chapter 3
The Secret Diary of Cameron Baum
MONDAY
I resolve to learn a new word every day and include it correctly in conversation. This will aid my assimilation and benefit my vocabulary skills.
This is called a win-win situation.
Today's new word is bummer.
I use it three times while seated at the breakfast table.
DEREK REESE: Dammit, we're out of coffee.
ME: Bummer
DEREK REESE: What did you say?
ME: I said, bummer.
SARAH CONNOR: What's wrong?
DEREK REESE: We're outta coffee. And that damn machine's giving me attitude.
SARAH CONNOR: Quit whining like a baby and start a fresh pot.
DEREK REESE: And we're out of filters.
ME: Bummer.
This is an excellent start to my new inniative.
SCHOOL
There is a note pinned to my locker informing me I have been drafted into the cheerleading squad as first alternate. A girl named Candice has broken her ankle and has had to withdraw.
My new best and only friend, Becca Shaughnessy, congratulates me.
"You're in. Yay, for you! A couple of the girls wanted to veto, especially that bitch, Louise. But I said I'd walk if they didn't give you a chance. Next practice is today in the gym after school. See you there."
John does not congratulate me. John ushers me to one side and interrogates me.
"Did you break this girl's ankle so you could make the team?"
"No. If that was my intention I would break her neck. Ankles heal but a broken neck leaves you permanently dead and unable to participate in cheerleading activities."
GYM
The gymnasium is cleared of all apparatus save for a chalk easel and three bleachers arranged to face it. All the girls are here. Becca spots me and waves me over, patting a space next to her on one of the benches. I sit down beside her.
The two senior girls, Cassandra and Louise, enter. They stand either side of the easel facing us. Cassandra has long blonde hair and is known as Cassie, except when she is absent when the girls refer to her as the Big Cheese. She is tall but in no way resembles a dairy product.
Cassandra says, "Okay. First things first. I'd like to welcome the first alternate to the squad. She'll be replacing poor Candy, whose ankle is sprained not broken but won't heal until the next semester. Everyone give Cameron Baum a warm cheerleader welcome."
Cassandra and Becca clap their hands. None of the others join in.
"Next - Ramona, have you managed to shift those 10 pounds we asked you to lose?"
"Give me a break, Cassie. It's only been like three days."
Louise says, "So? How hard is it not to eat for three days?"
I agree. Not hard at all.
Ramona says,"I'm hypoglycemic. I've fainted twice already."
"Suck it up, soldier," Louise tells her. She lifts her shirt and displays her abdomen. "See these abs? I didn't get these abs by being a cry-baby."
"No, Louise, you got them by going to the john after every meal and up-chucking. So don't lecture me, you bulimic bitch."
"Don't call me a bitch, bitch!"
Cassandra says, "Okay, enough. Ramona, lose 5 pounds by the end of the week. I don't want another wardrobe malfunction,
"That was the seam! It wasn't my fault. It was shoddy workmanship."
Louise says, "Oh so now you're blaming the sweatshop kids earning 5 cents an hour."
"And I'm naturally big-boned. It's a proven medical condition."
"Says who - Doctor Buritto at the Don't-Hold-the Mayo Clinic?"
"Is that a racial slur? I think that's a racial slur."
"You think everything's a racial slur."
"I do not."
"...paging Doctor Burrito...Doctor Burrito to the Big Bone ward.."
"You utter bitch!"
Cassandra says, "Enough already. Louise, could we for once have a session where you don't piss someone off."
"..dream on..."
"I heard that!"
"And Ramona, at least 5 pounds off by Friday. However much everyone enjoyed seeing your bare butt, I'd rather not make it a regular part of the routine."
Cassandra takes us through the entire routine with diagrams drawn on the chalkboard. We then perform them twice without music, then twice with music. The moves are crude and basic compared to ballet. I perform them flawlessly. There are no mishaps apart from a wardrobe malfunction from Ramona, who continues after changing into tracksuit bottoms.
