Chapter 23: There's a first time for everything and
Chapter 24: Don't judge a book by its cover, comprising Leigh's first day of school.
 

by Justme
Special thanks to Daphne for spending the time to look this over before I put it out for the world to see. Her notes were of inestimable value. Any remaining errors are mine of course, and at least some of them are deliberate....

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Chapter 23: There's a first time for everything

"I'm not hungry."

"You can't go to your first day of school without a good breakfast. Especially not this year."

"You don't need to remind me, Mom. I just... I think I'm gonna throw up." If the thought of school doesn't make me, the smell of the steak and eggs she just put in front of me will. Well, it's like a burger without a bun really, but she calls it 'steak' and eggs. Says it's what the Apollo astronauts had for breakfast when they were training.

"Oh, sweetie! It's natural to be nervous. I'm sure all the other girls are nervous about starting ninth grade too. I bet you're not the only one who's new to this school, either."

"Yeah, well, I bet I'm the only one who's new to being a girl." The past week or so has been great--the best week of my life in a lot of ways, except for the ways it was the worst, but overall great. But right now I'm having serious second thoughts about this whole thing. I mean, what was I thinking? It's like Lincoln said--you can fool some of the people some of the time but you can't fool all of the people all of the time. Or something like that. Anyway with so many people someone's bound to notice something fishy about me and figure out my secret. And it's not like I can just burst into song in the hallways to put their minds at rest about my true sex. You can only get away with that in a musical; in a real-life junior high it would be, like, social suicide. Then again, maybe better that than actual suicide....

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that."

Huh? "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm serious. Not in the way you're new to it, but think about it--a lot of the girls will just be starting to blossom, and some who've been tomboys all their lives will be seeing boys in a whole new way and really trying to be pretty and feminine for the first time in their lives."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess."

"So really, your situation is no different from theirs. Don't worry, sweetie. You'll fit in just fine."

It kinda does make me feel a little better. Skeptically, I take a bite of my breakfast and start laboriously chewing. I'm still not hungry, and I have to force myself to swallow, but at least I don't think it's gonna make me throw up.

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"Now, have a good day, both of you!"

"We will, Mom. Don't worry 'bout us!"

"Yeah." I don't know how Livy can sound so enthusiastic. I watch with envy as Mom goes back inside and closes the door.

"So, if you go this way it's only a little farther, and you can walk with me until we cross Addams Road."

"OK, sure." Anything to delay the moment I'm thrown to the wolves sounds good. It's a little chilly this early in the morning so I'm glad I decided to go with jeans instead of a skirt, and it's not quite cool enough for a jacket but I'm kinda wishing I'd picked a long-sleeved shirt like Livy did. She's wearing her best jeans with that top I gave her--the one she was wearing the night we met Michelle. It really does look fantastic on her. I'd be regretting giving it to her but there's no way I could wear it; the color just doesn't work on me. Anyway my jeans are way more stylish than hers. They're the ones Linda talked me into getting at the mall that day. And now is not a good time to be thinking about that day. I look around for something to take my mind off it, quick. "Hey, that's a pretty cool house, with the tower. Someone rich must live there." Though it's not really much bigger than ours. Just fancier.

"Heh. Yeah--looks like a castle."

"Yeah. Reminds me of home." Sigh. I wish I was back in Europe right now. Mainly 'cause it's a long way from here.

"I know what you mean. I kinda miss it too sometimes." She puts her arm around me and I kind of lean on her shoulder. We walk in silence like that until we come to the main road and the crossing guard. Which seems kinda silly if you ask me; it's not like we're not old enough to cross the street by ourselves or anything. But the crossing guard is this old guy and he looks kind of ornery so I decide not to make a big deal about it and just let him do his job.

We cross the street and with each step I get more and more nervous, 'cause once we're across she goes left and I go right and I'm on my own without anyone I know for the rest of the day. Or at least until fifth period, anyway. Mr. Valuta. Something to look forward to I guess.

"All right. See you after school. Good l- no, don't wanna jinx you. 'Break a leg.'" She gives me an encouraging smile.

I give her a nervous one and say, "Same to you. Say hi to Felicia for me."

"You bet." And with a wave, she turns and walks away and I'm alone.

I turn the other way and get a cold knot in my stomach, which is only made worse when I see a group of tough-looking kids standing directly in my path, wearing surplus army jackets and smoking. I try not to make eye contact and to look nonchalant and non-threatening as I give them as wide a berth as I can without looking like I'm scared or trying to avoid them.

As I get closer I can see their cigarettes look homemade, and they're kind of smoking them a funny way, taking long drags and holding it in, and it smells more like burning leaves than tobacco. So I wonder if maybe it's not. Tobacco, I mean. I see one of them looking at me, and he elbows the one next to him and points me out, and I figure I'm done for now--only instead of swaggering over and intimidating me out of my lunch money they hide the "cigarettes" behind their backs and kind of straighten up, and one of them pulls out a comb and runs it through his hair. And smiles at me. And before I can stop myself I smile back, briefly, and before I can tear my eyes away from his I see his smile get a bit bigger and a little bit... predatory. Shit. I pick up my pace a bit but I don't want to look back to see if they're following me. They don't sound like they are. And--oh god, they're laughing. At me? I don't know it's directed at me. I'm gonna go with no, 'cause I don't even want to think about what it might mean if they were.

Only now I realize my increased pace is only bringing me more quickly to the scene of my doom so I slow down a bit. It gives me time to collect myself and try to relax and calm my nerves. Hey, self-hypnosis may not have done much for my body problems but it does come in handy at times like this.

As I'm walking toward the main doors a bus pulls up and drops a bunch of kids off. Some of them seem happy enough to be here--what is wrong with them? But most look as nervous as I feel. Which is kind of reassuring I guess--at least I won't stand out like a sore thumb. As they swarm around me I hear, "Hi, Leigh!"

Huh? Oh, it's Maria. And oh my god, she's got boobs. Big ones. For a seventh grader, anyway. Bigger than mine, that's for sure. "H-hi, Maria. Lookin' good." As she catches up with me I lean in close and whisper, "Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?" She looks puzzled so I glance briefly down at her chest.

I see the light come on behind her eyes followed by a worried look, then a sort of dirty one. She whispers back, "You're one to talk." What? Mine aren't any bigger than they were last week. "I'll keep my mouth shut if you will."

I just shrug and smile; I get the feeling it would not be a good idea to piss this girl off. "Hey, what are friends for?" I whisper again: "Just, you might want to keep your back turned when you're changing for P.E."

She apparently hadn't thought that far ahead 'cause her eyes are big and she looks a little green now. She whispers back, and I can hear a little desperation in her voice, "Will that work? Is that what you do?"

I shrug again. "I don't have P.E. this year. But don't worry; I'm sure it's perfectly normal to be shy about your chest if it's grown that much over one summer." She looks only slightly reassured. You know, strangely I feel kind of bad for her. I pull my crumpled schedule out of my back pocket--luckily these jeans have pockets--and look at it, 'cause even though I've got it memorized I don't want to take any chances. "Um, my homeroom is this way I think. See ya 'round, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

Jeez, she looks more nervous than I felt before breakfast. I guess this being her first day in junior high is kind of a big deal. Maybe I shouldn't have added to her worries like that. Then again maybe I saved her some major embarrassment later on--who knows?

