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Chapter one:

One of the things that perplexes me about Rachael is how she can answer questions that I don’t even ask. It's something that comes up every time I see her, and I'm still not sure why she does it. Take this morning for example: I'm sitting on the couch in my boxers, eating breakfast while I talked with her on the phone. Now that I think about it, that's a new thing for me in itself, since my friends never called me on the phone. It was always just IM's and emails, secret code of the geeks talking in “1337”.

Anyway, that's beside the point. I'm talking between mouthfuls of cereal when I begin to idly wonder about Spanish class.

“Hey Rachael, do you have texts in your locker? I think I left mine ba-”

“How come you don't live with your parents?”

See? Totally not what I asked.

I nearly choked, barely avoiding death by breakfast confectionary. “Where'd that come from?”

“I was just thinking about how I haven't seen them. What's the deal with you and Nick anyway?” She continued, with complete disregard for my near-death experience.

I set the bowl aside on the couch, careful to make sure Nick wasn't within earshot. “Okay first of all, there's no “deal” with Nick. We're friends, that's it.”

“Okay, what about your folks?”

“Sweet angry Jesus, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

“Maybe.” She said. “Call it my need to know.”

Truth is, I never really spoke to my parents. It's a long story (aren't they all when it comes to family?) and I don't want to go into details. Suffice to say that I made some mistakes, and I didn't care to learn from them. I heard someone say that madness is doing the same thing over and over, until you get a different result. Turns out it took a while for that to sink in.

So we don't talk. We don't write. I just show up for my obsequious Christmas appearance once a year, and that's it. Of course, that's fine for a guy in his twenties bumming his way through college. But a teenage girl living with someone nearly ten years her senior? Yeah, I guess that was bound to raise suspicions.

“Look Rach, Nick's just a....friend of the family.” I said, mind racing for a plausible scenario. “I'm living with him until things cool off with my folks, kay? That’s all you need to know. Period.”

She seemed taken aback, sounding apologetic all a sudden “Right. Sorry, overstepped my bounds. Thanks for the reminder.”

I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding “Thanks. So what did you call for anyway?”

“I dunno. Feel like blowing off class and heading down to the vert?”

“We already did that Friday, you want to make it four-day weekend?” I said, glancing at the clock.

“Sure, why not?” She chided.

“Oh geez, I'm not sure I-- Oh wait, that’s right. I'm going to get an ass kicking if I get caught, remember?”

“It's not a party until something gets broken.”

I'd already spent the weekend indoors, trying to avoid all human contact. It's not like I was worried that I might run into her again. It's just how I like to deal with things sometimes. You can shut out the world and just take things as they come. Even Sickness didn't have a reason to show her face, instead opting to lurk within the shadows patiently while biding her time. That leaves me in charge, with no reason to play things anyone's way but my way.

It was a nice little vacation from myself, but I knew that Monday would drag me kicking and screaming back to problems waiting for me in the real world. I was formulating ways I could shrug it off, when I realized that running wasn't going solve anything for me. I'd have to find out who she was, sooner or later. And the ramp was the best place to start.

“Okay, sure. How soon can you get here?”

I could hear traffic in the background of the call, realizing Rach must already be on her way here. “About five minutes.”

Put a gun to my head and paint the wall with my brains. “Oh, great. I should be ready soon.”

-------------------------------------------

The morning air was sweet and cool as I strode into the back yard, pine needles crackling under foot with every step. I'd strung some washing up last night, figuring I should at least have something clean to wear, lest I give Rachael more clues to my manly past. Just as I was tugging a shirt from the line, something caught my attention: A small metal bucket laying at the edge of my vision.

The shirt fell slipped from my fingers as I walked toward the object, astounded by its existence. This was the same bucket we'd used to burn all of Darla's possessions. The charred contents of what it held had been the architect of my destruction. What was it doing here? When the fire died out and only embers remained, Nick told me he'd disposed of it.

I grabbed a handful of clothing and raced inside, heart pounding beneath my chest. By now Nick was laying on the couch, dressed in nothing but his underwear as he watched television. He spotted me stalking inside, waving lazily as I approached. “What's with the black expression, sunshine?”

“Black expression?” I wasn't sure wether to be amused or furious with his response. “There's a bucket in the middle of the backyard that you said you had disposed of. What the hell happened?”

He shrugged, finding the sight of a livid teenage girl intimidating as you'd expect. “Yeah, I threw it over the fence. Would you rather I buried it?”

Just because I have low expectations of anything Nick does, doesn't mean I can't be horrified when he excels at failing miserably.

“I can't believe I'm hearing this. Are you serious?”

He sat up, looking indignant. “What did you want me to do Faye?”

I gave Nick a look that could punch a hole through him. “Don't call me that. Not when it's just the two of us.”

A clanging noise broke the silence as Rachael made her presence felt at the front door. I let my gaze linger on Nick, taking a moment to watch the anxiety grow in his eyes. “We can finish this later.”

“Whatever.” He said, flipping off the television and walking to his bedroom.

I let out a frustrated sigh, reluctantly opening the front door. Rachael stood in front of me, wearing a bemused smirk on her face. “Hey Faye. Still dressing like a guy, huh?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Hey Rach, still running your stupid mouth?”

“Morning to you too.” She stepped inside, not waiting to be invited.

I walked into my bedroom, digging through piles of junk I'd left strewn around. “I've still got your clothes from last week. They're around here somewhere.”

“No problem.” She said. “That reminds me, weren't we heading down to the mall last week?”

Sure. It was right on my list next to shaving my legs with a chainsaw. “I can't recall.”

“Right. This time I'm not gonna forget it.”

I quickly began to change my clothes, grabbing anything I could find. Rustling up a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I stumbled out of my bedroom, trying to put on shoes while I walked with limited success. “Okay, right. Sure. Can we go now?”

Rachael raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Normally I wouldn't be in such a hurry to disappear, but after the previous altercation with Nick, I wasn't really in the mood to speak with him till we'd both had some time to cool off. It's not like any of this was my fault, right? He's the one who said he'd get rid of the bucket. Instead he took the one thing that completely ruined my life and threw it over the fence like it was nothing. I should have known better. He's a dumbass, and there's no accounting for dumbass...ness.

As we walked, Rachael started this whole spiel about how if we were going to be hanging out, I would need to change my attitude. It wasn't like she was telling me what to do. I suppose this was just an extension of how she saw me as a charity case, devoid of style or personality. Maybe “style” isn't the word for it. Rachael’s style is the opposite of style. Confused yet?

She broke it down for me like this: When kids become our age, they find themselves looking for an identity. It's part of growing up. So they look to other people's opinions to define themselves (Okay, this isn't how she broke it down *exactly*. There are equal parts of uber-geek analysis I'm substituting.) That's part of human nature. If someone tells you that you look good, then you must be doing something right. So everyone looks the same: A bland sea of designer handbags and imported jewellery.

Rachael isn't any less susceptible to this idea than anyone else. She still needs to define herself in the perceptions of others. The only difference is that instead of gauging her success by how well she fits in, Rach defines herself by how well she stands out.

