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One:     The Beginning of the End

Andrew Fayne was just a regular kid: average height, average grades - nothing distinguishing, really, except that he was extremely thin. His dad says he took after his mom in that way. In fact, he looked a lot like his mom, but more especially like Jane, his cousin. His best friend Bess said once that, with the right hairdo and the right clothes, Andy would be the spitting image of Jane. That, of course, earned her a merciless tickle attack. But then, during last year's Halloween, upon Jane's and Bess's insistence, Andy had dressed up as Jane, and he fit right into her clothes. In fact, with a wig that Bess had borrowed, no one thought he was in costume at all because everyone thought he was just Jane...

But being thin did prove to be an advantage with his favorite sports, which were swimming and riding horses (the Faynes were a little... hoity-toity, though Andy never really acted hoity-toity). He was also very, very bright and, normally, with a combination like that, someone like him would have been mercilessly teased and picked on. But since he was nominally a jock (he had won a couple of swimming medals for the school), he and his friends were left mostly alone.

He was also an avid reader, which was unusual for kids nowadays. But it was easily explainable - like most lonely kids, one of his means of escape from his loneliness was escaping into books. And with the influence of his uncle and grandmother, he became a fan of police drama and detective stories.

His grandmother was an avid collector of Nancy Drew books, and though Andy sort of thought Nancy Drew was mostly okay, he thought the character (the original one that Gran liked) was... boring, to tell the truth. Still, for the sake of his Gran, Andy did his best to appreciate her favorite books although he much preferred Sherlock Holmes over Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys.

But not by much - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's fictional detective felt too dry and intellectual to him, similar to his feeling that Nancy Drew was as inoffensively homogenous as skimmed milk in the mornings, and just as bland. He was glad of the two Holmes movies starring Robert Downey Jr. and especially, for the short BBC series, "Sherlock." They updated the detective in a way that made him more relevant today, and vibrant enough to have renewed his appeal. It was a consistent topic of discussion with him and his best friends Bess and George. If ever he was asked what he'd like to be when he grew up, he'd have probably said he wanted to be a world-class detective like Sherlock.

In that way he guessed he was like his peers, thinking that television fiction was just like written literary classics. He also liked, after a fashion, the CSI TV shows as well as other similar procedural police shows, but his real preference was for the printed word. The English version of the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was pretty good, for example, he thought, but the movie, though good, wasn't as good as the book. Needless to say, he was obsessed by detective-type stories...

Over the years, he had accumulated a list of favorite crime and mystery writers. Among his latest favorites were Dave Zeltserman and James Ellroy. Also, he thought David Peace's "1974" was one of the best ever. But he always had a soft spot for the old-time classic characters. Recently, he read "Spade and Archer: The Prequel to Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon," which was a newly-written "prequel" to "The Maltese Falcon," and he enjoyed that immensely. He supposed that's one of the reasons he liked Nancy Drew despite its 30's/50's flavor of blandness. He had high hopes for her "re-boot" in the new graphic novels published by Papercutz and the movie with Emma Roberts, but in the end, it was all disappointing.

He was in his last year of high school, and though he was far from popular, his life wasn't significantly different from most of the others. He was, however, one of the brightest in his class despite average grades, and was everyone's go-to guy if there was some mystery to be solved - a missing student perhaps, or maybe an unexplained anomaly in the latest algebra finals, or (the latest one) the case of the missing school mascot.

He was an underachiever, his teachers said, but that didn't stop him from getting super-excellent scores in his college boards - just this side of perfect. He was to take it again later in the fall, hoping to up his scores some more, but he wasn't really worried. He was blithely sure he would ace it this time.

School had let out for the day and he was driving home in his two-door 2004 Pontiac Sunfire, just under the speed limit. The fact that their house was so far from his school was his justification to his father to buy him a car. And he did, but despite being a bit well off, his dad only gave him a budget of $7,000. So Andy got a Sunfire.

Because it wasn't the most popular car (it had gone out of production in 2006), he was able to get one in mint condition cheap. And then he replaced the engine block with something that had more oomph, put in race-car shocks and forks, had the original canary-yellow factory paint job renewed, and had the interior detailed. With that and an AV system of his own design installed, his canary-yellow Sunfire became the fastest, baddest and most popular car in school. He thought it was his ticket out of obscurity, but apparently not - after a month or so of semi-popularity, everything went back to the way it used to be. In fact, since he got the car, he had gotten exactly one girl to ride in it. But that girl hardly counted since that was just his best friend, Bess, and she and Andy's other best friend, George, were almost always with him.

- - - - -

At the moment, only George was with him (Bess had a school project she was working on) and they were talking about his latest theory regarding the missing school mascot, and, as usual, he practically had it solved. Instead of the commonly-held assumption that it was their basketball team's rival team from the neighboring school, it was actually that school's principal who was responsible. Andy, River Heights High's boy-sleuth, had the proof, as usual.

Because of these regular "unofficial" investigations, he had gotten some awards from the local police department. The School Yearbook Committee was, in fact, planning to use a picture of him in a trench coat and deerstalker, ala Sherlock Holmes, with a magnifying glass in his hand.

Anyway, he was telling George more details about the "Missing Mascot Mystery," (as George had thought of it) while they walked into the Fayne's living room, when they were met by Andy's dad, William Fayne, attorney-at-law.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Fayne," George smiled. "How's it hangin'?" That was usually met with a laugh and a grin, but this time not even a small smile.

Andy, being his usual, observant self, reacted to that.

"Dad?" he said, "what's wrong?"

"George," Andy's dad said, "I'm sorry, but could you give us some privacy? I need to talk to Andy alone..."

George and Andy looked at each other. Andy shrugged - he didn't know what it was about, either.

"Ummm, I guess I'll go home, then."

"Sorry, George," Andy said. "Catch you in school tomorrow."

"Sorry for running you out of the house, George," Andy's dad echoed. "We'll make it up to you."

"No prob, Mr. F." He turned to Andy. "Catch ya, later, Sherlock," he said, using the school body's pet name for him, and they did that semi-complicated handshake that only Bess and the two of them knew.

As soon as the door closed, Mr. Fayne turned to Andy and gestured for him to sit down. "I have some bad news, son," he said.

"What is it, Dad?"

Mr. Fayne's face worked, trying hard not to cry.

"Dad?"

"Uncle Dave and Janey died this morning," he said. Dave Fayne was William Fayne's older brother, and Jane was his daughter. Like Andy's dad, Dave was also a widower, and it was partly because of this that they remained close.

Andy looked at his dad in shock. "They died?"

"The police said they were on a mountain road, probably on their way here. Dave's brakes failed and they..." His dad couldn't hold it in anymore and broke down. Andy hugged him, and they did their best to comfort each other.
      
      
Two:     Goodbye, Maria

It was a legacy from Andy's dead mother. She had died when Andy was three, but before she passed away, she made her husband promise many things, and one of them was to take care of Andy. William Fayne took his parental responsibilities seriously.

So he, Andy and their beloved housekeeper of more than ten years, Maria, shared a silent dinner of meatloaf, sunflower bread and green salad.

They had told Maria the news, which had curbed her usual, bubbly personality.

"But that's not all," Dad said. "I got this in my private email last night, from an email address I didn't know." Andy took the paper from him and read the printed email. Maria stood behind Andy and read it over his shoulder.

"Dear Uncle Billy," the short email began. "Sorry to send word to you in this way, but Pop's in trouble. A case he's handling has gone bad, and we're coming over. We need help. Pop says it's time for 'The Plan,' whatever that is. Pop said you'd know about it. Anyway, we're coming over. Pop's into something real heavy here. He says to get his hard drive from the safe deposit box, and then we'll meet you over at your house tomorrow. Say hi to the kid, and ask Maria if she can fix up my favorite cake, and tell her not to go easy on the cherries." And that was it.

The email came from someone named "nybaby105," clearly a computer-aliased address, but none of them doubted it was from Jane, especially with that comment about the cake, and her calling him "the kid."

Andy felt Maria's hand on his shoulder and heard her crying softly. He put his hand over hers and looked to his dad.

"So, you think they got them, whoever they were," Andy said.

"Yes," Dad said.

"Did you get the hard drive?"

"This afternoon," he said. Dad nodded and pulled a black device just a little smaller than a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He laid it, along with a thick manila envelope, on the dining table. "I also withdrew everything I could from my ATM account as well as bought some stuff."

"What about this 'plan' Jane mentioned?"

Dad sighed. "About seven years ago," he started to explain, "Dave and I saw a movie about that Enron thing. You know what that was?"

Andy nodded. "We studied it in school," he said.

"Well," Dad continued, "that movie really made a big impact on Dave. He said that corporate crime has become the biggest thing in the legal world, bigger even than gangs and organized crime, and that he wouldn't be surprised when people started getting killed regularly. Anyway, that was just before Dave moved to the east coast to take a job as an assistant district attorney there. I had joked that he should watch out, especially when some big corporate bigwigs started coming after his ass.

"Anyway, the both of us laughed and thought of it as a joke then, but over the years, as he got deeper and deeper into the prosecution of these corporate criminals, he had started putting together a 'plan' for going underground, 'just in case,' he said. I never really bothered to know the details coz I thought it was all just another of Dave's crackpot ideas. Anyway, all the details are here." Dad indicated the envelope.

Andy opened it and, inside, he found two passports for a Carson Nance and his daughter, Andrea. But the pictures were of Uncle Dave and Jane, except that Uncle Dave was in a severe crew cut and a mustache, and Jane had long hair and glasses. Both had different noses, and Jane had more prominent cheekbones and dimples. Andy knew that was easily done with Photoshop. Jane looked even prettier than she usually did so he knew Jane did the touch-ups.

There were also a lot of other papers in the envelope - birth certificates, driver's licenses, school records, and so many, many others. The paper trail of the life of two people.

Another bunch of papers caught Andy's eye. There were about thirty or so certificates in there. Andy thought they were school diplomas or something, but they turned out to be assorted stock certificates and bearer bonds.

"What's this?" he said.

"Those are stock certificates. Seems Dave's slowly been converting their savings into stocks of various blue-ribbon companies. And he did it through various aliases and confidential stock traders so they aren't traceable back to him. All in all, that should be around three hundred thousand dollars worth of stocks, probably more since I know Apple, Kellogg's and IBM stock values have been growing for a while."

"Why is all this important to us, Dad?" I asked.

"As I left my building this afternoon, there were half a dozen suits walking in. Thank God they didn't see me. I didn't bother to go back. Anyway, I think they're after us now. Dave and Janey were on their way here, after all."

"What do we do now?"

"Get your stuff together. Just essentials, so it won't look like we were planning to leave. As soon as we're ready, we'll sneak out. I also bought us a couple of new backpacks, jackets and sneakers. They're all in my room."

Andy nodded and climbed up the stairs.

Dad turned to Maria.

"Maria, are you okay with that?"

The matronly housekeeper nodded. "Yes, Mr. Fayne," she said, and turned to her room to pack. Dad picked up the hard drive and papers, stuffed them into the envelope and climbed upstairs to pack as well.

In a few minutes, she was done. "All set, Mr. Fayne," she called up the stairs.

"We're almost okay here, Maria," Dad called down. "Why don't you get the station wagon ready?"

Maria got the key ring for the station wagon down from the hook on the kitchen wall, went to the garage and drove the big Ford wagon out onto the street. As soon as she did, a black car zoomed from behind her and screeched to a stop in front of the Fayne house. Three men stepped out and two of them threw things through the living room windows. In seconds, several explosions rocked the house, and pieces of glass and other debris flew through the air. The third threw half a dozen beer bottles trailing fiery wicks. The Molotov cocktails smashed against the remnants of the living room and burst into flame, and the fire quickly spread through the rest of the house.

At that moment, one of them turned and saw Maria, frozen in shock at the wheel of the family station wagon, looking at them with horror in her eyes. The man who threw the Molotov cocktails unslung a big machine gun and fired at the old housekeeper through the car's windscreen. In seconds, Maria was dead.

The trio watched the house burn for a few more moments, and then secondary explosions collapsed the rest of the house, no doubt connected with the kitchen's LPG tanks exploding. As soon as the neighbors started spilling into the streets, the bandits got back in their car and zoomed away. In minutes, nothing was left of the house even as the police, ambulances and fire trucks arrived.

Hours later, the firemen confirmed that the fire was out. The police investigators crawled around the remains of the house but they could not find any human remains. For a small-town police force, they were unusually thorough. They insisted that no remains were in the ruins. Still, they said that, though unlikely, it was conceivable that the bodies had completely burned away.

But there was one other thing they didn't see - that the rear garden gate was ajar. It was where Andy and his dad escaped out of the house.

      
      
Three:     The Plan

At that moment, Andy Fayne and his dad were miles away, having walked through the night. Both of them were carrying bulging backpacks and nothing else, so they weren't hampered by their baggage much.

Andy was amazed how light and comfortable the new backpacks felt.

"Well, they should," Dad said. "After all, they cost six hundred dollars apiece."

Andy was incredulous. Dad explained that he bought their jackets, sneakers, backpacks and other stuff at separate stores, paying for each with a ten-thousand-dollar personal check, pocketing the difference in cash. It took some doing convincing them, but It was the only way he knew to get an enormous amount of cash from the bank quickly without the transaction being flagged in their computers (closing the account would have taken at least a day). So, aside from the nine thousand five hundred dollars he was able to withdraw, he was able to get an additional ninety-five thousand and change from his check transactions. Until they can arrange for more cash, this was it.

As they talked in muted whispers, no one saw them pass by. When they felt they were reasonably away, they started looking for a car that they could steal. Eventually they came upon a bunch of cars parked in front of someone's house. Judging from the noise, it was clear that someone was having a party. They hunkered down and started trying out the doors of the cars. After a bit of searching, they were lucky and were able to find a nondescript old blue Chevy, with no alarm and its doors unlocked. No keys, though, but Andy knew how to hotwire the car. Using his Swiss army knife, Andy cut the appropriate wires and twisted them together. He was rewarded with the engine of the car turning over. He and his dad got in and, without gunning the engine, they slowly pulled away from the curb. He didn't turn the lights on, and only did so when they were several blocks away. He accelerated and they started making good time. They took turns driving, and pretty soon they were hundreds of miles away from River Heights. They were driving in a direction that they had randomly picked. At this point, all they wanted was to get away from their old place and lose their enemies.

As they drove on, directionless but carefully within the speed limit, they talked over what they needed to do.

"Going back is definitely out of the question," he told his dad as he drove, "'coz I'm sure the bad guys will be watching out for us." His grief over the deaths of his uncle, Jane and Maria had been mostly burned out of him by the tears he had shed as they walked their long walk through the night. So he could think clearly now.

"Wouldn't they assume that we're already dead?" Dad asked.

"They could," Andy said, "but the police won't find any bodies, so they're gonna be suspicious. In any case, we need to lie low for a while. But, eventually, we need to contact the police and give them Uncle Dave's evidence. The police'll eventually dig up Jane's email anyway and they'll put two and two together, as well as the bad guys."

"I agree so far. So how do we lie low then?"

"I don't know, Dad..."

They thought it over, and as they drove on through the night, Dad snapped his finger.

"I think have a plan," Dad said.

But Andy thought of it simultaneously, too.

"Now wait a damn minute!"

    
      
Four:     Enter Carson and Andrea

Despite Andy's protests, in the end, they decided to use his Uncle Dave's "plan."

The problem with "The Plan" was, of course, their playing the parts of two fictitious people. Not too difficult to do since they looked very close to these people's pictures - close enough to be look-alikes. It's just that one of them happened to be a girl.

But Andy, being who he was, could understand, intellectually, that they had no choice. But he didn't have to like it.

The first thing they did was to have Andy give his dad a crew cut with the scissors of his Swiss knife. Not the best, but good enough to give him a somewhat ragged crew cut. He then dropped his dad near a nondescript motel with both of their backpacks

"Good morning," the lady manning the front desk said.

Bill Fayne smiled and nodded pleasantly. "Would you have two adjoining rooms available, with a door between them?"

The lady's eyebrows rose in a muted question.

"I'm picking up my daughter later, and we need a place to stay for a couple of days until our car is ready."

The lady nodded.

He laid down one of the Carson Nance credit cards - a MasterCard picture credit card. But before the woman could swipe his card, he held his hand up.

"On second thought," he said, "I think I'll pay in cash."

The motel proprietress glanced at his card. "Are you sure, Mr. Nance?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. We've been paying for stuff with my card for most of our road trip. I think I can pay for the rest in cash until we get home. How much for the rooms for a couple of days?"

"That'll be eighty dollars a day."

He took back the card and put down two hundred-dollar bills on the counter. He really had no intention of paying via credit card. He just wanted to make sure the woman knew he was legit, and that he was indeed Carson Nance.

After he dropped off their stuff in their rooms, he went and had breakfast at a small greasy spoon nearby that was next door to a small barber shop. As soon as the shop opened, he finished his breakfast and went in to have Andy's botched haircut fixed.

He then went to get some clothes for his "daughter" plus a semi-long blonde wig. As soon as he was done, he went to the place they decided to meet on the other side of the little burg that they were in, hoping that there was a bus stop near there.

Andy's morning was a little different. The first thing he did was to locate a safe but out-of-the-way parking space. He then used some rubbing alcohol and several rolls of toilet paper he got from a 7-Eleven. He methodically rubbed down everything in the car that the two of them could conceivably have touched. Sure, some CSI guy could probably find something of theirs in it, but he wasn't gonna make it easy for them.

When he was done, he made sure that the car was parked properly, and then he locked it up. He dropped as many coins as he could into the parking meter, making sure he had wiped down the coins first, and then he wiped down the parking meter for good measure.

It was still early enough that no one was around so no one saw him. It'll be safe there for a while, but he was fairly sure it'll be stolen again, or it'll be spotted by police. But that was the plan.

He then walked to the agreed-upon place. He had to ask some people for directions a couple of times but, after an hour of walking, he found the place. After buying a couple of hotdogs and a coffee, he settled into the bus station bench. None of the people waiting for buses paid him any attention. After all, he was just a kid waiting for a bus, just like them. After another hour or so, his dad showed up.

"Hey, Dad." Dad gave him a hug and handed him a couple of bags full of clothes. Girl clothes.

"I kept it simple like you said," his dad said. "Just a t-shirt, jeans, underwear, socks and sneakers. All in Jane's sizes. I also told the saleslady our cover story. I even got her to help pick the stuff out." He handed him another bag. This one was bulky. "Here's something else I found."

"What is it?" Andy asked, and looked inside. It was a wig in a flat, cardboard box. He flipped the box over and saw some instructions. Good.

"I found it in a little hairdresser shop a few doors down from where I bought the clothes."

"What did you tell them?"

Dad shrugged. "I couldn't think up anything so I just bought it and left."

Andy thought that one over and shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now. "I spotted a station down the street," Andy said. "Gimme twenty minutes."

Dad nodded. He brought out a newspaper and started to read. He looked all throughout the paper, looking for some kind of mention of Maria and the house, but didn't find any. It was probably too late to make the paper.

People came and went, buses stopped and people got on. He was ignored. After maybe half an hour, he looked up. Incredibly, he saw Jane walking towards him with a sheepish grin on her pretty face, holding some plastic shopping bags, like she had been shopping again, as usual. It then clicked in his mind who it really was. He almost cried.

"Hey, Pops," Andy said, using Jane's pet name for her dad, in a voice that could almost be hers.

Dad stood and hugged Andy. Andy understood, and he hugged his dad back.

"I miss Janey, too, Dad," Andy said softly.

The other people politely ignored them and they slowly walked away, Dad's arm thrown casually over Andy's shoulder

"I can't believe how good you look," Dad said. "You even sound like her."

Andy shrugged. "Bess did say we looked enough like each other that we could almost be twins."

"That's for sure."

Andy fidgeted.

"What's wrong?"

Andy squirmed a bit. "The wig feels hot, the panties don't have enough material to cover much of anything, and the bra itches."

"Well, at least you fill your bra out nicely," Dad laughed.

"They're full of toilet paper, okay? In fact, I had to use up one whole toilet paper roll..." Dad grinned.

"Oh, Janey," Andy moaned, "why'd you have to be a c-cup?" Dad laughed again.

"Andy," Dad said, "you better quit that, or else you'll get me belly laughing and I won't be able to stop."

Andy smiled a bit. "Okay, Dad, I'll try. But, y'know, I think we should start getting in character."

"What do you mean?"

"We aren't Andy and William Fayne anymore."

Dad became serious and nodded.

"Okay, then," he said. "From now on, you're Andrea and I'm Carson."

"I think Andrea sounds too formal. I should have something that sounds more casual."

"Well, what would you like me to call you, then?"

"Lemme think about it," the new Andrea said.

      
      
Five:     Putting The Plan Into Action

Carson Nance, the former William Fayne, thought it would be hard to get used to his new "daughter," but it turned out not to be the case. When he looked at her, she reminded him of Jane. Even down to the mannerisms, movement and voice, this new "girl" echoed his beloved niece, although he knew Andy was doing it all very consciously. And during the false notes that inevitably came out when he forgot or got it wrong, his "former" son would shine out, especially when he did one of those amazing feats of mental sleuthing that made Andy such an asset to the police. In that way, Andrea was like a mix of both Andy and Jane. Which "Carson" liked.

"Andrea" was telling him they needed a computer to open the hard drive, and to maybe surf the net. The natural thing to do was to buy one, but "she" said that wasn't a good idea since it would leave an electronic trail back to them. Instead, they randomly took a bus and kept their eye out for a pawn shop. Pawn shops were the ideal place to buy untraceable second-hand stuff. "Andrea" soon spotted one, the "Gold and Silver Pawn Shop," and they got off the bus.

Carson was amazed at how well Andrea flirted with Corey, the son of the shop owner, so very like Janey, and she was able to get a year-old used HP netbook for only a hundred and fifty, until Rick, the owner, came over. Carson was worried when the guy took over the haggling from his son, but he needn't have worried. Andrea was able to bring down the price further, to just a hundred dollars, and got a little wireless router included in the package as well.

Carson was amazed at how effortlessly Andrea played the two men. But then this was his super-genius son. And that brain, combined with Janey's looks and flirty demeanor - well, everyone better watch out!

They had a leisurely lunch at a Bennigan's, where Andrea put on another show for Carson, charming the pants of the wait-staff, and completing the picture of the hip teenage girl by ordering half a chicken breast, a small caesar salad and an iced tea instead of Andy's usual humungous order and large Pepsi. Carson had a beer and a huge "knife and fork" Reuben sandwich.

They then went clothes-shopping. Carson concluded that Andy had never seen how Janey shopped. In her "Andrea" persona, she still shopped like Andy - all meticulous planning and judicious selection. Not like a girl who loved to shop. It put off the salesgirl a little bit but in the end, Andrea ended up with a nice selection of teenage clothes, a small makeup kit and a toiletry kit. Carson asked her how come she knew so much about clothes. She explained that all she did was think of the outfits that Andy saw Janey in, and copied those.

They then went to a thrift store and bought a selection of cute but well-worn clothes. Andrea explained that these would be her "favorite" outfits.

It was getting late and they were so tired they decided to get some takeout and risked taking a cab back to the motel. It was just as well - Carson wondered how they'd be able to get on the bus with all of these bags.

Back at the motel, they dumped all of their purchases on Andrea's bed, and Carson took a quick shower. When he was done, he went to his "daughter's room and saw that all of the purchases that they made had all been unwrapped and packed away in her backpack, and her old clothes were now neatly folded and were in the bags the other stuff used to be in. Andrea was just finishing her burger and fries. Carson nodded at her efficiency.

Seeing that it was her turn, she picked up a towel and went into the bathroom that they shared, and took a half hour to shower. She called through the bathroom and asked if she could borrow her dad's razor. Carson sheepishly stuck his hand through the door and handed her the razor and a small can of shaving cream.

"Don't tell me what you'll be shaving, okay?" Carson called.

"I wasn't planning to," Andrea answered back.

"On second thought, you can keep that razor. I'll buy a new one."

"'Kay..."

When she came out, she was gingerly toweling her "hair" which had gotten damp in the shower, and she wore a loose t-shirt (Carson remembered Janey referring to them as "sleep shirts"), shorts and flip-flops. Carson had to admit that she was really going all out in the disguise, and he said so.

"Practice makes perfect," Andrea said, and gave him a sad smile.

Carson stood and gave "her" a hug. She hugged him back. Carson felt some tears on his shoulder but didn't comment.

"We'll make it through this," he said into "her" ear. "And we'll catch the bastards who killed Dave, Janey and Maria. We will."

Andrea nodded against his shoulder. She pulled away and searched for some tissues. "Carson" smiled. Does she even know how close to Janey she's behaving, he mused.

"I've been thinking of that nickname," Carson said.

"'Kay."

"How does 'Drew' sound? It's near enough to 'Andrew' and is sort of a match for 'Andrea,' yet it sounds different enough that people won't automatically connect it to 'Andy.'"

"'Drew,'" she went, sounding it out. "'Drew'... hmmm. I like it, Dad. Classy." She grinned, a smile that was all Andy. "Okay, from now on, I'll be Drew." She gave Dad another hug.

He was surprised at that - a behavior which was far from Andy's, but very appropriate for a teenage girl. Andy's really getting into this role, he thought. "She" was probably doing the Al Pacino-Robert deNiro method acting thing, and burying "herself" in the part. So typically Andy - all or nothing. And who knows, his, I mean "her," thoroughness might even save us. So, I think I'd better start keeping up with "her" and really start thinking of her as Drew.

    
      
Six:     Getting Used To Drew

They stayed in the motel for three days, studying all the paperwork that Dave had for "The Plan," and trying to reconstruct the fictitious life of Carson Nance and his daughter, Andrea, that Dave had created.

There was a driver's license for Carson, which was soon to expire. So that meant his birthday was coming up. Drew dug a bit further under the pile and found both of their birth certificates as well as other papers.

Based on the papers, Carson graduated from Brooklyn Law School and had worked for years at what William Fayne knew used to be one of New York's best law firms, but everyone connected to it had perished in the 9/11 disaster. Since then, Carson had apparently stopped practicing law. Such convenient facts made their claims difficult to double-check.

Andrea, on the other hand, was not as well-credentialed. Given her school equivalency certifications in the pile, she seemed to have been home-schooled her whole life, although she did take a high school driver's ed class (she had a still-valid learner's permit and a New York DMV Driver Education Certificate). She was also born in the same year as Jane, making her sixteen, as opposed to Andy, who was a year older.

They also found out that they used to live in New York's Upper East Side, in an apartment complex that had completely burned down last year because of faulty wiring. Another convenient fact that again made their claims hard to verify.

Carson had written down most of their "findings" and conclusions. Being a lawyer made such things easy for him. It was almost like doing research for a civil case.

The following day, after dropping off Andy's clothes at a Salvation Army store, they went to a coffee house that had free wifi. Drew surfed the net as she sipped her venti caramel frappe, double-checking all of the supposed facts in what she had come to think of as their "dossiers," as well as valuated their "portfolio" of stocks and bonds. And while she did so, Carson had started "touching up" their histories, adding details that may come in handy in the future.

Carson couldn't help but look at his new daughter as she worked on the little laptop. She was unconsciously playing with the ends of the wig, and would occasionally bite on the pen she kept twirling in her hand. Perhaps, Carson thought, in a different context, such behavior would not have looked so girlish, but the fact that Drew had worn such a short skirt with her short-sleeved blouse, newly-shaven legs on display, she looked awfully femininely cute.

Carson also had to smile as some kids tried to chat her up but she absentmindedly brushed them aside as she worked. Andy had that obsessive streak in him, especially when he was trying to finish something, that would shut everything out, and Drew seemed to have "inherited" that streak. For the more persistent boys, Carson's stern "dad stare" chased them off. He chuckled. Never in a million years did he think he'd have to protect his child against unwanted amorous advances.

Though he didn't really want to admit it, he was actually getting used to Drew, and was starting to like the cute sixteen-year-old, almost as much as he loved seventeen-year-old Andy. Carson found it weird that, in his head, he thought of Drew and Andy as separate people. But, looking at Drew with the long blonde hair and the short skirt as she twirled her hair and coquettishly sipped her drink through a straw, he couldn't really connect her to Andy. Who could blame him, he thought.

By lunchtime, Drew had finished her research and she cajoled Carson into splurging for a nice meal at a fancy restaurant they had seen nearby. Carson found it funny to be paying so much for one quarter of a chicken breast and green salad, but he decided that he didn't really mind, so long as Drew was happy. He ordered a big steak, potatoes and onion soup for himself.

After lunch, they took a bus to the motel this time, and talked over the material that Drew dug up.

As best as she could, Drew confirmed most of the facts in their "dossiers," and information for the rest was nonexistent or at least non-traceable. Also, per her research, the pile of stock certificates that they had now totaled in value somewhere in the area of four million dollars. At least. It was a huge sum, and it probably accounted for Dave's and Jane's entire life savings and investments.

William and Andy Fayne were also well off (or at least used to be well off) - the Faynes came from old money - so Drew was not fazed by this windfall. But for Carson, it took away a large worry from his mind. Despite the fact that he had close to ninety thousand in cash liberally distributed in his pants, shorts and socks, Carson was worried about their future since all of their property and finances were now beyond their reach. But, with careful husbanding, this new windfall should see them through.

Drew had done further research. She discovered that the investigating officer for the skip-trace for the dead employees of Carson's company, and the investigating officer for that apartment fire was one Lieutenant Frank Hardy, a police lieutenant from New York's Upper East Side. She told her dad that it was her opinion that this man was probably the person that helped Uncle Dave set up "the plan." With this, she told him her idea on their next step.

      
      
Seven:     Lives Up In Smoke

Frank Hardy had just finished his shift at a stakeout and had filed his report a few minutes ago. All he wanted now was to fall into his bed and sleep for at least twelve hours. As he was getting ready to leave, his desk phone rang.

"Hardy," he said tersely over the phone.

"Lieutenant," the desk sergeant said, "there's someone here to see you. Says he's an old friend. He says his name's Carson Nance."

Good god, it's David Fayne, he thought. "I'll be right down," he said.

"Hey, Jer," Hardy said to the desk sergeant. "Someone was looking for me?"

The sergeant pointed to a person standing by the wanted posters. He looked. That's not Dave, he thought. He looks similar, but that's not Dave.

The guy came over, arm outstretched for a handshake.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Hardy," Carson said. "Glad to finally meet you. My friend Dave told me to look you up when I got back in town..."

"What?" Hardy said, a bit confused. "But... but..."

"Why don't we have a cup of coffee?" the man claiming to be Carson Nance said pleasantly, but his hand on Hardy's elbow was very insistent. "I'd like to introduce you to my daughter, Andrea."

Hardy had started to worry. But he was a tough old gumshoe. He shrugged and thought, as long as it's a public place, this joker can't do much.

They went to a small diner half a block away where they met up with "Andrea." From there, they explained who they were and the circumstances that brought them to New York.

- - - - -

Apparently, Hardy was Dave's partner in his schemes to bring down corporate criminals, and the lieutenant knew that there was something big that Dave was working on. He was devastated that Dave died doing a job that he was supposed to be doing.

Frank invited the two of them to his apartment to continue the discussion. When they had settled down to a nice Chinese takeout dinner, Frank told them what he had done for Dave, and how bulletproof he had tried to make their cover. Drew agreed with the bulletproof aliases, and explained what she had uncovered, which impressed Frank.

"I think you'd make a great detective."

Drew ducked her head and blushed. "Thank you," she said shyly.

Frank went on a little further. "You know," He said, "the cover's not too perfect yet. I have to fix the fingerprints on file for Carson and Andrea Nance, replace them with yours, and then track down your old fingerprint records and replace them with bogus prints."

"Isn't that difficult to do?" Drew asked.

"Well, not really," he answered, "not if you know what you're doing. I used to be part of the Witness Protection Program. Can I see your IDs, by the way?"

Though a little puzzled, Carson handed over Drew's learner's permit and his driver's license.

Frank looked at them. "Thought so," he said, and handed them back.

At their puzzled looks, Frank explained. "It's just that you don't look like your pictures. At least not exactly..."

"Which means?"

"Which means... you may need some plastic surgery."

They both looked dismayed.

"Can't you just fix the pictures?" Drew asked. "Like the fingerprints?"

"Well, pictures are a bit harder to change, though not impossible. But that's not the main reason for the plastic surgery. Whatever your records, the people that knew you before will still recognize you. So, to avoid that..."

Father and daughter looked at each other. Drew shrugged, and Carson spoke to Frank.

"We're okay with that," he said. "We'll do what's needed. But nothing major - just enough so we'll look like our new pictures."

Frank smiled a bit. "Okay," he said. "Did you know that Jane was the one who came up with those alterations?" He gestured to the IDs.

Drew nodded. "I knew," she said.

Hardy nodded at that, impressed.

A few hours later, they found themselves in a large apartment in Queens. The front living room looked faintly like Monica's and Rachel's apartment in the TV show "Friends." But the two bedrooms were outfitted as modern surgical theaters, and a third one was like a small dormitory with two three-bed bunk beds against two of the walls, a bank of dressers on the other, and a large walk-in closet on the wall across. The entire apartment had no windows.

"Welcome to the country's most expensive small clinic," Frank said. "This is your doctor," he introduced a man in a golf shirt and slacks. "You can call him 'Joe,' though almost everyone calls him 'Doc,' and this is Sally, his personal assistant and nurse." The girl he introduced would have been pretty, except for the over-botoxed lips and the humungous breasts.

"Some free advice - the Doc and Sally are completely on our side, but it's best not to inquire too closely about them. Like Dave used to say, 'ignorance is bliss.'"

So the both of them underwent plastic surgery in the ersatz apartment. They both had rhinoplasty, and both their noses were changed to become thinner. Drew's was bobbed just a tiny bit. But whereas Carson had his eyes changed to look less round, Drew had hers made to look bigger and rounder. She also had surgery on her cheeks - she was given small cheek implants, and a pair of cute dimples were put in. And that was it.

In the end, they looked very close to their pictures. Carson looked like a very sharp guy, his sharp nose and angled eyes giving him a slightly predatory look that implied toughness and quick action. Drew's new look made her so much more adorable-looking than Jane ever was, but if Andy felt bad about his new look, Drew never let it show. Her dad could see the signs, but he was so proud that he never let on that he knew. Once, he said that he was so proud of her/him for doing all this, and promised, as soon as the people who had killed Jane were caught, they'll go back to the way they used to be.

Drew just hugged her dad, gave him a daughter's kiss on the cheek, and whispered, "let's talk about it when it's over, okay, Dad? Just don't worry about me. I'm okay."

Dad just hugged her back. "I love you, you know?" he whispered back, and wiped away her tears.

The doc asked Drew, after her surgeries were done and she was on her way to a full recovery, if she would like to have the entire thing be done as well. He looked down at her lower body.

"No way in hell!" Drew screamed in a very Andy kind of voice, but then she stopped short.

She thought a bit. She was damned sure she didn't want her... plumbing changed, but she was open to getting whatever else was necessary to make her look closer to a real girl. "Well... maybe a boob job will help..."

So that was how she went from being flat-chested to having natural-looking small c-cup boobies. And while that was done, she also asked the doc to do some liposuction on her. When she healed, she developed something that was suggestive of an hourglass figure - not really, but good enough to make her sexy with the appropriate clothes. At least she thought so. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she had no trouble thinking that she wouldn't mind dating a girl like her. Except for the fact that she looked too much like Jane.

Because of the relatively simple surgeries, they only needed about two weeks to heal, although they stayed a total of three weeks for Drew's boob job to heal completely.

Sally was disappointed that Drew didn't go for the complete... package, but she helped her by giving a few pointers on female deportment. She advised her on diet (if she didn't, the lipo would have just been a waste) and other little things connected to girls' preferences for food. She also showed Drew how to use exfoliant and liberal amounts of lotion to keep her skin soft (rough skin was not something girls were known for), and taught her how to properly shave the parts of her that girls liked to have free of hair.

Makeup, hairstyles and clothes combinations, as well as maintaining a female tremolo to her voice didn't seem to be a problem for her (thanks to the observant nature that she "inherited" from Andy) but the natural, automatic feminine word-inflections and cadence of speech she learned from Sally - the basics, at least: there was hardly time to learn everything. But Sally said she would improve with practice.

By that time, Frank had completed the modifications to their fingerprints in their files, and they had healed enough that they could leave the so-called clinic anytime. That, and their new looks gave Carson the impetus to go out and start the next step of Drew's plan.

First thing that they did was to buy a house. Drew researched the available houses in the best middle-class communities in New York, and she was able to find a nice, fifteen-year-old three-bedroom, two-bathroom, two-car garage house in a very upscale neighborhood in Staten Island, modestly priced at four hundred thousand. Carson started the ball rolling on selling a couple of the certificates. After two days, and payment of the broker's and tax fees, they had more than enough for the fifty percent downpayment.

In a week, they had moved in and furnished the place with pricey, second-hand furniture and brand-new appliances, giving their new home the feel of a classy, lived in but well-kept home. Drew even went to some thrift shops and bought old trophies and other knick-knacks to lay around the living area to make their house feel more authentic - tacky stuff like bowling trophies and the like for Carson, and she got some fake awards for gymnastics and dance, even a few spelling bee awards for herself. Drew made sure that nameplates, tags and labels were all generic enough that there were no specific names, dates or places. She even printed up various "awards" and certificates on her printer that she mounted in certain "strategic" places. There were no pictures, though - that couldn't be helped - but she did her best.

The next thing they did was for Carson to renew his driver's license and for Drew to take her driver's test. Now both of them had real driver's licenses with their new-real faces with Richmond County / Staten Island addresses.

They then bought a couple of used cars - Carson settled for a sporty, two-year-old 6-series BMW. Drew trawled the net and decided on a blue 2005 two-door Opel Tigra Twin Top. Girly enough for someone like Drew, but offbeat enough that Andy's nerdy-individualistic sensibilities were satisfied. Carson then cashed another certificate and opened new bank accounts and credit cards for the both of them. Using these cards and their bank accounts as references, they got a few more credit cards. Drew also started souping up her new ride.

Carson then started the process of enrolling Drew in a good public school. This time, she would be a junior instead of a senior. But that's how it goes.

All of this was expensive, tedious and a little bit painful because, with each prop, each new piece of furniture or appliance, it was like replacing parts of their lives with something that was a fake, or at best, something new that had no connection to them. The most painful part was when they destroyed the last of their personal stuff - Andy and Bill Fayne's pictures, IDs and other things identifiable with their old lives. Drew had wanted to keep a few pictures and medallions that were dear to her, but Carson insisted that they get rid of everything. As the last of their pictures burned in the backyard barbecue, father and new-daughter held each other with tears in their eyes, and watched the last of their former lives go up in smoke.

"Guess this is it, honey," Carson said, as he hugged his new daughter around the waist with one arm, and used a fireplace poker to make sure the rest of it was completely burned up.

Drew put her head on her dad's shoulder and savored the word "honey," turning it over and over in her head. In the end, she decided that she liked it. She kissed her dad on the cheek and went back into the house.

"I feel like eating out," she said cheerily before she stepped through the kitchen door. "How about we try that lobster place we saw yesterday?"

Carson nodded. "Sounds good to me," he answered. He tipped a glass of water into the remaining embers in the grill (safety first, he thought) and followed his daughter into their house.

      
      
Eight:     School Again

When they had settled into their new house, Drew had taken along bus ride to the city where she and her dad had hatched the plan. She had gotten two more wigs, some wig stands, wig shampoo (and instructions) and other wig paraphernalia. (Her cover was that the wigs were for her sister who was recovering from chemotherapy) But she had resolved that, as soon as her hair was long enough, she'll get rid of the wigs.

So, for now, Drew would be sporting long blonde hair to school.

Drew pulled into the school's parking lot. It was her first day in her new school. Like a cliché girl, she had spent hours agonizing over what to wear. She actually hadn't had much sleep over worrying about her first day.

She was glad Dad knew Jane's measurements (he had undoubtedly helped Uncle Dave buy stuff for Jane before) since she was exactly the same size. Now, all her girl clothes were in the correct sizes for her. Drew regretted trying to match Jane's sizes so closely. She didn't realize how... inconvenient breasts can be. Thinking back, she might have done better getting smaller breasts, or even no breasts at all. Ah, well. If Jane could do it, she could do it, too.

In the end, she had worn a short-sleeved magenta jacket over a sleeveless silk-like ivory top with muted pastel flowers, and had partnered them with navy blue shorts and purple strappy heels. It was an outfit that Jane would have worn, and she hoped she did her justice.

She had just settled her new Opel (currently being "upgraded") into her assigned parking spot when she heard someone call out, "Hey!"

She looked at her rearview and saw a big guy leaning out of a Ford F150, gesticulating wildly.

"Goddamn it!" he yelled. "That's my parking space. Move your fuckin' crate outa my parking space!"

Drew took a deep breath. Okay, she said to herself, this is it - showtime.

She opened her door, stuck one shapely, clean-shaven leg out, paused for effect for a second, and then stepped onto the parking lot asphalt. "Excuse me?" she said. She walked to the guy's car, deliberately swinging her liposuction-enhanced curves.

The guy looked at her, with eyes that were about to fall out. "Ummm..."

Drew walked up to the guy's car door, her books coquettishly in front of her. She was at once being demure and alluring.

"Ummm.... parking... you... my slot... ummm... mine?"

Drew giggled, hiding her smile behind a hand mock-shyly. "But this is my space." She showed the piece of paper the school office gave her. "See?"

"Ummm.... but... well..." The guy suddenly realized how he was starting to sound. He sighed. "Okay. Your spot. I'll find another."

Drew smiled at him sweetly.

"Thank you..." the guy said, and watched her go, eyes again about to fall out. She thought it funny that he was the one saying “thank you.”

"Byeeee..." Drew said and gave him a finger wave.

As Drew walked up the steps to the front entrance to the school, she saw a couple of cute girls.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," the taller girl answered and gave her a smile.

The two of them started walking with her.

"That was great, the way you handled Ned," the other girl said. "It was amazing, actually," she giggled.

"Who?"

"Ned Nickerson? The big jock in the parking lot?"

"Oh! Him!" And the three of them giggled.

"You got him eating out of your hand!" she said, and started to imitate the guy's voice. "Ummm.... parking... you... my slot... ummm... mine?" She made her voice ridiculously low.

The three of them giggled again.

"Him Tarzan, you Jane," the other girl said, also in a low voice, and they all giggled again.

"My name's Andrea, by the way," Drew said. "Andrea Nance. But people call me Drew."

"Hi, Drew, My name's Iola Morton," the shorter, cuter girl said. "This is my best friend, Callie Shaw."

"Hi." There were handshakes all around.

"Listen," Drew said, "I have to go to the office and do some stuff. Maybe we can meet up later?"

"Sounds good," Iola said. "We'll meet you at lunchtime."

Drew looked at the two girls. On impulse, she hugged each girl in turn.

"It's good to make new friends," Drew said. She gave them a finger wave and walked down the hallway towards the school's administrative office. Her new friends smiled in surprised delight,

Kids stopped to take a look at the new student, especially the boys.

Phil Cohen, one of the more notorious of the detention kids, turned to his buds. "Watch out, dudes," he said, "new mega-babe in the house." He gave an appreciative whistle as Drew walked by, and got a reprimand from the school coach.

"Behave yourself, Mr. Cohen," Coach Fenton warned.

"Oops... sorry, Coach."

- - - - -

Drew walked into the school admin office for her welcome-to-school interview, and the school principal's secretary greeted her.

"Hello," the secretary said. "You must be Andrea Nance, our new student."

"Yes, I am, but please call me Drew."

"Okay, Drew. Have a seat over there with the other students. I'll call you when the boss is ready for you."

Drew nodded and found a seat among the kids sitting on the bench. She nervously smiled at everyone and fidgeted under the interested gaze of the kids that surrounded her, but as she waited, the others introduced themselves.

Drew smiled in relief as the guys seemed very friendly, but they weren't too chatty - they were in the principal's office after all, and you normally don't go to the principal's office unless you were in trouble.

As she waited to be called, she had time to muse about the dips and turns her life had taken so far, especially in the last couple of months. The fact that she now thinks of herself as a "her" made her think how far her new life was from her old one, and what it took to get here.

As her bench-mates got called in one by one, she thought of their murdered housekeeper, who was sort of like a surrogate mother to her, and her dead uncle and beloved cousin. If only Jane could see her now, she thought, and smiled sadly.

But one needs to move forward. First things first, though - get a handle on the school situation, and how to handle life as a teenage girl. As Andy, he had just barely started dating. As Drew, she wondered. That Iola seemed pretty interesting... And then she needed to help her dad get that job in that company that was mentioned in a lot of the files that were in Uncle Dave's hard drive. After all, that was what all of this was about - get some solid evidence together and catch the ones responsible for the deaths of Jane, Uncle Dave and Maria. Though she couldn't be everyone's boy sleuth anymore, she was sure she could be the school's new girl detective. Which reminded her - she hadn't seen any of the latest books from James Ellroy or David Peace in a while. Maybe she can ask her new friends later where the good bookstores were around here. Maybe she can even build her collection of Nancy Drew books back up again.

New beginnings, she mused. Such wonderful, scary things...

"Drew," the principal's secretary called. "Miss Nance! Nance, Drew! The principal will see you now."

Drew giggled.

      
      

To see the rest of Bobbie's stories in BCTS, click this link - http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/14775/roberta-j-cabot To see the old Working Girl Blogs,   click this link - http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/19261/working-girl-blogs To see all of Bobbie's blogposts, click this link - http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog/bobbie-c      note: pictures used are publicly-accessible pictures from the net - no i.p. or copyright infringement is intended

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Author's Note: This story makes use of a lot of real-world locations, such as New York City, Staten Island, New Jersey, Riverdale and other places. Though their representations in the story are similar to RL, modifications were made for the sake of the story. These changes, and any impressions they may give the reader, are, in no way, intended to represent true life, much less to objectify or denigrate real people and real places. They are here only to provide continuity and verisimilitude for the story. Advance apologies to Staten Islanders: the Staten Island stereotypes in this story are in no way the personal image of the author for Islanders. Again, these stereotypes from the popular media were just exaggerated and used here for purposes of the story.

Also, as in the previous story, though inspired by the Nancy Drew (and Hardy Boys) books, the 2002 TV-movie, the 2007 movie, as well as the "re-boot" graphic novel series "Nancy Drew, Girl Detective," this story is not related to them in any way. And though many of the names used are from the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys stories, they are used in the story only as a tribute: other than their names being similar, the characters have no connection to Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys stories. The title of this story is also a kind of tribute - "The Secret of the Old Clock" is the title of the first Nancy Drew novel, which seemed appropriate to use, as this is the first full stand-alone story of Drew Nance. Again, the similarity ends with the name.

Furthermore, the pictures used are publicly accessible pictures from the Internet: no ownership is claimed; no copyright or IP infringement is intended.

I also apologize if you encounter any disconnects in terms of any real-world references: i.e. real-world events etc. not referenced in the proper time sequence, or old popular figures referred to as if they’re current ones - this story was written over a long period of time. I hope you can bear with me.

As for my story, I hereby serve notice that I am retaining the rights to my story. I did not want to be tedious by mentioning this, but given the reported incidences of plagiarism in BCTS/Amazon/Fictionmania and other sites and venues, I had to have this on record. I appeal to the reader to notify me or the administrators of the sites/venues involved if you notice anyone... "borrowing" my story, or parts of it, and claiming it as theirs.

If you wish to read the background of Drew Nance, or the prologue story, please see "Girl Detective Redux – A Beginning," to be found in this site. But you don't need to - as mentioned, "The Secret of the Old Clock" is/can be a stand-alone story.

Now, onwards.

- Bobbie

 
 
One: Bill and Carson / Drew and Andy

He woke up to morning sunshine streaming from his window. Must be late in the morning already, judging by the position of the sun. He wondered why his alarm didn't wake him, and then he recalled it was Saturday. He probably didn't turn it on last night or Maria might have turned it off. He felt an odd movement on his chest, and when he looked out his window, he wondered why the big oak that had always been outside his bedroom window wasn't there. And then that brought it all crashing back.

The reason the tree wasn't there was because this wasn't their house in River Heights. That house was gone now. This was their new house in Staten Island. Can you believe it? Staten Island... Of all the places in New York to choose to live in...

Maria was gone, and he wasn't Andy Fayne anymore. He was Drew Nance now. And he was a girl.

- - - - -

A little under four months ago, unknown assailants murdered crusading attorney David Fayne, his daughter Jane and their housekeeper Marie. That was because David was on track to uncovering a large criminal conspiracy involving high finance and an unknown corporate entity. Before he could, they were murdered. But, before they died, David was able to pass on some of his information to his brother Bill.

But, apparently, David didn’t cover his tracks well enough so the bad guys were able to follow the trail back to his brother Bill, forcing Bill and his son, Andy, to go underground and escape being murdered themselves.

With the help of David’s friend, New York police lieutenant Frank Hardy, Bill and Andy were able to take up their new identities as the Nances – alternate identities that David had concocted for himself and Jane in case they needed to go underground, too. And with the information David provided Bill, he and Andy initiated a long-term plan to continue David’s work, find their murderers and bring them to justice.

Bill and Andy knew that it would probably take a long time, but they didn’t care. And while they were doing that, they would, in the meantime, safely live normal lives as their alter egos. With the plastic surgery provided by a bootleg doctor and his slightly mad nurse, Sally, and Andy’s supersleuthing, their disguises were as foolproof as could be. There was a little complication, however.

Bill easily took over the identity of the fictitious New York legal eagle, Carson Nance, and Andy took on Jane’s alter ego of Andrea Nance. The thing was, Andrea was supposed to be a girl...

- - - - -

Andy padded into the bathroom, sleep shirt flapping around his knees, and opened the tap to the tub. While the tub filled, Andy... or rather Andrea (Drew to her friends)... stood in front of the mirror and brushed her teeth in the methodical manner that her dead cousin Jane used. She didn't bother to look for her razor. No need to shave anymore now: After Nurse Sally's thorough and aggressive electrolysis and laser hair removal regimen, all Drew had left was the hair on her head, her lashes, brows, and pubes (now electrolyzed and trimmed into a feminine shape, and without the little trail going up to her bellybutton).

She then went to the toilet, pulled her sleep shirt up and her panties down, and sat. She listened to the gurgling water filling the tub while she finished. When she was almost done, she heard her android cell phone ring (she remembered her trusty though now outdated Motorola Razr her gran gave her for her tenth birthday, but that was gone now, along with the rest of their stuff and their old house).

After a quick wipe and wash, she pulled her boy-style panties up and her sleep shirt down, flushed, washed her hands and went to her dresser. She checked, and it was just Iola sending her an SMS text. They had Saturday cheerleader practice *again* (Drew could practically hear Iola sigh) so she would have to meet them at Iola's place tonight instead of them doing their usual Saturday thing.

Drew sent an okay and a cross-eyed emoji, and as she was putting her phone down, Iola texted again and suggested that, since she would have the time now, maybe this was the right time for her to get a new 'do.

Drew giggled. Iola was as one-track-minded as she. Or, rather, as obsessive. They've been arguing for weeks now about Drew's hairstyle. Iola and Callie had complained that since the two of them met Drew over three months ago, Drew had never changed her style, and that she has been due for a change for a long time now.

But how could she change her hairstyle? It was a wig, after all. Neither Callie nor Iola knew that, of course.

Drew wasn't wearing her wig now. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, at her pretty, feminine face and her near-shoulder-length dark-blonde hair full of split ends. At the back of the reflection, she could just glimpse her closet, where she kept the three wigs she wore alternatingly. Yes - obviously, she couldn't change her 'do' since it was a wig. But, looking at her real hair, it looked like it had grown long enough that she could now do without a wig and still look feminine. Maybe Iola's right and that she should change her style now. She'd have drastically shorter hair compared to her wig but, if she did, at least the hair would all be real and she wouldn't need to endure the discomfort of the wig, nor the constant fear of it falling off or slipping. She decided to go for it and texted Iola, cc Callie, that she'll be going to Iola's favorite salon later, and that she'll be over at Iola's later tonight to show off her new do. As she finished sending the text, she realized what she was doing and she suddenly burst into silent tears.

Almost four months ago, she was a boy. A young man just finding himself. But he had transformed himself into a girl - one of the popular ones in school at that - one that moved in that rarefied circle that popular girls like Iola and Callie moved in. She used to remember, back in River Heights when she didn't used to play-act at being a girl, how he, as Andy, looked at those kinds of girls and wondered if he'd ever have a girlfriend like that.

Now he was one of those girls.

He, or rather she, locked the bathroom door, skinned the oversized sleep shirt over her head and looked at herself naked from the waist up. Though shapely and well built, she looked far younger than the seventeen she was supposed to be on paper (she supposedly just had her seventeenth birthday a few weeks ago). She was a c-cup now, just like her dead cousin Jane used to be. Drew now had perfect, rounded breasts that had no hint of a sag, and was just large enough to look spectacular yet still look natural.

There were no scars since Doctor Joe used a technique called Transumbilical Breast Augmentation, or TUBA, where the implants were inserted through a tube that passed through a small incision inside her bellybutton (so whatever scars she will have will be hidden). He was also able to position them under a thin layer of her pectoral muscles - the only one who is currently able to do this without using a Trans-Axillary approach (he used an instrument of his own design - something that looked like a piece of piano wire permanently bent into the shape of a shallow scythe), and inflated the implants with saline by using the tube. It was a difficult operation, but "Doctor Joe" was the best in his field in the state of New York, probably in the entire United States (although unacknowledged by the medical community), and the operation went extremely well, just like most of his operations.

The advantages of the partial under-muscle TUBA procedure were the lack of scars and a more natural look, but she had to endure more recovery time - Drew remembered the weeks of pain she had to go through even after it had mostly healed, when the simpler, more common over-the-muscle technique would have finished hurting in half the time. But since she practically had no breast tissue, it had to be under-muscle.

Despite this, and despite the need to replace them again in about ten to fifteen years (just like any breast implant) she felt the procedure was necessary for her masquerade.

She continued to look at her breasts as silent tears fell from her eyes. Were that she was still her old self and that she was actually looking at the reflection of someone else and not her... at least that girl would be a real girl...

She ran her hands over her breasts, marveling at their shape and feel as she always did (she was assured by Nurse Sally that the doctor did a good job - her boobies looked and felt like the real thing - no one would be able to tell), and then down her sides, noting how her hands slid inwards as she traced her somewhat-hourglass-shaped torso, and then out again as she reached her hips, these modest curves courtesy of Doctor Joe's liposuction. The hourglass shape was not too pronounced to make her like a porn star, but it was enough that she looked spectacularly feminine. She continued to cry. What was she now? Was she still a boy, or was she a girl?

The bulge that she hid in her panties was the only thing that was incongruous in her all-girl look. Normally, Drew would have hidden it - she had learned to minimize her... "profile" down there with the use of gaffs and other kinds of minimizing underwear, and other techniques she had learned over the net so that there were no outward indications of who and what she really was when she was fully dressed. But when sleeping, she normally didn't do any of that profile-minimizing stuff, even if she wore female sleep-clothes exclusively now (she had no boy clothes anymore).

Despite the feminine curves, implants, lipo and female facial characteristics courtesy of Doctor Joe's operations, she hadn't done any real, fundamental changes to her body. Everything she had had done were all still reversible. No hormone treatments much less a sexual reassignment operation - no drastic stuff. True, she had gone back to Sally, Doctor Joe's little pneumatically enhanced assistant, and had a series of daily hair removal sessions and had all of the inappropriate hair removed permanently. But that was nothing - she was still male, even if she didn't have hair anymore except on her head, eyebrows, eyelashes and pubes.

But, she thought, was she still a "he" anymore? Her behavior as a "she" was by now so automatic that she often wondered if it was all even still an act. She even reflexively used female pronouns for herself now. She cleared her throat and tried humming a few notes in her old guy voice, and she found that she couldn't.

She cursed her thorough nature, but she knew it was necessary. Being found out was so easy - one slip-up could mean suspicion and eventual discovery, so she and her dad had to live and act as the people they were supposed to be now, and do it so consistently until it became so perfect, automatic and ingrained that the contrived behavior and responses were second nature. And this had finally happened for her.

The all-or-nothing approach appealed to her almost-obsessive-compulsive nature. She had insisted, and her dad had agreed: all the way. They knew that this may save their lives one day, especially since the people that had her beloved cousin, uncle and housekeeper killed were still out there, maybe even still looking for them. And they could not afford to die, even slightly (she laughed bitterly at the morbid joke) if they wanted to push through with their plans to bring the bad guys down.

She knew all the reasons, and she knew it was all logically correct. But was it worth it, if the price was the loss of who she really was?

She continued to cry silently as she threw the sleep shirt in the dirty clothes hamper, as well as her Liz Claiborne boy-style women's boxers (it was the closest thing she could find to male-looking women's underwear), turned the water off, poured bath salts in the tub, sloshed the water around, and then sat in the water.

Nowadays, as much as possible, instead of a shower, she always took a bath in the morning, and another before bedtime - it was part of her daily regimen that Sally taught her so that she could keep her now-hairless skin femininely soft and femininely fragrant.

It had paid off a few times: she had caught some people appreciatively inhaling near her, and Callie once said that she had the softest skin, innocently running her hand along Drew's arm. Drew had to labor really hard not to react inappropriately that time.

Most everything that she had done in the past few months had hammered her masculinity into little pieces - her manner of dress, her contrived behavior, her little gestures and mildly flirty demeanor, her choice of new friends, new hobbies and areas of interest, even her peppiness which she worked real hard at to keep up, since she knew it helped keep her dad's spirits up. Everything. And over time it had become automatic and it stopped bothering her anymore. Even sitting in a bathtub full of flowery-smelling soapy water, soaking, lightly wiping down her torso, breasts, limbs and face with a soaped-up terrycloth bath towelette, didn't bother her anymore. And the fact that it didn't bother her just added to her misery. It was all part of a plan, that it was all really just play-acting, necessary to hide them from the bad guys so that, someday, they'd have a chance to bring them down. It was just... sometimes it just gets to be too much.

And was it even play-acting anymore? The fact that she reflexively referred to herself in the feminine now just made her cry some more.

And she had boobs...

With all the water, no one would have been able to tell if she was still crying, but she was. And she sobbed. Great, loud wracking sobs. She couldn't stop herself. Thoughts of her old friends George and Bess sprang up in her mind, and what they would think of her if they could see her now. But even so, the reality that she will not see them again - that hurt even more.

It was a long time coming. Months of suppressing "her" feelings came to this. Her girlish sobs echoed in the closed bathroom as she washed her new breasts.

She heard a knocking at her bathroom door.

"Honey?" her dad called from behind the door.

She stopped. "Yeah, Dad?" she said, clearing her throat and sniffing back the tears.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Even she could hear her lying tone. But she had to, to spare her dad. "Just taking a bath."

"Don't stay too long in there. You might catch a cold. And you know how pruney you get." She was sure even her dad knew how lame that sounded.

"Okay."

"And, Andy..."

She stopped again. Her dad hadn't called her by that name in a long time. Not since the start of the masquerade.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I love you. And I'm very proud of you... Now, finish up so we can have breakfast. Blueberry pancakes are okay?"

Blueberry pancakes were Andy's favorite. Drew had not indulged in any of Andy's favorites since she came into existence.

"Sounds great," she said hoarsely. Oh, Dad...

"Okay. Come on down whenever you're ready."

She had started crying again, but they were happier tears now.

"I'll be down in a few. Thanks, Dad."

"I love you, Andy," he said again, softly, but loud enough that she could hear him through the door. "... And I love you, Drew... never doubt that."

Drew tried to stop her heart from bursting.

Her dad didn't say anything anymore, and she knew he was on his way downstairs now, to make up a batch of his special pancake mix.

She realized she wasn't alone in this, and as much as she was doing it for her and her dad, she was reminded again that so was he. She couldn't believe how arrogant, how self-centered, how self-obsessed she was, that she overlooked her dad's role in this. She nodded to herself. She wasn't alone in this.

She felt like she could do anything now, like she was invulnerable, so long as her dad was with her. And all of this didn't really matter. Him, her - who cares about pronouns? What mattered was that they were family, and that they were together.

She started hurrying through her bath and quickly finished shampooing her hair.

Dad's blueberry pancakes! Boy, oh boy!

- - - - -

After she moisturized and powdered herself all over with the moisturizer Sally gave her and the baby powder that she knew Jane used to use, put on light make-up and arranged her short locks as best she could, she turned to her closet. Hmmm... What to wear...

She decided on a casual kind of look today, so she picked a cream-colored cowl neck tee with a hi-lo back over a tight, rayon-spandex tunic-length tank in a flannel-grey color. She partnered them with a melon-colored tulip miniskirt with front and back ruching to hide any... bumps. A slim fit and an asymmetrical hemline gave the skirt just the right amount of flirty sassiness that her Dad couldn't object to yet still keep her near the top of the school's sexy, well-dressed list. Underneath, she wore a pair of full, thick panties in white spandex-cotton that were almost like bicycle shorts, almost as good as a gaff in keeping things down. At least its color matched her white t-shirt bra. Wearing skirts always made her wary of flashing people and possibly exposing her secret, so it was a full panty this time. At least, with the skirt's ruching, it would camouflage any unexplained bumps if there were any, so she didn't need to resort to a gaff.

The finishing touch was a strappy pair of day-heels in butterscotch. It had a four-and-a-half heel but that included the one-and-a-half platform, so the heels were only three inches. The slightly thick heel will help her with the balancing, but the added height will offset any minus-points the slightly wide heel gave her. With the pair on, she fancied she was almost as tall as her dad.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she noted that the shortish shoulder-length hair actually set the whole outfit off. Because the edges of her hair were ragged (after all, she hadn't trimmed them in months), she deliberately messed her hair up a bit so the uneven ends would look deliberate and chic. There. Just a bit of the skater girl look to contrast with the sexy outfit. She was sure Jane would have approved.

She reached up to the uppermost part of her closet, pulled from its special hiding space the dainty little magenta girlie-backpack that contained her folder of paper notes on their "project," the "non-traceable" netbook that they had bought at that pawnshop an eternity ago, its power adapter and the little wireless USB Internet stick that she got along with the netbook. She slung it on, went to her dresser and got a couple of the unused day-long prepaid wireless Internet cards that they bought before, and stuffed them in the backpack.

She then selected a small, snow-white leather purse from her "collection" of purses. Hardly bigger than one of Jane's pocketbooks, she dumped the contents of her purse from yesterday into the chic little clutch, and what couldn't fit she put in the backpack. She slung the purse's strap over her shoulder then walked downstairs.

"Good morning, Pops," Drew said, and bussed her father on the cheek.

Bill Fayne, or rather, "Carson Nance," noted the "Pops." It was Jane's pet name for his brother Dave. They were both dead now, of course. Bill knew that part of the reason his son could play his Drew role so well was because he, now she, used Jane as her template, often copying her speech and behavior almost move-for-move and word-for-word. Her eerily perfect fashion sense, for example, was "inherited" from Jane. So, for her to call him "Pops" meant Drew's back and is emulating Jane. Thank god she'd recovered from that bathroom episode earlier.

He knew that few kids could pull such a thing off, but with his son's, or rather "daughter's" genius mind and incredible eye for detail, it had gone off flawlessly. She had even risen through the ranks of her school's social hierarchy and, according to the school counselor, had become the "it" girl of her junior class. He knew Andy never achieved the male equivalent of this in his old school, and was therefore surprised that Andy was able to do it in the guise of Drew Nance, and all in three months. He was also delighted (and greatly amused) that Drew now had two new best friends - Iola Morton and Callie Shaw, a pair of gorgeous cheerleaders, also in the junior class. Carson could feel her unrequited, un-expressed feelings every time Drew talked about these girls, and who could blame her? Her raging teenage male hormones were trapped. "Carson" commiserated with his daughter-son, but was greatly amused, too - Drew had to settle for being a best friend to these teen hotties when Carson knew she-he wanted to be so much more than that. Drew also had a bunch of boys sniffing around her, but Carson didn't worry about that - being a boy as well, Drew had an instinctive recognition of the boys' intentions and moves, and was able to run rings around them. But it had boomeranged - far from making her a pariah among the boys, this just made Drew more unattainable and, therefore, hotter in the eyes of the male population of her school.

As Drew sat down, Carson put three pancakes on her plate despite her protests. He knew they were just token protests, anyway - Carson knew how much Andy loved his special blueberry pancakes, diet or no diet.

He himself just had one because he knew he was going to the golf club later for a game and a bite, and an afternoon of middle-aged frivolity with his new cronies. Over the months since they moved into their new house, he had worked hard to develop friendships with the neighbors as well as the "who's who" of the local business community. It was his only way to establish his street cred, as Drew would have put it. The new connections will help when it's time to get a job. The rest of the time, he studied up on financial law, which was hard going because, as Bill Fayne, he was a criminal law expert, while Carson Nance was supposed to be some financial-legal whiz with an incredible portfolio under his arm. So most of his days now were spent in the library or on the Internet, upgrading his knowledge and area of expertise. He often said to Drew, it was like he was studying for the bar all over again. In a way, it was like he needed to - he needed to learn the nuances of New York State law, anyway, even if his Carson credentials said he was certified and already an expert.

"So," Carson said, and smiled as he watched his "daughter" stuff herself with his pancakes. "What do you have planned for today? I suppose you'll be doing your usual Saturday thing with the girls?"

Drew took her napkin and burped demurely into it. "Can't. Iola and Callie have Saturday cheerleader practice. Again!" She made a girlie gesture of exasperation. So very like her deceased cousin.

"Can't be helped, I suppose," Carson said to Drew. "Didn't you say there are lots of away games for the Foxes since it's near the end of term?" He was referring to their varsity team.

"Actually, it's near the end of the entire season for the school. In fact the next two weeks are gonna be the football and basketball finals, so the cheerleaders have to practice a lot to get ready, even on the weekends. Sheesh!"