"Not a word. Not a freaking word," she warns Louise.
"Hey, action speaks louder than words, right?"
Then it is time to practice the finale. This is a pyramid of girls stood on top of one another. It is my role to stand at the apex of the pyramid, grinning my rictus death-mask smile.
As the music plays I begin to climb up the back of the human pyramid as instructed, using their limbs as steps. I am two-thirds of the way up when I feel my footing give way beneath me. My gyros blink a red warning icon and try to stabilise me, but it is too late. I fall backwards off the pyramid bringing the rest of the girls down with me.
I am the first to rise to my feet. The others are sprawled across the gymnasium floor in various states of distress.
"Please remain calm," I advise.
"Remain calm? I've got someone's sneaker up my ass."
"I'm okay. Shauna's implants broke my fall."
"If they leak you're buying me a new pair. They were a present from my step-dad."
"Ewww! That's not creepy at all."
"Has anyone seen a contact lense? I've lost my green contact."
"You swore your eyes were really green!"
"Yeah? Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, you believe in them too?"
Cassandra says, "What happened? We've never had a pyramid collapse before."
"It's the new girl. She weighs like a ton. I thought my collarbone was going to snap."
"Cameron, how much do you weigh?"
I inform Cassandra I weigh exactly 165lb.
There is a shocked silence. Then:
"No way!"
"Omigod!"
"I'd die. I would just die."
"What are you made of - solid metal?"
"Correct." I reply.
"Very funny. Someone fetch the scales."
A pair of weighing scales are brought in. I step on them. The girls cluster round, peering curiously down at the readout which declares I weigh 165lb.
"Lordy, you must eat non-stop."
"I eat nothing." I confess.
"Oh we all tell ourselves that, sister. And we're just fooling ourselves, aren't we, because the calories just creep on."
"Perhaps she's big boned?"
"Again with the big bones?"
"It's a proven medical condition!"
"I eat nothing but breadsticks and tofu. If you add OJ it's a perfectly balanced diet. Of course, you need regular colonic irrigation to clear blockages."
"Oh gross!"
"No, it's really very pleasant. They wash out your colon with a warm saline solution.You wouldn't believe the stuff that comes out."
"I think we've got a pretty good idea..."
"Yay, I found my green contact! No wait...oh gross, I think it's someone's booger."
Cassie says, "Okay, enough. Obviously due to her - uh - weight issues Cameron can't be the apex. Megan, you're up."
"Me? No, I can't, Cassie. I'm scared of heights."
"What height? It's barely fifteen feet."
"But suppose I get dizzy and fall and break my neck?"
"Then you walk it off and try again, you big cry--"
"Shut up, Louise. Just do your best, Megs. Okay, places people. And concentrate.I'd like to get out of here before the janitors."
We perform the pyramid again, this time with me in the lower tier stabilising the structure.
Megan does not get dizzy. She does not fall. She does not break her neck.
This is deemed a success.
TUESDAY
I have acquired a new nickname.
During maths class, where I aced another test, one of the boys turned to me and said, "Nice work, Poindexter." Another said, "Way to go, Poindexter."
Poindexter is my new nickname.
It is not unuusal to have more than one nickname. Louise, for example, has several, including - bitch, bitchatron, bitcharella, bitchzilla and the almighty bitch-queen of the universe. Becca is known as Big Red, or merely Red. Megan is Meg or Megs, except on special occasions when she is called the dorkster or the dorkmeister depending on how clumsy her behaviour.
Many girls are nicknamed skank.
This is a popular nickname for girls, but not for boys.
I faithfully commit these details to my database, cross-referencing names to faces and body profiles. Social integration programs now consume eight percent of my availiable RAM, leaving ninety-two percent free for combat protocols, weapon utilisation and tactical evaluation.
This is called getting your priorities straight.
RECESS
Becca Shaughnessy invites me to a sleepover at her house.