If they wear white, she wears black. If they wear skirts, she'll wear jeans. You get the idea.

You could write it off as teenage rebellion, but it's more complicated than that. I used to know people like that...It's not a phase you just grow out of. Most people like to fit in, blend in with the crowd because it's so easy. However, people like Rachael will always find it abhorrent, because they lose their sense of identity if there's nothing to separate them from someone else.

“Hey Faye, you zoning on me?” Rach said, her hair ruffled by a warm breeze.

We had arrived at the warehouse, stopping just short of the side entrance. “No, it's nothing. It's just....wait, do you hear that?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“I'm not. Listen...” She paused, trying to catch the sound of what I was referring to. But I didn't have to listen. I could already feel that dull, familiar buzzing in the back of my thoughts, and I knew exactly what it meant. Stepping into the warehouse, I could see her hanging in the air, testing gravity's patience before falling back to earth. Her inline blades slammed against the smooth, sleek curve of the vert before hurtling skyward again.

Rachael stood beside me, bearing witness to the spectacle. Every pass bought her closer to the sky, just a few more moments where she floated effortlessly, as though she was loved by the wind itself. Descending she hit the ramp and slid to a halt, coming to rest at the bottom of the curve.

“You don't hear very well, do you?” She said, pulling off a fingerless glove.

I could feel a tightness building in my chest as I fought to keep my cool. Between the pressure in my mind and the fear of having the crap beaten out of me, it was all I could do to keep up a front. I took a deep breath, trying to meet her gaze. “Want to beat me up? Go ahead. Beat me, hate me, detest me, I don't care.”

She took a step toward me, testing my resolve. “The fuck you say?”

“I said I don't care!” Rachael looked at me with disbelief, confused as to why I would be acting like this over a half-pipe. There was a whole lot more was at stake that she wasn't aware of. Regardless, I curled my fists, my voice getting carried away with the undercurrent of swelling emotion. “I don’t care what you do to me. I'm not going to give up, not until you tell me what happened!”

I'd expected her to walk over and start smacking the hell out of me, or at least offer another tirade of venomous maledictions. Instead her gaze shifted to Rachael. “Beat it.”

Rachael's confusion escalated exponentially “Say what?”

“I said get lost.” She said coolly. “This isn't your fight.”

Rachael looked at me, expecting me to defend her. “Faye...?”

I looked at Rach, nodding slowly “Do it, I'll be fine.”

Her frustrations evident, Rachael turned about in a huff and walked to the exit, muttering as she went. “Things always gotta be complicated...”

The stranger waited until Rachael had disappeared before turning back to me. I winced a little, feeling bad about making Rach leave. But what I had to do here wasn't the sort of thing I needed her to know about. I narrowed my eyes, weary of what my adversary might do now that we were alone.

She studied me for a moment before sitting down on the edge of the vert. “What's the matter kid....why the glare?”

“You act like you've been playing me from the start.” I said cautiously.

She began to untie the laces on her blades, looking down while she spoke. “Okay, so what did you want to know? What's this burning question you just can't wait for me to answer?”

I was about to speak, when I felt the words die on my tongue. What was the question? How did I even begin to quantify everything that had happened to me? I struggled to find the words. In the end I slumped my shoulders, no longer willing to keep up any pretence.

“It's you. I mean, you're like me, aren't you? It was the same thing...that happened to you, right?”

Silence hung in the air for what seemed like hours. I watched as she removed one boot, then the other before stuffing them into a backpack she'd bought with her. “Yeah, I guess that's pretty obvious by now.”

“So what happened?” I asked, emotion straining my voice. “Tell me, please...I have to know what happened. There's a reason, right? There has to be!”

She looked up, and I could see for the first time how painful this was for her to acknowledge. All this time I'd been wrapped up in myself, thinking about how the world owed me an explanation. I never stopped to consider this woman had been subjected to the same torment and suffering I'd been forced to endure. The only thing I'd achieved was making her relive those memories she'd buried so long ago.

Finally she shook her head, standing up. “I can't do this right now. I need some time to process...”

“Please, don't. I need to know.”

“Oh my fucking christfuck...” A tired sigh hissed between her teeth. “Don't push your luck. Just give me some time, then we'll talk. You know where to find me.”

My heart sank as she spoke, forcing me to admit defeat. “At least tell me your name.”

She slung the bag over her shoulder. “It's Amy. You're Faye, right? Not a bad name.”

In that moment, it felt as though the words not being spoken were louder than those we did. “Yeah. Neither is yours.”

-------------------------------------------

I leant against the warehouse exterior, knees weak and heart pounding beneath my chest. I don't think the gravity of the situation had even made itself apparent at this point. This wasn't just a revelation. This was the kind of discovery that took everything you thought was right in the world and turned it on its head.

Where to start? I'm not crazy. Being a teenage girl isn't some psychosis bought on by terrifying experiments with all-night gaming and caffeine shot directly into my veins. There's someone who is just like me, who'd felt what I felt. She's been through the fire and come out the other side unscathed. There's so much I can learn from her, if there was just a way t--

My train of thought made a brief stopover at dysfunction junction when my pocket rumbled, cell phone vibrating within its depths.

I flipped it open, screen illuminating me with a new message of "Fuk ur frnd. fuk u 2" courtesy of Rachael.

Dammit. Like I need this at the moment. A long sigh dragged past my lips, leaving me trying to find a spot in the shade as the morning sun crept into the sky. Rach's phone rang several times, about to switch over to messaging before I heard it click.

"The hell do you want?" Rachael said, making no effort to hide her contempt.

I hesitated for a moment, knowing that this was going to be awkward no matter which way I spun it out. I settled on rambling senselessly.

"I'm sorry, ok? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't explain it, you're not gonna understand it; this was just something I had to do. It was selfish and stupid, and I really wish that things didn't go down like that, but they did, and I'm just really sorry."

Crap, that even sounded girly to my ears.

Rachel seemed to mull on that for a moment "So what are you going to do to make it up to me?"

"Name it, I'm there."

I could hear a taint of perverse delight creep into her voice. "All right. I'm at the coffee shop down the street."

The phone fell silent in my ear, making me grit my teeth as it fell into my pocket. Forget being a teenager again, I'm ten years old trying to apologise to my parents.

Of course, by Rach saying "down the street", what she actually meant was a dozen city blocks. At this time of year, the sun beats down relentlessly until the air is thick and tepid with humidity. I could feel sweat beading on my skin, soaking my clothes and trickling down my legs, reminding me of places I didn't care to acknowledge.

Rachel sat at a table outside of a boulevard cafe, her glass bleeding drops of condensation in the staggering humidity. She watched my approach closely, revelling in the obvious discomfort I found myself in. I collapsed in the chair beside her, taking a moment to collect myself as the blood rushed to my head.

“You should grab a drink. It's a life-saver on a day like this.” She smiled and took a measured sip from the glass.

The trek had left my capacity for snappy repartee damaged beyond all repair. “Fuck you straight to fuck.”

“Right.” She muttered, wicked expression still smeared across her face. “You're the one who's still in the dog house, remember?”

I signalled the waitress for a jug of water. “I know, I know...”