"Sheesh," Carson thought - another Jane-ism. But he chided himself that he should quit doing that - comparing Jane to Drew. It isn't fair to Drew.

"So what are you doing, then?" Carson asked.

"Iola convinced me to have my hair done. What do you think? Is it long enough that I can do without the wig?" She struck a pose.

"I think so. Just make sure to have them trim the cow licks and the split ends."

She gave him a loud and moist razzberry and Carson chuckled.

"Where will you have it done?" he asked.

"I'm thinking of Iola's and Callie's regular place? At the mall?"

Carson thought a while. "I don't think that's a good idea, honey," he said. "The people there will see you without the wig when all they've ever seen of you before was always with the wig. They might suspect, and they're liable to talk with your friends about it."

"But what if I can explain the short hair? I can tell 'em I tried cutting my own hair but I botched it and wanted it fixed."

Carson looked thoughtful. Drew frowned.

"But you don't like it," Drew said, noticing his expression.

"Well, I don't know," Carson replied. "I suppose you can make some kind of explanation for showing up with short hair, but people you know will still ask a lot of stuff unlike strangers, and it's easier to not get caught in a lie if you don't have to answer a lot of questions. Why take the risk of spreading rumors?"

Drew sighed. "You're right... I never even thought of that. You're pretty smart."

"But of course," he said expansively.

Drew gave him another razzberry. "Smarty-pants!" she said, and giggled.

"Okay," she said after a few bites. "I'll go to a different salon to minimize the number of people asking questions. But I'll still tell the girls I tried cutting my own hair but I botched it and wanted it fixed. Just in case."

She got up, went to Carson's study and came back a minute later with a sheet of paper.

"What's that," Carson said as she sat back down.

"I went on Yelp and printed out a list of some beauty salons in the area. Guess I'll go to this one." She pointed to the printed screen-cap page, at a name with four stars beside it.

"Why not this one? It has four and a half stars."

"That's a tattoo parlor."

"Oh..."

"Not so smart after all, huh?" She gave her dad an evil grin.

Carson grabbed her and started tickling her. She screamed and started giggling. "Stop! Stop!" she cried, and tried to stop laughing but couldn't. "Stop the tickle torture! Dad, nooo..."

Carson was relentless. Drew's tickle spots haven't changed since he last did this. Andy was, what, eight? A tickle torture was long overdue.

Carson thought Drew felt different. Sure, the breasts and the face. But her skin was softer, her manner so different. Similar to Jane, but not exactly. Was Andy still somewhere inside Drew?

And then Drew let out a peal of laughter that was all Andy. He hadn't heard that laugh in over ten years, not since Andy was a kid. Yes, she was still Andy.

He stopped the tickle torture and hugged Drew. Out of breath and a little panicked, Drew reflexively hugged her dad back, but as she calmed down, her dad's emotions became clearer. She renewed the hug.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

- - - - -

After Drew had recovered, they finished breakfast - Carson knew Drew wouldn't leave without finishing off the pancakes, and didn't hurry her.

He asked her what she planned after the haircut. She said she'd probably shop a little bit. Carson rolled his eyes at that.

"Also," Drew said defensively, "I'm gonna do some more research on our, you know, project."

Carson nodded soberly. During most of her free time, when she wasn't doing homework, hanging out with her new girlfriends or shopping, Drew continued trying to track down the people who had Jane, her uncle Dave, and their housekeeper Maria murdered. And when she's done and they finally knew who were responsible, it would be Carson's turn.

Drew did most of her research over the web. She used the little netbook PC that they bought at a pawnshop months ago every time she worked on the "project." By doing so, and by using prepaid Internet access, her Internet activities wouldn't be traceable back to them, or at least make tracing them extremely difficult. They could have used some kind of proxy service, or something along those lines, but Drew decided to use anonymous prepaid access instead.

"Do you have enough Internet cards?" Carson asked.

Drew nodded. "I still have a couple of those twenty-dollar all-day cards. I'm good."

"Where do you think you'll be going this time?"

When they started all this, Drew explained that, though unlikely, despite their precautions, people could still trace her location if they knew to look through the appropriate Internet access records, even if they couldn't identify who she was.

Still, the only conceivable way that this could even be possible was if they knew her little computer's MAC address, or BIA or EHA or whatever they called the computer's unique physical address, and she couldn't imagine any way they could connect it with her. She wasn't Andy: she was Drew - no association whatsoever with the Faynes. And they got the little computer second-hand from a pawnshop, and paid for it in cash - no names at all.

But, even though it was already near impossible, she did one other precaution. For her dad.

She decided to do her surfing at places far away from the house, specifically in various places in New Jersey, so, in that unlikely possibility of someone being able to trace her computer, that person would assume she was from New Jersey instead of New York because of all her traffic history. She'd done this enough times that she had accumulated enough surfing history that this was yet another layer of subterfuge - another wall that the bad guys will have to bust through to get to her and her dad.

When her dad asked the question where again, Drew shook herself out of her reverie and finished the final bite of her last pancake, stood up and went to the big map of New Jersey and New York tacked on the kitchen wall. They kept that map there for the express purpose of selecting Drew's Internet access locations. Drew covered her eyes and randomly stabbed at the map with her pointing finger.

She uncovered her eyes and peered at where her finger was. "Somerset County it is," she said.

"Okay," Carson responded. "Pick a safe place, and keep your phone and GPS handy."

"I will." She reached for the little plastic medicine bottles inside the kitchen cupboard and took the vitamins that "Doctor Joe" prescribed. They were just vitamin and mineral supplements, but manufactured in Sweden and not sold locally, probably because there were already lots of cheaper US-made equivalents. Drew had researched them and found they were just harmless supplements that were supposed to promote softer and smoother skin and shiny, healthy hair.

She had decided to buy the locally-available ones when she found out they were available, but Doctor Joe swore by the efficacy of the Swedish supplements, and Nurse Sally kept on coming by every few weeks or so to get Drew's "prescription" refilled. And Dad didn't really mind the cost, so she continued taking them.

Once, Sally noticed that Drew wasn't taking the supplements, so Sally decided to give her vitamin booster shot versions right on the spot. So, from then on, to avoid being stuck by booster injections, Drew started to religiously take her morning vitamins just as religiously as she did her twice-daily bath-and-moisturizer routine. The brand of the supplement really had a funny Swedish name - "Sats Sju." Sally said that it was pronounced "sats sweoo." Drew didn't care, really, but she still took care to pronounce it right so Sally wouldn't be too irritated with her.

"Listen," Carson said, sipping his coffee as he watched her take her vitamins and then put the plastic bottles away. "When you were in the bathroom - I think I understand. It's hard for me, too. Not as hard as it is for you, I know, but still hard. Thing is..." He looked her in the eyes. "We really have no choice. Please believe me, if we had any other way..." He looked down. "I will understand if you say you'd rather chuck all this. It'll be okay." He looked up again, and gave her a sad smile. "I'm sure Lieutenant Hardy can fix it for us. We can walk away from all of this, start over again somewhere. We have over three million in cash, not to mention the still-uncashed certificates. That'll allow us to start all over again, in style."

"No, Dad!" Drew cried. "We can't let the bad guys get away with it! What about Jane and Uncle Dave? What about Maria?"

"I can't stand what this is doing to you, I..."

Drew leaned down, grabbed her dad and hugged him hard.

"I'm okay, Dad," she whispered in his ear. "I promise."

She felt him about to protest. "I swear I'm okay! Promise!"

He pulled back, held her at arm's length and looked deeply into her eyes. She felt a little scared - it was like her dad was looking into her soul. After a while, Carson nodded and hugged her again, gently this time.

"Okay, then. But we can quit this anytime you say. And you talk to me anytime you want to. About whatever you want. Okay?"

She hugged him back. "Okay," she whispered hoarsely, crying soft tears.

"Okay," he agreed. He smiled at her and handed her some tissues.

She giggled. "My makeup's ruined now." She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"You look like a Goth." They both laughed.

She wiped away most of the mascara. "I'll fix it later." She got her backpack and purse. "First things first. I'm gonna have my hair done."

Drew bussed her dad again and walked to the front door, but just before stepping out, she turned back.

"Dad?" she said.

"Yeah, hon?"

"I love you, too," she said quietly, but loud enough that it carried to her dad. She felt the sting of fresh tears and quickly stepped out the door before they could fall.

 
Two: Julian and His Fifi / Pixie and Her Bob

After fixing her makeup, Drew started up her more than eight-year-old blue Opel Tigra Twin Top, this time with the top down. She usually drove with the top up, but since she wasn't worried about her wig this time, she decided to have it down.

A lot had been done to her car since she got it three months ago, but pains were taken to make none of it obvious, except for it's new wheels and glossy, new electric-blue paint job. And even though the modifications cost a lot of money, her dad didn't complain, gave her a free hand in having them done, and paid for everything (Drew insisted it be in cash, though, and minimize the traceability trail).

She arrived at the hair salon called "Benzaiten" a little past nine AM (thank God for GPS, Google Maps and the relatively light Saturday morning traffic), and easily found a parking spot. She seemed to have an easier time finding parking spots nowadays now that she was a girl. And the times she was all set to argue a disputed parking space, the other person, typically a guy, would usually give in. She supposed it was one of the perks of being a girl. She reasoned that, if she had to be stereotyped, she's going to use all the advantages that stereotype gave her.

She walked into the salon and went to the receptionist's counter. The waiting area had a faintly Japanese motif, but the hair salon itself looked mostly like any other salon, or as Drew imagined them to be - she had never been in one before, after all. There was a long line of girls near her age and a few older women waiting, sitting around at the salon's fairly large lounge-slash-waiting area. She wondered if that was normal for salons.

As she waited for someone to help her, she heard a gasp. She turned.

"Oh, my God!" cried an obviously gay man in a bright silk shirt and linen pants so thin and tight she could actually see the outline of his... bing-bong and chickadees.

"What have you done to your hair!" he exclaimed. He took hold of her elbow. "Come with me, quick!"

"Ellen!" he called out. "We have an emergency here. Give her a thorough wash and condition, stat!"

"Right away, Julian!" a girl responded. As the girl took over, she smiled and whispered to Drew. "Don't mind him, dear. He's very eccentric but he's a total genius with hair and makeup. He must see something in you for him to put you at the head of the line, and without an appointment, too. See those girls?" She pointed at the women sitting in the waiting area. "They've been there since eight this morning, waiting." They were looking back at her with faint resentment, probably for jumping the line.

"You're kidding," Drew said.

"Nope," the girl, Ellen, responded. She took Drew's things and put them behind the counter, put Drew in a long, lavender poncho-like smock thing, brought her to a reclining chair that looked almost like a gynecologist's examination table but without the stirrups and with one side reclined at a sixty-degree angle and attached to a basin. Ellen made Drew lie back and put the back of her neck in a recess on the side of the basin. And then Ellen started washing her hair.

"Betcha I know what happened," Ellen said as she worked. "You cut your own hair and it went wrong, and now that it's grown back a bit, you want to have it fixed."

"Ummm, yeah, something like that. How did you guess?"

Ellen giggled. "Honey, hair's what we do here."

"I just washed my hair this morning, you know."

Ellen shushed her. "Just lie back dearie, and relax and enjoy."

In less than ten minutes, Ellen was done shampooing and conditioning her hair. Then, using a towel, she started to dry it of excess water yet kept it fairly damp.

When she was done, Julian popped out of nowhere again, took Drew by the hand and escorted her to what she thought was something similar to the barber's chairs she was familiar with.

After she got settled in, Julian slowly walked around and around her, looking at her hair, studying it and feeling it from time to time. After the tenth walk-around, Drew started feeling nervous.

"So, what's the verdict?" she asked.

Julian, hands on hips, huffed theatrically. "Absolutely atrocious!" he exclaimed. He snapped his fingers and Ellen was there with a wide-toothed comb and a pair of scissors.

Julian took his instruments and started trimming, making tsk-tsk sounds from time to time.

Drew tried to make small talk the way she'd seen girls in movies do when they were having their hair cut, but Julian shushed her. "Quiet," he said imperiously. "I must concentrate on my art!"

So she kept quiet. Ellen caught Drew's eye and she started making faces. Drew, couldn't help but giggle. Julian playfully bopped her on the top of her head.

"Sorry," she said contritely, and kept as still and quiet as possible.

There were no mirrors so she couldn't see what he was doing, which she found odd. But then again, she'd only been in barbershops before, not women's beauty salons. What did she know?

She couldn't follow what Julian was doing but was sufficiently intimidated that she didn't ask him or say anything at all, but by the feel of it, Julian wasn't doing much - cutting hair occasionally, but mostly combing it out. But Drew looked down at her smock and was surprised at the amount of hair that Julian had cut. Knowing how short her hair was already, she started to worry. "I'm going to be bald," she despaired.

After a while, Julian stopped the cutting, put on gloves, wetted her hair down with a thick liquid that smelled like paint, and started wrapping strands of it in little rectangles of either foil or saran wrap, but squeezing in or painting more yucky-smelling stuff on them first.

After he finished with that, Julian put a shower cap over it, stripped off the disposable plastic gloves, pulled a little timer-stopwatch from his breast pocket and clicked it. He then pulled up a chair and started chatting.

"So, dearie, what's your name," he said.

"My name's Drew, Drew Nance."

Julian waved that away, "I'll call you Pixie. Doesn't she look like a pixie, Ellen?"

"Sure," Ellen responded. She went to the counter in front and started to work on the computer there. Drew assumed she was working on someone's bill or something.

"Hello, Pixie," Julian said with a smile, and shook Drew's hand. "I'm Julian."

"I know."

"You do?" he said delightedly. "So you have heard of my little establishment before!"

"Ummm, no," she admitted sheepishly. "Ahhh, actually I heard Ellen call you Julian. I, ahhh, found your place on the Internet."

At Julian's rising frown, Drew hastened to add, " but I'm new in town! My pop and I moved here just a few months ago, and we don't know the area well yet, and I haven't been to a salon since we moved here, and I'm..."

Julian laughed and smiled. "Hush, dear," he said and laid a finger across her lips. "No need to be defensive about it. However you discovered my place, I'm glad. It's no wonder your hair's in the state it's in! Split end city! How long since your last cut?"

"About three months, I think."

"Well, I will expect you back here regularly. Your next appointment will be in four weeks. Ellen? Pencil in an appointment for Pixie in four weeks, all right?"

"No problem," Ellen responded.

"See that my schedule's clear. No, wait - do I have a morning appointment with Honeybear then?"

"Honeybear?" Drew wondered to herself. "Poor girl, whoever she was. and I thought Pixie was bad."

Ellen checked her computer. "Oh, yeah. I think you're booked solid for that Saturday."

"Oh dear... all right. Call Honeybear, and ask if she's okay with Daryl instead. If she's okay with that, I'll take Pixie."

"Got it." Ellen typed something in her computer. Drew assumed it was some sort of schedule though she wasn't sure. Ellen's work area was pretty cluttered, with the monitor, keyboard, cash register, and what looked like a laminator or bookbinding machine from those copy stores.

"So," Julian said, turning to Drew again. "I like your outfit. Kind of a change from the girls around here. There is a grain of truth in the reputation that us Islanders have, at least in our... sartorial sensibilities. It's good that you're doing your part in reversing the trend."

Drew understood what Julian was referring to. Many of the people she had met and seen had... issues with their fashion sense, and their public behavior. But it wasn't even remotely close to the reputation Staten Islanders had that TV shows have unfairly... amplified, but, as Julian said, there was a grain of truth in it. But Drew let that go, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was good Julian brought up clothes - at least a topic that she was familiar with. After talking clothes and boys with Iola and Callie for months, Drew was well practiced, and she, Julian and Ellen had a ball talking fashion and other related girlie things.

After a while, Julian's timer buzzed.

"All right, dearie, it's time," he said. He escorted her back to the couch with the sink, put on new gloves and started taking out the shower cap, foil and plastic from her hair. He then proceeded to thoroughly rinse out the chemicals, shampoo and condition her hair yet again, with Ellen watching the whole procedure like a hawk.

Incredibly, he also washed her face. Smiling, he patted her cheek.

"Don't worry, m'dear," he said.

Julian asked Ellen to dry her face and hair, which didn't take too much time, and then they went back to the barber's chair where Julian started blow-drying and styling her new do. While he was doing so, he was giving Drew instructions on how to maintain it. Drew, being the fast learner that she was, absorbed all the instructions and hair care information like a sponge.

She saw that he used some hair care products, some in conjunction with the blow dryer - not a lot, but there were a few. From her limited knowledge, she suspected that the brands were expensive ones, but Drew kept note of the items and paid attention to Julian's instructions.

He also started putting makeup on her.

"I'm sorry for washing off your makeup," he said. "It was well done - subtle and tasteful. Very different from how the girls around these parts do theirs. But the water ruined it. Anyway, not to worry!" Drew jumped a little when he raised his voice. "By the time I am done, you will be more gorgeous than ever!"

He then described what he was doing as he did them, and again, Drew took mental notes.

Eventually, Julian was done. With a final flourish, he spritzed her with some perfume or female cologne that she thought had a delicate yet sexy feminine fragrance, and then whipped away the smock. Ellen then came over with a gigantic hand-held mirror. Drew looked and was amazed.

She had ended up with a flippy little bob that didn't even touch the top of her shoulders. Julian had given her a head-turning short hairstyle with an adorable and alluring appeal, which went well with her heart-shaped face. The wavy, flippy bob was sassy and very youthful looking, making the shortness of the hair a plus. She liked it. Julian had also put in a lot of highlights. Her natural dark blonde hair was now golden blonde, with a lot of subtle platinum highlights added at the temples, at the crown, and several strands around her face.

Her face looked like it didn't have any makeup on, but when she pushed Ellen's mirror away a bit and looked at her reflection at arm's length it wasn't that she didn't have any makeup, but it was put on specifically to idealize her face. The countershading and powdered-on highlights, plus just the right amount of lip gloss over the right shade of lipstick made her look natural yet incredible. Julian explained how he did it, and Drew again took mental notes of all of the tricks he used.

She took the mirror from Ellen, and Ellen went to the counter to retrieve her things. As Drew continued to marvel at Julian's work, moving the mirror to see her hair and makeup from different sides and angles, Ellen handed Drew her purse, and took her picture - actually several in quick succession - with a digital camera she undoubtedly got from the counter as well.

Drew blinked in surprise. "You took my picture?" She was surprised and a little angry. After months of hiding their identities...

"You're getting a membership card, honey. Hope that's okay?" Ellen was taken aback. She never thought the new girl was camera shy.

Drew thought a bit. Oh... a picture for a membership card. That put it in a different perspective. She felt like a heel for being suspicious, and made an effort to change her demeanor. "Membership card? Oh, wow!" Ellen giggled and took another picture as she said that.

Drew kept on looking at the mirror, staring at her own reflection. Her hair seemed to fall into its cut naturally, and again marveled that her face didn't seem to have any makeup on it - that she was naturally beautiful. She remembered Julian's instructions and was confident she could replicate everything he did.

When Ellen cleared her throat, Drew realized she was taking up a spot that someone else could be using, and got up.

At the counter, she filled up a membership form. She paused a little bit before filing in her address and other personal details. Worries about being tracked down or being found out flashed through her head fleetingly. In the end, she filled in all the details needed to avoid looking suspicious. Ellen then printed up her bill and she was taken aback when she saw it - it was a little over four hundred dollars, and that's with the member's discount. She didn't make a comment, but that seemed like an awful lot of money. But what did she know - this wasn't a haircut at the corner barbershop, after all. And the women waiting their turn presumably knew how much the services there cost, and they still came.

She kept her doubts to herself, handed her credit card over, signed, got a receipt in return, as well as a plastic ID card in a little transparent pink sleeve with a flap. So that was what Ellen was doing with the computer - she was making up her card.

The ID was the size of a credit card but was oriented vertically. The whole front was taken up by her "oh, wow" picture, with the name, "Pixie" near the bottom and the stylized name of the salon in the upper-left corner. She looked like Macaulay Culkin in that poster from "Home Alone." If Macaulay was a smokin' hot blonde chick, that is.

She pulled the card out of the sleeve to look at the hidden backside and found a magnetic stripe there. Below that was her full name that Ellen got from her membership form, and underneath that, in smaller letters, was the phrase, "a friend of Julian's." There was also a signature, probably Julian's, which, she supposed was there for validation purposes, and an expiration date, exactly one year later.

She asked and also found out that she was the latest member - member number B-80. Seemed to be a very small club. She wondered what the membership requirements were, but she didn't want to appear clueless so she just took the card.

"Thanks so much for this," Drew said. She noticed a framed picture of a cute, tiny poodle right beside the cash register.

"Who's that," she said, pointing to the picture.

"That? That is Julian's pride and joy - his pet poodle, Fiona."

"Ahhh."

"'Course, we call her Fifi..." She couldn't hold it in and burst into a fit of giggles. Drew couldn't stop herself as well and giggled, too.

After getting herself under control, Ellen handed her a white plastic bag with the salon's name printed on it.

"What's this?" Drew asked, still giggling a little.

"That has all the products that Julian used today, plus some reading material."

Drew wondered. Reading material?

Curious, she reached in the bag and brought out a small squeeze bottle of J.F. Lazartigue shampoo. She also found a small bottle of Fekkai's Brilliant Glossing Conditioner, a small bottle of TreSemme Thermal Creations Volumizing Mousse, another small bottle, this time a Bumble and Bumble Classic Hairspray bottle, little unopened ampoules of what were supposed to be hair serum, a small sample-size perfume bottle of 212 White by Carolina Herrera, a small still-unopened tube of Mac Mattene lipstick in the same subtle shade of red Julian had used, a little black makeup kit the size of a pack of cigarettes from Zomiah Cosmetics, and several other makeup knickknacks, all in small sizes. She would later learn that the stuff were all in what were known as sampler sizes. Salons use these so that they'd be able to do their thing using freshly opened products and, in the end, not skyrocket their client's bill through the roof. The salon will also be able to turn everything they used over to the client, perhaps to use again, or just so they'd know what to buy later.

There were also a couple of other things in the bag that Drew didn't know as well - a tiny little pink booklet that had the legend, "I'm a Friend of Julian's" on the cover, and a couple of thin pocketbooks. One was entitled "The Aesthetic Art of Beauty," (was the seeming-redundancy deliberate?) and the other entitled "A Scientific Approach to Hair Care."

"They're part of the bill, so don't worry," Ellen assured her.

Drew nodded. All this stuff... so that's why... "Where's Julian? I'd like to thank him."

"Julian usually takes a break after a styling. Don't worry about it. Don't forget your appointment Saturday four weeks from now. I was able to text Honeybear, and you're taking her slot. Same time as today. Otherwise, Julian will get mad. Don't worry I'll text you a message the day before."

Drew nodded, said thanks again and walked out of the salon. "'Bye."

"Bye-bye, Pixie," Ellen said and giggled.

 
Three: Pixie and the mall / Drew and a dilemma

Drew put her new card in with the rest of the stuff in the bag and put the bag away in her trunk, drove down to the mall, parked in her usual place, and did a bit of shopping and lots of thinking. She really needed to think, and her best thinking time outside of the house was while she was by herself, which usually meant she was shopping at the mall.

Julian truly was a genius with hair. No wonder there were so many waiting in line at the salon. She knew that she looked great before, and had gotten a lot of attention at school for it, especially from the boys, but she was somehow able to detach herself from it all. But now, without the wig, and with the miracle Julian had wrought on her ragged mop, she felt she couldn't anymore.

She tried to figure it out. And as she shopped and thought, all she could come up with was that, while she was wearing the wig, she was able to subconsciously rationalize that what people were seeing wasn't really her but a creation - a facade, a mask that she hid behind, which was symbolized by the wig. But that crutch - the wig - was gone now. It was all her now. And she therefore could not detach her inside from her outside anymore. Now, more than ever before, "Andrea Nance" was really her now. And, seeing her reflection in the shop windows, she knew Andrea Nance was also one heckuva babe.

She noticed that she seemed to be gravitating towards stores that had plate-glass fronts, or stores that had mirrors in their front displays. She realized that it was so that she could see her reflection. With all of the outfits she had worn, with all her affectations, never in all that time did she think her Drew persona was pretty per se, except in a distant, intellectual way. But this new babe... It was visceral. Also, over the months as Drew, she never had any... moments when her little... guy-friend would rise and look for attention, except perhaps a few times when she was with Iola, and then only occasionally. But this time, she got it bad and it was for the blonde with the short hair now reflected in the display window. Boy, was she ever in trouble.

But, as she had learned, shopping was the universal antidote for everything, and as she shopped, her arousal went away... mostly... although she still occasionally sneaked looks down the front of her saucy skirt, checking if there were any telltale bumps. What a time to start getting erections.

- - - - -

In Drew's new life, there were only a few things that she spent time on - hanging with her new best friends, school, studying, hanging around in the house, and shopping. She was new to things, so she didn't really have a lot to do. Yet. But it did help her insofar as school was concerned. She had finally started climbing the honors list, or would have if she wasn't a late transferee to her new school. Still, her academic standing was so much better than her old self in her old school. At least she wasn't considered an underachiever anymore.

But other than school stuff, she didn't really have much to do, except, perhaps, for shopping.

The mall was a familiar place by now, and she had accumulated a set of favorite shops. The salesgirls in these shops had all gotten to know her, and had learned to point out their latest items every time she came in, and Drew, always anxious to keep her fashion sense sharp and up-to-date, would usually try things on and make a purchase or two. This was especially important in Staten Island where the people's styles and behavior tended to be more brash and less... mainstream than what she was used to.

Of course, her "special needs" made her gravitate toward specific styles for bottoms. With tops, Drew mostly tried to play the field, but her special choices of bottoms would always affect her total ensemble.

With an eye to camouflaging her "extra parts" below the waistline, she preferred pants and bottoms with folds, pleats or ruching, especially in front. She also liked bright and psychedelic patterns, which helped her camouflage... things. She explained to her dad that it was like the camo colors soldiers wear to hide themselves in plain sight. And she definitely had stuff to hide.

There were specific styles that she was partial to, all to aid in her camouflage. It was largely because she was seen wearing these styles that certain eighties and nineties staples had come back into fashion in her little corner of the universe - rah-rah skirts, for example, and kilts (especially in bright tartan patterns), and the now-back-in-style (because of her) bubble skirt. Drew also liked compromise-styles that echoed male fashions, and she brought back, at least in her little school, such things as the cargo skirt, and her wearing skorts during her occasional solitary weekend jogs had made these a de rigueur part of every St. George, Staten Island teenage fitness buff's wardrobe.

Drew spent a couple of hours getting lost in the mall, thinking, and came out with a couple new things - a navy-blue bubble skirt with big, white polka dots, a new tartan miniskirt-kilt with pleats, in red, gold and navy-blue, and a sleek, white three-fourth sleeve mock turtleneck bodyshirt that would go well with both skirts.

She went to her regular Starbucks and had her usual small, low-cal caramel frappe and a bag of low-fat kettle-cooked potato chips. She was well known in the cafe, and her favorite barista jumped to get her regular order together. One advantage of having to watch her weight, Drew thought, was that she saved a bundle on food (conveniently forgetting her frequent shopping sessions, of course).

As she shopped and then lounged around in the coffee shop after, she reveled in the added attention that her new do gave her, especially among the boys. While sitting and sipping her coffee, pretending to read something on her iPad Mini, she frequently crossed and re-crossed her legs, and "absentmindedly" stroked her throat and upper chest, sometimes even "absentmindedly" reaching down to stroke a leg.

The fashion style she "borrowed" from her deceased cousin made her stand out among her Staten Island peers to the same degree as a high-fashion teen model would among a gaggle of underage street walkers, and her new do and makeup just emphasized it more.

She knew the havoc she was creating in the minds of the teenage boys around her and giggled inside. Before, she'd just be exasperated with all the attention. Not this time.

Eventually, she finished her coffee. She picked up her shopping bags, purse and other stuff, stood up and turned to leave. She heard a crash behind her. Apparently, several kids had also gotten up to follow her, but had gotten in each other's way causing a crash and a mini-pile-up.

She giggled, looked back and waved at the fallen kids. "Bye, boys," she giggled, and walked out.

That was fun, she thought, but she shook her head and turned her mind back to prosaic but more important matters. Still, as she walked to her car, she swiveled her hips to get the most attention. She got in and slammed her car door.

She shook her head again. Okay, she thought. Onward to mysterious Somerset County, New Jersey. After adjusting her package a little bit under the skirt to get more comfortable for driving, she pulled out of the parking lot.

 
Four: Drew and the Internet / Iola and her best friends

Using her phone, Drew googled for coffee houses. She picked one that had good reviews, and set her navigation app. The map said it was less than an hour away, mostly via interstate, so it wasn't too hard to get to, unlike the other places she picked before.

She and her dad had a rough time of it when she first hit upon this gimmick. They were still learning the ropes then. Initially, they would just pick places at random, but a few hairy moments at some rough places taught them some lessons. Her dad used to come along in the beginning, but now they knew the ins-and-outs of this thing - now they knew to pick the ones on the net that had good ratings and high prices. These, and, especially those with Wi-Fi connections as well, were usually the better places to be left alone. Snooty places always were.

They also knew now that distances on a map were not good indicators of travel time, if those were all they were basing their estimates on. Now they've learned to pick better travel routes.

Drew had become so expert at this that she did these little trips on her own now, to minimize the number of faces that could be identified. It would have been better if Dad was the one to do it since he had a less striking image, but Drew was really the Internet-savvy one, so she was the one that did the research on the net.

As per usual, Drew pulled over in a secluded little suburb street and parked underneath a tree. She was effectively out of anyone's view and any CCTV shot.

From the boot, she got her fake New Jersey license plates, to place over her real New York ones (She had gotten the plates from a junker car of the same make and model that her mechanics found in their bone yard). Her dad didn't know she had these fake license plates. "Well, what he doesn't know won't hurt him," Drew thought.

By means of flat, heavy-duty magnets permanently epoxied onto the back of the New Jersey plates, she easily fixed the fake license plates over her car's real ones. So, instead of Richmond New York license plates with number TRH-3088, it now sported Atlantic City license plates with number JBC-40L, complete with fake decals that she had made with her printer at home.

Having done the deed, Drew dusted her hands and got in. She then dug into her little girlie backpack and got out her crappy burner phone (different from her real phone), called her dad on HIS crappy burner phone, and told him the name of the place she picked as well as the address and the phone number listed on the net (she knew that was relatively safe to do because the phone company would dump their records regularly, and they were using anonymous, disposable phones, too). That done, she pulled back into traffic and then headed towards the highway.

Her GPS app was a voice-equipped, turn-by-turn GPS navigation app, so she could concentrate on the driving without looking at a map.

She had put her car's top back up so she could hear the GPS app and her radio. Nothing good was on so she plugged her iPad in and listened to Adele's latest album. She looked at her latest purchases and queued Whitney's greatest hits album next (which was on sale in iTunes), then classic Foo Fighters and then Bruno Mars. She had lots of music to keep her company until the coffee place. Seems she was spending a lot of time driving and in coffee houses these days.

Even with her car's fake license plates, she parked a little bit away, as usual, so the likelihood of her car being associated with her were lessened. She got out and walked the five-minute walk to the cafe. Given how attention grabbing her little electric-blue car was, this was needed.

As she walked, she recalled the old blue Chevy they boosted when all of this started over three months ago. After they had established themselves as the Nance's, her dad had worried about the car, and if it could be traced back to them. So they had asked their friend, Lieutenant Frank Hardy, to trace the car, and he found the police report that said it was found stripped two days after Andy had abandoned it in the street. Eventually, the owner of the car was found, and the police investigation into that case ended there, and the car was never connected to the Fayne arson case. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

When she got to the coffee place, she looked it over. It was a fairly upscale place, and the patrons were mostly kids just a bit older than her, and were all fairly well dressed. She looked through the menu above the cash register and ordered a "giant" milk chai and a little fancy packet of "crisps," whatever those were. She gave her name as "Rose," as she always did in all of these surfing assignments - a common but memorable-enough name that, if ever they traced her computer connection, they would remember a "Rose" and not a Drew or an Andrea.

She could imagine the hypothetical profile that the people after them would have of her if her Internet activities were ever traced: a well-to-do girl named Rose, somewhere in her middle or late teens, long blonde hair, used a late-model HP netbook and pre-paid Internet access, lived somewhere in eastern New Jersey, with a taste for gourmet-style teas and imported junk food. "Let's see them try and connect Rose with Drew Nance," Drew thought. "Maybe next time, I should wear my wig - that'll maintain the idea that Rose had long blonde hair." Maybe she needed to buy a brunette wig, even. And, maybe, they should even get another car as well, for use when she or her dad had these "spy trips."

She stood by the counter, smiling slyly at the other patrons that were looking her up and down, and waited for "Rose" to be called. This kind of attention from strangers usually made her a little jumpy, but this time it didn't. She had turned into some kind of attention hound, all in a matter of hours. "Fox, maybe," she thought. "Or kitten. Definitely not hound." She giggled.

After she got her drink and her little snack, she looked around and found a little spot by the glass-front window. She sat down, her back to the wall (so no one would see what she would be doing on her computer, but, "unfortunately," her legs were on display in the window).

Her tea-and-milk drink was truly a "giant" - it must be twice the size of a Starbucks Venti cup. It should last her the rest of the afternoon. and it tasted great. But the "crisps" turned out to be some unknown British-brand chips, which tasted like stale, overly salty Frito Lay's chips. She wished they had Walkers - Those were the British ones she liked. Oh, well.

She opened her netbook, plugged in the little wireless Internet stick in the USB port, stood up, bent over and plugged the netbook's power adapter into the wall outlet near the foot of her table. She had bought the computer used, and the battery didn't retain more than half an hour's charge, so it's best to be plugged in. As she straightened up, she caught some of the guys looking at her legs and butt before hurriedly looking away. Hmmm... She tried not to giggle.

As her little computer booted up and connected to the Internet, she looked around the cafe. Most of the patrons were near her age, and most had their own laptops, smartphones or tablets, surfing as well. Absolutely no suspicious characters around.

Some of the guys caught her eye and smiled, but since she was supposed to be incognito, she didn't smile back - best not to encourage them and keep some distance.

She turned back to her computer and started to work.

- - - - -

She didn't bring the original documents - those stayed at home, locked in a safe hidden in a place only her dad knew. But she had scanned every scrap of paper into digital files she kept in the netbook's hard drive, and she encrypted them with an encryption key only she knew.

Having gone through all that stuff that her dad got from Uncle Dave's safe deposit box, she had determined that the people behind the death of her uncle, cousin and housekeeper were from either of three companies, or were people who dealt regularly with these companies.

What made the research hard was that the papers seemed innocuous by themselves, and seemed to be random and unrelated. Her dad said that these may actually just be junk paper, and Uncle Dave only really meant for them to get the Carson and Andrea Nance documents. And the stock certificates, of course. But Drew believed that the papers really were clues to the mystery of their deaths. She needed to get the bastards, whoever they were. Maybe today she'll be able to put names to them.

Part of her method was to list down all the names mentioned in all the papers, and how often. And as far as she could tell, all of the names mentioned were connected with at least one of the companies. The research was tedious as hell since Uncle Dave had included some kind of telephone call log with at least fifty unique names per page, and there were at least twenty pages of them.

In any case, she went through everything and had typed them up (there was no scanner or OCR software, and no camera in the little netbook). When she discounted those names that seemed to not be involved too much in the company or just low-level staff (like security guards and receptionists), or seemed to have just been mentioned incidentally in the documents, she was able to boil down the list to seven individuals who seemed to be very likely suspects - two men and five women. They were all fairly highly placed in at least two of the three companies, and they were all connected with a project called "Jabberwocky."

She wasn't sure but if she had to bet, she'd bet Jabberwocky was the key. But there was no way to get information about this Jabberwocky thing, unless it's from the inside, and that was what her dad was supposed to help with. As soon as she says she'd gotten all the info she could get out of the papers, her dad will start making plans to get a job in one of the companies, and try to get information from the inside. And from that point on, they'll play it by ear. And it looked like she had reached that point already.

She had done a broad-based scan over the net for these seven names, and they were all mentioned frequently in many business articles. Mostly innocuous articles, but there were a few that weren't. The dates of many of the documents were from six months ago, so Drew pulled out several business front-page or headline articles that mentioned even one of the seven names or any of the three companies from around that period up to three months ago.

A handful of these articles caught her attention. One talked about the record earnings of one of the three companies she was looking at was due to mass redundancies or resignations, while others talked about fortuitous events like foreclosures of competing companies, and insurance claims from "defective" factory equipment. There was one that was about how all three companies had been bilking a large community of Athabascans in Alaska out of their petroleum rights for the past twenty years (unprovable, of course). There was another that was about the loss of houses in several large communities in Louisiana because the subcontractors (the companies) who constructed the water levees to protect them didn't do a good job.

The story she was currently working on was about an explosion in a small manufacturing plant of one of the companies way out in the boonies that accidentally killed thirty employees. Or so the article said - only a couple of names were mentioned specifically. But she was able to track down the other twenty-eight - it was amazing what a bit of common sense, pictures, perseverance and access to the Internet can do: Using the search engines installed in the netbook, she searched through obituaries for people who died that month, specifically those that worked for the same company that died in the town where the factory was. It was tedious work but she got all thirty names.

What was amazing was the unmentioned twenty-eight of the thirty who died were from company offices nowhere near the plant, and were either office managers or accountants. None of them were factory people and had no business being in the plant, except for the two mentioned in the article, so what were they doing in the factory? Four of them were actually vice presidents based out of the New York office. What was incredible was that the police never picked up on this and therefore never followed it up. Very suspicious, indeed. Drew was able to conclude that this was one of the major smoking guns that will help them in unraveling all of this.

As before, she copy-pasted a lot of text, typed up a lot of references, and put them all in a plain TXT file for later printing at home. At that point, she decided to wrap up. If she missed anything, there was always next week. She ran her encryption program, wiped all the temp files, powered down the netbook, unplugged everything and stowed her stuff in her little magenta backpack.

After she finished wrapping up, she only noticed then that the sun was already low. She also noticed that her table was suddenly surrounded by a lot of boys.

"Hi," the nearest one said.

Drew smiled exasperatedly. "Bye," she replied, stood up and walked out of the coffee place, hips swinging saucily underneath her little skirt.

- - - - -

Per the routine they had developed, Drew drove opposite the direction she wanted to go, and got lost in the wilds of downtown Basking Ridge, New Jersey. As she drove, she thought of what she'd been doing since the start of all this. She knew that it was just a matter of time before she's either discovered or she trips up. And if she kept on doing this, people will eventually be able to link her car with her real identity. She toyed with the idea of asking her dad to get "Rose" her own car, but knew that it may not be needed - she was close to wrapping up her "investigation" and then passing it on to her dad. Actually, with what she finished today, it could actually mean she was done, and that might be it for Rose.

Still, maybe she should look into getting another car. It was fun souping up her Opel, and her old Sunfire back home, and her new friends at the garage were more than helpful with her "Tiger", so maybe she could to it again with another car. It's not like they couldn't afford it. Sure, she could always buy some stock sports car but that wouldn't be fun at all. She thought about it some more.

For an hour she drove around randomly, but made sure she didn't drive near any iffy-looking neighborhoods. She saw a 7-Eleven, so she pulled over a bit aways, walked back to the 7-Eleven and bought half a dozen prepaid Internet cards for later. (She always bought her cards in New Jersey, and with cash - just another layer of subterfuge, to prevent people from tracing her.)

Eventually, when she felt that she had driven around enough, she started driving home.

When she was ten minutes from her house, Iola called (she called Drew's real cell phone, of course), wondering where she was.

Drew then remembered she was supposed to go to Iola's house that afternoon. She apologized profusely and turned her car around. She called her dad (on his real phone this time) and told him she was done with her research but she was going to Iola's first.

She eventually reached Interstate 287, then to Route 440 and into Staten Island via the Outerbridge Crossing near Charleston. Thinking she was making good time, she detoured and went onto Richmond Road so she could pass by Todt Hill and see the golf course - her dad's new, favorite place.

In a little while, she was pulling up beside Iola's house. It was a nice house, but typical for St. George, Staten Island. Not as nice as their new house, which was in the ritzier northern part of St. George, but still pretty good. A couple of passing boys whistled at her but Drew was used to that by now, and she just ignored them.

When she was sure no one else could see her anymore, she quickly pulled off the fake license plates from her car.

She put the plates, her backpack and all her "research" stuff in the trunk. She thought a bit and suddenly realized they're gonna want to know EVERYTHING about her hair! She paused, frantically trying to get her story straight in her mind.

There were only a few ways to go with it, anyway... She sighed. Okay.

She got the bag from the salon as well as the stuff she bought at the mall, closed the trunk, walked to Iola's house and rang the doorbell.

Iola's dad greeted her at the door.

"Hi, Drew," he said. Iola's dad was a small, round man who was extremely likable even though he had a lot of old fashioned notions that were at odds with his daughter's behavior.

Mr. and Mrs. Morton were a nice couple. Drew couldn't help thinking of the folks of her old buddy, George. George's folks were nice people, too, just like the Mortons.

Mr. Morton noticed her new do. "Hey! Great haircut!"

"Good evening, Mr. Morton," Drew smiled. "Thanks. Just got it today. Is Iola home?"

"She's in her room upstairs with Callie. Go on up. I think they're expecting you."

"Thank you, sir," she said. She waved to Mrs. Morton, walked up the stairs, and knocked on Iola's bedroom door before walking in.

"So, what have you two JDs been doing," she giggled, dropping her stuff and her purse on Iola's study table.

"Hey, girl!" Iola said. The two of them went and gave Drew hugs.

"So, you went and did it, huh," Callie said, looking at Drew's new hair. "The short hair's a bit drastic, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Callie," Iola said. "I think the short hair is super-sexy bitchin' hot!" Callie frowned a little bit at that comment.

Iola touched Drew's hair. "It also feels real soft." Drew knew the wig's texture was different from natural hair, but she didn't say anything about that, of course.

Iola inhaled. "You smell good, too."

Drew blushed.

Iola giggled at that and pulled Drew over to the bed, and all of them sat on the pillows and cushions.

"Who in the shop did your hair," Iola asked. "Got to be Natalie, right? She's so much better than Lalaine. Or maybe Daisy. She's good with short bobs." they all giggled. Daisy had a boyfriend named Bob, and he was five-foot five.

"Maybe I'll get a bob, too," Callie said. The others giggled again. "I mean a haircut!" Callie corrected. "If Natalie can do it without gossiping too much, that is." Iola and Drew giggled some more. Iola's hairdresser was a notorious gossip.

"I hate to say this, but..." Drew said, hesitating.

Iola looked shocked "Get out! Don't tell me it was Lalaine? That girl can't even hold a pair of scissors straight!"

"Actually, I didn't go to your regular place..." Drew bit her lip.

"You didn't," Iola said, a little hurt that Drew didn't take her advise, but really more curious than offended. "Where did you go?"

"Well," Drew said, answering, "You guys know how I feel about people messing with my hair, so I thought I could cut it myself."

Iola and Callie gasped. "Oh, no! You didn't!" Callie said in horror.

Drew nodded in feigned sadness. "I didn't want anyone who knew me to see my botched job, so I went to a different hairdresser's."

They nodded. "You poor girl," Iola said, and touched her hair again. "But it turned out great in the end. Where did you end up going to?"

"A small place in town I found on the net called Benzaiten? They were real nice over there, and the guy who fixed my hair was so friendly."

This was greeted with silence. "What?" Drew said. She was puzzled at their reaction.

"You went to Benzaiten?" Callie said incredulously.

"Quick! What was the name of your hairdresser!" Iola asked with urgency in her voice.

Drew was puzzled. "I didn't get his full name, but everyone called him Julian..."

The girls squealed.

"What! What's wrong?"

"Oooh! She doesn't even know," Callie exclaimed.

"C'mere," Iola said and dragged Drew to her computer. Iola typed on the keyboard, pressed Enter, and after a few short moments, a Wiki page popped up with a picture of Drew's hairdresser.

"Is that your stylist?"

Drew nodded dumbly, and listened as the two girls explained. It seemed that the man was a legend among the teen set, at least around St. George. He was an instructor at the famous Atelier Institute in New York, but he resigned following an argument with the school's administration, quit teaching altogether and moved to St. George in 1999 to be part of the town's revival movement, and put up his own salon (Julian was apparently a Staten Island native). Around St. George (and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the island), Julian was known as a one-man crusade trying to reverse the island's reputation, and his salon became known as the trendiest and classiest salon south of Manhattan.

"Ben's," as the salon became known in town, slowly gained a reputation, and appointments with the place's owner and chief hairstylist became hard to come by. There were even rumors that several celebrities regularly made the trek from New York, Hollywood and other places to unfashionable Staten Island just to get their hair styled by Julian (under an agreement of secrecy enforced by Julian and the threat of cancelation of their salon privileges, a secrecy which the celebrities would have insisted on even if Julian didn't).

It was no wonder then that most of the girls in school would kill to get an appointment with Julian. Iola and Callie found it incredible that Drew was able to get one just by walking in.

"This'll get you noticed in school!" Callie said.

"As if Drew isn't already noticed now," Iola said, in a voice slightly tinged with envy, but not enough that Drew would notice. Callie did, however, and she stopped smiling.

Iola thought in the back of her mind that Drew was pretty. Gorgeous actually, but she knew, modesty aside, that she was prettier and sexier than Drew, and didn't understand why people seemed to prefer Drew over her.

Such thoughts usually ended up in teenage rivalries and catfights, especially in the loose cliques of the angst-ridden, attention-hungry world of adolescent schoolgirls. But Drew was friendly, nice, kind, and smarter than everyone she knew, except about makeup, hairstyles, and certain other things that girls their age knew almost intuitively (but Drew did know enough basic stuff to get by, and was learning rapidly besides). But the girl was also comfortable around boys in a way that was rare for a girl, and KNEW how to dress, and always knew which outfits to pick that would make boys stand up and pay attention. Drew had, in fact, started up several fashion trends in school all by her lonesome, and it was largely because of her that their school was starting to get a reputation for it. Most of the trendier girls on the island looked to their school's kids for the current fashion cues as much as from TV, magazines and the Internet.

Drew also started a kind of "cultural revolution" - of understated being beautiful, of restraint being classier, of less being better. And to her, civility is not optional, and good behavior is integral to a person's good relations: a reversal of the undeserved stereotype image of the brash, crude, uncouth Staten Islander. But then again, it was Drew Nance - the distillation-gestalt of Jane and Andrew Fayne, both being the products of well-to-do, well-behaved upper-middle class suburban families who prided themselves with their being civil and civic-minded. Boring, true, like she was a refugee from parent-approved homogenized fifties teen-fiction... but Drew was far from boring.

Originally, Iola had no intention of getting to know Drew, but she, Drew and her best friend Callie soon became as thick as thieves, In fact, the three were inseparable almost from Day One. Iola didn't really understand it, but she was happy with the results. Iola looked at Drew and Callie as she continued their conversation.

"I know," Callie said, acknowledging Drew's popularity, "but news like this will blow everyone away!"

"You think so?" Drew said. "What about this?" Drew went to fish her new card out of the plastic bag from the salon, and held it up next to her face, like she was in a MasterCard commercial.

"What's that?" Callie asked.

"My new membership card," Drew dimpled.

"What card? Lemme see!" Callie cried and grabbed for it.

Callie turned Drew's card over and over. She pulled it out of the little pink sleeve and looked at Drew's picture. She giggled. "Pixie?"

"That's what Julian called me. Apparently, that's my new club name." They were looking at her in wide-eyed amazement.

Callie turned it over. "Ohmigod! You're one of those! You're 'a friend of Julian's!'"

Drew looked puzzled. "So?"

"Ohmigod!" Callie reached for the plastic bag and emptied its contents on Iola's bedspread. She picked up the little pink booklet. "Read this!"

Drew opened the little book and read the few pages.

"Ohayo, Pixie-chan," the booklet began. Drew wondered at the Japanese greeting. It was even personalized since it had her new club-name in the greeting. Ellen must have printed and book-bound it just before she paid...

"As a friend of Julian's," the book continued, "you are entitled to several benefits at Benzaiten, your personal hair salon. Please think of Ben's as a second home..." et cetera et cetera... Drew read through it at her usual fast clip.

Complementary coffees and snacks from the minibar per visit... fifty percent off on all procedures and Benzaiten products (she didn't know Ben's made its own stuff)... ten percent off on others... a personal invite to the salon's regular Costume Parties (they had one every other month)... There was one whole section on etiquette and decorum while inside the salon, though - no abusive language, no loud voices, tasteful clothes ("We want to impress visitors with our city," the booklet said, "and show them the best of Staten Islanders"), et cetera.

There was another whole section for appointments. Apparently, people need to call two weeks ahead for appointments, and, if anyone was late, reception can cancel the appointment and allow waiting customers to take the slot. For Julian's friends, though, they only need an hour's notice, and it was guaranteed that there will be a stylist available for them.

The booklet also said that stylists at Ben's will be willing to do almost any style but it's strongly recommended (Drew wryly noted the italics) that the customer take their advice. The only exception is Julian - if the appointment was with Julian, there are no ifs or buts - the customer takes his advice.

There were lots more, but most were just details. "Good God," Drew thought. She passed it back. Callie passed it to Iola - she was busy looking through the other books from the bag.

"You're not gonna read it?" Drew asked.

"I know what's in it," Callie said.

"I thought this was the first time you saw one."

"A real one, yeah, but I have one of those knock-off copies." She rummaged inside her big tote and handed Drew a lookalike booklet.

It turns out copies have always been around. Enterprising individuals at the school regularly churn out remarkably accurate facsimiles by the dozen, and then sell them for fifty dollars apiece. Some even fake the card, although they never could pass if ever they were actually used at Ben's. They were just for show. Callie and Iola had their own fake books and cards, just like many of the girls in Drew's junior high class.

Drew perused Callie's fake one and saw by the binding that it was just an imitation, and though the text was identical, it wasn't personalized with Callie's name.

Drew didn't really understand it all before. Its just hair, after all. But listening to Callie and Iola over the over the months as Drew, she now knew it wasn't "just" hair. She knew, of course, how important looks are to everyone, especially to girls. Many girls' sense of self, indeed even their sense of self worth, were so closely wrapped up with their looks that it was never "just makeup" or "just hair." Drew knew this, but only on an intellectual level. As Andy, she used to dismiss girls with such obsessions as flighty, self-obsessed bimbos, whose worlds often revolved around themselves alone, and Drew held the same kind of prejudice. Until recently, that is.

The three spent most of the night talking and laughing, but Drew listened not with the idea of taking down notes about girl behavior as she usually did. Now, there was more immediacy to it - a more personally applicable feeling, and listened, thinking how it all applied to her. She schemed and giggled and laughed with her friends, just like any regular girl would have.

Iola remarked that Drew wasn't as uptight as she usually was, that she was more open - more herself. Drew paused and thought about it. Something really seemed to have changed in her. In the coming days, Drew would wonder if Julian had cast a spell on her or something.

After showing off her new top and skirt (Drew didn't offer to model them, though, since she wasn't prepared underwear-wise and would have risked being found out), Drew made her goodbyes.

Callie was spending the night, and though Iola invited Drew to stay as well, Drew begged off, her expressions of regret not feigned this time.

"Oh, right," Callie said, "it's Sunday out with your dad tomorrow..." There was a sad inflection in her voice.

Drew looked at her friend, leaned over and gave her a hug. Callie didn't have a mom or dad anymore.

"I'm sorry, Callie," she said. "But I'm game to doing something tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sounds good," Callie said, and looked to Iola. As the alpha female in their little pack, Drew and Callie always waited for Iola's lead, although Callie felt the balance of power in their little group was shifting slowly to Drew.

Iola nodded at the idea and suggested hanging out in Central Park, something that non-New Yorkers rarely suggested. Drew was, of course, not a real New Yorker, but she quickly submerged her fear of being mugged.

"Okay," Drew agreed. "Central Park. Where?"

"The pool, I guess," Iola answered, "so bring a suit. Callie and I will take the X1 or X10 bus, and then we can meet at the Fifth Avenue entrance near the Conservatory Garden, and walk to the pool together."

"I might be late. Let's meet by the pool gates instead. Around one o'clock?"

Iola agreed, and they both gave Drew a hug before she walked downstairs.

Drew waved goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Morton, who were in the living room watching TV, and let herself out.

 
Five: Carson and his daughter / Drew and the old clock

Drew got home at around eleven, which was still early for her. After parking her car in the driveway, getting all of her stuff and closing up the car, she stopped just outside their front door, suddenly stricken with shyness and a little bit of worry. She didn't know how her dad will take the new her. But after a moment, she squared her shoulders and let herself in.

"I'm home!" she called.

Dad stepped into the living room from his study, carrying a large book, his glasses on top of his head. Obviously, he'd been studying again.

"Hi, Honey," Carson said after Drew pecked him on the cheek. Months ago, when she kissed him for the first time as "Drew," Carson didn't know how to react. But now he had come to expect it. In fact he'd come to like it as well. In many ways, Drew was now the daughter he never had.

"Let me look at you," he said and held her at arm's length.

"You likeee?" she asked, giggling nervously. She was worried.

"It's very pretty," he said. He thought it was actually quite sexy. It was a revelation. Drew was actually sexy. Good God. And it bothered him. "Does this mean I will need to fend off boyfriends now?" he thought.

Drew gave him another peck. "Thanks, Dad!" she said in relief.

"Drew," he said, hesitantly, trying to put his thoughts into words. "Don't you think it's too much?"

"It is? What do you mean?"

"Well, don't you think you'll attract too much attention? Especially from the boys?"

"That's not such a bad thing. ... Is it?"

Carson didn't react to that. Is she actually okay with that? In the end, he decided to trust her. Carson shrugged. "Well, so long as you think you can handle it."

"I'm cool with it," she giggled. She then brought out her netbook.

"Listen," she said, "here's what I got so far..."

Drew powered on her netbook and showed her dad what she had unearthed.

Carson pored over her material, again amazed at her skill. The concatenation of ideas, the distillation of clues brought together to yield this much information - only Drew/Andy could have done it.

Drew had identified seven possible people, and three possible companies. Carson knew that it was still not a sure thing but at least Drew was eliminating names. She also dug up certain news articles that showed certain shenanigans happening over there. Unexplained deaths, illegal activities, unexplained income, but all unprovable. She said that there's not too much else she could get from Dave's files anymore, and that it'll be Carson's turn to "do research" soon.

He nodded soberly. "All right," he said. "I know enough now that I think I can talk a good enough game to fool people and get a job. Is it safe to surf the net for job openings over there?"

"Sure," Drew said. "It's in character, after all. Just be sure to use the Gmail profile Lt. Hardy gave us. If someone were to check your computer's Internet access, it'll just look like you're looking for a job - to break back into the corporate world, and all three of the companies we're interested in are in the top ten corporations of greater New York. It's logical for you to check 'em out. Just be sure to throw in maybe half a dozen ringers in there as well. Just to make it look like a legitimate job search."

Carson nodded. "So - we go into spy mode now?"

Drew nodded. "Yeah, Dad. As soon as you send out your first resume. But we need to give Frank everything we got so far."

"Okay. Get all of your research printed out and I'll drop it in the dead-drop tomorrow." Frank Hardy preferred hard copies, which Drew agreed with - digital copies can be traced.

"S'okay, Pop. I'm meeting the girls in Central Park tomorrow after our Sunday out. I can do the dead-drop then. Can you make the call?"

Carson nodded. "Since we're about to do the spy thing, do you mind if we go to a Best Buy tomorrow, during our Sunday out, and get those gadgets you mentioned?"

"Sure! Maybe we can..."

Carson smiled and shook his head. "Oh, no you don't," he said. Andy was gadget-crazy, but Drew was supposed to be a girly-girl, and girly-girls are into cute clothes, not electronics. "No gadgets for you, honey. We agreed."

Drew pouted. "Pooh..."

Carson had gone to bed, but Drew stayed up a while. She printed up her notes using the netbook and the inkjet printer in her dad's study. She was careful to use gloves, and paper from a fresh, sealed ream bought from a random New York store, not touching the paper itself with bare fingers so as not to leave prints, and then slid the sheets into a manila envelope, untouched as well. She had also included some extra notes about their next moves, trying to be cryptic so it couldn't be traced back to them.

She then sealed it using a drop of glue on the inside flap, slipped it into a used plastic bag from her dad's last grocery run, and put it on the dining room table so they won't forget it.

She heard the big grandfather clock out in the living room start tolling.

"Bong!"

She looked at her slim girl's wristwatch and noted that it was midnight.

"Bong!"

She gathered up all of her stuff, put the netbook and its associated paraphernalia in the little backpack, as well as the prepaid Internet cards she had bought earlier. She thought of getting rid of her paper notes, but it's good to have a backup of all of her notes on paper, so she stuffed them into the bag as well.

"Bong!"

Yawning, she turned off all the lights in her dad's study, turned off the living room lights as well, and went to the stairs. Boy, was she tired.

"Thud..."

Eh? Was that the clock?

"Thud..."

She turned the living room lights back on and hurried to the big antique grandfather clock at the far end.

"Thud..."

She peered through the clock's glass front and looked through its works. Why wasn't the bell tolling properly?

"Thud..."

She saw the hammer striker hit the three hollow metal tubes that were the clock's bell and she saw that there was a small piece of weathered brownish paper blocking the hammer, and therefore preventing the bell from sounding out properly. So the only sound it could make was a dull...

"Thud..."

She opened the clock's front by slipping the catch hook on the side. Yes, there was indeed a small piece of paper blocking the striker.

"Thud..."

She fished out the little folded-up piece of brownish paper, and the clock sounded out the last three strikes properly.

"Bong... Bong... Bong..."

That's better.

But she wondered where the paper came from? She definitely didn't put it there. Did Dad? If he did, why? To stop the clock from tolling the time? She became curious. Dad often said she was too obsessive-compulsive for her own good. But she couldn't help herself.

She looked at the paper in her hand. Carefully unfolding it, she discovered it was a browned page from a regular-size desk memo pad folded over and over so that it became as thick as two sticks of gum.

The memo pad was "from the desk of Luigi Falcone," and had a long note written on it.

"Louie," the note said in girlish, curlicued half-faded letters, "they found out. I'll leave the key to the safe deposit box in my dresser at Riverdale. There's a gun there, too, just in case you need one. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, but for now, I have to keep up appearances - Rocky and I are taking the Imperial to watch Kismet before it closes. I'm going to Chloe's now to get my party dress. Promise to lie low and watch out for Ziggy and his gang. Don't get yourself killed! My telephone number's on the back of the picture. Call me later. I love you - xoxo - Marlee"

Drew found the note pretty cryptic, and real mysterious. But the most immediate question was - why was the note in their clock?

She read it over and over again. It was obviously a warning to this Luigi Falcone, that someone named Ziggy was after him, and it had something to do with whatever his girl, Marlee, had hidden in that safe deposit box.

But, at the same time, it was a love note. His girlfriend, Marlee (if she was indeed his girlfriend), was desperate to protect him, and the note at the end was so poignant yet romantically cliché.

Drew stuck her head into the clockwork and saw a little piece of tape sticking out, one end taped against a piece of metal near the gears that turned the hands of the clock. She could only assume that the paper was taped there to hide it but why there?

Over time, either the tape lost its stickiness or it became so brittle with age that the paper it was stuck to came loose because of the mechanical vibrations of the clock tolling, and fell and got wedged between the ringer tubes and the striker.

She reached in to take the tape off but it crumbled into dust in her fingers.

She straightened, dusted herself off and, seeing how dry and brittle the tape was, she gingerly held the paper between two fingers so the paper wouldn't crumble away, too. She went to the kitchen, got a Ziploc bag and sealed the paper inside to protect it, and examined it through the plastic.

She heard the clock chime again: It was one AM. She'd been studying the note for an hour now. Best to wrap all of this up soon.

She went back and looked the clock over as best she could one final time, but couldn't find any other clues to the origins of the note. She even went back to her dad's study and got his round magnifying glass and a flashlight, looked the clock's case over and felt slightly foolish as she did so. She felt she should be wearing a deerstalker as well as smoking a calabash pipe.

But nothing seemed amiss - no loose panels that opened to a hidden compartment, nor screws or hinges where she thought there shouldn't be any, nor any odd nicks nor scratches. There were scratches, of course, but they all seemed to be the normal wear and tear of an old antique clock (or so the store that sold it to them said that it was).

She did find a picture, though, at the bottom of the inside of the clock (it was probably included in the note) - an old and yellowed picture of a pretty blonde girl in a cardigan and a poodle skirt standing outside an expensive-looking house with a gabled roof, a very large, well-manicured front yard dominated by what looked like two fruit trees, and an open four-port garage on the side of the house, with four fifties-era cars parked inside. The girl was smiling widely and was posing in front of the door of the house making a kissy face. There was a house number plate near the door that said "43." None of the houses Drew knew had that near the door anymore.

Drew surmised the picture fell when the memo paper got unstuck from the tape. On the back was written "Edgewood 49-688." Clearly a telephone number, even if it was an old one. The picture was also signed "Marlee," with a big heart beside it.

Drew wondered if there was a way to trace the address of that old number. She sealed the picture in a Ziploc bag as well and looked at the picture again through the transparent plastic. If this was Marlee, she was quite a looker, Drew thought.

She carefully moved the clock so she could look at the back, but couldn't stop the pendulum from hitting the bell tubes. Thankfully, the noise wasn't too loud and her dad didn't wake up.

The back wasn't as well finished as the front. Though polished, the back had neither wood staining nor varnish - just the bare wood. She supposed that's what comes from mistakenly buying imitation antiques, even if it's a really old and nice-looking imitation antique.

She looked the back over with her dad's magnifying glass but there was nothing again, except for the faint tracing of fingers, like someone grabbed the side of the clock at the edge, fingers wrapping around and onto the back.

She didn't know what the material was that caused the marks. Wood stain on the fingers maybe, or oil, but the automatic assumption was that it might be blood. The prints have probably been there a while, but Drew didn't touch the area nevertheless.

Something about the fingers made her think it was made by a man. The fingers were thick and stubby-looking, unlike a girl's. But she wasn't sure, of course - she wasn't a forensic scientist, just a high-school kid, although being a CSI was what she wanted to be in her previous life. She didn't know if it's something she still wanted to pursue now, but since she "came to life" a year younger than Andy, that gave her an extra year to think about careers.

She took several pictures of the print with her phone, went back to her dad's study and printed them. She put the pictures, the Ziploc'ed memo paper and the Ziploc'ed old photo into a big manila envelope, to study some more later.

 
Six: Drew and the mirror / Carson and the combination safe

Drew gathered her stuff, went upstairs and checked on her dad. Bill Fayne never locked his door and Carson Nance didn't either - a habit he picked up from Andy's younger days, when the boy would wake up at night with nightmares or something, and he'd want to go to his dad.

Drew peeked in and looked in on her dad as he slept. She could hear the faint snoring, and would recognize it anywhere.

She stood beside her dad's bed and looked down. The face was somewhat changed from the face that she had known for more than eighteen years, but it was still her dad, and she knew that she'll do anything to keep him safe, and keep the both of them together. He was all she had now, but that was enough for her.

Smiling fondly, she touched his cheek lightly enough so that she didn't wake him, left the room and closed the door softly.

- - - - -

She walked to her own room, put her backpack in its normal hiding place in her closet, and put the rest of her stuff on her dresser. She set her alarm clock for six. Knowing Dad, he's going to want to get an early start in the morning so it's best to wake up early.

She stepped out of her heels and deposited them with the rest of her three dozen shoes in the shoe cubby by her dresser. She then took off the sales tabs and hung up her new skirts and top in her closet, and then took off her underwear, dropping them in the clothes hamper. Naked, she padded to the tub in her en-suite bathroom to fill it up for her second, and last, bath of the day, pouring the usual amount of bath salts in.

As it gurgled and filled, she brushed her teeth. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and still couldn't get over how good she looked. She giggled in delight as she brushed, causing her to cough. She rinsed and then washed off her toothbrush, but she still couldn't take her eyes off herself.

She washed her face of the expertly done makeup, per the instructions of Sally, Doctor Joe's nurse, and looked at herself in the mirror again. She expected her babeliciousness to have been washed away as well but it wasn't. Probably because of the hair, she thought.

Ellen said it was okay to wash her hair so she felt okay sticking her head under the faucet and soaking her hair thoroughly. After a minute she turned the water off and looked at herself again. It didn't change much, except that she had a head of wet hair now. She couldn't figure it out. What was it? It's just a lousy haircut! Nothing should have changed!

Or, maybe, nothing did, and she was only now seeing what everyone had been seeing all along....

Dripping, she stalked to the bathtub, turned the water off and plopped into it, even though it wasn't completely full. There was just enough water to submerge her body though, if she laid down in the tub. Keeping Julian's injunction to minimize the shampoos to once a day at most (once a week if possible), she didn't get her hair wet with the soapy tub water. She stayed in the tub the requisite twenty minutes, washing her face with the bath water using a washcloth. She had half a mind to cut her bath time down but she stayed, occasionally rubbing her torso, arms and legs with the washcloth. However, she caught her... thing playing periscope. Goddammit!

It was close enough to twenty minutes so she sat up and pulled the plug. As the water drained, she showered and rinsed the soapy water off and then used the baby soap that was on the little shelf by the bathtub spigot and washed her face.

She used the water wand to rinse herself and the tub down, and then started drying herself off. She then went to the medicine cabinet, caught her reflection fleetingly but ignored it. She reached for the hair dryer on top of the cabinet, still unused and still sealed in its plastic wrapping.

