Fearing that he will soon succumb not only to his forced adolescence but also to his blossoming feminine self, Darren writes a desperate plea to Mama Khalia. As this occurs, Darren is stripped of the last vestige of his former adult independence. Meanwhile, now fully entrenched within the high school experience, Abigail claims a victory over an incompetent tyrant. Finally, Abigail experiences not simply love, but an obsession so powerful that it threatens to erase Darren Lawrence from existence.
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A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR:
This story is my thank you to a community that has provided me free fiction for years. It is also my first story (and probably my last), and I will warn you- it is long. My intrepid editor, Robyn Hoode, slaved through the drafts of the story, providing insightful and helpful commentary. His enthusiasm for the subject material kept me motivated. Honestly, without him and his constant feedback, this story wouldn’t exist. So, if you enjoy this story, you have him to thank, as much as me.

This story is very much a slow-burn, character-driven transformation. As I said, it is lengthy, but I hope you will stay for the entire ride.

Please feel free to leave a comment or to send feedback to the following e-mail: oneshot20XX [at] gmail.com

DISCLAIMER:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 50 (Part 5)

Me: Hey Andrew, I’m really sorry about before, Ethan is back in the band, I was just going through some pretty heavy stuff.

Friday night, before I went to bed, I sent Andrew a text, hoping that we would be able to jam this weekend. It was very short notice, but if my band mates were still into the idea, they would find a way. Saturday morning, as I woke up in Abigail’s room just after ten AM, I noticed Andrew had written me back.

Andrew: It’s OK. Laura told me about some of it. So you really had to go back to school?

I rapidly texted him back:
Me: Yeah, 10th grade.
Me: You guys aren’t telling anyone else about what happened to me, are you? I don’t really like Amelie talking about that stuff with Laura
Andrew: Hey can we talk on the phone? I’m having trouble keeping up.

The difference between generations was startling. Where Alyssa would send me many screens of texts that comprised a whole conversation, Andrew preferred the telephone. I also preferred speaking on the phone because I could gauge Andrew’s tone far easier, even though I really disliked my voice over the phone. It was no wonder that law firms did not take me seriously- I sounded like a kid. I hadn’t fallen into the trap of ending every sentence as if it were a question, so-called up-talk used by many adolescents, but I sounded the same as I looked.

I asked Andrew to call me, since I hadn’t been able to transfer any of my numbers. My old phone was not salvageable, meaning I could not access my contact list. I realized that I didn’t even know my parents or even Amélie’s number off by heart. They were stored in my ruined phone, and I just used a single button to call, which removed the requirement to memorize numbers. Amazingly, I still knew the number of my childhood best friend, but I could not remember my wife’s number without looking at my phone.

I said, “Hello?” There was a pause on the other end.

Andrew replied, “Hi, Darren. Uh- sorry, never heard your voice over the phone before.”

I nodded, “It’s fine. Now you guys aren’t telling anyone else about what happened to me, are you? Also, I don’t really like Amelie talking about that stuff with Laura. She told Laura I had to go back to high school?”

Andrew said, “No way, we are going with the story you and Amelie came up with. You are in Vancouver in law school. Oh and about the talking, Laura and Amelie are best friends, they are going to talk.”

I sighed, “How come we never hang out like before? You know the new NHL is out. We always play it together when it comes out.” I was referring to a hockey video game that I had played for nearly twenty years. I had played it with Andrew for the last ten years.

Andrew replied, “Sorry, Darren. It’s tough with the baby, Laura is cool with the band, but I’d have a hard time leaving the house for a video game. What about online?”

I frowned, “I don’t have it anymore.” I didn’t have it anymore because Amélie and my parents had forced me to cancel it. We still had Internet, but online play for the game cost extra. It was only ten dollars a month, but my father called it an unnecessary expense. My father did not understand the allure of modern gaming, but then his only game experience fell within the realm of Windows games such as Minesweeper and Spider Solitaire.

I said, “Anyway, the reason I called is that I’d like to get the band back together. I spoke to Ethan, and he’s willing. I wanted to talk to you first because you are my best friend- you know I don’t want it to come between us. I want to hang out like we did before even if you aren’t into the band anymore.” There was a pause on the other end.

Andrew cleared his throat, “You know like I said, Darren, I can’t. Maybe after band we could all play. But yeah, I am definitely into it. I was mixing some of the tracks we recorded with Ethan, and your voice and all the parts. We’ve really got something here. I get chills when I hear you sing.”

I nodded, “It’s about the only positive thing that’s resulted from this change. What about Steven?”

Andrew said, “Steven’s been texting me, asking me what’s happening. He’s got another band interested in him.”

I replied, but in an anxious higher-pitched voice, “Oh. Damn. Well d-do you think he will come back?” My voice was uncertain.

Andrew said, “I think he will. I’ve been sending him some of the mixed tracks. We both figured you’d come around eventually, especially once the dust settled- you know with school. I heard school kind of sucks.”

I said, “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Andrew said evenly, “Fine. I think Steven will come back. Just be glad I didn’t leave.”

I grinned, “Yeah, bass players are hell to find.”

We laughed and after a little small talk, I hung up. Andrew could do Sunday afternoon, but I had to find out if Steven was even willing to come back. Even with the awkwardness in the discussion concerning my return to school, I still felt positive about how it had gone. I was hopeful that Andrew would accept my invitation to hang out because my home life had been altered to the point where my wife was no longer my wife. She acted more like my mother. I desperately needed my best friend to infuse a sense of normalcy. I also needed someone my own age, who didn’t give me homework or ask me to do my homework. I hoped Andrew’s friendship would halt my slide into complete adolescence.

I called Steven at home, but he was working, so I sent him a text identical to the one I sent Andrew. He called me back at noon.

I was going to have to change the ringtone. It was a Britney Spears song from the Blackout album. It reminded me of Amélie and I and what we used to do in the bedroom. I said, “Hello?”

Steven said, “Hey, Darren. So you want to get the band back together?”

I replied, “Yes, are you free tomorrow?”

Steven said, “Yeah, I can jam tomorrow afternoon.”

I asked, “What about the other band? Did you play with them yet? Andrew said there was another band.”

Steven laughed, “There wasn’t one. I wasn’t actively looking either. Andrew and I knew you’d come to your senses, but we needed a little incentive.”

I frowned, “That was pretty sneaky.”

Steven replied, “Yeah, well you need underhanded tactics when you are dealing with a level 5 diva. That’s like Barbara Streisand and Celine Dion level. Like not only does the whole room need to be white, everyone who serves you has to be wearing white. There’d be this machine too that sucked out the colour from their eyes so they’d have these white orbs.

I smirked, “Are you quite finished?”

Steven added, “Oh and everyone in the audience would have to wear white. If they didn’t, they’d be dyed white on entry.”

I said, “You’ve thought about this way too much.”

Steven said, “I’ve had a lot of spare time over the last few weeks.”

I replied heavily, “Sorry about that. I didn’t treat you guys very well.”

Steven said, “The person you really should be apologizing to is Ethan. Kid’s got it rough.”

I blinked, “What do you mean by that?”

Steven replied, “He’s into the band more than any of us. He texts me at least once a day to give me another song idea or something. I was really surprised you wanted to kick him out. Andrew said you were dealing with a lot of stuff, but it didn’t make sense why you wanted him out- you’ve always said that music is therapy.”

I couldn’t very well tell Steven that Ethan had a crush on me, but I wondered if Andrew and Steven actually saw it. They were adults, and that meant, they could see through the adolescent haze that had enveloped Ethan. Did they already know? For instance, Amélie met Ethan once and knew that he was head-over-heels for me. Steven had also noticed the clerk in the pizza place. I had noticed his little gestures toward me, such as offering to give me his old phone. He had also offered to help me with my math homework on a few occasions.

Were his gestures merely innocent attempts at gaining my friendship, or were they subtle actions to gain my affection? I knew that I had to take a stand against my hormones and my sexuality before they swallowed what remained of my masculine self. I was going to have to keep our relationship purely professional.

I replied, “I was just dealing with a lot of stuff at the time. I’m not sure how much Andrew told you, but it doesn’t matter. I am perfectly fine with having Ethan in the band. I’m also firmly committed to the band.”

Steven said, “Hey, that’s good enough for me. I gotta get some lunch, I’ll see you on Sunday. Oh hey, did you get your licence back yet?”

I sighed, “Not until December.”

Steven said apologetically, “Ooh sorry, man. I forgot- fifteen.”

I nodded, “Yeah, fifteen.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up. I took a few minutes to load some music on my new phone. There wasn’t nearly as much room as before, so I had to select them carefully. I chose Alice in Chains “Them Bones” for my new ringtone. At ten thirty, I climbed the stairs, surprised when I didn’t smell Amélie’s waffles.

Amélie was in the kitchen doing the dishes. Chloe was colouring at her table. She shouted, “Daddy!” and then pointed to the little stool next to her. She continued shouting “Daddy! Sit Daddy! Daddy!”, as I walked to the cupboard to grab a cereal bowl. The cereal bowls were now a shelf lower, so I no longer needed a chair to reach them.

I said, “Not right now, Chloe. Daddy wants to eat first.”

I looked at Amélie, “Hey, how come no waffles this morning?”

Amélie said, “I figured with you trying to lose some weight, you wouldn’t want them. I’m trying to lose a few pounds too. You might not want to eat those sugared cereals. I had oatmeal.”

I stuck my tongue out, “Blech. Gross. Cereal is fine.” I frowned, “How come you are trying to lose weight?”

I couldn’t very well tell Amélie not to lose weight and embrace her feminine curves- not when I was having difficulty embracing my own. I was trying to lose weight, but my exercise regime lacked focus. Not only that, but all the work I had done since Wednesday was lost on Friday night with two helpings of risotto and two chocolate chip fudge brownies at Alyssa’s. That girl’s mother could cook, but she was going to make me fat.

Amélie said, “Just finding my clothes don’t fit that well. Probably the same feeling you have with your skirt.”

I nodded and asked, “Yeah, I guess. Where’d you go last night?”

Amélie replied, “Out with my friends from law school. Gina was in town, we celebrated her birthday.”

I nodded and then noticed a text from Ethan.

Ethan: so we rlly jamming 2moro?
Me: Yeah, definitely. Maybe we can get that show again
Ethan: that would b sick
Ethan: can eric a ryan come if alysa wants t come she can
Me: Maybe we should get some of the rust off before we go inviting a crowd
Ethan: lol k c u 2moro

Practice went well the next day. Despite having not played together for weeks, the songs were nearly seamless. Ethan didn’t miss a beat, and he had either been practicing, or he was a really quick study. As a three piece we had played most of the songs for nearly a year before Ethan came along, so I assumed that he was working on the songs at home. I had barely practiced singing, but my performance was as effortless as always. I did have some difficulty on the guitar however. I was out of practice, and I flubbed a few sections.

After finishing the set a second time, I felt a lot more comfortable, but there was still a lot of improvement required on my end. My school work was eating up a lot of my practice time, but as long as the threat of the social worker remained, I had to act the exemplary student.

During the tail end of practice, Ethan started playing a very sombre melody. It was beautifully finger picked with multiple arpeggios. A vocal melody instantly entered my head, and I started humming along. I got up to the microphone and started adlibbing words to feel out the direction I wanted to take the song.

Ethan stopped abruptly and said, “Oh. There’s lyrics actually.”

I stopped singing and replied, “Oh. Okay.” I wrote all the lyrics for the band. A little pang of jealousy stung my chest as I realized that Ethan was entering my territory. I did two things very well in the band- create vocal melodies and write thoughtful, dark and fitting lyrics to accompany the music. At least as lead singer, I was irreplaceable.

Ethan rummaged through his guitar case and handed me a lyrics sheet. I figured they wouldn’t be very good, only because I remember a lyric assignment I had given to my tenth grade English class. Only five percent of the lyrics were decent, and the other 95% were terrible. Raw adolescent emotion poured onto a page lacked the hindsight I believed was required to write excellent lyrics. Because adolescents lived within singular moments, their writing was often unfocused and one-dimensional. It took an adult or at least a mature mind to really craft meaningful lyrics because if you spewed recent anger on a page, it wasn’t a song- it was a tantrum. I believed in subtlety in lyrics and allowing the listener to determine their own meaning.

Imagine my surprise when I read the lyrics over, and they were not only heartfelt, meaningful and well written- they were clearly about me. The song’s title “The Girl I’ll Never Know” spoke of a young man absolutely smitten with a girl who clearly felt the same way, but who could not or would not reveal her feelings openly. The concept was complicated, in that, he knew the girl, but not the one he wanted to know.