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In spite of having had the grand tour ahead of time it ended up taking me longer than I expected to find my homeroom, 'cause apparently whoever numbered the classrooms didn't have a very good grasp of such esoteric notions as "order" and "logic." But I did manage to get here and find a seat with a minute to spare. To be fair, it's not really a room so much as a sort of carpeted open area between rooms with a bunch of classroom furniture shoved in it and semi-arranged. I can't figure out what it used to be before they turned it into a classroom but between this, and the fact that a couple of the classrooms Mr. Valuta showed me are actually trailers parked out back that he called "portables," I get the feeling the teenage population has been growing here faster than they can build schools.

Yeah, I fit right in. People are sort of trying desperately to look casual as they nervously check each other out. Well, most seem to have friends or acquaintances to talk to and are pretty much ignoring everyone else but a few seem like me to be on their own. One poor boy looks actually afraid as his eyes dart around, like he's being forced to sit in the same room with people who want to hurt him--a look I know all too well. Like a trapped rat.

All right, what's the deal with that? He saw me giving him a sympathetic look and now he looks all embarrassed and won't look at me anymore. But here comes the teacher, and that seems to have calmed him down a little.

"Good morning. I'm Mr. Swiatkowski"--it sounds like "sweat-OW-ski" when he says it; I only know how it's spelled 'cause it's written in the corner of the portable blackboard parked behind his desk--"and I'll be your homeroom teacher this--"

What's he looking at with such an annoyed expression? Oh god, my heart's pounding and I almost just kind of threw up a little in the back of my throat--it's the guy who smiled at me outside. He sees me, and he's smiling at me again--and I'm confused, 'cause it does look predatory, but not in an "I'm looking forward to kicking your ass out behind the gym later" kind of way. It's somehow less threatening than that, and yet at the same time scarier in a way I can't put my finger on.

I manage not to smile back this time as I tear my eyes away from his and they come to rest on trapped-rat-boy, and now I'm even more confused. He's looking straight at Stoner Dude--yes, I'm jumping to hasty conclusions here but gimme a break, like you wouldn't--and all trace of the fear I saw moments ago is gone.

"So glad you could join us, Mr. O'Neill." Only Mr. S. sounds anything but glad.

"Sweaty! Awesome!" Stoner Dude O'Neill apparently just noticed who was behind the desk.

"Sweat-OW-ski, please." Huh. I guess there's some history here. I'll have to find out what this is all about somehow.

"OK, Sweat-OW-ski, if it makes you happy." The level of sarcasm and complete lack of respect for authority in his voice is so far beyond anything I've ever dared to attempt at school, it's downright inspiring. But at the same time it doesn't feel personal somehow. Like it's directed at the authority he wields and not Mr. S. himself, if that makes sense. And from the way he responds I think Mr. S. takes it that way too.

"It does, thank you."

"No sweat." Man, he looks proud of himself for his oh-so-clever retort. As his eye catches mine I turn away quickly and can feel my face turning pink. Damn it, he caught me smirking at him in spite of myself and winked at me.

Mr. S. just rolls his eyes and says, "Please have a seat, Marion."

There are some titters at this, which isn't very nice only I can't judge 'cause I can't help it--I snicker too. 'Marion' finds an open seat midway between me and trapped-rat-boy and sits down but he looks honestly hurt. "Now, that was just uncalled for, Mr. S. You know I go by Damon." Feeling a little guilty, I catch his eye and give him a mischievous-but-sympathetic smile and a wink, which seems to cheer him right back up and I wonder if that was a stupid thing to do but it seemed like the right thing even if it was stupid. If that makes any sense. But that doesn't stop me from blushing again.

"Duly noted. We'll call it even and move on, shall we? I'm going to call attendance. When you hear your name come up to my desk for your locker number and combination. If you don't hear your name, see me afterward and we'll go to the office and get you sorted out."

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Against all odds, my name actually was on the list. It kinda made me feel all warm and gooey inside to answer to "Llewellyn, Leigh" for the first time, too. I'm kind of savoring that feeling as Mr. S. reads the morning's announcements.

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Great, not only is my first class of the morning Algebra, and not only is it in one of the trailers--excuse me, portables--but does the teacher have to be one of those nerds who thinks he's got a sense of humor? And that one "joke" comparing parabolas to certain unspecified parts of a woman's anatomy was just--well, tasteless. Inappropriate. Creepy, actually. I mean, I guess he's just trying desperately to come up with some way to interest normal kids in Algebra but that's not it, OK? And I don't know whether it's too much to take so early in the morning, or whether I should just be thankful I'm not fully awake for it.

Anyway I don't know why he has to try so hard to sell it. This stuff has its own beauty, almost like poetry in a way. It's like they go out of their way to disguise that and make it seem difficult and pointless. Come to think of it, they do that with poetry, too. It's almost as if what they're trying to teach us isn't the material itself, but to put up with endless tedium and mindless repetition for hours at a stretch, day in and day out, without questioning it. It's almost like the last thing they want is for us to actually understand or, heaven forbid, appreciate what they're teaching and be able to think about it intelligently.

I hate school. Did I mention that yet?

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I did manage to find my locker pretty quickly but it took a while to get into it since they gave me the wrong combination. Luckily these locks are pretty easy to "pick" if you know the trick--if you pull up on the latch while you're spinning the dial you can feel it kind of catch when you hit one of the numbers in the combination, and then you just have to figure out which order they go in by trial and error. So I didn't have to go to the office to get a maintenance guy to help me out but I'm still running a little behind so I'll kind of have to hurry to make it to my next class.

As I pass a side hallway I hear a commotion, and some people shouting at each other:

"Hey, watch it!"

"-ike!"

Lovely. It's a familiar script; I've seen it performed many times. Bully bumps victim in hallway; books go flying; angry words are hurled, tears fought back; cruel laughter ensues. I feel a little guilty for being glad I'm not cast in the role of "victim" today. The worst part is when everyone watching just ignores you. I'm momentarily torn between wanting to go help, and not wanting to be late for class.

"Hi, you must be new here. I'm Wendy Arden." Huh? Jeez! Sneak up on me, why don't you! When I collect my wits I'm facing three pretty girls. The one looking at me expectantly is wearing almost exactly the outfit I didn't wear this morning; her two friends are dressed more like me, only with more jewelry--and makeup. And yeah, they're a lot better at that than I am so it's probably good I didn't wear any. I wish I could get a good look at how they've done it without looking like I'm staring or something. "This is Jennifer McAllister, and that's Amy Birch. Leigh, is it?"

"That's right, Leigh. Leigh Llewellyn. Pleased to meet you." God, why am I being so formal? "Um, how did you...?"

"I was sitting a couple of rows behind you in homeroom. I saw the looks you were exchanging with Damon. You're not friends with him, are you?" Over her shoulder I see a disheveled girl who reminds me of Nancy from the comic strip clutching an untidy stack of books and loose papers. She's giving us a seriously dirty look and hugging the opposite wall of the hallway as she passes us.

"Huh? Uh, no. We haven't even met yet, really. He just saw me on my way to school and I guess he thought it was funny I was in his homeroom."

"Uh huh. Listen, he is cute in his own way but you don't want to waste your time with a loser burnout like him. A girl like you could do so much better. If you want, you can hang out with us and we'll show you the ropes."

