.

Rejection is never an easy thing:

"I'm sorry, but we have no use for a male singer with your voice range."

"You're just not what we're looking for at this time. If you would like, we could keep your band in mind to play for another singer."

"You sound too much like a girl for you to be popular as a male performer."

Those aren't the only ones, but let's just say they're the highlights. It's times like these that I curse my genetics. Sure, when I was thirteen, it was cool to be able to sing soprano in church. I got to stand there with my mom, and I just belted it out there. I even got a couple of solos.

At sixteen, though, it's just not cool to be a countertenor, which is just a fancy way to say that I still sing soprano. Yep, that's me: Keith, the boy with the girl's voice.

When things get rough, I walk in the desert. This time, my friends decided to join me. The sun had just gone down and it was starting to cool off, but I didn't mind.

"That one guy seemed to think we could run instrumentals for other groups, Keith."

"You really want to do that, Bobby? I doubt they would let you use the Behemoth."

"It would be an in, Keith. I could sacrifice the Behemoth for that."

"Bobby's right, Keith. We would be in the industry."

"Jake, we'd be playing other people's songs for the rest of our career. Up in Flames would be up in smoke."

"Be reasonable, Keith."

"Guys! Can't we just walk in silence for a bit?"

The stars were already coming out when we got back to Jake's garage. Jack turned on the TV and flipped over to the Tween Awards. It had already started and they were giving out the awards.

"Why are we watching this crap?" I asked. I didn't want to know the answer, but I felt compelled to take that step too far.

"We need to keep abreast of our competition. Eventually you might be up for the Best Male Artist."

"Whatever Jake, you're such a girl sometimes."

Bobby and I laughed at this. Jake got a thoughtful expression on his face. We all went back to watching the show. Bobby and I joked about the acceptance speeches, mocking them. Of course, I got to mimic the girls. After a couple of minutes, we noticed that Jake hadn't said anything for a while.

"Jake, what's up?" Bobby asked.

Jake turned to me. "What if you were?"

"What if I was what?"

"Sorry, what if you were a girl?"

"But I'm not."

"But what if you were. . .now hear me out. The main reason we are getting blown off is that they expect a female face to match your female voice."

I glared at him.

"You remember how Spotlight reacted when they called us in to record a demo. They couldn't get us out of there fast enough when they found out the singer was male."

That episode had been a particularly ugly one. They'd thought that Bobby was the singer's name just with a masculine spelling. When they'd discovered their mistake, they'd asked us to leave. We refused and they had security escort us out.

I turned away from the other two and stared at the TV. As I was watching, stewing about the limited options before me, Josh Holliday was announced as the winner of Best Male Artist. The stunning blonde next to him gave him a kiss before he went up to accept his award. Right there everything struck me. I wanted to be there in that moment so badly. I wanted everyone to know my name, and to see me for who I was.

How would that be possible if I performed as a female.

"Come on, Keith, you know that 'My Life with You is Hell' is a girl's song."

I'd written the song about my next-door neighbor Gretchen's life.

"Look, can you give me some time to think about this?"

We watched the rest of the show, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. I needed to talk to someone who, I hoped, would understand. The two friends I was sitting with were more interested in the opportunity this choice presented. They would do anything to get into the business, but would I?

***

I slept in on Sunday. I'd tried to get in touch with Gretchen, but she had gone camping with her dad for the weekend.

I stewed during church about it. I waffled from being all for it to worried about how something like that could actually work. I mean, I was male, right? People wouldn't take me for a girl.

I went out into the desert again after church, not even taking the time to change. God didn't answer me even though I poured my heart out to Him.

I wondered why He had given me a gift that society would not understand.

That night I had a very strange dream. We had been preparing backstage for our first concert and the stadium was sold out. There was a storm going on outside and I could hear the thunder through the walls. Half the time the impatient roar of the crowd drowned out the noise of the storm. I walked out on stage and yelled into my microphone, "are you all ready to ROCK!?"

There was a laugh from the audience and I realized I wasn't wearing any clothing. When I went to cover myself with my hands it wasn't my body, but a woman' s body. "Look at the girl!" came shouts from the crowd. I turned to run off the stage.

I woke up with a scream in my throat. I looked at the clock. It said 3:00am. I turned over to go back to sleep, but the dream stuck with me the rest of the night. By the time I got up the next morning, I had decided that I wouldn't go through with it.

I got up and threw together an outfit for the day. I gathered my books and got outside just in time to hop into Gretchen's car. I was glad that it was the end of the school year. During any of the sports seasons there was about a one in four chance that she would be wearing her cheerleading outfit. It was really distracting watching her drive in that short skirt.

Today I could have done with the distraction.

"I got the message on my phone when my dad and I got back, Keith. What did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I was trying to make a decision about something, and I thought you could help. I ended up coming to a decision on my own."

"What was the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Keith. You and I have known each other for years. I know when you're avoiding something."

"No, it's really nothing. The band can do without me. . .never mind."

"Keith?"

I sighed. "Fine. If you promise not to laugh?"

"Ok, now you have to tell me." I love it when she gets that grin on her face. Ok, so I love everything about her.

"TheguysthinkIshoulddresslikeagirl" I said it as fast as I could, hoping she would not understand, but accept it.

"Wait, what?"

Ok, it was worth a shot. "Jake suggested I dress like a girl for the band."

"So, you decided to do it then?"

"What?"

"I think it's a great idea. You know it is too. You almost signed with Spotlight Studios when they thought you were a girl."

"But, I'm not a girl. No one would actually think I was. I'm too tall."

"5'9" isn't all that tall for a girl" She had a point. I knew a couple of girls in the jazz band that were taller than me.

"I'm as flat as a boy, literally."

"So are some girls in our school."

"Yeah, they're all younger than me."

"Not Heather McIntyre."

She had a point there. Heather was eighteen and looked like a boy, except for the long hair and makeup.

"But. . ."

"Keith, do you remember the first thing you said to me when we moved in three years ago?"

I blushed. I did remember. I'd thought she was beautiful, and wanted to impress her.

"Well?"

"I'm Keith Robison and I'm going to be famous."

"Exactly. So, you're going to tell me that you can't pull off a Ziggy Stardust?"

I looked at her blankly for a moment before I clued in to what she was saying.

"Bowie wasn't pretending to be a girl."

"It was still an act. You won't be Desdemona, she will be you."

"Desdemona?"

