LIII. Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

Sweet dreams are made of this.
Who am I to disagree?
Travel the world and the seven seas.
Everybody's looking for something.

Some of them want to use you.
Some of them want to get used by you.
Some of them want to abuse you.
Some of them want to be abused.

I wanna use you and abuse you.
I wanna know what's inside you.

Hold your head up, movin' on.
Keep your head up, movin' on.
(Repeat Three Times)
Movin' on!

I'm gonna use you and abuse you.
I'm gonna know what's inside.
Gonna use you and abuse you.
I'm gonna know what's inside you.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) is the property of Annie Lennox and appears in the film Life as a House.

When I Grow Up is the property of the Pussycat Dolls.

"Who knew I'd be using my passport so soon, right?" kids Manny, as lightly as she can.

This situation is anything but light, decides Emma. It is two in the morning, the earliest and fastest flight Manny could get. They slipped out when Lia was sleeping, neither one of them tired. For Manny, hearing the time of the flight gave her a second wind. For her, her mind wouldn't let her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" sighs Emma. "Sometimes you don't consider certain things and if your parents found out..."

"Look," interrupts Manny. "J.J. is picking me up. Toby's dad and Kate are vacationing somewhere tropical. And your generosity has made this more than possible."

Manny smiles sweetly at Emma, and Emma finds herself smiling as well.

"Besides, Spinner will be keeping you company," reassures Manny.

"It won't be long before he's off to Toronto, too," remembers Emma aloud.

"Then, we can start the school year with our boyfriends," affirms Manny, nodding confidently.

"Nothing's official," says Emma, hesitantly.

"Well, then get official," sing-songs Manny, then pulling Emma's ponytail which she hastily fixed before they got to the airport.

Yeah, let Spinner see her at two a.m. and see if he's willing to go official then. No matter. Manny's officially boarding that plane, and Emma's not certain that she's coming back. California has been such a disappointment to her. Emma's only gotten bits of the story, but it's enough to understand that Manny's on the brink of breaking down.

Dreary passengers cross the sepia-colored carpet, except for an animated five-year old jogging with her Bratz suitcase in front of her mother. Spike said Emma was animated at that age. Jack's animated and he's got awhile to go before he hits five. He was also taking advantage of being the baby for as long as he could, and Emma wonders if it's wearing her mother out. She wishes Spike would call to complain, say she needs her. Is she needed at all? Not by Manny, apparently.

"Manny, if you ever feel...like too overwhelmed with this, you can call me," says Emma.

Manny squeezes Emma's shoulder. "You'll be the first person."

If Toby's not available, adds Emma in her brain. Occasionally, she'd love for Manny to find the strength in herself, depend on herself and not on a boy. That's what she did. When you're strong mentally, and don't focus on the negatives, you can get through anything.

"This letter is from Kendra," says Emma, giving her the envelope Spinner gave to her.

Emma's more than curious what the letter says, found it so mysterious that Kendra would contact Manny at all.

"No anthrax in it, I hope," says Manny, staring at Emma.

"If there was, security would catch it," notes Emma.

They laugh, Manny tucking the letter into her carry-on bag.

"What should I tell Lia?" questions Emma.

"Tell her whatever you want," says Manny, rolling her eyes.

Okay. There used to be a day when Manny and Lia were tight, and she was the outsider. She's picking up that today Lia is the outsider. That might be the sole thing she and Lia have in common. They felt a distance between themselves and Manny.

It wasn't an outright diss. Manny wouldn't do anything like that. Yet, with everything Manny's been through, it was customary for her to let Emma be there for her first. All these things are shifting. Spike confessed a secret to Emma two days after she and Snake returned from their honeymoon. Lucy and Liz, her two closest girlfriends, phoned Spike to hear the glorious details of the trip. Spike didn't call them back until that weekend. She said she didn't want the honeymoon to end. That's how she sort of felt, like Manny didn't want the honeymoon stage with Toby to end. Reality would catch up sooner or later with them, Emma's sure, like it did with her mom and Snake. Manny's problems would follow her.

"J.J.'s in town?" asks Emma, trying to rid herself of these troublesome thoughts.

"Yeah, for some reason," says Manny, breezily.

"So your whole family will be in one place and you won't visit them?" says Emma.

"Em, come on," says Manny. "I'm perfectly fine with them believing I'm in L.A. Nobody's getting hurt."

Emma would beg to differ. Manny could look to her left and realize that isn't the truth.

"Speaking of parental visits, have you thought about visiting Snake?" asks Manny.

"He sent me a postcard," shares Emma.

"Oh," says Manny. "Well, maybe you should read it."

Emma yawns to keep from speaking.

"Read it, Em," instructs Manny, gently. "Trust me. Not talking to your father for months is the pits."

Manny's face falls, leading Emma to play with the strap of her knapsack. The postcard is in there, waiting. Snake's waiting to hear from her. She accused him of making no effort at Toby's party. Why isn't it easier for her to forget him, being thousands of miles away? Perhaps it's the same thing keeping her mother awake at night.

Emma nods. Manny holds the bag as Emma unzips it and removes the University of Toronto postcard. She takes a deep breath, reads:

"Dear Emma,

I hope the summer is treating you well. The front should give you a hint as to where my new job is located. Yep, you, Manny, and the gang aren't the only ones who have to listen to my voice as you stare at computer monitors. It's an introductory new media class. My students won't stop checking their email at the beginning of our classes, but other than that, they're good kids. They're not as colorful as you guys, though. I miss the days of Liberty finding punctuation mistakes on websites and J.T.'s impersonations of the NAK news team. Oh, and of course, your keen insight on the plight of the squeegee kids.