Tearing the plastic open, she looked it over a bit to figure it out, and started blow-drying her hair the way Julian did. She had no choice then but to look at herself in the mirror as she styled her hair. Thanks to Julian's perm, her hair automatically fell back into the short bob. She didn't need to do much, except to tease it into place.

After moisturizing herself all over, per her regular skin-softening routine, she looked at The Babe again. The lack of makeup didn't take anything away from her. She's back. Or maybe she never really left and had always been there even before the haircut. Maybe Drew just never paid attention...

Drew stepped back and looked at herself in the mirror more fully. She saw the feminine curve of her torso and her breasts. But the mirror was too small.

She went to her room where the bigger mirror was, and looked herself over more fully.

Her face was the same - slim, surgically perfected nose with the barely-noticeable upturned tip, manufactured dimples, semi-prominent cheekbones courtesy of Doctor Joe's Gore-Tex implants, and large, enhanced eyes with the slightly-raised eyebrows. Doctor Joe, and the few people that knew, assured her the modifications were actually extremely minor, and she supposed it was her imagination that made them look extreme and therefore very different from Andy's face.

She looked down a little further and traced the line of her torso with her eyes. She took in the inward curve of her waist and the outward curve of her hips. Again, she recalled Doctor Joe's words - minor enhancements only, courtesy of some mild liposuction.

She looked at her legs. They were still under-muscled, but that was deliberate. She had deliberately avoided muscle-building exercises or activities, making do with yoga and aerobic exercises, otherwise she'd end up with arms and legs like some amazon weightlifter. That's how she managed to remain long and lean and smooth enough to be outrageously sexy. It was also probably the lack of hair anywhere, and the breasts of course, that accounted for her female appeal.

That was one surgical procedure that Doctor Joe didn't minimize - the one responsible for her c-cups. Drew originally chose that size because Jane used to be a c-cup, and Jane was her template. Drew knew C's weren't really large, but for her, it was more than large enough. Perhaps when she gets out of high school she wouldn't stand out as much. But she shied away from thinking that far ahead. For the moment, though, Drew Nance was the owner of the best-looking pair in her class - perfect, conical breasts that had no hint of sag, and just large enough to make her stand out amongst all of her less-endowed peers. Actually, even with the more endowed ones. She was built like the proverbial brick, yet she still looked natural. It was all thanks to Doctor Joe's skills and the TUBA procedure.

She ran her hands over herself, marveling at her skin's softness, thanks to her recent bath and the constant moisturizing. She cut it short, though, as she felt slightly naughty doing these things, and thinking and feeling this way.

She went to her dresser and picked out a pair of sheer white briefs, eschewing, for tonight, her usual Liz Claiborne boy-style briefies. She was relieved - her erection had gone down enough that she wouldn't peek out of the briefs. She was about to select a sleep shirt, as usual, but she changed her mind at the last moment and picked out a powder-blue embroidered babydoll. She hadn't worn it before, though, and didn't think she ever would. She only bought it (and a couple of other things) to get Iola and Callie off her back. After putting it on though, she felt the chiffon-nylon material rub her nipples so she thought of wearing a white t-shirt bra as well.

She eventually decided to skip the bra. Instead she got the matching diaphanous jacket that came with the babydoll and draped it over the back of her dresser chair, just in case, and slipped under the covers with a sigh. She felt tired but happy. She didn't really know why she was so cheerful since nothing had changed, really. After setting her clock, she sharply clapped her hands twice and the lights switched off. Her tiredness came over her and she fell into a deep, tired but happy sleep in just five minutes - the first truly peaceful sleep she'd had since all of this started. It was the first day of Drew finally accepting herself, and of Andy finally being okay with it.

- - - - -

Typically, she hardly ever remembered her dreams, but tonight was different. In the morning she recalled a lot of it, and it was a little disturbing.

She recalled, in her dream, she was walking with Iola and Callie in some field, or maybe it was a park. Other than that, it was like any other day when they were together, laughing and joking about nothing at all, and in moments talking in low, serious tones about the latest school news or neighborhood gossip, or in moments arguing some point of view or disputed fact, and at times just walking companionably together.

Maybe the reason she could never recall her nighttime dreams was because of their mundane nature. But the difference with this one was that they, all three of them, looked radiant, more beautiful than they ever were, especially Callie, and they were sneaking kisses, or rather Iola and Callie were sneaking kisses with her. Sadly, that was all she could remember.

She woke up to her alarm clock ringing. Reaching over, she shut it off, yawned and stretched languidly. Sitting up, she tried to recall more of her dream. Many of the details of the dream were fading, but she recalled the strolling, the bits of conversation, and the many butterfly kisses. But it felt incomplete. There was more to the dream, she could tell, and felt devastated that she couldn't remember. She smiled, though. It must have been a really good dream.

She pulled the bedclothes back and stood up. She felt the babydoll fall into place, never even noticing how it had ridden up while she slept. She got the diaphanous jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on. She had to go whizz really bad and as she made her way to her bathroom, she felt something wet and sticky in her briefs. She stopped.

Frowning, she went to the sink, took the briefies off and washed them. That hasn't happened in a long time. Dammit! "It must really have been a good dream," she thought, feeling embarrassed, Too bad she couldn't recall the best part of it.

After slinging the briefs on the shower curtain bar to dry, and rinsing herself off with the bidet, she went through her usual routine - bathroom, bathtub and the usual ablutions (except for a few modifications - she didn't shampoo her hair for one, because she was going swimming later, and she knew she'd be washing it then).

She finished in time and moisturized heavily afterwards, as usual. She walked to her dresser and went through her meager selection of swimsuits. All she would really consider wearing were the one-piece suits, eschewing the others (she had only bought the bikinis because Iola insisted), but she only had three of the one-piece ones to pick from.

Eventually, she selected the skirted navy-blue halter-neck backless maillot with the swim-skirt, instead of the electric-green one. She, in fact, bought them only because they were skirted. Before stepping into the maillot, she fished out one of her flesh-colored thong gaffs.

She didn't like gaffs, but what could she do. It was her fault, actually, for agreeing to go swimming.

She followed the instructions that she had memorized months ago when she first wore a gaff. It was scary the first time she tried it, but she found out it wasn't too painful as she thought it might be, but it did make her walk a little more carefully. She avoided wearing gaffs as much as possible.

When she had the gaff on, she then put the maillot over it. The tiny, token skirt of the swimsuit was just there for accent and didn't really hide anything... except maybe the line the gaff made under the suit, which was the whole point of getting it. She turned in profile and no telltale bumps could be seen, the modest bottom of the suit hid the gaff completely: the skirt obscured the lines the gaff made and the gusset covered everything else. Turning around, her bootie was as gorgeous as usual, with the definition clearly seen, making her cheeks stand out in the tight suit. She turned around again, looking every inch the girl she wanted to be seen as... except if someone should look closely between her legs from underneath while she was doing the splits - which was highly improbable to say the least.

She put on a pair of white pom-pom shorts (the maillot's little skirt did not bother her and didn't show), and a pastel-yellow swing tank top over the suit, and matched them with her brand-new white platform rubber high-heel flip-flops. (Before, she thought there were no such things - high-heel flip-flops? Really? But she had seen the pair that Iola had, so she got her own just for the heck of it.)

She got her big canvas poncho bag with the button-down flap, put in a bottle of sunscreen lotion from the medicine cabinet, a fishnet pouch for putting the shower stuff in, an old pair of skinny flare jeans and a loose powder-pink crop that she and her dad bought at that thrift store months ago (both woefully, but fashionably, beat up), a t-shirt bra, another gaff in place of panties, and two towels.

Instead of her usual ones, she got the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner from Julian's, as well as the lipstick and the perfume, and she added her regular girly deodorant. (She made a note to herself to buy regular-size bottles of her new shampoo, conditioner, perfume, makeup et cetera, as soon as she could.)

She also put her vintage wayfarer sunglasses in the bag as well, and since she wasn't wearing the wig, she also put in a brush. She got her little ivory clamshell clutch with the detachable chain and put in her IDs, wallet, phone, keys, a little comb and a little packet of tissue in it. And then the clutch also went into the poncho bag.

She couldn't believe all the paraphernalia a girl has to lug around.

She thought of showing her dad the note she found last night but she didn't want to chance spoiling the day. In the end, she decided she'd show it to him later tonight instead.

As a final touch, she lightly spritzed herself with her new perfume, put it back in the bag, and went downstairs.

"Hey, Pop," Drew said as she traipsed down the stairs. "Good morning."

Carson looked up and saw Drew in her summer outfit. He knew enough about today's teen fashions to know that her clothes were acceptable and well within current standards of decorum. But still... God, I'm getting old, he thought.

"Good morning, Honey," he said. "Isn't that a bit... extreme for a Sunday morning outing with your old man?"

"Ummm," Drew said, "I'm wearing a swimsuit underneath - I promised the girls I'd meet up with them in Central Park after lunch for a swim. Callie was feeling blue. We thought it'd cheer her up."

"In which case, I'll come by and pick you kids up after. Honey, it's New York. You shouldn't take walking around in the city so lightly. Especially dressed like that."

Drew scrunched her face in irritation. "I can take the X1 or the X10 bus. I can take care of myself, Dad."

"I know you can," he responded. "If I didn't, I wouldn't allow you to walk around dressed like that in the first place. It's just that you're also in charge of the girls' safety. You know that. And you being dressed like that might just attract too much attention and you might find it hard protecting your friends."

Drew was taken aback - there was a bus from Central Park South going to Staten Island - an easy commute, even if it was by bus. Or they can take a cab. Why all this? But Dad had a lot of old-fashioned chivalrous notions, and Drew, in her old life as Andy, tried to live up to them, such as "protecting the girls" et cetera. She never realized that it still applied even in her Drew persona. She thought that over and eventually came to the conclusion that, to her dad, it was logical since she was still the same person underneath. She also took it as a compliment of sorts, that Dad still thought of her that way with such things. "Well... okay," she said eventually. "But me being dressed otherwise might raise Iola's and Callie's suspicions."

Carson thought that over and nodded, acceding to Drew's outfit decision. He met her at the foot of the stairs and handed her something that looked like a little toy gun attached to a key ring. It was silver, with the word "Mace" printed on the pistol grip.

"What's this?"

"It's a pepper spray. Keep it with you all the time."

"I can take..."

Carson raised a peremptory hand.

"Yes, I know you can take care of yourself, but this isn't River Heights anymore. It's just a common-sense precaution. I even got one for myself." He pulled out an identical sprayer from his pocket attached to his keys, this one in black.

Drew relented. "Okay, Dad."

With her gadget-radar primed, she looked the little gun over curiously. It had a round barrel with a toggle below it near the trigger. She moved the toggle and the barrel broke open the way a shotgun does, and she saw the pepper spray cartridge - roughly the shape of a small shotgun cartridge but smaller. She snapped it closed and looked over the high-tech sprayer some more. There was a safety switch in place of a hammer. She switched it to "fire" and a red laser pointer winked on. She aimed it experimentally and switched it back to "safe."

"Cool," she said. "A laser sight."

"I thought you'd like that," Carson grinned.

Drew put the Mace pepper spray/gun in her bag. "Thanks, Dad. Sorry for being difficult." She had half a mind to tell him about the collapsible baton that Lieutenant Hardy gave her for protection when they were still new in New York but decided not to. The Mace sprayer gave her some other ideas, though. Maybe she'll go shopping for some kind of high-tech Taser or stun gun next.

"No worries," her dad responded. "I'm used to it." He grinned.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

Carson turned sober, turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Listen - I'm gonna start the ball rolling tomorrow to get a job in either of the three companies you identified. That means, starting tomorrow, we will have to be Carson and Drew, twenty-four seven. For real."

"I already thought we were," she said.

Carson nodded. "Yes, but this time really real, one hundred percent. No breaking out of character EVER, in case we come under surveillance. Especially you." She was about to say something but he interrupted her. "You should know - you were the one who planned this out, and you were right. I'm willing to go on doing this to catch Dave's killers, but not at the expense of safety - not mine, and most especially not yours. One hundred percent, twenty-four seven. If you can't promise that, then we quit this now."

She paused and then looked straight into his eyes. "I know, Dad," she said seriously. "You can count on me."

"Okay," he said. "Go get your backpack and wigs. We better put them in the safe."

"The safe!" Drew thought. "Finally!" Carson had held off telling her the details about THE safe, so that there was less danger of it being found out.

She dropped her poncho bag on the dining table and went back up. She came back down with three Styrofoam forms with wigs, and the backpack slung on her back.

Carson took one of the stands with a wig and led Drew to the kitchen. She was finally going to see where the safe was!

In a secluded spot beside the dishwasher was a big dish drying rack sitting on a freestanding table with castors. Carson unlocked the castor wheels and pulled it away from the wall, revealing a part of the stucco-surfaced kitchen wall. Part of the wall was sticking out a bit, like a pillar embedded into the wall. It was a structural load-bearing pillar that stuck out about four inches. At just below waist-high, Carson grabbed both sides of the embedded pillar and pulled hard.

A catch seemed to give and a section of the embedded pillar was pulled out. Along with the rectangular piece of concrete rolled out a heavy-duty safe that slid on little rollers underneath. The concrete section of the pillar that came with it was like it was glued or riveted to the side of the safe.

"I had to cut into the load-bearing support pillar," Carson said, "but our house isn't gonna fall anytime soon. I used the safe itself as a load-bearing component, not to mention the extra-thick metal rebar I had welded to the inside steel support." Drew looked into the cavity and there were indeed several hefty-looking metal posts on either side, each the diameter of a silver dollar. She wondered how he was able to weld them to the rebar inside the concrete. Where did he even get the rebar, not to mention the welding equipment?

Drew looked over Dad's handiwork. He had always been good with his hands, and was the best DIY carpenter/builder/Mister-Fix-It she knew. When she and her cousin Jane were four or five, they called him Tim, after Tim Allen of the syndicated show, Home Improvement. Looking over his work, Drew was amazed, as usual. Her love of mechanical things and of doing things with her hands was due to her dad's influence and his love of building things. In a way, her fondness for working on puzzles, poring through bits of information and solving "mysteries," was part of that, too.

She looked at the safe. According to the label, it was an "AMSEC Burglary Rated Fire Safe." It was a combination safe, the door with the locking handle and combination dial facing to the side since the side-facing front was covered by the concrete slab.

It looked pretty substantial.

Her dad demoed how to open it. "It's mechanical, not electronic. The combination is eleven, twenty-eight, twenty, and two," Carson said as he demoed dialing the combination. "And, voila!" He turned the handle and opened the safe with a flourish.

Drew thought of the combination numbers - 11-28-20-02. Not likely Drew would forget those numbers - November 28, 2002. That Thanksgiving weekend was a memorable day for the both of them - their first ever out-of-town Thanksgiving trip, which became a yearly family tradition over the years. Father and son both looked forward to those trips and never missed any of them. Even their housekeeper, Maria, looked forward to them because she said it was the only time she would have the house all to herself. Drew was sure she would have wanted to join, but she understood that was special father-son time and didn't push. Drew missed Maria.

It remains to be seen if Carson and Drew will continue the tradition, but Thanksgiving was comfortably several months away. They'll cross that bridge when they get there, as they always do.

Drew looked the inside of the safe over. The inside was roughly three feet high by two feet wide by two deep, subdivided by two removable shelves. Pretty roomy.

"Let me move my stuff to the top shelf, and you can have the other two," Carson said. He put in another divider, and there were four now - the top ones less tall than the lowest one.

Before putting away his papers, he showed them to Drew. "Best you knew what's inside here," Carson said.

Drew saw the sheaf of stock certificates and bonds held in a clear plastic envelope, another plastic envelope that had all the original "papers" that they found in her Uncle Dave's box, a big accountant's ledger that Carson used as a notebook, filled with notes Carson had taken - based on her research, true, but with a lot of additional important details about the companies that Carson had researched on his own - things like stock positions, market performance, current projects and connections with government claims or cases, a list of their officers and other commercially vital information, notes on job openings and employee hiring requirements, and then there were a lot of sheets of loose notepaper with her dad's lawyer review notes on them. There were even some printed sheets from practice New York State bar exams (just the multiple-choice portions only), with her dad's scribbled-in answers. Dad was clearly working as hard on this thing as she was, maybe even harder given the quantity of notes.

"Can I look over your notes later?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied. "Which reminds me..." He picked out two of the certificates from inside their "portfolio" of stocks. "Time to encash a couple of these."

"Why?"

"So we can deposit them into that double-blind account Lieutenant Hardy set up for us. Starting next week, we can't have mysterious sums of money popping up in our bank account, right?"

Drew nodded.

A double-blind account was what Lt. Hardy called a type of account that allows certain individuals to deposit amounts of money into them, the transaction dates post-dated to earlier dates, and cumulated with the current balance. In this way federal "payoffs" to people in the witness protection program could be hidden. Such "deposits" were totally untraceable, so long as the deposits were real deposits, backed by real money. It was like money laundering, but for the good guys.

However, Carson explained that, to avoid anomalies, he will need to contact Lt. Hardy soon and ask him to freeze the account and turn it into a regular account. After which, he would be given a normal bankbook. Otherwise, if anyone checked, they might see that, even with withdrawals, the Carson Nance account might not have been decreasing enough despite them.

- - - -

After Carson took out the certificates, Drew put her backpack with the netbook and other stuff in the middle shelves, and the three wigs in the lowest one. The wigs with the forms wouldn't fit so she took out the forms. Without the forms, the wigs fit comfortably, with room to spare.

"Any other things that we need to put in here?" Carson asked.

"No," Drew said, and then... "Wait." She thought over everything she had, and she couldn't think of anything that wasn't Drew-like... Except for the gaffs... She made a mental note to get rid of the little instruction sheets for the gaffs (she had already memorized them anyway) and the packaging, and to cut out the label-tags. Without the tags, the gaffs could easily pass for regular underwear.

And she couldn't easily buy any new ones anymore after her dad got his job. Best to buy a few more soon.

"I have some, I think, but small stuff. And I can throw them away. Do I need to throw them away?"

"Even if they're small stuff, I think we need to burn them instead of throwing them away, just like we did our other old stuff."

"'Kay. I'll get 'em tonight, and we can burn 'em all up along with the wig stands."

Carson nodded.

Drew volunteered to push the "load-bearing safe" back into it's hiding place. She shut the safe door, spun the combination lock and pushed the safe back into the wall. Clearly, the safe was tightly wedged in, as what should be expected from something holding against downward pressure from the pillar, but it rolled smoothly on its fixed rails. Her dad really knew his stuff. She experimentally pulled it out. Feeling the resistance, she pulled harder and then, after that initial hesitance, it smoothly pulled out. Clearly, whatever kind of catch Dad put in will prevent anyone from accidentally pulling it out.

She then pushed it back in again, and it rolled in very easily. Pretty cool. She pushed it all the way in one last time so the catch clicked and the concrete facade was flush against the pillar and wall. The uneven line and face of the stucco hid the dividing line between pillar, wall and movable concrete, and it made the hidey-hole invisible. She experimentally knocked on the wall, pillar and the concrete facade of the safe and all she could hear and feel was thick cement.

"Cool hiding place, Dad," she said, and fist-bumped Carson.

"Oh, wait!" She reached up and pulled a strand of hair from her dad's head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Drew giggled. "I saw something like this in an old James Bond movie. You'll see."

She pulled until the catch gave again and the safe's facade was out a little bit, put her dad's strand of hair in the resulting jamb and pushed the safe back, pinning the hair in the unseen crack of the concrete facade.

"See?" she said, with Carson looking on curiously. "If no one's opened it, the hair will just be stuck there, but if someone did..." She pulled the safe back out a bit. The hair promptly fell out.

"Hmmm..." Carson said. "That's pretty good." He then reached out and pulled out a hair from Drew's head.

"Owww! Darnit..."

"If we use your blonde hair," Carson said, smiling, "it'll be more difficult to see." Her dad was right - it was more difficult to see than Dad's black hair. He then pushed the safe back in, with Drew's hair trapped in the jamb, and put the table with the big dish drying rack back in its place.

Carson walked back out to the living room, still smiling.

"Coming?"

"Darnit..." Drew said again, rubbing her head, and followed.

 
Seven: Carson's handicap and putt-putt golf / Spyware and spy-eyes

Carson and Drew began their Sunday morning as they usually did by trying out a new place for breakfast. Their neighbor, Mrs. Lovett, suggested to Carson that they go to Annadale Diner. Though it was noisy and crowded at times, and though it was a working-class kind of place, she said it was a good family-friendly restaurant, and the food was excellent.

So they went to Annadale Diner in, where else, Annadale Road.

The traffic wasn't so bad but it still took them fifteen minutes to negotiate the ten miles from St. George to the diner. Luckily, the place wasn't too busy and they were able to find a parking spot pretty quickly. Carson's shiny BMW stood out among the parked cars, as did they among the working-class patrons when they got out of the car. They didn't exactly rush inside the restaurant but they didn't loiter either.

Finding a booth, they sat down, looked through the menu and placed their orders with the eager young man that was their waiter, who only had eyes for Drew.

A Greek family ran it, and the food was as good as was reported, with pretty big portions of everything. Drew had a hard time finishing the big meal she ordered - unusual since she only ordered small portions nowadays. But Carson wasn't surprised anymore - over three months of his offspring morphing into Drew, Carson had noticed that Andy's formerly bottomless appetite had changed to something akin to that of a little bird's. Things like that made him wonder if Drew can ever become Andy again when all of this was done.

The place was full of young people and some of them drifted to their table to talk to Drew. Drew giggled at the attention and, to Carson, she seemed to enjoy it. Most of them were of Italian descent - not unusual for Staten Island, though there were some from Greek families, too, since the neighborhood seemed to be Greek. Most seemed to be from working-class families, and he and Drew stuck out like a sore thumb in their expensive clothes. But everyone seemed good-natured and weren't looking to pick a fight. They found out that the tall boy who was their waiter was also the son or grandson of the owner, and he kept coming back asking if they needed anything, his eyes gravitating to Drew. Carson chuckled, remembering his own adolescent days. He asked for some more coffee and the boy practically raced to the kitchen to fetch the pot for him.

He watched the persistent boys as they chatted Drew up, and only his presence kept them from actually sitting down at their booth. There were a few girls there, too, mostly girlfriends of some of the boys, and many of them were giving Drew some hostile looks. The unattached girls were friendlier, though, and asked some questions about Drew's outfit. Drew explained that she was actually going to Central Park later for a swim with her friends, hence the outfit, and the interest of the boys doubled. One of them even said, "what a coincidence, we're going there later, too."

Carson couldn't stop his eyes from rolling. Good God, he thought. At their age, even he wasn't that lame.

It was when the attention was becoming a little too insistent that Carson loudly cleared his throat . The guys melted away leaving only a few of the girls.

One of them, a pretty, Italian girl, snorted. "Boys," she said derisively but smilingly. "How can you stand 'em?"

Drew shrugged. "What can you do?" she said. All of them giggled, including Drew.

Carson hid his face behind a newspaper and listened to Drew in quiet amazement as she carried on a conversation with the girls. She sounded so much like a girl herself. Actually, she sounded just like Jane.

Eavesdropping, he listened in on their conversation and learned a lot about teen fashions that he never really wanted to know. He supposed Drew picked up most of that from Iola and Callie. In any case, some of them asked when she'd be in Central Park and asked if it was all right to go with her.

"Just no boys, Gina," one of the other girls said to the pretty Italian brunette, and they all giggled.

"Awww..." Gina pouted, and then giggled herself.

"That's right, Gina," one of the other girls said, also with an Italian accent. "What's wrong wityou?"

Carson rustled his newspaper a little. Taking the hint, Drew wrapped it up,

"Well, I'm with my dad right now," Drew said, and gestured to Carson, "but you guys can meet me there later this afternoon. But no pressure, 'kay?" Drew didn't think they'd actually go anyway.

Most of the girls said they'd try, although Drew doubted it. They waved and left to go back to the tables where their families or friends or boyfriends were.

Carson put the paper down when they were alone again. "Made some new friends, huh?" he said, grinning.

"Aw, Dad," she said. "Don't be like that. They're nice kids."

"Just kidding, Honey. I think they're nice kids, too. But you better be careful, especially with the boys."

"What do you mean?"

"Well... they might ask for something you can't deliver. And when you cut your relationship later, you'll just hurt them. You're a little heartbreaker, you know that? Just like Jane. So it's best not to lead boys on. And, if ever they find out the truth... well, you never know what they'd do if they find out. They might hurt you."

Drew looked at him. "What are you saying, Dad?" she asked.

"I'm saying to go easy on the flirting, okay?" Carson said. "Keep things on a friends-only basis."

"Okay, Dad," Drew said glumly and sighed.

Trying to change the mood, Carson signaled for the check. "Okay!" he exclaimed. "On to the next item on today's agenda!" He rubbed his hands together like an evil scientist. "Hehehe..."

"Don't tell me! Putt-putt golf?" Drew exclaimed. "Again?"

"Excuse me!" Carson intoned. "That's 'Miniature Golf,' thankyouverymuch!"

"Aaargh," Drew moaned, but she was smiling. She never knew that her dad was such a good miniature golf player. And that he liked it so much. It was embarrassing. But understandable. After all, he played golf with his new cronies almost every weekend. It was actually more funny than embarrassing. And it was something that she got to share with her dad, so it was okay.

"Oh, come on!" Carson said. "You know you like it, too. Come on - I rarely get my way."

"Oh, all right!" Drew huffed theatrically, and then her expression turned mercenary. "Wanna bet again? A dollar per point over? Heheheh." It was their usual thing. The loser pays one dollar per point that the loser is over the winner's final score. Carson always won, but Drew never stops hoping. Besides, Drew knew he'd never really collect.

"Sure you can afford it? How much do you owe me now? A hundred gazillion dollars?"

Drew stuck her tongue out at him.

Eager Beaver Waiter came back with the check in less than a minute. Carson pulled out his credit card and gave it to the kid. He rocketed back to the cashier, and both Carson and Drew stifled their laughter.

- - - - -

They went to a mini-golf course a few miles away, and they had a hilarious time, as always - missing putts, chasing golf balls through the artificial brush or not getting them through the windmill (there was always a windmill). Or just talking and being with each other. Drew would have preferred not being a girl, but she knew the reasons why, and she was mostly okay with it.

Drew, as always, spent a lot of time setting up her shots, but it never really helped. So, as she took her time to set up or to align her putts, her dad would disappear to the snack carts and would come back with a soda, a corn dog or fries in a Dixie cup (her dad was one of the few that still called paper cups Dixie cups). If he was having popcorn (since plain popcorn was the only thing Drew would allow herself to snack on), Drew would have raided his food and nothing would be left for him. So he learned early on never to buy popcorn. And as he got back, Drew would still be setting up.

At about the twelfth hole, Drew was already feeling down. She was already more than fifty over par while Carson was still almost par. Carson joked that maybe she needed glasses. Drew gave him a razzberry, and sat down at a nearby stone bench with a depressed sigh.

Carson felt bad for her and bought her a small diet coke and popcorn on his next food run. "Here," he said, handing her the popcorn and sitting down on the stone bench beside her. They sat there for a while. Somehow, Carson sensed it wasn't about the score. The sunshine was pretty nice in the mild spring weather. Carson put his arm around her shoulders.

"Why?" Carson asked.

Her dad could always read her - a fact she both loved and hated. Drew sighed. "Oh, nothing. I just wish that we did more of these things, you know, before."

Carson couldn't respond to that - he was actually thinking the same thing.

"Well," Carson said, tentatively, "in any case, I'll make sure we'll do more of this kind of thing from now on."

Drew hugged him tight. It was wonderful to have children, he thought.

After a while, Drew started paying attention to her snack.

"Dad?" she began as she munched on some popcorn. Carson took a handful for himself.

"Yeah?"

"After I finished with my, you know, research last night, and I was tidying up, I found a piece of paper with a weird note written on it. It was inside the big grandfather clock in the living room."

"Eh? Why was it inside the clock, and what were you doing fiddling with it?"

She then told him the circumstances on how she discovered the note and the picture. She couldn't completely remember the entire note word-for-word but told him what she could.

"Hmmm. I was wondering when this would happen," Carson said.

"Huh? What do you mean? You knew about the note?"

He sighed and smiled. "No, of course not. But ever since you were big enough to pick up a magnifying glass, you were always happiest when you were trying to solve mysteries. Sure, it started with little puzzle games and then mystery board games when you were little, and then when I got you that Junior Detective Investigator Kit, you got it in your head to try and be like Sherlock Holmes. And then all of those so-called cases you just had to solve. When you got older, you started getting into real police cases. Good thing the chief of police and his staff back home were tolerant..."

"What do you mean? I helped the police solve stuff!"

"My point exactly. And it was inevitable that you'd discover a new mystery to solve again." He smiled at her fondly. "In a way, it's good you have this new 'research project,' now that your part of our project is winding down and it's my turn now. It's good you have this new 'case' to work on to keep you occupied."

She looked at Carson steadily. She resented it a little bit, but as she thought it over, her dad was absolutely right about her. "So you're saying that I go for it?"

Carson nodded. "With the usual three provisions..."

Drew nodded exasperatedly. "Yeah, yeah... Don't obsess about it, don't let it interfere with schoolwork..."

"And the most important thing?"

"To be careful."

Carson nodded and gave her a one-armed hug around her shoulders. "So long as you be careful, it's okay by me."

She smiled and awkwardly returned the hug. "Too bad George and Bess aren't around anymore," she said. "It would sure be nice to have them around to help."

Carson paused. "Do you miss them?"

Drew thought about her old best friends, and gave her dad a small, melancholy smile. "Yeah," she said. "But I'm okay. Don't worry about me, Dad."

Carson cleared his throat, and tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you have new friends now. Why don't you break Iola and Callie in as your new junior detectives?"

Drew giggled.

"What?" Carson asked.

"I was just imagining Iola in her cheerleader outfit creeping around some dusty old house with my magnifying glass, looking for clues."

Carson laughed, too.

- - - - -

After their putt-putt golf game where, predictably, Carson won again with eighty-one strokes (which was just one over par for the long course) and Drew with an all-time record high of two hundred seventy-eight over par, they went to the Best Buy nearest Central Park, which was at 86th and Lexington. Conveniently, there was inside parking right beside it, and they were able to park off-street.

When they got to the Best Buy, they knew what they wanted: they looked for two main things - nonlinear junction detectors and radio frequency scanners - nonlinear junction detectors are used to detect "harmonics" in a radio transmitter, and RF scanners are used to detect radio signals.

Carson ranged up and down the shelves towing a "reluctant" Drew (who was actually directing him where to go). Carson was irritated by the young clerks who were tagging after them, trying to help, but were actually trying to chat Drew up. He didn't realize it at the time, but he was acting like the stereotypical dad with a pretty teenage daughter.

Anyway, they finally found the detectors and scanners near the end of the store.

A nonlinear junction detector is used to detect harmonics that a radio transmitter's electronics sends out when exposed to an appropriate electromagnetic signal, whether it's turned on or off. The particular model of detector they got looked like an extra-long handheld metal detector wand, and had a twenty-foot detection radius. It was one of the more expensive kinds, and they got two of them.

A radio frequency scanner, on the other hand, just scans for radio signals. The one they got looked like a small amplifier from a home sound system, and had a detection radius big enough to encompass their entire house. The clerks found it, well, unusual, that Drew measured the scanner with a tape measure she borrowed from one of the clerks, and then went to their radio section. Drew found a Harman amp that was on sale, with dimensions larger than the scanner's.

While she was doing that, Carson also got a couple of hand-held scanners that looked like small walkie talkies, with the same functions as the big one but with an extremely smaller detection radius. These would be their tools to zero in on specific devices.

They also bought a couple of Faraday Cage kits, a couple of cradle-type cell phone signal boosters with antennae and extra-long cables.

Carson pushed the shopping cart with their purchases, along with some odds-and-ends that Drew had also picked up, like electrical tape, a roll of electrical phone wire, an electrician's toolbox, a bunch of electronic parts, a soldering gun, soldering flux and a roll of solder wire. Drew tried to look bored, but Carson knew it was just an act since Drew loved fiddling with electronics. In fact, at the last moment, Drew picked up a large box, which turned out to be a ready-to-go, plug-and-play surveillance kit with six all-weather lipstick cameras. Drew also picked up a roll of small-gauge wire and half a dozen memory cards.

As she was walking away, she saw a shelf full of what was touted as "surveillance equipment." It was just a bunch of novelty items like clocks and pens that had built-in cameras.

Intrigued, she walked over and picked up one of the pens. From a distance, it looked like a regular pen. She checked and, yes, it did write. There were other doodads like a wall charger, a universal wall socket adapter, a power adapter, and a wall clock.

The little instruction booklet for the pen explained how it worked, and she thought these things might come in useful. She got a bunch of them and put them in her basket.

Drew made a last stop at the office supplies section, and picked up a couple of those boxes you sometimes see on office desks, where you put odds and ends like paper clips, post-its and pencils. She also grabbed several of those computer sleeves that people use to carry laptops around and added them to the pile.

At the register, Carson didn't pull out his card but paid cash instead, and they went back to their car with their purchases.

They then drove to a small dessert-type place six blocks away on 1st Avenue, between 87th and 88th, called the Choux Factory.

"I hear they make great cream puffs," Carson said.

"Heard from whom," Drew giggled and winked. "Mrs. Lovett again?" She elbowed him in the ribs, which wasn't that easy to do in the car.

"Oh, shut up..." Carson said, a little irritated but also a little amused.

"She's pretty hot for an older chick, y'know," Drew said, giggled again, and dug him in the ribs again.

"Oh, Drew..." Carson sighed mock-exasperatedly.

Indeed, the neighbor was a good-looking older woman, in the mold of Ann-Margret - the middle-aged Ann-Margret, that is. No wonder her dad visited with the pretty widow every chance he got, or have her over for dinner or something. Far from resenting the lady, Drew approved. Her only real worry is if Mrs. Lovett ever found out about her...

They parked in the street just outside the little patisserie, and had a nice lunch of Paninis with prosciutto, curd cheese and sage, and chased them down with glasses of virgin sangrias. Their desserts were, or course, the store's famous cream puffs. As they ate, they talked about how to set up their new equipment in the house.

When they were done, Carson bought a half dozen cream puffs to go, per Drew's suggestion, to give to Mrs. Lovett later.

Carson dropped Drew off near the 5th Avenue entrance of Central Park, near East 106th, making arrangements to pick her and her friends up at the same spot at about five. Drew waved goodbye and had a healthy walk to the pool, equivalent to a couple of blocks, but she preferred that route because she'd walk by the Sisters of Charity plaque where the agreed dead-drop for Lieutenant Hardy was.

She saw the trashcan. It was the only one there, and it was painted black - not unusual by itself, but all the other trashcans in the park were painted green.

She casually dropped the folded-up and scrunched-up manila envelope in the pre-agreed trashcan, though gingerly holding it at the corner with her thumb and finger as she did, making sure to not get fingerprints on it.

Having done the deed, she relaxed and proceeded on to Lasker Pool, nodding to the kids looking at her. She forced herself not to search for Lieutenant Hardy.

Getting to the pool, she met Iola and Callie by the gate, and after paying for their tickets, they went and got lockers next to each other in the women's showers.

She took off her tank and skirt, leaving her clad in her one-piece maillot (and hidden gaff) and flip-flops, and noticed Iola and Callie, also in their suits, looking at her.

It was the first time they'd seen Drew dressed this way. Humorously, she struck a pose. "You likeee?" she said, one of Jane's favorite lines, fervently hoping that the gaff would work as expected.

"You're pretty good looking, Drew," Callie said, and gave her a hug. "And a little dieting will just make you even more steamin' sexy-hot!"

"You're saying I'm fat?" Drew huffed.

"God, no! But more exercise and dieting will give you even more curves." Callie ran her hands over Drew's waist and hips to demonstrate. Drew tried not to react to the touch. Did Callie notice?

Iola looked at her critically. "Really, Drew. Who wears that anymore?" She indicated Drew's suit. "Why didn't you pick that cute violet bikini we bought last time?"

Drew thought a little acting will get her off the hook, so she shyly looked down at her left foot. "I guess I got scared, y'know," she said in a small voice. "I've never worn anything as extreme as that..."

Iola looked at her friend disbelievingly. Drew, the latest trendy fashion plate to come to school, and she's never worn a bikini. Iola shook her head, thinking that Drew will never cease to amaze her.

Iola went and gave her a hug. She noted that, despite Drew's softness, the girl felt all muscle inside. Drew was truly something else.

"That's all right, girlfriend," Iola said. "You look great, actually." Iola pulled back to look her up and down critically. Iola knew she was just being catty with her first words. Drew's curves were actually very sexy, in a girl-next-door kind of way.

Drew, for her part, marveled at Iola's softness and scent. Thank goodness for the gaff. She was actually worried that Iola would notice the gaff but the lines of the built-in skirt hid the line the gaff made in the suit, plus she kept her legs together to make sure.

Since they were both in bathing suits, she felt safe to look Iola up and down herself. She'd always thought she looked great, but Iola in a bikini... wow! She looked at Callie, too. Wow squared!

"So, are we going swimming or what?" Callie said.

"Let's do it," Iola said, slammed her locker door closed and pulled her friends to the poolside.

Following her friends' example, Drew got her big towel, her sunglasses, her bottle of sunscreen and her locker key. She didn't have a safety pin she could use to pin the key to the inside of her suit like the others, but her one-piece did have a little pocket hidden in the line of the token skirt, just like the men's trunks and board shorts she was used to, so she slipped her key in there instead. She also didn't take off her white Tissot T-Touch wristwatch, saying to herself that she needed to know the time so she won't miss her dad. Besides, it was waterproof. Actually, she just wanted to show off her new watch - white google watches were the current fashion accessories for girls in their school, and her new Tissot was what most everyone around her school wanted.

There weren't a lot of people, but enough that staking a claim to a nice poolside spot wasn't easy. Still, they were able to find a nice free spot, laid out their towels, put on their shades, sat down and started putting lotion on each other. Drew kept her legs together, one leg straight and the other sort of wrapped around the other, trying to hide her... package without looking like she was. She needn't have worried - Callie just thought Drew was trying to vamp up her look and, thinking that it made Drew look sexier, Iola copied her.

Drew looked around and was amazed at all the people. It was so different compared to lazy old River Heights. She felt a bit provincial but she eventually got used to it. After an hour of sunbathing and lazy chatting, and giving the crowd an eyeful, they all had a dip in the pool. Drew was glad to be in the water after not being able to swim for such a long time. She ranged the pool from end to end, showing off her skill and form as a competition-class swimmer. Some of the boys around her tried to keep up, and perhaps show off for the pretty blonde, but she sped up and left all of them in her wake.

After maybe a dozen laps though, Drew had to come in, tuckered out from the unaccustomed exercise.

"Wow, girl," Callie exclaimed as Drew floated near "their" spot. "Where'd you learn to do that?" Iola wasn't around.

Drew was about to say she was a JV swimmer in her old school, but stopped herself in time.

"I guess I picked it up from somewhere," she ended up saying lamely. But Callie wasn't really listening. She had jumped out of the pool and went somewhere near the concession stands.

Drew was still bobbing up and down, holding onto the side and resting, when Callie came back, having rented some "swimming pool inner tubes." Callie threw them into the pool, one landing right beside Drew.

Drew was just the right size so that she was able to lay across and on top of it yet keep balanced and afloat, and drifted around catching her breath and relaxing. She remembered to keep her legs together, though.

Callie came paddling up beside her, also laying across her inner tube as well. "Nice, huh?" she said, her left hand holding their sunglasses.

"Hand me my glasses," Drew asked. With her wayfarers on, she pushed off the side and drifted further into the middle, away from everyone, relaxing and soaking in the sun.

"Yep, it's nice," Drew belatedly answered languidly, and the two of them floated alone in the middle of the pool. "Where's Iola?"

"She's back there watching our stuff," Callie snorted, gesturing at where they came from, "trying to impress some boys."

"From what you've told me, she always does that. Why is it bothering you now?"

"Well, yeah... I guess..."

"But?"

"I guess I sometimes feel Iola just keeps me around to help her get attention."

Drew sort of sat up in the inner tube and looked at Callie. Her fanny dipped into the water so she squirmed around to stay on top of the inner tube.

"That's not true, and you know it."

Callie shrugged.

"Don't tell me you're jealous after all this time?"

"I don't know. I guess when it was just the two of us we were fine, and the times it was just us, I was perfectly happy to not be, whatchamacallit... the 'alpha.' You know what I mean?"

Drew looked at her in sympathy and nodded. "I do."

"But now, it's like she's competing with me even if I'm not. Like I'm a rival."

"Rival? For boys' attentions?"

She shook her head. "No. For your attention."

Drew looked at her. "What are you saying, Callie?"

Callie looked away. "I don't want to ruin things..."

Drew paddled and brought her inner tube closer to hers. "You won't," she said. "I promise."

Callie sighed. "I know you like Iola," she said reluctantly, in a tone that made Drew realize that she wasn't really hiding her emotions well, at least as far as Iola was concerned. At least Drew's blush was hidden by her newly developing tan.

Drew was about to protest, but Callie waved it away. "It's obvious, Drew," she said. "But you're safe, Iola doesn't have a clue." She shrugged. "I'm not saying you don't have a chance. I just don't think Iola swings that way, but you know how she is - always willing to try something new. So you may have a chance. And you ARE her friend."

Drew tried to sound clueless. "Swings what way?" Drew asked lamely.

"You know - girls liking girls." Callie looked at her. "I think you're scared to admit you like Iola."

Drew didn't know if she was happy with that or not. On the one hand, she was able to fool Iola and Callie - that they still thought she was a real girl. On the other hand...

Callie paddled closer so that their heads were as close to each other as she could make it despite the tube. "Iola and I talked about being a lez once," she said in quiet, private tones. "She said that it wouldn't really bother her if a girl fell for her, and could imagine the possibility of falling for a girl herself, and said it would probably be cool, but it would have to be a real special girl, like you."

"She thinks I'm a special girl?" Drew thought. She worried what that meant... Has she been found out?

"Dammit, Drew!" Callie cried in frustration "For a genius, how can you be so obtuse! If you only knew how I... how people think of you. You have to give yourself more credit!" And then, she paused and her voice toned down. "But I guess that's part of why you're special to me. Imagine if you were like Iola - so aware of how people looked at her. Imagine how insufferable you'd be." Callie giggled a little.

Drew giggled with her, though she did so half in relief. "I know what you mean," Drew responded, shaking off her paranoid thoughts and bringing them to focus on the conversation more. This was obviously a big deal for Callie.

"But Iola isn't really like that," Drew continued. "She's actually one of the nicest girls I know. Once you get to know her and get past her gossip-girl persona, that is."

Callie sighed. "Yeah," she agreed. "I suppose that was one of the reasons I really tried to be close to her, aside from her being one of the cool, popular girls in school, and being so gorgeous and everything... but I guess she never really liked me in that way. I guess I had to be happy with just being her best friend."

Drew put her sunglasses on top of her head, reached out and put Callie's own sunglasses on top of her head, too, so she could look into her eyes.

"Why are you telling me all this, Callie?" she asked, afraid of the answer.

"Drew, I AM one those girls..."

"You..."

"I swing that way, you know. I... like girls. Now, I don't know if my telling you means we can't be friends anymore..."

Drew reached out and held her hand. "I don't care about that, Callie. I swear."

Callie looked at her, a small hopeful smile on her face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay..." she said in a small voice, and smiled in relief.

Drew let go of her hand and paddled even closer.

"I'm your friend, Callie. That won't change."

Callie nodded.

"But that just can't be it," Drew said. "There's something more, right?"

Callie nodded, and then looked away.

Drew held her hand again. "After that bombshell, you really think anything else can shake our friendship?"

Callie giggled a little shyly.

"C'mon - tell me." Drew shifted positions. "Or else, I'm gonna tip you in the water." She experimentally shook Callie's tube.

"Don't you dare!" she exclaimed, and they both laughed.

After a moment, Drew asked again. "Tell me."

"It's just that I like you... In that way... y'know?"

Drew looked at her blankly, not comprehending. "What?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Callie cried. "I just couldn't help it! There... now, I ruined it..." She looked like she was about to cry.

 
Eight: Callie and coming out / Drew and the giraffe

Drew tipped over her inner tube, and came out of the water with her head next to Callie's.

"Hey, hey," Drew said. She wanted to give her a hug but couldn't because the inner tube was in the way. She had to settle for holding her hand and gently putting her palm against Callie's cheek. "Don't you dare cry! There's nothing to cry about, for God's sake," Drew exclaimed.

It didn't help much - Callie's face scrunched up and she started crying softly. Drew gently tipped Callie into the water and, with her doing all of the work, she treaded water and kept them both afloat as she hugged her tightly.

Callie sniffed and wiped her eyes, belatedly realizing how futile it was to try and keep her eyes dry in a swimming pool. She giggled a bit and Drew just hugged her tighter.

They stayed that way for several minutes, floating, and Drew treading water. As soon as Drew felt Callie relax a bit, she knew that she'd be okay.

"Hey," Drew whispered in Callie's ear. "Are you okay now?" Callie nodded her head against Drew's cheek. "In that case, can I stop treading water? I'm starting to get real tired..."

The both of them laughed. Callie giggled yes and Drew gently let her go. She went chasing after their two inner tubes but was only able to get one back. Soon they were both hanging on to the one tube as they both rested, facing each other. Callie looked deep into Drew's eyes and only saw gentleness.

"Listen," Drew said quietly. "What you told me remains between us. I won't even tell Iola."

"I know you won't. You're my friend, right?"

"Callie..."

"I know you're not like me, and you don't feel the same way I do. And I can live with that. So long as you keep on being my friend." She smiled brightly, and that made Drew feel glad.

"Y'know," Drew said, "if I had to fall for a girl, I'd want it to be you. But, I'm not..." She paused a bit. "At least not at this moment. I'm not leading you on or anything like that, but the girl-girl thing - that's not even a concern of mine. I guess that's what I'm trying to say, at least don't worry on that score. Omigod, I'm saying it so badly..."

"No, you're not," Callie replied, but Drew cut her off before she could go on.

"You're my friend," Drew interrupted, "so I have to be honest with you. I'm not closing the door on this, but let's just be friends for now, okay?"

Callie looked at her soberly. "Do I even have a chance?" she asked.

Drew looked down. There was the question she was dreading. "Callie..."

Callie looked away. "That's okay," she said disappointedly. "I understand."

"No!" Drew exclaimed. "It's not... the girl-on-girl thing..."

Callie giggled a little sadly. "S'ok, Drew. Call me a lesbian. It's what I am."

"Whatever! Callie, believe me - I don't care about that! Whether you call yourself a lesbian or a whatever. Call yourself a giraffe, even - I don't care! All I care about is that you are Callie, my friend."

Callie chortled in delight at unflappable Drew being uncharacteristically tongue-tied. "Heehee... I hope I'm a cute giraffe, at least," Callie interrupted.

Drew huffed impatiently. "Dammit! Yes, you are the cutest giraffe, I mean girl, but let me finish!"

At that, Callie laughed a hearty, soul-cleansing laugh that made everyone near enough to hear to look at the two of them. Without the inner tube, Callie would surely drown, Drew thought bemusedly as she watched her friend dissolve into laughter.

Callie eventually got her laughing under control and smiled fondly at Drew. "Listen," she said, and paused as another small attack of the giggles hit her.

"Listen... I know you're not a lez. But I'm glad you weren't scared off. And I'm glad you're willing to consider it a possibility. It can be beautiful. But I won't push. I'd rather have you just as my best friend instead of taking the chance I'd lose you forever."

Drew looked back at her. "Thanks, Callie."

Callie let go of the tube and swam next to her. Drew stiffened when she kissed her, but it was just a sisterly kiss on the cheek. "You straight girls always make things so complicated," she joked.

"If you only knew, Callie," Drew thought. "Am I really your best friend?" she asked aloud.

"Of course. Did you even doubt it?"

"No," Drew responded, "but, even so, I'm glad to hear you say it out loud. Say it again."

Callie smiled again, gave her another sisterly peck. "You are my best friend in the world, and I would love you forever. But I won't jump your bones. Unless you want me to." Callie giggled, grabbed the tube and started kicking her legs and swimming for the poolside.

"I'm hungry," she said over her shoulder. "Let's go find Iola and get something to eat."

Drew swam next to Callie, easily keeping pace with her. More mobile without the inner tube, Drew swam around Callie, looking at her in a new light. For some reason, Drew never saw her as a possible girlfriend. She guessed it was because she was stuck on Iola and didn't even consider it. But she was in Iola's "friend zone." Not a good place to be under the circumstances.

She wondered why she hadn't noticed before - Callie was incredibly beautiful!

Drew and Callie both swam easily, in a direction that would land them by the ladder nearest Iola, and talked about the usual - schoolwork, their friends, TV, boys (and girls), and other important things. They spied Iola from far away, surrounded by a bunch of guys. She was holding a beach ball as she posed, simpered and flirted with the boys.

They eventually got to the ladder after a few more minutes of lazy swimming. Callie climbed up the ladder and Drew slung the inner tube out of the water and climbed onto the concrete deck as well.

"Hurry up, Drew," Callie said.

"Hold your horses, girl," Drew said as she climbed up. "You can't be that hungry."

After she got out of the water, Callie grabbed her by the hand and scampered towards Iola, dragging Drew along. Drew didn't mind since Callie seemed the most cheerful she had ever seen her friend ever.

When they got to their spot, they found Iola sitting on her towel alone, sulking.

"Where were you guys," Iola said.

"Swimming," Callie dimpled. "Where did the boys go?"

"They had to go and play Marco Polo or something."

"What?" Drew exclaimed. "They didn't invite you?"

"Well, they did," Iola said sheepishly and turned away a bit, looking embarrassed.

"Iola doesn't swim so good," Callie stage-whispered to Drew.

"Oh..." Drew said.

Callie sat on Iola's blanket and gave her a small peck. "Well, listen, honey," Callie said. "Drew and I wanted to get a bite. Coming?" Callie looked at Drew. "What do you suggest, Drew?"

Drew looked at her watch. "Girls, it's four thirty. My pop promised to pick us up at five."

"Pick us up? Why?" Iola asked.

"He insisted," Drew said. "So let's get showered and changed. I'll sweet talk Pop into treating us out to dinner before we drop you guys off at your houses." They picked up their stuff and headed for the lockers.

"Goody," Callie said and clapped her hands like a little girl. The effect was ruined, though, when she started rubbing her hands together and cackling like the bad guy in a bad B-movie, a mercenary gleam in her eye. Iola bopped Callie's head playfully but Callie continued to rub her hands together chuckling evilly.

"Really, Callie," Drew said dryly, "the evil-doctor-in-a-bikini routine?"

"You girls are no fun at all," Callie pouted. Iola and Drew laughed.

Eventually, they got to their lockers. Following the others' lead, Drew got her shower stuff and a fresh towel, except she got out her gaff and bra as well, and walked over to the girls' showers.

Right off the bat, Drew had a problem - although there were indeed individual shower stalls with individual showerheads, the stalls didn't have doors.

With great trepidation, Drew selected the stall, which was in between the ones that Callie and Iola selected. All three stalls were directly across from their lockers. She put her showering paraphernalia on the shelf built into the wall and hung her underwear and towel in one of two non-removable plastic hangers. There was no choice so, sighing, she kept her back turned towards the door side of the stall, started to skin her wet suit down to her waist, preparatory to taking it off to hang on the other plastic hanger. Praying no one would see, she quickly pulled down and took off her gaff along with the suit, and rushed through her shower with her legs together, and her back towards her stall's doorway.

After washing down and shampooing in record time, she used her towel to dry off the excess water and hurriedly put on her dry gaff. After she had unobtrusively adjusted herself in her gaff, she sighed in relief and turned around. She finished drying more leisurely and rubbed on her usual liberal amount of moisturizing lotion, rubbing it all over herself, including her face.

When she was almost done, a voice harrumphed at her and she looked up in panic.

"Do you mind?" a perfectly gorgeous tanned older woman was there, tapping her foot impatiently. "Other people need to shower, too, you know." She was completely nude except for flip-flops on her feet, a towel over her shoulder, a small bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap in her hands. Wow!

After retrieving her eyes from the floor, Drew hurriedly collected her stuff.

"Sorry," she mumbled, praying the gaff would work.

"First time?" the woman asked.

Ohmigod, she thought. She saw! "Pardon?" she asked nervously.

"First time in a public shower?"

"Oh! Yes, I'm afraid so." She sighed in relief.

The woman nodded. "Yep, it's easy to tell you rich kids from the rest of us."

Drew wanted to argue, but seeing as she had broken some rule on public shower etiquette, she let it slide.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Drew apologized. "I didn't know the rules."

"S'all right, girlie," the woman answered. "Next time, after you're done showering and drying yourself, you leave the shower right away and finish moisturizing and powdering and all that next to your locker. Okay?"

Drew nodded.

"And here's a tip - don't bring your underwear in the stall so they don't get wet. Get dressed by your locker. No need to be shy. Nobody but us girls around here. Okay?"

Drew looked at the woman's naked glory goggle-eyed, nodded mutely and went to her locker.

"Hey, Drew," Callie said, already fully dressed, and brushing and rubbing her hair dry. Right beside her, Iola was just finishing putting on her makeup. "Feeling a little cold?"

"Not really. Why do you ask?"

Callie gestured at her nipples, which were noticeably erect. Drew blushed, and Callie giggled. Callie couldn't help noticing how gorgeous Drew's boobies were. And her nips were at attention. Woohoo! Callie then noted how flustered and agitated she was. "What's wrong?"

"Got lectured at by that lady over there," Drew pointed over her shoulder as she fumbled around in her locker. Iola and Callie looked, and saw two little girls and the woman showering in stalls next to each other. Obviously, she was referring to the woman in the middle stall.

The two started to laugh.

"Oh, don't mind her," Iola said. "That's just Polly. She's here most weekends. Everyone knows her. She just likes to pick on the newbies. She doesn't mean anything by it. Ain't she pretty?" Iola went back to her makeup.

Callie, having finished dressing, turned to look at Drew while she dressed. Callie noted that the girl had extremely nice curves. Not exaggeratedly curvaceous, but with clearly more than enough curves to make her look hot - super-sexy-girl hot. Callie thought no other girl ever looked as sexy.

"One thing that God was generous with was her boobies," she thought. Drew had what looked like a pair of gorgeous, firm, high C-cup breasts, the tips of which were tantalizingly at attention at the moment. They had classmates with larger breasts, but Drew's were by far the sexiest she'd ever seen. And then she looked back to Polly showering in Drew's stall, and then back to Drew. She also thought of the way she seemed so taken by Iola. This practically confirmed it. "I might have a chance at her, after all," she thought and giggled to herself. "That is, if she's not yet completely stuck on Iola..."

She watched, disappointed, as Drew put her t-shirt bra on, covering up her magnificent assets. She then watched her pull on a very old, extremely faded pair of skinny flare, or maybe boot cut, jeans. They were so old and thin the fabric was practically translucent, and they hugged her curves like a second skin. Her skin-tight thong panties (which looked to be made of nylon or some similar shiny fabric) made no line under her pants. OMG!

She then watched Drew put on an extremely loose and extremely old, short faded-pink crop-top tee, with the hem not even low enough to cover her bellybutton.

She then towel-dried her short locks, ran a wide metal-toothed comb through them to remove tangles, and then used a circular brush to tease some volume into them. It was so short, it towel-dried easily. The perm made her hair fall almost automatically into place, and the brushing volumized it naturally. She then expertly applied lipstick. Drew didn't put any other makeup on but Callie thought she didn't need any more - she thought Drew was beautiful the way she was.

Drew noticed Callie watching her so intently, so she smacked her lips, looked at Callie, struck a pose, and giggled at her own vamping.

Realizing that she was actually staring, Callie did a small double take, shook herself out of it and laughed along with Drew. With her glistening lips, cute pixie cut, chic little watch, white high-heel-platform flip-flops, wayfarer glasses perched on the top of her head, skinny flare jeans, and a tiny, scruffy, loose crop-top - Drew looked pretty sexy and classy to Callie, despite the old clothes. Or maybe because of them. Callie had seen her other friends wear similar outfits before but none made them look as sexy and sassy as Drew did. She was like a Victoria's Secret model.

Drew slammed her now empty locker closed, slung her poncho bag over her shoulder and turned to her two friends. "Ready?" she asked.

Without further prompting, Callie stood up and rushed to put her arm through Drew's, and waved to Iola.

"Let's go," Callie said. She marveled at Drew's softness yet she felt the muscles just underneath. Callie found it sexy. After a few moments, she said, "ummm, where?"

Drew giggled at that. She looked at her watch and noted it was almost five. "We're supposed to meet Pop near the Fifth Avenue entrance. Betcha he's there now. So let's book!"

They briskly walked out of the pool compound and traced the path that Drew had walked earlier. Drew saw the trashcan she used as a dead-drop earlier, but it was green now. She could only assume Lieutenant Hardy had taken the black one, which had her envelope in it.

They stood around the Fifth Avenue entrance, and in less than a minute, Drew's dad came and pulled up at the tow-away zone.

"Hey, girls," Carson Nance called out as he waved to Drew and her friends.

Drew came and sat in the front passenger seat while Iola and Callie bundled themselves in the back. Drew gave her dad a kiss on the cheek while the girls chorused, "hi, Mr. Nance!"

"So, had a bit of swimming, huh?"

"Drew and I did, Mr. Nance," Callie answered. "Iola didn't - she's scared of the water."

Iola playfully hit her on the shoulder. "Am not!"

"Are, too!" And a mock slap-fight commenced.

"As you can see, Pop, nothin's changed," Drew said. "Hey, you two!"

Carson smiled. "S'all right. Did your new friend Gina and her BFFs show up?"

"No. I guess they chickened out." Drew looked through the window. "Which route are we taking," she asked.

"Stop being a backseat driver," Carson commented. "I'm going to take FDR and then I-278. We should be home in less than thirty minutes. The bridge shouldn't be too much of a problem on a Sunday."

"I'm not in the back seat. Callie and Iola are."

"Smarty-pants..."

"Y'know," Drew said conversationally. "It'll be near six o'clock when we get home."

Carson raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Callie and Iola will probably miss dinner..."

"All right - what are you trying to say?"

Drew hummed innocently and fiddled around with some of the dashboard controls. "It's been hours since we had lunch. Aren't you hungry at all?"

Carson sighed. "All right! I can take a hint. And stop fiddling with the dash. Where do you girls want to go for dinner?"

"Yayyy!" Callie cheered.

They ended up at a street-side place called Red on Fulton Street, just a block from FDR. It was a Sunday and it was still early, so the drinking crowd wasn't around, and most of the patrons were of the younger kind - couples and friends out in the city. Carson and the girls were one of only two family groups there. Nevertheless, they had a fun and noisy time as they enjoyed a good Mexican-style dinner of black bean soup, salad, fajitas and chimichangas, with sorbeteros ice cream for dessert.

Callie and Iola stood out a little bit, with their over-done Staten Island-preferred makeup and outfits, but not as much as they would have a few months ago. Clearly, Drew had influenced their fashion choices (as well as a lot of others). In fact, it was comparatively understated and tasteful enough that no one really took undue notice, actually.

Carson, having had only Andy/Drew to take care of didn't have much experience with kids. The occasional times that Andy brought home his friends were not enough to prepare him for the shock of Drew, Callie and Iola together, but he gamely tried to keep up with Drew's friends' flirty and sometimes scandalous behavior, and to try and keep his parental aura intact - Drew's friends were quite fetching, but he didn't want to be perceived as some dirty old man. Besides, they were much too young for his taste. A further complication was that he suspected Iola had a mild crush on him. In his old office, Carson, or rather William at the time, was quite popular among the few female clients his firm had, as well as with his female staff, so this wasn't totally new. But none of them were nearly as young as Iola, nor were they best friends to his son... or daughter. It was awkward, to say the least. He suspected Iola had a thing for older men, and as a widower - a worldly, older, experienced man, and the father of her best friend - perhaps these were some of the reasons why Iola was attracted to him. He played dumb, of course, and just tried to be Drew's friendly dad.

It was a leisurely dinner, and the talk was mostly Iola and Callie embarrassing Drew. When Carson called for the check, the girls asked to have their leftovers doggy-bagged - all three of them hadn't been able to finish their food. Carson should have known, given how little Drew ate. Her friends wouldn't have been any different.

They dropped off Iola first. There were hugs all around, and just before Carson drove off, Iola leaned through the driver-side window and gave Carson a thank you and a peck on the cheek.

They dropped Callie off next, and Drew called out to remind her that she'll be giving her a ride tomorrow, and they went off to their own house.

As they parked in their garage, Carson reminded Drew to go get the stuff they were getting rid of.

When Drew went in her room, she took out the stuff she used in the pool from her bag and hung them, as well as the bag, on the shower curtain bar to air-dry prior to dumping into the hamper. She then went through her room to look for "non-Drew" stuff. In the end, all she came up with were the instruction sheets for the gaff and the plastic bags they came in. Drew took out a pair of scissors from her dresser drawer and carefully and completely cut out the labels from her gaffs. She also did the same for the one that was drying out, and the one she was wearing (changing into her girl-jockeys at the same time).

Still wearing the crop-top but having changed her thong, jeans and flip-flops for comfy shorts and sneakers, she traipsed down the stairs with the stuff.

She went out back where she found her father by the barbecue.

Carson had put a piece of scrap plywood he got from somewhere on top of the barbecue, and on top of the plywood was piled some odds and ends - wadded up pieces of paper, and all the boxes and packaging material from their recent purchases at Best Buy. The three foam wig stands were by his feet.

"Where's the stuff we bought?" Drew asked.

"The detectors and handheld scanners are in the safe, and the big RF scanner and amp are in the living room. The other stuff is on the dining table." Carson said. "I'll take care of installing the scanner and amp tomorrow."

"How about the lipstick cameras, and the pens and stuff?"

"I have four of the lipstick cameras mounted but not connected yet: one focused on the living room, another in the kitchen, another in the garage and another in the upstairs hallway. I was thinking of mounting the one focused at the front yard and the other one at the back late tonight. So no one can see me doing it."

"Great, Dad. Make sure they're near windows so we can work on them."

"Will do. Now, let's get this done, okay?"

Drew nodded. She added her own meager contribution to the pyre, and Carson lighted it with a long stove lighter. They watched as the fire consumed the junk in the fading sunshine and remained mostly silent.

"Why the plywood," Drew asked.

"We were going to burn some plastic and Styrofoam," Carson answered. "I didn't want the grill to be ruined. Speaking of which..." He stooped down and picked up one of the Styrofoam stands and put it in the flame.

Red-orange fire consumed the foam and oily black smoke rose to the sky. They watched the foam melt, drip and burn, and when it was mostly gone, Carson added the next foam stand, and when that was gone as well, Drew put in the last one.

They watched all of their junk burn away, but before the plywood itself could catch fire, Carson poured a glass of water on it.

"So that's it, huh?" Drew said to her dad.

"Yup," he answered as he looked into the dying embers. "Twenty-four-seven. Starting tomorrow. No more breaking out of character. Ever. That's the rule, until all of this is over."

Drew nodded. "No prob," she said. "You can count on me, Dad."

"I know I can," he said. He put his arm around her shoulders companionably. "Let's go in. It's getting dark."

Arms around each other's shoulders, father and "daughter" walked back into the house. To change the mood, she thought maybe it was time to show her dad the clock stuff.

 
Nine: Carson and his job hunt / Callie and her classes

The new day began as it inevitably does. Monday again.

Drew woke up at five, just a hair ahead of her alarm, and hit the button before it rang. The sun had just come out. She yawned and padded to the bathroom. Used to be she hated waking up this early but now it was old hat.

She was up late the night before finishing the installation of the cameras, with a 64GB memory card in each, setting up each one to take a picture every minute, or when there's movement. Each picture would be two hundred kilobytes so that means each can run up to a year before she had to download the pictures and make room for more.

She also got all the "spycam" stuff, experimented with them a little bit, and dumped them all in her desk drawer.

Turning to her dresser table, she finished lining the two knickknack boxes with the Faraday Cage kits, and then gluing felt paper over the metal mesh-like material so it wasn't obvious. For her box, She threaded the cables for the cell phone booster antenna and power supply through a verrry tiny hole she had poked through the bottom of the box, and then taped the box down permanently to her nightstand with mounting tape.

She then snapped off the four arms of the booster's cradle and mounted it lying on its back inside the box. She experimented putting her phone on it and it worked - the booster switching on automatically when the weight of the phone was on the cradle. She turned on her phone's music player and, while it was playing, she put it inside the box and closed the lid. Drew smiled as the sound was hardly muffled. She did the same thing for her dad's box.

Using a needle and thread, she then lined the large, neoprene computer sleeves they just got with the mesh as well, and put slightly smaller neoprene sleeves inside to act as liners. These were where they would keep their computers when not in use.

As for her dad's box, computer sleeves, and all the other bits, she put them on her dresser, with a note for him explaining what she did, and how he could later mount his box the way she did hers.

This way, she and her dad can turn on the radio scanners and detectors, and their phones and computers will not trigger them, even if they were switched on.

When she finally decided to turn in, she changed into another nighty. It was her second night to wear one. They felt comfortable and she thought she might continue wearing them.

- - - - -

When she woke up, she was relieved that there were no... after-effects from night dreams this time.

She got up and did her usual routine of toilet, toothbrush, bathtub, rinse, moisturize, and then hair and makeup. As she got ready, she thought of her long conversation with her dad about what she had already been thinking as "the Case of the Old Clock."

She had shown the stuff she found in the clock to her dad last night, plus the pictures she took. Carson listened and looked at the note and the pictures in detail. Drew was so thorough, he didn't bother to look at the clock anymore. After a bit of thinking, he shared some of his ideas. He suggested Drew check out which theaters in New York had ever shown Kismet, and narrow the date that way. He also thought that the phone company could still help trace telephone numbers, even if they were already defunct, so maybe she could go to the phone company, too. She could also google the names in the note - Marlee, Chloe, Rocko, Ziggy, and of course Luigi Falcone. At worst, she could use the phone listings and search for "43" house numbers in Riverdale, and actually visit each and compare the houses there to the one in the picture.