I felt strange as I read the lyrics, and as I did, my crush on Ethan intensified. My face felt hot, and that traitorous little smile appeared on my face. I turned away from my band mates, hoping that they hadn’t seen my reaction. The feeling did not leave as easily as it had previously. Where before I could remove the thoughts from my mind, now, I could not ignore the fact that I was touched by his gesture. Did he write the lyrics knowingly?

Ethan started playing the song again, and Steven and Andrew attempted to join in, adding very subtle pieces to the already full-sounding arpeggios.

I remember Amélie’s reaction when I sang the song I had written for her on our wedding day. She cried, which was unusual. I could count the number of times I had seen her cry on one hand. She was moved by my words, tears glistening and then falling down her cheek in a gentle streak. Now I was the subject of a song, and I was similarly moved. Within my mind, I sent metaphorical dive bombers after the thoughts, then when that didn’t work- an atomic bomb, but the power of the blast was negated by Ethan’s playing and the way he played the song- with eyes closed. Was he thinking about me as he played? The traitorous smile appeared again, and I knew I had to put a stop to this. The song was making me act funny, not as bizarrely as I behaved in Alexandre’s presence, but a close second.

I said, “The lyrics are written from a guy’s point of view. It might sound weird with me singing these lyrics.” I had written other lyrics for the band that would sound similarly bizarre coming from a teenage girl, but no one had mentioned that as yet.

Ethan said, “Well you could teach Andrew and I some harmony parts for the verse, and then you could come in on the chorus. And sing something like 'I’m the girl you’ll never know'.”

I frowned, “Am I even playing guitar in this song?”

Ethan said, “There’s one guitar so far, but maybe on the chorus.”

Andrew added, “We should jam on it, and see where it goes.”

My band mates were all in agreement, and considering my previous hissy fit over Ethan’s membership in the band, I had some ground to make up. I had to choose my battles carefully. The first time I was expected to sing, I missed my cue because I was too busy noticing how Ethan’s tight band shirt- some band I didn’t even know- showed off his arms. His years of guitar playing had given him well defined biceps. I hadn’t really noticed before, but then I wasn’t really looking either. I also thought it was really cute how he kind of pursed his lips when he played. I even liked the way he held his pick. Was I going crazy? What a stupid thing to like about a person. There was sense of humour, intelligence, and even body, but I liked the way he held a stupid piece of plastic? What was wrong with me?

Although I am loathe to admit it, I also thought about him at night before bed and at school. The fantasy of him kissing me in the band room was ever present in my mind, but his song had stoked a fire in me by pouring gasoline on an already brightly burning flame. Once, I even thought about him in my bed, not in a sexual manner, but just holding me and caressing my hair. I couldn’t fathom a more girly thought than that one, and I was glad they were relatively rare. Why did he have to write a stupid song about me? I had a feeling that the images in my mind would become more fixed because of it.

Steven cleared his throat, “Uh- hey Abby, you missed your part.” Had he noticed me staring at Ethan? Oh god, I hope not. The last thing I wanted was for my adult male friends to think of me as some love struck teeny bopper. They had already taken to calling me Abby, instead of Abigail.

I said, “Yeah, you know I was listening to the song, and I’m not sure it works, you know with the sound of the band. It’s a bit um sappy, and it sounds really pop.”

My plan of attack was clear. I would use Steven’s hatred of anything pop and gain an ally, hopefully eventually Andrew would join us in denouncing the song.

Steven said, “But you haven’t even sung a word. I don’t think the verse sounds poppy.”

I turned to look at Ethan’s reaction, and I felt an instant pang of regret. There was clear hurt on his face. He quickly turned away, and I frowned. His song wasn’t poppy at all and neither were the lyrics.

Andrew acted the voice of reason, “Let’s just keep jamming on it. We’ll make the decision then, OK, Abby?”

I felt like Andrew might be patronizing me, but I had difficulty reading him exactly. Before my change I would have just thought he was playing peace maker, but now- I actually wondered if he was semi-lecturing me.

I nodded. They started the song again, and I told myself that Ethan wasn’t trying to kiss me or even hold my hand. I was letting my crush dictate my actions. After all, the song he wrote might have just been cathartic, knowing he couldn’t have me. That is what we agreed on. The end of the song left the couple’s story open, either for the young man to walk away, tired of being spurned or for the girl to let down her walls and embrace the mutual feelings.

As my part began, I burst forth, carrying the song through the chorus. A second time through the chorus brought us to the bridge where Ethan pined for the girl he would never know and all the things he wouldn’t get to do with her. As he sang, I imagined us doing them.

***

A few hours after band finished, I received a text from Alyssa:

Alyssa: h was band
Me: It was OK. We were a bit rusty.
Alyssa: k and h was Ethan ^_-
Me: He was fine. Played a new song, it was OK.
Alyssa: its so obvis u like him abby u told him b4 u want 2b friends
Alyssa: i know hes waiting for u to tell him hes too nice to make a move
Me: Does he ask you about me?
Alyssa: yeah
Alyssa: he asked if u were still having probs in math
Alyssa: he asked if u ever ask about him
Alyssa: how come u wont make a move he told me u kissed him back
Me: He told you about that in detail?
Alyssa: he jus said u guys kissed u didnt stop him
Alyssa: hes a rlly nice guy and youd be so CUTE together
Me: I told you, I don’t want a relationship, and I told him that too. I just want to be friends
Alyssa: OMG abby whats wrong w u y not admit u like him
Alyssa: every1 knows u get this little smile on yur face when he looks at u its so adorable
Alyssa: its just like from instant star u r jude and ethan is vincent
Alyssa: in the same band u will fall in love LOL

I actually knew what Alyssa was talking about- well sort of. I had caught a few episodes of Instant Star, a Canadian television show about a girl who gets a recording contract by winning a singing contest, but the incessant teen melodrama turned me off the show. The songs in the show were catchy and well-crafted, but the relationship squabbles made it unbearable to watch. I was surprised Alyssa had heard of it because it wasn’t a new show, but I guess MTV must have played reruns and Alyssa got hooked.

Me: Life isn’t a television show, Alyssa. It doesn’t really work out like that, especially when one person isn’t interested
Alyssa: same thing happened to jude she went crazy
Me: I am not going to go crazy just because I don’t act on some feelings. OK, I have a crush on him, but it’s manageable and it’ll go away
Alyssa: thats what jude said LOL
Alyssa: then one day u r working on a song he looks at u u smile and know its right u kiss MUAH
Me: You watch way too many of those shows. They are so formulaic, first she doesn’t like him or vice versa then they get together and all the little girls swoon and say, oh I wish that was me
Me: It’s not real. Love doesn’t work that way.
Alyssa: u r 15 how do u know abby u have a bf b4
Me: No, I just see it, you know I watch my sister and her husband and other couples
Alyssa: they r old abby its diff w adults like i know my mom likes this guy at work
Alyssa: she doesnt look like u do when u look at ethan lol
Alyssa: u r rite I watch a lot of shows but u can learn from them and heres what i know
Me: What?
Alyssa: u guys r perfect the cutest couple :) :) :)
Me: Alyssa, all you are doing is trying to live vicariously through me because you are too nervous or scared to ask Eric out. So you create this little fantasy in your mind about Ethan and I, and it helps you forget that you don’t have the courage to ask Eric out.
Alyssa: :( u can b pretty mean abby i just think u 2 belong together
Alyssa: u like him he likes u its just sad u know dont u want a bf I do
Me: No, I’m focusing on music and school
Alyssa: u need to come back to my place u got all boring again LOL

I sighed. Speaking to Alyssa was literally like speaking to a child. The shows she watched had no doubt filled her mind with this notion of the perfect smile on the perfect teen couple enjoying their perfect moment. Life did not function this way, and the sooner Alyssa understood that the better. She would be less disappointed when her first boyfriend, potentially Eric, turned out to be an asshole, was a terrible kisser or when their relationship burned out because Eric had no interest in discussing hair, makeup, Katy Perry or Instant Star.

Me: Look, I need your help with Dr. Phillips. I have to meet him again this coming week. You said he was nice to you. What did you do?
Alyssa: i told him i want to get better
Alyssa: dont know y u r having probs w him
Me: Because he doesn’t believe that I worked at a law firm. He thinks I am making it up and that I am delusional
Alyssa: well u r rlly young to b working there u said too that ur boss wont admit u work there
Alyssa: just tell doc phillips that u were lying
Me: But I’m not lying. My sister is going to talk to my boss and get her to admit I worked there
Alyssa: u make a lot of probs for urself abby like when u 8 in the pit this too jus tell him u were lying
Me: You can’t go through life running from your problems. Look how you stood up to Véronique
Alyssa: yeah but doc phillips is an adult if he thinks u r crazy u might have to go to the hospital
Me: Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve had one session.
Alyssa: im jus trying to help abby u cant fight against everything and expect to win
Alyssa: like my mom i know when shes in a mood no asking her nothing well doc phillips is nice he wants to help jus hes stubbern u know thinks hes right so if i wanted to leave early i jus agreed w everyth he said
Alyssa: u have to admit that its hard to believe u worked in job like that u r smart abby but dont u need to go to uni for that would people pay money for u to work on their stuff
Alyssa: doc phillips prob wont believe u ever i told him that i cut myself cause i wanted attention from my parents and i saw kids do it on youtube
Alyssa: he said that wasnt part of the tipical profile or whatever and he kept pushing me so i told him it was because i was bullyed by veronique and he was a lot nicer

Alyssa had a point, and with Stephanie’s refusal to admit that I worked at the Locke Agency, it would be nearly impossible to prove. I couldn’t believe that I was going to take advice from Alyssa of all people, but Amélie had been unsuccessful, although I wasn’t even certain if she had spoken to Stephanie yet. As for Doctor Phillips, his behaviour was also not completely unusual for a medical professional. Logically, if his thesis or main area of study was self-harm and he had argued in a paper published in medical journals then he might do everything he could to ensure his thesis was proven. It was highly unethical, but it explained his behaviour, and he wouldn’t be the first professional to skew results to support a theory.

Me: Okay, I will try it. My appointment is on Tuesday, so I have some time to think about it.
Alyssa: :)
Alyssa: g2g dont think bout ethan too much before bed dirty girl :) :) :)

I went to bed that night trying to think of anything but the reignited crush. I looked at my wedding ring, the object that had initially broken our brief but passionate kiss. I thought of Amélie, but it was getting harder and harder to see her as my wife and even more difficult to find her attractive. I felt almost nothing when I saw Amélie on Friday night, squeezed into a pair of skinny jeans that exaggerated the flare of her hips and tight blouse that while surprisingly conservative still accented the size of her full breasts. I literally had to force myself to look at her, and when I did, there was a teasing minute tingle. We hadn’t been intimate in months, and I was craving the closeness and something else.

My hormones took this opportunity to move into overdrive, replacing the image of my wife with Ethan. Months after my transformation, I had still not thoroughly explored my body. I was curious certainly, and there had been moments when I knew I was alone, when I put my hand on my breast and played with the nipples. I had never ventured to what I termed the nether regions, but with images of Ethan all over me, kissing my neck, playing with my boobs, in my very bed, my nipples weren’t enough, so my hand tenuously crawled down to what I knew was my most sensitive area.

I thought about what I was doing, but the pleasure quickly numbed my thoughts. Would this act make me a real girl? Was I losing a significant part of my old self? They were forgotten. I hid under the covers, fearing that Amélie might suddenly burst into the room. As I continued, I noticed a cold sensation. I pulled my hand away, realizing that it was my wedding ring. I wondered if it ever bothered Amélie. The object once again jolted me back to reality. I felt that my actions somehow betrayed my wife- my marriage vows.

It had been a few weeks since I had written Mama Khalia telling her about what I had felt within the circle, the presence that seemed to pick at my thoughts. That night, I sat at my desk, dressed only in my pyjamas, and penned another letter to her, pleading for her help, explaining that if she did not act soon there would be nothing left of Darren Lawrence to save. After writing, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep or to dismiss from my mind the image of Ethan or the temporary pleasure I had inflicted on myself.

On Tuesday, I took Alyssa’s advice to heart, agreeing with much of what Doctor Phillips said, and retracting my statements. He seemed pleased that I was able to make such progress in a week, noting that once I had told him the truth, he believed that I was no longer delusional. He told me that it was silly to think that he would believe a fifteen year old girl worked as a paralegal, and that a firm would even consider hiring someone my age on a full-time permanent basis. He told me that I had made up the story to act as a fantasy escape from a school where I was having difficulties. Again, I agreed with him, noting my problems with the girls in the Pit, Véronique, and how the kids treated me in general.