"Yeah, I thought it would fit with most of the songs you have played for me. Especially the one you wrote about me."

"The one. . .about that. . ." I panicked a bit. I didn't tell her before I played it, and never remember telling her about it at all.

"It's fine, Keith. I'm flattered actually. And besides. It's my life. You didn't think I would recognize it? Am I a blonde bimbo in your mind?"

"What, no, I don't think you're stupid."

"Then give me some credit," she said with a half smile.

"So, why Desdemona?"

"It was my Goth name."

I couldn't decide which was a bigger shock: the all-American girl, head cheerleader, was a Goth; or that she had gone by the name Desdemona.

We were stopped at a light, so she pulled out her digital frame from her purse. It contained the most important images from her life. I'm not sure if any of her 'friends' from school had ever seen it. She flipped through a few images until she came the one she wanted.

The girl in the image was wearing a corset in black and a dark red. Her makeup was alternating shapes of black and red as well. She was wearing a gauzy knee length skirt in black, and had leggings in the red color. The only parts of the outfit that weren't black or red were the combat boots and her hair. Both of those were pink.

"That's Desdemona."

I was starting to see how this would work, but that hair. . .

"I can't cut and die my hair like that, Etch."

"It's a wig, silly." She was grinning at me now. She knew she'd won. "We'll talk more after school."

I looked up. We'd arrived at the school while I was mesmerized by Desdemona. I couldn't tell who it was in the makeup, and it looked nothing like Gretchen now. I walked into the school building in a daze, and that's about how the rest of the day went.

I finished my math homework long before the teacher finished explaining the subject to my slower classmates, and I spent a lot of time wondering what exactly I was getting myself into.

I looked at my right hand. It was already a little feminine. I chuckled at the thought.

I played the 12 string guitar. Anyone who has seen one will know what I'm talking about, but there are a lot of people who haven't. A 12 string guitar has 12 strings in the same space that a 6 string guitar does. They are arranged into six pairs of strings, and depending on personal preference are either tuned in synch (meaning both strings of the pair are tuned to the same note) or in octaves (meaning the strings are tuned an octave apart from each other) or, more commonly, a mixture of the two.

I run a full set of octaves.

I know you don't need to know any of this.

What's important is that each pair is close together, making most finger plucking techniques about impossible.

Enter my right hand. I had lacquered the nails on that hand. Top and bottom. I shaped them carefully. They weren't all that long, but they came to a rounded point, just like a guitar pick. I had five guitar picks permanently attached to my right hand, made out of human nail. Call me Edward-Pick-hands.

And they were the color of lapis lazuli.

I know, I'm weird. Band geeks are allowed to be weird.

See, that's the reason that Gretchen had said we would talk after school. Each of us had our world at school. Hers was the popular populars. You know the types. Football players and Cheerleaders.

Mine was outcasts. You could sort of say I was king of the outcasts. I ruled in benevolence, though.

Well, not that it would matter soon. School was out in three weeks. We would be done in two, normally, but there had been a few too many snow days this year and they just added the difference to the end of the year. I loved snow days, but really hated more days of school.

I always found it amusing that I had no classes with any of the people I usually hung out with. I played with the jazz band, Jake did orchestra (bass fiddle if you can believe it), and Bobby felt that the organization imposed upon him by the musical effete crushed his free musical spirit. This means that Mr. Fergusen wouldn't allow him to assemble the Behemoth in the school and use it as the entire percussion section.

The rest of my classes were bottom of the heap, not because I was stupid, just because I didn't care. The reason I could do my math homework while waiting for the teacher to explain it to the others? It was the second time I'd taken the course. I was so bored, I decided it was time to get on to the next one.

Bobby was taking AP classes, as a Sophomore. And Jake was basically normal.

I know, I ramble a bit, but I am making a point.

Or I will.

The Behemoth is what Bobby calls the instrument that he spent the last 3 years constructing. He has used just about anything that he could find that will hold a beat, and provide a unique sound. It has pipes: galvanized, copper, and pvc. It has barrels and trashcans. It has lids and pots. It even has a couple of mufflers. It basically looks like a set from Stomp out Loud.

That is nothing to the way it sounds.

He took the time to "tune" the thing so that he could play music with it. The sounds might not be standard, but they harmonize with our other instruments.

We did a three man arrangement of Four Seasons: Winter using it. And that only used 'standard' notes. The Behemoth can play just about anything Bobby takes it into his mind to try, including thunderstorms and bird song.

Assembly is the problem. Right now put up and take down takes about three hours. He's trying to figure out how to make it more portable.

Back to school. I played a 6-string electric in band. We had a mini concert at lunch and so I got to show off a bit. Mr. Fergusen likes to "drum up business" before concerts and we would have the last concert of the year on Friday.

I made it through the rest of the day as a complete non-entity. I met Gretchen outside at her car and we drove home. Sometimes I really wish Gretchen weren't two years older than me. I might have a chance then.

"How was your Monday, Etch?"

"I think you're trying to avoid something, Keith."

"Ok, yes, I'll do Desdemona onstage."

She squealed at this. "Ok, you have to come over to my house and try on the clothing so we can see what needs to be replaced."

At least someone was happy about all of this. I tried to smile and get into it the way that Gretchen was, but it just wasn't in me. She was talking about her clothing, and the different options we had, and all of the color choices.

Don't get me wrong. I am a bit Goth. I didn't usually go in for the makeup (cake is a pain to clean off every night) but I wore shades of black for all my clothing, and my hair was currently dyed black.

Yes, there are different shades of black.

I swear everyone in the audience would be happier if I were discussing pink or purple.

See, I like your classic easy basic Goth.

Desdemona was a Glam Goth.

Color is allowable for a Glam Goth. Weird hair colors. Strange makeup. Rainbow attire. Glam Goth is more about attitude that conforming to a specific style.

It really clashed with the persona that Gretchen currently pulled off. The follow the crowd, subjugate yourself mentality. Course, that is where the emotion for 'My Life with You is Hell' came from.

We pulled into our driveway, and I was about to try to make a retreat over to my house, but Gretchen gave me the look and I couldn't resist.

You know the one. All big eyes and pouty lips.

I really love this girl.

I sighed and she beamed a smile at me.

We went up to her room.

"Ok, strip down for me so we can get started."

"Um."

"Don't be like that. I've seen you naked before."

"Yeah, once, in your pool, in the dark."