Tell your mother I said hello. Jack has been to my house a number of times, but I don't want to bother her so our talks are brief. I'd love to talk with you. You have my cell number. I have no commitments in the evenings so if you're willing, give me a ring.

Have fun in the Golden State! Love, Snake

Emma lowers the postcard, grinning at Manny.

"I can't believe he remembered the squeegee kids thing," says Manny, laughing. "I barely remember that."

"Yeah, he tacked my article to the refrigerator in the staff lounge," admits Emma, shyly.

"Awww," says Manny, pushing Emma playfully.

Alright, that was a great Snake-like thing to do, and yes, she knows his number by heart. It wouldn't kill her to call him and thank him for this trip now that it's coming to an end.

"Awww, you better get on your plane," says Emma, standing. "Call me when you land."

"Promise," says Manny. "Don't do anything drastic while I'm gone...like eat a steak."

"Do you know how many toxins are in..." begins Emma.

"Running from the anti-meat brigade," pronounces Manny, giving her a quick hug before she scampers to the security line.

"Take care!" yells Manny.

"You, too!" replies Emma.

Why does she think they'll both need to do just that?

II.

The rust of an axle shimmers when the door opens. Everything else is thrown out of proportion. Tires are smaller. Square tables look like ovals. The window furthest to the right resembles a diamond.

He focuses on the rust, mud-brown, decaying, old. It was on a part he tossed to the side, sure it couldn't be saved. The rust would eat away the metal, the steel until you could barely recognize what you were holding. Eventually, the part would be corroded, and fail.

Sean lets the spindle fall from his fingers, collapses in a chair. Has he failed Jay? Is his body failing him? His lungs weren't acting right. He can feel his bruised ribs, the sting in his eyes. He coughs until he hears another set of footsteps.

Dale wipes his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Sean is starting to register his movements, his expressions. His gaze goes to Dale's waist, becomes wet again when he views the gun. He pulled the trigger in a sliver of a second. Was he foolish to think Dale wouldn't use it? Dale didn't shoot him when he had the chance, or were there too many witnesses that day?

This is all his fault, isn't it? He told Dale where Jay was, and lied to Jay for him, and couldn't unlock the door and...so many mistakes. Sean lets a tear slide down his cheek. He can't even see where it lands.

Raising his fingers, he can make it out, the dried blood of his best friend. It's reddish-orange and sickening. There's more on his knees, more on his shirt. You would think he'd carried Jay with him. Why didn't he? Why?

"Why?" breathes Sean, his mouth against the surface of a table.

"Pot...pot made me paranoid," says Dale, turning his back on him. "I...panicked."

Sean raises his head slightly, wincing as his chest bones throb.

"Bull!" condemns Sean.

Dale calmly goes to the back of the shack and removes a small box. He tucks the glove that did the handiwork for the night in there.

"Jay's got a reputation...I don't," says Dale.

This causes Sean to laugh, almost cruelly. Dale obviously acted in haste and hasn't thought things through.

"Nobody's going to believe Jay shot himself in the leg," says Sean. "Or that he knew the code to the side door."

"Your boy's shifty, Sean," sighs Dale. "We all know that. Most of all, me. That's why all I need is an alibi."

An alibi? What alibi? Perhaps Dale is pretty paranoid. Sean's mind is too blurry to make sense of it.

"Our mutual friend Patrick is going to come in very handy," continues Dale. "Because not only is he aware of the code, but he told me that Jay would be doing inventory with him first thing in the morning. So Jay very well could've heard this code, or that's what I'll tell them. A bit of cash in my dad's office is gone, as is his most trusted worker's, that'd be me, key to storage. A certain spindle will have vanished when the police arrive. Makes it seem as if Jay got there and was a tad too greedy."

Sean raises his head, shakes it in disbelief.

"But not as greedy as his invisible partner, who Jay won't name out of fear of losing the other leg," finishes Dale. "The partner will have made off with the spindle and the money after shooting him."

"And who's this partner?" says Sean.

"You," answers Dale with a wide grin. "Cameron, your prints are on it. That's why I wear gloves and why I chose you, the Kerwins' trusted mechanic. Brilliant, right?"

Sean stands quickly, head pounding like a jackhammer. He doesn't care. Tossing the chair to the side, Sean glares at Dale, who chuckles.

"That's why I went to college and you won't," says Dale. "Forensics, son. Forensics."

Yeah, there's about to be another case that would require forensics. Sean grits his teeth and advances to Dale, who looks just as ready. He's too dizzy to see straight, but his vision is no longer as blurry and he can tell Dale's not as confident as he put on. If Jay named Dale, he'd be done. They'd both be done.

At least they would be in a better position than Jay. Sean closes his eyes. Lying there helpless...he'd never seen Jay that helpless. He imagines him alone and terrified for his life, of the law. He won't deal with it alone.

"Where are you going?" shouts Dale as Sean starts for the door.

"I'm going back!" yells Sean. "I never should've..."

Know what? He doesn't deserve a complete response. Sean wobbles to the door.

"A man of my word, Sean," says Dale, Sean hearing that horrible click.

This isn't like last time. He wishes it were, because this time he knows Dale will do it. Sean knows he's no different than Jay.

