Chapter 2 - Michelle's Story
September 21st, 2020 - Tulsa, Oklahoma

"So, I told Sabrina Bouvier that no, I would not go to her make-out party on Friday night and that sixth grade boys suck ass," I told my brother Taylor, enthusiastically spinning around as we walked out of Kelsey Middle School.
"Good for you," he replied, not nearly so enthusiastic.
"You should be glad you weren't invited," I told him. "Can you believe she wanted me to be," I shuddered, "Partners with Jeff Atkinson? I mean, he has spinach caught in his teeth every time I see him in Science and -"
"Actually," Taylor cut in as we jumped over the gate. "Sabrina did invite me."
I stopped dead in my tracks. "She did?"
Taylor shrugged. "Yeah. She didn't tell me it was a make-out party though... I said I would go."
I laughed. "Well, she's going to be surprised when you tell her you're not going. What are you going say?"
Taylor looked nervous. "I'll just go along, I guess. Don't go causing a fuss, Michelle."
"It's okay. I don't mind. I'll tell her where to go, tomorrow," I replied.
Taylor smiled. "You do that, Michelle."
I winced. "But please! Jeff Atkinson?" I said, changing the subject. "I think it's grotty how Sabrina's always trying to set people up like that. I mean, if I wanted to be with Jeff, I think I'd tell him myself. If I wanted to be with *anyone* I'd tell them myself."
Taylor raised his eyebrows. "I think guys generally like to do the asking."
"Well, you tell all your friends I don't want them asking me to do anything... Speaking of which, that is so sexist! If girls want boys to ask them out so badly they should ask the boys out themselves," I protested.
"But that's exactly what Sabrina's doing," Taylor explained.
I thought about it for a few seconds. "Yeah... well, it's grotty anyway!" I said, running down Myrtle Street towards our house on Stoneybrook Crescent. Sabrina Bouvier *was* grotty, with her lipstick, painted on mole and tonnes of hairspray. In the sixth grade! Last year, my friends and I had all referred to her as 'the drag queen', but this year they seemed to be a little more receptive to her. Actually, this year Taylor's friends seemed to be more fun than my friends, who wanted to sit around reading Sixteen Magazine and drooling over the boy-band-of-the- moment, LipSynch.
I ran up to our front door and unlocked it, fumbling with my keys. I walked in and left the door open for Taylor. He was such a wuss. He didn't even try to beat me to the door - I could see him slowly making his way up the street.
As soon as I reached my bedroom I tore off the stupid plaid dress the school dress code forced me to wear and changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with the Fly Girls' logo on it. The were cool. Feminists, just like me.
I heard Taylor's footsteps up the stairs and heard a knock at the door a few seconds later. I opened it. "Hey Tay!"
"Shelle!" he said, laughing. "Do you always have to change the second you get home?"
"Yes," I said. "The dress-code is totally sexist. There's no reason why I can't wear pants. How would you like it if you weren't allowed to wear... skirts to school?"
"Actually Shelle," Taylor replied. "I can't wear skirts to school. But it doesn't really bother me."
"Well," I replied. "Maybe it should. Maybe you should grow your hair long and I could cut my hair short and we can pretend to be each other."
Taylor was aghast. "There is no way you're getting me to grow my hair!" he protested. "I'd look like such a girl!"
"Oh, but you'd make such a *pretty* girl," I said, walking out of my bedroom and down the stairs.
"Where are we going?" Taylor asked.
"Down to Brenner Field," I replied. "I heard the seventh grade boys are having a baseball match down there this afternoon."
"Really?" Taylor asked, following me. "Don't you think we should do our homework first?"
"We can do our homework tonight, after mom and dad get home," I replied, walking out the door. "It's far better to play baseball than to watch TV."
Taylor closed the front door behind us. "Don't you hate boys?"
"I hate *kissing* boys Taylor," I answered him, rolling my eyes. "Kicking their asses in baseball is another thing altogether."
"I'm sure it is... in your little sado-masochistic way," he countered.
"Tay, you can try to confuse me by using long words and stuff, but it's not going to work. I'm just going to ignore you," I said, skipping ahead down Rosebud Avenue.
This time he actually ran to catch up. "What *does* sado-masochistic mean?" I asked him.