"Fine, I'll turn around long enough for you to put these on."

She handed me the leggings from the picture, and turned around. I quickly stripped to my underwear, and pulled up the leggings. She turned around and looked at them.

"Not gonna work, Keith."

"What?"

"You're either going to have to go without your underwear, or wear a pair of my panties."

"What!?!"

"You can see the seams. Look in the mirror."

I looked, and sure enough I could see the seams from my underwear. The leggings were really tight. That's not all I could see. "Um, this isn't going to work. Anyone can see I'm a boy in these."

"Well, you could always tuck yourself up between your legs."

"What?"

She explained what she meant while she looked through her drawer for a pair of panties. I pulled everything off and pulled up her panties, black of course. I situated myself and looked up. . .to meet Gretchen's eyes in the mirror.

"Gretchen!"

"It's not ladylike to whine." She gave me a little smile.

"You said you wouldn't look."

"I said I'd turn around."

She had me there, again. I don't really understand it. I do great in school, but this one woman had me twisted around her little finger.

I pulled up the leggings again, and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't look much like a boy down there anymore. The combination of the tight panties and the tight leggings had smoothed everything out.

"Is that how you. . .?"

"Yes." She blushed crimson.

I smiled at this, "Really. . .Well, I have to say I never noticed anything and your skirt will occasionally ride up when you are shifting gears."

"Don't go getting any ideas, Keith. You're still too young for me."

I smiled some more, but said nothing. She punched me lightly in the arm.

"What's next?"

Next was the corset. I put it on and did up the eyelets on the front. She tightened it up for me. I had a bit of a waist when she was done. It had also given me a touch of cleavage. Sure, not a lot, but I didn't quite look like a boy any more. Sure, I wasn't exactly a girl, but it was something.

"What size shoe do you wear?"

I blushed. I had small feet and it bothered me. "I wear a size 7."

"That's men's, right?"

"Yeah."

She got the pink boots out of the closet. "They are a 9 women's. They were a little bit big for me, but should be exactly right for you."

She was right. They fit perfectly. She sat me in the chair in front of her makeup table and turned me away from the mirror. She put the wig on, and pinned it down. Then she started to work on my face. She was quick and efficient and before I knew it, she was done. I'd never had much facial hair to speak of, and only had to shave once a week. It was all basically peach fuzz. I'd shaved that morning. The cake makeup covered anything that my razor missed. There was a girl in stylized half and half harlequin makeup and pink hair looking back at me.

"Wow. . ."

I stood up and looked at myself in the full length mirror.

"Almost forgot, Keith."

She handed me the gauzy skirt and a pair of fingerless lace gloves. I slipped them on, and pulled up the skirt. I twirled a bit holding out my arms. Gretchen snickered.

"What?"

"You're going to have to shave your under arms." I blushed, but the makeup made it invisible.

"You can use my razor."

I went into the bathroom and shaved in the sink. I only nicked myself once. I went back out to Gretchen.

"Much better," she said.

On impulse I kissed her on the lips, "Thank you,"

She was a little stunned, and had a little smile. She shook herself after a moment or two and looked at me, "You're welcome, but you shouldn't have kissed me." She was trying to look cross. I grinned at her.

"You mean like this?" I lunged for her with my lips puckered. I didn't expect for her to let me catch her.

"Um, Etch?" I was holding her after our second kiss, which had been more than the peck I'd given her the first time. She was a little shorter than I was, but that was probably all the boots.

"Hmm?" She was a little dazed, and then she looked at me and pulled away. She blushed red hot.

"Let's call the boys from your band over."

"They'd have no reason to come to your house. Let's go over to mine and call them there."

"Ok, and we can show your Mom at the same time."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Crap. Mom."

"What's wrong, Keith."

"I have no idea how she'll take this."

"Well, no other way to find out, but to try."

We went over to our house and went in. "Mom?"

"In the kitchen, Keith."

Gretchen grabbed my hand for support and we went into the kitchen. "Hello Gretchen, are you over for dinner? Who's your friend?"

"Hi Mom."

"Keith? What in the world are you wearing?"

"Um."

"Mrs. Robison, We thought that if Keith looked like a girl on stage that the labels would be more likely to accept his voice."

Mom looked really upset. "I can't deal with this now, Keith. I know you really want to perform, but is it worth it? What will the neighbors think?"

"I will only be doing it on stage, Mom. No one will worry about it. Desdemona will be the weird Goth rocker chick and no one will associate her with me."

"Desdemona? What would your father think?"

"Dad left us Mom. I don't really care what he thinks."

"I'm not having this argument with you right now, Keith. I want you clean faced and in boy clothes when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"I have choir practice tonight. I would invite you again to come with me, but if you went into the church looking like that I'm sure it would fall around your ears."

"Mom. . ."

"Mrs. Robison. . ."

We spoke at the same time, but Mom cut us both off. "No arguments, and Gretchen, I expected better from you. How could you have let Keith do this."

Neither of us wanted to tell her it had been Gretchen's idea. She stormed out of the house and I heard her car drive away. I felt like crying.

"Well, there went a perfectly wonderful plan." I was ready to go change now, and forget the whole idea.

"No, it will still work. We just don't tell her."

"She'll find out eventually."

"And by then we will have evidence that her fears are groundless."

"Fine. Let's get the band together."

I tried calling Bobby first, but his mom said he was at Jake's house. It's a pain tracking down people who refuse to carry cell phones because they are a symbol of the dominance of corporate American mentality on the impressionable minds of the youth. . .

Yeah, Jake is a bit of an activist sometimes. He got Bobby to go along with him somehow.

"Hey, Jake, could you and Bobby come over to my house. I wanted to discuss your idea."

"Yeah, Bobby and I have been talking as well. We need to discuss things."

"See you soon."

We went and sat in the living room. Gretchen hadn't let go of my hand since we'd entered the kitchen. I picked it up and looked at it, "Gretchen. . ."

She looked at her hand and made to pull it away, but I held on. "We need to talk about this."

She jerked her hand out of my grasp. "No, we don't."

"Etch, I know how you feel about me, which is to say you don't." She opened her mouth to speak, and I put a finger on her lips. "I know we are friends, but that is all we've been. Yet you held my hand tonight, and you let me kiss you."

"You kissed me when I wasn't paying attention."

"Sure, the first time, but the second?"