I'm kind of bemused that she seems to think so highly of me without even knowing me. Maybe I did a good job picking out what to wear today after all. Or a bad one, depending how you look at it. On the other hand she seems to think pretty highly of herself so maybe it just means she's not very discriminating. "Ropes?"

"Yeah, you know--bring you up to speed on all the cliques, who's cool to be seen with, who to avoid, stuff like that."

"Oh. Uh, thanks...." Not my scene, man. Politics make me sick. How do I politely beg off though? Without insulting them? 'Cause I have a feeling that might not be a good idea.

Before I can think of anything Wendy makes a show of looking at her watch--Cartier, if I'm not mistaken. "We should get to our classes, but look for us at lunch, OK?" I guess I'm supposed to be impressed but I'm pretty sure the Record diver's watch I'm wearing--which is actually Livy's but she didn't want to wear it today so she let me--keeps better time for about a tenth the price, plus it's self-winding, shock resistant, waterproof and antimagnetic whereas hers would probably stop if you looked at it cross-eyed. French style versus Swiss quality. I have the boys' version at home but it would look totally out of place with these clothes if you know what I mean.

"Um, OK. Pretty watch, by the way." Since she's clearly going out of her way to make sure I notice it, it would be kind of rude not to say something. I try to make the compliment, and my smile, seem sincere but I'm not sure I succeed.

Wendy smiles back smugly and says "Thanks" as we go our separate ways.

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I see that girl who gave us the dirty look in the hallway is in my English class. The seat next to her is empty--good; that'll give me a chance to explain I wasn't with those other girls and ask her why she hates them so much. Only as I sit down she glares at me; when I give her a puzzled smile in return she picks up her stuff and moves to another desk, behind me and across the room.

Jeez. What the fuck is her problem?

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Miss Blankenship is kind of pretty, and relatively young which means her idealistic passion to make a difference and cultivate young minds hasn't quite been strangled to death by The System yet. This can be a good thing or a bad thing; in her case I haven't decided which yet, but I'm leaning toward "bad." On account of it seems like her idea of "cultivating young minds" is going to involve a fair amount of actual work.

On the other hand, she's given us Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles for this term's first reading material. So I guess it won't be all bad. I've actually been meaning to read it for a while.

I still don't know what mousy-girl's problem is, though.

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"Yo, new chick! Wait up!" I recognize that voice; I turn around to see Marion "Damon" "Stoner Dude" "Loser Burnout" O'Neill shoving through the crowd to catch up with me.

"The name's Leigh." I'm not exactly in the best of moods after being totally snubbed by that girl for no good reason.

"Yeah, sorry, I knew that. Only I wasn't sure if I heard it right. I didn't want to embarrass myself by calling you the wrong name."

I just look at him. My mood's not improving here. "So you decided to go with 'Yo, new chick?' Smooth move." It occurs to me he has no idea how appropriate that label actually is.

"Ah, huh. Yeah. So... I figured we should get to know each other. I'll save a seat for you at lunch, all right?"

I shrug. "Knock yourself out."

"Hey, I just thought the new chick could use a friend or two on her first day." He sounds kind of defensive.

Sigh. "Yeah, I guess I could. Sorry, it's been kind of a weird morning."

"It's cool. See you in the caff-o-teria, right?"

"Sure, OK." What the hell, it has to be better than eating alone, right? Or with the Socially Superior Squad. Man, I thought people like that only existed on TV. I allow myself to give him a half-smile; his whole face lights up in response.

Uh-oh.

----------

I'm preoccupied, kind of wondering what I just got myself into as I get to my History classroom so I'm not paying enough attention to what's going on around me and try to go through the doorway at the same time as another girl. "Oof. Aahhh, shi-oot. Sorry!" Damn, I knocked her books all over the floor.

She sounds kind of surprised when she says, "Oh! Thank you," as I bend down to help her pick them up. "I'm so clumsy."

"No, my fault, lost in thought."

She smiles. "I know what you mean. I do that all the time." She looks thoughtful for a moment. "Which is probably why I'm so clumsy." I guess this strikes her as funny 'cause she laughs, and I kind of can't help laughing with her.

I stand back up with a couple of her books and some papers and everything goes kind of spinny and white and sparkly for a second. "Whoo, dizzy! Stood up too fast." But it goes back to normal quickly. "Uh, hi, I'm Leigh. Leigh Llewellyn." I offer her a hand up.

"Hi, Leigh. I do that all the time too." She smiles as she takes my hand and I pull her up. "Nice to meet you. I'm Kelly O'Kelly."

My eyes get big for a second before I can stop myself and I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a laugh. "Um, hm, nice to meet you too, Kelly. Um, here." I hand over the stuff I picked up.

"Thanks. It's OK, I get that reaction all the time. My dad has a weird sense of humor and my mom--well, sometimes I wonder what they see in each other. Anyway, thanks again." She rolls her eyes as she finds an empty desk and sits down. I think she's being sarcastic. About her parents, I mean.

"Least I could do. Mind if I sit here?" I indicate the desk next to hers.

"Ohh, I was kind of hoping to save that one for my boyfriend." She looks apologetic.

I try not to look too hurt. "Oh. Uh, OK--"

She interrupts me by rolling her eyes. "As if I had one. No, please, I'm joking. Funny, get it? Me? Boyfriend?" She looks at me appraisingly. "You really want to sit by me?"

"Why wouldn't I? Is there something wrong with you I should know about?" I look at her with mock concern as I sit down.

"Not that I'm aware of, but everyone else around here seems to think so." She seems to be used to being an outcast, and kind of OK with it. I can relate.

"Anyway what's so funny about you having a boyfriend?"

"You're kidding, right?" She looks at me closely. "You're not. Huh."

"I mean, you seem pretty nice, and you're funny, and you've got a great smile." She also has all the fashion sense of a color-blind nerd, but there's lots of potential looks-wise. Probably more than Linda had to work with, with me. For starters, she's got an actual figure. "Is it just that you don't like boys?"

"Me, a lezzie? Would that I were. At least then I'd be able to put my singular singleness down to the difficulty of detecting potential partners. As it is I have no choice but to accept that I've inherited my parents' complete and total lack of sex appeal."

"I wouldn't say that...."

"Why, are you a lezzie?" It doesn't sound like an accusation or anything, just honest curiosity.

"Um, no."

"But you find yourself strangely attracted to me?"

"Well, not like that, no."

"Like what then?"

"As a friend?" I say hopefully.

She sighs dramatically, but smiles brightly. "Story of my life. Far be it from me to turn down an offer of friendship."

As I return her smile the bell rings. Time to pretend like we have nothing better to do than sit still and hang on the teacher's every word.

----------

"How d'you know so much about obscure Anglo-Saxon kings?" She says it in kind of a funny pinched voice with an odd accent that seems somehow familiar. After a second I figure out where I've heard it before and smile.

"'Well, you have to know these things when you're a king, you know.'"

"Ha! A girl after my own heart. That has to be, like, the funniest movie ever."

"Oh, gee, I dunno--Young Frankenstein could give it a run for its money."

"True, true. 'Blucher!'"

I make a whinnying noise and we both laugh. Several people look at us like we're nuts which just makes us laugh more.

"No, seriously--how do you know so much about 'em?"

