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

Chapter 52 (Part 6)

When I awoke, I was somewhere I had never been, and oddly enough, I woke while standing. I looked down at myself and noticed something wholly unexpected, something that caused joy to fill my heart. I was in Darren Lawrence’s body again. It seemed as real as the light wind on my skin, the slightly itchy feeling I felt on my face, (a consequence of a beard not yet fully grown), and hands no longer host to nails adorned with perfectly shaped stars. I wore a pair of ripped jeans, my green hoodie and my grungy Converse trainers. I felt like myself for the first time in six months, and now I looked that way too.

From the palm trees, I guessed that I was in Los Angeles, or at least California. I was pretty sure we had no palm trees in Canada. I stood in front of a massive concrete tower. It looked like an office building, but it was opulent beyond belief. The numerous gold-trimmed windows reflecting the morning sun made the building glow. The pathway toward the front door was lined with neatly trimmed shrubs and grass so green that it would have caused a golf course green keeper to seethe with envy. The front door even had an attendant. It was literally this person’s sole duty to greet guests and open the door for them. I had never ventured inside a building with this level of service, but the doorman’s welcoming wave, urged me to enter the lavish structure.

Once inside, I felt completely out of place. Dressed as I was, I did not blend well with the decor. A three-storey high fountain with multiple levels and Renaissance art dominated the foyer. The fountain was an engineering marvel because the water shot upward, but fell, as if in slow-motion. I could actually see the individual water droplets that made up the wonder. As I looked into the pool at the base of the fountain, I could have sworn for an instant that Abigail’s face stared back at me, but once the water became disturbed, the face dissolved.

The front desk was composed of one solid mahogany table with a tiny blonde woman sitting behind it. The blazer she wore made me think I had entered a hotel.

She smiled and said softly, “Mr. Lawrence. We are very pleased to have you here finally. Mr. Atwater will see you now.”

I thought it odd that the woman didn’t even have a computer. I found it even stranger that she was sitting behind an antique typewriter. She had a modern hairdo, one of the poofs so popular these days, but her office equipment would have been more appropriate on the desk of an early twentieth century secretary. Next to the desk sat a machine that looked a lot like Gutenberg’s original printing press. Alongside the typewriter was a leather-bound book, easily twice the size of any coffee table art book, with the words MASTER FILE written on it in gold leaf.

I looked at the woman in confusion and asked, “What are you talking about? What is this place? I don’t know about you, but I feel like I am burning money just standing here. You aren’t going to charge me a thousand dollars for looking at the fountain are you?”

She shook her head, “Absolutely not. We treat the talent very well here. Access to our facility here is just one of the perks of being signed to our agency.”

I blinked, looking embarrassed, “Talent? So this place, is like a talent agency? Well, I have a band. I’m sorry, I’m really not prepared for this. I don’t even remember coming here. Can I schedule another appointment?”

The woman shook her head, “I’m sorry Mr. Lawrence, but we’ve waited a long time for you to arrive. Mr. Atwater simply cannot be delayed any longer.”

I frowned, “But my band mates should be here. Let me call them.”

The prospect of being signed would hopefully convince Andrew and Steven to catch a flight to LA to meet me. However, if I was Darren Lawrence again, I doubted very much that Ethan would want to be part of the band if Abigail was out of the picture. It would be even more difficult to explain to him where Abigail had gone.

I added, “They could be here tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.”

The woman shook her head again. She reminded me of a librarian or a schoolmarm, especially sitting behind the antique typewriter. I couldn’t help but stare at the machine. It had a QWERTY keyboard, but the keys were iron wrought and each one was connected to a very thin piece of metal strip.

She said, “Mr. Lawrence, I’m sorry, but I must insist. Mr. Atwater is only interested in you.”

I was shocked. I knew that I was a talented singer and an OK guitar player. I could write songs and touching, angry and soulful verse, but I never thought of myself as someone who could strike out on their own.

She shooed me toward a gold-plated elevator, which also had an attendant. In the days of record companies taking people to court for illegally sharing music, when artists themselves who had once zealously followed the practice of tape trading at concerts were decrying their loss of revenue over music piracy, this place had a doorman and an elevator attendant. I worried that this was some type of scheme to extort money from me. Luckily, I didn’t have any.

The attendant didn’t say a word. He just pushed PH (for Penthouse?). The pit of my stomach entered my Converse trainers as the elevator rocketed upward. I reached out to grasp the railing, and the attendant caught me. He smiled, and thankfully the ride was over in seconds.

The door opened, and I was escorted to a scene that is difficult to describe. What lay before me was architecture, technology and furniture from every period of time, including the modern age. Stone pillars akin to the Parthenon supported the thirty foot ceiling. A massive two hundred inch television screen hung on the far wall, along with a multiple computer screens, which formed an impressive media centre. The walls seemed stolen from a medieval castle as thick pieces of interlocked stone created an imposing and formidable defense against catapults and trebuchets. Works from the Renaissance to modern art were alongside CD cases from well-known pop singers. Under glass next to the elevator I saw a play by Shakespeare I had never heard of- simply titled- the Sidereus Prophecy. I saw gold records for Elvis, and even images of lions tearing apart gladiators. It was like the person who inhabited this room had never ever thrown anything away from the beginning of civilization. They were the ultimate hoarder or perhaps the ultimate collector.

Sitting at a very simple wooden table was a man of indeterminate age. He had flecks of grey at his temples, but absolutely no wrinkles on his face. He had a trim, professional style haircut and wore a very expensive looking suit, perfectly tailored to his slim but muscular frame. His eyes spoke of a hundred lifetimes, more than simply an old soul, he looked wise to the point of omnipotence.

He walked up to me and firmly shook my hand, “Mr. Lawrence, so you’ve finally arrived. I am sorry for the way we brought you here, but our previous attempts to contact you regarding your contract have failed. I am Mr. Atwater.”

I said firmly but respectfully, “Sir, please, I know that you must be an extremely busy man, but can I ask that my band mates fly out to be part of this meeting? They are really the reason I am here. It was a combined effort. I mean, even Ethan- if he wants to. Not sure how I will explain this to him.”

Like his assistant, the man shook his head, “Actually, Mr. Lawrence you are solely responsible for this meeting.”

I frowned, “How is that even possible? My band has played only a few shows. I mean, I am flattered, but why are you interested in having me sign a contract? You know, I’m not a solo artist. And I’ve never heard of your agency. You never contacted me before.”

Mr. Atwater smiled, “We are interested in what makes you unique. In a sea of pretenders, those who say they want to be famous, you really have the drive to succeed in the industry.”

He continued, “You chose your house based on the fact it had a perfect music room. You left teaching because you wanted to devote more time to music. It’s also why you didn’t go to law school. You’ve driven hundreds and hundreds of kms just to jam. You’ve put friendships and even loved ones after music, even your own wife and daughter, numerous times. When your wife left town to pursue her career goals, you stayed in a failing band because you believed in the music. She returned, but let’s not forget your friends-” he grinned.

“You kicked your best friend out of your previous band because he wouldn’t commit at a high enough level. Because of that, you created a rift in a twenty year friendship, the one between Andrew’s wife and Amélie. Mr. Lawrence, you wake up thinking of music, and how you can better yourself, and, like others, you have vices that take you away from your craft, but you always return, more fervent than before.”

I gaped, listening to Mr. Atwater recite details of my life that no one outside of my immediate friends, family or even myself would know. I said, “But that’s every musician who wants to succeed. I’m really not any different. H-how do you know all those things about me?”

Mr. Atwater smiled, but it was the type of smile an alligator makes before devouring its prey, knowing that as it bobs just below the surface of the water, an easy meal awaits.

“Listen Darren, it doesn’t matter. What if I told you that you could have what you really wanted? You’ve always said you wished you had the time to record, to sit in a studio and really make music your life, your job. You’ve said that on multiple occasions. You’ve also said that you want to get your music out to as many people as possible. Say millions? How about hundreds of millions? What if I could grant you all that, with a simple signature on a contract?”

He continued, “This is how you are different. For as many people who say they want to be famous, to be successful, to be real musicians, there are thousands who simply don’t have the drive, the confidence, the perseverance and the willpower. When you wished to be a famous musician, unlike the common people, you actually wanted it, and you are willing to do anything it takes to reach that goal. That is why we’ve chosen you.” He produced a contract written on parchment and handed me a pen.

He smiled again with predatory eyes, “Sign and in an instant, it’s all yours.”

I stared at Mr. Atwater suspiciously. My eyes were narrowed, but as I peered into his orbs, I felt like a speck of dirt within a vast cosmos. I began to feel that if I didn’t sign, I would never succeed in anything, and even if I had my body back, my life would be altered irrevocably. My friends had seen another side of me, and my wife treated me more like her unruly daughter than her husband. I thought she would leave me for Mr. Principal, and my friends and parents would view me as a freak. I closed my eyes and instantly the feelings subsided.

Mr. Atwater continued smiling as he offered me the contract, “Sorry, I should have warned you about that. Feel free to read the contract thoroughly. I expect you to read it, considering your background. We have a literal eternity here, Mr. Lawrence.”

I looked at him and quickly turned away, fearful that the same feelings of despair would overwhelm me again. I asked, “What is this place? What are you?”

The man placed the contract in my hands and said, “You will know soon enough.”

I pored over the details of the contract. It was written in legalese, but with my legal experience, I was able to comprehend most of it. It looked pretty standard, but unfortunately I had no real knowledge of entertainment law. It offered me a two year contract with the Sidereus Agency. There were specific conditions that had to be met, but again, it looked standard. I had to tour, but considering the money they were going to sink into me, it wasn’t surprising. I had to give interviews, which really was part of the job. I couldn’t find anything in it that stood out as a red flag. I wished Amélie were here because, while I was a talented paralegal with a real affinity for the law, Amélie had actually gone to law school.

Then, just as I reached the very end of the contract the red flag flew high and was supported by a blaring high-pitched siren that threatened to destroy the ear drums of anyone who heard it.

I blinked, “There’s a mistake here. The name is wrong. It says Abigail Grenier.”

Sinister plots filled my mind, and I knew immediately that I could not put ink to the document. It could lock me as Abigail forever, perhaps even rewriting my history entirely. I wasn’t certain exactly what would happen, but my gut told me that it would bury Darren Lawrence deeper than one of Alyssa’s impromptu dance lessons.

Mr. Atwater maintained his smile. Although I could not look into his eyes for an extended period, I saw amusement there. He was toying with me. He replied, “It’s actually not. You are as much Abigail as you are Darren now, perhaps more so. We saw to that.” The smile never left his face.

I snarled, “So you were the ones who did this to me?! Why? You practically ruined my life!”

I approached the desk angrily and adopted an aggressive pose, clenching my fists, but trying to avoid the man’s eyes. I slammed my clenched fist on the table, but his expression never changed.

Mr. Atwater replied matter-of-factly, “Because of your wish, Mr. Lawrence. It has evoked the Sidereus Prophecy. There are millions of wishes spoken each day, but only a tiny minority actually want their wish to come true. Some are desperate pleas for help, while others are breathless whispers before death claims them, and some are innocent, but misplaced, wanton commercialism. Very, very few wishes are sincere. You should be honoured. Few are chosen by the Prophecy, and of those that are- even fewer reach this point. When you wished to start over for the sake of music and did so with genuine sentiment, it set in motion the events that have transpired.”

I shouted, “I never asked for this though! I just want my life back! I want to be a normal person, go to work, come home, spend time with my Amélie and Chloe, and do it all again and again. That’s what I want. I won’t sign that document!”

Mr. Atwater replied in voice that told me he held all the cards, it was triumphant but soft, like a poker player revealing a royal flush with nothing but a half-smile. “You will because they all have before you. The Prophecy is as old as civilization itself. You have lasted longer than most, but only because of the circumstances.”

I knew that lashing out physically against such a being was foolhardy, but his admission that I was among those who resisted the Prophecy longest strengthened my resolve. I understood the importance of knowledge, and while I was still fuming, I needed to know more about what I was up against.

I asked, “What is the Sidereus Prophecy?”

The smile grew on Mr. Atwater’s face, “Sometimes they sign, and I don’t even get to explain this part. The last time was to a Ms. Spears almost twenty years ago.” I made a note to ask Mr. Atwater about that.

He continued, “The Sidereus Prophecy is an ancient spell. It predates organized religion, and essentially, it birthed popular culture. Its true origins are unknown, and while I have been here almost a thousand years, even I don’t know. The one I replaced didn’t tell me. I do, however, know its purpose.

"The logic is as follows. For humanity to succeed it must toil, but it cannot toil endlessly without distraction. The belief is that if humans work mindlessly they become drones or they return to their animalistic natures. Distractions, such as the entertainment brought by popular culture, ritualize humanity; they forms bonds and links within societies. They actually humanize.”

I raised a brow, “It sounds more like some ancient magnate’s attempt to placate the lower classes with low brow entertainment to deter them from rising up. Distract them with raunchy jokes and titillating flesh and they’ll forget how poor and hungry they are.”

Mr. Atwater nodded, “That is one of the interpretations for the reasoning behind the introduction of the Prophecy, Mr. Lawrence. I am giving you the ‘approved’ version. It’s funny Shakespeare said the same thing as you. Now, please let me continue.”

I shrugged my shoulders, not satisfied with the explanation, but eager to learn more to determine if any information could be used as weapons against the Prophecy.

I blinked, “Wait a second, Shakespeare was a victim of the Prophecy? William Shakespeare? His plays are timeless. His prose is some of the greatest in the English language. Certainly, they are ingrained in our culture, but they aren’t popular any more. I know. I was an English teacher.”

Mr. Atwater smirked, “Oh, but there was a time when Shakespeare’s plays were frowned upon by the cultural elite that now flock to see them at various summer festivals and visit Stratford upon Avon. You should know that most of his plays were written with the common people in mind. Many of his jokes were crude. The plays were filled with romance, death and destruction, intrigue, but the plots were rarely complex. Don’t forget that everyone spoke Elizabethan or Early Modern English. His plays were very much part of the popular culture.”

He added, “Shakespeare was the first real ‘pop star’ created by the Prophecy. There were others before him, but because of the lack of any form of mass communication, they are footnotes within the MASTER FILE. Once the telegraph, film, radio and finally television were invented, the Prophecy took on another form. One where it could influence not only a city, or a country, but the entire world. Television, helped by the internet, brought those chosen by the Prophecy to the masses in the form of pop stars.”

I nodded, “OK, so why not have me and others become politicians or prophets? You mentioned a Ms. Spears. I am going to assume that is Britney Spears. Why have her become a brainless pop icon, instead of an influential world or religious leader? What about a theorist who changes the way we think?”

Mr. Atwater replied, “We made that mistake with Hitler, and we won’t make it again. The reason why the Sidereus Prophecy creates pop stars now is because they are innocuous. Their fame eventually fades, and because of what they were- they would never be taken seriously in a political or religious role. Could you imagine Britney Spears as the leader of the free world? No, of course not.”

Mr. Atwater continued, “Part of the reason why the Prophecy is so successful in carrying out its purpose is because it gives the people exactly what they want. And for you, Mr. Lawrence, this world wants another pop princess. Another teen idol for girls to aspire to be, for boys to desire, and for the masses to fawn over. Your face, or rather Abigail’s face, will be plastered on every magazine cover, every billboard and music station throughout the world. You will become a phenomenon.”

I shouted, “And what if I don’t want to be any that!? I think the Sidereus Prophecy is just a way to addle the minds of the common people so they won’t riot, ruining what is the status quo. Perhaps it staves off anarchy, but if it continues it will also curb the growth of our minds. If there are only a few who can avoid the allure of popular culture, then we will forever be a race of the elite and the cowed.”

I pointed to an image of gladiators battling in a Roman coliseum, “This is the perfect example. While Rome bankrupted itself not only monetarily but also morally, the people were fed entertainment to distract them from the eventual decline of their Empire. When the barbarians came to the gates, the people were so caught up in their own world, they couldn’t feel the steel at their throats. It is the same today. The distractions brought on by popular culture regarding celebrity excess prevent the common people from realizing that their jobs are shit, that they will never climb the ladder, and that the people who rule them don’t care one iota about them. All it does is extend the few rule the many mentality.”

Mr. Atwater smiled, “That may be, but you still have little in the way of choice. The more you fight this, the harder it will be. The magic guiding the Prophecy has attached itself to you, Mr. Lawrence, and while it is imperfect, it is still powerful. The longer you battle against it, the less subtle the magic becomes. You risk erasing yourself entirely. It will continue to put you in situations where you have the potential to become the icon the world wants.”

I shook my head, “Let me guess, Alexandre’s father, the music producer. He was supposed to discover me.”

The man nodded, “You are very intelligent, Mr. Lawrence. I can see this from your analysis of the Prophecy. I do hope you submit soon, as it didn’t help Ms. Spears, who as your father would say, is dumb as a bag of hammers, or Elvis, who was a theoretical physicist before becoming a hip-shaking lip-curling music icon. You are correct of course. You were supposed to meet Alexandre’s father. He was going to produce your record and make you an international sensation. That would have fulfilled the Prophecy. However, we could not foretell how…unpleasant his son would become. There were many before you, and one girl who was close, but none had your drive. Before you made that wish ...”

I interrupted, “Véronique. It was supposed to be Véronique before I made the wish.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “No, Véronique lacks the passion. It was never going to be her or any of the eleven girls who preceded you. This is unfortunately one of the side effects of the imperfect magic. The Prophecy latches onto not only the chosen, but it also creates a scenario for the Prophecy to be fulfilled, and in your instance, it attached itself not only to Alexandre’s father, but also Alexandre himself. And while we are usually certain who will be chosen next, as a failsafe, the girls, all of whom were talented musicians, were allowed to ‘audition’ per se. Four years and not one of them impressed Alexandre’s father enough to warrant a contract.”

I asked, “Why did the girls…and even me? Why did we throw ourselves at Alexandre?”

He replied, “Because doing so meant that he would introduce you and the other girls to his father, and with it, the potential fulfilment of the Prophecy. Usually, we prefer more traditional methods to begin a pop star’s rise. It makes it easier when our marketing department sells their stories, but we are going to have to fudge yours significantly.”

I spit poison at Mr. Atwater, even staring in his eyes for almost three seconds before the depression weighed so heavily that I had to break my glance. “Oh really? So, teen girls wouldn’t want to hear about how their idol was almost raped in a car? And why the hell didn’t I have control throughout it? It would have been a lot easier to fight him off.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “The reason you lost control is because given the circumstances and your absolute hatred of Alexandre’s male archetype, you would never have agreed to meet his father. We forced you to make a date with him, knowing that it was the catalyst to fulfilling the Prophecy. Yes, it was a desperate measure, but we knew you would be less than receptive, so we moved things along.” He cleared his throat, “What happened to you, however, was –uh- regrettable.” He said the last words with a hint of emotion.

I shook my head, “Wait a second, the whole episode with Alexandre- you removed my control- my will power, and the very essence of who I am. Why not just do that now? I don’t understand why you don’t just force me to become Abigail in both mind and body. You clearly have the ability as is clear by how much I wanted to bear Alexandre’s muscle-bound children.”

Mr. Atwater merely smiled. I despised the look as I hoped my question would perhaps yield information about the Prophecy I could use- a weakness or a potential loophole. His stoic grin caused me to seethe internally. “Oh, Mr. Lawrence, I enjoy your humour. No, a teenage pregnancy would be scandalous with parent groups- and your career would be dead before it even began. Returning to your question, however, it is simple- the Prophecy could circumvent your will, but it would be an unfortunate double-edged sword.

“You see, the Prophecy requires those with an unparalleled drive to succeed. Turning you into a mindless tart, a thrall to the whims of the Prophecy would allow the contract to be signed, but it would make the Prophecy impossible to fulfill. Enslaving you to the same magic that made you desire Alexandre would rob you of your drive, your ambition. The Prophecy helps the chosen, but the chosen fulfills the Prophecy. Think of it like a symbiotic relationship. The Prophecy has given you the body required to succeed, the voice, but you will bring the talent, and your passion and determination. This would be snuffed out if you became a drone, Mr. Lawrence.”

I asked, feeling more confident as Mr. Atwater divulged more of the secrets of the Prophecy. Perhaps I could eke something useful from him. “So did the Prophecy do something to Alexandre to make him that way?”

He replied, “Alexandre did not start that way, as he told you. We knew that he would bring the girls to meet his father initially because he wanted to please both the girls and his father. But as he grew older, he realized that the girls really were using him. But that is how they were programmed. They had to meet the father to potentially fulfil the Prophecy. However, Alexandre eventually had the girls debasing themselves, only bringing them if they met his approval. With the last three, including yourself, we always pulled the plug before the girls were forced into something completely non-consensual.”

I frowned, “Yeah thanks. I really appreciate only being half raped. You are a real humanitarian. Why did you have me dress like a prostitute? Surely, his father wouldn’t approve of him bringing home a girl who looked like that.”

Mr. Atwater ignored my comment and added, “Eventually, Alexandre became more of an obstacle than simply a stepping stone to his father. As he grew more bitter and despondent, he also became twisted. He wanted to use the girls as much as they were using him. We had you dress that way because we had hoped it would appease the boy. Dressed that way you were his dream girl and maybe that would open the path to his father.”

He continued, “It is also why we did not allow you to cut your hair or your nails. You never would have caught his attention looking the way you wanted to look, even in your school uniform.”

I had a Eureka moment and quickly asked, “St. Jo’s. The letter. You sent the school registration letter didn’t you?”

Mr. Atwater smiled, “Since you were so set on emancipating yourself, we had to do something. If you had succeeded, we calculated that there was only a 0.03% chance you would ever meet Alexandre. And you would never seek out his father, a famous pop music producer. So, we had to get you to St. Jo’s, a place that Alexandre frequented ten months out of the year. You actually did an admirable job in avoiding him the first few weeks. Your friends, of course, helped.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You mean Alyssa isn’t a plant by you? One of your agents trying to turn me into some huge girly girl so I would accept my eventual role more easily. Or another catalyst for the Prophecy? She was trying to get me to enter a singing competition. I could be discovered there, couldn’t I?”

He grinned, “Absolutely not. Ms. Moore is wonderful serendipity for us. She adores Abigail, and she has no bad intentions for you. After all, she doesn’t even know who Darren Lawrence is. Perhaps she could help you accept your role given her love of pop music.”

I raised a brow, still unconvinced, “Speaking of which, are all pop stars created like this? Let me guess, Katy Perry was a truck driver named Saul, who wanted to be a country music star.”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “No. The Katy Perry that Alyssa is so enamoured with is not part of the Sidereus Prophecy. Those are the anomalies. The Prophecy is only evoked when pop culture loses its sway with the general populace. When other issues take precedence, the Prophecy fabricates a scenario for the star’s discovery and the search begins for the next true sensation. Ms. Spears was the last.”

My eyebrows practically raised to the ceiling, “I would be as big as Britney Spears was?”

Something in me was lured by the thought of such adulation. Stepping out on stage in front of not tens, but tens of thousands, every night. Maybe I could fulfil the Prophecy, but I would do it my way.

Mr. Atwater was pleased, “You will as big as her and potentially bigger. The world will know you. Pop music that can truly master the conscience of the masses has been on the decline. Rock and metal music, and even some pop music that causes the masses to think, to plan and to question has been born again. Not since the mid-1990s, when rock was king, has there been such a resurgence of angry and potentially unbalancing music. This transcends into other media as well. Then films are made that question lifestyles, governments. You are the balance to this. This other music will exist, but once you arrive, it will be relegated to the fringe once again.”

I sneered, “You aren’t exactly giving me a lot of incentive to agree. That is exactly what I was saying, and it was what you seemingly chose to ignore.”

He replied, “Mr. Lawrence, I gave you the approved version of the Prophecy’s purpose. I believe, as you do, that it does create a world of the elite and common people, but this is a necessary evil. Would you rather have anarchy or a balanced, yet imperfect, civilization?”

I said brashly, “Even if I am eventually forced to sign, I won’t agree to any of this. I will lay my own path. I will write songs and lyrics that force those in my audience to question, and to think for themselves.”

Mr. Atwater shook his head amusedly, “You won’t, because if you do, you will be found in breach of contract, and you will be trapped that way. You will have to grow up again as Abigail Grenier. I guess you didn’t read the Annex A: Clause 4.5 Paragraph 37. Here, I know it off by heart.”

Mr. Atwater read aloud, “Pursuant to the fulfilment of the Sidereus Prophecy and all items contained therein, the chosen can, upon signature of an Affidavit to the fact, choose to return to his/her life. Such a return is contingent on the Prophecy being wholly fulfilled, subject to Clause 47 Paragraph 6 Subparagraph A. Which reads, if at any point during the two year period the chosen fails to meet a condition of this contract, she/he will be found in breach of the aforementioned contract. If the breach is determined to be in bad faith, the chosen will be eternally trapped within the body ascribed by the Prophecy. Breaches of contract in bad faith are also subject to additional discipline which is the prerogative of the associate.” He smiled, “That’s me.”

I raised a brow, “Wait a second, Britney Spears is still a pop star. Sort of. She’s pretty washed up, but she is still making music.”

Mr. Atwater replied, “She is. She chose to remain in that body after her contract expired. Fame is like a potent drug, Mr. Lawrence. Once it is in your system, you will crawl on your knees, begging for it, every night. The adulation you receive will sustain you, until the next night and the next.”

I shook my head, “Again, you aren’t making a great case for signing anything, Mr. Atwater. Why would I want to be anything like Britney? She went crazy. She shaved off all of her hair, lost custody of her children. I don’t want any part of that.”

Mr. Atwater said, “That was part of her punishment. Read Clause 4.8 Paragraph 89 Subparagraph E. She threatened to tell others about the Sidereus Prophecy. You can tell no one, not even your wife.”

I said matter-of-factly, “Yes, but I haven’t signed your contract. So, what is stopping me from telling the world?”

Mr. Atwater actually laughed openly, “It’s been too long since I have heard such brash words. There is nothing stopping you from telling the world about what you have seen here while not under contract, but who would believe you exactly? You will tell them that there is some cosmic power that turns men into pop stars. That it is done so that the masses will be broken by songs such as “Baby Hit Me One More Time? You’ll spend the rest of your adolescence in a rubber room heavily sedated. You will beg to sign the contract within a few weeks.”

I shook my head, “That makes no sense. I am barred from telling anyone about the Prophecy, but even if I did, no one would believe me. It’s a paradox.”

Mr. Atwater said, “It’s simple. There is a slight, minuscule possibility that you would tell someone who was actually affected by the magic, and they would believe you. And if that person was influential, it would create many problems. So, you are technically correct that if you are not under contract, you can tell others, but I don’t know how much good it would do you.”

The smile left Mr. Atwater’s face for the first time. I actually felt my hand shaking involuntarily. He said coldly, “Plus, if you create problems, I will need to step in and rectify those problems, and you will dislike my methods. That rubber room I discussed will seem like a stay at a five-star hotel. I will see to it that the Prophecy is fulfilled.” I shuddered, and the smile crept back onto his face.

He said amiably, but he might as well have spit in my face. “But you’ll be a good little girl, won’t you Mr. Lawrence?”

I said nothing and simply sneered at him. I was annoyed that my left hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

He said firmly but in a friendly manner, “Please sign, and we can put all this unpleasantness behind us.”

I asked, “So let me understand this correctly, if I sign, I become Abigail Grenier, international pop sensation for two years. And if I follow all of your conditions, then I can be Darren Lawrence again when my contract expires.” He nodded his head.

I took the pen from him and Mr. Atwater’s smile grew to a toothy, self-satisfied grin, until I wrote FUCK YOU on the first page of the document in massive bold letters. His face soured, and he ran his finger over my graffiti and instantly it was gone.

I said, “I’ll find a way to break the chain, Atwater. I’ll try find a spell. I am certain Mama Khalia is going to send me something. I’ll tell her all about this, and we’ll stop the Prophecy.”

He laughed again, but there was no humour to it. It was cold and unnerving, like a death rattle in the chest of a man dying from pneumonia, but also grating like the whining of a petulant child. It was disconcerting to say the least. He snapped his fingers, and instantly, I was no longer looking at him eye to eye. I was looking up at him. I looked down and my nails were once more adorned with the perfectly shaped little stars. Hair covered my eyes. I was Abigail again.

A hand gripped my throat and I was pulled into the air. I gurgled and fought for breath, kicking my legs and flailing my arms. Mr. Atwater maintained his smile even as he held me in a stranglehold staring into my face, “This is one of the reasons why Ms. Spears lost her mind eventually. She remembered what I did to her before she signed. As stupid as she became, she always remembered this. I made sure of it. You don’t want to be damaged goods like her, do you?” He threw me to the ground, and I choked as air suddenly filled my lungs again.

My body felt strange. I looked down, and I noticed my hands dematerializing and rematerializing. My whole body was in a state of flux, going from Darren to Abigail and back again, but, in my head, it felt like someone was trying to push my brain out through my nose and ears.

Mr. Atwater said, “How would you like to forget everything you learned in university? No, that would be like a full-frontal lobotomy. Maybe just one course? Poof. Everything gone in an instant. Just so you know how serious I am. I’ll even let you pick the course.”

He added, “Oh and that uncomfortable feeling you are experiencing, it’s literally your two selves fighting for dominance. I masked it before, but you’ve upset me. Even now, look at how your male self fades and Abigail gains prominence. It’s only a matter of time. You may not have fallen for Alexandre, but your friends could very well doom you as well. You realize you are in love with that boy, Ethan. Right?”

He said, “Time’s up. OK, second year Russian history from Ivan the Terrible to the Bolsheviks. Gone.”

I shook my head defiantly, “It’s just a crush. It’ll pass. I-…” A blank expression appeared on my face. I tried to drum up knowledge of the class, but I just couldn’t remember taking it. I thought the professor was balding. He sort of looked like Mr. Peabody from the Astro Boy cartoon I had watched as a kid, but now- it was a complete blank.

He said, “As for Mama Khalia, she will send you a spell, but you won’t have the balls to use it.” He laughed again. It sounded like rusty knives being raked across bone.

I blinked, “W-what do you mean?” I was unsteady, particularly because I was having difficulty maintaining Darren’s form. The instant I regained my masculinity, I was back as Abigail, and each time, it became more a challenge to bring him back.

Mr. Atwater explained, “It requires a second, and while that individual could be your saviour, they could also simply be a sacrifice. Even if you succeed, it cannot save you from the Prophecy. The spell that Mama Khalia found, it may return you to male form, but while you sleep, you are helpless. We will simply invade your dreams again, and you will wake up and be Abigail again. You cannot escape this, Mr. Lawrence. Sign now, before I truly grow angry.” The smile had fallen off his face again. His lip curled into a tiny sneer.

I narrowed my eyes, “I have no reason to believe you. You deceive me so that I will surrender to you. I won’t. I will find another way. There’s always another way. I'll find a loophole in your Prophecy. I’ll tell people. I will show the magic! I’ll cut my hair on YouTube and my nails. I’ll show the world that magic is real!”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, smiling amusedly again, “And you don’t think that people might question it? That they might think that you were simply trying to deceive them? It is easy enough to fake that using video editing, Mr. Lawrence. Already your intelligence is failing you, and your thoughts- they lack the logical consistency they once had. You are succumbing to your adolescence.”

He continued, “Soon enough, you and Alyssa will be impossible to tell apart. Each day that passes where you refuse to sign you will lose more of yourself.”

I shouted and pointed an accusatory finger, “You don’t think that I am going to lose myself playing the part of a pop princess puppet? So, what are you going to do, force me to like everything that Alyssa likes, control me like you did with Alexandre and compel me to throw myself at Ethan?”

Mr. Atwater shook his head, “I don’t have to do a thing. At this point, I can just let nature run its course. Alyssa has claimed you as a best friend, and you’ve infused her with the confidence that Véronique stole, which may be your ruin, at least as far as your masculinity is concerned. As for Ethan, even now, you are thinking about the boy, aren’t you?”

I sighed gently. I looked down at myself and as Ethan’s image appeared in my mind, it became impossible to return to my masculine form. It was as if the boy’s shaggy hair and boyish looks were branded on my brain matter. I shook my head repeatedly, but it did nothing to detach the image.

My captor said, “I’ll make you a deal. When you sign, you can take him along with you. Imagine what the two of you will do cooped up on a tour bus day in and day out. I doubt you’ll only play video games.” He grinned lasciviously. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? I know what you do at night.”

I shouted, my voice raising an octave, sounding childlike, “I only did that one time! And I stopped.”

Mr. Atwater said, “I meant that you think about him before you go to sleep, dirty girl. If you’d like, you could even bring Alyssa along. It’s not like she’s going to pass high school without your help.”

I shook my head, but it was hard to disagree with my tormentor. I thought about Ethan more than Amélie- more than my own daughter.

Mr. Atwater made two changes to the contract, but when he handed me the pen, I was so disgusted by his presence, by what he had taken from me and still intended to take, that I spit in his face. He removed a handkerchief from his sleeve and shook his head. He sneered, “Fine, but you’ll be back. You’ll plead for me to let you sign it the next time you are here. We’ll see if I am feeling as generous as I am now.”

I smirked, “What and my little dog too? Didn’t you forget to say you would have gotten away with your master plan if it wasn’t for some meddling kids? I mean…” I was feeling brash in Abigail’s body. I knew that I was playing with fire, but the fact that Mr. Atwater told me that Mama Khalia was sending another spell filled me with hope. As for the sacrifice, I was certain he was trying to scare me.

I was stopped there. I continued to speak, but I was in a place with no sound or light. A few seconds passed, and I heard the dull beeping of a heart monitor. I opened my eyes to see Amélie looking worn, her eyes blood shot and her lip trembling. My room lacked any of the pink in my bedroom. It was a sterile white. She looked down at me with fear, a little revulsion and a deep sadness.

Maybe I should have signed the contract.

Chapter 53

I was in a hospital bed, and back in Abigail’s body. My head throbbed, and I could feel bandages on my legs and arms. Amélie looked down at me with sympathy, and she instantly reached out and grasped my hand, her previous expression a distant memory.

Her whisper was harsh, “Darren, don’t you ever scare me like that again. I thought you were dead.” As angry as she was, there was clear love in her eyes still. She cared deeply for me and through the spite, disgust and betrayal, I could see it.

Before I could respond, she continued, “What the hell is going on, Darren? Have you lost your mind? Did you really leave the house to meet a boy? Alyssa told me everything, but I c-can’t believe it. I mean I knew you were, you know, interested, but I just didn’t think you were so far gone.” She shook her head repeatedly as if the desperate action could somehow erase her memory. “Your underwear was torn. Did you- let him?” I knew she was searching for the words, she had them, but she couldn’t ask her husband if he had sex with a boy.

I shook my head fervently, but it increased the throbbing in my skull, so I stopped abruptly. “I was under a spell. I know everything now, Amélie, and I know how we can reverse it.”

I heard voices in the corridor. My parents. My father was having a passionate discussion about the state of education with my principal.

I turned and looked at Amélie viciously, “What the hell is he doing here?” Amélie wilted momentarily under my severe gaze, but she regained her composure quickly.

She replied evenly, “I called him. I thought he might know where you were. I went with Alyssa to Flanagans, but you had already left. I called him after that, asking him if he knew where else that boy might take you. We drove all over town looking for you. He insisted on coming to the hospital to make sure you were alright. Alyssa and her mom are waiting for you too. You know, Darren, for all the walls you put up, you sure have a lot of people who care about you.” Ethan wasn’t out there?

I sneered, “The only thing St. Valentin cares about is replacing me. He’s only here because you are vulnerable.”

Amélie closed her eyes momentarily and then said calmly, “Tell me- tell me about how you think we can reverse this. Because I’m looking at you, Darren, and every day I see less of you in her. It’s like that drop of water between us at the beginning of this, it’s turning into an ocean. I can’t reach you anymore. You don’t listen to me. You- missed curfew t-to fool around in a car. The doctor said that you were drinking too. You had a lot of alcohol in your system. Are you doing this to spite me because of Martin? Because of what’s happened to you? These aren’t decisions Darren Lawrence would ever make.”

I nodded, Amélie’s words striking my pride and rage like well-placed surface to air missiles hitting their target. “I told you, I was under a spell. This whole thing is because of this massive conspiracy to control the world’s population through popular culture. It’s called the Sidereus Prophecy, and I’ve been chosen to become this brainwashing pop star. I know it sounds like the worst excuse in the world, but it’s true. Please just let me explain.”

Amélie stared at me, her husband, with incredulity and sadness. She shook her head, “Look- Darren, I know you like boys. I’ve accepted this. You don’t need to make up this ridiculous story about a cure or this even more fantastical and frankly, insulting excuse. You made a mistake, and you got lucky, extremely lucky. I know you’ve been through a lot tonight, but please, just tell me the truth. Mrs. Warner is out there. She called the house and asked to speak to you, I said you were at Alyssa’s, and I now I look like a liar- that I am covering for you.”