I had seen her heartbroken and happy. I had seen her in pain and sick as a dog. I had seen her enjoyment of life and her fear of tomorrow. I had never seen her like this before. She seemed to want to say something, and yet at the same time was afraid to say anything.

"I can't right now, Keith. Maybe some other time. I just can't."

She began to cry, so I just held her. She stopped just as the doorbell rang. "I'm sure I look a mess." She ran upstairs into the bathroom.

I went to answer the door.

"Is Keith here?" Jake and Bobby were here finally.

"Come in, guys."

"Keith?!" They both said at the same time.

I grabbed them each by the shirt and pulled them in. I closed the door behind them. We went to the living room, and I waited for them to figure out what they wanted to say.

"You guys had something you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, you kinda blew us out of the water."

"You said it, Bobby. We were going to give you an ultimatum, but like usual, you one-upped us."

"Remember that time that we were having a water balloon fight, so I filled a cheap beach ball with water. I didn't know that Keith had the water key for the sprinkler system."

"Your mom gave it to me, Jake."

The three of them laughed at this. Having touched up her makeup, Gretchen came back down and sat next to me. I put my arm around her and just held her. She leaned into me.

"Wait, you guys aren't. . ." began Jake, why Bobby did a fish impression.

"No. . ." I began, but Gretchen had different ideas. She kissed me. On the Cheek, but it was a kiss, and I grinned.

"Keith has been helping me through some difficult stuff that not even he knows all about."

"Guys, she's my best friend."

"I thought we were your best friends."

"You guys are my friends, and the most talented people I know period. Gretchen is just special."

"Yeah, we don't look as good as either of you two do in a skirt."

Cake makeup has it's uses. Hiding a blush is one of them. . .at least until it rises to the tips of your ears.

"I think we embarrassed him, Jake. His ears went the same shade as the left side of his face."

"Seriously, though, Keith. When we came to the door, my first thought was 'Who's the Goth babe'."

"No joke."

"He does look good in a skirt, doesn't he?" added Gretchen. I pinched her side and she jumped. She elbowed me back.

"Guys, I need to get changed. My Mom threw a complete fit when she saw me like this. I'll do it for the our band, but I have to get changed somewhere other than home to do it."

"You could always keep changing at my house." Gretchen blushed and looked at the floor while she said this.

"Etch, I would love to keep doing that, but my Mom would find out sooner than later. I think changing at the venue is going to be the best bet."

Jake looked at Bobby, who shrugged, and then they both looked back at me. "That's not going to work, Keith old bean," Bobby began in his bad snooty English accent.

"I say, why not, Bobby, my good man?" Jake continued in the same bad accent.

"Because you are both going to be dead, and there won't be a band to play anymore?"

They both snorted at this, and Bobby continued, "because, Keith, the place we're going, one week from Friday, has no dressing rooms, and two, very dirty, public restrooms."

"Oh, no. We're not playing that. No way are you going to get me up there dressed like this."

"What are you talking about?" Gretchen asked me. I think my scared expression worried her.

"Well, um, you see. . ." Jake started.

"Yeah, we kinda. . ." Bobby continued.

"Spit it out," I barked.

"We entered 'Up in Flames' as a band for Gothplosion."

"Gothplosion is a sham, guys. It is the corporate tools trying to show how 'hip' they are by 'signing' the pseudo Goth band that they signed already and are just using the contest as free publicity with the local Goth crowd." Jake rubs off on me sometimes. Or I might have just been quoting an earlier rant he made about the same subject.

"Of course we won't win!" they both said together.

"Ok, so now I'm confused. Why are we entering a contest we can't win?"

"For the free publicity. MTV is covering Gothplosion this year."

Ok, that's new.

"What?!"

I'm not sure if Gretchen or I was more shocked by this.

I recovered faster, "how much did the label have to pay them?"

"No one knows for sure, but I checked the press releases on the MTV website, and it's there." Bobby was like a kid in a candy store over this. He was literally bouncing.

Jake wasn't much better, "if we prove ourselves in this thing, it will not only show the sham this contest is, but we might even get some MTV airtime. How's that for a band with no agent and no label."

"I think you guys need an agent before you do this contest. I know someone who might be willing to help."

That was the first time that Gretchen had mentioned that she knew anyone in 'The Biz'.

"Think you could call him tonight, Etch?"

She was a little worried when she first looked at me, but then she grabbed my hand and squeezed it, "I'll call him, Keith. Go get changed."

I went up to my makeup table and started cleaning my face. From long experience, baby wipes are a great way to get the first few layers off. I used to use alcohol wipes, but they dried my face out. Soap and water are the best for cake, but you tend to get your clothing drenched when you are in a hurry.

There was a little makeup left in the creases, and in my eyebrows of course, but my face was now mostly presentable. I changed out of Desdemona's clothing, folded it, and put it into a plastic bag to give to Jake or Bobby.

I decided to go with my halfway dressy Goth look. I put on a button shirt and a pair of ripped faded black denim jeans. Better than my school clothes, and as masculine as I could really go with my wardrobe. I considered wearing my boots, but mom always hated them. I went barefoot.

Gretchen was just getting off the phone when I got downstairs. "He said he could meet with you guys tomorrow. Are you up for that?"

I looked at the smiles on their faces, and I spoke for all of us, "we're up for it."

I gave the bag full of Desdemona to Bobby. "Keep her safe until the concert, Bobby."

"Yes, my Liege, our Queen will be safe."

We all laughed at this, and Bobby and Jake left to go home.

I sat there in the front room with Gretchen, she simply leaned against me, and I held her in my arms. Neither of us wanted to move, and both gained support from the other.

I don't know how long we sat there before I felt her breathing change. It felt good to know that she trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, but I knew that she didn't love me.

I wasn't sure of what I felt for her either, of course. Most of the time. There were moments when she stopped my heart. In those moments I would do anything in this world or the next for her.

I've had a crush on her since the moment that we met three years ago when her family moved in next door. She was fifteen at the time, and I was a scrawny thirteen year old. It wasn't that she was beautiful, and she was even then. There was just something there that screamed at me. That she needed my help and mine alone.

Ok, so that sounds a little stalkerish, but that's the closest I can get to expressing what I felt in that moment. I'm the best friend.

I have been there for a nasty breakup, and two not so nasty ones. I was there for a broken leg, and studying for exams.

I've been there as Sherpa and Mule for shopping expeditions to the mall. I was there when she almost died from pneumonia.