Drew had already thought of all of that, but she didn't want to be a smart aleck with her dad so she just nodded. She told him she'd start work on it right away, after class.

- - - - -

Picking clothes for school was a bit harder today, she didn't know why. But she eventually picked a nice set of intimates in neutral ivory, put them on and picked her new pair of strappy cork wedges with the adjustable ankle straps. They had five-inch heels (courtesy of the two-inch platforms) so it made her almost as tall as her dad. Good. Girls taller than them usually intimidate boys - this'll keep them from bothering me, she thought.

She picked a color block dress that featured a solid, royal blue chiffon skirt with a royal blue lining underneath, and the top part a light-pink lace bodice.

She looked at the dress contemplatively, noting the sheerness and tightness of the slip underneath. She decided to change her panties for one of her gaffs to be sure. She also thought it best to start buying some more gaffs soon. Lots more. Maybe this afternoon.

After changing her underwear and putting the dress on, she started looking through her still-meager collection of jewelry and accessories. In the end she decided to match her outfit with her new white watch on one wrist and a bunch of jangly silver bangles on the other, some rings, silver hoop earrings and one simple, thin chain around her neck. She picked up her things and got her big canvas duffel, which she usually used to lug around laundry. She also got her oversized knitted pullover sweater that she sometimes wore to bed, and put it in the duffel.

She looked at her watch. Quarter after six - still totally on schedule this morning, despite the fact that she still needed to pass by Callie's first.

Spritzing herself with her new perfume, she went downstairs and caught her dad just starting breakfast in the kitchen.

"Hey, Pop," she said, and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Good morning, Drew," he replied. "Did you sleep well?" he asked as he bustled around the kitchen, cooking sunny-side-up eggs and bacon.

"Pretty good," she said. "I'll just go to the safe and get one of my wigs."

Carson didn't ask the obvious question, i.e. why. "Coffee in the pot, and the toast should be ready in a sec," he said instead.

After retrieving a wig, putting it in the duffel with her sweater and closing up the safe, Drew helped Dad prepare breakfast by putting out plates, low-fat butter, milk and a pitcher of orange juice. She got the toast as soon as they popped out, piled them on a plate, and put more in the toaster.

Carson was by the stove in the kitchen cooking. An induction stove - no gas ranges for them anymore. He flipped a fried egg onto Drew's plate. As usual, Carson expertly excised the yolk, leaving the egg white, and put exactly two strips of bacon beside it. He put the yoke on his own plate, along with six strips.

Drew buttered three pieces of toast for her dad and one for herself, poured each of them coffee and orange juice, and then they sat down to breakfast. Carson opened the paper to the funnies and Drew switched on her iPad and browsed her favorite news feeds - her own version of the morning paper.

"So what do you have planned for today?" Carson asked over his paper.

"I was thinking of starting work on the note later after school," she answered.

"I would feel a whole lot better if you didn't work on that alone."

"But, Pop, I don't have that many friends who would want to help."

"Not too many friends yet, you mean. I've seen you a few times with your schoolmates."

Drew waved her dad down. "I don't have too many friends," she repeated, "and I never really made friends that easy before."

"We'll see. How about Callie and Iola?"

"They won't have time to help. Cheerleader practice."

"They can't always be at cheerleader practice."

"Well, this week they are. There're two championship away games this week."

"How about next week then?"

"Maybe. I'll ask."

"Okay."

"What about you?"

"Well, I'm going to put the finishing touches to my resume' and then email it. I'm also encashing two certificates, deposit the proceeds and then contact Lt. Hardy."

"Why?"

"Need to convert the double-blind account."

Drew was about to comment, but Carson stopped her.

"I know, I know. But we have to do it, to keep the bank account from looking suspicious."

Drew nodded. "How much is in the account now?" she asked.

"Just above three and a half million."

"Has Lieutenant Hardy ever wondered where our money comes from?"

"I told him up front that they're from bearer stocks and bonds that Dave and I had, and I've been encashing them as we needed."

"Did he believe you?"

"Of course. Bearer stock certificates aren't issued much anymore, though some still are, and I assured him the ones Dave got are untraceable back to him, having gone through several hands. So that he wouldn't doubt it, I showed him the sales receipts, documents and stubs and he probably checked them. A few days after I talked with him, he offered the double-blind bank account where we could keep our money. I think he helped Dave plan this kind of thing, and had it already set up for him, and he just ended up giving it to us instead."

"Do you trust him? I mean, what if he does something funny to the account?"

"I do trust him. But, just to be on the safe side, I have a hundred thousand in hundred-dollar bills in the safe, in ten-thousand-dollar shrink-wrapped bundles. And that doesn't include the other bearer bonds and certificates we still have."

Drew nodded "How much will you be depositing this time?"

"I just checked last Friday's going stock prices. It'll be big. I think the bearer bonds will yield about half a million this time."

Drew's face grew serious and nodded judiciously. "So a total of over four million in the bank, and a hundred G's in the safe. Is that enough?"

Carson put down the paper and looked at Drew. "Huh?" Carson thought she was joking. He thought that was more than enough for anything at all that they would ever conceivably need. "Well, if you really think so, I guess I can sell a few more..."

Drew couldn't hold it in anymore, and burst out laughing. "I'm sorry, Dad. Yeah, I think that's more than enough." Drew continued to giggle.

"I thought you wanted to buy a house or a boat or something."

"Nahhh, I was just foolin'." She giggled some more. "Actually, I thought what we already had in the bank was more than enough for whatever. We're filthy rich enough for now. " She giggled again. "Why did you want to put in more?"

"We're going to have to start hiding any unexplained influx of income once the double-blind account is shut down Best to have a little more as a buffer before then. And it will look good when they do a credit check on us."

"They?"

"Well, if we guessed right, the companies I'll be applying to will most probably do a background check, which will probably include a credit check."

"Good thinking." She finished a final bite of toast and the last of her coffee and juice. "Listen, I have to run. Gotta pick up Callie before school." She gave her dad a peck on the cheek. "Besides working on my project, I'm gonna go buy some stuff after school this afternoon, in some... unusual places, so I may be home late for dinner. That okay?"

"How late?"

"I don't know - maybe nine or ten."

Carson nodded. He was curious what the "stuff" was, but he knew better than to ask for details. Nine was not exactly early, but he trusted Drew. "Okay. Take care."

"Good luck today." She gathered her stuff, kissed her dad on the cheek again, and ran out the door.

- - - - -

It took Drew about fifteen minutes to get to Callie's aunt's place. She tooted her horn once. It was a mild Monday morning so, as she waited, she decided to roll the top down. She knew Callie would like that.

After about a minute, Callie stepped out the door of the house she shared with her aunt, leaned over to give her aunt a kiss and ran to Drew's car. Callie's aunt waved and Drew smiled and waved back.

Callie wore a chic wool blazer over a short-sleeved collarless lace top, blue cord shorts and shiny, patent leather Mary Janes with three-inch heels. She was also wearing more subtle colors, the makeup fairly restrained and tastefully applied. It was a lot less flamboyant than her usual looks, but it made her absolutely gorgeous to Drew. Drew didn't know it but Callie was trying to emulate Drew's classier style instead of her and Iola's usual loud, overdone Staten Island style. The outing yesterday clearly had an impact on Callie.

Callie had known for a while now that she was a lesbian, since that illicit "affair" she had with that college girl that was renting her aunt's spare room before Callie's freshman year. Sadly, that girl had since moved on, and Callie, fearful of the reaction of her family and friends if she ever came out of the closet, never told anyone of that relationship nor of her newly-awakened lesbian sexuality.

With that awakening, she finally admitted to herself her feelings for her best friend, Iola. Callie had this enormous crush on Iola ever since grade school, but Iola clearly didn't think of her that way. Callie knew that but she never gave up hope. She idolized the shorter girl, and wished for the time when Iola would at least acknowledge her as more than a friend. In her wistful dreams, Callie imagined Iola finding out about her all on her own and reciprocating her feelings, or at the very least be accepting. But the girl was dense about such things, to say the least. Callie thought it would never happen. And telling Iola directly was out of the question.

Callie felt sad and afraid that this might be the way it will always be, but when Drew - this gorgeous, brilliant, kind, funny, friendly, rich, classy and mysterious creature - came literally from out of the blue, her world was turned upside down once again. Despite being empirically (a word she had learned from Drew) a less pretty girl than Iola "statistically speaking," Drew was still light years ahead of Callie's best friend, and to Callie and the rest of the student body, Drew was the most gorgeous, classiest girl in school. Best boobs, too, heehee. Drew had slowly stolen Callie's heart and mind away, so slowly that Callie herself only became fully aware of it yesterday.

After their swim date, Callie realized she had finally found that person she could open up to. What's more, that person was more than just accepting. Though not a lesbian, Drew had said that she would not throw the idea of a relationship out of hand. In Callie's mind, that statement had ignited a spark of hope. Callie had made up her mind last night (perhaps unconsciously) to make Drew hers. Perhaps not to outright make Drew hers, like a conquest (though dreaming that she would had made Callie's dreams last night unusually erotic), Callie knew that she needed to win the girl over gradually, with patience, love and time. That will be hard, though, since she wasn't known to be a patient girl.

- - - - -

"Hey, girl," Drew said as Callie threw a big duffel bag in the boot and got into Drew's little Opel, leaning forward to give her a short hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek. Callie tried very hard to make her kiss-and-hug casual.

"'morning, Drew. Ready for the day?"

"You know it. I like your outfit, by the way. It's classy 'n sexy. Kind of a change from your usual style." Drew tooted her horn and waved to Callie's aunt again as she pulled into the street.

"I guess I wanted to try something new today," Callie dimpled.

"There's an away game today, right?"

"Yup. Got my uniform in my duffel. I'm gonna change during lunch period, just before we get on the bus for the game." She pointed to her bag in the back. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing. I thought you and Iola might want to help me out with a little project after school."

Callie looked devastated. "I'm so sorry, honey. I wish I could, but this is one of the last games of the season. I can't..."

"S'ok," Drew said. "It's nothing important." She reached for Callie's hand. "Just a little project." Drew then told her about it, and what she had found inside their old clock.

"The clock wasn't your family's originally?" Callie asked, looking puzzled.

Drew decided to tell her the truth. Perhaps not the whole truth, but just enough to make it seem natural, and deflect her away from this chain of thought.

"No," Drew said. "Pop bought it at an antique store in town when we moved in - said it would make the house look better and class it up a bit, though Dad would probably deny that." She giggled. Sure, her laugh was partly for effect, but there was a lot of truthful humor in her giggle. She told Callie everything about the note, the picture and the handprint on the back.

Callie was intrigued, and flirted with the idea of ditching cheerleading today. Sure, spending time with Drew was tempting, but she couldn't. So they made a date to do it tomorrow and Wednesday instead.

"I don't get why you're doing this. Can't the police do this?"

Well... I guess you might say I do this sort of thing as a hobby. I've done this kind of thing before. It's fun, actually."

"isn't it dangerous?"

"Well, I guess it could be. It hasn't been so far, and I try to be careful."

Callie looked at Drew, and thought about this slightly off-the-wall hobby of hers. Somehow, it fit. And, far from being weirded out, Callie found it intriguing, and it added to the uniqueness, to the mystery, and to the attractiveness of Drew.

"Tell me about the other stuff you've worked on," Callie said.

Drew thought a bit and told her a few of the less... spectacular ones from the "cases" that she worked on as Andy, making sure to change around the names of people and places. She forgot to change George and Bess's names, though, but that couldn't do much harm, she thought, since the names weren't too uncommon... Maybe Bess, though.

Drew had just finished her eighth story when she pulled into the school parking lot.

Stepping out of the car, the two got the typical response that they were expecting, only more so - Callie's classy but sexy smoking-hot-librarian look and Drew's outfit and short 'n sassy bob put them over the top, and far from being turned off by it, they both enjoyed the attention, and fielded more than the usual suggestive comments. Near the juniors' girls' lockers, they met up with Iola, who was already in her cheerleader uniform.

"Hey, sexy," Drew called and bussed Iola on the cheek, while Callie gave her a hug.

"Wow, you two look great!" Iola enthused. "The short hair looks great, Drew!" She turned to Callie. "What's with the outfit? I thought we were coming in wearing our uniforms?"

"I changed my mind," Callie said, and pirouetted. "What do you think?"

"Nice, actually."

The final bell rang. They dumped most of their stuff in their lockers and hurried to their classes.

Iola was in a different class so Drew and Callie went on to their English class without her. Drew trailed the usual number of admirers on the way to English, and when she got to their room, most of them had melted away.

Callie gave Drew a hug and sat down at her seat. Drew found her own seat and smiled at her regular seatmates. "Hey, Carol," she said to the girl who had the seat beside hers.

"Whoa, girl! Nice haircut."

"Thank you," Drew said, smiling. "Guess I finally got tired of my old 'do."

"About time, too. You needed a new look."

The boy that sat on her other side pulled his chair closer to Drew's.

"Doin' anything after school, gorgeous?" Fred said.

"I'm open to doing anything, so long as it's not with you," Drew said, with a chuckle. She playfully socked him on the shoulder.

"Zzzing!" his buddy said. "She got ya, Fred." The both of them laughed along with Drew.

Callie wondered at that. Any other girl would probably not have gotten away with something like that, but Drew did it instinctively. She might not know certain things, Callie thought, but she does know about boys.

Ms Cabot, the brunette substituting for their English (and homeroom) teacher, Mrs. Keaton, walked in just in time, and everyone settled down for an hour of gerunds, or whatever was on Mrs. Keaton's lesson plan for the morning.

After roll call and some homeroom-related stuff, Ms Cabot started with the morning's lesson.

"All right, kids, let's begin with the day's lesson." The short substitute teacher swiped at a lock of hair falling over her left eye. "I hope you all did your reading assignments. So, Ms Nance, why don't you get us started. Explain to everyone what gerunds are."

That put Drew in a pickle. Normally, being picked that way would have caused resentment for the "teacher's pet," but Drew knew how to manage that - she'd just do what Jane would do.

She looked to her right, at the clique of girls that were more-or-less the pack leaders of the class (most thought Drew belonged to that clique as well, even if Drew herself didn't), and rolled her eyes. She made sure that Ms Cabot didn't see her doing it even though most of the kids on that side saw.

The girls smiled conspiratorially with her.

She turned to the teacher.

"Well, Ma'am," Drew said, sounding professional, "gerunds are verbs that are used like nouns. They all end with 'ing.'"

"Excellent, Drew," the short teacher said. "So, how about some examples? Let's see." She drew a finger down Mrs. Keaton's list. "Mr. Phil Cohen - care to try?"

The class comedian looked nonplussed, to say the least, not being prepared as usual. Drew felt bad for him and signaled Callie with her eyes - a silent plea for her to help him out. Callie nodded and leaned over to Phil.

"Use a verb that ends with 'ing.' Get it?" Callie whispered to him sotto voce. "I-N-G."

Phil paused and looked at Callie. Callie could practically see the rusty gears finally turning over in the guy's head. And like the proverbial light bulb switching on, his face lit up.

"How 'bout this, Ms Cabot," Phil said and turned to Drew.

"I can't help falling in love with you, babe," Phil said in a ridiculous Elvis Presley voice.

Everyone laughed and Drew stuck her tongue out at him.

"Very good, Phil. Anyone else want to try?"

One of Phil's buds raised a hand.

"Yes, Mr. Hooper?"

"Kissing you is my greatest dream," Biff Hooper said, and made kissy faces at Drew.

"Hmmm. I guess that works. Let's move on to..."

Another of Phil's buddies, Brian Conrad, raised his hand.

"How 'bout this," Brian said, "I betcha you haven't tried making love to a real man before, huh, babe?"

Ned Nickerson, one of the football team's offensive tackles was noticeably getting steamed. Everyone knew he was stuck on Drew, and these tacky innuendoes on her were starting to grate.

Drew noticed it, too, so she tried to diffuse the tension. She raised her hand.

Ms. Cabot sighed and bowed to the inevitable. "All right. Yes, Drew?"

Drew stood. "If you guys don't stop," She said menacingly, looking at the three, "I will start taking offense, and will be hitting you blockheads with a two-by-four later after class!"

Everyone started laughing and, as she intended, it diffused the gathering tension. She glared at the three guys for good measure, and it did her slightly-offended pride some good when she saw the three of them gulp nervously. No one had been able to get away with anything with Drew so far since she started going to school here, which paradoxically made her hotter in the boys' eyes.

Ms Cabot made a patting-down gesture. "All right, class, settle down. Thank you, Drew. So I take it everyone knows what gerunds are now?" After some assents from the class, Ms. Cabot nodded. "Now, everyone, except for the three of you," she gestured at Phil, Biff and Brian, "is to write a short composition of at least twenty-sentences, with at least ten examples of gerunds."

She gestured at the three. "You three are going to the principal's office, and are to stay put until I get there." Phil was about to protest, but Ms. Cabot made a cutting-off gesture. Despite being new and tiny, she had an air of toughness that made everyone respect her.

"Have Ms Sato text me when you get there. Okay? Now, go." The three picked up their stuff and dejectedly left for the principal's office.

"As for the rest of you - start writing."

Everyone knuckled down and started on their writing.

Drew sighed. Just another typical day in school, she thought.

- - - - -

Most of the day was sort of like that, although, with Callie in her sexy librarian outfit and Iola in her cheerleader finery, most of the typical innuendoes toward Drew were a lot diffused since there were three of them instead of just her. At lunchtime, Callie changed into her uniform and Drew walked the two to the school bus that was bringing the cheerleaders and some of the school staff to the away game that afternoon (most of the team rode in the other bus).

The rest of the afternoon went as it usually did, and Drew was able to get through it just fine.

After her final class, Drew went to her locker chatting with some of her other friends. As usual, there were a few guys trying to put the moves on her, but she didn't worry too much about them. Guys around girls, and girls around guys, have already been demystified for her (having been on both sides of the fence now) and she could usually manage such encounters without consciously thinking about it. What she was having trouble with though was how she should behave around girls.

It was three o'clock, so that gave her time to begin her research before she had to do her "special shopping."

She drove to Riverdale in the Bronx, often having to consult her little GPS app since it was the first time for her to be in that neighborhood.

Riverdale was about thirty miles away, and it took her about an hour to get there. It was a fairly affluent residential enclave in the city right next to the Hudson River, and she was charmed by its quaint, turn-of-the-century suburbian feel, especially around the Riverdale Historic District (although, she smiled to herself, she doubted the people who lived back then when the neighborhood was new would have thought anything here historical, or recognized the term "suburb").

She drove around as slowly as she dared - slow enough that she could look over the house numbers but fast enough that the police wouldn't take undue notice.

Though she kept her eye out for houses with "43" street addresses, she had some trouble.

It was getting late, and the sun was getting low in the sky when she finally hit pay dirt. She turned onto another street - this one had a little more run-down look than the well-manicured ones of the other streets she had driven through. Actually, it wasn't bad looking at all except that there were more fallen leaves on the sidewalk, and the trees looked a little shaggier. The impression could actually be caused by her imagination since it was a little darker now, and she couldn't see the street like she did earlier - everything looked a touch gloomier and foreboding.

Anyway, she noticed house number 43, and it was on her side of the street. She pulled over, turned on her blinkers and pulled out the picture from the clock, still in its Ziploc bag.

The house was just at the intersection, and looked about the same as in the picture, but to be sure, she held the picture up and compared. Yep, except for the differently-trimmed trees, the closed garage, and a more weathered look and dingier paint job, this was the same house. "Finally," she sighed.

She also noticed a for-sale sign, but it was a little weathered so she assumed it had been there for a while and there haven't been any takers. She tried to see if anyone was home but no one seemed to be around, and she didn't actually want to knock since she hadn't really thought through what she should say.

Besides, she rationalized, it was pretty late for strangers to come calling, and decided to come back another day. She noted the exact address, #43 Merrimack Street, took some pictures with her smartphone and put all her stuff away. At least now she had an address to use to start tracing people.

Okay, one more chore to do, she sighed to herself: Time to do her shopping.

- - - - -

The first thing she did after that trip to Riverdale was to go to an ATM and make a giant (for her) withdrawal of four thousand dollars with her new card (her dad had made arrangements to change her limit to four thousand). Afterwards, she started looking for a gas station with a bathroom. Finding one, she parked, got her duffel and went into the bathroom where she pulled on the sweater over her dress, modified her makeup into a tackier style, and put the wig on.

She then went to that little specialty boutique she went to on her first solo trip (it was technically in New Jersey, but it was only an hour away by car, actually), with the intent of buying gaffs to supplement what she already had at home.

She knew she'd be wearing gaffs a lot of the time now. So she had to buy enough so that she wouldn't need to buy any more for a while. She went to the display she remembered from before and got ten white gaffs and five each in powder blue, powder pink, pastel yellow and pastel green, three each in red, in ivory and in black - all in a regular high-cut style. She also got the same number and colors in a g-string style, as well as in thong (the difference between g-strings and thongs was minor but she knew the thong type was for more sporty activities, and she thought she might need that), and the same number and colors in full-panty styles. All in all, she got a hundred and fifty-six, practically buying up most of the store's stock in gaffs in her size. The bill's total came to a staggering two thousand nine hundred dollars (that already included the volume discount).

She thought a bit and got an additional forty - ten in each style, in nude (or "invisible" as some of the packages called the color), bringing her haul to a hundred and ninety-six gaffs, and a total bill of a little under three thousand seven hundred dollars... OMG.

The store was empty at the moment, and the clerk at the cash register was different from the one Drew remembered, thank God, so the clerk didn't recognize her and no one else saw her. Even though she was in disguise, she was glad about that. The clerk probably wanted to ask why she needed so many gaffs but didn't know how. Drew didn't bother to explain, paid quickly, in cash no less, and got out right away.

The underwear filled seven big, plain bulging plastic bags and Drew struggled with them a bit, as well as with her purse, as she walked down the sidewalk. She regretted parking so far away, and it took her more than ten minutes of brisk walking before she reached her blue Opel.

With a tired huff, she dumped all of the bags in the boot, taking out her big duffel to make room.

This number of underpants should last her for the rest of the year, she thought, maybe even ten years, and the selection of colors and styles guaranteed she'll have something to match any conceivable outfit, occasion or situation. Which means no one will see her buying such things at such... unusual places anymore, and thereby keeping her identity and her dad's out of jeopardy. She knew that her size may change, but she thought it better to take that small chance rather than risk someone breaking through her disguise.

As she drove back home, she spotted a Shell gas station. She parked in the parking area for the little Select store near the bathrooms, quickly got out and went inside. Quickly, she doffed the wig, fluffed and combed her real hair back into place, changed back to her original makeup and took off her sweater, which changed her back to her original outfit from school.

She was out of there in eight minutes flat.

By the time she was done and was back home, it was past nine. Dad was upstairs in his room so she was able to get all her stuff inside without him seeing, and probably getting weirded out by the stuff she bought. She dumped the bags of underwear on her bed, and her school bag and other stuff on her desk. She thought a bit and decided to stow all the bags under her bed instead.

She went to her dad's room and knocked on the door.

"Dad?" she called.

"Come in!" her dad answered and she walked into his room.

She found him at his desk working.

"How'd your day go today?" Drew asked, leaning down and giving her dad a kiss on the cheek - a gesture which was automatic by now, and neither of them were weirded out by it anymore. Truth was, she liked kissing her dad hello now.

"Well," Carson answered, "I went to Frank Hardy this morning, and it seems he was already prepared for my request. I guess he and Dave already thought of this eventuality. Here you go." Carson handed her two bankbooks and ATM cards, as well as a couple of credit cards. One of the credit cards was a Citibank MasterCard gold picture card (it had one of the cute pictures of her that they had taken against a neutral blue background soon after they had recovered from their plastic surgeries), and the other one was an Amex Clear Card.

"Those are all backstopped, as Frank calls it, with up to five thousand dollars credit limit each, meaning they're safe to use, and they all have long credit transaction histories which will stand up to any kind of scrutiny."

She nodded and then turned her attention to the bankbooks.

I didn't know bankbooks were still in use, Drew thought. She didn't even know anyone who had bankbooks except for Maria. She opened both and each had several pages worth of bogus but safe transactions in there, going back more than four years, mostly withdrawals and department store payments. One was a Northfield Savings Bank book (and matching ATM card), and it had a balance of a little over fifty thousand! There were a lot of entries there, with only half of the pages remaining blank. "Guess this is supposed to be my regular account," Drew thought. "My current ATM card only has fifteen... Well, eleven now, after my withdrawal earlier. And that's all the money I have in the world. Or had... Hmmm... now I have an extra fifty thousand. Now, what can I buy with fifty thousand?" Drew giggled to herself.

The other was a Bank of America bank book and matching ATM card. She looked at the fancier little pocketbook, and only the first page had any entries. Looking at the balance, she gasped.

"Seven hundred and seventy thousand?" She looked up at her dad. "All that is mine?"

Smiling a little, Carson shrugged. "Sure. I'll have to co-sign any single withdrawal or payment above five thousand until you turn eighteen, but sure, it's yours."

She looked at her dad a little skeptically. "You're trusting me with over eight hundred and twenty thousand dollars... Are you high or something?" I'm almost a millionaire now, she thought. OMG!

Carson laughed, but stopped himself abruptly when he saw her serious expression.

"Two things, Drew," he said. "First is that I trust you with all of this money. You've more than earned my trust. But, second, this is my hedge against anything happening to me. That, if I... go away... you'll have enough to keep you afloat for a while. So you better take care of this little nest egg, okay?"

"Stop talking like that," she said.

"Another thing - I've finished the process to get you emancipated. All that's needed is an appearance in court, and your signature."

"Stop it!" She said, and started to cry.

"I'm sorry. This'll be the last time, I swear."

Drew gave him a hug. "It won't come to that, Dad," Drew sniffed.

Carson grabbed a few tissues and handed them to her.

"Stop it, you crybaby," He said gently. Drew stuck her tongue out at him, and then wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"Oh, by the way, no more allowances - you manage your own money now."

Drew made a face at that, but she expected it.

Trying to change the topic, Carson showed her the other stuff he had. Carson had a couple of bankbooks and ATM cards, too, as well as Amex, Citibank, Standard Chartered and Bank of America credit cards. He showed her all the paperwork, which he kept in a little safe (this was one of two small, conventional safes he had just bought from Best Buy that afternoon, which were totally unlike the one they had hidden in the kitchen. He kept this new safe at the bottom of his closet). The paperwork he showed her basically said that everything would become hers if something were to happen to him. She also saw a sealed envelope typed with the title, "last will and testament," but she pushed it down into the pile, not even wanting to read it.

He also gave her the other safe, still in its corrugated-cardboard box, and he suggested she keep her bankbooks, valuables & other important documents in there. Drew nodded.

Carson then started to explain the other stuff he did.

"I emailed my comprehensive resume to that headhunter Brad recommended at lunchtime today, for the three companies," (he gave Drew a look, and she knew which companies they were), "as well as for five law firms. I got a return email a couple of hours later. I was surprised at the quick reply, to say the least, but apparently there was a certain company that desperately needed someone with my exact background and qualifications right away." Carson grinned and winked at her. Drew understood, and giggled.

"Anyway, I'm scheduled for a couple of interviews, the first one is tomorrow, actually, at ten, downtown."

"Downtown New York City?"

"Yes. Anyway, it's for a position in their legal department, and if I pass, they want me to start right away." Carson mentioned the name, and it was one of the three companies in Drew's shortlist.

The two of them looked at each other. So. Finally, it starts. Drew nodded in silent acknowledgement of that fact.

"So, twenty-four-seven, Drew. For real."

Drew nodded soberly. "Sure."

They both thought what that meant for them. They've actually been behaving that way, more or less, for three months, but now, breaking out of character even momentarily can't be allowed anymore.

Carson cleared his throat to break the mood. "So...," he said. "How about you? Made any progress on your mystery?"

Drew told him about her trip to Riverdale, and the house she found.

"It's still there," she told him, and showed him the pictures she took of the house with her phone.

"That's great. What's your plan now?"

"Haven't thought of it much. I guess I have to find out who owns the house, and maybe try to associate it to the name 'Marlee' and all that."

"Great."

"Listen, I'm famished. You want me to cook us something?"

Carson looked horrified. "You? Cook?"

Drew slapped his shoulder.

"You're mean!"

Carson pulled her into a hug - a gesture that would have been awkward four months earlier, but now, it seemed like an automatic thing.

"Just joking. I'll just go down and warm up the pork chops I made earlier, and finish off the baked potatoes."

"Okay, I'll..." She stooped down and tried lifting her new safe, grunting at the weight. "I'll just put this in my room..." She managed to lift it on her second try and staggered to her room with the safe.

Carson chuckled. He knew better than to offer to help, so he just went down to the kitchen to finish up his cooking instead.

Copying her dad, she put the safe at the bottom of her closet. She read the instructions and set her own six-digit combination, deposited her new bank books in there as well as some papers. She read the instruction sheets that went with her new ATM and credit cards, memorized the default passwords for each, and put the instructions in the safe as well. She'll change the passwords later. After putting her new cards in her purse, she thought a bit, dug in her dresser and put her mom's brooch and other trinkets from her past life that her Dad didn't know she kept, in the safe as well. She looked at the little keepsake locket that her friend Bess had given her in her previous life, and inside was a picture of her as Andy Fayne, and her friends Bess and George, and on the other side a picture of her dad as Bill Fayne.

She thought about it and, in the end, she decided to keep it as well. This was a risk, and was against the rules, but she couldn't bear to get rid of it and the other little keepsakes. She put it in with her mom's brooch.

She then went through her entire new supply of underwear, unpackaged them and carefully cut off the tags that identified them as "gaffs" instead of lingerie, panties or just plain underwear, or had unusual brand names on them. A hundred-plus panties took a lot of doing but she finished them all, packing all the little tags she had cut out and the cardboard and plastic wrappings into one of the shopping bags. She put away all the underwear (she was able to put all of them in the bottom drawer of her big dresser), keeping them underneath a layer of more conventional regular panties, and resolved to circulate through all of them so that she wouldn't wear any of them out too quickly.

She then picked up the plastic bag full of gaff tags and plastic wrapping, and went downstairs.

Before she got to the kitchen, she remembered the RF scanner and detoured to the living room. She went directly to their fancy Bose home entertainment system setup and looked over everything. On the bottom-most rack, which was below their Bose amp and equalizer, was their new Harman amp. She looked over the wiring at the back and found that her dad had it wired up to the DVR, the speakers, the big Panasonic flat-screen TV, and the Roku. She wondered how it worked.

She looked at the new amp's front panel in detail, and found that her dad had a tiny little latch screwed unobtrusively to the upper left corner of the panel - if a person didn't know to look for it, she wouldn't find it. She unhooked the latch and the front panel swung down on a newly installed hinge. It seems her dad had artfully squeezed in the RF scanner into the inside of the Harman, and was able to preserve the Harman's wiring, moving them to the right of the amp's insides, leaving sufficient room for the RF scanner.

With the amp's panel hanging down, Drew found that she could turn the scanner on and work it's own little panel. She turned it off and closed the amp's panel, latching it closed.

Experimentally she turned the Harman amp on, and the amp's controls lit up. Cool.

After fiddling with the setup, she found that her dad had rigged it so any user could switch to either of the new amps at will by operating the DVR, TV or Roku controls. She turned on the TV to a random cable channel and switched the TV's audio output to the new Harman amp, switched the amp on, and found that the sound was pretty adequate. She then switched to the original setup's Bose amp and found the sound better and richer, but not by much. Pretty great!

She went to the side table near the office and got one of the markers her dad kept there for writing notes. She used that to color the aluminum-colored latch black, and hid the scratches that dad made on the amp's finish. The latch was now totally unnoticeable against the black finish of the amp.

Coolness.

She then picked up the odds and ends she brought from her room and proceeded to the kitchen. She didn't speak but signed to his dad, and jiggled the bag of stuff in the air.

Not understanding, Carson gestured with his palm up and shrugged.

Sighing, Drew took the stove lighter and mimed setting the bag on fire. Her dad finally got it and gave her a high sign. She went out, hunted up the slightly charred old plywood sheet he used before and burned up the wrapping and tags.

Afterwards, they sat down to an excellent salad-and-pork chop-and-baked-potato dinner, and talked about nothing more important than school stuff and her dad's upcoming interview. All innocuous stuff. Just like a real family.

After dinner, and her dad was watching TV as she was washed and dried the dishes (she volunteered - after all, Dad was the one who cooked), she was thinking, "... just like a real family? What the hell, we ARE a real family!" She smiled and hummed as she cheerfully finished with the dishes.

 
Ten: Drew and her new apprentices / The Girls and their new cheerleader

Not all was good in school the following day. A big part of the school body was in mourning - their football team lost the day before. At least, as Ms Cabot said, the school was guaranteed fourth place, which was the highest the school had ever placed in the last ten years.

Which was the same thing that most of the other teachers said to their kids that morning, and that cheered up almost everyone except Iola and the other cheerleaders. Most assumed Iola felt bad for the team, but in reality, she felt bad that she couldn't wear her cheerleader outfit at the championship game anymore, wave her pompoms and do high kicks. Iola has always wanted to be the center of attention, and this was one less opportunity to be so. Her depression didn't stop her from dressing in one of her sexier school outfits, though - she was wearing a white lycra one-piece swimsuit as a top (she had put in a small pair of silicone bra inserts that Callie liked to call "booblets," to make her boobies more perky) and paired it with a black faux leather miniskirt and platform combat-style boots. It was all within the school's dress code. And, besides, none of the adults would know that she was actually wearing a swimsuit. To be safe, though, she brought along a nice cardigan-style sweater that she could put over the suit just in case. At the moment, she had her sweater knotted around her waist by its sleeves.

As for Callie, normally she would probably feel the same as Iola, but she had Drew occupying her mind lately. Yes, like Iola, she DID want attention, but nowadays, the attention she wanted was Drew's attention.

Callie had elected to wear a nice sleeveless lace top over a stretchy string tank, an above-the-knee canvas-colored bandage skirt and high-heel pumps. The lines and style were very similar to Drew's own style - very grown-up, chic and subtle, especially when compared to the Island kids' more blatant style, and even Iola's.. Drew had replaced Iola as Callie's new fashion inspiration.

Callie couldn't ride to school with Drew that morning because she needed to go to school early for a cheerleader meeting. She had called Drew from the school gym at 6AM. Drew was surprised but didn't make a big deal about it, and said that they'd just meet in class instead.

"Cheerleading meeting?" Drew wondered.

Later on in class, even though she was curious, Drew decided not to ask Callie anything. But she didn't need to.

"Hey, Callie," Drew said as Callie came in the classroom, gave her a casual kiss on the cheek and sat down at her desk. "Great outfit!"

Callie smiled broadly. "Hey, Drew," she responded. Her seat was a couple of chairs away so she had to raise her voice a bit. "Thanks. Is it okay if the squad joins us for lunch later?"

Drew put a curious expression on her face. "What's up?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing. At least nothing I can tell you now. So, it's okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Coolness," she grinned, and then she turned serious. "I just want to let you know, I was against the idea, but I couldn't do anything. You know how Janine can be." Drew looked at her a little quizzically but didn't pursue it.

Later during Drew's, Callie's and Iola's lunch period, they picked one of the larger tables in the cafeteria. Callie turned away the kids that wanted to sit down, with Drew making apologies to everyone. A couple was offended but the rest didn't mind too much.

The three best friends had a giggly, fun time together as they usually did during lunch. After twenty minutes or so, the rest of the cheerleaders came over. Knowing that these were Callie's and Iola's friends, Drew decided to be friendly and civil, although her feminine side wanted to scream at these self-important bimbos. Her masculine side, however, just wanted to stay at the table and ogle these teen goddesses until she had to go back to class.

Drew had elected to dress in her new coral-colored button-down shirt, with all the buttons buttoned up. Despite being buttoned up, the close fit and her... prominent assets made the outfit outrageously sexy, even if one didn't mention the double-layered mid-thigh-length gathered miniskirt made out of the same material and color as the blouse. It showed off her smooth legs to their best effect. She matched the outfit with designer cowboy boots and a varsity-style jacket, which she had off at the moment. The thing was, since she was wearing a verrry short, loose and breezy skirt, her... excitement was very obvious. She resolved not to get up until she knew she had control of... the situation.

"Hey, Drew," Janine said, and bussed Drew on the cheek.

Drew nervously didn't say anything and just smiled her welcome instead.

Janine was the tall senior who was the cheer squad's captain. She was as tall as Drew, in fact. She sat beside Iola, in between her and Drew. Six other seniors, all members of the cheer squad, made the same greeting with Drew and sat in the various empty spaces around the table. There were three missing from the cheer squad. Drew assumed the missing girls had classes.

Though the girls didn't look the same, they were all of the same mold - gorgeous, and wearing sexy outfits with the shortest skirts allowed by the school dress code despite the cold weather. But Drew chided herself for being too critical. She was wearing a mini herself so she could hardly comment on the cheerleaders' outfits.

She couldn't help noticing the look many of the kids were giving her. Now she'll be identified with the cheerleaders - something she didn't want. It was unfortunate that Callie and Iola, her current best friends, were both varsity cheerleaders, but Drew had so far been able to avoid being associated with the cheerleaders despite that, and kept herself separate and from being thought of as one of "them." She wondered if that was even possible now.

Drew tried to keep her eyes facing front and forward. She crossed her legs in order to hide her... discomfort. But with her Drew persona on full display, no one would have known of her discomfort, except for the fact that she wasn't moving from her chair. She wished she was wearing one of her gaffs.

Callie noticed some of her difficulties though, but far from feeling jealous or something similar, she actually felt a kind of hope, that, given how Drew was responding to all of the female pulchritude surrounding her, it meant that she might be willing to consider having a relationship that's not a heterosexual one, and therefore confirming that Callie had a chance with her after all.

"Let me get to the point, Drew," Janine said, flipping her bright-blonde hair over her shoulder. Drew forced herself not react to that, and just paid closer attention to what she was saying.

"Okay," Drew said evenly. "Shoot."

Callie giggled inside. "The little faker," she thought.

"All seven of us will be graduating this year," Janine continued, innocently running her hand through her gorgeous, long hair. (Callie noticed Drew swallowing at that, which almost made her giggle out loud that time.)

"We're gonna have to leave the varsity squad to Iola and Callie and our other three juniors. But that leaves the squad seven girls short. Usually the numbers are made up by the up-and-coming Jayvees. But, Drew," she leaned towards her, her voice turning conspiratorial, "we've seen the kids, and Coach Stoeger agrees - these kids aren't up to standard." She then grinned, but in a sad way. "And they don't have the looks for varsity cheerleading."

Callie's and Iola's eyebrows went up in surprise. The coach hadn't said anything at all about the Jayvees.

Drew raised an eyebrow as well. "That's real mean to say," she thought. Any kind of attraction she was feeling for Janine suddenly disappeared.

Besides, she thought, she'd seen the Jayvees and she thought that they were pretty cute, actually, though not as voluptuous nor as developed as Janine, Iola and the rest, and though they weren't the best, she thought that they were pretty good, and were really trying hard. At least based on the little that she saw of their routines.

Drew didn't say any of that, of course. "So, how can I help?" she said instead.

"Well, we'd like to start recruiting new girls to the varsity cheer squad. Yes, I know our season's done, and it'll only be after September or so that Coach Stoeger will start picking and training our replacements from the new Juniors and Seniors, but we think it'll be good to start loading the team with some good talent even as early as now."

Drew looked surprised. "You can't mean me?" she asked.

Janine reached out and held Drew's hand.

"Iola says that you're pretty agile and nimble, and also pretty strong - the ideal for the bottom girl in our pyramid formations."

Drew looked to Iola.

"Oh, don't be so modest, girl," one of the others said. "Callie and Iola said they were with you when you were swimming rings around all the boys in the pool in Central Park Saturday, and Iola also said you help push her dad's old car to pop-start it all the time. All by yourself, in fact."

Drew's eyebrows rose. She didn't realize Callie and Iola told such personal things to the cheerleaders.

"And besides," Janine said, "it helps that you're one of the most gorgeous and popular girls in school!"

The other cheerleaders laughed at that.

"I wondered when you'd get to that, Janine!" one of the other cheerleaders giggled.

"Aha!" Drew said to herself. That's why. She felt like the proverbial side of beef on display.

Drew tried to sound honored, but all she really felt was that these people were not really helping to dispel the stereotype that people think about when they think of cheerleaders. Whatever remaining attraction she had for them went out the window. "I really do appreciate the confidence you have in me, girls," she said, trying to stay tactful. "Can I think about it first? I need to talk to Callie and Iola. Maybe we can meet up later?"

"No big," Janine answered. "The football team is having a party on Friday, at Ned Nickerson's house? How about we talk then?"

Drew decided accepting the invite was the best option for now so she nodded.

"Yayyy!" the seniors cheered.

"Thanks, Drew," Janine said and gave Drew a hug. "Now all we need are six more, and when people hear you're on board, I think we'll get the other six real easy."

"Aha!" Drew said to herself again. "That's really why she wants me."

After a bit more chitchat, they said their goodbyes, giving Drew a hug each in turn, as well as a kiss on the cheek.

After they left, Callie and Iola giggled at Drew's very red face. "She's so cute when she's embarrassed," Callie thought.

When they were alone, Callie and Iola looked to Drew with anticipation, Iola very excitedly, and Callie more warily.

"So?" Iola asked.

"Why did you let her say that?" Drew said to Callie and Iola.

"Huh?"

"Why did you let her say all those mean things about the Jayvees? That's not like you Iola."

"But, but..."

"The Jayvees aren't that bad, Iola," Drew said. "Of course they wouldn't be as good as you guys, but the point is to give them all a chance. And, of course, they aren't as developed as you guys - they're younger. But even so, I actually think they're pretty cute, especially the redhead. And their outfits are pretty cute, too."

"Redhead! You mean Sabrina?" Callie asked. "Yeah, she's pretty. That's their team captain."

"Waitaminnit!" Iola interjected, looking at Drew. "This wasn't my idea! And why are you pickin' on me! Callie didn't say anything, too." She huffed and turned away, arms crossed.

Drew turned her around and gave her a hug. Iola was reluctant, but Drew didn't let go until she thawed and gave in.

"I'm sorry, Iola," Drew said, still hugging her. "I shouldn't have said what I said. Guess I was still a bit mad at Janine for being a bitch. I'm sorry."

Iola nodded against Drew's shoulders. "Oh, all right," She mumbled, relishing Drew's arms around her. She was always amazed at how strong Drew felt, yet still feel so soft as well.

"And the reason I wasn't saying anything to Callie," Drew said as she let go, "was because she already said she didn't have anything to do with this?"

Iola looked at Callie. Callie shrugged sheepishly.

"What does Janine have against the Jayvees anyway?" Drew asked. "If they're graduating this year, then what does she care what happens next term? What? It's personal or something?"

Iola and Callie gave each other a look. "I don't know if..." Iola said slowly.

Drew raised an eyebrow. "Spill!"

Iola shrugged. "Callie says she heard something... I don't believe it myself..."

Drew looked at Callie, eyebrows raised.

"I heard it from somewhere," Callie shrugged. "Just rumors..."

Drew sighed. "This is like pulling teeth..."

Callie giggled. "Sorry... Okay, here's what I heard - I heard Sabrina, the Jayvees' captain, made a pass at Janine, and Janine didn't like it. "

Drew had a look of surprise on her face. "You're kidding. You mean..."

Callie smiled. "Yep, Janine's poor hereto sensibilities were offended. It was nothing major, really - just a kiss."

Like many heterosexual boys, Drew was fascinated by the idea of two girls... doing stuff. "Yeah?"

Callie noted the small smile that Drew had. She was thrilled - she definitely had a chance.

Drew shook her head slightly, shaking away any more prurient thoughts. "Has Sabrina done anything else besides try to kiss Janine?"

"No. She wouldn't do anything. Especially if the other person wasn't interested. She's a good kid, Drew."

Drew nodded. "In that case, Janine should have given her a break and got over it. It was just a kiss."

"My thoughts exactly," Iola said. "But Janine has already started rumors about Sabrina. Good thing she's not letting them affect her much."

Drew looked at Iola. "I'm sorry, Iola, but I can't get onboard with this if it's just a way of shutting out the Jayvees... Sorry."

Iola reached over and hugged Drew. "S'okay, Drew. I understand. And I agree with you, too."

"I just wish that there was a way to give the Jayvees a fair shot at Varsity. I don't mind if they don't make it through the tryouts, but they should be given a shot. But with Janine makin' her moves...You know?"

"Don't worry, Drew," Callie leaned over and got a hug in as well. "Iola and I will think of something. Maybe we can talk it over tonight? Your place?"

Drew shrugged. "No prob." But she paused.

"Listen," she said, "since I have the two of you here, I have my own proposition to make."

Callie's ears pricked up at the mention of a "proposition," but silently kicked herself. It's probably about that stupid clock again.

"Yes?" Iola asked.

"Callie knows about it already," Drew said. "Anyway..." Drew told them about the note and the picture inside their old grandfather clock, how she found them, and how she wanted to get at the bottom of this mystery. She also told them about finding the house down in Riverdale.

"Why are you doing this?" Iola asked. "Isn't this a matter for the police? What do you want to do exactly, anyway?"

Drew then told them about her plans to visit the telephone company to find out about the telephone number, to go to the state Department of Records and find out more about the house, to find out when Kismet was last playing in New York, and to maybe visit the people at number 43 Merrimack Street, as a final last-ditch thing.

"But, Drew, why?" Iola asked. "Why go through all this trouble?"

"Well, there's no crime to report, so the police won't help. Aren't you at all curious, Iola?" Drew said, pulled printed scans of the picture and the note from her bag and gave it to them. "Doesn't this capture your imagination at all? Maybe the girl, Marlee, never met up with Louie. Maybe she's still waiting. Maybe something happened to him and Ziggy blew him away. So many maybes. It's very exciting and romantic, if you ask me."

Iola giggled. "You're so sentimental, Drew."

Drew smiled and shrugged. "So?"

"What if it's all nothing? What if Louie and Marlee did meet up, and they lived happily ever after? What then?"

"Well, maybe we can at least return the note and the picture. I'm sure Marlee will appreciate that."

"If she's still alive." Iola looked to Callie. "What do you think?" Iola asked the taller girl.

"I'm in if you're in," Callie said, and gave her a pleading look. "Please, please, please!" Callie's expression seemed to say to Iola.

Iola sighed. After a moment, she shook her head and laughed. "Okay, then, Sherlock," Iola said to Drew. "We're in."

Drew grinned an uncomplicated grin. She had sidekicks again. Dad would laugh. She gave both of them a hug.

"You're a strange girl, Drew," Iola said fondly.

"You don't know the half of it," Drew giggled.

Before going back to class, they agreed to meet up later, and to go to Drew's house and start making plans.

 
Eleven: Tiger and her stats / Drew and her plans

After classes, Drew went outside ahead of the girls while they put their stuff away in their lockers, so Drew would have time to get her car out of the parking lot. As usual, there was a long queue of cars to the exit. Drew called her dad up while she waited in line, asking him if it was all right to bring the girls over for dinner. He said sure, and hung up abruptly. He sounded distracted. Probably prepping for his interview or something.

Drew looked around. There were a lot of custom or restored cars in school, and a few high-end ones usually driven by the richer kids. She could see most of them at the front of the line. But there were a lot of older-model unmodified regular cars, too - many of them were bought cheap and were in need of some TLC, and the rest were what Jane would have called "mom-mobiles" - cast-off cars that kids inherited from their folks. Drew's eight-year-old Opel Tigra Twin-Top fell in the middle of these two broad "classifications": the high-end or street-rod cars, and the hand-me-downs or fixer-uppers. But with all of the improvements she's had done, maybe that doesn't follow anymore.

Drew's car was an old-enough model, and looked close enough to stock to qualify as a hand-me-down, although the hood sported a small shaker-style hood scoop that wasn't in the original. The change was quite subtle and was usually overlooked. So, to most, it just looked like a stock Opel, and though it had been customized, pains were taken to keep her lines close to stock.

Yes, the car had lots of changes, but these mods were necessary since the car couldn't accommodate its new turbocharged monster and transmission without them. The people at Otto's garage had gotten hold of an engine from a totaled Mercedes Benz CLA. True, the donor car was a junker, but the power plant was untouched. And given that car was a Benz, and a fairly new model, Drew had to pay mucho moolah. But she got blinded by the fact that it was a small-footprint 300-horsepower, two-liter motor, so she closed her eyes and forked over the money (or, rather, her dad did lol). Drew had a limiter put in, however, so the car won't accelerate over 120 MPH, otherwise, braking and turning would be verrry tricky. Still, she could remove that limit if she trips a switch hidden under the dash. The Benz CLA-class could supposedly do 155 MPH, but Drew was a bit ambivalent to find out if her Tiger could match that. Given how small and comparatively light it was, she suspected her car could do more than just 155, but at the cost of losing control.

Also, Otto's mechanics had to have the car's engine well expanded, braced and reinforced a bit to accommodate the bigger and more powerful engine (actually, the whole car was reinforced now), and this necessitated moving stuff around - not a simple thing but do-able. The original one-point-four liter, 120-horsepower engine was taken out, of course, plus a lot of other stuff in the engine well. The people from the garage reinforced much of the internal structure with artfully hidden bars and crosspieces in order to manage the new weight, weight distribution and expected increase in torque. They also had to convert the car from automatic transmission to manual after they replaced the transmission assembly. But Drew didn't mind manual.

She also had a baffled exhaust kit she ordered from the net installed, and with these new pipes, the little Opel was more efficient and as quiet as a kitten despite its new turbocharged engine.

It also had formula-style suspension and ceramic brakes now, but they weren't obvious. The new brakes and suspension allowed it to manage the new weight, to brake in less distance, and to corner like it was on rails. Its windscreen frame was specially reinforced as well to compensate for the fact that Drew couldn't have a normal roll cage installed because it was now a regular convertible. But its newly-fabricated removable hardtop was reinforced in such a way that, if Drew mounted it, together with the reinforced windscreen frame, the little Opel had something as good as a race-grade roll cage. She also had a bare roll cage made so she could mount it instead of the hardtop, but that was still being fabricated. (For the moment, she used the canvas top and kept the hardtop stored in their garage) They had to take away the mechanism to automatically retract the top, though. But the plus factor was that this freed up enough space to allow them to put in a small rear seat. Drew's car was now a three-seater.

The one good thing, though, was that, with all the changes, the car was now heavier, and was therefore that much more stable and safe to drive.

The almost-standard seats reduced the safety factor that the reinforcement gave (bucket racer seats would have been better), but the air bags that were retained more than compensated for that. Her upholstery guy also added extra detachable shoulder-to-hip straps for the two front seats so that, when attached, the straps converted the standard-looking three-point seat belts to four-point safety harnesses. She kept the two extra straps underneath the seats, just in case.

And just for the heck of it, she had even ordered a couple of helmets from a women's racing specialty store in her size - one in shiny black and another in shiny pearl-white with fire-engine red accents. They were "full-face undrape" helmets that looked like standard auto race helmets except that the whole front could be swung up. She knew she was probably not going to need them, but what the hey - it was fun to own them. She kept them, as well as race car driver safety pads, in a steamer trunk-style PVC crate in the garage.

The only drawback to all this modification was that the car was heavier and the fuel consumption was therefore more than before. And since she had replaced the original twelve-gallon tank with a smaller racing fuel cell (it only held ten gallons), the car's range was greatly reduced.

The last of the changes were the new, bright, shiny electric-blue paint job with the feminine accents, a set of brushed-chrome Magnum 500-style 17-inch dubs with the inner part painted in the same blue color as the body (Drew made sure she had a fifth one for her spare), a canvas-like manually-folded convertible ragtop replacing the Opel's automatically-folding hardtop, and an understated, unobtrusive but kick-ass sound system. As a final subtle touch, she had the Opel logo on the front and on the back replaced with chrome copies of the Flash's logo from the comic books, and had the little chrome "TIGRA" badge replaced with "TIGER." It was her own little joke, since "tiger" could easily be mistaken for "tigra" (it meant the same, too), and the Opel logo looked awfully close to the Flash's logo. Both touches were subtle enough that few really noticed.

So, although it was really a racer-slash-street rod-slash muscle car, Tiger, as Drew started to call her car, didn't look it (except if you looked real close or opened the hood). And it didn't help that it was a Tigra. Who would make a muscle car out of a rinky-dink little Opel Tigra Twin Top, except for maybe Drew/Andy. And it was all street-legal to boot. (No one had to know about the power plant, after all heehee. That was what the limiter was for.)

If it had to be classified according to the "standard" cars in school, Tiger couldn't properly be a street-rod/muscle car, nor could it be a mom-mobile. Drew's Tigra needed it's own classification. It looked stock, but it wasn't. It was as fast as greased lightning but it wasn't obvious. It was sexy, but not in a street-rod kind of way. It was girl-sexy - sexy in a feminine way, as well as Drew-sexy - subtle and elegant. Anyone looking at it instinctively knew it was special, except they wouldn't be able to easily pin down why. One could very well call it the new classification of cars in school - the "sexy-girl car," or the "Tiger." After all, it was Drew's car that started it.

Aside from Tiger's... sultry, low-key elegance, Drew knew that her little Opel was every bit as good as her old souped-up yellow Sunfire, actually tons better since she practically had an unlimited budget this time and upgraded the hell out of her. She often wondered whatever happened to her old yellow car. Was it destroyed along with their old house?

Thinking all this, she again felt bad because she hasn't gotten the opportunity to open her up all the way yet, and she would dearly love to get an opportunity to match up her Tiger with the school's street-rods. She didn't think she'd get the chance, though.

As soon as the last modification was done, and Drew started tooling around town with her little blue tiger, even the shiny, expensive cars of the snooty, rich girls in school started looking tired and dull, dweeby and tweedy compared to Drew's. And those girls whose parents could afford it started shopping around for similar cars. In the past month, little BMW minis, Japanese Kei-class sportsters and other similar cars in decidedly feminine colors, even Twin Tops like Drew's, started to appear. But, in most people's opinions, none of them could hold a candle to Drew's Tiger.

Drew shook herself out of her reverie and noticed that she was the next one up. She waved at old Harry the security guard, drove through the gate and then out of the parking lot.

She saw Callie and Iola standing by the school entrance steps. She tooted her horn and pulled up to them. As usual, a gaggle of boys were chatting them up.

"Excuse me, boys," she said in singsong. "I'm sorry but Callie and Iola have to leave now." The girls giggled, waved goodbye, and got into Drew's Tiger. Callie took the rear passenger seat, as usual.

"Hey, Drew," Phil Cohen said, sauntered up to her driver-side door while his detention-class buds surrounded Tiger. He looked like the poster child for the Staten Island JD. "Nice little car you have here."

Drew scrunched her face, but in a cute way. "Darn sight better than your bucket," she said.

"You can't mean my Escalade?" He answered sweetly. Phil drove a pimped-out street rod that was his pride and joy, and the envy of all the motor heads in school. "Watch it, sweetie. My rod can run your rinky-dink little ragtop down in a sec."

"So you say," she said.

"Hmmm. Is that a challenge, sweet-cheeks?"

"Call it what you like, Phil. But I can beat you in a straight-up race with my little rinky-dink car anytime."

"Just name the time and the place, honeybun."

"I just might, stud," Drew said. She revved her engine and goosed her accelerator. The guys surrounding Tiger jumped back, giving her room to move.

"Ta-ta!" Drew smiled and slowly drove away.

Callie and Iola giggled. "You're a bad, bad girl, Drew!" Iola said.

"Who, me?" The three of them laughed and they went on to Drew's house.

-----

When they arrived at Drew's, they found the house empty. Drew explained that her dad had an interview at Tate & Company, one of the larger business consulting companies around. Tate & Company was affiliated with Tate Holdings, one of the largest land and real estate developers in the country, as well as American Amalgamated, a global top-twenty manufacturing and retail giant. Drew said they were supposed to know if he got the job today. Going by their expressions, the girls weren't as impressed as Drew hoped. Actually, all that was missing was for Iola to shrug and say, "so?"

They went to the living room to talk about Callie's and Iola's ideas on the cheerleader thing, and to do some homework at the same time.

Though she wouldn't have told anyone, Iola (and Callie for that matter) never used to do homework as regularly as she did nowadays, and it really helped her GPA and school standing. Mr. and Mrs. Morton, and Callie's aunt, were pleased with the large improvement in the girls' grades. The parental units rightly attributed it all to Drew's influence, and wholeheartedly encouraged their kids' association with Drew.

They had also met Carson Nance at a PTA meeting once, and have gone to one of the Nance's now-famous monthly parties at their St. George home, and they had nothing but good things to say about Drew's dad. (It was also because of Carson's monthly parties that the Nances acquired their reputation for being more well-to-do than the average St. George resident, and perhaps that's another reason for their popularity.)

Carson had originally thought up the gimmick of an informal monthly party for them to get to know everyone in the neighborhood. And after three of these parties, the Nances had been able to entrench themselves in the local community and within Drew's school PTA as planned. That wasn't such a difficult thing to do, actually - it was just St. George after all - not Manhattan, and most of the people were nice enough.

Mr. Nance's parties were just for the grownups so, for that particular party where the Mortons and Ms Arlene Shaw met Carson Nance, their kids - Callie, Iola and Drew, had been given carte blanche by the parentals to have a night on the town. Carson was realist enough to know that these kids would do what they wanted regardless of that they said, so he put Drew in charge - even if they didn't strictly follow their rules, he trusted Drew to keep them mostly out of trouble.

Since Drew was the designated driver and the official chaperone-substitute, she had to forgo drinking and be the saner, sober head that would keep the girls in line. Which wasn't exactly true since they ended up barhopping. That was also when Drew got her first-ever fake ID, courtesy of Iola. Since then, of course, Drew had made significant changes to that fake card. The card gave her ideas, actually, and she had started thinking up a nice fake card for her "Rose" alter ego.

But Drew did really keep a (mostly) sober and saner head that night, and looked out for the girls - a good thing, too, as Iola would have gotten in trouble: that girl just couldn't hold her liquor, and drunk men were liable to make trouble, especially around drunk young girls. Not to mention New York pickpockets and what-have-you.

The last couple of hours of that barhopping night were spent in Iola's house, trying to get Iola to sober up before her folks got back from the party. And after several gallons of water and several pots of coffee later, Iola's folks were none the wiser.

Drew sighed, thinking about that night. In the beginning, she thought their choosing a Staten Island address was a mistake. They could have chosen other more posh places, but they were in too much of a hurry to decide on a place at the time. And now it was too late to change. And besides, after living here for a while, Drew started feeling at home (or feel as at-home as she thought she could). In the end they decided that they made the right decision after all.

-----

"So," Drew said as she came back from the kitchen with sodas and chips, "you guys got any ideas about the cheerleading thing?"

"Well," Callie began, "Iola and I tried talking with Coach Stoeger at her office this afternoon, explaining that we were worried for next year's squad..."

-----

"So, Shaw," Coach Stoeger said to Iola and Callie in her usual direct manner. "What can I do for you?" The coach, despite her looks, very feminine style and very feminine deportment, had a reputation of being just this side of butch, and it showed in how she dealt with her students. But she had a reputation of being fair and was on the side of her kids most of the time, so the girls trusted her and the student body respected her.

"Coach Stoeger," Callie said, "we're worried about next year's lineup."

"Isn't it a bit too early to be thinking that far ahead? Besides, what makes you think you'll be part of the squad next year?" She raised a half-mocking eyebrow.

Callie giggled nervously at that.

"Well..." Iola hemmed.

Coach Stoeger looked at them suspiciously. "You've heard something." She said.

But the girls didn't continue.

Stoeger stood up from her desk, went to her office door and closed it, and gestured for the two girls to sit down.

"Okay, girls," she said, sitting down. "You know the drill. When my door's closed, whatever you say is confidential, even from Principal Weatherby. You can tell me anything you want, and it'll just be between us." She leaned forward.

Callie and Iola told her about how Janine was planning to shut out the Jayvees from the squad, and what they and Drew intended - which was to try and find a way to give them an even chance of trying out without Janine and her gang knowing about it.

The coach looked at them with a little skepticism. "I don't think Janine would really do that. Why would she? And why this Drew?"

Iola bit her lip and looked at Callie. Callie shrugged, essentially saying that it was up to Iola if she wanted to tell her.

The coach sighed. "Girls. After all this time, I think you know that you can trust me. I can keep secrets."

"Well, Coach..." And they told her about Sabrina making a pass at Janine, and Janine not liking it.

"Nothing major, Coach!" Callie said. "She just tried to kiss Janine, but when Janine didn't like it, she backed off. No big. But Janine..."

"Hmm..." the coach said, thinking. "Her coach sort of suspected that of Sabrina. But isn't Janine over-reacting a bit?"

"You know Janine, Coach."

Coach Stoeger sighed. "Yes, I do..." Her father was a very strict fundamentalist Christian who had a powerful hold on his kids, and on the community.

"So, can you help us?"

"Well, first of all, girls, I can't tell you how proud I am of you. I'm glad you're trying to give the Jayvees a fair shake. I will help. And tell this girl... what's her name again?"

"Her name's Drew - Drew Nance. She transferred over about three months ago. I'm sure you know her? The cute blonde that drives that little blue convertible?"

Stoeger nodded. Yes, indeed she'd seen the girl around. Who hasn't? So that's her name... "I think I do," Stoeger said. "Please give Ms Nance my thanks as well, and tell her that I would like to see her whenever she has the time."

They talked for a bit more and Coach Stoeger said she'll take care of things. "Tell Sabrina and her squad that I want to see them before the end of class tomorrow, and that tryouts will start as soon as I have enough applicants. Umm, does she know what Janine is planning?"

"No, Coach."

"Good. Then there's no need to tell the Jayvees anything more than that."

"Coach?" Callie said, "Janine and the others - they'll be talking to you soon, and they might ask us what -"

The coach nodded her head. "Don't worry, I won't say we talked, and assure the Jayvees that they'll have a fair shot if they want it. And don't forget to tell that girl, Drew, to talk to me."

"No prob, Coach Stoeger."

-----

"You say Mizz Stoeger wants to talk with me?" Drew asked, puzzled. "Why?"

Iola shrugged. "I don't know."

"I wonder..."

"So?"

Drew shrugged. "Guess I could go and visit her at her office tomorrow? My last period tomorrow afternoon is free. Can you go with?"

"I think mine is free, too. Sure, if I can."

Callie pulled on Drew's sleeve. "Drew? Can you help me with this?" Callie had her algebra textbook open.

Drew sighed and got back to helping the two with their homework.

-----

At about six thirty, Drew's dad arrived. By that time, they had finished most of their homework. "I'm home!" he called as he opened the door, a big grocery bag in his left arm, and his briefcase in his right hand.

"Pop's home!" Drew exclaimed and got up to greet her dad.

She took the bag of groceries from him and gave him a one-armed hug.

"Hi, Pop," she said. "How was today?"

"Got some great news, but I guess we can talk about it at dinner. Hi, kids!" Carson waved to the girls.

"Hey, Mr. Nance," Callie said from the living room table.

He stood by the table, his arm around Drew. "Working hard, I see," Carson said, noting the textbooks strewn all over.

Iola sighed. "What can you do when you're with Mizz Slave Driver over there." She gestured to Drew, and Drew stuck her tongue out at her.

Carson always marveled at this kind of byplay between his kid and her new best friends, but it's all so natural.

"You girls will be staying for dinner, I suppose?" he said.

"Depends," Iola said cheekily. "What're you cookin'?"

Carson laughed. "Okay, it's a surprise, then."

Carson took off his jacket, loosened his tie, gestured Drew to go back to her friends, proceeded into the kitchen and started making his special stovetop barbecue spare ribs and special creamy mashed potatoes, with a side of crisp salad greens, freezer-cold tomato slices and thousand-island dressing. He also put the tub of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey he brought home in the chiller section of the fridge so it'll be ready for dessert. He was far from a gourmet cook, and was never even close to Maria's skills, but he was pretty good with conventional meals.

After a little while, he called to the girls, saying food was about ready and if they can help Drew set the table.

Having had dinner at the Nance's several times before, Callie and Iola were familiar with the routine and knew where everything was kept. In a few minutes, they had cleared their stuff from the table and set four place settings.

Mr. Nance was soon there, carrying a big platter of his jiffy-cooked spare ribs, warning their guests that the meal wasn't diet-friendly, but after the first bite, they unanimously agreed that they could skip their diets for tonight at least.

Table talk was about what happened at school today, and Carson, as always, gave polite attention even though he didn't particularly want to know about school gossip or the latest trends with the teenagers of St. George. But mostly table talk was just a lot of appreciative noises from Callie and Iola as they scarfed up Mr. Nance's cooking.

Over dessert of Ben & Jerry's ice cream and coffee with maple syrup in place of sugar, and steamed evaporated milk instead of cream, Iola asked Carson what was new with him, and he told her that he was trying for a job at Tate & Company.

"Yeah," Iola said, "Drew said that you had an interview with them today?"

"Well, you are now looking at the next chief legal counsel for the business development unit of Tate & Company," Carson grinned.

"Wow, congratulations, Pop!" Drew gave him a hug.

"It was nothing," Carson said mock-superciliously, and pretended to look down at his fingernails and to brush imaginary lint from his shirt, which got him razzberries all around.

-----

The girls both helped with the washing up. "Mr. Nance, maybe you and Drew should get a housekeeper or something, to help with the cleaning and washing up and stuff?" Callie said.

Carson paused for a bit and thought about it.