I couldn’t believe I was following advice from a teenage girl, but I was even more shocked when it worked. After my confession, Doctor Phillips told me that he had a treatment plan for me, and he laid it out- step by step. It was almost a carbon copy of the one he had discussed with Alyssa. I left there with my pride wounded, but with the realization that it was a necessary evil to avoid further difficulties. I hoped that the social worker would speak to Doctor Phillips and learn of my progress and admission. As I digested the session, I realized that while I had lessened my problems, I had seriously gone against my convictions. I was telling the truth, but the adult world refused to believe it. My confession had made my life easier, but at what ultimate cost?

Wednesday night, Amélie returned home looking worried. Her interview with Mrs. Warner, the social worker, had not gone well. The woman was still challenging the veracity of Amélie’s tale, and Amélie’s inability to produce any substantiating documents was not helping things. We had still not received the birth certificate for Abigail Grenier, and Amélie had indicated there were problems with the process. Her aunt was having trouble because Abigail Grenier had no medical records, no doctor visits and no immunizations. This was worsened by the lack of school records. The province tended not to grant birth certificates to people who didn’t exist.

Amélie explained that Mrs. Warner wanted to contact her parents, or rather our parents, to get their side of the story regarding the missing birth certificate. A small part of me wished that when I changed that the world changed around me, rewriting my existence. Darren Lawrence would perhaps have never been born, but we would not have faced all of these legal hurdles and the potential consequence- having to live in a group home away from my friends and family.

September ended, and the online ad for my car was posted. In the meantime, I found out from Andrew that the downtown show with Porcelain was back on. Another band had dropped out, so we were it. We started practicing twice a week in preparation- the show would take place in only two weeks. I had managed to keep my hormones in check, and while I still stared stupidly at Ethan at certain points during band and in class, I had not acted on anything, and thankfully neither had he. Also, over the last few weeks, Alyssa and I became better friends. Whenever I reverted to my old ways, putting up my walls and acting generally cool toward her, she would call herself the Panty Queen, in memory of her run-in with the undergarments, and this would almost always elicit a giggle from me. She had asked a few times if she could come over to my place, but I wasn’t ready for Amélie to see me with Alyssa outside of Chloe’s dance studio. I feared what she would think, considering Alyssa’s success, at times, in reviving the child in me. Also during that time, Alyssa continued to pressure me to try out for local singing competitions. On both fronts, I had managed to hold her at bay, but she was tremendously persistent. Mercifully, she stayed off the topic of Ethan, mostly.

As for my car, it had barely been driven since my change, although recently, my father had taken it for an oil change and a complete tune-up in preparation to sell it. It was officially for sale, and that meant prospective buyers coming to the house. In hindsight, my father should have driven it to his place to sell it, because I had a plan to keep it.

***
“So what you are saying is the car is a lemon. The sun roof is broken, and it needs a new clutch. Oh and it leaks oil. How do you know that? You don’t look old enough to drive.”

A middle-aged man, likely looking for something sportier than the ten year old mini-van he drove, looked at me suspiciously.

I frowned, “Look, I’m just telling you the truth. Don’t waste your time with it. My uh- sister drives it. She found all the problems. That’s why we are trying to sell it.”

My father and Amélie had agreed that it would be best to sell the car in town because there would be more potential buyers, but it meant that Amélie would have to do the test drives. My mother usually left when Amélie got home, and she would have been unable to do the test drives while watching Chloe. Thankfully, during the evening, Amélie was often occupied with Chloe, who was still having hell-raising exorcist-style tantrums. Chloe’s newest game was to make the biggest mess she could as many times as she could. This left Amélie conveniently occupied while I intercepted buyers and told them the car was worthless. This would be the fourth buyer I had turned away.

The man shook his head, “Why should I believe a kid? You probably want it for yourself.”

I wasn’t stupid, I knew that they wouldn’t believe me from words alone.

I said, “Take a look under the car and see for yourself.”

I had taped a two litre pop bottle to the underside of the car and filled it with water and soil. A quick shake and it looked like motor oil. My father always called Amélie when a buyer was coming to coordinate, but this also gave me plenty of time to prepare my ruse. It also wasn’t the type of car that attracted gear heads, so all the buyers saw was what looked like dripping oil.

The man shook his head, “I should report your dad, you know. It must be against the law to try and trick people into buying a car that has serious problems.”

I watched the frustrated man walk back to his car with a satisfied smile on my face. After he drove away, I crawled underneath the car to retrieve the bottle. I heard a car door slam, but figured it was the neighbours, so I quickly began ripping the duct tape off to free the bottle. Just as I was finishing, I saw shoes at the side of the car. They looked like my dad’s. The bottle slipped from my grasp and rolled right out from under the car. The shoe raised and stopped the bottle’s momentum.

“Darren, get out of there. Now.” It was a voice I had not heard in almost fifteen years. My father’s authoritative tone. I did as he said, and he took my arm and pulled me into the house.

Once inside, my father directed me downstairs to Abigail’s room and closed the door. He said, “I don’t want Amélie to hear this.”

He motioned for me to sit on the bed. He stood over me, shaking his head and frowning deeply, his mouth was tight and his whole demeanour screamed disappointment.

She would hear it because he raised his voice at me. “Just how long did you think you could get away with lying to people about the condition of the car?”

My head was lowered, my shoulders slumped and I swung my legs back and forth, “I don’t know.”

My father sighed, looking completely exasperated, “Did you not even think that we would find out? That people would call me, accusing me of being a thief?”

I frowned, “I don’t know.”

My father walked over to me and looked me right in the face, “What’s wrong with you, Darren? We need this money. By November, you are going to be broke. What were you thinking? Did you think you would be able to keep that car?” His face was getting red, “Do you think Amélie and I are stupid? I called her from a payphone, and I was just waiting for you to do exactly what you’ve been doing since the car went on sale.”

I raised my head, “What order would you like me to answer those questions?”

As Darren Lawrence, my father would have hit me for talking back to him that way. He hit me very rarely as a kid, and when I look back, I deserved it. I once threw away all of my newspapers, neglecting to deliver even one along the route. How did I think that was a good idea? It was clear that people were going to notice that they hadn’t received the papers they had paid for.

He raised his hand, but it didn’t come down.

My father’s expression softened, “Darren, this behaviour is extremely worrisome. You are regressing. Can you not see that? You are acting like you did when you were a kid.”

I narrowed my eyes, “What did you think was going to happen? I’m surrounded by kids all day. I have to have friends my age or the stupid social worker will think I’m not normal. And here you are selling my last vestige of adulthood, my car- my freedom. How did you want me to act? I’m losing myself in this body, Dad. I need to grab onto something, something that was- that is me.”

My father sighed, “I’m sorry, Darren, but we have to sell that car.”

I sniffed and said, “I know, Dad.” I reached out to hug him, and he looked as surprised as me, but he held me there for a few minutes, then he left quietly.

Two days later, my car was sold. The young man who bought it indicated that his girlfriend was expecting, and they needed something larger than the hatchback, but they didn’t want something bulky. I watched as he reversed it onto the street, and then turned toward the main road.

***

I heard my phone vibrating in my school bag. I knew it was a text message, so I ignored it. I knew that M. Landry confiscated cell phones, and while I didn’t like mine, I also didn’t want to lose it. Students who had their phones taken away had to get a parent come pick it up, which in my case meant Amélie. It was nearing the end of the week. My car had been sold a few days ago, and I was still reeling from the loss. The only piece of my adult life that I had left to lose was my mind itself.

The phone vibrated again. M. Landry was lecturing on the rise of Fascism in Germany and Italy, and despite the interesting topic, the class was, as usual, on life support. As I scanned the faces, I could see that my classmates were bored. M. Landry had a drone-like voice, it lacked emotion and that meant he was more textbook than man. It also didn’t help that to a high school student, he looked about a million years old- with big bushy grey eyebrows, mostly bald with just wisps of greyish-brown hair along his temples. His baldness revealed a vein in his forehead that pulsated when he became angry.

He was a bad teacher. I noticed that he didn’t try and gauge student reaction, he just continued to lecture without any concern for whether his students actually understood the material. He rarely checked for prior learning, and he never diverted from the lecture style to disseminate the information. This was further demonstrated by his announcement that we were going to have a test in two days. This was clearly against the three-day notice policy that was written in our student planners. It didn’t bother me, but I knew that for students who needed more time to study, it would be an issue.

M. Landry said, « The test will cover this week’s material. »

There were groans from the class, but no one spoke up. My phone vibrated again. Thinking it was Amélie texting me about a potential emergency, I quickly retrieved it from my school bag. I frowned. They were from Alyssa:

Alyssa: omg m landry is so booooooring
Alyssa: hes got really gross nose hairs
Alyssa: I hate him so much hes so mean to me
Alyssa: hey abby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Alyssa: abby
Alyssa: pick
Alyssa: up
Alyssa: ur phone

I shook my head as I read the texts. Alyssa was doing better in the class, but she was still only just passing. I had worked with her, but she proved to be a challenging student. She was even giving me bad habits. During a previous study session at her place, I let her put music on, and then she managed to distract me for nearly twenty minutes with a discussion about Instant Star, which she then insisted we watch. So for the three hours that I was there, we got ten minutes of studying done! Still, the show was better than I remembered. Alyssa caught me up on the plot lines, and it made a lot more sense. She said we should watch it from the beginning, but I was hesitant. I was really there to help her study.

I made sure M. Landry wasn’t looking and texted her back:

Me: Why is he so mean
Alyssa: he never changed my grade
Alyssa: i told him what u told me about that stuff
Me: Did u tell him like that Or in detail

If I texted in class, I used short hand because you never knew when the teacher would appear behind you, forcing you to stash it away quickly to avoid being caught. You wanted to make sure you got your message out so short hand was handy.

Alyssa: yah i did he said it was still wrong
Alyssa: i told him exactly what u said abby
Alyssa: he hates me im going to fail history
Me: Thats not right at all u should stand up to him
Alyssa: i cant he jus stares at me and i feel stupid
Alyssa: thats how i felt when he told me the answers were wrong
Me: u need to be ur own advoc-

I was too engrossed in my conversation with Alyssa to notice that M. Landry was right behind me. I saw a hairy arm enter my line of sight and then my phone was snatched from my fingers.

M. Landry furrowed his bushy brows at me, « Mademoiselle Grenier, you may have the highest mark in this class, but that doesn’t mean you can ignore the lessons. You set a bad example for your peers. I expect better from you. »

He looked at my phone and his face hardened. He then went over to Alyssa, who had stopped texting and put out his hand, « Mademoiselle Moore, I will take yours as well. Your mother can pick it up after school. And your sister- Mademoiselle Grenier. »

Alyssa pleaded, « Please sir, I have a dentist appointment. I need to- um…»

M. Landry shook his head. He impatiently tapped his foot. « You need to what? »

Alyssa was turning red. Véronique smiled triumphantly at her, even though she had done nothing. Alyssa mumbled, « I need to know what time it is. »

M. Landry pointed at the clock on the wall, « This is a clock, Mademoiselle Moore. It has all the information you require. »

Alyssa was now bright red, « I can’t- um- I use my phone to check the time…like I know you took my phone once and then I could ask Abby, but if you take them both- »

Véronique blurted out, « Alyssa can’t read the clock! Did you miss that part of third grade? »

This caused laughter to erupt in the classroom. Alyssa looked like she was going to cry. What was it that caused perfectly normal teenagers to join together as a pack of hyenas, feasting on self-esteem?

I retorted, trying to stand up for Alyssa, « Can you read the clock, Véronique? »

M. Landry was the next to speak, « With a test in two days, we should be focusing on the material. Although, I do wonder. How many of you can read the clock? Should we really be learning about Fascism when half you probably can’t even read the clock? I want all of you to take out a fresh piece of paper and write the time on it by looking at the clock on the wall. Not at your phones. »

This is what was called a teachable moment. M. Landry could have briefly discussed the prominence of digital over analog devices and how it has changed our society. It could have tied in nicely to a lesson on how technology can change not only a civilian population, for instance the emergence of commercial flight, but also how it can alter military strategy, i.e. the use of aircraft to wage Blitzkrieg. Instead, M. Landry decided to be an asshole, and I had had enough.

