“Omigod!” Beck shouted from the hallway. “Omigod, omigod, omigod!”

My parents and I interrupted our breakfast of waffles and looked down the hallway as Becca stormed into the kitchen. She made a beeline to the chair across from me, hurriedly shoved it out of the way and pointed her cell phone at me with a picture of Justin with me in a full, lip-locked embrace.

“When did this happen?”

“Check the time stamp, Becca,” I replied as I returned to my waffles.

“This is, right after. the game, in the hallway!” Becca replied, her voice steadily rising to a crescendo.

“What is?” Mom asked.

“This!” And Becca shoved her phone so up into Mom’s face that it almost struck her in the forehead.

She then moved it to Dad who squinted at the screen. “What am I looking at? It looks like two shadows or something.”

“Yes, of Rikki and Justin!”

I continued to eat as Becca relayed everything —and a few embellishments I mean, I love how everyone assumed we had a full love-in session a la John and Yoko in the hallway—to Mom and Dad. I would get a chance to defend myself as soon as Becca took a breath.

“That! Is a simple kiss,” I said as I pointed my fork at Becca.

It looks like he has his tongue down your throat.”

“Looks are deceiving.”

Becca’s cell phone pinged.

“Rikki, there are peeps who know you…you are, were, my little brother and now they see you with your boyfriend.”

“True, and I will just say, right now, that I do not call Justin my boyfriend, lover, or one night stand.”

“Rikki Aylesea Morris,” Dad growled.

“We didn’t do anything. This is a simple, I had a great time talking to you, maybe we can do it again sometime kiss.”

“Are your friends spreading this picture around?” Mom asked as she sat a plate of waffles in front of Becca.

“Well, no, we’re not spreading it, it’s not gossip.”

“But omigod, it must be true,” I mocked.

“I am trying to help with damage control before it gets out of hand.”
Becca’s phone dinged two times.

“How does it get ‘out of hand’, Becca?”

Our parents would suffer whiplash before breakfast was over.

“He might ask you to the WinterJam.”

“And maybe he will…Wait why would that be a bad thing?”

The three of us looked at Becca. She coughed and looked back at us for a moment. “I’m just thinking about how some people can be and we all know they can be cruel.”

“But we can’t stop them thinking that, Rebekah.”

“Dad, you don’t understand.”

Becca’s phone pinged out so many times it was someone was sending a telegram.

“Are kids still picking on the lesser ones?”

“Yes.”

“Do they still mock what they don’t understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do they assume they have it all figured out and their parents are complete morons like the ones on TV?”

“If I answer that truthfully, am I in trouble?”

“Choose your nexts word carefully, Rebecca. Anne.”

Becca sat back down at table and put her hands out. “Okay, picture the entire school wanting to follow them around.”

“Them?” Mom asked.

“Rikki and Justin.”

“By the way your phone’s blowing up, everyone already knows too much of too little,” Dad replied.

“I’ll take care of it,” Becca said as she mashed at her screen multiple times.

Half an hour later we were on our way to school. Becca drove with one hand and tapped out messages using the other. It was a miracle we never got pulled over or in a three-car pile-up. Our car was mom’s old minivan. Yes, it was old, but it got us from place to place, and Becca could comfortably fit a few members of the cheer square.

“You’re going to have to take the bus home tonight. I have practice.”

“On a Thursday?”

“Yeah, I can’t help it if Mrs. Pruitt wants to call for an impromptu practice.”

“I’ll wait for you. I have some practicing of my own I can do.”

I nudged my head to the backseat where my bass laid across the floor, held in place by the front seats.

“It’ll be a little late.”

“I can wait all night. Mom and dad, perhaps not” I replied, getting ready to call her bluff. “What’s in it for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re obviously going out with friends, probably to someplace mom and dad would kill you if did.”

“They wouldn’t ‘kill’ me, Rikki. You’re so dramatic. It’s nowhere, we’re just going out.”

