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Hard Luck Story

"Don't you know who I am?! You're gonna pay for this! You hear me?!"

Pizzazz slammed her fist against one of the bars of the cell, and blurted out "Fuck!" when she remembered what a dumb idea that is.

I plopped down on one of the bunks, put my hands behind my head, and leaned against the wall. "Ah, pipe down. You might as well just relax, 'cause there's nothin' more we can do till they let us out."

Pizzazz gave me an angry look. "I'm in charge here!"

I gave her a smile in return. "No, the fat heifer with the keys outside the cell's in charge now. Just sit down and cool it a while, like me and Stormer."

I looked to my right, where Stormer sat on the edge of the bunk, curled up into a little ball, and whimpering like a little kid.

I started to say something, but the "click, click, click" of Jetta's heels finally got to me. "Sit down, Brit!" I yelled. "Pacin' around's not gonna get us outta here any faster!"

Jetta started mumbling, but the only thing I could pick out was "Bloody." But that's no different from usual!

Pizzazz put her arm through the bars and yelled out, "When are we supposed to get our phone calls?! We're supposed to each get a fuckin' phone call!" She stomped her foot. "If this was Miami Vice, you can bet we'd have got our phone call by now!"

I shrugged. "I didn't see Phillip Michael Thomas when they booked us, did you?"

Pizzazz folded her arms and glared at me, though she had to move out of the way when Jetta bumped past her as she paced her way around the cell. "You seem to be taking this awfully well, Roxy." Pizzazz gave me a grin that would have looked a lot meaner if she weren't wrapped in cow print. "A girl might guess you've spent some time in jail before, hmm?"

I yawned, as I flipped her off. "So what if I have? Big fat fuckin' deal."

Pizzazz began screaming through her gritted teeth. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?! I oughtta-"

"'Ate to interrupt, duckies," Jetta blurted out as she paced around in her stupid outfit that made her look like an Indian or something, even though I'm pretty sure there aren't any in Merry Ol' England. "Perhaps we need to figure out 'oo we're going to make our phone calls to, so we can bloody well get the 'ell out of 'ere!"

She had a good point, but I wasn't gonna tell her that.

"Well, this'll be easy." Pizzazz tapped her finger against her chin, and I prepared myself for the worst. "Ok, I need to call my godfather, Judge Owens; I'm sure he can pull some strings and have me released."

"Us!" I blurted out.

Pizzazz stopped and got quiet for a moment. "Yeah, 'us,' that what's I meant." She turned to Jetta, who stared at the floor as she paced. "Anyway, Jetta, you can call Eric, and tell him to go to hell! Then, tell him to get us out of here!"

"What about me?" I asked.

"Stormer," Pizzazz continued, "You can call the mansion and try and get a hold of Daddy. You're the one he's most likely to listen to. He'd probably hang up if I call."

Stormer stopped her blubbering for just a moment and looked up. "But, but…"

Pizzazz smiled. "Good, so everyone knows what to do."

"Hey!" I shouted, "What about me? Who do I call?"

Pizzazz threw her head back and chuckled. "Roxy, you're not exactly known for your diplomacy, are you? Don't you agree that the best thing you can do to help is just stay in here while we make our calls?"

I stood and looked her in the eye. "Fuck that! I'm just as much in jail as the rest of you! I'm not gonna miss my chance to make my call!"

"It's all your bloody fault, you know."

I spun around and put my fist an inch from Jetta's face. "Say what now?!"

"'Oh, how cool, we get to do a radio show in an aeroplane!' Bloody bint, I tried to tell you something sounded daft about the whole idea!"

I nearly beat her smug grin right off her face.

But I couldn't.

She was right.

I had got so hyped up knowing we were gonna do a live shot on KBST, the top station in L.A. And at the same time as Jem's stupid show! Yeah!

For the first time since everybody found out I couldn't read, I felt excited about being a Misfit.

And, like every fuckin' time, I let myself get carried away.

I'm the one who's had to deal with scumbags like that Kite guy my whole life.

I'm the one who's got street smarts.

I should have known.

I gave Jetta an angry wave and plopped my ass back down on the bunk. "I gotta call somebody."

Pizzazz rocked back and forth on her heels. "Well, maybe Clash can give us some help for a change." She started grinning. "Yeah, that's it! Roxy, you can call Clash."

