The Act, Chapter 3

So... here goes! Please comment!
I know it kindof rambles- this is unedited, as of 11:03 AM Tuesday, March 22.

Chapter 3: Dreams and Zachary Rages (but not about him!)

           

            I've never liked dreams, for one reason in particular.

            They remind me of things I don't remember- like the first five years of my twisted life. It's as if that locked portion of my mind opens up at night- like the guards go home, or something. Because I see things that I don't want to see, I hear things I don't want to hear-

            And I remember things that were forgotten for a reason.

            But once I'm awake, everything is gone again, the guards back at their posts, the lock bolted shut, and that only makes the situation worse. I know those memories are there, lurking in my brain; but they're totally unreachable.

            I can always tell I had one of those dreams when I wake up bleeding.

            I had dug my nails a quarter inch into my palms, and it hurt. Lines of red ran down my arms- my blankets were shredded. Another disadvantage of being an avian freak- I happen to have unruly nails. Amy gave up painting them long ago, to say the least.

            Gingerly easing out of bed- it must've been four in the morning- I slid downstairs and wrapped up my hands, lining band-aid after band-aid on my arms. If Charlie hadn't been on the other side of town, comfortable in his apartment, he would have helped me. I slid out the back door and towards the workshop, limping. My foot was swollen- I must've kicked the wall, or something. Maybe a bed post.

            I refused to freak out until I was safe in the cab, the doors all locked as I panicked.

            Wrapping the blanket around myself, I started rocking, trying to calm my shaking. My hands burned, but my mind was in a far worse state. I wouldn't be going to school tomorrow- today. There was no way. I reached underneath the bench and pulled out my emergency stash of comfort food, primarily chocolate covered peanuts. (Don't ask- I'm part bird, here. I like nuts.)

            “Jenna?”

            I screamed, my vision blurring from the red that lined my eyes.

            “It's okay, it's okay.” Amy whispered, her voice muffled from the window. “It's only me.”

            Trembling, I eased over and struggled to pull up the lock- my fingers were shaking too badly. She stepped in, her nose wrinkled, and gave me a sorrowful look.

            “You were screaming again.”

            No wonder my throat was so sore.

            I looked away from Amy, concentrating on the chocolate in my hands. A caramel square, this time.        

            “Remember anything?”

            “No.” My voice cracked.

            “Your hands look bad.”

            “They feel bad.”

            She sighed, wrapping an arm around my trembling shoulders.

            “You're not going to school today.”

            I heard both the question and the pronouncement in her tone- she probably thought my eyes weren't acceptable for public sight.

            “You'll be okay?”

            I nodded.

            “You probably should clean this place up.” She began, casting a cursory glance around my little heaven. “I can imagine Troy will be stopping by.”

            She smiled- that mischievous look gave me the shivers. Who knew what she was planning between Troy and I.

            “Okay then. Have a good day.”

            It was 5:15 in the morning- time for Amy to start straightening her hair and doing who-knows- what else to get ready for school.

            “Can you pick up my homework?” I croaked.

            “I probably won't need too.” She smiled again. “Your friends will bring it by.”

            She was right.

            I did a little cleaning, primarily picking up all the feathers on the floor, but besides that, I worked on the truck. And a little table. And shelves. I kept myself busy on purpose.

            It was a good thing I kept my hoodie on all day, because around 3:00, I heard the tromp of feet outside the rusty door and the sound of voices headed my way- Troy and... Carrie.

            “Jenna?” Carrie began, the door creaking open.

            “Under here.” I replied, hiding underneath the truck.

            “Are you okay?” Troy, this time- anxiety coated his tone.

            “Um, yeah. I'm better now.”

            “Amy told us you got sick- she didn't tell us the specifics.”

            “Because you don't want to know.” I replied.

            “Oh, then, um, I'm glad you're better. You'll be at school tomorrow, right?” Carrie asked, kneeling next to the truck and peering at me.

            “Probably.”

            “Cool.” Troy smiled- I could hear it in his tone. “Well, a bunch of us are going ice skating Saturday, if you want to come.”

            “Well, it's a maybe.” Carrie corrected me. “Us girls want to go to Crestview for some shopping.”

            Shopping- not exactly my strength. Amy would probably die of laughter if I went.

            “What day is it?”

            “Wednesday, silly.” Carrie laughed. “But, yeah, we got all your homework. It shouldn't be bad- it was a slow day, for me at least.”

            “Slow for everyone.” Troy added.

            I heard the buzz of a cell phone, and Carrie's muffled response. I knew Troy couldn't hear it all, but I did.

            “Um, Troy...”

            “You've gotta go?”

            “My mom.”

            “Oh, okay then. See you tomorrow, Jenna?”

            “Yeah. See you.”

            My back was killing me from laying on that skateboard for so long. I was about to take off my hoodie when I heard softer footsteps, someone lighter coming to see me. Weird. Troy and Carrie skirted this person, silent. I ducked back underneath the truck.

            The door opened- I peeked and spotted a pair of black sneakers. I didn't recognize the walk.

            “2015 Ford?” He asked.

            I bit back my horror, the hyperventilation that threatened to burst through my lips.

            “You know, I can't see you, so nodding won't help.”

            He'd never spoken to me before- I'd never heard his voice. It was rich and smooth, a rather pleasant tone. I'd always imagined it hard and threatening.

            “Yeah.”

            I heard the creak of someone opening the hood. “Not bad on the inside- why don't you drive it?”

            “No permit, no connect.”

            “Those aren't hard to find.”

            “For this model, they are.”

            Wow. I was actually having a decent conversation with Zachary Rages. Or, was. An awkward pause filled the room as the hood snapped shut.

            “So... you're sick?”

            “Was.”

            Another pause as he maneuvered the piles of stuff all over the garage floor, headed towards my tack board.

            “Have you started any of these?”

            “Some.”

            “The table?”

            “Yeah.”

            “The legs seem thin.”

            “They're the prototype.”

            “Pine?”

            “Hopefully oak.”

            “Size?”

            “4 by 5.”

            “The legs will probably need to be at least 4 inches thick, not the three you have. How thick is the surface?”

            I pulled myself out from underneath the truck, watching him from the floor. He didn't turn, didn't move, and I had the feeling he purposefully didn't want to look at me.

            “Why are you here?” I asked, my predator senses creeping into my words.

            “Why weren't you at school?” He replied.

            “I was sick.”

            He turned, suspicion in his brooding, black eyes. “No you weren't.”