"That's an idea, Callie," he said. "What do you think Drew? When I start working again, we'll have a harder time keeping up the place, and the once-a-week cleaning won't be possible anymore."

Drew thought about it. She was worried that some busybody housekeeper might poke through their private stuff. But there wasn't really anything that anyone could find that could break their cover anymore, unless they find the hidden safe, the camouflaged scanner in the living room and the cameras, and she was pretty sure that the safe was secure and undiscoverable, the fake amp hid the RF scanner more than adequately while the cameras were totally unobtrusive.

It's probably something else that made Drew hesitate. She thought about it and came to the realization that she still missed their old housekeeper, Maria. And to get a new housekeeper now would feel like she was being disloyal to her. "Dad probably feels the same way, too," she thought.

"But that is silly, mio amore," an imaginary Maria said. In Drew's mind's eye, she could imagine Maria washing the dishes with her, and Drew would be telling her about the stuff that she's been doing at school. But, in her mind's eye, she saw Maria turn to her, put a wet hand on her shoulder and look her in the eye. The imaginary Maria became serious, which in real life she only was when there's something important to discuss. "It has been a while now. It is time to let me go, bambina." She hugged her. "You must go on without me. But I will always be with you in your heart. I love you, mi querida hija. You know that, right?"

She sighed to herself. Yes, perhaps they have to find a way to continue on without her, as they are trying to now with Jane and her Uncle Dave. It's time.

And she belatedly noticed that her imaginary Maria called her bambina... querida hija...

She noticed that the silence was getting a little too long. So she made a decision.

"That sounds like a good idea, Pop," she answered her dad. "I like it. But it's up to you. Whatever you think is right."

Carson nodded. "Let's think about that some more. We don't need to make a decision right away."

"'Kay."

After a bit, they finished washing and drying the plates and utensils. Carson made his excuses and went upstairs. The girls retreated to the living room.

"I don't understand why you guys don't have a dishwasher, Drew," Iola said.

"We used to have a housekeeper in our old place who took care of the dishes and things like that. Guess it never occurred to us to get one." Drew sighed again.

"Where's she now? Your old housekeeper."

Drew shrugged and changed the topic. "Let's finish up our homework," she said, and made a point of opening one of her textbooks.

"I think I'm done, actually," Callie said.

"What do you mean you're done?" Iola asked. "You liar! Lemme see!"

Callie handed Iola the essay she made the night before, and smiled innocently at her.

Iola growled as she read it. She hadn't started her own yet. She asked to borrow Drew's computer and Drew pointed her to her dad's little study-slash-office underneath the stairs. She went in and started writing her own essay. Drew and Callie giggled as they heard Iola muttering imprecations all the way to the study. Iola hated writing essays.

"She's so funny," Drew giggled.

"That's my best friend," Callie warned.

"I thought I was your best friend," Drew teased.

"You're my OTHER best friend," Callie responded, and hugged Drew.

"So do you wanna 'help' Iola finish her essay?" Drew giggled again, remembering the last time Iola asked for help on a writing assignment, and Drew and Callie mercilessly made fun of her grammar.

"Nahhh," Callie said. "I don't think Iola will forgive us if we do that again."

Drew gently broke the hug. "Listen, are you okay with Iola? Seems you had a bit of an... issue with her."

Callie gave her a questioning look.

"At the pool? When we talked?"

Callie stopped, thought of how to respond. After a moment, she decided to make light of it. She pshawed Drew. "Nahhh. Guess I was over-reacting. I thought about it some more after we talked. You were right. We're cool."

Drew looked at her, not believing, but decided to let it go for now. "That's good. Hey, wanna see the stuff from the clock?"

"Sure!"

Drew brought her to their bogus antique grandfather clock. Callie looked over the clock in question, and though she'd seen the clock dozens of times before when she came over, she never really paid attention to it. It was the first time for her to see it this up close. It was beautiful the way old clocks can be, and this one was pretty, despite the fact that she knew it wasn't really an antique.

It could do with a good polishing using some glass or window cleaner or something, too - streaks in the glass and all that. Although Drew and her dad worked to keep their place as neat as they could, they clearly needed help. It's good they were thinking of hiring a maid now.

Drew swung the entire clock around so they could see the back. The clock's chime jangled loudly.

"Drew?" her dad called, apparently hearing the noise. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing, Pop!" she called back. "I'm just showing Callie the stuff I found in the clock."

"You be careful - don't damage the clock!"

Drew gave Callie a scrunched-up face and they giggled together.

In a bit, Callie was examining the brownish handprint on the unvarnished back.

"Creepy," she murmured. She compared it to the size of her palm. "Too big to be a girl's hand," she said to Drew.

"My thought exactly. Wanna see the note and the pictures?"

Callie nodded, finally feeling a kind of intrigue that she didn't feel before. Originally, she was just showing interest to make Drew happy. Now, she really was becoming intrigued.

Drew led her to her dad's study. Iola saw them and gave them razzberries.

"Cool it, girl," Drew said. "We won't bother you. Just keep working." Drew left them to go to her room to get the other stuff.

"Yes," Callie giggled. "Studying are an important things," she said, quoting from Iola's previous essay.

"Shut up, shut up shut up..." Iola murmured.

"I'm sorry, honey," Callie said, and gave her a hug from behind. "Just foolin' with you."

Iola reached back with her left arm, not stopping in her typing, and hugged her back one-handed. "I knew that. S'all right."

Callie left her to her work and went to the desk in the corner. Drew came back with a manila envelope and handed her a piece of paper inside a Ziploc bag.

"Don't open the bag," Drew said, forcing her to read the letter through the plastic. The writing covered most of the paper in a decidedly feminine handwriting. She finished it quickly, but read it again several times.

Like Drew, her imagination was struck, and she couldn't help imagining what it meant and what was behind it all. Who was Ziggy? A fifties gangster? And why would he be after Louie? And who was Marlee? Was Louie her sweetheart? Louie must have been a good man for Marlee to be so dedicated to him. And the bigger question - what happened in the end?

Drew handed her another Ziploc bag, this time with a picture inside. Callie looked at the slightly yellowed picture of a cute blonde wearing a cardigan. "Is this Marlee?" Callie asked. Drew turned it over and she could see a phone number and name written on the back.

Callie studied the writing for a while, and turned it over again to look the picture over. "She's so pretty!" Callie said with a smile.

"Drew!" she said, turning to her. "We must help her!"

"What's up?" Iola called from the computer.

"I thought you were working on your essay."

"I am, but what're you girls going on about?"

"Come see," Callie said.

Iola got up and came over. "So?"

Callie gave her the note. "This was the note Drew found in their clock."

Iola read it and, after a bit, Callie showed her the picture. Iola took more time than Callie before she responded.

"Drew! We gotta help Marlee!"

Drew giggled. "You realize that the note must be fifty years old. Marlee is probably dead by now."

"But we gotta find out!"

"So, you're in?"

"Yeah!"

Drew nodded and brought them up to speed on what she found out so far, and showed them the picture of the house she found and what she thought they should do next. She talked about telephone exchanges, public domain records, statutes of limitations and so many other things.

Callie shook her head. "Sorry, Drew, I can't follow what you're..."

Drew smiled understandingly. George and Bess used to say the same thing to him all the time. She knew she could get caught up in technical jargon.

"I'm sorry, Callie," she said, reached over and gave her a hug. "I know I can be confusing sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Iola said.

Drew gave her a razzberry.

"So what're we gonna do again?" Callie asked.

Drew tried to simplify it this time. "First, we're gonna hit the Internet and look for info on someone named Luigi Falcone. We then go to the telephone company and see if we can find out who's phone number Edgewood 49-688 is. After that, we try and find out who lives at 43 Merrimack Street by going to the Hall of Records in City Hall. And, lastly, we can try and find out where and when Kismet last ran in New York."

"And after that?"

"Well, that's about all that we have to go on. I guess we play it by ear after that. Oh!" Drew snapped her fingers. "We do have one last clue: the handprint on the back of the clock!"

"What use is that?" Iola asked.

Drew was about to launch into a very technical discussion on handprint identification, DNA sampling, Luminol, Flourescine and other CSI-ish stuff, but she caught herself in time. Instead, Drew just shrugged. "You never know," she said.

So they made plans to go visit the phone company after school the day after tomorrow (Callie had reminded Drew that she had an appointment with Coach Stoeger tomorrow).

Having settled that, they triple-teamed Iola's homework, and in a short time they were able to help Iola write a credible-sounding essay, with no grammar errors this time.

 
Twelve: Drew and the coach / The hotties and the bitches

The next day was not substantially different from most days. Drew wore another one of her sexy ensembles - a simple, long-sleeved, form-fitting stretchy white blouse bodyshirt, a short, pleated black skirt, and knee-high tan boots with chunky, three-inch heels and platforms. She had to wear one of her gaffs since her skirt was verrry short and tight (but within school regulations, of course), and she didn't want to risk anything. Very sixties and very sexy, just like Taylor Momsen. Not to be outdone, her two best friends wore similarly sexy outfits but all within school regulations as well.

Yes, just another regular day, except for Phil Cohen and his buds.

During lunch, Phil made a point of going to Drew's table. He and his friends did it in such a way that everyone would notice. Phil Cohen loudly confirmed with Drew their race challenge so everyone would hear, and he tried to pin her down for an exact location, date and time for their race. It turned out that wasn't hard to do because Drew wasn't exactly trying to get out of the challenge. In the end, it was Drew who ended up pinning Phil down to a date and time.

Phil didn't know if he was free from moment to moment, given all of his "sidelines," "extra-curricular activities," and other stuff, so, even though Drew knew it was just that he was having a hard time making sure he was free, she made it appear to everyone that he was the one trying to get out of the dare.

In the end, the challenge was set for Sunday morning, about ten AM, in four weeks' time, and they were going to race on a very, very long, fairly straight, newly paved stretch of road that connects to Route 440.

This new spur that connects to the highway was still not open to the public since the Highway Department wasn't done with it yet - although the blacktop was all finished, the street lights, road signs, cats' eye reflectors, concrete barriers and guardrails still weren't there. Other than that the nice-n-clean gently curving three-mile stretch was ideal for the race they had in mind (especially since there weren't any cameras or tracking stuff installed yet). There was also a kind of roundabout before it connected to 440, perhaps where a tollgate would eventually be installed, but the tollgate booths weren't there yet.

So, it was Phil's souped up Escalade EXT versus Drew's rinky-dink girly ragtop. It was the juiciest new thing that the student body had, and given Phil's rep and Drew's popularity, it was almost guaranteed that everyone would be there to watch Drew's downfall.

They all couldn't believe how foolhardy Drew was being. How can a girly little hottie like Drew know anything about racing cars? Drew even quipped, "are we racing for pinks?" Most everyone reacted to that.

Some of the spectators were giving her advice to back out while she still could, but Drew waved them down. "She doesn't know what she's getting herself into," a lot of the kids in the crowd muttered.

Phil, his machismo on the line now, agreed, and he said what he felt about welshers. Drew agreed with him, and, after checking that there were no teachers around, she gestured at everyone in the cafeteria. "We got a lot of people here." She called out to the crowd. "So, you guys are all witnesses, okay? Phil and I are racing for pinks, four Sundays from now."

She looked at Phil with one eyebrow arched. "Right?" she asked, and stuck her hand out.

Phil looked at her, and then at her outstretched hand. "Deal!" he said loudly, and shook hands. The crowd roared with approval. "As is!" Phil suddenly amended, referring to any modifications and improvements that might have been installed.

That was fine with Drew - her car was to far from stock, Drew should have thought of that, too.

When Phil left, the crowd petered out, and everything returned to normal.

Callie and Iola looked at Drew, incredulous and wide-eyed.

"You realize, of course, that after Cohen's done, we're gonna haveta wipe you off the asphalt. No way can your little car win against his monster."

Drew giggled. "You would think," she said cryptically.

The two of them looked at her suspiciously.

"What are you hiding, Drew?"

Before she could respond, Janine and her cheerleader coven came over, all of them sexy as always.

"Wow, girl," Janine said, and sat beside Drew. The others found seats at the nearby tables. "You sure do got a big set of balls on you." She giggled and turned to Callie and Iola. "Your friend is something else, huh?"

"You don't even know the half of it, Janine," Callie said.

"I'm sure she has a plan. Besides, Phil is an idiot. But just in case..." Janine turned back to Drew, "you need us to run interference, girl?"

"No, Janine. I can manage."

"Whatever you say." She smiled to show that there were no hard feelings. "Oh, don't forget the party on Friday, okay? I'd like to show off my new cheerleader."

"Well... I haven't decided yet, actually."

Janine looked at her unsmilingly. "Well, you better decide quick."

She stood up abruptly, gestured to her girls in a manner that could be described as... well, imperious. Drew thought of other words, as well.

They all briskly walked away, Janine not deigning to look back or even smile.

The three friends looked at each other.

"I think you really need to talk with the coach ASAP."

After their classes, the three friends went over to Coach Stoeger's office.

"Oh, there you are, girls," Coach Stoeger said opening the door for Callie and Iola.

They stepped in. "Hi, Coach," Callie said. Iola waved.

"Is Ms Nance with you?"

Drew walked through the door. "Hey, Coach," Drew said. "Callie and Iola told me you wanted to see me. It's about the Jayvees, right?"

Stoeger nodded. "That's right." She turned to Callie and Iola. "Girls, would you mind if you left me alone with Ms Nance here. I'd like to have a private word with her."

The two looked to Drew.

"Drew?" Callie asked.

Drew gave her a hug. "It's okay. You two wait for me in the bleachers?"

Callie shrugged. "Okay." Drew gave Iola a hug as well. As the two stepped out, Stoeger closed the glass door. Although she wanted to close the blinds, she kept them up - it's best not to give anyone doubts that they were only talking, especially nowadays, thought Stoeger. The shatterproof glass and wall looked out into the school's basketball court and, beyond that, the bleachers. They saw the two girls walking towards them.

"So," Stoeger said to Drew and gestured for her to sit in her visitor's chair. "Ms Shaw and Ms Morton have been telling me about Janine and her plans for Sabrina and the Jayvees."

Drew shrugged.

"Do you think it's true?"

"I trust Callie and Iola. Yes, it's true."

"But why would Janine do such a thing?"

"I thought the girls already told you why. "

"I'd like to hear it from you as well."

Drew looked at her. "Well, if they haven't, I am certainly not going to be the one to say. Not that I'm scared to say, or anything like that. It's just that they're not things for me or anyone to spread around."

Stoeger looked at her with some respect. This girl knows how to keep others' secrets.

The coach shrugged. "Very well," she said. "Ms Shaw and Ms Morton told me that Janine wants to ruin the Jayvees' chances of making it onto the varsity cheerleader team for, shall we say, personal reasons? And that you are planning to stop her."

Drew raised an eyebrow. She knows, Drew thought. "Well... it's not so much as stopping her," Drew said. "It's mostly about giving the Jayvees a fair shot at being on the cheerleader team."

"So you think being a cheerleader is important?"

"Ummm... not particularly..."

Stoeger tried not to take offense. "But Callie and Iola are both cheerleaders. And they're your friends."

"They're my best friends, actually. But not because they're cheerleaders. I mean, they'd still be my best friends even if they weren't."

Stoeger nodded. "I see."

"It's more about Janine," Drew said. "It's not right - what she's trying to do to the Jayvees. Regardless of how she feels, it's wrong. People need to be given their chance, even if it's just about being a cheerleader. No one should be able to take that away." Drew looked at Stoeger with determination. "I will make sure they get that chance."

Stoeger looked at Drew. "This girl certainly thinks very highly of herself," she thought, smiling. "A clear-cut case of Savior Complex. Actually, she sounds just like me when I was her age." She giggled to herself.

"Well," Stoeger said, "it's just cheerleading."

"Yeah," Drew agreed. "In the long run, it doesn't matter, really. Sabrina and her friends will recover. Besides, even if they couldn't try out now, what's stopping them from trying for it again at some other time? Maybe they could even talk to you and explain. Callie and Iola and a lot of people seem to think you're okay, so I think they would get their chance, actually."

"So what's the problem, then?"

"Janine mustn't get away with it. She can't get away with it. No one should be able to take away..." Drew stopped her emotional tirade short. "What's happening to me," she thought. "I don't even know this Sabrina person. Why is this affecting me this way..."

Stoeger stood and came around. "Hey..." She pulled up a chair, sat beside the agitated girl and put a gentle hand on her arm. "Take it easy, hon. It's gonna work out. I know about her scheme now, so..."

"I'm sorry, Coach Stoeger... I just..."

Stoeger gave her a friendly shake of the shoulder. "Lighten up, Drew. I'll take care of it. You are absolutely right about everything."

She went to the chair behind her desk again. "But does it matter, really? Janine is just a student. Why would it matter one way or another if she knew we know?"

"You know how it is, Coach - you were a kid, too. Janine's pretty popular - she can make life bad for Sabrina and her friends in school if she wants to. In fact, she already has, a bit. And, besides, her father's a pretty influential guy in town. She could make trouble..."

"But even if Janine doesn't find out that the Jayvees are going to be given a chance now, she will eventually. Even if she's already away in college, she can still make trouble."

Drew nodded. "Yeah, but if she's away, she can't do much, and between Callie, Iola and I, we can handle that."

"I see..." And she did. As a person that was picked on during high school, she knew firsthand how bad it could be. And she fully agreed with Drew. As a teacher, she could do pretty much what was needed without resorting to all of this... scheming. But, yes, Janine's father was a problem. She decided to help these kids.

Stoeger leaned back and observed the girl. She was clearly getting herself under control. But what set it off? She decided to find out why.

"You know, you have actually been a mystery to me for a while now," Stoeger said. "Your two besties - they talk about you all the time. Callie and Iola keep on saying, 'Drew said this,' and 'Drew said that.' Those two think very highly of you."

Drew looked down. Stoeger laughed at Drew's embarrassment. "She's awfully cute when she blushes," she thought.

"So, tell me about yourself, Ms Drew Nance."

Drew took a deep breath. "Here we go," she thought.

So Drew gave Stoeger a distilled version of her manufactured history. She tried to keep it light, conversational - natural. Stoeger was very interested, as well as smart and observant, so Drew was a little nervous that a chink in her armor might be exposed. She tried to incorporate her nervousness into her act so as not to raise suspicions. But actually, she wasn't that nervous - as the days went by of her living her life as Drew, she came to realize that it has become less and less of an act. In a fundamental way, she really was Drew Nance - Drew Nance of St. George, Richmond, New York, only child of Mr. Carson Nance, attorney at law and newly hired legal counsel of Tate & Company, and the best friend of Ms. Callie Shaw and Ms. Iola Morton.

Stoeger didn't really know what to expect, but not this. Drew's little story was quite unspectacular - a bright, pretty, well-brought-up single child from a well-to-do family. Almost stereotypical. But the girl was obviously more than that. Something must have happened to make her this way. She knew she'd find out, but later. So she decided not to push for now.

She caught Drew sneaking glances at her watch. "Have somewhere to go?" she asked pleasantly.

"Well," Drew said hesitantly, "it's just that Callie and Iola are waiting..."

"My goodness, you're right! Let's bring them in. Might as well, so we can talk about what to do about Janine." Stoeger waved through her window and when Iola saw her, she waved them in. "And stop being nervous, Drew," she said. "You'll find I'm actually a nice person once you get to know me." She smiled brightly and Drew giggled.

"Okay, Coach," Drew smiled, and sighed in relief.

The two came down from the bleachers and went to Ms Stoeger's office.

"Hey, Coach," Iola said, peeking around the door. "You guys done now?"

Stoeger waved them in. "Come in, girls, come in!" She gestured to the seats. Drew picked up the heavy armchair that Stoeger had against the wall as a spare seat. It was a very, very heavy old chair Stoeger had brought from home since she didn't have enough furniture in her office. And Drew moved it easily. Goodness...

After they settled down, Stoeger began. "I think we need to discuss what we should do about Janine, Sabrina and the Jayvees," she said. "I thought that the best way was to just allow the Jayvees to try out on the second semester. That way Janine will be away in college so she won't know anymore, and everything would be fine."

Drew was about to protest but Stoeger held up a peremptory finger.

"But!" Stoeger exclaimed, and continued, "Drew doesn't agree. She wants them to have their chance now. As it happens, I agree with her." Stoeger gave Drew a wink.

Stoeger then explained her plan: She will meet with the Jayvees and their coach privately and tell them that she will conduct try-outs over the next few weekends so as to reduce the queue of applicants, and that, for this Sunday, it'll just be for the junior varsity cheer team. This way, since its just days away, Janine won't have time to get wind of it. She hoped they'll agree.

Drew made a comment that this might sound a bit fishy to the Jayvees, but Stoeger said she'll take care of convincing them if Drew and her friends would run some interference and distract Janine.

Drew thought about that. Janine's attention was on her at the moment so that'd be easy. She agreed, and looked at her friends. They agreed as well, but reluctantly.

"Okay, then," Stoeger said. "But I want one thing in return for my cooperation."

The three looked at her. "Huh?" Drew said.

"I want Drew to try out for the squad as well."

"What?"

"I checked your records, Drew. It says you were home-schooled until recently, but your test scores were more than enough to let you in as a Junior, and all your grades since you transferred put you near the top of your class. You show great potential."

Drew looked at her uncomprehendingly. "But?"

"But... Your father asked you to be exempted from PE. And it wasn't because of any medical condition - your medical records were sent over by your family doctor. I can only assume that it was a request of yours or something."

"Again: But?"

"That's too bad, because physical education is very important, not just because of the exercise. Like cheerleading, for example."

"I repeat: But?"

"Cheerleading improves confidence, teaches girls to perform in front of an audience under pressure, provides an opportunity to study the proper way to bond with the opposite sex," she winked at the girls, "and helps a person to be positive and optimistic in life." Stoeger shrugged. "And, of course, cheerleading helps to improve stamina, fitness of body, coordination and strength. Cheerleading also improves team work skills and also helps girls to learn to trust other people."

Drew faced this lengthy, very earnest monologue with a raised eyebrow. She tried to stifle a giggle.

"Wow..."

"Shut up, kid," Stoeger said with a smile. Callie and Iola laughed.

"Coach..." Drew began, but Stoeger cut her off.

"Drew, I think you have a lot of potential, and I think cheerleading will help tap that potential. Especially with the help of your friends."

Drew looked at Stoeger. She seemed friendly and earnest.

"I won't take no for an answer, Drew." Seeing the rising rebelliousness in Drew's eyes, Stoeger shrugged. "You can quit anytime. I am not any sort of dictator, but I won't accept a no. Try it out, and if you sincerely don't like it, then you can quit."

Stoeger leaned forward. "And you really have to do your best at the tryouts, coz, believe me - I will be able to tell if you don't. And it won't go well for Sabrina if that happens."

Drew looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"

Stoeger shrugged. "I guess it's all in how you take it."

Drew smiled a little at that. "I guess I have no choice, then."

"Great!" Stoeger said. She stood up. Apparently, their little meeting was done, so Drew and the girls stood up as well.

"I'll contact Sabrina and her friends," Stoeger said. "I'll try and tell them by tomorrow, and then schedule their tryouts this Saturday or Sunday." She turned to Drew.

"Drew," she said. "I truly do appreciate what you're trying to do. I'll do my part, but you need to do yours, too. Okay?"

Drew nodded, and was surprised when Stoeger gave her a hug.

"And, as for you two," Stoeger turned to Callie and Iola. "I'm gonna rely on you to get Drew ready for her own tryouts. Consider it a prerequisite for remaining in the squad."

"Okay, Coach," Callie and Iola said.

Stoeger giggled. "Oh, if you could see your faces!" she laughed. "I'm joking, of course! Your spots are safe."

"When, Coach?" Drew asked.

"Your try-out? Well, when do you want to do it?"

"Let's get this over with as quickly as possible. How 'bout this Sunday as well? I could join the JayVees."

"I don't know... do you think you'll be ready?"

"We'll make her ready Coach," Callie interjected. "Promise!"

Stoeger looked at Callie, and then at Iola.

"Iola?"

"She'll knock your socks off, Coach," Iola said.

After a moment, Stoeger shrugged.

"Well, okay. Just so long as you guys remember what I said."

- - -

The following day after school, the three met up again and went to the telephone company this time. Drew had trouble getting information there since the older people dismissed her as just a kid, plus the fact that subscriber information is not given out to just anyone.

Drew was getting frustrated. Her persistence had allowed them to meet with the department manager in charge of Riverdale in the Bronx, but the man clearly had no patience for kids, and as they sat there in his office, they knew they weren't going to get much information.

Callie thought that it was time to change strategies. While the man took a call, she leaned over to Drew and whispered her idea.

Drew grinned and nodded. She unbuttoned the top part of her blouse, took out her compact and checked her makeup and hair. After the manager put the phone down and turned back to her, Drew changed her expression to a sadder, desperate one.

"Mr. Simon," she began, "we can't really get any information, right?"

Mr. Simon's eyes flicked down to Drew's cleavage for just a second. He couldn't help it since Drew pulled back her shoulders, "inadvertently" emphasizing it. "Ummm, no, Miss Nance," he said, with a bit of a nervous tremolo in his voice. "Subscriber information is confidential. Unless there's a valid reason?"

"It's just that my dad wants to buy this house he heard about, and this was all the information he got. He wants to know more about it, so he sent me to find out. And I don't want to disappoint him." Drew artfully trembled her chin and pulled back her shoulders again. She felt her top pull open a little more.

For their part, Callie and Iola crossed their legs. Callie slid forward in her chair a little bit, making her skirt pull back and allow her to show more thigh.

"Umm, what was the number again?" Mr. Simon asked.

Drew coquettishly pushed her hair to the back of her ear, opened her purse and pulled out a random piece of paper, and pretended to read it.

"It's Edgewood 49-688."

"Okay. And the number of the house?"

She smiled vapidly. In her mind, she was trying to ape Janine. She crossed her leg and pretended to look in her purse. As she did, she absentmindedly rubbed her cheek with her fingertips. "Ahhh, that would forty-three Merrimack Street, Riverdale," she said, as she pretended to read yet another piece of paper.

Mr. Simon nodded and turned to his computer.

As he typed, Callie and Iola hugged each other around the waist in a sisterly manner, except that Callie's skirt was really pulled up alarmingly high and Iola was playing with Callie's hair.

Mr. Simon gulped as he did his computer search.

As Callie's and Iola's actions became less... sisterly, he typed faster.

"Ahhh, here we go!" he said with some relief. "Edgewood 49-698. That number's address was indeed forty-three Merrimack Street in Riverdale, and the original subscriber was Mr. Franklin Jacobs. After he passed away, his daughter Marlee Jacobs took over the account. The number was changed in the sixties, but Ms Jacobs still remains as the subscriber on record." He hit a button and printed out the data.

He handed the piece of paper to Drew, and she pored over it.

"Is that what you needed?"

Drew nodded. "Oh, yes, sir! My dad will be really happy with this. He'll finally be able to call them make an offer on the place."

Drew, Callie and Iola warmly shook his hand in turn, and left the office.

Mr. Simon smiled bemusedly as he watched the three leave his office. Originally, he thought they were just another bunch of kids like the ones his daughter hung out with in school. But the taller blonde, that cute Ms Nance, turned out to be a polite young lady devoted to her father. How could he not help her? And she was cute, too... As well as her two friends. But he was far too old for them. Too bad, he thought.

- - -

After that meeting, they went to Iola's favorite Chinese place in the city, bought enough takeout for four, and started making their way back to the island.

They couldn't stop giggling at what happened at the telephone company. It was so easy, how they manipulated that awful Mr. Simon. So long as a girl is careful, dealing with a dirty old man was a snap, and a pretty girl can get one wrapped around her finger in no time at all. And it was good that there were three of them so the guy didn't have a chance to do anything all of them would regret.

"Old people," Drew sighed.

"Nahhh," Callie said, "there are some that are cool."

"Like Drew's dad," Iola laughed.

"Ewww!" Drew exclaimed. "That's my dad!"

"Why?" Iola laughed. "What do you think I meant anyway?"

Drew snorted. "Whatever! Just leave Pop outa this."

"Awww, Drew!" Iola said. "We're just funning with you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Drew grumbled. "Hey, Callie, where is your place again? I always get lost in this part of town at night." It was getting dark and Drew didn't recognize the streets.

Callie gave short instructions and they were soon on her street. It was Callie's turn to play host that night. That's partly why they got takeout: neither Callie nor her aunt was any good at cooking.

They parked in front and brought their stuff into the little two-floor apartment. Their place was always spic-and-span. Aunt Arlene was a neat Nazi, as Callie put it. Drew and Iola tried not to make too much of a mess when they came to visit.

They decided to work on their homework while they waited for Callie's aunt. Callie expected her home at around nine or so, and this gave them more than enough time to work on their school stuff. They also talked about the info that they got from the phone company, and decided that their next step was to research who Franklin and Marlee Jacobs were, and to eventually visit the house and talk to the people there. Who knows - maybe Marlee might actually still be living there. They also had another chuckle at Mr. Simon.

"So, what do you guys think?" Drew asked. "Head down to Riverdale tomorrow?"

As the mirth died down, Callie nervously cleared her throat. "Ummm, Drew?"

Hearing the tone, Drew's upbeat mood faded. "Yeah, honey?"

"It may have slipped your mind, but..."

"Yeah?"

"It's Friday tomorrow..."

"I know. So?"

"Drew, it's Janine's party tomorrow," Iola said.

"Oh..."

"You know what you're gonna say to the cheerleaders?"

"What's to say? I'll just say I'm gonna try out?"

"Nooo... Janine's not gonna be happy with just that."

"Iola, that doesn't matter to me. I'm just doing this so that Sabrina and the Jayvees..."

"I know that, Drew, and Callie and me - we love you for that. But, Drew... if you say it that way, Janine's not gonna appreciate it. And it might go badly for Sabrina..."

Drew gave Iola a look. "I am not gonna kiss up to Janine!"

"Don't be like that, Drew... I'm not on Janine's side, but what I said is true. Callie, back me up."

Callie nodded. "She's right, Drew. We've known Janine for years, and we know she's one hell of a judgmental bitch. She's self-centered, opinionated, and because of her father, no one really wants to cross her. She can make trouble. Not just for Sabrina, but for you, too. We're not saying to suck up to her. We're just saying, if the point of all this is to give the girls a chance..."

Iola went to Drew, and sat on her haunches to talk to her. "I'm not trying to be a contrarian, or to hurt you."

Drew looked at her, with the same indefinable look.

"Oh, Drew... please... don't be mad..."

Suddenly, Drew reached over and hugged her hard.

"Baby, thank you for being honest," Drew said. "I'm not mad at you. How can I be? You're just trying to help. How can I be mad at you? You're one of my best friends."

Iola exhaled a long sigh. "Thank God for that."

Drew gave her a kiss on her cheek. "No, thank you." Drew gestured. "Callie, get in here." And it became another of their three-way hugs.

And, with school assignments forgotten for the moment, they started "strategizing" for tomorrow's party.

Callie's Aunt Arlene came in at around eight-thirty. She dropped her things on the table by the door and turned to greet them - she had just gotten back from her rotation as a nurse at the Richmond University Medical Center, so she was wearing her nurse's uniform - nurse's scrubs made up of a blue, short-sleeved cotton top with a crossover neckline and an empire waist, blue boot-cut cotton drawstring bottoms, and white sneakers replacing her crepe-soled slip-on hospital shoes. She gave everyone what she liked to call her "patented Shaw welcome-home-hugs." Iola just called them Aunt Arlene's Glomps (Drew, not being that big of an anime fan, had to look it up the first time she heard the word).

The resemblance between Callie and her aunt was quite pronounced so one immediately knew they were related, and despite a fifteen-year gap between them, they were often mistaken for sisters.

And if Callie was extremely cute, her aunt was - well, Drew was always tongue-tied when she was around her. She was that pretty. And today, Drew was as tongue-tied as ever.

After she finished hugging Drew, Aunt Arlene pulled back. "Oh, Drew, when will you ever be comfortable around me and quit being nervous? I don't bite."

Drew giggled awkwardly. "Me nervous? I'm not nervous."

"Callie, honey, your friend is so shy."

Callie and Iola looked at each other and bursted out laughing.

"Drew shy?" Iola said, and they laughed again.

"Oh, Aunt Arlene," Callie said, "Drew is anything but shy."

- - -

Aunt Arlene brought out a six-pack of Swamp Pop sugarcane soda. It was introduced to Iola and Drew by Callie a month ago and it rapidly became the group's favorite drink. Sadly, though, they could only have it at Callie's since the delicious Louisiana soft drink wasn't regularly available anywhere in New York, and Aunt Arlene didn't want to say where she gets her supply. Just as well - they weren't diet or sugar-free, so having them only occasionally suited them and their diets.

Over dinner of Chinese takeout, Swamp Pop soda and sugar-free chocolate pudding, they listened to Callie's Aunt Arlene talk about her day at the hospital, which was always fun, especially the way Aunt Arlene tells it.

But the discussion became more serious. Aunt Arlene just found out that her hospital hours were going to be cut, from six days to three. She was afraid that she'd have to take on boarders again to make ends meet. In the lull, Drew though about how she can help them, and then thought up an idea, but she needed to talk to her dad first before suggesting it.

After dinner, Callie in turn told Aunt Arlene that Drew was gonna try out for the cheer squad, and as an ex-cheerleader herself, Aunt Arlene became excited and wished her luck.

"Callie, honey," Aunt Arlene turned to her niece. "Drew's gonna need a cheerleading outfit. Do you think you can spare her something?"

"Lemme go check," Callie said, and went up to her room. She came down after a while with a large paper sack.

"Here you go, Drew," she said. "My old Jayvee cheer skirt's there as well as a matching white, short-sleeved V-neck shell. They're all washed and clean, and they're in shiny polyester so they'll be easy to keep clean. They might be a tad small for you, but they're stretchy so I'm sure they'll fit. And there's bobby socks there as well, and a pair of red-and-black pom-poms."

"Thank you, hon," Drew said.

After a brief lull, Drew changed the subject.. "You know, guys, we haven't really been talking about Exam Week."

Callie brushed that aside. "Don't worry about it. Iola an' I got it covered,"

"It's next week..."

Iola gave her a small peck on the cheek. "We got it, Drew" Iola said. "Right now, we're working on this."

"If you say so."

- - -

When Drew got back home, she found her dad in his study working on some stuff, eating a Big Mac and fries, and his big coffee mug in his hand.

He had a troubled look about him as he peered into his computer monitor, but that went away as Drew hugged him around his neck.

He asked about her day and as she helped herself to his fries, she gave him an update on her "case."

Carson nodded and gave some suggestions of what to do next.

She said it had to wait, though, because she had this cheerleading thing, and she had to take care of that first.

"Cheerleading thing?" Carson asked.

So she explained about Janine and Sabrina, what Janine threatened to do and what Coach Stoeger agreed to.

"So what's all this got to do with..."

She sighed, and explained how Janine planned to use her to block Sabrina's chances with the team - that Janine wants Drew to help fill up the empty spots on the team and squeeze Sabrina out, but Coach Stoeger will not allow that to happen, that is if Drew would try out for the team.

Carson tried to understand what she was saying. "So let's get this straight - there's this girl who wants to be a cheerleader, but there's this other girl who wants to stop her by making you part of the team, but you want to help the first girl to get her chance, and for that to happen, you have to try out for the team? Is that right?"

"Well, essentially?..."

"I'm confused, but... I guess it's okay?..."

"I have to, Pop! I can't stand by and..."

Carson took her hand. "Hold on, hold on. I am proud that you want to help someone. It's just that... well, have you thought of the danger?"

"Danger?"

"Of..." he whispered - "of, you know, being found out..." Carson found it hard to say what he wanted to say, yet be mindful of their one hundred percent rule. They said they'd be in character twenty-four seven.

She sighed, understanding. "I have, but... I don't think I will. Really, Pop! I got this locked."

Carson was nodding. Oh, never mind the hundred percent. At least for now. "Yeah. I think so, too. These past months - You have been totally convincing. But, cheerleaders - short skirts, running and jumping, and all that... what if..." Carson waggled his eyebrows.

"I think I got that covered." Both of them laughed at the unintentional pun.

"Okay," he said. "If you're that confident in yourself. The other thing - you know cheerleaders. What they are to you kids, what they represent. Cheerleaders have a very sexual kind of image. If you make it on the team, you're gonna get hit on left and right. Even more than now. What're you gonna do if that happens?"

Drew's eyes flew open. Her dad was so right. And it was so obvious a thing. She couldn't understand why she didn't really think of that. And she went over everything. In the end, she could only think of two things - one was that these things really didn't bother her anymore. Ever since her haircut last Saturday... Has she really accepted this new life? Was she really Drew now, and not Andy anymore? And why didn't this question not bother her as much as she thought it should have?

There was another reason - maybe it's just that she was thinking of Janine, Sabrina and all that. She preferred that reason, as the other one was just too uncomfortable to think about.

"I guess I'll cross that bridge and all that, Pop. But I'll be careful, just like you said before, and I'll try not to hurt anyone, or lead anyone on."

"Good deal, kid."

"So what were you doing before I interrupted you?"

"I was just reading some of my newsfeeds." Carson turned his monitor so Drew could read what was on it.

There were a few web articles on the screen. One was an article from the New York Times - a little story filler in the financial section about a new campaign being contemplated by the EPA, on corporate environmental responsibility involving factory and plant inspections and other on-site checks, but after a push by a handful of large conglomerates led by American Amalgamated, the program didn't get off the ground. It was canceled in favor of self-policing by the companies themselves, and stricter reporting requirements. It was done to save the federal government millions, so the article says, but somehow the reporter sort of insinuated that there was something behind the decision. The article said that one of the EPA officers did not agree with this and was planning on asking for a reconsideration.

After she finished, Carson popped up another article, from the New York Post this time.

"New York Post?" Drew asked. "Really?"

Carson shrugged. He didn't react too much to that - possible prying ears and all. He just pointed to the article.

It was about a hit-and-run somewhere in Lower Manhattan. It seems that the EPA dissenter from the first article was the victim of a car accident, and died on the spot. New York's finest were on it but they doubted if they could track the driver down. The make and model of the black car that hit the man was pretty common, and no one saw the license plate or the driver.

Carson handed her a note. It said, "I'll try checking this out, as well as the other stuff you found as soon as I get settled in at work."

Drew nodded after reading the note. She tore it up and threw it in the wastebasket.

"So," Drew said in a conversational tone, "when do you start work at the new job?"

"Funny you should ask," Carson said deadpan, and Drew giggled.

"I'm reporting in on Monday. They gave me a corner office at the Tate Center in Manhattan, so that means I'll have over an hour's drive to work everyday, maybe less if I'm lucky." The Tate Center was the fifty-story worldwide headquarters of Tate Holdings, American Amalgamated, and Tate & Company, of course, and Carson's new office was somewhere on the forty-eighth floor. The corporate executive offices were from Floor forty-five up, and only the company bigwigs stayed there - it was a big deal to have an office on the forty-eighth.

"That's not too bad. You can always take the bus if you don't want to drive, though. What am I thinking? Of course, you can't take the bus. Not anymore."

"I don't know. I still could... Oh, they also gave me a secretary. Alice is supposed to be the best in their secretarial pool. She's about fifty years old, and looks a little like your old math teacher from sixth grade. But she does have this voice that makes her sound like an operator on one of those 1-900 numbers."

Drew giggled. "That's good. You all set then? Do you need a new briefcase? A new tie? Maybe a lunchbox?" She giggled again.

"I am planning on spending the day shopping tomorrow. Good enough?"

"Good deal," Drew said, and grabbed some more fries. "Well, I'm gonna get ready for bed. I haveta get up early tomorrow. I have to go to a party. Yayyy..." she said ironically.

"You sound really excited about it," Carson said sarcastically.

She made a shooing gesture. "Not really looking forward to it. Just something I have to do. Blame the girls."

Carson was about to ask something but Drew shushed him.

"I'll tell you about it later, Pop. Anyway, Goodnight."

She gave her dad a kiss on the cheek, and went up to her room to start her nightly routine.

 
Thirteen: Carson and his delivery / Lawyers and Italophobes

Carson woke up at his usual time. He expected Drew to be awake already, waiting impatiently for breakfast. So he went straight to the kitchen and started making up some hash browns, bacon and eggs.

But as he started setting the dinner table, he found a note from Drew, explaining how she had to leave early, and asked if she could stay out late tonight. Talk about late notice...

But he did remember her telling him about some party... He sighed. He sometimes forgets that Drew was actually Andy, but things like this - like asking for permission at the last minute - that was very Andy-like.

At the bottom half of the paper, there was a list of a dozen places where he could go shopping for his stuff, with a reminder to ask the help of the salespeople. He snorted. He knew his fashion sense was decidedly dated, but Drew didn't need to remind him of it this way... In fact, most of Bill Fayne's wardrobe choices had been courtesy of Jane and Andy. But as he thought of it, he realized Drew actually made a good suggestion. Drew didn't need to know if he took her advice or not, though, he laughed. And he knew the list was made up of the high-end department stores. He had to be wearing high-end stuff given where he would be working, and that his new job would be starting next week. He wasn't a stranger to wearing thousand-dollar suits, but this was a whole new level. And he needed to prepare.

He got his phone out and texted Drew. "Thanks for the list, and permission granted. But next time, I want you to tell me personally. And no later than 1am!"

Drew texted back. "Thanks, Pop! Loveya!"

Carson remembered Jane saying the same thing to Dave hundreds of times, and he felt a momentary pang of loss.

He decided to sit down to breakfast and go about his day as planned. As he was buttering his toast, he contemplated the other place setting meant for Drew, and decided to call his neighbor, Mrs. Lovett, and invite her to breakfast. No sense in letting food go to waste...

- - -

Later in the morning, he found himself in one of the upper-end stores on 5th Avenue - the first place on Drew's list, and started shopping for a new office wardrobe. The few suits he had wouldn't be enough, he knew, so he needed to start building up a new wardrobe for the new job. Shopping was never his thing so he asked for some help, as Drew suggested. There was no shortage of helping hands, although he knew that it was mostly because he indicated that he was going to be buying a ton of their merchandise, definitely not because of how he was dressed. Who would have thought to dress up for clothes shopping? He cringed inside, wondering what these bright, poised, shiny and impeccably dressed young people thought of him.

But he was a patron of their establishment so he was unapologetic as they waited on him, but he was more subdued than normal. He certainly wasn't going to change people's opinions of Staten Islanders if they found out.

After trying on each and every piece of clothing shoved at him, he was eventually set with several suits, twice as many dress shirts, and a dozen expensive ties that can go with any of the suits, shirts, pants or any combination of all of them. That way, he couldn't put together a mismatching outfit if he tried. The lady who said this explained that she was a professional wardrobe specialist. Carson complimented her for her expertise, good taste and quick thinking.

The lady also got dozens of pairs of designer-brand dress socks, half a dozen extremely expensive dress shoes in black and several shades of brown, and three expensive Italian belts.

A cute salesgirl also convinced him to get two dozen sets of underwear shirts and briefs, plus a dozen silk handkerchiefs. It went without saying that they were all very expensive as well.

One of their tailors came up and measured him, right on the sales floor. They said they would do whatever alterations were needed, but the tailor said there wouldn't be too many, given Carson was an easy size.

That practically covered everything. But he thought things over. He asked one of the salesgirls if she could recommend any good colognes and after-shaves. The girl was flattered to be asked, and led him to one of the counters.

She pulled out a couple of samplers and told him they were her favorites. Carson tried them and found them all to be fine. He asked for a couple of toiletry sets of the two brands he tried, each included shampoo & conditioner, cologne, aftershave, deodorant, shaving gel and a small traveling atomizer. He then turned to one of the shelves near the belts, and picked out two wallets. One was a fancy Alexander McQueen leather one with lots of pockets and a small coin compartment. The other was a more casual brown canvas one. According to the label, it was waterproof. He gave them to his salesgirl.

"You sure you want those two, sir?" she asked.

"Yes, I do," he answered. "They look good."

"Well, you have pretty good taste. Also very expensive taste."

Carson groaned. "Really?"

The girl giggled. "Sorry."

He sighed. "What the hell. Go ahead and put them in the pile. I've already bought stuff that's worth enough to buy a Tesla... or a down payment, anyway. So what's a couple of hundred dollars more?"

"Ummm..."

"What, they're more than a couple of hundred?"

She cringed and nodded.

He looked at her incredulously. "You're kidding me. For a couple of wallets?"

"Um, yeah? But we can look for some cheaper brands..."

He laughed. "That's okay. Put them in the pile, anyway. Don't worry, I can afford it. But that doesn't make me any less pissed."

He also picked up a shaving kit. "Include this, please."

"Expensive..."

He sighed "So what else is new?"

"At least this is marked down five percent, and it comes with a couple of spare blades and combs."

"Well, that's something."

"Yeah," she smiled. She liked the guy. She looked at the pile of clothes and stuff he bought. "You know, it'll take us a while to do the alterations and to pack up all the stuff you bought..."

"Okay, you guys do that and I'll go and wander around a bit."

"Thank you, sir."

After maybe an hour, Carson was back after visiting a watch store on another floor. He was now the proud owner of an Omega Speedmaster '57 and a more casual Casio G-Shock, still in their boxes. In the same bag was a Montblanc Heritage Collection set with a couple of fancy Montblanc pens, fillers and a mechanical pencil. He also got several sets of cuff links and tie clips that were on a display beside the Montblanc table.

He showed the wardrobe lady his new purchases and she complimented Carson on his choices, saying these perfectly matched the clothes he just bought. He just smiled and made it appear he picked them himself instead of having to ask the help of some salespeople. What she doesn't know and all that.

The salespeople finally had all his clothes altered, his purchases wrapped, and it amounted to eighteen bags' worth which they put in six large boxes packed liberally with those little, yellow packing peanuts instead of the little inflated balloon-like bags they used nowadays. There were also three smaller boxes for the shoes, and several wardrobe bags. They couldn't put the suits in boxes, however, so they just put them in wardrobe bags. The wardrobe lady handed him his bill, saying only minimal alterations were necessary. She also gave him a card, with their alterations department's number, and said that he can call them and have any of the suits altered for free if they turned out they were wrong.

Carson looked at the final figure and it took his breath away. It turned out that the amount really was enough for a down payment for a car - a fairly high-end one. Or maybe the full price of a regular one.

Although he felt weird spending that much money just for clothes, he didn't feel too bad, actually. Between him and Drew, they had more money than they could spend. And it wasn't their money, anyway. And he knew he would be buying more stuff later so this was probably just the beginning. He knew he had to wrap his head around the need to spend and buy all this high-end stuff.

"I take it there's free delivery?"

"Of course, sir," she smiled and signaled to the others.

After a bit, someone came up to him. The new guy was a small, grumpy man that was in charge of customer deliveries.

"Hello, sir," the new guy said in clearly false joviality. "I understand you want your purchases delivered. Can you give me some information and your home address?" He handed over a form on a clipboard.

Carson filled in his form, and as soon as the guy read his address, he rolled his eyes.

"Oh, no," he mumbled, but deliberately loud enough for Carson to be able to hear. "No," he said. "We can't deliver your stuff."

"Huh?"

"Sorry. Our store doesn't make deliveries to," he snorted, "Staten Island."

Carson looked at the man in surprise. The man looked back at him unblinkingly. Eventually, what the man said sunk in.

"You're saying-,"

"Yeah."

"What!"

"You heard me."

Carson's face started turning red in anger. "I will pay for the delivery."

"Sorry," he said again. "We don't deliver there."

Carson took a deep breath. "Okay. Can I speak to your manager?"

"She's not available."

"She's not available!"

The guy walked up to him and stood almost nose-to-nose.

"She is not available."

Carson wanted to smack the guy, but he was a good lawyer. He knew the repercussions.

"We are a respectable, high-class department store," the disagreeable man said. "We do not deliver there."

"That is very clear, now. If you cannot deliver to my home, where can you deliver?"

"Not my problem."

"How about somewhere in Manhattan?"

"Depends," he said.

Carson got the clipboard back, angrily crossed out his home address and wrote down the street address of the Tate Center on Park Avenue.

The man looked at the address.

"A Park Avenue address? Please!"

"If I'm lying, and it turns out you are delivering to a place that doesn't know me, it's not your problem. It'll be mine."

"Whatever, man."

"Okay, then. Have it delivered there."

He paused. "Wait. Prove that this is your address." He pulled over a telephone. "Call it."

"What!"

The man clicked the hands-free button, and the dial tone could be heard all over the store.

Carson took his time. He took his cell phone out, looked up his newly assigned telephone number, and used the store's phone to dial.

As he pressed the buttons, the tones could be heard by everyone (he hadn't taken it off speaker). An operator answered after a couple of rings.

"Tate & Company global offices, this is Kay. How may I help you today?"

"Good morning, Kay. Can you please connect me to extension forty-eight twenty-eight?"

"Of course, sir. Who may I say is calling?"

"This is Carson Nance. I'm trying to get in touch with my personal assistant, Alice."

"Of course, Mr. Nance. Wait one moment."

After a short wait, the sexy voice of Carson's new secretary could be heard.

"Tate & Company Legal Division, Office of the Chief Legal Counsel. I'm afraid Mr. Nance is not available. This is Alice speaking. Who is this, please?" Alice sounded awfully sexy on the phone.

"Good morning, Alice. This is Carson."

"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Nance. I'm sorry I didn't know it was you - the phone number was not yours."

"Quite all right, Alice. I'm calling from a store downtown."

Looking up the number, Alice mentioned the store's name. Carson said she was right.

"Everything's on schedule here, Mr. Nance," Alice said. "The small windows in your new office have been replaced by larger tinted panoramic ones, per the order of Mr. Tate, and the walls have been repainted already. Furnishings are being moved in as we speak. Your desk and the couch are the only items missing, but the video and intercom systems have already been set up and running. I think it's safe to say you'll be all set by Monday."

"That's great. But, Alice, can I change the subject? I have a problem."

"Yes, sir. Lay it on me."

Carson looked up at the delivery guy. "I'm currently downtown, Alice, like I said. I bought a whole shitload of stuff but I just found out that they don't deliver to my place, so I was hoping to have them delivered to the office. Would that be okay?"

Alice tsk'd. "Oh, dear. All right, Mr. Nance. We'll have a couple of trucks and a crew from Amalgamated swing by. I'm sorry but it'll take at least an hour to get this all set up."

"Thank you, Alice, but the stuff is personal stuff."

"Will you be using the, ummm, stuff at the office, sir?"

"Oh, definitely."

"In which case, this is allowable per company policy. Do you think two trucks would be sufficient? I think I can get you four if there's a lot of it."

"Ah, no, m'dear. One small pickup and a couple of people will probably be sufficient."

"Thank you, sir. But I will arrange for a couple of trucks anyway, just in case."

Carson laughed. "Is this how it's going to be between us, Alice?"

Alice giggled sexily. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Boss." She cleared her throat. "Can I get the address?"

Carson gestured at one of the salesgirls. "Miss? Can you help us out here?"

The girl dictated the full name of the store and the address.

"You can't bring your trucks into the loading dock," the guy in charge of deliveries interrupted belligerently.

"Thank you, sir," Alice said drily, hearing him. "We are not expecting to."

"Then how..."

"The trucks will be going around the block and our people will be loading Mr. Nance's purchases from the curb. Mr. Nance?"

"Yes, Alice," Carson replied.

"Boss, two trucks have been confirmed. You're on their dispatch list now, but they might not be there for a couple of hours... Sorry."

"S'all right. Make sure that you give the guy in charge complete instructions. I'll be out of this place in a minute."

"Let me take care of it. Can I have a list of the items?"

"Hold on." He took out the invoice, took a picture of each page and e-mailed the picture to Alice. "Just sent it to your e-mail. Please be sure to hide the prices before you pass this on, Alice. I don't want the delivery people to see."

Alice opened her e-mail, and opened Carson's pictures. She whistled. "Wow, Boss. A hundred and five thousand dollars."

The delivery guy gulped. His eyes goggled at the amount.

"Don't start, okay?" Carson said.

"Sorry, Boss," Alice said. "Do you, by chance, know my birthday, by the way?"

Carson laughed. "Later, okay? I don't want to spend one more second here. Talk to you Monday?"

She heard Carson's tone. "Sure, Boss. Oh! I almost forgot - it's policy to ask: would you be putting the establishment on the Red List? By your voice, I take it you are not pleased with the service there..."

He didn't know what the heck the "Red List" was, but he took the chance. "Yes, Alice. Can you take care of that?"

"Of course, sir. The store will be taken out of the company's list of accredited establishments, and a dissatisfactory rating will be posted with Purchasing. Do you wish this to apply to the entire chain or just this one?"

"Oh, just this one is fine. Thanks, Alice."

He disconnected from his secretary and gave the shocked delivery guy a look.

"Turns out I don't need delivery."

He turned to his wardrobe lady. "I'd like to pay for my bill now, please." He handed the wardrobe lady his card. Belatedly, he noticed the stillness in the store. "What?"

All the salespeople around him suddenly found things to do, or customers to take care of. His card was run through the system and he waited to get his receipt back. One of the clerks was talking to someone on the phone. By the urgent and nervous manner, he knew that it was about his conversation with Alice.

That clerk came up to him and said she had someone fetch the store manager. After a bit, a lady appeared, apparently the manager, and the clerk told her about the phone conversation he just had with his secretary. She mentioned the "red list."

The manager hurriedly came up to him and introduced herself, asking if there was anything they could help him with.

"Thank you, but no - I've decided to take my business elsewhere."

"What were you looking for, if you don't mind me asking, sir?"

"Oh, some odds and ends - a nice briefcase, a laptop, maybe a tablet, a new phone, and I have to build up my, uh, casual wardrobe... Just a lot of odds and ends. Anyway, I thought you weren't here. I was told you were unavailable." He gave the delivery guy another look. By then that man was looking decidedly ill at ease.

"Oh, no, Mr. Nance, I'm always available for our customers. If you're looking for casual attire, I'm sure Mary-Beth can help you find something." She gestured at "his" wardrobe girl.

"No, thank you."

"Is anything wrong, sir?"

"No, most of your people have been very helpful. I just don't want to continue my shopping here."

"All right, sir." Someone brought Carson's receipt. The manager looked it over, and her eyes momentarily goggled at the total. She handed it over and he signed.

"You know, Mr. Nance, I hope you don't mind me saying, you are one of the best customers the store has had in a long, long while, and that's a big thing given who we are. And we would hate to lose your business."

Carson shrugged. "Too late for that." He handed her his receipt.

When she saw his bill again, she shook her head.

"Anyway," she said, "You're entitled to some complementary gifts and a pre-approved store VIP card." She handed him the little gift bag and card.

He pocketed the card without looking at it, and put the little bag in with his watches.

"Also, you get free delivery. Always a good thing."

Carson laughed. It was more a sarcastic little bark. "No, thank you. Besides, you don't deliver to my place anyway."

"Nonsense! What's the address?"

The delivery guy rushed over to hand her Carson's form.

"Park Avenue? That's not very far. We can get your purchases there within the day... Wait, that address is familiar... Isn't that the Tate Center?"

"Ummm, yes, I work for Tate & Company."

"He's the head lawyer for their legal department," Mary-Beth said. "... I think..."

"Head lawyer...?" the manager said.

"That's my office address. I had to change it to that because your employees said your store doesn't deliver to my home." He pointed to the crossed-out address above it.

The manager paused and read it. "Well! That's not true. We can deliver there."

"No need. I've arranged for my people to pick up my packages. It will be a few hours before they get here, though. Will my purchases be all right if I leave them here for the meantime, or do I have to stay with them? I'm willing to pay, if you don't accommodate that, as well."

"Of course you can leave them, sir, at no charge, until your employees pick them up. But, really, it's no trouble to deliver..."

"It's too late - everything's arranged." And then he walked out.

- - -

He left the store, walked to his BMW, and thought about his first shopping experience as Carson.

The whole thing in the store was exhilarating. Not the buying, although that had been a lot of fun. He was actually thinking of that unpleasant man making a stink. Part of the reason he liked being a lawyer was being able to argue with people like that man, and win. And having laid low for months - he missed that feeling.

Being able to stick it to that bigot felt great. But then, this sort of made things more... real. He was out now. Being a part of the school PTA, or palling around with his new golf cronies - those didn't really count. But Carson Nance was out now - a real person, verifiable by his papers, and now by other people - strangers - in concrete, traceable ways.

In a way, it was a relief. But also sad. Carson Nance was real now, but because of that, William Fayne was gone. He knew he couldn't be both, so he had to be Carson. And today, this just became real for him instead of just a scheme Drew thought up.

He got behind his steering wheel and thought of Drew. She'd had to cope with Andy Fayne being dead for far longer than he had to. Her breakdown in the bathroom last weekend was more than understandable now. Right now, he knew he could not take this as well as he was if not for Drew - if Drew can take it, he knew he could, too. He wasn't alone in this.

He shook himself out of this depression spiral and changed his thoughts to what he needed to do next.

He got out of his BMW and decided to walk to the 5th Avenue Apple Store. There, he got himself a new Mac Air and an iPad Mini. He knew that the company would be providing him a phone and a laptop, but Drew warned him that those wouldn't be "safe" because they would most probably be loaded with a lot of security stuff. So the Mac and the iPad he was getting would be his personal stuff, and therefore relatively safe. He also got a bunch of other things like a blue-ray/DVD drive, a fancy leather valise that could accommodate the Mac and more, a noise cancellation in-ear headphones-and-mic, a handful of 128-gig USB thumbdrives, a couple of sheets of that "privacy" screen protector film that would make his computer screen look blurry except for the person directly in front of it, and a couple of 2TB anti-shock external drives. Too bad there were no SSDs of the same size in stock.

He walked back to the car with his purchases, looked up the next store on his list, drove down 5th through the Washington Square Arch and skirted the park, and then to that store on West Broadway near Grande Street that sold upscale vintage clothes. He again asked the salespeople there to pick him out a nice set of casual "threads" as the lead salesman put it (well, he was in a vintage store after all, so he supposed the salespeople were trying to use vintage lingo as well). He was able to pick out several eighties- and nineties-era stuff - good stuff that would take the place of the stuff he lost when their old house was blown up. So, if someone should go through his closet in the new house, they'll see these and see that not all his clothes were new.

He also needed contemporary casual stuff as well so he went to this store in Lafayette near Broome Street that was on his list.

Several hours, and several thousand dollars later, he was done. but this time, he was able to fit all the stuff he bought in his car's trunk, backseat and front passenger seat. Though it was unlikely that he would meet another Italophobe again today, he didn't want to risk another delivery "fiasco."

Trying on clothes for the better part of the day took it out of Carson, but he didn't mind. He knew it was in aid of their "master plan" of bringing down those people who killed his brother and his niece, and he needed the expensive duds to fit in at his new job. He could imagine Dave's incredulity at him for spending more than a hundred thousand dollars in one day, but he wasn't as worried as he would have been the year before, to say it mildly, given his new salary was now six figures. And maybe because he was distracted by something else.

Drew had dug up a lot of stuff about the Tate conglomerate, and that was their basis for him trying for a job there. But the little info Carson was able to dig up on his own showed that what happened to his brother was not an anomaly. It was actually just business as usual for his new employers. He could not imagine what else had happened behind the scenes, and who else has had to go through what he and Drew did. No one deserves that. So he vowed that he will stop it no matter what it takes. It was what Dave was trying to do, and it was up to him to pick up where his brother left off. With only one caveat, though - that Drew will not be hurt whatever he did.

He debated whether to tell Drew of his decision or not, but he knew how it would play out if he did. So he decided to keep it to himself. Therefore, as far as Drew knew, they were working on getting Dave's and Jane's killers, not his near-suicidal resolve of what amounted to bringing down one of the world's most powerful corporate conglomerates.

But he was just one man. Others would probably say, what made him think he could do it? Who did he think he was? In his mind, he knew how he would respond to that. "Well," he would have responded to any doubters, "true, I am but one man, but I have three things going for me: one - as they say, forewarned is forearmed; two - I have the element of surprise and stealth, two key elements of corporate espionage; and three - my secret weapon - Drew." As he thought this, he laughed. His secret weapon was currently cooking up schemes on how to get into her school's cheerleading team.

As he tried on clothes, he thought of how he could use his secret weapon without putting her in danger, but he didn't come close to any kind of a plan. Yet.

He had a late lunch (or early supper, depending on one's point of view) at the golf/country club, and had a couple of beers with his buds, who seemed to have made the golf course their second home.

At about four, Alice called and said the trucks were now twenty minutes from his house, so he said goodbye to his friends and hurried home.

As he got to his house, the trucks were just arriving. He also saw a black car parked in front. Memories from that day Maria was killed filled him, and he instantly became suspicious until he saw a sticker on the car door. It was from that department store from this morning. Hmmm.

He parked his Beemer in the garage and, as soon as the garage door swung closed, he heard the doorbell.

"Just a second!" he called, and went to the living room. He peeked through the peephole and saw it was the store manager from this morning and the Italophobe head of their delivery department.

He pulled open the drawer of the desk by the door, got the little voice recorder there and put it in his breast pocket.

"Good afternoon," Carson said as he opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Nance," the store manager said. "I'm Penny Ford, from this morning."

"Hello again, Ms Ford."

"I'm sure you remember Gordon Ash, my deliveries supervisor."

"How can I forget the delightful Mr. Ash? Would you like to come in?"

The two came in, and Carson's quietly elegant suburb-ish living room had the intended effect. Drew would be pleased.

"You have a wonderful home, Mr. Nance."

"Thank you, Ms Ford." He gestured at the living room sofa. "I'm sorry, our housekeeper..."

"Quite all right, sir."

"My skills may not be up to Maria's standards, but can I get you guys something? I can fix you guys a drink at least."

"Very kind of you."

"Scotch on the rocks all right?"

"Fine, sir."

As he handed them their drinks, the doorbell rang again.

"Those are my delivery staff," Carson said (he deliberately chose those words). "Excuse me, please."

He opened the door.

A man in coveralls with a clipboard was there. "I'm from Amalgamated Freight, Mr. Nance. We picked up a consignment for you. Here's the list Ms Alice Moss sent us, and a list from someone named Mary-Beth at the department store." He handed Carson the clipboard. "May we bring in the consignment?"

"Of course."

The movers brought in several packing boxes, three shoeboxes and maybe a dozen wardrobe bags. They hung up the bags on a portable wardrobe hanger.

"You brought the hanger?"

"Yes, sir. Ms Moss made sure we had one for the truck. We can leave it here for the meantime and pick it up later."

Carson went through the items on the hanger, opened the boxes on the mover's insistence, and went through their contents as well.

"Yep, everything's here," he said, and signed the form.

"Thank you, sir," the mover said, and gave Carson his copy.

"Would you and your men like a drink or something?"

He smiled. "Thank you, sir, but we are not allowed."

"Oh. Well, thanks for the help. I appreciate it." Carson shook the man's hand and saw him to the door.

He went back to the living room and sat down. He noticed the store manager unobtrusively reach into her purse but didn't pull anything out. He thought as much. He surreptitiously switched on his voice recorder as well.

"Sorry," he said, and reached for his drink. "A hundred and twenty thousand dollars of merchandise takes a while to check. I apologize for making you wait."

"I thought it was..." the delivery guy said.

"I also bought a couple of watches and some fancy pens as well."

"Oh..."

"Mr. Carson," Penny Ford said. "I cannot apologize enough for the misunderstanding earlier."

"No need, Ms Ford," Carson said. "It's just a delivery thing. What your guy said was pretty clear: I couldn't get my stuff delivered. So I made other arrangements. No big deal."

"Please do call me Penny. Mr. Nance, it is policy to try and provide what our customers need, and it is policy to provide delivery if the customer needs it. In fact, if he purchased more than a thousand dollars, there is no charge for delivery."

"Well, then, with my purchases, -"

"A hundred twenty thousand..." the delivery guy said, shaking his head.

"Mr....?"

"Gordon Ash..."

"Thank you, Mr. Ash. I'm sorry. You did not deign to give me your name before. Anyway, I guess my purchases make me more than qualified for delivery, But then again, it's too bad I live in Staten Island - the most déclassé of New York's five boroughs."

"Déclassé?" Ash asked.

"You know - déclassé? Common, humble, ignoble, lowly, mean, plebeian, unwashed, vulgar - you know? Déclassé."

"I never meant that, -"

"Then what did you mean?"

"Mr. Nance," Penny interrupted, "we don't know who told you that we don't deliver to Richmond County. In fact, we do deliver anywh..."

"Mr. Ash told me."

Penny paused. "Ummm. Well, Mr. Ash was mistaken. Perhaps you could have called me and I could have, -"

"Mr. Ash said you were unavailable."

Penny could not respond to that.

Carson sighed. "Anyway, I did find a lot of good stuff in your place. And your other staff were most helpful."

"I hope, Mr. Nance, we won't lose your patronage over this misunderstanding..."

"I think that ship has pretty much sailed, Ms. Ford."

"I don't get it," Ash exclaimed. "Why's your nose so bent out of shape! You're not even a wop..."

"I'm not a what!"

"Sorry, I meant..."

"Mr. Nance..." Penny interrupted.

Carson turned to Ashe.

"What do you mean, 'I'm not a wop?'"

"I, ummm, I meant that, -"

"That I'm not a wop? I'm not a goombah? A greaseball, a dago, a ginzo, a wog..."

"I meant..."

"... a guido, a guinea pig, a meatball, a mario, a pizza nigger..."

"All right!" Ash exclaimed. After a while, he continued. "All I meant was that you weren't Italian..."

"Yes, I'm not Italian! So what?"

"Ummm..."

Carson turned to Penny.

"Penny, in this day and age, prejudice and bigotry are considered outré, or at the very least unfashionable. And Italophobia? Why couldn't it be something more current, like homophobia?"

The two couldn't respond.