Jetta started cackling, which set my teeth on edge. "Pizzazz, if you wanna give 'er busy work, you should 'ave 'er give this place a jolly good scrub down!"

I was about to suggest that I could start by scrubbing all the ugly off her face with my knuckles, when Stormer burst into tears.

"I want my brother! I need to call him!" She jumped to her feet and threw her arms around Pizzazz. "Please, let me call him! He'll get me out of this! Please, let me call Craig!"

Pizzazz peeled her way out of Stormer's arms, and pushed her to the piss-stained floor of the cell. "Quit your bawling! You're not calling Craig, ok? He's over in God knows where, and I don't want him causing trouble for the rest for us 'cause his precious sister Mary went to jail for something we didn't even do! Now, knock it off!"

I looked down at Stormer. She groped around on the floor, looking for the daisy that fell out of her hair when Pizzazz pushed her. She choked back on her tears.

I glared at Pizzazz and balled up my fists. What's the worst that can happen? I thought. I'm already in jail.

It was right at that moment that we heard the guard shout out, "Burns! Gabor! You each get one call!" She opened the cell door and slid it open. The squeal of the metal made me dig my fingernails into the bunk. "Come on, move it!"

She didn't have to tell Jetta twice, as she shoved her way past Pizzazz into the hallway.

"Hey!" I yelled, as the door slammed shut. "What about me an' Stormer?!"

"Keep your panties on," the guard sneered. "You'll get your turn."

"Shows what you know, bitch! I ain't wearin' any!"

When the guard and my bandmates all stared at me in open-mouthed silence, I realized that probably wasn't the best comeback I could've made.

The guard pointed to Pizzazz and Jetta. "That way!"

As they turned, Pizzazz waved goodbye. "Don't run off, you two!"

I stuck my tongue out at her as the guard herded them down the hall.

With them gone, I bent down and asked Stormer, "You ok?"

"I can't find it," she mumbled through short breaths. "Where'd it go?"

"Huh?" Then I saw her hair, and remembered. "Oh. Well, get up from there. Jeez. Let me have a look."

I grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her to her feet. I looked away when I saw the tears running down her cheeks.

I sat her down on the bunk and got down on my hands and knees as I searched under it for her daisy. "You know, as far as jail cells go, this one's pretty swanky. There's only piss on the floor here—the ones in Philly, you're pretty much bound to find a turd or two."

I heard Stormer gasp. "That's horrible!"

I laughed as I found the daisy, pressed up against the wall. "That's just life. Sometimes it blows, you know?"

I wiped off the daisy on my leggings and stuck it back into her blue curls. "There ya go." It was missing a few petals, but so what?

For the first time since the cops pointed guns at us that afternoon and screamed at us to get down on the ground, she smiled. "Thank you."

"No biggie."

As she wiped away her tears, I heard her ask, "What'd you get arrested for? Back in Philly?"

"Stealing, a few times. Vandalism…stuff like that."

I wasn't ashamed. Where I come from, you do what you do to get by.

I heard Stormer whimper again. "How can you stand it…being in here? Why aren't you…like I'm doing?"

I glanced over at the cell door. No one was there.

I scooted over to her and put my arm around her. "Hey, trust me, there's things a whole hell of a lot worse than a few hours in jail. You're gonna be fine, ok?"

She sighed, and I badly wanted this conversation to end.

"I'm so ashamed, Roxy."

I started gripping her shoulder a little tighter than I should have. "Yeah, well, fuck that, ok? We didn't do anything wrong. Don't let those apes out there make you feel like crap, because you're not, all right? You're a Misfit."

She nodded and rested her head on my shoulder. I wanted to push her away and tell her she was big enough to take care of herself.

But I didn't.

"I'm so glad you came back," she told me. "I don't know what I'd do if I was in here by myself right now."

I didn't know what to say to her. I don't like blabbing about how I feel.

A few weeks earlier, Pizzazz and Jetta wouldn't stop making fun of me when they found out I couldn't read. As if I didn't feel stupid enough already.

I walked out and went back home to Philly—and managed to blow all my money in two days.

I'm an idiot.

They all showed up, with Eric in tow, waving a fucking contract in my face. They told me I had no choice but to come back to them.