"Just Ethelred the Unready. Grandfather says he's an ancestor of Grandmother's. The name just cracks him up, I guess."

"Yeah, I can see that. ...So, I'd strongly advise against the so-called 'pizza.' Unless you're into instant heart attacks. Plenty greasy and salty but it tastes kinda like glue on a sponge."

"Thanks, I'll pass. What's that other stuff?"

"'Hungarian Goulash.' I doubt anyone in Hungary has ever seen this recipe but it's sort of edible. Macaroni and meat sauce, basically."

"OK. Goulash, please," I say as I hold up my tray.

The lady behind the counter with her blue-tinted hair in a clear shower cap slops some onto a plate and drops it on my tray without a hint of a smile. "Enjoy."

"I'm sure I will, thanks." But she's already slopping some on a plate for Kelly and paying no attention to me.

As we proceed through the line I pick up a little square of lime Jell-O with a white grape floating in it, a carton of chocolate milk and a little plate covered with the brown, wilted lettuce and limp shredded carrots that passes for a "salad" in school cafeterias all across America.

----------

I don't see either the Superiority Sorority or Mr. Smooth anywhere yet so I steer Kelly to a relatively empty table. There's plenty of room for them all to join us. As I'm sitting down I see the girls come in a nearby door so I smile and wave them over. One of them--Amy, I think--smiles back and starts to head our way but one of the others nudges her and whispers something to her, then they all three head for another table across the room, acting like they never saw me.

"What's the matter?"

"Huh? Oh, those girls--they invited me to have lunch with them before but I think I've just been snubbed."

"Which girls?" I point surreptitiously so they won't see, but Kelly just blatantly looks right at them and points. "Them?"

"Yeah." I kind of turn away and hide my face with my hand in embarrassment.

"Don't worry. 'Snot you--it's me."

"What? Why? What've they got against you?"

"Dunno, really. I think maybe they're afraid my lack of fashion sense is contagious or something."

"Well, sounds like I'm better off not hanging out with them anyway then."

"Oh, I don't know. I've never really talked to them so I don't know what they're really like. For all I know they could be really great people, aside from that one little peccadillo." I kind of stare at her for a second, then she breaks out in a big grin and we both have to fight to keep from laughing out loud.

"You gonna let us in on the joke?" I turn around and it's Damon--I'll be nice and call him that instead of one of the other options--and the two friends he was "smoking" with before school. From the aroma accompanying their presence they've been at it again, and I think I might be right about what they were smoking, 'cause they all have kind of bloodshot eyes and one of them is squinting.

"Hi, Damon. Pull up a chair. You don't mind if they join us, do you Kelly?"

"Mind? Why should I mind? I've never been so popular. The more, the merrier."

One of Damon's friends nudges him. "Huh? Oh, right. Sorry, where are my manners? This is Ben-jammin' and Ray-Mundo. Jam, Ray, this is Leigh and... I know I've seen you around somewhere but I never caught your name."

"It's Kelly. We were in fifth grade together. Mrs. McCabe's class?"

"Right, I shoulda remembered that."

"You might if you didn't fry your brains smoking pot three times a day." She has this odd way of saying things like that where the words by themselves seem kind of hostile but the way she says it you can tell she doesn't mean it that way at all so you don't get offended.

"Yeah, I might." Damon looks kinda sheepish, like he didn't realize it was so obvious.

"Why do you do it?" Again, it's not like she's scolding him, just openly curious.

"'Cause, man. It feels good. Real good. And it relaxes me." His beatific smile tends to support his argument.

"So does masturbating. Do you do that three times a day too?"

Holy shit, did she just say that? Jam, Ray, and I all look at each other and just totally crack up. Damon looks like he's fighting to maintain his façade of coolness.

"Um, no, four. Sometimes five." He says it with as straight a face as he can. It does nothing to help us stop laughing.

Kelly, however, seems completely unfazed. "Yeah, me too. See? We have a shared interest. We should get together. We'd make a good couple."

That stopped the laughing. Damon's eyes get kinda big, along with the rest of us. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, and I can practically read his thoughts on his face--it's like his fantasy come true, only it didn't involve such a nerdy girl; but still, he can't pass up an opportunity like this, can he? His mouth opens and closes a couple of times and he glances kind of regretfully, or maybe apologetically, at me before he finally manages, "Yeah, maybe."

"Wow. Where have you been all my life, Leigh? I just met you an hour ago and you've already introduced me to my first boyfriend."

I have no idea what to say to that. I just gape at her.

###

Chapter 24: Don't judge a book by its cover

"See you guys later." I watch them go for a second before pulling out my dog-eared, goulash-stained schedule to double-check where my next class is. For the fourth time in five minutes. Once I get my bearings, I realize it's clear over on the other side of the cafeteria and hurry back that way.

----------

I can't believe I'm the only girl in this drafting class. It makes me feel a little... uncomfortable. Like I stand out like a sore thumb and someone is sure to put two and two together sooner or later and figure out my secret.

On the other hand, at least some of these guys look kind of happy to see me in here. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

----------

Huh. It's that trapped-rat-boy from homeroom.

I gotta find out what his deal is.

----------

"Mind if I sit here?"

He looks surprised, or maybe suspicious. "It's a free country."

I decide to ignore the implied snub and put my notebook down. "Thanks. I'm Leigh."

"Yeah, I remember you from homeroom."

"Oh." I feel bad 'cause I didn't catch his name. "Um, I guess I wasn't paying attention when he called your name."

He has a kind of "That figures" look on his face as he says, "Jerry. Jerry Longmuir."

"Right, Jerry. Glad ta meetcha. Hey, so what's the deal with you and Damon anyway?"

Now he's got that trapped-rat look again. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Just, I saw how nervous or whatever you were in homeroom, like someone was after you or something--even a little bit after the teacher got there, but you just, like, totally relaxed when Damon showed up. He a friend of yours?"

He still looks wary, but less scared. "Not exactly." I must look puzzled, 'cause after a second he goes on. "I mean, he's cool but we don't hang out 'n stuff or anything like that."

"Huh. So...." I look a question at him and shrug.

He looks around to see if anyone's listening, casually leans closer and lowers his voice. "We have a deal."

"What kind of a deal? Drugs?"

It seems like a natural enough question to me, but he seems offended I'd even suggest such a thing. "No! Jeez. No. I... he, uh, keeps the bullies off my a--back, and I help him with his homework."

Something about that gets my hackles up. "So what, he's like running a protection racket or something? 'Do my homework for me or else?'"

"No! Jeez, no, you've got it totally wrong."

"Then what?"

"Look, it's kind of embarrassing, OK?"

I give him an encouraging look, like I'm not gonna sit here and judge, but just then the bell rings so we have to shut up and pay attention.

----------

"What? You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm sorry Miss"--he glances at the note again--"Llewellyn. Am I pronouncing that right?" He looks up at me sheepishly.

"Uh, yeah." I guess it makes sense he'd be extra-sensitive about that kind of thing, his name being Mr. Lesczynski and all.

He nods, looking a little relieved or something, then gets an apologetic look on his face. "It says here there was a scheduling mix-up and you're supposed to be in Mrs. Edelmann's Home Ec. class. Room 37. Do you know where that is?"

"Uh, yeah, I think it's next to my English class." Clear back over on the other side of the cafeteria.

