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Jacie went to extreme lengths to help a pretty girl struggling with her past. The result was an unexpected twist of fate.

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Battle of the Bangs

Copyright © 2018 Shauna J. Rousseau
All Rights Reserved.
All image originals sourced from Creative Commons.
All movie-related references made in this novel are trademarked by Paramount Pictures, Disney, Universal Pictures, or Marvel. All other characters are completely fictitious and any similarities with actual persons are purely coincidental.

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Author’s Note: I’m extremely grateful for the comments and support I received on part one. Overall, the story doesn’t seem to be as well received as the first book, though. I’ll keep a thumb on the pulse of responses (comments and kudos) moving forward and will gauge whether continuing the story is something that seems to be desired, or not.

Thanks for everyone’s support!

HUGS!
Shauna

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Part Two
I wish I could like say that the next days—or couple of weeks—got better for me.

What mainly happens is that there is a stark polarization at school. I’m reminded of the U.S. Congress—two factions that are pulling further and further apart. Soon, they will be so far apart that there will be no overlap at all.

What? Moderates? They’re becoming as rare as pink Tribbles!

Anyway, Haley and Co. have gathered steam. Her faction consists mainly of religious and other zealots, homophobes, and the occasional actual jock supporter.

What? Huh? Pun? No, I don’t…

Oh! I get it! Giggle…

Anyway, a couple of things are pretty clear, by now. First, Haley is getting support—a lot of it—from an outside source. She’s too good at walking a very tight line…

What? Tighter than my eyeliner. What’s your point?

What? Yes, I use a fine-pointed liner. I don’t…

Oh! Go away!

Anyway, she’s walking a line that’s extremely annoying, but stays just on the right side of the rules—and what she’s doing can’t be considered bullying. At least not in an actionable sense.

Personally, I think a good Dominion invasion would serve her right.

Anyway, my suspicion…

What? No, it’s not just mine.

Anyway, the suspicion is that Greg’s parents are helping her out—just to stir up trouble.

What? No, we’re still working on the legal issues between our lawyers. That’ll still take a good while to get settled, though.

Anyway, the second thing that Haley’s actions are causing is a split in her own family. Jenn and her Momma are completely aghast at her actions and ‘beliefs’. Her Daddy is squarely on her side, though, and only helps to keep her stirred up.

So, there’s her growing ‘opposition’ party here at school—one that is becoming increasingly radicalized.

Then there’s the currently still larger faction that is on ‘my’ side.

What? No! I want nothing more than to be left alone.

Borg soldier, remember?

Anyway, ‘my’ side is the one of reason.

What? Of course, we’re the reasonable ones! We’re right, after-all.

Anyway, the group I identify with…

What? OK, then…

The group that crystalizes around me is the one that has issues with a-hole jocks and no issue with TG girls.

What? Language? Yeah. Bite me!

Blame the Borg Queen…

Anyway, in the beginning ‘my’ group is the larger of the two, with a majority of the school sort of neutral. They have an issue with ‘a-hole’ jocks, but not necessarily with all jocks. Most have a laisse-fair attitude towards TG girls, as they view me.

Over these last couple of weeks, though, like I said, things are becoming increasingly polarized. People are picking sides more and more—there is less and less neutral ground.

People gravitating towards ‘my’ side, for the most part, aren’t radical and we are still the larger faction. People on the other side tend to be mostly freshmen and sophomores, although there are a few juniors and seniors. And, like I said, they tend to be idiots.

What? My opinion?! Sure. My life, too! So, what’s your point?

The only relief I get from it all are our after-school study sessions, my personal ‘sessions’ with Jillie, and practicing/singing with the band.

What? The band?

Oh, right. You’re behind… Sigh. I do so wish you would keep up…

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What do I say about the band?

Well, overall, we’re doing great. We practice two-to-three times a week after our study sessions, then several hours both days on the weekend. We play Saturday and Sunday nights at ‘The Greek Goddess’—under contract—and we’re still a huge hit there.