After a month in an all-French school, my command of the language had improved immensely. I was no longer shy to participate in debates, where I had previously been at a disadvantage. I set narrowed eyes on M. Landry,

« You are one to talk. You use outdated teaching methods. Where all other teachers utilize multi-media to engage their students, you hit us every morning with overhead notes that have way too much information. Also, some of what you are teaching us is also out of date and in fact, has been discredited by prominent historians! Based on that, some of your overheads have to be over twenty years old. »

M. Landry made a beeline to my desk and stood over me menacingly. « Then, Mademoiselle Grenier, perhaps you would like to teach the class? »

The students watched the exchange in silence.

I smirked, « I would do it gladly, but then you’d be out of a job. Wouldn’t you? »

This caused laughter among my classmates, but M. Landry was an old soldier in the teaching ranks, his glare silenced them. I could see the vein in his forehead throbbing.

M. Landry said, « Young lady, that’s enough. Report to M. St-Valentin’s office. Now. »

I shook my head, « No. »

There was whispering going on behind my back, and this soon turned to excited chatter. With the eyes of my peers on me, I was filled with energy and immense bravado. I felt untouchable. M. Landry stared me down, but I wasn’t budging.

I continued, « Could this test that you are planning have anything to do with the fact that progress reports are due on Tuesday? It couldn’t have anything to do with your poor planning. So all of us have to suffer and worry over a test just because you can’t look at a calendar properly? »

I had plenty of ammunition, but I could see M. Landry wavering under my attack. The students caught onto this and now their eyes were primed on the teacher. We were steadfast in our resolve.

He said, « I assure you that is not the reason. »

He moved over to the phone. I could see his decision making process as he considered whether to call in his own big guns. My eyes scanned the classroom and I could see my classmates furiously texting. The whole tenth grade was going to know about this in seconds.

I said, « And what about your negativism? The fact that you mark certain students harder than others, and then when they come to you with clear evidence of your mistake, you tell them that they are wrong. Doesn’t that make you the worst teacher in the world? »

A few people were recording the event on their phones. M. Landry, in my mind, had lost complete control of the class.

I asked for Alyssa’s paper and she gladly handed it to me. I read her answers to specific questions and then mine. They were the same, but I received full marks. I was standing by this point, loading my gun for the final shot.

« You are a disgrace to your profession. A dinosaur. You don’t help out with anything around here either. You don’t coach any teams or supervise students’ council or any clubs, and you don’t even do your mandated supervision duty. »

I had learned that M. Landry was the teacher who was supposed to be on duty when I was assaulted in the Pit.

M. Landry was frantic. He picked up the phone, but the noise level caused him to have to shout into it. Because of the noise level, we didn’t hear the knocking and then banging on the door. Usually, M. Landry’s classroom was quiet- mostly because the students were comatose, but now it was like a circus and a stock market floor all rolled into one. A teacher I didn’t recognize came into the room, and a minute later, M. St-Valentin was there. M. Landry fled the classroom, his face a mask of shame and anger, and I proceeded to bow to him as he left. That fingered me as the culprit, and M. St-Valentin quickly took me out of the room. I saw our math teacher, who was on her prep period, enter the room, likely to try and calm the students down.

I wore a big smile on my face as M. St-Valentin escorted me to his office.

I didn’t have to sit in one of the naughty chairs in the office. No, my behaviour apparently warranted an immediate trip into M. St-Valentin’s office for a closed door meeting. The principal asked me what was going on, and I told him the truth. There was no use lying, especially considering the video evidence that would likely make its way to YouTube under the title “TEEN GIRL SCHOOLS TEACHER!”

M. St-Valentin frowned. I was unfazed by his expression. I still held myself like my shoulders were a million feet wide.

He said, « I am surprised by your behaviour, Abigail. For one, you are an excellent student. I never see you in here, and beyond your truancy at the beginning of the year, your teachers have nothing but good things to say about you. »

I replied, « M. Landry was disrespectful to the entire class. He basically called us stupid, and he is causing unnecessary stress by scheduling the test at short notice. What if someone can’t do the test on Friday, then they have to do it tomorrow with only one night of preparation? It is completely unfair. »

The frown never left M. St-Valentin’s face, « The classroom is not the right forum for such a discussion, Abigail. I wish you’d come to me with your concerns after class. I would have considered speaking to M. Landry to change the test date. As for the other things you said, don’t you realize that is a form of bullying? »

I shook my head raising my voice at the same time, « The truth is not bullying. It’s an eye for an eye. He was bullying the entire class. » I folded my arms underneath my chest.

He sighed and replied, « I thought you were more mature than that. When you represented yourself in the courtroom, I was very impressed with how you handled yourself. There you used the proper forum to discuss the faults of the police officer. If you are unhappy with the way a teacher is treating students, then you should to speak to me. »

He caught me off guard with his first statement. Was I being immature? I saw myself as calling out a person who masqueraded as a teacher, collecting a pay check for little work.

« I don’t think it’s immature to call someone out like that. Besides, if I had told you or any other adult in this school, you wouldn’t believe me. »

I said in English, “Teachers are like cops, they are all as thick as thieves with each other.”

I knew this to be the truth. In my teaching career, I had seen teachers like M. Landry receive the benefit of the doubt simply because of their seniority and stature. The administration backed the teachers in 99% of cases, unless parents complained. To a parent, M. Landry’s crimes were likely very minor, but to a person who lived it every day, I saw them as egregious. I really was living within the world known as high school.

The principal’s frown deepened. He also switched to English, “If a teacher saw another teacher doing something illegal or something that would jeopardize the safety of a student, they would definitely speak up. I’m afraid that teaching methods don’t apply. As for M. Landry’s behaviour prior to your outburst, I will speak to him about that.”

He continued, “I know how this place can really seem like its own world sometimes, Abigail. And students your age can see things a lot more seriously than they are. But just to be sure, M. Landry wasn’t doing anything inappropriate was he? Lewd gestures or sexual comments?”

I shook my head.

He said, “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to call your sister. I am suspending you for the rest of the day. As I said, your behaviour was inappropriate and disrespectful. I don’t condone bullying of teachers. Please wait outside. When your sister arrives, we’ll have another little chat.” Surprise, surprise, another teacher protecting their own.

Amélie would be pissed. She would have to take time off work to come and get me. Plus, this would give the social worker more evidence to argue that Amélie was raising an unruly child. I was pissed too though. I sat in one of the naughty chairs, glowering at anyone who happened to lock eyes with me, including one of the secretaries who reminded me of my dear departed grandmother. The woman, Madame Hillier, gave me a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie the first time I sat in one of these chairs after my bullying incident in the Pit. I was not offered such a delectable treat this time.

Twenty minutes passed, and I continued to stew in my seat. Madame Hillier looked at me through her thick bifocals with concern, « Abigail, what did you do? »

I met her gaze with intensity in my eyes, « I told off the worst teacher in the world. »

The woman frowned deeply, « A sweet girl like you? I have a hard time believing that. You are so polite usually. »

It was true. The previous times I had come to the office, either to pick up a letter or form for Amélie, I had been courteous and kind to the office staff. Now, I was giving them death looks.

I shrugged and turned away from her. I felt bad for even considering mistreating Madame Hillier, but I was angry. My rage was misplaced because the office staff had done nothing. They were not part of the collusion that occurred between teachers and principals. It was particularly difficult to swallow because I knew it happened. I had seen it as a teacher.

A few minutes later, the vice principal walked in with of all people, Ethan. The vice principal was petite, but she wore a padded suit jacket that gave her at least the appearance of being bigger than she was. I had heard stories from my classmates at lunch of her legendary temper. The kids said she once made a senior cry when he found out he was flunking English and would not graduate. They said she took pleasure in telling him. This after he allegedly dressed in a Spider-man costume as a senior prank and sprayed her with silly string. I thought the woman looked a little like a harpy, with a hooked nose and long, scraggily hair. I began to wonder if my perception was off because I hadn't seen her that way when I first arrived at St. Jo’s.

The vice principal said, « Have a seat, Mr. Rayner. Your parents can pick up your phone after school. » She made him sit three seats away from me.

He did as he was told, but as soon as she went into her office, Ethan slid down two seats. Madame Hillier was busy in the copy room.

He said quietly, “So, you’re a little rebel now? That’s pretty hot.”

Something about his hushed tones made me want to feel his hot breath against my ear. His behaviour was odd because I knew he was flirting with me, but with his own teenage rebellion, he was likely filled with much the same energy that had pushed me to rant against M. Landry.

I tried to brush off his attempt, but the way I positioned myself told a different story. I turned to face him and placed my hand down flat on the empty chair. He did the same.

I whispered and smiled at him “So what did you do, talk out of turn, forget to raise your hand or turn in your homework?”

He smirked, “Oh worse than that. Okay, so I’m in music class and everyone is talking about what you did, and I’m like talking about you, and how cool you are and everything. And I say that we are in a band and people want to hear it. So I turn my phone on super loud cause there’s like fifteen people or whatever, and Madame Morin comes over and she’s like turn it down.”

He continued, “So, we are getting through one of our heavier songs, and people are really into it. And I say to Madame Morin, this is music class, it’s music. Right? So she gets mad and asks for my phone and I refuse to give it to her. So she says give it to me now, and it’s at my solo and I’m saying after this. And she says NOW, so I put it down my shirt and say come get it. Everyone’s laughing and she gets on the phone to Ms. Harpy there.” He smiled as he edged closer. His scent, eau de teenage boy bathed in body spray, suffocated my senses and made me feel giddy. Ethan looked at me expectantly. He wanted my approval for his deed.

I found myself giggling lightly. Oh god, I thought his music class joke was funny. Was it because of the way he smelled or the way he smiled at me?

He looked me in the eyes as his fingers crept along the chair, until his hand was on mine. “Hey, did you, um, wanna come over sometime?” He saw the immediate conflict in my eyes, but what he did not realize was the fear I felt. I almost said yes without thinking.

He pulled his hand away and immediately added, “You know I heard you complaining about having no one to play NHL with. It’s cool that you and Andrew played, but I guess he’s busy with his son. You know, you could come over.” I still didn’t respond, and he added, “Uh Ryan and Eric will be there. You could bring Alyssa too.” Wow, what a retraction. At first, it sounded like he was asking me out, and to his house no less, but the boy went from bold stallion to gelding in seconds.

I mumbled, “Uh, sure. Sounds like fun.”

He smiled, but I could tell it was partially forced. This wasn’t what he wanted. It’s funny, but if he had kept his hand on mine even a few seconds longer, I probably would have said yes before he started babbling. He received a yes, but to a watered down proposal.

He said, “You can be the Habs, and you can try and beat my Bruins.”

I shrugged, “I prefer playing teams.”

He laughed quietly, his eyes lighting up and his mouth curling a little. It was really cute. I realized I was staring at his lips. He said, “You are such a girl. You don’t think you can beat me?”

I frowned. I suppose I must have looked doe-eyed to the boy. I always preferred playing teams, even when I was a kid. It gave me a sense of belonging, which is probably why I always preferred team sports. I was competitive in real hockey games, but with video game hockey, I favoured being teammates with my friends rather than playing them one-on-one. Ethan read my reaction, and he said, “Teams is fine. We could play two on two and alternate. Does Alyssa play?

I shook my head. “And I doubt she would want to watch either. She doesn’t have to come.”

Ethan said, “You sure? You guys are always together. I think she’s been a really good influence on you. You seem a lot happier since you started hanging out.”

I said, “No one wants to be alone.”

Ethan laughed, “Are you kidding? You are so emo sometimes, Abby. I’ve seen you two, laughing. You aren’t going through the motions. It’s okay, just don’t get the disease.”

I raised a brow, “Huh?”

Ethan grinned, “Whatever Alyssa has. I hope it’s not contagious, because I like you the way you are. You know, you can talk heavy music, and you love hockey. Like you seem to know more about past cup teams than any of us. I mean you can name every Stanley Cup winner back to 1986. I’ve heard Alyssa try and start those conversations about make-up or clothes or Katy with you. You seem to zone out, just like us.”

He added, “Except when she’s talking about that show uh-“

I interjected, “Instant Star?”

He nodded, “Yeah exactly. So-“

We were interrupted by Amélie marching into the office. She looked both disappointed and furious. Her nostrils actually flared in an unflattering manner. She gazed at me fiercely and then approached the front desk. She announced her arrival and a few moments later, we were ushered into the principal’s office. As I left, Ethan gave me the rock on sign and smiled. I felt a pleasant tingling in my head.

Amélie said, “M. St-Valentin, I’m really sorry about this. I know that Abigail didn’t mean to cause all this trouble. She’s very opinionated, but she doesn’t understand her place sometimes. I’m bringing her up to question, but not to do so in such a rude and public way.”