"OK. Here--you'd better take this, in case she's not expecting you." He hands me the note and with a regretful shrug, gets up and walks me to the door.

----------

"Because it's required by the School District."

"You mean everyone has to pass Home Ec. before they can go on to high school?" This just seems absurd to me.

"Yes."

Skeptically, I look around. Out of twenty or so students I see precisely one boy. And one that I can't tell for sure but I think is probably a girl. I'm gonna give her the benefit of the doubt anyway.

"Really? Everyone? Is there a separate class for boys or something then?" I hear a few titters and Mrs. Edelmann looks really annoyed with me.

"Every girl in this school district is required to pass Home Ec. while in junior high school."

I can't help rolling my eyes. "So what do the boys have to take? Huntin' and fishin' and scratchin' themselves?"

"Wilderness Survival isn't offered here. They have to wait until high school for that." She's still trying to look annoyed but I think now she's trying harder not to laugh. "The boys are required to take an Industrial Arts class."

"You mean like wood shop?"

She nods. "Or drafting."

OK, I think I'm going to burst a blood vessel in my head trying not to scream at her about the unfairness of this. But I realize she doesn't make the rules so I grit my teeth and limit my outburst to saying disgustedly, "Well that's just plain sexist." I hear a muttered "Amen, sister" from the general direction of the girl I wasn't sure was a girl. Well, I am now.

"That's the world we live in, dear. Now, would you please have a seat so we can get this class started? There's one available right over there." Right next to my sister suffragette. I shrug and sullenly go sit where I've been told to sit and return the wry smile from my new neighbor.

----------

Jeez. And Mom thought me taking French would be a waste of my time. I mean, laundry, cooking, sewing, comparison shopping, balancing a checkbook? I guess I can see where a lot of boys might need this class, but I can't seriously picture any of these girls not having learned this stuff from their moms by now. I mean, I know I was unusual in that most moms don't bother teaching this stuff to their sons, assuming they'll grow up and marry a girl who knows it all. But that kind of assumes all the girls will know it, so they must teach their daughters at least, right? Or so I always assumed. Apparently though, they rely on the public school system to take care of it.

----------

"That's not the half of it. When we play field hockey we have to wear skirts that come below our knees, and our tops have these tight fitted sleeves that come just below the elbow and seriously restrict our arm movement." We're talking kind of under our breaths so's not to disrupt the class.

"Huh. You can't just wear shorts and, like, t-shirts? Like the track team?"

"Nope. Stupid sexist league regulations. Plus, we have to hold bake sales and car washes and stuff to pay for our equipment and uniforms and everything. 'Cause the school only pays for that stuff for boys' sports. And cheerleading." She says this last part with a dismissive eyeroll, which a week ago I might have agreed with but now I kind of find myself having to fight not to take personal offense.

"That can't be legal, can it?"

Liz looks smug. "Not anymore. Not since President Ford signed the Title IX athletic regulations this summer. First good thing he's done for this country. Equal spending on women's sports is now the law of the land." The smugness fades a bit. "That's the theory, anyway. The schools have three years to get their acts together and obey the law. And meanwhile the reactionaries in Congress are fighting tooth and nail to water it down."

This all sounds kinda vaguely familiar. Maybe I skimmed an article about it in the paper over the summer or something. Or maybe Doonesbury did a strip on it. I guess she paid more attention, which makes sense--even if I'd realized at the time it would apply to me, I still probably wouldn't have paid much attention since I'm not that big on sports.

"Would you two care to share whatever it is you're whispering about with the rest of the class?"

The interruption of Mrs. Edelmann's whiplike voice seems to leave Liz at a loss for words but something about the slightly sarcastic tone gets my hackles up. Before I can stop myself I tell her defiantly, "We were just discussing the likely impact of the new Title IX rules on the future of women's scholastic sports and on equal rights in general. We'd be happy to open it up to a class discussion."

Liz is looking at me in shock, with her mouth hanging open. I'm just trying to stand behind what I just said and not wilt under Mrs. Edelmann's intense gaze when she finally replies, "As worthy as that topic may be, it is not the subject of the current lesson. I ask that you pay me the courtesy of focusing your attention in this class on the subject matter at hand."

It feels like she's giving me a choice: I can be her friend, or I can be her enemy. I get a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realize the position I've put myself in. I may be stubborn and impulsive but I'm not stupid; I have to be in this class with her all year. I swallow my pride and give her my most disarming smile as I say, "Of course, Mrs. Edelmann. I'm sorry."

The smile she gives me in response isn't exactly friendly, but I think maybe I see a little bit of respect there, mixed in with the satisfaction. When she looks elsewhere Liz kind of shoves me with her elbow and gives me an impressed grin, which makes me squirm a little. And maybe turn a little pink around the ears.

----------

"I gotta go catch up with someone. See you in class tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Yeah, OK. See ya." Liz looks kinda let down, but my curiosity is gonna kill me if I don't hear the rest of what Jerry started to tell me.

----------

Once I found him it was surprisingly easy to convince him to walk with me to my locker and talk.

"So back in seventh grade there was this one kid, Marv Niedelman, who was shaking me down for my lunch money in the halls every day, OK? And one day I was in a crappy mood and tired of missing lunch so I finally decided to stand up to him."

"Uh huh. And he left you pretty much alone after that, right?" I say it with a bit of sarcasm 'cause that's not how it ever worked out for me.

"Yeah, right." His sarcasm level is about ten times mine. "I totally got the crud beat outta me, OK? So I'm, like, laying on the ground getting punched in the gut over and over wishing it would stop and wondering how I could have been so stupid and then it does stop and the guy's weight isn't on me anymore. So I open my eyes and Damon's doing some Bruce Lee-Kung Fu-Three Stooges stuff to him and not really hurting him, but making him look like a total fool, you know? Giving him wedgies, tripping him every time he tries to get up, honking his nose, stuff like that. Like, clearly he could hurt the guy if he wants to but he's just playin' with him."

OK, I was all set to hate Damon but... I'm kind of impressed.

"I mean, it was kind of embarrassing to have him have to come to my rescue like that, but right then I wasn't real worried about that, you know? Anyway by then a crowd had gathered and he had 'em all laughing their asses off--uh, sorry."

"What?"

"Didn't mean to swear."

"Huh?" I replay what he said in my head trying to figure out what he's talking about. He couldn't mean "asses," could he? That's not swearing.

"Just pretend I said 'laughing their behinds off.'"

I kind of have to cover up a smirk and a giggle by coughing a little. "Uh, OK." Like "behinds" means anything different from "asses." If one is swearing, why isn't the other? Oh well, he's talking again--better pay attention.

"Laughing their behinds off at Marv. Which, to tell you the truth, was better than anything I could have hoped to accomplish by standing up to him."

"So didn't he just, like, take it out on you later, when you were alone?"

"Well, yeah, duh." He looks at me kind of funny, like a girl shouldn't know about this stuff. I can't tell if he's disturbed or impressed but the look passes as he continues. "Damon saw my black eye the next day and asked what happened. I told him it was nothing, not to worry about it, but... Marv wasn't at school for a couple of days and when he came back he had a black eye and a cast on his right arm. Claimed he fell out of a tree but I didn't buy it. 'Cause he never bugged me again after that."

"Wow."