            The breath whooshed out of my lungs in one gust. “How would you know?”

            “You don't look sick.”

            “I'm better now!”

            His look told me he didn't believe me, and I shoved myself back under the truck, infuriated.

            “What happened to your hands?”

            “I fell.”

            He grunted, and I recognized the sound from Charlie. Arrogant kid! He didn't know anything about me.

            “Zoe wanted me to bring this by. I'm putting it on the board. See you tomorrow.”

            I heard the door shut, waiting for his footsteps to recede before sliding out from the truck and hopping up. It was sheet music- a violin line was highlighted.

            On the table was a box- my name was scrawled on a note taped to the top.

           

            Don't go to Crestview.

            What--? Zoe wrote this, or did Zach? What the heck did that mean? Don't go to Crestview? Who were they to tell me what to do?

            People are so confusing.

            Almost as soon as the words registered in my mind, I decided to ignore them. They weren't going to tell me what to do- they were basically strangers! Just because I knew their names and possible criminal record didn't mean I trusted them. Especially meant I didn't trust them. Maybe they wanted revenge on Jessie and Troy's group for whatever had happened between them.

            No way. I wasn't going to be the pawn.

            I opened the box with trepidation- who knew what mischief the Rages could manage? So I wasn't expecting a solid pound of chocolate covered nuts. A solid, beautiful, sweet-smelling box of goodness.

            They were good- both the Rages (in manipulating) and the nuts.

            Was this a bribe? Or just a get-better-soon delio?

            I wasn’t in the mood to wax philosophical, so I poured my attention into my homework, primarily violin. I’d have to come up with a more detailed excuse for my hands- at least they didn’t need stitches.

            I skipped dinner, partially to avoid Amy’s questions about who had dropped by, and partially because I was still too shaken to handle a lot of food. The wind roaring in my ears settled my frazzled nerves, and I was too distracted to notice the dark shapes watching me from the workshop’s shadow.

            I didn’t dream that night.

            School wasn’t so bad- I painted my cradle in Workshop, and I managed to follow along with every other note in Chorus. Mr. Sarks approved of my progress.

            The girls debated ice skating or shopping during lunch- I didn’t have much to say in that conversation.

            Those were the highlights of my day- my first Thursday in real live school.

            Friday beat it hands down.

            Firstly, I decided to go to Crestview with the girls, no matter what the Rages said. The decision had Amy’s stamp of approval, though I didn’t need it. Secondly, the Rages weren’t at school, though Sam was. He looked lonely, but I was too scared to talk to him. The kid is intimidating- partially because he’s twice my weight- easily- and a good eight inches taller. And because he stared at me.

            That sent chills down my spine- it triggered all of my predator/prey nerves right in the middle of class. I wanted to run, but didn’t dare- helpless and vulnerable. It looked like he wanted to ask me a question, but didn’t have the guts to do it. Don’t ask me why or why not- I knew nothing about him.

            The weekend breezed by, chased by the school week. Before I knew it, I had my schedule memorized, and the hallways lost their labyrinth qualities. My lock was a cinch to my experienced fingers; I started recognizing faces from my classes, with names to go with them.

            It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

            Granted, Algebra went above my head, but I wasn’t flunking or anything.

            Biology was a different matter.

            Zack wasn’t in class that day, though he had been in English, and I wrongly assumed that would make the day better. Just when I was getting used to the stuffed animals and random skeletons distributed through his room, Mr. Natick threw another fast ball at us. That fast ball was called dissection.

            Some people think it’s cool. Others think it’s gross in an awesome kind of way. Could someone please enlighten me? What is so cool about sticking pins and sharp items inside of a body, of peeling aside skin and sinew, just to see something’s guts and to poke at its’ intestines?

            It makes me wonder if the scientists who made me started out like this- high school students poking a rat’s corpse.

            Sam, however, was in the cool opinion- I lost all self control when he pulled out the small intestine, gave me a mischievous smile, and asked: “Do you want to jump rope?”

            Thankfully I didn’t puke or anything- I fainted.

            “Jenna?”

            The voice sounded far away and echoed, like the sound was underwater.

            “Jenna, I’m sorry. Wake up.”

            “Give her some room, students.” Mr. Natick was saying. “Let the poor thing breathe.”

            “She looks like she’s gonna be sick.” Was that Nate? Or was his name Nick?

            “She’s coming around.”

            “Should I go get the nurse?”

            “No- we’ll wait for her.” Mr. Natick replied.

            I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to have to face all my jeering classmates, and I definitely didn’t want to be the laughing stock of the day. But someone touched my face- that jerked me back to reality, reminding me of the memories that I couldn’t find and the reflexes that attested to their existence.

            “Just breathe, Jenna.” Mr. Natick began. He reached over to thump my back but I leapt up, swaying. My vision flickered, and I began falling-

            Nate- or Nick- caught me. “I’ll take her to the nurses’ office, sir.”

            “I should,” Sam argued. “I’m the one who made her faint anyway.”

            “Nathan, go ahead.” Mr. Natick began. “Sam, clean up. You have detention.”

            Nate put his arm around my waist, and if it wasn’t awkward enough, he began soothing me. He really sucked at it too- telling me about how gross dissection was, for Pete’s sake! 1) I already knew it, and 2) My stomach was already having problems.

            At one point, I wasn’t quite sure where we were, my legs gave out. I crumpled like I had been shot. Nate wasn’t prepared- I slipped though his fingers and folded together on the floor. The ground was cold and that was fine with me.

            “Jenna?” He asked, kneeling beside me, anxiety coating his tone.

            “Go away.” I mumbled. The floor’s company was better than his.

            “Are you gonna puke?”

            What a lovely question.

            “Is she okay?” Asked another voice.

            I cringed, both emotionally and physically. Anyone but Zachary Rages would have been better- even the principal, or Amy.

            “I’ve got it, Zack.” Nate spat.

            Zack chuckled, like my patheticness amused him.

            “Obviously you don’t, considering she’s on the floor.”

            I could practically feel the heat between them. I liked the coldness of the floor much better.

            “What happened to her?”

            “Sam asked her if she wanted to jump rope with an intestine.”

            My stomach threatened to revolt.

            “What are you doing?” Nate suddenly asked. My eyes were still closed, and I didn’t care enough to change that until a pair of strong arms pulled me up.

            I felt like a toothpick in Zack’s arms- he acted like I weighed five pounds rather that ninety-five.

