more suave; squaring his shoulders, sticking out his chest a bit more, letting his arms hang a little looser. Stepping forward, he tries to stretch up a bit, to seem taller, which is hardly necessary, since I’m only five feet tall, though it’s closer to five five in these boots.

“Can I help you … baby?” he asks, doing his best Barry White impersonation. It’s all I can do to keep a straight face.

“No, there’s nothing you can … Oh wait, yes! There is something I desperately need. Could you answer one little question for me?” I take a step closer, sliding forward.

“Baby, anything for you.” Some of the guys behind him are stifling laughs. He’s looking down at me, eyes locked on my cleavage.

I reach out with my left hand and lightly touch his chest with the tips of four fingers. “That’s so nice of you … could you tell me how your arm is?”

He straightens up a little but I keep my hand on his chest. “My arm? What about my arm?”

“Oh … I was just wondering how it was … since I bent it sooo badly the last time we met.”

He pulls away from me about a foot. “What you talking … who the hell are …” I step back and take a defensive stance, crouched, fists closed and protecting my face, elbows in. He looks at me like I’m nuts. One of the guys in the back figures it out.

“Hey! It’s Da’Pee!

I straighten back up, laughing my behind off. “Gotcha that time, Cruz!”

He looks at me, stunned. “Noooo, it can’t be … but you look so … nooo … is it?”

I do a slight curtsey. “The one and only. How is that arm? I was worried that I’d damaged a ligament or something.”

He rubs his right elbow idly; the look on his face says he still isn’t certain it’s me. “Fine, hurt like hell the next day though.”

“I can imagine, sorry about that, got a little carried away.”

They all swarm around me, laughing and slapping hands. A couple got in Cruz’s face, imitating his pickup line.

“Can I help you … Baby?”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I help you … BABY! Good job Cruz!”

He’s looking pretty embarrassed, so I stand next to him. “Hey, I didn’t see any of you other guys step up and take a shot. It was a good line, just the wrong person. It takes a brave man to try that, particularly in front of his friends.”

“Thanks Pee” he says.

“You’re welcome Cruz, … though I wouldn’t do that Barry White thing, too creepy.” They all laugh again, even Cruz. I think we’re all okay.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

She had them eating out of the palm of her hand.

When she started to strut towards those boys, I was about to shout to her but Coach stopped me. “I want to see what happens” he whispered, so we both stood just outside of the doorway and watched.

I was stunned. When she reached out and touched that boys’ chest, it was just the perfect move … a move that I wouldn’t have thought of in a million years. Where did that come from? It wasn’t part of my programming and it was much too natural for Thomas to have done on his own.

“She’s a confident one, isn’t she?” said Coach.

“Apparently so.”

He looks over at me. “Never seen her like this before, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Sometimes it’s good to see your kid in a different environment, particularly when they don’t know you’re around. I’d say she handled them pretty well. Liked the way she brought Cruz back into the group.”

“That was … very skillful.”

He steps through the doorway into the gym. “Well, time to break up this little confab.” He starts to loudly clap his hands together and whistles.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Everyone turns to look at whoever is making all that noise. It’s Coach Tobey … and my mom. I wonder how long she’s been there.

“What’s the Coach want?” I ask.

“We’re supposed to be setting up for the dance” said Javier. “Coach ‘volunteers’ us every time they have one, says it’s our community service. We cover this half of the court with big tarps to protect it and then setup a bunch of tables and chairs. The other half we leave open for dancing.”

“Does anybody actually dance?”

“Lot’s of people” said Crunk. “We got a reputation for being pretty light on our feet, everyone except Javier.”

“Hey, I do okay” Javier shot back.

“For an elephant” Crunk replied.

“Well maybe I’ll have to give you both a try” I said.

They both nodded and smiled. “That’s cool.”

The guys all headed for the big doors on the East side of the gym, the ones I had tried earlier but were locked. I followed behind them until someone grabbed my shoulder.

“Where you going?” It was Spikeman.

“I’m just gonna help.”

“YOU can’t help!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re … ah … uhhh… .”

“A GIRL?”

“NO … no, you’re not a girl.”

“I’m NOT a girl?”

“NO … I mean yes, you’re a girl. I’m not stupid!”

“Couldn’t prove it by me. So you’re saying GIRLS can’t do this kind of thing.”

“NO! I didn’t say that. I meant you couldn’t do this because … uhhh …”

“Uhh what?”

“These tarps, they’re old and dirty, dusty. We have to clean up after moving them. You’re too … beautiful.”

“ERIC! Get your damn ass over here!” Coach shouted. “Pardon my French, ladies.”

Spikeman shrugged. “Sorry, gotta go!” then he turned and ran off to join the rest of the guys.

So, it’s Eric Spikeman, that’s a nice name. And he thinks I’m beautiful.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The boys seem to know what they are doing. Coach Tobey doesn’t have to give many directions at all. After the tarps are laid in place, they start running back and forth from the storage area, carrying tables and folding chairs. The Coach wanders back to stand next to me.

“Your team is well trained Coach. They seem to have everything well in hand.”

“It’s not me Jessica, it’s her.” He points to Patricia, who is standing on the fringe of the activity, watching the boys hurry by. “They’re putting on a show for your daughter. Never seen ‘em move this fast before. We’ll be done in record time. I think some of them want a little extra time to get cleaned up for the dance, if you know what I mean.”

“I see. What band is playing tonight?”

“I saw the poster but, frankly I forget, they’re all the same to me. One dance is a rap act, the next rock. This dance is rock, which is usually an easier crowd to handle, plus they dance more, if you call it dancing. That’s one of the things we have to watch for, dirty dancing. Martha will let some stuff slide, more than I would, but she will eventually put her foot down. Most of the kids are regulars and they know where the lines are but …”

“But they’re kids, so they are constantly pushing those lines.”

“Bingo. The way Patricia acts, you must know something about raising kids.”

“Not as much as you might think. I’m lucky she turned out so well. This is a kind of coming out party for her, introducing her to people her own age.”

“Well, just having her around helps my guys.”

“How do you mean?”

“A lot of the cultures around here don’t show much respect to women. In many families, they’re almost second class citizens. Here comes this pretty little girl, someone feminine as all get out, and she beats them at their own game, a damn macho game at that. And she didn’t beat just one or two, she beat them all. No one could call the other guy a pussy for getting beaten by a girl, they all took it on the chin. They have to respect that.”

“Interesting. Wouldn’t you be afraid that there might be some … competition among them, fighting for her undivided attention, if you will.”

“You mean they might fight to hit on her?”

“More succinctly put, but yes.”

“Not likely. No boy wants to date a woman who can beat him up, no matter how hot she is, at least a normal boy; there is the occasional kinky one.”

“Kinky ones aside, that isn’t a very open attitude. It seems to doom my daughter to spinsterhood.”

“That’s the way it is, at least when they’re this age. She’ll be okay when they all get older. Or she may find that one of those kinky ones is a nice guy over all. I’m not one to judge, got enough trouble keeping my own house in order.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It doesn’t take very long for the guys to set everything up, they’re a pretty organized bunch. Eric was right, it was a kinda dirty job. They all head towards the locker room to clean up but Joey shouts to me as he leaves.

“DA’Pee!”

“What?!”

“Hold that big table up near the front for us until we get back!”

I look where he’s pointing. It’s a big oblong table, looks like it seats at least twenty. “Isn’t it too big?”

“Naw, some of us got girlfriends!” He waves and is out the door.

Girlfriends! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? Idiot! Eric’s bound to have a girlfriend, someone as nice as him. There goes my evening.

They left the doors to the storage area open, so I peek inside to check it out. There’s a piano off in the corner. I make sure no one is looking, then slip inside, closing the door. It’s a baby grand, in good shape too. I lift the cover to the keyboard and lightly run my hand across the keys. Sounds like it’s in tune, wonder what they use it for. I don’t see any bench but it’s a little dark in here. It’s really a strange feeling, touching those keys. I know how to play it, like a piano is an old friend, but I also know that I’ve never played a piano before in my life, other than “Chopsticks”. It’s confusing. Looking around for the bench, I’m interrupted by Mom calling my name. I stick my head out the door and she sees me.

”There you are! What were you doing in that room?”

“Nothing.” The typical guilty reply of a teenager.

“Come over here. There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

Glancing back at the piano, I reluctantly shut the door and walk over to where Mom and a couple other adults are waiting. When I get close, she reaches out, puts her arm across my shoulder and turns me to face them.

“Patricia, this is Jeff and Judy Lassiter and this is Frank and Thelma Wilkins.” I shake their hands and say hello. “And this is Martha Zendahas, head of Youth Programming for the Y. She particularly wanted to meet you.” I offer her my hand and she grabs it, shaking it vigorously.

“Very happy to finally meet you Patricia. I wasn’t lucky enough to see you in action against Coach Tobey’s boys but I’ve heard all about it! You’re the talk of the building. One little girl, beating all of those boys. And so easily!”

She’s still shaking my hand. That little indulgence against the guy’s team may be more trouble than it was worth. All I need is to get some kind of reputation and then have a bunch of meatheads come around to challenge me. The guys are pretty cool but not every boy would have handled it so well. Probably Coach Tobey’s influence.

“They probably are exaggerating things Ms. Zendahas. I wasn’t all that great. I’m not that little either, I’m over five feet tall.”

She looks me up and down, like she doesn’t believe it, then smiles and releases my hand. “You could be right, stories do seem to grow in the retelling, regardless, a remarkable performance. Maybe we will get a chance for a repeat some day?”

“I don’t know. School will be starting soon and I’ll probably be very busy …”

“We hope to have her attend St. Ann’s” says Mom. “The enrollment test and interview are next week. We have our fingers crossed.”

“That’s a very good school, not much of an athletic program though. Their girls give it a good try but they never seem to have much talent.”

“We’re more interested in the academics for Patricia.”

“They certainly have that. Well Patricia, should you find that you have the time, we’d be very glad to have you here at the Y. We have a number of quality touring teams for girls that play AAU sports. I’m sure you would find it challenging.”

“She can handle a basketball too” said Coach Tobey as he stepped into the group. Zendahas gives me a considered look.

“Basketball eh? A multi sport athlete? I really must see you in action … and soon. We all have our jobs to do and it is almost time to open the doors. I’d like to speak with everyone at the end, just briefly, to review any problems or rough spots. Nice to meet you … Da’Pee.”

They all scatter to different parts of the gym while Mom and I walk away, her arm still over my shoulder. “What was that about?”

“Martha wanted to meet you.”

“Sounded more like she wanted to recruit me.”

“For what?”

“The YWCA’s AAU teams.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because AAU sports are becoming the primary way to recruit college and sometime pro athletes. The high school rules are too restrictive and some AAU teams are practically year round now. They travel to tourney’s all over the place, play each other. There’re no rules against recruiting athletes and there’s often money paid under the table.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Depends on how they do it. Either way, it’ll screw up your NCAA eligibility.”

“You’re not interested in any of that, are you?”

“Of course not! I just want to finish this job and go home.”

“Are you sure about that? I saw how you handled those boys just now … extremely impressive. You were a natural, better than I was at your age.”

“Sixty?”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I know, and yes, I’m sure. There’s lots of interesting things about being Patricia Conner, but she isn’t me … or we aren’t me … whatever. When this is done, I’ll miss it, but that’s all.”

“If you say so.” I don’t think she believed me. Can’t say I blame her. I may not believe me either.

“What’s your job tonight?”

“I’m called a Floater. I just circulate; keep an eye out for trouble. Sometimes I’m on the floor, sometimes in the bathrooms, sometimes outside.”

“The bathrooms? Really?”

“That’s the job.”

“I like my job better.”

“What’s your job?”

“I sit at that table and hold it for the guys until they come back.”

“And then what?”

“I guess we hang out.”

“I was hoping you’d meet some new people.”

“I’ve already met Martha, Frank, Thelma, Jeff …”

“I meant people your own age.”

“They were my age, actually I’m older.”

“What’s getting old is that joke.”

“Fine, I get it and I know what you mean. The guys have girlfriends, so I’ll meet them too.”

“They ALL have girlfriends?”

“I don’t know about that, I haven’t taken a head count or anything.”

“It seems a shame, what nice boys.”

“That’s another joke that’s getting old … mother.”

“Who’s joking?”

“Virgin, for now and ever, remember?”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Look, I better go table sit before they open the doors. I’ll see you around.”

“You can bet on it.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The doors have been open for at least fifteen minutes and they aren’t back yet. I’ve had to tell at least twenty guys to not sit here, though they didn’t move very far away. They’ve all taken seats within thirty feet of me. In fact, this area of the gym seems to be experiencing a population explosion. A dark haired girl sits down on the far side of the table.

“Excuse me, I’m holding this table for some friends.”

“The Mixed Martial Arts team, I know. They always sit at this table. I’m Terri Hughes, Javier Esposito’s girl friend.”

Now I know Javier’s last name. “Hi, I’m Patricia Connor.”

“Hi. Who’s your boyfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Which guy on the team are you dating?”

“None of them. I’m just a friend of the team.”

“The WHOLE team?”

“Yeah, it’s a little strange. I accidentally stumbled onto one of their practices and started working out on the equipment. One thing led to another and I ended up scrimmaging with them.”

“Which one?”

“Which guy?”

“Yes.”

“Eventually … all of them.”

“Why all of them? I’d think getting beaten by the first one would be enough for most girls.”

“I wasn’t beaten.”

“By who?”

“By any of them. I won all my matches.”

“You didn’t fight Javier.”

“Yes, I did. He was the last one.”

“Wait a minute. You’re saying you fought ALL the other boys of the team, one at a time, then fought my Javier … and won.”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes.

“Are you crazy?” she asks.

“No.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about this? You’re lying.”

“Not lying. I don’t know why he didn’t tell you; why not ask him when he gets here. Better yet, ask Coach Tobey, he’s over there by the stage.”

She turns her head and sees the Coach, then turns back to me. “I think I will.” She stands and rapidly marches directly over to the Coach.

I can’t hear the conversation but I can see that the Coach is very animated, using broad gestures and exclamations. It looks like he’s replaying each match for her. Every now and then, she looks back towards me, eyes wide and mouth agape. After about ten minutes, she comes back to the table, a lot slower than she left, and sits down. After a few seconds of motionlessness, she starts to look around the room, even under the table, intently checking out everything.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Am I being Punk’d?”

“Punked?”

“You know, Ashton Kutcher’s show, where they play those stupid jokes on people and tape it with hidden cameras.”

“I’ve never seen it but this isn’t a joke.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Are you crazy?”

“You already asked me that once. The answer hasn’t changed. No, I’m not crazy?”

“But you’re a girl! Why would you do something like that?”

“Because I can.” Another girl comes over and plops down into the seat next to Terri.

“Hey Terri!”

“Hi Katie” she responded distractedly.

The new girl looks at me. “Hi.”

“Hello. Are you friends with the team?”

“Oh yeah! Billy Shore’s my boyfriend.”

“I haven’t met Billy.”

“Oh you have” said Terri, “he’s Crunk … the guy you pinned in fifty seconds.”

Katie’s attention bounces between Terri and me, a quizzical look on her face. “What?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The doors have only been open for about thirty five minutes and the seating is almost gone. The tables and chairs are all occupied and the one set of bleachers that are open are almost three quarters full. The band isn’t on stage yet but it appears that the refreshment tables are almost ready. The Wilkins and a few other chaperones have everything set out. The menu appears to be pizza, cookies, chips, pretzels, canned pop and popcorn, hardly health food but the basic food groups that teenager’s thrive on. Coach Tobey is helping move a large tub of ice onto one of the tables so I walk over to see if I can help.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not right now, Jessica” he says. “We’ll be ready once the hot dogs get here, which should be any minute. There’ll be a big rush when we open for business but it’ll fade quick. You can help with the drinks, if you don’t mind getting your hands wet.”

“Not a problem. When does the music start?”

“Eight thirty, such that it is.” He leans closer to me. “I got some of those little foam earplugs in my pocket if things get too loud for you.”

“I went to rock concerts when I was younger, saw ‘The Who’ in Pasadena. A very loud show.”

“Bet that was a few years ago.”

“Quite a few.”

He pats his pocket. “I got a pair for you if you need em.”

I look around the room until I find Patricia. She’s sitting at the largest table with a group of those boys from the fight team along with several other girls. The girls seem to be paired up with some of the boys so they must be dating. Patricia is sitting with the stag group of boys. They all appear to be talking and laughing, Patricia is smiling. Coach notices where I’m looking.

“Don’t worry about her. My guys know how to behave; there won’t be any funny business.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” Not much at least. “I was more concerned about how she would fit in. We haven’t been in town long and I was hoping she could make some friends.”

“Where did you live before moving to Miami?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Portland, Portland Oregon. Mom lost her job almost a year ago but she was hired by a PR firm two months ago, so here we are.”

“What about your Dad?” asks Eric.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“My husband died in a car accident three years ago. It’s just Patricia and me now.”

“That’s terrible!” said Thelma Wilkins. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must have been a shock.”

“It was, for both of us. Patricia really loved her father.”

“I’m sure she did, but it had to be very difficult for you too.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“It was really hard for my mom, they’d been together since high school.”

“WOW!”

Some of the couples look at each other, you can read their thoughts on their faces … could that be us? Will we be together that long? Will we get married?

“I can’t imagine loosing one of my parents” said Katie. “I mean, I argue with them ALL the time, but … if one of them died. Way harsh. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, mostly. I still have nightmares now and then. Money’s tough for us.”

“I thought you said you were going to St. Ann’s” said Javier. “That’s an expensive private school, isn’t it?”

“You’re going to St. Ann’s?! I go there too!” squealed Terri.

“I’m not there yet. I have to pass the entrance exam and get through an interview. If I do, they have scholarships available.”

“Are you smart?”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Patricia is very smart. Sometimes her grades don’t show it.”

“A little lazy?” asks Jeff.

“She gets bored easily. If she applies herself, she does quite well.”

“I can testify to that” added Coach Tobey. “She’s a real spitfire.”

“Well, St. Ann’s will certainly test her” said Janet. “They have nothing but college prep classes. If you graduate in the upper half of the class, you should be able to get into practically any college in the country, including Ivy League. They also don’t put up with any foolishness from the girls.”

“Foolishness?”

“The sisters who run the school don’t tolerate bad behavior.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Sister Carmela, she’s the principle, and she is a real BITCH!”