“So buck up young lady! I've got a whole theme park full of adventures planned today.”

I looked at her wearily, sweaty locks of hair still dangling in my vision. “Such as?”

Rachael leant back in her chair, stretching lazily “Heading down to Rob and Bob's shop. We can pick up some spare parts I need for my ride and maybe hook you up with one at the same time.”

“I don't have that kind of money.” I replied flatly. “No job, remember?”

“Christ Faye, get a job or get Nick to loan you some cash.”

I looked away nervously “Yeah, about that...”

She shook her head. “It's no big. They owe me a favour anyway, so we can get you something for the right price.”

“A favour?” I gave her a quizzical look as my water arrived. “Just what kind of work do you do?”

“Get your head out of the gutter.”

“What, so yours can float by?”

Rachael paused, deciding wether to laugh that one off or kick my ass. “It's where I work, retard. I stock the shelves and do maintenance out back.”

“I guess that works.” I glanced at my watch. “When do we leave?”

Rachael finished off the rest of her coke, setting down the empty glass on the table. “Whenever you're ready.”

“One sec...” I slipped my fingers around the frosted container I'd ordered and tossed my head back. I closed my eyes and dumped its contents over my head, delighting in the torrent of icy water that exploded against my skin, soaking every inch of my clothing as it trickled downward. It felt better than I'd imagined, totally worth the expression Rachael wore on her face, barely able to keep herself from bursting into laughter.

I stood up, ignoring the incredulous looks from other patrons as I pulled the hair out of my eyes. “Let's go already.”

As is the story with my life, this brief moment of positive affirmation was blown apart by the shit-storm-sweepstakes that followed. Rachael's expression turned from delight to abstract horror as she caught sight of something approaching from behind me.

I tried to turn, or at least catch a glimpse of what she was looking at. Instead my head caught alight with stinging barbs of fire as unseen fingers grabbed a hold of my hair and wrenched it backward, my body joining the party as I was pulled from the table, kicking and screaming into a narrow alleyway adjacent to the cafe. I clawed at the shadowy assailant, desperately trying to pull myself free from its iron claws.

Rachael launched herself toward my attacker, knocking over the table as she tried to cover the distance between us. A cry went up from startled patrons, who were caught with the indecision to intervene themselves or call 911. I could only watch in slow motion as she reached toward me, edging closer, her hands almost touching mine....

An arm lashed out from my peripheral vision, connecting squarely with Rachael's jaw. It caught her flat footed, momentum going the wrong way as it connected with enough force to send her reeling to the ground, skidding to a halt beside me as she clutched her face.

Those same steely fingers wrapped around my throat, shoving me against rough brickwork as my assailant's face moved into view. She was....beautiful. Not like a girl from a magazine or a fashion show. She had the kind of beauty that always attracted guys like me, because it was so mystifying. Just one look into her deep blue eyes and you knew there were a thousand promises waiting to tell you what she was capable of, hidden in words she'd never say.

Her face crept closer to mine, a lock honey blonde hair falling over her face as she studied me; a predator contemplating the fate of its next meal. At last she spoke, her voice barely a whisper as I struggled feverishly against her grip.

“I know.”

I wracked my mind, frantically searching for what she might be implying. Without warning, I was flung back through the events of the day, coming to a jarring halt on a rusted old bucket; its contents strewn around the yard: Darla’s old diary and possessions. But that didn't make any sense. I mean, how could she know from that?

I could feel her gaze boring into me, searching the depths of my soul as she bought her lips to my ear, taunting me “I know all about you. I know what you did, and what you've become.”

I saw stars in front of my eyes, growing rapidly to cloud my vision. My whole body went numb, on the verge of passing out from asphyxiation and a severely handicapped blood flow. As if sensing my impending blackout, her hand slipped away, letting me fall to the ground beside Rachael. I wretched violently, fighting to pull air into my lungs as I became dimly aware of her footsteps vanishing into the distance.

Rachael struggled to her feet, still trembling from the blow which had nearly separated her head from her shoulders. She helped me stand, just as staff and patrons from the cafe came rushing to our aid, a day late and a buck short as usual. They crowded around us, trying to see if we were injured or needed to call for the police. I could barely hear Rachael over the ruckus. She was asking me if I was okay, over and over again, trying to break through the wall of sound.

I stared at the ground, unable to reply as my body shook uncontrollably. Was I alright? I didn't know at all.

Chapter two:

“Faye! Open up! Come on!” Nick pounded on the bedroom door.

Nope. No way. Not a chance. Fuck this, fuck Nick, fuck everything.

I sat on my bed, huddled behind my knees as I fought against the reality that relentlessly encroached upon me. I didn't care about what he wanted. I didn't care about anything. The only thing that mattered to me in this moment was to keep the world at bay. Terrified didn't even begin to cover how I felt.

“I don’t know what's bothering you, but we can try and work it out. I mean…Jesus Faye, after what you’ve been through, you’d think there wasn’t anything you couldn’t deal with.”

“Bullshit!” I cried at the shapeless figure beyond the door. “And that's not my name!”

“Okay, okay.... Look, I don’t know what to do. But when you feel like coming out of there…. I’ll be here.”

Silence rang out before I heard Nick slink away from the door. But was I really any better off without him around? All I was left with now was the lingering memory of a girl who embodied all my worst fears.

This is not my happy place. I couldn't shake the image of her; it was there every time I closed my eyes. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted to, but I couldn't. It was an endless loop that would get worse every time I watched it play through my mind.

The bucket in the back yard; she'd found it somehow, and now she knew my secret. Since day that we'd found it, I felt like I'd lost my place in the world. I had no past, the person I'd been no longer existed beyond the shadows of my dreams and memories. At the same time, I'd been given a future that belonged to someone else.

I lay on the bed, watching time listlessly roll from one hour into the next. Sunlight bled into the liquid oil of night. Cars came and left. Nothing mattered to me anymore, as I found myself wrapped in a slow, melancholy death.

Nine days. I couldn't believe it. Nine days ago I was a guy who had the whole world in front of him. Total freedom, independence, and a place to call my own. Now what did have? Nine days is long enough to live a lifetime through.

Long enough for one to rot.

My phone rang, flooding the room with light from its tiny screen. I could see Rachael's name flashing on the call ID, probably wondering where I'd been. “I'm sick.” I muttered, fumbling with the battery pack before tossing it into a pile of dirty laundry.

I slept and felt that I was awake. I looked at the world and felt that I was dreaming.

The silence was broken when I heard a knock at my door. I shifted beneath the covers of my bed, pretending I didn't hear them. The sound of Rachael's voice pricked at my ears as it carried softly across the room.

“Faye? Are you in there? I was kinda worried, so I thought I'd see how you were doing.” Her voice was warm, like a ray of sunshine..

I tried to speak. I wanted to....but the words died on my tongue. Caught up in my own problems, I didn't want to let them go. I'd worked so hard to believe that I was alone with my own demons, that I wasn't ready to accept any other possibility.

She tentatively pressed at the door, confirming that it was locked. “Are you alright? Have you been to a doctor or anything?”

