Date: Fri, 22 Apr 2005 12:39:41 -0700 From: RC in Sacramento Subject: Munchkin Chptr 19 This is a work of fiction. It depicts the often sexual relationship between two young girls. If this offends you or if you're not old enough to be reading this stuff, then get out NOW. If, however, you're where you want to be, then enjoy. MUNCHKIN Chapter 19 by Sacwriter Joe tried to keep a firm hold on his dignity during the ride, but soon knew that it wasn't going to be easy. The whole way there Becka kept grinning at him, that same bright eyed smile of pure glee that always did pleasant things to his stomach. Almost against his will he found himself wanting to grin back. When they finally pulled into the parking lot of the Cameron Martial Arts Academy, Becka suddenly turned in her seat, pumped her fist into the air and shouted "Viromir! Viromir!" The sight of the beautiful blonde girl shouting Kenny Washburn's battle cry undid him. He lost it, and for the next few minutes the two of them just sat in the Mustang and giggled themselves silly. By the time they were done, his bruised ribs were aching. "Oh, crap, Joe, I'm about to pee myself. God, did you see Hooker in Garrett's office? He still had Lasagna in his hair!" "Yeah. I guess I owe Sammie lunch, don't I?" The question almost set Becka off again, but she managed to suppress it. Instead, she reached over and ruffled his own spiked hair affectionately, which made Joe feel like shivering in delight. He knew that even though he no longer had any romantic thoughts about her, he would always have at least a little crush on Becka Jackson. So okay, he could live with that. "Man, first Nestor, and now Hooker and Ingles. You've gotten positively ferocious, Joe. You weren't afraid of those guys at all, were you?" He had to think about it for awhile, but then shook his head in the negative. "No, I guess not. I mean, I know they can hurt me, but so what? When you're my size, almost everybody can, so why should I be afraid of them more than anybody else. They're a couple of punks, and they just made me mad." "And Harper?" she asked, her voice softening. Suddenly, Joe didn't feel like smiling anymore. For a brief instant the whole world seemed to be collapsing in on him, making it hard to breathe, sending an icy worm of panic creeping through his gut. Gary Harper, always Gary Harper... "Like flipping a light switch, isn't it?" Joe blinked at the gentle words, looking up at Becka. What...? "Everything's fine, and then suddenly something reminds you of him, and then just like that it changes, and everything goes dark. There's this clammy thing in your belly, and you feel like you're suffocating. And you want to run but you can't, because you know wherever you go you'll just take him with you." Joe gaped, stunned at how close she knew what he had been feeling. Had she read his mind? That freaky thing she and Gia did, could she be doing that to him? But one look at the pain now evident in Becka's face killed that thought. She knew because she had been there, had grown up in this terrifying place that he was just getting to know. He suddenly felt shamed of himself, about the way he had wrapped himself in self pity. He thought about his nightmares, and then tried to imagine what Becka had chasing her through her dreams, and he shivered. He studied her closely now. She had slumped down in the seat and sat bonelessly there, her head laying back against the white leather upholstery, looking tired, lost in old thoughts. He noticed for the first time the tiny lines in a face that was way too young to have them. He wanted desperately to change the subject, but there was still something he had to ask her, one thing he needed to know. "Becka. How... did you live with it? Every day, for all that time. How did you live with... with--" "You mean with the fear?" She sighed, then bit her lip and looked away. She laughed again, but this time it wasn't pleasant to hear. Her voice sounded thin and fragile, like glass. He wished he could somehow take back the question, but he knew that it was too late. "If you're looking for advice on fear, Joe, I don't think you want to get it from me. See, when things got too bad with Ralph or all those other guys he gave me to, I'd kill myself. I mean, I didn't try and commit suicide or anything like that. I thought about it a lot, but I never went that far. "Aww, shit. Look, what I did was, I'd kill the part of me that felt things. The part that could feel the fear and the pain. Feel the shame. I'd just kind of cut it out of me and throw it away so that I couldn't feel anything, no matter what they did to my body. The important part of me was gone, and all I left them was this hollow thing that didn't care what they did to it, or what they made it do. But each time I did that, it was like I had died. And it was bad. Believe me Joe, you don't ever want to do that. Dying sucks." He stared at her, trying to see her eyes, but once again she was looking