“You get on her wrong side, Terri?” I ask.

“They caught me and a friend smoking on campus and suspended my parking privileges for a month!”

“Parking privileges?”

“Almost everyone, other than freshmen, drives but you’ve got to have a parking pass. Without one, your parents have to bring you to school. My dad was really pissed at me about the whole thing.”

“Do you have to drive?”

“No, but practically everyone does. Others have chauffeurs. What do you drive?”

“We’ve only got one car and Mom needs it for work.”

“The car you drive is about the only way to stand out. You seen the uniforms?”

“Oh yeah. Where’d they get them, Florida Prison Supply?”

“I know! You try and wear anything not in the rule book and it’s a demerit! The only thing they can’t control is what you drive, so that’s where the competition is. I drive a BMW.”

“Great, now I have to find a cool ride.”

“If you don’t, you’re totally out. Totally.”

“Hey, Da’Pee, you need some wheels?” asks Cruz.

“Apparently.”

“My brother’s selling his bike. A 1997 Kawasaki KX 250, sweet ride when it runs.”

“So it doesn’t even run?”

“Not right now, some kind of fuel line problem, that’s why it’s priced to move.”

“How much?”

“For you … seven fifty. It’s a steal at that price! That bike kicks ass in low gears, you have to fight to keep the front wheel down it moves so quick.”

“A bike that keeps popping up on you isn’t exactly a selling point, Cruz.”

“Okay, okay, how about seven hundred?”

“Why so desperate to sell it?”

“He’s joining the Army and doesn’t need it anymore; Mom says he can’t keep it at home.”

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Terri. “A motorcycle? You’d be the only one in school!”

“Really? … When can I see it, Cruz?”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Coach Tobey was not quite correct. It wasn’t a big rush when the refreshment table was opened, it was a stampede. I was grabbing cans of pop as fast as I could, reaching into the freezing water until my hands went numb. One of the other parents had to relieve me so that I could warm them enough to be able to flex my fingers. We had gone through two tubs and Coach was bringing out the third.

“Where did all this come from?” I shouted to him over the din of teenagers yelling for more food.

“Mostly donations from local businesses, some trade out for team sponsorships. Martha has her ways, she’ a real wheeler dealer.”

“When does it slow down?”

“In about two minutes, when the band starts.”

He was right this time. Just as I returned to the drink tub, I noticed four very scruffy looking kids approaching the stage with the undeniable swagger of musicians … or at least what a group of teenage proto rock gods would think the swagger would look like. They jumped onto the stage, causing a series of resounding thuds to bounce around the room, attracting the attention of the kids on the perimeter of the mob in front of our table. One of the players picked up a guitar, reached over to turn on his amp, then waited a few seconds before attempting to tune it by playing the most obnoxious series of notes that I can ever recall hearing. That attracted the attention of the rest of the mob, which rapidly dissipated as the kids returned to their seats, except for a few determined stragglers who we dealt with quickly.

The band continued to tune their instruments until one boy, likely the leader, waved them to a stop and then played a couple of more resonant chords.

“Hey Miami!” he yelled into the microphone. “How you feeling tonight?!” Some of the kids yelled back but it was just noise. “Are you ready to rock the roof off this dump?!” he continued. Their response was loud and long.

So … it’s going to be that kind of show. I look towards Patricia’s table. All the kids are shouting and waiving their hands, even Patricia, though she’s just waiving her arms with a wry smile on her face. She sees that I’m looking her way and just shrugs, still smiling and waiving

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Turns out the band is just a bunch of local kids learning the ropes. No one seems to care, they all are screaming and yelling as if it was Lady Gaga. I think this dance is just an excuse to have a blow out before school starts in a few weeks. Everybody at my table lets loose. It’s so ridiculous, I can’t help smiling and joining in. When I see Mom watching me, I just shrug and keep going, she wanted me to join in so I’m joining in.

The lead singer seems to have exhausted his snappy patter so the band launches into a song … exactly what song I couldn’t say but a bunch of kids have already jumped into the dancing area and are working hard at having fun. The couples leave our table to join the growing throng in front of the band, myself and the stag boys, including Eric, being left behind. I haven’t had a chance to ask him if he has a girlfriend. He looks over at me and we stare at each other for a few seconds. He swallows hard, gesture towards the dance area with his right arm and says “You wouldn’t like to dance … would you?”

I hop off my chair, grab his extended arm and pull him out of his chair “Yeah, sure. Thought you’d never ask.”

We head for the middle of the crowd, trying to get close to the band but can’t get within twenty feet. They’re playing … something. It’s loud, steady and unintelligible, but it’s got a good beat to dance to, Dick. The crowd is too tightly packed to even try to actually dance, we mostly sway and twist near to one another. He smiles at me and I smile back, we don’t try to talk, it’s too loud.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

When I find the Coach, he’s leaning up against the wall just off to the stage’s right, carefully surveying the crowd. He’s smiling. I call out to him but he doesn’t respond. I move closer, into his line of vision and shout again. He smiles and taps his right ear with his right index finger. I hold my left hand out to him, palm up. He nods his head, reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a little packet of foam hearing protectors. I tear open the packet, remove the small pieces of foam, roll them between my finger and thumb until they are small, hard peas and insert them into my ears.

The noise level quickly drops below the excruciating point as the foam expands, blocking my ear canal. I swivel my jaw and yawn to balance out the pressure, then sigh in relief.

That’s much better.

He taps my shoulder and points to the crowd. My eyes follow his extended arm and I see two kids on the edge of the crowd, grinding their bodies together, her arms tightly around his neck and his wrapped around her waist.

I look back at him and he shakes his head “No”, leaves his spot on the wall and moves into the crowd, heading for the entwined couple, me following closely behind. It doesn’t take as much effort as I though it might, the crowd seems to part in front of him as he walks forward. As we near the target, the area around them clears, leaving them exposed but unaware, as they are too wrapped up in each other. He places a hand on top of each of their heads. They both stare up at him, startled looks in their faces. He shakes his head “No” again and gently pries them apart. They appear to be embarrassed at being either caught or singled out. Coach taps the side of his head next to his eyes and backs away. They get the message, he’ll be watching. He heads back towards his previous spot but exits the gym through a door. I follow. Once the door closes, he reaches up and removes the ear plugs, so I do the same.

“My God! The noise level is insane in there! That can’t be good for their hearing.”

“I know. Their first break is in ten minutes and Martha will tell them to turn it down a notch. That way, the kids get a good dose of rebellion without knowing we’ve done anything about it.”

“What if the band complains?”

“They won’t, not if they want to get hired again. This is a pretty good gig for a local band looking for some publicity. The Y doesn’t pay much but lots of people hear their stuff.”

“Stuff, is that what it is? It certainly isn’t music, at least not my kind of music.”

“Not mine either, but I’ve heard worse at these dances. I imagine that we don’t like the same kind of music either. Who was your favorite?”

“I didn’t really have a favorite, though I did like Cyndi Lauper.”

“Benny Goodman. Each generation has their own sound, it’s always changing.”

“So does dancing styles. I assume you broke that couple up because they crossed a line.”

“Yep, do you approve?”

“Absolutely! That kind of behavior should be discouraged.”

“I’ve caught them before so the warning should be enough, at least for tonight. We keep the kids in the gym and the bathrooms. Every other place is locked, except for the kitchen and we’ve got people working there. We don’t want to have some place private for a couple to sneak off to.”

“What about outside?”

“We got people there too, plus the police increase their patrols.”

“Sounds like you’ve got this down to a science.”

He smiles. “More like trial and error but when we learn a lesson, we don’t forget it. Put your plugs back in, time for a bathroom check.”

* * * *** * * *** * * *

I’ve been on and off the dance floor a few times. Once with Javier, and once with Crunk, with their respective girlfriends’ permission of course. The rest of the time I danced with Eric. He’s pretty smooth once there’s room to actually dance.

I never was much of a dancer before. That was one of the problems I had with wife number two. She’d never believe it if she could see me now. Once I got on the dance floor, I realized that I knew how to Rumba, Cha cha, Tango, Latin Swing, Ball room, the Funky Chicken and a whole bunch of others. Eric didn’t know any of them and this isn’t the right kind of music for that anyway, though sometimes the band got the beat just right and I could feel it, deep inside. I just wanted to mooove and so did Eric. It was fun, watching him and trying to match it, though with a little spice thrown in, more hip, more chest, more ass. I was really getting the hang of it when the band took a break. They announced they’d be back in twenty minutes. After going hard for like almost forty, I guess they deserved it.

After stopping, I realized how thirsty I was. Eric offered to get us something, and after looking at the crowd attacking the refreshment table, I accepted. It’d be nice to sit down for awhile. When I got back to the table, all the girls were gone.

“Where is everybody?”

Javier pointed to the restrooms. “You missed the train, the girls all went that away. Why do girls all go to the bathroom together? What do you do in there?”

“We talk about all the stupid things guys do.”

“No wonder it takes so long.”

“Bright boy. Tell Eric I’ll be right back.”

“Will do, Da’Pee.”

I head for the bathroom. It seems every girl in the building is waiting in line. Why does this happen? Why can’t they build enough stalls for us? It’s not like it’s a new problem. You see it everywhere there’s a big crowd. Luckily, I don’t really need to go, I just was taking the opportunity while the band was on break. I’ll just come back later.

As I head back to our table, I walk by the storage doors. Remembering the piano, I pause and check the door handle. It’s still unlocked! After looking to see if anyone is watching, I open it slightly and slip in, closing it quietly behind me.

It’s darker than before but some light is leaking in from around each door. I walk over to the piano and again feel the same confusion as before, though this time, I’m more confident that I know what I’m doing, maybe because I’ve been listening to music and playing along in my head. There’s a small tarp next to the piano, covering something. I lift it and uncover the bench. Now we’re talking!

Pulling the bench into place, I sit down, extend my hands and caress the keys with my fingers, playing quietly, first a couple of exercises I remember, then a simple tune, “Clair de Lune”. I close my eyes, as it’s too dark to clearly see the keys anyway, and let the music carry me away. I’m almost to the second bridge when I hear the door open and quickly close. I stop.

“Where are you, Patricia?”

It’s Eric! “How did you know I was in here?”

“Joey saw you duck in. When you didn’t come back to the table … I came to check on you … I thought that you might be … you know, ditching me, but then I heard the music. You can really play! What was that?”

“Oh, nothing, just a song I know, it’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? You’re great! I thought it was a CD or something. Play some more.”

“You like it?”

“Sure! Play it again.”

“Okay.” I remember a short theme from “Romeo and Juliet”, so I settle in and play that. Eyes closed again, my body moving with the music. When I finish and open my eyes, Eric is standing next to me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark.

“How was that?”

“Amazing! Just watching you, the way you were so into it … the light across your face … that smile … so beautiful.”

Did he mean me or the music? “Beautiful?”

“Yeah … beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. The guys have to hear this!”

“No! Eric! Please don’t …” It’s too late. He’s thrown open the big door, the light stinging my eyes.

“Hey Cruz, Javier, Crunk, you guys get over here and help me!” he shouted. In seconds, they’re all here.

“What’s up man?”

“Help me move this piano out by the stage.”

“What for?” ask Cruz.

“So you can all hear Patricia play it.”

“Da’Pee plays the piano?”

“Look” I say “I can play a little but this isn’t the time …”

Eric sits down next to me on the bench and takes my hand. “Don’t say that. You play like an angel, a beautiful angel. Show them what you can do. If you won’t do it for yourself, show them … for me.”

He looks so cute, holding my hand in his, his big blue eyes begging me. I should say no, I want to say no.

“Okay … yes.” SHIT!

He drops my hand and hops off the bench. “You heard the lady guys! Let’s move this puppy!”

“Is this okay with the Coach?” ask Crunk.

“Don’t worry” answered Eric. “I’ll fix it with him if there’s a problem.” He takes his position on one corner of the piano.

Crunk looks at him, then grabs the nearest corner. “As long as it’s your ass and not mine.” The other two guys also grab hold and all four rapidly move it out the door and across the floor, leaving me to carry the bench.

Naturally, when a piano appears out of nowhere and is pushed across a crowded gym, people tend to notice that sort of thing. The guys have got the piano in place and Eric has swung a mic on a boom stand from the stage to the piano. Everyone is watching as I carry the bench over to the stage, all the time thinking to myself “this is a mistake, this is a mistake, this is a big, big mistake.”

When I finally reach the piano, Eric takes the bench from my hands, sets in place and then helps me sit down. He grabs the mic and taps the wind screen a couple of times to make sure it’s on.

“Hey, everybody, uhh, while the band’s taking a break, here’s something for you to, uuhh, listen to. She’s great … really great! Trust me!” He pushes the mic away. “Go on Patricia.”

“What should I play?”

“Just play that last thing.”

“I don’t know …” My nerves are getting to me.

He takes my hands again. “Do it like before. Close your eyes. I’ll just stand here right next to you.”

I nod my head, close my eyes, take a calming breath, slowly exhale, reach out to find my place on the keyboard and begin to play.

It feels good … better than good, it feels right. All my earlier confusion is gone. I can play a piano, play it well, darn well. Now that I’m not trying to keep it quiet, I let the music soar. It’s just me, the music … and Eric.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Bathroom duty is harder than you would think. There’s more competition for the mirror space than anything else and I have to referee. Each girl who gets there doesn’t plan on leaving until she’s got everything just the way she likes it. We should put up a bunch of mirrors and lights in the hallway. It would get more girls out of here quicker, leaving room for those who really need the toilets. I’m going to make that suggestion to Zendahas at the wrap up meeting.

A tall blonde girl pushes her way in through the crowd.

“BECKY!”

“What?!” a girl by the mirror replies.

“Hurry up and get out here!”

“I’m not done yet!”

“Well hurry up! There’s this short girl out here playing the piano!”

“So?”

“So she’s good! Really good! Amazingly good! Hurry before she’s done!”

Short girl … piano? I follow the blonde girl as she leaves the bathroom and trots to the gym.

There’s a big crowd by the stage, I can’t see anything … but I can hear it.

Melodic, fluid, lively … passionate.

Some of the kids are standing on chairs to see. I hurry over to the bleachers, it’s further away but I can get high enough to see what’s happening. I climb to the tenth row and turn around.

It’s Patricia, playing as if she and the piano are one, the music just appearing from them as if by magic. No one is speaking, just watching and listening. I hear someone climbing the bleachers next to me but I can’t look away from her.

“She’s full of surprises, that one is.”

“She is that Coach, she is that.”

“Did you know that …”

“That she could play the piano, yes, I knew, but she’s never played in front of an audience before, at least not one this large.”

“Maybe it’s time she did.”

Just then, she finished. She remained still, hands poised over the keyboard, a broad smile on her face. The crowd was silent for a few seconds, and then applause broke out, thunderous applause along with shouts and whoops. Patricia stood up and hugged a boy standing next to her.

“Excuse me Coach, I need to speak with my daughter.”

“Sure thing, Jessica.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It was like nothing I had ever experienced before in my life. Applause, waves of applause.

Suddenly, I felt Eric’s hand on my shoulder. I have to share this with him. I stood up and hugged him, my face buried in his shoulder.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

“I just helped roll it out here, that’s all.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Okay, you’re welcome.”

I let him go and turned around. Many kids were shouting at me.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“How long have you been playing?”

“You sure know your shit, you do!”

“You know anything new?”

A chant was starting to build. “More! More! More!” I don’t think I could give them more classical, the first piece was probably a fluke. I could play some jazz, there’s a piece by Oscar Peterson I really like. Then I heard someone calling my name.

“Patricia! Patricia!” It was Mom! She was trying to get closer. Some of the other ladies were helping her. Suddenly, I knew what my encore was going to be. I reached out and swung the mic back to me.

“Thanks, thank you everybody! I think there’s time for one more before the band comes back from their break. I’d like to dedicate this one to my mother.”

Sitting back down, I look up at Eric and wink.

“Hold on, we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Dedicate it to me? What is she doing?

“Do you know what she’s going to play?” asks Judy.

“No idea.”

“Well I hope it’s as wonderful as that last one” said Thelma.

Patricia sat down again, disappearing behind the crowd. If only she weren’t so short! I heard the music start again, but I didn’t recognize it right away, it was familiar but …”

“Do you know it?” asks Judy.

“I think it’s … NO! She wouldn’t! She couldn’t!”

“What?”

“Hurry! We need to get up there!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It’s not originally for solo piano but I should be able to make this work. The vamp is just about done so time to find out if I can do this. I lean into the mic.

I come home in the morning light,
My mother says “When you gonna live your life right?”
Oh, mother dear,
We’re not the fortunate ones,
And girls,
They wanna have fu-un
Oh, girls,
Just wanna have fun.

By now, Mom and her friends have reached the piano, she’s smiling and nodding her head in time with the music. I knew this was one of her favorite songs from when she was young.

The phone rings in the middle of the night,
My father yells “What you gonna do with your life?’
Oh, Daddy dear,
You know you’re still number one,
But girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
OH, girls just wanna have
That’s all they really waaaannntt,
Some fuuuuunnnn.

Mom turns to the two ladies with her.

“Do you know this?”

The both nod “Yes”

“Good, follow my lead.”

Just as I had hoped! Let’s kick this baby off!

When the working day is done,
Oh girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
Oh, girls,
Just wanna haaavee fuuuunn.

Mom leaned into the mic and took the chorus, her friends right behind her.

Girls,
They want,
Wanna have fun,
Girls,
Wanna have.

I kept playing and the ladies were getting into it, dancing and jumping, laughing. But all the girls around me were getting into it too, pumping their arms, clapping in time, jumping in place, dancing with each other. The guys were also clapping along, but they weren’t as into it as the girls. Time to bring it home.

Some boys take a beautiful girl,
And hide her away from the rest of the world,
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun,
OH girls,
They wanna have fu-un
OH girls,
Just wanna have
That’s all they really waaaannt,
Some fuuuuunnnn.

When the working day is done,
OH girls,
They wanna have fu-un,
OH girls,
Just wanna have fuuuuunn.

(Girls,
They want,
Wanna have fun,
Girls,
Wanna have.)

This time, the whole gym sings the chorus, repeating it over and over. I have to shout into the mic.

They just wanna,
They just wannnnaaa
They just wanna,
They just wanna,
OH
Girls just wanna have fu-un.
They just wanna,
They just waaaannnna,
They just wanna,
They just wanna,

When the workin’
When the working day is done,
OH girls,
Girls,
Just wanna have FUUUNNNN!