There was a time when I listened and believed anything Becca said. Before the age of eight, I thought she was the wisest person on the planet. Einstein? An idiot. Socrates? An old, dead boomer. I held onto all of that until she turned thirteen. That was day the girly spark faded from my sister’s eyes and the flaming bitch essence filled her soul. She sold off or gave away all her Barbie dolls. Her “My Little Pony” collection, sold to the glue factory at a garage sale. She used the money to buy a dress that mom and dad would never let her wear.

Not I really wanted said toys…as I had the full set of “Jem and the Holograms,” which everyone knows was superior to “Barbie and the Rockers”. But, the fact she never asked me if I wanted at least one doll. One pony. One of her dresses she could no longer wear. Nope, all sold off in the name of being a newly christened teenager…something I never wanted to become.

I wanted to stay a kid, but Becca’s circle of friends kept me from doing so. They would come out and listen to music I didn’t understand, comment on the body parts of boys, and smoke. They smoked in the woods behind our house. Becca bribed me with a skirt she had, and like a teenager, I accepted and kept her secret.

Becca’s friends became a bane on our house as they were always over at our house and they took free reign to look at anything and everything they wanted. My room was not an exception. There was one night when I wore said skirt Becca had given me as I sat on a chair with my bass guitar. The amplifier was off as I was simply working on my fingerings.

The door barged open, and Kaitlyn and Toni strolled in.

“Becca, do you, like, have a brother or sister?”

I had several battles with myself over who I was. A boy who needed psychological therapy, a girl trapped in a boy’s body, or just a girl of a different color. My room had a mixed vibe . It did not have the ‘princess girly girl’ to match what my sister had become. My room did not have any trophies or anything that would clue anyone to go either way.

Becca ran in behind them and our eyes locked. She had the choice to say I was her brother, but Kaitlyn would use it against Becca at school and make her high school years a living hell. Toni would scorch earth our entire family right then and there.

“I have a sister. This is Rikki.”

“You play guitar?” Kaitlyn asked as she looked my room, her face showing disgust and annoyance.

“I’m just starting to. Learning how to move my fingers across the fretboard. I also need to work on growing calluses to really hit the notes.”

“Don’t really care,” Kaitlyn replied as she walked out of the room, with Toni following.

“We’re talking about this,” I mouthed at Becca before she left the room and closed the door.

Livid would have been an understatement, and a word I did not know at the time, so out of sheer spite I cranked my amplified up to eleven, grabbed the largest string, pulling it back like an archer’s bow and released it. Mom never figured how the family portrait fell from the wall.

“Fine,” Becca lamented. “But you’re going to be crowded by cheerleaders.”
I shrugged as we drove into our’s school parking lot.

Flatirons High School, home of “The Fighting Bears,” a mascot that looked ridiculous on any school document or apparel. Picture what’s supposed to be a roaring bear but looks more like a man in a pathetic bear suit, a la Yogi Bear. Becca separated from me, something she had done even before she had the van, and would to one of the other doors. I usually walked through the front door with my backpack slung on my shoulder while holding my bass.

My daily trek required me to bring the guitar to the music room, where Mr. Smith would lock it in his office, and then fast-walk back into the main hall.

“Hey, Rikki,” a voice called out. I turned to see Justin walking my way before turning and matching my pace,

“Justin,” I said with a nod.

“The other night you said play guitar.”

I nodded.

“Cool, I’d like to hear you play.”

“Sure,” I replied with a nonchalant tone but inside I was about to squeal with giddyness. “There’s some time during lunch or afterschool.”

“How about both? I think my ears can take the decibels,” Justin replied with a smile.

“I’ll make sure Mr. Smith has his ‘wall-of-sound’ available.”

“See you at lunch, “ Justin called out as he turned down one of the halls. I had a thought of turning to look at him as he walked away but decided against it.

I did not want anyone, say Becca or one of her friends; to say I was gawking at Justin. It was enough that one-fourth of the student body saw us walking together for about thirty seconds. The punk girl and the school golden boy together in the hallway.