away. He didn't know what to say, so he reached out and tentatively touched her hand. She responded by grabbing his and squeezing it, hard. But it was worth the pain when she finally turned her head and smiled at him, the old, irrepressible Becka back again. And everything was fine, or at least they could pretend that it was. For awhile they simply existed in silence, feeling no need to fill it up with words, letting all the negative and highly charged emotions fade. Becka didn't seem to be in any hurry, and in fact appeared to savor the quite as much as he did. They just sat in the car, soaking up the sun, and listening to the sounds of passing traffic. Joe didn't even realize he was rolling his injured shoulder until Becka broke the quiet to ask him, "Hey, did you really get hurt back there?" "Uh, yeah, some. I tore up my shoulder again, but it's not too bad. Needs some ice. The rest of me is pretty sore, too." "Why, did Hooker get in a few shots?" "No, but I was on the bottom of that little pile up, remember? I thought I was going to become a permanent part of the floor!" "Ahh, poor baby," Becka giggled, then poked a probing finger into his ribs. Joe yelped, then quickly retaliated in kind, causing the blonde girl in the driver's seat to squeal and curl up in a ball, shouting that she surrendered. Joe decided she must be particularly ticklish, an interesting fact he decided to file away for later. It could come in handy someday. * * * Phil Cameron was rolling up the mats from the noon class when he heard his daughter call out. He looked up and saw Becka coming towards him followed by her friend Joe, and immediately wondered what they were doing out of school at this time of day. But then he saw Joe's battered face and the shirt that was hanging on him in rags, and barely resisted the urge to sigh dramatically and roll his eyes. Instead he settled for shaking his head as he sat down on the folded up mat and asked, "Okay, just tell me who started it." His newest kid grinned at him, while Joe fidgeted and looked guilty, which sort of answered his question. But with Becka you could never tell, so when she handed her friend a spare gi from the store room and sent him to change, he waited patiently to hear the story. And the first thing she said to him was, "Hey, don't look at me. I was getting chili dogs." Ohh, this was going to be good. Becka congratulated herself that her father was taking things so well. They sat in his office while she told their story, listening patiently, confident that at this point she wouldn't dare leave anything out. And she didn't, she told him everything, including the details of the late night commando raid on Harper's car. Throughout her recitation Phil was silent, nodding at all the appropriate places, and hiding the occasional smile. And at the end of her tale when she described the near riot in the cafeteria, he actually chuckled and said "Damn, I wish I'd been there! Looks like your friend has really come out of his shell, hasn't he?" Becka answered with a grin of her own, relieved at how her father was taking things. She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she'd been a little bit afraid that he might have gone all parental when he heard about them sneaking out. But strangely that part didn't seem to surprise him at all. In fact, judging from the way he was beaming at her, the big bear of a man might actually be proud of them. Which emboldened Becka to tell him the rest of it. The results should have been expected. "He's a dealer?! Sweet Jesus, Becka, are you two out of your minds?" Phil sprang to his feet, raw emotion radiating off of him like heat from a radiator. Becka winced, not afraid, never afraid of him, but anxious about the potential trouble she and Gia might be in. "Do I have to remind you about the last time you got crosswise of drug dealers? They tried to kill you, the both of you. And now not only are you getting involved with another fu—another dealer, you also lied to me about it!" "Hey, that wasn't me, that was Gia!" she protested, sacrificing her sister without a qualm. "And you can't say Gia lied to you, either. She never knew what Harper does, `cause nobody ever thought to tell her." "You knew, so how come she didn't? You both spend more time in each other's heads than in your own." "Aww, c'mon, Dad, you know it doesn't work like that." Becka waved her arms and let them flop, exasperated. She rose from the couch with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck and trying to find the right words to ameliorate her father without getting her and Gia grounded. "Look, Papa Bear, we were not trying to lie to you, or to keep anything from you. Gia didn't know anything about Harper's dealing until I told her last night on the way home. And you left early this morning, so this is the first chance either of us has had to tell you about it, okay? And besides, this isn't the same thing as last year, and you know it." Phil scowled