I stop playing but the girls around me keep singing, clapping and jumping around. Eric grabs me around the waist and lifts me up onto the piano bench. It’s too unsteady for me to do anything but bow and wave my hands. As I look around, I see the band off in the corner, staring at the pandemonium. One of them sees me looking their way and waves weakly at me. I just shrug and wave back.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Most everything has been put away, the tables and chairs folded and stored, the tarps rolled up and stashed. Coach Tobey’s boys are dusting the floor with these enormous, four foot wide mops, racing each other up and down the court.

They haven’t put the piano away yet. It’s been rolled into a corner. Patricia is still playing it, some kind of light jazz tune I don’t recognize. That boy is sitting next to her on the bench, his right arm gently around her waist. She’s concentrating on the music but she occasionally looks over and smiles at him.

I’m watching her from across the gym, sitting on the bottom row of the bleachers. All the other adults have left already. Every one of them told me how impressed they were with Patricia and her talent. Judy and Thelma said they had never enjoyed a dance so much and hoped we’d be here for the next one. I thanked them but didn’t make any promises.

Patricia continues playing. She plays as if she always has, you would never know that tonight was the first time. And her singing! It’s not a trained voice by any means, but it’s a true voice, clear, bright and real. She played a torch song during the band’s second break, “That Man of Mine”. It broke every woman’s heart in the room. You could feel the pain and anguish in her voice, something no sixteen year old girl should know anything about. Of course, she has sixty years of experience behind that voice, but it was a man’s experience.

Where did all that empathy come from? There is more going on in her than we were told to expect. My technique could not be responsible for all her changes; I definitely need to speak to Thomas and Daniel about this. I don’t want to needlessly alarm Patricia though.

Coach Tobey ambles over to where I’m sitting and drops down next to me with a groan.

“Uuhhhggg. It’s been a long day Jessica, can’t wait to get home and put my feet up.”

“I didn’t know you ever left this place.”

“Seems that way sometimes. I let all my guys go, all except that one”. He jerks his thumb towards the piano. “I didn’t want to interrupt them.”

“Who is he?”

“Eric Spikeman, my lightweight. Good kid, real good kid. Responsible, motivated, a team leader. Good student too. Parents are divorced but he handles it well enough. Had a little trouble a couple of years ago before he joined the team but nothing since.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“The way he’s looking at my daughter tells me I need to know.”

“No, you don’t, at least not from me. I know what I know because he told me in confidence. He trusted me. If this becomes anything, he’ll tell her eventually, he’s that kind of kid. What she tells you depends on your relationship with your daughter. From what I’ve seen, you’re probably safe.”

I can see why his team behaves as they do. He’s not just their coach. I might as well trust him too, for now at least. The music stops and I look back towards the piano.

They’re talking, Eric and Patricia. I can’t hear anything and I’m straining to do so. She stretches up and kisses him on the cheek. He stands up and gives her a little good-bye wave. She does the same. He trots over to where we’re sitting, Patricia watching him the entire way.

“Sorry I wasn’t much help with the clean-up, Coach.”

“Don’t worry about it, Spikeman.” He nods towards Patricia. “Special circumstances tonight. You can make up for it next time. This is Ms. Conner, Patricia’s mother.”

I offer him my hand and he shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Conner.”

“Pleased to meet you Eric. Are we going to be seeing more of you in the future?”

“Uuhh … well … I uuhh don’t know … maybe … we haven’t … uuhh …”

“Better get home, son” said Coach. “Your mother will be calling me, wanting to know what I’ve done with her boy.”

“Sure Coach, thanks” he said with relief. He ran for the door but gave Patricia one last wave before exiting. Her eyes never left him the entire time. Once he was gone, she returned to playing.

“That was kinda mean what you did to that boy.”

“You are absolutely right Coach, it was. It’s best he knows who he is dealing with right up front. When it comes to Patricia, I plan on being very mean.”

“Well don’t go too far, she could do a lot worse than Eric.” He stands up, groaning again. “As much as I like listening to Da’Pee play, I gotta lock up.”

“What about the piano, don’t we need to put it away?”

“Martha said to leave it where it is, she’ll have it taken care of in the morning.”

“Thank you Coach Tobey, for everything.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Conner. It’s been fun. Something interesting always happens when your daughter shows up.”

“So it would seem. Good night.”

“Night.”

Coach shuffles off and I walk over to Patricia, sitting down next to her as she continues to play.

“So … did I pass?”

“Pass?”

“You said tonight was a test. Did I pass?”

“Well, that’s hard to say. I wasn’t planning on the concert.”

“And I was? Besides, it wasn’t a concert; it was just a few songs.”

“Seven to be exact.”

“Really? Must have lost count, what with all the applause and everything.”

“Then you enjoyed yourself?”

“It was … interesting.”

“That’s what Coach Tobey said, that interesting things happen when you’re around.”

“I have a tendency not to blend in.”

“Putting it mildly. What about Eric Spikeman?”

She stops playing. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“I’m sure he’s not.”

“What?”

“I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Why? What did he say to you?”

“It’s not so much what he said, it’s what Coach Tobey said.”

“Which was?”

“That boys tend to not date girls who can beat them up.”

“Oh, that’s just crazy! Why would a guy care if I could … could … hhmmm … darn it!”

“Darn what?”

“He’s right. Of course he’s right. What was I thinking?!”

“I don’t know, what were you thinking?”

She pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “I was thinking that having a boyfriend would only complicate matters. Beyond the obvious fact that I am a man inside here …”

“Obviously.”

She gives me a dirty look, then continues. “There’s also the fact that I’d be too busy doing my job to maintain any kind of a relationship.”

“Though … having a boyfriend could help you appear to be one of the girls … theoretically speaking.”

“Yes … that’s possible, but it wouldn’t be fair to the boy. I’m only in here for a little while, a few months at most. I’d have to break it off when the job was finished, leaving him heartbroken. I know what that’s like for a guy.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem. Teenage relationships are brief most of the time. They fall in and out of love so easily. A few months is enough time for a boy to date two or three girls. The relationships are so superficial.”

“Are you saying we couldn’t be serious about each other, that it’s just some kind of … infatuation?!”

“That you couldn’t be serious about who?”

“ERIC!”

“I thought you said you weren’t serious, that he wasn’t your boyfriend.”

“Well … he’s not.”

“Then why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset … I’m not … I’m just … surprised that you think that I’m that kind of girl.”

“What kind is that?”

“You know, flighty and flirty, loose with her … affections.”

“You mean the type who would kiss a boy on the cheek at a dance after only knowing him a day or so.” Patricia’s face turns bright red but she says nothing. “Patricia, is that what you meant?”

“I was only trying to prove that I knew how a girl might act under those circumstances and that I could do what was necessary to act like a girl.”

“I see, and that was the only reason?”

“Certainly. What other reason could there be?”

“None that I can think of. I am curious about one thing. How did you know that I was watching? I was all the way across the gym, talking with Coach Tobey. How did you know that I was watching you kiss Eric on the cheek just before he left to check in with the Coach?”

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

“If you didn’t know I was watching, who were you trying to convince that you could act like a girl by kissing him?”

She’s silent again for a moment. “I was proving it to myself.”

Riiighhht. “I see. Well, we better get moving. The Coach is waiting for us to leave so he can lock up and get home. We’ve held him up long enough. Where’s your purse?”

“I put it with yours, over by the bleachers.”

“Good, let’s get them and head home, it’s been a long day.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“I know.”

We both stand up and walk side by side towards the bleachers. I put my right arm over her shoulder.

“You know that test you were asking about?”

“Yeah?”

“Flying colors, honey. Flying colors.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Mom is more nervous than I am.

The entrance exam was yesterday. Piece of cake. I missed a dozen questions on purpose, not enough to screw things up for me but enough to not draw attention … unless someone is pretty astute. I’m interested in seeing if anyone picks up on what I did.

Mom doesn’t know which questions I missed, just that I missed some. We’ll see how it goes.

I’m dressed in a nice outfit, black skirt that’s just above my knees and cream colored top with a high neck, short sleeves and black accents. The shoes match the skirt and have only 2” heels.

We’re waiting outside Sister Carmela’s office, sitting on a couple of hardback wooden chairs, watching her secretary type some letters.

They gave us a tour of the school before leaving us here. It looks old on the outside but is surprisingly up to date inside. The science labs look first rate and so do the language labs. Every student gets a laptop, the same laptop naturally, to avoid one-upsmanship. The classrooms are all equipped with quality AV technology. It all looks pretty high tech to me.

I came from a school system that viewed colored chalk as the latest in educational tools, though that was over forty years ago. I didn’t actually graduate from high school. Back when I joined the force, it was more about who you knew. Luckily, I knew the right people so my lack of a diploma didn’t matter.

Back in my school days, if I was sitting outside the principles’ office, it was because I was in trouble for something. I wasn’t a thug or anything, just a pain in the ass. It’s amazing how many cops were less than well behaved as teenagers. The principle and I got off on the wrong foot when I was caught shuffling the index cards in the library. I never recovered, after that I was always on his shit list. Looks like I’ve got a second chance to make a good impression.

You can see the softball field from the office window. We also were given a tour of the grounds. The up to date condition of the scholastic facilities doesn’t extend to the rest of the school. The cafeteria is okay but the sports fields could use some work. The gym is a cracker box, smelling like a fifty year battle between mold and bleach was being won by the mold. It’s pretty clear what they put their emphasis on. They may not have a lot of choice. The school is landlocked, surrounded by extremely expensive homes. If you knocked the school down, you could sell the land for millions of dollars. There’s probably a small army of real estate developers hoping the next hurricane flattens the place. Right now, it’s a slightly rolling island encircled by an eight foot iron fence and a concrete sidewalk.

Mom reaches out, laying the palm of her hand on my leg.

“Are you sure you passed the test Patricia?” She sounds like she’s worried.

“I’m sure. It was exactly what we expected”. I lower my voice so the secretary can’t hear me. “I missed enough questions to keep from being outstanding but not enough to cause trouble … just the way you wanted.”

Not exactly the way she wanted, I made a few adjustments.

“Good, good. When we see the Sister, let me do the talking. I’ve dealt with people like her in the past. We are so close, no reason to make a mistake now.”

“Whatever you say, Mom.” She pats my leg, then returns her hand to her lap.

The outer office is very plain. A few pictures on the wall, one of the current bishop, one of the Pope, another of the past principle. The rest of the decorations seem to be family related, they probably belong to the secretary. Her desk phone buzzes and she picks it up.

“Sister Carmela will see you now ladies” she announces, pointing towards the inner door. We both stand up, Mom putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Thank you” she says, acknowledging the secretary. I open the door and we both step into the room.

It’s as plain as the outer office but without the homey touches. Sister Carmela is seated at her modest desk. She’s wearing a dark brown long sleeve dress and a modified wimple, not the full ones nuns used to wear back in my day, but a simpler one that’s more like a hair band with a brim and a short cape. A pair of glasses dangle from a chain around her neck.

“I’m Sister Carmela, principle of St. Ann’s. Please have a seat.”

There are two wooden chairs opposite her desk, just like the ones in the outer office. We sit down but Mom keeps her hand on my shoulder, like she’s afraid I’m going to make a break for it.

“I’m very pleased to finally meet you Sister. I am Jessica Conner and this is my daughter, Patricia.”

The Sister nods her head towards each of us in turn, acknowledging the introduction. I raise my right hand to shoulder height and wave it slightly, then return it to my lap.

“Normally Ms. Conner, this enrollment process takes place in the Spring Semester in anticipation of the Fall Semester. Fortuitously for you, an opening has occurred due to the parents of two of our children being transferred out of the country. A wonderful opportunity for the children and an equally wonderful opportunity for your daughter to join us at St. Ann’s.” She looks down at her desk and shuffles some papers. “There were a number of applicants in line ahead of your daughter but I had a special request from Senator Douglas to give her consideration for one of the vacancies.” She looks up from the desk, directly at me. “I promised him that I would consider her but that acceptance was contingent on her test results, prior grades and this interview.”

“I would expect nothing less Sister Carmela. Patricia should only be permitted to enroll if she is qualified … though I am sure she is.”

“I am certain you are, Ms. Conner.” She returns to the papers on her desk. “Patricia’s test results are good, very good actually, though not spectacular. Her prior grades certainly meet our standards.” She looks up again. “How do you know Senator Douglas?”

“Just a friend of a friend” Mom answers, smiling nonchalantly.

“Mmmm. A very influential friend of a friend.”

She continues to smile. “I wouldn’t know anything about that Sister. My friend just said she knew him.”

“SHE? Well that explains a great deal. Senator Douglas has a bit of a reputation, though he has been good to St. Ann’s. I try to accommodate his requests, whenever I can, without compromising the integrity of the school.”

“I assure you, accepting Patricia as a student will not harm the school in any way. She’s a very talented child!”

“Most parents are convinced their child is talented, some scholastically, some artistically, others athletically. In what way is Patricia talented?”

Mom stepped into it there. Her answer will be interesting. She wanted to sell the Sister on me as a student but didn’t want to make me out to be some kind of extraordinary kid.

“Well Sister, it may be presumptuous for me to say so, but Patricia has more than adequate capabilities in all of those areas.”

“I see.”

She doesn’t believe her. That’s fine, all I need is a chance.

“Ms. Conner, I always like to speak with the child separately, just for a few minutes, before making my decision. If you could wait outside, this shouldn’t take long.”

Mom’s hand on my shoulder tightens, she wasn’t planning on this. She’s afraid I may say something wrong and blow the deal. The Sister’s not giving her a choice though.

“Certainly … I understand … a very reasonable thing to do”. She slowly stands, her hand still on my shoulder. “I’ll just be outside Patricia, if you need me”. I look up into her eyes and can read exactly what she’s thinking. ‘Be careful, watch out, don’t say anything that makes you stick out too much’. I smile at her and nod my head slightly, trying to reassure her. She lets her hand fall to her side but doesn’t move.

“It will only be a few minutes, Ms. Conner. I assure you, your daughter is safe with me.”

“I’m sure she will be Sister.” Mom opens the door, glances pleadingly at me one final time, and leaves, carefully closing the door behind her. I turn and face Sister Carmela.

“You’ve been silent this entire interview Patricia, why is that?”

“You haven’t asked me any questions.”

“The questions I asked were directed at both you and your mother. She chose to answer them and you chose to let her.”

“She is my mother after all.”

“Do you always do what she tells you to do?”

“Most of the time, when I agree with her.”

“And if you don’t agree with her?”

“I do what needs to be done. She eventually agrees with me.”

“I see. I’m afraid that I wasn’t completely truthful with your mother. I rarely speak alone with a potential student as part of the interview.”

“Why the exception in my case?”

“I thought that you might be more candid in your responses if she weren’t in the room.”

“About what?”

She holds up a sheet of paper. “These test results.”

“What about them?”

“We use the results of our entrance test for more than determining if a potential student is qualified to matriculate at St. Ann’s. Are you familiar with that word, matriculate?”

“Yes, it means to enroll as a member of a body or a group but particularly applies to schools, primarily colleges or universities.”

“I thought you might. The results show you have an extremely broad vocabulary. In fact, you excel in all areas we test.” She grasps the dangling glasses and puts them on. “We also use the tests to determine a particular student’s education level and what assistance we can provide to maximize their achievement. No one ever gets a perfect score, it is designed that way.”

“It was a hard test. I know that I missed several questions.”

She looks at the paper again. “Twelve, to be exact.”

“I’ll try to do better the next time.”

She looks up from the papers on her desk, fixing her eyes squarely on mine. “I don’t know how you could. You see, the twelve questions you missed were among the easiest on the test.”

She’s a smart old bird! She caught what I did. I just look at her, expressionless.

“Do you have an explanation for this, Patricia?”

“No.” Balls back in your court.

“None?”

“No.”

“Well I do.”

“What is it?”

“There are several. The first is obvious, that you cheated some how, that you had a copy of the test, had the sequence of the answer’s either memorized or written on something that we didn’t catch, and made a mistake of some kind.”

“What are the others?”

“That it was intentional, that you knew the answers but missed them on purpose.”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m not sure, perhaps to make your course load easier, higher test results equals higher expectations.”

“But if I was smart enough to do that, why wouldn’t I miss the hard questions instead of the easy ones, not attract attention?”

“That’s true … but what if it was done as a test … to send a message of some kind.”

“What kind of message?”

“I’m uncertain at this point.”

“Do you think I cheated?”

“No … your demeanor isn’t that of a cheater who has been caught.”

“What is my demeanor?”

“Of someone who just had a suspicion confirmed.”

“What suspicion?”

“Again, I am not sure. The test results indicate that you do not even need to attend high school; you should go straight to college.”

“Someone my age, in college? That would be difficult.”

“Attending school here might also be difficult. Though we have a few students on scholarship, most of the students are from the upper upper crust of society. It is a constant battle to keep their attention on school work and off trying to show who has the better material possessions. As a scholarship student, frankly, you would be looked down upon by a certain segment of the student body.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Fair or not, it is how life works. Things could be even worse than that; I understand that there is a certain amount of bullying that takes place here at St. Ann’s.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Yes, but very hard to catch someone in the act, very hard to prove. Girls this age are more likely to use psychological means instead of physical means, though I have heard rumors about some physical threats.”

“Why don’t you stop it?”

“Often it happens off school grounds or on the internet, or the victim refuses to come forward. My hands are tied. Why would you want to willing step into that situation?”

“Sister, there is only one person on the face of the earth that I have to please … my mother. We haven’t had an easy time since my father died, in fact it’s been pretty tough. She wants me to go to St. Ann’s so I’m going to do what’s necessary to get into St. Ann’s. We don’t have much money, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks about that, we get by. You may have noticed that I’m not very tall.”

“I did, you’re four foot what?”

“I’m practically five feet tall. My point is people have been trying to push me around all my life but I’m still here. They think that because I’m … slightly below average in height, I’m an easy target. I can take care of myself. If you have any questions about that, call the Fifth Street YWCA, they know me there, ask for Coach Tobey.”

“Do you think you can be a good student here, follow the rules?”

“I’m a stickler for the rules.”

“Do you think you will be able to handle the … culture here at St. Ann’s?”

“If I can’t solve my own problems, you’ll be the first to know.”

She rises and offers me her hand. “Welcome to St. Ann’s Class of 2013, Miss Conner.”