"Man, you already shot someone!" exclaims Sean. "What has Jay done to you, huh? What will killing me solve?"

"There'll be one less mouth to speak," answers Dale.

"Sean?" says a gentle voice in the distance. "Dale?"

He immediately backs up, briefly glances at Ty behind him. Ty is wearing blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt. He's also wearing a fearful expression, gripping the knob of the door. Sean's expression softens. He's not sure if he wants Ty to view this or not. It was still pretty early so he understand why Ty's the only other person there. Sean wishes he wasn't. Maybe he should, though...maybe he should finally see what a monster Dale really is so he can split.

"Take a good look, Ty," says Sean, nodding to Dale.

Dale stares hesitantly at Ty, then grasps the gun firmer as he glares at Sean.

"This is who watches over you," continues Sean, smirking. "He uses people, shoots people..."

"Shut up!" yells Dale, practically a scream.

"Your amazing teacher can't bare the thought of anyone else succeeding without him!" exclaims Sean. "He treats us like slaves, and when we wanna leave, he goes off like a maniac!"

Ty's lips tremble as he stares at the strange scene. This may be hard for him to hear, but someone has to tell him.

"I swear to God, I'll kill you," says Dale, his voice breaking.

"Just wait 'til you're old enough, Ty," says Sean, staring down the barrel of Dale's gun. "He'll do it to you, too!"

"No, I wouldn't!" shouts Dale.

The sudden appearance of tears forming at Dale's eyes sends Sean's heart into palpitations. Sweat beads on his neck and arms become cool instead of hot. The shack is still.

"Dale only cares about himself," says Sean, quietly. "He shot Jay. Left him to die. He doesn't care about you, Ty."

Sean's back is turned to Ty, but he can hear the slight crying, crying coming from Dale and Ty. He couldn't possibly read their responses because if he turned to Ty, Dale could fire, and if he turned to Dale, the gun would be there.

"Don't make me pull this trigger," breathes Dale, a visible lump in his throat.

"Then let me do what I need to do," says Sean.

"Don't make me pull it," begs Dale, tears running fast against his face.

He's so sick of these empty threats. At least if Dale really pulled it, he'd be free from guilt, from the returning sight of Jay on the floor.

"Pull it," says Sean, his eyes shaking. "Let Ty see what a psycho you really are."

A sharp rap slaps Sean in the mouth, and he can hear his teeth rattle in his head. His body falls to the floor. He groans, hand trembling as he touches the side of his mouth. No bullet, but a lot of blood. Part of him is glad he's touching his own blood and he's in pain. Let him get what's coming to him. Let him be punished...for anything. He stares up at Dale. Hitting Sean in the face with his gun didn't seem to satisfy him, maybe because Ty had raced from the room.

Sean grips the edge of the table, steadying himself. He runs a list of area hospitals, where Jay may've been taken, in his head before Dale speaks once more.

"Ty...Ty is like my blood," whispers Dale, fiercely through his tears. "I love that kid. If you go near him, or you go near the cops, I'll shoot you and watch you bleed to death."

Sean touches the top of his mouth and winces. There's too much pain to reply.

"And Cameron, take your spindle," instructs Dale. "Lord knows, I don't want it."

III.

"If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain...," sings J.J., pausing at a stop light.

"Normal big brothers would offer their little sisters towels when they're drenched," insists Manny.

She's wet all over. Since she was in such a hurry to get to her hometown, she forgot to check the forecast. It would rain for the entire day. This failed to change her mood, however. She's home. Toronto's familiar streets and neighborhoods make her smile. Surprising Toby will make her smile more.

When J.J. arrived, he immediately asked why she came home so early. She crafted a little white lie. J.J. knew Emma's birthday, but not Liberty's. She pretended that she was flying in to surprise Liberty for her special day. Thus, she could act like she was staying at Liberty's and their parents wouldn't have to be mentioned, or so she hopes.

"I thought we'd swing by and say hi to Mom and Dad," says J.J. "They have towels."

"No!" cries Manny. "I mean, they're not home! Dad's at work and Mom's shopping so...no point really."

"Okay," sighs J.J. "Just thought they'd like to see you."

"August is a-coming," assures Manny. "Won't be too long before our reunion."

"Won't be too long before your birthday either," says J.J. "What'd you want?"

"J.J., you're acting weird," says Manny.

It's true. Her brother never asked what she wanted, and usually got her a gift certificate to a clothing store or fifty bucks. He isn't Mr. Plan Ahead either.

"What if I told you that I'll be buying a special gift for a special girl, soon?" hints J.J.

"Huh?" says Manny. "Like lingerie? I don't want to hear that!"

"No, Ms. Thong-tos," teases J.J. "What comes in a little box?"

A little box, thinks Manny. A little box!

"Uh-uh!" cries Manny, happily. "Eeee! It's Rosa?!"

Manny met Rosa at her cousin's graduation ceremony. Rosa went to the same high school when she was a teenager, and was coaching the girls' basketball team there. J.J. and Rosa dated their first two years of university, then took a break, managing to be friends. They couldn't stay friends, however. She liked Rosa because she kept J.J. on his toes and helped him to have some semblance of manners. Rosa was pretty, and well-liked by their parents, although Joseph didn't like that J.J. kept her a secret for so long. Manny could empathize with J.J. after the whole Craig thing, though J.J. and Rosa weren't in some dramatic triangle. Their only fighting dealt with who supported the better sports teams.