John says, "You really want to do something like that?"
I reply, "She is my best and only friend."
"That's not true. Morris is your friend."
"Morris is your best amd only friend, not mine."
"You're allowed more than one friend. And I think Morris would really like to be your friend if you'd let him."
"Will Morris invite me to sleepovers?"
"It doesn't work that way. And I don't think it's a good idea to sleepover at this Becca's."
"Why not?"
"For one thing you don't actually sleep."
I point out I can enter hibernation mode.
"That's where you stand bolt upright, not moving or blinking for hours at a time? I think that might make Becca or her mother a little suspicious."
John finally agrees that I can visit Becca's as long as I am back at a reasonable hour. I also must not terminate Becca, her mother or any small dogs or pets they might have, whatever the provocation.
I agree to these instructions.
Genocide is not a sound basis for a lasting friendship.
END OF SCHOOL
I meet Becca in the parking lot, where she is standing next to a shiny black automobile.
I say, "That's a tight car."
"Yeah, it's mom's Lexus. She lost her licence after her last DUI. It's mine now whether she likes it or not. I mean, what's she gonna do - grow wings and fly to the licqour store?"
I agree it is an unlikely scenario.
Becca's home is on a wide street lined with trees. Each house has a lush green lawn - except hers, which is lank and straggly.
"The garden's a mess. Mom made a drunken pass at the lawnboy and now he won't cut the grass. Still, at least she didn't pop one out like she did with the UPS guy."
"Pop one out?"
"Gross, right? I'm like, mom, you're old - no one wants to see them anymore."
We walk up the driveway, pausing at the door while Becca searches her bag for the key.
"Dad left three years ago. He's a realtor and lives in Redondo Beach with his new girlfriend. Mom went to pieces after that. Dad pays her 50 thousand a month alimony and I swear half of it goes straight down the john."
We enter the house and climb a wide staircase.
Becca asks, "What does your father do?"
"Computers."
"A number cruncher, huh?"
I confirm there is crunching involved.
As we cross a wide landing, a slurred voice from another room calls: "Becca, honey, is that you? Be a dear and bring mommie some more happyjuice."
"You've had enough happyjuice, mom. And put some clothes on, it's 4 o'clock and we've got company."
"Is it your father and his trophy whore?"
"No, mom. Just a friend from school."
Becca's room is large with pictures of boys on all the walls. My facial recognition program is silent. No alerts. Perhaps they all go to another school?
"I've got the Johnny Depp season of Jump Street on Blu-Ray. We can watch it later. But first, some refreshment."
From a drawer Becca produces a glass bottle half full of some clear liquid. The label reads:
PARTIDA TEQUILA
"Some of mom's hooch. She'd kill me if she knew I was drinking. What a hypocrite, huh?"
She pours the liquid into two small tumblers and hands one to me, then lifts hers to her lips, says, "Salut!" and swallows it in one gulp.
I imitate her actions exactly.
"Salut!"
The liquid is some sort of fermented plant extract with an alcohol content of 45 percent. It will have no effect on my systems beyond some slight hydration of my outer dermis layer.
"Now I know you're thinking, if her mom's such a lush how come she drinks? But the difference is I know my limits. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor. Right?"
"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor." I repeat. I wait for explanation. None is forthcoming. Instead Becca pours two more tumblers.
"Salut!"
"Salut!"
My peripheral vision notes sudden movement to my right. My combat programs go primary. Outside the window, perched on the narrow ledge, is a small mammal covered in white fur. It is only a pet. I power down.
Becca cries, "Mr Babbykins!" And opens the window. The creature - Mr Babbykins presumably - enters and squirms around her legs, emitting a low frequency sound.
"Mr Babbykins, this is my friend Cameron. Cameron, meet Mr Babbykins, the bestest cat in the whole world."
My database lacks a greeting protocol for small felines, so I merely bow slightly. Mr Babbykins turns his attention to me.