I stand up and lean over her desk to shake her hand. “Thanks, thanks a lot. You have no idea how happy you’ve made my Mom.”

“Just don’t disappoint me Miss Conner. I feel that I am taking a risk in admitting you.”

“It never hurts to shake up the status quo now and then, don’t you think?”

“Shake yes, upend, no.”

“Understood. I do have one question. It’s about the uniforms.”

“Not you too. All the girls complain about them. We have very strict rules about …”

“I know, I downloaded them from your website. My problem is that we had to buy mine used … because of finances and all … and they don’t exactly fit … me being almost five feet tall … so I was wondering if it was okay if I altered them so that they did fit me.”

“You can sew?”

“Sure, you can’t?”

“I can but most girls your age don’t.”

“My Mom taught me practically everything I know about sewing.”

“As long as you comply with the rules, there will be no problem. I look forward to seeing your work. You and your mother may go downstairs to Sister Rita’s office. She’ll help you with the final paperwork.” She sits back down. I open the door and look back at her.

“Thanks Sister.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Conner.”

I step out, close the door and give Mom a thumb’s up. She rushes over to me, giving me a big hug.

“I knew you could do it, honey! I knew it!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

My intercom buzzes just as I’m ready to go to lunch. It’s Sister Carmela.

“Yes, Sister?”

“Rita, I’m sending down a Ms. Conner and her daughter Patricia. She’s taking the vacancy in the Junior class. She’s also getting the last scholarship.”

“Certainly Sister. Is there anything special I should know?”

“Yes, the girl is extraordinarily bright, extremely mature in her attitude, is quite self confident … Oh, she is also a little sensitive about her height, so don’t comment on it if you can avoid it.”

“I’ll do my best. Is there anything else?”

“Unless I am totally wrong, she could be the answer to our McBride problem.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I’m here Thomas. What was so important that I had to cancel my 3:00 o’clock to meet with you?”

Lipscomb’s just arrived at my lab and he’s already being unpleasant. Well, if he can be abrupt, so can I.

“The most recent test results indicate that we need to stop this operation immediately.”

“What are you talking about Matthews? The last report I had from Jessica was that Patricia was accepted into St. Ann’s and school would be starting within the week. She was confident that Patricia could successfully pass as a high school Junior. We are finally ready to start and you want to pull the plug?”

“I don’t want to pull the plug, the test results require it.”

“What tests?”

“The last time Patricia was here for her checkup, I received the same information, everything was going well … actually better than my models had predicted.”

“And this is a problem how?”

“Too rapid an adjustment can be just as much a problem as too slow an adjustment.”

“Not from where I'm standing, Thomas.”

“Any variances from predicted norms needs to be explained, whether it is convenient for you or not. Patricia told me several things that caught my attention as did Jessica. I needed additional data to determine what was happening so Patricia agreed to wear a multi-day recording device. I’ve just now been able to integrate that data with a series of blood test results. I believe I know why Harris’ adaptation has been so successful.”

Lipscomb looks at his watch. “I know that finding out how is a giant wet dream for you Thomas, but I only care about results.”

“One of the results you are so interested in could be that Peter Harris is irretrievably lost.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“I have discovered that, when a series of options is presented to Harris by the Construct, he chooses the one that makes him feel better.”

“Is that a surprise? Most people would do the same thing.”

“But WHY does a certain choice make him feel better? At the settings he is operating at, Harris should be able to keep control.”

“Jessica claims that he is.”

“I'm not so sure. My long term recording data indicates that when Harris follows the recommendations of the Construct, he is rewarded with a miniscule dose of endorphins.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because endorphin is a naturally occurring chemical that triggers the pleasure emitting parts of the brain. Harris is being trained by the programming of the Construct to act as the Construct wants, as it is programmed to want. Slowly but surely, the Construct is changing the way Peter Harris thinks and behaves, just by using extremely small but still potent doses of endorphins.”

“Like Pavlov’s Dogs?”

“Much more sophisticated, more elegant … and more effective I’m afraid. Jessica mentioned that she was using a reward system to get Patricia to do certain things. I believe that the programming of the Construct learned from that and devised its own reward system.”

“Did you program it to do that?”

“Certainly not! Neither did Jessica. If we do not remove Peter Harris from the Construct as soon as possible, there may not be a Peter Harris to remove in the future, at least not the same Peter Harris who went in.”

“Is the physical architecture still intact?”

“Yes, physically there are still two distinct entities and the Balancer is doing its job, but from a behavioral standpoint, the two entities could be approaching a unified state, such that the physical separation is rendered moot. If two nearly identical brains occupy separate spaces, what is the point of maintaining separate spaces?”

“Is the Neutralizer still operational?”

“Of course! That isn’t even located in the brain. I still don’t understand why you had me install it in the first place.”

“Because I am a cautious man, Thomas. Wouldn’t it be possible that Mr. Harris would return to normal once he is returned to his body?”

“Why would he? There would be no counter program subtly pushing him to behave like a man. Besides, when I say the two entities are approaching a unified state, I mean that the Construct’s programming is also changing.”

“How is that possible?”

“The Construct was designed to be a learning organism, even without the addition of an outside personality. Learning requires the ability to grow and change.”

“Wasn’t it also your objective that the two parts of the brain become integrated into one, smoothly functioning whole.”

“Yes, but the two parts would still be different, just integrated. You would still be able to recognize Peter Harris as Peter Harris and be able to separate him from the whole. The Construct would lose the attributes that he brought to the whole once he was removed. If I am right, there would be no Peter Harris to remove, just Patricia.”

“You said IF you are right, you aren’t certain?”

“Well, no … there isn’t enough data and I would need several weeks of additional testing to confirm exactly what is occurring. I am confident though that my original theories are wrong.”

“But you aren’t sure what is right, correct?”

“Yes, that’s true but we are risking a mans’ life here! Surely this … assignment is not worth that potential loss!”

“On the contrary Thomas, Peter knew that he was risking his life when he agreed to do this. He risked getting found out, risked getting killed, risked that something else might go wrong.”

“But we assured him that he would return to his body a whole person, the same person, once he was done. I may not be able to guarantee that now.”

“But it is also possible that it will all workout fine.”

“Maybe, but if current trends continue …”

“We all started this operation without guarantees. I have put my career on the line, my future, betting that this will work. I refuse to end it just when we are ready to begin!”

“Shouldn’t Peter be given a say in this?”

“And what would you tell him? Something MAY be happening in his head that you MAY not be able to easily reverse in the future, the answer depending on a number of yet to be determined variables? What kind of information is that to base a choice on? He will soon be starting the most dangerous part of his mission to date. I don’t want to burden him with incomplete information about a possible problem. You may continue to study and track the situation. Is there anything he might do to minimize the potential damages?”

“Yes, the more time he spends on the Pink settings, the more he is exposed to the manipulations of the programming. It still occurs at the lower Blue settings but at a lesser intensity. The time that he spends at Blue Fifty likely helps him recover from the manipulation, but it will only delay the inevitable.”

“You can advise them to follow those guidelines but no more than that. If a problem develops that threatens our success, then we can inform him of the problem. Until then, Patricia goes to school, just as we planned.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

What is that saying, a bird in a gilded cage? That’s what I am, though the people guarding my cage carry guns. They’re never more than fifty feet from me. I can see Henry’s head just above the hedge at the end of the patio and Lou is inside the house … where it’s air conditioned. Henry probably drew the short straw. I can dive into the pool whenever I get too hot but he’s stuck out here until I go inside. Outside by the pool, there’s at least the illusion of freedom. When I go inside, I can go anywhere I want to in the house … except where Father says I can’t.

He doesn’t think I know what he does for a living. I’m not a stupid child! I hear what the girls at school whisper behind my back. Mafia Princess. Drug lords’ daughter. And those are the nice ones.

I can’t believe that school starts this week! You’d think that I’d be happy, that at least I’m out of the house, away from my prison but St. Ann’s is worse. Hundreds of girls and not a friend among them. They all just stare at me or ignore me. Even if I had a friend, Father wouldn’t let them in the house. No one gets in here without being invited,

I might as well be going to school on the moon!

There’s the sound of a buzzer and Henry touches his left ear and mumbles something. He nods his head and then walks towards me.

“It’s lunch time, Gretchen.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Your Father wants you to come to lunch.”

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Gretchen, I work for him, not you. If you have a message, give it to him yourself. I’m not getting into this shit.”

“I … I’ll be there as soon as I change. Is that okay with you?”

“I’ll give him THAT message.” He goes back to where he was originally standing, touches his ear again and mumbles another answer, then pauses, looking at me, waiting for me to get up and go inside.

Sighing, I stand up, leaving my towel and sunscreen on the table next to my chair. “What is for lunch anyway?” I shout.

“Lobster!”

A very gilded cage.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Dear Diary,
Here is a typical conversation with my mother this week.

“Do you have everything ready, books, supplies, backpack?”

“Kids don’t use backpacks any more Mom.”

“They don’t? When did that happen?”

“I don’t know when, they just don’t now.”

“Well, when I was in school …”

Thus starts another trip down memory lane for Mom. Ever since I was accepted by St. Ann’s, it’s been one story after another about her days in high school. Her academic success, her social isolation, and eventual triumph over the forces of evil. She’s also made it quite plain that I’m expected to perform just as well, regardless of our ultimate objective. I just nod and take it all in without comment, other than saying how much I admire her hard work and perseverance.

Which is surprisingly true. For all her naiveté about the real job we’re ready to start, she’s been true to her word. She did an extraordinary amount of work getting me prepared for this job, something that I was unsure about. When I agreed to do this, I had my doubts about being able to pull it off. When you’re undercover, you’ve got so much to worry about, so much to be on the alert for, one thing you’ve got to have down cold is the character your playing. It has to be a part of you, it has to be natural. You can’t act it, you have to live it. There can’t be any false steps.

I planned to violate that rule with this job. I thought that I could probably learn enough to get by. The situation at school wouldn’t be so high pressure that I couldn’t afford the occasional slip up. After all, I just had to make friends with a young girl and get invited to her house, how tough is that? I would just do what Mom suggested, fly below the radar, make her acquaintance, get in, find what I could and get out. Simple.

Unfortunately, the more I thought about it and researched how relationships between girls actually work, the more I realized that plan wouldn’t work. First off, that’s not me. I never did any of my prior jobs that way. If I stop doing what I’m good at, if I second guess myself, I’m already in trouble. The only way for this to work is for me to be me … which means I have to be comfortable as a girl, to live and breathe as a sixteen year old girl.

I’ll admit I was resistant at first, what man wouldn’t be? Even after three marriages, I couldn’t tell you how women think, what they thought, it was a complete mystery. Frankly, the chance to solve that mystery was one of the things that attracted me to this job, but when push came to shove, when it was time to actually open up to those thoughts and feelings, to surrender part of myself, I was afraid and backed off.

Mom helped me through that, at first with that bogus reward program, like I was too stupid not to see it. Eventually though, we connected. Maybe it was simply calling each other Mother and Daughter all the time, no exceptions. If you repeat a lie often enough, you start to believe it. I think there may be something to that, but really, I think there’s more to it. On some level, I do think of her as my mother. I know she’s not my real mother, that she’s been dead for years … but I still miss her. You never truly get over the loss of a parent … or a child. It’s just nice to have a mother back in my life, doing for me what my real mother did. Doing it differently but it rings a bunch of old familiar bells in my head. Sometimes she’s infuriating, sometimes she’s sweet, sometimes she’s right when I’m wrong … just like old times. It’s not the same, yet it’s pleasantly familiar.

I think I may do the same for her. I’m not Alisha, I wouldn’t try to be Alisha even if I could, but sometimes, there’s just this look in her eyes, the same look I saw in my mother’s eyes years ago.

We haven’t talked about any of this. I might spoil it by saying something. We’re too close to starting the actual job to risk screwing up our relationship now.

This is the last entry before I burn this diary, can’t afford to take the chance someone may find it and ruin everything, get us all killed.

I love you, Mom.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Do you have everything ready for tomorrow? Your clothes, your books, your … “

“YES MOTHER!”

“You don’t have to shout! I just want to make sure that … “

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s just that you’ve been on my back this whole week and … “

“I’m sorry too Patricia. I’m worried about this whole thing. Up until now, it’s just been an abstract plan but now …”

I squat down next to her chair and take her hands in mine.

“Yeah, I know. Now it’s serious.”

“Can you really do this, be a typical teen age girl?”

“No.”

“NO?! We’ve wasted all this time, all this effort, all …”

“Hold it! We’ve wasted nothing. I didn’t plan on being a typical teen age girl. I need to understand them but I can’t actually be one, I’m still a sixty year old man inside, I can’t forget that, it’s a part of me.”

“Then I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“What I need is to be comfortable with my situation, comfortable in my body, comfortable in dealing with teenagers, male and female, comfortable with dressing as a girl. I’ve still got to be me when all is said and done but this is a new me. I had to find the new me, which you helped me discover. Now I can concentrate on the job.”

“Are you done learning about the new you?”

“Are you done learning about yourself? It’s never ending.”

“I was thinking along the lines of you and a certain young fighter.”

“Okay, I’ll admit that I’m confused about that, there are a lot of conflicted feelings on that subject. I honestly don’t want to do anything I can’t live with later, once I go back.”

“I don’t know what would be wrong about just exploring the relationship. I’m not saying you just jump into bed with him but a date couldn’t hurt.”

“What are you, his agent? We’ve got a job to do and I don’t have to resolve this issue in order to do it. Lot’s of girls are confused about what they should do with those feelings, I’ll fit right in.”

“I thought you had to ‘be me’.”

“With any luck, we’ll be done before it ever comes up. From here on out, this is where I earn my money. Of our little group, I’m the only one with real life experience undercover, and I’ve got lots of it.”

“As your nightmares can attest to.”

“Don’t remind me. My point is, from here on out, I’m in charge.”

“I have no say in it? At all?”

“No. I trust your opinion and I plan on discussing everything I can with you but when a decision is made, we both need to stick with it … our lives may depend on it. If you can’t trust me, then we don’t do this, simple as that. So … do you trust me?”

She looked away for just a moment, then looked back at me, our eyes locked on each other. She was clearly thinking about it.

“Yes, I trust you Patricia.”

I relax. I wasn’t aware how tense I was until I relaxed.

“Great. There’s one other thing you need to know about undercover work. You never are sure who to trust. I’ve never had a partner before while going dark. I’ve had contacts and bosses and targets, but no partner. I trust you and you trust me, we’re in this together, but we can’t completely trust anyone else.”

“Are you saying that Thomas or Daniel might harm us in some way?”

“I’m not saying they will or they won’t. I’m saying we’ve got to keep our eyes and options open. When ever I went dark, I always had a place I could run to if I needed to disappear from everybody. A place that no one else knew. If it all went to hell, either from the target or my bosses, I could go there and get away, if only for a little while, until things cooled off. In my entire career, I only had to use it twice, but both times I was darn glad it was there. I’ve still got that place … and I’m giving you the address. Memorize this, don’t ever writeit down, leave no tracks. This is your final ace card, only play it as a last resort. Hopefully, it never comes into play, the odds are it won’t, but I want you protected if the stuff hits the fan.”

She’s getting all teary eyed … and so am I.

“Alright Patricia, what’s the address?”

“1105 North Cabana Boulevard, Randi’s Place. It’s a bar owned by someone who owes me an enormous favor. Just tell them I sent you, I mean Peter Harris, not Patricia Conner. You got that?”

“Yes, 1105 North Cabana Boulevard.”

“We’ll repeat it for a couple of days until it’s burned into your memory. Now … let’s go pick out my outfit for tomorrow. I want to make a good first impression.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The first day of school always starts with such promise. The girls come streaming through our open gates, some with their parents, some with drivers, most driving themselves. Parking is always a problem, our space is so limited. We really should try to discourage the use of cars by the students. Of course, that would cause as much a problem as the uniforms did years ago and it’s a fight I don’t need right now.

“Hello, Sister Carmela!”

“Hello, Peyton, did you enjoy your summer?”

“Oh yes! We went to Europe for two months!”

“How nice for you. We’ll talk later.”

Few of the students greet me as they come up the steps to the front door, most of them avoid me. That is as it should be. I’m not their best friend, I’m their principle. A number of them are already in the building but the majority are loitering in the parking lot, greeting each other, some for the first time since school ended in May. It’s as if they are trying to delay the first day of school as long as possible.

There is a small group of girls gathered by three matching Mercedes convertibles. It’s Caitlin McBride and her posse, of which Olivia Sinclair and Kendall Woodruff are her chief lieutenants. The rest are just opportunistic sycophants. They go were the power is, in this case, popularity. I’ve taught in inner city schools riddled with gangs and sometimes I long for those days. It was easier to deal with the simple, straight forward, crude techniques of the gangs rather than the clever, restrained, subtle and ultimately effective manipulations by Miss McBride and her supplicants. Unfortunately, she has had a number of excellent teachers. Three sisters, each two years older than the previous one, all students at St. Ann’s, all leaders of the most popular clique of girls at the time, each learning from the other. Fortunately, Caitlin is the last but she is also the worst, more skilled than her older sisters but motivated only by her petty desires for power. In the big scheme of things, none of her ploys prevent the school from performing its primary function, providing an outstanding education to its students, but it is poison to the social environment.

I would put an end to it, if I could. I know what is happening and how but she never crosses the line that lets me expel her, at least not that I can prove it. This year may be different though.

“Good morning, Sister Carmela.”

Sister Rita joins me at the top of the steps to the schools’ entrance. “Good morning, Sister Rita.”

“It’s almost 7:50, nearly time to lock the gates.”

“I know. How many students do you think will be late for the first day this year?”

“I have three in the pool.”

“The pool? I certainly hope that no money is being bet.”

“Just chores. I thought that your lecture at the end of last year and the written warnings sent out last week would be effective in reducing the number from last years six.”

“We will see. Have you seen Miss Conner yet?”

“The new junior class student?”

“Yes.”

“No, I haven’t, but to be honest, I haven't been searching for her. Given her height, she would be easy to overlook.”

“Possibly. Speaking of height, did you see Gretchen Hobbes?
The girl must have grown during the summer. She’s over six feet tall now! A shame she can’t play basketball.”

“Her father would never permit it even if she could. We will be fine without her. I think that there is a very good chance that the team could win two or three games this year.”

“Are the blind girls school on our schedule?”

“SISTER CARMELA!”