"Rosa Santos," says J.J., grinning at the windshield. "Manny, save me so I can be a bachelor for the rest of my life."

"Nope, nope, nope," says Manny, clapping her hands. "I am so supporting the ring on the finger. Besides, you're getting old."

"Shut up!" laughs J.J. "Nah, Mom wants me to settle down too."

"Please, you're the good kid," waves off Manny, feeling a twinge of envy.

"You and I are both good kids," insists J.J. "Rosa is a great choice. I love her and she's smart and beautiful and happens to be Catholic."

Manny lifts the flap of her seatbelt momentarily. She can tell J.J. is peeping at her as he drives.

"She's more your type of Catholic, Manny," says J.J., smiling warmly at her.

"Oh," says Manny, laughing nervously, though she isn't nervous regarding that.

"What's the matter?" questions J.J.

"Well, what if...what if Rosa wasn't Catholic?" says Manny.

J.J. releases a deep sigh. He probably saw right through that very odd question.

"Papa does want you to marry a Catholic, Manuellita," says J.J., making a right. "Is that want you want to hear?"

No, it's what she's expecting to hear. Her father hasn't changed that much. But she figured that since Toby has made such a good impression, that he'd be more open to who Manny would like in her life. Maria would go along with whatever made her happy, especially if he was happy for her too. Still, there's a long way towards marriage.

"Was Dad a Catholic when he met Mom?" asks Manny.

"I don't think so," replies J.J. "Their wedding was very traditional, though. You saw the pictures. That's why I'm in Toronto. To tell them I'm ready. Rosa's coming down with me tomorrow."

She did and couldn't believe how young her parents looked in them. Her father's barong hung loosely around his thin frame, and the train of her mother's dress stretched far along the aisle. Her mother blushed like a typical bride, except she had dimples that were deeper than Manny's. Her father's eyes were warm and wet.

"I...I feel that way about Toby," admits Manny, bunching her wet hair and putting it over her shoulder. "Not marriage, but...I'd like him to have a symbol of how I expect it to be...long-term. Like you and Rosa."

"You guys haven't even graduated yet!" protests J.J.

"Almost," defends Manny. "Come on. Do you...do you have anything in mind? Since you're Mr. Romance now?"

"Can't we talk about the movie stars you saw instead?" pleads J.J. "How many?"

"None!" answers Manny, quickly. "I'll help you shop for a ring when I come home. And trust me, you require a woman's eyes for that kind of gift."

J.J. grumbles, then halts his windshield wipers. Manny leans forward, expectantly.

"It's not expensive," starts Joseph. "It does mean a lot, though, and it's something Mom and Dad did. Dad explained what it means to me."

"Where can we go to find it?" says Manny.

"Lean back. You're dripping on my dashboard," scolds J.J., swerving in another direction.

Manny doesn't hurl any insult at him, confident that he's taking her where they have to go to retrieve this mystery item.

"Did you know that Joseph is a Hebrew name?" speaks up Manny.

"Kinda," says J.J., smiling. "But you should tell Dad that. Wouldn't hurt."

IV.

All he can do is walk, on the same sidewalk where they paced. AC/DC, the Cure, Judas Priest. They most likely walked to get some inspiration, paced to get some clarity. Clarity is what Craig craves most right now. He bets none of those guys' or girls' boyfriends or girlfriends cut their hair in a single day.

Or maybe they did. Maybe Ashley is on to something. He experimented, not with his style, but with his music. He'd gone from punk to light rock to funk to whatever's coming next. Some of his actions were spontaneous, namely ditching the demo to chase Ashley. Also, he sort of likes that Ashley's always been playing around with new things. A few years ago, that's the Ashley he was eager to meet.

Craig leans against the Hammersmith Apollo, under the awning with white columns. It reminds him of Rome, one of a few European countries he never visited with his father. He said they'd go during his last year of high school. They never got the chance because his first year of high school ended the way it did. His first year at Degrassi began pretty nicely, however.

"Ashley Kerwin," reads Craig, slipping the thin yellow slip into his folder.

He made his way into the caf, surrounded by hungry students and frustrated faculty. They were serving chicken fingers, apparently Degrassi's best delicacy. Spinner squeezed in between J.T. and Toby to get to the barbecue sauce, rapping J.T.'s head with his green lunch tray. Jimmy, a guy he got along with pretty well, sat at a center table. He twirled a basketball on his finger. Paige sat next to him, evaluating designer winter coats with Terri and Hazel.

Their clique was cool and all, but it seemed that he usually ran out of things to talk about with them near the end of lunch. Ellie had a different lunch period, though they weren't close anyways. He at least had more interesting conversations with her regarding photography. Marco had taken to sitting with the girls who were still mesmerized by his eighties' dance hoofing a week later. What was he doing that night? Oh yeah, sneaking in Emma and Manny, and channeling Sid Vicious.

A familiar girl in overalls, her glasses firmly seated on her nose, passed him. He recognized her as one of Manny's friends.

"Hi...um, Libby?" said Craig.

"Liberty," she said. "What can I do for you? I'm on my way to the publications office."

"Oh, cool!" said Craig. "You do yearbook? I've been meaning to stop by..."

"Have a portfolio on my desk if you want to be considered as a photographer," interrupted Liberty. "Black and white, showcasing your best work. Monday's the last day. No exceptions, even for grade nines."

Liberty gives him an appraising stare and starts towards the caf's exit. Man, that wasn't his question.