She continued, “You need to just come clean to me. Don’t make up any excuses for it. Because if you don’t- I’m really worried what’s going to happen to you. She already thinks I am a terrible guardian, and now- I’ve let you out of the house, you got drunk and were nearly raped, and you were assaulted and drugged. I think everything is just a dream you had, Darren. It was probably the alcohol and the drugs. This Prophecy, forget it. We need to be grounded in reality here. I think I’m in real danger of losing you.”

I shook my head, “No, listen, it’s going to be alright. Mama Khalia, she’s sending another spell. You can be my second, Amélie.”

Amélie looked frustrated. She hung her head and wrung her hands, something I had never seen her do before. “How do you know that? The woman doesn’t even have a phone. You said you only wrote to her a few weeks ago.”

I replied gently, “From my dream, I know it. Listen please, everything that’s happened to me, it’s all for a reason. You know that school registration letter? Well how did the school know I even existed? I don’t have a birth certificate, school records or anything. Well the Sidereus Agency, they sent the letter so that I would have to go to St. Jo’s. They needed me to go there so I would meet this guy, Alexandre. Real douche bag creep. Well his father is a record producer, and he was supposed to have discovered me and offered me a contract. They made me like him and basically throw myself at him so I could meet his dad and fulfil the Prophecy. That’s why I let Alexandre do those things to me, I wasn’t in control of my body.”

Amélie sighed, “Martin thinks it was because of your hearing. When the Crown was gathering evidence, they went to all the area high schools and because you were in their district, St. Jo’s sent you- well me the registration letter. It’s really very simple, but we need to hurry here, you need to tell me the truth before Warner gets her claws into you.”

She continued, “Girls your age, they make mistakes with guys, especially older guys. They don’t see their flaws, and factor in the alcohol, well it was just a lot of wrong choices. That’s what we need to tell Warner. You can’t tell anyone the other story. Maybe we can revisit it when you aren’t on painkillers. We need to get our story straight here. She wanted to speak with you as soon as you woke up.”

Rage filled me. I felt it from my toes into my eyeballs as they boiled in my skull. “Maybe!? Maybe?! How else do you explain what happened to me? How, Amélie? So you believe this (I motioned at my body) happened to me, but not what I am telling you. It was real, and I need your support here, if you won’t give it to me, then get the hell out. Tell my parents to come in here. Stop treating me like a goddamn kid!”

Amélie said harshly, “Shhh! You’ll bring Warner in here. Look, I’m not saying I don’t believe you Darren, just that for the social worker, you need something concrete. You need to just say that you were stupid, you liked this guy a lot, he had a really nice car, and you wanted to impress him, so you got your friend to help you get dressed and met him in a bar. You got drunk, another mistake you will fess up to. In the meantime, you need to tell her that I had absolutely no part in this. That this was entirely planned by you and your friend. And have you seen yourself, Darren? Your legs and arms are all bandaged. Warner threatened me with a court order for your removal. W-we are hanging on by a thread here.”

I felt like Amélie was simply humouring me to convince me to go along with her story. I really didn’t feel like Amélie believed me at all, but it was so far-fetched, even beyond a grown man becoming a teenage girl. It seemed that Mr. Atwater was right, I could tell anyone, but would they believe me? My own wife was looking at me like the painkillers were putting fanciful thoughts in my head.

Amélie asked, “So, will you stick to that story?” I shrugged but nodded nonetheless.

A doctor entered a few moments later. He took my vitals and then Mrs. Warner was allowed to enter. She rushed to my bedside and cast a withering glare at Amélie, “Ms. Grenier, you were supposed to call me in the moment Abigail woke up. This will not put you in a favourable light in the report, Ms. Grenier. Have you contacted the girl’s parents?”

Amélie nodded her head, “Yes, they are on their way, but they won’t be here for another few hours.”

Mrs. Warner nodded and said brusquely, “Out you go then. I will let you know when you can return.”

Mrs. Warner approached my bedside. She looked at me with great sympathy, her mouth drooped in a deep frown. “You poor girl. How are you feeling, Abigail?”

I replied, “Tired. My head hurts a lot, but I can’t feel much else.”

She nodded, “I spoke to your friend, Alyssa. She’s very worried about you. So tell me about your plans to meet this boy. Who had the idea?”

I replied, “It was mine.”

Mrs. Warner furrowed her brow and wrote in her notebook, “From what Alyssa said, you left the house and your sister was still home. Did she see how you were dressed?”

I shook my head, “I don’t think so.”

She asked, “When you go out, does your sister usually ask you where you are going?”

I nodded, “Always.”

Mrs. Warner raised a brow, “But this time, she didn’t? Why didn’t she ask you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t know. Did you ask her?” My last words had a hint of sass to them.

Mrs. Warner shook her head, “This is very serious, young lady. And, you need to treat it that way. I can tell you that if you were my daughter, I would never allow you to leave the house as you did.” I was in a hospital gown, but my micro-mini skirt and halter top lay on a small bedside table, along with my ripped panties.

Mrs. Warner said, “Your friend, Alyssa, she told me that your sister was very busy with your niece. As you were sneaking out with her, you even said goodbye, but your sister didn’t seem to notice how you were dressed, and if she did, she ignored it.”

I shrugged, “I really don’t know. I admit that I did sneak out, and I told Amélie that I was going to Alyssa’s. At nine, I texted her to tell her that I was sleeping over at Alyssa’s. I asked Alyssa to lie for me, pretend I was at her place. Look, it was a really stupid mistake. I just really liked this guy, and I knew that he would think I was really lame if I asked him to take me home at nine. My sister didn’t know about any of this. If you look on my phone, as soon as she found out I wasn’t at home, she called my phone and texted me asking where I was.”

I added, “She even called my principal because she thought he might know where the kids hang out, you know?”

Mrs. Warner nodded slowly, “Yes, I can understand that. I would be beside myself with worry if my daughter did that. Those are all the questions I have for you, Abigail. I hope you start feeling better soon, and that you learn from your mistake.”

I asked with wide eyes, concern etched on my features, “Are you going to take me away from my sister, Mrs. Warner?”

She replied gently but firmly, “It’s not my decision to make, Abigail. I’ll take my report to my supervisor and he, along with a board of social workers, will discuss your case. Then they’ll decide what’s best for you.” She walked out of the room, and Amélie re-entered. I relayed my conversation with Mrs. Warner, and Amélie frowned.

She said, “From what I can tell, this profile she is creating, it paints you as an unruly child, and me as an incompetent guardian. Your friend Alyssa, she’s nice, but she told Warner that I was probably too busy trying to stop Chloe’s tantrums and that’s why you and her were able to leave without me really noticing. It’s not good, Darren. You need to be an angel in school until this profile is done. No more playing rebel.”

My parents came in, my mother hugging me like I had a terminal disease and would die tomorrow. I didn’t tell my parents about my dream. Not after the reception I received from Amélie. I would wait until my head was clearer, then my words would not be judged by the drugs flowing into me through the IV.

A few minutes later Alyssa came in, and she also hugged me tightly. I was actually happy to see her, but I was disappointed that Ethan hadn’t come. I figured he was still mad at me for breaking our ‘date’.

Alyssa said, “Oh my god, Abby, are you OK? I’m sorry I had to tell your sister where you were. I just didn’t trust Alexandre. Not after what happened with Véronique.”

I nodded and smiled gently, “Um- it’s OK Alyssa. I’m really glad you did. I wasn’t myself. And listen, I’m really sorry too. I treated you badly. I’ll never do that again. I’m done with Alexandre anyway.”

Alyssa leaned in and hugged me tightly again, “Really? That’s great! I guess I just let you treat me that way because it’s how Véronique did it. Fell into um…”

I smirked, “Old habits? Yeah, well I won’t do that to you again.” My expression grew more serious, I looked at Alyssa with anticipation, “What about Ethan? I looked at my phone, and he’s pretty mad. I texted to say sorry but he didn’t answer back.”

Alyssa nodded slowly, “Yeah, well you know, he’s the one who called the police? I was texting him back and forth. Um, I kinda told him that you had gone out with Alexandre. He didn’t text me back for a few minutes, and then he asked me where you guys went. I guess he rode his bike to Flanagans. He said that he saw Alexandre throw you in the back of his car and then drive off. Saw you pull into the marina. I told him to leave, you know give you some privacy. But he wouldn’t. He stayed. Um- he might have saved your life. When those bikers were trying to break into the car, he called the police.”

I sighed heavily, “He did- he did save it. I don’t want to tell you what those bikers had planned for me.”

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, he probably did. The police caught the bikers though, and they stopped to question Alexandre. He was taken to the police station I think. Ethan said that he pulled this gross rag off your face and you were bleeding and had glass all over. He was trying to wake you up. He might be at the police station too. Not sure. He hasn’t answered any of my texts for a few hours.”

Alyssa smiled, “It’s really romantic, like he’s a real hero. I know he likes you. He’ll come around, Abby.”

I stayed quiet, but the knowledge of Ethan’s heroism threatened to turn my crush into legitimate lasting feelings. This boy cared so much for me, it was hard to ignore. I really wanted him there. Maybe Mr. Atwater was right. Nature wasn’t only running its course, it was crushing me like a monster truck over a line of soon-to-be demolished wrecks.

Alyssa asked, “Can you believe that Principal St-Valentin is here? He was in the car when we were looking for you. By the time we got to the marina, the ambulance was already there. He’s actually a really chill guy. He seemed really worried about you.”

I shrugged, “I just think he’s interested in my sister. Um, listen- did he, did he do anything to make you think that he likes Amélie?”

Alyssa frowned, “Well not really. I mean they weren’t holding hands or anything, but they looked at each other lots. I don’t know if it was because they were worried about you or what. I know you want Darren and sister to stay together. It must be hard with him in Vancouver?” I had previously told Alyssa about why ‘Darren’ didn’t live with Amélie.

Alyssa’s frown deepened, “I know that’s not what you want to hear. I know how much it can suck. You seem really close to Darren and your sister of course. I want my parents to get back together. Maybe you should tell him what’s happening. Like then he’ll come back home because he’s realizing what he’s losing. Sometimes I picture my dad doing that. You know, coming back and giving my mom flowers, and they are back together. My brother says I am being stupid.”

I shook my head, “You aren’t being stupid Alyssa. I think it’s a nice thought. It gives you hope. There’s always a chance they could get back together.”

Alyssa’s face brightened, “Yeah? I should tell my mom how I feel. Maybe then she’ll talk to my dad. I haven’t really actually talked to her about it since it happened. I was too mad.”

Alyssa left a few minutes later. I took my phone and texted Ethan:

Me: Hey, you still good for band tomorrow? Getting excited about the show?

Nothing. It was seven in the morning.

I texted him again a few minutes later:

Me: I’m really sorry I didn’t show up. I made a really stupid mistake with Alexandre. So I’ll see you tomorrow at band?

Once again nothing, fifteen minutes later, the nurse came into my room and replaced my IV, a few minutes later, I was sleeping.
***

I was released from the hospital late Saturday afternoon. I slept from the early morning to noon, and then again until about 4:30 PM. My parents and Amélie had stayed. I learned that my sister was staying with Chloe. I couldn’t believe how long I slept, but then the potent chemical that the Rock Machine combined with the alcohol in my system had caused a near comatose state. The after effects? The worst hangover of my life, and even with the painkillers, my head still throbbed. Thankfully, the ill effects had left, so the doctor felt comfortable releasing me. The shards of glass that punctured my skin left only small cuts along my arms and legs. The doctor explained that automotive glass, when shattered, breaks into tiny pieces to reduce the risk of injury. He said that I would likely still be picking little flecks of glass out of my skin for the next few days.

With the show next week, I knew that we had to practice, so I texted Andrew and Steven on the way home from the hospital. I had received worried texts from them. Amélie had told them I was missing.

Andrew called me after dinner. I had call display, so I knew it was him.

I said, “Hey, so you good for tomorrow?”

Andrew paused and then said, “I think it’s probably a good idea that we take a break this weekend. We’ll practice on Wednesday like we planned. You’ve been through a lot.”

I sighed, “How much did Amélie tell you?”

Andrew said, “Just that you were missing. They found you hurt.”

I nodded, “Yeah, well I’m OK now. We really need to practice. I want us to be seamless for the show.”

Andrew replied, “Alright, if you really think you are up for it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sunday morning, I slept in until noon, my body still exhausted. Amélie woke me up with a frown on her face, “Darren, when were you planning on doing your homework? You know parent teacher interviews are this week too right? I don’t want any of your teachers telling me you are getting lazy with your school work. With Warner watching us so closely, you have to be perfectly behaved, and you need to do your homework. Don’t give her anymore ammunition.” My body felt heavy and my limbs wooden.

I turned over again and groaned, “Uhh…after band. Just lemme sleep- fifteen more minutes…” I heard Amélie’s exasperated sigh.

She replied, “Isn’t it supposed to start at one? It’s after noon. I really think you should rest today. You aren’t a hundred percent. I’ll call the guys, you just rest, OK?”

I shot up in bed, “No way, listen- we need to practice. The show has to be perfect.”

Amélie frowned, “You put way too much pressure on yourself. All you can do is prepare and play the songs. Even the professionals, they don’t expect perfection. Remember when we saw Metallica? The drummer, he lost time in “Battery”. It happens to the best.”

I sighed and peered at my phone. Ethan still hadn’t called or texted back. We couldn’t have band without him either. From Friday night’s escapades, the alcohol and the chemicals, I was still exhausted, but the fact that Ethan hadn’t contacted me drained me further.

Amélie wore a concerned expression, her mouth tight and her brows gently furrowed, “Are you OK, Darren? Did you want to talk?”

I said, “It’s too embarrassing.”

I hid under my covers and lay there, hoping that my wife would go away. I couldn’t tell Amélie that I was actually pining for Ethan, and now that he was ignoring me, I wanted him even more. I was developing feelings for Ethan that went beyond exchanging awkward glances, feeling my heart flutter at the sight of him or wanting him to hold my hand. I was beginning to see him not only as a crush, but as a whole person, and I liked that person- a lot. I remained conflicted, fearing that if I acted on such impulses I would permanently lose my wife to my principal. I knew that I had to attempt the spell soon or I would be permanently lost within a teenage dream that was quickly becoming a reality. Once again, Mr. Atwater’s words had rung true. Was he still controlling me?

The feeling lacked the obsessive flavour of my union with Alexandre. With Ethan, I didn’t feel like I needed to be anything but myself. I also didn’t have the desire to deface my body with his name. During our date, it had crossed my mind. If Alexandre had suggested I get a tattoo, and specifically, his name on my ass, like some type of prized heifer, I would have allowed it. My bond with Alexandre was completely artificial. With Ethan, I felt like I had the choice, and I was making it freely.

Eventually, Amélie left, but not before saying, “Don’t forget to do your homework.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon penning a letter to Mama Khalia, telling her of the Sidereus Prophecy, my dream, Mr. Atwater, and again, my feeling that if she didn’t help me soon, my adult existence would be completely undone. That evening, as I did my homework, I found myself checking my phone. The little pink device vibrated, but it was only Alyssa, asking me for an update. I went to sleep that night saddened at the lack of contact, and annoyed that I couldn’t get the boy off my mind. I looked at the gold band on my ring finger, the object that ended the disease known as the ‘boy crazies’ on many occasions, but it didn’t work anymore.

Before I considered my wife and I ‘estranged’, and it was fitting considering we were separated by a phenomenon that had previously been impossible to explain. Now, I knew that my marriage was really over, with Amélie slowly moving on, and me unable to stop thinking about a boy. It should have bothered me more, it should have pierced my core, filling me with dread and extreme sadness, but Ethan’s silence weighed more heavily. As I finally drifted off to sleep, I could have sworn I saw Mr. Atwater wearing that sardonic smile. He whispered, “I told you so, Abby. Didn’t I?”
***

I woke up grumpy on Monday, Alyssa’s incessant prattle at our lockers was driving me crazy. She said, “Can you believe the way Adriana left Miles? It was brutal. She’s like such a bitch. I can’t stand her. She says all these nice things about him and then goes and sleeps with his best friend. And she like totally knows that Miles is crazy about her. And she posts T.J. and her making out on Facebook. Hey, Abby- Earth to Abby. Are you listening to me?”

I was beginning to think that Mr. Atwater had lied and that the girl really was a plant, she unknowingly worked toward fulfilling the Sidereus Prophecy by turning my grey matter into a pop culture saturated paste.

I barked, “Can’t we talk about something intelligent? Must you always go on and on about those shows all the time? You know if you actually sat down and worked on your homework, you would be doing a lot better in school. I wouldn’t need to help you so much.”

Alyssa’s bottom lip stuck way out and trembled, like a child. I huffed, “You can’t just do that every time and expect that I’m going to stop being mad at you. Come on. Can’t you be serious for one second?”

Alyssa frowned, “Ethan still isn’t talking to you?”

I felt a presence behind me, and when I turned around, I saw a towering yet apologetic Alexandre. His eyes were downcast, and his shoulders slumped. The moment Alyssa saw him, she gave him a venomous glare. It was clear that she felt protective of me. I hadn’t told her the specifics, but I assumed she saw my torn panties when she visited me in the hospital. She also knew what had happened to Véronique.

Alyssa’s normally bright smile was replaced with a slightly curled lip and heavily furrowed brows. She said, “Get lost you creep. Nothing you can say will make up for what you did. You had your chance to be a hero, but you ran.”

He mumbled, «I know, I feel terrible about this. I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. I know nothing I say will change your mind about me, and I don’t deserve your forgiveness. »

Alyssa raised her voice, “You are right about that. Just leave us alone, Alexandre.”

He replied, «I know, I just wanted to tell you that I’m…going to start seeing a counsellor. I’m taking your advice. You helped me see that. »

I raised a brow and narrowed my eyes, “I’m glad that you almost raping me let you realize that.” My statement, dripping with sarcasm, wounded the towering figure. His shoulders slumped further and he closed his eyes momentarily. He sighed deeply.

He replied, «Look if you still wanted to meet my dad, you can. No strings attached or anything. I know that you are in that band, he might be able to help you guys. »

Alyssa said, “She doesn’t want your help, Alexandre.”

I was surprised how aggressive Alyssa was being. She was speaking for me. Was it really possible that I felt bad for Alexandre? He still had the choice to become a misogynistic prick, but the Prophecy had certainly helped shape him. Like me, he was a victim of the Sidereus Prophecy, but he had chosen a twisted path, and without the intense attraction that practically drew me to him like a magnet, he was nothing but a pathetic man-child trapped within a hulking frame.

I said, “No thanks, Alexandre. Um, I’m glad you are getting help.”

I should have been screaming at the boy, pounding his chest with my fists and shouting obscenities, but I realized that I did have sympathy for the wounded giant. Alexandre plodded away pathetically as if his sneakers were filled with lead.

Alyssa looked at me in shock, “Abby, how come you were being so nice to him? Oh my god, you don’t still like him, do you?”

I shook my head repeatedly and threw up my hands, “No, no way! It’s just he’s got another side beyond caveman. I guess a lot of girls used him in the past when they found out who his dad was.”

Alyssa shook her head, “I know what he did to Véronique, Abby. And it sounds like the same thing he did to you. I don’t feel bad for him at all. I can’t believe that you do. So what if he was used by those girls, so he gets to do those things without being punished? Come on, Abby. Just forget him.”

I nodded, “Yeah. I guess you are right.”

Alyssa smiled, “Good. Now for your show on Saturday night, will you let me do your hair and make-up? Pleeeeeease?”

I shook my head, “I think I’ve got it covered.”

Alyssa pushed out her lower lip again and forced it to tremble, “Are you sure? I’ll make it so that Ethan can’t keep his eyes off you.” The warning bell went off, indicating we had five minutes to get to class.

I rolled my eyes, “Very sure. Now, we should head to class.”

I was starting to think I should try and distance myself from Alyssa, considering her attempts to fully feminize me, but even as I tried throughout the day, she returned to my side faithfully. I was outright rude to her at lunch when I told her I didn’t want to talk about Instant Star anymore, that it was an insipid and inane show, and she just blamed it on the fact that Ethan still wasn’t talking to me. I pushed her away, but she shot back at me like a boomerang I wasn’t ready to catch.

Again, Mr. Atwater’s words were prophetic. The confidence that I had instilled in Alyssa was beginning to change the dynamics in our relationship. She was taking a more active role in determining what we talked about, listened to and watched. I doubted that if I made a concerted effort to detach Alyssa from my hip that I would be successful. She said that I really needed a friend, and she wouldn’t let me push her away, especially in light of what happened with Alexandre.

All day, I had also done my best to make contact with Ethan, but he dodged all my attempts. The only time I managed even eye contact was in science class, but he quickly looked away. I saw the hurt on his face and in his eyes. As much as I knew the fate of the band hung in the balance, I was equally concerned for my relationship with Ethan, even though I would have admitted that to no one.

Finally, I managed to corner him at the end of the day by his locker.

I said sheepishly, “Hey, um- could we talk?” I hid my hands behind my back because I kept fidgeting nervously.

Ethan turned around and crossed his arms over his chest. His silence wasn’t heartening, but he hadn’t fled, so I viewed that as a positive. He looked down at me with a mixture of sadness and anger, his mouth and jaw were tight, unflinching.

I said, “Look, I’m really, really sorry. I just want to let you know that Alexandre means nothing to me.”

He shook his head, “I don’t understand you, Abby. Sometimes I think you really like me, but then when you are around Alexandre, it’s like you are a different person. You say that you hate Alexandre, but you let him touch you. I’m fed up with it. I’m tired of being your second choice.”

I frowned deeply, my chest tightening, I felt that lump in my throat. Oh god, I cannot cry in front of him. I muttered, “You aren’t my second choice. I just made a really big mistake. I hear what you did for me too, it was amazing. Thank you.”

He asked, “Why didn’t you come to my place on Friday?”

I said, “I d-don’t really know. I wanted to, but-”

Ethan said, “But, you were too busy getting felt up by Alexandre. I know what happened. Like, you said, I was there. I didn’t look in the window or anything, but I knew- I knew what you were doing in his car.”

Ethan sighed, “Just like Véronique.”

I narrowed my eyes and tightened my jaw, “I’m nothing like her.”

Ethan said, pain clearly gracing his boyish features, “You are exactly like her. Alyssa told me how you bossed her around and asked for her help getting ready for your date with that asshole. You are like her because when someone better came along, you chose him. Anyway, this is turning into a shitty teen drama. So, I’m just going to say, I can’t do it anymore.”

He said, “Go to the guy that treats you like shit. That treats you like a fucking prostitute. I hope you choke on it.” With those words, Ethan walked away from me, but he turned back momentarily, and my heart filled with hope.

He said, “I’m out of the band too.”

I pleaded with him, “But- but you know how important this is! It’s a big show with great downtown exposure. You know how important it is to me. I thought you felt that way too, you know I hoped that even if it didn’t work out between us that we could- you know still be band mates.”

He said, “Guess you thought wrong.”

If there had been no previous evidence of my regression and loss of masculinity, the next few minutes produced copious amounts. I fled to the washroom and silently wept, and when I was steady enough to avoid a public outburst, I waited for the bus while listening to Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away” on loop, and then all the way home. The song spoke of a romance, which was something Ethan and I never had, but it did nothing to lessen the pain. It discussed a blossoming teenage love that died, with the girl in the song realizing only too late what she had lost. While Ethan hadn’t moved on yet, it still hurt, and I held onto the lyrics for comfort like a child clutches a teddy bear as she peers into the unknown dark.

There was no one in the world that could have denied that my actions were those of a fifteen year old girl.
***

School on Tuesday was tortuous. I silently wished that Ethan would be transferred out of all my classes, so I wouldn’t have to look at the boy that was causing me such pain. I was wholly unprepared for the feelings associated with teenage heart ache. I was beginning to think that Alyssa’s adolescent dramas were not too far from the truth. He was all I could think about, and it seemed like he was all that mattered. Something was seriously wrong with me, and again, I started to think that it was Mr. Atwater subtly pulling my strings.

Tuesday evening brought a priority post letter from Mama Khalia, and my potential salvation. Its existence managed to divert my mind away from its obsession, and I quickly called my parents to discuss the results. Ethan did not leave my mind entirely, but he was relegated to the second tier of my thoughts.

My parents arrived after dinner, and we all settled around the table to discuss Mama Khalia’s letter. I explained the letter, which I had read immediately upon my return home.

I said, “According to Mama Khalia, there is another way that I might succeed in returning to as she called it my “proper mortal form”. The ritual that I previously sent can be completed with a second. Simply place the chosen second within the circle and the spirit will focus the assault on them. She says, “Be warned, that the second is only safe from the spirit if they do not live in sin.”

My father said, “So, we are dealing with the same issue. The second has to be completely innocent. But are we looking at ancient Biblical sin or some other type of religious sin? If we consider that all of us in our adult lives have probably done something that we are not proud of, the only individual who is completely without sin is Chloe.”

Amélie looked at my father with shock, “Richard, I hope you are not considering making Chloe the second. I won’t allow it, it’s too much of a risk. What if something goes wrong? Then I will have lost my husband and my daughter.” Amélie looked at everyone around the table fiercely. Chloe broke the tension by cutely announcing her name was in fact Chloe. She smiled as we said her name.

My father shook his head, “Absolutely not. I would never suggest that we put Chloe in such danger. The risk is too great, and we still have no evidence that suggests the spell was ever cast successfully.”

My mother said, “I’ll do it. I can’t stand to see my son this way.”

My father looked on in disbelief, “N-no, Pam. You can’t. I think-“

My mother interrupted, “You don’t understand. I see Darren come home from school every day. I am starting not to recognize him. When I picked him up for that dentist appointment last week, he was talking to Alyssa and some other girls in the school yard. I couldn’t tell them apart. We have to help him, or we are going to lose him.”

She continued, “I’m willing to volunteer.”

I considered my mother a very good person. She was loving, and she deeply cared about others. I think my change was particularly hard for her because I was a momma’s boy and likely her favourite. When she brought me to pre-school, I used to cry in her absence. She made such a fuss though, hugging me tightly and looking despondent and terribly guilty for leaving me there. I obviously fed off of this, which annoyed the childcare workers to no end.

Even into adulthood, I think I was her favourite. I don’t know if my mother still had emotional scars from her battles with my sister through her adolescence, but she always seemed happier to see me, and she still doted on me, baking me chocolate chip cookies and bringing her homemade spaghetti sauce that I loved.

I was tremendously conflicted. Amélie looked at me expectantly, looking for me to side with her and my father. I hated the idea of putting my mother in any danger. Fear crept into me, tightening my chest and making it hard to swallow. The woman who had given birth to me was willing to be my salvation, but I didn’t think she was completely without sin. My father was right, none of us, save Chloe, were absolute saints.

We had all had moments of wrath, my father kicking in the headlight of a car that nearly hit him. Amélie swearing at a meter maid, or throwing her glass in a drunken rage at a bartender when he refused to fill it. My mother herself had screamed at the phone company on several occasions, so much so they our file was red flagged. I had a customer service representative actually ask me not to put her back on the phone during a particularly heated support call.

As desperate as I was, I realized that I wasn’t willing to let any family member act as a potential sacrifice. I took my mother’s hand and said gently, “No, Mom. I won’t let you do that. We don’t know what it will do to you. The last time I tried the spell, the spirit felt around in my head. I think it was trying to access my memories. I know that you are a really good person Mom, but we’ve all had our moments. Anything could happen to you. I just- I can’t do it. I’d never forgive myself.”

The adults around the table looked at me with reverence, but also, a melancholic understanding. If I was unwilling to sacrifice anyone, then I was going to be Abigail for the rest of my life.

Chloe watched those assembled at the table with curiosity. I peered down at her, and she ambled into my lap. She looked up at me with big hazel eyes, Darren’s eyes, and asked, “Daddy’s sad?” I hugged her fiercely, and she returned it.

Amélie broke the silence, “So, what do we do about this so-called Prophecy? Even if you are trapped like that, Darren- you- you should be able to choose what you want to be.

I stared at Amélie in disbelief, “You mean you believe me now? You don’t think I’m crazy or that it was the medication they had me on?

Amélie shook her head, “I don’t think you are crazy, Darren. You predicted exactly what Mama Khalia was going to send. I believe you now. I’m sorry, I didn’t before.”

I nodded, “Yeah, well it’s pretty unbelievable. I admit that even I had a hard time accepting that what I was seeing wasn’t a drug addled dream at first.”

My father said, “I believe you too. If this can happen to my son, then anything is possible. How can we break the chain of the Prophecy though? From what you told us, this Mr. Atwater means business. Maybe you should quit music altogether. Then there’s no chance you’ll ever be ‘discovered’.”

I replied, “It goes beyond that, Dad. Eventually, I’m going to be called back to that place, but in the meantime, he said he is going to give me reasons to sign the contract. I don’t have to be discovered, I just have to sign.”

My mother asked with a frown, “What happens if you refuse to sign?”

I sighed, “Those are the reasons I was talking about. He threatened to take away all my knowledge, like all my university courses. He did something to me after that, but I can’t really remember what exactly. It’s really fuzzy.”

My mother said, “Do you think you could make a deal with him, what if you agreed to sign, but only if he turned you back?”

I shook my head, “Apparently, the world wants a pop princess. I can’t imagine why. There are an abundance of them as far as I’m concerned. So no, that’s not going to work. I really wish I could get my hands on that contract.” I looked to Amélie, “I’d have you read it to see if there are any loopholes in it.”

I said, “For now, I say we find out as much as we can about the Sidereus Prophecy. I’ve already sent a letter to Mama Khalia, but we can’t be the only ones who have ever tried to break the chain. I’m sure there’s information somewhere on it.”

Later that night, after my parents had left, Amélie came into my room and sat on the bed.

She asked, “Are you really okay with this, Darren? You have no idea how much respect I have for you because of that. You know, I’ve been really hard on you lately. I was just worried that I was losing you in more than just body. That decision you made- it was really mature. It’s the decision the Darren Lawrence I know would have made. I’m proud of you.”

I nodded slowly, “Thanks, Amélie.”

Amélie left, and I was alone with my thoughts. The ramifications of my decision to forgo casting the spell had not fully sunk in yet, and my mind turned to the upcoming show and Ethan. I texted Andrew and Steven telling them I wasn’t sure if Ethan would be able to make it tomorrow. Steven texted back, citing his concern that the show was on Saturday, and we hadn’t practiced in more than a week. I told them nothing about Ethan’s actual departure. A few minutes later, Ethan texted me, my heart rose, lifted by winds to rest atop a wonderful dream, but as I read the words, I lay on my bed, clutching my beige teddy bear close to my chest.

Ethan: coming to get gear 2morrow

I needed advice, and instead of turning to my parents or Amélie, I texted Alyssa.

Me: hey, do you have a few minutes?
Alyssa: hey girl! =) yah i do
Me: I need some advice
Alyssa: oooh rlly? k so miss advise wants some k k i dont know if i can help but ill try
Me: What do you mean Miss Advice?
Alyssa: u r always giving people advice like last week u were explain to ryan how he should think about being a carpenter or whatever cus hes good with his hands his parents want him to go to uni
Alyssa: lol u said something like the BA is the same as HS diluted cus every1 has 1 now
Alyssa: how do u know about all that stuff abby u sound like a guidence counseller
Me: Because I actually went to university, I understand how a BA is only a stepping stone, didn’t you know I’m really in my thirties?
Alyssa: rofl jus cus i say u act 30 doesnt make it tru
Alyssa: so what do u need to ask me i bet i know
Alyssa: its bout ethan isnt it
Me: Maybe
Alyssa: lol i knew it im sichic
Me: Has he talked to you at all? You know, about me?
Alyssa: srry no girl =(
Alyssa: we r so close now i guess he mad at me like thru ?
Me: Association. Anyway, you know about the show. I need to get him back in the band.
Alyssa: u sure its for that reason and not a different 1 ^_-
Alyssa: jus admit it abby u like him a lot if u didnt then youd jus get some1 else to be in the band
Alyssa: u act rlly tough all the time like stuff doesnt bother u but i know this does
Alyssa: have u cried
Me: Yeah I guess
Me: I guess I almost did again a few minutes ago, he’s coming for his stuff tomorrow, he really wants out of the band
Alyssa: have u cried when any1 else left a band u were in
Me: No
Alyssa: its ok to cry abby u r really strong strongsest girl i know but this is gonna be hard rlly hard
Alyssa: i think u want him in ur life not only band hes special to u
Me: Maybe I do, but he saw Alexandre and me in the car, he’s never going to forgive me
Alyssa: u remember in instant star when vincent saw tommy kissing jude in the recording booth
Alyssa: and no matter what jude said vincent wouldnt forgive her told him that tommy was the 1 who kissed her
Alyssa: u remember what she did
Me: She kissed him, but come on Alyssa, this is real life. That’s just a TV show. You can’t expect stuff like that really happens. I’m not going to kiss him
Alyssa: u want to show him u care about him that he was the 1 u wanted not alexandre pervert boy
Alyssa: then kiss him i know its just a show but it might work
Alyssa: crying in ur room wont do anything i know ethan he wont jus forgive out of the blue he stubbern u need to really show him kiss him girl =)
Alyssa: if u dont then youll never know

As I read Alyssa’s words, I was reminded of the lyrics from “The One That Got Away”, which my stupid music player showed that I had played twenty two times since that fateful Monday afternoon. The chorus played over and over in my head, “And in another life, I would make you stay/So I don’t have to say you were the one that got away”, and I started to actually buy into Alyssa’s advice. What if this was my last chance with Ethan? As I considered following the advice, a part of me realized that if I did so, I was relinquishing my reason and logic by living within the teenage moment. Fearing that the boy would disappear into thin air or that he would move to Peru. Still, what if it really was my last chance?

Reason screamed in my mind, reminding me that we still went to the same school. We would still see each other every day. Reason told me to take my time, and when the time was right, try again and explain my side of the story. The thought of Véronique or any other pretty girl getting his attention caused a shadow to appear over my heart, filling me with despair, and at the same time- rage, bloody murderous. I looked down at my phone and took a deep breath. I was losing it.

Alyssa: u there still abby
Me: Yeah
Alyssa: thought u feel asleep or something lol
Me: No just thinking
Alyssa: lol u think too much jus do it dont think
Alyssa: ethan is a grate guy u know i saw him talking to rachel at his locker
Alyssa: u r going to lose him by the time u figure it out ull b 30 lol
Me: He and Rachel are in a group for Career Studies that’s probably why
Me: What if I kiss him and he pushes me away?
Alyssa: then at least ull know
Alyssa: so are u going to do it?????????????? =)
Me: I’ll think about him
Alyssa: lol =) ull think about him? K k
Me: I mean I’ll think about it!
Alyssa: lol sure sure i know what u meant
Alyssa: ugh PLOS (* I later learned this meant Parent Looking Over Shoulder)
Me: Huh?
Alyssa: srry mom was trying to see what I was typing ugh she wants me to gtb
Alyssa: i told her that it was an emergency so i could stay up l8
Alyssa: hey we should totally have a sleepover fri night then i can get you ready sat for the show!
Me: I’ll think about it
Alyssa: guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh u r killing me abby
Alyssa: im thinking about dragging u over here anyway lol
Alyssa: now im thinking about the ice cream we will eat and thinking instant star marathon!!!!!
Alyssa: ugh mom is such a pian!!!!!1!1 gtg love you MUAH MUAH

Before I went to sleep, the “One That Got Away” got its twenty-third play as I hugged the teddy bear tightly.
***

“Hi Mrs. Grenier, um- I-I’m here to get my stuff.” I had been dreading this moment all day. Alyssa had needled me for a good part of the day in person and in text, wondering if I had made up my mind. I went through what I was going to say to him, whether I would just let him go without even saying goodbye. I was reminded again that we shared four classes together, but if he left the band and screwed us over for the show on Saturday, I doubted that I would ever be able to forgive him.

My bandmates would be furious with me. I was the one who suggested Ethan join the band in the first place. I figured that Steven would leave the band, fed up with the teenage drama. Andrew would likely stay with me, but we would always have difficulty finding members that weren’t in my peer group. I hated the idea of the band breaking up because it meant failure. All the work we had done, the lyrics, the melodies, the year we had spent crafting the songs before my transformation, it was all a waste.

Amélie said, “Oh okay, Ethan. You can go right down. I think Abigail is downstairs.” I hid just underneath the stairs in the storage closet. It allowed me to hear everything.