It's not like I could argue what the contract said. I couldn't read the goddamned thing.

I'm a huge fucking idiot!

"You'd be better off without me," I told Stormer, as she wiped her nose.

She looked up at me with her big blue eyes, all streaked with red. "Don't say that. We're not the Misfits without you." She gave me a tiny smile. "I told Pizzazz that, more than once, after you walked out."

I took a long look at dopey, wimpy, soft Stormer. "You really stood up to Pizzazz?"

She nodded. "Kinda, I guess. I know my knees were shaking for over an hour afterwards!" She laughed, which began to make this whole mess seem a little less crappy.

"Wow. I didn't know." I licked my thumb and wiped some of the mascara from her face. "You look like shit."

"Gee, thanks," she replied. She gave me a smile, and we both cracked up.

When the laughter died down, Stormer looked down at her hands and sighed. "I'm so scared."

I glanced again at the cell doors. "Look, when they take us to make our phone calls, I'm gonna call the mansion."

"But, Pizzazz-"

"Fuck that, ok? You're gonna call Craig, understand? You're gonna tell him how scared you are, and all that shit, and then you'll feel better, and you'll sit here in the cell quietly till they let us out. All right?" I gave her my "You better say 'yes'" look.

She nodded. "Oh…ok."

I leaned back against the wall. "Glad that's settled."

It was then that the guard unlocked the cell and slid the door back open. But she didn't have Pizzazz and Jetta with her. Instead, she lead in two girls in matching leather jackets, bright pink stockings, and six-inch purple platform boots.

"Get in there!" the guard barked. They obeyed, and the door slammed shut again.

One of the girls, a bleached blonde, hissed "Thanks a lot!" at the other.

The second girl, a dark-haired Mexican, shot back, "Go fuck my grandma!"

I leaned over to Stormer and whispered, "This might be fun."

She gave me a look as if she thought I was even crazier than I already am.

"Hey," I called out to our new cellmates. "What'cha in for? Isn't it a little early in the day to be turnin' tricks?"

The blonde laughed, which made her acne stand out even more. "It's never too early!"

Stormer and I shared a quick grimace.

Even when I was half-starved as a kid in Philly, I never whored myself out, though I knew girls who did. I always had my friends in the Red Aces to look after me when things were rough.

I looked at these girls-probably a little younger than Stormer and me-and shuddered.

What if things had been different? I thought.

I didn't wanna know the answer.

The Mexican girl pointed at the blonde. "This dumb puta's trying to steal my business! Look at what she's wearing!"

The blonde put her hands on her hips. "It's a free country! I'll wear whatever I like."

The other girl gave the blonde's hair a quick yank. "And I'll claw your motherfuckin' eyes out! It's a free country!"

Stormer nudged my elbow. "Roxy, can we ask to be moved to another cell?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer.

But then, our new playmates turned to us and dropped their jaws. "Did you say, 'Roxy'?" the blonde asked Stormer.

"Mi madre, it's the Misfits!"

The two girls let out a squeal and began chattering at us like monkeys.

"Hey!" I yelled out. "Pipe down! We're not in the mood to sign autographs or any of that crap, so keep to yourselves." I gave Stormer a quick thumbs up.

Stormer looked down at her hands and tried to speak up. "Well, maybe it would us help pass the time a little easier, you know, if we talked with them."

"Ugh." I swear, she'll never learn.

"I'm Cindy," the blonde hooker gushed. "That bitch over there is Manuela. Just ignore her. I'm a huge fan!"

"I'm a big fan too!" Manuela announced. "I have all your albums!"

"That's great," Stormer replied.

"Whoop-de-freakin'-do!" I added, but when I saw Stormer smiling a little, I eased off…for the moment.

"Wow, it's amazing to see you here," Cindy told us. "What'd you do to get locked up?"

Stormer was about to answer, but I blurted out, "Arson. We burned down Mann's Chinese Theater, 'cause they wouldn't let us put our hands in the cement out front."

Stormer's jaw dropped, and I gave her a grin. She's so easy to freak out.

"Damn," Manuela gasped. "That's fuckin' badass!"

"Fuck yeah!" I stretched my arms and smiled. Stormer was right: this was helping the time pass easier!