stubbornly. "Ralph Danning was a drug dealer, and so is Gary Harper. In my book, that makes them the same kind of trouble." "Oh, for--! Dad, Gia told me how you grew up in East L.A. So are you really gonna tell me you don't know the difference between a heavy weight dealer like Ralph, and some school kid who sells nickel bags of pot in a parking lot?" Phil scowled some more, but in the end he had to admit the truth of Becka's logic. He did know the difference between guys like Danning and wannabes like Harper. Hell, even a street corner pusher would be a bigger player than that little piss-ant. And so far the only one they had proved a danger to had been Joe. It made him grind his teeth, but he decided that for now at least he would table the matter, and let the girls continue helping their friend. But he also decided that he would be keeping a much closer eye on things than he had. "Alright, I take it that Joe is out of school for the day, so Bobby and I'll keep an eye on him. You get back to school, and tell that sister of yours that she and I are going to have a talk about her problems with authority in the classroom." "But Dad, Mrs. Stickney was wrong. Gia was just pointing that out." "Gia was just showing off. We've talked about her sassing teachers before, and she knows how I feel about it. Does she have detention tonight?" "Oh, yeah. She'd going to have a lot of company, though." Phil snorted, the corner of his mouth crinkling upwards. "Yeah, I just bet she will. But we're still going to have our talk, and I want her to think about it until then, so you be sure to tell her." "Okay, Dad. So what time do you want me to pick Joe up?" "Don't worry about it, I'll bring him home with me tonight. You've got to get started on that T-Bird mural tonight, remember?" "Yeah, I remember. I've already finished the prelim sketches, I'll be showing `em to the client tonight. I'll probably miss dinner, though. Pizza money?" Phil rolled his eyes as he fished in his pocket for his wallet, which made his little girl grin. He forked over the money and she pocketed it, then gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, by the way, we're going to have the girls over tonight. Don't tell Joe about it, though. It's a surprise." Phil raised an eyebrow, noting the tiny spark of mischief in Becka's blue eyes. "A surprise, or an ambush? Never mind, I don't really want to know." "That's right, you don't. Anyway, one of them's going to be Sammie, so I don't think Joe's going to complain." She grinned, a little wickedly this time. "He's got this thing going for her, you know." "Good. Maybe now he'll get over that thing he's got going for you." Becka's mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in surprise. "You knew about that?" she gasped. "I picked up on it. You know, the problem with you kids is you think your old man's blind as well as senile. I saw those puppy dog eyes the poor kid kept throwing at you." "Aw, Dad. I never thought that you were blind." "Smart ass. Get outta here, go to school." "See you tonight, Papa Bear." Phil Cameron watched as his daughter bounced out of his office, feeling the tug of love and pride in his heart that only one of his kids could cause. He knew he worried about her, he worried about all of them, but her most of all. She had been through so much before coming into their lives, and even though she was now one of the toughest kids he had ever met, he couldn't help the protective urge he felt whenever she was out of his sight. Phil sighed. In three months Becka would be eighteen years old, an adult in every sense of the word then. Living her own life, taking her own risks, and really, he was okay with that. And as her father he knew that he couldn't protect her from everything the world would throw at her. But there were some things he could do, and he set about doing them right now. Phil picked up his phone and started making calls. * * * Joe finished rubbing the last of the liniment into his shoulder, and then rolled it experimentally. A little sore but not too bad, considering. If he was careful with it for the rest of the day, he decided, and iced it down tonight, then it would probably be close to healed tomorrow. He slipped on the white cotton jacket of the gi and clumsily tied the strings that held it closed, then wrapped the white belt around it the way George had once shown him. He walked over to the mirror set above the double sink of the men's locker room and checked himself out. Not bad, he decided, especially with the new hair and glasses. The right arm of the eyeglasses had gotten bent in the latest fight, but he'd managed to straighten it out okay. And his hair was now so short it hardly needed any attention at all. He stopped to twist a few arrant spikes back into place, before heading out for his next lesson in mayhem. He knew Becka had already left to go back to school, but as she had promised he found her brother Bobby over in a corner working