Ethan replied, “Um- it’s okay. I don’t need to talk to her. I mean I don’t need to bother her. Just need to grab my stuff.” His voice wavered, and it made me think I would be able to convince him to at least stay for this show.

Amélie asked, “Everything okay? Getting excited for the show on Saturday?”

Ethan said, “Sure yeah. Sorry, I’m kind of in a hurry.” I heard footsteps, and then a creaking as the band doors opened.

I slipped into the band room as quietly as possible, but my ninja-like movement would have been far more successful if I hadn’t tripped on a loose quarter inch cable. Andrew insisted we tape all of the cables down, but with our gear in flux due to the show on Saturday, there were a lot of loose cables. I snaked my arm out and caught my mic stand, but it wasn’t steady enough to stop my momentum completely. Any attempt at a graceful landing was out of the question as my hand slid down the base of the mic stand, and I landed in an awkward, tangled heap. My fall was broken partially by my guitar case, which was thankfully (for my guitar) a hard shell.

Ethan, who had been fiddling with his guitar amp, turned around and asked, “Are you OK?”

I covered my face, which at this point, was bright red, and nodded my head, “Yeah.” My fall had apparently lightened his mood enough that I saw a tiny smirk appear on his face for an instant before being replaced with a determined and almost grim expression.

I said, “Um, listen- I know you are still really mad at me. But I’m asking you to reconsider- you know- your decision to leave the band. ”

Ethan shook his head, “I don’t think so. Look, I’m just here to get my stuff and go. You aren’t going to convince me.”

I frowned, “You said that the band was really important to you. We talked lots of times about all the shows we would do. You had all these ideas about logos and merch. We said we were going to try and go as far as we could with it.”

I added, “You made us so much better, and your song, it’s really beautiful. Please don’t leave, just because of my stupid mistake. Don’t punish the guys just because I’m the stupidest person in existence. Alexandre is an asshole, I see that now.”

Ethan shook his head, “I told you that from the start. It’s too late now anyway. I’m tired of being in a band with a bunch of thirty-year olds. The music we made- was OK. But I’m really into this new band right now, I think I’d like to get some people who are into my music. You know?”

I replied, “That’s not how really great music is made though. It’s all the different influences that really make it you. You know, I really like grunge, Andrew likes more modern rock, and Steven he listens to a lot of indie, and you- well you like lot of those nu-metal bands, hardcore thrash. Mix it all together, and you’ve got a unique sound. If you get in a band with a bunch of people who only like what you like- you’ll sound exactly like that band.”

I added, “Might as well be a cover band.”

Ethan looked at me severely, “Abby, what the hell do you know? You walk around like you know everything, and expect us all to buy into what you are saying. You’re just a kid, like us. Just shut up. You seriously piss me off when you go off like that.”

Ethan said, “Just get out of here, Abby. I don’t want to talk to you. I’m just going to grab my stuff and go.”

I shook my head, “You are mad for a different reason. I know how you feel about Alexandre.”

Ethan moved from his amp to his guitar and started winding his quarter inch cables. “Alyssa calls you Miss Advice. I think it should be Miss Shut the Fuck Up No One Cares What You Think.”

Tears threatened, and while I knew that Ethan wasn’t heartless, I doubted that the waterworks would soften his demeanour, which might as well have been made from impervious Adamantium and covered in skin-shredding barbed wire.

I walked out of the room defeated, too distraught to even consider following through on Alyssa’s advice. I wouldn’t have been able to take his rejection. I trudged to my room and cried into my pillow to stifle the sobbing. Because of my muffled crying, I was able to clearly hear the conversation Ethan was having with his father.

“What do you mean you can’t come and get me? This is so weak. I can’t take all my gear home on my bike. Come on Dad. I don’t want to come back here again.” With those words, the knife was twisted within a heart that was already seriously haemorrhaging. He hated me so much, and it actually made my chest hurt. I even thought about signing Mr. Atwater’s contract, if it meant Ethan and I could be together, but only momentarily.

“Mom won’t pick up. So you have to go back to the office again?”

“How long?”

“Fine.”

I heard the door slam, and moments later, Amélie knocked on my door. “Darren, is everything okay? I heard shouting downstairs. Ethan sounded upset.”

I replied with some difficulty, “Y-yes, just a little a-argument. It’s n-nothing.”

Amélie said, “You really don’t sound fine. Do you want to talk?”

I said, “No, p-please go away.” I was one step away from the embarrassing hiccup sobbing I had succumbed too during my locker room humiliation.

Amélie replied, “OK, but please talk to me if you need help.”

Seconds later, I was texting Alyssa.

Me: :(
Alyssa: oh im so srry abby
Alyssa: things didnt go well w ethan
Me: I can’t stop crying. I want to, but I can’t it’s like it hurts so much
Alyssa: aww abby =(
Alyssa: so sorry for u
Alyssa: did u kiss him
Me: No, he was so mad at me
Me: Do you find me annoying? When I give advice
Alyssa: no way girl u helped me so much in history
Alyssa: i guess u do kinda tell people what they should be doing a lot
Alyssa: i know ryan said it was kind of annoying
Alyssa: u r rlly smart abby but sometimes ppl need to make their own decisions
Alyssa: its weird u rlly sound like u know what u talking about tho
Me: Maybe I should stop doing that
Alyssa: or maybe do it less
Alyssa: i like u how u r
Me: Really? You don’t find me annoying ever?
Alyssa: sometimes like u need to let loose sometimes
Alyssa: we totally need to have a sleep over now
Alyssa: u need the alyssa special treatment
Me: what do u mean?
Alyssa: makeover completely nu-u i think u look totally hot w pink bangs
Alyssa: nails cuz come on u had the same design 4ever!
Alyssa: bowls of fudge brownie ice cream and complete season 1 of instant star
Alyssa: YES YES YES u will come or i will drag u i am stronger thn i look
Me: I don’t know...
Alyssa: i will kidnap u abby lol come on it will be so much fun
Alyssa: it will get ur mind off everything
Me: Can I let you know tomorrow night? Not sure my sister will let me if I get bad reports from my teachers
Alyssa: hah if that’s all then u r trapped u r coming cuz m landry is gone u r a grate student
Alyssa: so if she says yes will u promise to come
Me: Yeah. Ok.
Alyssa: muhahhhahhahhhaaah u will be my special project
Me: You are so weird.
Alyssa: yup its contagius watch out =)

Amazingly, I felt better after the text session with Alyssa. The girl’s positivity was her most appealing trait. While my mood had lightened from QUEEN SUPER EMO, I was less enthusiastic about the possible sleepover. A part of me really believed that she was working for the Sidereus Agency, endearing herself to me but at the same time, working to mold me into the perfect pop star in training. I was coming to accept that I was going to be Abigail, but I wasn’t prepared to throw myself wholeheartedly into Teenage Girl 101, especially if it meant a potential makeover.

A few minutes later, I heard the front door open again, and the heavy thud of an amp being dragged up the stairs.

Chapter 54

Myriad thoughts ran through my head as I waited for Amélie to return home from parent teacher interview night. As a teacher, I had usually enjoyed it. There was always one parent who would question your teaching methods, discuss the merits of a grade-based system or simply believe that you had it in for their son or daughter. They would sharpen their claws before coming, bringing evidence from their child only and leave thoroughly browbeaten when they realized the student fabricated the stories. I provided my own evidence, usually a list of incomplete assignments with the missed due dates.

I assumed that Amélie would return with rave reviews regarding my conduct as a second-time high school student. My teachers would say that I was diligent, organized and extremely mature for my age, and that I always finished my homework. I completed my homework more out of fear than any desire to be a good student, especially after the recent run-in with Mrs. Warner, who brought with her the spectre of being ripped from my family. I also did so because of my begrudging acceptance that I was going to be Abigail for the foreseeable future. In moments of weakness, I considered signing Mr. Atwater’s contract and becoming what the world seemingly wanted, but that simply wasn’t me. I wasn’t going to ingratiate myself to a world that had stolen my life through the Sidereus Prophecy.

Yes, if I signed, I could potentially be Darren Lawrence again, but Britney was still Britney, and as far as I knew- Elvis died as Elvis, and according to my prep notes for a beginner unit on Shakespeare, he also died as himself. I questioned whether the Prophecy could have supplanted any of them with a double. It was after all a master conspiracy theory- a plot to control the world through pop culture. Either way, I trusted Mr. Atwater as much I would a pack of ravenous wolves bent on my destruction. I had no evidence that the Sidereus Prophecy allowed even one individual their freedom and returned them to their original bodies.

The other reason I was a conscientious student was because if this was going to be my life, then I had to start building it. If I was trapped this way, then I would go pre-law and become a lawyer. The Sidereus Prophecy had also soured me on music at least slightly, especially because I realized that music had pushed me away from my family. I also knew that it was best to have a backup plan. Music couldn’t be the only thing. The Offspring had engineering degrees. I would get a law degree and continue with music. This is what I told myself because it helped me ignore the fact that I was still seriously OCDing with my phone.

Left to my thoughts, I really began to hear and feel my phone vibrate when it hadn’t. I was checking it every few minutes. Parent teacher interviews usually ended around 8 PM. It was now 9:30 PM, and I had heard nothing from Amélie. I was also hoping and praying that Ethan would text or call me. He would say, “Hey! Sorry I didn’t understand that you were actually forced to throw yourself at Alexandre. That changes everything. Oh, and I agree with everything you’ve ever said.”

I sighed. Again, I was losing it. My thoughts vacillated from Amélie’s tardiness, to Ethan’s non-contact, to my potential future as Abigail. I thought about calling Ethan, but instead, I texted Amélie asking her when she would be home. I was glad that the interviews were tonight because I hadn’t done my homework. I was a basket case, unable to keep my mind on anything for long.

Amélie texted back, “Sorry going to be late.”

I sighed and then browsed through my contacts, until I found Ethan. I thought about deleting his number, but instead I called it. When it went to voice mail, I quickly hung up. Now he would know I tried to call. Maybe he would call back?

My thoughts then moved to Alyssa. I was beginning to think more and more that she was a Sidereus Agency operative. Her presence at the dance class, and her attempt to befriend me. It could have all been a ploy. Her saving me in the locker room. Although, she had saved me from Alexandre, but then, that could have been to make me think that she wasn’t an operative- when she actually was. I blinked and looked down at my phone again. It was only two minutes later. Should I write an e-mail to Ethan? I had always been better putting my thoughts down. It was how I convinced Amélie that our relationship was worth it amidst the triangle that had developed. That no matter what happened, all that mattered was what we wanted. I knew I could still write very persuasively, but I worried that it would come off as desperate.

Two minutes later, I called Ethan again, hung up after two rings, and then threw my phone on my bed.

A minute later, I picked it up and texted Amélie back:

Me: How late are you going to be?

My thoughts immediately flew to Martin St-Valentin. He had invited her out afterwards. I would come up first in the conversation, how I was doing and so on, and then he would change the subject and discuss her favourite movies and food. They would inevitably have some commonality, and he would use that to springboard into a date. I looked down at my wedding ring. I started playing with it, jiggling it and then tugging it. I had done this when I first started wearing it. I had never worn a ring before, so it was new and honestly, a little uncomfortable. I remembered that I had to adjust my guitar playing to accommodate it at first.

I had the mad thought that I would take off the ring and put it on the kitchen table, where she would undoubtedly see it. That would show her. I never followed through with it because Alyssa texted me, making me believe more and more that she was an operative.

Alyssa: hey u know if the band doesnt work out theres a singing compitition in town ud win for sure! its next week u should sing a katy perry song maybe firewrks
Alyssa: guessing u r coming to my place 2morrow since u didnt cause a scene in class today to avoid it lol =)
Alyssa: i was serious about dragging u here >=) lol

When Amélie finally did arrive home at 10:30 PM, with the hint of cologne on her, my weakened adult mind coupled with my teenage paranoia hatched a plan to win my wife back and test Alyssa’s loyalty to her potential Sidereus masters.

***

“So he’s still not talking to you? That really sucks, Abby. Do you want me to try and talk to him for you?” It was lunch time on Friday, and I was mere hours away from my first sleepover with Alyssa.

I shook my head, “No, and it’s really annoying. I can’t concentrate on anything. And I think Amelie went out with M. St-Valentin last night. Who stays for parent teacher interviews past 8 PM?”

Alyssa asked, “Did you talk to Darren? Tell him about what’s happening?”

I frowned, “Yeah, he knows.”

I realized that I was painfully jealous of the flourishing union between my principal and my wife, and while I knew that Amélie would never accept me as her husband in this body, I didn’t want her to have anyone else. It was completely unreasonable to expect Amélie to remain unattached, but I didn’t care. Also, other than Amélie’s tardiness, the smell of cologne, and her admission that she and my principal had gone for drinks ‘a few times’, there was no proof that the two were having an affair. My mind still happily created situations for them to copulate. Just as it tortured me with the image of Rachel and Ethan in front of his locker again. I had spotted them earlier that morning. It looked like they were just talking, but as I watched my crush’s body language, the little smile, he had once reserved for me, and the confident stance, I started to believe it was more than just an innocent discussion regarding their Career Studies project. It was possible that he was trying to make me jealous, right?

While the crush itself had moments where it felt like I was riding an emotional tidal wave, the knowledge that it was unrequited had transformed me into a painful pining stereotype. I felt like someone was driving a railroad spike into my heart every time I saw Ethan speaking to another girl. I had always thought that Alyssa’s teen shows portrayed adolescents unrealistically, but I was experiencing being spurned, and there was a realism to the characters that I had not seen previously. It had been fifteen years since I had suffered from the after effects of a teenage crush. In twelfth grade, I had asked out a tall, leggy blonde, an absolute social butterfly to my wallflower self. After three dates, I was ready for a long-term relationship, and even though we had never even kissed, I was convinced she was the one.

I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I only came to this slow, agonizing realization after calling her house for a straight week. I spoke to her brother, sister, and her parents, while the object of my affection dodged my attempts at contact. Sunday, I called the girl once every hour. Last night alone, I had called Ethan four times, the fourth time, I left a message.

“Listen man. You are really screwing us over. The show is on Saturday, and you’ve given us no notice at all. You need to man up and be professional about this. Just stomp all over your feelings and play guitar for us on Saturday, then you can leave and we’ll find another player. You are ruining our band's chances just because of a hissy fit over Alexandre.”

I instantly regretted leaving the message. It was unreasonably harsh. Ethan was the one who invited me to his place first, and I believed that he had every intention of treating that time as a date. Could I load all of the blame onto Mr. Atwater, or was I also guilty for not moving our relationship out of the so-called friend zone once I knew the feelings were legitimate?

I was being completely irrational. I knew that I was in the wrong, but I refused to admit to anything. I was being childish. It was the same with Amélie. I wanted her, couldn’t have her, so I wanted no one else of the male persuasion to pay any attention to her. If I could have made her invisible to their eyes, I would have.

Alyssa said, “It’ll get better, Abby- I promise. The first week- maybe two, you might be a little crazy. I’ve been there. I really liked Ryan last year, and Véronique found out and told him. He said he wasn’t really interested. I thought- I thought I was going to die. It was so intense. Is that how you feel? Like you can’t see straight, it’s all you think about, and it seems like it’s never going to feel any different.”

I blinked. She had described it perfectly. I nodded slowly. It was made worse by the fact that if I lost my wife, I really had finally lost everything, my adult privileges, my status in the world, my masculinity and finally- the woman I loved, the mother of my child. I feared that M. St-Valentin would usurp my position entirely, taking over as a father figure for Chloe. Would she call him Daddy? Worse still, would he become my father figure? For a second, I thought I couldn’t breathe. My forced adolescence was rearing its ugly pimply head, filling me with paranoia and making me again believe that something had to be done.

Alyssa smiled, “I’ll make you forget all about it at the sleepover tonight! It’s going to be cray cray!” I had no doubt that it would be ‘cray cray’, but not the way she expected.

***

“Come on, Abby! Let’s go to the mall before we go to your place and get your stuff.” I trudged along behind her, the walking dead. I had seen Rachel talking to Ethan at his locker AGAIN. As much as I wanted to ignore it, to use an acid wash on my memories and painfully burn the boy away, I couldn’t. I desperately wanted what I couldn’t have. I continually replayed his vaunted heroism, his smile, the kiss. My brain was like Ethan on-demand.

Also, my money situation was worsening. We had been reassessed by the tax man, and the government decided that Amélie and I owed more money. I received nothing from the sale of my car, the difference going to my father who had used his line of credit to pay off what remained. He was using that money to pay off my half of the mortgage.

I had $286.56 left to my name. Beyond my cell phone, I no longer had any bills, and even that was paid by my parents. Amélie treated my money like a safety net, a fund to be used for unscheduled repairs like the broken washing machine, but even that was running out after the latest government tax grab. I knew I wasn’t going to go on a shopping spree, and I didn’t want to risk blowing money on frivolous purchases.

Alyssa dragged me along from store to store, as she had before. Urging me to try on clothing, and I ambled behind her completely uninterested. The girl was like a hummingbird, flitting from one shop to another, excitedly gushing over tops, jeans and shoes and then moving to the next. She only bought two articles of clothing, but she seemed to enjoy the simple process of trying on clothing. This bug had not yet bitten me.

She looked at me with a frown, “Abby, are you OK? Do you need to talk? I thought you were more interested in this kind of thing, you know- since I helped you get ready for your date with that asshole. If you aren’t into it, I don’t want to push you. This is supposed to be really fun for you.”

Her eyes widened and a massive smile split her face, “I have the perfect idea. I know what will make you feel like a thousand times better! It always works for me.”

She took my hand and pulled me along until we arrived at a familiar shoe store. The pink Converse hi-tops were no longer in the window, but Alyssa pulled me in nevertheless. She said, “I know you want those shoes, Abby. See if they have your size. And try them on. They will look super hot on you!”

I said glumly, “I really shouldn’t. Almost all my money is gone from the summer. I won’t be able to get any Christmas presents. Plus, I don’t really think they are me.”

Alyssa said with a look of bafflement on her face, “Last time you saw them, you were drooling over them. Come on. Your shoes are so BO-ring, Abby! And they’ll match great with what I plan to do with your hair! You said it’s your money isn’t it. So use it.”

I shook my head, “What about Christmas? I won’t be able to buy any presents for anyone.”

Alyssa said excitedly, “Do what I do. I get a job working at the mall as one of the Santa’s elves. We could be elves together! I did it last year, and it was so much fun! I love all the kids who come. They are so happy to see Santa. You would make a super cute elf, Abby. You are short enough!”

I raised a brow and said, “Hey! Um, wait, don’t you make money as a dance instructor?”

She shook her head, “I do that as a volunteer. I get a huge discount on my dance classes. My mom wouldn’t be able to afford it if not. Anyway, you’ll feel so much better if you buy those. I mean- at least try them on, Abby!”

A salesgirl approached us with a patient smile. I assumed many girls my age came into the store and tried on a multitude of shoes, only to leave a mess of unbought shoes and discarded tissue paper. She said, “Can I help you girls?”

Alyssa said, “Yes, can you get size four for my friend, those ones over there?” She pointed to the display model. The girl looked at us, seemingly trying to determine if we were serious buyers. Since becoming a teenager again, I noticed that sales staff treated me with indifference and sometimes outright disrespect. I was eyed suspiciously when entering a large box electronic store last week with Amélie. As a thirty-year old male, I was held in high esteem, mostly because I had a full-time job, and I could afford the big ticket sales items that gave the clerks the highest commission. Now, I was a fifteen year old girl who didn’t even have a part-time job.

The clerk disappeared in the back of the store, but another college-aged woman eyed us from behind the cash. She wore a pleasant smile, but her eyes still screamed “buy something or get out”. I noticed the same look in almost all the stores we stopped in during our mall jaunt, especially when Alyssa chose not to buy anything. She left a pile of unfolded clothing in the change rooms. I spotted an angry glare from the salesgirl in the last store. Not only had we wasted her time, we had left a mess, but Alyssa didn’t seem to care or didn’t realize that her fun was creating extra work for the staff.

Two minutes later, the clerk returned with the box that presumably held the size four pink hi-tops. She knelt down next to me and pulled them out of the box. My eyes lit up as I saw them, and the clerk smiled, “Try them on, sweetie.”

I looked to Alyssa and frowned. I knew that I shouldn’t. My dwindling savings would be further reduced if I bought them. Plus, I feared that if I brought them home, Amélie would be upset, and would begin to distrust me with my money. Alyssa smiled with encouragement and sat down next to me. “Come on, Abby. After what happened to you last weekend, you really deserve this. I can tell you like them. Your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree!” She smiled and pulled one of the shoes from the box and placed it in my hands.

I reached down and pulled off my grungy tennis shoes. Alyssa grinned, “I mean what kind of girl only has one pair of shoes?” She looked to the clerk, who, sensing a sale, quickly chimed in, “Yeah, they’ll revoke your membership.” Alyssa and the clerk laughed, while I looked at them like they were of one body, a two-headed slavering beast spewing sparkles and fairy dust trying to convince me that I NEEDED the pink shoes.

Alyssa raised a brow at me, “What’s wrong, Abby? Just try them on. If you don’t like them, or if you are worried about your money, you don’t need to buy them. Still, I think you and I should be elves. I made enough last year to buy some nice presents for everyone in my family.”

The salesgirl loosened the shoes and placed them by my feet. Alyssa said, “Sorry, Abby is a bit shy. She just needs a bit of convincing!” Alyssa then slipped the hi-tops on my socked feet and tied them, and then urged me to stand up and look in the mirror.

I took a quick peek in the mirror and then another longer glance. The shoes fit perfectly, and I had to admit that I liked their look. I smiled at myself in the mirror and even put my hand on my hip and gently pushed my right foot out, striking an immensely feminine pose. I halted the stance quickly once I realized that I had aped Alyssa in the dance routine she had shown me. She had adopted the exact same pose while trying on a pair of leather boots she could not afford, even if Santa’s village went up immediately after Thanksgiving (which is the second Sunday in October in Canada). I needed something that was more me, and I had the salesgirl bring out a pair of green and a pair black hi-tops in the same style. I tried both pairs on and struck a more neutral pose.

Alyssa said, “You sure about those? The pink ones were way cuter. They seemed more you. Still, it’s up to you. It’s your money, right?”

In reading between the lines of Alyssa’s words, it was clear that she expected me to get the pink ones.

She added, “I think Ethan will really like the pink ones on you.”

With those words, it was like a switch was flicked in my head. I had to have the pink ones. The green and black hi-tops might as well have never existed, they were so far removed from my mind.

Alyssa smiled at me as she recognized that I planned to buy the shoes. How did she know? I had said nothing.

Alyssa said, “You should wear them out. Maybe we’ll run into Ethan.”

I nodded and then moved to the cash to pay for my new pink shoes. Beyond the school girl outfit, they were now the most girly thing I owned. I thought nothing of the consequences of my purchase. Amélie, who had worked so hard to save money, foregoing lunches out, not buying any new clothes for months, would be unimpressed with my impulse purchase. If I had been more forward thinking I would have realized that winter was coming, and I would need a new jacket and boots. The sixty dollars I paid for the hi-tops would eat into that, but Alyssa had said the magic word- Ethan.

As I looked down at my brand new shoes, I quickly understood that Alyssa had again taken the lead. Her subtle disapproval of the other two choices and my subsequent surrender demonstrated clearly that Alyssa’s confidence was growing, while I was simply falling into line. I shuddered at the thought of what she had planned for me with regard to the makeover.

***

“I –um, need to talk to Amélie. It’s kind of important.”

Alyssa frowned, “Didn’t she say it was OK? I thought you already asked your sister, Abby.” She looked at me pleadingly, and once again, I held the reins. Still, we were far from the browbeaten girl who months ago had assumed that my initial silence meant that I didn’t want to be her friend.

I walked into the house wearing my new shoes. I asked Alyssa to wait outside. Amélie was feeding Chloe who was strapped to her booster seat. My daughter chimed, “Daddy!” I kissed her on the cheek and tasted tomato sauce.

Chloe looked down at my shoes and said excitedly, “Daddy’s pretty shoes! Pretty!” She reached out to touch the rubber soles, while my wife looked at me impatiently.

She said, “Darren, when were you planning on cleaning the upstairs bathroom? And the downstairs one. It was barely used before you moved down there, but you know- that’s part of your chores. You haven’t cleaned the living room or swept the entryway in a month.”

I said to Amélie snidely, “Are you going to give me an allowance?”

Amélie shook her head, “That’s not fair, Darren. I go to work all day and you go to school.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, but I have homework.”

Amélie frowned, “You barely take care of Chloe too. You give her attention and play with her, but you don’t change her, get her milk ready, get her dressed. I’m fed up with it.”

I said, “Why don’t you just get Martin to help you?”

While Amélie and I had fought before in front of Chloe, the little girl was becoming more and more aware. She understood that the angry looks we exchanged meant that we were upset with each other. The toddler’s lower lip stood out, trembled for a moment, and then, she proceeded to cry. As she came to understand more of the world, I feared also that she would see that other children her age didn’t have a daddy that looked like me.

I realized that Amélie was correct, I had been neglecting my parental responsibilities, and had retreated into my own world. An accusation I had levelled before at adolescents I had taught. Amazingly, the pending difficulties with my monetary situation were so overshadowed by the Ethan drama that they barely registered with me on a daily basis. That is why I pushed for the sleepover.

“Listen, I’m going to stay over at Alyssa’s tonight. I have-“

Amélie interrupted, “Is Alyssa’s mother going to be there? You know you can’t stay over anywhere without parental supervision. And considering what happened last Friday, we really need to stay below the radar.”

I was going to share my plan with Amélie, but instead, I lashed out at her. Since last Friday’s infamous date, Amélie had treated me more and more like a child. I nodded, “Yes, of course. I know how it works, Amélie. I’m not a kid.” My wife furrowed her brow gently and then turned her attention to the crying Chloe.

Amélie said, “Then show me, Darren. Show me you aren’t. I’m going to trust you in this instance, but if Mrs. Moore isn’t there, and Mrs. Warner calls, that could be the end. Believe me, I don’t want to treat you how you look, but when you act like it, I have no choice.”

She added, “I don’t want to have to contact Mrs. Moore and ask her if she’s going to be there. I’d like you to check with Alyssa though.”

I shrugged and rolled my eyes, “Fine.” Amélie pulled Chloe out of her booster seat and began comforting the teary-eyed toddler.

I let a worried looking Alyssa into the house and asked awkwardly, “Um, look- is your mom going to be home? I can’t stay over otherwise.”

Alyssa frowned and scrunched up her nose, “Um- well- I think she might be going out with Jaimie again.” The girl looked at me sadly, “That sucks, Abby. How come my mom needs to be there? We aren’t like ten or something.”

Amélie looked at us from the top of the stairs, “Alyssa is welcome to stay here, Abigail.”

Alyssa reddened, realizing Amélie had heard everything, and said, “Sorry Mrs. Grenier, I don’t want to make trouble for Abby. Um- if Abby is OK with it. I’m happy to stay here.”

The two of them turned to me. This would actually make my plot easier to pull off, so I readily agreed.

Alyssa beamed, “OK! Abby, we can go to my place, and you can help me pack my stuff. Bring a backpack too, because we need to get some stuff from the store.”

I raised a brow, “Like what? I have chips and snack food here.”

Alyssa grinned, “You’ll see. Oh! And remind me to bring Instant Star. I want to finish the first season tonight!” To describe Alyssa as excited would have been an understatement. As we exited the house, she practically walked on air, at times bouncing and twirling- a powder keg of pent up youthful energy, waiting to be released in an explosion of silly laughter and faces. She took my hand and spun me around, nearly spinning me into the path of an elderly man and his dog. It was only the last minute intervention of the bush in my front yard that stopped me from careening into him.

The powder keg burst and Alyssa’s face and body exploded into laughter. She hastily pulled me to my feet and brushed the stray twigs from my hair, amidst incessant high-pitched tittering on her part. The elderly man grumbled, and his dog, a Scottish terrier did the same.

We left, and Alyssa set a frantic pace, making it difficult to keep up with her. She said, “Did you notice that the dog looked just like that old guy?” This brought a fresh burst of laughter from her. The girl laughed as easily as she breathed, while I was her near perpetual straight man, except this time, a little smile appeared on my face.

She said, “Like they had the same beard!” She pretended to be the man, and then the dog, stroking his beard while making mock grumbling noises. This caused the little smile on my face to break into a wide grin, which was followed by a brief giggle fit. Alyssa pointed a finger in my direction and pronounced, “Gotcha!” She did this whenever she made me laugh, wearing my giggle like a badge of honour.

As Alyssa discussed the plan for tonight, I couldn’t help but remember Amélie’s reaction, or rather, non-reaction to the sleepover. I thought that worry lines would wrinkle her face, her brow furrowing heavily as she watched her husband engage in the timeless teenage girl past time, but she was surprisingly neutral, concerned more for the absence of Mrs. Moore than her husband’s desire to spend the night with someone less than half his age.

***

On the way back to my place, we stopped at a convenience store. Alyssa picked up bags of candy, Swedish berries, Sour patch kids, Skittles. She stuffed them all into my arms and then proceeded to the Slurpee machine. I had not had a Slurpee, what amounted to a frozen concoction of many different varieties of carbonated drinks, in over fifteen years. Alyssa took down two mega 64 ounce cups and quickly filled one.

She turned to me, “Abby, which one do you want?” The last one I ever had was called Swamp Water, a melange of all the Crush products. I didn’t see anything that shared a similar name.

I raised a brow, “Alyssa, I have a show tomorrow. I have to get a good night’s sleep. I can’t be up all night. There’s so much sugar in there. I’m going to be bouncing off the walls.”

Alyssa stuck out her tongue, “So? You can sleep in, can’t you? The show is at 8 PM. What flavour do you want? You don’t have to drink it all. Come on, Abby. Haven’t you ever had a sleepover? Stop living like you are thirty.”

She giggled, “Cause you never know, you might wake up one day and be old! Tonight, you and me are twelve again. Don’t worry about homework, the show, even Ethan- it’s about Abby and Alyssa. K?”

I sighed and pointed to the one called Green Cherry Blast. The Slurpee oozed out of the machine, a toxic waste green as it quickly filled the massive container. I had to hold the cup with two hands. I couldn’t help but think what all this candy and pop was going to do to my diet. I had actually managed to lose three pounds, but since the debacle with Ethan, I had been eating more and been too depressed to work out. Tonight was going to seriously test my metabolism.

We quickly returned home, where I found that Amélie had ordered us a pizza. She smiled and then deposited the box in my hands, “So what are you girls going to do?”

Alyssa said excitedly, “First season of Instant Star, and the toughest job in the world. Fixing Abby’s hair and nails for the show. Cause she won’t do it herself! I’ve got lots of ideas for it.”

The girl pulled a magazine from her backpack that was entirely devoted to nails. I would have been surprised by it, but there were magazines for everything. There was probably even one for eyelash curling techniques.

She continued, “For some reason, Abby won’t do anything different with them. So I’m going to help her.” She laughed and ran her fingers through my blonde tresses, “She has the same hairstyle every day. And she’s had the same nails since I first met her. How is that even possible? I always have to redo my nails. Why would you keep the same ones for months and months? I spend a lot of time with her too, and I never see her filing or painting her nails. I thought they were fakes, but I guess not! I’m gonna do her hair for the show tomorrow. Um- thanks for letting me stay, Mrs. Grenier.”

Amélie smiled gently and said, “Sounds like fun. Have a good time girls. And you are always welcome here, Abigail is lucky to have a friend like you.” Alyssa beamed, and I shot a puzzled look in Amélie’s direction.

I brought the pizza into the living room and invited Alyssa to get Instant Star started. I walked into the kitchen to speak to Amélie who was doing the dishes. I closed the door.

“This isn’t how it looks, Amélie. I swear. I don’t want to do any of that stuff. I actually have a plan to- well I’m going to use the spell on Alyssa. I just- I don’t want you to think that, you know, I’ve gone off the deep end. Because I haven’t.”

Amélie dropped the large baking dish she was washing, causing the water to splash and drench her shirt, “Are you crazy, Darren? Why Alyssa?”

I said quietly, “Because I think she’s a Sidereus Agency operative. It’s all too convenient. She wants to feminize me. She’s obsessed with nails and hair- and she wants me to enter all these singing contests. I think she’s working for them, trying to groom me for a pop star life.”

Amélie sighed, “She’s a teenage girl, Darren. Girls are interested in things like that. I mean I wasn’t to the degree Alyssa is, but you said she wants to do makeup and hair for a living. She’s passionate about it. I think this is a really bad idea.”

I said, “Here’s the thing- if Alyssa is completely innocent, then the spell will work. If she does have bad intentions for me, then the spirit will punish her. Remember that- the second will feel the wrath of spirit. That is what Mama Khalia said.”

I added, “Mr. Atwater said that I wouldn’t have the guts to do the spell, well I do. I know you were out with Martin after the parent teacher interviews. Well, I’m not going to lose you, Amélie. Not to him, not to anyone.”

Amélie turned around and stared down at me, “And what if she’s not a Sidereus Agency operative, but she’s not innocent? What then? You’ve taken someone who has only wanted to be your friend and sacrificed them to save yourself. What about the girl’s mother, her family? Are you prepared to have her sacrifice on your conscience, Darren?”

I nodded and looked at my wife with deadly severity, “I am. I won’t let them win, Amélie. This Prophecy is as old as civilization. I’m going to be the last one.”

Amélie shook her head sadly, “How are you going to convince Alyssa to allow you to cut her arms? Both of you are recovering cutters. I just can’t help but think about how all of this is going to look to the social worker. You're encouraging a past self-harmer to harm again.” She sighed, “I don’t think it’s worth it, Darren. Not to have this hanging over you if you are wrong.”

I replied, “You said that you were willing to do whatever it takes to help me stop the Prophecy. Even if I was trapped like this, you said that you wanted me to be able to choose what I want to do with my life. This is a war of attrition, Amélie. There are going to be casualties.” By this point in the conversation, I was raising my voice.

Amélie put her hand on my shoulder, “I know you are desperate, but she’s just a girl. You’d never forgive yourself if you are wrong.”

I said, “And what if she’s not just a girl? What if everything she has done to this point has been systematic, a ploy to gain my trust and smother me in her world to serve her masters.”

“I don’t know, Darren. I’m just- I thought we were done talking about that spell. I thought you weren’t going to use it. I thought- you’d-“

I frowned, “Accepted this? Maybe I had before I realized you were out with my principal AGAIN. And I really thought about what I am losing. I-.“ The kitchen door crept open, and Alyssa slid into the room.

She said sheepishly, “Um, I’m really sorry. I-I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just wondering when we could start watching the show. Plus, Abby- your pizza is getting cold.” I had no idea how much she heard. I shared a frantic glance with Amélie, but my wife quickly regained her composure.

“Sorry, Alyssa. I was just discussing with Abigail the plan for tomorrow night. Why don’t you girls eat your pizza and I’ll get your bed ready. Sound good?”

Alyssa beamed, “Sounds great! Thanks for everything. You are so chill, Mrs. Grenier. It’s really no problem though. I brought my sleeping bag. Abby and I will just sleep on the floor.”

I raised a brow, “I will? But I have a bed.”

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, number one rule of sleepovers is everyone sleeps on the floor! It’s more fun that way! And it’s fairer. You are always talking about how things should be fair. You were complaining the other day about us not being able to vote. Like, how kids who are aware and care about stuff should be allowed.”

I shook my head, “Uh- that’s not really the same-“

Amélie smiled as she interrupted me, “OK, I’ll pull your sleeping bag out of the storage closet, Abigail. I’ve got an old mattress cover you girls can use to make the floor softer.” Alyssa smiled wide again and then grabbed my hand, pulling me excitedly into the living room to begin our Instant Star marathon.

Three hours later, we had finished watching the first six episodes of season one. I was becoming engrossed in the plot and characters. I knew exactly why too. I could actually relate to the show now. Before, I thought it was a poorly written teenage melodrama with decently composed music. Now, I was fully invested in the relationship between Instant Star winner, Jude and Vincent, the lead guitarist in her backing band. I couldn’t help but see myself in the character of Jude.

Alyssa and I watched as Jude won the Instant Star competition, rocketing from high school obscurity to mini-celebrity overnight. The Sidereus Prophecy contract burrowed into my head like a parasite, leaving me vulnerable to the idea that signing it, like Jude winning the competition, would do the same for me. Véronique’s eyes would blaze in hateful jealousy as Ethan stood by my side. The idea that I was lucky to have been chosen planted within my mind.

I could be famous tomorrow. A megastar, adored by millions, and all it took was a signature. A simple signature. It just meant giving up everything I had ever stood for.

