Rush Valley, Utah

C.J. Lamont was a sophomore at Rush Valley High-School. With the exception of needing a decent haircut, he appeared to be the poster-child of what your all-American fifteen-year-old boy should be. He was an honour-student, he was captain of the football team up until his knee-injury, he had a job at the local hamburger joint and he was a total babe-magnet. His reddish-blonde hair, big liquid-brown eyes, high intellect and over-powering charisma were all the right chemical balance for popularity incarnate. His sixteen-year-old sister—on the other hand—was a total contradiction.

"Christian James Lamont!" Katy Jo yelled at her brother while she stormed into the living-room, shaking her butane-powered curling wand. "You used my curling iron, you homo!"

"Did not," C.J. denied hotly as he turned away from his computer-game and ran his fingers through his freshly-straightened shoulder-length hair. He wasn't lying, really. He just switched the power cell from hers to his so he could get rid of his embarrassingly unmanly curls.

"Then why is the juice gone from it?" Katy insisted as she waved the empty gas cartridge in front of his face. "I remember full well that I didn't leave it running when I used it last. I'm s'pose to meet Tiffany and Merilu in twenty minutes and I have hair that only Hermione Granger's mother would love."

C.J. looked at his older sister's long, bushy, bright-green-streaked bleach-blonde locks and suggested, "Why don't you just get out the clothing iron and set it to permanent press?"

Katy growled. "Bitch," she quickly threw at her younger sibling.

"Future-Welfare-Mom," he returned.

Kate gave him an I'm-gonna-bite-your-head-off-chew-it-up-and-spit-it-down-your-neck glare while groping for a good burn. When the words failed to come she slugged him in the arm. "Get a trim, you long-haired fag," she said under her breath as she left the room.

C.J. rubbed at the sore spot that his sister had given him, wishing that things could be the way they once were. It had been a year since their mother had died in that car wreck while taking his older sister to violin lessons. In that short amount of time he had watched his sister morph from "Katy Jo Lamont, Honour Student" into "Katy's Evil Twin." She was once his best friend, but from the time of the accident that started to change. They can scarcely stand to be in the same room together these days.

It didn't help matters when he finally realised his true identity six months ago. His sister was the only one he told and Katy—before the accident—would have been understanding.

It goes without saying that it didn't work out that way. From the time of C.J.'s confession, whenever there was no-one else around (thank God for small favours) she'd seize the opportunity to throw as many homophobic slurs as she could at him. That was the deciphering factor for him to stay quiet about it, for to be openly gay in a backwater Mormon town was to label yourself a punching-bag who is free to be terrorised. Without his sister's support, he may as well just put a gun in his mouth and have done with it.

Katy came back into the room about fifteen minutes later. Having switched the gas cartridges back, her hair was far less frizzy. "Bye, Tinkerbell," she said sardonically as she grabbed her handbag and headed for the front door.

C.J. glanced away from his game and asked, "Got your cell-phone?" (They weren't allowed to leave the house without a means of communication so that their father could check upon them at any given time.)

With an annoyed expression on her face she pulled it out of her bag for him to see and then she put it back.

"What time you planning to be back?" he asked her. This was something he always asked out of general concern. It didn't matter how horrid she had become, she was still—pierced tongue and all—his sister and therefore it was still his obligation to care.

"What? You wanna come with?" she replied. Her brother was hoping that this was an actual invite and not just Katy being her normal snotty self of late, but before he had a chance to respond she quickly added, "Oh, sorry, Sweetie. No faggots allowed." With that she walked out the door and slammed it behind her.

The boy flinched as the door crashed against its frame. A look of sorrow enshrouded him as he painstakingly fought back tears. He didn't need his sister's constant reminders that he was not what the world around him considered to be right. He needed the understanding that she had once been able to provide for him, the support that would help him sort things out for himself. How he wished with all his heart that this broken family could somehow become whole again.

C.J. Lamont closed his game as he heard his sister start her car and then drive off. His concentration had been broken severely and it had become pointless to continue. With a heavy heart he clicked on the desktop file marked 'Family Album.' Then he opened a picture of his family standing at the Albert Dock alongside the River Mersey in his mother's hometown. He gazed at it quite mournfully for back when his mother was still alive, everything was normal. Back then he was normal.