I heard Nick speak up, telling her that it would be best if she came back later. Remember how Rachael can answer questions you didn't ask? Turns out I'm not the only one she can play card that with.

“Fuck that!” The door creaked audibly as she wrenched at the handle. “If a girl like Faye hasn't come out, it's because she's waiting for someone to go in. Christ, don't you know anything?”

Nick hesitated to answer, which was all the motivation that she needed. She turned back to the door, trying to force her way in somehow “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

The door refused to yield, causing Rachael to reconsider her options. Suddenly, she turned back to Nick “You’ve got the key for this door, right?”

Oh shit.

“Yeah, well…uh….that doesn’t really seem like the right thing do to.” Was Nick's best response, logic profound as a cannon that shoots nunchucks.

“To hell with that! Get the key and let’s get her out of there!” She growled, shoving her way past him.

She didn't wait for Nick's approval. Before he had a chance to stop her, Rachael was already rifling through the cupboards and kitchen drawers. She plucked a set of keys from the draw, the sound distinct enough to feel like church bells ringing in my ears. I could only watch helplessly as the key was pushed into the lock, pins sliding into place before the tumblers clicked, releasing the lock mechanism that kept me hidden from the world.

“Oh god.”

I curled up beneath the covers, hoping she would just disappear. She couldn't see me like this. I couldn't let someone else know the truth.

“Show me your face, Faye.” She knew just from a look that this wasn’t some medical condition. The only thing I had a case of was self pity.

“Just let me rest.” I pulled the sheets over my head “It’s enough already.”

This is the part where you realize you've crossed a line. You can push people as much as you like, but eventually you'll reach a point where they can't take it any more. There's this deep, gut wrenching sensation that settles in the pit of your stomach, where you realize the only thing you were pushing was your fleeting chance of redemption, and now it's smashed at the bottom of a ravine.

Rachael took one last, disdainful look before turning around. “I’m not coming back.”

I felt my loathing and self indulgence scatter like leaves as I threw back the covers, clambering to my feet as I fought to catch her down the hallway. “Rachael! Wait.....!”

Hurtling along wooden floorboards, I managed to grab her hand as she made her way to the door. She spun about, tears rolling down her cheeks. In her right hand she clutched one of those cheesy stuffed animals you buy from drug stores, holding a card that read “Get well soon.”

I mumbled as she looked at me expectantly, struggling to find anything to say that could somehow make up for the complete asshole I'd been. All I could do was shake my head, looking her eyes.

“Rach….I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

-------------------------------------------

Rachael sat on the edge of the bed as I told her everything. Well, not exactly everything. I didn't lie, if that's what you mean. I just didn't tell her the whole truth. I mean, she had every right to be upset with me. To be honest, I don't even know why I acted the way that I did. Something was poking at the edge of my thoughts, unnerving me about how easily I'd slipped into such a foreign persona.

I explained to her that unaccustomed to being beaten by a girl as I was, I probably took the thermonuclear-ass-kicking I'd been handed a little worse than she might have expected. Of course, the downside of that was she probably figured me for a total princess now, which is all I needed at this stage of my gender realignment.

I'd expected her to go home after that. She'd probably need some time to work our friendship out in her head, or do whatever it is girls do when their best friend turns into a heinous bitch. Instead she waited until I'd finished my story, and calmly told me to get dressed.

Why? I had no clue. I had just enough time to throw on a shirt, some cargo pants with my chucks before she dragged me out of the house.
I still have no clue of what I’m doing here now.

I was sprawled out atop of Nick's car, parked on top of a multi-tier car park. People came and went about us, fawning over their latest purchases or dragging screaming children alongside them. Rachael sat beside me, legs dangling over the roof's edge listlessly as she flicked through playlists on her iPod.

“Rach, remind me again just what the hell it is we're supposed to be doing?”

“Huh?” She said, barely diverting her attention.

I sat up on my elbows, looking at her dubiously “You have no idea, do you?”

“Not at all.” She replied flatly. “I’ve got a plan.”

“So clue me in, fearless leader.”

“Find at least fifty white girls with Japanese bits in their names like "chan" and "neko", and then launch them screaming into hell."

I quirked an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Nope.” She grinned, showing me that wonderful smile I adored. “But it's a start.”

You know what it is to have a friend? Not just an acquaintance. Someone who sees the value you have as a person, and believes it's something worth caring for. I'm attracted to that idea, to the point where sometimes it's all I can think about. I don't make friends easily. Trust like that has to be built over time, and it's such a fragile thing.

But in that instant, I could see that Rachael was different. Even though I'd only known her for a short time, there was something wonderful inside her. Something that was worth caring for.

“Faye? You’re zoning again.” Rachael snapped her fingers in front of my eyes.

I shook my head, chasing away the daydream. “Huh? How do you know I’m zoning?”

“You get that empty, soulless look in your eyes. You know, like an ice-cream man.”

I sat up, stifling a yawn as I looked away. “Okay, maybe you're right. But that's not the real reason we came here, is it?”

“Okay, let me put it this way.” She shut off the iPod and slipped it into her pocket. “In case you haven't been keeping up on current events, we just got our asses kicked. I don't know who that chick was, or what she wanted. But I think we owe her a favour.”

“I'm going to need to start a waiting list for people who are trying to kill me.”

“Maybe so.” She said “But I figure if we hang out at the mall when it's late-night shopping, she's bound to turn up sooner or later.”

Please take any credit I've given Rachael for her intelligence and burn it. “You're sure about that?”

“Damn right I'm sure. At least, I'm pretty sure. I mean...there's a decent chance she might turn up.....aw shit.”

“Great.” I muttered, rallying as little enthusiasm as I could.

She chirped up a little. “So this is what we in the business call surveillance, right?”

“Gimme a break. This isn't Nancy Drew.”

She looked at me indignantly “Hands up if you have a better idea.”

Nick extended his hand from the driver’s side window, where he'd been quietly ignoring us until now. “Yeah. If either of your butts put a dent in my roof, I’m ditching the plan and selling you both to a Chinese sweatshop.”

Rachael hung her head over the side of the car, looking at Nick. “Quiet chauffer boy.”

“Dumbest. Plan. Ever.” He muttered. Well, somebody had to say it.

I lay back and gazed up at the stars hanging from the sky: they looked so close that I could reach out and touch them. As I let my thoughts wander, I saw flames of distant memories flickering dimly before my eyes, old movies showing glimpses of what life was like only days ago. Juxtaposed against reality and dreams, I questioned wether being here was the right thing to do. Was it right to fool Rachael like this....or did she deserve to know the truth? I rolled onto my side and caught a glimpse of Sickness peering at me over the edge of the car roof, vanishing just as quickly as she'd appeared.

Nick looked at his watch, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, we've waited long enough. She's not coming.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious.”

“May as well not waste this opportunity.” Rachael said, sliding off the roof and landing beside the car. “C'mon. I promised I'd take you shopping, remember?”

“Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.” Nick grumbled.

“Then get going.” Rachael smirked, practically taunting him. “Us little girls will take the bus home.”