What? How did the ‘outing’ affect things?

Oh! Daddy did secure us a lawyer, and we’re exploring our options. Since it doesn’t seem to have caused us much—if any—harm, though, she isn’t sure we have much standing to sue.

Anyway, Daddy is still our interim manager and we’re making good money. Really good money for a high school band that only plays on the weekends. No, we won’t get rich, by any means, but good money is going into my college fund.

Oh, another thing! We made a slight change to our name. Writing ‘P.S.T.K.’ was just getting old. We now are officially known—and are legally registered—as ‘PS2K’.

Word is starting to get out about us, though—and Daddy is trying hard to find a better manager for us. There are just too many Ferengi and Cardassians to be careful of. The ones just out for the money and the others just wanting to stab you in the back.

What? Me?

Yeah. I’m still the ABBA queen—the band jokingly calls me the ‘Disco Doll’, rather than Barbie’s Doll, now.

And when Johnny B. hears us talk about the shi…

What? Language? Go…

Err… Well, anyway, when he hears us talk about the other kind at school, he just shakes his head. Especially, since in the grand scheme of things, it seems to be me against Haley.

What? Borg soldier. Remember?

Anyway, he just chuckles and calls it the ‘Battle of the Bangs’. It’s his inside joke from when I had to fight so hard with my bangs when I first got them—only now applied to this new situation.

What? Yeah. My bangs are epic, now! Much better than Haley’s!!!

What? No, they’re still basically the same as before. Just longer. And I’ve gotten used to them…

Anyway, I don’t think he’s funny, at all.

So, now you’re caught up.

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So, to continue with the story…

I sit at my vanity and finish my makeup as I reflect on the last two weeks. I look at my work in the mirror and smile. I look hot. Not that I would have been overly happy with that just a few weeks ago.

What? No, it’s still strange—but I’m getting more used to the idea that I can look hot. Well, and that I can create that look.

I turn my head back and forth in the mirror and closely inspect my work, looking for any flaws. I know that if I have any in the bright ‘evening’ look that I’ve spent the last thirty minutes on, that Jillie will call me on it. If not her, then Kate, for sure.

What? The look?

Well, like it’s colorful, glittery and overstated—both because it’s stage makeup and it’s like supposed to be a sort of retro-but-modern-disco look. The one thing that I’m still not used to are the really long fake eyelashes. I feel like I could knock any attacking Klingons over with the things—simply by batting my eyes and creating a blast of wind.

Anyway, I pick up the dangly little disco balls and put them into the front holes in my ears and wince a little as I do.

What? No, the holes aren’t completely healed yet, so they’re still really tender.

Anyway, I stand up and look at myself in the mirror.

I still can’t believe it’s me looking back from the mirror.

What? What do I have on?

Well, it’s an ultra-short, sleeveless, pink dress. The skirt is pleated and comes just below my panty line. I’ll have to be very careful about flashing the pink, ruffled panties I have on.

What? Of course, I’m carefully tucked—and using a new contraption called a ‘gaff’ to keep me that way. Jillie found how to make it online—it’s made out of old pantyhose. I’ve gotten used to being tucked by now—just not to the gaff ‘flossing’ my butt.

What? The girls tell me I’ll get used to it after a couple more weeks. They all wear thong panties and swear by them.

Anyway, the ‘flossing’ certainly gives my butt more wiggle when I walk—it also makes me squirm when I sit. That’s something that Momma and all the girls get onto me about all the time. At least it’s getting better as I get more and more used to it…

So… Where were we?

Oh! Right! How I’m dressed. The sleeveless, strapless dress also has a pretty deep plunge in the front—you know, to show cleavage.

What? Me? Of course, I don’t like have cleavage. Give me a minute to explain, will you? We’d like make a lot more progress on this story if you’d like stop interrupting!