She turned to me, “You are going to apologize to your teacher, Abigail.” I sat there with my arms crossed and my head lowered.

M. St-Valentin smiled at my wife, “I admire that you are teaching Abigail to advocate for herself, but she needs to learn to do so in the proper forum.”

The principal’s expression and voice was far softer than before. I knew that he wasn’t an ogre, and when he spoke to me, it was polite but firm, but the way he spoke to Amélie was different. They were equals, and I was just a kid in trouble.

She turned to me again, trying to meet my eyes, but I constantly shifted them from her gaze. She said, “Abigail, you are going to apologize to your teacher. When you come back from your suspension, first thing in the morning. In front of the entire class.”

My eyes flashed with anger, and I gazed at my wife menacingly and then leaned in to whisper, “You are overdoing it.”

M. St-Valentin shook his head, “Ms. Grenier that really isn’t necessary. I think that might be embarrassing for Abigail. She can do it before class starts when she returns.”

I shook my head and said through clenched teeth, “I won’t do it. M. Landry gives his students no respect whatsoever. And I could teach the class better than he could. I’m serious.”

M. St-Valentin frowned, “Abigail, while your mark in the class is impressive. I doubt it. You don’t realize what teachers really have to do. They have to write tests, research details regarding their subject matter, but it goes beyond that too, they have to be disciplinarians and they have to correspond with parents. You don’t see what happens outside of the classroom. Teachers, like lawyers, are professionals. You need to understand teaching theory- which is called-”

I sneered, “I know- pedagogy. Listen, I see M. Landry tracing over the same overhead notes he has been using for the last twenty years. I guarantee that if you gave me a week in that class, everyone’s mark would improve and the students would actually learn something.”

M. St-Valentin shook his head and smiled at me, but I found it patronizing. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we really can’t do that. If you are interested in becoming a teacher, you need a degree and you need to be certified. As I said, teaching is a professional career.”

I said, “Right, I know, but here’s the thing. There isn’t anything remotely professional about M. Landry. He is the laziest teacher I have ever known. He also has no respect for his students or the profession. He's just sitting at his desk counting the days until he retires and collecting a paycheck. And you’ve got hundreds of young, smart and passionate teachers who are dying for a chance. But that fossil you have upstairs just plays the system, while you sit in your office happy to accept the status quo.”

Amélie interjected, “M. St-Valentin, I’m sorry- I uh, Abigail has an uncle who is a teacher in a similar boat. They’ve had a lot of discussions.”

M. St-Valentin was unfazed, “Not to worry, Ms. Grenier. I appreciate the girl’s candour. She is spirited. You know she should run for student government or join the environmental or debate club. That would be the proper outlet for such topics.”

M. St-Valentin looked at me, “Does that sound like something you’d like to do, Abigail?”

I narrowed my eyes, “Student government? I’m not interested in that puppet string program. As for the proper outlet, I believe the classroom is the proper place, maybe those students I informed today will take the issue to their parents. You certainly haven’t done a goddamn thing about the so-called professionals you hire. Are you scared of the unions, or are you just too much of a fucking coward to take on someone with seniority?”

As soon as I said the words, I knew I was wrong to speak that way. However, my time at St. Jo’s had reminded me how much I missed teaching, and also reminded me of the grudge I carried against do-nothing teachers who stayed, not for the challenge, not to shape young minds, nor to coach a team and enjoy the satisfaction of seeing students excel in areas outside of academia. No - they stayed because it was easy and for that pot of gold at the end of the shit rainbow- a fat teacher’s pension. Their seniority provided them the same subjects each year, and because they were basically tenured, they didn’t have to do anything but show up, while young teachers chomped at the bit just to land a single class or even supply teach. The cronyism in the profession even allowed principals to hire retired teachers (read: their friends) for temporary contracts and even supply teaching so they could pad their pension.

Amélie’s jaw dropped, and she quickly raised in her hands in apology, “Martin! I’m- really sorry! Abigail, she’s not usually like this. Please accept my apology.” Her hand was on his wrist and then it was quickly retracted.

I watched Amélie’s hand grip my principal’s sleeve, and then the two looked at each other and all of my rage drained. Amélie gently closed her eyes. I knew the look because it was one I had shared with Amélie early in our ten year relationship. I felt faint. Instead of showing anger at my outburst, my principal said gently, “Are you OK, Abigail? Do you need me to call the nurse?” He was stoic, completely in control. I was the exact opposite. My legs were shaking, followed by my left hand. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in Amélie’s SUV, and I was still in disbelief. My wife is a beautiful woman, and I knew other men looked at her. I just had no idea they were actually pursuing her, or that she was letting them. I had walked to the car in a trance, Amélie forced to drag me along by the arm as students came up to me and asked me how many days suspension I received. Mostly, they wanted to speak to the girl who had boldly told off one of the most hated teachers in the school. I had ignored them all, and while that would certainly hurt my status among my peers, all I could think about was that Amélie had called him Martin and how my heart was severed cleanly in two.

Amélie said angrily as she drove, “You know, you are lucky that you didn’t get a week’s suspension for what you said to your principal, Darren.” She softened her face, but her words were still firm, “I really don’t know what’s going on with you these days. I really think your dad is right- you are regressing.”

I said with tears in my eyes, “Did he go easy on me because you are fucking him, Amélie?”

Amélie’s face hardened, and I could tell she was fighting her own tears, “We’ve had drinks a few times. That’s all.” She moved to wipe away my tears, but I pulled away.

I clenched my jaw and said sourly, “Does he know you are married?”

Amélie nodded, “He does. I’m sorry, Darren. I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

I sighed and attacked, “And when were you planning on telling me? All those times you went out. You lied to me.”

Amélie frowned, “We’ve been out a few times. We are- we are dealing with similar tragedies. He lost his wife two years ago to a drunk driver, and I’m losing my husband. I told him you moved away.”

I took a deep breath, trying to rein in my emotions, “I’m not gone, Amélie. I’m right here. That’s so not fair.”

Amélie shook her head, “I saw the way you were looking at Ethan.”

I frowned, “Those are just hormones. I can control them. I’m still Darren on the inside. You have to believe me, Amélie. I still think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Tears gently fell from my wife’s face. She said with some difficulty, “D-do you want to have sex with me, or even kiss m-me?”

I nodded fiercely, “Absolutely.”

Amélie wiped her eyes, “You are a terrible liar, Darren.”

I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, “I’m- such a freak, Amélie. I hate these thoughts, but they just keep coming. It’s like a tape recorder playing over and over in my head every day. Sometimes it’s even hard to concentrate on what I’m doing- I just start thinking about him, and I get this stupid little smile and- I can’t believe I’m even telling you this!”

Amélie said softly, “You aren’t a freak, Darren. You know that I was a psychology major and I took adolescent behaviour courses, and you were a teacher. You probably saw it every day. It’s really very normal for a girl your age.”

I said seriously, “That’s the problem, Amélie. I don’t want to be a normal girl my age. You might as well consider Darren Lawrence deceased if that happens.”

I added, “You know I wrote Mama Khalia again, I sent her a letter- priority post. Maybe we should consider the spell again. I feel like if we don’t, I’m going to be begging you to go to Justin Bieber concerts, actually enjoy shopping for clothes, and taking a very, very active interest in boys.”

Amélie pulled into the parking lot of the McDonalds near our house. While we were both supposed to be dieting, the fast food was the perfect comfort food. I was glad when Amélie pulled up to the drive-through window and ordered my usual, a quarter pounder combo. I took the food on my lap, smelling it and feeling a calm pass over me.

On the way home, Amélie returned to the conversation, “Let’s see what Mama Khalia says before we go making any decisions we might regret. OK?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “K.”

Chapter 51

The next day at school, I found that I had become an overnight sensation- a cult hero. The reason for this? I had traded verbal blows with M. Landry, and fiercely kicked him off the hierarchical ladder to which he clung, but most importantly- I had driven him from the school. M. Landry did not return, and we had a substitute, a young woman exactly as I had described in my diatribe. She was eager, brimming with up-to-date ideas, and she utilized different teaching methods to reach out to all learners, not just those who managed to glean information from dusty overhead projectors.

What this meant was that I was respected at St. Jo’s, not exactly revered, but I certainly had clout. I had not intended to send M. Landry on long-term disability, but if he rode out his days watching Judge Judy on afternoon television while young teaching stars got their opportunity, I felt it was at least partially worth it. He would still be paid, and he had only a few years left until retirement. Why not spend them in the glow of morning and afternoon television? Maybe he was just looking for an excuse to go on long-term leave. Had I done him a favour?

This new adulation came with a price. I had boys hanging all over me. My lunch was spent surrounded by many of my male classmates. Where I had sat with only Ryan, Eric, Alyssa and Ethan for the first month of school, now I had admirers. It was made worse by Ethan playing our songs for them. Once they learned I was a rock chick, I had other musicians hanging around me, and because of my rebelliousness, some of the least reputable members of the school community chose to spend their lunch hours with me, instead of setting fires or other mischief, perhaps.

Neither Ethan nor Alyssa was happy with my new status because it meant that I was mostly unavailable during lunch hour. I became a sort of student preacher, although my gospel was rebellion against a faulty system. I told them about the ins and outs of the education system, again using my fake uncle as an example. I don’t know why I wanted to stir things up, but I realized I liked it, and I wanted to do more. I had never done anything like this as a teenager, and now I had a captive audience. OK, a lot of them just stared at me, or at certain parts of me, but I still felt I was reaching them.

After lunch on Friday, Ethan approached me. He had given dirty looks to the assembled male mass for the last two days. He was nervous, looking down at his feet. His confident grin had been replaced with a grim, yet determined expression.

He said anxiously, “So listen, tonight- do you- I mean, would you like to come over? Ryan and Eric will be there. I thought we could play NHL, you know- like we talked about?” He fidgeted and tried to meet my eyes.

I said calmly, “Yeah, sure Ethan. Sounds like fun.”

The moment I said the words, the young man before me was re-energized- reborn. I saw the light enter his eyes again, and he stood straighter, puffing out his chest like a gorilla searching out a mate. He didn’t have much to puff. He smiled at me, and I smiled back at him.

He added, “We could order pizza too. And uh, well Ryan might not be able to make it. His coach is trying to get some extra ice time for an upcoming tournament.”

I smirked, “Right, but Eric will be there? And I could bring Alyssa, if she wanted to come?”

Ethan’s extreme confidence deflated slightly, his shoulders sagging gently before he muttered, “Uh yeah, she can come too.”

He said, “I’ll text you the address, OK?”

I nodded. Despite returning his smile, I felt almost nothing for Ethan. Was it because of his desperation, or was my crush on him finally ending? When he had written the song about me and saved me from Alexandre and Chantal, I felt a powerful chemistry, but with this recent behaviour, the sad puppy dog eyes and slightly pouty lip, I was unimpressed. I was beginning to think that it wasn’t Ethan I was attracted to, but his behaviour.

I expected that Ethan would find a way for both Eric and Ryan to miss the gaming session, and Alyssa would find an excuse to be absent as well, knowing it was a setup. If I could manage to squelch any feelings I had for the boy and simply enjoy his company, then I figured we could actually turn this bizarre back and forth we had going into a real friendship.

***

I was waiting for Alyssa after school. She wanted to talk to me about my ‘date’ with Ethan. I told her that I was just going there to play video games. I had asked her to come, but she laughed and said that I was on my own. Alyssa was having problems in science, so she stayed after school to get help from Sarah. I listened to music on my phone, completely oblivious to the testosterone infused shadow that loomed over me.

A mountain of muscle stepped into my line of sight, and a thick meaty hand plucked out one of my ear buds. Alexandre wore a cock-sure grin. He ran his eyes up my body, lingering on my chest before meeting my eyes, « Bonjour, Abigail. »

I looked up at him, noticing that despite the chillier weather, he still wore his short sleeve dress shirt. If anything, his arms looked bigger, the biceps having nearly completely escaped from the sleeve, leaving the young man with something akin to a dressy tank top. My mouth immediately went dry, and I licked my lips, tasting Alyssa’s borrowed strawberry lip gloss. I usually used regular Chap Stick, but I had forgotten it, and Alyssa, who was always happy to feminize me, plastered the shiny gunk over my lips.

I smiled stupidly, « Um- hi. »

He also licked his lips, as he once again looked me up and down. « I’ve got my dad’s Mustang today. I can give you a ride home if you want. »

Oh god, where was Alyssa? Where was my knight in shining armor, Ethan? I needed one of them here desperately. Please! You have to come. Now. I looked at Alexandre, and he smiled at me, and I forgot my friends.