“Hey, don't I get a say in this-?” My retort cut short by the Camero's engine roaring to life. I barely had time to pull myself from the roof before it sped off, causing me to fall in a heap beside Rachael on the warm asphalt. I stood up slowly, nursing a scuffed elbow as she looked at me with mild surprise.

“I didn't really think-”

“Yeah.” I replied flatly. “You didn't.”

-------------------------------------------

This is your life. It doesn't get any better than this. Every minute you live from now is a possibility without limitation. Every minute that passes from now is just a memory. All that life is can be quantified in this very moment. Beautiful and wondrously potent, it flows like a river without direction or destination, existing simply because it can.

“Oh, the damage I could do with a credit card.” Rachael beamed proudly as she surveyed the mall before us.

Forget the beauty that exists in a single moment. This was a miasma of putrescent human life churning about us without equal. Crowds spanned the walkways and balconies so densely packed you could barely move. Everywhere they languished: Townies, Preppies, Emo's, Goths, Gangstas, Wannabe Princesses....it didn't stop, one group blurring into another, with no end in sight whichever way I turned. I didn't know wether to laugh or cry, let alone how to keep myself from screaming.

I felt my heart racing, tension building with each passing moment “Please Rach, I'm sorry. For everything, really. I'll never do it again. Can we go home now?”

I knew what was coming. I'd seen enough movies, read enough stories to know how this would play out. She's going to drag me from one store to another, trying on clothes until she's satisfied. An endless array of girly ensembles, dresses, underwear would be rained down upon me in such number they'd block out the sun.

“Not a chance.” She winked. “Now do me a favour.”

“Mother of god, what now?”

She took my hand and gestured towards the sea of vapid shoppers. “Set the mood--hum Mission Impossible for me.”

I rolled my eyes in mock disgust. “Oh shut up.”

Rachael dove into the crowd, pulling me along for the ride. Ducking and weaving she slipped from one stranger to another like it was an obstacle course. I felt her hand break away from mine as she surged forward, leaving me fighting to keep up. Just when I thought I'd lost track of her, she climbed atop of a water fountain, folding her arms smiling expectantly while she waited for me to catch up.

“Are we having fun yet?” She chided, hopping down from her impromptu lookout.

“Shut your goddamn mouth. Shut up and never open it again.” I was struggling to catch my breath while she stood before me, studying my apparent lack of fitness. I didn't know if it was fitness or cardiac arrest bought on by the myriad of hands pawing and groping me every step of the way.

Without a word or snappy retort, she turned about and plunged back into the fray, leaving me no choice but to follow her or be left behind. I gritted my teeth, promising myself she was going to pay for this, one way or another.

The crowds had thinned out by the time we reached the escalators, taking us to the malls upper floors and boutique stores. The structure itself was an exercise in environmental décor, every row of shops punctuated by a hanging garden or water feature, designed to keep you relaxed in spending money you didn't have while credit ninjas repossessed your home.

Still, it wasn't without its merits. Rocking Horse was one of those independent music stores that worked furiously to build up a private clique of college students who visited often but never bought anything. Speaking of which, why do college students shun mainstream stores because they lack substance, only to do the obvious and shop at the independent music outlet? That's like being alternative in a conformist way.

Then there was Fresh: this 80’s retro café that touted the cheesy tag line “Like a Breakfast Club Sandwich.” Still, the music wasn't bad, with playlists like the Smiths or Simple Minds. The place was even decked out in pink and blue neon lights, with Max Headroom plastered across television screens to complete the ambiance.

Which brings me to the main event: Row upon row of women’s fashion stores. A coliseum of feminine delights designed to make me a spectator of my own demise. I gazed upon posters of young models and mannequins clad in stylish cuts and colourful ensembles, which only served to heighten the fear stabbing at my heart with every step we drew closer.

Rachael sensed my reluctance, giving me an odd look. “It's not that bad Faye. Come on, don't you remember the last time you went shopping?”

“Sure I do.” I said, smiling at her wryly. “I bought gum.”

She frowned, her mood beginning to sour. “Y'know, it's not like I have to help you out here.”

She was right of course. It's not like she knew the reason I was so reluctant, and I couldn't expect for her to put up with my sullen mood swings forever. Sooner or later she'd tell me to sort this crap out by myself, and then I'd be stuck in the mall, alone and surrounded by meandering parodies of fashionable cliques.

Though to be honest, it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd been preparing myself for. Before you go and start thinking I'm some kind of sicko, there's actually a good reason for this. See, when you're really tall, everyone thinks it's so freaking great. You get to look down at everyone, push people around, and generally act like you're god's gift to all the world.

But there's a drawback nobody ever stops to consider. Nothing fits. Ever. Forget about shopping anywhere but stores for the grotesquely obese, because that's the only stuff that'll work. Even then it doesn't fit well, because it's designed for someone ten times as fat as you are. You'll have to wait in line to pay with some gastropod standing behind you, smiling like he knows how you feel.

I don't really expect anyone to understand, but it was nice to look at any piece of clothing and feel kinda....normal, I guess. As normal as a freak like me could, anyway. But his time it was my little secret. To a set of wandering eyes, I was just another vapid teen on a shopping spree. Sometimes anonymity is a nice, warm blanket.

Up, down, around and around, we traversed the mall from one end to another. We purchased all that I could manage, and a few things that I couldn't. Rach even managed to skew my world view though use of Jedi mind tricks, just long enough to purchase a few bras (now affectionately known as “Doomzookas”) and assorted undergarments on top of everything else. Yeah, I know. Don't get me started, okay?

Lamenting the fact I'd be flat broke for another month, I failed to notice that Rachael's casual stride had come to a sudden stop. Her gaze was affixed on a single figure seated alone in the food court, leafing through a magazine.

“I don't believe it...Look, over there.” She muttered.

There was no mistaking her for a moment. The blonde apocalypse who'd taken me apart only hours ago was enjoying a lush garden salad, oblivious to the newfound attention she'd garnered from us.

“I'm going to kill her.” Rachael hissed through gritted teeth. “Back me up, okay?”

“Not a chance.”

Rachael looked at me in disbelief. “You've got to be shitting me.”

My eyes met with hers, never more sure of anything in my life. “She's mine.”

I shoved the bags and parcels I was holding toward Rachael, almost forcing her over as she fought to carry them at once. I didn't care that I was a girl. The only thing which mattered was that I drew a line in the sand. I wanted to send out a message to everyone who would try to tear me down or crush my spirit: I've had enough. This far, no further.

She didn't notice my approach. Even as I stood looming while she ate, she paid me no attention. Instead her hand slowly drew one page of the magazine over, studying the image before closing the book all together. “You're in my light.”

Looking her over, I could see her clothes were chic and conservative, at the same time teasing you with just enough flesh to pique your curiosity. She glanced upward; surprise on her face from seeing me was barely evident. “Oh, it's you. Shouldn't you be running away?”

“Nope. I have a different idea.” She stared upward, daring me to look away. “Tell me everything that you know, or I'll kick your ass so hard I swea-”

Her hand was a blur, shooting out from nowhere and forcing its fingers past my lips. I gagged, trying to recoil but her digits were gripping my tongue, holding on like a vice. Her smile was cold enough it lowered the ambient temperature by ten degrees. “That's one busy tongue you've got. Maybe I should rip it out? That would shut you up.”