            “Hey!” Nate cried, following us as Zack carried me down the hallway.

            “Put me down.” I mumbled.

            Zack chuckled again- the noise rumbled right by my ear, and I noticed how warm he was.

            “Put her down!” Nate echoed, running in front of us.

            I closed my eyes again, too dizzy to follow the conversation.

            “You can’t make me.” Zack replied. “You weren’t helping her, and clearly she needs to get to the nurses’ office.”

            “She wanted to stop!”

            “And do you think that’s what’s best for her?” Zack snapped, his rich tone replaced by a cold hiss. Who was he, to say what was best for me?

            Nate fell silent and followed, opening the door as Zack pulled me into the office.

            “Oh,” The nurse sighed, “There’s always one in Biology. Just put her down on the couch there.”

            To be honest, I didn’t want Zack to put me down. He was warm and smelled like musty leather, and I was comfortable in his arms, even though I initially thought it was awkward. But the couch was squishy, and his arm were, well, hard. Someone put a damp towel on my forehead, and sleeping suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea.

            “You can go back to class, Nathan.” The nurse said. “You too, Zachary.”

            “Actually, ma’am, I never went to class.” Zack began. “And Jenna should go home- she looks sick.”

            There he was again, deciding what was best for me. I couldn’t decide whether he was being a jerk or a gentleman.

            “I should take her home, ma’am. Normally she walks, but clearly…”

            “Alright, Mr. Rages. Drive safe, alright? The roads are slippery out there.”

           I heard Nate storm out of the office, slamming the door. The sound prompted a headache.

            “Jenna?” Zack’s voice returned to its rich, soothing tone. “Can you walk?”

            “Mm-hmm.” I just wanted to sleep.

            He chuckled again and hauled me to my feet, wrapping a strong arm around my waist. For some reason I didn’t really worry about him noticing the Clamp- I must’ve been too sick to care. I leaned on his shoulder and let him lead on, to my locker first- I had to get my house key- and into the parking lot.

            Zack had a truck; I didn’t know that. It smelled like him, or, he like it. I must’ve fallen asleep, because when my eyes worked their way open, I was laying on the couch in my family room.

            Zachary Rages was, beyond a doubt, the most confusing person I had ever met. Maybe he had a multiple personality disorder- I was too tired to decide.

I could break this into 2 chappies- what do you think?

The Act, Chp. 2

Um... wow! I really wasn't expecting the response I got. Evidently this isn't so bad. :) It's not my favorite, so updating it is definitely not going to be regular, but... this is what I have.

Chapter 2: No, I'm not Suicidal. Yet.

            School wasn't bad enough to cater suicidal thoughts, so no, I wasn't jumping to my death. In fact, my feet never touched the ground. There was no need.

            My wings snapped out and caught the breeze, and I glided to the roof of the workshop. My workshop- my haven. The only place where I didn't have to hide. I pulled the latch that opened the trap door and dropped in, landing on a pile of wood shavings.

            I headed straight to the mini-fridge. My high metabolism meant that lunch didn't stick with me- I'd have to bring snacks to eat in between classes tomorrow. Grabbing a can of Coke and a bag of Oreos, I opened the cab of my truck and stretched out to enjoy the peace and quiet.

            My truck is a work in progress. I found it one day in the middle of the woods, totally abandoned and unmarked- no license plate, nothing. Charlie helped me push it home, and since the workshop was a garage, the whole situation worked out perfectly. (Mom and Dad never used the garage- there is no driveway up to it, and they didn't want to ruin the grass. Not that is matters much.)

            I already had tools and everything, and after making just about anything I set my mind on, this truck became my passion. It's not done, but someday, I'll get it running again. Someday.

            And that's where Charlie found me, laying on a skateboard underneath the truck, tinkering away. I heard him come in- he's the only one who ever comes in there. For one, the place has a musty smell that I love and they hate, and with feathers and shavings and spilled oil all over the place. I'm not a neat person- let's leave it at that.

            “Hey kiddo.” He began, sitting on the floor next to me.

            “Hey yourself.”

            “So how'd it go?”

            I pulled myself out, so I could see his face. His warm, brown eyes, his cheerful smile. I gave him a look and he sighed.

            “Just give it a chance, Jenna.”

            “Easy for you to say.”

            “Amy has a point, you know. You have been in the house for a while.”

            “And is that my fault?” I snapped. Amy was, after all, the one who suggested I take online classes rather than going to school. But that was way back- ten years ago, really. “I like the house. I like the quiet. She has no business getting involved in how I live.”

            “She honestly does care about you.”

            “Well, I'd rather that she ignored me, like she used too.” I slid back underneath the truck, fuming.

            “I think she got tired of having an invisible sister.”

            “It's not like it made a difference to her- my going to school only threatens her status as Miss Popular. I don't get it.”

            “Neither do I.” I heard him grab an Oreo and crunch down on it- Charlie always had eaten Oreos improperly. “Girls are confusing.”

            “Boys are confusing.” I replied.

            Charlie laughed, that rich sound I knew so well. “I suppose you met a few of those today.”

            “More than I'd like.”

            “How many guys did you know before today? Two? Me and Dad?”

            “Three.” I said after a pause. “I know Mr. Ervin from the grocery store.”

            “Three guys, before today. And now, you saw... three hundred? Cheers!” He and I clanked Cokes, though I wasn't quite sure why.

            “But back to Amy... you know the last time her friends had study group at the house?”

            I remembered. That was a close call.

            “I think her friends asked her where you were, where you've been.”

            “It's none of their business.”

            “But people are starting to wonder- maybe Amy was trying to save her reputation, showing that she didn't have some freak for a sister.”

            “Well sorry to burst her bubble, but she does have a freak for a sister.”

            Charlie pulled at the skateboard, sliding me out and giving me a hard glare. “You're not a freak.”

            “Oh yeah? Then what am I? Some mutant?” How many times had we had this argument?

            “I don't know- howabout an improvement? A hybrid?”

            “That's the politically correct way to say it.” I complained.

            “Maybe there are other people... like, like you... at school.”

            That had never occurred to me. Then they must be darn good at keeping secrets, at hiding. “I don't think so.” I muttered.

            “So... who did you meet?” Charlie asked. I was glad for the change of topic.

            “This guy called Troy walked me to class a few times.”

            “Oh- his dad works at the cattle farm in Crestview.” Crestview was the little town about an 45  minutes away, and one of the closest to Tolobie. Flying, though, is a whole lot faster.