out on a heavy punching bag. Joe stopped to watch, fascinated at the smooth flow of movement, and the deadly slapping sound as fist and foot impacted on the canvas bag and made it jump. As he watched, though, the thing that struck him the most wasn't the way Bobby moved or hit the bag, or the deadly dance he seemed to be choreographing out there on the practice mats. What fascinated Joe was the expression on Bobby's face, which was the most intense look of focus and concentration he had ever seen. The tall and lithe young man's gaze never wavered from his target, his stare fixated, his eyes never seeming to blink. Joe suspected that if lightning were to strike or the building itself explode, Bobby would still be concentrating on that bag even after the dust settled. After several minutes of this display Bobby finally gave the heavy bag one last flying kick that sent it dancing, and left Bobby pulling his body into rigged attention at the opposite end of the mat. He bowed formally to the still bouncing bag, worthy opponent, and then like the flipping of a switch he changed. Still the same Bobby, still Becka and Gia's ultra cool big brother, but no longer the focused fighting machine that Joe had just spent ten minutes watching. His muscles visibly loosened and his body became more relaxed, and his eyes now swept around the big room as if to see if anything had changed while he was gone. He spotted Joe on the sidelines and smiled, picked up a towel that had been draped across a weight bench, and used it to wipe his sweaty face as he crossed the floor to greet his audience of one. "He, Joe. Pop said you got out of school a little early. I figure that gives us enough time for some private lessons. Are you ready to start?" "Umm, yeah. Sure, Bobby." Roberto Cameron sure stood out, he thought, even when he wasn't moving. Instead of the usual baggy, white pajama gi that everyone else wore, Bobby was wearing black trousers and an equally dark sleeveless T-shirt. He also wasn't wearing a colored belt like everyone else did, either. But then, you only had to look at the cat like way he moved and know that any belt he might wear would also be black. "Uhh, I kind of hurt my shoulder again, though, so I'm going to have to nurse my right arm a little." "Yeah, Pop said as much. That's okay, what we're going to do is weapons instruction. The first lessons are mostly theory and demonstration, and what little practice you'll be doing, you can do with one hand. C'mon, let me show you what we've got." Joe followed Becka and Gia's brother across the big workout area, down a short hallway and into a small side room. The room looked much like the workout area they had just left, with mirrors covering one wall, and racks of equipment along two others. But it differed in that there were no mats on the hardwood floor, and that at the back of the room there stood a monster. Joe blinked, taking a closer look at the bizarre being that seemed to dominate the small room. The figure turned out to be a statue, or more accurately a mannequin, roughly carved out of wood into the shape of a large and muscular man. The wooden man was set on a heavy weighted base, mounted with a length of metal bar stock going from the base up into the juncture between the legs. The head, torso and legs seemed to have been carved from one solid log, but the slightly bent arms were separate pieces that had been attached to the shoulders by large bolts and seemed to be articulated, able to be moved into different positions. "Joe, meet Arnold. One of our old students liked to do chainsaw sculptures, so he made Arnie for us. He's a lot more durable than a punching bag, so we use him for weapons practice." Joe nodded, taking a closer look at the battered and scarred oak golem. The face in particular was a roadmap of chips and gauges, and deep dents that looked like the signature of a heavy metal pipe. Without hesitation he concluded that `Arnold' had the absolute ugliest face on the planet. Bobby had moved to one of the racks on the wall, and was taking a selection of items from shelves there. He laid them out on a low table, and to his surprise Joe saw almost all of them seemed to be common items. Okay, so maybe that length of pipe or that knitting needle were obvious weapons, but a pocket comb? A piece of knotted clothesline? A ballpoint pen? "The first thing you need to know, and need to accept, is that anything in the world can be a weapon. Anything. A scalpel is still a knife, a hammer is just another blunt instrument. A length of rope can be used to whip, bind, or strangle. And how many times have you heard about someone being smothered by a pillow? Anything can be used as a weapon." "Yeah, but... a comb?" Bobby chuckled. "Yeah, even a comb. Imagine raking this across somebody's face or eyes. And that fountain pen can be used to stab or gauge, or as an impromptu kubatan." "A... what was that word?" Bobby turned to the table and picked up a small