Anyway, Jillie also talked Momma into getting me these glue-on ‘breast forms’. Momma relented a week ago and ordered them at a store in the mall. After we went there this morning, and I was ‘fitted’…

What? That means they took this like really stinky, gooey glue and spread it on my chest…

What? No! I still don’t have hair on it. Are you going to keep interrupting me?

Anyway, the girl spread this glue-stuff on my chest and then on these huge silicone mounds with like fake nipples on them. After the stuff on my chest and on the mounds was dry, she carefully put the cold, heavy things on my chest and pressed down on them for a minute, or so.

When she stopped pressing down, there was still this noticeable weight on my chest—it was even more noticeable when I sat up.

What? Yeah—we had to take a trip to VS after that to like get me new bras.

What? B-Cups. Why?

What? No, I don’t like want D-cups! Are you frickin’ crazy!

What? Language? Bite me!

Anyway, the edges of the forms are like really thin and the girl put a little makeup on them. They’re like as invisible as I used to be!

What? Yeah…just more Borg parts…

Anyway, the point to that whole story is to say that I now have ‘cleavage’ to show off in the dress.

What? My shoes?

Five-inch, open-toed, pink suede stilettos.

What? Yeah, the weight of the breast forms like really messes with my balance in them.

The other girls just laugh when I like say anything, though.

Anyway, now that you’ve taken me down this side path through Vanity Fair, I really need to get downstairs—the van will be here any minute to pick me up for practice.

I spray a mist of perfume into the air and walk through it on my way out of my room.

I look at the stairs—the pink river down them is now long-gone and I’m like sort of bummed about that. I miss the Tribbles from those days.

The life of the Borg is pretty cold. If not for the life-force that Jillie and the gang give me, I would have to really think about ways to end this dreary existence.

What? No! I’m not talking about suicide, but…

Borg soldier. Remember?

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I gingerly step out of the van. Fred is being a real gentleman and helping all of us girls get out.

What? Yeah, I said all of us girls. What’s your point?

Anyway, it’s a little icy and five-inch stilettos may sound helpful…

What? Like the heel could be a good icepick…

They’re not! Did you see them wear them on Hoth? I mean, really?

Anyway, we all safely get inside, walking very gingerly, and I’m like a popsicle when we finally make it to the bar room.

What? Yeah a pink popsicle. What’s your point? What flavor? Strawberry, maybe? I don’t know. Like a give a d…

Language? I’ll show you language!

Anyway, us girls go up to the bar and Apollo smiles at us and hands us each a big cup of steaming hot chocolate.

We thank him with a hug and go to the stage where the guys are finishing setting up.

What? Aren’t there any crowds? No, the restaurant is closed between two and five on weekends to gear up for the evening crowd. That’s when and where we practice on the weekends.

Kate, Sara, Mitsi, and Barbs take extra cups of hot chocolate with them to their guys. Jillie and I just hold hands.

What? Well, we may stop for a quick, hot-chocolate-flavored, foot popping kiss, too.

Anyway, we all congregate on the stage and finish our soul-warming drinks after everything is set up, then we start our practice session.

I wonder if the other Borg know about hot chocolate? I mean the Queen must be monitoring my thoughts, right?

Anyway, against my wishes and loud protests, Barbs and I are now pretty evenly splitting time as the lead singer. I still don’t think that my voice is that great, but the others seem to disagree with me on that point.

What? Learn an instrument? Me? Are you crazy?

Well, I mean the guys have talked me into learning to ‘play’ the tambourine—just to keep up the ABBA image…

Anyway, we go through our set of songs and Apollo…

What? Oh, yeah, calling adults by their first name has become an epidemic of global proportions…

What? Yes, I know that’s a pandemic…

Anyway, Apollo has also insisted we call him by his first name—without any ‘Misters’ attached to it. Mamma doesn’t like even publicly blink anymore when I call adults by their first name—I know it still bothers her, though.

What? Yeah, me too—a little. Although, it like is kind of cool, though!