I began to rub her back a bit, and she snuggled into me. I wanted this moment to last forever, but like all such it never lasted long enough.

I heard the garage door open and close and the sound of keys hitting the counter. "Are you here, Keith?"

"In here, Mom." I said this as quietly as I could, but I felt Gretchen stir. She looked into my eyes, a lazy smile playing at her lips. She put her arms around me and fell asleep again. I guess I have been demoted from friend to teddy-bear. Oh well, at least I get to sleep with her.

My Mom came in the room. "Keith Michael Robison what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I have to say, first, that Gretchen has had a rough day, so could you keep it down a bit? Second, I have nothing to say about how I was dressed. It was a costume. I've worn them before."

"Yes, when you were in plays. And never girl's clothing."

"Performing in a band is a lot like a play, Mom. And so what if it was girl's clothing?"

"The bible says that you shouldn't wear girls clothing."

"Mom, seriously? It also suggests that people caught in adultery should be stoned, an eye for an eye, that people should sleep with their brothers wives after their brothers die, that you shouldn't travel on the Sabbath, and a lot of other things."

"Well, I don't agree with those things. . ."

"It's all or nothing, Mom. God either knows what he is talking about, or he doesn't. Besides, Christ said he fulfilled the law of Moses and gave us a higher law: Love one another."

"Isn't that a simplification, Keith?"

"Look, Mom. Everyone has a line they will not cross, morally speaking. I know where your line is, and I love you for it. Mine is somewhere else. This is not an issue of faith for me. I will not do this in your presence, or expect you to accept my doing it. However, we're going to pretend."

"I don't think. . ."

I have to admit I got a little angry. I also had a hard time lying to my mom. The rest sort of slipped out, "hear me out for a moment, Mom. You will pretend that I am not doing this. I will pretend I'm not doing this. While I'm at home, I will be your dutiful and loving son. I will keep helping out here and doing my chores and going with you to church on Sunday. I won't tell you about my concerts, and you won't ask."

"What about honor thy Father and thy Mother?"

"That only applies when they ask you to do things in righteousness, Mom."

"What I am asking is right!"

"Shh." I felt Gretchen stir, and hoped she would go back to sleep.

"I love you Mom. I will Honor your wishes in all things but this. If this lessens me in your eyes, I will live with it. The same way I lived with it when I quit the choir."

I felt a wetness on my chest, and realized that Gretchen was silently crying. I put my hand on her back and rubbed it a little.

My mother looked at her with contempt in her eyes, "this is all his fault isn't it? I knew he might be trouble one day. Filthy. . ."

"Get out." I was quiet, but my fury burned in my eyes. "Get out of this room until you calm down. I am tired of being the adult in this relationship, Mother. So Dad left you, great, that doesn't mean that all relationships are doomed to failure."

"Your father left me for a MAN, KEITH!!!"

I felt Gretchen jerk in my arms. She got up and ran from the room. She was trying to open the front door, but her tear filled eyes and wracking sobs blinded her to this simple task. I grabbed her from behind and just held her. She turned around and cried into my shoulder. "I'm sorry for this, Keith. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Etch. Don't ever let my Mom make you feel that way." I kissed her on the forehead, and then opened the door to walk her home. "I'm walking Gretchen home, Mother."

I walked into her house with her sobbing and holding onto me for support. Her dad ran into the room. "What happened, Keith?"

"My mother happened. I'm sorry for this. I really am."

"Stay with me Keith. Don't leave me tonight."

I looked at her dad. He had a grim look on his face, but he nodded his assent. "No funny business you two."

I took her up to her room, and we flopped down on her bed. I propped myself against the wall so she could lean against me. We were both asleep within minutes.

***

Have you ever fallen asleep wedged against a wall underneath a beautiful woman? Good idea when you fall asleep. Bad idea when you wake up.

I extracted myself from the bad positioning and went downstairs to find Gretchen's dad already up and about.

"I trust that you two just went to sleep?"

"Nothing happened. I respect your daughter too much for that."

"I know that, Keith. I was mostly teasing you."

"Yeah, well she doesn't think of me in that way."

I felt some arms come around me from behind, and a kiss on the cheek. "Give me some time. I might be persuaded to come around."

I had a smile that just wouldn't go away, until I went outside to head back over to my own house. There was glass and clothing and furniture all over my lawn. I don't know how she'd done it, but my makeup table was among the debris. All of my possessions in this world were on that lawn. And here I was barefoot and unable to even get to any of my boots or shoes. The curtains from my room blew in the slight breeze like a jolly roger. It was strange the emotions that this sight gave me. It was hopeful at the same time that it tore out my heart.

I needed a pen and paper. Now. I turned and almost ran into Gretchen. "I need a song. I mean I need to write a song down."

The words were flowing through my mind. Someone handed me a blank piece of paper and a pen and I went to town. I had the words and music written within thirty minutes and I could finally consider what I was going to do about my stuff all over my front yard. I went outside to see Mr. Anderson cleaning up the last of the glass and wood.

"You didn't have to do that. . ." I began, but he interrupted me.

"You are welcome to stay with us until your Mom cools off, Keith. In the spare room, of course."

"Sir, I. . ."

He interrupted me and intentionally misunderstood what I was going to say. "Gretchen, make sure to lock your door tonight. I'm not altogether sure we can trust his beady eyes."

We needed this release of tension as we all laughed and went inside.

About half my clothing was ruined. The rest of my clothing was torn to one degree or another. Not all of it was caused by the glass. Ok, so I had a specific style I was going for.

I didn't find any of my makeup in the pile of clothing so I went back outside. Apparently the sprinklers had been set to go off last night. That explained my clothing being soaked. My makeup had run into the green grass in an abstract painting of red and white and black. I felt the urge again to poetry, and I had to get it out of me before I needed to write it down.

"Light and darkness mix with the blood of ages past, while life marches on." Sometimes speaking the shorter ones got rid of them before the compulsion really set in. You see, I write poetry compulsively. I know. It's weird. It's a lot worse when I'm emotional. And even the smallest things can set me off into a world of emotive words and imagery.

I took a final look at my house. Everything of mine had been thrown out that window. My room had been my only sanctuary. The rest of the house was devoted to my mother's twin gods: Vanity and Envy.