"Yeah," I continued, "It'll be in all the papers tomorrow. They're interrogating Pizzazz and Jetta right now. Don't be surprised if they come back covered in bruises."

"Roxy!" Stormer whispered. "Stop it!"

Hey, this was her idea.

Cindy shook her head. "Damn, that wouldn't surprise me. I've been roughed up more than once by the shitheads here."

Stormer gripped my hand so tight, it felt like she might rip it off.

"We're famous, remember?" I whispered to her. "They won't risk doing anything to us, I promise." I bit my lip as I bluffed.

I swore to myself that if anyone touched a hair on Stormer's soft little head, I would go down swinging.

But it was then that we heard the key in the door again. The metal squeaked open, and Jetta and Pizzazz sauntered back inside. Pizzazz had balled up her fists, so things couldn't have gone too well. Before I could ask, the guard called out, "Pelligrini, Phillips! Time for your phone calls!"

I helped Stormer to her feet. She tried to cling to me, so I pushed her away. "Not now," I muttered.

"Good luck!" Manuela told us, as we pushed past our new cellmates.

"We're the Misfits," I replied. "We don't need luck!"

I had no clue what the hell that meant, but it sounded cool to say.

While Jetta had already begun to pace again, I tried to get a quick word with Pizzazz, but the fat guard kept shouting "Move!" at me. I don't know why-I'm pretty sure the phone wasn't going anywhere.

The phone rang about six times before anyone picked up. So much for decent help.

"Gabor residence. What do you want?"

Matilda, the maid, had picked up. Wonderful. "Hey, it's Roxy; I need to talk to ol' Harv'."

"I don't know any 'Roxy'!" she snarled.

"Yeah, you do, and I'm her."

"Don't tell me who I do and don't know! Look, if this is some kind of sales pitch-"

I sighed. "Yeah, I'm from the Franklin fuckin' Mint. I'm checkin' to see if you'd be interested in our fine pewter Civil War chess set!"

"I don't play chess!" she hissed.

"Look," I told her, "You see me every damn day! I'm Roxy, from the Misfits—Harvey's daughter's band, remember?"

"You don't sound familiar at all."

I drummed my fingers on the linoleum tabletop. "I'm the blonde, remember? There's Phyllis, me, the blue-haired girl, and the British bitch!"

It seemed like forever before she finally said, "Ohhhh…that's right, now I know who you are." She paused a moment before adding, "I don't like you!"

"Feeling's mutual, all right? This ain't a social call." I quickly ran through the whole story of the jerk from KBST, the pirate broadcast on the airplane, and our asses getting arrested and tossed in jail.

"Well," she huffed when I finished, "what do you want me to do about it?"

"What, are you stupid?" I asked, but I already knew the answer—she totally was! "I want you to get a hold of your boss and tell him everything that happened. I'm sure he doesn't want it getting in the papers that his daughter got arrested—that'd be bad for fuckin' business."

"If this is some kind of prank, Mr. Gabor will hear about this!" she spat.

"This is all too real. Cross my heart and hope to take a crap in your mop bucket." Damn, I spoiled the surprise.

She hung up without another word.

I smiled a little as I hung up the phone. And Pizzazz thought I wasn't diplomatic! Ha!

As the guard came to my side, my smile faded when I heard Stormer on the other side of the room. She cried her eyes out as she begged her brother not to be mad at her.

I slumped against the desk, as I wished I could tell her how lucky she was.

"I swear I could pick that lock if anyone's got an 'airpin!"

When they took us back to the cell, I found out Jetta had been making plans to break out. As near as I could tell, her plan went something like this:

"Step 1: Break out."

She didn't seem to have a "Step 2" yet.

What a dingleberry!

By now, Pizzazz had taken one of the bunks for herself, where she sat with a scowl. Me and Stormer took the bunk opposite the door, while our hooker cellmates took the third bunk, where they refused to speak to each other. Jetta paced around the cell, again.

"They searched us for crap like that," Pizzazz moaned.

"Well," Jetta grumbled. "What about Stormer 'ere? She's got oodles of 'air! Maybe they missed something." She bent down and stared in Stormer's droopy face. "You better not be 'olding out on us, luv."

"Back off," I warned her. "Nobody's in the mood for your stupid, annoying British shit!"