"Yeah. ...I mean, it was nice and all, but I didn't like owing Damon like that. He was all, like, 'no big deal,' you know? But it bugged me so I kept on him about how I could pay him back. He kept saying he didn't need anything and I didn't owe him anything. Anyway I had English with him and saw he was kind of struggling with spelling so I offered to help him study. I mean, we've never really said anything about it, you know, formally--but that's the deal. He's my bodyguard, I'm his tutor." He pauses and looks kind of thoughtful for a moment. "The drugs came later."

"Huh?" Oh, yeah--I asked if he was Damon's dealer or something.

"After Christmas last year this friend of his, Ray, came back from Hawaii with a baggie full of some stuff he called 'Maui Wowie.' He said it was called a 'dime bag' but couldn't figure out why 'cause it cost forty bucks. He told me they rolled a joint and smoked it together but nothing happened. Well, nothing but a lot of coughing. Then Ray's cousin or someone told 'em you don't always get high the first time so they tried it again and this time it worked. He's been hooked ever since."

"Wow, that's sad. Huh. I thought pot wasn't supposed to be addictive."

"Well, no, I guess not really. He's gone weeks at a time without it, when they run out and can't afford more, or their dealer can't get any, and he misses it but he's not, like, desperate, you know? He wouldn't, like, mug anyone for it or anything. I think it just feels good so you want it. Like candy, or backrubs, you know?"

"Huh. ...So, do you? Um, smoke? ...It?"

"Nah. Damon offered but I said no thanks. I read somewhere that it's got, like, estrogens in it or something. Female hormones. Makes you grow boobs." He stops himself in the middle of making a groping motion at his chest and looks stricken for a second, like he's about to apologize but I wave him off with a don't worry about it look. He looks slightly relieved but sheepish as he goes on. "Anyway I've got enough problems without that to deal with."

"Uh huh." He says something else but I don't really catch it 'cause I'm kind of distracted. Estrogens, huh? Makes you grow boobs.... I wonder if I could... if I should....

----------

Mr. Valuta smiles at me as I walk into his class, so I smile back distractedly as I look for a place to sit. The only places left seem to be way in the back among a bunch of guys who all seem to know each other and I'm guessing are not all that interested in science, or right up front. Which usually isn't my first choice, being that it leaves most of the class behind you where you can't see what they're up to and tends to attract the teacher's attention more than I like, but I don't see much choice.

Mr. V. seems really happy about this; his smile gets bigger. "Hello, Leigh! Good to see you again." His warm, gentle voice might improve my mood a bit if it wasn't for the teasing accusation of "oooh, teacher's pet" from the back of the room. I just give Mr. V. a tight-lipped smile and try to sink into my chair and become invisible. He looks suitably chagrined and apologetic over his social faux pas but it's too late--the damage is done.

The room is arranged in rows of two formica-topped tables each, three chairs to a table. Casually I look around to see who I'm sitting with. On my right is a pretty girl with short strawberry-blonde hair wearing a white blouse under a navy blue jumper--possibly the first dress I've seen today, now that I think of it; mostly the girls seem to be in bellbottom jeans or khakis. She seems absorbed in writing something in a notebook in curvy, girly handwriting with little daisies dotting the i's so I leave her to it and look the other way.

On my left is a kind of nerdy-looking kid--by which I mean he's got wire-rimmed glasses, his white Oxford short-sleeved shirt is buttoned all the way to the top, and his slightly-too-short jeans look like the kind they sell at K-Mart with that unnaturally bright blue color in lieu of the traditional indigo. He's got bright orange hair and what looks like a horrible skin disease at first glance but turns out to be just a really bad case of freckles. He smiles at me and without thinking about it I smile back. I guess he's not used to being encouraged like that 'cause he looks kinda surprised and then looks like he wants to say something. But the bell rings so he shuts his mouth and with a shrug and a look of disappointment turns to face the teacher.

Beyond him I see a little portable TV set on the counter by the far wall, with something in front of it that looks like an electric typewriter but I can't see anywhere to feed in the paper. It's got me curious but Mr. Valuta starts talking so I tear my eyes away and turn to face him. He sees me and I see an amused look flash across his face as he tells everyone about how this class is going to work.

----------

In case you're wondering, whoever's sitting together at each table gets to be lab partners for the whole year. The boy, whose name is Bill Sanders, seems pretty psyched about having scored two attractive female lab partners. Well, he seems nice enough anyway, and mostly harmless. The girl--Becky Hutchinson--is kind of hard to figure out. I'm not sure if she's shy, stuck up, or just kinda weird. I'm leaning toward the latter. Weird I don't mind; I can deal with weird once I figure out what kind of weird, you know? Shy is OK too, but if she turns out to be just stuck up, well--that kind of calls for being taken down a notch. Guess we'll have to see.

----------

"You looked kind of bored with the class today, Leigh. Was I going too slow for you?"

Startled, I finish gathering up my books and turn around. It's Mr. Valuta. "Oh." I guess I was a bit bored. I feel kind of sheepish and I'm sure it shows. "Sorry 'bout that. We covered this stuff at my old school last year."

"Well, the first week or so is meant to be a review of the end of last year." We covered it at the beginning of last year, but I just nod and smile. That's one problem with changing schools so much--they tend to cover material in a different order, so I've gotten a lot of stuff twice. Who knows what I've totally missed that way. Nothing important, I'm sure. None of it is, really. He points over at the TV set he saw me looking at earlier. "But I bet you didn't have that in your old school."

"What, a TV? No, but we do have one at home. Two, in fact." I have to work not to roll my eyes.

"Ah, but it's not a TV, it's a terminal." He sees from my look I don't get it. "A computer terminal."

My head whips around to stare at it. A few of the obnoxious kids from the back of the room are sitting at it and now that I look, I notice it's got green writing on the screen instead of a TV show. "That's a computer? I thought they took up rooms."

"They used to. These days the big ones are only about the size of a couple of large bookshelves, and they even have some mini-computers now that aren't any bigger than"--He looks around for something to compare it to--"that cart with the overhead projector on it. But that's not a computer--it's just a terminal. It connects to the school district's computer downtown and lets you run it from here."

"Cool! How?"

"Tell you what. Come by after school and I'll show you."

"Deal!"

----------

The guys using the computer terminal seem to be playing some sort of pretend-golf game with it. I don't really get how it works, but it's like it describes a situation, they tell it what to do by typing in a word or two, it tells them what happens next, and it goes back and forth like that. I guess it could be an interesting way to play a game, but golf? Gimme a break. That game is boring enough in real life. What a waste of a computer, if you ask me.

Shit. I've got, like, two minutes to find the German classroom.

----------

"Macht die Tá¼r zu, bitte." Who, me? Yeah, she's looking at me. That's what I get for walking in out of breath right as the bell rings, I guess. I have no idea what she just said but something tells me she wants the door closed, so I close it behind me and look around for the nearest empty seat.

"Sehr schá¶n! Sprichst du denn Deutsch bereits?" She seems happy enough about something but I still don't understand a word. Well, maybe one or two sound familiar--good thing I watched all those episodes of Hogan's Heroes. Like the word Deutsch, which I think is German for German, so maybe she's asking me if I understand her. I think answering "no" would kind of defeat the purpose so I just shrug apologetically and say, "Je suis désolée, mais je ne comprend pas ce que vous dites."