Anyway, Apollo comes up after our practice set and says, “Great job! You’re getting better and better together. Look, I would like to do an all-disco evening in three weeks. Do you think you could expand your disco-themed repertoire to include more than just ABBA? I know it’s fairly short notice, but…” He lets the sentence drop with a shrug and an imploring look.

Chris shrugs back and looks around at all of us. We just like shrug, too—and nod. Chris looks back at Apollo and says, “We’ll give it our best shot. Any special requests?”

Apollo just smiles and hands him a sheet of paper with a list of songs on it. He says, “It’s no big deal if you can’t do them all; just as many as you can. If push comes to shove, we can supplement the playlist with CDs of the actual artists, but I’d like as much live music as possible.”

Chris takes the list and scans it. He nods, thoughtfully, and says, I think we can cover most, if not all, of these. The problem is getting the sheet music…”

Apollo grins and walks over to a table with a stack of paperback books on it. As it turns out, it’s all sheet music of disco songs. He looks up at us and says, “What can I say? I came prepared.”

The guys laugh and us girls giggle and we all like hurry down to leaf through the songs.

As we’re looking through them, Jeff inquires, “So, Apollo, is there any special occasion? What’s the deal?”

He grins, “Well, my niece is coming to the States to visit me and is huge fan of yours and wants to meet you—especially you, Jacie…”

All of our heads snap up and Chris asks, “How…?”

Apollo laughs, “Well, I may have video-conferenced with her a time or two while you were playing. Anyway, she’s coming over in two weeks and she just loves disco. So, I just thought we should make a bigger deal out of it.”

He winks and continues, “I also have it on good authority that we have a big birthday coming up—a sweet sixteen?”

Mitsi blushes and the rest of us girls giggle.

He says, “Of course, I can’t have you playing for your own party—but there will be a party. That I can promise you! And it will be a good Greek party! I’m sure Aphrodite would love to help me plan it.”

Mitsi blushes even more and all I can think about is that old movie, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” . I giggle and think about Windex and zits…

Mitsi goes over and gives him a hug and says, “Oh, you don’t like have to do that, Apollo, but thank you for the thought!”

He just gives her a quick squeeze and says, “Of course I do. Aphrodite loves to plan parties and I love to have them—especially for family.” He grins, “And, in case you didn’t know—you’re all family, now!”

We all laugh…

What? Well, yeah, us girls actually giggle—what’s your point?

Anyway, Chris clears his throat and says, “OK, guys! Come on! We need to do another practice set before the crowds start arriving.”

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An hour later, the doors open for the evening crowd and people start filtering into the restaurant. The early crowd is mostly a cocktail one and we start our first set with more contemporary songs—which puts Barbs more front-and-center.

What? I already told you I’m fine with that!

Anyway, around seven, we transition to more ABBA—and even sprinkle in some of the songs from Apollo’s playlist for the disco party that we had been able to practice before the restaurant opened.

What? Oh, you know, songs like, ‘Night Fever’, ‘I will Survive’, and ‘Boogie Wonderland’.

What? Yeah, I am lead singer on those.

What? I already told you I don’t think my voice is that great!

What? Well, yeah, the crowd loved it. What’s your point?

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Six hours later, the guys pack up the instruments and us girls sit down at the bar and watch.

The guys come sit down with us just as the last of the patrons filter out the front door.

Apollo comes over and gives each of us girls a hug and shakes each guy’s hand. He says, “Awesome night, guys! There should be a hefty bonus based on tonight’s revenue. Now, what can I get you to eat before Arastoo cleans up the kitchen?”

What? Arastoo? Oh, he’s Apollo’s chef…

Anyway, we all let him know what we would like and he hurries off to let Arastoo know.

While he’s gone, we leaf through the sheet music some more and pick out our final selections to practice.

By the time we’re done eating, though, it’s nearly one in the morning and we’re all yawning.

Jeff, who got a late start in school because of age cut-offs, is our driver, since he’s actually eighteen and stands the least chance of causing an issue if the police stop us for any reason.