metal rod, about six inches in length. Grooves had been milled into the sides of the rod for gripping, and the ends of the aluminum shaft had been rounded. "A kubatan. They got popular over here about ten, fifteen years ago, you've probably seen them being sold as key ring attachments, things like that. You hold it like this," he demonstrated, making a fist around the rod so that about an inch protruded out of each end. "A hammer fist. You strike with either end, top or bottom, from close in. Hard, sharp blows, anywhere on the body will hurt your opponent. Here, let me show you." Bobby turned towards the wooden statue, pausing to adjust one of its arms. He raised the right one so that it looked like the golem was preparing to strike at him, then stepped back and looked over his shoulder at his young student. "Like I said, you can hit anywhere on a body with a kubatan, and it'll cause damage. It's almost like getting hit with a ball peen hammer." Bobby's hand suddenly shot upwards, a blur, to impact the raised wooden limb in the center of its `forearm.' There was the crack of metal striking wood, a sharp sound that echoed in the room, followed quickly by another and then another. Bobby's fist had ricocheted off the arm, across the face, and down against the collarbone. He dropped back a half a step, slid to the side and lunged forward, slamming the point of the shaft into the mannequins' ribs. He ducked under the upraised arm and continued the pass, moving behind the statue, backhanding his fist for one final punch into the things' kidney. Five blows in under three seconds, and all in that same fluid economy of movement that looked so much like a dance. Bobby stepped back and turned, then looked at a wide eyed Joe while he indicated the points of impact on the training statue. "The hit to the arm would have bruised it to the bone, and left the whole limb paralyzed. The hit to the face would have cracked the cheekbone, along with a couple of teeth. Broken collarbone, dislocated rib. And the strike to the kidney would have left him pissing blood for a week." Bemused, Joe came forward and bent to examine the spot on `Arnolds' ribs, but the hard yellow oak had so many scars from previous practice sessions that he couldn't tell which one Bobby had made. It didn't matter, there were so many thumb sized dents of the same diameter that he could see exactly how much damage a kubatan could do. And yeah, a ball peen hammer, just like Bobby had said. "So what do you think?" Bobby asked, grinning. And if there was a certain cockiness in his attitude, Joe had to admit that he probably deserved it. Still... "Congratulations, Roberto," he answered, dryly. "I think you just killed a log." Bobby snorted, and then grinned. "Okay, I was showing off a little. Come on, I'll show you some fun things you can do with a ten inch piece of pipe." • * * Bobby drove Joe home at the end of the day, and the first thing the boy did was head upstairs to his room for a shower and a change of clothes. When he came back down he found Phil and Gia already in the kitchen fixing dinner, so he turned in and helped. With three of them the work went fast, and in short time the table was set and all the food was in the oven or on the stove. By then Becka had arrived, and she, Joe and Gia spent the hour before dinner was served doing homework in the living room. Gia took the opportunity to bring the other two teens up on what had transpired in detention. "Oh God, it was so crowded in there! I swear, they had to bring in extra desks, anybody more and it would have been standing room only." Joe was shaking his head, a guilty look on his face. "It was my fight, I should be the one in detention. I could have gone tonight, and for the next two nights, too." "Ohh, don't be an idiot," Becka said, throwing a ball of paper at him. "It's supposed to be punishment, remember? They don't let people who don't have detention attend it, because they don't want it to become a social event." "And Becka ought to know, she's spent enough time there," Gia put in, helpfully. "Hey, not this year! You're the one who keeps getting held after school now. Dad says you've got to stop back talking the Stick, or he's going to have all your mail forwarded to the study hall." Gia sniffed disdainfully. "Mrs. Stickney should have stayed teaching Home Ec, she knows absolutely nothing about Civics and American Government. What was I supposed to do, let her corrupt all of those innocent minds with false information?" "What would make that different from any other class we take? So who was the teacher monitoring tonight?" "Mr. Chamberlain. He did the same thing he always does, he told us no talking, then went into the teachers lounge to take a nap. It was cool, Milo and the guys pulled out their game books and we all played D&D." Joe grinned, remembering the last time his friends had played with Gia. "Did everybody keep their clothes on this time?" Gia stuck her tongue out at