I could have run. Heck, I knew Rachael was probably waiting for an excuse to jump in and lay the smack down from where she stood. But I had a better idea, and I didn't even have to say a word to get the message across.

I bit down, hard enough that I could taste blood tricking over my tongue.

Her expression faltered, wincing before yanking her arm back protectively. She nursed her hand, shooting me a look that could fry lead. “You'd better save your appetite, bitch. You're going to need it for when I'm done with you.”

Was it an idle threat, or was she really that intent on trying to ruin my life? I didn't know, and right now I didn't care either. My heart was pounding in my chest, heat rising from my skin as tried to control myself. I was beyond reason, logic or comprehension as the most basic instincts took over. My hands trembled as something deep inside me snapped, and without warning I lunged toward her.

In a single motion she grabbed my arm, slipping out of her seat and twisting me around. The way she moved was as unreal and fluid as water; calm one moment and a raging torrent the next. I was pinned with my arm behind me, jammed against the table before I even knew what had happened. I struggled, contemplating wether to do the unthinkable and scream, when I felt her grip recede, before vanishing all together.

Just a few feet away I saw a girl, her arms folded over a black tank top with a silver necklace. She was a goddess, wearing loose, red jeans covered with zippers and pockets. I could even see “Destroy Evil Swiftly” written on one side in bright marker.

When she spoke, she flicked a few strands of dark hair from her eyes, tips glinting in the light. “Forget it girl, you're too young to die.”

“Thanks.” I muttered, rubbing my wrists as I stood up. “I don't need your hel-”

“I wasn't talking to you.” She said, looking at my assailant who was now glaring straight back.

Silence hung in the air as spectators who had been watching begrudgingly returned to their meals. The stranger smiled, looking at the other girl expectantly. I watched as my adversary seemed to yield first, picking up her magazine and giving me one last dirty look before vanishing into the crowds.

Rachael sprinted over, dropping the shopping bags on an empty table as she slid to a halt. “Holy shit! Are you okay? I mean, I wanted to help, but I didn't want to steal your thunder and all after last time...”

“I'm fine, thanks.” I said, still shaky from the adrenaline in my system. “Who was that anyway?”

The stranger raised an eyebrow, looking at me in a matter-of-fact way. “You mean Skankzilla? That’s Stacy Keebler.”

At least my enemy had a name. I felt just a little better knowing that. “Well, thanks again for helping me anyway.”

I suddenly realized I hadn't even introduced myself. Not that I'd had a chance until now. “Oh by the way, I’m Faye Valentine.”

She smiled impishly, pausing just a moment for dramatic effect. “I’m Zoe Keebler.”

Chapter Three.

“This is going to be very, very interesting.” I said, putting my feet up on the chair beside me.

“And what exactly is that?” Rachael asked, giving me a deadpan look. The cafeteria swirled about us, abuzz with activity as the lunch hour moved into full swing. The background noise was a dissonant cacophony, every conversation a grain of sand in a sprawling desert of gossip, slander, and moronic diatribe.

I looked at Zoe who sat across from us, nodding her head silently to the rhythm of her iPod, the white trails of her earphones poking out of the red t-shirt she wore, snaking around behind her neck. “Our secret weapon, of course.”

Rachael took a thoughtful bite of a leftover Subway sandwich. “That being?”

“She’s talking about me.” Zoe chimed in. I looked back, noting that she hadn’t even opened her eyes, still seemingly lost in her own world. It was impressive and a little creepy at the same time.

For her part, Rachael didn’t seem particularly impressed. So much so that I wasn’t really sure how well the two of them would get along. Zoe didn’t seem to have a problem with her, but ever since the two of them met last night, Zoe seemed to rub Rachael the wrong way. I don’t know if it was just because there was some fundamental personality conflict, or maybe she was jealous that Zoe seemed to always be one step ahead of her.

Zoe was a year older than both of us, so that’s why we hadn’t really seen her around any classes until now. But that didn’t stop her from just walking up and sitting down with the two of us like she’d known us for years. Nothing really seemed to bother her; like she was calm as a Hindu cow.

Still, none of that was going to stop the growing tension Rachael was silently projecting towards her. I needed to find a way to switch up the topic before this became really awkward.

“So, you want to tell me why your sister wants me dead?” I blurted out, unable to find a more eloquent way to phrase my question.

“She’s brutally retarded.”

Strike one. And here comes the pitch. “Okay, beyond the obvious?”

Her hand was wrapped in a fingerless glove, extending its fingers to pluck out an ear bud she was using. The volume of music it emitted only further perplexed me as to how she was vaguely aware of my question. “She’s a zombie whore that wants to devour your brain-meats. And she thinks you drove Darla out of town.”

That didn’t make the slightest bit of sense. I’d done some digging on the internet after my irrevocable change in gender, and the best I’d been able to find out was that she’d disappeared after her family started having an incredibly bad run of luck. Of course, that wasn’t before she’d left a little party favour beneath the floorboards, imbued with a touch of untainted evil.

Still, I had to resolve the aforementioned matter of it making no fucking sense. “But that was like…five or six years ago! How could she possibly think it was me?”

She shrugged, wrapping cords around her music player before dropping it into her pocket. “We used to live next door to her. Darla had this way of treating us kinda like we were little sisters I guess. Stacy thought she was her best friend and all. After things started to go wrong for her, Darla started to just hide in the house for days on end. Nobody saw what was happening to her. Stacy said that one night she saw you and some other Japanese chick peeking in through the window and trying to scare her. I guess that’s her reasoning.”

It was an eerie moment of clarity where everything seemed to fall into place, even if I didn’t like the picture it presented.

Stacy had it all mixed up. She was too young to clearly remember who it was she saw looking into Darla’s window. She must have felt burned when Darla disappeared, like she’d been abandoned by the girl whom she thought of as a sister. Naturally she pinned the blame squarely on the two Japanese chicks playing “secret agent” the night she saw them peeking in the window. Enter a girl who looks vaguely Asian that moves into Darla’s old house, and bingo: divine providence.

I sat there for a moment, silent as I tried to reconcile the reality laid bare before me. It was ridiculous, but in a way it also made perfect sense.

“Fuck me sideways.” Was the best I could manage.

“Pass.” Zoe said, slinging a lime green backpack over her shoulder.

I shook my head, reality reasserting itself as I realized she was leaving. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Figured I might kick the bleachers out from under some cheerleaders.” She turned to leave, but found her path to the exit was blocked by a line forming for the soda machine. She did the next most logical thing and climbed onto the table beside us, striding between several people and their meals before dropping neatly off the end. A chorus of protests went up, but she had already left the lunch room without even looking back.

Once she was gone, Rachael seemed to loosen up a little. She gave me a quizzical look. “Is it just me, or does that girl freak you out too?”

I pondered that for a moment, before shrugging. “I dunno, I thought she was kinda cool.”

Rachael sounded indignant at that. “She freaks me out….and ticks me off. In fact, I can’t think of anything she does that isn’t annoying me right now.”