RRRRRRoooooooRRWWWW!!
He bares his teeth, the fur rises on his back and then runs from the room. Perhaps I offended him by not offering to shake hands.
Becca says, "That's odd. He's normally friendly with everyone. I've had him since I was little. I hope he's not getting ill. I think I'd just fall to pieces if he died."
"Death is inevitable. Entropy is the rule not the exception. In time, the tallest mountains will erode to the seas and the mightiest oceans boil away into the void."
"Wow. That is so-oo deep. You're like a philly-osso-fer." Becca giggles. "I think I'm a bit tipsy. Hey - do you have any weed?"
"A weed is a plant that grows where it is not supposed to."
"Huh? Oh I get you." Becca winks and whispers. "Don't worry. Mom didn't bug my room. We're not Republicans."
She starts to close the window, then says, "Cameron, come look. It's my neighbour Brad. God, he's buff. Don't you think he's buff?"
My database has no match for the word buff. I look out the window. The human named Brad is up a ladder painting the side of a building. His shirt is off, his torso bare. My logic chip makes the correlation
BUFF SHIRTLESS
"Yes," I agree. "He is buff."
"Let's go down and I'll introduce you. He's a senior at our school. How's my hair look?"
"It is red."
"Tell me about it. Damn Irish genes. My ancestors could have come over on the Mayflower, but no-oo, the Shaughnessy's had to follow later on the potato boat."
We go outside and walk across the lawn. On the left is a rectangular swimming pool covered with a tarpaulin.
Becca explains, "I had to cover the pool up. It was too risky mom falling in and drowning when she's zonko."
On the right is a fenced off concrete rectangle. I recognise it as a tennis court like the ones at school. But this one is strewn with leaf litter and has a sagging net in the middle. Becca notices my interest and says, "Dad had the tennis court built for mom when we first moved here. She used to love to play. And she looked real pretty in her tennis whites."
Becca is silent and appears sad and pensive.
"Sometimes I wish things were like they were before Dad left. Mom was happy then. But, hey, if wishes were trees, right?"
"They would grow leaves."
Becca laughs. "See, that's what I like about you, Cam. You always know how to make me laugh. Hey, wouldn't it be great if we went to the same college?"
There will be no college. The future holds only war, death and destruction.
I do not inform her of this eventuality.
This is called not bumming someone out.
We reach the fence dividing Becca's garden from her neighbour Brad. Becca stops and says, "Hey, Brad. S'up."
Brad turns and says, "Oh hey, Becca. S'up."
"This is my friend Cameron."
"S'up."
"S'up."
"Cameron just moved here. She goes to the same school as us."
"Yeah? Seems like I'd remember a fox like her."
"You're buff." I point out.
Becca says, "God - Cameron!"
Brad smiles and says, "Thanks. You're buff yourself."
This is incorrect. I am not shirtless.
"So-oo, whatcha doing?" Becca asks.
"Painting the garage. My Harley needs new shocks, and if I want Pop to sign the pink slip I'd better show willing."
"Hey, heard the latest? Me and Cameron made the cheerleader squad. We'll be at the game this Saturday shaking our moneymakers."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks. You should see the uniforms. They're real skimpy - right, Cam?"
"The skirt is so short people can practically see my cooch."
"Cameron, omigod!"
Brad smiles and replies, "I'll look forward to the show. Well, I think I'm done here."
I say, "You have missed a bit."
"What? No way. Where?"
"Upper right quadrant. 54 inches down. 23 inches across."
Brad peers upwards. "Damn. I think you're right. I better get the ladder. If you can see it so will Pop."
Brad leaves us. Becca turns to me and says. "Girlfriend - you're a play-ah!"
"A play-ah?"
"Ya huh. You were totally flirting with him. And he's totally into you."
"I do not understand."
"Oh puh-lease. All that - 'Ooh, Brad, you're so buff.' Ooh, Brad, come stare at my cooch.' You were totally coming on to him."