"Don't worry," he said.
"No! I want to know!" I insisted.
"It doesn't matter," he repeated.
"No!" I paused. "You don't actually know, do you?"
"Of course I know."
"No you don't! Ha! You are just as dumb as I am Taylor Manson!" I ran across the road to the field where I could see the seventh graders setting up. "Hey!" I called, running over to them.
They stopped talking and looked at me in silence. Taylor ran over. "Oh," Aaron Denver said finally, looking at us. "It's Taylor Manson and his sister Michelle."
"Hi," Taylor said.
"You here to lead the cheers, Michelle?" Brad Samson asked. "I think a short skirt would be more appropriate."
I raised an eyebrow. "You must have me mixed up with Sabrina," I said. "I'm here to play baseball."
"With us?" Aaron asked.
"No, with Sabrina Bouvier," I replied sarcastically. "Of course with you."
"Right," Aaron said disbelievingly.
"Michelle's very good," Taylor put it.
"Look Taylor," Ron Belkis said, handing him a mitt, "We're going to let you play, and believe me, that is very generous of us. Letting a sixth- grader play is bad enough, but a sixth-grade *girl*? That would be a joke."
"Oh really? Well, why did the chewing gum cross the road?" I asked.
Even Taylor looked at me with disbelief. "What???" he asked.
"Because it was stuck to the chicken's fook," I replied in a Scottish accent. "*That* was a joke."
"Albeit a bad one," Taylor muttered under his breath.
I picked up a mitt. "Letting me play baseball is not."
"Michelle, it wouldn't be fair to let you play -" Aaron began.
"Well yeah. I'd kick you asses," I admitted.
"You're not playing," Brad added.
"If you don't let me play I'll kick your lily ass all the way to Connecticut," I said, dropping the mitt.
"Michelle...." Taylor warned.
They snickered. Finally Aaron said, "Look Michelle, I suppose you can play. But one thing's for sure - you're not gonna be on my team."
"Fuck!" Brad yelled. Aaron gave him a look. "Okay," Brad said, not looking pleased at all. "But she's last up to bat."
So we played for about an hour and, while I didn't *totally* kick their asses, I was able to hold my ground. At 4:30 Taylor told the seventh- graders we had to go home because our parents would arrive home soon. I was so embarrassed. We looked like such losers.

Taylor and I to took a different route home, this time taking the back streets. It was my idea. I was feeling rather wussy so I decided to walk along Burnt Hill Road, past that house that every one was so scared of. That wasn't the type of thing that silly little sixth-grade girls who were friends with fans of LipSynch did. The house was really weird. It had been empty ever since the first time I'd seen it, and for some reason neither Taylor nor myself were aware of, no one had ever moved into it, not even for a short time. It was weird.
But when Taylor and I walked past 16 Burnt Hill Road today, there was something even weirder about it, although, had it been any other house in all of West Tulsa, nobody would have been shocked. There was a moving van outside the house. "Oh my god!" I said, clutching at Taylor's arm. "People are actually moving into the weirdo house!"
Taylor shook his head. "They're probably just moving in next door," he said.
"I don't think so," I said contemptuously. We stood there and watched for a few seconds, until a couple of men walked out of the house and towards the truck. Then we quickly kept on walking. "See," I said, looking at neither Taylor nor the house - just straight ahead. "I told you people were moving in."
"I wonder why," Taylor mused, as we turned into Myrtle Street. "They must be from out of town. Otherwise they'd never choose to live there."
"They might even be from interstate," I continued. "They're probably poor too."
Taylor laughed. "It's a big house, Michelle. No matter how undesirable it is, I don't think anyone would be renting it cheaply."
"You never know," I replied as we arrived at our front door. Taylor opened it and we walked inside.
"We'd better start on our homework," Taylor said. "Our parents will be home in about, oh, five minutes."
I nodded regretfully and picked up my English book. We were doing a unit on ourselves and we had to make a poster about who we were as well as write some giant essay on our lives. It wasn't due for a month, but it was a lot of work. I had no idea *what* I would put on my poster, but it would be good. There was no way my poster was going to look like Taylor's, even if we were twins, and there was no way it would look like any of the other girls' in my class.