“A little cranky today?” I asked her, a smile tugging at my lips.

“I burnt my mouth on a Pop Tart this morning. The universe is designed in aid of all things that oppose me.”

I leant back in my chair, rubbing my eyes while I let my mind wander. Zoe’s story had piqued my interest, especially the part where I’d been mistaken for someone else: An interloper who’d been spotted sneaking a peek in Darla’s window. It didn’t take a “rocket surgeon” to figure out who at least one of those girls was. Even though she didn’t want to talk to me right now, Amy fit the description, and I knew she had plenty of good reasons to be looking in Darla’s window.

So where did that get me? I was stuck between a rock and a hard case. Either I tried to get the truth out of Amy, or I bent over and waited for Stacy to deliver another forty megaton ass kicking. I couldn’t count on Zoe being around every time Stacy reared her head, which left me only one other option.

I grabbed my bag, slipping it over my shoulder as Rachael looked up from the table. “Oh, and where are you going?”

“There’s something I need to check out. I think Amy might have had something to do with Zoe’s story.”

“The girl at the vert?” She said, giving me a dubious look. “Sure, because it’s not like there aren’t like fifty kajillion other Asian chicks it could have been.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know that Rach. Trust me, I’m pretty sure it was her.”

She shook her head, not really understanding my logic, but not caring at the same time either. “Ugh, you couldn’t pay me enough money to go and talk to her.”

I looked at my watch, catching a glimpse of the ever present queue at the soda machine. “Who am I going to steal notes from if you do?”

“Like you need them, you’re a total brainiac, remember?”

“As if you’d let me forget.” I countered.

She folded her arms beneath her chest. “You want me to come along or not?”

I hopped up onto the table beside us, fresh cries of disgust and frustration rising up as I strode across it. I stopped and turned at the end of the table, revelling in Rachael’s expression of frustrated amusement. “Do what you want. But don’t expect to get paid!”

-------------------------------------------

What am I doing?

It’s a question that repeated itself in my mind, over and over again as I slunk though the hallways, looking for any sign of a hall monitor as I made my way to the exit. All I ever wanted to do in life was avoid trouble. I’m not a coward, I just hate inconvenience. If it was bothersome, forget about it. I’d rather have a nice, cushy ride than trouble myself with any kind of hassle.

Maybe the changes weren’t just skin deep? I’d started to notice differences in myself, changes in how I acted and how I responded to other people. Ever since this ordeal started, I’d been resolute in the idea that even though I could no longer be the person I was physically, I’d make sure that I didn’t become someone else in mind as well as body.

I slipped out of the east wing doors, my feet hitting the path as I crept along beneath a row of windows belonging to the teacher’s lounge. I’d never make a spectacle of myself like I did back there. And now here I am, sneaking out of school just like the teenage girl I appear to be. Christ, I’m even wearing one of the bras Rachael bought for me.

I reached a row of hedges that marked the outer boundaries of the school area. Problem was that to get past them, I’d be out in plain sight for everyone to see. I took a deep breath, calming myself as I scanned the pathways and windows for anyone who might spot me. Whatever it was that was happening, whatever was changing…maybe I could make it stop if I found out the truth.

Gathering my courage, I leapt forward, dashing towards the edge of the perimeter. If I could just make it around the path and to the other side of the hedge, I’d be home free. I skidded against the grass as I made it to the end, pulling myself around the other side. Knowing I’d made it, I let out a deep sigh of relief before taking a moment to collect myself.

That’s when I heard it: The sound of something approaching, moving down the pathway. Shit. There was nowhere to hide on this side of the boundary; it was all neatly mown lawns and designer landscaping. I bit my lip nervously, resigning myself to being caught red handed as the figure moved into view.

Zoe rolled by lazily on her skateboard, picking up speed as she pushed off the pavement beneath her. She craned her neck toward me, gazing for a moment before silently turning her attention back to the pathway, doing a quick ollie before landing in the car park. I gritted my teeth, not knowing wether to laugh or cry.

“Zoe, wait up.”

“Oh, hey Faye, what’s up?” She said, diverting her attention for a moment.

I gave her a suspicious look. “I see you’re not worried about cutting class.”

“Why would I be?” She countered as I walked alongside her.

“I dunno, why not? Detention, notes to your parents, that kind of crap.”

A wistful smile touched her lips. “My parents gave up on me a long time ago. Now all they’re worried about is little miss perfect.”

“You mean Stacey, right?”

“Oh yeah.” Zoe nodded. “She figured out that if she played by the rules, the world would open itself up to her. Boys, cheerleading, good grades and endless accolade. That’s all she cares about.”

“That’s not how she struck me.” I couldn’t help but grin at the irony. “Figuratively, anyway.”

Zoe hopped off her board, kicking it up before carrying it under her arm. “Ah, that’s just a façade.”

“How do you figure that?”

The light seemed to glint in Zoe’s eyes as she spoke. “Because deep down inside, she’s like me. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

I have to admit, that was a tantalizing possibility. “And just how is she like you?”

We were moving through suburbia now, headed towards the beach where I knew Amy’s sushi bar resided, which worked out perfectly for me. At the same time, I watched as Zoe hesitated for a moment, the first time I’d seen a crack in her relaxed demeanour.

“When we were growing up, we used to be best friends, y’know?” She said as a warm breeze kissed my skin. “I used to think that nothing in the world could ever drive us apart. I’d talk to all these other kids who hated their siblings, and wonder why they weren’t like me and Stacey.”

I nodded my head. “Okay, makes sense. So what changed that?”

Zoe let a long sigh hiss out between her teeth. “I guess you could say it was a difference in beliefs. It wasn’t that we started hating each other one day or anything. You don’t wake up and decide today is the day you’re going to fight someone. It’s just that like I said, she wanted to take a different road, and I couldn’t follow her.”

“I don’t get it. What’s such a big deal about that?”

“It’s not that simple.” Zoe said, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “It’s like this: Say someone has different system of belief than you. They think everything you like sucks, and they want you to accept them for who they are. And at the same time, they mean a lot to you, kay?”

“Gotcha.” I nodded.

“So it should be easy to accept them, right? Everyone’s got their flaws and all. But this is different. It’s not because you hate them, or that you’re just being selfish. It’s because to accept them, to tell them that their beliefs are something you understand and can tolerate…would mean you’d have to compromise your own. You’d have to admit that the ideas and foundations of who you are were false or invalid. I couldn’t do that for her.”

I was starting to understand what she was saying. It wasn’t that Stacey and Zoe hated each other. Maybe it was the opposite. Maybe they cared about each other too much to compromise what they felt was best for the other person.

“I’m guessing she couldn’t do the same for you either?”

Zoe shook her head. “Nope. Now we’re like two different people, staring at each other through a looking glass.”

“Wow.” I murmured. “That must really suck.”

“Yeah.” She stopped, looking at me strangely. “It’s funny. You’re the first person I’ve ever told this to.”

I held her gaze, smile spreading slowly. “Trust me, when it comes to personal problems, you finish when I haven’t even started.”