him, but otherwise ignored the question. "You should have been there, Sammie and the girls played too, and they really got into it. Especially Justine, by the end of the hour she was hopping up and down in her seat." Becka was shaking her head. "Don't tell me they gave her your old character. That would have been typecasting." "No, this was a whole new game, it's supposed to be set in modern times. Goodguys versus Alien Monsters. Justine gets to be a cop with a Really Big Gun. That's the way she was pronouncing it, too, like she was talking in capitals." Joe was grinning, picturing it. He could just imagine how his geeky friends must have reacted, playing with four beautiful girls. Any feelings of guilt he might have had regarding them having detention vanished. If anything, they owed him big time, now. "So what about those two losers, Hooker and Ingles? They there too?" Becka asked. "Oh, yeah. They were sitting in the corner, sulking. And I really mean sulking, they spent the whole time just glaring at us. You'll be glad to know, their bruises were just beginning to stand out." * * * Shortly afterward the three were called to dinner. The incident at school wasn't mentioned, but from the grins and approving nods that George and Johnny gave him, Joe was pretty sure that they had been informed. It kindled and kept going a warm glow in Joe's chest, and he spent most of the meal just basking in the feeling. Afterwards he and the sisters retired to the family room to watch TV, but after about a half an hour they were interrupted when the doorbell rang. Becka and Gia exchanged grins that suddenly had the hackles rising on the back of Joe's neck, then both of them bounded out of the room to get the door. The feeling of unease intensified, survival instincts starting to clamor, but Joe had spent too much time thinking and not enough running. Just as he was climbing to his feet the girls came back in, leading Sammie, Justine and Kelly with them. They called out a cheerful greeting to him, and the first thing he noticed was that the three newcomers were all carrying bags filled with what looked like clothing. The second thing he noticed was that all five of them were grinning at him as if he were desert. "Wha—uh, wh-what're you guys..?" he stammered, unable to ask a question he didn't really want to know the answer to. Gia smiled. "Just another part of your makeover, Joe. Nothing to worry about. After all, you liked the glasses and the haircut, didn't you? Well, we thought we'd just work on your wardrobe a little now." "Yeah, I mean, you're cute and all, Joe. But you dress like such a dork," Justine opined. "All you ever wear is button down shirts and jeans, and those ratty old sneakers. No fashion sense at all," Kelly added, shaking her head in mock sadness. Sammie, the traitor, waved one of the two shopping bags she held. "So we raided our brothers' closets and got some old stuff they'd outgrown. It's used, but it's still a lot better than what you usually wear." A cold, clammy hand stroked its way down Joe's spine, as he began to realize just what was in store for him. "Umm, uh, thanks? I mean, thanks. Thanks a lot. I, I'll, uh, try it all on tonight. And, uh, I'll bring the ones that don't fit to school... tomorrow?" "Aww, c'mon, Joe," Becka wheedled, showing him the biggest, most evil grin of them all. "The girls came all the way over here, the least you can do is try some stuff on. You know, maybe give us a little fashion show?" "Yeah, we can play dress up!" Justine piped up. Joe's fight or flight reflex finally kicked in, and with a yelp he turned around and leaped over the couch, scrambling for the nearest exit. But there were too many of them, and they soon had all the doors covered. Like giggling, girly sheepdogs they soon had him herded to just where they wanted him to go, up the stairs to the sisters' bedroom. From below Joe was sure he heard the sound of Phil and his three sons, laughing their asses off. * * * Joe groaned as he stumbled into his room, his hands filled with the four bags of clothing the girls had finally decided on. He dropped the bags on the floor and then collapsed on the bed, his body feeling like a wrung out dishrag. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about the two hour ordeal he had just been put through. Slowly, almost against his will, his lips curved up into a huge grin. Okay, so he'd never admit it to the girls, but being the center of all that female attention had been nice. Real nice. Being handled as if he were a big doll they could dress up was a bit humiliating, but then again having five beautiful girls undress him was excitingly close to some of his all time favorite fantasies. He couldn't wait to see the look on Milo's face when he told him about this. What had surprised him the most, though, had been his own reaction to the event. At first he had been as nervous as a cat in a wolf den, his natural shyness leaving him tongue tied and sweating. But