            “And this girl- Zoe- saved me from getting trampled.”

            “Zoe who?” Charlie asked, suspicious.

            “I don't know. I think she was goth- black hair, makeup, that sort of thing.”

            “Zoe Rages.” Charlie muttered. “Stay away from her. I think she's been to Juvie.”

            “Why? She seemed... intimidating, but not a criminal.”

            “I think. I don't know. She just seems like that type- like she's seen a few fights in her life.”

            I slipped back under the cab. Zoe. Juvie. Hmm.

            “Anyone else?”

            “Um... I'm lab partners with this guy called Sam.”

            “I know him. Red hair, athletic?”

            “Yeah. During lunch he got in a fight with another guy- I don't know his name. He said they fight all the time.”

            “The other boy- dark hair, tan? Athletic?”

            I nodded.

            “Zachary Rages.” Charlie informed me. “They've been best friends since the Rages moved here. Stay away from the lot of them- they're all going to end up in trouble.”

            Great. Out of the four students who had talked to me, three were doomed, in Charlie's mind. His phone rang- well, I could hear the vibration, at least- and it was Amy, calling us in for dinner.

            “Oh my gosh, so Tommy totally cheated on Lizzie, and she's hysterical.” Amy said as she set the table. Dad brought home Chinese- Mom hated cooking, so if I didn't make anything, someone had to bring home pizza or something.

            “Jenna, you smell like your truck.” Mom chided me, wrinkling her nose. No hello, no how was your day. I was used to it.

            “No, she smells like... a dump yard.” Amy replied.

            “And what are you trying to smell like?” I snapped. “Rotten eggs? That perfume is disgusting. It would smell better on a rat than you.”

            “I just got it!” She cried, outraged.

            “Sorry you wasted your money.”  

            “I like it!”

            “And I like how my truck smells.”

            “Did you get egg rolls?” Charlie asked, picking through the bags.

            “I should've.” Dad replied, lumbering into the kitchen. He gave me a half smile and sat down, digging in with Charlie.

            “So, Charlie, who called in today?” Mom began.

            I ignored the conversation, partially to spite them, partially because I always did. My family was weird- I mean, I loved them and everything, but somehow... I never really fit in. Charlie didn't mind me, but the day he carried me home after finding me in that black bag in the woods... let's just say there was a huge argument about whether or not they were going to 'keep' me.

            I remember it word for word.

            And every time Mom gave me a cross look, or Dad was upset with something I made, or tired of me smelling like the truck, or Amy crinkled her face upon sight of me, I was reminded of one thing.

            I didn't belong there.

            Charlie was the only one who didn't mind. Heck, he took care of me more than Mom.

            “Seriously, Jenna, you eat like a pig.” Amy complained. Not my fault that I get hungry easily.

            “And you smell like a pig.” I replied.

            “Jenna, let her off. Didn't you hear? Tommy cheated on Lizzie. They're all upset.” Mom gave me a hard look.

            “They're not the only ones.” I snapped. 

            “Rough day, then.” Dad muttered.

            I scarfed down the rest on my plate and threw it in the sink, running up to my room and grabbing my violin stuff. I dove out the window, back into the workshop, and plugged in my Goodwill TV.

            Music is just so awesome- though, I suppose everyone knows that. But I was finally making some of my own- more than humming little melodies or scribbling down random lyrics. I wouldn't call 'Old McDonald had a Farm' great music, but it was music all the same.

            Charlie was surprised when he came, but I was in no mood to talk, and he said his goodbye pretty quickly.

            That's when I took off.

            Stowing my violin in the cab, I grabbed my windbreaker off its hook and pulled it on, popping my wings through the slits in the back. I clambered onto the cab's and out onto the roof.

            The lights in the house were still on- they'd never notice I was gone. They never had.

            I flung myself off the roof and glided into the darkening gloom, silent as a shadow.

            I'm assuming you've never been hang gliding or skydiving. Or flying with your own two wings. I'm not going to try to explain it- you'll just have to figure it out yourself, because it would be- it is- impossible to justify through words.

            But it's amazing. I just took off, sweeping over the treetops and feeling the cool breeze in my face, playing with my hair, tugging at my jacket. The setting sun cast a great view for me, disappearing behind the mountains, and I landed in a high tree so I could see it and not have to worry about people seeing me.

            Flying erased all my worries, dragged all my concerns down to the ground. The feeling of freedom- total and absolute liberty- made the evening the climax of my day.

            I had this particular spot I liked- sometimes, when I took online classes, I picnicked there and brought my homework- a smallish clearing by a creek. In spring, it lit up with colors of the flowers, in summer, it intensified, and in fall, it seemed to burn with the violent colors of the trees. Winter... I rarely went flying in winter. Birds fly south during the winter. But when I did muster the courage and energy to leave the house, it sparkled in the sunlight and the ice glinted like diamonds.

            It leaned towards burning when I dropped down, jogging to a stop. The trees matched the sky, only not so dark, and I plopped down in the moist grass to watch the stars.

            It was late when I got back.

            I did not notice the dark shape leaning against the workshop, watching as I glided into my bedroom window.

            The next day was just as bad.

            Even though I knew what to expect, I still had several bouts of hyperventilation in between classes. And a few during, too. Like during Mr. Brunn's pop quiz in Social Studies- that was a nightmare.

            Troy, however, had memorized my schedule, and after every class led me to my next one. He babbled the whole way to each class, telling me about this or that person or whichever class he had, but at lunch he caught me totally unprepared.

            “Where are you going?” He asked as I took my lunch and was halfway out the door to the pavilion. “Yesterday I couldn't find you, but I wanted you to sit with me. Come on- it's raining out there.”

            It was strange, having someone who wanted my company. I decided he was like a golden retriever rather than a duck.

            He pushed me through the mob to a table where I thought I would die.

            At least a dozen other teenagers sat there, crowding each other, sitting on each other's laps and on the table, some milling around it. They laughed as they chatted, my ears catching at least five different conversations, everyone jumping in at random times and trading jokes. Two of the guys tossed a football across the table; Troy darted forward for an interception.

            “Hey guys, here's Jenna!” He sang.

            Twenty- some- odd eyes turned to look at me, prying, curious, suspicious. I died internally.

            “Oh my gosh, you're finally here!” One girl cried, leaping up from a boy's lap. She put her hands on my shoulders, shaking me. “Where the heck have you been? I've been bugging Charlie about you for forever!”