Two hours later, I found myself not only interested in the show, but enraptured by it. I was enthralled by the love (cube?) between the older, but way cute, music producer Tommy, the brash, smouldering Vincent, and the quiet studious Jaime, Jude’s best guy friend from high school. I desperately wanted to watch more. Jude was returning from Europe where her feelings for Vincent had developed. He reminded me painfully of Ethan, even down to his lopsided grin. The boy was loyal, even helping to defuse a situation that could have broken up the band and sabotage Jude’s overseas tour. She could have replaced her backing band, but it would have taken weeks of rehearsal with a new band. Vincent had stepped in and saved the day.

The show’s producer was well known for the teenage drama, Degrassi High, which was lauded for its realistic portrayal of adolescents not only in regard to story but appearance too. The kids dealt with real problems like drinking and driving, drug abuse, body image issues, and they did it without looking thirty years old (cough! Dawson’s Creek) or looking like they were plucked from the cover of Teen People. I watched the show with nostalgic glasses, having enjoyed it as a kid, but Instant Star was different. It was so clearly aimed at girls, and in fact, pre-teen girls that it should have carried a label, but I loved the show. Normally, a show like this was absolutely translucent to me because of the formula they followed. I actually found myself turning off my brain so I would be surprised as each episode unfolded.

I really wanted to find out what happened next, especially with Jude and Vincent’s burgeoning relationship. I think that I was so enamoured with it because I was living it. Plus, I could have had Jude’s life in an instant.

Alyssa and I excitedly discussed the show, as I realized that I had drank half of the 64 ounce mega Slurpee.

Alyssa said, “So you really like the show? You aren’t pretending like you did when you said you liked Katy Perry?”

The first few times we had watched at her place, Alyssa grew annoyed because I pointed out the inaccurate portrayal of adolescents, the errors made with regard to how songs were played on the show, musicians hitting the wrong chords, and the general lameness of the plots. I explained to Alyssa that Degrassi was infinitely better, but she refused to admit the show was terrible. Now, she was preaching to a member of the choir.

I nodded, “Yeah, I really do. I thought it was really insipid and shallow at first, but I really do want to continue watching it. And- um- Katy Perry is good. She’s really talented.”

Alyssa giggled, “You know Andrew and Steven aren’t here. You can admit stuff like that. You won’t lose your precious rock cred! Degrassi is OK. But you know not everything has to be real. It’s fun just to like follow the stories. Do you see that now? I know that it probably couldn’t happen in real life, that’s why it’s so totally amazing. You can watch a story you wouldn’t be able to live, you know?”

I smirked, “Wow, Alyssa the savant.”

Alyssa threw a package of gummy bears at me, “You know what I mean. The world sucks, you know- it’s nice to just live in a different one sometimes. That’s why I don’t like Degrassi. It’s so real it's scary. I know Instant Star, it’s like a soap opera, but it doesn’t bother me.”

I looked at the girl who was gradually becoming my best friend in the world. Her light brown hair was done methodically for the sleepover in pigtails and her bangs moved off her face by dual butterfly clips. Her face was brushed lightly with freckles on the bridge of her nose and underneath her eyes that gave her the same innocence I possessed. The girl had a style all her own, choosing vibrant colours for eye shadow and eye liner, but not what I considered whorish. She had still not filled out, but I swore, she was an inch taller than she was a month ago. There was a liveliness in her wide green eyes that brought me into her world. Her smile was infectious, and her manner made me feel instantly welcome in everything we did.

As much as I liked watching Instant Star, I liked watching it with her even more. She was also fiercely loyal, protecting me from Alexandre and supporting me, even after how I treated Ethan, who was also her friend. In the face of my crumbling marriage, Alyssa held her hand out for me to grasp, and I had taken it, firmly.

She sat with her back to the couch and her legs pulled up against her still very modest chest, “So, if you were Jude, would you accept the contract? Like wouldn’t it be amazing to just be a star tomorrow? Promise me that I can do your hair and makeup, OK?” She grinned and took a big sip of her Slurpee.

I watched Alyssa’s actions carefully, and specifically her eyes. I thought I saw something malevolent there. A spark of acknowledgement as to her place. It broke the innocence of her face, like shadows cast over a smiling china doll. We discussed it for a few minutes, but from the moment she had asked her question, I was convinced I knew why she asked it. She was planting the seed.

My hand was shaking, so I placed a death grip on the side of the couch, my knuckles turning white. I said, “Hey, Alyssa. Um- listen, I have something really cool to show you in my room. We can watch the rest of Instant Star on my computer if you want. Or Amélie’s laptop. I really want to show it to you.”

Alyssa beamed and took my hand, “Why so nervous, Abby? Is it a new song? Did you write one for Ethan or something? Sure, you can show me!”

I took Alyssa’s hand as we slowly walked down to my bedroom. I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking. I felt sick to my stomach and flush. My head swam as sugar and fear ran through my body.

Alyssa looked at me, concern painted on her youthful features. She gripped my shaking hand tightly. “Abby, are you OK? You look pale.”

I nodded and opened the door to my bedroom.

***

“Have you ever heard of a Ouija board?”

Alyssa, who sat across from me on my bed, nodded her head gently. “Sure. Never used one before. Stuff like that has always scared me. Ghosts, vampire- monsters. Anything like that creeps me out. It’s one reason I don’t really like Halloween.”

I said, “It’s cool though. Amélie told me that she used to do it during sleepovers. You just ask the spirit questions, and it answers. Aren’t you a bit curious about how it works?”

I continued, “Listen, I want to tell you the truth. I didn’t cut myself because I was upset, because I wanted attention or any other reason. I did it because I was casting a spell to speak to a spirit. It’s kind of like magic I guess.”

Alyssa raised a curious brow, “Really? So it’s not a scary ghost?”

I shook my head, “No, it’s one that wants to help. It can answer our questions about anything. Want to know who you will marry? Or when you will have a baby? The ghost will know.”

Alyssa’s eyes widened, and her mouth hung open, “Really? It can do all that? So, when you did the spell the last time, did it work?”

I frowned, “No, because I needed a second- you. Amélie’s too old. She doesn’t believe in ghosts or magic anymore. I wanted to share this with you.”

Alyssa beamed and joined me next to the chalk circle I had drawn. “Okay, I’m willing to try it.” She hesitated, “Um, I don’t have to cut my arm, do I? I don’t really want to do that, Abby. Plus, my mom will really worry if she finds out I was cutting again.”

I shook my head, “I can prick your fingers, but I have to do it right now or else not enough blood will drip. Here.” I took a sewing needle, and Alyssa gave me her hand with uncertainty. I had cut my arms because I feared Amélie would barge in on me. Amélie had checked on us a number of times before she went to bed, but it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. She had also opened a bottle of wine, and from what I could see in the kitchen, three quarters of it was gone. We used to drink a bottle between the two of us. I expected that she would sleep soundly.

Alyssa pulled her hand away as I brought the needle toward her thumb, “I don’t know about this, Abby. It seems kinda bad. Like dark, you know? How come we need blood?”

I explained, “It means we are serious. And if we want the spirit to be able to answer our questions, we need a link to it. Through our blood, the spirit will connect with us, understand us and as a result, it will be able to answer our questions.”

Alyssa nodded, “Wow, so it’s like truth or dare, without the dare.”

I nodded, “Um- something like that. Look, if you don’t want to, we can just go back to watching Instant Star. I just thought it would be something fun we could do together. I’m not sure if it will work, but it’s exciting you know. We could ask if we’ll still be friends when we are forty.”

Alyssa’s smile grew, “Yeah, OK. I’ll just close my eyes though, K? I hate blood!”

I took Alyssa’s hand and gently guided her into the centre of the chalk circle. She squirmed as I pricked each of her fingers, allowing tiny droplets of blood to slowly drip down. I positioned her hand so that it was within the circle. Not one drop was permitted to leave the circle once it began to flow. The stipulations for the second were much stricter than for a single target.

I said, “You need to try and keep your hand as steady as possible. Don’t move it around much or the spell won’t work.” Alyssa nodded her head slowly.

She said excitedly, “I’m going to ask it if we are both going to have boyfriends soon!”

I said, “Sure, you can ask it anything you like. This next part, you need to be quiet though. You can’t disturb me while I am chanting.”

I swallowed hard. I looked down at myself, clad in a pair of SpongeBob Square Pants PJs (borrowed from Amélie), and Alyssa, wearing Power Puff Girls PJs that likely fit her much better when she was ten. Beyond the twin candles, one for each of us, and the blood that would gradually form a pool in front of Alyssa, we looked like two best friends enjoying their first sleepover together.

I could kill her.

My hands refused to stop shaking. My throat was dry, so I took a quick sip from my Slurpee. I felt the sugar rush again, but it made the shaking worse. I cleared my throat several times trying to start the chant, but unable to speak because my throat was so dry.

Alyssa said quietly, “Are you scared, Abby?” I could see that the girl still had her eyes shut tight, the blood speckling the floor.

I replied, “A little.” I bit my lip, but seconds later it felt like I was chewing through it. I felt blood on my tongue. I was losing my nerve.

Alyssa smiled with her eyes closed, “I think even if it doesn’t work, it’s really sweet. You know, you inviting me here. I thought that you were embarrassed by me, like because we never went to your house. And now you’ve told me the truth about your cutting, and I get it- magic. It’s not something you tell everyone.”

She added with a bigger smile, “I’m really happy you wanted me and you to do this. Even if it doesn’t work. It means a lot to me.”

I dug my nails in my arm, watching as they made little indentations in my skin and then watching as they drew blood. I took a deep breath, feeling my entire body shake. I felt like a would-be murderer, staring down at their victim, tied up and gagged, and pondering whether they had the resolve to pull the trigger. Not only the resolve, but the monstrous instinct, the ability to shun their humanity in the face of helplessness.

I held my stomach so tightly, I thought I was going to tear my abdominals. It allowed me to maintain my control as I began to chant. I heard Alyssa giggling excitedly.

After I finished the first part of the spell, the air went chill, just as it had the first time. I could hear Alyssa’s teeth chattering, and as I looked over, she was holding herself for warmth, but only with one hand, gripping her shoulder as she sat there shivering. She obediently kept her bleeding fingers in the circle. My own teeth were clattering, so I threw my comforter over my shoulders. The spell stated that only the second needed to be within the circle, so I was free to move about.

Alyssa said, “A-Abby, i-is, it w-working?” The poor girl was freezing. I draped a blanket over her shoulders, careful not to disturb the chalk circle.

Alyssa said, “I-I’m k-kinda scared. I t-think I want to s-stop.”

I said, “We’ve reached the second part. And that cold means it is working, the spirit is being summoned. In a minute or so, you’ll be able to ask it a question. Think about what you want to ask very carefully. Just focus on the question.”

Alyssa frowned, “Um OK, Abby. I just, I’m not sure I l-like this. I’m f-freezing. I-It feels like winter. S-so c-c-cold. It’s like the blanket you gave me- it’s not even t-there.”

I lowered my head. It had been the end of summer when I cast the spell, but it was an Indian summer, so the temperatures were warmer than usual. October had reversed the pattern, bringing below average temperatures. This apparently affected the spell, and it was seemingly worse inside the circle.

I continued chanting and then I heard a shriek from Alyssa. Her eyes popped open like death itself was giving her a physical. She said, “Abby, I-I-I c-can’t move. Help me. P-please. S-something’s wrong-”

She started crying, her tears freezing on impact with the floor. I was beginning to have second thoughts, which birthed tertiary thoughts, which formed a veritable army of doubt.

She screamed in fear, her hands now moving to her skull as she began tearing at her hair. It looked like she was trying to dig something out of her head. I saw her pull a clump of hair right out and hold it in her bloodied fingers.

It was at this point that I began to glow softly. I felt a shifting underneath the blanket, and a sensation that I was being pushed upward. I wasn’t though, I was growing. I could feel my bra begin tightening over my back, but at the front it was slowly losing support. My breasts felt like they were deflating.

Alyssa turned toward me, her face a mask of fear and pain. She stared at me desperately, as strands of hair stuck firmly to her bloody palm.

I rolled into the circle myself, feeling like I had entered the Arctic Circle during winter. Alyssa’s hands and feet were turning blue. I pushed Alyssa out of the circle, the girl tumbling toward my bed. In the meantime, I began to feel my breasts growing again, and I quickly dwindled as I lost the height I had gained. I was ready to face the wrath of the spirit for my misdeed. It didn’t matter if Alyssa was a Sidereus operative or just a normal girl, I couldn’t do that to another person. Even if she was simply a composite, she was more human than me, a monster who had been willing to sacrifice a person just to be a man again. In that moment, I was neither woman nor man- a mere animal ready to tear at the neck and feed.

Mama Khalia had said nothing about the spell and the Sidereus Prophecy. She had been working off the assumption that I had been cursed like the warlord. I was beyond selfish in my actions. Now I knew that the spell worked, but the cost was too great- Alyssa’s innocence. I could not put another human being through what Alyssa had gone through. Plus, there was no guarantee that Mr. Atwater’s words weren’t prophetic. Even if the spell was successful, I could potentially be changed again, which would likely require yet another sacrifice. If I chose such a path, I would be like a remorseless vampire, sacrificing the innocence of others to sustain myself.

Amazingly though, the chill ceased, and I knew the spirit had left. I moved over to Alyssa who was crying uncontrollably. I put my arms around her and held her there, muttering “I’m so sorry, Alyssa. Please be okay, please. I should never have tried that- I’m just- I was so desperate. I was losing everything.” She couldn’t hear me over her hysterical crying. Amélie burst into the room. She slapped me hard on the cheek, and then she pushed me away from Alyssa and brought the crying girl upstairs.

I moved to my bed, burying my face in my pillow and cried, feeling like I had lost my best friend.

Chapter 55

“Abby! Abby! H-hellooooo! Abby! Are you listening to me? Are you gonna ask your mom if you can come for dinner?”

I looked at Alyssa, but my vision was distorted, like peering through a pair of glasses with the wrong prescription. Everything around me was massive and out of focus.

I blinked, thinking that everything I had done, my betrayal and shocking behaviour had simply been a dream. I felt around on my face for a pair of glasses but found none.

I replied, “Really? You aren’t mad at me? For what I did?”

Alyssa shook her head, “Nuh uh! You were scared. I woulda done the same thing.”

She added, “I shouldn’ve been on the higher balance beam. I knew it. I wanted to try it, just cause, you know?”

I noticed that Alyssa’s speech, while not normally at the level of a Harvard professor, was now even more childish. She mashed words together like a first grader.

I said, “Wait, you said my mom? I live with my sister, Amélie. Right?”

Alyssa replied, “That’s your mommy’s name, but my mom says it’s not nice to say it. It’s not ‘spectful.”

I frowned, “What are you talking about, the balance beam?” Alyssa wasn’t the only one to have changed. My own voice sounded like I belonged in the early grades of elementary school rather than high school, it was high-pitched and lilting.

Alyssa said, “Is’not important. I’m not mad at you cause you told. You wanna swing at recess? We have to get there fast! The boys always get there first. They hog them. They always jump off too, I bet you an’ me, we can jump way more far than them! ” I could have sworn I smelled paste, but the objects in front of me were still blurry. I rubbed my eyes, but it did nothing.

Seconds later, the bell rung, and everything around me became crystal clear. I looked around the room and saw pictures of poorly drawn pumpkins, construction paper witches above a blackboard that had simple math equations written in chalk. I looked at Alyssa, or who I assumed was her, and saw a very young girl with light brown hair, likely no older than six. I recognized the dual butterfly clips, which were far more age-appropriate than they were when she was a teen. I couldn’t see myself, with the complete absence of mirrors in the classroom, but considering I was looking UP at Alyssa, I knew I was her age or younger.

Seconds later, the girl was dragging me out to the play structure, where we were just in time to each get a swing. I knew by now that this was a dream, but my mind fell into childlike excitement so easily, that I soon forgot. We jumped farther than any of the boys, and then we played tag. A few minutes later, we grew tired of that and joined some other girls in a game of skip rope where Alyssa and I did double-dutch expertly. Then the bell rang, and it was back to school. I figured whatever we were learning would have been super easy, but it wasn’t. All I could think of was lunch recess where Alyssa and I would break our swing record.

I knew that this dream was the result of my guilt-ridden mind. The innocence of two childhood friends was an easy panacea to my horrendous actions. I had created a world where forgiveness came as easily as breath. In this existence, Alyssa and I were best friends, and no matter what I did, she would always forgive and forget.

I could feel myself being shaken as the dream world slowly faded away. The shaking grew more persistent. I turned over and came face to face with a furious Amélie. Her eyes were zeroed in on my own, and when mine tried to flee, they were chased down like a routed army.

My wife took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, “Care to explain yourself, or should I let the near catatonic girl upstairs try and explain what happened?”

I frowned deeply, “Is she OK?

Amélie’ face softened momentarily, but the hard lines returned with a vengeance, turning Amélie’s forehead into valleys of creases. “Now she is. It took a lot to calm her down. I can’t believe you did this, Darren. You had no idea how the spell was going to work with a second person. You could have killed that poor girl. How could you do this?”

I sniffed, “I didn’t want to lose you- to him.”

Amélie’s slow head shake and half closed eyes revealed her extreme disappointment, “So all that stuff about saving the world, and trying to stop the Prophecy, it was all a lie? Alyssa was going to be a casualty in your quest to have a dick between your legs? Congratulations, Darren- you aren’t a woman, but you aren’t a man either. I don’t know what you are, beyond a conniving selfish brat. Certainly not the man I married.”

I could feel the tears welling in my eyes as I replied, “You don’t understand I-“

Amélie nodded, “You are right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how someone who claims to be in their thirties can act like such a self-absorbed child. What would have happened if you’d killed her, Darren? What then?”

I dropped my head to the floor trying to flee from Amélie’s eyes, “I- I don’t know.”

Amélie gripped my chin with her hand and forced me to look at her, “No, you don’t get to play that game. You can’t just say that. Not with what you did. What do you have to say for yourself?”

I replied weakly, “I-I did it because I’ve lost everything, except for you. I also did it because I feel like I am losing myself, everything that I am- in this body. I’m becoming a completely different person, Amélie. I’m becoming Abigail inside and out.”

I added, my voice gaining strength, “I want everything back, everything I’ve lost. I want you, and I want Chloe, my parents, my friends. I want them to look at me like they used to. I want them to see Darren. It’s not fair, Amélie- I didn’t ask for this. All I was trying to do was get back what was taken from me.”

Amélie grimaced, “What you did was selfish, and- completely unforgivable.” She pulled me to my feet and sat me down at the vanity. She held my head up and made me look at myself in the mirror. “I know that it has been extremely challenging for you, Darren. But you need to accept that you are going to be Abigail because I forbid you from ever casting that spell again. And I think it’s time- it’s time I started calling you by that name.”

She brushed away the bangs from my eyes as I started to cry gently. I said, “N-no. Please don’t.”

Amélie replied, “You are never to cast that spell again. Ever. Is that clear, Abigail?”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, “W-why are you being so mean?”

Amélie narrowed her eyes, “Because nothing else has worked. I tried asking you not to cast it. I explained why I thought it was dangerous. I think I need to start treating you like a fifteen year old girl who makes really stupid and dangerous decisions. Because you just keep making them. Over and over again. I can’t trust you.”

I raised my voice to my wife, “You c-can’t do that! I won’t stand for it, Amélie. I’m not a kid!” The image reflected in the mirror said otherwise.

Amélie nodded her head, “Yes, you are. I see that now, I’ve given you way too much leeway. Too much trust. This all started when I let you drive the car without a licence, just so we could save twenty minutes and then the emancipation, it made you think you could still live in an adult world. I think I need to be a lot harder on you from now on. Because as much as you want to deny it, you are a kid, and everything you’ve done tonight- it just proves my point.”

She added, “We need to set boundaries and rules. You need to understand your place here, Abigail. Because I’m worried if you don’t, I am going to lose you. No more being late for curfew. No more back talking to your teachers or Principal St-Valentin. I want you to complete your chores every week. You clean your bathroom, your room and the downstairs, and sweep the entry way. No questions asked. And I want your help with Chloe. Every night, I want you home for dinner, you do your homework and show it to me before any TV, computer or video games.”

I muttered, “S-stop, stop treating me this way.”

Amélie asked, “How would you like me to treat you then?”

I squeaked, “Like an adult.”

Amélie said, “Then start acting like one.” With those words, she left.

I retreated back to my bed, pulling the covers over my head, but the simple gesture, meant to comfort myself, couldn’t keep away the ceaseless guilt, nor the idea that the relationship with my wife was irreparably damaged. I had done nothing to show her that I was a mature adult.

Now, I worried that my friendship with Alyssa would suffer the same fate. Would she ever trust me again?

I looked at my phone and saw that it was a little past 2 AM. I was exhausted, and I started worrying about the show. If I didn’t sleep, I might be sick, and if so, I wouldn’t be able to sing well. I wondered too if Amélie would even allow me to go, considering what I had done.

My thoughts turned to Ethan, and I snatched my phone, and in desperation, I sent him a quick text message:

Me: I’m really sorry about the message I left. It was really unfair of me to do that. You have a right to be mad. Furious even. Even if you don’t play, it would be amazing to see you at the show.”

I felt instantly better, the text message acting as a wonderful catharsis, but the message kept only one cloud at bay. I got out of bed and grabbed an old beach towel from the linen closet. Then, I plugged in my hair dryer, turned it on the highest setting and started melting the frozen blood on the floor. I didn’t want any evidence of my misdeeds, and I certainly didn’t want Alyssa waking and finding her frozen blood still on the floor.

A few minutes later, I sopped up the blood, wiped away the chalk and then dumped the towel in a garbage bag, along with the candles and my paper copy of the spell. Then, I booted up my computer and deleted the electronic version.

I picked up my sleeping bag and carried it upstairs. I saw Alyssa sleeping peacefully on the couch, a far cry from the panicky screams and wide terror-filled eyes I had witnessed just a few hours before. Despite the spell, Amélie’s speech and what was now a tentative show, I was exhausted. My worry and the night’s events had drained my body and even my brain, the usual insomnia culprit. I lay my sleeping bag on the floor next to her and gradually fell back asleep.

***

“Abby, are you OK? Abby?” Again, I heard Alyssa’s voice, but this time I knew it wasn’t a dream. As my eyes opened with the pace of a delinquent Venetian blind, I could see the outline of the couch, Chloe’s big girl Princess Chair, and a dangling foot with multi-coloured painted toe nails.
She patted me on the shoulder, “You were screaming in your sleep.” She smiled gently, “You even have a powerful voice when you are sleeping.” I had been dreaming again, but I couldn’t remember anything except that I was being chased.

Without any hesitation, I stood up and threw my arms around Alyssa, hugging her tightly as tears glistened in my eyes, “I’m so sorry! I-I was so stupid. Amélie warned me about that spell, I should have listened to her. P-please forgive me. I ruined our sleepover.”

Alyssa hugged me back just as tightly, “It’s OK, Abby. I admit that I was really scared, probably the most scared I’ve ever been in my life. I never want to mess around with stuff like that again. Amélie explained that her and Laura, I think that’s Andrew’s wife, right? Anyway, she said that they used to call spirits too. Sometimes they were nice and answered the questions through the Ouija board. Sometimes though- they were mean, like one, she said that the spirit died in a fire, and it was trapped, so it was very angry. It turned the lights on and off, and the room- Amélie said it was freezing. Like yours. Still when you got in the circle it got warmer - I guess the spirit is gone. ”

I nodded and she continued, “I guess I mean, it’s still really scary, but I-I don’t blame you for it. You didn’t know it was going to be a mean spirit. I hope what happened showed you that you shouldn’t mess with ghosts and stuff. And um, I don’t really want to go in your room for a while.”

I nodded rapidly, “Yes, yes of course. I threw the spell out, and I deleted it from my computer. I’m done with magic. Still, I really want to make it up to you, I still feel terrible for what I did. Our night was wrecked by my stupidity. I’ll do anything.”

Alyssa raised a brow and a little smile appeared on her face, “Anything?

I nodded my head again, and a wide grin appeared on Alyssa’s face. She said, “I want you to sing a Katy Perry song at the Coffeehouse in November. And I want to do your hair and makeup, your whole outfit. You have to wear what I say, no questions asked, K?”

I shuddered at the thought of how she would dress me, but it was a tiny drop in the deep bucket that held my guilt. I nodded my head, “OK, no questions asked. Do I get to pick the song at least?”

Alyssa said, “Maaaaybe. But you’ll probably pick something depressing, I think it would be fun to have you do Last Friday Night or even California Girls.”

I blinked, “I wouldn’t have to do the dance moves, would I?”

Alyssa shook her head, “No, but I could teach them to you if you wanted to. You had fun when I showed you the moves in California Girls, didn’t you?”

I nodded begrudgingly, “Yeah, I guess.”

Alyssa laughed, “It wasn’t a math test, Abby. Have you thought about taking a dance class maybe? It’d be so fun, if we could take one together.”

I said, “I’ll have to think about it. I’m not really sure it’s me.”

Alyssa nodded, “Sure, it’s OK, if you don’t want to. I was kinda worried we wouldn’t have a lot in common, cause you like a lot of stuff I don’t like, but I can tell, you love Instant Star. You want to watch it right now, don’t you?” There was a big inviting smile on her face.

A little smile formed on my face, but it quickly left. My guilt would not allow me to enjoy this moment. “Yeah, but how come- I just don’t get it. How come you aren’t still scared about what happened, how come you aren’t mad at me?

Alyssa sighed, “Look, Abby. I was scared. It's over. I’m not a little kid. Look, you don’t have to sing at the Coffeehouse if you don’t want to. I kinda feel like I’m making you do it cause you feel bad. I don’t like that.”

I had a feeling that Alyssa was hiding her fear, playing big girl because she didn’t want to seem childish around me, even though she bore multi-coloured toe-nails, butterfly clips and Power Puff Girls pyjamas.

I shook my head, “No, Alyssa. I want to do it. Please. I want to do it for you, not because I feel bad about what happened. I want to do it because you asked me, and I’m your friend, right?”

Alyssa nodded and then her face turned deadly serious, “I think we are more than that, Abby. Aren’t we BFFs?”

I was surprised to hear the acronym for ‘Best Friends Forever’, only because I thought it was a term used by girls in elementary school or at most, junior high. Although, considering Alyssa’s behaviour at times and her dress, maybe it wasn’t too shocking.

I nodded my head slowly, assuming that it was true. I didn’t know if there was an expected ritual, or if girls after their first slumber party became BFFs. I decided to go along with what she wanted and with my quick nod, the girl’s face lit up again.

Alyssa brought her sleeping bag next to mine on the floor, and we were soon enjoying the second season of Instant Star. Eventually, my eyelids grew too heavy, and I fell asleep. Anyone peeking in the window who knew my true identity could have used the image of me and my newly minted BFF in our sleeping bags for serious blackmail.

I woke to the smell of waffles and rolled over to look at the clock- 10:28 AM. I still felt tired because of the events of last night, but thankfully, I hadn’t woken up with the dreaded sore throat- the bane of singers. The day of a show, the first thing I always did when I woke up was swallow. If I felt any tenderness or soreness, I immediately started drinking water with lemon in it and gargling with salt water.

I saw that Alyssa was already up, and I could hear her speaking to Amélie in the kitchen. They were discussing hair and highlights, something to do with foil. I quickly tuned it out as hunger gripped me.

I yawned, rubbed my head, staggered into the kitchen and sat down at the table, where Amélie had set a plate of waffles for me. I looked at Amélie, but she refused to meet my gaze. Alyssa beamed, “Morning Abby! Your sister’s waffles are amazing. Hey, so I have a lot of ideas for your hair and nails tonight. And do you have an outfit? Cause I have ideas for that too.”

I groaned, which caused Alyssa to giggle. She was a morning person, and I was not. I shook my head, “I was just going to wear my normal stuff. Green hoodie, band shirt and torn jeans.”

Alyssa made a face that made me think she was going to vomit, “Come on, Abby. That’s so boring. You wear that hoodie all the time when we are out of school, and it’s not going to match your new shoes. I was talking to your sister too, and she was saying that you guys don’t even have band picture on your website. I talked her into taking some pictures tonight! You need to wear something to be noticed, you know?”

Alyssa smirked, “Why do you wear that hoodie anyway? It doesn’t even fit.”

I shrugged my shoulders as I took a huge bite of waffle and then washed it down with orange juice, “Darren gave it to me. It’s special.”

Amélie glanced at me and then turned away. I almost thought I saw her face soften, but the hard lines returned.

My phone vibrated, and I picked it up anxiously, hoping that Ethan had texted me back. It was Andrew.

Andrew: Hey any idea why Ethan won’t answer his texts?

I peered down at my phone with a sinking feeling. I hadn’t told my band mates that Ethan was out of the band, and we had a show tonight. Under normal circumstances, we would have cancelled, but it was the day of the show. We had no choice but to play. Ottawa was a town of a million people, but a very small music scene. We had already dropped out of the show once. We would be blacklisted, forced to take ‘pay to play’ shows.

I texted back:

Me: He’s really mad at me. I think he’s out of the band.

Andrew: WTF Are you serious? What the hell happened? We are screwed for tonight. You can’t play his parts. I’m calling you.”

Andrew rarely swore, even in texts. My shoulders drooped, and I sighed deeply. My phone rang, and I took the call in my bedroom.

I accepted the call and said immediately, “We need to play either way.”

Andrew replied, “Yeah no kidding. What happened between you and him?” I had never heard Andrew like this before. I felt that he was really talking down to me.

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

Andrew sighed, “We’ve got a right to know. Did you fight with him about that song he wrote?”

I replied, “It’s personal, OK? Just forget it. We will play the show tonight, skipping all the solos.”

Andrew said, “I don’t see another way around it. We’ve already sold tickets. How come you didn’t tell me before? Maybe we could have found someone else.”

I replied, “It happened last weekend. There wasn’t time. I’ve been trying to convince him all week. He won’t even answer my calls.”

Andrew said, “Laura said they found you unconscious at the marina. Did Ethan do that to you?”

I frowned, “No, absolutely not. Look, you guys are coming here to get the stuff around two right? We can talk more about it then.”

Andrew was clearly frustrated from his exasperated sigh, “I wish you’d just told us sooner. I would have talked to the kid, explained how important this is- how important he is to the band. We are going to sound real thin tonight.”

I nodded, “I know. I’m sorry OK? I’ll see you at two.” I ended the call and sighed deeply. I should have told my band mates that Ethan had left the band. He was furious with me, not them. They might have been able to convince him. This only added to the mounting evidence that I was losing the ability to reason properly. I had been too embarrassed to tell Andrew and Steven the truth, and I feared if I had involved them, that Ethan would have told them every micro-mini skirt, whore makeup, Mustang make-out session, detail. I had selfishly put myself above the interest of the band.

I heard a knock on my bedroom door.

Alyssa said, “Abby? Um, if we are going to do something with your hair. We need to start soon.”

I opened the door and stared at my friend with massive confusion, “Uh. You know it’s just a rock concert, right? Not the prom at the Queen of England’s house?”

Alyssa grinned, “It takes time to do what I have planned. I think you are really going to love it though!”

I trudged upstairs, scared that Alyssa was going to do something drastic to my hair. Mostly, I feared that if she decided to cut my hair that she would see the magic in action, ditto for my nails. The guilt associated with my actions last night forced me to indulge Alyssa, so when she asked me to close my eyes as she took items out of a shopping bag, I didn’t peek.

She said, “You can open them now.” I looked at the table and saw a package of tinfoil, a strange comb, and an equally strange looking brush. Next to the items, I saw a box of hair dye which said, “Bubble gum Pink”. She was going to put highlights in my hair. Pink highlights.

I looked at Alyssa with a frown, “Um, I’m really not sure about this. You know, I like my hair as it is. Plus, what if it’s ruined, then I’ll have weird hair for tonight. Everyone will be staring at me.”

Alyssa smiled, “I watched lots of videos on it. And I’ve got a DIY video here. I’m going to follow along. It’ll be fine. You are going to look amazing!”

This was like the shoes all over again, and she took my half-hearted protest as a sign of shyness. She was opening me up to the world- with pink hair. I couldn’t say no, especially since she had likely gone to a lot of trouble and expense. Not to mention, I had a tremendously guilty conscience. Alyssa took the comb and wrapped it with tinfoil. She then put on a pair of disposable gloves and proceeded to firmly set the comb in my hair while she painted over it with the noxious looking pink dye. The hair dye smelled like chemicals we used in science class. She did this numerous times with my long tresses in various places.

As she worked, we listened to the radio, and I was soon humming along to the music. These were all songs that Alyssa listened to on a daily basis because she knew them off by heart. The station, HOT 89.9 the pop music bastion, once the bane of my existence, was actually palatable now.

Alyssa folded over the tinfoil in each section before moving onto the next. Throughout the process, Alyssa and I talked, mostly about Instant Star, but also about the Coffeehouse, and the possible song I would sing, and Ethan, although that part of the conversation was monosyllabic.

When she had finished massaging in the hair dye (she told me that this is why she folded the tinfoil), she took me downstairs to the shower and rinsed my hair under the tap. I looked in the mirror in horror at first because when I saw my hair, it looked like someone had taken a wet mop and poured hair dye over it. Alyssa assured me that it would be turn out fine.

While we waited for my hair to dry, Alyssa did my makeup, choosing very thick eyeliner and that same electric blue eye shadow (but this time used sparingly). My guilt, again, weakened any protest. Eventually, once it dried, my new pink bangs and highlights were clearly visible against my usual golden locks. She parted my hair and then brushed it down over my chest in two equal parts to really accentuate the pink throughout.

Alyssa looked at me eagerly, but with serious trepidation in her eyes, “So- um, do you like it? It’s semi-permanent. So it’s gonna wash out eventually. It’ll last about a month though!”

I looked at myself in the mirror, sighing gently, worried that I was going to look like a pink-haired freak or worse, a bubble gum pop princess, but the way Alyssa had done my makeup, I looked like a smoking hot rock chick. I looked like Jude!

Alyssa lent me this black and red leather jacket she had, which perfectly complimented the image. I wasn’t going to lose any rock credibility dressed like this. Originally, I had been worried that my hair was going to be overly pink because of the way it looked before it dried, but the highlights mingled with my blonde locks without overpowering them.

As I stared at myself, a little smile appeared on my face. For certain, as I grew more comfortable in Abigail’s body, I took more lingering looks at myself in the mirror, but I had never really been happy with what I saw, mostly since it wasn’t Darren Lawrence staring back at me. I suddenly knew what Amélie meant when she said she felt better after going to the hair dresser. Was I developing a sort of vanity or was this just part of the happiness high associated with a new hair-do?

Alyssa gushed, “You like it! I know you do. Everyone’s going to be looking at you tonight!” We hugged, which I suppose was also an integral part of the BFF experience.

I looked at Alyssa curiously, “Do - do you think Ethan will come?”

Alyssa’s face grew darker, “No - I’m sorry. I don’t think so, Abby. Last night I was texting with him. He’s still too mad. I tried. I told him how important it is.”

I smiled sadly, “Well, for what it’s worth, thanks.”

The doorbell rang, and I fell into band mode, reprising my role as cable winder girl. They looked at me strangely when they first saw me. I almost expected them to rub their eyes like cartoon characters their surprise was so great. Was it the makeup? My pink highlights? Steven and Andrew were also both clearly upset with me, but with Alyssa insisting she help, I was saved from any angry words. I wasn’t so lucky in the car on the way to the sound check.

Andrew said, “You can’t keep stuff like this from us.” Steven followed behind us in Amélie’s SUV, now our only car. Normally, we would have packed the drums in my sport wagon.

Andrew said, “Now we are stuck playing this show without a second guitar player.

I shrugged my shoulders, “It’s not the end of the world. We were a three piece before. We can get by.”

Andrew replied, “We can’t even play some of the songs because you can’t do anything but drop D power chords. What happened between you two?”

I raised a brow and narrowed my eyes at Andrew, “I told you- nothing. Just drop it.”

Andrew shook his head, “It’s so obvious that he likes you, Darren. Painfully obvious. I knew this was a bad idea from the start. So you are interested in another guy, and he gets jealous and quits the band.”

I stared at the person who was now likely my former best friend with my mouth agape. I quickly composed myself, hoping that Andrew hadn’t seen my shock. “I don’t like guys, Andrew. Really ...”

Andrew interrupted, “Look, Darren, you don’t have to hide that fact, Steven and I both know. I’ve seen how you look at Ethan, and I’ve seen how he looks at you. We’d be stupid to have missed it. You guys are textbook.”

I sighed, “It’s been like that since the summer. It’s so embarrassing, I can’t believe I’m even talking to you about this.”