after about the third costume change he had begun to relax enough to enjoy the experience, and had even joined in with the selecting of clothes. He now had four pairs of pants and almost a dozen new shirts and T's, and he had been amazed at just how much difference the clothing did make in his appearance, especially when added to the new hairstyle. He sighed, shook his head and had to laugh at his own stupidity, once again struck by how many of his social problems he had caused himself. Un-freakin' believable. It seemed like he had been sullenly nursing his differences for years now, complaining that he had no life, and yet never doing a damned thing to change it. So maybe his pariah status wasn't all his fault, but it was beginning to feel like a large chunk of it was. Joe worked with these thoughts for a long while, taking them apart and examining them under a microscope. Without really thinking about it he reached out to the nightstand and found his father's harmonica. * * * Sammie had bided her time after Joe left the sisters' room, smiling at the pitiful way he had groaned when they were finally done. Who did he think he was fooling? He had been having as much fun as she and the rest of the girls were, and loving every minute of it. She had been tempted to call him on it, but he was just so funny when he was playing the injured martyr. She waited a good fifteen minutes, listening to her friends joke and gossip, slowly removing herself from their conversation so that her departure wouldn't be too obvious. During one of Justine's highly animated tales about the love life of one of her fellow cheerleaders, Sammie had whispered "I'll be back in a minute," to Gia. The younger Cameron girl had given her such a knowing look, that Sammie had felt her cheeks begin to burn. Which still didn't stop her from slipping out of the room and taking the stairs up to the third floor. There was no doubt about it, there was something about Joe that both fascinated and attracted her. Oh, he was cute, extremely cute. At first she had thought he was the cuddle me like a teddy bear kind of cute, but lately she had begun to change her mind about that. He kept surprising her, so that every time she turned around it seemed like he was showing her something new about himself. Some new, unsuspected talent or interest, a bright and shiny facet of Joe, so at odds with a boy most known for being invisible. Today in the cafeteria had been a perfect case of that. Although she had liked Joe, she knew that in her mind she had begun to think of him as a victim. Someone small and weak, unable to defend himself, forever doomed to be the butt of someone else's jokes. A permanent target. In other words a boy she might feel sorry for, someone she might want to mother and protect, but not someone she would ever be interested in. At least not in ¬`that' way. But the way Joe had come off that table and launched himself at Ron Hooker, slamming the bully over the head with her lunch tray, knocking him to the ground. Roaring, for God's sakes! Right in front of her eyes, it seemed, Joe Munson had stopped being a victim. Which was when she finally started thinking of him in `that' way. Sammie was well aware of the contradictions of her feelings. She had always been the cool one, the logical one. The one who had always disdained her friends' penchant for dating jocks by saying that brains were more important than testosterone. True, her last boyfriend had been on the wrestling team, but he had also been an A student who loved history and would talk to her for hours about current events. So she should have been attracted to smart, sensitive, intelligent Joe all along. But she hadn't been, not in the least. Not until he had caused that riot in the cafeteria and gone medieval on Ronnie Hooker. Apparently, she like her men smart and studly. Which explained why she was taking this opportunity to grab some private time with the Camerons' houseguest. Joe's door was slightly ajar, and the sound of music came from it clearly. She stopped, listening, at first thinking that he must be playing a CD or the radio. But then she realized the music was live, at the same time she remembered something the sisters had told her. Joe played the harmonica, and from the sound of it he played it pretty damned well, too. Sammie had heard blues music before but she had never heard it played live, which she now saw made a world of difference. The sweet sad rhythms seemed to wash over her, reach through her, going deeper than any other music had done before. It was magical. For long minutes she just stood there in the hallway, thoroughly enjoying yet another of Joe's many facets. Joe paused, frowning, not completely satisfied with that last riff. The way Charlie had of drawing that last note out was pure sugar, and he had listened to it a hundred times, but he still couldn't get it right. He sat up and reached for the CD player and headphones on the bedside