            I had no idea who she was.

            “I'm Jessie- too bad we don't have any classes together. That would be so awesome.”

            Jessie, taking over for Troy, who looked a bit put-out, introduced me to everyone at the table. There was Nate, Louis, Mike, Ken, and Dan; I didn't understand their expressions, and Kay, Lisa, Noelle, and Carrie, not including Troy and Jessie.

            I knew I would never remember all their names.

            I recognized some of them from my other classes, Carrie and Louis from Choir, for example. Nate was in Social Studies- he was the one who had written notes on his arm.

            And then I was sucked into the oh-so-wonderful world of teenage drama. I had only seen flirting on TV, but let's just say that it's a lot more involved in real life. Jessie batted her eyes at Mike, who paid Carrie some attention, who was crazy about Ken, and so on and so forth. Their barrage of questions overwhelmed me- when I couldn't take it anymore I stuffed my sandwich into my mouth and chowed away.

            How much do you need to know about someone? They asked every question imaginable- my birthday, what school I had been going too, why (I had to lie), what my favorite color was (blue), what my favorite movie was, my favorite actor (I rattled one off that Amy drooled over), blah blah blah blah blah. I felt like I was being tortured, but I couldn't help but wear a little bit of a smile.

            People wanted to be my friends. They wanted to know more about me, they cared.

            It was really weird.

            I caught Amy watching me from across the cafeteria- and for once, she seemed pleased by my social life's progress.

            “Jenna.”

            Everyone at the table fell silent, some glaring, some staring up at Zoe in wonder. Or hatred. It was hard to tell.

            “Hi.” I managed to say. I had the feeling she was laughing at me by the way her eyebrow lifted. She didn't give the others one moment of her attention.

            “How's your violin?”

            A wide smile spread across my face- it surprised me that she asked. “I love it.”

            “Cool. See you at chorus, then.” She started turning, then spun back around. “Oh, and Jenna?”

            “Yeah?”

            “You better watch your back if you're going to hang out with these people. Be careful.”

            And she was gone.

            “Jerk.” Kay growled.

            “She's the backstabber.” Jessie mumbled, glaring at Zoe's retreating form.

            I gave Troy a questioning look, but he shook his head, like now was not the time to ask. He mouthed that he'd explain later.

            But Zoe's words unsettled me- I had just been basking in the newfound feeling of friendship, and she told me that all of them were backstabbers?

            Predators.

            The thought sent a shudder down my back.

            “Who is she?” I asked.

            “Who are they.” Jessie corrected me. “There's a whole pack of them- they mostly fight. Zack, Sam, Zoe- I think they're the leaders. Unless those upper-class men are involved... Stay away from them- they're dangerous.”

            Well, that told me so much.

            “Like... a wrestling club or something?”

            “That would be tame compared to what they do.” Ken shuddered. Carrie laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, nodding her head of bouncy blond curls.

            “They cheat. Steal. Bribe. Vandalize.”

            “Stalk people until they get their way.” Jessie added.

            “Don't even mention that.” Kay growled again. “Don't listen to Zoe, Jenna. Do you mind if we call you Jenn? Zoe is really good at manipulating people. Like, really good. She's the one who will stab you in the back.”

            What a comforting thought. That would definitely be painful, especially with... my condition. Fine- my wings. That would really hurt. Or was that a figure of speech? I wasn't sure.

            “We don't really know if they do those things.” Lisa murmured, staring at her canister of soup. “It's just our guess.”

            “We're 99.999 percent sure of it.” Nathan replied. “I mean, who else would?”

            I could think of some other people- that last .001%.

            Like me.

            I'm not an angel, after all. And I'm good at taking things apart. And putting them back together. And taking them apart. And... rearranging the parts. Some people call it abstract art. Others call it vandalism. But I always put them back the right way... eventually.

            It was nice, knowing people in my other classes. Being able to sit next to them, listen to their whispers, and even pass notes. I'd never done that in my life- I mean, you can't exactly slide a piece of scribbled paper to another student via computer.

            So, I wouldn't call my second day horrible, but it definitely could be better.

            And, just like before, and just like always, my evening excursion was the best part of my day.

Yeah... I'm not sure about the paragraph about her vandalism/abstract art, but I wanted to give her less of an I'm-a-perfect-and-innocent-and-naive-mutant-bird-kid character. I'll have to find another way. Hmm...
And I love reviews... :)

The Act, Part 2

So, here's the rest of the first chappy of The Act. Actually, it's the whole thing, since I know some people haven't read it or won't remember. If you don't want to read the whole thing again, I made the last sentence from the previous post red, so you can skip to it without missing anything.

Like before, I sincerely hope no one is offended by this. Oh- and I'll warn you- Jenna is not a Christian.

Enjoy! (And remember that I love comments!) :)

Prologue: A Freak

           

            Do you know who you are? Most people do; kudos to them.

            I'm one of those few who don't.

            Sure, I know the basics, the bare facts: my name is Jenna Walker, I'm fifteen, and I live at 49 250^th Drive- talk about unoriginal- Tolobie, Montana. But that's just the crap that goes on passports and licenses, some of it, at least. I don't even know my birthday. When I was found, they guessed that I was six- so for all that matters I could be sixteen. I don't have half a clue who my biological parents are, or who the heck screwed my deoxyribonucleic acid. 

            Maybe I should have mentioned that earlier.

            I'll start at the very beginning. About twenty years ago, scientists began fusing animal and human DNA. Some wanted to prove evolution, while others said it was inhibiting our natural changing. Anyway, the first few years were total disasters- most of the embryos died in days or, at best, a few minutes after their artificial births. It's still a very rough science, but has more or less gained in popularity. Parents are purposefully making their kids part animal, whether so they'll be better athletes, or smarter (hah!) or prettier (who defines beauty anyway?).

            I'm one of those pathetic life forms.

            Yes, I consider myself pathetic. Why? That's a simple enough to answer.

            I'm a freak.

            Being one of us has its' definite disadvantages- look at me. I mean, that must be why I was dumped off in the middle of a woods in rural Montana. My creators/parents/mad scientists couldn't have wanted me anymore.

            So think again if you know who you are, and consider those of us who have no clue.

Chapter 1: School (AKA Torture)

            I've never been to school in my life, so my first day was naturally going to be hell.