Andrew replied, “I guess it was just a matter of time, the longer you stayed in that body. Steven and I don’t judge you for it. Yes, it’s a bit weird, but I mean- it must be hard for you. I still think of you as Darren inside.”

I smiled, “Thanks, I really needed to hear that.”

Andrew said, “Anyway, next time something big happens with the band, you need to let us know. OK?”

I nodded my head dutifully.

We arrived at our destination, a downtown rock venue called Club Saw. It was a two-storey brick building, and like much of the ageing architecture in downtown Ottawa, it had a ramshackle appearance that was a strange contrast to the mega condos, ultra-modern monoliths that housed hipsters, yuppies and retired public servants who still wanted a taste of the downtown core.

The sidewalk in front of the club was littered with cigarette butts, but a more permanent fixture were the thousands of tar stains that marked the sidewalk. The door, like that of the Ivory Tower, was worn, but it appeared even sturdier, likely double insulated against the sound that threatened to escape into the streets. I had played here before and also attended shows. At the last show, during an intermission, Amélie and I walked to a nearby McDonalds for a snack, only to find ourselves in close proximity to a stabbing.

Ottawa’s streets, like any major city, are littered with homeless people, begging for money for food, drugs or alcohol. Some happily accepted food, and I had donated leftovers before, but I refused to give any money. They often stood outside the two prominent liquor stores, so it was clear what they wanted. Was I judging them by not offering to indulge their habit? Maybe. We were also near a methadone clinic and a men’s shelter. This was not the safest part of the nation’s capital.

I was surprised to feel a measure of fear as we started unloading the gear. As Darren, I walked some of the city’s darkest alleys, always with the knowledge that if someone wanted to rob me, they would have to catch me first. Having lost my sprinter’s frame as well as changing gender gave me a seemingly built-in fear, especially after nearly being kidnapped by the Rock Machine. I had become a lot more wary since that incident. Even in broad daylight, I felt my heart beating faster.

Club Saw was known mostly for heavy metal, scream-core and hard rock. It had a notorious history through the grunge days of the nineties, packing hundreds into a pressure cooker of flailing fists, angry screams and multiple fire code violations. Since then rock had waned and the club was no longer a hot spot, but I was still excited to play here. We would play without our lead guitar player (i.e. walking wounded) which was more admirable than dropping out. The show must always go on.

***

“OK Rock N’ Roll Barbie. Let’s get your fucking guitar checked.”

The sound check wasn’t going well. Steven hadn’t been able to find any parking, and another band was loading in from the back already, so we were stuck carrying all our gear in through the front doors, which meant our sound check was late. We were on first, so we were supposed to check our gear first. Despite the disparaging remark from the sound guy, I simply nodded, flicked on my amp, and played a few power chords. The tone sounded terrible, booming and far too bassy. Because of this, my guitar had no place within the mix, it was on a frequency too close to the bass. Minus a second guitar player, we would sound even thinner if I kept my current tone.

The sound guy had a sour look on his face as I started fiddling with the knobs on my amp. He walked up to me, raised a brow at my guitar and especially my nails and said, “Look kid, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got three other fucking bands to check. Why not let someone else fucking dial it in for you. You don’t look like you know what you are doing.”

I actually did, but the sound person was the last person you wanted to argue with. He controlled how you sounded, and he could make you sound like a chorus of mewling cats being thumped with jack hammers. I had been to shows before, even professional ones, where one band sounded horrible to the point where the bass drum was actually jarring. The mix on stage was fantastic from the performance, but the audience heard what amounted to painful noise.

I said, “OK, sorry about this. Um, here-.” I handed him my guitar, the one with the ode to the Queen of Metal painted on it, and he sighed. He muttered, “Did your daddy do this for you?” Steven and Andrew glared at the man, but I motioned for them to stay quiet.

I replied, “A local guitar maker actually. He’s going to be here tonight.”

He looked down at me again and laughed, “And how are you expecting to play guitar with nails like that?”

I said, “Well I just play power chords. Drop D.”

He shook his head and laughed, “Fuckin’ A, are you serious? Christ, chick musicians, they want respect and then they come in here late for the fucking sound check like some shitty ass pop diva. And then she tells me she can’t play anything but Drop D because of her pretty nails.” A few people laughed, likely members of the other bands.

He looked at me, “Kid, I’m going to give you some advice. You want to be a musician, a legit fucking rock star. You ditch the fucking nails, cut your hair and get a guitar that doesn’t look like it was the prize for fucking GIRLZ ROCK 2009.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to throw out your prize from last year, you fat sack of shit?”

I turned to look at the speaker and was surprised to see Jeremy, the young man who had been the object of my very first boy crush. He was still slim, almost waiflike, wearing the same pair of red drainpipe skinny jeans. His hair, which was parted over one eye, was an unnatural almost crimson red, but it was suitable for his band- This Bloody Life. He had a number of tattoos over his forearms, a so-called sleeve that was a mixture of skulls, bleeding hearts and barbed wire.

The sound guy replied, “Fuck any guys lately you fag?”

Both men had smiles on their face, and having spent a great deal of time in locker rooms with men, I knew immediately that the men were engaging in bro-sults, the male equivalent to girls calling each other bitches, lovingly. Steven, Andrew and I ribbed each other, but never in such a crude or personal manner. Our hockey teams were fair game, but not our sexuality or weight, especially since my change.

The sound guy reached his hand out and Jeremy took it firmly, he said, “So your fag band is playing tonight? You still paying people to come to your shows fuck head?”

Jeremy smirked, “Yeah we are. You going to make us sound like shit like you do every other band that comes in here?”

To me, Jeremy was questioning the sound guy’s competence, and in turn, the man was questioning Jeremy’s sexuality and the popularity of his band. None of it was pleasant, but amazingly, both of them seemed happy to play the nasty game.

The sound guy turned away from Jeremy and started fiddling with my amp, he turned the bass down and raised my highs, and then he returned to the board and asked me to play again. The tone was much improved, now a full sound that would stand out against Andrew’s bass, my guitar was a cackling, piercing spear of sound that would be clearly heard in the mix now. The sound guy, whose name I learned was Leo, was fully competent. He was just a sexist asshole.

We played a portion of a mid-set song and Leo took note of all the levels, ensuring that nothing was clipping. After soundcheck, as I was leaving Club Saw, I saw Jeremy smoking a cigarette. Andrew and Steven had already left to get their respective cars, having been forced to park many blocks away after unloading the gear.

“Don’t let Leo get to you, he’s a prick, but he’s fucking good at his job. I’ve never had any problems with him.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Yeah, well I didn’t appreciate what he said. But I know how it is with sound guys, you play by their rules or they make you sound like shit.”

Jeremy smiled, and the Ethan stupor that had descended on me was suddenly lifted. My crush on Jeremy, long since extinguished, returned like a fire reduced to embers suddenly flaring up. I smiled back at him, and the young man’s smile grew confident, “If you’d done what I did, he would have left you alone. I guess guys are just like that. It’s a stupid thing we do.”

Andrew pulled up in the SUV, and just as I was leaving, Jeremy said, “Don’t listen to Leo either, I think you look really rock dressed like that. Looking forward to hearing you guys play tonight. I liked what I’ve heard so far during sound check.”

I lowered my head and a little smile appeared on my face. I gently brushed the bangs from my eyes, “Um- thanks. I’m looking forward to hearing you guys again. I really liked you in Montreal.”

I quickly added, “Your band. Your band was really good.” I could feel my face turning red, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Jeremy put a gentle hand on my shoulder, “See you tonight, Abigail.”

I walked toward the SUV and slipped in beside Andrew. He asked, “Are you OK? That sound guy was a real asshole.”

I couldn’t get the smile off my face. I felt giddy, bursting with energy at the prospect that Jeremy liked me. He remembered my name too from when I saw him in Montreal. I nodded my head, “Yeah, I’m fine.” Jeremy was similar to Ethan, in that, he was a musician, but he was far more assertive. I knew that his little gesture, the hand on my shoulder, was meant to plant his image in my mind, so that our brief contact would not be a fleeting memory. It was the type of thing he may have read in a men’s magazine, but it worked. I felt closer to him because of his subtle touch, and I wanted more.

***
“So, he touched your shoulder?” Alyssa was busy removing my nail polish, with a toxic smelling clear liquid. I thought it smelled like turpentine and hand sanitizer.

“Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about it.” I noticed that the nail polish remover wasn’t taking off any of the colour, but it did remove the white stars.

Alyssa blinked, “Did you do the fill coat with permanent marker or something? I can’t get the pink off at all.” I was afraid of this. I had never actually tried anything with my nails beyond cutting them off. I figured that I could just clip them and my hair now that Alexandre was out of the picture, but when I tried to hack off my long tresses in a vain attempt to remove any likeness to his dream girl, they grew back rapidly. I assumed that there would be other opportunities to meet record producers, and that the Prophecy would want me to be as feminine looking as possible. Either that, or it was a punishment devised by Mr. Atwater for my misbehaviour in the Sidereus Agency building.

I replied quickly, “Yeah, something like that. You can leave them if you want.”

Alyssa shook her head rapidly, “Well, I was planning on doing something a little different, but this works better actually! I guess you have your base coat on already.” She started painting my nails, using the same colour pink, and then she removed a bizarre tool from her backpack, it was wooden but on each end was a very thin, long metal spike. Alyssa took a jar of tiny steel balls and placed them on the vanity next to me, and then used the tool like a magnet to pick up one of the steel balls. She carefully placed one of the balls on my still wet nails and repeated the process ten times per nail.

As she worked, we continued discussing Jeremy, “So how old is he?”

I replied, “I think he’s probably eighteen. It’s hard to say.”

Alyssa smiled, “Ooh! Older guys are great. They know what they are doing.”

I shook my head, “Not always. What about Alexandre?”

Alyssa frowned, “OK, yeah. Well, Jeremy seems really nice. I’ll see if he’s looking at you while you sing.”

I smirked, “Uh- I’m the lead singer. Everyone is going to be looking at me.”

Alyssa smiled, “Yeah, but they don’t stare. It’s like the way Ethan-“ The smile disappeared from her face.

She frowned, “Sorry. It’s just, it’s obvious, you know? Like if he looked at you that way then we’d know for sure.”

Alyssa finished close to dinner time, and the whole time, we discussed boys, and I did it as naturally as a real girl. This fact should have bothered me more, but I couldn’t help but remember Jeremy’s smile, his touch, but also how easy it was to replace Jeremy with Ethan’s image. It was clear in my mind who I really wanted. I had done the same thing when I replayed the night with Alexandre over and over in my head. What would have happened if I’d gone to Ethan’s that night?

Alyssa shouted triumphantly, “Done!” I looked down and a smile quickly grew to a wide grin as I saw what Alyssa had done to my nails. The tiny metal balls stood out against the pink nails like the studs on a leather jacket. I was surprised how much I liked them, but like my hair, the simple change to my nails had also infused me with a giddiness. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt a measure of pride. Alyssa smile at me, as it was clear I liked her handiwork.

Something about looking good filled my brain with all sorts of happy thoughts. I felt less concern at missing Ethan, both as a romantic partner and a band member, and that somehow because my hair and nails looked good, I thought the night would pass without any hiccups.

***

“Hey man, why are you dressed like that?” I was sitting in the backseat of Andrew’s SUV. Steven, who was sitting in the front seat, had shifted his body in order to speak with me.

“Well it’s a show, right? It’ll help the band get noticed.” I was still wearing makeup, but beyond that I felt I was dressed normally- my usual pair of torn jeans, the pink Converse hi-tops and Alyssa's red and black leather jacket with one of Amélie’s band shirts underneath.

Steven frowned, “Well I’ve never seen you wear makeup for other shows. I think you are hanging around Alyssa too much. She’s turning you into a real girl, Darren.”

I narrowed my eyes, “Oh really? Well maybe if you guys agreed to hang out once and a while outside of band practice, I wouldn’t have to resort to hanging out with girls.”

Steven’s frown deepened, “Look man, my wife- she just thinks it’s a bit weird is all. Me hanging out with a teenage girl.”

I replied, “She’s met me though. She knows who I really am.”

Steven shrugged his shoulders, “I know. I know- it’s just that well you know that BBQ we had at my house in July? She saw you checking out my cousin when he was in the pool. She saw you looking at me too actually. It just makes her uncomfortable. I mean come on man, you are fifteen.”

I shook my head, “I can’t help that. But, you guys are my friends. I’m not going to put any moves on you.” I was laughing by this point.

Steven nodded, “I know, but I gotta keep the peace you know? We just have to consider how it looks if I go to your place, and you are home alone or something. It’s just- it would feel weird, especially if, like you say, you can’t help it.”

“Andrew, how do you feel about this? Does Laura feel the same way? You’ve turned down all my offers to hang out too.”

Andrew replied, “I’ve just been really busy with the baby, Darren.”

I raised my voice slightly, “That’s bullshit, Andrew. No one is that busy with a baby.”

Andrew sighed, “You can believe what you want, Darren. We are also trying to sell the house, so I’ve been doing a lot of renovations. I devote all my spare time to the band. I’m sorry that I don’t have time to come over anymore.”

I nodded my head sadly, “It’s OK. I understand. I guess I know what that’s like- with my stupid homework. It takes up a lot of time that I’d rather spend on making music.

Andrew replied, “Yeah.”

I felt that Andrew’s tone was slightly condescending. I knew that my school work did not have the same importance as child rearing duties or home renovations, but considering how the social worker would react to failing grades- I had to complete it.

We arrived at Club Saw having not said a word to each other for fifteen minutes. We were not seasoned enough to hide the growing rift in the band, a gaping hole caused by Ethan’s departure. Thirty minutes from show time, and we weren’t even speaking. I felt a gnawing in my stomach, the result of not eating enough for supper and serious anxiety. If we didn’t focus on our performance and musicianship, we would crash and burn. I desperately hoped that once the first note was struck, we would forget all of the current issues, putting on an enviable show, but I had severe doubts.

I began going over the lyrics in my head, ensuring that I didn’t forget any. I stumbled over the words for the first song in my head, and my anxiety increased to the point where it felt like someone had put my stomach in a vice and was slowly turning, increasing the pressure as the clock ticked down to show time.

Fifteen minutes later, I was a wreck. I was positive that I had forgotten the words to a handful of verses. I walked into the club, after completing my warm-up CD, and saw a crowd of at least a hundred people. I knew most of them were here to see Porcelain and This Bloody Life, but they would have to sit through us first- the train wreck. The vice tightened on my stomach, and I ran to the bathroom.

“Abby, are you OK?” It was Alyssa. I was bent over the sink. The same adolescent hormones that made me brave at times, now undermined my self-confidence. I looked up, and not only did I fear that I would forget the lyrics for entire songs, I worried I would be unable to support notes due to the tightness of my stomach. As great as my hair and nails looked, I also thought I looked chunky in Amélie’s t-shirt- one she had bought when she lost weight. Tiny love handles peeked out at times unless I held the t-shirt down, and my belly pushed against it, forming a round indentation in the fabric and distorting the logo slightly. I kept pulling the shirt down, but it kept inching its way upward, trying to uncover what I felt were definite flaws.

Alyssa put her hand on my shoulder, “It’s gonna be OK, Abby. You’ll be amazing.”

I sniffed and shook my head, feeling tears threaten. “I don’t know, Alyssa. I don’t think I can do it. It’s too much pressure. There’s too many people out there. I forgot all the lyrics for the first song. It’s going to be a disaster. Oh god, what do I do if I start crying up there?”

Alyssa put her arms around me gently, “Come on, Abby. Remember when I said you were the strongest girl I know? Well it’s true. Show me I’m right.”

I hugged Alyssa back tightly, “I’m so sorry again about what happened last night. We’ll have another sleepover soon to make up for it.”

Alyssa smiled, “Instant Star season 3. Right?” I nodded, and Alyssa beamed. The knot in my stomach started to gently unravel.

Amélie entered the bathroom with a worried look on her face, “Abigail, there’s a problem with your sound system. The sound guy can’t get them to work. He needs you to come test it.” I hadn’t seen Amélie since the morning. She spent the day at Laura’s. She looked at me much the same way Steven and Andrew looked at me- shock and a measure of discomfort. Again, I assumed it was the makeup and my hair.

The knot in my stomach returned. It wound by a multitude of fluttering butterflies, tighter and tighter, until my anxiety resurfaced. I peered at Amélie with wild eyes, “I don’t get it. It worked fine this afternoon. I’m not going to be able to hear myself without that!”

Amélie frowned, “Well maybe you can fix it. Just come, you guys are supposed to go on in ten minutes.” I raced out of the washroom and approached Leo, the sound person, with those same wild eyes.

“What do you mean you can’t get it to work? I need that. Wedges are never enough, especially in a place like this.”

I was speaking about my wireless in-ear monitor system. Unlike floor monitors, which could be rendered ineffective due to poor placement or competing noise (mostly Steven probably the loudest drummer in Ottawa), in-ears were always present. I had bought an inexpensive system, but the difference was like night and day, I no longer had to sing over the music to hear myself.

Leo glared at me, “Your system is shit. I keep getting a radio station on them. You need a stronger signal.”

I didn’t understand the specifics of how the system worked, but I remembered that wireless technology on the same frequency could be overpowered. I recalled the hilarious scene from “This is Spinal Tap” where the lead guitar player found himself broadcasting air traffic control reports instead of thrashing solos. My system had warned that competing signals could cause the system to pick up stronger signals that shared the same frequency. I sniffed, and once again, tears threatened.

Leo maintained his glare, “Hey, this is a fucking rock show, kid. There’s nothing I can do. Don’t fucking cry.” Leo’s expression softened for an instant, and then he said, “Look, you need to go on in five minutes. I’ve got powered monitors up there. No one else has a system like yours. You’ll be able to hear yourself.”

I shook my head, “Have you heard how hard our drummer hits? I will barely be able to hear my guitar up there.”

Leo smirked, “Then have him play with fucking brushes.” I flipped him off and then joined my bandmates, Amélie and Alyssa at the side of the stage.

I sighed, now on the verge of tears, “In-ears won’t work. I’m going to have to use the floor monitors.”

Steven frowned, “Really? That sucks! So the sound guy couldn’t do anything?”

I replied, “He told me you should play with brushes.” Steven swore and shot dirty looks toward Leo.

I sat down on the edge of the stage and sighed deeply, lowering my head and feeling my shoulders slump in the process.

“Hey guys. Um- I’m here to play. Can you give me a hand with my amp? My dad’s got it outside.”

I looked up to see Ethan as my heart and my stomach took turns reacting, my heart, practically leaping out of my chest, pattering as it had the first and only time we kissed, and the knot in my stomach immediately unwinding. Ethan’s presence had turned my stomach into a fluttering butterfly massacre. I felt like I could sing to the Devil, and like a crotchety old man, he would hit the ceiling of Hell and yell, “Keep it down!”

I waited for Ethan to put down his guitar case and flew into him, wrapping my arms around him. I said excitedly, “I’m so glad to see you. We were so screwed without you. Does this mean you are staying in the band for now? Because that would be amazing, we really need you. I’m really sorry about everything. That mean message I left. You had a right to be mad.”

I heard Amélie mutter that she was going to go and find Laura, while Andrew and Steven said they would go and help Ethan’s dad with the amp. I saw Alyssa slink away, but not before she gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Ethan broke the hug and said, “Um- I’m not sure yet. Depends how the show goes, how into it I am. I’ve started jamming with some guys from school. Thursday night actually. They are our age, and they like a lot of different stuff. I was there for like three hours.”

He said, “I just felt like an ass for leaving you guys like this. You were right, I needed to just forget everything that happened and just play. I’ll decide what I want to do, but I’ll give you time to find a replacement.”

I frowned, “I thought my message was really mean.”

Ethan shrugged, “Maybe the bit about Alexandre, but it just made me realize you know- if I want to do this for a job- I need to start acting like it. How would you say…it’s like the- um.”

I replied, “The professional thing to do.”

Ethan smirked, and I realized how much I loved that expression, so full of adolescent bravado, but also a sincerity. It was how he looked at me before I screwed everything up with Alexandre. “Sure Abby, that’s what I meant.” I smiled at him, and when he smiled back, I felt like I could play for not only a hundred, but a hundred thousand people.

A few minutes later, Steven and Andrew had lugged Ethan’s amp on stage, but as they made their way through the crowd, Leo stomped toward us with murder in his eyes.

He shouted, “No! NO way is this happening. What kind of fucking amateur hour are we dealing with here? You aren’t at sound check. You don’t play. You want me to fucking sound check an amp now two minutes before you are supposed to go on? That fucks all the other levels up. You guys said fucking-three-piece. Three piece!”

Leo added, “So not only do I gotta deal with Miss Fucking Princess of Rock N’ Roll here, but her faggy boyfriend too.” He looked toward Andrew and Steven, “Is there a fucking reason why you are in a band with high schoolers? You like ‘em young or something?”

Jeremy interrupted, “Hey you fat sack of shit, you are just jealous because Lolita herself turned you down. This isn’t your failed attempt to be a roadie for White Snake either, it’s just a friendly show. So stop throwing around amateur hour.”

He added, “And there’s nothing stopping you from adjusting the levels during the first song. Right? Just let the kids play.”

It was bizarre to hear Jeremy call Ethan and I kids, because he couldn’t have been older than nineteen or eighteen, but I recall as a first-time high school student, the grade twelve students razzing the grade nines for being so immature and tiny. One of them in particular was bullied because his backpack was apparently larger than he was. Considering my height and young face, I could have passed for a ninth grader.

Leo glared at Jeremy and then replied, “I’m going to make you sound like shit tonight.”

Jeremy smirked, “You always do.” Leo, the apparent loser of the bro-sult contest, stepped onto the stage and carefully positioned a microphone in front of Ethan’s amp. I approached Jeremy.

“Hey, thanks a lot. He was being a real dick to us. Our uh- guitar player was late.”

Jeremy smiled at me, and I felt what I assumed were reanimated butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “No worries. And shit happens. I guess he couldn’t get a ride from his dad or something?” The comment was snarky, but I didn’t care- I was too busy looking into his eyes.

Ethan interrupted, “Hey man, that’s not it at all. Not cool.”

Jeremy put his hand on my left shoulder, “You staying for our set, Abby? You know the code, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t leave until the last band f-finishes” I wanted to sound confident, but my voice wavered, actually cracking on finishes and causing me to blush deeply. I proceeded to drop my pick, which Ethan dutifully picked up and placed in my now shaking hands.

Jeremy smiled again, and the part of me that wasn’t gushing over another boy realized that I was again becoming a painful stereotype of a teenage girl. I wasn’t sure if I was boy crazy or not. It’s not like I was developing crushes on every boy I met. OK, maybe the student teacher who was doing his practicum in my music class. Maybe. I definitely felt good when I was around him, not like I wanted to kiss him, but just the way he looked at me- it made me feel special. Alyssa quickly pulled me away, thankfully stopping me from embarrassing myself further.

She said, “Abby! What are you doing? You are making Ethan really mad.”

I shook my head, “I was just thanking Jeremy.”

Alyssa shook her head vehemently, “No way. You were flirting with him. Hardcore. Totally flirting. Admit it, and stop it.”

I frowned, “I really don’t think I was. And even if I was, I can’t help it. It’s like the same thing with the student teacher we have for music. I just start feeling giddy, and I smile at him, and he smiles back, and I just-“

Alyssa stopped me there, “I get it. You are falling for all these guys because you aren’t getting the one you want. You have to think about how others see you, you are going to get a bad image at school. Especially after Alexandre.”

Alyssa frowned, “Some of the girls have already started calling you a slut.”

I replied indignantly, “And what do you say?”

Alyssa’s eyes showed surrender, “Whoa girl, I stick up for you. I know nothing happened between you and that asshole. But the others they say stuff, especially Véronique. Just um, like try and control it. And if you can’t then avoid the crush if you can.”

I said, “How do I ignore a teacher though?”

Alyssa scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue, “He’s so much older than you, Abby. Like ten years. Gross! He’s gonna be gone in a month anyway.” She grinned, “Anyway, you better get on stage. Andrew and Steven don’t seem to like our girl talk!” I could see that Andrew and Steven were aggressively motioning for me to step on the stage.

I quickly did as they asked, slinging my guitar over my shoulder as Steven hit his loop pad and the near deafening sound of an approaching helicopter filled Club Saw. Twenty seconds later, we hit our first note, and the cacophony of noise- cymbals, gritty, distorted angry guitars and thumping bass announced our opening song. I could see from the first note I sung, I had the crowd too, we had the crowd. I felt a measure of concern that it was potentially the Sidereus Prophecy controlling the concert goers, but I was supposed to be a pop princess not a rock front woman, so my worry fled easily.

As we powered through the set, I found my parents in the audience. I loved to lock eyes with them, as if I was singing only to them; although, obviously not when I wore my “murder” face, as my sister called it. My attempts to gain their attention, always made my mother smile. As for my sister, she was again babysitting Chloe. I also found myself casting curious looks in Ethan’s direction. This show was my chance to demonstrate that the band was worth it- that he would have no other choice but to stay with me, or rather- the band. As a result of his presence, I had no issue hearing myself over the music, particularly Steven’s thundering drums.

However, during one of his solos, Ethan began seriously showing off to a group of girls wearing brightly-coloured skinny jeans. Not only was I jealous of the attention he was giving them, I was doubly annoyed because I could never squeeze into a pair of jeans that tight- not without looking like a sausage leaking out of a defective casing. They were likely waiting for Jeremy’s band to start, but Ethan had caught their attention. He strutted in front of them, playing his guitar very low, well past his knees, smiling, with the girls casting what I felt were wanton looks. As his solo finished, I not only powered through the chorus to the song’s final scream, I released a piercing, desperate cry as I saw one of the girls, a bottle blonde with a less than modest chest reach out and touch Ethan’s hand.

I cast venom, hellfire, battery acid and deadly plague in her direction with my eyes. As I held the scream, well past the end of the music, I realized that I was looking at the girl with controlled hatred. She blanched and slowly stepped away from Ethan. I am not certain if the audience thought it was part of the show or not, but they cheered wildly when I finally released the note, ending the painful burning in my lungs. I stood there, breathing heavily as the crowd poured adulation on us- on me. Along with Ethan’s groupies, throughout our set, I had also gained admirers, most notably a very impressed looking Jeremy, who had pushed his way up to the front, now mere inches from me.

Despite that fact, I went out of my way to be close to Ethan through the second half of our one hour set. Whenever I wasn’t singing, I would move over toward him. As a result, he stopped showing off to his fan club. During “The Girl I’ll Never Know”, I took the microphone off the stand and stood next to him for the whole song, essentially singing to him. I saw Alyssa in the audience, and I could have sworn she was crying. I caught Amélie’s reaction a few times during the song, and she looked sad, but more than that- she was dejected. I hated to see her so miserable, but my feelings had grown for Ethan beyond a little crush. I wasn’t about to call it love, but his very presence made me better, as Amélie’s had once done. I was singing my heart out for him tonight, beyond anyone else- to convince him to stay. I peered down at my wedding ring, and then returned to Ethan.

We reached the last note in the set, and like the show at the Gob, the crowd was in a frenzy. Ethan and I crashed our bodies and our guitars together, creating massive feedback, as Steven pounded away like a maniac. Andrew was more composed, simply playing his bass low and nodding his head to the music. When it was done, and the final screech of feedback ended, there was raucous applause. I was on my back next to Ethan, the ultimate grunge end (short of destroying our instruments), and he smiled at me. I smiled back.

I was giddy when the set ended. I knew that Ethan would stay in the band. The lead singer of Porcelain, a twenty-something woman with raven hair and oddly enough, china doll-like skin, approached us as we were putting away our gear.

She smiled, the piercing in her bottom lip glistening under the hot stage lights, “Amazing set. Love the songs. And you two- I heard you are in high school?” She looked to Ethan and me.

I nodded, “Yeah, we go to St. Jo’s.”

She said, “You have a really mature sound. I’m blown away really. You can sound like that and be so young.” She laughed, “It’s not fair. Listen though, I know it might be a problem considering your ages, but I want you guys to open for us in a few out of town shows. Montreal, Toronto. And a bunch of shows along the 416. They are all weekend dates, so hopefully that’s not an issue. You don’t have to let us know now. The dates are all in November and December though, so it needs to be soon.” She congratulated us again and then walked away.

I beamed and looked at my band mates, “Amazing show guys. We killed it. So those shows, we are in, right?”

Andrew said, “I want to. I’ll need to speak to Laura. I agree it would be a lot of fun. We could rent a van.”

Steven said, “I am so in. I’ll book off work.” All three of us turned our attention to Ethan, who had a wide grin on his face. He nodded.

After I finished my duties as cable winder girl, Jeremy approached me. He grinned, “Sick set. Hey, I heard that you guys are going to be opening for Porcelain. They are a super nice band. They gave us a lot of exposure when we were starting out.” He touched me on the shoulder, and I smiled at him. I felt that I was simply being friendly. I was still on an emotional high from the show, and I wanted to seem approachable to anyone, so I maintained a very welcoming posture.

I said, “Um- thanks. I think we did OK.”

Jeremy laughed and then touched my hip, “I even saw Leo moving his head to the music. I told you he’d do a good job though, you guys sounded great. The mix was perfect.” He moved to touch my other hip, and said, “Are you going to come right up to the front like I-,” but Alyssa intercepted him.

She said, “Sorry!” I wasn’t sure what the female equivalent to a cock block was, but Alyssa had completed one expertly.

Alyssa pulled me aside and frowned, “Abby, you’ve gotta talk to Ethan. He saw you flirting with Jeremy AGAIN. What’s wrong with you? It’s so obvious you and Ethan like each other. You guys are as annoying as Jude and Vincent!”

She added, “You were being a major flirt, Abby.”

I shook my head, “No way, I’m just being friendly. I was just really excited from the show too.”

Alyssa pushed me out the door into smoker’s alley, “You let him touch you a bunch of times and Ethan saw it, he went out there. Go talk to him and fix it.”

I wasn’t sure why I let Jeremy touch me in front of Ethan. Was it to make him jealous? I wanted Ethan to touch me like that- well more than that actually.

I saw Ethan sulking in the corner. Dust from the gravel alleyway coated the sides of his shoes, which likely meant he had been kicking gravel. He was acting like such a child, throwing a tantrum, just because I had spoken to Jeremy. I tried to think of what I would have done if I were him. At his age, I lacked the ability to speak to girls in any romantic context. I needed friends to drag me along on double dates to even have a chance. It wasn’t until my last year of high school that I even asked a girl out. Ethan was light years ahead of me.

Ethan was a kid, so his behaviour wasn’t really that unusual. I had seen him go from lion to puppy dog before in the span of a brief conversation. He was fiery, but he was also highly emotional, wearing his heart on his sleeve, much like I did.

I said softly, “Hey.”

Ethan turned to me, his face a mask of hurt and betrayal. “Did you like talking to that jerk?” His words were spiteful, biting. My chest tightened as he watched me with angry eyes.

Logic had to reign if Ethan and I were going to have any type of romantic or even professional relationship. I said, “I’m not allowed to talk to guys? Because it sure looks like you are having a hissy fit over that.” I needed to show Ethan that he was being unreasonable and possessive.

Ethan said with narrowed eyes, “So if I went over to that blonde girl right now and she started touching me, playing with my hair. Touching my shoulder. You’d have no problem with that? I was pretty sure you wanted to scratch her eyes out when she was close to me during the set.”

I said, “That’s different. You were showing off for her, trying to make me jealous.”

Ethan shook his head, “It’s not different at all, Abby.” He threw his hands in the air, “You make me so mad. You are still acting like you know everything. Like you are something more than just a teenager, like me. It’s so annoying! What makes you so much smarter than everyone? Because you are guilty of the same things, Abby.”

He pointed a finger at me, “I think you were trying to make me jealous, letting him touch you like that. I think you did the same thing with Alexandre too, but it got out of hand. See? How does that feel? Because that’s how you sound, Abby. Every time you open your mouth.”

He added, “From the very first time I met you, you were like that. Acting like an adult, but it just makes you seem more like an immature child, playing dress up.”

I shot back, “I told you that I was almost emancipated. I worked a whole summer in a law office, successfully. I am different, Ethan. Can you do that, can Alyssa do that?”

Ethan shook his head, “No, of course not. But just because you’ve done that, doesn’t mean you are better than any one of us. It doesn’t mean you know any better about stuff. You make the same stupid mistakes any girl your age makes.”

I was unconvinced, but curious, “How so?”

He said, “Well for one, you tried to play hero in the Pit, and you got burned. You tried to tackle Chantal. How did that work out for you? You got suspended for what you did to M. Landry. You go on a date with Alexandre, where you get drunk and let him do whatever the hell he wants to you. I mean I don’t know everything my parents do, but I can’t remember the last time they did anything so stupid.”

He stated matter-of-factly, “You aren’t any different than the rest of us. You just think you are.”

I looked at Ethan with sad eyes, and my lower lip fell into a pout. Ethan simply shook his head, “As much as I like you, Abby, I just don’t think it’s worth it. As for the band, I’m not really looking forward to seeing you flirt with a bunch of guys and lie to my face and say you weren’t. There’s too much drama in this band. I don’t want to deal with this shit anymore. I think I just need to cut the fucking cord.”

I said, “Come on, Ethan- don’t do this. You know this band is good. We are starting to get traction. We need you.”

I heard a frantic scream, followed by intense double-bass pedal thumping and angry duelling guitars. This Bloody Life had taken the stage.

Ethan said, “Shouldn’t you head inside? Didn’t you promise what’s-his-name you’d be up front?”

I watched Ethan, shoulders slumped, defeated but still furious with me. We had only a few feet between us. I stood my ground, hoping that I could convince him further.

I said, “Please let’s talk about this, Ethan. I care about you.”

The boy started moving toward the door, but I intercepted him, blocking his path.

Ethan said, “Abby, just move- I- wait what are you, mmmphhhmmmm,” my lips halted his words, and within an instant, he was kissing me back- hard. He put his tongue down my throat, clumsily at first, but eventually he found mine, and we were duelling back and forth. He put his hand on my ass, firmly packed in the slightly too-tight jeans, and squeezed, then he leaned me up against the cement wall. We were like a vicious storm bottled for months released suddenly upon the world, a torrential downpour, lightning crackling, deafening thunder and raging hurricane-strength winds.

It was a natural fury, his months of pent up sexual frustration, and my understanding and sudden willingness to accept that if I was going to be Abigail, if I was going to live her life, then Ethan had to be in it.

The sensations were hard to describe, in that, it wasn’t the fireworks or sparks that I had felt when Ethan and I first kissed. There was passion and a clear end to the frustration on both our parts, but it was a sense that what I was doing felt not only very good, amazing in fact, but also very right. It was right because it made me forget about the others, the student teacher in my music class, Jeremy, even Justin Bieber- I never ever wanted to admit it, and I still despised his music, but with his recent police run-ins, I saw a picture of him in one of the tabloid magazines with his shirt off, tight abs, just looking pissed at the world…and hot, and it didn’t matter if he yodeled, I found him very attractive, but I would murder the first person who said anything.

Beyond the obvious ones, it also made me forget about the wedding ring on my finger, about Amélie and even Chloe. I felt like I did when I first kissed Amélie in her apartment. Of course, she had gone for the kiss, and I had gone for the hug, thinking it prudent to take things at a snail-like pace, but she initiated the kiss, and I accepted, but this time, I had initiated it.

I came up for air, and in the process, I broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Ethan now had his hand on my chest and was sort of roughly squeezing my left boob, while still rubbing my ass. I fell into the exercise like an inexperienced teenage girl, and while I knew in general what to do to make him feel very good, I lost myself in the new experience and simply put my arms around his waist, waiting for his next move. It was clear he wanted to be the dominant one, which suited me fine, as I really wasn’t sure I was ready to deal with what was in his pants.

Just as I caught my breath, Ethan was back on my lips, kissing me fiercely, and then I felt something poking me as the boy started pushing, and then thrusting his crotch into my leg. My eyes flew open, and I was filled with fear. I told myself I wasn’t ready for this. We were in a public place too. The alley was empty now with the next band having started, but it likely wouldn’t be for long.

“Abigail! Abigail! Are you- oh! I was- . “ It was Amélie. I immediately broke the kiss, but I knew it was too late. She had seen everything. My wife, who I had once referred to as a robot, was anything but- her lips were tight, and her eyes tearing up. Her hands were trembling as she said, “I- Oh- I-I’m really sorry, but I have to take Abigail home now. There’s been a- there’s a family emergency.”

She cleared her throat, “I’ll let you two say goodbye. I want you in the car in two minutes though, Abigail.”

My wife left, and I looked at Ethan sheepishly, “Um- sorry about that. I guess I have to go.”