I saw Sarah walking out of the front doors, and I was filled with hope, but she walked right past us, and I saw no sign of Alyssa.

I shouted to her, “Sarah! Have you seen Alyssa?”

Sarah turned toward me and gave Alexandre the type of look she would give to the slimiest, wart-laden and puss-filled toad in existence. In fact, she would have been more sociable toward the toad. She looked at me firmly, with a measure of sympathy, “She had to go to her locker. She forgot her math book I think. Girl is always forgetting things.”

Alexandre looked at me expectantly, and it was not a pleasant face. It was a 'bitch, you better answer me' face. Then he turned on Sarah, curling his lip and narrowing his eyes as if he wanted the willowy girl to disappear or spontaneously combust.

I was trying stall, “Hey, uh Sarah, what did you think of today’s science class? I thought it was a little confusing. Do you have a minute to explain Bohr’s theory?”

Sarah blinked, “In the parking lot? Wouldn’t you rather go inside?”

I nodded rapidly, but even as I did, I knew that Sarah would have to drag me away, exactly as Ethan and Alyssa had done. Sarah started moving back toward the school, but Alexandre pointed toward the bus stop, « Get out of here, you fucking nerd. I’m trying to talk to my girl, Abby. »

Please, Sarah, just take my hand.

I held my hand out as Sarah approached, and she shook her head, looking supremely confused, “You are being weird, Abigail. Do you want my help or not?” The girl was not intimidated by Alexandre’s rude treatment of her, but she wasn’t taking my hand either.

The junior jazz band, having finished their Friday afternoon practice, started filing out of the front doors, and now we had an audience beyond Sarah.

Alexandre looked down at me and said through clenched teeth, « So do you want a ride or not? »

I could see his anger, the clenched jaw caused the purplish veins in his neck to pulsate. They were so thick, they looked like purple licorice. Beyond the anger, I also saw embarrassment, as I had up to this point resisted his ‘charms’.

Sarah said firmly to me, “You don’t have to do anything he wants you to do. Right, Abby? We’ll wait in the library for Alyssa.”

A few members of the jazz band stayed to watch, and they echoed Sarah’s sentiment. Alexandre was not well liked. I just needed one person to take me out of there, but I could see the boys feared Alexandre. They didn’t make a move, as he would have turned them into bloodied and broken punching bags.

The girls glared, except for Véronique, who walked right up to me and said to Alexandre, « What does she have that I don’t? She’s a fat pig. »

Alexandre sneered at Véronique, « Connase! You had your chance. You didn’t play by my rules. You got the fucking boot- give it up, bitch! »

Véronique poked him in the chest with her nail, « You wanted me to give you a blow job just to meet your dad? You made me feel like shit, all the names you called me. And I- I still can’t get you out of my mind! I fucking hate you! »

She was screeching at him, pounding on his chest and raking her nails over his forearms. He pushed her over, and she fell hard on the concrete. Her friends quickly came to her aid.

Alexandre brushed off his shirt, « Good riddance to fucking trash. Let’s go, Abby. »

Sarah stepped in between Alexandre and me, while Véronique wept, in between sobs muttering something about a lack of control and not being this way before. Was this to be my fate? Was I going to become a stereotypical mean girl like her?

Instead of Sarah grasping my hand, Alexandre’s meaty paw enveloped it. I immediately felt safe, and pulled myself closer, pressing against his rock-hard body. Standing next to him, I felt like a kid, but the way he put his hand on my ass made me feel like a woman- a real woman. Forget the tingle I experienced when Ethan spoke or smiled at me, or even the one I felt when we kissed. It seemed like all the nerves in my body were screaming in pleasure at once. My eyes closed and I fell gently into his chest. I was so much shorter than him, the top of my head barely reached his shoulders.

Sarah looked on helplessly as Véronique shouted obscenities at Alexandre, again, something about being different before she met Alexandre. Why was I willing to leave with him?

The young man smirked. I couldn’t see his face, but I was certain he was wearing the world’s biggest shit-eating grin. He put his hand on my butt and gently turned me around. To do so, he had to break the grip he had on my hand. I immediately sought it out again, desperately hoping that he would grip it firmly, and my heart and mind soared when he did. I wanted to be as close as possible to him. The few seconds that I wasn’t holding his hand felt like a tortured eternity. What the hell was wrong with me? If I was going to fall for a guy, Alexandre would have been my last choice, save for the male cast of Jersey Shore. Yet here I was, letting him touch my ass and acting like it was all cute.

He said with that same smile, « I guess you want to come for a ride. »

He then looked at the assembled mass of ninth and tenth graders but none of them, even the girls, took a step toward us. Sarah ran up to me and tried to grab my hand, but I actually pushed her away.

She said, “Fine, Abby! Ruin your life just like Véronique.”

I didn’t care, and in fact, I hardly saw or heard her. Alexandre’s presence and his touch, had robbed me of both sight and hearing. All that mattered was the muscle-bound he-man that held me close. This island of a man whose shore I had finally reached. He opened the door for me and then as I stepped into the car, he squeezed my ass, which caused me to giggle like some bubble-headed teen bimbo.

As I entered and sat my plush ass on the leather seats, I noticed a collection of bodybuilding magazines with covers that promised to PACK ON THE MASS, RAMP UP YOUR GAINS and showed how to get LOCKED AND LOADED biceps. Honestly, I would rather have read one of Alyssa’s Tiger Beat magazines. Still, the bodies on the covers reminded me of the warm body right beside me. This caused my nipples to play a game called puncture the bra cup.

My breathing was heavy as Alexandre pulled out of his parking spot. I was partly trying to calm myself, but also extremely turned on. He pulled out recklessly, not even looking as he backed out and then stopped at the front entrance to the school. As the stragglers approached the fire engine red Mustang, he slammed on the accelerator and I was thrown back against my seat from the force. The tires squealed, and the car did not simply pass over the speed bumps, it careened. All the while, I had the stupidest smile plastered on my face, which made Alexandre even more eager to impress me with his immature stunts.

Despite the fact that the Mustang was a manual transmission, he felt the need to put his hand on my thigh as he drove. I couldn’t believe, again, how I missed his touch each time he had to gear down in lieu of stop signs and lights. He sped through the suburban streets next to the school, treating every stop sign like a yield sign, and some like green lights. His brash and frankly idiotic defiance of the law had me wishing I knew his last name so I could scrawl his full name all over the walls of my room. I seethed when I saw that the arm rest that lay between. The hated object acted as an obstacle to our proximity.

I picked up one of the magazines at my feet and stared at it. It featured a young behemoth wearing what amounted to a g-string that only just covered his business. He encircled a blonde’s waspish waist with a massive forearm as she tilted her head and looked coquettishly to the side with a slight grin. She was his girl, and both of them knew it.

Alexandre grinned like the man on the cover, « Do you work out, Abby? »

I grimaced. « Um, well kinda. »

Alexandre nodded, « We should go to the gym sometime. I’ve got a private gym at my place too. If you wanted to go there. »

My eyes widened. If the two boys in my life were hot sauces, Ethan would be mild buffalo chicken, whereas Alexandre would be five alarm, sign a waiver before eating death sauce. He was bold and completely hot.

He added, « You know people think I juice, but this is all natural. They are just jealous, you know? »

He noticed I was still staring at the fit and trim blonde with the perfectly shaped legs, dazzling white teeth and bleach-blonde hair.

He said, « You could look like that, if you wanted. You are hot, but you could be way hotter if you firmed up. » He spoke candidly. If I had been a real girl, I would have thought he was calling me-

I raised a brow, « Do you think I’m fat, like Véronique says? I don’t really want you to see me- like a whale or something. »

I blinked. Was I even the same person anymore? I had to get out of this car, but the bizarre magnetism that I felt in his presence was more than just an attraction. I might as well have been bound to the plush leather seat.

Alexandre shook his head, « I just said you could firm up. Sure, losing maybe ten pounds, you’d be so fucking hot. I don’t think I’d be able to control myself.”

I giggled and asked coyly, «Really? Maybe we should work out together. »

He grinned, «Listen, I’m going to this bar tonight. My dad knows the owner, so no worries about getting in, but if you wear something sexy you probably won’t even have to pay cover. Wear some makeup too, come on, Abby this isn’t junior high. »

I nodded rapidly, « Yes! I’d love to go with you. And yeah, I’ll totally wear something that will blow you away. »

He said, « Maybe in more ways than one. »

I giggled again, but inside I knew that his joke was both crude and demeaning.

He laughed, “I’ll pick you up at about 8.”

I left the car, and realized I already missed him. My mom greeted me, I said a quick hello and quickly went to my room and closed the door. I texted Alyssa frantically:

Me: omg u will nver believe wat happened
Me: the hottest perfect guy asked me out!!!!!!! :)
Alyssa: u mean ethan is it tru u though u went w that creep Alex
Me: what hes the perfect guy for me hes going to help me lose weight
Me: tonite is going ta be amazing like totally cray cray im so happy :) :) :)
Alyssa: are u feelin ok abby
Me: omg u have to help me get ready can u do my hair in a cute poof
Alyssa: but what about ethan u were supposed to go to his place
Me: ive always told you that i loved alexander
Me: well he finally asked me out arent u happy for me
Alyssa: i guess but i could have sworn u never even liked alex
Me: what i told abot him all tha time
Alyssa: i guess maybe u said it a couple times
Alyssa: i thought u were talking bout ethan
Me: no way so can u come over will ur mom let u
Alyssa: yeah shes out on a date w jaimie blech
Me: aww so sorry allie i know u want to get ur parents back together
Alyssa: thks abby i can come after dinner still wat u going to tell ethan
Me: hell be fine i tell him next time im going out w a man i can play w a boy anytime
Alyssa: im coming over rite now u r talking crazy
Me: bring some of those tops u bought the other day
Alyssa: they wont fit u up top abby
Me: i know ;)

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang, and I jetted up the stairs to meet Alyssa. She came bearing the items that would turn me into Alexandre’s dream girl. I was so excited, I practically dragged her to my room and shut the door.

I said, “My sister didn’t ask you why you came over, did she?”

Alyssa, who was still mightily confused, shook her head, “No, but she did give me a weird look. She saw all the stuff I have I guess.” By stuff she meant makeup bag, three pairs of high-heeled shoes, dozens of tops, and a handful of mini-skirts.

Alyssa said, “If Alexandre is picking you up at eight, like that doesn’t give you much time with him? Do you have to come home and babysit? You said that’s why you had to leave my place the first time, and you were home before nine every night you came over to study. What’s going on with that, Abby? Is your sister just really mean, or are you on like probation or something? Some kids saw you in a police car on your first day. I didn’t believe them, but I mean why nine?”

I nodded, “I’ll tell you some other time. Tonight, I just don’t care. I’ll tell Amélie I’m sleeping over at your place. As long as Amélie knows where I am, it’s like she’s watching me, right? I’ve been there enough times that she knows that’s where I am.”

Alyssa considered my words with a pensive frown and then gently tilted her head, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But what if she calls my mom? I know this is important to you, but I don’t want to get in trouble, Abby.”

I shook my head, “Don’t worry about it. If it happens, I’ll take all the blame. Tonight is too important. Plus, your mom will be out on a date. She’ll turn her phone off probably. And then you can put music on and make a lot of noise, so it sounds like us when you answer your home line if Amélie calls. It’s not rocket surgery.”

Alyssa frowned, “I don’t like this, Abby. Alexandre has a bad reputation. I’m worried for you. You remember what I said about Véronique and how she was a lot nicer? Well, I didn’t tell you the whole story. She was- a lot like you I guess. Loved music and singing. And we were best friends, that’s why I’ve tried before to you know- reach out to her. See if she’s changed. Alexandre changed her- like really badly. She’s not the same person.”

She continued, “Anyway, Véronique is a great singer- not as amazing as you, but she has a really nice voice. She didn’t want to work at it though, and she never got any better. Always came in third or fourth in the competitions. She’s not like you- I’ve never seen someone who wanted it more. Before tonight, you put music before boys, and even a guy like Ethan. And now you are going for Alexandre. What’s changed?”

I replied, “Can we not talk about Ethan? We really need to get started. The look has to be perfect. Just like my dream. There, the girls told me I was ready for him. It’s a sign. If I can look that way, he’ll be all over me.”

Alyssa raised a worried brow, “Abby, are you feeling OK? You didn’t hit your head or anything? You sound just like Véronique, it’s scary.”

I snapped at her, “Look, just do this for me. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this night. This is the start of my new life. I’ll be happy finally. You want me to be happy, right?”