            I was shaking by the time we reached the brown, brick building; I clutched my thrift-store backpack so hard that my knuckles were white. The cab of Charlie's car was warm and dry, an even greater incentive to stay there rather than face the cold and wet weather, but the many faces passing by frightened me more than anything else.      

            Predators- every single one of them.

            I was about to be shut inside a building with four hundred other teenagers. Not a very good combination for someone who's claustrophobic and afraid of people.

            “You okay?” Charlie asked, switching off the engine. I could feel his worried eyes boring into me. I didn't have the strength to reply, even to my brother. “Got everything? Lunch money? Schedule? Locker number? Lock code? Courage?”

            “When did we get the last one?” I asked. Bravery came so easily to Charlie, him being a Marine and everything.

            He smiled, one of those you're-going-to-be-okay smiles that I remembered from the first moment I met him. “Hey, in a week, school will be a breeze. Think of how great you'll be in Workshop and Choir!”

            Breeze. No way.

            “I'm going to make you late.” I realized, glancing at the clock. Charlie answered 9-1-1 calls, though Tolobie didn't have a lot, with a  population of around eight hundred. 

            “Go get 'um, tiger.”

            Tiger. Huh. I certainly didn't feel like a tiger.

            I slid out of the cab, scanning my perimeter.

            Predators- all around me.

            Every single one of my instincts screamed for me to run, to get the heck out of there, to preserve myself and escape. My back ached already- stupid Clamp. All the same, it was a strong reminder to stay, whispering in my ear that no one would kill me here, no one would hurt me.

            I could wish. I could hope.

            The car window rolled down, Charlie saying something like 'have fun'!

            I couldn't hear him very well anymore, with the roar of terror in my ears.

            “Are you coming?” Amy hissed, frustrated.

            My older sister glared at me, her hood pulled low over her face. She was probably worried about her make-up smearing in this rain. Or her hair getting messed up in her hood.

            She led me to the door, avoiding the puddles that had formed in the paved walkways. I tromped right through them, half to spite her, half because I didn't care. Combat boots can do that to you.

            “Office is the last door on the left. Remember to walk home.” She instructed me, beginning to flounce away towards her designer-clad friends.

            I was faster, darting forward to grab her arm. “Aren't you coming with me?” Panic built up in my tone, my voice cracking by the end. She was the only person whose name I knew in the entire building. And she was deserting me. What a great start to the day.

            “No. You're not helpless, Jenn. You can walk down a hallway by yourself.”

            “I can do more than walk.” I threatened.

            Her glare intensified, but I didn't care. She was the one who got me in this mess anyway. “Stay low.” She growled. “You know the rules.”

            “Your rules.” I spat. “I'm not afraid to break them.”

            That was a lie, but it did the job. She gave me a nasty glare and led me down the hallway, prancing like some runway model. In her dreams. I kept on her shadow, unnoticed by most. Those who did see me... I still could not shake off the feeling of danger. My back started twitching, thankfully hid by the over sized hoodie I wore.

            The threat did it's job, but I knew I would never have the courage to break it, to admit to anyone what kind of a freak I was. That I was a freak at all. That was one of Amy's rules: Don't tell the secret.

            She pushed me through the office's door and bolted for her friends, embarrassed to be caught next to someone like me. My nails weren't painted; I wore no makeup. My hair hung lank around my face. My clothing would never meet her standard. I would probably be labeled as a dork, if anyone at all.

            “Hello.” Said the bright, apple-faced secretary. “Jenna Walker, is it?”

            A person. Was talking to me. Was even looking at me- was smiling at me. I started hyperventilating. Somehow I managed to nod.

            “Here's your papers again- do you need them?”

            I shook my head, staring at the puddle forming around my boots.

            “You'll be fine dear. No need to worry! You'll love it here.” She was getting worried, I could tell from her tone. Her green flats came into view.

            “Are you going to be sick?”

            Another shake of my head.

            A pause, then “Do you want me to pray with you?”

            “No.” I replied, sharper than I intended. I met her gaze for the first time, her gentle eyes patient but surprised.

            And then I bolted. I had everything I needed- no need to stay longer than necessary. I slid into the hallway and hurried the way I guessed was English- my first class- and ran headlong into an unknown body.

            “I am so sorr-” The boy began, startled, picking up both our things. He seemed to realize he didn't know me. “Are you... Charlie's sister?”

            I hoped that would be what I was known as- Charlie's sister. It meant no one really knew me, that no one bothered being my friend. That was okay with me.

            I nodded, realizing I hadn't answered his question. He had my schedule in his hands, scanning it and smiling. “We have English together.” He began. “Let me show you there.”

            How embarrassing.

            I felt like a duckling following its mother, especially when the strange boy started quacking- talking, excuse me- about this and that and how I was going to love it there and blah blah blah blah blah. Poor, naïve, brainless boy. I probably shouldn't called him brainless, with my mind, but still. He didn't know anything about me, and here he was, acting like we were good friends.

            I wouldn't have any friends there.

            Too many predators.

            The boy- he said his name was Troy- dragged me into English. My eyes dropped to the floor as he introduced me to the teacher- Ms. Tragger- and she handed me Macbeth. It would be my third time reading it.

            I shuffled to the back of the room as Troy started chatting with another girl. There weren't many people in the room yet, it was too early, but all the same, I buried my nose in Shakespeare.

            Until I couldn't bear the feeling of being watched.

            One quick glance up, and I instantly regretted doing so. At least five people peered at me, even though I was in the back, and I felt my face flush red. Darnit. Darnit darnit darnit. It made my ears turn cherry, and that brought too much attention to them-

            I flopped my hair in front of my face as I bent down again, and I heard a soft chuckle to my right.

            That kid looked seriously dangerous. He was really tan, with dark, glaring eyes and an eagle nose, and that means big. He wore leather, wet leather, like he had walked to school, and his dark hair was spiked all around his face. A dimple was chiseled into his chin, but I had the feeling he was more studying how to beat me up rather than thinking I was hilarious. Like a lion smiling at its next meal.

            Predators.

            I sealed my lips together to control my hyperventilating, but it was hard to concentrate through the rest of class. I knew people were still trying to get their fill of 'Charlie's sister', and I knew I had my fill of them. 2:30 just couldn't come fast enough.

            When the bell rang, I made a dash for the door, and got my first taste of high school hallway jams. And how tall everyone was! I thought Charlie and Amy were joking when they told me I was small, but they weren't. Evidently 5'2'' doesn't hit a 6'4'' football player's radar. My claustrophobia nearly pulled me under when a hand shot out and yanked me from the mess, slamming me against the cold lockers.