"Wait!" he calls after her. "Ashley Kerwin?"

She didn't hear him, though someone else did.

"Um, I'm Ashley," speaks up a voice.

Craig scans the various tables. His gaze rested on a girl with reddish-brown hair and arresting blue eyes. He nearly drops his folder as his feet move forward of their own volition. Nope, he tells himself. Be cool. You've already built a semi-decent reputation at this place. No need to shuck it two months into the year.

This wasn't technically their first meeting, but this was their first time alone together. She was looking a bit different. A long, black velvet dress housed her tall frame, black boots on her feet. Her hair was short.

Ashley showed an interest in Sean, so he stepped aside and kept tabs on who Manny was into, but he was kind of more intrigued by Ashley. To gauge Sean's feelings, he started hinting that Sean should make his move...like now. That ended in a mess. Sean grew weary of Ashley caring about Paige and her crew and Ashley wound up alone.

If anyone knew what it was like to be alone, he did. To ease the loneliness, he began to construct a project, a project that wasn't for his father's eyes. He constructed the perfect family. It was a family he couldn't hold onto because of guilt. He started piecing people together in a collage-- Joey, Julia, Angie, himself. Albert never joined the party. A fraction of his heart told him that wasn't right; the remainder of his heart remembered the bruises he'd been receiving lately. Things got so bad on his parents' old wedding anniversary. Anniversaries are sour memories when there's nothing to celebrate and no one to celebrate with, and Craig took the brunt of that sentiment. When he could hardly zip up his jeans because of his bruised fingers...that's when he sought out Angie. Being alone makes you reach out further to any signal, for any sign, for any hope of not being lonely. That's why he smiled when he met Ashley.

"Mind if I sit?" asked Craig.

"You...you don't have a lunch," noted Ashley.

"Heard there were bugs in the food last year," said Craig. "Made a vow never to eat the caf food again."

That was a lie. He'd eaten a burrito yesterday, courtesy of Sheila, the caf's resident cook and gossip provider. Still, the lie made Ashley laugh.

"Oh, I know all about that," shared Ashley. "More than I'd like to know, honestly."

"Do tell," encouraged Craig.

"Well, the bugs were in my food," revealed Ashley. "Courtesy of a certain person in the lunch line."

Craig glances at the line, immediately spying Spinner trying to shove a small bowl of gelatin into J.T.'s face.

"Smells like puke!" cries J.T. in alarm.

"Like they say," says Spinner, chuckling. "Better in than out, man."

"So why are you searching for me?" says Ashley, making Craig turn back to her.

The action basically numbed him. She basically had to have the best pair of eyes he's ever looked into, and being an aspiring photographer, he had seen quite a few lovely sets of "peepers", what Julia used to call them.

"Uh...new student evaluation," replied Craig, shaking himself. "You're collecting them?"

"Signed up to do it before my eventual summer," sighed Ashley, taking his sheet.

"These were interesting question...," said Craig.

They definitely were not interesting, but he didn't want to offend her with his honesty. He could count on one hand how many interesting questions there were, and that would be a three-fingered hand.

"Ew. I hated doing that in seventh," admitted Ashley. "Word of advice. They read these surveys and pat themselves on the back, anyway."

"Like a survey can measure an experience," said Craig, rolling his eyes. "They want to know what classes were my favorite during the semester..."

"Art? You have your camera out a lot," said Ashley, then blushing.

Hey, she'd been noticing him too? Cool. Craig looked behind him, then at her again.

"Nah. I'm not into drawing forms or fruit or feet," said Craig.

Ashley chuckled. "Science with Hatzilakos? Lots of guys like those classes, if you catch my drift."

"Science is my worst subject, I gotta say," shared Craig.

"Photographs and not photosynthesis," asserted Ashley. "No, science bores me. English is my fave...with Kwan."

"Spin warned me about her," said Craig. "Should I transfer from Beals into Kwan's?"

"Yeah!" encouraged Ashley. "She lets us act the plays we read. And do journals...that's the best!"

Craig listened to her give him all the fine attributes of Kwan's class. What she was unaware of is that he was going to be in there no matter what. Beals' class was just to get transfers ready for the rigors of Kwan's class, and he'd done well in there. He simply wanted Ashley to keep on talking, laughing.

"You sit alone everyday?" asked Craig when Ashley finished.

Ashley closed her mouth and stared at her lap. No, he thought. I blew it. He got too personal way too soon.

"Ellie has a different lunch period so...," started Ashley. "I'm getting used to eating alone."

"Lunch isn't an alone thing," said Craig, softly.

"Being Ashley this year? That's an alone thing," said Ashley, shrugging. "Thanks for the survey."

Craig nodded and smiled when he stood. Ashley released a deep breath after putting the survey in her notebook. He started to go, glanced over his shoulder to view Ashley pushing aside her tray and staring forlornly into a compact mirror. She had on a lot of black eyeliner. He wasn't sure if she was fixing her make-up or wiping away tears. When she sniffled, that confirmed it's the latter.

"Um," said Craig, planting himself in the same seat across from her. "I think I missed a couple questions."

Ashley blinked at him. "Alright?"

She retrieved his survey and Craig shaded it from her view.

"Woo, these are hard," said Craig, beaming. "These might last all lunch period."

Ashley bit her lip to keep from grinning, and surrendered her pen with a smile.