What? No, of course, they don’t. But you never know, right? I mean the van is in about as good a shape as the Millennium Falcon… Getting pulled over for a flickering taillight is not out of the question.

Anyway, I wearily climb in bed at nearly two and quickly fall into a deep slumber.

I don’t even remember dreaming about Jillie and the hordes of pink Tribbles…

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I wake up around ten with a start and think there is something seriously wrong with me—I have this crushing weight on my chest. Then I realize it’s just the glued-on breasts and sigh in relief.

I crawl out of bed and into the shower, where I stay under the steaming water until it runs cold—about forty-minutes…

What? We’re not on Tatooine!

What? Yes, I know we should like still conserve water…

Oh, bosh! Just go away!

Anyway, I finish my quick shower and pad back into my room with a towel wrapped around my chest and covering my ‘breasts’. It’s funny how well they actually do work to hold it up! It still feels funny having the weight on my chest, though. Especially when it sways with every step I take.

I sit down at my vanity and yawn. I put on the bare minimum of makeup, since I’ll just have to ramp it up for tonight.

I tuck and put on some comfy leggings and a large, soft sweatshirt—I think it’s lined with Tribble hair, it’s so soft.

What? O!M!G! Both the leggings and the shirt are pink. What’s your point?

Anyway, I put on some—yes, pink—ballet flats and make my way down the stairs to the kitchen.

Momma is sitting at the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. She gives me one look and just pours me one, too.

I sigh and smile as I take it.

What? Yeah…I’m getting used to it. She lets me drink it on weekends.

I doctor it up with some sugar and cream—nowhere near as much as when I first started drinking it, though. My goal is to be able to drink it black as Darth Vader’s cape.

What? I can’t help it! I watched ‘Stars Wars, A New Hope’, yesterday before getting ready for the gig.

What? Yeah, that one’s still like my fave! The first one and still the best!

What? I know it’s number four chronologically—but it was the first one made. I mean, like everyone knows that! Even the Borg Queen and she’s from an entirely different universe!

Anyway, I sit and drink my first cup of coffee and start telling Momma about the gig last night—and the upcoming disco night. While I’m telling her about it, she makes me a waffle and I pour us another cup of coffee—and then another.

By the time I’m done with my story and my waffle—I’ve had four big cups of coffee and feel rather wired.

I decide to watch ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ before I have to get ready for tonight. I ask, “Momma, you want to watch a movie with me? I would like rather watch it tonight, but, you know how it is with us poor working schlobs…” I giggle as she screws her face into a fake scowl.

Then she can’t help but giggle with me, “I suppose you want popcorn, too? And right after that waffle!”

I nod and go put the movie into the DVD player while she pops the corn.

I cuddle up to her on the couch and press play. I have trouble concentrating on the movie, though. Too many things are running through my head…

As Jimmy, I would often watch movies with my nerdy mom. As a young kid, I would cuddle up to her—but, I haven’t done so in a long time. Cuddled up to her as Jacie, though, seems somehow…well, right.

I take a handful of popcorn and slowly put one piece in my mouth at a time. I barely register the action in the movie as Vader wrecks his havoc.

I look at Momma—and fully realize for the first time that I really am thinking of her as ‘Momma’, now. Not that that’s like inherently a girl thing—but, it’s like something I’ve picked up from the Circle. Just like the ‘like’ that is increasingly becoming a part of my vocabulary and now my thought patterns, too it seems.

I absentmindedly take another handful of popcorn. I continue putting it into my mouth, one piece at a time.

I look down at myself on the couch. I’m snuggled into Momma, my legs tucked underneath me—just like I’ve seen Jillie do a thousand times.

Suddenly, I feel pink cotton candy start to fill my brain again. And Pink Tribbles start to purr in my stomach.

And I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing, or not.