"By the way, I'm not a homosexual. I am also not catholic, nor Jewish as well. I am sorry if that disappoints Mr. Ash. I will also tell my friends at Tate & Company about it, and that in the extremely unlikely event that they should mistakenly wander into your store, although there is virtually no danger of that since you are now on our Red List - I will tell them they should ask about delivery first - if you can deliver to their homes, and they should tell you of their ethnicity and religious affiliation ahead of time, and perhaps their sexual orientation as well, just to be on the safe side."

Penny looked at Carson with resignation.

"Well," she sighed. "I guess there's really nothing more to say." She reached into her bag again.

"Turning off your tape recorder?"

She looked at him, incredulous! "How did..."

"I saw you reach in your bag earlier to switch it on."

She sighed again.

"When you start spreading that recording around," Carson said, "you will note that I did not say anything that may be incriminating, tone aside. By the way, my tone can be construed as justifiable being I was denied something I was entitled to given your store policy. And if you think I cannot subpoena witnesses to that... 'misunderstanding' this morning, or subpoena your books on store policies, you're badly mistaken."

He turned to Ash. "I'm a lawyer. I am, in fact, a very, very good lawyer - something you should consider."

He turned back to Penny. "Ms Ford, I am not saying that you will, but if you should consider trying to doctor that recording, or taking the conversation out of context, please know that I have my own recording." He showed her his own recorder. "And if you feel that it is... inappropriate for me to be recording our conversation, then I suggest you think about your own actions. Bring in your lawyers if you feel you need to, but this case is clear cut, as I am sure they will tell you. And besides, there really is nothing to sue about. All that happened was that your store lost some good customers."

He smiled sweetly. "Like I said, I am a very good lawyer."

"Yes, you are," she smiled. "And cute, too."

Carson raised an eyebrow at that.

"Mr. Nance, thank you for your time. Once again, we apologize for the misunderstanding, and please do contact me if we can ever do anything for you in the future." She took out a card, scribbled something on it and handed it over.

"That's my number. Please call me anytime. My home number's on the back if you need to contact me and I am unreachable from my office phone."

She handed him a small package. "Here's something we wanted you to have, as a small token of our appreciation for your business, and..." She fished inside her purse, took out her recorder and handed it over as well.

"Here's my recording as well."

"Ummm..."

She shook his hand.

"We'll show ourselves out. Apologies for bothering you on your day off."

And, with that, they left.

"Aha..." Carson said, to no one in particular.

 
Fourteen: Janine and her posse / Drew and her posse

Drew had just left her house, making sure to leave her dad the note with the list of stores that she thought would help him shop. She was driving to school with her best friends, Iola and Callie, and when she picked them up, they were dressed to the nines as usual. And it was the day of the party that Drew was dreading. And, as usual, all that her best friends could talk about was their outfits for the party.

When she didn't used to exclusively wear women's clothes less than four short months ago, she would have thought these girls fit the stereotype most guys had of girls that look like them - flighty, shallow, self-involved. But in the ensuing months, when Andy was quietly laid to rest and Drew was born, she had slowly come to realize several things.

In many concrete ways, the world, like it or not, was still a man's world. And women were constantly being objectified. Even so, women still had to work within it. And the way many cope with this was by playing into the prevailing stereotypes.

There were those women that were pretty happy with these stereotypes, or even actually embody these stereotypes, and some actually thrived with them, becoming rich or powerful or popular, or any number of other things. To these women, terms like "dumb blonde" or "bimbo" or other similarly derogatory ones actually made them feel affirmed. Having become a blonde hottie herself, she could appreciate the power this can give a girl, and was happy that these types of girls had found a niche. Being objectified or discriminated against was par for the course, of course, and who was she to have an opinion. She was not one to judge, but if she encountered one who wanted defending, she'd be there. She herself was still struggling to find a niche for herself, and envied these girls having found a place in the world.

There were those who did not have these problems - to whom such stereotypes did not apply, or where the world did not apply it to them. Many of these women feel bad about this - to not be considered pretty, for example, is hurtful, and many of them (not all, of course, but many) would drop their ire and feigned anger at being objectified if only people would think them beautiful.

Some women, however, refused to have the stereotypes applied to them even if they weren't being applied to them in the first place. And some of the more vocal few were mostly not appreciated for being so vocal. Other labels were applied to them, like "bitch" and so forth. But those who were able to make their opinions stick called this Feminism. Drew sort of knew where they were coming from as well. Fitting in was a hard thing, and Drew understood this more than most. Drew was a staunch supporter of Feminism.

There were those who were in the happy middle - these were the ones that had the least problems and could be almost anything they wanted to be. Those that could don the stereotype or shed it at will. Drew was surprised that few girls aspired to be like them, actually.

There were those that had the stereotype stuck to them, which they actively fought. True, there were certain things they could not do, or were not given opportunities that others were given, like being taken seriously, being given promotions and things like that. She could identify with that, and had to endure being objectified constantly at the beginning of her time masquerading as a girl. But she learned in time. Feminism.

There were those, however, who had these stereotypes permanently stuck to them and though they didn't like it, far from shrinking from these stereotypes or railing against them, they had the smarts to actually use them to get what they want. She had learned that these were the kinds of girls she was attracted to the most. A girl could be gorgeous but still be smart. A girl could dress well but still be an honor student. She could be sexy but also brilliant. She can be up-to-date with the latest gossip and fashions, but she could also be up-to-date with the latest current events. Lipstick Feminism, it's called.

Her two best friends were well on the way to being this type of girl and she was proud of them for that. Regular, run-of-the-mill Feminism, or Lipstick Feminism: whatever works regardless, she was proud of her friends.

But, she thought, this kind of... power (this was the only word that she thought fit) - it can be used for good, or for evil. Lipstick Feminists are dangerous. "For good or for evil..." she giggled when she thought that line - a line that comic book-fan Andy would have recognized in a heartbeat, but not by supposedly non-comics-fans like Drew.

And it really was a kind of power. Callie and Iola will have lots of this power when they're older, Drew will make sure they'll be on the side of good. "With great power comes great responsibility..." Drew giggled as she tried to think of appropriate superhero names for them.

However, Janine was on the other side. And this was the thing. Seems Drew and her girls had an archenemy now.

Later tonight, they were going into the lair of the enemy, as it were. But they - but she - will be doing it for a good reason.

She giggled again. And just like Andy's favorite comic-book heroes, they were also going to wear costumes. But instead of tights and masks and capes, theirs will be pushup bras, miniskirts and high heels. Today, when Drew and her girls fly in to do battle (she giggled again), the costumes had to be appropriate.

"Tell me why you're giggling," Callie said.

"Oh nothing," Drew replied as she drove to school. "... just random thoughts."

"Okay. Hey, what are you gonna be wearing tonight? That?" Callie pointed to Drew's current outfit. At the moment, she was wearing a striped A-line skirt well above the knee, with wide navy and red stripes. She had paired it with a white button-up, sleeveless blouse tucked into her skirt's elasticized waistband.

Pretty understated but very sexy, Callie thought, which was Drew's signature style. A style that looked pretty simple but it was something others could never seem to replicate, herself included. Still, despite the simplicity, Callie had to say that Drew's outfit was more than okay for later.

"This li'l ole' thing?" Drew responded. "'Course not. I got something for later."

"You do?" Iola spoke up.

"Yep. I have it in the trunk."

"The trunk! What're you doing putting a dress in Tiger's trunk!"

"It's a knit dress, kid. It won't get wrinkled or anything. How 'bout you two?"

"Knit dress? Oh, Drew..."

"Stop foolin' with Drew, Iola," Callie said with a laugh. "She does well for herself."

"Yeah, she does." Iola leaned over and bussed Drew on the cheek. "Sorry, honey. I'm sure it's a great dress."

"S'okay. But you didn't answer me."

"Us? Our outfits?"

"We," Callie interrupted, "are both going to be wearing red dresses. I'm gonna be wearing a fabulous strapless cocktail dress..."

"And I'm gonna be wearing a super sexy red body-con dress with a real-deep cleavage and a cutout midriff. It'll drive everyone wild!"

"Red?"

"It's Janine's idea. Everyone on the squad can wear anything so long as it's in red. So people will know we're all on the team."

"That's a great gimmick."

"Janine's great with things like that."

Drew drove leisurely towards a newly opened restaurant. Callie told them it a clone of Aunt Arlene's favorite breakfast place in New York City. But this one was a bed-and-breakfast maybe fifteen minutes away from school, open only from six to ten, and served French toast-based meals, something they called "green eggs and ham" (which featured scrambled eggs made with pesto and spinach), and Kitten Coffee.

They had no fear of seeing any of the other kids from school since it was too early, but there were a bunch of white collar people there having breakfast before they started off for work.

Drew, Callie and Iola thought it best to meet before school, and having breakfast here seemed the best thing. Drew didn't mind - she had things straight in her head already, but she wanted to try the new place. Just for the heck of it, she tried the green eggs, ham on the side, and the famous artisan coffee from Brooklyn.

She looked at Callie's and Iola's outfits this morning. As usual, their clothes were within school regs, but just barely. She shouldn't comment since she pretty much did the same thing.

Callie was pretty sexy today, with a flowy vintage-style white dress with open shoulders and crochet detailing on the front and on the back. It had bell sleeves and adjustable straps. The dress was fully lined so there were no worries. She had partnered it with oversized round sunglasses and a pair of wooden platform sandals with a pebbled white and gray upper, with a peep toe, an adjustable buckle closure at the ankle and a stacked heel.

As for Iola, she had on a cute apricot slip-on style babydoll dress that had a flowy skirt and strappy detailing on the back. She also wore leather booties with a stacked wooden heel, peep toes and lace-up detailing on the back. She also had at least a dozen metal bangles on her right wrist as well as dangly earrings.

Despite Iola's brash style, Drew was seriously turned on at the moment, but the gaff she was wearing really helped. She felt proud as a peacock to have two gorgeous girls on her arm until she realized that she was also a gorgeous girl. Used to be, that would be like a switch, and the wave of depression that would follow would just pull her back to reality. But since Saturday, things had changed for her. Fears of being thought of as a guy in drag had disappeared. Thoughts of being a fake paper-person had disappeared. Thoughts of Andy and his dad being wiped away from the Earth had disappeared (mostly).

New thoughts and fears had replaced these, however. At least they were less powerful fears. Things like grades and exams, or her position in the school's pecking order, or this thing with the cheerleaders, or her upcoming drag race with Phil. Not so much different from the types of things other kids Drew's age worry about. There were other things, however that were things that were all hers, like stuff about their "plan," about her dad and his job, or if they were being tracked by the enemy now. And what to do with her growing infatuation with Callie.

Curiously, though, it all somehow felt right. With all of her concerns, it all felt right. As her friends waxed lyrical over the eggs and the pancakes, Drew contemplated things. There were changes happening to her, she knew. But at this moment, she understood now. Crystal clear, she knew. Drew's inside now. In her soul. It's been happening slowly these past days, but she's accepted it now. She was Drew, now and probably forever. And it wasn't bad.

- - -

The party was to be at Ned Nickerson's dad's other house on posh Todt Hill, since their house in St. George was much too small. But it was about a roundabout thirty-minute drive away, so the party was scheduled for seven pm. That gave the girls more than enough time to get ready. After class, the three drove to Callie's to get ready. Like Drew, Iola had brought her party dress as well.

They had almost four hours before the party. Giving themselves an hour to drive there, that left them three hours to get ready. With Drew's experience, she knew that was a little tight, but they'll make it work. They started getting ready right away.

After freshening up, they got into their outfits. Iola put on her super-sexy body con dress. With its deep-v neckline, a bottom that was more than three-fourths up her thigh, and a cutout midriff, she was hot! She matched it with a pair of black platforms and a moto jacket for the nippy evening. For Callie, she wore a daring, structured strapless cocktail dress with front pleat detailing. She paired it with a moto jacket of her own, and platforms as well. Their styles were opposite each other. Callie's style looked classy and upscale while Iola's was more akin to a street walker's, quite close to the Staten Island teen-girl stereotype that many New Yorkers had in mind when they thought of Staten Island girls. Drew knew it was totally unfair of her to think so, so she shook her head free of such prejudiced thoughts and just appreciated her friend's beauty.

Drew then brought out her outfit. It was a casual but chic, off-the-shoulder A-line dress made from a soft, flexible knit material in black and grey stripes. She went into the bathroom and came out wearing it. The slim, second-skin effect coupled with her hourglass figure and c-cup boobies made what should have been casual extremely sexy. Drew's special underwear was doing its job so no unwanted bumps ruined the smooth lines of her outfit. Iola whistled. Callie wondered if the knit material was as soft as it looked but stopped herself from touching it to find out. Her heart beat faster looking at Drew.

Drew then brought out a pair of treaded brown heels. It had faux-leather uppers with a textured finish, broad, chunky, wooden heels and peachy gold front buckles. She also brought out a new pair of thigh-high textured-knit socks, still sealed in their package.

"Ummm, Drew?" Iola said hesitantly. "Are you sure of that?" Clearly, she had doubts about the socks and shoes. "I mean, knit socks and brown shoes? Really?"

Drew sat down on the couch in between her friends. "Just wait a sec," Drew said. She raised a leg and put on one of the socks, and then the other. Callie swallowed nervously. If Drew only knew how much she was turning her on.

Drew then stood up and modeled her outfit. Iola whistled again. "You are something else, Drew. I would not have believed those would match... much less look smokin' hot..."

Drew vamped some more, posing in more and more ridiculous, over-the-top poses, and got Iola belly laughing. Iola belatedly noticed Callie's open-mouthed expression and wasn't laughing, and it sort of dried up her laughter.

"Oh!" Drew exclaimed. "I also got a jacket. I'll get it from Tiger's trunk." She turned and stepped out to get it.

In the silence, Iola turned to Callie. She elbowed Callie in the ribs.

"Hey," Iola said.

"Huh?"

"Drew's pretty sexy, huh?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You're pretty stuck on her."

"I..."

"I know about you, Cal. And it's okay with me."

"You mean..."

Iola slid across the couch and hugged her. "Honey, we've been friends since third grade. I know you, as much as anyone can know you. Same as you with me. And I knew about that affair with Donna, Aunt Arlene's boarder. And I knew how you felt about me."

Callie looked at her with a big, shocked expression.

Iola giggled, reached out to push Callie's chin up to gently close her mouth.

"Honey," Iola said gently, and hugged her. "I knew. You knew I didn't swing that way. And I love you for what you did, not putting any moves on me. You're my sister." She kissed her on the forehead. "A very, very, very, very cute little sister..." She giggled. "I love you, and I would do anything for you."

Callie hugged back. "I love you, too, big sister."

"So. What's the story with Drew?" Iola said after a bit. "I'm right, aren't I? You like her?"

"Don't you like her?"

Iola shook Callie. "You know what I mean!"

Callie giggled, and then turned serious. "Yeah, I do. And she knows it, too."

"She does!"

Callie sighed. "Yeah, she does. I told her."

"What did she say?"

"She says that she's not closing the door to it, but she wants to just be friends for now."

Iola nodded. "She loves you, too."

"I know. But not in that way."

Iola shrugged. "Hey, you never know. Right?"

Just then, Drew came in. "Hey!" she said. "Look at me!" She had her jacket on and posed at the doorway.

"Great!" "Cool!"

As Drew bustled in, Iola whispered to Callie, "let's talk about this later, 'kay?"

Callie nodded.

- - -

Callie, Iola and Drew were all set but they had to wait about half an hour for the limo Drew hired. The girls protested about this, that it cost too much, or it was overkill for a simple party, but Drew lied and said she was using a free voucher her dad got somewhere. Besides, she said, she didn't want their outfits ruined if they tried to squeeze into her little Opel.

During the lull, Drew brought up the matter of the upcoming Finals Week, but Callie and Iola brushed it aside.

"We're fine Drew," Callie said.

"Of course, we aren't like some people," Iola said, referring to Drew's exemptions, and they giggled. Drew gave them a razzberry.

When the car arrived and the uniformed chauffeur helped them in, they were well behind schedule. Inside, Drew opened the little bar and was happy they followed her instructions - there were sodas, juice, water and nothing else. She handed each of the girls a drink and they settled in.

Traffic was a little more than usual - it was a Friday night, after all - so they arrived well past eight. The party was already going strong when they got there. Their arrival caused some commotion. Acting the part, the girls ignored the hullabaloo, and exited the limo as if it was just a normal occasion.

A lot of the jocks were outside the house smoking, since Ned's dad didn't want anyone smoking inside. Ned's dad didn't lecture anyone on smoking, but did insist that no one did it inside. The effect was that half of the kids at the party were out on the lawn hanging with the football guys and smoking. And everyone took notice of the girls when they stepped out of the limo.

When the girls walked up to the house, there were a lot of greetings, and they fielded them in the ordinary fashion. As planned, Drew stayed outside and chatted with the jocks while Callie and Iola went inside to meet up with Janine and the other cheerleaders.

Drew was wearing her jacket over her knit dress, a faux-leather jacket, color-blocked in black and white, and with an asymmetrical zipper. And she looked fabulous. Some of the girls around her had catty expressions on their faces. Her style was undeniably notches above all the other girls at the party, but her demeanor, as always, diffused most of whatever jealous tension there was, and most everyone just continued to enjoy the party.

After a while, Drew saw Callie and Iola at the house's doorway signaling to her.

She made her excuses and went over.

"It's showtime," Callie said, and they went in.

- - -

After doffing her jacket, hanging it in the closet and waving hi to everyone, a momentary silence descended. But Drew, Iola and Callie ignored this and walked on over to the middle of the room. Conversations resumed a little bit, but it was obvious everyone was listening in, waiting for the confrontation that was about to happen. They didn't know why but they knew it was coming. It was in the air.

But Drew was determined that no such thing would happen.

As they approached Janine, Drew couldn't get rid of the impression that she was in Janine's court, throne room or whatever. The cheerleaders surrounding Janine in their red dresses made them feel like they were in the presence of some sort of cabal.

"Hey, Drew," Janine said. "Didn't know if you were coming or not."

"Hey, Janine. I'm sorry. Friday night traffic, you know."

Janine walked over to hug her. With her heels, Drew was so much taller than Janine, despite Janine's own heels, so she had to lean down just a tiny bit.

"Great party," Drew remarked.

"Isn't it? Ned's been a sweetheart to put the party together."

"Haven't seen him tonight."

"He's probably with Jim and the others playing pool upstairs."

That sounded like her chance. "I didn't know they had a pool table here. I love pool!" Drew recalled the few times she, as Andy, played pool with her old friend George. Though she was no pool shark, she beat George every time, hands down. To her, it was just a three-D application of geometry.

Plus, it was the kind of thing that they needed to get away from Janine and being hooked. Drew made the pre-arranged signal, and Iola nodded subtly.

After the hug, Janine puled back.

"Well," Janine said, "I'm sure the guys would enjoy playing a round with you," she giggled at the double entendre. "But I have to ask you the question."

Drew sighed. "All right."

"So. Drew. Have you thought over your joining us?"

"I have talked it over with Iola and Callie, and I've decided to try out for cheerleader."

After a lot of, well, cheering, the... cheerleaders gathered around Drew and gave her hugs. Again, Drew was glad for her special underwear, as it kept things under control.

- - -

In their previous "strategy sessions" at Callie's last night and earlier this morning at breakfast, Iola, Callie and Drew had talked over what could happen tonight. And it was their consensus that Janine was grooming her to be her "successor."

Drew didn't believe it since Janine didn't know her, she wasn't her friend, and she wasn't a cheerleader.

Callie and Iola explained what they thought Janine was thinking: she was graduating, but she didn't want to leave her little "kingdom." So the next best thing was to get a proxy - a puppet she could control from afar. So she picked the most popular girl she could get that she thought she could control, and use her to recruit new blood at the same time. Drew came in ready-to-order.

The other cheerleaders seriously doubted if Janine would be able to wrap Drew around her finger. Callie and Iola thought so, too, but Janine was the most egotistical girl in the world, and she thought she could. Callie and Iola found it just fine if Drew let Janine believe that she was right. It was a quick way around the trust issue.

The thing was, when it becomes obvious that Drew wasn't wrapped around Janine's finger, it might go badly for Sabrina and her, though the other cheerleaders would be relatively safe.

So the plan was, at the appropriate time, Drew will have a "tiff" with Janine (Iola will engineer a way for this to happen at the right time, and make Janine think it was her fault), giving Drew a legitimate reason to "break away" and get out from under Janine's thumb.

But that was for later. For now, all their plan called for was to feed Janine's ego, but at the same time minimize the appearance of Drew being under Janine's thumb to the rest of the school. Drew insisted on that particular detail - she had labored to distance herself from all this "cheerleader nonsense" ever since she started attending classes in the school and she didn't want it wasted.

They put their plan in motion.

- - -

As the girls made a lot of fuss over Drew, Iola quietly snuck out and went upstairs.

"Hey, Ned?" Iola said.

"Hi, Iola," Ned responded. "One second." Ned painfully aligned his pool shot, fired but missed. His friends howled and money quickly changed hands.

Ned sighed, and turned to her.

"What's up?"

"You wanted to know when Drew arrived..."

"Drew's here?" And there was a scramble as the guys rushed downstairs.

Janine and her girls were all gushing about how pretty Drew's outfit was, and were all excited that she was going to be part of the team. Drew thanked everyone but said that it might be premature, that she still needed to get past her tryouts.

Janine pshawed that. "You'll do well. I can tell that you will be great."

"Thanks, Janine."

"Hey, Drew," Ned said as he huffed, having hurried down.

"Hey, Ned!" She leaned forward and gave him a hug and a small kiss on the cheek. "Great party."

Ned smiled proudly.

"Janine said you have a pool table?"

"You play pool?"

"Just try me!" Drew turned and gave Janine a final hug. "Seeya later, Janine. I'm gonna play billiards with these guys for a while."

The girls watched as Drew, Ned and his buddies climbed back upstairs.

"Well..." Janine said, at a loss. "What was that?..."

In the silence, someone said, "maybe Drew likes Ned?"

"Oooh!!" they giggled.

Iola and Callie looked at each other. They giggled with the others, but they giggled because of something else - what happened happened because they made it happen, so the other kids won't see them together (well, a little bit, but that couldn't be helped), and Janine won't be able to get at Drew.

Drew spent most of the party upstairs in Mr. Nickerson's game room avoiding Janine, and played billiards with his son Ned. By midnight, there were a lot of kids in the game room watching Drew beat the pants off the school's quarterback, tight end and running backs. With Drew's outfit, and the saucy way she set up her shots, the guys didn't mind being beaten. Drew was always amazed at the power of shapely legs and breasts on the male libido, but instead of being affected by them, she was the one affecting others as she leaned down to shoot with her cue, or holding the cue against her boobies while she waited for her turn. The guys didn't have a chance.

Drew insisted on no betting on their game, so the more entrepreneurial of her classmates did their wagering downstairs. Being a good host, Ned brought food upstairs and turned on some muted music on his dad's old hi-fi, and none of those who elected to stay upstairs missed out on much.

Eventually, Janine went upstairs, too, but didn't get much traction with the crowd. In one of her more savvy moves, Drew invited Janine to team up with her, and Janine jumped at the chance to vamp it up just like Drew. But her poor skills at the game just didn't make her the sex kitten that she wanted to be. Drew gave her an out by commenting on the time, giving Janine the chance to say she needed to go home because of her curfew. Curfew? No one believed it but they didn't question it either.

Before going home, Janine took Drew aside.

"Drew," Janine began. "I have to go. I promised my daddy I'll be home early tonight. But I'm really psyched that you've decided to join the team..."

"I still have to pass my tryouts, you know."

"I understand you're worried about that, but believe me, it's no big deal. But!" She waved away Drew's protest. "I'll get Iola and Callie to help you out. They'll be working with you and will be your personal coaches. Just tell me when your trials will be and they'll help you get to pass your tryouts, and get you signed up."

"Thanks, Janine. I really appreciate that."

Janine hugged her. "I knew you would."

Drew watched her leave. "Bitch," she sub-vocalized. "Arrogant, smug little b-"

"Hey, Drew!" Ned called. "It's your turn."

 
Fifteen: Practice runs and virgin bloody marys / Hangovers and hard core music

Drew woke up. Her head felt a little muzzy. She only had a few mixed drinks the night before, but it felt like it was more. But she was a lot better off than either Callie or Iola. Cheerleaders have a reputation for partying hard, and Janine's girls were no different, including Callie and Iola. Drew, on the other hand, thought ahead last night and downed two big bottles of water in the limo going home, and she was mostly okay afterwards.

As she waited for the tub to fill for her usual morning soak, she got her phone and, just for the heck of it, she texted the two.

After a while, Callie and Iola texted back. Iola's text was several dozen words long, and it was hard to believe that they were coming from such a cute, petite and usually-sweet girl. As for Callie's text, it was just one word: "shaddup!" Drew laughed out loud at both texts.

She texted again, and reminded them that they were supposed to meet up at her house by ten, to help her practice for her tryouts on Sunday.

Callie texted back, "shaddup!"

- - - - -

Drew had moved back their thing for the afternoon, giving the two more time to recover from last night's excesses. That allowed Drew to have a more leisurely morning, and more water.

During late breakfast, she got to hear from her father about his ginormous shopping day, and what Carson called the delivery fiasco. She was glad her dad was back in fighting form, echoing the old Bill Fayne in his heyday. She also got to take a look at everything Carson had bought. She was a bit envious of the stuff he got, but was surprised she wasn't that much envious. Suits and pants... meh. Carson gave her one of the terabyte drives and a couple of the 128GB USB thumb drives. She joked that she'd prefer it if she got the new Mac Air instead. Carson laughed and shrugged that off.

"No way, Drew. The new Mac's mine."

"Okay." Drew cleared her throat. "Ummm, Pop? Just wanted to say, I have this thing with the girls?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm practicing for my cheerleading tryouts, which are tomorrow, and we want to do it in the backyard... Is that okay?

"Sure. When?"

"This afternoon?"

"Okay. I'll rake the yard, and get it ready before lunch."

"I didn't mean that! You don't need to..."

"S'all right."

She gave him a hug. "Thanks, Pop."

"No prob."

That afternoon, Iola, and then Callie, arrived. They were both wearing shorts, rubber shoes and cutoff tees, ready for a workout. Callie brought her beat-up portable player and Iola brought three pairs of pompoms.

For her part, Drew went upstairs and changed into an exercise sports bra and a pair of board shorts (over her thong sports gaff, of course). She was worried that she might... come out or hurt herself, so before going down, she did some lunges and jumping jacks in front of her full-length mirror while wearing the gaff, and everything remained in place, and no painful parts.

"Hey, guys," Drew said, giving them a twirl.

"Cute! Guess you're set," Callie said.

"Pop made you guys that, by the way." Drew pointed to a big glass pitcher on the kitchen table full of a red drink, and choked with ice.

"What's that?" Callie asked.

"Virgin Bloody Mary. Pop sez it's good for curing hangovers."

"Bloody Marys curing hangovers is a myth. It doesn't work. Besides, you said that's a virgin Bloody Mary."

"Well, it's full of vitamin C, which is supposed to be good for hangovers, and it'll help you rehydrate? Which is also good?"

Iola lunged at the pitcher. "I don't care. I'll try anything." She poured a glass and downed it in one motion.

"You okay? Would you rather we cancel this thing?"

"No!" both of them exclaimed.

"And neither of you have brought up Exam Week next week, you know..."

"We're fine, Drew," Iola said.

"This is the only time you have to practice for tomorrow, Drew," Callie said, after downing a glass of Carson's brew. "We HAVE to do this."

"Okay, okay. Pop got the backyard cleaned up and raked for us, so let's go."

Outside, they saw the Nance's backyard was mowed down. To the farther edge, piled up against the fence separating their yard from the neighbors', was a big pile of grass cuttings, twigs, leaves, dried branches and lots of little rocks.

Carson had just laid down a big canvas sheet over the just-mown grass, and was nailing it down by the corners with tent stakes. The sheet was probably something left by the caterers during the last monthly party.

"Good afternoon, girls," Carson said, finishing up.

"Hi, Mr. Nance," Callie said.

"Thanks, Pop," Callie said, reaching up and giving Carson a kiss on the cheek. "Now go away." Drew smiled at him merrily.

Carson swatted her on her behind, and left the girls.

"So?" Drew said, and gestured with her arms at the back yard.

"Cool," Callie commented, and put her aunt's beat-up fifteen-year-old CD player on the foldout picnic table Mr. Nance had set up against the wall. She walked on the canvas and noted that it was mostly flat and springy enough. Good.

The first thing Callie and Iola did was to teach Drew the ten basic cheerleading positions, including the ready position, with hands behind her back, and with feet shoulder-width apart.

Soon, Drew learned about the "High-V" (arms at a 45 degree angle to the body and pinky fingers to the back, the "Low-V" (which was the same as a High-V, but with arms down), the "T" (the arms at a 90-degree angle to the body, and again, pinky fingers to the back), the "Broken T" (same as a T, but with arms bent. This time, however, the pinky fingers were to the front), the "Touch Down" (arms straight up, in-line with the body, and then bringing arms to ears, and pinky fingers to the front), the "Low Touch Down" (the arms straight down this time, in-line and tight to the body, and slightly forward. Pinky fingers to the back this time), the "Daggers" (arms bent and hugging the body, pinky fingers to the front), the "Right L" and "Left L" (the appropriate arm in a T and the other arm in a Touch Down), the "Right Punch" and "Left Punch" (one arm in a Touch Down and the other arm on the hip), the "Left Diagonal" and "Right Diagonal" (one arm in a High-V and the other arm in a Low-V), and then the "Left K" and "Right K" (one arm in a High V and the other arm in a Low V across the body). And then they'd repeat everything again, but this time with the pompoms.

Drew didn't understand the pinky thing until she learned that the pinky position was important because it helped change her torso's position somehow, and that it helped fluff out her pompoms when she held the pose.

Soon, Drew had memorized the poses, and they spent time getting Drew drilled enough that she could strike each of the ten positions (eleven including the Ready Position) on command. Drew also learned the squad's standard cheers, and soon had them memorized.

"Snappier, Drew!" Iola instructed as Drew did her moves. "Your moves should be sharp. It should be like hitting a brick wall. And no limp wrists! The wrists shouldn't be cocked but in line with your arms. And the thumbs! They should be outside of your fists and your pinky fingers in back! Swirlies, Drew! Swirlies!"

Drew grumbled.

"And smile, dammit!"

Grrr...

Callie added a few other pointers:

"Drew, even though you want to hit that brick wall, your arms should not be way behind you. You should be able to just barely see them out of the corner of your eyes when looking straight ahead."

"Your shoulders should be relaxed for every motion, and not up at your ears! Relax 'em!"

"Drew, instead of swinging your arms around, up into your High-V, bring them straight forward in front of yourself and hit. And you gotta do this for any motion. Remember - use the shortest distance."

Iola had disappeared but soon came back with Carson in tow. He had Drew's freestanding floor-length mirror, and following Iola's instructions, set it up against the tree at the edge of the yard.

"Thanks, Mr. Nance," Iola said.

"What's that for?" Drew puffed, stopping after Callie had finished speed-drilling her in all ten positions for about five minutes.

"Sometimes," Iola explained, "you might think that you're doing the moves correctly, but you might not be, so it's good to practice against a mirror."

"Oh."

She turned to her dad. "Don't you have something to do, Pop?" she grumped. Unconsciously, she had automatically fallen into the Ready Position.

Taking the hint, Carson laughed and went inside the house again.

They all took a break at that point, Drew drinking Gatorade and Iola and Callie finishing off another pitcher of Mr. Nance's virgin Bloody Mary.

Drew giggled. "I thought Virgin Marys don't work on hangovers."

"Shut up," Iola said. "It just so happens, your dad makes great tasting Virgin Marys."

"If you say so," Drew giggled.

While they were resting up, they listened to a bunch of songs that Callie brought. It was what Drew was supposed to use for her dance routine.

"Dance routine?" Drew asked.

Iola explained: "Coach Stoeger is gonna make you run through the standard moves, all of the standard school cheers, and then a dance routine."

"Dance routine?" Drew repeated, trepidation in her voice.

"Really, kid," Iola giggled. "A dance routine. So, let's pick out a song and let's make up your routine."

"Dance routine..." Drew mumbled.

Iola laughed. "Oh, you're so cute, Drew!"

Drew asked them for a demo, and the two ran through a couple of their own routines, dancing to "I'm a Machine" by David Guetta and Crystal Nicole, and "The Edge of Glory" by Lady Gaga.

Drew clapped in delight and was amazed by her friends' talents, which gave her the determination to try it as well. So they went through the songs that Callie brought again.

They listened to "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani, "Just Dance" by Lady Gaga, "Tell Me Something I Don't Know" by Selena Gomez, "Don't Hold Your Breath" by Nicole Scherzinger, "Yeah!" by Usher, "Shut Up and Drive," by Rihanna, "All Hail the Queen" by Queen Latifah, "Under Construction" by Missy Elliott, and a bunch of older pop classics like "Under Pressure" by Queen and David Bowie.

But even with the dozens of songs they listened to, Drew just couldn't find one she felt she could put together a routine to comfortably. She even doubted she could dance at all. Callie and Iola looked at each other despairingly.

"But, Drew," Callie said, "you're gonna need to have a dance routine."

Drew thought it over. "How about I start with something a little less, ummm, hardcore?"

"What!" Iola exclaimed, "you think this is hardcore? This is NOT hardcore!"

Drew waved her down. "You know what I mean," she grumped.

"Okay, okay. Let's look for something more your speed, then."

Drew finally settled on a thirty-year-old song by Paul Davis. It was a well-known song for cheerleaders and had all the prerequisite hooks and a catchy melody. And was a little more tame and laid back, which was what Drew wanted.

In a while, they had the basics of a routine. Drew was not that versed yet with all their cheerleader moves, but she brought something else: she had more power than the girls, which allowed her to jump higher and move faster. And she was flexible enough that her difference with real girls was not apparent, at least in regular cheerleader routines.

So as they tested the set further, they kept expanding it, capitalizing on Drew's special skills of precision, speed and power. And by using these, they were even able to find some show-stopping gimmicks that they were sure none of the other girls would have thought of, and with Drew's precision timing, they were confident she'd nail them tomorrow.

Near the end of their practice, Drew felt wrung out, and she hurt in places that she didn't know existed. But she had to admit, it wasn't a bad kind of hurt. She just needed more exercise. Thinking ahead, she planned to talk with Nurse Sally soon, and try and develop some exercise routines for her that wouldn't cause muscle definition yet improve her flexibility and endurance.

As she went through her moves, the biggest thing she found out about herself was that, with the right... adjustments to her underwear, she could move as freely as she needed and still remain hidden. No splits, of course, but jumping jacks, for example, were a snap, and no one would be the wiser about her... extra equipment.

Before they knew it, the sun had almost set, so they decided to quit for the day. They contented themselves that they had gotten Drew to go through her routine almost flawlessly at least twice, and was able to teach Drew all the basic moves, as well as their standard cheers.

Iola finally decided they should go in already when the lights out in the street started clicking on.

All of them took showers - Callie in the bathroom downstairs, Iola in the guest bath, and Drew in her en suite bath.

Drew hurried through her shower, and just contented herself with a generous slathering of her moisturizer instead of her regular routine. She had wanted to spend more time under the shower - the hot water was very soothing to her tired muscles. But she needed to finish first so that she could put on a fresh gaff before the girls came up, which she knew they would soon.

She had put on her special panties just in time: just after she finished adjusting herself in her tight-fitting gaff and stepped out of her bathroom, Callie, and then Iola, came barging in, wrapped in towels. Apparently, Drew had neglected to lock her bedroom door.

"I think your dad saw me!" Callie whispered, embarrassed that Carson had seen her in nothing but a towel, and then she cut herself short when she saw Drew was wearing what she thought was a pair of normal, high-cut sheer panties and nothing else. "Oh, wow...." She just stood there staring at Drew.

Drew blushed to a deep crimson and demurely wrapped herself in a towel.

Iola giggled. "Stop drooling and close your mouth, Cal."

Callie continued to stare until Iola playfully hit her on the top of her head. "Earth to Shaw! Hellooo!"

"Ummm, sorry, Drew. I guess..." Callie trailed off, not having thought of an appropriate excuse for gawking.

"S'okay, Callie," Drew said. "We're all girls here. No harm done."

Iola nonchalantly continued dressing. She turned around, took her towel off with her back to the others, and put on a pair of panties. After that, she turned around and casually finished toweling herself dry, put on a bra and then started powdering herself. She tried to hide her grin but couldn't quite manage it.

Drew, took the cue from Iola and tried to act normally by resuming her dressing. She put on a bra, which Callie watched closely, and sat in front of her dresser to put on her makeup and style her short pixie-cut.

"Hey, Cal," Iola whispered. "Stop staring, stop being weird, and get dressed already."

Callie shook herself and started to get herself ready as well.

Iola tried to smooth over any awkwardness, and asked what was next. Drew said that her dad was taking them out to dinner.

"Yayyy!" Iola enthused.

As they walked downstairs, Callie tried to apologize again. Drew gave her a long hug and said to not worry about it. That brought things back to normal. Well, almost normal - after all, all three of them knew something was going on. Iola was delighted, however, and schemes were starting to float around in her head.

 
Sixteen: Drew and her tryouts / Ballroom dancing and rumba pants

The following day, Callie and Iola decided not to be there at Drew's tryouts. If people saw them there, it might just get back to Janine, and all their plans would just be for nothing. They'd be staying at Callie's and study for Exams Week, and wait for her to come and tell them all about it. Drew's dad wanted to come though, but Drew asked him not to - she'd be too nervous if he was around, she said.

The tryouts were scheduled for eleven, and since there were just Sabrina and her girls, and Drew, Stoeger said the tryouts would just be for a couple of hours or so at most, and everyone could have a late lunch.

Before going to the school gym, however, Drew had to make a quick stop at the mall.

She was gratified that her underwear stood up to all her jumping and gyrations yesterday, but she wanted some more camouflage for today. So she went to the lingerie store at the mall that she'd been scared to visit before. But this was an emergency. She browsed through their merchandise quickly, looking for what she needed, but she couldn't find it. She actually wanted to linger but she was pressed for time. So she asked one of the salespeople for some help. She told the girl she wanted some rumba panties. The girl asked what it was for, and Drew explained that she was gonna be cheerleading. She even showed the girl the cheer skirt she would be wearing. The girl knew just what Drew wanted and soon came back with a pair.

Drew left the store with half a dozen pairs of stretchy, white rumba pants in her size. It had enough ruffle detail to confuse and camouflage any suspicious bumps anywhere once she put them on. Still, she had worn a full-panty gaff padded out with sanitary pads in between her legs. Her underwear looked puffy but there were no telltale... shapes underneath. And with the rumba panties on top to further confuse things...

Driving quickly to the school, Drew arrived just in time to see Sabrina and the other JVs arrive as well. To say she was nervous was an understatement. It felt like she had butterflies in her stomach the size of basketballs.

"Hello," she said as she hefted Callie's portable player and her duffle - the CD with her song already in the player. (She really didn't want to bring the bulky thing, but she didn't have time to rip the song into a thumb drive.)

"Hi," Sabrina smiled, noting the bag and the CD player. "Are you here for the tryouts? I thought this was a special one, just for us."

"I think the coach just wants to get as many girls auditioned right away. And I guess I was just the first in her pile of names. My name's Drew." She reached out and shook Sabrina's hand.

"Everyone knows who you are!" Sabrina said. "I'm Sabrina, From the JV squad?" She turned to introduce the other three with her. "This is Tori, Paige and Heather."

"It's just the four of you?" Drew asked.

Sabrina shrugged. "The rest of the Jayvees didn't feel like trying out," she said.

"Yeah," Tori, the blonde said. "Someone 'convinced' them that it wasn't worth it." She made quotation signs with her fingers when she said the word "convince."

Drew had a sinking feeling. She had to rectify that if she could.

"So, Drew," Tori said, trying to be more cheerful. "Are you gonna try out for the team, too?"

Well, duh? But Drew nodded. "Yah!" She giggled worriedly.

"No need to be nervous, Drew," Paige, the shorter one said. She had a very smooth chocolate-mocha complexion that set off her outfit. "It's just a tryout. And if you're too nervous, your performance will just be that much worse."

"Why'd you decide to try out, Drew?" Heather, the other black girl asked. "Were you a cheerleader in your old school?"

"It's a long story."

"Well," Sabrina said, "maybe you can tell us all about it later. I think we should get changed now."

They trooped into the girl's locker area to do just that. Drew locked herself in one of the shower booths and started changing into the outfit Callie gave her. But first, she took off the yoga pants she was wearing and put on her brand-new rumba pants over her padded out gaff. Over that, she put on Callie's pleated, red cheer skirt with a five-stripe black and white trim. It was made out of a double-knit polyester fabric, and had a knife pleat design. The flat front had an adjustable elastic button waist and a black zipper. The skirt was a bit small for her - thank goodness it was adjustable as well as very stretchy. So, instead of a bouncy skirt, she looked like she had on a very saucy, very tight, very mini, miniskirt. It was so sexy it looked good enough to wear while clubbing.

Drew then took off her loose tank and put on Callie's white, short-sleeved V-neck shell over her white sports bra. The shirt was in polyester, too, with double hemmed armholes and bottom. Like the skirt, it was a trifle tight but stretchy enough to be comfortable. She also slipped on a pair of white terrycloth sports wristbands and a terrycloth headband.

In the end, Drew ended up with a form-fitting outfit that didn't look like it was borrowed at all, and was deliberately chosen to show off her curves and figure.

Drew put on Callie's ankle-length bobby socks next, and stepped into a pair of white tennis shoes.

Stepping out of the booth, she saw the Jayvees by the mirror combing out their hair. They were all in their orange Jayvee uniforms with black and white trim, all set to go.

"You look great, Drew," Sabrina said and giggled. "Real hot!" Drew smiled her thanks and went to the mirror.

Since her hair was fairly short, all she needed was a quick swipe with her comb and she was all set as well. They all went out to the gym floor outside where Coach Stoeger was waiting.

Stoeger had her hair in a high ponytail, and was wearing a Lycra leotard and a pair of yoga pants. And she looked absolutely gorgeous. She was setting up a camera on a tripod, and turned around when she saw them walking in.

Friday afternoon, Janine had visited her and said that a junior named Drew Nance was going to be applying for one of the newly vacant spots and she would "really appreciate it a lot" if she could take it a bit easy with the girl. Stoeger said sure, and Janine went on her merry way, trailed by her "retinue."

Stoeger had decided not to tell Drew and her friends about the visit, as it might affect Drew's performance. She crossed her fingers that Callie and Iola really did get her prepped.

"Okay, then, girls," Stoeger said, and then stopped. "Sabrina, where's the rest of your team?"

"They're not coming, Coach,'" Sabrina responded.

"Hmmm..." Stoeger was thinking the same thing Drew thought. "Well, I want you to tell your girls they are welcome to try out, and to not listen to anyone who says otherwise. I'll have their backs."

"Really, Coach?"

She handed Sabrina her cell phone. "Give them a call, and see if they're willing to come now. Tell them I said so, so they can tell whoever talked to them that it's not their fault - it's mine."

Sabrina grinned and flipped open the phone.

Stoeger then turned to Drew and was about to comment on her too-sexy outfit, but recognized the skirt at the last second.

"Callie lent you that outfit?"

Drew shrugged sheepishly.

"S'all right, Drew, but next time, bring your own outfit - something that fits better. Callie's clothes are definitely too small for you." Stoeger eyed Drew's very prominent pair. "Okay?"

Drew giggled. "Okay, Coach."

After a while, Sabrina returned the coach's phone with a smile. "The other girls will be here in an hour, Coach," Sabrina said.

Stoeger nodded. "In that case, let's start in an hour. I suggest we order some takeout and have some lunch, first. A light lunch, of course. Okay? My treat."

So, over cheeseburgers (it wasn't light, but none of them finished their burgers), the girls got to know Drew, and Drew got to know them, while they waited for the other JayVees.

Drew seemed to be an object of fascination for the sophomores as they seemed to hang on her every word. Drew tried not to let that get to her, and chatted with the girls normally.

They asked her about a lot of things, like her hobbies, her friends, and her old school. She was ready for that, and unreeled all the pre-prepared info that she now knew by heart, like it was the real thing and not something that was just made up. They asked about her hair and makeup, and she did the best she could, and wowed them when she told them she got her hair done at Benzaiten, by none other than Julian himself. The other JV's arrived as Drew was giving pointers on makeup to Sabrina and the others. If Iola knew she was giving pointers on makeup, she'd probably laugh her head off. But after being lectured by Julian, Drew now knew a thing or two, and had a lot of info to share, and impressed the girls with her expertise.

During a lull, the girls had a short grumble-and-gripe about the exams that begin on Monday. They asked Drew if she was ready for exams week.

"I'm not worried," Drew said nonchalantly, brushing her fingertips on her top. But she ruined the effect by giggling.

"Why not?" Sabrina asked.

"I'm exempted."

"Whoa!"

- - - - -

Sabrina introduced her to the four newcomers when they arrived, and Drew pleasantly said hello. The tallest was a blonde they called Marti, the short brunette was Savannah, and the other two were a pair of cute Latina girls named Alice and Vanessa. They were already dressed in their uniforms, ready to cheer, and they all looked to Sabrina for their cues.

Drew could tell Sabrina was the leader of the JVs, even if she didn't know she was the captain. Sort of like how Janine was the leader of her cheerleaders. Except Sabrina didn't lead with fear or intimidation. She impressed Drew without even half trying.

Coach Stoeger didn't miss the interaction of the girls. Even though she'd just met Sabrina, she already knew she wanted her on the team. And her first impression of Drew was proven out: Drew did indeed have the qualities that she only suspected before. With the two of them, Stoeger knew the Foxes would be something to reckon with this coming season. Now, if only Drew also had cheerleader skills as well.

"I guess it's time for the tryouts, then," she thought.

Stoeger switched on her camera and clapped her hands for attention. "All right, girls, time to get to work. I have to warn you, my little tryout will be quite unorthodox. It has to be since you girls are special cases. Sabrina, you and your JayVees have a bit of an unfair advantage on Drew, hence this unusual tryout.

"I won't be scoring yet. That's the whole reason for the camera. I'll be reviewing your performances later, along with two other coaches. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to you by next week with news.

"Now!" Stoeger clapped her hands again and started arranging them. Soon she had them arranged in three staggered rows of three, with Drew up in the front row and in the middle, with Sabrina on her left, and the tall blonde, Marti, on her right.

Stoeger switched on the camera and was all set to start drilling them until she thought of Drew.

"Drew?" she said, worried. "Are you familiar with the standard cheerleader poses?"

"No prob, Coach," Drew said confidently.

"Okay, then." And she started drilling the girls. She called out random poses, and the girls efficiently complied. She speeded things up and started calling out poses in rapid succession, and they all kept up - Sabrina and, surprisingly, Drew, being the best of the lot. She had them carry their pompoms and did the same poses at an even faster clip. It was good that she had put Drew and Sabrina in front, as the two led the rest in the moves.

She had to hand it to Iola and Callie. They definitely got Drew ready. She was even smiling, a little thing that showed that Drew knew the drill - that it was important to keep on smiling throughout a performance. Hopefully, Iola and Callie were as thorough with everything else, and had her ready enough for the rest of her little workout.

She brought out a TV on a rolling stand and played a short training DVD that she bought for the team last year. It was essentially the standard poses but set to dance and music. She asked the girls to watch it, and then to imitate the moves.

The first portion was fairly slow, and the girls dutifully followed the girl in the video as she called out each pose. Though the girl was mostly standing in place, it felt like a dance routine, especially with the music.

Stoeger looked at Drew and noted that she looked like she was genuinely enjoying herself. She smiled, thinking that she probably already had a new cheerleader.

After fifteen minutes of this, Stoeger called a halt, clicked her remote control and started playing the next track. It was essentially the same routine but a lot faster now, and with a different music track, making it look and feel like a totally different dance. The girl was even wearing a different outfit, and she was moving from one side of her dance floor to the other, adding dance side-steps to her routine.

After allowing the girls to watch the video a while, she got them back in their places and they were soon dancing along with the girl in the video. After a while, they were giggling and enjoying themselves. Drew and Sabrina even did a little routine - when the girl in the video went left, Drew went the opposite direction and bumped hips with Sabrina and then with Marti.

Stoeger laughed and clapped at their antics.

Drew kept pulling down her saucy skirt, though, as it had a tendency of riding up. But the coach didn't bring it up again since Drew had already promised that she'd get better fitting clothes next time, but, other than that it didn't seem to bother her.

After a while, Stoeger signaled and paused the player.

"You set for the next one?" she called.

"Yeah!" they replied excitedly, and Stoeger clicked the next track.

They watched the girl on the video a little bit. It was the same girl doing the same routine, but with a lot more dance flourishes added, like hip bumps and such, with jumps and high kicks featuring largely in the changes. And there was yet another change in music and in her outfit.

After a few false starts, the girls were soon doing the new routine like they've been doing it for a while. Not that difficult since it was quite repetitive. And monotonous.

"This is our tryout, Coach?" Drew puffed while they did another pair of jumping jacks. "Fun!" And everyone laughed at Drew's sarcasm. The dance broke up when everyone lost their concentration and they dissolved into exhausted laughter.

"So, how're we doing, Coach?" Sabrina asked.

"Flying colors so far, dear," Stoeger said. "Everyone rest up a little bit. Then we'll run some of the team's standard cheers."

After another fifteen-minute rest, Stoeger demoed their twenty standard cheers, and was surprised Drew was familiar with all of them already. So she had Drew lead and run the girls through all of them, complete with cheers, intending to correct or provide pointers when necessary.

But she found she didn't need to - Drew already did that for her. Because of that, her high opinion of Callie and Iola just grew more - clearly, Drew was more than adequately trained. But to give Drew her due, Stoeger was sure the girl had a lot of innate talent to begin with, and Callie and Iola just had to give her directions.

All nine of them did the moves and standard cheers with efficiency and an air of excitement that was key to good cheerleading. Their cheers were loud and well delivered. They actually looked and sounded as good, or even better, than the current team. Stoeger was glad to have auditioned the JayVees.

Running through the entire set a few times, Stoeger was already able to pick out her top five, which included Drew, Sabrina, Marti, Savannah and Alice, with the other four performing well enough that they were assured spots on the team, though they'd have to settle for second string for now.

"All right, Drew, that's great. Everyone take fifteen. We'll continue on with floor routine singles."

"Floor routine singles?" Drew asked Sabrina, and puffed as they sat on the floor, resting.

Sabrina shrugged. "I don't know what it means, either. But I think the coach will ask us to do moves individually, using the entire floor. I've seen that done before."

"Like, what kind of moves?"

"Running jumps, tumbles, twists, splits and cartwheels if you can manage it, high kicks, et cetera. The kind of moves you see them do in gymnastic competitions."

"Oh..." Drew started to be concerned. What if she couldn't do whatever was coming up? She accepted the paper cup of water Tori handed her, and downed the water greedily. She also accepted the towel Marti handed her, and mopped her brow and neck.

"I thought you weren't a cheerleader?" Tori asked Drew.

"I'm not," Drew said.

"Coulda' fooled me."

"If you're not a cheerleader," Heather said, "then how come you cheer so well? And you know the Varsity routines?"

"I don't know," Drew said, and shrugged comically. "'Coz I'm naturally awesome?"

Tori stuck her tongue at her. "Hahaha..."

"Nahhh, just jokin'. Actually, A couple of my friends are varsity cheerleaders. I've seen them do their cheers often enough. And I asked them to teach me as well."

"They must be incredible teachers."

"Why couldn't it be because I'm naturally awesome?"

That earned her a lot of razzberries.

After the fifteen-minute break, the coach moved to the center of the floor and stepped out of her yoga pants, revealing that she was wearing tights underneath.

"Okay, girls," she said. "This next part of your tryout is an optional. That means there won't be any points for this, but it will help me choose what roles you will have in the team if you ever make it through - whether you're a flyer, a base, a spotter or a tumbler.

"We haven't been lucky enough to get male recruits so far, so our competition routines are pretty sparse. Hopefully, we won't need any this year, 'coz I see some of you with potential, so we might just be able to put together towers and all that. We'll be unique, though - an all-girl competition team.

"Drew, I think you and Marti can be base, tumbler and flyer as well. Sabrina, you Savannah and Alice can be tumblers and flyers. Vanessa, Tori, Paige and Heather - you girls will be tumblers and spotters."

"So, Coach?" Marti asked. "Are you saying we're in?"

"Well..."

"Oh, come on, Coach," Sabrina said. "Tell us already! Are we in or aren't we?"

"Well, it depends on what the other two coaches will say, but I'm pretty sure they'll agree with me. I think it's safe to say that all of you are in."

This was greeted with whoops, cheers and hugs all around.

Stoeger clapped to get their attention again. "Anyway, girls, you can celebrate later. Let's get back to work."

She gestured them back. "This is how it'll work: I'll do a move, and you girls try and duplicate it. Now, like I said, this is an optional - don't feel like you have to do it. The last thing I need is for someone to get hurt. But I did ask Nurse Rosenthal to come in today, just in case." She gestured to the upper bleachers where the school nurse was sitting, and she waved back.

"So, let's get started. Fall in line, please, and arrange yourselves by height, the tallest girls at the end."

Marti and Drew were the tallest so they had to wait their turn.

Coach Kroeger started out easy, with jumping in place. First, she stood in the middle of the floor and demoed the proper crouching stance to grab as much air. From that crouch, the coach exploded upward and surprisingly jumped very high.

Individually, each of the girls went to the center of the gym floor and then tried it, and all of them succeeded jumping higher than three feet, with Drew, Marti, Sabrina and the petite Savannah jumping the highest.

They then tried running jumps, running diagonally across the floor and then jumping just before they reached the middle. The momentum gave them all a little more height, but not much. The coach said it was mostly to judge the girls' precision in landing, and not in actually jumping high.

They then did a variation of that running jump - this time, while airborne, they had their arms outstretched and holding pompoms, and legs split out like scissors.

Since Drew and Savannah were the ones that jumped highest this time, they were the ones in the air longest. Drew was thankful for the gaff as well as the rumba hotpants.

The coach then did a routine where she ended up sitting on the floor, with her legs in a split position.

Drew paled and shook her head.

"No way am I trying that," Drew said to Sabrina, and Sabrina giggled. Most of the others didn't want to attempt it as well, but Marti, Savannah and Sabrina did it easily. Later on, Drew would find out from Marti that the three of them were taking ballet lessons.

The coach then did an easier move - a barrel roll, where she took a running start, tucked herself into a small ball, and rolled across the floor, unfolding at the end, and standing in a modified Ready Stance. Everyone did that.

She also did some other fairly easy stuff, like handstands and head stands, and ten other similar poses, with only Marti, Savannah and Drew managing all of them. The others, even Sabrina, weren't able to do all of them. But Savannah even did it with added flourishes, then comically raised her eyebrow at Drew, mock-challenging her. Drew obliged and did the moves again, but this time she copied Savannah move per move.

Drew learned a lot of new terms for moves she had only seen done on TV, like a Backwards Roll, a Bent Arm Back Extension Roll, a Cartwheel (at least she knew what that was), a Forward Roll (which was not to be confused with a Forward Pike Roll or a Forward Straddle Roll) a Handstand (oh, so that's what it was, heehee), a Handstand Forward Roll, a Neck Kip To Stand, a Round Off and a Straight Arm Back Extension Roll.

And the coach said these were basic skills... No A, B, C or D-Levels... Oh...

When Vanessa, Paige and Heather started complaining about banged knees and elbows, Coach Kroeger decided to end their floor exercises, and invited the girls to show off any special routines that they had.

Like Savannah, Sabrina raised her eyebrow at Drew in a friendly challenge. She then demoed how well she could do a cartwheel. Drew, Marti and Savannah took up the challenge and did cartwheels as well, though Marti's was a little rough.

Savannah then demoed a spinning jump, where she started with a running start, and then used her hands to bounce herself into a spinning summersault.

Since it required a lot of body strength, the other two weren't able to do it well. Marti, in fact, sprained her wrist a little bit.

As for Drew, she was able to do it easily, earning applause all around. Her strength compensated for her lack of skill, and she did the routine very well, indeed.

Drew thought about it, and how easy the move actually was, and decided to do a variation.

When everyone was clear of the floor, Drew decided to do it again, but this time she gave herself a longer running start.

Using her long and more powerful arms, she spun, and using her hands like springs, she was able to stay aloft long enough to do two summersaults.

"Wow!" Vanessa and Paige exclaimed.

"Girl, where'd you learn to do that?" Sabrina said.

"Ahhh, I don't actually know," she said, puffing.

Drew stood in the middle of the floor, panting and deep in thought, and as she stood motionless, everyone looked at her expectantly, and a little worried.

"Drew?" Coach Kroeger asked. "Are you okay?"

"I'm gonna try something Coach," Drew said.

Everyone grew quiet as Drew walked even further away to give herself an even longer run-up.

When she was ready, she ran powerfully to the middle of the floor, and at the very last moment, she kicked the balls of her feet into the gymnasium floor and bounced up like a spring, launching her into a very high jump.

Near the apex of her jump, she did that little thing to spin herself over, this time tucking her arms in and therefore making her spin faster, and she was able to get three spins before crashing back down, and all without using her hands against the floor.

The girls looked her in wide-eyed amazement.

"Well?" Drew smirked.

They broke into applause and gave Drew hugs.

"That's something else, Drew," the coach said, giving her a hug as well.

Drew giggled, pleased with herself.

"So are we done, Coach?"

Stoeger giggled as well. "That's what you think. Time for your dance routines."

Drew groaned. Everyone laughed.

"What's the matter, Drew?" Alice said. "Worried?"

"Nope!" she said, and then pantomimed shaking knees and nail biting. Everyone laughed.

The sophomores broke into three groups - one with four girls (Heather, Paige, Vanessa and Tori), another with three (Sabrina, Marti and Alice), and Savannah was dancing solo.

The two groups both picked songs by Lady Gaga, giving one CD to the coach to play, and their routines were very impressive.

Heather, Paige, Tori and Vanessa filled their routine with a lot of dance moves. Kroeger was a little disappointed as their routine barely qualified as a cheerleader-type dance and was more like a regular choreographed dance, and with minimal interaction with each other.

As for the other group, Sabrina and Alice made full use of Marti's height and strength and were able to do several jumps, with Marti launching them into the air higher than they would have been able to by themselves. They ended it with Sabrina and Alice hanging onto Marti's hands in a triangular fan pose.

As for Savannah's solo routine, it was more than impressive. She brought her pompoms, changed her shoes for ballet slippers, and did a routine that would have qualified as a rhythmic gymnastics floor routine at the Olympics. Which it actually was - Savannah would explain to the girls later that she copied parts of Shawn Johnson's medal-winning routine from the 2008 Olympics. Except for the pompoms, of course.

Everyone's jaw literally dropped and watched in awe as Savannah did her routine. At the end of it, everyone applauded and the girls rushed her to give her lots of congratulatory hugs.

Eventually, they all settled down after the coach called their attention.

"Girls, girls - settle down." After everyone found spots at the edge of the floor and expectantly looked at her, Drew gulped in trepidation. It was her turn now.

She extracted Callie's CD from her player and handed it to Kroeger.

"Track three please, Coach," she said, and walked to the far end of the floor.

She had her head down and took several deep breaths, trying to calm down.

"It's cool, Drew!" Sabrina called. "You'll do great, don't worry!"

"Yeah!" Savannah said, and clapped supportively. "You can do it, Drew!"

"Okay, Drew," the coach called. "Just give the word."

After a long pause, Drew raised her head and nodded. The coach pressed the button, and the speakers started blaring out the song, "'65 Love Affair" - a song immediately recognized by the coach and the JayVees.

The thirty-year-old Paul Davis hit was familiar to cheerleaders because it was a popular choice for cheerleader routines, especially because of its medium-slow four-fourths beat, be-bop pop music hooks, and eighties references to cheerleading.

As the drum-filled intro kicked in, Drew went into her routine, cartwheeling in and onto the middle of the floor. She then did high-kicks in time with the beat, shaking her pompoms in the air.

"I was a car hop," Paul Davis sang and Drew danced. "You were into the be-bop." Drew then shook her fanny at her audience, looking over her shoulder, smiling mischievously as she did. "You sang do-wop-diddy, wop-diddy, wop-doo. All of them changes you put me through..." The girls howled and laughed. Drew had made sure her skirt was pulled down before she started, but because of the shortness of the skirt, her new rumba shorts couldn't help but peek out.

Drew then changed her steps and went into a more disco-like routine when the song went, "If I could go back again, well I know I'd never let you go, back with all of my friends to that wonderful..."

On the refrain, she then did a semi-complicated solo-dance, almost like a slow dance or ballroom dance for one, with several pirouettes and spinning around on one foot with her other leg raised. "'65 love affair, we wasn't gettin' nowhere but we didn't care, it was a crazy... '65 love affair, rock 'n roll was simple and clear. Oh, I still can hear, I can hear it, baby..."

When the song went "Yeah," Drew did a Motown-like move, one hand on her hip, and the other pointing at the girls. Drew even lip-synched the "Yeah," and gave Sabrina a saucy little wink.

On the following more rock-and-roll like beat, she shifted back to her earlier routine - high-kicks and pompoms in the air.

"Well, I acted like a dum-dum," Paul Davis sang and Drew danced her heart out. "You were bad with your pom-poms. We said, 'Ooh-wah, go team, ooh-wah, go,' ooh-ee baby, I want you to know..."

After that, Drew then went into a ballroom-style dream-dance routine. "If I could go back in time, well I know somehow you'd still be mine. I wouldn't be so blind to that wonderful..."

Again, Drew did that solo pirouette-dance for the refrain. "'65 love affair when rock 'n roll was simple and clear... Oh, I still can hear, I can hear it baby..."

After that, instead of doing the Motown and rock-and-roll dance routine again, she did something that wowed the girls "Well, I tried to make you give in," Paul Davis sang and Drew did a backwards flip. "One night at the drive-in." After landing that, she then did a cartwheel. "You said, 'oh-no baby, oh-no, whoo.'" She then went into the backwards flip again. "All of them changes you put me through." She then did a handstand, with her legs up high, moving to the beat of the song. (Due to the tight fit of Callie's skirt, it didn't ride up, but even if it did, Drew was doubly protected by her gaff and the new pants.) "If I could go back in time, well, I know somehow you'd still be mine." She then got back right side up by doing a forward roll. "I wouldn't be so blind to that wonderful..."

As the refrain came around again, Drew did that solo pirouette-dance. It was rapidly becoming the signature part of her routine. "'65 love affair, we wasn't goin' nowhere, but we didn't care, it was a crazy... '65 love affair. Rock 'n roll was simple and clear. Oh, I still can hear, I can hear it, baby."

For the following four-fourths cheerleader-type beats of the song, Drew went through the ten standard cheerleader poses.

"We sang, do-wop-diddy, wop-diddy, wop-doo! Do-wop-diddy, wop-diddy, wop-doo! Do-wop-diddy, wop-diddy, wop-doo! Do-wop-diddy, wop-diddy, wop-doo!"

For the next "diddy-wops," Drew motioned to the girls, and they all enthusiastically got up and did the drill along with Drew.

Kroeger was pleased. Drew had a way with the girls, infecting them with her enthusiasm. She was like a one-woman pep squad.

After the "diddy-wops," Drew pulled away from the girls and went through her rock-and-roll routine. "If I could go back again, well I know our love would never end, back with all of my friends to that wonderful..."

Drew, wanting to change her dance for the final refrain, had a sudden brainstorm. She pulled in Sabrina and got her to ballroom-dance with her (faster, though, and with Drew taking the lead, of course).

They danced around the gymnasium floor in time with the song, Drew holding Sabrina's right hand in her left, outstretched like Gene Kelly or something, and Drew in the lead.

Sabrina was whisked around, her breath taken away. It was all so sudden. But Drew's lead was firm, so she found it easy to go with the flow. She was thankful her mom and dad got her to take classic dance lessons so she didn't have any trouble following Drew's lead.

This close to Drew, all Sabrina could think of was how gorgeous she was. Sabrina felt her heart beat so fast.

"'65 love affair, rock 'n roll was simple and clear... Oh, I still can hear, I can hear it, baby. '65 love affair, we wasn't goin' nowhere. But we didn't care..." And Drew danced Sabrina around the gym floor until the song faded away.

When the music finally disappeared into silence, Drew and Sabrina slowed their dancing until they stood still. Drew was breathing hard from all the exertion. Sabrina was, too, but not just because of the exercise. And as she looked dreamily into Drew's eyes, the applause of her friends came raining down.

 
Seventeen: Drew and Sabrina / Drew and Alice

After the tryouts, and saying goodbye to her new friends, Drew drove over to Callie's. The look that Sabrina had given her worried Drew a bit, and she wanted to put some distance between them, fast.

Using Uncle Dave's term, she realized pulling Sabrina in for the dance at the last minute was a Tactical Error... But how could she have known?

She didn't even bother to shower, and tried to leave right away, saying she had somewhere else to be. She decided she'll just freshen up at Callie's.

Before she got away completely, though, Coach Kroeger gave them all a little pep talk. She told them that they all fared well, and they were all ninety-nine percent sure to be part of next school year's team. She was so excited that she said their dancing gave her new ideas for new cheers and routines.

"So, Coach, will you still recruit more girls?" Alice asked.

"Well," Kroeger said, "I have to allow anyone who wants to try a shot, but I really doubt it if any other girls can beat your performances today.

"And, Drew!"

"Yeah, Coach?"

"No more shaking your fanny at the fans, okay?"

Everyone laughed.

They broke up then - the Jayvees to the showers, the coach to her office, and Drew to her car.

"Drew!" Sabrina called, but Drew didn't hear her and drove away.