He sat with her the rest of the semester, and the next semester when he was in science with Hatzilakos, and English with Kwan. Ashley's hair got shorter and her clothes darker. Nothing changed for him. He fell for her during lunch and it continued until the luau dance. Then, the next year and the next.

It continues now, realizes Craig, leaving the support of the Hammersmith. There are no more questions for him to fill out. He loves this girl who might look different everyday.

Craig pauses and walks to where he's intended to walk since the tour bus reached here. He's stopped by a security officer.

"No doing, bloke," he scolds. "BBC blocked civilians from coming in until the appointed time."

"I'm with the BBC tour," explains Craig.

"Fancy you Mark Kennick?" laughs the officer. "Go on. Find something to do 'til showtime."

"My girlfriend's performing!" exclaims Craig. "And I need to talk to her."

"Well, that's a shame, innit?" brushes off the officer.

Craig shoves his hands in his jeans, wishing he'd at least dismissed him with a North American expression. The British version of "get lost" sounds a little colder.

He could do with somewhere colder, and somewhere not too busy. He ducks into a store two buildings away from the Hammersmith, not bothering to peruse the windows. Maybe he can call Ash from his cell. She was practicing her duet with Mark. He'd love to interrupt that. Yes, that's a mean thought, but the guy was so overpraised that he doesn't feel bad at that mental knock. It'd only be for five minutes anyway.

Before he can dial, he's being lead...to a chair. What is this an execution?

"Hey!" protests Craig.

Craig's backed into a chair, a white towel wrapped around his neck. He stares at the stranger responsible for these actions. She's an attractive girl of maybe twenty-one, busty, a pair of scissors next to her name on a tag near her breast. Zoya.

"Free cut?" says Zoya, cheerfully.

"Um, I came into...," begins Craig.

"Get a cut," says Zoya with a heavy accent Craig identifies as Russian. "You want a cut?"

"I like my curls," says Craig, touching his hair protectively.

He's able to take in the full store in the silence. They're in a barber/beauty shop, a unisex salon. A man is getting his hair done in long braids, while another woman patters by with a stylist, holding a jar of grease. The vibe is extremely cheerful and there's a banner announcing "We'll fix your follicles for free. Only for today!"

"Girls go short for the summer," says Zoya. "Why not boys?"

"Uh..."

"Those curls make your head hot?" says Zoya, loudly. "Huh?"

"I've got time to kill," confesses Craig. "A trim maybe, then..."

"No, we'll do more," insists Zoya. "We're a new business so you tell your friends where you got this good cut. So we'll do more."

"More what?" says Craig, glancing around in a panic.

"Change is good!" cries Zoya. "It's good!"

Hmmm. Well, if Ashley can do it, then...

"Change is good," agrees Craig, settling into the chair.

V.

Pat, pat, pat. Manny receives three more pats as Ms. Owen crosses her to get to the counter. She feels like a puppy, an overloved puppy. J.J. wolfs down a couple Fig Newtons kept up front. Ms. Owen goes to another counter, pats J.J.'s stomach. Hey, complains Manny inwardly. Why didn't he get them on the head?

"Joseph and Maria, Joseph and Maria," says Ms. Owen, giddily. "Oh, I remember that wedding well."

Ms. Owen is a longtime friend of their mother's. She had just moved to Toronto from Manila seven years ago after falling in love with a Canadian named Richard Owen. She "met" Manny when Manny was still in her mother's womb. Her parents were so sure they'd be having another boy, but Ms. Owen said no, no, it'll be a girl. Ms. Owen was right.

She ran an odds and ends shop from a building next to her son's home. The store is modest, cheery, and Filipino, like the owner. It was tough for her to walk from spot to spot, though she managed. Manny believes she as venerable as Bubbe Isaacs. The traditional items were definitely made by strong, culturally astute people.

Manny moved to the side and found a gold and red parol hanging on a white wall. The star lantern was papery against the skin of her elbow, still wet from the rain. Several baro't sayas in deep rich colors are on hangers on a rack. Books on Jose Rizal and Manuel Roxas were in a bookcase with other writings on fashion, festival, and foods. It was a room full of history. Manny's presence makes her squirm.

"They're around here somewhere," says Ms. Owen, beginning to slide a stepladder to a closet.

"I'll help," offers J.J.

While they maneuver, Manny selects a book on fashion. She has no plans to read it, but the cover looks appealing. A woman is dressed in a pearl-white, wedding gown with a huge veil flowing past the first couple pews of a church. She wonders what her mom will say when she gets married. That she's a woman too?

Last summer, she had a different image of being a woman. With the Kevin Smith wrapped and ready for distribution, she spent those scorching days and cool nights dreaming of continuing her acting career.

By some luck, or blessing as Toby would call it, Kevin Smith chose her to play Kelly. Kelly was sexy, a bit sassy, yet a bit of a dreamer too. The part fit her to a tee. Letting the character go was difficult, however. It became so ingrained in her mind. The dialogue stuck. The scene ran in her brain ad nauseum. She couldn't let the memory die. Her acting might as well have been dead at home since her father or mother never asked to hear about it. J.J., of course, was not in the house, on his own at that point.

That prompted her to play it where she could. So she ducked into Pretty Pretty, grabbed a blonde wig, and was someone else for as long as she desired. Manny turned to her right, evaluated herself in the mirror, blew a kiss to her reflection.