            “Stay to the side.” The girl told me. “It means you don't get trampled, and with someone your size, you've gotta be more careful.”

            If I thought the boy looked intimidating, this girl trumped. I think she was goth- she wore dark eyeliner and black clothes and had the same, short, spiky hairdo. Her eyes, though, were more dangerous. I had a feeling that if she got tired of me, or decided I wasn't worth anything, I would become Jenna pudding. The boy would've just let me go. But her black eyes weren't threatening- at the moment- and I felt (again) like I was being scanned, like she was deciding whether or not I had any potential.

            “Jenna?”

            How the heck did she know my name? She didn't wait for my reply.

            “I'm Zoe.”

            I squeaked something of a 'hello'. A smile lit up her face- great. She thought my shyness was funny.

            “If you need anything, I'll be around.”

            And then she was gone. Funny, because I had no idea where my next class was. That creepy kid from English slid past me without a glance- maybe because he was probably 6'1'', and then Troy appeared out of thin air.

            “What's your next class?”

            “Social Studies.” I whispered. He leaned closer to hear- much too close, in my opinion.

            “Oh- I know where. Mr. Brunn, right? Yeah- I have him in the afternoon. Come on.”

            Mr. Brunn was the only teacher who made me stand at the smart board and introduce myself, and that helped me decide that Social Studies was going to be my least favorite class, not to mention I was ahead in the material.

            Then came Workshop. It was more in my element- more at my speed. Mr. Gads, a man with a chiseled, wrinkled face let the class free to build whatever we wanted, as long as we got something done.

            Amid the shavings and the smell of wood, I zoned out the rest of the chattering class- the girls who were afraid of chipping their nails, the boys who wanted to put nails in each other rather than their projects- and focused on the piece of furniture I commanded. And I would've finished the cradle, if it hadn't been for some dolt who couldn't figure out the power saw.

            Mr. Gads grunted when he saw my incomplete project.

            “You're almost as good as Mr. Rages.” He gestured for me to follow him deeper into the musty, dusty room, and in a corner stood a massive, sheet-covered thing.

            A wardrobe.

            It was beautiful, and I knew the moment I saw it, that I wanted to meet whoever was building that thing. I also doubted it would fit through the doorway.

            “Who's Mr. Rages?” I asked- the first time I'd willingly talked to a stranger all day.

            “Another student in my afternoon class. He could finish your cradle, if ya'd like.”

            I shook my head. “I'll finish it later. Or could I... take it home, sometime?”

            “You have a workshop?”

            “More for cars than wood, but it'll do.”

            “You're one with your hands, aren't ya?”

            I nodded. After all, I had built all the furniture in my house, except for the cabinets. Mom didn't trust me with her kitchen.

            “Then you'll have a good time here. Now get along- your next class'll be startin' soon.”

            He was right. The next class's students were already filing in, and I charged out the door without remembering to say goodbye. Mr. Gads seemed like a nice man.

            And Workshop's euphoria vanished as soon as I realized what my next class was.

            Biology.

            I slipped into the room unnoticed, tormented by the bright green plant clinging to the ceiling and the anatomy posters on the neon walls. A cat skeleton stood in a glass box- I shuddered at the sight of it- and I felt my breath go whooshing out when I saw a stuffed bird in a cage. My appetite vanished .

            “Jenna Walker.” It was not a question.

            Mr. Natick stood at the front of the classroom, glasses perched on the end of his nose, list in hand, staring at me. For a moment, I thought he called roll, but since everyone else was still roaming the classroom, I slid to his desk, looking down.

            “Is the floor more interesting than me, Jenna?” He asked. His straight, stiff tone made it clear I had insulted him. I tried looking up, but I could hardly meet his gaze, even though his glasses shielded me from the full force of his glare. “Are you prepared for this class?”

            “Yes sir.”  I whimpered.

            “Then what are you doing up here? Go sit down.”

            Men are so confusing. I scrambled to the far back table, noting the massive feet stuck in the row to trip me.

            It was that creepy kid from English.

            I gave him my deluxe I'm-really-freaked-out-right-now-so-I'll-hurt-you-later glare and slid into the cold chair. The boy sitting next to me kept his eyes devotedly fixed on Mr. Natick, but his hands caught my attention. Long and spindly, they twirled his pencil around like a baton, like he was ADD or something. So was I, so distracted doesn't cut it.

            And then he noticed, his green eyes glanced at me- did I see panic in his eyes?- and his mop of curly red hair bounced as he ducked his head to scribble down some notes. I followed his example, blushing.

            Mr. Natick lectured on intestines, right before lunch, and so when the bell rang, I was out of there like a bullet, heading straight to the bathroom.

            The cold water did my spinning head some good- I never had done well with sciences. Just the thought of organs made my inside want to come outside. And I was starving, so that didn't exactly help the situation. I glanced into the mirror, focusing on the water dripping down my chin to get my bearings.

            Plain hazel eyes stared back at me, surrounded by pale eyelashes. My hair, dark blond, streaked with browns and reds, flopped over half my face and hid most of my freckles. I pushed it back behind my ear, my fingers running over the scars from when I cut off the tips. A drop of water hung off my sharp nose, and I focused on it, my vision starting to stop swirling as I did.

            My rumbling stomach reminded me that my lunch break was ticking away.

            I wiped my face on my hoodie sleeve and headed out into the hallway. I was late enough- or lucky enough- that it wasn't crowded anymore, and as I slipped into the line, I realized that Amy was no where in sight. Maybe that was a good thing, maybe not. It wasn't raining anymore, so I headed outside to a deserted pavilion to eat in peace.

            Almost in peace.

            A mob of chanting boys rounded a corner of the cafeteria, two of them hitting each other like punching bags. I watched, horrified, as the two contenders locked arms and started rolling in the mud, the boys cries growing louder as they cheered on one or the other. Where were the teachers? Wasn't anyone going to stop them?

            “Pin!” I heard one cry- he had a deep voice, kind of scary. “Admit it!”

            “Fine, fine!” The other laughed, though, I wondered how, since his face was buried in the mud.

            Laughed?

            “All right, fight's over. Get out of here.” The winner told them, hoisting the other boy up. He looked hardly scratched, and I have good eyes.

            The mob slid back around the corner, never having noticed me.

            “You alright?” The winner asked. I couldn't see his face- only his dark hair.