She gets kind of a funny look on her face, like maybe she thinks I'm messing with her or something. "Wir sprechen nicht franzá¶sisch hier. Have you come to the wrong classroom by mistake?" She says the last part with a German accent, somewhere between Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz, so I guess she's for real. And somehow I get that she said "we don't speak French here" and kind of shudder inside at the barbaric sound of the German word for French. Of the whole language, for that matter.

"Sadly, no. I wanted to take French but Mom said I'd be wasting my time."

"Ja natá¼rlich." Again I don't understand the words, so it must be something about the way she says it that makes me bristle. She waves her hand dismissively. "No, I mean only that your French appears to be already far beyond what is taught here. Still, I think it will give you an advantage in this class." Seeing my doubtful look she turns to the class and explains, "You may have noticed some of the words I used sounded a bit familiar--Tá¼r for door, sprechen for speak, ja for yes and so on and so forth." Huh. Yeah, now that you mention it. "English grew from the mixing of several languages, but mostly two: French and Anglo-Saxon, which is an old form of German." She looks back at me with a slightly malicious twinkle in her eye. "So by simple process of elimination you of course already know German. I don't expect you'll have any difficulty with this class."

Great. Why are people laughing at that? It wasn't funny. Mostly girls, too.

Way to get started on the right foot, Leigh. I mentally slap myself on the forehead and just sink into my chair and try to look insignificant.

----------

You know those stereotypes about Germans and orderliness and obedience? Yeah. Pretty much true.

And my mouth hurts.

----------

She's not even German--she's Austrian.

And she looks a little older than Dad so... huh. She'd probably have been a teenager at the start of WWII.

OK, maybe this class won't be a total waste.

----------

"Frau Sandersen? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course. Would you mind helping me move the desks back into rows while we talk?"

"Um, sure, OK."

"So, what is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"Um. Well, first I kinda wanted to apologize for showing up late and being a little rude at the start of class."

She looks at me appraisingly. "And here I thought you were just another typical disrespectful American teenager. ...Apology accepted."

"Thanks."

"I must say I'm impressed with how quickly you're learning the pronunciations. There are still a few unfamiliar sounds you're struggling with a bit but those will come with practice."

"Yeah, I do kinda seem to have a knack for that. We've moved around a lot so it comes in handy."

"Are you what they call an 'army brat,' then?"

"No, I get asked that a lot when it comes up though. Funny, I don't think I've ever actually even met an army brat. We run in different circles I guess. My dad just--I dunno, I guess he gets tired of doing the same job after a couple of years and moves on to something else. Usually something that pays better but not always. And usually involving a major change of scenery." She looks at me sympathetically. "Nah, I don't mind. I kind of look forward to our next big move sometimes."

"My husband was an officer in the U.S. Army for many years. We met when he was stationed near Salzburg after the war as part of the Allied occupation and I was working as a filing clerk. I lost count of how many times we moved before he finally had his twenty years in and could retire from the service and go back to civilian life. I couldn't stand the constant uprooting, the packing and unpacking, filing damaged or lost item claims, leaving friends behind or worse yet, not having had time to make any. At least we didn't have any children." She shakes her head and looks at me. "I suppose it must have been different for you. Army bases are much the same the world over."

"I guess it's different when you're a kid and you don't have to worry about taking care of any of the details. And I do miss old friends, but I always know I'll make new ones. I guess that's easier for kids too." I shrug. "To me it's just always been a big adventure. It's a big world and I wanna see it all. You know?"

She smiles wistfully. "But this is not what you wanted to talk to me about. There was more than just the apology, ja?"

I try to remember what I wanted to ask. "Uh... oh, yeah. Yeah. So... I dunno, this may sound a little odd, but I'm in a play and I thought you might..."--the desk I'm dragging gets one leg caught in a hole in the linoleum floor and I have to lift it a little on that side to get it out--"be able to help me with my character."

She looks like yeah, in fact this does sound a little odd. "Your character?"

"Yeah, I'm playing Louisa in The Sound of Music and I thought maybe you could help me understand, you know, what it was like..."

"...to be a young teenage girl in Austria just before the AnschluáŸ." She gets kind of a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes, perhaps I can help you at that." Then she notices the clock on the wall. "Oh, but I have to go now--I have an appointment shortly. Would it be all right if we talk about this tomorrow after school?"

"Um, sure, yeah. Now that you mention it I have somewhere else I should be now too."

----------

VM/370 ONLINE
.LOG VHSTUDENT
ENTER PASSWORD
VIKINGS
.
.CMS
._

"And voilá , we're logged on."

"Cool! ...Now what?"

"Well..." Mr. Valuta thinks for a moment. I don't think he really thought through how he was gonna go about this. "Hmmm. Do you enjoy strategy games?"

"Yeah, sure. Hey, does this thing play chess?"

He smiles. "I'm afraid not." I give him a disappointed look, which I think he misinterprets as skeptical 'cause he explains, "Oh, they've programmed computers to play chess, but even the best programs running on the fastest computers aren't good enough to compete against humans in tournaments yet. There are just too many variables to consider. Maybe someday they'll be able to beat decent human players, but against the best computer chess player today Bobby Fischer wouldn't even work up a sweat. Heck, Kevin Miller probably wouldn't have too much trouble." Seeing my puzzled look he adds, "He's the captain of the Van Helsing chess team this year. He's actually pretty talented."

"We have a chess team?"

"Well, a chess club. But we do compete against chess clubs at other schools. They're just not school-sponsored events like, say, a football game. We have to pay our own way." I think I detect just a hint of resentment in the way he says that.

"Yeah, too bad Title IX doesn't cover that.... 'We?'"

"I'm the faculty sponsor. ...Would you by any chance be interested in joining?"

He looks so hopeful I hate to turn him down, but--"Sorry, not really. I mean, I kind of enjoy playing once in a while and I guess I'm not too bad at it but the idea of competing at it just... eh. Not my thing."

"Well, not everyone competes. Some just come for the chance to share their interest and maybe improve their game a little."

I shrug. "I'll think about it." Not too hard, though. I would never say it to his face, but--bo-ring! To cover up what I'm thinking I smile blandly, and he smiles back.

"So... what does this thing play, anyway?"

"Here's one I think is kind of fun." He leans over me and types:

.RUN WUMPUS

The computer replies:

WUMPUS

INSTRUCTIONS (Y-N)?

"That means 'type Y for yes or N for no.'"

Yeah, I think I could have figured that out. I just smile.

He types 'Y', resulting in the following words appearing on the screen in glowing green letters almost as fast as I can read them:

WELCOME TO 'HUNT THE WUMPUS'
THE WUMPUS LIVES IN A CAVE OF 20 ROOMS. EACH ROOM
HAS 3 TUNNELS LEADING TO OTHER ROOMS. (LOOK AT A
DODECAHEDRON TO SEE HOW THIS WORKS-IF YOU DON'T KNOW
WHAT A DODECAHEDRON IS, ASK SOMEONE)

Good idea. "Um... what's a dodecahedron?"

"It's a solid shape made up of twelve pentagons joined together, three sharing each vertex."

"Oh." I try to picture this in my mind. "...Like a soccer ball?" I've long since had any lingering tendency to call it a 'football' beaten out of me.

"Kind of. That has pentagons and hexagons. But it's the same basic idea."