Ethan looked at me kindly, “It’s OK, Abby. I understand. I’ll make sure all your gear gets packed up. And I’ll tell the others you had to go. Family emergency, right? I hope everything is alright. I’ll- um- text you tonight.” He kissed me on the lips and then wrapped his arms around me. I just stood there like a statue. Amélie had seen everything.

Ethan looked at me with sudden worry, “Hey, Abby, are you OK? You- look kind of lost. It’s not something I did?”

I shook my head and then kissed him softly on the lips, “No, I’m just worried about what it might be. You know- the emergency.”

Ethan’s confidence, previously shattered, returned in full force. He grinned, “So, if I were to invite you to my place to play NHL, and Ryan, Eric and even Alyssa weren’t there. Just you and me. That’d be OK?”

I smiled and then gently said, “Yeah. It’s OK.”

The boy’s expression was one of tremendous relief and then joy. He smiled, “Great show, Abby. You were amazing.”

I grinned, “So were you.” I turned my back to him. I tried to move toward the exit, but it was like bungee cables held me firmly in place, and the more pressure I applied in attempting my exit the harder the cables snapped back. I turned around and kissed Ethan hard the lips and then I wrapped my arms around him, and he did the same, and once again, we were entangled. My imminent departure made the kiss bittersweet, but not lacking in passion. I knew there wasn’t a family emergency. It had to be my stupid curfew. I figured that because of Amélie’s decision to be stricter that she would want me home at a decent hour.

I don’t know how long we stood there and kissed, but when I heard Amélie’s voice again- I knew it had been too long. I quickly broke the embrace, feeling myself torn away from Ethan, and very much looking forward to seeing him on Monday.

Ethan shouted to my retreating form, “I’ll text you tonight, Abby!”

Amélie took my hand and pulled me into Club Saw. I knew that the car ride home was going to be less than pleasant.

Chapter 56

“It’s not how it looked, Amélie- really.”

My wife shook her head and replied, “It looked like Ethan was getting to second base. Listen, Abigail, I’m not really surprised that it happened. I know that you two like each other, and you were going through a rough patch. This was inevitable.” I was amazed by how calm and collected she was. The kiss she had viewed basically sounded the death knell on our marriage. Before, it was a feeble, haggard husk, nearly dead, but now, it was in a pine box six-feet under.

I frowned, “I asked you not to call me that. What’s the emergency by the way? Why did we have to leave?”

Amélie replied, “Because we have to have a talk.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “Whatever. And what about Alyssa, didn’t she come with you?”

Amélie nodded, “She’s getting a ride with Ethan’s dad.”

There was an awkward silence in the car for ten minutes, and while it was clear Amélie wanted to talk, she was having difficulty. I played on my phone, texting Alyssa and Ethan, asking them about Porcelain’s set.

Finally, Amélie broke the silence, “Do you remember that conversation we had about Chloe? You know when she’s a teenager and she’s got a serious boyfriend?”

I nodded, “Yeah. So what?”

Amélie said gently, “And you remember how we said, that our parents, they never had the talk with us.”

I shrugged, “Yeah. But what does that matter? Neither of us started dating seriously until we were in our twenties. What are you getting at, Amélie?” I was getting impatient, and I already missed Ethan.

Amélie replied, “When I was your age, well let’s just say I never let a guy touch me like you did tonight. And the thing with Alexandre, it’s got me a bit scared for you, Abigail. I think…,” she cleared her throat, and then pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot. She turned into the drive-thru lane.

Amélie finally blurted out, “I think you should go on the pill.”

If Amélie thought she would be free from my ire, outright disgust and embarrassment because she had reached the drive-thru window, she was wrong.

The garbled speaker said, “Can I *static crackle* please.”

Amélie saw my face, which bore a striking resemblance to my murder face, and frowned, she turned to the face the microphone, but I blurted out, “I would order, but I’m not sure I should have the responsibility. You know, because apparently I can’t be trusted with my own body.”

The garbled speaker said, “Please *static crackle*.”

Amélie sighed, “Sorry, about that I’ll have a nugget meal, and a quarter pounder meal.”

I said, “I want a salad. Just a Caesar salad.”

Amélie looked at me with great confusion, “You never order a salad. You say it’s a waste of money. Are you worried about your weight again?”

The garbled speaker replied, “Repeat your *static crackle* please.”

I said, “Can I just get a salad without it being the Spanish Inquisition? You remember the sleepover don’t you? I had a Slurpee. That’s really all that needs to be said.”

The car behind us honked, and the speaker said, “Come into the *static crackle* complicated orders. Please.”

A minute later an exasperated Amélie drove up to the pay window, while I sat with her chicken Mcnuggets and a very unappetizing Caesar salad on my lap. It had likely been made this afternoon or even this morning, and the lettuce was wilting.

Amélie took her meal from my lap, “I think you should really consider going on the pill, Abigail. And before you bite my head off, let me explain why.” I dug into my salad, the tomatoes were overly mushy, the cucumbers almost gel-like- I took one bite and closed the lid.

Amélie said, “I’m going inside to take that back and get you a proper meal. You hardly ate anything for dinner.”

I said, “I’m detoxing after last night. Don’t bother. I’ll eat something when we get home. Can we just get going? Why are we just sitting in the parking lot?”

Amélie replied, “Because I want to talk.”

I shook my head, “I’m not going on the pill. I’m not stupid, Amélie. I’m not like those girls on 16 and Pregnant or Teen Mom or whatever. It’s not going to happen to me. You know who I am. I like Ethan, sure- but I’m not ready for anything like that. And even if we were considering it, which I am definitely NOT, I’d make him use protection.”

I said firmly, “Again, I want to make very clear, I am not thinking about that.”

Amélie frowned, “But that’s how it happens. You’ve never been on the other end like that, Abigail. Condoms are inconvenient, they ruin the mood because they don’t feel as good. I’ve heard all the excuses for not using them. I’ve even heard them from you- and how you were almost expecting me to go on the pill, just so you wouldn’t have to use a condom. Well the pill, it’s like your fail safe, yes- you can still get pregnant on the pill, but it greatly reduces the chances.”

I narrowed my eyes at Amélie, “You think I’m as stupid as the girls on those shows. I told you I’m not interested in doing that with Ethan or any guy. I like boys, but that’s just too much.”

Amélie shook her head, “I’m sorry if you thought I was calling you stupid earlier. I was just trying to explain that, you know, a lot of your choices since your change- they haven’t been great. I was just mad about what happened with Alyssa. I don’t think you are stupid. I think you are a very intelligent girl, but in the heat of the moment, and with how inexperienced you are- well, anything can happen.”

I crossed my arms underneath my chest, nearly entering full pout mode, “You don’t understand. I need to prove to myself that I still have control. That I can still make the adult choice.”

Amélie said, “But contraception is the adult choice. I’ve been on the pill since I moved out of my parents’ place. It’s just well- I didn’t want to remind you about this, but what about the Sidereus Prophecy, what if it forces you to throw yourself at another man, what then?”

Amélie said softly, “What would you do if you got pregnant?”

I replied, “It won’t happen. Ethan and I were just kissing.”

Amélie sighed, “This, this is why you need to go on the pill. You are crazy about that boy. You aren’t thinking straight. I wasn’t talking about him, I was talking about Alexandre. You can use the pill to protect yourself, at least from getting pregnant.”

I turned away from Amélie and said, “So what, are you my mom now, is that it?”

Amélie frowned, “Please at least consider it. I think it might be a good idea to speak to Dr. Alberts.”

I ignored Amélie and went back to playing on my phone. Eventually, Amélie backed out of the parking lot and drove us home. When we arrived, I went straight to my room without even saying hello to my sister.

I got up in the middle of the night to go to the washroom, an annoying side effect of my smaller bladder. As I entered the washroom, I could have sworn I heard crying upstairs, but it didn’t sound like Chloe. After I finished and flushed the toilet, the crying had stopped.

***

“Mr. Lawrence, it’s really very good to see you again. Or is it simply Abigail now?”

Mr. Atwater was sitting in his desk chair, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Please have a seat, Abigail.” He motioned to the seat in front of his desk.

I looked down at myself, and saw that I was still Abigail. I thought of Darren’s image, and felt myself shift back, regaining my maleness, but only for a moment. When I tried it a few seconds later, I couldn’t shift back. All I could think about was Ethan.

I did as he asked, although I had a sour look on my face. While the office had a museum-like atmosphere with some of history’s most recognizable masterpieces on display, I couldn’t help but notice the framed copy of “Baby Hit Me One More Time”, Britney’s debut album.

Mr. Atwater said, “She argued with me for weeks about that title. She thought it was hypersexual, and completely inappropriate for her young fans, many of them not yet in their teens. She lost that battle, as she did many others.”

I sneered, “Why did you bring me here? I’m still not signing your contract.”

Mr. Atwater smiled, but it was the look a famished wolf gives to the lame deer, “To offer a fair warning to you. If you do not sign by Christmas, your life will become very, very unpleasant, Abigail.”

He added, “And speaking of Christmas, I am really looking forward to seeing you in elf ears. You and Alyssa will have a really wonderful time. You are very lucky to have her. She is a true friend.”

While I remained silent and indignant, Mr. Atwater kept blabbing on and on, “I have to admit that I was shocked when you cast the spell on her. I didn’t think you had it in you, but this confirms my opinion of you. Not only are you willing to neglect your friends and family to succeed, you are willing to sacrifice them too. By casting the spell, you revealed yourself to be the perfect choice for the Sidereus Prophecy. The magic will aid you, but you will still need to work to reach the top. Yes, you will be an overnight sensation, but there will be others who will vie for your position.”

He added, “Your deceit regarding the spell and Alyssa speaks volumes as to your nature, Abigail. There is a very bad girl hiding behind that sweet face. The perfect girl to massacre her competition.”

I shook my head furiously, “No! I’m not like that! I was desperate. I couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan, and Alyssa- she’s turning me into a real girl. It was a mistake. I will never try it again! Ever. Even if it means I am trapped this way.”

Mr. Atwater smirked, “It’s really very simple though, Abigail. Sign the contract, and in two years, you can be Darren Lawrence again. If you like, I will have one of our agents provide you with a copy of the contract. You can have your darling Amélie look it over.”

Mr. Atwater added with levity, “By the way, when are you going to take that ridiculous ring off? You know we’ll airbrush it off your finger either way. Are you wearing it in some pathetic attempt to prolong your marriage? You know Amélie has taken hers off. A few times. Last night when she was crying, she took it off. Do you think she’ll keep it off this time?”

I shouted, “I don’t believe you! I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth.”

Mr. Atwater tsked-tsked softly, “You are delusional. You think that she’s going to forget that you were lip-locked with your lead guitar player last night?”

I sighed, “So what happens if I sign, and I follow all of your ridiculous rules for two years, then I get to be married to Amélie again? My friends won’t treat me like a freak show? What about Mr. Principal, can you get him to leave my wife alone?”

Mr. Atwater replied, “The Sidereus Prophecy is far reaching, but once it is fulfilled, the magic becomes inactive. I cannot promise you that your life will be the same as it was before you became Abigail.”

He added, “Do you see, I could have lied to you and told you otherwise? Told you what you wanted to hear. I am telling you the truth, Abigail.”

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever. So if you can’t promise me any of that, why should I sign? What’s my incentive?”

Mr. Atwater wore a devilish grin, “Again, this is simplicity. I know you are a strong girl, Abigail. Alyssa is right about that. You know how I said that your life after Christmas will become unpleasant? What if that also meant the same for your loved ones? Amélie is a given, and your parents, and what about Ethan? And Chloe-“

I slammed my fist on the desk, “You don’t touch her! I’ll kill you if you touch her, I will find a way!”

It was true. Amélie and I had at times discussed what we would do if someone threatened Chloe’s life. The scenario we used involved a home intruder with a knife. I would bash the intruder’s brains in with a bat before letting them touch my daughter. The same went for Mr. Atwater if he tried anything with her.

I woke suddenly, desperate for breath. I was back in my room. My hands went to my throat as I fought for air. I felt myself actually losing consciousness before it finally stopped, and I was able to breathe again. I didn’t think about my wife consoling me, or even my mother. I cried softly in my bed, wishing that Ethan was there to hold me, until I eventually fell back asleep.

***

The next morning, I was awakened by a series of vibrations on my end table- text messages. I quickly flipped my phone open, hoping it was Ethan.

Alyssa: abby
Alyssa: abby
Alyssa: wake up
Alyssa: tell me whats going on
Alyssa: so r u guys going out or what
Me: I’m not sure. He invited me to his place probably sometime during the week.
Alyssa: so what was it like the kiss =)
Me: It was nice
Alyssa: awww cute u 2 r so good 2gether
Alyssa: he talked lots about u after u left
Alyssa: he was rlly happy big grin on his face
Alyssa: did u guys do more than kiss
Me: Kind of
Alyssa: tell me tell me tell me tell me =)
Me: Maybe another time

I wasn’t ready to tell another soul how much I liked how Ethan touched me, beyond simply the kissing. I didn’t really understand this practice. I had never shared my romantic escapades with my guy friends. They knew in general who I was dating, but nothing beyond that.

Alyssa: awww come on we are bffs we are supposed to share everythng
Alyssa: did he touch u anywhere did u like it
Alyssa: come on what did it feel like

As I fought the urge to tell Alyssa, the memory of the event, Ethan gently pushing me against the alley wall, and then rubbing my ass, all the while kissing me fiercely, it rose to prominence, and suddenly, I desperately wanted to tell Alyssa- so I could relive it.

Me: He touched my butt, rubbed it a bit, then he kind of grabbed my boob but we were kissing so it didnt really matter
Alyssa: did he hurt ur boob
Me: Kind of I guess he was into it I didn’t really notice until he started really squeezing it
Alyssa: lol guys r so clueless
Alyssa: but did it feel good like when he was rubbing ur butt
Me: Yeah
Alyssa: u think something will happen when u go to his place
Me: Maaaaaybe
Alyssa: lol im rubbing off on u abby
Alyssa: im so happy u took my advice
Me: me too

I put my phone down, focused on the task at hand. I had a great deal of ground to make up with Amélie in regard to her treating me like an adult. The easiest way to return to her good graces was to do as she asked me, so I put on a pair of sweats, ate a quick bowl of cereal and armed with a duster, I began cleaning the living room.

Amélie had taken Chloe to Laura’s for a playdate, so not only did I clean the living room and the downstairs, I did her laundry, and Chloe’s laundry, and I also swept and mopped the kitchen floor. After I finished, it was well past noon, so I made a light lunch, a grilled cheese sandwich and vegetable soup.

In keeping with the theme of extreme productivity, I completed an aerobic workout, took a shower and then got started on my homework.

Ethan told me that he was going to text me last night, but I received nothing. I assumed it was silly advice he received from his friends or even Alyssa. There was nothing wrong with saying that you had a great time. It wasn’t creepy or stalkerish. I had once called a girl immediately after a date, to tell her how much of a good time I had, and then I attempted to strike up a long conversation. She was rightfully turned off, but a simple goodnight, it set fears to rest. After our reconciliation last night, however, I did not doubt Ethan’s interest. Still, it would have been nice if he had at least said good night.

I looked down at my phone and realized that twenty minutes had passed, and I was still on the same math problem. Even math reminded me of Ethan, because he had offered to help me before. I thought about calling him for help. It was the perfect excuse, but I fought the urge. I had to also show Amélie that I wasn’t obsessed with the boy, or she would likely drill me with the safe sex speech again. Still, maybe we could study in a park and… I took a deep breath, remembering a young couple that made us actually switch parks because their make-out session was so heated. That could very easily be Ethan and I.

I sighed, struggling through the math problems, until eventually I finished, but half of my answers were wrong as confirmed by my textbook. I closed the textbook, thinking about going in early tomorrow for extra help, as I had done in high school my first time around. I just wasn’t getting it, and to make matters worse, I was becoming frustrated. The odd thing was that my first time around, I managed to get a B+ in 10th grade math, helped greatly by my teacher, a young woman that I had a serious crush on. Everything she said made perfect sense. In her class, I achieved my first and only 100% on a math test. I still had the test, stowed away in a mouldy box somewhere in the spare room, the room that held the remnants of Darren Lawrence’s life.

The front door opened, announcing Amélie and Chloe’s return. I heard Chloe’s lilting voice, “Daddy? Daddy?” I trudged upstairs and Chloe’s infectious grin instantly brightened my mood. She asked, “On the Bed?” This was her favourite game with me, and I quickly joined her in my former master bedroom. I picked her up and threw her on the bed and then jumped up myself, laying my head down on one of Amélie’s pillows. Chloe did the same, and we were both soon pretend sleeping with me making loud, exaggerated snoring sounds. I then picked her up and exclaimed, “Bouncy train!” I lay her on my body, her head resting on my breasts, and I proceeded to jiggle and flail my entire body while Chloe held on for dear life.

Chloe was soon expelled from the ‘Bouncy Train’, but she reached out and firmly grabbed my right breast, causing me to yelp. This brought Amélie. “Are you OK?”

I nodded, “Yeah, Chloe just grabbed my boob. She’s rough. Like you know when she grabs your face and squeezes? It really hurts.”

Amélie nodded, “We need to be clear that behaviour like that isn’t acceptable. She does the same thing to the daycare providers and even the kids sometimes. Do you think that maybe because you play rough with her a lot that she might be doing that?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t want her to be a little princess. That’s how my dad played with my sister. Rough and tumble. In fact, he used to hit her with pillows.”

Amélie quirked a brow, “Yes, I have seen you do that.” Amélie sat down on the bed, and Chloe jumped at her, propelling herself into Amélie’s bosom.

Amélie was unprepared for the attack, and Chloe managed to grab her boob and squeeze it in much the same way she had done to me. Amélie didn’t yelp, but she did scold the child.

Chloe peered at both of us and then looked at herself, and then back to us, paying particular attention to our chests. “Mommy and Daddy same!” From her wide eyes and grin, it was clear Chloe had had a Eureka moment- Mommy and Daddy had the same parts. I looked over at Amélie who was frowning.

Amélie said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I’m worried that Chloe is going to be gender confused, if she thinks daddies are the same as mommies. As she gets older, she is only going to get more and more confused. Also, you know- I’d like to throw Chloe a birthday party. I’m starting to talk more with the other parents, and Chloe is making friends. I thought it might be nice to have them over.”

I sighed, “And it would be weird for her to call a teenage girl daddy, is that it?” I shook my head, “I don’t like this, Amélie. I don’t want to be pushed out of her life. I’m her Daddy, and I’m always going to be her Daddy.”

Amélie replied, “I need to start being social again. This is part of who I am. I really enjoyed planning Chloe’s party last year. I feel like outside of Laura, I can’t talk to anyone. You know because I have to lie about why there’s a fifteen year old girl here. And then I have to lie about why she calls you Daddy.”

I shrugged, “Can’t you hold one somewhere else with the other parents? And another here with our friends who know about the change?”

Amélie sighed, “I suppose so. This doesn’t really fix anything. What if we want to have people here who don’t know about your change?”

I raised a brow, “Like who?”

Amélie replied, “Well, your friends, or our friends who don’t know about the change. Alyssa and Ethan are going to wonder why Chloe calls you that.”

I shrugged, “I’ll just tell them it’s because I play with her the same way.”

Amélie said, “That doesn’t fix things though. I think you are going to have to tell our other friends who you really are. Some of them grew up with me, there’s no way they will believe you are my sister. A secret like that would have lasted two seconds in my home town.”

Amélie added, “Even though I said I wasn’t going to, I’ve been stuck lying. I haven’t gone out to anything because then I have to lie about you in Vancouver. It’s just, I don’t think it’s fair.”

I rolled my eyes, “So am I Abigail, or am I Darren? Because it seems like I can be neither.”

Amélie sighed, “I’m sorry for calling you Abigail. And thanks for cleaning the house.” I looked down to see if Amélie was still wearing her wedding ring. She was.

I said, “If we tell more people, then we risk the wrong person finding out. What if I become a story for some hungry journalist, one who is desperate enough to break such an unbelievable story?”

Amélie replied, “I don’t know. I agree that it’s a risk. But think about what Mr. Atwater said too, who would believe you? Well, so far your family and friends. Right?”

I said, “Fine, we’ll tell our friends, and my other family members at Chloe’s birthday party. But not those parents I don’t know. And not Alyssa and definitely not Ethan.” I couldn’t mix and match parts of Darren’s life with Abigail’s.

I asked, “Are you going to tell him?”

Amélie raised a brow, “Who?

I rolled my eyes, “You know who I’m talking about. Mr. Principal.”

Amélie shook her head, “He doesn’t need to know.”

I replied firmly, “Good.”

Later that night, as I was lying in bed, my phone buzzed, indicating another text message. I flipped my phone open, and I felt a burst of happiness.

Ethan: hey
Me: hey (I fought the urge to put a smiley face)
Ethan: sorry i didnt text u last night
Me: it’s OK
Ethan: alyssa told me not to and i kind of got it but then i thought i couldnt ask u about the emergency
Me: False alarm, thanks for asking though.
Ethan: hey abby how come u text in full words and sentences
Ethan: text is supposed to be fast
Ethan: i always laugh when you send me texts like full paragraphs w punctuation
Me: Do you think it’s weird?
Ethan: nah it’s not just different
Ethan: i didnt mean it like that its cool :)
Ethan: so do you want to come over wed?
Me: Why Wednesday?
Ethan: my mom’s gone and my dad’s working
Me: 0_ 0 aren’t we playing games?
Ethan: yeah yeah but my mom is annoying she wants to meet u
Ethan: she is embarrassing i hate her sometimes
Ethan: u r lucky u live with ur sister
Me: She can humiliate me with the best of them, kind of like when she caught us
Ethan: lol yeah the look on ur face
Ethan: so u think u can come wed?
Me: Yeah :)
Ethan: see u in school 2morrow abby
Ethan: good night
Me: good night :)

I put my phone down, feeling warmth in my chest and in my cheeks, and a pleasant buzzing in my head. I couldn’t wait to see Ethan at school tomorrow.

***

“I’m going over to Ethan’s tonight.” We were in the middle of dinner, despite my concerns over my weight, I was shovelling in Amélie’s stuffed pepper casserole in heaping mouthfuls. I wanted to get to Ethan’s so we’d have plenty of time to play.

Amélie raised a brow, “Are his parents going to be home?”

I scoffed, “I’m going there to play video games. I don’t know if his parents are going to be home. I think he said that they might not be. Why does it matter?”

Amélie frowned, “I don’t really like you going there if his parents aren’t going to be home.”

I replied, “Come on, Amélie. You said you were going to stop doing this. Stop acting like my mom.”

Amélie shook her head, “I’m supposed to be your legal guardian. Do you really think this is a good idea? Considering what happened on Saturday night? What if Ethan wants to go farther?”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I told you that I’m not remotely ready for that. Besides, Ethan’s not like that. He’s not Alexandre.”

Amélie was unconvinced, “Can’t you two come here? And what about your curfew? What if you lose track of time? I’d prefer Ethan’s parents were there so they could drive you home at the very least.”

I haughtily flipped my hair, “I can’t believe we are having this conversation. I want you to trust me, Amélie. Just let me show you that nothing is going to happen, and that I can be home on time.”

Amélie asked, “Is your homework done?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I worked on it until you got home. Just ask my mom.”

Amélie sighed, “I don’t like this, but I’m going to trust you. Don’t make me regret it. Be home at nine pm sharp.”

I nodded my head rapidly and quickly finished my dinner, gulping down the last bites, and then left for Ethan’s. It was a twenty minute walk, but it gave me time to go over the events of the last two days. I found myself paying less attention in class, focusing more and more on Ethan, looking forward to seeing him when we shared classes together and missing him when we were apart. We sat together at lunch (as always), but instead of sitting next to Alyssa, I sat next to Ethan. My school work would likely suffer eventually, because I had serious tunnel vision. Everything except for Ethan had been moved to the periphery, even Chloe.

Amélie had set to work on planning Chloe’s birthday party, which was going to be Elmo themed. I wasn’t looking forward to telling my aunts, uncles and cousins about my change, but at the same time, I missed going to family gatherings. Amélie and I had lied about Chloe being ill so we could skip Thanksgiving. I knew that they would all treat me differently, but at least I could still exist. At least, I wouldn’t have to pretend that I was in Vancouver, and as long as I didn’t sign Mr. Atwater’s contract, I could tell as many people as I wanted what had happened to me.

I had dressed like I would for band, wearing my green hoodie, pink Converse shoes and a pair of my torn jeans. I didn’t really view tonight like a date, but if Ethan wanted to make out, I certainly wouldn’t say no. I hadn’t worn any makeup since Saturday, and while I did like how it accentuated my eyes, I wasn’t really sure it was me. If I was going to be Abigail, I was going to be a tomboy rock girl.

I walked quickly, and I arrived in under twenty minutes. I was familiar with the neighbourhood. Amélie and I had looked at houses there, but realized that the new builds were far too expensive for us. I had looked for the house on Google maps, even bringing it down to street view, so I would be able to recognize it. It was a three-storey brick house with an immaculately groomed lawn. Even though it was nearly November, the lawn was still lush. I usually didn’t bother to mow the lawn past Labour Day in September, so either Ethan’s father was Hank Hill, from King of the Hill, or they paid a landscaping company. From the winding stone path that led me from the edge of the property to the front door, I assumed the latter.

Ethan greeted me at the door with a smile and quickly ushered me into the house. He said, “Hey, thanks for dressing up.”

I smirked, “You are such an ass. How did you want me to dress exactly? I’m here to beat you in NHL.”

Ethan had been talking up his abilities, trash talking me for the last two days. It was friendly, but there were times when his words crossed the line into the typical girls can’t play video games stereotype. I always gave him a sharp look when he was treading onto dangerous ground, and he would quickly retreat.

Ethan smiled, “I liked how you were dressed on Saturday night.” His smile broadened into a grin.

I raised a brow, “You mean the makeup and stuff? That was Alyssa’s.”

Ethan looked disappointed momentarily, but then he led me into the family room. From what I could see, the house was tastefully decorated. It was also very clean. The carpets were white throughout, and the whole main floor was very open concept- I could see an ultra-modern sleek kitchen from the entry way. The house reeked of the upper middle class, and again, either Ethan’s family had a maid or his mother, the Housewives of Beverly Hills reject, was an extremely diligent housekeeper- somehow I doubted it. I had made a snap judgement about the woman from meeting her only once, but she seemed artificial beyond belief. I desperately hoped she wouldn’t engage me in some insipid girl talk. I had Alyssa for that, and Alyssa was genuine, a person who didn’t hide behind a mask of plastic surgery.

Ethan’s television was massive, so was mine, but his was literally one-hundred inches of HD goodness. He leaned down and picked up a PS3 controller and turned the system on. “Since my parents are out, we can play on this one. The one in the basement is smaller. Pretty sick though, right?”

I was concerned momentarily. I figured that Ethan would try and make a move, but if we were in the living room, we were more likely to be caught. Was he not interested beyond our brief foray last Saturday? I feared that I was falling far deeper than he was. If I initiated again, I was also worried that he would assume that I wanted to move beyond just kissing and a little bit of touching.

The opening video assaulted my ears. Ethan had the surround sound blaring, and the bodycheck actually rattled the chinaware in the cabinet on the far wall. He laughed, “The look on your face is really funny, Abby. You never felt speakers like that?”

I nodded, “Yeah, at the movies.”

The boy grinned wide and invited me to sit on the couch. Like the rest of the house, it was white. Considering how messy teenage boys could be, Ethan’s presence likely rarely graced this pristine room.

Ethan said, “Last chance to back out. We can play on the same team if you want.” I stared at the boy, narrowing my eyes, and he immediately shut his mouth.

I said, “Best of seven series. Montreal against the Big Bad Bruins.”

Ethan laughed, “Let me get the broom ready. It’s going to be a sweep.”

It was clear that Ethan had underestimated my skill. I won the first two games handily. The fast moving Canadiens forwards easily cut through the slower skating Bruins defence, and even the 7-foot tall monster known as Zdeno Chara was turned into a massive pylon. Ethan wasn’t scoring with his skilled forwards, and he wasn’t intimidating with his goons. He wasn’t playing like the Big Bad Bruins- more like the Big Bad Ice Capades.

Ethan muttered, “I let you win.”

This elicited my new and improved death look. In six months, I had perfected the pissed off teenage girl face. I would curl my lip slightly and simply stare at the object of my anger, my narrowed piercing blue eyes did the rest.

Ethan threw his hands up in the air, “OK! OK! I didn’t. How are you so good at this game? I don’t get it. You don’t even own it.”

I smirked, “I played the last one against Darren, a lot. And it’s basically the same game every year. This one has a new intimidation feature, improved fighting and an updated roster. As for why I’m beating you specifically. You always do the same move. Centre passes to winger who crosses into my zone. Then you drop for your defensemen, and I collapse in front.”

I added, “You are playing like a pussy too. You haven’t intimidated any of my players.”

After beating him handily the last two games, I was growing overconfident, and this caused me to engage in rare trash talking. Also, his deprecation of my own abilities due to my gender made my wins all the sweeter.

Ethan frowned, “Hey, that’s not cool. How come you can say that, and I can’t?”

I grinned, “Because I won.”

Ethan played with an intensity absent from the first two games, and he also started to intimidate my players. I started to make mistakes, attempting suicide passes that got one of my best players seriously injured and out for the series. Eventually, the series was tied 3-3, and it was no longer a friendly game. Ethan was show boating after scoring, another new feature in this year’s game. He also purposely started fights with my best players to get them off the ice. In my book, it was dirty pool, but it was an effective strategy. When the final buzzer of the seventh game sounded, once again rattling the chinaware, Ethan had beaten me 4-3.

Instead of rubbing it in my face, he stared at me with a new-found respect. “Abby, you are really good at this game. You pulled off some sick moves. Um- sorry, I’m just surprised.” He could see my eyes narrowing again and he quickly added, “Hey, you want something to eat? I was gonna get a pizza pop. You want one?”

My annoyance at his compliment surprised even me. Considering Amélie who had stated once, “I can’t play Super Mario World, there’s too many buttons,”

I didn’t have a lot of experience with girl gamers. Amélie was terrible at anything that didn’t have two buttons or the word Sims in the title. Still, I couldn’t figure out why I was annoyed by his compliment. It didn’t sound patronizing.

I shook my head, “Nah, I’m still kind of on detox from the weekend.”

Ethan raised a brow, “You aren’t one of those girls always worried about dieting, are you? I’ve known you for like six months, Abby- and you don’t seem like that. My mom is like that. She tries every new fad diet. She’s really annoying. Talking about her nutritionist or whatever all the time. I think she’s probably the most boring person in the world.

“My dad and me, we tune her out when she gets like that. I mean who needs to pay someone to tell them how to eat? You just eat. If you get fat, you eat less. Right?”

I frowned, “Well sort of. It’s more complicated than that. And nutritionists help people who have allergies to certain foods or people who are diabetic, or who are just trying to eat healthier.”

Ethan laughed, “There’s Abby again- the walking Wikipedia.”

He walked into the kitchen, leaving me alone. I checked my phone and noticed that it was close to 8 PM. I had been checking my phone after every two games.

I left the couch and checked out Ethan’s collection of games. A little grin appeared on my face as I realized that they were very much the choices a teenage boy would make. First, there was Lollipop Chainsaw where the protagonist slays zombies in a post-apocalyptic world wearing only a cheerleader uniform with a skirt so short it never would have passed St. Jo’s school dress code. He also had Tomb Raider- Legends starring the eponymous sexualized video game character, Lara Croft. If I was her, I would at least wear long pants when raiding tombs.

Even more embarrassing, there was Dead or Alive: Extreme Beach Volleyball. The cover had a collection of scantily clad young women with impossible bodies, thin frame with breasts that would be at home on Pamela Anderson in her Baywatch days. I flipped the box over and saw PUT YOUR FAVOURITE GIRL INTO ONE OF HUNDREDS OF BIKINIS, REAL-LIFE NEXT GENERATION PHYSICS, and then far at the bottom in lowercase, play beach volleyball on four different beaches. I assumed that the physics weren’t for the beach volleyball either. Ethan came back into the room with a pizza pocket, which smelled heavenly. I watched him set the plate on the unsoiled white couch. Ethan’s eyes widened as he saw me going through his collection. He grabbed the Dead or Alive box from my hands.

“I never played this. I swear, I got it for a joke to play with some guys. We just watched the intro to laugh at it.” Ethan had a horrified look on his face. His boyish good looks were marred by a deep frown. He pointed to the used game sticker, “See, I got it for ten dollars. Ryan was like, dude you need to get this game.”

His expression of absolute dread was in marked contrast to my little grin which became a massive smile, and within seconds I giggling madly at the boy. Ethan’s face went from extreme worry to confusion as my face turned red, and my sides began to hurt. I started sucking in air, and by this point, Ethan looked less than impressed.

I giggled and said, “You are a guy. And a teenage boy. I don’t care if you play these games, or this one.” I held up Lollipop Chainsaw. “I heard this one was hilarious. Like a total spoof on the zombie genre and with fun combos. And look I get it, you like boobies. Whatever man. It comes with the territory.”

I couldn’t fault Ethan for liking what I did at his age. At fifteen, without the Internet at home, I had to sate my adolescent lust with the Sunshine Girl, an insert in the daily paper. The girls weren’t even usually very attractive, but they had boobs, and that was all that mattered.

Ethan blinked, “Um, really? You don’t mind that I look at stuff like this? I’m telling the truth about Dead or Alive. I’ve never played it. You can check. I’ve got zero achievements.”

I shook my head, “I don’t care. In fact, let’s play Dead or Alive. Just to see how bad it is.”

Ethan grinned, “I know I’ve said this before, but you are the sickest girl! I was just worried cause you are really, well you have a lot of opinions and I thought you might think it was…sexist?”

I smirked, “OK, stop talking now. Yes, I am opinionated, but this is a game. These games are aimed at guys your age. I mean maybe they might create these unrealistic expectations, you know because no girl with boobs that big is skinny like that.”

As I started to think about it, I realized that I didn’t think it was sexist, but I was worried that it had burned images of these completely artificial girls into Ethan’s brain. I hated the fact that the thought existed, but a part of me was jealous of the girls with their vacuous smiles, lithe and perfectly shaped-

Ethan interrupted my train of thought, “Hey, let’s play.”

Five minutes later, we were laughing at the ridiculousness of the boob physics engine. The way the breasts jostled within the too-tight and barely-there bikini tops, and how the girls modelled the swimsuits by bending over, it was all hilarious. Also, underneath all the obvious silicone, it was actually a decent volleyball game. I made a girl named Candi, who was a fiery red head with breasts the size of cantaloupes. I chose a string bikini that had less fabric than most dish rags.

Ethan said with a grin, “You’d look crazy hot in a bikini like that.”

I raised a brow, “Are you serious? I’d be charged with indecent exposure.”

Ethan cleared his throat, “I was just joking. I know it’s not really you. I actually,” he inched closer to me on the expansive four person couch. He put his hand on my thigh and started to rub it gently, “I think you look amazing right now.” I knew it was a line, but I felt my heart begin to race as he put his hand on my thigh. I leaned in, and in seconds, his lips were on mine.

We were in plain sight, but something about that set me off, the thrill of being caught, it excited me and I pressed my boobs against Ethan’s slim frame. He gently lay me down on the couch, and then he got on top of me. The music from the game, a mixture of nineties J-Pop and North American Top forty, acted as the accompaniment to our make-out session. We mostly just kissed, our tongues dancing in and out of our mouths. He moved to my neck a few times, but I led him back to my lips. I didn’t need Amélie seeing any hickeys on my body.

I quickly lost track of time, especially as Ethan started rubbing my boobs again. He got excited again and started pawing me, but I quickly corrected him. As all of this was happening, the boy kept thrusting his crotch into my hip. Ethan’s hands never left my boobs, but at least he alternated this time.

What I assumed were a few minutes later, Ethan got off me and said, “Um, would you- would you maybe, we could go downstairs to my room-“”

I said, “Let’s stay up here. I kind of promised Amélie I’d be careful, you know?”

Ethan looked absolutely forlorn, he muttered, “Oh.” He asked, “Can we um, take this off?” He motioned to my t-shirt. I had already taken off my hoodie during the seven-game series.

I added, “Sorry, I’m probably going to have to go soon. I have to be home by nine.”

I realized then that Ethan wanted to go far, and I was worried that if we went downstairs, that I would fall into the moment and simply release my inhibitions. An image flashed in my mind, me heavily pregnant, with Ethan by my side, but there were television cameras everywhere. Oh god, it was Teen Mom, or 16 and Pregnant. My eyes flashed with fear, “I should really go.” The bungee cords from Saturday night were back. I had great difficulty leaving the couch.