Sabrina watched her as her little blue car disappeared around a bend, and she stood in the gym's doorway, disappointed.

"Don't worry, Bree," Savannah said. You'll see her again." She put a companionable arm around Sabrina's shoulders.

"I guess..." Sabrina said, still looking at the corner where Drew's car disappeared into.

"She sure is something, huh?" Savannah said.

- - - - -

"So, how were the tryouts?" Callie said as Drew came in and gave her a hug.

"Pretty good. Callie? Can I use your shower?"

"Huh? Sure, but..."

"Tell you later, but right now I just want to freshen up and get out of these sweaty cheer clothes."

"'Kay..."

Drew rushed into Callie's shower and locked the door.

"Wonder what's wrong?" Iola said.

Callie shrugged and went back to the couch. The coffee table was strewn with books. The two were busy cramming for Monday's exams.

After a short fifteen minutes, Drew came out of the bath, wearing a very loose cutoff tee over a bikini-style string bra, cutoff denim shorts so abbreviated they were almost like panties, and her tennis shoes sans socks. It was the usual, relaxed, comfy style that Drew always wore around their house on weekends, except for the short-short cutoffs and the hidden gaff (wearing something in relatively-thick denim helps hide stuff, yet wearing shorts gives her the appearance that she's not trying to hide anything at the same time. Besides, she thought she looked good in them).

She sat down between her friends, comically scrunching herself between the two, and continued toweling her hair dry.

"So..." Iola began tentatively and putting down the book she was studying.

"The tryouts went okay," Drew said. "Coach said it was almost a sure thing that all of us are in. The routine you guys made up for me really wowed 'em."

"Almost?" Callie asked.

Drew explained that the coach videotaped them so that she could show it to a couple of other coaches before making any final decisions. "So she's gonna have to let us know."

She finished toweling her hair and brought out a comb. Callie took it and started combing out the tangles in her short hair.

"So how did the coach like the routine?"

"Like I said, it wowed 'em," she giggled.

She told them about the entire thing, blow-by-blow, from the time she arrived in school until the end. The two hung on her every word, and she didn't leave out any detail. Well, not all the details... she found herself leaving out the dance with Sabrina - she wasn't so clear as to why she did. She knew it was a kind of lie - a lie of omission.

Callie asked why she didn't shower in the gym when they finished. Drew said she was in a hurry to get here. And as she was telling the lie, she had to wonder why she lied for a second time.

When Callie's Aunt Arlene arrived, Iola and Drew made their excuses.

After a final hug from Callie, Drew drove away and brought Iola to her house. It wasn't really a long drive, so Iola was home in fifteen minutes or so.

As she drove away, she had a bit of time to think things over.

"This might get complicated," she thought to herself, and considered not pushing through with becoming a cheerleader. Drew felt she really did good, however. Coach Kroeger will have to admit that she did her best, so that satisfies her requirement. But the coach didn't require that she push through with things, leaving the final decision to her.

As she stared at the passing trees, Drew thought about all the fun she had. Sure, it was difficult, but it was fun as well. She never thought it could be. But should she continue on with this? It wasn't about fears of being discovered she wasn't completely a girl - She was confident that she wouldn't be found out. Could it be about her fear of being pigeonholed? She knew what non-cheerleaders thought about cheerleaders, unfair as that might be.

But she thought of Iola and Callie. No one thought of them like that. But she didn't know them before she arrived - maybe they were toning down their thing for her sake. She thought that over as she drove up their house's driveway and parked Tiger in the garage beside her dad's BMW.

She sat there inside the car and thought that one through.

No, she decided - Callie and Iola were genuine. And if her two best friends can still be themselves, then she could be a cheerleader, too, and still be, and thought of, as herself instead of the stereotypical sexually-promiscuous, backstabbing, attention-hungry dumb-blonde cheerleader.

But, if she did, what does that mean for her? Is she so far removed from being Andy that it was okay to be a cheerleader? With pompoms, short skirt and varsity sweater?

She looked into the rearview and saw her reflection. She remembered what she felt after she got her haircut and didn't need the wig anymore, how free she was, how comfortable in her own skin.

And she finally realized what had changed that day. Nothing. Except for the fact that she knew that she was still who she was inside regardless of her outside. Whether in her female persona or male persona - she was still who she was. And her dad felt the same way about her. That's all that mattered to her, and everything else was beside the point.

"Screw it!" she said aloud. She wanted to be a cheerleader now, so she'll do it. And to hell with everyone else.

She got her stuff, got out of Tiger and went into the house.

- - - - -

Things were winding down in school as the end of the school year was coming. Most were in the middle of getting ready for finals, except for Drew.

Like some high schools, hers had an exemption policy that allowed certain students from ninth grade onwards to be exempted from finals. The criteria for exemptions were simple - spring semester course grades of ninety (or A) or above, no more than three absences, and no conduct grade lower than satisfactory. Drew was one of a very few in the Eleventh Grade that were exempted from all finals. Some of the more... status-conscious parents pointed out that Drew only transferred to the school recently, making her ineligible, and there were kids (i.e. their kids) that were more deserving of exemptions. But the truth of it was that she was indeed eligible, and the school officials were just following the rules when they announced the exemptions.

If they knew that this would happen, the more convenient thing for the officials would have been to not have given her the exemption in the first place. But it was too late now. To take it back would mean losing face. So they decided to stick it out, explain the rules to the protesting parents, and tell them that they were welcome to file a complaint. The thing was, Principal Weatherby explained to them, the Nances didn't mind if Drew took the exams. Drew, being a transferee, couldn't really damage her class standing for the year much by doing poorly in the exams so they're not really forcing the issue one way or the other. And, she explained further, there really were no quotas for exemptions from finals, and the other parents' children were not deprived of anything one way or the other.

"And imagine what people's impressions of you would be if you did file complaints," Principal Weatherby said to these... "concerned" parents in her private one-on-one meetings with each of them. "And the status of your kids would be the same regardless if your complaints are upheld or not."

That did the trick.

- - - - -

Aside from the exams, for whatever classes there were that week, Drew was also given special dispensation not to come in, as were any other exempted student.

As for her friends, for most of their classes, Callie's and Iola's class and test scores had been more than okay this term, so they also had a few individual exam exemptions as well - a first for both of them, and they knew they all owed it to Drew.

Most of their exam exemptions were in the afternoons, making them ideal time for more cramming. But the last exams of the week were the easier ones, and they planned to spend their Thursday and Friday afternoons with Drew instead.

As for Drew - Drew being Drew, she planned to use her free time for shopping, and to continue her "investigation."

She woke up late on Monday. Late for her, that is - it was seven in the morning.

Yawning and stretching, she shook herself and luxuriated in the feeling that she didn't need to rush. She absentmindedly ran her hands over her sides, marveling at how sensuous lingerie were.

There were some sounds coming from downstairs. It was her dad preparing breakfast. This reminded her that it was her dad's first day back at work. Getting the dressing gown that was draped over the chair in front of her dresser, she put it on, rushed to the bathroom, washed her face and ran a brush through her short hair. She was about to rush downstairs when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The dressing gown was too flimsy for her dad's sensibilities, and she didn't want him to blow a gasket.

Going back to the bathroom, she got her bathrobe and put it over the gown. It was a shorty girl's bathrobe, but it was lots more acceptable than the gown.

"Hi, Pop," she said as she traipsed into the kitchen, and gave her dad a peck on the cheek.

"Hey, kid," he said. "What're you doing up? Don't you have the week off?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to see you off for your first day. One of those eggs have my name on it?"

"Sure." He said. He wore an apron over his brand-new, expensive shirt. He pecked her back on the forehead as he broke another egg into the pan and took out a couple more strips of bacon. Drew replaced the bread in the toaster as the ones inside popped up, and brought the bacon, juice, coffee, marmalade, salt & pepper, mustard and ketchup (her dad always had his eggs with mustard and ketchup) to the table. Her dad came and put her egg and the just-cooked bacon in front of her (the yolk deftly removed).

It was a well-practiced routine between them now. Without Marie they had to learn to fend for themselves. It was routine, familiar, and oddly comforting. Drew liked it. Family.

"So," her dad said, "what do you have planned for today?"

She picked up a strip of bacon and munched on it. "I don't really know. Bum around, I guess."

"Well, why don't you pass by my office later. I can show you around, and we can have a late lunch?"

Drew giggled. "Do you even know your way around your office?"

Carson gave her a raised eyebrow. "You don't think so?"

"Ummm, yeah?"

Carson grinned. "Well, you're right." And they both dissolved into laughter.

- - - - -

"Drew?" Carson said as he walked into his little "office" - the little room underneath the stairs outfitted with a desk, desktop computer, printer, filing cabinet and portable music player. Drew was inside playing some kind of computer game.

"What is that," he said. "Angry Birds? Candy Crush?"

"Ha-ha," she answered sarcastically. "It's an RPG called World of Darkness. I'm playing with some kids from Australia."

"Sounds grim. Can you help me with this?" He was having trouble with his tie.

"Sure." Drew got up and knotted her dad's tie. She stepped back. "There... Whoa! You're looking good. That one of the new suits?"

"Thanks, Kid. Yeah."

Drew inhaled. "You smell nice, too. Are you dressing up for someone? You probably got a girl stashed in the building or something," she giggled.

"Drew!"

"Maybe a cute secretary or something? Hmmm?"

Carson was a little uncomfortable with Drew's flirty behavior. It might be in character if Drew was a real girl, but... Carson decided not to let it bother him too much and played along.

"Well, then, if you're so curious, you should come over for lunch and meet Alice, then."

"Well, then, if I must, I must."

"It's a date, then." He gave Drew a kiss on the cheek, picked up his fancy new briefcase and headed out.

"Bye, Pop."

- - - - -

After Carson left, Drew went back to her game, but didn't like playing too much anymore. Because of this, her avatar got decimated, and she signed off after a while. She thought about lunch. It would be the first time she'd be seen over there...

She decided to go back upstairs and finish her morning routine, and, afterwards, found herself in front of her mirror. She wanted an outfit that befitted the daughter of one of the company's top officers - something conservative and officey. But after fifteen minutes of rifling through her clothes, she couldn't find any that quite fit the bill. Hmmm... She called up her dad on his new direct office telephone number. Eventually, he picked up.

"Honey, I'm a little busy at the moment..." her father responded. Obviously, his phone had caller ID. The echoing, tinny sound told her she was on speakerphone.

Drew heard her dad's tone and giggled. He was clearly preoccupied with more important things, and her calling him in such an inopportune time was such a cliché situation - the spoiled rich girl who needs attention from her father.

She decided to have some fun with her dad.

"But Fatherrrr...." she whined, playing up to her unseen audience.

Carson hurriedly picked up the phone. "Drewww..." he said warningly, "what are you doing?"

Drew giggled again. "I'm sorry, Pop. I couldn't resist."

He laughed as well, "Your little gimmick won't work, Kid. No one here but Alice and I."

"Awww..."

"But, really, Drew, I'm super-busy..."

"It's nothing really important, Pop. I'll make it quick. I was just looking through my wardrobe and I can't find anything appropriate to wear for having lunch with my father at his new office."

"Drew, why is this impor-"

"To make a good impression with your bosses, and all. You know?"

"Why is..."

"You know!"

There was a short pause as Carson thought it through.

Obviously, Drew wasn't being one hundred percent direct. But why was she being circumspect about...

So, it has something to do with the "plan," he concluded. And she couldn't say anything out loud. They had talked a lot about recorders, about people overhearing. So it was just Drew following the "plan."

Making a good impression... Drew was always looking at the long view. He supposed making a good impression was needed for the long term. Although she could have decided on this on her own. So why... Carson thought it through again and concluded that it was Drew's way of letting him know. He's supposed to show her off. Establish face recall and such. Ahhh.

"Absolutely, Honey," Carson said, mindful of his secretary in the room. "You do what you think is right."

"So no reservations about..."

"Go ahead - splurge. You can afford it." Thinking it was now safe to do so, he turned on the speaker and put the handset down.

Hearing the clunk, Drew knew she was on the speakerphone again. She went back into her act.

"But, Fatherrr...." she whined. "What if I need more moneyyyy!"

Carson sighed theatrically, playing along, but Drew knew he was grinning.

"All right, all right!" Carson replied. "Feel free to use my charge card. But I'll be checking later!"

"Okayyyy..."

"Oh, say hi to Alice. Alice is my new secretary."

"Hiii!!!"

Carson's matronly secretary smiled at that and leaned down to speak into the phone's mic.

"Good morning, Ms Nance. I'm Alice. I'm sure we'll get to know each other real well."

"Oooh! You sound so sexy!"

At that, Alice couldn't help but laugh.

Carson sighed. "Okay, Drew, we really have to go now."

"Okay, Daddy! Byeee! Bye, Alice!"

Carson finally clicked off and sighed. "So," he said. "That was my daughter, Drew."

Alice laughed. "Come on, Boss. She can't really be like that."

"Well, you're right - she's not. It's just a game she plays with new people. You can meet her later. She's coming by - we're having lunch." He gestured to the pile of case file folders they were going through. At the moment, Alice was helping Carson review his current portfolio, to see where they were at the moment. "Back to work."

"I'll be sure to be around, then. Oh! Better make it a late lunch, Boss. Mr. Tate's assistant called to say he'll be passing by later with some of the division heads."

"What! Mr. Tate himself? The president of the company?"

Alice grinned. "Ah, no, sir."

"Whew! Thank god! Don't scare me like that, Alice."

"Actually," she smirked, "it's Mr. Tate, Senior - the chairman of the board of the company, and the head of the Tate Group."

Carson looked at her, slack-jawed.

"But I'm pretty sure Mr. Tate, Junior will be with him, too, plus all the division heads of all the divisions of all three companies... ummm, what's wrong? Mr. Nance? Boss? You all right?"

- - - - -

Now that she'd been given carte blanche, Drew got excited, picked her fanciest shopping outfit and started getting ready.

She locked up the house, jumped into Tiger and drove towards Manhattan. Thinking of where to buy her outfit, she went on to Fifth. She had half a mind to go to either Barneys, Henri Bendel or Saks, but decided to go a place a little lower key. What really decided it for her was spotting a parking space near one of the department stores.

After parking, she walked over to the building, took an escalator to the appropriate section and tapped one of the sales girls on the shoulder. She explained to the chic store clerk what the occasion was, and the fact that she didn't have much time. But the girl listened politely and quickly decided what to pick for her.

In the end, they picked a black Calvin Klein Women's Single Button Suit Jacket. It was a slim business-like jacket that featured high peaked lapels and a center back vent. The girl matched it with a Calvin Klein Women's Straight-Fit Suit Skirt with a concealed back zipper.

For her top, the girl picked an Allegra K Women's Point Collar Long Sleeve Button Down Ruched Shirt. The girl said it was what they called a career shirt. It was a single-breasted blouse that featured long sleeves, a point collar and a ruched front.

Drew wanted to wear her current bra with the outfit, but the girl insisted that she get a silk bustier bra top. The structured silhouette would look great half glimpsed under the shirt, and the thin straps would perch at the edge of her shoulders so the straps wouldn't be seen at all through the jacket.

As a final touch, the girl picked a red Nine West Women's "Jealouseye" dress pump. They featured three-and-a-half inch heels, pointed toes, light padding, overlaps at toe and heel, and sculpted vamps with little leather string bows. Drew thought the bows made them look cute so she agreed to the shoes right away.

The price of the whole outfit didn't even reach five hundred, but when the clerk ran Carson's card through the machine and saw the credit limit, she couldn't help but mentally kick herself - they could have gone through the even more expensive brands. Drew's age threw her off, but the expensive casual attire, expensively cut hair and expensive watch should have clued her in.

Still, she didn't change her demeanor, and just gave Drew a card declaring her Drew's and Carson's "personal shopper" for next time. "My name's Lisa," she said. "Look for me when you need help with anything."

It wasn't a total loss, though, coz, before leaving, Drew picked up a nice, Marino Orlandi Italian leather girl's designer sling backpack. It was almost a thousand, but Drew didn't even flinch.

She asked if she could change into her new outfit at the store and make her lunch date. The girl took out all the tags and brought her to the nearest changing room.

"Where's lunch anyway?" the clerk asked through the changing room door.

"I don't know yet. I'm meeting my dad at his office in Manhattan first, at the Tate Center?"

"that's not too far away. You have time to spare."

Drew came out wearing her new ensemble.

"Well," the girl said, "you look like a very nice and clean cut young executive! Dad will be impressed."

"Thanks a lot, Lisa! See you later!"

The girl put her clothes in shopping bags and her shoes in the NineWest shoebox, gave her the tags stapled to her receipt, and escorted her out so the store detectives won't bother her. "So, will we see you again?"

"Totally, and thanks!"

As she was riding down the escalator, a bunch of girls were riding up in the escalator opposite hers. They were talking loudly. When she was still Andy, that would have irritated her a lot, but she has had a sea change about such things ever since she started living as Drew.

The one in the lead was a simply gorgeous redhead “Hey, Nikki!” she called down. “Make sure Danny doesn’t sneak away! The whole point of this trip is to get some stage outfits for June, Betsy, Fallon and her. If we don’t, Mrs. Piper will never forgive me.”

A blonde girl near the bottom had yet another redhead in a headlock. Given how they were both giggling made Drew realize they were just playing.

“No prob, Danielle. I got her, and I’m never letting her go.” And then she gave the redhead in her arms butterfly kisses.”

“Ewww! Nikki, quit it!”

Drew smiled at their antics.

“Oi!” Yet another redhead exclaimed. “You guys behave. You’re making a scene.”

“Sorry, Fallon,” the girl, Dannie was it? Dannie responded.

They were almost parallel to her now. Drew casually looked over and was surprised to see that Dannie was a twin of that other girl, Danielle. Cool.

“Hi,” Dannie said when she saw Drew looking at her.

“Hi, Dannie,” Drew said. She embarrassedly smiled at the girl.

“Do I know you?”

“Ahh, no.” Drew shrugged. “I’m Drew.”

“Hi, Drew. Funny, I have a friend named Drew, too.”

Drew grinned and nodded. “Well, have fun shopping.”

She made a face. “Clearly, you haven’t met my sister.”

Drew giggled and waved bye-bye.

“What a funny girl,” Drew said. Her good mood was just reinforced and she jauntily stepped off the escalator. “Three redheads at the same time. Well, that’s unusual.”

Drew stepped out to on the sidewalk, went over to Tiger and drove the short distance over to her dad's building. After parking, she transferred all the stuff in her bag into her new designer backpack, freshened up her make-up and lightly spritzed perfume all over the new clothes to get rid of the new-clothes department-store smell. She put up Tiger's convertible canvas top, locked her up, walked on over to Tate Center, and into Reception.

It was a busy building, with lots of people in fancy office attire walking quickly and purposefully. But though she was, by far, the youngest there, she didn't feel that she stood out too much. Thank goodness for the new outfit.

"Hi," Drew said to the girl at the reception desk. "I'm here to visit my dad. Carson Nance?"

"Oh, yes, Ms Nance! We were told you were visiting." The receptionist gestured at one of the guys in the blue suits. "Jim will go with you to Mr. Nance's office so you don't get lost. Jim?"

"Ms Nance," Jim said, "please wear this pass."

Drew pinned the ID to her new jacket and went with Jim to the elevator.

- - - - -

"So!" Alice said. "You're Drew. Nice to finally meet you. I'm Alice."

"You're Alice?" Drew said, channeling Janine. "This is so kewl!"

Alice laughed. "No need, dearie. I know it's an act."

"Oh, snap!" Drew laughed, and snapped her fingers for effect. "How'd you know?"

"Your father told me," she grinned. "But it doesn't take a genius to know." She looked Drew up and down in her executive best. "You don't look like a ditz. Besides, Mr. Nance told me that the reason you're here and not in school today was because you got exempted from all your exams. Something airheads aren't known for."

"Okay, okay," she grinned. "Nice to meet you Alice."

They shook hands, smiling. Drew liked her on the spot, but she knew that she shouldn't be too trusting. At least not yet. Alice worked for the company, after all.

She didn't look like what Drew expected. Given Carson's description, she thought that she'd look like Mrs. Thorn, one of her teachers from her old life, complete with gray hair in a bun, eyeglasses hanging from a chain around her neck, and a cardigan over a shapeless dress.

Instead of looking like that, Alice had the look of a classy, officey version of Blythe Danner in a chic designer suit. And though Alice did have silver hair, it was arranged in a very classy shoulder-length do. And though Carson was totally wrong about her look, he was dead-on with her voice. Oddly enough, it suited her well.

"I'm sorry, Ms Nance," she said. "I'm afraid your father is busy with some bigwigs. But he said he'll buzz me as soon as he's ready."

"I'm so sorry for the trouble, Alice. Pop wants to 'show me off' to his bosses," she sighed theatrically. "The de rigueur take-your-daughter-to-work kind of thing. I'm sure you've seen it before, and do please call me Drew."

"Hmmm," Alice thought. "'de rigueur,' huh?" She smiled, noting the change in Drew's demeanor. Definitely not an airhead. "its no trouble at all, really, Drew." She decided to change tack. "Your father told me you just settled into your new home?"

"Well, we've been there almost four months," Drew said. "It's not like we 'just settled in.'"

"The way your dad talks, it's like you're still new to the neighborhood."

"Guess Pop isn't too used to the Burbs yet. We're New Yorkers. But we took a few years to bum around the country after our place burned down. Now, we're back. Not that Staten Island is much like New York City..."

And Drew regaled Alice with stories of her new suburban life. A lot of it wasn't even feigned, for it really was a new life for her. Alice listened raptly, and wondered how a kid could make such humdrum things as school and teenage fashion trends sound so engaging. Much to her surprise, she found herself telling her about her own life, too - about life as an older single lady, about her daughter who passed away a year ago. In fact, Alice sort of thought that Drew was very like her daughter. Not that Drew was even remotely close to her age, or looked anything like her, or talked or behaved like her. But the joy, the vitality, the openness - it was so like Judy. it made her feel a bit sad.

"Alice?" Drew said. "You okay? You suddenly got very quiet."

Alice sighed. "Oh, it's nothing, Honey. I was just thinking of Judy."

Drew reached out and gently took her hand. "I'm sorry, Alice."

Alice looked at her. So like Judy... But she shook herself out of it and smiled brightly. "Oh, it's nothing! Listen, would you like a cup of coffee or something while we wait, or I can call down for a Danish or something. Young people are always hungry."

"Well, coffee, maybe. I'll fetch it." Drew looked around and saw a fancy coffee service off to the side with a fancy stainless steel coffee maker. She poured both of them cups, putting cream and one sugar in Alice's as requested.

And they sipped coffee and visited while Alice did some work at her desk.

After half an hour or so, Carson buzzed.

"Alice?" he said, "has my daughter arrived yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Nance."

"Please send her in."

"Right away, sir."

Drew sighed, put her cup down and stood up. "Guess it's showtime."

Alice laughed. "Guess it is." She walked her to Carson's door. "There are six people in there with your dad. Mr. Tate and Mr. Tate Junior are there. You know who they are?"

"Wow! Yeah, I do."

"There's Mr. Joseph Kierney, the vice president of Accounting and Finance, and this young fella, Mr. Henry Peyton, executive assistant of Mr. Tate, Junior. There are also two ladies there. The one with silver hair is Mrs. Norah Marshall, vice president for Operations, and the other one is Lucy Fischer, the head of HR."

"Okay."

With that, Alice ushered Drew in.

"Hello, Honey," Carson greeted her, broke away from talking with Mr. Tate, Junior, walked to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She gave Carson a casual but affectionate hug. "Hi, Daddy."

"Honey, I'd like you to meet Mr. Simon Thaddeus Tate, our chairman of the board. Mr. Tate, my daughter Andrea."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear," the silver-haired gentleman said, reached out and, instead of shaking her hand, kissed it instead. Drew blushed.

"Good morning, sir."

"And this is Simon Thaddeus Tate, Junior, the president of Tate & Company, and American Amalgamated. And my boss." Carson laughed.

"Call me Tad, please, Andrea. Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, no one calls me Andrea, sir, except Daddy when he's being formal. I'm Drew."

"I am pleased to meet you, Drew." He shook her hand. "This is my assistant Henry Peyton, and that's Joe Kierney."

The two other men shook hands with her as well.

The two ladies walked over.

"Good morning, my dear," the older silver-haired lady said. "I'm Norah. And this is Lucy Fischer, head of Human Resources."

"Hi!"

"Tell me, young lady," Tate Senior boomed, "what are you doing here. It is a school day, I believe. I have half a mind to report you to your school's truancy officer."

"Truancy officer?" Drew wondered. Talk about ancient...

"Oh, Drew has the week off, Mr. Tate," Carson said. "It's finals week, but Drew has been exempted from the exams."

"Exempted?"

"Ummm, yes, sir," Drew answered. "My GPA and attendance records were good enough that they gave me the option to be exempted."

"My goodness! Carson, your daughter is not only charming, she seems quite the go-getter. You two are to be congratulated."

"Thank you, sir."

The old man mock-growled. "I told you, son, call me Simon." He signaled his staff. "let's go, everyone! Let's leave these two in peace. Carson, we will see you later. And you, my dear," he said, and kissed her hand again, "it was a pleasure to meet you. Feel free to come visit us. And often." He snapped his fingers. "Come, everyone!"

After they left, Drew turned to her dad with a big smile. "So, Dad," she said, "how's that for impressing your boss?"

 
Eighteen: Spy Cams and Transformers / Aunt Arlene and Dusty Cobwebs

They decided to have lunch at the executive lunchroom that first day, giving Drew an opportunity to walk the halls of the entire three executive floors. Carson knew enough that Drew was already taking down notes in her head even as she flirted with the executives they "bumped into" and casing the joint. There's no chance they'd not remember her, and, by extension, Carson too.

After lunch, Carson accompanied her out to the lobby. At reception, he also arranged for a parking sticker for her little car, and had them make up a permanent Visitor's ID for her. Carson kissed her goodbye and walked back to his office.

The rest of Carson's first day went fine, and he continued working at his new job without much fanfare. He "got stuck" in his work pretty rapidly, and he seemed to be adjusting well.

As for Drew, she did some "research" after lunch. For a change, her research wasn't about THE project. Rather, she tried to find information on how to make her disguise more bulletproof. She hadn't had anyone twig yet, but given she was going to be cheerleading, she'd be under more scrutiny than ever before. So she thought this was something she needed to look out for.

So she went to THE clinic and spoke to Nurse Sally about better "camouflage attire." After making some remarks that Drew should instead think about getting surgery to finally finish off her transition, she agreed to help.

Blushing beet red, Drew endured being measured in detail "down there" and afterward accompanied Sally to what looked like a high-end fashion boutique in Brooklyn.

It turned out that the place was where well-heeled clientele that were into... alternative lifestyles would purchase attire for when they want to be en femme, and prided themselves with their ability to remain discrete.

It was explained to her that gaffs were more than adequate for her intentions, but she did buy some special pairs of machine-washable underpants that made her look like a regular girl down there, complete with outside genitalia and hair that matched her natural shade. With a bit of makeup at the waistline and the edges, she could stand in the nude now and look completely like a girl. Sally said it probably wouldn't come to that, but if there were occasions when Drew might find herself needing to be... less dressed, then these new camouflage pants would come in handy.

She then bought a small lockbox where she could keep them, but small enough that it'd fit in their big hidden safe. That way, if Callie or Iola would spend the night and should look through her stuff, they wouldn't would find it, or anything else unusual. Hopefully, though, her dad wouldn't ask what was in the new lockbox.

She also got Sally to make her an exercise and diet program that would minimize muscle development but improve her endurance and flexibility. She'd need this if she does become a cheerleader. Eventually, she would add this to her regular daily routine.

Other than that, her day was pretty average. She didn't do her real "research" anymore. That bit was done now, and she'd be waiting for her Pop to do the next move. That was a little sad because she wouldn't be doing any more of her little field trips, and she liked that.

So she permanently packed the netbook away in the safe, taking out the battery first, of course, and putting everything in yet another Farraday mesh bag.

The next day, for lack of something to do, she decided to test all of the toys they got from Best Buy.

They all seemed to be working fine. She went to their living room and opened up their erzats Harman amp, turned on the RF scanner and made a clean sweep of the house. She found a couple of possible sources, and used one of the portable scanners to track them down. They turned out to be her dad's radio alarm and her cell phone. Other than that, the house was clean. No radio sources around.

She got the nonlinear junction detector they kept in the living room closet. Her dad had been working on it a little bit, and it now sported a sticker that declared it as a "Sunspot Metal Detector: lots of fun at the beach." She giggled at that.

She swept the entire house beginning with the second floor. Nothing. She ran it over her phone. Despite it being off, the detector went off. She then dropped it into one of the Farraday mesh bags and the detector couldn't sense it anymore. Cool.

She then went to the ground floor. Starting with the kitchen, she swept the rest of the house. The safe was completely undetectable and she was glad about that. She ran it over everything she could. It beeped over her dad's desktop computer, the amps in their entertainment system (including the Harman) and nothing else.

Nothing again. She felt a little bit foolish doing scans, but did it anyway, and as she walked past the portable clothes hangar that the delivery people left, it beeped.

Surprised, she stopped. Where was it coming from?

She tuned down the beeper, reduced the scanning range to a few feet and ran it over everything. Eventually she found it coming from the portable hangar. She looked it over closely and found a little hole in the cap on the end of the bar where the coats and shirts are hung.

She found that the cap could be unscrewed. When she took it off, she found a little electronic device inside. She pulled it out and studied it. Since she knew a little bit about electronics there wasn't anything too surprising to her.

It was a small battery-operated microphone and transmitter. The little battery had probably already been drained and that's why it wasn't transmitting anymore, but the fact that it was even there...

She went upstairs, got her cell phone, went back down and started taking pictures of the device and where it was hidden. She texted her dad with their pre-arranged signal. "Can you bring pizza for dinner?" was their little code for this eventuality. What they would do after this, they didn't know, except to behave normally and to not let on that they knew.

"Pepperoni and cheese?" his dad texted back. That meant that he understood, and that they should play it cool and not do anything weird.

"Plus a small veggie and cheese," she replied, meaning she agreed.

She sighed. "Guess it really starts now," she thought, and put the camera back in where she found it. "Time to start being careful." And she finished scanning the rest of the house.

She thought of everything that had gone on in the house since her dad's clothes were delivered and she couldn't think of anything that wasn't normal. So they probably didn't hear anything bad. Besides, it was probably connected to Carson's little misunderstanding with that store. For all she knew, this could just be standard operating procedure for them and didn't have anything to do with them checking out the Nances. But Drew knew that didn't mean they could drop their guard.

"Still, nothing more could be done further," she thought. "So it's useless to be worried. Our plans are all set, all our precautions set. So I guess we just ignore this."

What she did, though, was go out to Best Buy, buy another security camera and some nice non-see-through plastic curtains for the kitchen windows. As she was about to leave, she saw something called an Asus Transformer on sale - it as an Android tablet that had a built in cell phone that slid into the back of the tablet. It was at least a two-year-old model and wasn't too popular to begin with. But at thirty dollars, she thought it was a steal, and got one.

When her dad got home, he found her in the kitchen hanging the new curtains.

"Hey, pop," she said, and bussed him on the cheek.

"What's all this?"

"Oh, nothing. Just putting up some nice bright curtains for the kitchen. Sorry - I was bored, and was looking for something to do."

Carson laughed. "Oh, I'm not complaining. So, let's see."

Drew pulled the new curtains over the windows. The bright colors and patterns did indeed make the kitchen look more cheery, but Carson noted that the street lights outside couldn't be seen through them. Aha! He looked at Drew and nodded, saying that he understood without speaking.

She also brought out her phone and scrolled through the pictures she took earlier.

Carson looked at them, not speaking, and sighed.

Drew hugged him around the neck. She was struggling not to say anything that would be out of character, and yet still comfort him.

"I'm sorry, Pop," she whispered. "But, you know, it's not like we weren't expecting this."

"Yeah... Well. It's just gotten a bit too real, you know. So. Guess we just chug along then. Life as usual."

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he said in a normal tone of voice, smiled and looked at her fondly. Shaking off his mood, he gestured at the pizza. "So. How about some pepperoni and cheese? I even got the veggie and cheese you asked for."

"Sounds good." She gave him one last little kiss on the cheek, went to the fridge and brought out a beer and a Coke Zero.

"Thanks, kid... Anyway, how was your day?"

And, inevitably, the conversation became lighter and more normal.

- - - - -

The following day, she went to school to meet up with her besties. Callie and Iola met her at the school's front steps. They had no exams for the rest of the day, and promised to spend the afternoon with her and continue their investigation into "the case of the old clock." They were laden down with textbooks, though, since they planned to study over at Callie's later that night.

So after lunch at a fashionable little bistro in Riverdale, they decided to visit #43 Merrimack. Their cover story was that Drew's dad was interested in buying the place. So they called the number they got from the phone company and asked if they could visit the place. In an hour, they were in the living room of number 43.

"It's great that you could allow us to visit on such short notice, Ms Jacobs."

"Oh, no trouble at all," the old lady, Ms Eva Jacobs said. She was a poised sixty-year-old silver-haired lady in a very expensive-looking suit. Drew knew that seventies style was back in vogue now.

"I'm surprised that anyone is still interested in buying the place," Ms Jacobs said. "It's been on the market for more than twenty years already and nary a nibble."

"Well, you should have switched realtors."

"Oh, we don't have a realtor. No one wanted to take the commission."

"Why not? Seems to me this is a nice neighborhood, and anyone would jump at the chance to buy the place."

"Ah, my family has a bit of a reputation, Ms Nance. Most people around here like to keep their distance."

"Oh, please call me Drew, everybody does."

"Thank you. Please call me Eva."

"Ma'am," Iola asked, "why is it that you're selling the place? "It's a nice place, and with the right coat of paint, it'd be a killer townhouse."

Eva sighed. "My family has fallen on difficult times. We need the money."

Drew noted the fixings and furniture, and Eva's clothes. Though a little dated, everything in the place spoke of refinement and old money. But the patina of age and neglect spoke of hard times.

"That's too bad, ma'am," Drew said.

"Dearie, I told you to call me Eva."

Drew smiled. "I will remember. So, maybe you can show us around?"

Eva stood and toured them around the property. It only had the one floor, but it was a pretty big place with a large front yard, and it had everything anyone can expect, although Drew noted that the A/C wasn't on despite the muggy weather, and there were no lightbulbs in the light fixtures outside. And everything inside had a slight film of dust.

Drew explained that the reason she and her dad was looking for another place was because their place in Richmond New York (she didn't say Staten Island) was too big for them. Eva extolled the coziness of her house, and how ideal it was for a small family.

The girls were very friendly and complementary, and strove to bring the old lady out of her shell. It wasn't too difficult - she was a lonely lady and was very grateful for the attention.

So, as they sat down to tea, Eva talked about how she came to be in these straits, and why they needed to sell the property.

"In the fifties," Eva said, "my big sister, Marlena, who everyone called Marlee, fell in love with a good man. But a man from a bad family. His name was Luigi Falcone."

"Falcone?" Drew said. "I read some things about Mr. Falcone. Wasn't he some famous lawyer or something?"

"Well, I don't know about famous. But, yes, he was a lawyer. And as a lawyer, he went up against organized crime. He was the target of a lot of gangsters. It was the fifties, after all. But he did get many of them locked up."

"Wow," Iola said. "He sounds like some kind of superhero!"

"Well, he was, sort of, to a lot of people." Eva stood up and went to the mantle. She handed Drew a picture in a frame.

"That's Marlee with Luigi, when they were still together, and our little gang." She pointed at the other three in the picture, who were mostly standing behind Marlee and Luigi. "That's Rocky, Chloe and me. Rocky and Chloe were another couple that were Marlee's closest friends. And I was all of ten when this picture was taken. I insisted on tagging along with them," she giggled.

Drew looked at it, and then handed it to Callie and Iola.

"Oooh," Iola said. "Luigi is a hunk!"

"Oh, yes," Eva giggled. "Luigi was quite the hunk. He was seventeen years older than Eva, but they didn't care. They were inseparable."

"Well, what happened to Luigi and Marlee?" Callie asked

Eva sighed. "Like I said, Luigi came from a bad family. The Falcones were, what do you call it, enforcers for the local Mafia. Except for Luigi, that is. He used the inside information that he got from his dad and his older brothers to put away several New York gangsters. And..."

"Yes?"

"We heard that a contract was put out for Luigi..."

"Contract?" Callie asked.

"You know," Iola said. "That's when people are hired to kill someone."

"Like in a hit?"

"Sheesh, Callie," Iola said. "Don't you watch TV?"

"Anyway," Drew said, "sorry about my friends. You were saying, Eva?"

Eva smiled and waved it away. "Oh, that's all right. Anyway, yes, Luigi was kind of a hero around these parts, but the Family didn't appreciate what he was doing. The Family wanted him out of the way, so a hit was put out on him. In fact, I think his brothers were the ones who first signed up for the hit."

"His brothers!"

"Yes. He ratted on his brothers, and they didn't like that."

Callie handed the picture back to her, and Eva stood it up on the coffee table. She looked at the picture, sadly remembering those old days.

"Marlee, Rocko, Chloe and I went around with Luigi a lot. And we heard rumors about the Falcones and the Family being after him. Luigi himself didn't know for sure, and we tried to keep whatever we heard from him, to stop him from worrying, but we would always see a bunch of hoods showing up everywhere. We tried to ignore them and just tried to be careful, and always went to places where there were a lot of people around. So they couldn't do much."

Drew, Callie and Iola listened raptly.

"But when we heard that Ziggy was involved..."

"Ziggy?" Callie asked.

"Ziggy Zigler. He was a known New Jersey hitman who was rumored to have killed a lot of people in behalf of the Family. He was never caught or put in prison because he supposedly had a lot of connections among the New York and New Jersey police. Anyway, on the day that he was supposed to be on his way to off Luigi, he and Marlee had a date to the theater, but she warned him off and the four of us went to the theater without him. At the theater, Ziggy was there with his guns out.

"The police was there as well, and they caught him red-handed. He was put away for life and that was that. But Luigi disappeared."

"Was he finally killed?" Iola asked.

"No one really knows. Some say the gangs finally got him, though some say that he is still out there hiding." She shrugged.

"What do you think happened to him?" Drew asked.

Eva sighed. "You know..." Overcome by emotion, she stopped for a second and wiped a tear from her eye. "You know, I think he wasn't assassinated. But he stayed away and avoided showing himself. I think that close call at the theater showed him how he had put Marlee in danger, and us too, I guess. So he had gone away so that we'd not be in danger because of him."

"But that was such a long time ago. Shouldn't he have come back by now?"

"Maybe," she sighed. "But it isn't over yet."

"What do you mean?" Callie asked.

She gestured around. "Whoever was after Luigi - they are still around."

"How do you know that? And who are 'they?'"

"I don't know who they are, probably the Family, but it's a fact that someone bankrupted my dad and he lost his business, that someone has tried stopping him from recovering his investments. And even now, we can't seem to be able to sell our house - the last thing we have of value. Someone is actively... discouraging it."

"But why?"

"Maybe revenge. Maybe to draw him out. I don't know. But I think it's connected. Marlee thinks so, too."

"Marlee is still alive?"

Eva smiled. "Oh, yes. She's quite old now. She lives in a senior citizen's home. But big sis is still around."

"That's wonderful."

"Actually, I think the reason she's still around is the hope that Luigi is coming back."

"But didn't you say that he was older than Marlee? Seventeen years older? He's probably dead already, even if he wasn't killed by some assassin."

"That's true. But Marlee is a little bit senile. Or maybe she's deliberately fooling herself. What she needs, I think, is some kind of closure. And if she did, then she might be able to let go. Unrequited love is the worst kind. Because it's hard to move on. I..."

"I'm sorry..." Drew reached over and held her hand.

"Oh, it's all right." Eva patted her hand. "Thank you, dear."

"Do you even know if he's still alive?"

"No. But someone does. About fifteen years ago, I hired a detective agency to try and find him. Have you heard of Southern Cross Investigations? Anyway, after a year or so, the lead detective called and said that he had some promising leads and was very close. But, mysteriously, he stopped sending reports after he said that. I tried contacting him but he refused to talk with me anymore. His company even returned my money and said they didn't need my business. 'They' probably scared them off."

"Which agency was this again?"

She mentioned the name of the agency again, one of the biggest detective agencies around. Nowadays Southern Cross did a lot of corporate work. Drew remembered the name of the agency because she came across it many times in her research, and because it did a lot of work with Tate & Company, Tate Holdings, American Amalgamated and all of their subsidiaries. That wasn't too unusual - there were many companies that did business with them.

But she didn't want to appear to know anything about the agency, and played dumb. "I guess I don't know much about these things. I don't recognize the name."

"I'm not surprised," Eva said. "Not many would. When I hired them fifteen years ago, they were just a hole-in-the-wall operation, with only 5 people on the payroll. Now, I hear they're a big-deal company now. Oh well." She clapped her hands once. "Well! Enough of that nonsense. So, now that you've seen it, what do you think of the house? Do you think your father would be interested?"

"Oh, yes! Definitely! I'll try to talk with him tomorrow, and we'll get back to you by the end of next week. What do you think you'd be asking for it?"

She quoted something that Drew knew was way below market value.

"Ummm, ma'am..."

"I told you, Drew, call me Eva."

"I'm sorry. But you must realize, that's a very low number, especially for the quality of the property and the location. Why so low?"

"I am desperate, Drew. I don't mind telling you that, if it will help close the deal. We have so many debts to pay, and Marlee isn't doing too well." She stood and put the picture back on the mantle. She gazed fondly at the picture, then ran her hand over the edge of the mantle.

"I don't want to sell the place, really. This is where all my memories are. This is all Marlee and I have left. But we have no choice, given all of our debts and all the problems we have." She looked back to Drew. "I hope your dad can help."

Drew stood, fighting back some tears. "I will, Eva. I promise." She turned to leave. "Anyway. Thank you again. We'll see you soon."

After they had closed the door and walked back to Tiger, Callie took her hand.

"Are you okay, honey?" Callie said.

"Oh, Callie!" She turned, hugged her, and cried on her shoulder. "I couldn't take anymore. It broke my heart!"

"Me, too, honey. Me, too."

The two of them stood there for a while until Drew pulled back. "Sorry, Callie."

Callie gave her a kiss on the cheek. "S'all right, Drew. I understand."

"We just have to help them. That's it." Iola said. "What's our next step?"

"I think we need to visit that agency. Get some information." She unlocked the car and they all got in.

"I'm game," Callie said. "Iola?"

"Sure. So, when? Tonight?"

"No," Drew pulled out of the curb. "No. It's too late already. And I need to plan. How about after your exams? Maybe Friday night?"

"No prob." Iola said. "Now, you better bring us home, Drew. Gotta hit the books. Two more days of exams for us."

Drew laughed. "Sure. But how about this? You call your folks and say that you'll be spending the night at my place for some last minute cramming. Tomorrow night, too, if you want."

"Sounds great!" Callie said "Sort of like a sleepover."

"Oh, no you don't!" Drew giggled. "This is for studying! And I'll make sure you guys will do nothing else."

The three girls then started making calls, and Callie's aunt and Iola's folks agreed right away. Drew's dad also agreed, but said he'd be coming home a little late so Drew would have to take care of their dinner.

- - - - -

An hour or so later, they were in Drew's house's dining area and were scarfing down a pizza and diet sodas for dinner. Drew didn't mind pizza two nights in a row. She was spending the night with her friends and was having a ball, even if all she was doing was helping them study.

Since Iola had planned to spend the night at Callie's, she came prepared with a change of clothes. After dinner, she changed into a cute pajama shorty. She buttoned up the pajama top, cinched the drawstring of the pajama pants, but left the pants legs alone. The way they dragged on the floor made her look cute, actually.

As for Callie, Drew lent her one of her just-washed sleep shirts. When Callie put it on, the edge went past her knees. The white sleep shirt with pink piping was awfully cute, and she looked like she was in some ad for a vacation or something when she put it on. She kept fiddling with the neckline and biting it. Drew had this suspicion that she was sniffing at it. She worried that the t-shirt smelled funny, but knew it was clean since it was new from the laundry, so it should smell fresh. Drew herself was wearing another sleep shirt - her favorite. So it was a little thin and worn, but clean - it was newly-washed, too. And like any newly-washed shirt, it was a little stiff and tight. Callie kept sneaking looks at her and the way the sleep shirt hugged Drew's sexy curves.

When Carson got in at about ten, he found the girls in the dining area, with books strewn all over the dining room table. Drew bussed his cheek and divested him of the Chunky Monkey ice cream that he brought home.

"You're welcome!" Carson said humorously. All he heard after that was giggling as Drew went to the kitchen to get some bowls.

The girls moved all of their stuff from the dining table to the living room to allow Carson to have some dinner. Drew kept him company and helped herself to half a slice and a little bowl of Chunky Monkey. Later, Drew dragged him over to his favorite chair and they visited for a bit. He was even able to help Drew's friends by drilling them with some history facts he got from their textbooks.

When it was near midnight, he took leave of the girls saying he had an early day tomorrow. He gave Drew a little kiss and climbed upstairs.

They looked at him as he disappeared. And giggled.

"Your dad is pretty great, Drew," Callie said.

"And pretty sexy, too," Iola said.

"Ewww!" Drew said. "I didn't want to hear that!"

The two girls laughed.

Eventually, they fell asleep on the couch while studying, but was awakened by the smell of brewing coffee.

Yawning, Iola got up and walked toward the kitchen.

"Hey, Mr. N," Iola said. "Something smells real good."

Carson gestured to the coffeepot.

"Help yourself, m'dear."

"Yayyy!" Iola got herself a big steaming mug of black coffee.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. Why don't you find yourself a spot at the table?"

"Thanks, Mr. N."

She got a coaster for her mug and sipped her coffee. She also got some plates and placemats and started setting four places at the table.

Drew and Callie eventually woke up, and found Iola at the table sipping coffee and chatting with Carson.

"Hey, sleepyheads," Iola called. "Breakfast."

After breakfast, Carson took his leave and headed off to work while the girls took their showers in the house's different bathrooms. Thank goodness there were four baths in the house - one downstairs near the living room, another one inside what would have been the maid's quarters but they were using it as a guest room, an en-suite bath in Carson's room on the second floor, and another big en-suite bath with a queen-size bathtub inside Drew's room. Drew decided to do her bathtub routine later and contented herself with a quick shower for now, while Callie and Iola took leisurely showers in the bathrooms downstairs.

After her shower, Drew put on a sports bra and one of her gaffs. Over that, she wore one of her short-short cutoff jeans, a loose cutoff tee, and sneakers. Drew was uncustomarily dressed down, but it didn't really matter to her since she was just dropping off the girls at the school.

When the girls went upstairs and saw Drew in her dressed-down outfit, they thought she would look very casual. But Drew carried herself in such a way that even in such frumpy clothes, she moved very elegantly and looked quite fetching. Callie forced herself to stop staring and started getting ready herself.

Iola had her clothes set for the day and quickly changed into it. As usual, her brash, brassy style was on showcase but Drew didn't comment except to say that she thought Iola looked really sexy.

As for Callie, Drew allowed her to raid her closet. Callie whistled when she went through Drew's things, and commented that Drew had such a lot of nice stuff. What Callie ended up picking was a tight sleeveless eggshell-white stretch bodyshirt-tee with a turtleneck collar and no sleeves, a fitted denim jacket which was slightly large for her, and a tight-but-stretchy spandex mini over burgundy tights, and she wore the pink-and-white sneakers she wore the day before. A very sporty ensemble but very sexy. And still within the dress code, too.

Callie should have gone home and got some clothes last night. It was a case of not thinking things through. So Callie had to borrow clothes from Drew. And the underwear that Drew lent her fit, thank goodness. Callie said she'll return everything as soon as she's had them washed. She felt unaccountably turned on by the fact she was wearing Drew's clothes. She even fancied that, if she took a deep breath, she could smell Drew's special cologne and moisturizer. Drew said there was no rush to return it but Callie didn't want to take advantage: she'd return it before the week was out.

Since the two were still getting ready, Drew went downstairs to lock up the house and bring Tiger out. She only had to wait a while, though. After a few minutes, Callie and Iola came out of the house and went straight to the car.

Drew got her friends to school just a hair before the bell rang, kissed them both on the cheeks goodbye.

"Drew?" Callie said. "Thanks for last night. I'm gonna ace my tests for sure."

"No prob. It was fun. Study time again tonight?"

"Sure," Callie said. "I gotta call Aunt Arlene, though. See if she'll agree. Second night in a row."

"Huh? Why?"

"She has some rules about sleep-overs."

"It wasn't a sleep-over. It was a study night."

"I know, I know. Old people, you know?"

"But, Cal..."

"Let it go, Drew. She's just being the overprotective parent."

She shrugged. "Okay. How about you, Iola?"

"Oh, the 'rents don't mind, so long as you keep helping me make good grades."

"Yeah. You can't survive without me." Drew giggled.

"What!"

"Academically, I mean."

Iola bopped her on the head. "Shut up!"

"Kidding, kidding!" Drew laughed. "So where would you guys want me to pick you up?"

"About four at my place? I need a little nap, and I need some stuff for later."

"Okay. You, Callie?"

"My place, too. Wanna have lunch out later?"

"Okay. Maybe around two? We can pass by for Iola after."

"Sounds good. Seeya later." She kissed Drew on the cheek, linked arms with Iola, and they disappeared into the school.

Drew drove back home and spent an hour or so soaking in the tub - twice as long as usual. She had the mistaken idea that, since she hadn't done it for a while, this might compensate. While she did, she had her new little Transformer tablet out and was surfing the net about Southern Cross Investigations.

Using the built-in phone, she called Southern Cross with her best secretarial voice, and tried to find out about the Luigi Falcone case. The lady on the other end became quiet.

Drew mentioned Eva Jacobs and said that she had given them the same case and she was calling to see if they could get some information about it.

The lady said that they never worked on any such case and abruptly hung up. ...Oh, no...

"That's that," Drew said. And she started to think up schemes on how to get at their files.

When she started to wrinkle, she decided she'd had enough and got out of the water.

Just before she was about to go back to bed for more sleep, she heard the doorbell. She put on a robe, padded downstairs and looked through the front door's peephole. Drew saw Callie's Aunt Arlene outside. She was wearing a coat over her nurse's scrubs, with a big cake box and a couple of six-packs of Drew's favorite Swamp Pop sugarcane soda. Over her shoulder was a big poncho bag and Callie's big backpack that Callie insisted on calling her "overnighter."

"Oh no!" she thought. "Am I in trouble? But she has cake and Swamp Pop!"

She took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hey, Aunt Arlene! Good morning?"

Callie laughed. "Why are you looking so worried, honey? I just came over to say thanks for helping out my Callie before I had to go do my shift at the hospital."

"Oh! Whew. I was worried. Come on in." She ushered her into the house.

"Thanks, Drew. Is your dad home?"

"Ah, no. He left early for his new job. Coffee?"

"Thank you."

Drew set up the coffee machine. "You missed Callie. She's already in school. Make yourself at home, Aunt Arlene. I'll just go up for a second and finish dressing."

"Of course, dear. Go on ahead."

Drew hurried up the stairs and finished getting dressed. She picked a conservative ensemble this time - well, conservative for her.

About twenty minutes later, she came down wearing a loose, three-fourth sleeve flowered blouse over a tight, plain stretch tank. She also wore a pair of jeggings made out of faux faded-denim, and high-top fashion sneakers. She rolled up the sleeves well above her elbows while she walked down the stairs.

"Well," Aunt Arlene said as she wiped down the kitchen table. "Don't you look sexy!"

There were two settings on the table, with two plates and a slice of coffee crumble cake on each. Beside one of the plates were a glass and a can of Swamp Pop.

"Aunt Arlene!" Drew said. "You didn't need to clean up!" She noted the broom and dustpan in the corner, and suspected that Aunt Arlene had done more cleaning than just wiping down the table.

"Oh, it's all right, honey. I couldn't help myself. Don't you guys have a maid or something?"

"Oh, Pop and I have been managing things on our own for now."

"Well you guys are doing great. But I think you could do with some help." She cleared her throat. "I hope you don't mind me saying so."

"Oh, that's okay," she smiled. "We know. Pop and I are actually getting ready to look for a part-time housekeeper."

"Don't get me wrong - you guys keep a very clean place. The house just needs a bit of dusting." She pointed to the rafters. There were some cobwebs there.

Drew shrugged embarrassedly. "Well, yeah..."

Aunt Arlene laughed. "Oh, don't mind me, Drew. I'm sure no one would notice - I'm obsessive-compulsive about cleanliness. I'm sure Callie's told you. It's a problem. Callie keeps on saying that I may need some professional help. I'm a regular Monica Geller." She laughed and gestured for Drew to sit down and they had some cake.

"This is great!" Drew said, lifting another forkful. "Did you make this yourself?"

Aunt Arlene giggled. "Me? Oh, no! I can't even boil an egg. I got this at that little bakery near our place."

"Well, thank you for this, Aunt Arlene. It's great. Especially the Swamp Pop," Drew dimpled. "But why'd you pass by? What can I do for you?"

"Oh, that's okay. No trouble. And if you're anything like Callie or Iola, I know you'd like the soda. Also, I had some time before going to work, so I decided to pass by and say thanks, and maybe spend a little time to know my Callie's newest friend."

"Well, there's nothing to know really." She then unreeled her standard back-story, modified a little bit to be more mom-friendly. Aunt Arlene patiently listened to her, although she already knew most of it courtesy of Callie and Iola.

For her part, Aunt Arlene told Drew about her and Callie. Drew knew most of it already as well, but politely listened.

Over more cups of coffee, she and Callie's aunt got to know each other better, and were soon laughing their heads off and bonding over stories about Callie and her antics.

Aunt Arlene chanced to look at the big clock and noted the time.

"Oh, no!" she cried. "I'm going to be late! I need to go so I can get to the bus on time."

"Awww. And we were having fun."

"I'm sorry, Drew. It's just that I can't afford to miss any overtime, especially after my hours were cut in half. I might even have to take a boarder soon, actually."

Drew was looking at her.

"Oh, honey, no need to worry. It'll all work out. I'll see you later. That's Callie's backpack, so no need to pass by the house later. Callie's all set for tonight. She said that you should go straight to school to pick her up. And, you know, maybe we can do this again another time, and even bring Callie along. Imagine how fun it would be to have Callie around, too, and embarrass her to death."

Drew giggled. "It's a date!" she said, and walked her to the door.

"Thanks, Drew," Aunt Arlene said before stepping out. "Save some of that soda for later, okay? I'm sure Iola will appreciate it."

She took her bag from Drew. "You know, I'm so glad that my Callie met you. You've been a good friend to her, and a very positive influence."

"Callie's my best friend."

Aunt Arlene hugged her, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I know. Thanks again, and say hi to your dad for me"

"I will."

"Just... don't break my Callie's heart. Okay?"

Drew didn't know how to take that and couldn't respond.

"Bye, dear," Aunt Arlene said and waved goodbye as she walked away towards the bus stop a block away.

"Does she know about Callie?" Drew wondered. "But Callie said no one knew... And what did she mean, 'break Callie's heart.' What..."

She went back to the dining area as she pondered the question. She took the dirty plates, washed and stacked them and went upstairs to finish getting ready.

As she washed her face and put on her makeup, she wondered about that. "How did she know? I haven't even decided yet. How would... And would it be so bad if Callie and I..." She thought of the problems they would encounter as a couple. Lesbians aren't so unusual anymore, but she knew that they'd still have trouble. And how would she tell Callie about her? She'd eventually find out so she knew it's best to tell her before things became more... physical.

But how? And how would Callie feel when she found out she was lying. And the depth of the lie. Would she even want to talk with her again? Would she want to take revenge on her and let people know her secret? And, of course, Iola would find out, too.

She shook herself from her thoughts. No, there really is no way that this can happen. They can only ever be just friends.

Sadly, she locked the front door, jumped into Tiger and drove to the school.

She pulled up to the front steps of the school. "Hey, guys!" she called, feigning an enthusiasm she didn't really feel.

"Drew!" Callie called happily. She rushed to the driver's window, leaned in and gave Drew a big, wet kiss on the cheek. "I think I aced my tests!"

"Cool! I knew it all along," Drew replied. "Where's Iola?"

"Hey, Drew," Iola said, opened the passenger door and gave her a little hug.

"How'd you do, girlfriend?"

"What do you think," she grinned and climbed into the back seat. Callie jumped in and gave Drew another hug.

Drew laughed. "Cool it, hot stuff. People are looking."

Callie stuck her tongue out at her, and laughed happily.

"'Kay, now let's grab some lunch."

"You guys go on ahead," Iola said. "I need to catch up on some sleep, especially if we're gonna be doing another all-nighter later. Can you drop me off at my place?"

"Okay, but about the detective agency..."

"Huh? You wanna talk about it now?"

"I did a bit of research this morning."

"I'll bite. And?"

"They didn't want to talk to me about the Falcone case. They said there's no Falcone case. Guess we have to use alternative means to get our information."

"What do you mean 'alternative?'"

"Well..."

 
Nineteen: Night Moves and Night Lights / Tights and Balaclavas

That night, it was more studying for Drew's two best friends. This time, both were more prepared for the overnight.

Drew was prepared, too. She had gone through the net and found a nice Italian take-out-slash-delivery place. The girls questioned, why Italian? Drew explained that she wanted pasta this time. What they ordered went well with the cake and soda Aunt Arlene brought. It was like a party.

The need to study did keep them pounding the books, though, and relocated to the living room as soon as they were done with dinner. Drew brought slices of cake and Swamp Pop soda, though, so it wouldn't completely pure studying.

They all changed into sleep clothes. Iola wore another shorty pajama while Drew wore a long-sleeved Henley over a pair of loose yoga-style shorts with an unseen thong-style gaff underneath. As for Callie, she wore a very sheer babydoll set. The nightie accentuated Callie's very shapely curves and was a bit over-the-top for a study night.

Iola's eyebrows shot up over that, but she kept her comments to herself. She had her suspicions why Callie picked that to wear, and resolved to talk with her about it later.

As for Drew, she couldn't stop her eyes from spinning. Callie giggled because she knew she was the one causing it, and draped herself over the couch in such a way that her cleavage was displayed to best effect. She demurely pulled the diaphanous jacket closed knowing it didn't really hide anything.

Drew didn't know where to look anymore but tried to play it cool nevertheless.

When Drew's dad got home, it was a kind of relief because she had a reason to go do something.

"Hi, Pop," Drew said.

"Hey, Drew. Hi, girls." He waved to the girls.

"Hi, Mr. Nance!" the girls responded.

Drew walked him to the dining table, got out some reheated lasagna, half of an Italian-style chicken and some Italian bread. She topped it off with a beer and a slice Aunt Arlene's coffee crumble. And she kept him company while he enjoyed a leisurely dinner, and asked about work while she sipped some Swamp Pop.

After dinner, Carson thanked Drew for taking such good care of him, and gave her a little kiss on the forehead. Drew gave him a hug.

"Better get back to your friends," he said, and pointed to the living room couch. "Me, I'm going to work on some stuff." He explained that he had a courtroom hearing next week so he was prepping for it. He was a little nervous because this would be his first court case in a while. He retired to his "office" underneath the stairs to do some reading.

"Pop?" Drew said. "Can I talk to you about something? I think I have a suggestion about our housekeeper thing."

"Sure, honey," he said and they both walked into his office. After a bit, Drew went back to the living room.

"What was that about?" Iola asked.

"Nothing major," Drew said. "Tell you later. Go back to your studying."

Iola stuck her tongue at her.

The rest was a quiet night of studying, except for Drew's fidgeting. Callie was clearly having an effect on her, but all of them played dumb. Callie, however, had a little smile on her face as she continued her studying.

During breaks, though, Drew took the opportunity to talk about what they were going to be doing the following night. Iola didn't like burglary. She didn't like being caught doing burglary even more. But Drew said they had no choice.

She told them she was having some trouble deciding which office they were to... "burgle." There were two offices listed for Southern Cross: the office in the main section of Manhattan was the well-known one, but they had another one near Ninth Avenue.

She had done a bit of research and found out the Manhattan one was just the "branch office." The "main office" one was the one in upper New York.

"My idea is to go for the main office," Drew said. "If that doesn't turn up anything, then we have to try their New York office.

"Whatever, Drew," Iola said distractedly. "Just lemme study."

"What's with her?"

"It's just lack of sleep," Callie said.

"How 'bout you? You sound so much chipper but you've had even less sleep than Iola. She got to nap earlier."

"Gee, I don't know," Callie giggled, and leaned forward to buss Drew on the cheek. "Guess I'm just in a studying kind of mood."

Drew's thoughts went back to what her Aunt Arlene said, and what she had resolved to do: it was clear what's the right thing to do, but it was hard. It didn't used to be this hard when she was still Andy. In a way, it was so much easier when she wasn't popular. She sighed.

"Back to the grindstone," Drew said and gestured to her books.

"Party-pooper!" Callie said and went back to reading.

- - - - -

One of the bigger things in school was that a lot of the kids had plans for after the exams tomorrow. One of these were the cheerleaders. Janine was very pissed that Callie and Iola said they couldn't join the all-night drinking that she had planned. But Callie said they needed to rest up after studying all night. Actually, Callie and Iola rarely joined them in their drinking anymore.

Her explanation didn't make Janine any happier, though, since she wasn't getting her way. Eventually, Janine's insistence pissed Callie off enough to get mad herself.

"Listen, Janine," Callie said heatedly, "I need the grades. I'm not rich like you. I need the grades so I can get a scholarship. Otherwise, no college for me. And I need to start doing this now before I start senior year."

"College is so far away, Callie," Janine fumed. "You don't need to worry about that yet. You should think about your sisters and me rather than..."

"My SISTERS," Callie grated, "should also think about their fellow sisters, too, and if my sisters really loved me, they'd allow me to study so that I can get my chance."

Janine was about to let her have another one, but one of the others pulled her back.

"Callie's right, Janine," she said. "Besides, we can postpone our party for Saturday night, or we can just do it without Callie and Iola."

"But..."

"Give her a break, Janine. 'kay?"

"Yeah," the others said.

Janine threw her hands up in exasperation. "Whatever!" She huffed and walked away.

"Wow," Iola commented. "That's the first time you stood up to Janine."

"Well, she can't do much anymore," Callie said. "The season is over. What can she do to me?"

"True."

"Besides, we already promised Drew."

"Aha," Iola said cryptically.

- - - - -

The following morning was a fairly unremarkable one: after she brought the girls to school, she went back home for an hour's soak in the tub, and then a nap after.

Right before lunch, she got ready and went over to school to pick them up again. After making quick trips to their houses so that they could get some stuff, they went to have a quick bite at a MacDonald's, but since they practically fell asleep on their fries, Drew decided to bring them home for some sleep. She put them in her room, and they got some sleep on Drew's large queen-size bed.

She went downstairs and spent the afternoon in her dad's office surfing on the net. After a few hours, she started getting bored. She shut the PC down, picked up the phone and dialed her dad's number.

After a while, Carson's secretary picked up.

"Hi, Alice, it's Drew. Is my dad there? Don't worry, I just need to ask him something. It won't take long."

"Hi, Drew. Just a moment, dear - let me check and then I'll put you through."

"Thanks, Alice."

Her dad picked up. "Hi. Drew. Listen, I'm real busy..."

"I know, Pop. I just wanted to let you know, I'm going out later with Callie and Iola. Is it okay if we stay out late?"

"You know the rules, Drew. No later than eleven on a school night."

"I'm exempted this week remember? Besides, it's Friday."

"Oh! Right! In that case, nothing later than one AM."

Drew sighed. "Okay, okay!"

"Is that it?"

"More or less."

"Okay. See you at home then. Don't make plans for Sunday, okay? Just because I'm working again doesn't mean we give up our Sundays."

Drew giggled. "Of course, Pop. I got Sunday all planned out."

"Good. Seeya later. Love you."

"Bye, Pop. Love you, too."

She hung up and went upstairs to check on the girls. Quietly, she opened the door and peeked in. The bed was a mess and Iola was flat on her back, mouth open and snoring loudly. As for Callie, her head was resting on Iola's tummy, one hand on Iola's left breast.

Drew giggled quietly and shut the door. She had a thought and re-opened the door a crack and went downstairs.

In the kitchen, she brought out a few bagels from the freezer and set the coffeemaker. While she had the bagels warming in the toaster oven, she started cooking a few strips of bacon. It feels a little breakfast-y but it felt right. Besides what she was after was the smell of cooking bacon to waft upstairs. After all, that's why she left the bedroom door open and propped open the kitchen door.

Sure enough, she heard the girls start to stir. In a while, they stumbled into the kitchen like a couple of sleepy zombies.

"Hey, guys!" Drew said in an annoying, chipper voice.

The two grumbled as they sat by the counter. Drew giggled and poured them a couple of mugs of coffee. "Coffee, ladies."

"Mmmph." Iola said and chugged the steamy brew. "Arrrgh! Hot!"

As for Callie, she poured in at least half a cup of milk and maybe four heaping teaspoons of sugar. Yikes!

"So... Are you guys awake yet?"

"What's with the bacon and bagels, Drew?" Callie asked as she picked up a bagel. "It's five o'clock in the friggin' afternoon. Who eats bagels and bacon in the afternoon?"

"I don't know. It felt like a bacon kind of day," she said as she watched Callie furiously put cream cheese on her bagel.

Callie stopped and followed Drew's eyes to her bagel. "Ha-ha-ha. You think you're so smart."

Drew laughed and got a bagel of her own.

"What's the plan for tonight, Drew?" Iola asked.

"Well..."

- - - - -

About five hours later, the three found themselves in Drew's car and driving through the seedier part of New York's Garment District. Drew wondered why the Garment District - it's a detective agency after all, but shrugged it off and concentrated on what they needed to do.