I went back in to figure out what I was going to wear today. That was quickly remedied as I was wearing the only clothing I now owned that was dry. I looked through my footwear, but came to the same conclusion. I only had one pair boots that weren't soaking wet. They were my favorite pair of boots, but I hadn't worn them to school. Ever. They were knee high boots and they had buckles instead of laces. Black of course. Real Italian leather. They were the last present my dad had given me. I should have known he was going to run at that point.

I needed to do something to augment this outfit. I couldn't just go like I was. I sorted through my clothing, putting what was still salvageable in the washer, and the rest in the trash. I found most of my jewelry, which I never wore to school either. and decided to just go for broke today. I had a silver cross on a heavy chain for my left wrist. I wore a small dragon holding a crystal on my left middle finger. I had 4 silver rings for my right hand, one for each finger. I always thought it went well with the blue of my fingers. My makeup was all over the lawn, so I snuck into Gretchen's room while she was out taking a shower.

I checked my face, and cleaned up the remaining traces I had missed from last night. I should have taken care of that before, but a guy forgets sometimes. I looked at my face for traces of hair, glad of my genetic heritage for once. I was one quarter Cherokee or Sioux or something. I never knew my grandfather for a couple of reasons. The first being that he died before I was born. The other was that my Dad had run away from home when he was sixteen. He hadn't even gone home for the funeral. That was about the only thing that Dad had ever been good at: Leaving and never looking back.

I'm not bitter or anything.

Seeing that I didn't need to shave, I considered the makeup again. I put a light covering of white cake mixed with just a titch of Gretchen's base, just enough to lighten the tone of my skin from its normal olive. What to do with my eyes? I noticed a small bag that had Kohl written on it. I opened it, and sure enough it was a loose black powder. I wetted a sponge and dipped a bit of the powder out of the bag. I carefully painted an Eye of Horus around my left eye, and then used a brush to paint a single red drop at the corner of my right. I used a deep ruby red lipstick and pronounced myself done.

"I like the way you look in makeup." Gretchen had slipped up behind me while I was busy, and put her arms around my neck when I finished with my lipstick. She leaned over my shoulder to look at me in the mirror so I turned quickly and gave her a peck on the lips.

"Keith!"

"It's not ladylike to whine."

She giggled and pushed me out of the chair so she could do her own makeup. I had finally gotten back my own in an exchange with her. Maybe the makeup made all the difference. . .Nah. I was the same person inside. It's just that the events of the past twenty-four hours seemed to have broken down a wall between Gretchen and I allowing me to really relax around her for the first time in three years. She was my friend, and always would be, regardless of what happened between us.

She used slightly different tones than usual, and topped it off with the same ruby lipstick I had used.

"Now, our lipstick won't clash when we kiss." She planted a firework inducing kiss on me without warning. I was stunned to say the least. Ok, she wins. Damn you kisses!

I was going to go in for another of my own, but my brain kicked in at the last moment. Damn you brain!

"Etch, I think we're moving a little fast here."

"We've known each other for three years, Keith!"

"And you've always told me that you were too old for me."

"I was FLIRTING with you!"

Ok, I had no response to that.

"I've wanted you to make a move for over a year now. Ever since you wrote that song. I knew then that you really understood the me that I had to hide from all of my school friends. I always have to hold something back from them. I wouldn't fit into their ultra-conservative world view. But you know me."

"Etch. . ."

"Let me finish. Do you think I would go skinny dipping with anyone else? Do you? You saw me, all of me, and you never turned away."

"This is about your surgery isn't it?" She had surgery scheduled for the Monday after school got out.

"What if you don't love me after? What if you turn away from me then? I couldn't stand it if that happened."

She hugged her arms to her stomach and turned away from me, sobbing.

I walked up behind her and wrapped her in my arms. She grabbed onto my arms and held them tightly to herself. "I can't lose you now that I've finally found you."

"You can't lose me that easily, Etch. I survived two years of you actively pushing me away."

"But, I will be changing. You might not love me anymore if I'm different."

"I saw you as you are at the pool, in my dreams you are what you will be. Have you told your counselor about me, and your fears?"

She squeezed my arms. "Of course my psychiatrist knows about you, but I'm afraid if I told him about my fears that he would stop the surgery. I can't live without that either."

She peeled herself out of my arms and went back over to her makeup table. "I'm a complete mess."

While she fixed her makeup, I slipped down to her father's office to talk to him for a moment.

"I think that Gretchen should talk to Dr. Allen today, Sir"

"I allowed the 'Mr. Andersen's and Sirs when you lived somewhere else. While you are under my roof I insist you either call me Dad or Tom."

"I will consider calling you Dad after Gretchen and I get married, but til then I think I could live with Tom."

"Does she know this?"

I blushed and he chuckled at me. How come guys chuckle and girls giggle. Just a thought.

I continued, "I think that's part of the reason she needs to talk to Dr. Allen. She's afraid that people won't love her anymore after she gets her surgery."

"People meaning you? Any truth to this?"

"I love your daughter no matter what. . .I mean. . ."

"I know what you mean. I've seen how you treat her, and have to say that I wouldn't have been that patient were I in your shoes. I just wanted to hear it in your own words. You'll be driving?"

"Yes, I just hope she doesn't kill me for touching her baby. She isn't really in good shape to be driving herself right now."

He tossed me his keys, "just don't scratch the paint."

In that moment I could have called him Dad without any qualms. It's not every day that someone tosses you the keys to a classic Aston, in suburbia no less. "Thank you, Sir," which I amended to, "Thank you, Tom," when he glared at me.

"What are you two conspiring about?"

I turned to look at Gretchen. She had wiped off her previous makeup and gone for her more regular shades. Guess we were done kissing for the moment.

Tom got on the phone, to the psychiatrist it seemed, so I was left to explain, "your Dad and I agree that you need an emergency session with Dr. Allen today."

"You're going to jeopardize everything!"

"Etch, hear me out. We have three weeks to sort it out. If we'd waited, sure, you might have a problem. You still want this, right?" She nodded so I continued, "then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, your Dad gave me the keys to the Aston."

"Oh no, save me from your driving." She put her hands up in a high drama pose. She couldn't keep it up and started giggling.

I was sorely tempted to tickle her for some reason.

I hugged her instead.

Tom turned to us after getting off the phone. "He can see you at ten, and he wants to speak to Keith for a bit before talking to Gretchen."

"I can't afford. . ."

"Keith, he wants to see you about Gretchen, but he also wants to talk to your about your poetry."