“I am sorry Rita. I know that you do the best you can with what you have to work with but … we stink.”

“God will provide, Sister Carmela.”

“He better, because it would take a miracle.”

Just then, the first bell rings. I raise my arm and signal the two staff members at the gate to shut and lock it. As it begins to swing shut, I hear a throaty staccato sound in the distance. It rapidly grows louder as the gate continues to close. They are within two feet of closure when a motorcycle appears over the hill just up the street from the school, likely breaking the speed limit. It slides to a halt at the gates just as they clang shut.

The rider is a girl, dressed in a black leather coat, full helmet and a skirt. It’s not one of my girls because the skirt isn’t the same as our uniform. Same color but wrong style. The girl just sits there, gunning the engine. It is one of those smaller motorcycles; I believe they are called dirt bikes, thin knobby tires, high ground clearance. The raucous noise has drawn everyones attention, including a number of students who have already entered the building, they are looking out several of the open windows.

The girl lets the engine drop back to a rough idle, stands up in the seat, looks around, then guns the engine again, her rear wheel spinning as the motorcycle pivots around the front wheel, then rapidly accelerates down the sidewalk, parallel to our eight foot wrought iron fence, away from the entrance. The sidewalk has a number of undulations in it, small hills that occasionally block her from the view of those watching her from the ground. And everyone is still watching her. However, from the top of the front steps, we can see her the entire way. She reaches the end of the fence, brakes and again slides to a stop, the motorcycle now pointed back up the sidewalk the way she just came. She guns the engine several times and then accelerates faster than before, along the sidewalk, back towards the gate, her engine roaring like the devil himself.

“What is she doing?” shouted Sister Rita.

“I don’t have the faintest idea. I’ve seen this type of motorcycle on television before in some kind of indoor race. They can be quite acrobatic.”

“You don’t suppose that she’s …”

“No! That would be insane!”

The girl is now speeding down the sidewalk, rising up in the seat as the motorcycle skips along, barely lifting into the air as it crosses the tops of a couple of the smaller hills in the sidewalk. The driver settles down as she approaches the largest hill and the engines’ roar increases.

“Sister Carmela, I think she intends to … OH MY LORD!”

The motorcycle is flying in the air, the girl having launched it off the last hill, the engine screaming … along with every girl watching the spectacle. The motorcycle rises up in a graceful arc, well above the fence but still on the street side. Just as it reaches the peak of its’ flight, the girl pitches the motorcycle over on its’ side, performing a complete 360 degree barrel roll, putting it on the school side of the fence, the motorcycle landing on two wheels with a resounding thud in the outfield of the softball field. The girl immediately cuts her speed and continues to leisurely ride along the inside of the fence until she reaches the gate, turns into the parking lot and takes the last empty spot, the furthest from the entrance, the one assigned to Patricia Conner. The girl takes her time unfastening her helmet, then carefully removes it, shakes out her hair and smiles at all the girls starring at her in stunned silence. She hops off the vehicle, unhooks a bag from the rear of the seat, throws a strap over her shoulder and quickly trots towards me, all eyes on her and her non-regulation skirt.

The silence is deafening. It could be for her spectacular entrance or the skirt. My guess is forty five percent entrance and fifty five percent skirt. She continues her rapid pace towards the steps, then bounds up them two at a time until she’s standing right in front of me.

“Sorry I’m late, Sister Carmela. I thought I had that fuel line fixed but it broke loose about a mile away so I had to stop and fix it again. I’m pretty sure I got it this time but I’ll double check it when I get home tonight.”

“Miss Conner.”

She looks up at me, smiling brightly. “Yes, Sister Carmela?”

“My office. Now.”

“Yes, Sister Carmela.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“Who the fuck was that? Is she INSANE?!”

“I know! What was she wearing?!”

“Carmela’s going to demerit her to hell and back.”

“If she doesn’t expel her on the spot.”

None of them are looking at the big picture. Why am I surrounded by idiots? Olivia’s at least smart enough to notice I haven’t said anything yet.

“Caitlin … what do you think?”

“I think … that this new girl is going to be trouble … big trouble.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It’s even worse than I first thought. As soon as she took off that black leather jacket, it was obvious.

Her blouse fit her perfectly, as if it were tailored by a professional seamstress. It actually looked good on her. As if the skirt wasn’t bad enough by itself. In heaven’s name … pleats! It really is too much. I am just about to start when there is a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

It slowly opens and Sister Rita leans in through the opening. “I thought that I should be present Sister Carmela, in my capacity as Dean of Students.”

“Certainly Sister, have a seat.” She sits next to the still smiling Miss Conner.

“Good morning, Sister Rita,” she says brightly, as if nothing has happened.

“Good morning, Miss Conner,” Rita replies warily. Best we get down to business quickly.

“You were late today Miss Conner. I am afraid that will be one demerit.”

“I understand completely Sister Carmela, you are absolutely correct. Rules are rules. I was late, regardless of the reasons, I deserve the demerit. I hope that it is the last one I ever receive.”

No arguing, no complaining about the unfairness of it all, no extenuating circumstances, just acceptance. Rita looks as surprised as I am.

“Ahh, yes, unfortunately there could be some additional demerits. Your skirt is not in compliance with our uniform rules, nor is your blouse.”

“I will admit that they look different from what the other girls wear, but I’m pretty sure that they meet all the rules posted online. In fact, the skirt is one quarter inch longer than required and my top button is one half inch higher.”

“Those pleats are not in the rules.”

“They are neither required nor prohibited. The rules are silent about them. It doesn’t mention petticoats either.” She stands up and moves away from the chair. “That’s why the skirt is fuller and just a little bouncy. It’s not a full petticoat, like a square dancer might wear, it’s more a demi-petticoat, but I think it works nicely.” She does a quick spin, the skirt moving with her. If any of the other girls had tried that, her skirt would likely have pulled at her legs.

“It’s lovely, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, Sister?”

“It’s different from everybody else.”

“I simply followed the rules, Sister. Whoever wrote them seemed to be more concerned about short hemlines, low waists, cleavage and butt cracks. There’s a whole lot you can do within those rules to make the uniform more stylish, more attractive. I just took advantage of that space. I’ve got seven different skirts and five different blouses. There’s this pencil skirt I can’t wait to wear!”

Seven different skirts! The other girls will riot! Their parents will go ballistic! “Patricia, we can not permit you to wear these clothes, even if they do comply with our uniform guidelines. If necessary, the school can purchase some for you, given your financial circumstances but …”

“No, Sister Carmela.”

“No?!”

“That’s right. I’ve followed your rules, to the letter. I told you that I’m a stickler for the rules. If you wish to change those rules, you can, but I have done nothing wrong and you can not punish me for behavior that is clearly within the rules.”

“What about jumping the fence with that motorcycle of yours? Certainly that violated the schools rules!”

She sits back down next to Sister Rita, her arms crossed. “Which ones?”

“What?”

“Which rule or rules did I violate? I’ve read them all very closely before coming in today and I couldn’t find a single one that applied, not even if you stretched it. I’ll admit, it would have taken a person with a very good imagination to even consider the possibility of this happening, but that’s the nature of rules. The people who write them rarely think out of the box.”

“How about creating a disturbance among the students?”

“They seemed pretty quiet to me when I was in the parking lot.”

“Disrupting classes?”

“Classes didn’t begin for another three minutes.”

“Property damage?” I was reaching and they both knew it.

“If I had hit the fence, maybe. But I cleared it.”

I look over at Rita. “Sister Rita, you’re Dean of Students, tell her which rules she violated.”

“Ahhh … Sister … perhaps … it’s very likely … you see …”

“What are you saying, Sister Rita?” I’m afraid I don’t want to hear this.

“It seems Miss Conner is correct … about everything. You have spent a number of years developing the reputation of a strict disciplinarian, fairly and impartially enforcing the rules of St. Ann’s. Miss Conner seems to have discovered a number of gaps or loop holes in our rules. To punish her would seem to be … hypocritical.”

“To say the least,” added Connor, still smiling.

“We cannot permit the uniform requirement to become … emasculated. We have fought every fashion trend for the last ten years. To loosen the requirements now invites chaos!”

“I know that I’ve created some problems here but I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have a solution too.”

“And what is that, Miss Conner?”

“Let anybody do what I did, alter the uniforms themselves, no hired guns, each girl does it by themselves.”

“How do we make sure no one cheats?” I can think of three very likely candidates.

“Set up a room here at school, buy a couple of used sewing machines for less than a hundred bucks. Heck, you could oversee it, you said you knew how to sew. Any girl who wants to try it learns a new skill. I think that you’ll get very few takers, but if you do, so much the better, you end up with more well rounded and educated students. They can work during the lunch hour.”

“What about you, you did your work at home, how do I know that you did not have help?”

“You don’t trust me, Sister?”

“I may, others may not.”

“I have logs, photos and videos, but I’ll tell you what … you set up the room and I’ll help one other girl … just to prove I can do it.”

“Which girl?”

“I don’t know, I’ll find a volunteer.”

“The whole concept does sound interesting, it would certainly silence most protests, giving each girl the opportunity to do the same, make alterations within the existing rules, however there could be problems.”

“Sister Carmela,” Conner said, a touch of exasperation in her voice. “You let me enroll in St. Ann’s because I was qualified … but be honest, you had some other reasons too. You want me to do something for you. You weren’t exactly specific and I didn’t ask for details, plausible deniability and all, but for this to work, I have to be a target. The clothes and entrance should take care of that, don’t you think?”

“I would say that you are now or soon will be, one of the best known students in the entire school.”

“So, mission accomplished.” She stood up, smoothing her dress as she did. “You can do what you want about your uniform rule, but my sewing room idea is your best bet. The girls who might be able to make their own clothes are not your trouble makers; it’s the ones who would consider it beneath them that are. I have to run, already late for Calculus, don’t want to fall behind this early in the semester.”

With that, she grabbed her book bag from off the floor and hurried from the office, leaving us staring in her wake.

“Sister Carmela?”

“Yes, Sister Rita?”

“That little girl planned all of this, the motorcycle, jumping over the fence, that skirt, this meeting … all of it.”

“Yes … she did.”

“We have been played by a sixteen year old girl, haven’t we?”

“Played up down left and right, Sister.” I plop back down in my chair. “Let us hope that, in the future, she uses her powers for good instead of evil.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Most of the girls didn’t know what to make of me the first day, though they all watched me wherever I went. A couple of the braver ones said “Hi” and quickly moved on down the hall, like they didn’t want to be caught in the blast should I spontaneously combust. Most of the rest just watched me … including Gretchen Hobbes. She was one girl who was hard to miss.

Six foot plus tall, hard to say for sure exactly, she walked slumped over, like she was trying to make herself smaller, less noticed. Her mother had been a tall model, with that cool, confident Nordic look, blue eyes and blonde hair. Unfortunately for her and Gretchen, mom was a party girl who never grew up. Gretchen has the same height but is more that smoldering latin look, darker skin, brown-black eyes, full dark black hair, nice eyebrows, bright white teeth, which you only see when she eats because she doesn’t smile … at anything. A slim figure. A pencil skirt would look really good on her. On me, it’s more of a bad joke. I just can’t be sophisticated, I’m too darn cute!

Gretchen clearly doesn’t know how good she could look. Even with the schools’ puritanical rules, she could at least do something with her hair, get it out of her face. She could stand up, be confident. She’s so shy and withdrawn, my original plan doesn’t seem likely to succeed. It’s unlikely that she’ll approach me, so I’ll need to find some reason to make contact with her.

I find a place to sit at lunch, a smaller table off to the side of the cafeteria that’s empty. I want to see how the crowd circulates, figure out who’s what. I just start to eat my soup when another girl comes up.

“Hi Patricia, can I sit here with you?”

I look up and recognize her. “Sure Terri, sit down.”

“Thanks.” She drops down into the seat opposite of me, opens her milk carton, takes a sip, then leans across the table towards me. “Are you crazy?” she whispers.

“I don’t know why you keep asking me that.”

“Because you keep doing stuff only a crazy person would do!”

“You mean jumping the fence.”

“No, that was freaking cool and all, super freaking cool really. I mean that skirt and blouse. I’d already warned you about Carmela and then you go and do something like that! How many demerits did you get?”

“One … for being late.”

“ONE! Only one?! How the hell did you only get one?”

“We had a nice talk about my skirt and I pointed out that the rules didn’t prohibit what I had done. It took a while but she and Sister Rita eventually agreed with me.”

“She brought Rita in too? And you only got one demerit?”

“Like I said, they agreed that my clothes were not prohibited by the rules.”

“So they’re gonna change those uniform rules?”

“Maybe more like amend them slightly.”

”And we can wear stuff like you’re wearing?”

“It probably won’t be as easy as that. But yeah, you could wear a skirt like this.”

“Freaking Awesome! Where’d you buy them?”

“I didn’t buy them, I made them.”

“Really? Like with needles and thread and cloth, that kinda thing?”

“Exactly like that kinda thing.”

“So … any of us can just go buy something like you’re wearing and we’re safe?”

“I’d wait and see what Sister Carmela says before doing anything. It should only be a couple of days before the pressure causes them to do something. So … who’s the big dog around here?”

“I told you, Sister Carmela.”

“I meant of the students, who runs things?”

She leans in closer. “That’d be Caitlin McBride. She’s got all these people who do what she tells them to do.”

“And why do they do that?”

“Cause she’s a big bitch, that’s why.”

“If she’s such a big bitch, why do they follow her?”

“Because they just do. She’s little Miss Popular and if you don’t want to be pushed around or ignored by everybody, you do what she says.”

“So they actually get physical, beat some one up?”

“Yeah, sometimes, but it’s not like that exactly. They might push you around but I’ve never seen an actual fight, not at school at least. Sometimes, a girl might come to school with bruises but nobody talks about it.”

“So … you think she might come after me?”

“If you piss her off enough, sure … OHHHH! WAIT! She probably doesn’t know about you. OMG! If she tried that, you’d … that would be sooo cool! God! If someone would just put her in her place, stand up to her.”

“So, the other girls don’t actually like her?”

“NO!” She leaned in even closer. “We hate her!” she whispered. “She’s only got like four or five real friends, the rest of them just hang around because she’s like the queen bee.”

“Thanks Terri. That’s good to know.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

By the time I get home from work, Patricia already has dinner started. She’s quite the little cook. I picked up a few cookbooks at the library, she read them overnight and now she’s got them down pat. There were a couple of less than great meals because the books weren’t exactly specific about certain techniques but she figured it out very quickly. She doesn’t mind doing it, says it’s relaxing, at least most of the time. I still do most of the shopping and the dishes after the meal, but she is generally in charge of supper and weekend meals. I still fix some of my favorites from time to time though, to give her a break or when she’s busy with something else. I think she’s cooking a pork roast, there was a good sale on boneless pork loins last week and I bought several.

I’ve been nervous all day, expecting a call from St. Ann’s about my renegade daughter, but it never came. I stick my head into the kitchen.

“So … how was your first day?”

Her back is too me, stirring gravy in a pan on the stove, still dressed in her school uniform, which is surprising. I thought she would change back to her usual T-shirt and shorts as soon as she got home.

“Just great Mom, just great.”

“Any problems at all?”

“Gretchen Hobbes is going to be tougher than I thought she might be, but I’ve got a couple of ideas that should work, though it might take longer than we originally planned.”

“Daniel won’t be happy to hear that.”

“Daniel Lipscomb can go … can drop dead if he doesn’t like it.”

“Patricia!”

“I know … there’s just something about him that makes me … I can’t put my finger on it but the more I see him, the less I trust him. It’s just my gut telling me something isn’t right.”

“Have you seen him do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, nothing. I know it isn’t logical. I just feel on edge around him.”

“Is it … sexual?”

“PLEASE GOD NO! Why do you always jump on that? I wouldn’t … do anything with him, ever, not even at gun point.”

“He is reasonably good looking.”

“Not at gunpoint, Mother.”

“So you’re sure?” She just looks at me and rolls her eyes. She’s sure. “Then what is it?”

“I told you, I don’t know, it’s just my gut.”

“He’ll want a report about today; we’ve all been working towards this day Patricia.”

“You, I and Dr. Matthews have been working towards this day. Lipscomb has been sitting on his ass.”

“That’s not fair, Daniel has done his part. Most of his job starts once we get him the evidence he needs to put Hobbes away.”

“Then you call him and tell him it’s all going according to plan. If I have to talk with him, I will, but not on an empty stomach. Sit down, dinners ready.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“So, Gretchen, how was your first day back at St. Ann’s?”

Father always insists we eat meals together, he thinks that it makes us more of a family, even though he spends most of the meal reading papers of some kind, just like tonight.

As if!

It doesn’t matter what I want, it’s the same routine every day, unless he’s not out of town on “business”, then I eat by myself in my room. At least then I can watch TV while I eat.

“Gretchen, I asked you a question.”

“It was fine, Father.” Just like all the other days at school, everybody staring at the big, clumsy geek.

“Nothing interesting happen?”

“No, nothing …” Does he really care? Is he even listening? Does he really want to know what is happening to me?

“Actually, something did happen before school started. A girl showed up riding a motorcycle but she got to the gate just after they locked it, so she couldn’t get in. She didn‘t let that stop her though, she drove all the way down to the softball field, turned around and drove really fast back to the gate. When she hit one of the hills in the sidewalk, she jumped the entire motorcycle high into the air, then did some kind of twisting thing so that the motorcycle landed on the other side of the fence. She must have been thirty feet in the air! Then she walks into school and she’s not wearing the same uniform as the rest of us … though it was kinda like the regular uniform. It was the same color and everything but hers actually fit her, like regular clothes. What was really strange was they didn’t send her home to change, which is what they usually do. She’s in two of my classes, French and Physics. She seems nice, smiles at everybody and says ‘Hello’, though she’s really really short! I heard someone say that she’s one of the scholarship girls, so she’s poor, but she seems friendly.”

He doesn’t even look up. “That certainly sounds interesting.”

Why does he bother to ask when he doesn’t care what I say? I don’t know why I even try.

I wonder what that other girl’s life is like. Going where ever she wants on that motorcycle, totally free, even locked gates can’t stop her. She dresses different from everybody else and gets away with it. How does she do that? She’s not rich or famous or anything. No one else ever got away with wearing something different at St. Ann’s. What makes her so special?

“Are any of your classes going to be difficult?”

UUgggghhhhh!