            But I did know the other boy- I sat next to him in Biology. His red hair was impossible to ignore.

            “Yeah- you? I clipped you in the ribs pretty hard.”

            “I'll live.”

            “Sure, sure. And I'll be the one to die.”

            The two laughed, smearing mud all over themselves like animals. I was one to talk.

            They turned, still laughing, to re-enter the building, when the winner and I locked eyes. It was the creepy kid from English and Biology, with the dark, intimidating eyes. I glanced back at my sandwich, trying to free myself from his iron gaze.

            When I looked up again through the curtain of my hair, they were coming my way.

            I started hyperventilating though my bread, which isn't very easy. Rather painful, actually, but I was hoping against all hope that they wouldn't beat me up. My back started hurting again, tugging, itching, burning, and I repositioned myself so I could run more easily.

            “I'm okay, if you were wondering.” The red head began, his green eyes prying my face. “We fight all the time.”

            I couldn't answer. Boys were talking to me. It was all too much.

            “Are you going to be sick?”

            I shook my head, my knuckles white as they clung to my water bottle.

            “I'm Sam.”

            Sam. That seemed like a normal enough name. Was it normal for boys to fight 'all the time'?

            “Jenna.” I whispered.

            The creepy boy did not say a word.

            “Oh, okay then.” Sam began, the awkward gaps in the pathetic conversation getting to him. “Uh, see you in Biology then.”

            I nodded, my attempt at a smile making the creepy guy's lip twitch, like he almost smiled. Jerk.

            Algebra passed without too many problems, besides the fact that numbers go in my eyes and never make it past there. Whoever coined the word 'bird brain' had me in mind. Math was definitely not my subject. I didn't know anyone from there, so I got lost on the way to Choir, my next class.

            Zoe was there, jamming out with a sleek, black, electric bass in the back of the room. A bunch of other people milled around the echo-y auditorium, and an eccentric-looking old fellow stood on a conductor's podium, scribbling on some music.

            “Oh, you.” He began, barely glancing up. “Do you have a pen I could borrow?”

            I dug one out of my messenger bag and handed it to his pale, wrinkly fingers. He scribbled away some more, his shock of white hair dancing as he scanned the page. When he realized I hadn't moved, he pushed his glasses up his nose and looked me in the eye. “Do you need something?”

            “I'm- I'm Jenna Walker, sir.”

            He furrowed his brow and rifled through some pages, pulling out a list. “Oh- oh! Yes, yes, I knew you were coming today. Lovely. Do you play anything?”

            “Only what I can get my hands on.” I replied. To be brutally honest, I had never seen half the instruments in the room in my life.

            A smile shoved back the sagging skin on his face, his eyes brightening as he chuckled. “Oh yes, you're Charlie's sister. Decent fellow, that boy. Now, is there anything you'd like to play? Are you willing to put effort into music?”

            “Yes sir.” I'd only dreamed of playing anything my entire life.

            “What instrument was that?”

            “Any, sir.” I was starting to like this man.

            “Well then! Just sit and watch, for today. Ah, yes. Attention everyone! Everyone! Places please!”

            I melted into the seats behind the teacher, Mr. Sark, as he drew his conducting wand and brought everyone's attention to their current piece, and before I knew it, thirty students started playing.  The song was good, but Mr. Sark was more interesting to watch. He swayed and half-danced to the lively tune, occasionally catching some student who'd gone astray and giving them a glare.

            Zoe seemed to be in her own bubble. She had memorized the piece, and tapped her foot with the drums. Her bass was cranked loud enough that half the students had headaches by the end of class, but that was the first time I saw anything like a smile on her face. Wow. Talk about having a passion for music.

            And then the bell jolted everyone to reality.

            Mr. Sarks was mumbling about 'inconsideration' of the 'flow of emotions', or something like that, when I asked him about an instrument. He gave me a violin, a DVD, and a music book and told me to practice hard.

            That would not be a problem.

            Leaving the school, though, proved to be a traumatizing experience for me.

            The halls were absolutely nightmarish, packed beyond compare. And the sound! It was so loud and wild. After spending my whole life in my house, leaving maybe... three times a week? This many people, teenagers, in one space...

            Another bout of hyperventilation washed over me. I sagged against a wall, resting my forehead on the cool surface of a locker. I heard Amy's voice waft by, her gaggle of giggling friends passing by without noticing me, going to a 'study group'.

            The thought of being in the workshop, my calm, quiet workshop, revived my courage.

            By the time I crawled out the door, school had been out for half an hour. Lugging my backpack and my violin case, I hurried down the road, half walking, half trying to fly in my haste. I just wanted to get home.

            But no, Amy said. I have to walk.

            I considered heading into the woods, where I could do so much more than walk, but I was passing the suburbs. Drat.

            I bolted as soon as I turned the corner onto my street. My house is the only one for a mile stretch, so I didn't have to worry about gossiping neighbors or anything. I didn't have to worry about anyone, actually. Mom, Dad, and Charlie were working- wouldn't be home till dinner. Amy was at her study group.

            And that left me.

            I grabbed the key underneath the welcome mat and barged into the house, slamming the door and leaning against it, breathless. Home sweet home. So quiet, so nice. Not a soul to disturb me.

            I headed down the hallway, dropping my backpack and heaving a chair over to pull down the attic stairs. That's one problem with attic stairs- people my size just can't reach the stupid little drawstring.

            Bounding up the stairs, which retracted as soon as I reached the top, I paused, to savor the moment. Home sweet home.

            I live in the attic, and it's just perfect. My bed, shoved against the far wall, resembled a birds nest- and that's messy. I had diagrams and sketches tacked to the walls, my personalized wallpaper, and  three picture frames held memories of Charlie and I. A bookshelf and dresser were my only other pieces of furniture, each littered with things I had found in the woods and pencils. Everywhere, pencils. Four windows faced each direction- the road, the woods in back, and the side yards- the curtains drawn and the windows cracked.

            I tore off my hoodie, my back tingling with joy.

            Around my torso I wore a torturing device Charlie and I had made, under Mom and Dad- and subsequently- Amy's orders. I call it the Clamp. They call it improvement. It was like a leather tank top, with buckles so I could loosen the straps and the tightness, meant to make my back side look 'normal'.

            I pulled it off, throwing the horrible thing to the floor and drinking in great gulps of air.

            And I headed for the west window, the one facing the woods. Scrambling out onto the two inch ledge, I hung there for a moment, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze-

            And I jumped out my second story window.