"I still can't. . ."

"Let me worry about that. You two just go out for a couple of hours before Gretchen's appointment. You should go on a first date after all."

"Dad!"

"Tom!" We said this almost simultaneously.

"It is not ladylike to whine!"

Both of us groaned. It seems this line has been used way too much recently.

"Heard that one, huh? How 'bout, Would you like a little cheese to go with that?"

Tom gave me a couple of hundred dollars and we went out to the garage. It was silver. It was the most beautiful car in the world.

We went out to eat, which was uneventful. When we came out there were paparazzi all over the place. . .just kidding. People around here knew that Mr. Anderson drove an Aston, and there would be no other reason for someone to be following us around.

That and the fact that we lived in a sleepy little town in southern Utah. Two hours from Salt Lake, and four from Las Vegas. I don't think there were any paparazzi out this way.

I only mention them because of the conversation we had on our way out of the restaurant. "You know, Keith, we're going to have to come up with something for Desdemona off stage."

"I thought that I was only supposed to dress that way for concerts?"

"You're going to have to make some personal appearances elsewhere, or you are going to be followed around everywhere, just so people can get a picture. The more mysterious you are, the more that people want to find out who you are."

"Crap."

She was about to speak, so I put my finger to her lips. I had an idea that I was trying to formulate into words. She kissed my finger, and instead of flustering me, like it would have yesterday, it clarified everything.

"Desdemona's signature is the pink hair and shoes. Sure, she doesn't need the combat boots with every outfit, but she will usually use them. Her makeup will be two colors at a time, even if those colors may change."

"She always seemed flamboyant subdued to me." Gretchen spoke around my finger. It was a little more distracting than her kiss.

"Then that will be her clothing. And her jewelry. She will have flashes of color, mixed with black. Burgundy, green, dark blue, anything that works with pink. She is more formal on top with jackets and corsets and such, with flamboyant bottoms like the leggings and skirt."

"You know, we could do this better with a consultant."

"Where are we going to get the money for that, and before you say your Dad, remember that we don't even know if we can be successful at this."

"You're good, Keith. Really good. Everyone can see it."

"Fine, but nothing really expensive until we get some sort of a contract."

She threw me into a hug, and I returned it without any difficulty. I loved this girl.

We drove the twenty minutes to the clinic where Dr. Allen worked. There wasn't anyone else in the waiting room, but the receptionist told us that he was in with another client, so we sat down to wait on the couch. Gretchen folded herself around my arm and leaned against me. I just lived in that moment for as long as I could.

"Keith?"

"Yes," I said as I stood.

He looked at me a little quizzically, so I hammed it up a bit. I flipped my hair with my right hand, you know the fingernails, and said, "you like?" With a wink of my left eye. I had a dot for the iris of the Eye of Horus on my eyelid.

He looked at me strangely until Gretchen started to giggle. He smiled and motioned me back.

I'm not going to go into details about what we talked about. It was an hour. At an average of probably 100 words per minute, that figures out to about six thousand words. That's a lot to type, believe me.

Here are the highlights. I am mildly OCD. He mentioned my nails and general grooming, as well as my poetry. He didn't think it was a problem, since my coping techniques seemed adequate. My words not his.

We spent most of the time analyzing my feelings about Gretchen. He wanted to truly understand where I stood. I think one small exchange will make my feelings understood. I think you can guess at his suggestion from my response.

"Listen you sick son of a bitch, I'm not gay. Gretchen is now, and will always be, a woman in my mind."

Ok, so I overreacted. Trust me, I have no problems with another person's sexual orientation. I guess, however, some of my mother's attitudes have sort of rubbed off on me.

"Relax, Keith, I didn't mean anything by it. That was because of your Dad, wasn't it?"

Yeah, he's observant, and we did spend some time talking about my Dad.

We finished up, and I went out to the waiting room to fulfill the purpose of its creation while Gretchen went in to talk to Dr. Strangelove.

It was almost two hours before the door opened again. "Keith, could you join us please?"

I shudder to think what this was costing.

I walked in and at Gretchen's look I joined her on the couch. She had been crying and ruined her makeup again. She leaned against me.

"First of, I'd like to apologize, Keith, for my behavior earlier. It was a bit out of line, but I needed to get to the root of who you were, in relation to Gretchen. It's a little unorthodox, I know, but it can get results.

"Gretchen, you are suffering a bit from depression right now. Like I tell some of my other patients, you shouldn't make any major life decisions while under any mind altering condition. I am not going to postpone your surgery, yet, but I want to know before you go through with it that this isn't something that you are doing to try to feel better.

"Keith, I want you here because I know that you've been important to Gretchen for a while now, and that you are more important to her than anyone but her father. I have to say, though, I have some questions about what you are looking for in a relationship."

When did he talk to me about what I want in a relationship. . ?

"It wasn't what you said, but the way you said it. Ok, look, I'm not saying anything you two don't already know. You're both young. However, I know you've both spent a lot of time supporting one another emotionally. I also know that there are things that Gretchen hasn't told you, Keith.

"You two need to talk about some things. Think about this as a couples counseling session."

He chuckled at this thought. "If more of the married couples who I see had done this before getting married, I probably wouldn't ever have to see any of them now."

"What, they wouldn't have gotten married in the first place?" Gretchen snickered when I said this.

"That's probably true of some of them, but I think most would have the tools to work through their issues without outside help."

"Gretchen?" He looked at her, and she held onto me tighter, but she began to speak in a quiet voice.

I'm not going to tell you what we spoke about. It is her place to tell it, and she is a really private person. She cried a lot, and I really felt like it on a couple of occasions, but didn't. I ended up holding her while she cried.

We talked about coping techniques, and about how I should listen. Apparently girls don't need to be taught how to listen.

It wasn't until we were outside and buckled into the car when something struck me. "You think of us as a couple?"

I looked at Gretchen waiting for an answer and she nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Why didn't you ever ask me out?"

"Because I thought you were still going out with Steve 'I'm a footballer' Hansen."

"You know we broke up in August."

Ok, she had a point. She'd invited me over for the breakup party. Yeah, she'd been the one who dumped him. That should have been my first clue, since she had never broken up with any of her other boyfriends. They'd always broken up with her.

Keith, meet cluebat. Thwack!

"You know, Keith, you're cute when you're flustered."