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It took almost two weeks, but eventually they announced a change to the uniform rules. I kept wearing my altered uniforms, changing skirts and blouses enough that there was something new everyday. That alone kept me in the eyes of the girls. Some were really interested in how I had done what I’d done. I might have been wrong about how many girls would actually participate in a sewing program. Others were clearly upset, make that jealous. Particularly the girls that Terri had pointed out to me. They didn’t say anything to me but they never responded when I said “Hello” or “Hi”.

Sister Carmela took my suggestion and let the girls alter their own uniforms at school … within the existing rules. Apparently one of the parents donated some equipment. I imagine there were a lot of complaints from the parents, they’re probably more competitive than their kids. To Sister Carmelas’ credit, I didn’t hear anymore from her about it. She didn’t try to force me back into the standard uniform, which would have been the easy way out. That tells me she’s at least temporarily on board with what I’m doing.

So far, the classes have been easy. We decided to keep my Balancer set on Blue Five. That setting gives me ready access to all the knowledge originally added by Dr. Matthews and Mom, plus all the stuff I’ve added on my own but it’s still far enough in the blue that I don’t have to fight for control of my body. For some reason, Dr. Matthews thought it should be even higher. He’s never had an opinion about the settings in the past. He just had an academic interest about how I functioned at different settings. He also suggested I spend all weekend at Blue Fifty, which was fine by me. Unfortunately, nothing seems to stop the bad dreams.

They all still revolve around my years as an undercover cop. If the reason for that is my disturbed memories after the transfer, that should have settled down months ago. Free floating memories don’t happen in anything else I do. They’re as bad as ever, but I’ve mostly adapted. Occasionally I wake up shouting, but that only happens once or twice a week now.

Other than that, things are going well. I still haven’t had a chance to make contact with Gretchen Hobbes. She hasn’t said anything to me yet, though she’s been in the group of girls who’ve asked how I altered my uniform but she didn’t ask any questions herself. She doesn’t seem to have any friends at all. Eats lunch by herself, sits alone in the library, and doesn’t hang with anyone. I asked Terri about her and she said that she’s that drug dealers’ daughter. Apparently, everyone is familiar with her background and nobody wants to be associated with her. I’ve wondered how she got into St. Ann’s in the first place … probably the same way I did. A lot of people likely are under Ray Hobbes’ control, including those who look reputable on the surface. I think that Sister Carmela would have told him off if he came to her directly. She’s a realist but you won’t get far trying to threaten or bully her directly. I respect that.

Mom tells me that Lipscomb is getting anxious for some progress, and he’s right. I need to find an opportunity to connect with Gretchen.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The Teachers’ Lounge is usually an island of calm in a sea of activity. To call our facility a lounge is pushing the definition of the word. It’s only a fairly nondescript room with a few comfortable chairs, a long table, a microwave, refrigerator and television. Teachers can eat lunch here if they don’t have cafeteria duty that day. I try to spend some time here regularly to make sure that the students are behaving. I’d rather not wait for the behavior to deteriorate to the point the teacher sends a girl to my office, I’d rather know about it early and head the problem off now.

Today, only Francis Truax and Sarah Connelly are in the Lounge. They are our French and Science teachers.

“Good afternoon, Francis, Sarah.”

“Afternoon, Sister Rita” answered Francis. I’d caught Sarah chewing on a bite from her sandwich, so she just nodded my direction.

“Have the students settled into regular routines yet?”

“Most of mine have” answered Francis. “My first quiz is next week.”

“Any trouble from the uniform bruha?”

“Not at all! Patricia Conner is probably my best student. Without tests, I can’t say for certain, some students freak out when tested, but she’s always prepared, never misses a homework assignment and can be relied on for the right answer, though she’s not one of those pushy know-it-alls, waiving her hand in your face before you even get the question out of your mouth.”

“How does she get along with the other students?”

“The other students or the Three Headed Gorgon?”

“Let’s keep that nickname to ourselves, Francis.”

“McClairuff aren’t taking French this semester, thank God. The rest of the girls don’t know what to make of Conner. She’s generally friendly but I think they’re too intimidated to respond. I think McBride and her cohorts have put the kibosh on her.”

“I see. What about you Sarah? Any troubles brewing?”

“With Patricia Conner? None at all. In fact, she helped me today explain a complex astrophysics concept to the class.”

“How did she do that?”

“I try to integrate current events into my class when ever possible, to keep it topical. There was a recent article in the newspaper about the discovery of planets more than 50 million light years from earth. I was trying to explain how the scientists were able to determine their existence by observing the slight wobbles in the orbit of the neighboring sun. The girls weren’t getting it until Patricia had Gretchen Hobbes come up and help with a demonstration. Gretchen was very reluctant, but Patricia managed to convince her.”

“What kind of demonstration?”

“Patricia first had Gretchen spin in place, her arms extended straight out from her shoulders. Then they faced each other, held hands and she spun around Gretchen. Then they did the same thing again but Patricia told everyone to imagine that she was invisible, to concentrate on Gretchen’s movements. The entire class got it immediately. It was such a simple demonstration that clearly illustrated the concept. It was so elegant! I wish I could claim credit, but she came up with it all by herself.”

“Why Gretchen Hobbes?”

“Simple, Gretchen is the tallest girl and Patricia …”

“Is the shortest, now I understand. How does she get along with the other students?”

“Just as Francis said, Patricia is friendly but most of the other girls are not responsive. They aren’t hostile, just neutral. Something needs to be done about McClairuff, and soon.”

“I would really appreciate it that McBride, Sinclair and Woodruff not be referred to as McClairuff.”

“Some of the students already do,” said Francis.

“Then let’s not encourage them by joining in.”

“Fine, but is Sister Carmela finally going to do something about them?”

“She’s working on it, trust me.”

“I hope you’re right, Sister Rita,” said Sarah. “Patricia Conner must be having a very hard time, being shunned the way she is.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I could smell the fried rice as soon as I entered the house. Patricia had found the recipe in a Minute Rice ad and made a few changes. It was quick, simple and delicious! I really must have her write some of these down before we are finished. I wonder which part of the brain will retain that information when Peter Harris separates and returns to his body.

When I enter the kitchen, she is stirring something in the electric wok on the kitchen counter, her back to me. I don’t say anything right away, just watch her. There are a number of small bowls of vegetables arranged on the counter next to her. She picks one up with her left hand, empties it in the wok and continues stirring with her right. She then wipes her eyes with her left hand.

Is she crying?

“Patricia?” She quickly turns her head my way, eyes red and bright with tears. “Is there a problem, honey?”

“No, no … I’m fine. It’s just … the onions.” She wipes her eyes again, picks up the bowl with the onions and adds the contents to the wok, stirring vigorously. “I’m fine. You just surprised me. You’re home early.” She sniffs, then forces a smile.

“I have to go in early tomorrow so they gave me some comp time today. Can I help?”

“I’m almost done, just have to add the broccoli and the shrimp, it’ll be another seven or eight minutes. You can set the table.”

“Bowls or plates?”

“Plates.”

“Okay. I’ll just go wash my hands and be right back.” I walk out of the kitchen but stop just as soon as I leave the kitchen and hide, my back against the wall. I’m sure that she was crying about something. She’s never cried when working with onions before. I peek back into the kitchen. She’s dabbing her eyes with a paper napkin, then blows her nose. I could be the onions … but I doubt it.

I hurry to the bathroom, wash and dry my hands and rush back to the kitchen, slowing as I cross the threshold. Removing the plates from the cabinet, I begin to set the table.

We both work in silence for a few minutes before I speak up.

“Any progress at school today?”

“Yeah, I may have an opening.”

“Really, that’s wonderful! How did you do it?”

“Don’t get too excited. I just made contact, it may not lead to anything.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it work, I have absolute confidence in you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” She unplugs the wok and brings it to the table, setting it in the middle as I distribute the napkins, then we both sit down.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s nothing, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Too late now. You know that you have to tell me, that’s our deal.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about, Patricia?”

“I shouldn’t care what any of them think … but I do. I sure as heck didn’t before, but now I do.”

“Care what who thinks?”

“The other girls. There’s no reason in the world that I should worry about what a bunch of teenage girls thinks about me. This is just a job, when it’s done, I’m out of here, leaving this all behind. So why do I find it so hard to stop myself from doing things to make them like me?”

“The other girls don’t like you?”

“Of course they don’t! I show up dressed differently, knowing all the answers in class, upsetting the social structure. The prima donnas warn everybody else to give me the silent treatment, who’s going to be my friend?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, of course I did! Everything is going fine … so why do I so desperately want to abandon the whole plan and conform? Explain that to me.”

“Well, it’s only natural to want to fit in, whoever or wherever you are. Even I …”

“No, it’s not natural for me. I don’t give a darn … jeez, I can’t even curse anymore. Peter Harris didn’t care what other people thought, that’s why I was so good at what I did. I understood what they thought and why, but I didn’t care. Now, every time I try to be nice to someone and they ignore me, it hurts. Way down deep, it hurts. It’s that gosh darn programming that you and Dr. Matthews did, to try to make me behave like one of them. It’s changing me!”

“Maybe it’s just ahhh … personal growth?”

“It’s not personal growth! I’m sixty, the only personal growth I experience is gaining weight, which by the way, I gained two pounds and feel like a blimp, another one of your additions to my psyche, thank you very much.”

“Don’t blame us for this! We were just doing what we thought was right. You had to know what it was like if you were going to pass as a girl.”

“Knowing intellectually is one thing, but now I’ve got the whole package of feelings, including insecurity and declining self-confidence.”

“Maybe if we changed the settings?”

“It doesn’t help much. It’s worse in the Pink numbers but still there in the Blue.”

“Even Blue Fifty?”

“No, but I can still feel the old pain, I just don’t create any new pain.”

“You seem to be handling it well.”

“For now. Sometimes though, it all builds up and I just have to … well, you saw me today.”

“Cry?”

“Yeah.”

I reach out and take her left hand in mine. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll do fine. I still have absolute confidence in you.”

She looks at me, a smile on her face. “Thanks, that’s nice to hear now and then.”

“I’ll tell you as often as you need to hear it. Remember, this is only temporary. Soon, you’ll be back to your old grumpy self.”

Her smile disappears. “Yeah, my old self. We better finish this before it gets cold.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Another day, another lunch in the cafeteria by myself. I have barely started eating when I hear a voice behind me.

“Can I sit here?”

I turn my head to look … it’s her! “Su..su..sure, sit down.”

“Thanks!”

She sits right next to me, like it’s no big deal.

“Hi! You’re Gretchen, right? I’m Patricia, Patricia Conner.”

“H..h..hello, I’m Gretchen … Hobbes.”

“Nice to meet you Gretchen. Thanks for helping out in Physics last week. I know that it was probably embarrassing and all, but you were just perfect for that demonstration. You did it so well too!”

“Thanks.”

“Ms. Connelly told me later that she was really impressed with it.”

“She told me the same. I told her it wasn’t my idea.”

“She told me that she wanted to use it in the future, maybe even tell other physics teachers about it. She asked me if that was okay. I said it was. You don’t mind, do you?”

“As long as I don’t have to do it again.”

“But you were perfect! No one else could have done it as well. You just stood there, rock steady, spinning like a top. We should copyright it. The Hobbes-Conner remote planetary detection demonstration.”

“No! You thought of it, you can have it!”

“I was just joking about the copyright thing. We couldn’t make any money off it anyway. There is one thing you could help me with though.”

“What’s that?”

“You probably know about the change in the uniform rules, right?”

I snort. “Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s big news or something.”

“No one had ever gotten away with what you did … ever.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten away with anything yet. I promised Sister Carmela that, if she changed the rule, I’d help someone else make changes to their uniform, to prove I did mine on my own. I’d like to help you change yours, if you don’t mind. You’d really be helping me out. If I can’t find someone to volunteer, then I have to go back to a regular uniform and I’m not even sure they make them in my size.”

“I don’t know. I already get more attention than I want.”

“Sure, I understand. It’s just … I know that I can make something that’ll look really good on you. There’s this pencil skirt I did for me but it’s just wrong for my … shape, but on you, it’d be great! I could do a criss-cross lacing in the front panel, really classy.”

It sounds tempting, but … “I’m still not sure. Why me?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful girl in school. Duh?”

“I’m what?!”

“The most beautiful girl in school. What do you say? None of it’s permanent. You don’t like the results, you can always wear a regular uniform. It would really help me out, Gretchen.”

She thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in school? Is she crazy?! She looks sincere. I don’t think she’s joking. It’s been a long time since anybody has actually tried to be friendly towards me. What have I got to lose?

“Okay. I’ll help.”

“Great! Wonderful! You won’t regret this! We can start tomorrow. Bring a spare uniform when you come to school. I checked out their equipment and it’s pretty good. I’d prefer to use mine, but rules are rules.” She hops up out of her seat. “Thanks a lot Gretchen, you’re a lifesaver. See you in French.” She waves her hand and hurries off.

What have I gotten myself into?

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I peak around the door of the room where Patricia told me to meet her. I don’t see anybody in there, just a couple of sewing machines, a big table and a full length mirror. Slowly stepping into the room, I look around. Nothing. It was all probably a joke. And I fell for it. Yeah … most beautiful girl in school. What an idiot!

“Hey Gretchen!”

I jump when I hear her behind me, dropping the bag holding my extra uniform. “H..h..hii Patricia.”

She quickly walks over to the table and throws her bag on the top. “We don’t have much time today. I thought we could take some measurements, I could show you my sketches and we could work on a schedule. Can you stay late after school some days? Like for an hour?”

“No. My Father wants me home right away. The car is always waiting right as school lets out.”

“A chauffeured car huh? Must be nice.”

“I think your motorcycle is … nice.”

“It’s okay. I got a good deal but the maintenance is a pain in the butt. The carb is always giving me trouble.”

“You fix it yourself?”

“Sure. You ride an old bike, you better know how to fix it.” She opens her bag and pulls out a handful of folded papers, opening them and spreading them out on the table. “A bike can be a lot of fun … until it rains. I keep a rain suit stashed under the seat but I still get wet. Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”

I walk around to her side of the table and look down at one of the papers. It looks like a charcoal sketch of an attractive, thin, tall girl with full, luxuriant hair, posed sexily, wearing a tight, long skirt and a tailored shirt with wide collars. The other papers are more sketches of the same girl from different angles in different fashion poses.

“Where’d you get these?”

“I drew them last night, to give you an idea what I had in mind.”

“They’re really good! Who’s the girl?”

“You, of course.”

“I don’t look like that.”

“You could though. You are beautiful.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Cause it’s true. Here,” she reaches out, takes my hand and turns me towards the mirror “stand up straight. Come on, really straight, shoulders back, chest forward, head up.”

At school, I always try to be shorter than I am, to avoid attention. Now, I plant both feet and stand tall, stretching my neck.

“There you go, that’s the way!” she says. “Now look in the mirror.”

I don’t see anything that I don’t see every morning. “Sorry, I don’t see it.”

“That’s cause you’re not looking close enough. Your cheek bones, they are classic. Your chin, eyes, nose, darn near perfect, particularly those eyes. Great shape, wonderful spacing. Lashes that most girls would kill for. Don’t think of it as your face, think of it as someone else’s face.”

I look back at the mirror. She’s got to be kidding me. I’ve seen pictures of models, mostly friends of my mother, and I don’t look anything … my eye lashes are pretty full and long though. Turning my head to the right, I can see why she says my nose is good … my chin too. I’d never even considered the possibility that I might be … pretty. I’d grown over a foot in the last couple of years and have been an uncoordinated geek. Maybe …

“My mom was a model.”

“That explains it. Do you look like her?”

“Not really. She was blonde and blue eyed, Swedish. I’ve got dark hair and brown eyes.”

“Your mom was blonde?”

“Yeah, she died when I was little.”

“Way harsh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you have a step-mother?”

“No, Father never remarried, had a lot of girlfriends though.”

“Live in?”

“Sometimes.”

“Any of them nice?”

“Not really.”

“That sucks. My mom never remarried but hasn’t dated either.”

“Your father died?”

“Yes, an auto accident three years ago.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. It hasn’t been easy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I know. Only having one parent sucks.”

“At least you’ve got a mother.”

“Dad’s are important too.”

“I’d rather have a mother.”

“Well … I’m just glad I’ve got my mom. Enough of this sad stuff, what do you think of the design?”

“It’s wonderful! Can you do that? Make one of these ugly uniforms into that?”

“It’s not simple, but yeah, I can do it … or I should say we can do it, that’s my deal with Sister Carmela. Step up on this folding chair and I’ll take some measurements.”

She opens up a folding chair that had been leaning up against the table. It looks a little rickety.

“Is that safe?”

“Sure. Just step up and don’t wiggle around. You can hold onto my shoulder if you want.”

She’s so short, I’d have to hold onto her head. “No thanks, I’ll be careful.” I put my left foot in the middle of the seat, lean forward and step up with my right. The chair wobbles slightly but I carefully stand up.

“Good,” she says. “Just stand still and I’ll be quick.”
She runs a measuring tape around my waist, then around my hips, my thighs and finally down both legs to my knees. “I’m done, you can hop down.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just step down.”

“I’ll hold the chair.”

“Thanks.”

I squat down, step off with my left foot and then immediately follow with my right.

“We need to come up with something better than that.”

“You’re right, I’ll find or make something. We only need a big wooden box. I need to take some measurements for the blouse.”

She takes several measurements at different levels around my chest and breasts, sleeves and neck. “That’s it. I’ll take your extra uniform home with me and see if we need extra fabric to finish the job. I’ll also mark the skirt and blouse for cutting, I don’t think that violates the new rules.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“Maybe a week, assuming we work after lunch every day and there’s no competition for time with the machines.”

No one else has come in since we got here. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“You’re probably right, though that may change after the girls get a look at you. One of us is a curiosity, two is a trend.”

“Don’t hold your breath, there’s only one trend setter in this school, Caitlin McBride.”

“Haven’t met her yet.”

“You’re better off if you don’t.”

“We’ll see. Guess we’re done for today. Can you meet again tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. This was … fun.”

She smiled at me; she’s got a really nice smile. “It was fun for me too Gretchen, and we didn’t actually do very much. We’ll get down to business next time.” She picked up her bag and my extra uniform, then handed me her sketches. “You can keep these, I’ve got more at home.”

“Thanks.”

“See you in French, Gretchen. Good luck on the quiz.”