Alyssa frowned deeply, “I do, I just- well- I-“

I pointed to the bag and said, “Get to work.”

***

Alyssa was carefully painting my eyelids with the electric blue eye shadow from my dream. She frowned through most of the makeup application, “Uh, don’t you think that colour is a little bold. It’s kind of- like well, it’s trashy, Abby.”

I shook my head, “I told you. Just like my dream. Every little tiny detail has to be right, or he won’t be into me.”

Alyssa shook her head, “You are really going overboard to impress a guy. And what about Ethan? He’s going to be really upset. He really likes you, Abby.” She curled my eye lashes with what looked like a medieval machine used by torturers to pluck out a victim’s eye. The contraption added volume to my lashes and then mascara added further depth.

I replied, “I like Ethan, too but as a friend. He’s never going to be anything more than that. Alexandre is the most important thing to me. I’m the lamb, who fell in love with a lion.” She drew my eyes to appear dark and smoky, a sexy contrast to my bright blue lids.

Alyssa blinked in confusion, “You’ve told me many times you hate Twilight. Now you are quoting it? Maybe it’s because I can’t remember that well, but- you owe me now. We have to watch all the movies. I still think this is a bad idea, my head though- it’s fuzzy.” She applied the ruby red lipstick, which I hoped would see a fair bit of action tonight.

I smiled at myself in the vanity as Alyssa continued what I felt was expert work, “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

Alyssa nodded, “I guess. You really do seem happy, Abby.”

I smiled, “You did an amazing job! I look incredible. You really could do Katy’s makeup one day.”

Alyssa beamed, “Really??”

Once we got to the clothing selection, Alyssa was sounding more and more like the girls in my dream. Her phrases made little to no sense, but I just nodded along as if everything was crystal clear. The entire scene read like terribly written teenage fan fiction from some inane drama.

Alyssa said, “That skirt looks super-hot on you, Abby! I mean I wore it as a Halloween costume with tights, but you should definitely show off your legs. Alex will love that.” Whatever had happened to me was apparently contagious. Poor Alyssa. She was letting me order her around just like Véronique did with her crew.

Next came the halter top. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a St. Jo’s cheerleading top like I had in the dream, but then, I doubted that the actual tops really looked like that. I chose a halter top that showed off my midriff, but unfortunately, unlike my dream, my midriff was pudgier than it had been. The micro-mini skirt squeezed my sides and created little love handles. I figured that I wouldn’t let myself leave the house that way, but I did. I was wearing something that was little more than a bra, and my boobs were fully on display. I looked like I was going to be standing on a street corner, but I was a carbon copy of my dream self, save for my top and the near ten extra pounds I was carrying.

I waited to put the heels on until after I left. I shouted a quick goodbye to Amélie, half hoping that she would stop me, but she was having difficulty with Chloe, who was putting on a blockbuster main event tantrum because she wanted to read a book twice. Amélie had read the book once, but she wanted it again, and again and again. It was stalling, and unfortunately, it acted as the perfect diversion. At nine, I would ask to sleep over at Alyssa’s, and Amélie who wouldn’t want two epic battles in one night would agree.

It looked like my date with Alexandre was going to happen, whether I liked it or not.

Alyssa and I waited in the park two doors down from my house. From the swings, we would be able to see Alexandre’s Mustang pull up.

Alyssa looked me over with a smile, “You look so hot, Abby!”

I grinned, “Really? You think he’ll like it?”

Alyssa nodded her head in agreement, and then urged me to step into the high heels. The heels were only three inches. I still wanted to Alexandre to feel massive next to me, so I opted for a lower heel.

Alyssa said, “Now you are ready for him.”

***

As we drove to the bar, Alexandre kept staring at me. He was taking in every inch of my flesh with his eyes. When I first stepped into the car, he leered at me and nodded his head with extreme approval. He liked what he saw. I felt giddy. Tonight was going to be the night my life finally started. I would throw away the shackles of my previous male existence, embracing my femininity while being crushed in the powerful embrace of the Adonis that was my dream man.

I looked over at him, noting his clean-shaven face, the gel applied liberally to his scalp to allow each strand of hair to stand in spiky perfection. He wore a muscle shirt, which was aptly named since it revealed his impressive and mouth-watering musculature. I wanted to skip the bar and just start making out in his car, but I knew I couldn’t, not yet. We had to get to know each other first, then we could play.

We pulled into the parking lot of a sports bar I had been to once as Darren. I had disliked it then because, like Hooters, it was demeaning toward women, but it was a bachelor party, so I stayed for the obligatory forty-five minutes and left. Bars like this were only one step above strip clubs. The waitress uniform was strikingly different compared to what the male servers wore. The shorts were cut to reveal just the hint of ass cheek, and the blouse, which many of the waitresses chose to wear as crop tops, accentuated already bulging breasts and revealed trim midriffs. The bar itself had a nondescript name- Flanagans.

I remember Amélie telling me a story about her interview at a local Hooters restaurant. She was in college and looking to make money as a server or bartender. She felt that she certainly had the assets to work in such a place, but her interviewer, who was as interested in her body as he was her resume, viewed her as too heavy. As we entered the bar, with Alexandre’s arm firmly wrapped round my shoulders, I found myself looking at the women with a hint of jealousy. They were all thinner than I was, and to me, they personified Alexandre’s perfect girl. I had a lot of work to do.

The hostess eyed Alexandre suspiciously, but the look she gave me was one of revulsion. The fit blonde with a belly ring stared through me, not at me, as if my existence were somehow an anathema to her own.

She said brusquely, «No minors. » She didn’t point, but the way her crystal blue eyes assaulted me, I knew she was talking about me.

Alexandre pulled me closely and glared at the girl, «Tell Josh that Alexandre is here. » The hostess turned and flipped her hair dismissively.

I muttered, « We can go somewhere else. I-I feel a bit um, uncomfortable in here. All the girls are so pretty and thin. » I frowned, « I feel fat in front of them. » It was true, but then I was squeezed into Alyssa’s clothes.

Alexandre smiled, « Don’t worry, Abby. You start working out with me, and you can look like that. »

I nodded, but I wasn’t entirely convinced. I hadn’t eaten anything for dinner, and I was famished, but I didn’t want to eat like a pig in front of Alexandre.

A minute later, the same hostess returned, but instead of being assertive, she was cowed. She muttered, «Please follow me. »

I was impressed with Alexandre, and as we made our way to the table, I clung to my date’s arm, as he strutted like every inch of the restaurant belonged to him. He insisted on a booth, and I soon knew why. The other patrons, some of them far too old to be sneaking peeks at a teenage girl, saw how I was dressed, and cast their own leering glances in my direction. Alexandre put his arm around me and didn’t say a word. His body language screamed that I was his, and I would have believed him if not for the way he stared at the boobs on our server. She was skinny as a rail, except for her excessively large chest. It was clear she had implants but Alexandre did not seem to mind. I threw a catty look in her direction, and she just smiled.

She asked with a smile, «What’ll you have, sweetie? »

I would usually have just ordered a beer, but I wanted Alexandre to see me as supremely feminine so I ordered the most girly looking drink on the menu- a Pink Long Island Iced Tea. It was just a normal Long Island Iced Tea with pink food colouring, but it looked like something a really girly girl would drink.

The waitress furrowed a brow. She looked at me with concern and said, «You sure that’s what you want, sweetie? There’s a lot of alcohol in that. »

Alexandre interjected, « If that’s what she wants, then give it to her. What’s the problem? »

The waitress shot Alexandre a dirty look and left. Alexandre had ordered a Coors Light, which compared to my drink was like downing a glass of water. I saw the alcohol content, but I didn’t care. I needed to have him see me drinking this.

The waitress returned and again gave Alexandre a dirty look. She looked at me and said, «Honey, you just sip this OK? And eat some of these, on the house. »

She brought us a plate of wings. Alexandre eyed the wings hungrily, and had eaten three before I even finished one. I tried to eat daintily taking small mincing bites. Normally, I would have torn into the meat and gnawed down to the bone.

I took one sip of my drink, and my eyes widened. I could taste the alcohol swirling around my mouth. I took a longer sip, and this pleased Alexandre because he squeezed me tighter. The waitress returned a few minutes later to ask for our food order. The service here was excellent, I had barely taken three sips of my drink!

I ordered a Caesar salad, which caused our server additional distress. Alexandre ordered the rib special, which is actually what I wanted to have. I had never ordered a salad in a restaurant before because I always thought it a waste of money. I had ordered a side salad but never as a main meal. I continued sipping my drink, and with Alexandre doing most of the talking, I was doing a lot of sipping. I started to feel really good. A warmth passed through my body, and I felt tingling in my fingertips. Alexandre discussed his weight routine, his hockey team, and I gave him my full attention. It turned out that Alexandre actually played for our local junior hockey team. He could be drafted one day.

Our food arrived, and the topic of conversation turned to me. Alexander said, « Have you ever thought about cheerleading, Abby? That would be a good way to stay in shape too. »

I nodded and lied, « Yes, I totally have. »

Alexander said, « If you toned up, I could definitely get you in. You could be one of the ice girls. You’d look so hot in one of the outfits. Can you skate? »

I nodded again, « Yes, I even played hockey for lots of years. I love it. »

Alexandre frowned as he took a big swig of beer, « Really? That’s kind of butch. Were there lots of dykes on your team? »

I took a big sip from my drink, and it made my lie so much easier, « That’s why I quit. They always stared at me in the shower after games. It was like so gross. »

I had actually coached a girls hockey team as a high school teacher, and most of them did not fit the stereotypical lesbian profile. Some of them could have been lesbians, but to me they were perfectly normal girls either way. I didn’t have a problem with homosexuality, but it was apparent that Alexandre did.

Alexandre looked reassured, « Good, I didn’t figure you for a carpet muncher, Abby. »

I actually flinched. Whatever was controlling my actions, or at least guiding them, did not have full dominion over me.

Alexandre asked, « Something wrong? » He wanted my approval regarding his far from enlightened mentality.

I took another sip and shook my head, smiling, «Nothing. So how come you took so long to ask me out? »

He laughed, « I don’t know really. I saw you in the halls, and I always thought you were hot, but you almost seemed to be avoiding me. You don’t really seem like a shy girl, Abby. »

I nodded, « I was at a new school. I really wasn’t myself. I feel like I can be myself around you. »

I snuggled up next to him in the booth, and we talked through dinner. I was starting to feel tipsy, and I was eyeing Alexandre’s French fries, but he didn’t offer me one.

Alexandre asked, « Are you going to have another? » He motioned to my drink, which was more ice than alcohol at this point.

Warning bells were going off in my head. The clanging broke through whatever power held me, and I moved my head in a clear NO. Whether it was what remained of my adult mind or simply a fight or flight instinct, it didn’t matter. I knew that a girl my size who rarely drank alcohol would be at the complete mercy of her date, and Alexandre did not seem the benevolent type. I noticed that as the situation grew more and more dire, I was gaining more control over my actions.

He called the waitress over and said, « She wants another. » The waitress looked at me with growing concern.

She said quietly, «Is that true, sweetie? Why don’t I bring you a coke? On the house. »

Alexandre narrowed his eyes and barked, « Listen, I go in there and speak to Josh and your ass is fired. Get my girl another drink. Now. »

The young woman stared at Alexandre, and if it were possible, I was certain flames would have shot from her eyes, incinerating my date. She looked at me, sighed heavily, and then brought me another Long Island Iced Tea, minus the pink colouring.

Alexandre took the drink before I had a chance and sipped it. I saw rage fill his eyes, and he clenched his fist, causing his biceps to ripple. He shouted, « You bitch, I’m paying for this, and you bring her fucking iced tea! »

I put my hand on his arm and gently rubbed it, then I ground my hips against his body. I didn’t want the young woman to be fired, so I became a thrall to the power again, losing myself and once again becoming a mere passenger in my body.

I whispered, «Just let her bring me another drink. And then we can go out to your car. »

I blew hot breath in his ear, and I noticed the young man’s body go rigid. I had a feeling that a certain part of him was going to stay rigid. I saw his eyes light up, and he ushered the waitress to fetch me another drink. His hand started kneading my ass. Thankfully, the action was hidden by the table.

I only got through half of my second drink before I started feeling really drunk. The world through my eyes was a spinning room of sports memorabilia.

The waitress came by again, and tried to give me more food on the house, but Alexandre just ended up eating it.

By the time I finished the drink, my eyes were half closed, and I had a stupid half grin on my face. I leaned forward and tried to stand and nearly hit my face on the table. Alexandre looked around with a measure of concern, but he was soon distracted by my boobs, which were on full display with me leaning over the table.