"OK."

Meanwhile more words have appeared on the screen:

HAZARDS:
BOTTOMLESS PITS - TWO ROOMS HAVE BOTTOMLESS PITS IN THEM
IF YOU GO THERE, YOU FALL INTO THE PIT (& LOSE!)
SUPERBATS - TWO OTHER ROOMS HAVE SUPERBATS. IF YOU
GO THERE, A BAT GRABS YOU AND TAKES YOU TO SOME OTHER
ROOM AT RANDOM. (WHICH MIGHT BE TROUBLESOME)

WUMPUS:
THE WUMPUS IS NOT BOTHERED BY THE HAZARDS (HE HAS SUCKER
FEET AND IS TOO BIG FOR A BAT TO LIFT). USUALLY
HE IS ASLEEP. TWO THINGS THAT WAKE HIM UP: YOUR ENTERING
HIS ROOM OR YOUR SHOOTING AN ARROW.

I dunno, maybe it's just the fact that for the first time in my life I get to use an actual computer, but this is kind of exciting. I can't keep a big grin off my face.

----------

"I'm home!" I always shout it out when I get back from school. Wouldn't want to take anyone by surprise, you know?

"Oh, there you are. I was worried about you. You didn't get detention your first day, did you?" Jeez, Mom can be such a worrywart.

"No, nothing like that. I stayed after in German to help Frau Sandersen straighten up and then my science teacher, Mr. Valuta, had offered to show me how to log on to the school district's computer with their terminal. They have some pretty neat games on it. I like 'Hunt the Wumpus.' He says if I want he can try to teach me how to program it so I could make my own games 'n' stuff. Cool, huh?"

I was thinking Mom would be as baffled as I'd been by all the jargon, but she disappoints me by looking envious. "We have a room with some of those at my college. They have a course in 'data processing' but there are limited spaces and it's hard to get into."

"Well maybe after I learn I can teach ya."

She looks skeptical. "Maybe. Well in the future, if you're going to be an hour and a half late getting home, could you maybe try to call so I don't have to sit here wondering what happened to you?"

Jeez, was I really there that long? "Actually there was a phone in the science classroom, but we were using it to call the computer." OK, there's the puzzled look I was hoping for earlier. "You dial the number, then you stick the handset in this cradle thingy called a 'coupler' and the terminal and the computer make squealy burbly noises at each other to talk back and forth over the phone."

"Oh. I think the ones at school must just be connected straight to the computer somehow. They don't have anything like that."

"Yeah." For a minute I consider suggesting we should get one, and a terminal, but then I remember who I'm talking to--it'd probably cost a small fortune. Instead I just drop my backpack on the floor and head for the kitchen. It's been a long day and I could use a Coke right about now.

"A-hem."

"What?"

I turn around. Mom has her arms crossed and is slowly and repeatedly extending one index finger towards my backpack.

"Oh." I roll my eyes and drag it to my room, grumbling under my breath, "...why I couldn't leave it there for five seconds while I get a freakin' Coke, fer cryin' out loud..."

"I heard that, young lady."

"Yeah, and?"

"Hmph. I see some things haven't changed. ...Just put it away and then come tell me how your day went over a nice cold Coke."

----------

"...So she was all, 'Me too - we should get together.' And we were all, like, 'oh my god, did she really just say that?' And then when he finally gets his tongue untied he goes, 'uh, yeah, OK.'" I do it in a fake-deep-guy voice that doesn't really sound anything like Damon but seems to fit the story. Mom's, like, trying hard not to laugh 'cause I don't think she exactly approves but you gotta admit, it is funny as hell. "So then she thanked me for introducing her to her first boyfriend."

"Hmm. Sounds like an in-ter-esting morning, to say the least. And I'm already dying to meet the famous Kelly O'Kelly." She smirks a little before looking at me kind of sternly and adds, "I'm not sure I approve of you hanging around with drug users though. It is just pot, but I don't like the idea of you getting involved with that sort of thing this young, and it can lead to more dangerous things like cocaine or heroin."

I roll my eyes. I know she means well, but--"I know, Mom. They made us watch 'Go Ask Alice' in health class in seventh grade, OK? And all those other propaganda films." She frowns a little at this. "Well, they are. Come on. They're just tryin' to make us scared of drugs so we won't even try anything." She's not getting any happier. "Look, I know what's really dangerous from all those articles in Scientific American you left out for me to read. I'm not gonna get 'hooked' on anything, OK? I'm not stupid."

She still doesn't look too happy, but says, "All right, I'm not going to get into an argument with you over this. You know how I feel about it and I'd rather you felt comfortable talking to me about it than sneaking around and taking risks behind my back. Just use your head, and don't give in to peer pressure, OK?"

I roll my eyes some more. "When have you ever known me to?"

"Hm. I seem to remember a certain shoplifting incident a few years ago."

Oops. Oh, yeah.

"...And the smoking? Are you telling me those were your idea?"

"Uh, no... but it wasn't peer pressure, exactly. More like a friend who was a bad influence." But a lot of fun to hang out with, when he wasn't getting me into huge trouble.

"No, that's exactly like peer pressure, sweetie."

"OK, but that was, like, years ago. I'm a lot more mature now."

"Are you telling me you haven't done anything since then that you regret or are ashamed of, because you wanted to impress your friends? Be honest, now. With yourself if not me."

Shit, I wish she hadn't reminded me about that. And no, I'm not gonna tell you about it, 'cause I am pretty much ashamed of myself for it. Anyway I apologized and made it right so it's all in the past, OK? Where it's gonna stay.

"All right, all right. Jeez. Gimme a break here. I'm not perfect."

"Just the point I was trying to make. All right, then. Let's see, it's lunchtime and you've already made what, four friends? Not even counting the 'popular' girls. So how did the afternoon go?"

Let's see, goulash, pot, masturbation, dating--what came next?

Oh, yeah. Shit. I'd almost managed to forget about that. My mood just went from sixty to zero in oh-point-two seconds. "You're not gonna believe this. They booted me out of drafting and they're making me take Home Ec."

"What? Why? Was the class full or...?"

"'Cause I'm a girl."

"What? You've got to be kidding. That's the sort of thing they did when I was a girl. They can't get away with that nowadays."

"Well apparently news of that hasn't gotten to the local school board yet."

"Oh, they'll be getting the news any day now, trust me." The venom in her voice would drop a charging bull elephant in its tracks, and if looks could kill the entire school board would have just gone off a cliff in a bus.

I smile. "Heh. Remind me never to get on your bad side. Just... try to do it without causing too much trouble for me, OK? Or the Home Ec. teacher. I get the feeling I don't want to be on her bad side either."

"All right, sweetie. I'll make sure they don't take it out on you." She gives me a reassuring hug. "But I'm not going to let my daughters grow up in a world that tries to keep them down just because they're girls."

I'm just enjoying the warm feeling of having a protective mom when something occurs to me. "You know what? This is gonna sound kinda weird coming from me, but other than that one thing, I think I actually enjoyed school today." I smile at Mom's mock-shocked look. And thinking about it, something else occurs to me. "Now that I can be me everything just seems a lot easier somehow."

She looks into my eyes before going back to hugging me. She seems to be thinking about something for a long time but all she finally says is, "I'm glad. I'm so glad."

---

 
To Be Continued...