Ethan blinked, “Wow, your sister is really strict. I don’t think I really have a curfew. I guess I got home from Ryan’s once at around two. My mom was pretty pissed. She said I could have been dead in a ditch. Just because I forgot to tell her I was staying there late.”

I said, “It’s not my sister. You know how there was rumour that I showed up in a police car? You know too how I say that I have to go see the School Resource Officer. It’s not for a project. I’ve got a court-ordered curfew.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in surprise but also wonder, “Whoa, did you like stab someone at your old school? Alyssa said you used to go to Grande Rivère.”

I shook my head, “Nothing like that. I’ll tell you some other day. I should really go. Amélie will be mad if I am late.”

Ethan said, “Hey, I could walk you home, if you want? If you want to, you could tell me.” He picked up my hoodie and handed it to me.

I smiled and nodded, “Um, sure, but it’s really not that exciting.”

We walked side by side. I wondered if he was going to reach out and hold my hand. While Ethan did remind me of my male self at his age in some respects, he made decisions without full forensic analysis. When I first started dating in my late teens, I needed girls who were assertive because otherwise, nothing would happen. I remember one fateful date in my last year of high school where I debated the pros and cons of holding my date’s hand. By the time I decided that the pros outweighed the cons, the movie was over, and my date looked disappointed. I used to joke that I needed a girl’s permission to hold her hand, but at that point in my life, it might as well have been true. Unfortunately, I didn’t even have the confidence to ask because if I had, based on what I know now, they would have agreed, in most situations.

Ethan looked over at me, “So, are you going to tell me? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I won’t laugh, if it’s something embarrassing.” We had been walking in silence for two minutes.

I nodded, “I was driving without a licence. Speeding too. The cop charged me with evading an officer. If I was convicted, I could have ended up in juvenile incarceration.”

Ethan’s eyes widened, “Whoa, you don’t seem like the type of girl to do that. Was it Amélie’s car? Were you joyriding?”

I nodded, “We were on our way back from seeing our parents, and Chloe was crying. She let me take over, so we could keep driving. We both agreed it was pretty stupid, but it was really serious because the cop, meathead asshole, he tacked on the evasion charge. I had to fight it in court. I represented myself and won.”

Ethan grinned, “I’m not surprised. Every time I’ve seen you debate anyone, you destroy them. Hey, did you know your video, the one where you destroy M. Landry? It’s got like two thousand hits. So, do you still wanna be a lawyer, or would you settle for being a rock star?”

I laughed, “I am so psyched for those weekend shows with Porcelain. This is the farthest I’ve ever gotten in a band. It really seems people like the music. It’s taking off. But yeah, I mean I want to go as far as I can with the band. I’ll probably still go to law school, you know if I’m not touring Europe.”

I smiled, and Ethan smiled back, he reached over and touched the palm of my hand with his fingers, seemingly testing the waters. When he went back for a second attempt, my hand was slightly outstretched and ready to meet his own. He held my hand firmly. His palms were sweaty, but despite this, I felt the little shocks of electricity between us, and again, the pleasant buzzing in my head.

He broke the hold and then wiped his hands on his pants, “Um, sorry.” My hand was again outstretched, and the boy took it readily.

I said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ethan said, “So your curfew, how long is it? A few months?”

I frowned, “It’s a year. I have to be home by nine every night. If I breach it, there’s a chance that I could be sent to juvenile detention. Which would really suck.”

Ethan looked puzzled, “Wait though, you were at the show on Saturday past nine. How come?”

I replied, “Because Amélie was there. I don’t live with my parents, so she’s my legal guardian. I can be out later if she’s there, or if she knows where I am and trusts the parents. Like Alyssa, I can sleep over at her place because Amélie has met her mom, talked to her and stuff.” They had met and spoken during my hospital stay after my run-in with the Rock Machine.

Ethan nodded, “So, you could stay later at my place, if you and your sister met my parents. Right?”

I nodded, “Well yeah, but they’d have to be home too when I came over.”

I could see a little frown appear on the boy’s face. He did his best to hide his disappointment, but it was clear, even in the occasional glow provided by a nearly dead blinking street light. As we continued walking and holding hands, my head maintained a constant stream of pleasant buzzing, which kept a gentle smile on my face.

We reached my street, and my body tensed. Again, I didn’t want to leave Ethan’s side, but I was also worried about being late. Ethan moved in to kiss me as we stepped up to the front door, but I quickly dragged him to the side of the house. Using Amélie’s SUV as cover, I pulled Ethan into the laneway and initiated a kiss that took the boy by surprise. His eyes opened wide momentarily, and then, he leaned in and returned it, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace.

Within a minute of beginning the kiss, I heard an immensely obnoxious and juvenile, “Woo!” Another voice joined in, equally immature, “Hey, can I get sloppy seconds?”

The first voice, I could see now belonged to an abhorrent teenage boy. He was riding a bicycle, and he and his friend had clearly been watching us. “Yeah, does she give head?”

I whispered to Ethan, “Just ignore them.” I resumed kissing him, but Ethan wasn’t into it. His tongue was dead in my mouth and was quickly retracted.

He broke the kiss and said, “Fuck off.” He struck a menacing stance, placing his body in front of mine and then leaning forward slightly, as if daring one of the boys to come at him.

The boy on the bicycle had about twenty pounds on Ethan, but much of it looked like fat. He got off his bike, and slowly approached, like it was an armed standoff. “And if we don’t want to leave? What are you going to do kid?”

I recognized the boys. They were in grade 11 at St. Jo’s, but their attitude and behaviour made me seriously doubt their maturity.

Once he stepped off his bike, I could also see that the boy was taller than Ethan, probably a little over six feet, which meant he was a full foot taller than me. Ethan stood his ground, but didn’t say another word. The older boy reached Ethan and the two were only a few inches apart. I could almost smell the testosterone in the air as the two would-be combatants glared at each other.

I rolled my eyes and moved from behind Ethan to stand at the side of the two boys. I turned to the older boy glaring at Ethan, “Why don’t you two gene pool rejects leave us alone? I think the two of you are just jealous because the only thing waiting for you at home is your hand. Left or right?”

The other boy, who had made the joke about sloppy seconds said, “Hey, that’s not true. There’s a girl I’m kind of seeing. Her name’s Danielle.”

I quickly rebutted, “And does she know that you speak to other girls that way? I’ve got a tip for the two of you, girls don’t like disgusting immature losers. Don’t act like that, and you might have a chance.”

The other boy, in the quasi relationship with Danielle, looked to his friend, “Hey man, I recognize this girl from school. I don’t want her telling Danielle that I said that stuff. She might be mad.”

Ethan’s almost sparring partner glared at his friend, “You fucking pussy. You haven’t even touched boob and she’s got you whipped.” The boy turned and got back on his bike without saying another word.

Ethan grinned, “Damn, you are good at that Abby. Just like M. Landry.” He laughed awkwardly, “I had those guys though. If that asshole tried anything, I would have broken his fucking nose. Just like Alexandre, I mean- I couldn’t see what was going on in the car, but if I heard you scream or something, I would have come.”

I said, “Um thanks, I don’t really think that’s necessary though.”

Ethan’s puppy dog expression came back with a vengeance, he looked at me with such a look of disappointment that I felt my chest tighten. “Oh.”

I replied, “But, it’s um, it’s really amazing what you did. You were really brave when you saved me from those bikers. You did the right thing just calling 9-1-1. Instead of fighting. I mean they would have killed you.”

The confident grin grew back on the boy’s face, despite my scepticism concerning his fighting ability, “What happened to them by the way?”

I said, “They were charged. I’ll probably be a Crown witness. My understanding is they got them on a lot of other charges too. Human trafficking being one.”

Ethan said, “You aren’t freaked about seeing those guys again? I asked my dad about them. They are hardcore. They did some crazy shit, like blow up buildings, start fires, murder people. The nineties were nuts. They almost kidnapped you!”

I replied, “No, not really. I want to see them get what they deserve.” There was a deadly calm to my voice.

“Abigail! Abigail, are you out here?” It was Amélie. She rounded the corner and found Ethan and I in the laneway.

She looked concerned, “Abigail, are you OK? I saw those boys from the window. Did they touch you? They looked sketchy.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, I’m fine. They were just immature idiots.”

Amélie gave Ethan a sharp look and then turned the severe look on me, “It’s past nine. You should get inside, Abigail.”

I shrugged my shoulders and turned to Ethan, “Hey um, I had a good time tonight. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

I desperately wanted to kiss him goodnight, but I couldn’t do it in front of Amélie. Amélie didn’t move an inch, and while she wasn’t blocking Ethan’s path to me, her very presence had turned the boy into a statue.

He waved to me woodenly and said, “Me too, Abby. Bye. See you tomorrow.”

The boy took off at a rapid pace, and as I watched his fleeing form, I felt unsatisfied. I wanted to feel his lips again, or to have him hug me tightly at the very least.

I trudged back into the house, annoyed at what I felt was Amélie’s overprotective behaviour. I looked at the clock on the microwave and saw that it was only ten after nine. I wasn’t hugely late.

Amélie said, “I want to talk to you.”

I replied, “I’m not sure I want to talk to you. You embarrassed me. You treated me like a child. I just wanted to-“

Amélie interrupted, “Suck his face? Did anything happen tonight? Did he pressure you to go farther than you wanted?”

I sighed, “Nothing happened. He wanted me to take my shirt off, I said I had to go. We mostly just played video games.”

Amélie looked at me sternly, “He sounds like a little pervert. Abigail, you aren’t going to his place again if his parents aren’t home. Understood?”

I raised a brow, “Oh really? And how are you planning on stopping me? I told you, nothing happened. And Ethan’s a nice guy. He’s actually really considerate. He walked me home and everything.”

Amélie shook her head, and I sneered at her, “Listen, I got home on time, and nothing happened. I was in control. And you said you weren’t going to call me that. This isn’t fair!”

Amélie sighed, “All I see is a fifteen year old girl in front of me throwing a tantrum because she can’t go to her boyfriend’s place when his parents aren’t home. Would you let Chloe do that? Can you honestly tell me that you would let Chloe do that?”

Before my change, the very thought of some teenage dirtbag touching my daughter would have been enough to throw me into a violent rage. OK, maybe that was an exaggeration, but I joked, as many fathers did, that I would not allow her to date until she was thirty five years old. Now, my view was skewed. I thought it was incredibly unfair that I couldn’t go to Ethan’s without his parents being there. Certainly, I still disliked the idea of Chloe going out with some wispy moustached teenage rebel, but I was more concerned about me, and it was at this point that I realized that I was really unable to look at things as if I were Chloe’s father.

I saw the similar situations and painted myself the victim immediately. I had done nothing to hurt the trust that Amélie had put in me. Nothing had happened!

I said, “We aren’t talking about Chloe. We are talking about me. It’s not the same thing.”

Amélie looked at me incredulously, but also with a measure of sadness, “I see.”

She added, “Remember what I said, no parents- no Ethan.”

I let out an exasperated sigh and fled to my room, slamming the door in the process. Despite everything that happened, one thought came piercing to the forefront of my mind, and it wasn’t my extremely adolescent and immature behaviour.

Was Ethan my boyfriend now?

Chapter 57

Alyssa said, “You guys are definitely going out.” She added, “You should ask Ethan if you can change your Facebook status to in a relationship.”

Alyssa and I were walking to our lockers after science class, and I was debriefing her on the events of last night.

I shrugged, “Uh, I’m not sure about that. We held hands and kissed, but I don’t know. I think we should just see it through. You know?”

Alyssa shook her head, “Abby, you know I was right about you kissing Ethan. Well listen to me, you need to change your status. Then other girls will know Ethan and you are together. It’s like official only when it’s on Facebook.”

I shook my head, “Facebook is really played out though. It’s mostly about advertising now and commercialism, more than social networking. I honestly ignore it. It’s mostly just people complaining. And sometimes it’s way too personal. People post stuff on Facebook that they really shouldn’t. Things that should be discussed in private.”

Alyssa frowned, “But that’s the whole point. Facebook is like a helper, you can get so much more advice from people. Is that why you only have four friends on Facebook? Ethan isn’t even in your friend list.”

I looked indifferent, “I bet he’s not even on Facebook.”

Alyssa shook her head and then showed me her phone, “Look at his status.” It said: Sick time with ‘Abigail Grenier’ last night, girl’s got mad skillz!

I took the phone from her, and then I opened my Facebook up on her phone (my phone still had only a very rudimentary browser, while hers was the newer model). I browsed through it, and I saw a friend request from Ethan from the early summer that I had completely ignored. I clicked on ‘Accept Friend Request’. I hadn’t really touched my Facebook since Amélie took some very artsy looking pictures of me in our backyard and around town. They were all black and white, and I was wearing my favourite band tees.

Beyond Ethan’s request, there were at least forty others. I looked on in surprise as I went through the list of friend requests. I thought Facebook was dead, but apparently, it was alive and well. Most of the requests came after my diatribe against M. Landry. Were the kids who sent these requests actually upset that I never became their ‘friend’?

I looked at Alyssa and shook my head, “I- I don’t really think I want to do the whole Facebook thing. It’s too public.”

I had Amélie, Andrew and Steven on my friend list. I didn’t want them seeing that I was in a relationship with a high schooler.

Alyssa semi-whined, “But you have to! And there’s all this stuff you can do now, like to make it more private. So only certain people see a post.”

I raised a brow, “And what about a relationship status?”

Alyssa frowned, “Don’t you want people to know you are going out with Ethan?”

I replied, “What if he doesn’t agree? Maybe it should just be something we agree together.”

Alyssa sighed, “You are clueless, Abby. You don’t get the point of Facebook.”

I said, “I told you what I thought of it. Can’t you just respect that?”

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, sure Abby. But you didn’t answer my question. Don’t you want people to know you are going out with him?”

I shook my head, “I don’t care what other people think. Really. They can see us, can’t they?”

Alyssa stared at me with extreme confusion, “Don’t you want Samantha to know you and Ethan are going out? Come on, Abby.”

I sighed, “Can we just drop this?”

Alyssa nodded, “Sorry, Abby.”
***

What I wanted more than anything was just to be alone with Ethan, and Thursday after school, we got our chance, although in the less than romantic setting of the secluded corner behind the portables. There was a reason why we weren’t allowed to eat lunch there. We made out until we were caught by Principal St-Valentin, who told us to leave the school grounds. I worried that he might tell Amélie.

We held hands as we walked to the bus stop, but there were other students there when we arrived, so we couldn’t continue our amorous behaviour

Ethan whispered to me, “Hey, wouldn’t it be funny to French in front of them?”

Our burgeoning relationship was not a secret to anyone who watched us for more than five minutes together, but it wasn’t official either, until it was posted on Facebook, at least according to Alyssa.

Alyssa suggested I ask Ethan if we were going out, but I was worried he would say we were just fooling around. I knew adult men that had difficulty committing, so I had difficulty believing a teenage boy would allow himself to be tied down after a few make out sessions.

I looked at him, and I thought that, for a moment, it would be funny to really go at it in front of the kids waiting for the bus. I whispered back, “Not in front of them. It’s kind of rude.” I believed this. Amélie and I had had some drunken make out sessions in bars, but when we were sober, we were considerate.

Ethan smirked and blew in my ear, the gentle air caused my head to start buzzing. “So what? It’s funny.”

Even though I had somewhat emasculated Ethan in front of the two older boys last night by not allowing him to use his fists, his confidence had seemingly grown overnight. Was he trying to show that I was his girlfriend? Thankfully, there was no opportunity for a childish argument over the French kissing because the bus arrived.

The afternoon bus was different from the morning one. We shared it with people on their way home from work, unlike the morning bus which was specifically chartered for St. Jo’s.

Ethan moved to the very back of the bus and sat next to an older gentleman wearing a three-piece suit. He was busy reading something on his tablet. I sat next to Ethan, but Ethan sat in very close proximity to the older gentleman. Only two inches separated them.

The backseat consisted of a long bench seat with place for four or maybe five individuals depending on size. There was plenty of room on the other side for Ethan and I to sit very close together. I couldn’t understand why the boy had chosen to sit so closely to a perfect stranger.

Ethan sat perfectly still next to the man, and two minutes later, I heard the man clear his throat gently. I watched the exchange. The man in the suit shifted uncomfortably in his seat, moving his legs and moving from side to side to reassert what was his lost personal space. I realized that Ethan was doing it on purpose, and I found it hilarious. Oh god, what was wrong with me? I had hated kids like that when I taught. Ethan was being obnoxious, but it was like he could do no wrong.

I changed seats and sat next to a man who looked to be about my mental age. Clad in my school girl uniform, I sat within an inch or two of the man, when there was plenty of space on the seat next to me. I sat there silently, trying to retain my composure. The man, who was playing a game on his phone, also shifted uncomfortably. He pressed his body against the window, trying desperately to avoid touching my hip. Eventually, I couldn’t keep it in and I giggled, which caused Ethan to laugh, and we both quickly moved seats, sitting on the back bench again, but this time on the other side next to the window.

Both men looked unimpressed with our antics. The older gentleman even muttered under his breath, “Goddamn kids these days. No respect.”

I turned to him and said, “Okay, Rodney Dangerfield.”

Ethan laughed and then gently put his arm around my shoulder, and while this was something Alexandre had done to claim me, I didn’t really mind when Ethan did it. He whispered in my ear, “Sickest girl ever.” I grinned and lay my head on his chest. He asked, “Who’s Rodney Dangerfield?”

I smirked, “The king of self-deprecation humour.”

Ethan looked confused, so I quickly filled in the blanks for him, “It means he makes fun of himself through his jokes.” I noticed that Ethan wasn’t paying attention to me anymore. He looked completely spaced out, until this cute little lopsided grin appeared on his face. I lightly punched him in the arm.

“Hey, what’s up? You look like you were off in a fun place.”

The grin never left his face, “Yeah, just thinking about, well you know what happened last Saturday night. I feel like I’ve had this crazy energy in me since then. Do you kind of feel like that too?” I smiled and nodded.

A moment later, the grin grew on Ethan’s face. I blinked, “What are you thinking about now?”

Ethan kissed me on the cheek, and then he blew in my ear. “Thinking about how you looked on Saturday night again.”

Someone must have told him to do that, or he had read it somewhere, but it was like he had a manual for how my body worked. It had never particularly excited Amélie, but the hot breath ignited me, and we were soon making out in the back of the bus, eliciting another comment from the man in the three-piece suit. “Here comes teenage pregnancy.” He scoffed and went back to his tablet. I also overheard an adult couple discussing our behaviour.

The woman asked, “Do you ever remember being like that?”

The man replied, “Never, it’s like every generation just gets worse.”

My eyes opened now and then to scan the bus and determine if anyone was gawking at us. I liked the fact that people were staring at us, or at least trying not to stare, and apparently Ethan did too because his tongue darted in and out of my mouth, and he moved his hand and started rubbing my ass, lifting my skirt in the process.

An older woman was staring at us with contempt, she said loudly, “That’s completely inappropriate.”

Her friend, also an older woman, said, “Stop giving them attention. That’s why they are doing it. They are children, ignore them and they’ll stop the behaviour. My Emily went through the same thing when she was that age.”

As the bus continued, more and more people got on, and as we reached a major station, it filled up completely. Ethan and I were lost in ourselves completely, until even the voices were simply background noise.

My behaviour was completely out of the ordinary. My eyes kept scanning for the reactions of the passengers. Normally, I sat quietly on the bus and listened to music, or if Alyssa and I caught the same bus, we would usually talk, but with Ethan, it was an entirely different ride. His brash behaviour was driving me toward more and more daring actions. Ethan even started making incredibly obnoxious smacking sounds as we kissed, and again, I found it funny. It caused the passengers around us, who were already relatively grumpy looking, to sigh and likely fear for the future of the world in the hands of such juvenile delinquents.

Our actions were not so funny when my still scanning eyes found Steven’s. His face was a mixture of disgust and disapproval. He shook his head and turned away. He likely boarded when the bus stopped at the major station. I immediately broke the kiss, also realizing that I had missed my stop- we were well on our way to Ethan’s.

Ethan blinked, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

I said, “I missed my stop. Amélie will be mad if I’m late.”

Ethan replied, “I’ll walk you home.”

I shook my head, “No, it’s OK.”

A worried expression removed Ethan’s bold grin, “Is it something I did?”

I replied, “I think we went a bit too far. Listen, I’ll text you tonight, OK?”

Ethan replied glumly, “OK.”

I pulled the cord to request a stop, and I started the shameful slink toward the exit. Many of the people on the bus were looking at me with contempt as I manoeuvred past them. I looked down and noticed that my skirt was still hiked up and quickly pulled it down.

I exited the bus feeling deeply embarrassed at being caught by Steven. After all, he knew who I really was. I also trusted and respected Steven, and I felt terrible not only because it was disrespectful to do that in front of him, but I also feared that he would think that I was truly lost, and he would simply be the drummer in my band, instead of my friend.

***

«Mademoiselle Moore! Wake up Mademoiselle Moore! » Alyssa jolted awake. I had been trying to wake her for a few minutes, but she proved a surprisingly deep sleeper. We were in the middle of class, and our History teacher, Madame Pelletier was standing over Alyssa with a disapproving frown.

Alyssa’s eyes widened in surprise. I could see her beginning to process the situation. All eyes in the classroom were on her, and she soon turned a deep shade of red. This brought laughter, and snide comments, «Were you at your night job, Alyssa? Maybe you should just quit school. Aren’t you failing anyway?” I cast an angry look in Véronique’s direction, quickly rebutting.

«Alyssa just doesn’t apply herself. What’s your excuse? » Some of the eyes shifted to Véronique, as did the laughter.

Véronique turned on me, «Shut up piggy. It’s almost lunch time, but let me guess, you already ate your lunch right? »

Madame Pelletier quickly interjected, «Les filles, that’s enough! I won’t tolerate this in my classroom. I want to see the three of you after class. »

We were supposed to be working on our independent study projects. I had chosen the ‘challenging’ subject of Canada’s role in the creation of the United Nations. I had wanted to study the socio-economic effect of the Second World War on Canada’s growth as a nation, but Madame Pelletier wanted me to choose one of the pre-determined topics. She didn’t like me, mostly because I tended to correct her, much to the amusement of the class. She wasn’t a bad teacher, but I knew that history wasn’t her major. She was better than M. Landry, but only because she wasn’t M. Landry.

I was mostly worried about what Steven would say about my make out session with Ethan, and I was growing concerned that there was something wrong with Alyssa. She had fallen asleep in science class on Tuesday. The bell rang, and the students, who weren’t required to stay, beat a hasty exit. When I was a teacher, I used to joke that a student might be trampled one day because they were in such a rush to leave, but I would have done the same thing if I had been allowed to leave. I was hungry, and I wanted to know what was wrong with my best friend but most of all, I wanted to see Ethan.

Madame Pelletier made us sit in the first row desks. She lectured us on being respectful, and warned us that we should not try and emulate what we see on television. It was lame teacher lecture 101 in my opinion, but I kept my mouth shut because I wanted to leave and see Ethan.

We were finally let go, but the second we left the classroom, Véronique made a snorting noise. Her little entourage laughed, but I ignored them, even though my first impulse was to punch her in the mouth because that would also have delayed me in seeing Ethan.

Alyssa yawed next to me, breaking me suddenly from my Ethan reverie. I looked at her with concern, “Are you OK, Alyssa? You’ve been really tired all week.”

Alyssa yawned again and replied, “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

I replied, “How come? I mean even after what happened at the sleepover, you managed to get back to sleep.”

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, I know. It’s kinda embarrassing, but I guess I can tell you, Abby. I-I keep having the same nightmare, every night. I’m back inside the circle, and I’m really scared. The blood is dripping from my hands, and I-I’m so cold. I start ripping out my hair, and it hurts so much, and then I wake up screaming, and it takes me hours to get back to sleep”

She continued, “I swear that I really wasn’t that scared, but it keeps happening, and I’m so tired. My mom wants me to see a doctor. Like a special sleep doctor or something.”

A deep frown crossed my face, “I’m so sorry, Alyssa. It’s all my fault. I should never have tried that with you.”

Alyssa looked ready to cry, “Problem is that we can’t afford it. Véronique is right. We are poor. I’ve thought about getting a job after school to help my mom, but she’s worried that I will fail all my classes.” I leaned in and hugged her gently, she sighed and hugged me back.

I said, “What if I gave you some money? I have some left from the summer. It’s my fault this happened to you. Please, I want to help you.”

Alyssa said, “That’s nice of you, Abby, but I can’t take it. My mom is really proud. She wouldn't let me take it. She said that you should always work for your money.”

“Sounds like Amélie. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”

I said, “Listen, can you bring some stuff tomorrow when you come to band? Like…makeup? I want to try some. The stuff you used to do my face last Saturday.”

Ryan and Eric had been asking to come to practice since they found out about the band, and I had finally agreed. I didn’t think Steven and Andrew would mind. It was always nice to have people to play for.

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah. I can.”

I expected her to be more excited like 'OMG this is so amazing, I want to help you put it on. We are going to be face twins.' or some such nonsense, but she just stood at her locker, looking sad and perpetually exhausted. I uttered a quick thanks.

I stopped, realizing that I had forgotten to meet her after school yesterday as I had promised. I had met up with Ethan, and that led to a great deal of kissing. I also realized that I had been paying less attention to her and spending far less time with her. While she had put on a brave face up until today, I assumed her exhaustion had finally chipped away at her energetic and effervescent self, and it was all my fault. Despite this, I didn’t return to her but left in search of Ethan.

***

After school, Ethan and I were once again riding the bus together, but I had managed to convince him that we had gone too far yesterday, so he accepted that I only wanted to hold hands today with only a slight use of his sad puppy dog face. I hated when he used it because it tended to crumble my resolve, but today, it had no effect.

Ethan said, “So, my parents aren’t going to be home tonight. They are going to some boring dinner. I used to go when I was a kid, but anyway… You think you can come over?” He looked at me expectantly. More than likely, he was expecting to see what was under my shirt.

I replied, “Amélie won’t let me come over unless your parents are there. She’s worried something will happen.”

Ethan scoffed, “Whatever. It’s just fooling around. Nothing’s going to happen.”

I nodded, “That’s what I told her. She doesn’t get it. And she doesn’t trust me, even though nothing happened. And you were, you know, really nice in walking me home.”

Ethan frowned, “You know your sister looks at me different now. Like I did something wrong. I mean I don’t really care. But she used to be a lot nicer when I’d come over for practice or whatever.”

I sighed, “I noticed it too. She’s worried you are going to make me go farther, than just fooling around.” I had started to use the teenage lingo. I wasn’t about to call it being intimate after all.

Ethan shrugged his shoulders, “This sucks, but maybe you can come over after band tomorrow. My parents will be there. My stupid mom really wants to meet you. She wants you to come for dinner or something.”

I said, “She can’t be that bad.”

Ethan shook his head, “Last time this happened, she had my baby books out, and Véronique was gushing over them. You know it’s really weird what happened to Véronique. She used to be so nice, and now she’s such a bitch! She’s like a totally different person.”

I nodded, and even though I knew the truth, I replied, “People change. I guess maybe something happened between her and Alexandre.”

Ethan regarded me with scepticism, “Yeah, but you were with him too. You didn’t turn into a bitch. Some guys said Alexandre was bragging that he banged- err I mean, they did it.”

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

Ethan nodded, “Can you just promise me that if my mom takes out the books that you will just come downstairs? It’s really embarrassing.”

I smirked, noting the deadly seriousness of Ethan’s tone, “Yeah, I’ll try to avoid gushing over pictures of your one-year old ass. You know who I am right? I don’t exactly like ponies, faeries or sparkly vampires.” I was more a hockey, hard rock and heavy metal kind of girl.

Ethan grinned, “Just checking.”

***

“You look really hot when you do that, you know that right?”

I blinked, looking up from my guitar, which I was restringing. Ethan had his cute lopsided grin. His bangs were dangling in his eyes. I liked the long hair on him. He had re-dyed his bangs orange and green. His hair was still mostly dark brown throughout, except for a few blonde strands, remnants from a failed dye job a la Alyssa. It suited his rebellious laissez-faire attitude.

“Why? I’m just putting strings on my guitar.”

He had arrived early for practice. Andrew would likely be a half hour late, as usual. Plus, he had to pick up Steven. I assumed Alyssa and the others would arrive soon after, since I had told them to come after 1:30, when we would be ready to start the jam. I didn’t want our potential fans to hear our embarrassing warm-up routine. There was a reason why I used to lock myself in the car before shows.

“Because it’s you. It’s like everything you do, like when you are thinking about something, your eyes do this cute thing. And when you scream, you look like this super pissed off rock chick, but it’s really nice.” He nodded his head and the lopsided grin grew.

I threw the towel I was using to clean my guitar at Ethan and smirked, “I know what you want to do, but let me finish this first.”

Ethan looked wounded momentarily, and then the self-assured grin grew back onto his face, “I thought we could you know,” he walked over and slipped behind me, moving my hair from my neck, he started to kiss it, hard. Hard enough that if he continued, I knew that he was going to give me a hickey. I pushed him away, and the puppy dog face made a reappearance.

I said, “Hey, look we need to be mature here. Andrew and Steven are going to be here soon. And you know Steven saw us messing around on the bus. I want them to think we are mature. I’m worried they’ll get annoyed and leave the band. We’ve got a really good thing going here. These shows with Porcelain could be big. You told Ryan that he needs to be cool, right? No stupid jokes or messing around. We don’t need a repeat of the fence incident.”

Ryan, Ethan and Eric had broken a public fence during the summer. It was Ryan’s idea to tie a rope to an RV and a fence post, record it and then post it on YouTube on a popular ‘fail’ channel. The video titled, “RV takes fence for a ride” had over ten thousand hits. Unfortunately, it also got the boys ninety hours of community service.

Ethan frowned, “Are you embarrassed or something? We were just having fun on the bus. The people on there have got sticks rammed so far up their asses they can taste bamboo. And so what if we were making out in front of Steven? If he wants to be a downer then whatever.”

He added, “I don’t like you telling my friends what to do, Abby. Don’t you like them? And you know you act all high and mighty but I saw you laughing. And you liked doing it to those losers on the bus. I know you did, so don’t lie.”

I said, “It was a mistake. I’m serious about this. I’m sorry about saying that about your friends. I do like Ryan and Eric. We just need to be cool around the guys, though. Andrew’s thirty and Steven is in his twenties. They won’t want to be in a band with a bunch of kids, so we can’t act like it.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, “Andrew makes the same ‘everybody dance now’ joke before the last song in this really bad Mexican accent. And you are calling me immature? Come on, Abby. You are over thinking this.” He smirked, “Your eyes, they are doing that thing.”

He added, “Don’t worry about it. Just let whatever happens, happen. OK?”

I nodded, “OK.”

I couldn’t stay mad at him, not with the way he was looking at me, and how inviting his lips looked. Within seconds, we were kissing. Ethan leaned me up against the wall, and his hand travelled down my body to rest on my ass cheeks. I noticed something tickling my upper lip. I broke the kiss and stared at Ethan’s face. It took some investigation, but I saw that he was growing a wispy teenage moustache. I heard some of the girls talking about it in the change room. Not his in particular, but the so-called trash-stache. There was a general consensus that moustaches were gross, but on teenage boys, they were repellent. He even had a little tuft of hair on his chin that would have been at home on the head of a new-born baby.

I couldn’t even grow proper facial hair until I was well into my twenties, so I never had an awkward tuft of hair like the one on Ethan’s upper lip that tried to pass for a moustache.

Ethan blinked and ran a finger over his upper lip, “You don’t like it?”

I muttered, “Well, it’s different. I didn’t really notice it before.”

Ethan said confidently, “I think it makes me look older. Like I could maybe buy some beer or something.”

Ethan was flying in a WWI biplane, and the comment on the tip of my tongue was a surface-to-air missile. Still, I knew I had to handle this delicately.

Ethan added, “My dad said I should shave it. My mom too.”

I nodded, “Well, it’ll grow in faster that way. Keep shaving it and it’ll come in fuller probably.”

Ethan raised a brow, “How the heck do you know that, Abby?”

I replied quickly, “Uh, Darren told me.”

Ethan shook his head, “Never mind, I don’t need to know.”

We were spared any additional awkwardness by the arrival of Steven and Andrew. Steven looked at the two of us with conserved disapproval. His glance lingered on me, and I quickly went back to restringing my guitar. Steven was the one who had been the most vocal concerning Ethan’s joining the band in the first place. He said he didn’t want to be in a band with a bunch of kids, and while I did not previously fit into that category, it was clear, from my latest actions, that I did probably belong there now.

I finished stringing my guitar, tuned it quickly and then plugged it into my effects pedal. I turned my attention to Andrew, who looked exhausted and irritable. Deep bags hung under his eyes.

I said, “You OK?”

Andrew replied tiredly, “Baby’s been up since one. Also found out some news. I don’t think we are going to be able to accept those shows with Porcelain. I’m going to be on-call for the next two weekends. They cut my department again. I’m doing the job of four guys right now. The last time I was on-call like that, I was doing twelve-hour days.”

Despair struck my mind, fuelling an instant depression. I was finally in a band that was taking off. We were opening for a band that had played European tours, and now real life was pushing back hard, crushing our opportunity.

I asked, “Can you just sit in the back of the van with a laptop?”

Andrew shook his head, “If the server goes down, then I won’t be able to remote. I don’t control when it goes for maintenance, so I might be screwed. If it goes down, I’ll have to go into work. The third show, we actually have a wedding to go to.”

Steven sighed, “We actually have a wedding to go to that I completely forgot about too.”

My eyes widened, “Are you guys serious? This band is starting to take off. We need to make some sacrifices here. Fuck the weddings. And Andrew, can’t you talk to your boss, tell her how important this is?”

I added, “Ottawa has a small scene. We are going to get a bad reputation. Like we are unreliable.” I looked over at Ethan, and he looked to be in full agreement.

Andrew shot back, “And have you even talked to Amélie about going to Toronto or even Montreal? It’ll be well past your curfew, Abigail.” He put unnecessary emphasis on my name.

I said, “Amélie’s probably going to come, and my parents or sister can watch Chloe.”

Steven shook his head, “So you didn’t even check with her yet? You don’t even know if you can go.”

I narrowed my eyes, “I don’t care what she says. I’m going to go anyway. This is too big an opportunity.”

Andrew replied, “It’s really not though, and there'll be others. We’ve got a really good thing going with this band. Let’s not ruin it with in-fighting. I say we build our online fanbase. We should record that video we talked about too. The one for the “Girl I’ll Never Know”. We should post that on YouTube and get some interest there too.”

Andrew added, “I can still jam next weekend. Or we can record. Just try and put it in perspective, you two.” He was looking at Ethan and me like one of our teachers.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess. I still don’t like this though. I think we have to make more sacrifices in this band to succeed.”

Steven narrowed his eyes at me, “And what would that be for you exactly, not doing your social studies homework? Not studying for a math test? Can you really compare that to Andrew keeping his job?”

I rolled my eyes, “No.”

Ethan shot a dark look at Steven, “Hey man, lay off her. She’s just thinking about what’s best for the band.”

The doorbell rang announcing the arrival of either Eric, Alyssa or Ryan.

I said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you guys, but Eric and Ryan have been asking to come for the longest time. I thought it’d be cool to have some fans here. And Alyssa is going to hang out too.”

Steven and Andrew exchanged surprised looks, and then both looked mildly irritated.

Eventually, the others arrived, and we started into the set. I hadn’t had a chance to warm-up properly because of the argument over the show with Porcelain, so I took it easy during the first song, meaning no screams. Alyssa sat next to Eric, but it was way too loud in there for them to have a conversation. Once the set picked up, Eric and Ryan got up and started dancing, although it looked more like they were fighting each other. They slammed into each other and flailed their limbs, nearly punching each other in the face multiple times. In the meantime, Alyssa looked miserable. She couldn’t speak to Eric, and while she liked the ballads, I don’t think she liked the thrashing dueling guitars, or the thundering drums, and especially not my screams. She had often tried to convince me to try singing something less angry, explaining that I had such a beautiful voice. We finished the set, and Steven and Andrew went outside. Alyssa grabbed my hand and pulled me into my bedroom.

Alyssa still looked tired, likely another night of interrupted sleep. “This sucks, Abby. I think I’m going to go home. It’s too loud in there to talk.”

I frowned, “Yeah, it’s pretty loud. I guess you are having trouble with Eric?”

Alyssa nodded, “He’s not even looking at me. He thinks I’m here for you or something. I don’t think he likes me anymore.”

I replied, “Well, I could ask Ethan, you know if he ever talks about you. I think it’s tough because you are both shy. Neither wants to make a move.”