“Thanks Patricia, you too.”

She hurried out of the room. She always seems to be in a hurry, headed to the next thing. I look again at the sketches in my hands. They are very professionally done. Wonder what else she can do.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“PATRICIA, I’M HOME.”

“I’M UPSTAIRS MOM.”

I go upstairs but Patricia isn’t in her room. I look in her sewing room, she’s there, working on another uniform, though it looks larger than one of hers.

“Is that one of yours, Patricia?”

“No, it’s Gretchen Hobbes’.”

“That’s great news! You’ve made a connection! Are you going to be able to make friends with her?”

“I think I already have.”

“Oh Patricia! That’s just … just …” I start to tear up. After all these years, we are almost there, almost ready to take down Raymond Hobbes.

“She’s a nice girl, Mom.”

“What?”

“She’s a nice girl, doesn’t have any friends.”

“That’s hardly surprising. Who would want their daughter to be friends with the child of a crime czar?”

“No one … unless you’re a lawyer, of course. I’m just saying this girl is desperate, it’s like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“So much the better for us. What is the next step?”

She sighs. “Keep growing the relationship.”

“How long do you think it will take you to get inside?”

“I can’t say. First thing I’ll need to do is find a good reason to be there. I don’t think simple friendship will be good enough. We’ll have to see.”

“You’ll think of something. You have no idea how happy you’ve made me Patricia. I can’t wait to tell Daniel.”

“I think we’ll need to start using the dead drop system for future reports. Once I get close to Gretchen, anything could happen. Hobbes’ paranoia might kick in and we could end up being investigated by his people before we’re ready. We can’t afford to be linked to a Federal Prosecutor.”

“I understand, you’re right. I’ll contact Thomas and implement it right away. Anything else?”

“Yes. Now is when this gets dangerous. We’ve just been getting ready up till today. From here until we’re done, we must be extremely careful. Remember what I told you about where to go if the stuff hits the fan.”

“I remember and I’ll be extra cautious, but I’m sure we will win in the end.”

“The good guys don’t win just because they’re the good guys. Good guys get killed every day, so do good girls … and nice, innocent daughters.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Finally, progress! Thomas called me today with the news. Patricia has made successful contact with Gretchen Hobbes. Not only contact, but quite likely a friendly relationship. Patricia is confident enough to implement our secure communication procedure. Using dead drops is much more cumbersome than phone calls or email but we cannot take any chances now. We should make a few practice runs before there is any real information to transfer.

Walter Tyson has been true to his word. Once he authorized this operation, he has not bothered me at all, not once asked about progress. We’ve been alone a few times and I could tell that he was resisting the urge to ask me, but he did resist. He’s likely satisfied that I’ve stopped bothering him for higher profile assignments. It took me a while to realize that this is the best way for me to achieve the power and status that I deserve. There will be collateral damage, but that can’t be avoided. Best not count the chickens before the eggs hatch though, we are a long way from the ultimate goal. However, progress is nice to see.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

“How you doing on that seam Gretch?”

“Uhh … fine … I think. Why don’t you do it?”

“Because I promised Carmela I’d help someone else learn, not do it for you.” She stands behind me and looks over my shoulder. “That’s great! With a little practice, you could do one of these by yourself. You should get your dad to buy you a nice sewing machine.”

“He’s got no idea I’m doing this. He’d say that sewing is for peasants.”

“Should I be insulted?”

“NO! I wouldn’t say that! I think you’re great! Wonderful! My Father would say something like that, not me!”

“Weeeellll, I guess you’re forgiven. Stand up and try this on.”

Patty’s hung a couple of sheets from the ceiling, making a kind of changing room. I was nervous trying things on in the room, anybody could walk in. Patty pointed out it was a girls’ school but I was still uncomfortable. I’ve never gotten used to showers after gym, though Patty said it’s one of her favorite times of the week. She doesn’t strike me as a clean freak.

“Be careful. It’s almost finished.”

I take the new blouse behind the sheet, take off my old blouse and carefully slip my arms through the sleeves of the new one and button up the front. The seams down both sides are still open, so the blouse is more like a mini poncho than a shirt. I step back into the room and see Patty has her pin cushion wrist band on. She notices the fear in my eyes.

“Take it easy, I’ll be careful.”

“That’s what you said when you did the skirt. My butt still hurts.”

“It was an accident and the pin didn’t go in more than a quarter inch. You really are a big baby, you know that?”

“And you’re a vicious little troll.”

“Touché. Step over here, the light’s better. Good. Now just stand normally, don’t be tense.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You want this to fit right, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then relax. I’ll pin both seams, then sew it up and we’ll be finished.”

“Shouldn’t I do them?”

“No, they’ll be tricky. We want the blouse to be fitted but not too tight. You’ll have to watch your weight as it is. You could gain ten pounds with the old uniform and no one would notice. Now, a couple of pounds will be obvious.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“I didn’t say you were, I said that you wouldn’t want to get fat.”

“Who’d care if I did?”

“I’d care. I can’t be seen hanging around a fat girlfriend … it’s bad for my reputation.”

“You’ve already got a bad reputation.”

“That’s why you like me, isn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

“Patricia Conner, bad girl of St. Ann’s. The Motorcycle Momma. The Furious Fashionista. The Suspicious Scholar. The Seamy Seamstress. The …”

I start giggling. “SHUT UP! If you don’t stop, I can’t stay still and then you’ll blame me when you stick me … again.”

“Boy! One little mistake and you’re marked for life.” She reaches up and pulls the seam together on the left side. “Exhale, unless you plan on holding your breath every time you wear this.”

I exhale and relax. Patty pinches and pins, working her way down the seams, switching sides every few pins, until she reaches the hem that I sewed all by myself.

“There, done. Carefully take it off and I’ll finish it. We’ve got about ten minutes left before French. I forgot to ask, how’d you do on the last quiz?”

“Terrible! I have twice as much trouble with French as I have with everything else combined. I just don’t get it! I wanted to take Spanish but Father insisted on French. That’s what he took in school and so that’s what I have to take.”

“Does he help you at home?”

“Are you kidding? I might as well be an orphan.”

“What if I told you that there was a way to get a perfect score on every French test and you don’t even have to know a single word of French?”

“WHAT?!”

“Guaranteed.”

“You mean …” I look around to make sure no one can hear us “… cheating?”

“No cheating, just simple logic.”

“Okay, what’s the trick?”

“This has to stay between you and me. If you tell a bunch of other people, the secret gets out and ruins it for you. You also don’t want to get a perfect score. If you’re not that good a student, she may figure something’s up.”

“If I can’t get a hundred, what’s the use?”

“A middle ‘A’ will help your grade a lot. You’ll still have to do the homework but the tests are three quarters of the grade. A solid ‘A’ for seventy five percent of your total grade isn’t bad. Do we have a deal?”

“Sure, what’s the secret?”

“The tests are multiple choice and Truax is lazy. For each question, there are five answers … one right and four wrong.”

“Big whoop.”

She smiles that brilliant smile of hers. It actually makes me a little weak in the knees. “It is a big whoop. Because she’s lazy, she changes only one word in the right answer to make a wrong answer instead of writing a completely different wrong answer. She changes four different words to make four very similar wrong answers and one right answer.”

“So?”

“That means, the one answer with the most in common with the other answers is always right. You don’t have to know the first thing about French.”

“What?”

“Let me show you.”

She takes a pen and paper from her bag and starts writing. After a few seconds, she hands the paper to me.

“Tell me, which one is the right answer; a, b, c, d or e?”

The paper just has a series of numbers.

a. 1495
b. 1265
c. 1295
d. 7295
e. 1298

“What’s the question?”

“I doesn’t matter, the correct answer is the one with the most in common with the other four.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Just look at the answers. What’s the most common number in the first column?”

“Uhhh, one?”

“Right! The second column?

“Two.”

“The third?”

“Nine.”

“And the …”

“Five!”

“So the correct answer is?”

“C, 1295!”

“That’s right. You compare the first word in each answer and the word that shows up most frequently is the first word of the correct answer. You do the same with the second, third, fourth words and so on and you end up with the correct answer.”

“Is this how you decided which was the right answer?”

“Non, je parle le meilleur Francais.”

“Huh?”

“I can speak French. I knew which answers were correct and which ones were wrong, so it was easier to spot the pattern. Remember, keep this to yourself and don’t abuse it. You work hard on the homework and you’ve got yourself an ‘A-’, maybe even an ‘A’.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“It’s been her pattern for the first two quizzes so far this semester. If no one blabs, she’s got no reason to change it. If you want, just use it to check the answers you know are right and guess at the ones you’re unsure of. You’ll still have to study because if you blow off your homework, a high test grade looks suspicious. You’ve got to do well enough on everything else so that the good test grade doesn’t stand out too much.”

“This isn’t cheating?”

“I wouldn’t call it cheating; it’s just taking advantage of a lazy teacher. Besides, you’ve still got to study and do the homework. You’ll learn whatever you’re going to learn either way, you just guarantee a good grade … and keep your father off your back. Does he ever use French for business or talking to other people?”

“Not that I’ve heard, though he tries to keep me away from his business.”

“Does he speak French around the house?”

“Of course not.”

“Then he probably doesn’t remember much from his school classes. Language skills are the kind of thing that you lose if you don’t use.”

“Then how do you know so much French? I’ve never heard you use it outside of class.”

She taps the side of her head with her right index finger. “My brain’s not like the average brain.”

“How’s that?”

“It just different. I need to get these last two seams finished so you can wear this tomorrow.” She hurries to the nearest sewing machine, sits down, sets the head against the fabric and begins.

“Do I have to wear it tomorrow?”

She keeps feeding the blouse into the bobbing needle, her little hands nimbly guiding the fabric exactly where she wants it. “Why wouldn’t you wear the new stuff tomorrow? You want to save it for a special occasion?”

“No … I’m just not sure I want everyone to … be looking at me.”

“I thought we’d already been through all that. You know you’re beautiful, right? This just shows everybody else that you’re beautiful.”

“Why does anybody else have to know?”

“You can’t hide forever Gretchen. The world is a different place for beautiful people, an easier place. A beautiful woman can go places, do things, other woman can’t.”

“Do you go to those places, do those things?”

“Me? I’m not beautiful, I’m cute. There’s a big difference. Cute gives me some room to maneuver, buys me some goodwill a plain girl might not automatically get, but it’s the minor leagues when compared to what a beautiful girl can do.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to be beautiful?”

She finishes the last seam, pulls the blouse up to her teeth and bites the thread, breaking it off. “That’s up to you. Being attractive isn’t for everyone. Some people let it go to their heads, some get so wrapped up in it that they never get beyond it, never develop as a person. Some people weald the power of beauty for bad purposes. Like they say in Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility.”

“Isn’t that a movie?”

“A comic first, then a movie but it’s still a valid point. I think you’re a good enough person to know how to handle the attention and not let it go to your head. If you don’t like it, you can always go back to the old, dull uniform and slump around the school. None of this is permanent. In fact, to use another quote, beauty is fleeting. You’re seventeen years old, so you’ve got thirteen, maybe eighteen years, depending on your genes and how well you take care of yourself, before the next generation of beautiful young girls comes along and replaces you. By then though, you’ll have moved on to something better, however, it will have been fun while it lasted!”

“How much fun?”

“Lots more than what you’ve been doing up till now.”

Why did I let her talk me into this? Father doesn’t know anything about it, I don’t have any idea how he’ll react. I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep to the background, not stand out. Why should I change it all now?

“I still don’t know.”

“I understand, it’s a big change. If you like your life the way it is, keep going the way you are. If you want to try something different, meet me tomorrow morning in the locker room an hour before school. I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t show up?”

“Maybe a little but that’s not a reason for you to be there. You have to be comfortable with your choice.”

“Will you still be my … my friend if I don’t show up?”

“Of course! We’re cool either way. You helped me by doing all you’ve done so far. As long as Sister Carmela sees the final product, I’ve kept my deal with her. We’re out of time, better get to French class. You take the blouse with you, have it ironed and bring both it and the skirt tomorrow. Or not, it’s up to you.”

“What would you do, Patty?”

She gives me that bright, cocky smile. “I’ve already done it, Gretch.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Tomorrow isn’t make or break, but I’m still nervous. Lately, when I get nervous, I bake bread. For some reason, it calms me down. Baking is more physical than cooking. Kneading dough, twisting it, pushing it, pounding it, releases a lot of tension that stirring a sauce just can’t match.

Mom’s got another late afternoon at work, so by the time she gets home, I’ve got three loaves baked with two more ready and proofed. I don’t hear the car pull up but I do hear the key turning in the lock in the front door.

“I’M HOME PATRICIA!”

“IN THE KITCHEN.”

She looks in and sees the bread. “Smells wonderful. What’s the problem?”

You can’t get one by Mom. Most of the time. “Nothing serious. Gretchen’s having second thoughts.”

“Why isn’t that a big problem?”

“She’s worried that if she doesn’t wear the new uniform, I won’t be her friend. I told her it doesn’t matter. Either way, the friendship’s intact. I was hoping to use her new found interest in looking good to get her to invite me to her home and work on her clothes there to alter them to fit as nicely as the uniform. That would take several weekends and after school evenings.”

“Giving you the opportunity you need, very clever. So what do you do if she backs out?”

“Think of something else.”

“How long would that take?”

“How do I know? It takes as long as it takes. This can’t be rushed Mother.”

“I know, but Daniel is getting impatient in his messages.”

“Tell Lipscomb to keep his pants on, quote me. If he’s got a problem with that, he can see me directly and stop bothering you.”

“I don’t mind honey, that’s part of my job, to be the buffer between you and he.”

“You shouldn’t have to be, he should know better.”

“He just wants this to work, we all do.”

I put the last two loaves in the oven. “I know. We’ll find out tomorrow.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I’ve never been to school at this time of day before. I told Father that I had to be here early to work on a project. Since he never lets me stay late or bring anyone to our home, like anyone wants to come to our house, the only time available is early in the morning. He wanted to know a bunch of details so I told him it was a history project and I needed to use the school library. He finally bought it and had Lou bring me in early but stay in the parking lot until my usual drop off time.

Once in the locker room, I don’t see Patty anywhere. Her stuff is here but she’s not. I hear a ball bouncing in the gym so I head that way to check it out.

It’s Patty, shooting a basketball. She’s dribbling about five feet away from the basket. She stops, turns and banks one in off the glass. She catches the ball as it falls through the net and banks another one in from the other side. She hurries to get the ball, dribbles out ten feet and shoots again, this time directly into the net, no banking off the backboard. She hits again. Quickly moving toward the ball, she scoops it up on the dribble, comes over to the other side ten feet from the basket and hits her fourth consecutive shot.

She keeps repeating the cycle, a shot from one side, a hit, a shot from the other side, a hit, move five feet further out and repeat. By now, she’s well outside the three point line and still hasn’t missed once. In fact, she hasn’t even hit the rim, every shot is the bottom of the net. Three cycles later, she’s at the middle of the court. I’m standing just inside the doorway, where she can’t see me.

This time, she eyes the basket a bit more carefully before she shoots but the results are the same … swish. After retrieving the ball, she comes over to this side of the half-court stripe and swishes again. Two more cycles and she’s at three quarter court. When she hits the second shot, the ball takes a crazy bounce and heads for the open doorway where I’m standing. I step into the gym, bend down and pickup the ball as it rolls towards me.

“HEY, GRETCHEN!” She shouts. “THROW IT BACK, ONE MORE SHOT!”

I toss the ball underhanded towards her but it’s off line. She tracks it down, dribbles until she’s underneath the far basket, stops, carefully eyes the basket at the end of the court, rolls the ball in her hands and launches it towards the other end of the court with a loud grunt that echoes around the empty gym. The ball arcs up, nearly hitting the ceiling, then drops down, slicing through the basket, banging onto the court, bounces up, hitting the bottom of the backboard, bounces off the back wall and rolls up the court back to where Patty is waiting for it. She picks the ball up, dribbles a couple of times behind her back, then between her legs and finally walks towards me, dribbling with first her left, then right hand, back and forth until she’s standing right in front of me.

“I found the ball in the locker room and was fooling around until you got here.”

“You didn’t miss once! Not even from way out!”

“Yeah, it’s easier than it looks. It all comes down to physics. The angles, the force vectors, air resistance. I missed several shots before you got here, but once I got the calculations dialed in, it was fairly simple.”

“SIMPLE?! You hit a basket the entire length of the court!”

“True, but no one was guarding me. It’s a lot harder if you’re being guarded. So, I take it you decided to try the new uniform.”

Sometimes, she changes subjects so fast it gives me whiplash. “Uhh, yes, I did.”

“Great! I hoped you would! Let’s get started. Take off that blouse and I’ll shampoo your hair.”

“I already shampooed this morning.”

“Not with this stuff you didn’t. It’s really good plus it’s got a matching conditioner. Trust me, it’ll be really wonderful. I haven’t been wrong yet, have I?”

“Guess not.”

“Okay then, lose the blouse, wrap a towel around your shoulders and let’s get started.”

I glance around as we walk back into the locker room to make sure we’re alone, then unbutton my blouse and hang it on a hook by the showers. Patty hands me a towel which I unfold and wrap around my shoulders, the loose ends covering my bra.

“This’d be easier in the shower,” she said “but we haven’t got time for both of us to undress and do it that way. Just lean down over the sink and put your head in as far as you can.”

“Are you sure …”

“Yes, I’m sure. I have done this before you know … though I don’t have to bend down as far as you do.”

“You’d have to stand on a box.”

“Funny. Keep it up and I’ll use cold water.” She turns on the faucet, adjusts the water temperature, then helps guide my head where she wants it. The water quickly soaks my hair, splashing onto the neighboring sinks and the floor. Suddenly, the water stops and I start to stand up.

“Hold on, not yet. Just stay there while I get the shampoo.”

I stop, hair plastered to both sides of my head and piled in the sink. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her squeeze a big glop of gel into the palm of her hand, rub them together and then she starts to gently work it into my hair.

I’ve never had someone else wash my hair before … well not since I was little, when my mother did it. I get my hair cut by a stylist who comes to the house but she doesn’t do anything else. It feels nice. I pull the towel tighter against my neck to keep the soap from dribbling down my back.

“You okay?” Patty asks.

“Yeah, fine.”

“I’m almost done.”

She continues to push her fingers through my hair, piling it on top and moving it around. I wish we had more time for this.