Taylor was looking through an old book about an even older band - the Beatles or something. I picked up the latest issue of Bop and rolled my eyes. "Tay, that band is like a hundred years old! They're pretty out of date. Don't tell me you're using pictures of them for your assignment. Because if you are I think I'll have to disown you as my brother."
Taylor frowned. "It's not my fault you don't have taste, Michelle," he said, observing my cut-outs of Fly Girls pictures. "The Beatles were geniuses. Paul McCartney is -"
"Your hero," I finished off for him, sarcastically. "I know, and I don't care." I went back to looking for pictures of half-decent celebrities. I heard the front door open but didn't look up from my magazine. A few seconds later my Mom and Dad walked into the kitchen, returned from their work in the city centre.
"Hey Tay, hey Shelle," Mom said, kissing us quickly on the cheek.
"How was school? It's good to see you got into your homework quickly," Dad commented.
"Hi Mom, hi Dad," Taylor and I said in unison. "How was work?" Taylor continued.
"Okay. No criminal lawsuits," Mom commented. Well obviously. This was Tulsa. "You doing English?"
Dad saw Taylor heading at the book with scissors and nearly screamed. "Don't do that Taylor!" he said. "Do you have any idea how much that book is worth? I'll photocopy it for you tomorrow if you like."
Taylor was startled. "Okay."
Mom looked at me and frowned. "Michelle. Stand up," she said. I did as she said and she nodded. "Just as I suspected," she said, forcing a smile. "You went out and played baseball or something, didn't you?" she asked.
"How did you know?" I asked.
"You changed into pants," Dad commented.
"No, she always does that," Mom argued. "You have dirt stains on your t-shirt and grass stains on your legs." She sighed. "Why do you make us waste all this money on dresses if you whip them off and wear this grubby stuff straight after school?"
"I don't like dresses," I replied, sitting down. I didn't say what I felt like saying, which was that not everyone liked to wear skirts eight inches above the knee, like she did. "You know that. It's only the school dress code that makes me. Besides," I added. "I don't see you getting pissy with Taylor."
"Stand up," she instructed Taylor. He stood up and she looked him up and down. "Taylor doesn't have stains on his clothing," she replied.
"Taylor isn't as enthusiastic a sportsman as Michelle," Dad said, smiling. I nodded smugly. "He's more a pianist," Dad continued.
I frowned. There they went, liking Taylor more than me again. "That's probably why his team lost," I replied.
"You know that creepy house on Burnt Hill Road?" Taylor asked, changing the subject. Mom and Dad nodded. "Well, Shelle and I were walking past it this afternoon and we saw a moving van outside."
They seemed receptive, so I added, "It was my idea to go there."
"Have you ever known anyone to live there?" Taylor continued.
"No, I haven't," Mom commented, looking at Dad. "Have you?"
"It's always been empty," he agreed. "I figured there was something wrong with the draining or something."
"I didn't actually think they *would* rent it out," Mom added, looking a little worried. She quickly changed the subject. "Does everyone want Chinese for dinner?"
"Yes!" I said eagerly. "Can we get prawn chips?"
Mom smiled. "You're so urbane, Michelle. Just like your father..."
"I want lettuce bow," Taylor said.
Mom nodded. "Good idea. We'll get a serving for four. Is there anything special you want, Tweedle-Tay?"
"Yeah Kay, get a peppered steak, okay?"
"Sure," Mom said, leaning over for a pash. "Sorry," she said, turning to Taylor and I, "but this food gives you such bad breath..." She wandered off to the phone.
Like we really needed to know that. "Hey," Dad said, "Hey you two read Uncle Grubbery's article in the Times yet?"
We shook our heads. "What's it about?" Taylor asked eagerly. Grubbery was so cool. He was my favourite uncle - not that I disliked MacArthy, Grubbery was just cooler. Actually, he was my favourite relative. I liked him even better than I liked Taylor, because Mom and Dad didn't fawn over Grubbery.
Dad smiled. "You'll like this one, Michelle. There are references to you in it. It's about the effect of the Fly Girls on the young feminists of today."
"Really?" I asked excitedly. "What does he say about me?"
"Why don't you read it for yourselves?" Dad said, passing the article to Taylor and I as we began to read eagerly.