The Garment District has been in decline for quite a while now, and many parts of it had gone to seed already, and where they were going was one of the worst hit. Drew was worried about undesirables cruising the neighborhood, but hoped it wouldn't be too bad since the streets should be mostly deserted - it was near eleven in the evening after all.

Drew's hand strayed into the pocket of her jacket and fingered her little Mace sprayer and felt the weight of the aluminum collapsible police baton in the other pocket. Hopefully these would be more than enough if things go south.

"Where're we goin'?" Iola asked.

"I'm looking for a parking lot at the moment," Drew said.

"Don't you think that's a little lame for a bunch of criminals? Looking around for a parking space? Oooh! We're so dangerous! We're looking for parking! Why don't you just park in the street?"

"No. I don't want Tiger carjacked. Plus, we have to park far from the, ummm, 'scene of the crime' so they can't track us down through Tiger."

"There's one!" Callie pointed. It was an open parking space surrounded by a chain-link fence, and it was only half-filled with cars. The attendant in his little booth looked up from the newspaper he was reading when they pulled up.

He raised the wooden bar blocking the entrance.

"Hi!" she said to the guy.

"How long?" the man grumped.

"Pardon?"

"I asked how long you'll be parking!"

"Oh. Maybe just a few hours."

"That'll be twenty bucks."

"Twenty bucks!" Iola reacted. The man shrugged, dropped the gate back down and went back to his newspaper.

Drew put a placating hand on Iola's arm.

"Twenty?" Drew asked and the man nodded. She took out her purse and forked over the money. The man relented and raised the gate again.

She parked in the middle part of the lot, in clear view of the attendant.

They were all in black and carrying backpacks. Their backpacks were mostly empty in case they found anything they wanted to bring home.

Callie and Iola were dressed in black jeans and black turtleneck sweaters while Drew wore a thin, black long-sleeved crew-neck bodysuit over black leggings. She had on a leather motorcycle jacket over that.

"My boobies feel cold!" Drew exclaimed as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Thank God for the jacket."

"Well, who decided to wear leotards anyway?" Callie said.

"They're not leotards! And I didn't have any dark sweaters. I didn't have a choice."

"Sure, sure, sure," Callie giggled.

"Why did we have to park two blocks away?" Iola said.

"Like I said, so no one can connect Tiger to this 'coz they might get it on camera, or someone might see it."

"Speaking of which..."

"Yeah, I have the balaclavas and the gloves."

"What're balaclavas?" Callie asked.

"They're like skullcaps. So they won't see our faces."

After two blocks of walking, Drew pointed to the next street. "Look. There's the corner." Drew pointed to the street sign.

"Time to put 'em on now. That way, if there are any CCTV cams over there, they won't see our faces. And no more talking as of right now." She handed out the balaclavas and disposable medical latex gloves.

They ducked into an alley and looked for any cameras. Seeing none, they put on the gloves and knitted caps that covered their faces except for their eyes. There could have been hidden cameras but Drew decided not to tell the girls that.

When they stepped back out of the alleyway and hurried down the street, no one was around. Drew looked at the building numbers until she saw the one she wanted. They stopped at the door of the offices of the Southern Cross Detective agency.

Drew looked it over and peeked through the glass front. It looked unused and run down. This can't be it. She pulled out her notebook from her jacket and looked through her notes. The address was right.

The place had a glass front. The only thing missing to complete the hackneyed image of an old-time detective's office were the words Spade and Archer or something like that painted on the glass, and a wooden plaque by the door. Surprisingly, the glass was completely intact. It should have been broken by this time, either by vandals or time, but it was intact. She peeked through the glass and it was dark and silent inside.

Drew led the others to the side of the office, and Callie and Iola acted as lookouts near the alleyway entrance while Drew ran her little penlight over the side door's jamb. She couldn't see any sign of an alarm, and the lock looked pretty simple - a doorknob and a simple Yale padlock was bolted to the jamb and door. Drew brought out some tools and started picking the padlock and doorknob. She had the door open in less than a minute.

After opening it, Drew ran her light over the edge of the door again and the inside of the jamb and there were no tripwires or other alarms. She waved the girls over and they all went in. Drew gently closed the door and they brought out big flashlights.

The first thing Drew did was point her flash at the walls, ceilings and corners, and other than a lot of dust and cobwebs, no cameras were revealed. Keeping their heads down lest people from the outside saw their silhouettes, they started rifling through the desk drawers and filing cabinets. Callie sneezed several times at the displaced dust but other than that, they kept quiet.

From time to time, the place was illuminated by the headlights of passing cars, but otherwise the place was in darkness. Callie brought out her cell phone and snapped pictures of the place, the flash like little lightning flashes in the night revealing the thick coating of dust on the floor, tables, in fact the entire office.

Drew went to the bank of metal filing cabinets on the far wall and tried opening them. They were all locked but Drew made quick work of the locks. She put her penlight in her mouth and used its light as she rifled through the folders.

There weren't many files, actually - except for a dozen or so folders, the cabinet drawers were empty. In the third cabinet, Drew struck paydirt and found several folders and manila envelopes marked Falcone. Not bothering to open them, she pulled all of them out and put them aside. It was her intention to take pictures of the pages. But before she did, for good measure, she went through the rest of the cabinets first, quickly but thoroughly. But she found no other papers relating to Luigi Falcone.

As for Callie and Iola, they went through the desks drawers and tabletops, and found nothing of relevance. There were only four desks after all so they finished quickly. At the rear, there was one final desk and Iola went there. There was a whole mess of papers on top of it, but the drawers were empty. So Iola sat in the creaky old swivel chair and started poring through the papers on the desk.

Callie, finishing up with the desk drawers, creeped over to the side wall of the office, sneezing occasionally. Drew winced every time she did, but what could she do about it.

Callie found an old sink by the side, obviously the office's kitchenette. But the sink was halfway filled with a layer of dust and old cobwebs that hadn't been disturbed in a very, very long time, and the old-model drip coffeemaker on the counter was yellowed and cracked from disuse. Callie decided to experiment and turned on the water tap. Nothing at all happened. Yep. No one's been here for a long time.

In the corner was an old Kelvinator fridge. She opened it and it creaked open, revealing a desiccated pile of dust that was probably an old apple. Aside from that, there were old, blackened beer bottles and old jars of jelly and peanut butter. She closed the fridge with a small look of disgust.

Callie then looked to the coffee pot and her eyes fell on the little row of mismatched coffee mugs beside it. She ran her hands over the mugs there and wondered who had used these mugs, and all the things that must have happened in the little office.

There must have seen a lot of exciting times - it was a detective agency after all. She imagined herself as a private eye coming in from a recent case, and her sexy office secretary taking her coat. She even took one of the mugs, imagining herself taking a gulp of some dark bitter coffee brewed by the girl.

Suddenly, a crash from outside broke her daydreaming. They all ducked and creeped towards the glass front windows to find out what happened, and they saw two men arguing over their cars and the fenderbender they just caused.

Drew started to panic. Somebody would be calling the police soon if they weren't on the way already, so she signaled the girls to wrap up.

In panic, since she didn't have time to look through them anymore, Iola just scooped up all the papers on the desk and put them in the shopping bags Drew had brought for this exact occasion. She then stuffed them into her backpack

Drew also did the same thing with the files she found and closed and locked all the cabinets. They then hurried to the side door.

After they were outside, Drew locked the door and snapped the padlock back on. Callie peeked out of the alley and, while the two drivers were preoccupied with yelling at each other, she signaled the others and they calmly walked out of the alley.

There were a couple of beat cops there already, and the sight of them panicked Drew's friends.

"Aaah!" Iola screamed and ran down the street. That triggered Callie, too.

"Aaah!" Callie screamed as well and ran after Iola.

Drew sighed in defeat and ran after them.

One can imagine how the image of three girls wearing balaclavas running away and screaming would look like, so the two cops started after them.

"Stop!" the cops yelled.

The two girls were very fit - they were cheerleaders after all. So they ran very fast. But Drew was faster and was quickly overhauling them.

"Girls!" Drew called. "Turn left at the next corner!"

The two heard her and skidded almost to a stop. But Drew couldn't brake fast enough and bowled them over. They ended up in a pile.

"Dammit!" Drew swore. "Get up and run! Now!"

They struggled to get up on their feet and turn into the next corner.

The cops after them were the stereotype overweight New York policemen so they weren't too fast compared to the girls. They had still a ways to go before they caught up with them - they were still half a block away from the corner before they had to turn.

"Stop!" one of them yelled. "Police!"

The three of them ignored that and ran on.

"Why did you guys run!" Drew cried.

"We panicked, okay!" Callie replied. "So shut up and keep running!"

Drew passed them and ran past two parked cars. She skidded to a stop, went in between the cars and waved the girls over.

"Come over here and scooch down!"

"What?"

"Here, between the cars! Scooch down! Now! Before the cops turn the corner!"

They ran to her and they hid between the cars.

"Shhh! Here they come!"

Eventually the two fatties ran past them.

Callie was about to stand up, but Drew pulled her back down.

"Not yet, Cal!" Drew whispered. They stayed there for about a minute until Callie couldn't take it anymore.

"So, can we get up now?"

Drew sighed and nodded.

When they peered over the car, they saw the two cops already over up to the next block.

"Whew! Okay, I think we're safe."

"What now?" Iola asked.

"We quietly go back..."

They creeped back to the corner they just turned, and when they cleared the corner, Drew started running again. "Now, we run back the way we came!" she cried.

So they ran back, and at the next corner where they originally turned, they turned right onto that street.

"Over here!" Drew cried, gesturing them into the first alley they ran into.

When they were away from everyone's eyes, they took off their balaclavas and gloves. Drew stuffed them into her backpack. When they were about to step out of the alley, Drew put out an arm to stop them.

"Wait!" she said.

"What?"

"You know, they may still recognize us, even without the masks. Listen, what are you guys wearing under those sweaters?"

"Why?" Iola grumped.

"I'm wearing a t-shirt," Callie said.

"I'm wearing a Henley," Iola responded

"Okay," Drew said. "That 'll work. Take off your sweaters."

"Again, why?" Iola repeated, but they both complied.

"So that they won't recognize us." For good measure, Drew doffed her jacket, too.

So, just clad in their shirts, they stuffed their sweaters and jackets into their backpacks. They then stepped back out onto the sidewalk and started walking back to the parking lot.

"Okay," Drew said, "no one panic anymore, and no running. Just walk calmly."

Callie shivered. "Jeez, I'm freezing my tits off!"

"Stay tough, Cal," Drew said. "We'll be back in my car in a bit, and I'll turn the heater up full. Here." She drew Callie to her and draped her right arm over her shoulders.

"Better?" she asked, and briskly rubbed Callie's upper arm up and down.

"Lots!" Callie said, and took advantage of the situation and snuggled in some more.

Drew pulled Iola in under her left arm as well, and tried to keep them both as warm as she could.

"That was exciting!" Callie whispered.

"We're not yet home free," Drew said. She looked the two over. "Comb your hair, Iola."

Iola nodded and ran a comb over her shoulder-length brown hair, and Callie dusted herself and Drew off a bit.

They casually walked back to the parking lot and tried not to shiver too much. A police car passed them by, undoubtedly on the way to the car accident, and the three struggled to keep calm, keep their pace and not break into a run.

Iola started to whistle. Though she tried to whistle nonchalantly, all she was able to do was to sound nervous. Callie and Drew broke into laughter.

"Screw you guys," Iola said, and giggled herself.

They didn't change their casual pace and, in fifteen minutes or so they were back. Callie and Iola ran the rest of the way and waited impatiently for Drew to come and open the car. They dumped their stuff in the boot, jumped in and left the parking lot, waving at the attendant.

Drew turned the heater on high, kept her speed down and drove back the way they came.

"Ooh, Drew!" Callie said and hugged her around the neck. "That was so exciting!"

Tiger swerved. "Watch it!"

"Ooops!" Callie said and giggled.

"Iola?" Drew called "Are you okay back there?" She saw Iola in her rearview, and saw her grinning from ear to ear.

"Superfine, Drew," Iola said. "Let's do that again!"

Drew laughed.

"What now?"

"Well, we can go back home and look at the stuff we got."

Callie looked very disappointed.

"Callie? What's wrong, honey."

She sighed. "Aunt Arlene texted," Callie said. "She's asking where I am. Can you bring me home? I don't want her to get mad at me."

"Didn't you tell her that we'd be going out? Besides, it's not even midnight."

"Yeah, but I've been out for three nights already. I don't want to push it."

"I guess me, too," Iola said. "Can you bring me home as well?"

Drew sighed. "Well, okay."

"Hey, don't sound too disappointed, Drew," Callie consoled her. "We're seeing each other again tomorrow."

Drew smiled at that. "I guess."

In less than an hour, they were back in Staten Island, and were pulling up at the Morton's. They all got out and walked Iola to their door.

Iola hugged Callie and then Drew. "Thanks for a fun night, Drew."

"Yeah, it was sort of fun, actually."

"So see you girls later. Night!"

Drew and Callie walked back to Tiger and drove away.

 
Twenty: Coffee and a Morning Drive / Some Old Mugs and Some Old Papers

After breakfast with her dad, and her morning routine, drew spent Saturday morning going over the stuff they got from the office. Her dad kissed her and left for his usual morning golf with the other neighborhood dads so she was all alone by the time she started going over the papers. As she worked, she sipped on a cup of coffee and listened to the local news on their entertainment system. There was no news about their little caper and she breathed a sigh of relief. The car accident in front of the Southern Cross office wasn't mentioned either, but that wasn't too much of a surprise - there must have been at least a dozen car accidents in New York since last night, and something so minor wouldn't have merited a mention on the news.

The material she retrieved from the filing cabinets did indeed provide all the information they needed, but what Iola got, though not relevant to what they were looking for, was a big eye-opener. But Drew put that aside for the moment and looked at what Callie got.

Drew reached into Callie's shopping bag and brought out... four old coffee mugs. What? She giggled and put aside the mugs as well, and concentrated on the stuff she got from the cabinets. "Callie must have been so panicked last night that she picked up the mugs by mistake," she thought.

She put together everything that they found and about Luigi Falcone. She also did some sleuthing and tried to find out about a certain bank account. Working in her usual quiet, efficient way, she had all her ducks in a row by the time Callie and Iola arrived.

As soon as they did, Drew dragged them to the Hall of Records, photocopied a few pages of documents, and drove to Queens.

An hour or so later, they were looking down at a little cemetery marker in Calvary Cemetery in Queens. On it, it said, in small letters, "Luigi Francisco Falcone, Rest in peace. March 13, 1939 - November 5, 1999."

Callie snapped a picture.

"So," Callie said, "he wasn't assassinated after all."

"Yeah." Drew sighed. "He had died a month before Southern Cross dropped the case. He was dug up and reburied here courtesy of someone named Margot T. Pelligrew. Aside from her, no one knew he'd died."

"Who's Margot Pelligrew?"

"I don't know who, but she knew about Luigi and the Falcones." Drew pointed further down. "Luigi's dad and brothers are buried about there."

"Wow," Callie said. "So she had him re-buried close to his family."

"It's so sad," Iola sniffed. "So unfair."

Drew hugged Iola. "I know."

They spent a moment in silent contemplation.

"Well, at least Eva and Marlee can move on."

"Yes."

"What's next?" Callie said.

"Next, we pay a visit to Eva."

So they drove back to Riverdale, and to 43 Merrimack.

- - - - -

"Hello, Ms Jacobs," Drew said after Eva answer the doorbell.

"Oh!" Eva said. "It's Drew and her friends! Come in. I hope you came with good news from your father, Drew."

"We have news, Ma'am. But not from my father."

"Oh, Drew! I told you to call me Eva."

The girls sat down.

"Eva, we need to tell you something."

So, over tea and crackers, Drew told her about the information they found.

Apparently, Luigi did escape assassination and had been living in Seattle, Washington ever since that time at the theater, living under the pseudonym Francis Jacobs. He worked as a paralegal for the Seattle Public Defender's Office until the day he died, and never did work as a lawyer again.

Eva was right - he stayed away in order to protect them. But he didn't forget. He probably heard about their financial problems because, yearly, he would send money to them, but the checks were always intercepted. Drew showed her the checks that he sent. They were in the files they found.

Luigi eventually figured out what was happening because he stopped sending checks around 1990. And In 1999, Luigi died quietly. Someone found out and had him exhumed and re-buried in New York. Drew asked Callie to show Eva the picture of Luigi's grave.

"But who had him re-buried?"

"The name of the lady was Margot Pelligrew," Drew said. "We haven't found out who she is yet."

"Margot!" Eva exclaimed. "It must be!"

"Do you know her?"

"Yes! She was Margot Susan Tate at the time. She was one of Marlee's classmates in college, and her biggest enemy. She had a big case of boyfriend envy. Luigi was very popular with the coeds. Margot was obsessed with him. But Luigi only had eyes for Marlee, and Margot never let that go."

"Hmmm. I guess we can conclude who was making your family's life a living hell, and stopped your investigation, too."

"But Margot has been dead for a while now. She passed away years ago. How can she continue..."

Drew shook her head. "I don't think anyone is actively doing anything anymore."

"You mean...?"

Drew nodded.

Eva sighed. "All this time... I could have..."

"Anyway..." Drew continued.

Apparently, even though he hadn't been sending checks anymore, Luigi had arranged to have about five hundred dollars anonymously deposited into their dad's Northfield Savings Bank account once a month, from 1990 to 1999.

"But that account has been empty for a long time! It should have been closed!"

Drew estimated that the bank account should have about ninety-eight thousand dollars. She didn't let on that she had verified that already. Though not a million dollars, it was a pretty hefty pile of change nevertheless.

Eva listened to Drew, and after a moment, she broke down and cried. Drew moved to her side and allowed her to cry on her shoulder.

After a while, Eva recovered enough that Drew could explain further.

She explained that the reason the three of them did this was because they were moved by her story, so they tried to get some information for her and try and shed some light on the disappearance of Luigi Falcone. They visited the offices of the Southern Cross Detective Agency (which was strictly true, after all) and were able to acquire some documents from her old case (again, strictly the truth, but not the whole truth, of course).

She showed Eva all the relevant papers that they had retrieved from Southern Cross as well as the papers that they had just photocopied from City Hall. Eva pored through all the yellowed paper, and read everything in wonder. Drew was sure she wasn't getting even a tenth of what was in the folder, but she allowed her to go through them nevertheless.

As a final piece, Drew handed her the note and picture from the clock that started everything.

Eva read the words that Drew first read weeks ago. Drew wouldn't forget them anytime soon.

"Louie," the note said in girlish, curlicued half-faded letters, "they found out. I'll leave the key to the safe deposit box in my dresser at Riverdale. There's a gun there, too, just in case you need one. I'll meet you back here tomorrow, but for now, I have to keep up appearances - Rocky and I are taking the Imperial to watch Kismet before it closes. I'm going to Chloe's now to get my party dress. Promise to lie low and watch out for Ziggy and his gang. Don't get yourself killed! My telephone number's on the back of the picture. Call me later. I love you - xoxo - Marlee."

Eva was crying as she read it. And then she turned to the picture.

It was remarkably well-preserved, even though it was a little old and yellowed. It was a picture of a pretty blonde girl in a cardigan and a poodle skirt standing outside an expensive-looking house with a gabled roof, a very large, well-manicured front yard dominated by what looked like two fruit trees, and an open four-port garage on the side of the house, with four fifties-era cars parked inside. The girl was smiling widely and was posing in front of the door of the house making a kissy face. There was a house number plate near the door that said "43."

"Oh, Marlee," Eva sighed.

- - - - -

It was around five in the afternoon. The three of them were driving back to the island. Drew had the top down, and the cool air whipped their hair around them. Except for Drew, of course - her short hair just got rifled in the breeze.

Everyone was unaccountably quiet, but, eventually Iola broke the silence.

"So." Iola said. "I guess that's that."

Drew smiled. "Yep."

"Do you think this'll get in the papers?"

"Gee, I hope not."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Callie playfully bopped Iola on the head. "'Coz, doofus, then people would know we broke into that office."

"Oh, yeah! I didn't think of that."

After a short while, Iola broke the silence again.

"So does that make us criminals?"

Drew and Callie laughed all the way to Iola's house.

- The End -

 
Epilogue: Wrapping up the loose ends

 
One - About Luigi

Eventually, they found from Eva that she had visited Marlee at that nursing home. Eva showed her all the papers that Drew and the girls left with her, and the explanation that went with them. Marlee listened to her and, at the end of Eva's long explanation, she asked if they could visit Luigi at the cemetery in Queens. Eva hired a driver and car, and they went to the cemetery the following day.

- - - - -

Marlee kneeled on Luigi's grave, and picked away the dirt and leaves from his gravestone. Eva stayed by her sister and waited for her to finish her visit.

After spending the entire afternoon there, they eventually went back to the nursing home.

Just before getting into the car that Eva had hired, Marlee turned towards Luigi's grave.

"Goodbye, Louie," she said quietly. "I love you."

Eva eventually got Marlee settled back in her bed and, as she turned to leave, Marlee called her back. Her frail old sister reached up and squeezed her in a hug.

"Thank you, Evvie," Marlee whispered. "I love you."

The following day, Eva was informed by the nursing home's staff that she had quietly passed away in the night.

It was true after all - Marlee just needed closure, and Eva thanked Drew and her friends for helping her achieve that.

Eva also wasn't in dire straits anymore and decided not to sell the house. Drew laughed, saying that she understood. Still, Eva didn't want to leave Drew and her dad in the lurch, so she told her about a property she had heard about - it was in St. George, Staten Island, just beside the water. It was one of the homes that got devastated in the hurricane, so it was going cheap.

The house was just a tiny affair - just one bath and two rooms, though it did have a long garage big enough for two cars to fit nose-to-nose. It had been completely rebuilt so there were no issues with the structure. Eva said this might just be what they were looking for. Drew promised to look into it.

Eva also said that she was looking into starting new career as a writer. Some of her friends heard that there was an opening in the local paper for a feature writer, and she was thinking of trying out for it. She may be too old to do that anymore, or might not have the skills necessary, but decided to try anyway. With Margot gone, she wasn't scared to try anymore.

She also invited her to the funeral. Only a few people would be going, since they had lost touch with so many of their friends, but she and her friends were welcome to come by.

Drew thanked her and phoned Callie and Iola right away using her cell phone's conference call feature, to tell them the news. She was sure they'd want to go to the funeral, too.

As she finished her conference call with Callie and Iola two hours later (*sigh* two hours...), Callie asked if they had another case to work on.

"We'll see," Drew laughed.

So that was the end of the Case of the Old Clock.

 
Two - About Aunt Arlene

Drew tried to be gentle about it as she didn't know how her suggestion would be taken. But she did her best.

She visited the Shaws the weekend following the night they broke into the Southern Cross office, and laid out her suggestion: If Callie and Aunt Arlene were open to the idea, she and her Dad were wondering if Aunt Arlene would be willing to moonlight as their part-time housekeeper. Drew meant no insult. She knew Aunt Arlene was a professional, and that it might be beneath her to work as their housekeeper. They just thought it as something to tide them over while Aunt Arlene fixed her situation at the hospital, and something for her to do during her off hours. Plus, it was nothing big - just visit the house twice a week, do some dusting and cleaning and that's it. No cooking or washing or whatever. In fact, it wasn't really housekeeping. It was just helping them out.

"Thank god, no cooking!" Callie laughed. "Just imagine the horror if Aunt Arlene cooked!"

Plus, they don't need to report this so that means that this was tax-free. It was sort of like they were asking a favor instead of offering a job.

"Is that legal?" Aunt Arlene asked.

"Dad says it's a gray area."

They couldn't offer any kind of benefits, of course, and the amount wasn't that big - just five thousand a month. Drew apologized again. It's just that they needed the help.

Aunt Arlene said sure on the spot. Five grand for eight half-days a month of extremely light work - it was a no-brainer.

So starting the following week, Aunt Arlene started coming over to their place every Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon (Aunt Arlene also threw in Saturday afternoons), and do some light cleaning around the house. She even brought over her own broom, dustpan and other cleaning stuff, and Drew made sure her dad didn't touch them (Drew knew how particular Aunt Arlene was about her cleaning stuff).

Callie would often come over during those same days, and she and Drew would hang around the Nance's house, and the two best friends became even closer. Sometimes, Iola would come over as well, and Aunt Arlene would bemoan the mess that the three made, although, secretly, she thought of those days as her most fun days because she got to hang out with her beloved niece and her best friends.

 
Three - About the "Project"

As Carson got settled in his job, life went on. He got to know his coworkers, and they got to know him. He didn't have too much spare time to spend on their project nowadays, but they expected that. So, instead of chafing at the slow developments in their so-called investigation into the murder of his brother Dave, Jane his niece, and their old housekeeper Maria, he and Drew took it philosophically. They knew that this would be a long and drawn-out process, and it might take years to unravel things, and get proof that would stick in court. But that's the only way to do it so that they don't put themselves in danger.

Still, slowly but surely, Carson was still able to accumulate more information, and his "secret weapon," Drew, was able to put them together into a coherent picture. Eventually, when the picture was more or less complete, they'd finally make their move and these people, whoever they were, would be put behind bars. But for now, they would bide their time.

There was a new wrinkle, though. The documents that Iola inadvertently brought home from the offices of the Southern Cross Detective Agency seemed to be relating Southern Cross to the Tate consortium. Whether or not there was any involvement of the agency in the death of Dave, Jane and Marie, she didn't know. All she knew was that the agency was in deep with the Tate consortium.

Drew deduced from the papers that the lady that was making trouble for the Jacobs' - Mrs. Margot T. Pelligrew, used a series of dummy corporations in 1999 and bought the agency lock, stock and barrel. She was also responsible for turning it into one of the Tate consortium's go-to detective agencies. That was, of course, just a side benefit. All she wanted at the time was to shut down Eva's investigation into Luigi Falcone's disappearance. The implication here was that Mrs. Pelligrew might have been involved with it. Otherwise, why?

As to why the main office was so decrepit, though Mrs. Pelligrew didn't really need the company, in order for the consortium to make use of it, they needed to maintain it's license, name and reputation as a company independent of the consortium. So they had to maintain its old address even though all the old employees were bought out already and the newly-revamped office did their work from the Manhattan office.

Drew wasn't 100% sure of all of her conclusions, of course, but she was at least 90% sure, and that was good enough for her dad. So the papers that Drew and her friends had "retrieved" went into the Nance's secret safe and joined her Uncle Dave's papers. And whether the new information that they got was relevant or not - finding that out would have to be reserved for another time.

 
Four - About the Cheerleading Team

On Monday, Drew was called in by Coach Stoeger, along with Sabrina, Tori, Paige, Heather, Marti, Savannah, Alice and Vanessa. As before, it was another secret meeting, and it was scheduled for 5PM at the gym.

Drew didn't tell anyone, not even Callie and Iola, although based on all the winks and meaningful looks she was getting from her best friends, she was fairly sure that they knew about the meeting. The fact that both of them said that they didn't need rides home clinched it.

Drew hung around the library until it closed at five, and then she made her way to the gym.

She was wearing one of her sexier ensembles - a very short crimson mini, the shortest that she could get away with in school (she wore a gaff underneath, of course), a pair of knee-high gogo boots, a sleeveless blouse with ruffled front and high Mandarin collar, and a black silk long-sleeved bolero jacket over it. She also had her new Transformer tablet that she carried around like a notebook, and her little Louis Vuitton purse - it's tiny chain draped over her right shoulder.

When she walked into the gym, the JayVees surrounded her and started gabbing a mile a minute. She was hard-pressed to give all of them a hello kiss on the cheek but eventually managed to do so. Coach Stoeger waved everyone to sit down and they all sat on the team bench near the foul line, with everyone trying to sit beside Drew. Sabrina and Marti got to sit beside her - Sabrina by virtue of her being the JayVees' captain and Marti because she was the biggest. The others just settled for sitting on the gymnasium floor in front of Drew.

Coach Stoeger giggled at that. Seems she had no choice - she has to get Drew, otherwise, she might be faced with a revolt.

"The reason I called you all in, girls," Stoeger said, "is because I have some news for you."

The prospective varsity cheerleaders quieted down.

"I'd just like to let you know that all nine of you have made it to the squad! Congratulations!"

It was a pandemonium of screams and self-congratulatory hugs. At one time, Drew was sure that all eight of the Jayvees hugged her simultaneously.

Coach Stoeger explained that she would still conduct tryouts but anyone who made it might just have to settle as backups or alternates. Later on, Stoeger would confide in Drew that the main reason for her announcing the results so early was because she wanted it on record that Sabrina and her girls were safe from any of Janine's machinations.

"But there's one thing I need to know, too," Stoeger said. "I want to know whether or not you have decided on joining the team, Drew."

"Well, it's not as if I had a choice anymore, Coach," Drew said. "If I don't say yes to the team, Callie and Iola will kill me. And if they don't I'm sure Sabrina and the others will."

Coach Stoeger nodded sagely. "Of course," she said, deadpan.

 
Five - About the Race

Everyone knew about Drew's race with Phil Cohen scheduled two Sundays after Exam Week. It was so popular, almost the entire junior year had planned to be there. The juniors had dibs, of course, so any other kids who planned to be there would have to settle for the less prime spots. Drew and Phil were both Juniors, after all.

Drew heard this little fact from a couple of freshmen ("Did you hear about that race the that everyone keeps on going on about?" she heard the freshman in line ahead of her in the cafeteria say. "I don't understand what the big deal is. Did you hear? There's even reservations for choice spots!" The freshman shrugged in disgust. At that point, he got a flying cinnamon bun in the face thrown by one of his friends.)

Those offhand statements made Drew realize how big of a problem she was in. She knew that her Tiger was so much better than Phil's Escalade, and provided she didn't do anything wrong, she was sure to win. But it wasn't enough to just win. She had to make it look good. It's going to be the spectacle of the year, after all.

"Besides," she thought, "I want Phil's fall from grace a big one, heheheh."

Apparently, Callie and Iola were also worried. They had tried to convince her to back down, that she virtually had no chance against Phil and his monster car.

So Drew had no choice but to explain the modifications done to Tiger and convince them. Drew even opened up Tiger's hood to show the girls her new engine and other modifications. As expected, they didn't get even fifty percent of what she was saying (only a motorhead would have understood), but they did get the sense that Tiger was not some ordinary, though cute, car. Drew also showed them the four-point safety belt and the fuel cell in the trunk.

What really convinced them, though, that Drew really had a chance was when Drew showed them her racing helmets. Drew didn't understand why they did, actually.

Anyway, the two were convinced, and were turned from doubters into active conspirators to bring Phil Cohen down. Iola even had some ideas to put a great spin on the entire race thing and make it an unforgettable spectacle.

So Drew spent the next two weeks getting ready. There was time now since school was already out.

First thing up was a tune-up. She went to Otto's and had them go over her Tiger with a fine-toothed comb.

Tiger passed with flying colors, of course, and after she did, Drew had all her fluids changed, her battery checked, her plugs replaced, her brakes checked and her tires aligned. As a final check, Drew had the welds of the bracings inside the engine compartment inspected and there were no cracks anywhere.

She also had the limiter switch checked and verified if it could be switched off. A fault was found but a simple replacement of a relay now allowed her to change her maximum speed of 120MPH to something that no one knew yet. Based on the rated power and torque of her replacement Mercedes 300HP engine and her new weight, Drew's estimate of her top speed to be well beyond the Mercedes' 155MPH - to somewhere in the area of 200MPH-plus. More than enough to beat the rated speed of an Escalade EXT. Hopefully, Phil hadn't done any big modifications, like a Nitrous injector.

Speaking of which, her little Tiger had no such NO2 supercharger upgrade since she was told it wasn't good to Tiger's engine and, besides, with her new engine, an NO2 injector would have been overkill. Drew felt a bit nervous about the race and explored the idea of putting one in now. But the mechanics said they'd need at least four weeks - both to find a kit, install it and then test it. So the idea of putting in one now was totally academic.

They did recommend to have the tires changed, but Tiger's tires were still new. That, however, did give Drew an idea and asked if it was possible to have Formula One-type racing tires put on. Otto said that formula tires aren't available to buy. They're made specially for Formula One teams. However, stock car racing tires were commercially available. If she wanted, he could get a couple for her in about two weeks. Drew agreed right away. Otto occasionally bought such tires for a racing track that catered to people who wanted to learn how to race.

There was one good piece of news, though. The roll cage that she had ordered months ago was ready. The removable roll cage bolted onto the same pins, mounts and frame where the hardtop bolted on. It was fairly heavy so, just like mounting the hardtop, mounting the roll cage was at least a two-man job. They also had a modified canvas top ready that would stretch over the roll cage and, though putting up the canvas top still had to be done manually, folding it back was powered now, courtesy of cables and a power-window motor mounted on the back of the rear seat.

Drew had the canvas top and roll cage installed, and promised to come back for the tires on the Saturday before the race.

"That took care of Tiger," Drew thought. Now she had to take care of other... less essential stuff. For those, she brought along Callie and Iola, the ones who thought up the idea.

A couple of days after Drew had Tiger looked over and fitted with her new roll cage and canvas top, she brought Callie and Iola with her to Fifth Avenue, to the department store where she bought that business suit she wore when she had lunch with her dad at his office.

Drew flashed the "personal shopper" card she got that day, and the clerk that helped her before was paged. Drew introduced Callie and Iola to the girl, and the girl introduced herself to them as Lisa.

Callie and Iola explained to her what they needed: they needed a costume for a "thing" they were going to two Sundays from now, so the girl brought them to the Ladies Section. Over in a corner of the floor was an area that specialized in costumes and other related accessories. In another kind of store, that section would have been called the fetish section, but the items on display were actually pretty tame for that.

Lisa explained that, given Halloween was coming, they were starting to stock up on costumes, so they might just have what they were looking for.

Drew explained that what she needed was a race car driver's costume, and Lisa showed her what they had - they had about twenty kinds of racing car driver-themed outfits to pick from. The three girls chatted about the available outfits and they eventually picked a one-piece black-and-red one.

The costume they picked was actually more like a jumper or a playsuit, but made out of Nylon and Spandex. The tight, stretchy costume featured long sleeves and pants legs cut well above the middle of the thigh. From the waist down, it looked like hotpants.

On the sides of the torso and pants legs, and on the outer sides of the sleeves, the black was replaced by a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. The outfit also had a collar that had the same checkerboard pattern. Those and the iron-on racing stickers made the costume very race-car-driver like, but was too sexy to look authentic (but that was the whole point of the costume, after all). The costume also had a red band across the chest - when Drew tried it on, the red band just brought more attention to her c-plus-size boobies.

Iola looked around the rest of the displayed merchandise and picked up a pair of black fishnet pantyhose. Callie said maybe stockings might be more convenient but Iola pointed out that stockings wouldn't work given how abbreviated the pants legs were.

Drew went back in the changing room, put the hose on first, and then the costume.

When she stepped out, Iola looked her over and confirmed that the hose really did work with the costume.

The saleslady excused herself for a little bit and came back with a pair of knee-high patent-leather Pleaser boots that featured four-inch stiletto heels.

Drew sat and pulled on the boots. It was easy to pull them on and off since they had zippers on the side that went all the way from the heel to the top of the boot.

After pulling off the boots, she stood up and pulled down the zipper of the costume as low as she could without revealing her bra. Since she was wearing a string-bikini style bra, that was pretty low indeed, and her cleavage was put on display. She then sashayed up and down the aisle like a fashion model.

"So what do you think?" she asked the girls.

Iola wolfed whistled. "God, you're sexy!" she giggled. "Phil won't be able to concentrate on his driving!"

As for Callie, she just stared and didn't speak at all.

"Oh, Callie, I'm flattered, but stop with the over-acting already," Drew giggled. "Well, I guess that's it for my costume then. Now, how about you guys?"

"Huh?" Iola said.

"Let's get you guys your own sets - you're gonna be my pitstop crew after all."

So Lisa started to get two more sets for them but Callie stopped her.

"What if we changed ours a little bit?" suggested Callie. "So there'd be a distinction between your uniform and ours."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Let's see..."

They went through the available costumes again and, while Callie and Iola perused, Drew went through the selection of accessories and picked three pairs of silvered imitation Ray-Ban driving glasses as well as a couple of checkered racing flags.

Callie eventually picked out black and red Lycra jumpsuits for her and Iola. They were all black except that the long sleeves were red and had red strips on the sides of the torso extending all the way down the bottom of the pants legs. Like Drew's, they had a zipper in front that went from the bellybutton up to the collar, so it was easy to get into and out of them as well. They also had lots of racing stickers so there wasn't a doubt as to what kind of costumes they were.

The sleeves and pants legs were slightly long. Lisa was about to suggest that they be altered but Iola said that the black-and-white checkerboard fingerless gloves that came with the costume covered the extra length of the sleeves, and the pants legs would tuck into boots anyway.

Speaking of boots, Lisa suggested a pair of women's fashion casual outdoor low wedge heel booties with a three-inch wedge heel. She also suggested a wide stretch-patent-leather belt that they could cinch tight around their middle.

When the two modeled their outfits for Drew, it was Drew's turn to be tongue-tied. Callie giggled and preened, and displayed her curves to their best advantage.

Drew gulped and just blushed.

When the two were done modeling their outfits, Drew asked Lisa to tally up their bill, so she went back to the counter, packed up their purchases and tallied up the total.

In the end, Drew spent a little over a thousand, but she didn't tell the girls. All she said was that she got a special discount 'coz she used her "personal shopper" card. Truth was, though, those cards really didn't do anything. But the girls believed her and didn't ask about the cost again.

Drew thanked Lisa for helping her again. They walked back and went to a Wendy's for a quick lunch, and then home. It was a Wednesday so Aunt Arlene was there. Callie whispered to Drew that she hide all of the stuff they bought from Aunt Arlene because Aunt Arlene might get mad that Drew spent so much. Iola said the same thing about her folks, too, so they went in through the back door and Drew hid all of their stuff in her closet.

- - - - -

On the days before the race, Drew tried to practice as much as she could. She didn't bring the girls because it might be dangerous. Iola and Callie, for their part, talked to Janine and the other cheerleaders, asking if they can help run interference during the race, in case anyone wanted to cause trouble.

Drew would go on the freeway and practice high-speed driving on the straightaways. Her speed was limited to around seventy max, of course, so that wasn't even close to what she intended.

So she called Otto and asked about the racing track that they dealt with. She tried booking lessons and found it wasn't too difficult. Apparently, most of their students booked time on the weekends, so she had the track all to herself during the weekdays. She had the pick of all of their training cars so she picked the fastest one they had.

The lessons that the instructor gave weren't too useful for her race with Phil Cohen except, perhaps, the ones about how to get as much acceleration from a standing start, managing curving straightaways and how to brake. Drew had booked three whole afternoons of lessons, and she maxxed out her time. On her last day, she asked if she could use her own car. They agreed, though a bit reluctantly, and when they saw it was just a little Opel Twin Top, they laughed.

It was Drew's first time to open her Tiger up all the way, and was very excited. Making sure Tiger's limiter was off, she revved her engine and gunned it as soon as the green light winked on.

The people from the track were slack-jawed at Tiger's performance and just watched as Drew went around and around the oval and got used to her speed and handling.

"Phil doesn't stand a chance," Drew thought, smiling.

- - - - -

On the Saturday before the race, Drew went to her mechanics' garage for the racing tires.

She assumed that it was a simple swap of tires but, apparently, racing tires were a different thing altogether.

Otto explained that there are different kinds of racing tires for different kinds of conditions. He also explained the care and feeding of such tires - about how not to "deform" the tire by keeping it "resting" for too long, about keeping the tread as fresh as possible, that deeper grooves are needed for wet surfaces and smoother, softer tires for hot asphalt conditions.

Drew thought it was all a little too much to do about tires, but she dutifully sat through his lecture. Anyway, he eventually brought the lecture back to her car and said he picked out an asphalt track racing tire from Dunlop. He had his guys replace Tiger's rear wheels with the racing tires, and had them balanced before putting them back on. Otto pointed out the fact that they didn't have any tread at all, except for little bumps. The pattern was called "CC" and, along with the soft material of the tires, they were ideal for hot dry asphalts. The rubber would actually become a little sticky so it would give insane traction.

"You better pray that it doesn't rain tomorrow," Otto said.

He also had his guys put several canvas sacks full of sand in the trunk so that she can get better traction.

"Thanks, Otto," Drew said.

"Hey, no prob, Drew. You're my single best customer, and you're nice, and the guys like you. It's the least we could do. So, good luck tomorrow."

Drew gave him a kiss on the cheek, waved to his guys and drove away with the new pair mounted on Tiger's rear rims and her regular tires in her open trunk.

- - - - -

Drew had already canceled her Sunday out with her dad. Surprisingly, Carson didn't make too much of a fuss since he was too busy preparing for a deposition anyway. In fact he left early Sunday morning. He left a note that he'll be in the office all day if she needed him, but said he was game to go out for dinner if she wanted.

As she soaked in the tub, she thought about the note, and missing her Sunday thing with her dad. First time, she thought. She felt guilty about it. She didn't strictly lie, she rationalized - strictly speaking, it was an omission rather than a lie. But in the end, she had to admit the truth - it was a lie. It was the first time she lied to him, at least with a lie this big.

What really bothered Drew was that she didn't even think about it when she set the bet for a Sunday. Could it be that she was taking her dad for granted? She couldn't bear the guilt that thought gave her.

"Well, what's done is done," she sighed. "I'll face the music and tell Dad later tonight."

Just as she was finishing her morning routine, Callie and Iola arrived. She rinsed off, put her gaff on and rushed downstairs to let them in.

Drew brought out their new race car outfits and they got ready.

After some toast and coffee, they trooped into the garage. Drew rooted around in a big PVC crate and pulled out her pearl-white helmet with some red accents, and a pair of race car driving gloves.

She and the girls dumped the helmet and their stuff in the back. With the bags of sand in there, there wasn't much room but there was just enough for the helmet and their things. Drew also brought a pair of comfy hi-top sneakers which she dumped in the front passenger footwell.

She then went around to the car's rear. The night before, she had lifted the back tires off the ground by using her dad's hydraulic jack. She thought doing this was appropriate given Otto's lecture. With a twist, the jack's lock was released and Tiger's rear went down.

Drew pushed the jack to the side and off they went to the designated "race track."

When they got to the place, almost the entire junior class was already there, waiting impatiently. Apparently, she and her girls were late. It was partly her fault - she just couldn't maneuver her super-high heels in order to step on the pedals properly, and the rear tires made for a slippery ride.

Still, they acted cool, and their mirrored driving sunglasses reflected the morning sunlight as they waved.

Someone had spray-painted a yellow line on the asphalt where the race was supposed to start, and Phil Cohen was already there on the line with his big customized Escalade. His hood and doors were all open, as per the tradition. Since modifications were being allowed, the rule was, everyone should be able to look through the cars so that the drivers wouldn't be caught unaware by any improvements, and to stop anyone from claiming to have been cheated.

Phil stood by his car, gesturing at his watch. Drew ignored that, jauntily waved to him and pulled up to the line. After a final rev, she switched Tiger off. She popped the hood and the trunk, and the three of them got out.

As they stepped out onto the asphalt, everyone, especially the guys, hooted and howled at their outfits.

Drew posed, preened, and bowed to her adoring public, and everyone howled. The zipper being pulled down as low as possible didn't hurt her sexiness aura either.

Callie and Iola, as arranged, opened the hood, trunk and doors wide open like they were models at a car show.

They then went to either side of Drew, and posed and waved to the crowd. The kids hooted and howled even louder.

A little freshman girl noticed Callie was holding a tiny camera and offered to take the pictures for her. She scurried away and started snapping pictures.

"Hi, everyone!" Drew called. "Thank you for coming out today. Anyway, this shouldn't take too long so I hope you can be patient."

Everyone laughed and clapped, and surged forward to look over the cars. No one was allowed to touch, but they could see into every nook and cranny of the vehicles. Drew took that opportunity to look over Phil's Escalade.

"Hey, Phil," Drew grinned. "How are you, today?"

"Hey, sexy," Phil said and sauntered over. Before he could put his arm around her shoulders, she moved away. "Damn," Phil said under his breath.

"So," she said as she looked down into the Escalade's engine compartment, "this is your car, huh? Seems to be more-or-less stock."

"Oh, absolutely!" Phil said. "I don't want to mess with her power plant and mess up her delicate ecosystem."

"'Ecosystem,' huh?" Drew giggled.

"Yep!"

Phil was very proud of his car and got a kick out of showing it off, especially to Drew Nance. He stayed back so he could watch Drew maneuver in her saucy little number while she inspected his car.

As for Drew, she was completely oblivious to how she looked and to how it was affecting the people around her. She was concentrating on looking over Phil's Escalade and making mental notes of what she saw.

For the most part, Phil's car was indeed mostly stock. The engine was the original and unmodified one despite the attached superfluous air cleaner and decorative header covers. She peered in the driver's compartment. The dash and rear passenger compartments were cluttered up with a lot of junk - little TVs and a big, round speaker-woofer combination in the backseat. She wondered if any of Phil's friends could still hear. But Drew didn't see any other changes. She noted the automatic transmission, though.

She then kneeled on the asphalt and looked into the right front wheel well and underchassis. Yep, still stock, except for the lifters and the oversized truck tires. She wondered how that will affect the driveability, though.

As for Phil and the guys trailing her, most of their eyes were glued to her butt while she was bent over and looking at the car's underside.

As she got up and dusted herself off, the guys guiltily looked away and found other things to stare at. She then went to the back and then noted the new addition. Given the freshness of the cuts and hacks in the bodywork, she knew the addition was new. And what was added was a Nitrous Oxide injector.

She didn't really know what a Nitrous turbo booster would look like but the little tank with the label "NO2" was a dead giveaway. "Ohmigod!" Drew thought, but kept her expression neutral. The back seat had been removed and in its place was the NO2 tank and a bunch of tubes, hoses and valves. A couple of holes were drilled through the floorboards and a couple of the pipes went through and down the holes. Aluminum brackets and clips were drilled into the metal and held down the entire contraption. But the entire thing seemed a little haphazardly done and rushed.

It seemed that the car, despite all of Phil's boasts, wasn't anything special, except for the Nitrous thing, and that seemed to be a brand-new addition.

"My turn," Phil said, and Drew escorted him over.

Phil followed and watched Drew walk towards her little car in her sexy race car driver outfit.

The cheerleaders, minus Janine, were conspicuously hanging around Tiger, and were shooing people away and discouraging them from touching her. Callie and Iola, in their racing outfits seem to be the ones directing them.

Drew went over to the girls and they congregated around her. A hug-fest ensued and Drew thanked them for their help.

Drew went back to Phil, and the girls continued to hang around Tiger, occasionally pulling people away and stopping some from touching or trying to get into Tiger.

Callie and Iola moved people back to give Drew and Phil room. Phil was a bit irritated because the crowd wasn't as curious about his car as they were with Drew's. And he wished that a bunch of hotties were around him, too, helping to keep people away. He snorted at that image and decided to finish his once over.

The first thing that Phil looked at was the engine, of course. "Wait," Phil said and pointed. "That's not standard."

"Yes, it's not standard," Drew said. "That's a two-liter engine block from a Mercedes CLA. Not as big as your car's but it does provide 300 horsepower. The Mercedes' top speed is 155 miles per hour. I don't know what Tiger's top speed is yet. Guess we'll see later."

"Tiger?"

"That's what I call my baby. It's an Opel Tigra. So 'tigra' - 'tiger.' Get it?"

"Cute."

Drew smiled. She also pointed out the rear tires. "Those are racing tires that I had put on just for this occasion."

Phil squatted down to take a look, and because of the unusual look of the tread, he concluded that Drew might not be lying and that they were probably really race tires.

Drea also pointed out the new roll bar. "I decided to attach the roll bar today. Seemed to be the right time for it."

Phil was about to touch it when Drew grabbed his hand. "Uh-uh!"

Phil sighed. "Okay, okay!"

He then went to the back.

"Note the fuel cell," Drew said.

"I noticed that right off," he lied. "Ummm, what's in the sacks?"

"Just sand. Just extra ballast to balance the weight and provide better traction."

"Of course," he said. "What else would they be for?" Actually, something like that would not have occurred to him. He wished he thought of it himself, even though he had no idea how to do it with an Escalade. Whattheheck was ballast anyway? And he was also kicking himself for not thinking of putting on racing car tires, too. He was mad his dad didn't tell him about ballast and racing tires.

He was happy, though, that he had the Nitrous supercharger put in a few days ago. At least Drew didn't have that. He wondered if he should switch it on right away, but decided on copying what the dragsters he'd seen on TV did with NO2 injectors.

As Callie once said, Phil wasn't the brightest three-time junior in school.

- - - - -

In a little while, Drew and Phil were on the line, revving their cars. A few yards in front of them were Callie and Iola in their sexy race car driver outfits. They had in their hands the two checkered flags that Drew bought.

Unseen by anyone, Drew surreptitiously unzipped and took off her sexy boots, put them in the passenger footwell and replaced them with her sneakers. She also clicked on the four-point safety belt.

She then made a big production about putting on her white helmet. She slowly brought down the visor, theatrically tugged on her gloves and waved to her audience. A big cheer went up. Phil felt bad because he didn't think of bringing a helmet as well. He also felt bad that his car wasn't a convertible so he could wave to the crowd the way Drew was doing...

Drew reversed fifty feet and then hit the accelerator full-on. Her back tires spun and squealed. When the car overcame her inertia and zoomed forward, Drew disengaged the clutch and hit the brakes. Her action left two thick rubber marks on the pavement. She reversed again and repeated the same maneuver. The smell of burning rubber was thick in the air.

"What's the crazy bitch doing?" one of the spectators, Biff Hooper, said. He was one of Phil's detention buddies.

"She's warming up her tires," one of the geeky kids responded. "It's called a burnout."

"What for?"

"It makes the rubber stickier and therefore give more traction."

"Phil!" he called out. "Do what she's doing!"

"Huh? Why?"

"Just do it, man!"

Reluctantly, Phil reversed as well.

The geeky kid shook his head.

"What's wrong?" Biff asked.

"Mistake."

When Phil tried doing what Drew was doing, his car's tires barely screeched. His car surged forward and hardly left a mark. He tried again and the same thing happened.

"Why isn't it working?"

"His tires aren't race car tires. It won't work."

"Phil!" Biff called again. "Quit it! It won't work!"

Phil waved and he moved his car to just behind the line.

Everyone watched Drew do burnouts three more times, and each time, the car seemed to accelerate forward more and more quickly. When she thought her tires were hot enough, Drew waved her hand signaling that she was ready. Drew pressed the milometer button to set it to zero.

Drew revved her engine and Phil did likewise, except Drew revved her engine in long, drawn-out revs as opposed to Phil's rapid and multiple revs. So while Drew's car went, "vrooommm... vrooommm... vrooommm," Phil's went "vroom-vroom-vroom-vroom-vroom..."

Callie and Iola took up their positions, about twenty feet in front of the cars - Callie on the left side of the road and Iola on the right. They started waving their flags in a figure eight, similar to how a cheerleader would swing a baton.

The crowd started to count down in long drawn out numbers starting with ten.

"Ten... Nine... Eight..." Drew revved her car in time with the count while Phil just did his "vroom-vroom-vroom" randomly.

"Six! Vrooommm... Five! Vrooommm... Four? Vrooommm..."

Drew renewed her grip on the steering wheel. Remembering her lessons, she switched her gearshift to First but kept her foot on the clutch. And when the count hit zero, and Callie and Iola brought down their flags, Drew popped the clutch and Tiger surged forward almost exactly on the count. That was because she was timing her revs with the count.

Phil was at a disadvantage. Because his was an Automatic, his revs were all for show. When the count hit Zero, he dropped the gear into Drive and stepped on the accelerator. But because all his car had was a regular street car's transmission, the car accelerated comparatively sluggishly. Besides, his timing was a second off anyway. When his car started moving, Drew had already snap-shifted to Second.

Because his car was an Automatic, all Phil needed to do was mash the accelerator down while Drew had to shift manually. But in the same token, Drew could also time it so that she would already be on maximum acceleration long before she hit top gear while Phil's car's preset transmission timing took a bit to shift between gears.

By the time Phil was doing thirty, Drew was already doing sixty, and was already several hundred feet ahead and increasing the gap by the second. Tiger was already cruising while Phil's Escalade was still struggling to catch up.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" Phil screamed.

As the trees flashed by her, Drew kept Tiger's speed climbing up steadily. She also kept her car locked into the gentle curve of the highway. At the speeds they were travelling, she couldn't afford to be jerky in her steering. So she kept Tiger running steady, and the little car just kept eating the miles.

As for Phil, he was still frustrated as he continued to play catch-up. He fingered the little toggle-switch and wondered if he should dare use the Nitrous now. But he remembered the movies he'd seen and it didn't seem the right time to trigger it. In the shows he'd seen, the hero would only trigger the Nitrous when they were near the finish line.

"The-fast-and-the-furious," he chanted. "The-fast-and-the-furious..."

As for Drew, she kept her eye on her milometer. So she kept accelerating and accelerating, and waited for when she would be four-fifths of the way. She looked at her speedometer and she saw she was nearing 160. She felt the thrill of driving so fast that everything she passed was a blur. She felt her head being pushed back into the headrest by the wind. That was how fast she was moving. Thank God for the helmet. Aside from the protection helmets provide during crashes, she discovered another thing that helmets did: it insulated her from the whistling sound of the wind and kept it from her face so that she didn't panic and allowed her to concentrate. It also kept the worst of the cold from her head. Her fake driver's suit was no help with that, though. Also, it was a mistake to have kept the zipper pulled down as the air was funneled and trapped by the suit. So she reluctantly took one of her hands from the wheel and pulled the zipper up to its highest point and locked it, making the collar like a turtleneck. Thank goodness for that because she was able to tuck it underneath her helmet so there would be no more ballooning effect.

Her hands also felt like the wind was pulling them away from the wheel. Not much but enough to be a distraction. But she resolutely maintained her grip and kept the wheel steady. The buffeting air swirled around in the open cab and felt its uneven tug pushing the car randomly left and right. She had the stray thought that, if she had put up Tiger's top, maybe she'd be more stable and fly faster. Oh, well. Next time.

Drew had just shifted into Fifth, her final gear, before she noticed she was nearing the four-fifths mark. And as soon as she reached it, she slackened off the accelerator. Looking at the speedometer, she saw it steadily fall from a top speed of 190. Good thing, too, because she had started feeling Tiger shimmy. An effect of the slipstream, she supposed. She giggled. Who needed Nitrous?

Anyway, as she started to approach the roundabout and the end of their "track," Tiger's speed had gone down to sixty. She looked at her rear-view, and saw Phil closing the gap. She saw his grin as he realized he was starting to overhaul her, but that was dangerous. At the speeds he was going, she knew he won't make the turn. Stupid! She started thinking of what she could do to help but she couldn't think of anything.

She was already down to thirty miles and Second when she entered the roundabout. She expertly maneuvered Tiger to make a wide turn. Her wheels screeched but managed to keep on her feet (thank God for the sandbags) and, after whipping around, Drew lined her up on the opposite lane and gunned the engine again. She pressed the reset button of the milometer again.

As she started on her return run, she saw Phil flash by her, his face in a grimace of fear.

After Phil saw Drew make the turn, he suddenly realized that he was going too fast to make the turn himself. He stood on the brake pedal and the tires started to squeal. The ABS made the car brake in pulses so that his tires didn't lock and he didn't lose control. But, he was still travelling too fast and would soon shoot out onto Route 440 and into traffic. Adrenalin increased and his perception was sharpened to one razor-thin edge. In that unaccustomed moment of clarity, he realized his predicament and was able to think of a way to, maybe, get him out of it: he pulled the hand brake.

With the handbrake on, the wheels locked up and the Escalade started to skid sideways. But since the speed had slackened enough, and there were no other cars, the Escalade didn't hit anyone or anything, and didn't slide around enough to turn turtle. It eventually stopped on the shoulder of 440, a foot from the passing traffic.

- - - - -

He found himself shaking with suddenly-released tension and took a deep breath. But that same clarity that saved him also made him realize that Drew was already making headway in the other direction, and will be winning the race.

He couldn't allow that to happen. So he turned his car around and started his way back the way he came, on the same lane they came from. The effect was, Drew had the left lanes all to herself while he had the other lanes. He felt weird since he was going in what felt like the wrong direction, but since he was all alone, he didn't care.

He thought of other things he could do to increase his speed, but there was nothing. Amazingly, however, the distance between him and Drew wasn't that much, so he kept on accelerating. But after a few more seconds, he realized that Drew was steadily pulling ahead despite his continued acceleration. He looked at his speedometer and he was already maxxed out at 140 MPH, but Drew was still pulling ahead.

Suddenly, he remembered the Nitrous injector.

"The fast and the furious!" he yelled, and flicked the toggle. He heard a kind of hissing and then felt as if he was kicked in the middle of his back. He looked at the speedometer and he saw the needle quickly climb from 150 to 160, and then to 170. "Yaaah!" Phil yelled. "The fast and the furious!" Deep in his subconscious, he realized how stupid he was that he kept yelling that, but he couldn't help himself. He grinned like a fool and kept his foot mashed down on the gas.

When his car hit 175, it started to vibrate. He didn't know why, so he slackened off the gas. Drew, or that geek near the starting line, would have told him it was the air resistance, and that his car wasn't designed to drive that fast, but he didn't know that. All he knew was that the shaking scared him. He had already let off on the pedal a lot but the car only slowed a little bit. It was the Nitrous. Still, his car slowed, even if slowly. And as soon as it went below 170, the shaking stopped. So he rode the pedal and kept the car cruising at between 165 and 170.

He looked forward and to his left, and noticed Drew's car. He whooped. He thought he could still catch up. "Take that, you bitch!" he yelled.

But as soon as he did, he noticed an appreciable increase in the distance between them. And it was growing.

By his unprecedented acceleration, Drew knew Phil has hit his Nitrous injector. Drew had started accelerating again in order to counter his move and the distance between them started increasing again.

"Oh, nooo... No, no, no..."

She knew Tiger's limits now, well, more or less. She kept increasing the speed until she reached 190. From that point, she rode the gas pedal and kept the speed there. No more scary jiggling. The distance between them kept on increasing until she felt that Phil couldn't catch up anymore. Drew giggled.

She suddenly remembered and looked at the milometer. She was already more than halfway and nearing the four-fifths point. Damn...

When Drew finally hit that mark, she started reducing speed again, and she watched the speedometer go from 190 to 180. 160... 150... 140... And Phil started catching up again. Dammit!

As for Phil, he whooped for joy when he saw Drew start to slow. "All right!" he yelled, but then he heard something pop, and then white smoke started billowing out from under the hood. Condensation formed on his windscreen and changed to water droplets before being whipped away. From that, he realized it was the radiator.

His automatic reaction would have been to brake and pull over, but not at one hundred and seventy miles an hour... So, instead, he flicked off the Nitrous injector and shifted to neutral. Soon after that, his engine died.

The steam and condensation were blocking his view and interfering with his driving. He switched on his wipers which kept the problem down to a manageable level. He kept the ignition switched on despite the dead engine so that his steering wouldn't lock up, and he kept his foot off the brake. The intention was to wait until he coasted down to sixty or so, and then tap the brakes.

The realization came slowly, though, but when it did... "Dammit," he thought. "I lost the race..."

As for Drew, she wondered that, even though she was already down below 100, why hadn't Phil caught up. Soon she was down to sixty, and she saw the crowd near the finish line. Where was Phil?

At sixty, she flashed past them and she braked gradually. She then turned Tiger around and stopped. This gave her an opportunity to change shoes again. As soon as she had her boots back on, she pulled her outfit's zipper back down to its original position (mustn't disappoint the fans, she giggled), and then drove forward until she met up with the spectators.

She stepped out of Tiger and raised her hands in victory. She lifted her faceplate, took off her helmet, raised it over her head and whooped in triumph.

Callie and Iola cannoned into her and hugged her until she begged for mercy.

In less than a minute, though, they saw Phil cruise over the finish line (which was originally the starting line), steam billowing out from under his hood. As soon as he did, he braked to a stop.

He stepped out of his big Escalade and grimly walked towards Drew. When he was close enough, he grimly held out his hand.

"Congratulations," he said while Drew grinned from ear to ear. "Great driving..."

He looked Drew up and down. "...Sexy..."

Drew frowned and rolled her eyes.

- - - - -

 
Postscript: Thank you for reading my story. At over a hundred thousand words (so this qualifies as a novel now, right?) and over two hundred pages, this was a fairly long one. I appreciate it that you were willing to read it from beginning to end, and that means that you are either (a) a masochist (lol), or (b) you liked the story. I sincerely hope that it’s the latter.

Yes, I could have chopped the story up into smaller bite-size pieces, and drawn the torture out with cliffhangers and other stuff, but I had all of the bits already lying around. Putting them together into one whole cake instead of a dozen tiny slices seemed the right thing to do. And if any should experience a bout of indigestion, I’m sure it will pass, as my next piece of cake won’t be ready for quite a while.

As I mentioned in the beginning, this story is a stand-alone piece even though it’s about one of my already-existing characters, Drew Nance (Nance rhymes with dance lol) and her wonderful, crazy family and friends. In the tradition of the Nancy Drew books, you can read this separate and independent of any others, that it will not need to refer to previous stories to hang together, and neither is it a lead-in for an upcoming sequel.

Now, if there will be other Drew Nance stories, it will all depend on whether people liked this one. I’d rather that Drew’s adventures end here if this one ends up as a stinker.

So, please do comment, whether positive or not. It’ll help decide the fate of Drew and Callie and Iola and Carson and Alice and Janine and Sabrina and Lieutenant Hardy and Eva and Phil and Biff and Coach Stoeger and Principal Weatherby and Tori and Paige and Heather and Marti and Savannah and Alice (the other Alice) and Vanessa and Mr. Tate Sr. and Mr. Tate Jr. and even Drew’s substitute English teacher, Ms Cabot and Principal Weatherby’s secretary, Ms Sato.

All I ask is that if you have to point out a spelling error, grammar error, sentence structure error, or anything else that has to do with Basic English Grammar, please do PM me privately instead of posting a public comment? I will rectify the problem. As everyone knows, my grasp of colloquial English is less than perfect – blame it on my Italian mother, my Canadian father and, to a certain extent, my Japanese spouse lol. I hope you guys aren’t too keen on embarrassing me. I am doing my best to improve, believe me.

Anyway. Thanks again, and see you later!

     
     

To see Bobbie's blogposts, click this link: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog/bobbie-c
To see Bobbie's stories in BCTS, click this link: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/14775/roberta-j-cabot
To see Bobbie's Family Girl Blogs, click this link: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/28818/family-girl-blogs
To see Bobbie's old Working Girl Blogs, click this link: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/book/19261/working-girl-blogs

 

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A Note from the Author:

This story is no different from the other Drew Nance stories – It still makes use of, or mentions, several real-world locations - Staten Island, New York, New Jersey, Riverdale, Sweden, Hawaii and other places. Though the way they’re shown in the story is close to RL, they were changed a bit for the sake of the story. Any negative impressions they may give are not necessarily RL. They’re used for continuity and verisimilitude for the story. Advance apologies to the Islanders: the Staten Island and Hawaii stereotypes here are in no way the author's personal image of them. Again, these stereotypes are from popular media, and were exaggerated for purposes of the story.

As to the selection of Staten Island as the main location in the story, it was selected because it was the only one in the five borroughs where regular use of cars was plausible: as the reader may know, driving in metropolitan New York is not a common thing except in Staten Island, where more than 83% of the families have cars and the majority use them regularly rather than commute, as opposed to the NYC average of 45%, with only 30% of working NYC people actually driving (8% in Manhattan!). Feel free to look up these stats, or you can check this article: https://www.nycedc.com/blog-entry/new-yorkers-and-their-cars .

This may be a minor thing but driving around is an essential plot element in Drew's stories.

Also, like I mentioned in the previous Drew Nance stories, I was inspired by the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, the 2002 TV-movie, the 2007 movie, as well as the “re-boot” graphic novel series “Nancy Drew, Girl Detective.” But other than that, this story has nothing to do with any of them, and though some names here are the same as the characters from those stories and shows, they are used here only as a tribute. As to the title, it’s also a tribute - “The Hidden Staircase” is the title of the second Nancy Drew novel. Again, the similarity ends with the name.

Furthermore, the pictures used are publicly accessible pictures from the Internet: this is not a commercial publication; no ownership is claimed; no copyright or IP infringement is intended.

As before, I apologize in advance if you find any temporal disconnects: i.e. real-world events not referenced in the proper time sequence, old popular figures referred to as if they’re current ones, etc. Nevertheless, I hope this doesn’t stop you from enjoying the story.

Like all Drew Nance stories, this one is a stand-alone story, too. But if you wish to read how all of this started, you can read the prologue story, “Drew Nance - Girl Detective Redux: A Beginning.” The prologue story was written with the encouragement of Sephy as an entry in a previous BCTS contest. Drew won that contest for me, actually (yayyy!), though it’s the only contest I ever won here in BCTS (lol). And that’s how Drew and her crazy crew were born.

You can also read the one that preceded this story: “Drew Nance, Girl Detective Book 1: The Secret of the Old Clock.” That’s up to you, of course lol. But, like I said, this second “book” is a stand-alone story, so there’s no need to look at these other stories: enough reference text is included so one need not refer to the previous stories.

Again, at the risk of sounding tedious and pedantic, I hereby serve notice that I am retaining the rights to my story. Because of the preponderance of plagiarism in BCTS/Amazon/Fictionmania and in other sites and venues, I had to have this on record. I appeal to the reader to notify me, or the site administrators if you notice anyone “borrowing” my stories, or even parts of them, and claiming them as theirs.

Now – Avanti!

 

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