The waitress came again, and said to Alexandre, « That’s it kid. I know what you are going to do with her. She’s not at all aware what’s going on. I’m calling her parents. I don’t care if I get fired. I don’t want to work in a place that lets something like this happen. »

She walked over to me and put her hand out, « Honey, give me your phone. I’m going to call your parents. »

I handed the woman my phone with a smile and mumbled, « Shhhh, you’re making his muscles angry. »

Alexandre tried to grab it back, but the young woman was too nimble. He stood up and went to what I assumed was the manager’s office. It was where the bathrooms were. I imagined Josh balancing a laptop on a toilet seat with a printer next to the urinals. This caused me to giggle.

Our waitress said to me gently, « What’s your name, sweetie? »

I said quietly, « It’s Abigail tonight, but if I get a magic spell, it could be sum- thing else. Shhh, it’s a secret…only my sister and parents know. My sister used to be hot but now…it’s like not working down there. I think I-I’m broken. »

I watched as the eyes of my benevolent benefactor raised to the ceiling. She shook her head repeatedly, « Oh my god, did he put something in your drink? Did he give you drugs? Honey, you’ve gotta tell me. I can’t find your parents number in your phone. »

My parents had called my new phone, but I hadn’t made any contacts yet. The number was in there, but it wasn’t listed. It was in my received calls. The room was spinning so much that I would have had a hard time pointing out my own phone number, let alone my parents’ number.

I answered, « I drunk what you brought and then I drank that too. My boyfriend ate all the food you brought too. » I laughed and then whispered, « I’m still hungry. »

The waitress returned my phone and said, « Listen, I’m going to take you home OK? The other girls can cover my shift. Where do you live? »

I answered, « In a house with my wife, who is my sister, and my daughter. My wife is seeing my principal. I hate him. »

At this point, it was clear the woman thought I was drugged, but I didn’t really care because Alexander was coming back, and that meant it was time to make out in his car. He returned with Josh in tow. Josh was in his thirties, balding and slightly overweight. Alexandre had a triumphant smile on his face, while Josh looked concerned and grim.

Josh said firmly, « Alicia, you are going to have to let this one go. His dad owns fifty percent of the bar. »

Alicia, our server, muttered, «But Josh, he’s going to rape this poor girl. I’ve seen him bring girls her age to his car who were completely wasted. She’s clearly a minor. Don’t we have a responsibility? Isn’t the bar liable? »

Even through the alcoholic haze, I saw Alexandre as a man child. A little boy who went to Josh and said, “Meanie won’t let me play with my toy!” I still really, really wanted to make out with him though.

Josh replied, «I don’t know. We might be, but if we want to keep our jobs, we have to let this one slide. »

Alicia stared not daggers, but lava-infused needles at Josh, «I don’t care Josh. We need to help her. And I know who this kid’s father is, I’m not scared of him. »

At this point, Alexandre grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He was the only thing allowing me to stand. He left two twenties on the table and then started moving toward the exit. The room was still spinning, and the lights were blurry, like an out of focus picture. As we left, I could have sworn I saw someone from the Big Gob Brewery, but I wasn’t certain. I had actually bumped into their table, causing their pitcher of beer to spill. I thought this was hilarious, but Alexandre grimaced and proceeded to drag me out of the bar. Alicia followed, but Alexandre quickly sped off in the Mustang. He had flung me in the back seat without even buckling my seatbelt. As he made his escape, he did a hairpin turn to exit the parking lot, which caused me to be thrown into the door. I hit my head, and I saw sparkling grey spots, which I tried to catch, unsuccessfully.

The Mustang roared down the main street, eliciting angry honks as it cut off other drivers and swerved at times into oncoming traffic. I heard the low rumbling of motorcycles behind us. After a few minutes, I managed to pull myself to a sitting position, and began fumbling with my seatbelt, trying to get it on.

Alexandre pulled into the parking lot of the marina, which at this time of year was almost deserted. He climbed into the back seat with a lecherous grin on his face. I had just managed to buckle my seatbelt as we stopped. My hand eye coordination was severely impaired, which had caused me to fumble with it for nearly five minutes. I peered out the window, and I could see the street lights, but in my drunken state, the blurriness gave them a ghostly shape. The low rumbling had followed us here, but I couldn’t see any of the motorcycles. I wondered if they were the same ones that had been parked outside Flanagans.

I could hear my phone ringing, but as I moved to answer it, Alexandre put his hands on my boobs and started rubbing them, which quickly made me forget I even had a phone. He was confident in his action, but completely lacking in tenderness. He insisted I lay there quietly. I quickly grew upset as he pawed at my boobs like a bear infiltrating a bee hive trying to dig out the sweet honey. This wasn’t like Abigail had imagined it when she discussed with Alyssa what might happen, and as I lay there with her, I felt no loving touch, and no gentleness. Furthermore, he only seemed interested in my boobs, whenever his hand brushed against my small love handles or my little belly, his hand would quickly jerk away as if the extra flesh were hot to the touch. To me, he avoided those areas because he was disgusted with them. He made me feel ugly- grotesque.

As my drunkenness started to slowly wear off, I started to feel less like a real woman and more like a blow-up doll whose only purpose was to sit there and take it. With Abigail’s annoyance and the level of apparent danger, I began to receive control again.

My phone kept ringing. Alexandre put on a CD to drown it out. It was Nickleback, and it fit perfectly with Alexandre’s personality, and the way he treated women. With songs like “Figured it Out” with the lyrics, “I like the pants around your feet” or “Animals” extremely misogynistic, “I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth” or the song with the literal title “Something in your Mouth” with the poetic “You’re so much cooler when you never pull it out/Cause you look so much cuter with something in your mouth.”, it was the perfect companion to a night of intimacy with someone you cared nothing for and just wanted to fuck.

I had previously had a conversation with Ethan about Nickleback, and it reminded me of the boy. I remembered everything that he had done to not only gain my friendship, but my companionship as well. The song he wrote about me, the serenading, his desire to help me with my school work, the cute way he moved his mouth when he made me laugh. His heroic acts, which one might argue were not hero-worthy because of their mundane nature, however; I saw them that way. He was the only one who stood up to Mercedes and her crew. He had saved me from Alexandre and Véronique. There was also the kiss. That one moment, with my rain drenched body pressed against his, his hand on my thigh. The moment I broke it he gently let me go and let me flee on the bus. I twice slapped Alexandre’s hand away as he tried to pull my panties down, but he continued to tell me that I wanted it, and while a part of me did- I didn’t want it to happen this way.

I felt like the real villain in this sordid tale, despite the fact that Alexandre was now forcibly trying to pull down my panties. If I had gone to Ethan’s tonight and played video games, this never would have happened. Still, from the moment that I agreed to the date, I had seemingly lost control of my body. I was saying and doing things that were completely out of character for me. I had treated Alyssa like a lackey, but I realized that I had treated Ethan far worse. I hadn’t even told him that I couldn’t come tonight.

With a modicum of foreplay, which consisted of him roughly squeezing my boobs, my ‘dream’ man was ready to take my virginity. He had managed to actually rip my panties, and the more I slapped him, the more determined he was to remove them. It was actually turning him on. I quickly realized that he was going to rape me.

I gained full control of my body at this point, and I let loose an ear-piercing shriek that seemed to actually sting Alexandre’s ears. His face was pained. He put his hand over my mouth, but with the size of it, it actually covered my nose too. I couldn’t breathe.

He shouted, « OK, OK, I get it. You don’t want it tonight. That’s what I get for taking out a tenth grader. Fucking virgins. You are lucky I took your fat ass out. »

I struggled against him, fighting for breath, flailing my arms. He was suffocating me, and I saw in his eyes the hint of a monster, the beginnings of an American Psycho. He allowed me to breathe again. It had only lasted a few seconds, but in that time, I had grown very afraid. I could see that a part of him enjoyed it, not only the domination, but the fear and pain he had inflicted. I couldn’t imagine what he had done to Véronique. He also called me fat, and that hurt me way more than it should have.

He climbed back into the driver’s seat. I watched him unzip his pants with wide eyes.

He said, «Here’s the deal. You get me off, and you can meet my dad. That’s why you are here isn’t it? That’s the only reason anyone wants to know me. Because of my fucking dad. »

I said through clenched teeth, «Why the hell would I want to meet your dad? I want you to take me home right now. You are a sick pervert. Who is he anyway? »

The threat of rape had sobered me up quickly. I grabbed my phone, and saw that I had over twenty messages from Alyssa, thirteen from Ethan, and thirty eight from Amélie, including twelve voice mails.

I sent a quick message to Amélie:

Me: in trouble @ marina plz come now

I knew she was at least ten minutes away. I didn’t call the police because as much as I feared what Alexandre might do, I was also concerned because I was over two hours past my court-ordered curfew now. I was worried that they would bring me right to juvenile hall.

Alexandre shook his head in disbelief, «My dad is a huge pop music producer. We stayed here because I have a much better chance being drafted in Canada, but my dad mostly works out of LA, and he flies back here every two weeks or so.»

I heard a slight hissing noise.

He continued, «Since everyone at school found out, I’ve had girls using me to get to him. Since fucking middle school. I thought you were the same way. »

I sighed, «So you’ve been mistreated since what? Seventh grade? So now you abuse the girls who you think are just interested in you because of your dad. That’s weak. You scared the hell out of me when you put your hand on my mouth. You know I couldn’t breathe, right? »

Alexandre said, « I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated. I hate my dad. I can never tell if a girl is legit, interested in me. You are the twelfth girl since seventh grade to do this to me. »

I shook my head, «I’m actually not the twelfth. »

Alexandre looked at me hopefully, «You mean you legitimately like me? »

I frowned, «Are you insane? You almost raped me! You’ll be lucky that I don’t bring charges against you. You know, I really think you should consider counselling for your father issues. It’s turned you into massive prick. I bet you weren’t always like that. »

Alexandre shook his head, «No, I was an awkward gangly kid, same height, but skinny. You know I’m really sorry, please don’t tell anyone about this. Please, I just- »

I heard a sudden bang on the front passenger side window, followed by another. Alexandre put the door light on, and I saw three men standing outside the car. One of them had a crowbar and was striking the passenger side window. After the third strike, the window shattered, spraying glass all over Alexandre and me. He threw the car into gear, but the tires were completely flat. He was literally driving on his rims and because of that he had great difficulty controlling the car. It skidded and hit a lamp post, which gave the three men time to break the back window. They reached in and hauled me out, as I screamed desperately for help, bleeding from multiple cuts on my hands and legs.

I looked up and saw the man from the Big Gob Brewery who I had struck with my guitar. The three were members of the notorious Rock Machine motorcycle gang, and were not happy to see me. I saw Alexandre poke his head out of the car.

I yelled at the top of my lungs, « Help! Help me, they are going to kill me! Alexandre! Oh god you tommphhphhhhhhhh! Mmmmpphhhhhhhhppmhh! Mmmmmppphhhpph mmmpmh mm..ph…mmm… »

The leader tied a rag over my face, and I felt light-headed. I fought to retain consciousness, as I saw Alexandre’s car, with sparks jumping from the rims, backup and then speed away, loping like some great wounded animal fleeing from the threat of predators.

The leader looked down at me, but I turned away from him, he grabbed my head and forced me to look at him. He said, « Looks like you are all dressed up for your new profession already. You are going to make us a lot of money bitch. Too bad your boyfriend is such a fucking coward eh? »

I screamed into my gag, but I was having trouble keeping conscious at this point. The rag smelled funny, kind of like paint thinner.

My eyes widened to the point where I wondered if they were going to roll back into my skull. My fear simply made the man laugh. Tears fell freely from my eyes as I pictured my fate, a teenage prostitute at the hands of the Rock Machine. I knew how it worked, only because I had seen a documentary on it. They would get me heavily addicted to drugs, likely heroin or crack cocaine, and I would beg them for more. In return, I would make them money, selling my body. I prayed at that moment, prayed for God to save me. Even though I wasn’t religious, the situation was dire enough that I would call out any name if it meant salvation. Would I ever see Amélie, my parents, or Chloe again? Or Alyssa? And what about Ethan? I now desperately wished I had called the police when I had the chance.

I heard sirens in the distance, but my world was cloudy. I thought I was only imagining them because I also heard bells ringing and heavenly trumpets. The sirens grew closer and within seconds, the low rumble of motorcycles announced that my would-be captors had fled without their prize.

Before I lost consciousness, I could have sworn I heard Ethan’s voice calling out to me.