I put the car in gear. I wasn't even going to respond to that one, except to grin at the road. I decided that we needed to get something a little more fancy for lunch. I decided to drive us for sushi in Provo. You'd be surprised at how many halfway decent sushi places there are in Provo. There's even a place that offers handmade all you can eat.

If her dad was paying, we could afford the twenty dollars each.

Godzilla Roll for the win.

I realized as we were pulling into the parking lot, that this wasn't really the first date that Gretchen and I had been on. Sure, it might be the first official one, but I had taken her to this restaurant on more than one occasion. Just the two of us.

If I thought about it that way, we had been dating off and on for the past two years.

I mentioned as much to Gretchen.

"Don't over analyze it, Keith," may have been what she said, but the smile on her face looked more like, "Finally, he gets it."

Yep, meet Keith, the slowest human mind on the planet. Watch him take two years to realize one and one is two. The kiss she gave me as we walked into the building more than made up for the time it had taken us to get here.

"Welcome back, Keith," said the Asian gentleman at the cashier counter.

Did I mention that I come here a lot. It is the main reason I sell my soul at Hot Topic over the summer. Sure, it's nothing but Goth wannabes, but I get to wear my own clothing, and not some nasty uniform.

Sitting there actually reminded me of someone I'd met while working last summer. I got out my cell phone and dialed her up. I know, way to bail on my indie solidarity.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Keith."

"Finally decided on some body piercings? Let me guess; your girlfriend wants me to pin a medal on your soldier for you."

"No, a more normal piercing, but unique hardware."

"You mean the 'Skull and Crossbones'?"

"Of course I mean the 'Skull and Crossbones'."

"How do you know I didn't sell them already?"

"Did you sell them already?"

"Of course not. I told you before that I made those on a lark and no one would be crazy enough to actually wear them."

"Same price as last time?"

"Actually, I was considering giving you a 50% discount just to see you wear them out the door."

"What if I told you I would be on MTV wearing them?"

"I'd pay to see you wearing them on MTV"

"Just giving me the earrings would be enough for me."

"You're serious?"

"The guys signed 'Up in Flames' up for Gothplosion, and MTV is covering it this year."

"Ok, fine. You pay me 20 bucks to do the piercing, since there is no way they'll fit in a gun, and you've got yourself a deal."

That was good, since the $5400 price tag would have cleaned me out. Each of the studs had two real rubies and four diamonds. Sure, none of them were that big, but on top of the vanadium steel setting, it kind of added up. I wouldn't tell Gretchen what I had almost paid for these. She'd decide that this was my idea of 'not expensive' and we'd be in to see an image consultant before I could say jump.

We stopped by Madam Zeela's Boutique, and got my ears pierced. All I have to say is manual piercing, ouch. I was really thankful for the fly nut to secure them on the back. That was a lot of money per ear.

We went over to the Towne Center (a fancy name for a mall) to see a movie. We were 40 minutes early, so we decided to walk around the stores. They were putting a poster up in the window of one of the music stores. It was the blonde who had been kissing Josh.

I dragged Gretchen into the store to talk to the employee putting up the poster. "Hey, who is that?"

"Sarah Carerra. She's supposed to be a new up and coming star. Haven't you heard her song, 'Intuition'. They're just about playing it nonstop."

I just looked at him, I would have thought it was obvious, but he colored after a moment. "I guess not."

"Honey, just think, a year from now, you could be up for the Best Female Artist against her at the Tween Awards."

I gave a mock shudder and laughing we walked out to see the rest of the mall.

Ok, so apparently, the earrings were kind of obvious. And apparently I looked a little androgynous in my clothing.

"Ask her where she got her earrings."

"No, you ask her."

I turned at this point and gave each of them Zeela's card. "She does custom jewelry."

They giggled but took the cards. "She is so cool looking. Maybe we should try the Goth look."

I gave out another fifteen cards before we got back to the movie. She'd given them to me with the stipulation that I give a card to anyone who asked about the earrings. Well, there was a lot more footwork for me to do before I paid off these babies.

I'm just glad that Zeela thought of me as a friend.

I did buy a lot of jewelry from her over the past year.

The bracelet cross, her design.

Um, now that I think about it, I have purchased a new piece of jewelry from Zeela every time I come with Gretchen to Provo. Maybe I should ask her about paying Gretchen a commission. . .

We watched the movie, which let out a little after seven and drove home, a little fast, to meet the agent that both of us had completely forgotten about.

He was in Gretchen's living room, along with Bobby and Jake, when we arrived.

He took one look at me and blinked. "Where in the world did you get those earrings?"

"Madam Zeela's Boutique. She is an old friend and she gave them to me in exchange for some free publicity for her shop."

"Um...She gave those to you? This is a costume mock-up, right? If this is the same Zeela I'm thinking about. . .wow. She gave them to you. . .you didn't sleep with her or anything?"

"She's about twice my age!"

"But $5000 earrings."

"What!?" That was all three of my friends.

"How did you know that?"

"I read the trade publications. Those were made originally for Angelina, but when she saw them she turned them down. She wanted her money back and Zeela gave it to her."

"Well, Desdemona will make them famous."

"Desdemona?"

"Stage name."

"About that. I was telling your friends here that I don't buy anything sight unseen. So, I need to hear you play."

We climbed into vehicles and went over to Jake's house. I am thankful that I keep my Baby there. Mom would have destroyed it throwing it out the window.

"So, Mr. Fields, what do you want to hear first?"

"Call me Richard. Play anything you think will wow me."

I looked at the other two. We could play Vivaldi, but that was only cool. They didn't know Black Flag yet, since I had only written it this morning.

"My Life with You is Hell." Gretchen's was the deciding vote. We had gotten the most practice on that one anyway.

We played Gretchen's life in song.

"Ok, Keith, Up in Flames has a manager." We discussed fees, and felt that they were reasonable. He said that he would get us studio time somewhere after Gothplosion, and told us to 'lay low' until then. I still didn't think that we would be getting anywhere, but you know how it is. I tend to be a little pessimistic where the band is concerned. I would like nothing more than for us to succeed, I just didn't think we would.

Jake and Bobby's parents signed their management contracts for them. We had two weeks to figure out how to get me signed without my mom. Gretchen also kept looking at the earrings as if she had something to say, but was quiet the entire ride to her house.

I was really not looking forward to any of this.
Edited by Dean Vandusen and the ever patient Julia Phillips.