I don’t even notice the movie come to an end…

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The gig is a basic repeat of last night—although, we end much earlier, since it’s a school night. Even so, it’s still after eleven before I get into bed.

I lay there, my mind still swirling with the thoughts from my failed attempt at watching a movie with Momma.

Jillie’s goodnight kiss is still fresh in my mind and it only adds to my growing confusion.

I thought I was getting better at this whole ‘being a girl’ thing. I’m fairly certain it’s what I want. I mean, if my formerly repressed memories aren’t as fake as my Borg breasts.

I sigh and wonder what in the world I’m doing. I feel the cotton candy start to spread in my head again and sob into my pillow.

What? I thought it was gone, too!

I carve out a little cavern in the sticky mess in my head with a phaser and put a little square memory chip…

What? Yeah, it looks like a little painted piece of scrap wood…

Anyway, I put it there for safe keeping. I need to remember to talk to Rita about this.

I finally fall asleep and dream about the Borg implants expanding further into my body—becoming more integral to its functioning.

Then I dream of the Queen sending me into battle, like a good little Borg soldier—a true mindless drone just doing the hive’s bidding.

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I’m groggy as I stumble down the steps for breakfast. I did not sleep well.

What? I don’t know what’s causing it! You don’t think I would fix it if I could? O!M!G!

Momma puts oatmeal down in front of me—and a cup of coffee, which surprises me!

I look at her, the surprise showing, and ask, “Is there a Death Star coming our way? A Romulan invasion? Galactus?”

Momma giggles, “No, silly. You’re almost sixteen and drinking it on the weekends, anyway. It’s also clear that you need something! Are you not feeling well? Betty called and Jill is sick today… Oh, and I got a text, your bus is going to be a little late.”

I shrug and take a sip of the coffee—black—and grimace. I take another and my shoulders give an involuntary shake. I sigh, “I like don’t know what’s wrong, Momma. I like had these weird dreams… I like feel like I’m losing myself. The longer this like goes on, the worse it’s getting.”

I take another sip of the bitter, black brew and shudder, then say before she can ask, “And, like yes, I’ve made a note to talk to Rita about it.”

Momma nods and replies, “OK, Hon. I know it’s an adjustment for you. Maybe we should have waited on the breast forms?”

I shudder, albeit a little less, as I take another sip of coffee. I take a nibble of oatmeal to cut the bitter taste. I swallow and shudder again, since the taste of the coffee is still dominating my taste buds. “I don’t know, Momma,” I reply. “Maybe I’m just tired. Or maybe I am coming down with something.”

Momma’s phone chirps, letting her know she has a text. She checks it and frowns, “Hmmm. Your bus is already ten minutes late and is going to be much later. A flat tire, or something. I guess I’ll just have to take you and drop you off my way to work. Come on, finish up! I’m already running late, now too. And why, in the name of Isis, aren’t you putting anything in that coffee?”

What? No! Not ‘Isis’ the terrorists! ‘Isis’ the Egyptian goddess. I told you Momma was a nerd—you know ‘Isis’, the old TV show?

No? Well, look it up! I don’t have time to educate you—or I’ll be late for my education!

Anyway, I shrug, “I want to learn to drink it black as Vader.”

Momma’s eyebrows disappear under her bangs and she just shakes her head.

I drain the cup of it’s bitter brew and shudder violently—but I do it! I drink it all!

I feel the acid churning in my stomach after the coffee burns its way down my throat, but I do my best to ignore it as I go up to brush my teeth and check my makeup.

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Momma drops me off a block from the school parking lot and I start to make my way towards it to cut through the cars parked in it. The bell is just ringing and the last of the students are rushing in.

I should just make it before the tardy bell.

I’m lost in dark thoughts about my dreams when my path is suddenly blocked before I actually step foot onto school property.

I look up and see a Klingon glaring at me.

What? No, not a real Klingon! I know I fantasize about them, but this is some guy wearing a Klingon mask.

I look around—there’s not a soul in sight. Everyone else is already inside…

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