Wolfie yawned.

"Sleep well?" Her mother asked, pouring coffee into Pastor Sanchés's mug. Wolfie nodded.

That's the Sanchés family for you. They were the perfect, smiling, suburban family you see in magazines or fliers for Jehovah's Witnesses without being in them.

They went to church with the Cowatches every Sunday to watch Wolfie's dad drone about some guy in the Middle East doing stuff. Wolfie always ditched Wednesday night youth group during the school year to hang with Dolli Mae. The girls would roll around town on bikes, or boards, or even blades, hoping no one would notice any absences.

Wolfie's parents didn't know this, of course. She'd lose what little freedom or trust she had if they did by lying to them a lot more than anyone should to their parents. She kinda felt bad at first for sneaking around like some fiend, but now she couldn't care.

Like the costumes made for the Fazbear Girls. Wolfie's parents would never let her step foot inside the restaurant or hang with her friends ever again if she told them. Her parents had signed all permissions, thinking she was going to be a cute little costume with her cute little friends singing cute little songs to cute little children and serving pizza and wiping down tables.

At her first middle school dance, they'd told her to 'Leave room for Jesus!' so, the thought of them finding out that the Fazbear Girls were starting to gravitate away from that with Wolfie wearing a tight black catsuit with stripes and a pair of hidden stilettos was not going to be taken lightly. They didn't approve of 'play violence', either, so explaining the laser tag arena dressed like a pirate ship was also a no-no.

So of course Wofie's parents shouldn't know about Wolfie's day job. Wolfie grabbed her roller blades, using the laces to drape the wheeled shoes over her boney shoulder. The other held a satchel of newspapers.

Once outside, she took off down the street after binding them to her feet, taking in the air before the mid-July heat set in. She gripped the bag of newspapers on her shoulder. The Fourth of July had felt like forever ago.

And so did the last day of school, now that Wolfie thought of it, catching a glimpse of her overlined eyes reflected in a freshly cleaned window pane displaying Funtom playsets, like Noah's Arks and Carousels.

Man, time just flew in this town

Dollface and Dolli Mae were at the range this morning, and Princess was dancing in the studio. Thorne was probably with String Bean too, leaving Wolfie to herself today.

Nothing to do.

Not.

A.

Damn.

Thing.

It felt good after weeks of non-stop school band practice on the half-dead community football field and rehearsals inside the over-air conditioned Freddy's, which always smelled like ass, to just do nothing.

Maybe Izzy? Eeehh, Wolfie felt more like a loner today, plus Izzy mentioned something about accounting.

And Regina? Fuck that, Wolfie had self-respect!

Now that she actually had friends, Wolfie didn't know what to do with them. She finger combed her hair to the side more, right over her eyes like the girls on MTV, a rare, scandalous treat she got at Dolli Mae's place.

She liked to listen to Dolli Mae talk, especially when they were supposed to be at youth group or in studyhall.

Dolli Mae wanted to be a nurse. Wolfie loved hearing the passion Dolli Mae got in her voice whenever she talked about healing people.

The only person she'd ever felt this way for was Marnie, or maybe Brandon, the hot guy in her integrated algebra one class. Brandon was a year older and went to the same gym as Izzy did, and Wolfie was completely and totally invisible to him.

She was already a disgrace for a pastor's daughter in the small town, and if they ever found the photos they signed and received money for distributing throughout the state, there would be hell to pay. And if she ever told or gave in, big, scary, punkass bitch Wolfie would be sent straight down to the ninth circle without a fighting chance.

Wolfie tossed a newspaper onto a yard as she sped past. One down, so many more to go. This week was full of rehearsals for a new location opening in Branson, and they'd have to be there for it. They already had promotional pictures released across the state and surrounding outer counties.

Just one more week of rehearsals before stardom and the covers of magazines would be theirs'.

Everything just had to go smoothly.

Izzy stepped out into the early Morning sun with her chicken feed. Her chicken shack had started as a 4-H project but ended up as a mild obsession and fascination.

What's wrong with a mild god-complex? Izzy didn't bring it anywhere else and she won awards for it. Including cash prizes.

Princess did the genetic side of the complex, Izzy did the statistics.

Into the little cage the animal-loving Betty Boop lookalike went. Izzy tossed the feed around her feet, watching the tiny Bantam hens rush around her skirts like minnows in a pond.

"Lurk, lurk lurk, luuuurrrrk!"

Izzy couldn't help but giggle at them and their silly little feet as they scurried around, only thinking of their tummies.

She gently picked one up. It was part of the selective breeding challenge she was given a few years ago in 4-H.

The Frizzy Izzy. It was so close to being perfect. It even won a blue ribbon at the fair she went to with Dollface. Two more generations and the tiny chicken would be the grandmother of the best darn Banty Chicken Breed created, ruffled brown feathers, miniscule eggs and all.

She was also discussing with Ben when they went to the gym together how to make a very tiny, curly cow.

How much milk-fat was needed for ice cream again?

Izzy checked her watch, and, seeing that she had enough time to get to the gym and still have some free time before afternoon rehearsals, she skipped to the back porch of her mother's salon, shucking her boots behind her.

Hopefully, the final weeks before their big, multi-state debut would go smoothly, and Regina would have to cooperate.