Boys call you sexy (What's up, sexy)
And you don't care what they say
See, every time you turn around
They screamin' your name

Manny lowered a crop top an inch, winces when it can't cover her bellybutton. Did she gain weight this summer or what? She did notice her bikini was a teensy bit tighter. Emma had shrunk a size. Tall, beautiful, blonde Emma. Manny removes the wig, musses her hair a tad, then puts the wig on again. Her dark eyes glittered under the blonde bangs.

"I'd wait forever my love," says Manny, pretending to Jason Mewes, curling her lip.

She changes her demeanor to flirt with him as Kelly.

"I'm a freshman," says Manny to an invisible Mewes.

"Freshman?" cries Manny in an exaggerated voices as Mewes. "Yo, is there any seniors up in this piece?"

Manny laughs to herself, then lets her eyes find the floor. She was thinking about researching other avenues if Bernice Fine didn't want to represent her. She can't act in front of a mirror forever, especially when she doesn't like what she sees.

Why did Kevin choose her anyway? Paige was blonde, pretty, and popular. She could've played Kelly. Then again, Kevin said Paige's line read wasn't that good. Emma...she had massive stage fright as soon as Kevin provided her with script. Maybe it's her talent, and that's...well, that's inside. She doesn't need to put a blonde wig on that.

Now I've got a confession
When I was young I wanted attention
And I promised myself that I'd do anything
Anything at all for them to notice me

But I ain't complaining
We all wanna be famous
So go ahead and say what you wanna say
You know what it's like to be nameless
Want them to know what your name is
'Cause see when I was younger I would say

Manny used to pretend to be the protagonist in all the movies she watched as a little girl, whether the person was male or female. She made her voice deeper when it was a guy, her gestures more feminine if she were a girl. It was innate to her. Her audience consisted mostly of Emma and J.T., or J.J. if he was bored enough.

When I grow up
I wanna be famous
I wanna be a star
I wanna be in movies

When I grow up
I wanna see the world
Drive nice cars
I wanna have boobies

When I grow up
Be on TV
People know me
Be on magazines

When I grow up
Fresh and clean
Number one chick when I step out on the scene

Her watch beeped. Joseph wanted her home by a decent hour, especially after the shooting, never mind that the shooting was almost a year ago. There'd be a time when she'll set her own rules, make her own way. It wouldn't be today, though.

But be careful what you wish for cause
you just might get it
you just might get it
you just might get it

"Are you buying anything, miss?" said a cashier, coming to Manny with a hopeful look.

"No...browsing," admits Manny.

"Can I wrap that up for you?" questioned the cashier, motioning to the wig.

"No thank you," replies Manny. "I don't need to be blonde."

That's what she told herself...then. Will this be what she tells her parents, Toby? Every chance she gets, she manages to lose. Her looks put her into a box she wanted so desperately to get out of, and she's yet to escape that box. She's not sure her heart can take any more, even if Emma did believe she had the biggest heart.

"In a heart-shaped bag," announces Ms. Owen, proudly. "I'd say it suits the contents."

Manny returns to the present, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. J.J. presents her with a gold, heart-shaped bag the size of a cupcake. She stares at them in confusion.

"How much is it?" asks Manny.

"Oh, I'll go easy on you, sweetie," says Ms. Owen. "Though, some things you can't put a price on."

VI.

"Elton, Ozzy, Prince," lists Mark. "Basically all of the one name moniker clan."

Ashley gently touches the white wood, the smooth paneling, and the black vinyl of the seat. The organ shines under the blaring stage lights. It makes her keyboard look as small as a pebble. To play this thing is incredibly tempting.

Who better to give into temptation than Mark Kennick, moving Ashley to the side to run his fingers across a few keys.

"You play piano?" asks Ashley.

"First instrument," informs Mark. "Guitar fit me more, though."

"I tried to play Craig's guitar once, and broke a string," shares Ashley.

"So your mortal enemy is the guitar, is it?" teases Mark. "Let's hope my guitar likes your voice."

"Odd that are voices are the only ones in the auditorium," notes Ashley. "Where is everybody?"

"Told 'em we required privacy," replies Mark. "I know you like to work in private."

That's true. Still, it's a bit odd that they were granted such a huge request. Perhaps Mark is used to this treatment. He doesn't appear the least fazed by sharing this tidbit.

"Look, if you're bugged, Aja's backstage," says Mark.

"No...no, I'm not bugged," says Ashley, half-heartedly.

Does she have much choice in caring or not? They have to nail this duet in private, and then in public. Another round of boos would make her get on board a flight to Toronto, and she'd have to face her mom with her tail between her legs. Yes, she failed, though it wasn't because of Craig.

They'd kept their distance since yesterday, when she saw Craig's reaction to her haircut. Mark's was the total opposite. He loved that "he could see her face when they were making music together". That description was sweet, a bit too sweet. Ashley's fears did go away, however, when Mark started flirting with a member of the Hammersmith's sound crew. He was a flirt and she was nothing special. Craig's reaction, however? He thought he'd be happy with it. She can understand the particular tastes he has with the songbook; they weren't her style. But looks were looks, and he wasn't into her for her looks.

To Craig, she's always been someone special, and vice versa. For him to dislike her choices put them back at square one, when he was judging what she did with the drinking. He couldn't deal with her decisions so he made it known.

"Craig left the bus early this morning," says Ashley.

"Trouble in teen paradise?" quips Mark, removing his fingers and staring at Ashley intently.

"Eh, he wasn't a fan of the haircut," replies Ashley.