“Alright, I’m going to rinse you off. There’s no hose so I’ve got a bowl here. Keep your head down in the sink.”

I try to get my head as far down as I can, my chin resting inside the rim of the sink. She turns the water back on and then pours water on the back of my head while massaging my hair. She does this several times before all the soap is gone.

“Okay. Bring your head up a little and I’ll do the conditioner.”

We repeat the whole process with the conditioner. Just as my neck and lower back are starting to hurt, she finishes.

“I’m done. Stay there and I’ll wrap a towel around your head.” She puts another towel on my back, pulls my hair out of my face, puts the hair on the towel and rolls it up and over my head, tucking the ends together. “You can stand up now.”

I stand up, stretching my neck and back, then look into the mirror. The towel is wrapped tightly around my head, not a single hair showing. Reaching up with my hands, I pat the towel.

“How’d you learn to do all that?”

“Watched a couple of videos, read a few magazine articles.”

“You’ve never done this before?”

“Not on another person. Sit down and I’ll do your makeup while the hair dries a bit.”

“I don’t wear makeup.”

“I know but most of the other girls do. The dress code’s pretty strict about it but we might as well take advantage where we can. Have a seat on the bench, just sit still and look straight ahead.”

I can see my face in the mirror over the sink until she moves around in front of me. “What are you going to do?”

“Not much. Just the lightest touch of mascara on your lashes.” She drags a mascara brush lightly through the lashes of my right eye, then my left. “The barest hint of a blush on your cheeks.” She takes a large fluffy brush and just barely kisses my cheeks with it. “And a mere glistening of your lips with some lipstick. Pucker up.” I purse my lips and she glides a reddish brown lipstick along my upper and lower lips. She caps the lipstick.

“Now, the hair. It’d be better if I had a curling iron but I can do a lot with a hand dryer and a brush. Slide down the bench closer to the outlet.”

I scoot down the bench toward the wall and away from the mirrors. Patty loosens the towel and removes it, my damp hair falling down around my shoulders. She pulls a small tubular hair dryer from her bag, plugs it in the wall and switches it on. A blast of air hits me in the face, and then swings into my hair. Patty moves the dryer around with her left hand as she brushes my hair with a small plastic brush in her right. I expected a bunch of tangles but the conditioner must have smoothed them out. She moves around me, left to right, back to front. After a couple of minutes, she stops using the brush and fluffs my hair with her fingers while still moving the dryer around. My hair is feeling lighter and fuller. She turns the dryer off but still fusses with my hair using her fingers.

“That’s it, take a look.” She steps away from me and I walk over to the nearest mirror.

I’m surprised. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

It’s like I aged four years in twenty minutes. I swear I could pass for twenty one … well, at least twenty. I turn my head slowly to the right, then back to the left. My hair is fuller than it’s ever been, with gentle, soft curls. Patty steps next to me so that I can see her face in the mirror.

“What do you think?”

“I … I … it’s … how did you … I …”

She gives me that big, bright smile of hers. “Freaky, isn’t it?”

“Yeah … freaky.”

“Change clothes. It’s almost time for our entrance.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I like to hang out near my locker before school starts each morning, keeping an eye on my domain. It’s strategically located between the main entrance and the cafeteria. You can keep track of who comes in with who, who’s friendly with who, if anyone is becoming more popular than they deserve. I had to persuade the prior owner of the locker that it was in her best interest to trade with me. I also had to persuade her neighbors to do the same with Olivia and Kendall; I need to keep my girls near me. It’s important that we keep any other power centers from developing. There’s over two hundred girls in this school and it would be impossible for me to keep control if the majority, or even a large minority decided to ignore me.

I initially thought I might have a problem with that new girl, Patricia Conner, but I put the word out that she was to be shunned. I learned about it in Comparative Religion class. Those Amish are reeeaaally passive aggressive. For some reason, it didn’t seem to bother her but it did keep her from making any friends, which was good enough. The bitch still walks around here in her pretty clothes but nobody else has broken ranks. If anyone in this prison deserves those clothes, it’s me!

Olivia is sorting through her tweets before class starts. All phones have to be turned off after 7:30. People are constantly sneaking peeks during the day but the penguins keep a sharp eye out. You get caught, it’s a demerit and you lose your phone until the end of the day. The only time during the day we can turn them on is during lunch. Some of the girls barely have time to eat.

We’re surrounded by the morons who think they’re my friends. They’re a necessary evil. I let them think we’re all buddy buddy, let them do stuff for me, let them hang around with us. It gives me legitimacy as THE girl in school. I am number one and they are my posse. The posse is one short this morning.

“Olivia, where’s Kendall?”

“She’s got a dental appointment this morning, broke a crown two days ago.”

“How’d she do that?”

“Not sure. She was eating mashed potatoes and it popped out. She thought it was the potatoes that did it.”

“She would.”

“Totally.”

Kendall’s meter doesn’t exactly reach five bars but she does a good job of handling the posse, keeping them in line, which keeps everybody else in line. Olivia is closer to thinking like me, which means I need to keep an eye on her. She’s never done anything disloyal before … but there’s always the first time.

Abruptly, there’s a subtle change in the sound of the hallway. It’s gotten quieter. I look towards the entrance doors and see the crowd parting slightly as someone walks through. Craning my neck, I can see a tall girl headed my way but I don’t recognize her, she looks more like a college kid or a student teacher.

“Who’s that?” whispers Olivia.

“Don’t know” I answer. “She looks familiar though.” She gets closer and the crowd thins a little. It appears that she’s wearing the school colors, maybe a graduate from a couple of years ago? Then I see the Connor bitch walking with her, smiling and laughing.

“SHIT!”

“What?” asks Olivia.

“It’s Gretchen Hobbes!”

“NO! Where’s her uniform?”

“She’s wearing it! Conner fixed it!”

“What about her hair? And her face? She looks …”

“I know!”

Hobbes and Conner sweep by us, never even looking my direction, not even caring what I thought. It looks like they’re heading toward Carmela’s office.

“What is she up to?” asks Olivia.

“I don’t know, but she’s picked the perfect person.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Gretchen HOBBES.”

“Ohhhh … right. Wow, she’s good.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

As soon as we get to the front door, Patty elbows me.

“Remember, stand tall and proud” she whispers.

I was hunched over a little but didn’t realize it until she told me to stand up.

“I don’t know about this Patty. Maybe I …”

“Maybe you should show everybody how great you look. What are they going to do about it? You’re completely within the rules. Sister Carmela won’t do anything.”

“I’m not worried about Sister Carmela. What’s Caitlin McBride gonna do?”

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“NO … of course not.”

“Then why care?”

“She won’t like it.”

“Again, why care?”

“She may do something.”

“To you? Not likely. Besides, what could she do? Not talk with you? She already doesn’t. Tell people not to be your friend? No offense, but your not beating them off with a stick right now. Hit you? She’s a coward.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“She could do something to you.”

“I’m already not her favorite person. I can handle whatever she’s got. Let’s go turn some heads.”

“Are you sure …” she grabs my arm and pulls me up the steps and into the school.

Everybody near the door stops talking and stares at us. I start to back out but Patty tightens her grip on my arm.

“Tall and proud” she whispers.

What the hell. I stretch up as tall as I can and we walk down the hall side by side.

Most everybody stops talking as we walk by, looking at us, at me. People have stared at me before but this is different.

“They’re staring at us” I say in a low voice out of the side of my mouth.

“Of course they are! We’re two hot looking girls … well one hot looking girl and her slightly shorter friend.”

“Slightly?”

“It’s just envy my dear. They all wish they could look like you. Let’s go get Sister Carmela’s seal of approval.”

She keeps her hand on my arm and guides me towards the school office. The other girls actually move out of our way as we move down the hallway. I turn and look behind as Patty continues to propel me forward. Most of the girls continue to just stare at us, the others are huddled together, whispering. I turn back forward just as we step through the office door and stop in front of the school secretary’s desk.

“Hi Ms. Jensen. Is Sister Carmela in?” asks Patty, hitting her with her brightest, most innocent smile.

Ms. Jensen looks us both up and down, me twice. She screws her mouth into a half frown, half smile, like she doesn’t approve of what’s happening and plans to enjoy it when we get smacked down.

“Good morning, Ms. Conner. I’ll check and see.” She leans over towards the phone, picks it up, puts it to her ear and pushes a button. It buzzes three times, then stops.

“Sister Carmela. Ms. Conner and a friend are asking to see you, if you have a moment. … Yes, I would say it’s important. … Very good, I’ll have them wait.” She hangs up the phone. “Sister will see you in a few minutes. Have a seat … ladies.”

“Thanks Ms. Jensen,” replied Patty. “You look nice today.”

“Uhh, thank you Ms. Conner. Have a seat please.”

Patty just smiles and drops into one of the wooden chairs lined up against the wall. I slowly settle into the chair next to hers.

I can see out of the office windows into the hallway. Lots of girls are walking by, looking in. Several of them turn around and walk right back to get a second look. A few take a third pass. Patty seems completely unconcerned, like it’s no big deal. I haven’t even talked to Carmela since my entrance interview three years ago. All I know about her is what the other girls say … which isn’t good.

The knob on the office door squeaks several times and my heart freezes. My eyes immediately lock onto the floor in front of me. I hear the door creak as it swings open. Patty pulls me to my feet and we walk in, stopping in front of Carmela’s desk.

“Eye’s up” Patty hisses.

I look up and see Sister Carmela sitting in her chair, leaning forward on her elbows, fingers intertwined, thumbs slowly banging together.

“Thanks for seeing us Sister” Patty says cheerily. “I just wanted to show you that I had kept my part of the bargain.” She steps away and extends her hands towards me, palms up. “TA DA!”

Sister Carmela slowly stands, walks around her desk, then around me, carefully inspecting my clothes. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead. She brings her head close to mine, a neutral look on her face. I think she’s checking out my makeup. After a few seconds, she pulls away and returns to her chair, sitting down. She fixes her gaze on me.

“Very lovely, Ms. Hobbes. Very lovely indeed. My compliments on your work, Ms. Conner.”

“Gretchen helped.”

“I’m sure she did, Ms. Conner.”

“I could do wonders with your outfit, Sister Carmela.”

“No doubt you could, Ms. Conner. Perhaps some other time. Ms. Hobbes?”

“Yyyeees?”

“I would like to speak privately with Ms. Conner for a few minutes. Please have a seat outside.”

I glance over at Patty and she gives me a wink. I quickly turn, open the door, scoot out and close it behind me, happy to be out of there. I hope Patty’s gonna be okay.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Looking at Patricia Conner, I can’t help but think she is the personification of an imp; short, bright, energetic and politely impudent, with just a hint of malice … well, maybe more than a hint.

“Why did you choose Gretchen Hobbes to be your … cohort?”

“Because she’s bullet proof.”

“Meaning what exactly, Ms. Conner?”

“There’s not a girl in this school who’s stupid enough to bother her.”

“Because of her father.”

“Exactly.”

“While she may be ‘bullet proof’ as you put it, she is also an emotionally fragile girl, friendless and alone, at least as far as the other students at St. Ann’s are concerned. I don’t know what her home life is like.”

“It’s not any better, probably worse.”

“So you were aware of the situation?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you still chose her to prove your point?”

“I didn’t just pick her at random Sister. She agreed to do it. No one else was knocking at my door. McBride has them all under her thumb. Gretchen was less afraid than the others because she’s already been ostracized … at least to a certain point. No one will do anything to her out of fear of what might happen to them, including McBride and her friends. It won’t get any worse for her and maybe better, who knows for sure.”

“And what are your intentions towards Ms. Hobbes now?”

“You mean am I going to make an honest woman out of her?” There’s that expansive, impudent smile again.

“You understand what I mean. I would be extremely disappointed if it turns out that she is just a pawn in this game.”

“Sister Carmela, I can guarantee you that Gretchen is a friend of mine and anybody who hurts her in any way will have me to deal with … and I won’t be nice about it.”

Much more than a hint of malice. The way she talks, you would think she was a menacing hulk and not a mere slip of a girl … and yet, I find it very easy to believe her.

“Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. I noticed that Ms. Hobbes was wearing makeup.”

“She was, I did it myself.”

“As I suspected. You do like to push the boundaries, don’t you?”

“I just use all the space that’s available to me, Sister.”

“That’s a difficult line to walk.”

“Sometimes, but that’s what makes life interesting, don’t you think?”

“Possibly too interesting. You have kept your part of our agreement Ms. Conner so I shall keep mine. You may continue to wear your … restyled uniforms, as can any student who does the work herself on school grounds with school equipment and within the existing guidelines.”

“Thanks Sister.” She turns and reaches for the door.

“Ahhh, before you go Ms. Conner, just between you and I, how did you get such dramatic results with Ms. Hobbes using those few changes?”

She pauses, hand on the door knob, looking back over her shoulder at me. “That’s the other reason I chose her. I knew that she was a knockout just waiting to be uncovered.” She smiles at me. “See you later, Sister.” Conner opens the door and skips out, closing it behind her.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Lou didn’t recognize me at all. I was standing right next to the driver’s side door and he told me to beat it. I told him to drop dead. He was out the door in seconds; ready to do who knows what when I said it was me. The look on his face said he still didn’t completely believe it. All the way home, he kept looking at me through the rear view mirror. He adjusted it several times to get a better look. He actually got out and opened the door for me when we got home. I can’t remember the last time he did that.

Roberto tried to stop me as I came through the door but Lou told him that it was me. Roberto’s eyes got real big and his mouth hung open for a few seconds. Lou told him to snap out of it.

I did what I normally do when I get home from school, go upstairs to my room. As I climbed the spiral staircase, I glanced back at the front door. Both Roberto and Lou were staring at me. Once inside my room, I dropped my book bag, walked over to my full length mirror and took a good, long, look.

It really was remarkable. Even after an entire day, my hair still looked great. Full bodied, soft, wavy, perfectly framing my face. Patty did all that with just a pocket hair dryer, a brush, and her fingers. I’d had my hair done by professionals all my life and it never looked one tenth as good. The little bit of makeup was still there too, unsmudged. I never knew what to do with makeup; I’d never had anyone to teach me. None of the nannies had even tried, though I had asked. I think they were afraid of what Father might say. None of them lasted very long anyway. The longest any ever stayed was a year and a half. You tend to stop investing your emotions in a person who’s gonna be gone before the next Christmas.

Until I got a look at myself in the big mirror, I wasn’t aware of the full effect. No wonder all the other girls stared at me. The hair, the face, the clothes … it was like nothing I had ever seen before. The uniform was still pretty simple and basic, but it fit like it was made just for me, which I guess it was. None of my other clothes made me look this good. I turned this way and that in front of the mirror, checking out how the skirt moved with me, how the blouse revealed my figure without actually showing anything. Amazing.

There was a knock on the door.

“Time for supper Gretche … Ms. Hobbes.”

It was Henry. Sounds like Lou talked to him ‘cause neither of them had called me Ms. Hobbes in years.

“I’ll be right down Henry … thank you.”

I’ve got a decision to make. Do I go downstairs as I am or do I change and have supper looking like I’ve looked the last ten years? Some of the guys have already seen the new me and I know they’ll talk to each other about it, maybe even eventually to Father, probably not directly but certainly Enrique will hear of it, he knows everything, sooner or later. If I flatten and tie up my hair, change clothes and scrub my face, it will buy me some time … but to do what? I like the way I look, the way it makes me feel … and Patricia likes it too. There’s really no choice. I deal with it now or later, so it might as well be now.

As I walk down the stairs, there are more of Father’s men in the foyer than there were before. They don’t stare outright at me but they’re all checking me out, some more subtly than others. I try to just act as normal as possible. When I get to the dining room, Father is reading some papers, as usual. I pull my chair out and slide in.

“Good evening, Father.”

He doesn’t look up. “Good evening Gretchen. Did anything interesting happen at school today?”

“Yes, something did.… I had to see Sister Carmela.”

“Gretchen! What did you do …” he looked up from his handful of papers and saw me sitting across from him. His eyes widened. He was actually looking at me and saw me, for like the first time in years. “What have you done with your … your … what have you done?”

“A friend of mine fixed my hair at school this morning.”

“And the … rest?”

“She also did my makeup.”

“And where is your school uniform?”

“This IS my uniform. The school lets us make changes if we do it ourselves on school time. We spent the last two weeks after lunch working on it and Sister Carmela said it was okay, that’s why I had to see her.”

“Did this same friend help you with the uniform?”

“Yes. She actually did most of it. She’s really smart and nice. I don’t think there’s anything she can’t do. I told you about the girl who jumped the fence riding a motorcycle, well she’s the one who did it. She also helped me with my French and she …”

Father raised his hand for me to stop talking. If he hadn’t, I don’t know if I could have stopped on my own. I was just blabbing on and on about Patty, like I couldn’t stop. It was probably nerves.

“And what is this friends’ name, Gretchen?”

Suddenly, telling Father about Patty didn’t seem like such a good idea. “She’s just a friend … a school friend.”

“What is her name?”

“Patty … Patricia Conner.”

“How long have you known her?”

“She’s new this semester.”

“So, only a few weeks.”

“Yes, but she is my friend. I want you to leave her alone.”

“I have no reason to bother her in any way.” He stands up and walks over next to me. I look up at him. He moves a loose strand of hair away from my face. “I had forgotten how much you look like your mother. She was a very beautiful woman.”

“Patty says I’m beautiful too.”

“She is right, you are. Let us eat before our supper gets cold, shall we?”

“Fine, but you leave Patty alone.”

Father walks back to his chair and sits down. “As I said, I have no reason to do anything to her.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Immediately after supper, I summon Enrique to my office. He arrives within ten minutes.

“Were you aware that my daughter has a new friend?” I ask as soon as he enters the room.

“No, I was not, though I did know about her … style changes.”

“Before today?”

“No, unfortunately not.”

“So, now all of a sudden, my daughter is keeping secrets from me?”

“She is a teenage girl, X-ray. Their lives are nothing but secret from their parents. It is normal behavior.”

“Not for MY daughter it isn’t. No one keeps secrets from me! Not even Gretchen … particularly not Gretchen. I want you to find out all you can about this Patricia Conner.”

“How quickly?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Any limitations?”

“Do not harm anyone … yet.”

“The Sisters at St. Ann’s?”

“Are you mad! You do not harm a nun or a priest! Never! God would never forgive you … or me! You may talk with them but do not threaten them. Business is hard enough already without God cursing me.”