She gave me a glare, but took a step backward when she realized I meant business. Instead, she stepped over to the third bunk. "'Ow 'bout you tarts?" she asked them. "If you want out the nick, you'll 'elp me bodge something up."

Manuela shrugged and looked over at me and Stormer. "Dude, what'd she say?"

"Welcome to my world," I snorted.

Jetta threw up her hands. "We'll never get out of 'ere!" What a drama queen.

"Stormer," Pizzazz cooed as she examined her mop of green hair for split ends, "Tell me again what Daddy said."

"Quit buggin' her," I shot back.

Stormer spoke anyway. "He said he'd do what he could."

Pizzazz sat up and smiled. "Oh, really? That's funny…ten minutes ago, you told me you spoke to Matilda."

"Well," Stormer sputtered, "I…I did."

"Which was it? Surely you remember."

Stormer put her face in her hands and turned to the wall.

"Ok, knock it off, Pizzazz!" I blurted out. "Fine, I called the mansion. Stormer called Craig."

Pizzazz's shrieks are really loud when we're in a tiny, enclosed space.

"I explicitly told you not to call him!" she shouted, as she jumped from the bunk and pulled Stormer to her feet. Stormer winced in pain, and before I knew what happened, I jumped up and shoved Pizzazz to the floor.

"Have you lost your mind?!" she squealed at me.

"I told her to call Craig!" I yelled. "None of this mess is her fault, ok? So back off!"

She sat up on the filthy floor. "Since when do you give the orders around here?"

I don't know why, but that made me hesitate. Pizzazz might be out of her gourd half the time, but I sure as hell didn't want to be the boss. "Fuck off," I told her, as I sat back down and turned to the wall.

"Come on, ducky. Surely you've got something in there." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jetta pawing through Cindy's hair.

"Look, Jetta, I'm a big fan," Cindy told her, "but I'm gonna have to charge you for this. I don't give feels away for nothin'!"

Jetta stamped her feet and yelled at the top of her lungs, "Lemme out! For fuck's sake, lemme out of 'ere!" She flung herself against the bars and screamed repeatedly.

I turned to Pizzazz. "Christ, what the hell are we gonna do about her?!"

Pizzazz smirked as she picked herself up off the floor. "Oh, so now you want me to take charge?"

I heard a few seconds more of Jetta's wailing and gritted my teeth. "Yeah, I do. We've gotta make her shut up! She's gonna screw us all over!"

"Hey, Roxy," Manuela butted in, "Is she loco, or what?"

"Nah, she's just a bitch," I sighed.

Before I knew what had happened, Jetta bum rushed me and slammed me against the wall.

For a few moments, I lost my breath, but once I got my control of myself, I gave her hair a huge yank and slammed her down to the floor. "Now, shut up!" I told her.

I don't know where Jetta learned to do leg sweeps, but she's pretty damn good at 'em. In moments, she'd dropped me to the floor, and started scratching at my arms and face.

I flicked a quick right at her and gave her a split lip for her trouble, although opening her lips was the last thing I wanted.

"Lemme out of 'ere," she sobbed, as she tried to wrap her hands around my neck.

I looked up to see Pizzazz struggling to grab Jetta from behind and pull her off me. "Jesus, Jetta! Snap out of it!"

Hearing the two hookers chanting, "Fight! Fight!" wasn't making this any easier.

Finally, I managed to push Jetta over and I jumped on top of her. I reared back to give her a quick punch to put her lights out—and felt the sting when my elbow smashed into something hard.

I heard a shout: "Motherfucker!"

I looked back and saw Pizzazz.

Her nose was bleeding.

She was pissed.

For a moment, the cell was totally silent, until Cindy shouted out, "Kill her!"

I felt a searing pain on the side of my head, as Jetta had grabbed hold of my hair. As she began pulling me down to her, Pizzazz jumped in and began scratching at my face and neck.

To the cheers of our fans, I palmed Jetta's throat and knocked myself out of her grip. In an instant, I grabbed Pizzazz by the waist and wrestled her to the floor. I wasn't quite sure what I planned to do, but I knew she was about to get the hurt put on her.

I reared up and balled up my fist. I looked into Pizzazz's eyes, huge with shock and fear.

I didn't quite know why I wanted to do this, but I knew I had to.

And then the singing started.

"Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah/Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah."