"I don't know," says Mark, grinning. "To me, it shows you have balls. I mean...sorry!"

Ashley laughs loudly, covers her mouth. Despite her laughter, that is the reaction she was hoping for. She wouldn't be dull alongside Mark, or anyone else.

"It's arrived!" cries Aja, bounding onto the stage.

Aja had a purple mesh top, with a white T-shirt underneath, and a tight black mini. What's more noticeable is what she's carrying. It's a large, rectangular box, so large that it makes her weave to and fro. Mark climbs onto the stage and helps.

"Call in a favor and you're granted first-class treatment," says Mark.

He indicates that Ashley should take the box. She sets it on the stage since it's so heavy and opens the lid. A gleaming, leather red dress, complete with zippers on the sides, stares back at her. Ashley raises her eyebrows.

"Hot, right?" says Mark, grinning. "The stylist from our photoshoot knew your size."

"This is for me?" cries Ashley.

"The lighting design for Hammersmith? It'll make you shine all the brighter with that number on your bod," replies Mark.

"Cost a bundle, too," adds Aja, wiping her brow.

"I...I can't wear that," stammers Ashley. "It's...not...well, it's not what I would wear."

Ashley shakes her head at Mark. A few seconds roll by, Ashley hating to hear Aja's boots depart. This leaves her alone with Mark. He sighs and gestures for the both of them to sit on the organ seat.

"You know Kate Bush?" asks Mark.

"Do I?" cries Ashley. "I love her. My fave British female artist practically."

"Do you know what she wore?" continues Mark. "Classy, form-fitting clothes. Womanly. She wasn't ashamed of her body..."

"I'm not ashamed of my body!" interjects Ashley.

"No, wasn't saying that," assures Mark. "Kate had this sexy, smart, elegant way about her. London loved her. I think you have those same qualities."

Ashley leans forward to hear Mark more clearly.

"She captivated audiences because she was very aware this is a show, entertainment for people," says Mark. "You could be the modern version of her. All you need to do is take some steps."

"Kate Bush never wore red leather, not to my knowledge," says Ashley.

Mark scoots closer to her. "This would be good for you. I believe in you."

He's a little too close for comfort, attempting to get her to stare back into his eyes. She can feel his breath on her cheek. Ashley instantly shoots upwards.

Thankfully, the awkward silence is broken by the doors of the auditorium parting. Julian, the tour director, and a gaggle of girls come through, walking down the aisles towards him. The girls were carrying Mark and Ashley's promotional poster, the one that caused a rift between her and Craig. That's the last image she wants to view right now.

"Mark, do you have time for some autographs?" asks Julian.

"Certainly," assures Mark.

"My dad owns this theater," shares the smallest girl. "He and I can't wait to see you perform, Mark!"

"And I can't wait to perform...for you," provides Mark.

The girls screech for a second, then present him with the poster. He signs the smallest girl's first.

"Ashley, would you like to sign?" asks Mark. "She's doing a song with me, ladies. Makes me sound better."

With cautious glances, the girls surrender their posters to Ashley, almost as a courtesy. Rather than be skeptical, she takes them and signs them with the pen Mark hands her.

"What song?" asks the smallest girl.

Ashley was a bit iffy on the song selection. Craig was right when they were on the bus. None of these were lyrical gems in her opinion. Chances are they'd get people to sing along at least, and that isn't as offensive as the jeers thrown at her by the audience.

"You'll see," answers Mark, slyly.

Yawning loudly, the sound echoing, Aja returns to the stage to fetch the red leather dress, places it against her own form.

"Cool dress!" pipes the oldest.

"I think so, too," says Mark, tossing a glance Ashley's way.

Ashley's cheeks become flustered, the floor hard against her feet.

"Thanks, Mark," says Julian, shaking his hand. "And girls, Ashley is our newest find. A true rock princess. We're airing a BBC broadcast with her soon. "

Ashley smiles, her teeth hurting behind her lips. She almost gnashes them. A rock princess? Why don't they let her decide what she wants to be? Because, to her disappointment, the audience has already decided for her. She's either a groupie, a hot chick, or a bore. There's no in between. Ashley stares briefly at the red outfit and sighs. She'll finally be in a broadcast, and well, that's good enough news to keep her fleeing from this spot.

"Let's run through the song a couple more times," suggests Mark, hopping onto the stage.

He shoves Aja playfully before putting on his guitar. Ashley waves bye to the girls, then starts to her keyboard. This would be the tenth run-through. Mark certainly likes to fill the hour.

Then, the door's parted once more. Ashley wishes they would stop. She'd hate to lose her conversation with all these competing thoughts running around. Her fingers freeze above the key and she smiles. That's not just any fan. It's her biggest fan.

"Ashley!" whispers Mark, urgently as Ashley leaves the stage.

"Awww," coos Aja, smiling.

Ashley goes past the girls, also heavily pleased with the sight of the late newcomer.

"Craig," says Ashley, grinning from ear to ear.

"Slipped the security guard ten pounds," calls Craig to her.

Every last curl is gone. His tresses are no longer thick. Smooth, dark hair, straight as a line, covers his crown.

"Going short for the summer," explains Craig, nervously. "Maybe we can guess whose will grow faster."

The girls giggle and smile at each other behind Ashley's back. Her hands touch Craig's back as she hugs him.

"My head's cold," confesses Craig, letting his forehead find hers. "Is yours?"

"Hmmm," says Ashley. "Haven't noticed."