-------------------------------------------

There are things you wish for before big moments. I wish my friends were here. I wish my life was different. I wish there was someone who got what was happening, and could just look at me and tell me I wasn’t crazy. That I wasn’t being stupid. Someone to say “I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Without the rainstorm, the boardwalk looked a lot different in the afternoon sun. It seemed much more innocent, not as daunting or dramatic. I remember the first night I came here, I was terrified of everyone. People I saw felt so tall and imposing, like they could break me in half with a thought.

On the other hand, I didn’t even notice them now. It was just something I’d grown accustomed to with everything that had happened. Was this a concession I’d made? Just accepting this was a new reality? I curled my fists, resolute with fresh determination to see this through, to whatever conclusion I found waiting for me.

Zoe found a wooden table nestled next to a palm tree, one of several that were dotted about the area. After I explained to her that I needed to talk to this girl, to find out something that was really important to me, she simply nodded and told me she’d give me the space I needed. With that she hopped onto the table, reclining as she put in her ear buds, cranking up her iPod and tuning out from the world.

I stepped into the sushi bar, the delicate aroma of Asian spices passing over my nostrils as I searched for my quarry. She was standing behind the counter, dressed in the same black uniform I’d seen her in that first night we’d met. She calmly walked towards me, pulling out a notepad before looking at me expectantly.

“Anything I can getcha’ hon?” She asked dryly, like some waitress from a cheap diner.

I opened my mouth, but the witty retort wouldn’t come. I stood there, dumbfounded for a moment as I searched for what to say. What could I say? The things I wanted to ask weren’t really the kind of topics you could pull up for a casual conversation. “I was….hoping we could finish that discussion we were having. You know, from the vert.”

Her expression faltered, like she was briefly considering telling me this was still too soon, and I was a complete pain in the ass for bringing it up. Instead she settled back into her more casual demeanour, putting away the notepad. “My shift doesn’t finish for another hour. You’ll have to wait outside until I’m done.”

Not really the answer I wanted, but it was probably the best I was going to get. It turned around and walked outside, pulling up a seat next to Zoe’s table.

“What’s the score little lady?” She asked, craning her neck over slightly.

“Her shift won’t finish for another hour.” I gazed out at the beach beyond us, watching the ocean waves pour over one another as they crashed into the shore. Somehow, this was beginning to feel like I was coming full circle. I hadn’t been back here since that fateful night, and even as I shifted my gaze to the boardwalk, I could see ghosts of that night lingering, drifting in and out of my vision like a camera changing its focus.

“This is taking too long.” I muttered.

The orange sun was melting behind the horizon when I heard the door open, turning my head to watch Amy as she stepped out. She’d changed her clothing, ditching the uniform and now looking a little more tomboy-ish in a blue tank and worn jeans. I glanced at my watch, noting the time. “You’re late.”

“Do you see a look of concern on my face?” she shot back, walking over and taking a seat beside me. Zoe was still sprawled out on the table behind us, but I was starting to get the impression she’d fallen asleep.

“No, I guess not.”

“Okay, you’ve got me all to yourself. So what did you want to know?” Her friendly tone hid an undercurrent of frustration, possibly at the absurdity of this whole situation.

I cast a cautious glance at Zoe, making sure she was definitely unconscious before continuing. “Well, I guess I just wanted for you to answer my question. You know, I mean about everything that’s happened to me, and to you.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate.” She replied flatly, still feigning ignorance.

I ground my teeth for a moment, wondering just how long she planned on making me jump through hoops. “Okay, let me put it all out on the table: Darla left something behind in the house where I live. It changed me, made me who I am now. I’m starting to get the funny feeling it did a number on you as well.”

“I’m not a girl.” I added coolly. “And neither are you.”

I’d expected her to deny it, or at least make a big deal about it, like I’d uncovered some terrible secret from her past and now she’d have to kill me if I told anyone about it. But that’s not what happened at all. Instead she leant back against the table, giving me half a smirk.

“What’s your point?”

“My point?” I echoed, aghast that she reacted with the same emotional gravity as placing an order at the drive thru.
“My point is that it’s wrong. I’m not…this! Neither are you! We’ve been screwed, we were guys who were fucked over by some evil bitch, and get to live with the consequences. We need to fix this, take things back to the way they were before!”

Her expression didn’t falter at all. Instead she continued to study me with those almond eyes, like she was peering into the depths of my soul. “Tell me something kid: Why would you fix this, even if you could?”

I shook my head. “Because it’s wrong. It’s not who I am….Christ, I can feel stuff changing. Not just physically. In my head, I feel like the person I used to be is slipping away, and I’m becoming someone else. If it keeps up, I might be a totally different person. And the person I was will cease to exist.”

She leant in a little closer, giving me what was probably the most sincere look I’d seen since we’d met. “Look, I don’t know what I can tell you that you don’t already know. Yeah, we’re the same. And I’ve changed a lot too. But the truth is, even though I hated it, and I fought with what was happening tooth and nail, I eventually had to accept we all have to play the hand we’re dealt.”

I stared at her with disbelief. “That’s it. You just gave up?”

“No, not gave up.” The sun had disappeared behind the horizon now, red and yellow hews shifting to light blue against her skin. “I embraced it, made it my own.”

I couldn’t believe this. My world fractured a little further with every word that came out of her mouth. “You don’t want to go back?”

“You have to understand, what’s happened does suck. I would never have wished it on anyone else, but now that it’s happened to you, there’s only two choices you make: Either let what’s happened run your life, or kick its ass and make it your bitch.”

I slumped my shoulders in resignation. Once again, the answer I’d been searching for wasn’t the one that I wanted. “I guess you chose the latter, huh?”

“Why not?” She said, giving me that lop-sided grin. “Beats moping around like a teenage cliché.”

“I guess that’s the best I can ask for.”

“It’s your call Faye. Everyone has their own choices to make. Just think about what you have to do now. Think about no longer having any regrets.”

I contemplated what she said. I guess deep down inside, I knew there wasn’t going to be a way to weasel out of this. There wasn’t another trinket hidden behind the closet which would change us back. Life is too seldom fair like that, and until now I didn’t want to admit that to myself.

Still, that didn’t mean I had to give up. Maybe there was still hope after all. Instead of trying to go back to how my life was, I could make myself someone who was better than Kane. Someone with all his strengths and none of his weaknesses. Not a boy or a girl, but something more. Something perfect.

I realized it didn’t have to be one or the other. There was no absolute between Kane and Faye: Building the future and keeping the past alive were one and the same thing.

After that, there was nothing left to say. We had a silent understanding, a bond that we shared that nobody else could ever be aware of. She didn’t let it on, but I think that knowing there was someone like her put Amy at ease, safe in the knowledge that her plight wasn’t a burden she’d have to carry alone any more.

We said our goodbyes, and I watched her walk way until she had disappeared from view. Just then, I felt Sickness lingering at the edge of my senses, her tongue lashing against my thoughts, threatening to taint and pervert the answers I’d found for myself.

She was watching me intently, relishing the opportunity to make me question myself. But instead of her, it was me who smiled this time.

You want a fight, Sickness? I’ll give you a war.