Alyssa nodded sadly, “Yeah, I don’t want to though. If he doesn’t like me, it’s just FML.” I knew that stood for ‘fuck my life’ which people were using more and more for the most mundane disappointments, although to Alyssa, I suppose her long standing crush on Eric not leading to anything would be seen as a disaster, at least in her eyes.

I said, “I’ll talk to Ethan, and I’ll get him to ask Eric if he likes you. OK?”

Alyssa sighed, “I just don’t think we have anything in common. We don’t like the same stuff. It’s hopeless. You and Ethan are perfect together. You like all the same things. I can’t think of anything to say to Eric, and then I just stare at him and it’s like the most embarrassing thing ever.”

I heard the drums starting up again. Either Steven had come back early, or one of the boys was on his drums. The straight punk beat, hard and blazingly fast, wasn’t Steven’s style. I thought about going to tell them to get off the drums, but I had promised Ethan I wouldn’t tell his friends what to do.

I looked at Alyssa, “Start simple. From talking to him, he probably doesn’t like pop music, or dance. Talk about school first and then see where it goes. You’ll never know unless you try. And if it doesn’t work out, well then you can move on. Remember in Instant Star when Jude’s friend asked out Jaime?”

Alyssa laughed, “I think you like that show more than me. But yeah I do.”

I nodded, “Well it looked like they didn’t have anything in common, but they really did. I mean, you want to be yourself, but be open to trying new things too. If he tells you about a band he likes, listen to it, and then if you like it, you’ve got something. Make sense?”

Alyssa smiled, “Yeah. Thanks, Abby.”

I added, “And Alyssa, I’m really sorry about ditching you on Thursday after school. I know I was supposed to go to your place. I’ve just kind of-“

Alyssa raised a brow and smirked, “Got Ethan on the brain? Yeah, I know.”

I said, “I know that Ethan and I have been together a lot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have fun with you. I still want to hang out.”

Alyssa smiled, “Wouldn’t it be amazing if I went out with Eric and then we could all hang out all the time? Wouldn’t that be the best thing ever?”

I nodded and smiled, “Yeah.”

I asked, “Um, can you help me, I want to look decent tonight. I’m supposed to have dinner at Ethan’s tonight.”

Alyssa nodded happily, “So you guys are going out? So cute! Yeah, I can totally help you, Abby. Did Ethan send you a request to change your Facebook status?”

I shook my head, “No, and like I said, I don’t care about Facebook.”

Alyssa said seriously, “If he does send you a relationship request, you will. Trust me.” The drums stopped abruptly, but the end of the crashing and thumping was followed by yelling. I quickly returned to the band room.

“Kid, what the hell were you doing on there? You broke my fucking snare!” Steven, who towered over everyone in the room, approached Ryan, who was trying to slink away from the drum throne.

Ethan said, “Hey man, it was an accident. You said that you were going to have to replace that head soon anyway. He just hit it a bit too hard.”

Steven cast a menacing look at Ethan, “Stay out of this man. Your idiot friend is the one I’m pissed at.”

Steven said, “Now I need to go out and get another one.”

Andrew frowned, “I was only going to have time to run the set once more. I can take you to get another head, but I’ll have to bring you home after. Laura’s sister is in town, and they are going out for supper. I need to watch the baby.”

I whined, surprised at how childish my voice sounded, “Come on guys, it’s only 3 now. We’ve got time to go out and get a snare head and finish jamming.”

Steven shook his head, “I forgot that I’ve got a thing. My wife needs me to do some stuff around the house.”

I glared at Steven and crossed my arms underneath my chest, “Weak man, super weak.”

Steven returned the look, “We can’t all just do what we want all the time. Like on the bus, right?” He shook his head and walked upstairs.

Andrew said, “Things will be OK. I’ll talk to him. We’ll talk more about the video. Don’t worry about the shows with Porcelain. There’ll be others.” Andrew left to join Steven outside.

Ryan said, “What a dick that guy is. His snare was in really bad shape. Come on Eric, let’s go to the skate park.”

I took Ethan aside and whispered to him, “Can you go somewhere with Ryan? I’m trying to see if Alyssa and Eric have anything in common. She likes him.” Ethan nodded.

Ethan said, “Hey man, why not come to my place instead? We can play your favourite game, Dead or Alive- Extreme Beach Volleyball.”

Ryan looked at Alyssa and I, and reddened, “Hey, it wasn’t my idea for you to buy that. It was yours, but whatever. Let’s play NHL. You coming Eric?”

I said, “Eric, why not walk Alyssa home? You’ve got your bike, you can make it to Ethan’s after that.”

Ryan said, “Why does Alyssa need someone to walk her home, it’s like 3 PM.”

I shot a semi-frantic look at Ethan and he quickly said, “Come on, man. Let’s go.” See you tonight, Abby.”

He smiled, and I smiled back at him, and then he and a confused Ryan left. Eric, meanwhile, stood dumbfounded. None of this had been his decision, but I figured since he didn’t complain, he actually did have at least a slight interest in spending time with Alyssa. I was providing the gentle yet extremely transparent push.

Alyssa walked over to me and whispered, “Thanks, Abby. I’ll get my mom to drive me back so I can help you pick your outfit, do your hair, and makeup and stuff for tonight.”

Eric, who still didn’t realize that he was a pawn in an elaborate plot, continued to stand by silently. Alyssa walked over to him and asked, “Ready to go? Um, so what bands do you like?”

A few seconds later, I was left alone. Since Alyssa was my friend, I wanted to help her with Eric, but I had gone the extra step partly because of the guilt I felt, and not only because I had been neglecting her. I feared that the ritual I had put her through had scarred her permanently, and that the nightmares she suffered from were entirely my fault, but since she had refused the money I offered for therapy, I didn’t know how else to help her.

***

Alyssa returned an hour later as promised with an absolute beaming smile on her face.

I grinned, “So I guess it went well?”

Alyssa nodded, “Yeah, he’s a really nice guy. Once he opened up, we had this like amazing talk. I couldn’t believe it, he just kept talking and talking. We liked some of the same bands, and he even admitted to liking a Katy Perry song. He just would never admit it in front of Ryan.”

Alyssa frowned gently, “I-I still don’t know how to get him to ask me out though. He opened up, but he’s so shy. And I-I don’t think I can do it either.”

I replied, “I’ll help you, Alyssa. Ethan and I will figure something out.”

Alyssa grinned, “Thanks, Abby. Let’s get started!”

As Alyssa worked on my face, my hair and my clothing, we listened to her favourite radio station, which played only top forty hits. We also discussed Ethan, Eric, Halloween (which was less than a week away), and Coffeehouse, which was in late November. I had opened up slightly to the idea of learning a few moves for the show, but we agreed that I would sing both of Katy’s albums and then choose the one which suited my voice the best. I knew that I would probably end up singing “Fireworks”, which was still my favourite, but I was willing to indulge Alyssa. It was hard to say no when she constantly fawned over my voice.

Alyssa finished my makeup. My eyes widened as I marvelled at her work. I said, “You, you are really good at this, Alyssa! It’s perfect.”

Since I was going to be meeting Ethan’s parents, the rocked out pissed at the world angry eyes I had for the show wouldn’t work. Alyssa did my eyes so that the eyeliner would make them ‘pop’ but without the electric blue eye shadow that characterized Abigail, rock chick. She put a little bit of foundation and cover-up to conceal a few very minor blemishes.

My hair was her masterpiece. She called it a half up-do. She had taken two long strands of hair and tied them together at the back using a hair elastic, then she repeated the process with smaller strands, allowing them to flow freely through the portion she had already tied. A very thin strand of hair was left to dangle over the left side of my face, adding a coquettish look to a mostly formal style.

While the hair and makeup was fine, we disagreed on the outfit. I wanted to wear my green hoodie and a pair of ripped jeans. Alyssa chose a simple, sensible skirt that was actually slightly longer than my school uniform skirt, and one of my work blouses. With my kitten heels, it would not look overly dressy, but she felt it would be appropriate. It was ironic that Alyssa herself had prepared me so well, and yet, she couldn’t muster the courage to even ask out a boy.

I wasn’t sure it was me. I frowned gently, and Alyssa said, “What’s wrong, Abby?”

I said, “I’m just worried, this is a bit much. And, what if he doesn’t dress like this? What if he’s just in jeans? I’m not really sure this is me. It’s really girly.”

Alyssa smiled and shook her head, “What’s wrong with dressing like a girl, Abby? I bet Ethan will like it.”

I said, “I don’t know about that. I think Ethan likes the fact that I’m kind of like a guy. I like guy stuff. I’m low maintenance, right?”

Alyssa smirked, “Didn’t you tell me that he also really liked how you looked last Saturday. Like REALLY liked it. I know he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

Alyssa replied, “I’ve heard you call yourself a tomboy, but when you come to my place, you look in my closet. You want to try on my clothes. And I bet you probably want me to show you how to put on makeup. Right? I can’t come here every morning!”

I replied, “Well it wouldn’t be a bad idea to learn some stuff about it. I guess he did like it. We were on the bus, and he had this big grin, and he said he was picturing me on Saturday night.”

Alyssa said, “I think it’s fine to be both, Abby. You can still like the stuff Ethan likes and like clothes and makeup.”

I raised a brow, “How do you know all this stuff?”

Alyssa smiled, “Because I’ve known Ethan for a long time. Since we were little kids.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, but people change, especially teenagers in their formative years. I still think this might be a little much. Maybe, I should just switch to jeans.”

Alyssa giggled, “You sound like Dr. Phil. Stop thinking so much about this, Abby! Just go and have fun. Remember, Véronique was my best friend, she went out with Ethan last year before Alexandre. Trust me, he’s going to be dressed nice too. I know his mom. She’ll make him!”

I smirked, “OK, I’ll trust you.”

Alyssa approached me with a flower clip, similar to the dual butterfly clips she wore in her hair. She smiled, “Before you argue, look at it in the mirror. Please?” I grumbled, but allowed her to proceed. She carefully pinned the artificial flower, which I assumed was a lily, in my hair and then she brought me back to the vanity. My clothing was a little old for my age, but the flower placed me firmly back into adolescence. Again, I was very impressed with Alyssa. She had a talent for dressing people and doing hair and makeup.

I said, “If I’m ever famous, you are going to do my hair, makeup and wardrobe.”

Alyssa grinned, “I’ll hold you to that, Abby.”

Before I left for Ethan’s, I texted Amélie, letting her know where I was going. I would have done it as her husband, so this was no big change. Amélie was out shopping with Chloe, and I was thankful she didn’t see me dressed in such a feminine way.

Me: Hey, I’m going to Ethan’s
Amélie: Are his parents going to be there?
Me: Yes (I rolled my eyes and sighed as I responded)
Amélie: Are you sure they are going to be there?
Me: Actually no, they aren’t going to be there, and we are going to have lots of the sex
Amélie: Just make sure you are home by 9
Me: Why can’t I stay later, you know Ethan
Amélie: I’m calling you, I can’t keep up

Amélie called and immediately said, “Because I don’t know his parents, I want to meet them before I let you stay later. I need to trust the parents. That was the way Judge Richter explained it when I asked him about the sleepover.”

Amélie added, “I want to make sure we are on the same page.”

I said with mounting frustration in my voice, “You are being way too strict. You are willing to let me stay overnight at Alyssa’s if her mom is there.”

I said petulantly, “Ethan can stay out until 2 AM.”

Amélie sighed, “You aren’t making a good case for yourself. His parents don’t sound like they are very good parents. Be home at nine or you don’t go out at all.”

I sighed again loudly, “Are you really going that route? I mean seriously?”

Amélie replied, “Yes.”

I said snidely, “And what if I don’t want to come home at nine?”

Amélie said, “I’ll come get you, and I’ll make a big scene to embarrass you.”

I frowned, “Come on, that’s not fair. Nine sucks. I want to challenge that court order.”

Amélie said firmly, “Before you do that you should focus on your school work. Your history teacher e-mailed me and told me you’ve done nothing on your essay, and you haven’t handed anything in recently. Same with your math teacher. You are falling behind. ”

I sighed heavily, “I hate her. She’s so annoying. I know way more than she does about the subject. What’s the point? And math, I just don’t get it sometimes. And why do teachers need to snitch like that?”

Amélie sighed with her own growing frustration, “Because you’ve been labelled an at-risk student. I’ve asked your teachers to let me know whenever you start to slack. Remember the social worker? Come on, you know this. What happened to everything you knew about teaching, the theory behind it? Why do I need to explain it to you?”

I replied, “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking. It just feels like you and my teachers don’t trust me, you have to send these little e-mails back and forth checking up on me. It’s not a big deal. I’m still getting the best grade in the class. Stop being such a helicopter parent, Amélie. You are harder on me than my actual parents were when I was a teenager.”

Amélie sighed again, “Tomorrow, I want you to get started on your essay. I know you aren’t happy about not being able to choose your own topic, but that’s the way it is. You remember that right? The classroom isn’t a democracy.”

I replied, “Yeah, well it sucks to be on the other side. Her topics were all really boring and easy.”

Amélie said, “It’s tenth grade history, not a fourth year university seminar. Don’t you remember why you need to do well, beyond just the social worker? Law school right? And next year, you’ll be able to take law classes for the first time. Aren’t you excited about that?”

I replied, “I guess. It seems so far away.”

Amélie asked, “Really? It’s almost November.”

I said, “It’s felt like an eternity.”

Amélie said, “Anyway, we can talk about where you think you’d like to go for pre-law soon. Start checking out schools. Yes, there’s time, but you need to be in the mindset.”

Amélie said, “Promise me you’ll be home by nine OK? If you start showing you can make your curfew, I’ll consider meeting Ethan’s parents. Does that sound fair?”

I said, “Yeah, I guess. Bye.”

***

Ethan was clearly surprised as he opened the door to let me in. He stared at me without moving. I fidgeted with the flower in my hair and looked down, feeling my cheeks redden. He hated it. I knew it.

Ethan reached down and took my hand, gently guiding me into the hallway, “You look amazing, Abby.” My heart leapt, and my worries fled instantly.

I said, “Really? You don’t think it’s too much? I mean the flower.”

I looked at Ethan, and he was dressed in a pair of khakis and a dress shirt. His bangs, which usually dangled in his eyes, were neatly combed and gelled.

The boy shook his head, “Nah. You look perfect. Like really nice.” He kissed me gently on the cheek. This was a different side of Ethan, but I had to admit, I liked it.

“Ethan, is Abigail here? Bring her into the kitchen.”

It was Ethan’s mother. Ethan took my hand and guided me into the kitchen. Candice Rayner, Ethan’s mom, looked far better than she did when I first met her. Her swollen forehead and cheeks were gone, replaced with smooth, wrinkle-free skin. However, her lips still looked like they had been stung by bees. She was dressed far more conservatively, opting for an outfit similar to mine, although her skirt was actually a little shorter. Next to her stood a tall man with a trim physique and brown hair smattered with streaks of grey throughout. He had a distinguished look with a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. He wore a polo shirt with a pair of khakis, much like his son. I noted with slight chagrin that we looked like we had stepped out a Gap catalogue page titled, “Meeting the Parents.”

Mrs. Rayner beamed and then gently took my hand, “It’s good to finally meet you in a place other than a parking lot, Abigail. This is my husband Mark.”

He reached a hand out and I gripped it firmly, shaking his hand as a man would, he squeezed mine back. Mr. Rayner said, “Pleased to meet you, Abigail.” There was amusement in his eyes.

I replied, “Um, nice to meet you too. Dinner smells good.”

I was famished. I would not have been surprised to see a personal chef or a maid preparing dinner, but the apron around Mr. Rayner’s waist told a different story. I hadn’t noticed it at first because his gaze was so steely. It captured my eyes.

Mrs. Rayner smiled, “Yes, Mark isn’t home for dinner most nights, but when he is, he cooks. He’s a much better cook than me.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “Why don’t we chat while the boys finish dinner? Would you like something to drink, Abigail?”

Ethan said firmly, “Mom, remember what I said. No photo albums. You promised!”

I blinked, “Um, OK.”

I was about to ask for a glass of red wine, but I decided against it. I knew that Ethan’s parents had a relatively liberal approach to parenting, but asking for alcohol would be a major faux pas. I said, “Do you have Orange Crush?”

Mrs. Rayner smiled, “Yes, Ethan said it’s your favourite. I don’t touch pop anymore. You’ll understand when you don’t fit in your clothes anymore that it’s probably best to avoid stuff like that. Happened to me five years ago. That’s when I started seeing my nutritionist. Mind you, it’s fine for you now, I’m sure, but it’s never too early to-“

Ethan interjected, “Mom, seriously. I asked you not to bring that up! Can we have one dinner where you don’t talk about your stupid nutritionist?”

I wasn’t exactly bulging out of my skirt, and the blouse concealed my love handles, but I still had that persistent little roll that just loved to explore beyond the top of the waistband of mostly anything I wore. Mercifully, Alyssa had chosen one of my larger-sized outfits, my school uniform, on the other hand, was so tight around the waist that I was starting to get these angry little red marks along my belly. The roll was really only there when I sat down, but with Mrs. Rayner’s mini-lecture, I was acutely aware that Ethan’s mother was skinnier than I was, and for some reason, it bothered me. She was also six inches taller than me, but I failed to consider that.

We went into the living room, where Ethan and I had previously made out. I popped open my drink and took long swig. Mrs. Rayner, who had a glass of red wine, looked at me with interest, “So Ethan tells me that you live with your older sister and her daughter. How do you like that?”

I replied, “It’s OK. She’s pretty strict. She worries about me more than she should.”

Mrs. Rayner smiled, “That’s how it is with girls I’m afraid. Mark never worries about Ethan the way he worried about Valerie, our oldest. She’s off in university now, but when she was living at home and dating, well my husband was a wreck some nights. He waited for her to come home, and gave the boys she dated a very hard time.”

Mrs. Rayner added, “I don’t think that your sister needs to worry about Ethan though. He’s a good boy.”

I smiled, “Yeah, he’s nice. He walked me home the other night.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “Ethan has played your music for me. You have a beautiful singing voice, Abigail.” She regarded me curiously, “Is there a reason you sing such angry songs? You seem like such a polite and well-mannered girl. I’ll never understand why Ethan likes that music. It is catchy though.”

I smirked, “It’s cathartic. I write about what bothers me, and it’s actually like a form of therapy.”

Mrs. Rayner regarded my expression with a quizzical brow and then replied, “I hadn’t thought of it that way. I have to admit I don’t really listen to music for the words. I would like to go to one of your gigs with Mark though. Is that what you still call them, gigs?”

I acted the know-it-all teen, “It’s actually called a show now. You say booking a show.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “And you are in this group with two other boys. What is that like for you, as the only girl?”

I said, “Well one of the boys is my sister’s best friend’s husband. I’ve known him my whole life. We are really good friends.”

Mrs. Rayner blinked, “Wait, you said husband. I assumed Ethan meant that the other boys were his age. How old are they?”

I said, “One is in his early thirties, and the other in his late twenties.”

Mrs. Rayner said, “And what does your sister think about this?”

I replied, “She is fine with it. She knows them both really well, and she trusts them totally.”

Mrs. Rayner smiled, “You are a very well-spoken young woman, Abigail.” She added, “I don’t know how I would feel about Valerie spending so much time with boys way older than her, but it’s not my place to say.”

I nodded, “Thank you. These guys are like older brothers to me. They worry about me, stare down skeezy guys who check me out. I trust them completely.”

Mrs. Rayner nodded and took a sip of her wine, “They do sound like nice guys.”

I was honestly surprised with how well the two of us were getting along, especially because initially I thought the woman was a little dim. She was likely having a little fun at her son’s expense when I first met her in the parking lot, and perhaps she was even trying to push the boy to invite me over, having apparently heard so much about me.

Mrs. Rayner was actually as well-spoken as I was, and my worry that our conversation was going to turn to her nutritionist or her advice concerning a weight loss regime was baseless. She was not the Barbie doll I had envisioned her to be. Perhaps it was the expectations put on women to retain their youth, while their husband’s wrinkles and grey simply added to their dignified and regal look, which forced them to seek out measures to turn back the clock. Maybe it was her husband who had convinced her to get the Botox and the face lift? I didn’t know, and I realized that it was unfair of me to judge.

“Supper!” It was Mr. Rayner’s voice. Ethan entered the room, casting suspicious glances in his mother’s direction. He looked on the couch, and then on the floor.

Mrs. Rayner furrowed a brow, “Ethan, what are you looking for? Your phone is on the kitchen table.”

Ethan said, “You know exactly what I’m looking for.”

I said with a grin, “There was no nudity, first grade pictures with bad haircuts or embarrassing fashion trends. I bet you had Pokémon pjs, right? Don’t worry your secrets are safe.” Mrs. Rayner laughed, nearly spitting out her wine on the pristine white carpet.

Ethan smirked, “If you saw them, then I get to see yours.” Abigail Grenier, of course, had no baby pictures. Up until last March, she didn’t even exist.

I replied, “I saw nothing.”

Ethan eyed his mother suspiciously, and then he left the room. Mrs. Rayner said with a mischievous grin, “If you want to, you can see them, but don’t tell him I let you.”

I shook my head, “That’s OK. We promised, right?”

Mrs. Rayner smiled, “You are an angel.” She added, “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before, but your outfit is lovely, especially the flower. It really suits you, Abigail.”

I muttered timidly, “Um, thanks.”

I still wasn’t ready to accept that the outfit was me, but as Alyssa suggested, was it possible that ultra-feminine and bad ass rock chick Abigail could co-exist? I had to admit that I actually liked the flower, even though it was really girly. It made me feel pretty, and that sense of confidence was a powerful stimulant to my changing self, driving thoughts of lingering in front of the mirror, experimenting with makeup and different hairstyles.

I walked to the kitchen. Ethan was already sitting at the table, and he invited me to sit next to him. We sat down to a dinner of roast chicken parmesan, crisp green beans and scallop potatoes. I took a bite of the chicken, and my eyes lit up. It was delicious. The chicken was succulent, likely because it was slow-roasted.

I said, “This is delicious, Mr. Rayner.”

He smiled and said, “Thank you, Abigail. So, do I remember Ethan telling me that you worked in a law firm this summer? For someone your age, I have to say that’s very impressive. Did Ethan tell you that I am an attorney?”

I shook my head, “No, he didn’t. What kind of law do you practice?”

I assumed when Mr. Rayner said that I worked in a law office, he meant photocopying, basically Chantal’s job. I didn’t want to get into an argument about how it would be impossible for a teenager to be hired full-time.

Ethan interrupted excitedly, “Did you know that Abby was almost working for that place full-time? I can’t remember if I told you. She almost got emancipated. Almost didn’t have to go to school. That would have been sick!”

Mr. Rayner blinked and turned his attention back to me, “Really? But why would you want to work in firm during your high school years, I’m guessing as a copy girl? If you have an interest in law, you should go to law school. You need a university degree for that.”

I said timidly, “I guess I had a really hard time at my old school. And I figured I could work there for a few years and then when I was old enough apply as a mature student and go pre-law.

Mrs. Rayner said, “Why would you want to skip high school like that? You’ve got a beautiful voice, why not try out for school musicals, or join a sport or a club? I was senior varsity cheer captain back in Boston. I still talk to some of those girls.”

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m not really into any of that.”

Despite my words, a part of me desperately wanted to do everything I hadn’t done in high school the first time. I had tried out for a school musical in tenth grade, but I was so nervous, I didn’t sing a word- I just read the words. I obviously didn’t get the part. I played on the school’s hockey team, but other than that I hung out in the computer lab with the other misfits. I only ever went to one dance. I knew the Winter formal was coming up, and Alyssa would probably be bugging me to go dress shopping soon enough.

Ethan said, “She probably doesn’t want to go because it’s so boring. The teachers are lame, and the only good thing is the Coffeehouse, and it’s not for a while.”

Mr. Rayner said, “Well I can’t imagine a bright girl like you being a copy girl for years. I have to say I’m glad you are going the traditional route.”

Ethan said, “She wasn’t a copy girl. She was helping with the cases, doing research and stuff.”

Mr. Rayner stared at me in a way that made me feel like a hostile witness that he was about to badger. His expression softened, “Is that true, Abigail?”

I nodded, “It was a student internship, usually for university students. They gave me administrative stuff, but they learned I could do more, and they were short staffed, so they let me do research with Quicklaw.”

Mr. Rayner asked with absolute wonder on his face, “And, what was the name of this firm?”

I sighed, “I don’t know if I should say. They won’t admit to hiring me for my emancipation, not even the summer internship. I guess some other lawyers found out. It was a mess.”

Mr. Rayner said, “I can easily deduce where it was Abigail. Ethan told us that he hung out at the skate park a lot over the summer. There’s a fledgling firm there called the Locke Agency, correct?” I nodded timidly. He said, “I can understand their position. We wouldn’t do that.”

He softened, “But you are clearly a very intelligent young woman, and the firm saw something in you obviously. I hope it won’t sour you on the law.”

I shrugged, “I guess that it has a little. I think it’s just really frustrating because I was working at a high level, and it’s going to take so many years to get back there.”

Mr. Rayner smiled, “Enjoy your time. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. Because when you are missing your kids and your family because there’s additional disclosure and you are missing dinner for the third time that week, you’ll remember these times fondly, and you’ll wish for them again. Don’t misunderstand, I enjoy my job, but it’s not easy.”

I nodded, “What kind of law do you practice?”

Mr. Rayner said, “Mostly commercial property, although when we first arrived in Canada, I worked at the Human Rights Tribunal.”

My attention was piqued, “What made you go to private practice?”

Mr. Rayner nodded, “It was a number of things. Mostly, with private practice, you can continue to climb the ladder. In government, you peak and then you get pigeon-holed, so you either stay, or you leave early enough to carve a different path.”

I was amazed with Ethan’s parents. Both of them spoke to me with far more respect than Amélie had in the past few weeks. Mr. Rayner and I were having a very adult conversation. They weren’t like my teachers, Dr. Alberts, my band mates (at times) and even Amélie.

I replied, “My sister is facing the same problem. She is worried if she stays in government too long, she will get stuck there, doing the same job until retirement.”

Ethan sighed, “Dad, can we talk about something else? Like how the Bruins killed the Habs last week.” Ethan emphasized his point by jabbing his fork at an imaginary target.

I said with a wry smile, “You know I wasn’t sure about coming here. I thought I would get whatever disease afflicts Bruins fans. What’s it called? Cavemanitis?”

Ethan smirked, “Haters gonna hate the winners, right?”

I loved the fact that Ethan and I could still talk trash, even though we were sort of seeing each other? To be honest, I really wasn’t sure what we were.

Mr. Rayner said, “To be fair, Abigail, I grew up watching the Bruins in the golden age of Bobby Orr. They aren’t the same team now. I have to shake my head at some of what they do now. I can understand how some fans of other teams can hate them. You have to admit that they are a strong and deep team despite that.”

I nodded, “Absolutely. I think now maybe I won’t boo so hard when the Bruins play Montreal.”

Mr. Rayner replied with a grin, “Now see I’ve ruined the rivalry.”

Ethan said, “Come on, Abby, let’s go downstairs.”

I said, “Thank you, dinner was delicious.”

Mr. Rayner said, “It was very nice meeting you, Abigail. I’d love to discuss the law with you again sometime.” I expected one of the parents to order Ethan to keep his door open , but it never happened. I was allowed to leave the table with him, and enter his bedroom.

Ethan said, “Sorry! My parents are really lame. Always talking about their jobs and stuff. It was worse when my sister was home though because all we ever heard was what she did during the day. I really like that you aren’t like that.”

I raised a brow, “Like what?”

Ethan said, “Well like Alyssa. She’s always talking.”

I smirked, “She’s like a machine gun.”

He nodded and grinned, “Exactly.”

Ethan said, “So I remember you like zombies and stuff, right? Do you want to watch Walking Dead? It’s gory, and kind of gross, but you like that stuff, right? It’s a TV show, but I’ve got it on Netflix.”

I was familiar with the show, after Buffy the Vampire, which we never finished, the Walking Dead was going to be the next show Amélie and I watched together. I was actually looking forward to seeing it, even though horror movies and I had never agreed. I still remember being twelve and watching “Nightmare on Elm Street” on an old black and white TV at my cottage. I was scared for a week. Not the best movie for a kid who already had sleep issues.

I nodded, “Sure, yeah I’ve been wanting to see it actually.”

We lay on his bed, but beyond our hips brushing there wasn’t any contact. Because I didn’t watch horror movies as a kid, I was not desensitized to the violence in them, so within fifteen minutes of the start, I was already pulling my shirt over half of my face, leaving only my nose and eyes visible. It was something I did, even as an adult, during a particularly scary part of a movie or when something incredibly awkward happened. Like Amélie’s nervous laughter, this was my way of dealing with something I found unsettling. Ethan thought it was hilarious, and he joked about rewinding certain very gruesome parts before I lightly punched him on the arm indicating my distaste for the idea.

Jump scares are written into scripts for people like me, and within half an hour, I had twice jumped, which elicited laughter from Ethan, a quick scolding from me, and then an apology from him. Gradually, Ethan worked up the courage to put his arm around me, but other than that this was no different than watching television with Amélie. I snuggled against Ethan, surprised that he wasn’t going further, but the show was so gripping that we were completely hooked. It was like a zombie apocalypse, mixed with a daytime soap opera with action movie effects and full-length feature production values. We watched three episodes without even checking the clock. Ethan’s parents never once came to check on us either.

As Ethan started up the fourth episode, I checked my phone, noticing that it was 8 PM. I asked, “Hey, can your dad drive me home? I have to be home at nine.”

Ethan whined, “Really? That sucks, Abby. I thought it would be fine cause your sister knows you are here.”

I said, “She wants to meet your parents first. It’s really old school, I know. And it’s embarrassing, but she wants to make sure they are on the same page. I guess because I’m at risk and because of my curfew or whatever.”

Ethan nodded, “OK, but we can watch one more, right?” I nodded and smiled.

As the fourth episode neared the end, one of the main characters lost someone very close to them. Before my change, I would have felt the urge to cry, but it never manifested. I cried, but not over imaginary people. I saw in these characters the growing divide between Amélie and me, but I was also riveted by the drama, the loss of someone that the show did an excellent job of fleshing out for three episodes and then ripping them away, throwing them to the hungry maws of the walkers.

I desperately tried to stop it, but the first tears fell as the character said goodbye, gently brushing away hair that was matted with blood, looking into a face they would never see again. The first ones fell silently, but as the character took on the grim task of killing someone they loved, I started gently sobbing. I covered my face with my hands, but this just made it more obvious.

Ethan asked anxiously, “A-are you OK, Abby?”

I sniffed, “Y-Yeah.”

I brushed away the tears, but I could feel more streaming down my face. I couldn’t remove the image from my mind. The character kneeling next to the loved one, hand shaking, seemingly unable to pull the trigger, and then with a grotesque pop, it was all over.

Ethan said, “You don’t sound OK. What’s wrong?”

WARNING FULL WALKING DEAD SEASON 1 SPOILER

I sniffed, “Well, don’t you think it’s just heartbreaking how Amy was killed? I mean Andrea and her were getting along so well. And I really liked-”

END OF SPOILER

Ethan raised a brow, and then a smirk, then a fully-formed grin took over his face, followed by absolutely raucous laughter interrupted by taunting. “Y-You…you’re…crying…because of that?”

He said, “You are such a girl!”

I could see him looking at my face, trying to judge my expression. This was part of our trash talk- the friendly banter that we had back and forth about our hockey teams or video game skills, or was it? Ethan’s words actually caused more tears to flow, as I found myself sobbing, but also turning away from him, pulling myself off the bed and standing in the corner. I put my arms underneath my chest and entered full pout mode.

Ethan’s accusation rocked my core because it was becoming painfully clear that I wasn’t going to be the rough and tumble tomboy that I wanted to be. No, I was going to be a girly girl supreme, the kind that cried during the sad parts- every time. I had always been an emotional person, but I was able to express those emotions in many ways, now it just seemed like I cried. Before my change, I cried when it was appropriate, when real life was too much and the well was overflowing. I had wept in this body many times, but never for a character, a figment of someone’s imagination.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned on Ethan. From his expression, I must have looked furious. I felt like there must be lava spewing from my eyes. It was like I had lost the last piece of my masculinity. His hang dog expression and slightly protruding lip lowered my defences enough for my expression to soften, which seemingly gave the boy permission to speak, “I’m really sorry, Abby.”

He said, “It’s just, you try so hard to be tough. And you are a really strong girl, like you don’t put up with shit. And what you did with those assholes in your laneway. That was sick. And you do all this guy stuff, so I was just surprised you were crying over a show. Like my mom does that, and you are so not like my mom! I was just teasing.”

He added, “I shouldn’t have. But, why are you so mad? I’m sorry I don’t really get it.” The boy looked genuinely confused.

I said, “Because it’s not me. I don’t cry during movies, or stuff like that. I cry when people die, real people. I cried when I thought you were going to leave the band. Not for a stupid show! It’s not fair. I don’t want to be this way. My head, it’s all messed up.”

Ethan said, “I kind of feel that way too, not the crying though. Like I can’t think straight. I think about you, and everything else just kinda goes away, boring teachers or whatever. And sometimes, like tonight, like I wanted to kiss you and stuff, but I couldn’t do it. I thought you were going to say no and want to leave. I know we made out before, but I just don’t want to mess stuff up between us.”

I blinked, “You think about me at school?”

Ethan says, “Yeah, and when I’m not in a class with you, and sometimes when I am. Like I’ll think about you when you are talking to me. I guess that’s kinda weird.” He grinned awkwardly.

Ethan says, “Listen, I don’t care if you act like a girl, Abby. I know you like a lot of the same stuff Alyssa likes, but it’s sick that you like stuff I like too.”

He added, “I actually, um, really like that side of you. The girly one. I don’t really care that you cry during movies or whatever. I think it’s cute.”

My eyes widened and my features softened completely, changing from stone-like to inviting and open. “Really?”

Ethan nodded, “Yeah, it’s like you are the toughest girl I know, but you’ve got this like soft side of you. I really like both parts. Like that flower, I was surprised, I bet it was Alyssa’s idea, right?”

I nodded, “Yeah. How did you know?”

Ethan smirked, “Because, I didn’t think you’d pick it for yourself, but it’s perfect for you.”

I said, “Um, thanks.” The pleasant buzzing entered my head, and I desperately wanted to stay. I said, “I have to go though. I want your parents to meet Amélie soon though. K?”

Ethan looked saddened at first because from the look on my face, he was likely preparing for a kiss. I know I was. He reached out and took my hand and led me upstairs. A minute later, I was in the back seat, my head resting gently on Ethan’s shoulder. I could see on the dashboard that it was 8:52 PM.

Ethan’s father made small talk with me during the short ride back, and eventually we arrived in front of my house, a minute before nine. Ethan got up and walked me to the door, holding my hand the entire time. We kissed on the doorstep, and then we hugged, neither of us wanting to let go. I would see him at school on Monday, but it seemed like a week away, instead of a day. I saw the light go on in the entryway, so I gave Ethan a quick peck on the cheek, and then rushed into the house.

I saw Amélie at the top of the stairs. She was hard to read. To me, she just looked sad and tired, but it could have been something else. My ability to recognize expressions was getting worse. I could see her scrutinizing my appearance, her eyes rolling over me like a computer scanner, perhaps permanently imprinting the sight of her husband’s outfit and accessories, the flower likely being what she remembered most.

She asked woodenly, “Did you have a good time?”

I nodded, “Yeah. It was OK. His parents are really nice.”

I asked timidly, “W-would it be okay, if you, um, you met them? Soon?”

Amélie nodded as if her neck was feeling resistance from some unseen puppet master. The action was clearly difficult for her.

I took off the kitten heels and then slowly moved toward my room.

Amélie said, “Good night.”

I said, “Good night.”

Without a thought to what had transpired, I made my way to my room, smiling as I caught a glimpse of myself in the closet mirror. I took out my phone, which had only 23 texts from Alyssa all saying, “abby deets”, which meant of course, she wanted me to give her everything in exhaustive detail.

Before I could text Alyssa, she texted me:

Alyssa: check ur fb

I logged onto Facebook, still seeing the over forty outstanding friend requests, but there was a new one. One I had only ever accepted one time.

It said: Ethan Rayner is requesting a relationship status change with you. Do you accept? Ethan was requesting to be in a relationship with me. I didn’t know what that meant for two fifteen year old kids, but I guess that meant if I accepted, I was Ethan’s girlfriend. The thought brought an instant smile to my face. I knew that if I accepted, it would be broadcast to all of my friends, and all of Ethan’s friends.

I clicked ACCEPT.