table, thinking maybe if he heard it again, he could finally get it— "Hey, don't stop." Joe jumped, twisting on the bed, his heart pounding when he saw Sammie Waters standing in the doorway. His mouth hung open. He knew that he should say something, he tried to, but for some reason he couldn't find the words. Or for that matter, his tongue. "Uhhhh..." "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Mind if I come in?" "Uhhhh..." Sammie apparently took that for assent and slipped inside his room, closing the door behind her. She sat on the bed beside him, pulling her long legs up under her Indian style. One of her knees accidentally brushed one of his and he almost jumped again, but managed to restrain the impulse. The last think Joe wanted to do was to make Sammie think that she made him flinch! "I hope you don't think I was spying on you. I just came up to have a talk and I heard you, and I liked it so much that I didn't want you to stop. So what was that piece you were playing? Is it something that you wrote?" "Uhhh..." *dammit, stop that!* "No, um, that was Charlie Musslewhite. From his sanctuary album. I've been, umm, trying to learn it for awhile now. I've got the CD right here, do you want to hear it?" Joe mentally picked himself up by the belt and kicked himself in the ass. Smooth move, Munson. Sammie says she likes your playing, and the first thing you want to do is show her how a real master plays it? You idiot. But thankfully Sammie was shaking her head. "Not tonight, thanks. Not enough time. But I really liked your music. How did you learn to play so well?" "Dad. Umm, my Dad taught me. He used to play professionally, and on weekends and stuff. I used to jam with him at some of the clubs in Detroit." "Wow, no wonder you're so good. I guess talent must run in your family." Sammie was smiling as she said it, as she reached over and touched his knee. Joe felt his traitorous face turning red again, and took a few seconds to curse all of his fair skinned Nordic genes. "Thanks. Um, except for my aunt, you're the first person to hear me play since I moved here." Sammie's eyebrows went up at that. "Really? And why is that, if you used to play in front of crowds back home?" "I don't know. I guess, I guess I just didn't feel like it after my parents died." "Well, you should think about it. You've got a gift, Joe, and gifts need to be exercised. You know, you should talk to Johnny Cameron, he knows a lot of musicians around here. I bet he could get you an audition or something, if you wanted him to." Joe blinked, the idea so novel that he couldn't quite grasp it. Playing in front of other people again? In front of a crowd? No way, not after all these years. He wasn't good enough, he just couldn't do it. But why not? The little voice inside his head sent his thoughts down paths he hadn't gone to in almost four years. Why not play in front of other people? He used to do it all the time with his father, jamming in their home in front of friends, playing in the juke joints and the blind-pigs on the weekends. He could remember the smoke filled rooms and the hot lights of the stage, the smell of whiskey and beer and maybe some other things best not thought about. He remembered the buzz he got from the applause, and the way he felt under all the adult attention that was his when he played. He had been good enough back then, and he knew he was a lot better now. So why not play in front of other people again? What was the worse that could happen? Those thoughts were still tumbling around in his head when Sammie spoke up again. "You know, I'd really like to hear you play some more, but I can't hang around now, I've gotta go. But before I do, I just wanted to ask you something. "Look, you know my birthday's this Saturday, and you're already invited to the party. But I've got a problem. I broke up with my last boyfriend two months ago, and I haven't gone out with anyone else since. Which means I don't have a date for my own party. So what do you say, do you want to help me out?" Joe drew in a deep breath before realizing his mouth was open. He shut it with a click before answering. "Are you... are you asking me out on a date?" Sammie laughed, then punched him lightly in the knee. "Yeah, silly, I'm asking you out on a date. So what's your answer?" "Yeah! I mean, yes, I'd really like that. Going out with you, I mean." Sammie was grinning, whether at his answer or at his distress, he couldn't say. "Alright then. I'm glad. Look, I've really got to go, but I'll see you in school tomorrow. G'night." She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek, coming close enough that he could tell she smelled like green apples and cinnamon. Then she rolled off the bed to her feet and left the room, leaving the door ajar, the last evidence of her presence being the sound of her footsteps down the stairs. For a long while Joe just stared at the door, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. (continued)