The voice was strong and clear, with a husky tone. The sound was so sudden and unexpected, I couldn't help but drop my arms and listen.

It was Stormer.

"Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah/Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah."

She sat on the bunk, her knees pulled up to her chest, as her voice echoed around the cell.

It was only then I noticed that I wasn't the only one who had stopped to listen. No one else made a sound.

"The river is deep and the river is wide, Hallelujah/Green pastures on the other side, Hallelujah."

Little tears trickled down her cheeks.

I'd only heard her sing by herself a few times. Usually, it was just me and her singing back-up. Even when she made demos, she'd sing 'em closer to Pizzazz's style.

And I'd never listened to the album she made with that twerp Kimber Benton. I felt sick whenever I thought of it.

"Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah/Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah."

When she sang those lines, something sounded different. It wasn't till the second "Michael" that I realized Cindy had joined in, with a flat, kind of monotone voice.

I'd have told her to stick to her day job, but I didn't know if she was any good at that either.

I stood up, gave Jetta a quick poke in the ribs with the toe of my shoe, and walked over to Stormer's side. She looked up at me and sang: "Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah/Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah."

I don't know why, but I started to sing along with her, as quietly as I could.

I glanced back and Pizzazz and Jetta, who were picking themselves off the floor and rearranging their hair and clothes. I felt flushed when I noticed I hadn't bothered with any of that.

"Jordan's River is chilly and cold, Hallelujah/Chills the body, but not the soul, Hallelujah."

I didn't know those lines, but Manuela did…and so did Jetta.

I'd have actually been impressed with her, if she wasn't such a piece of crap singer.

I took a seat next to Stormer. She tried to take my hand, but I brushed it away.

She looked sad, and I didn't know what to say.

I never know what to say, except when I'm angry.

"Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah/Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah."

Jetta sat down next to me. I didn't even try to push her to the floor.

I guess I really am a softy, sometimes.

Don't spread it around, ok?

Stormer and I both looked to Pizzazz, and reached out to her.

"Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah/Sister, help to trim the sail, Hallelujah."

Pizzazz sat down on her bunk and put her head in her hands. "Jesus," she muttered.

That was the only free concert we ever gave. I hope the guards outside the cell know how lucky they were.

"I had to cancel a meeting with a very important client, Phyllis."

It was around nine that night when Pizzazz's dad bailed us out.

Wouldn't you know it? That battle axe Matilda came through, after all!

"Daddy, they were really mean to us here," Pizzazz whined, as we made our way up the stairs of the police station. "Promise you'll pull some strings and have the Chief of Police fired!"

"Yes, yes, sweetheart. I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Daddy," she cooed.

We hauled our asses up the stairs, till we reached the roof. Jetta let out a big whoop when we saw the night sky. For once, I couldn't blame her.

"Bloody marvelous!" she gasped, as she ran onto the crushed tar that covered the roof. We had to yell at her to stop before she ran right into the spinning propellers of Ol' Harv's private chopper. Would've served her right, if you ask me.

We followed her to the helipad and climbed aboard. I crossed my fingers and hoped we wouldn't end this trip face down on the tarmac. Once was enough for one day.

"Phyllis," Harvey grumbled as the chopper lifted off. "I hope you know what a disappointment you are."

"Yeah, I do," Pizzazz sighed. She stuck her face to the window and didn't say anything for the rest of the trip home.

As we flew over L.A., I leaned over to Stormer and whispered, "That was pretty cool, what you did."

She looked at me like I was from Mars. "What do you mean?"

"The singing."

She sighed. "I was scared, Roxy. I didn't know what else to do."

I chuckled. Typical of her.

"Hey, Roxy?"

"Yeah?"

Stormer smiled. "You were right. We made it out ok."

I gave her a grin. "See? Piece of cake. I know what I'm talkin' about."

Her head drooped. "We shoulda helped them."

I looked around to make sure Pizzazz and Jetta couldn't hear. "Who?"

Stormer pulled the petals from her battered daisy. "Cindy and Manuela."

I didn't say anything back.

Even though the ride was just a few minutes, I dozed off on Stormer's shoulder. I woke up alone the next morning, still inside the chopper, with a blanket tossed over me.

(Special thanks to a great beta reader, and an even better friend, AllieGee)