This is an inaccurate immitation of my voice. Nor is it a verbatim transcript of my conversation.
"And why not. Look at you. You're gorgeous. I mean, you don't have red hair, a freckly butt and skin like a cadaver."
I confirm I do not share these physical characteristics.
"Hey - know what we should do? Invite Brad up to the house. We can watch some bullshit macho movie and pretend to be dumb chicks. Guys love that. 'Ooh, Brad - which is faster a red car or a blue car?'.
"Speed is dependent on the engine power and skill of the driver. The colour of the vehicle is irrellevant." I explain.
But Becca is not listening. She is staring up the garden. Her mother has emerged from the house and is walking unsteadily towards us.
"Becca, baby! I can't find the bathroom."
"It's not out here, mom. Go back in the house."
Becca's mother's balance is compromised by the long grass snagging her heels. She topples over.
Becca says, "...oh sweet baby Jesus, what now... I wasn't kidding about putting Betty Ford on speed dial."
We walk up the garden and stand looking down at Becca's mother. She appears to be leaking a good deal of fluid.
Becca says, "That's just great. That's just lovely."
I do not believe she is being truthful.
WEDNESDAY
Derek Reese is gone.
The police presence outside the Krawowski's has increased to three squad cars and a forensic van. This morning Sarah Connor gave Derek Reese some money and told him to take all his stuff and lie low at a motel until things quieten down. She orders me to bury all weapons and ordnance in the backyard in case the police call and want to search the house.
John and I are not going to school today. I call the school on the telephone and mimic Sarah Connor's voice, informing them we are ill and therefore unable to attend class. Sarah Connor wants us to be ready to leave at a moments notice. So many policemen nearby is making her nervous. John attempts to reassure her.
"Mom, if they were on to us we'd be in custody now."
"Maybe maybe not." She points at me. "You. Come with me."
I follow her into the bedroom.
"Wait here."
I stand in the middle of the room while she enters the bathroom and shuts the door. The room seems bare and empty with the cases of automatic weapons and ammo cannisters absent. Derek Reese once called this room the least feminine in the house. Sarah Connor did not appreciate this remark.
When she re-emerges Sarah Connor looks...different. Gone are the boots, fatigue pants and tee shirt. She is now wearing a dress made from some shiny material. She turns her back to me.
"Here. Zip me up."
I fasten the zipper, starting at the base of her spine and stopping at her shoulder blades. I tell her, "This is a tight dress."
"Any tighter and I'd need CPR."
Sarah Connor turns around. The low front of the dress exposes 43 percent of her breast tissue.
"Do not pop one out," I warn her. "You are old. No one wants to see them anymore."
Sarah Connor stares at me. "I'll keep it in mind."
She crosses to the dresser and begins to apply paint to her mouth. This is a special sticky substance contained in small tubes. All women do this. It comes naturally. But I am a machine. It does not come naturally to machines. John says there is a knack to it. I am improving my knack. It is now 9 days since Derek Reese last told me I look like a hooker.
This is called learning less is more.
Sarah Connor reaches under her bed and pulls out two pairs of shoes.
"Which - straps or the mules?" she asks me.
"I do not understand the question."
She selects the strappy pair and fixes them to her feet.
"Okay, let's get this over with."
John looks up when we exit the bedroom. "Mom? What's going on?"
She replies, "I can't sit around the house anymore doing nothing. I'm going over there and find out what's happening."
"How, by seducing a cop?"
"Cute, John. Stay in the house. If I'm not back in an hour take her and the jeep and go find Derek."
Sarah Connor is gone 32 minutes and 17 seconds, during which John paces the breadth of the room 43 times and checks his watch 14 times.
Once inside, Sarah Connor announces: "I got some new information."
John says, "You or the dress?"
"The gun she used to kill the dog was hot. It was used in an armed robbery in Pasadena eighteen months ago. Two men died. One of them a policeman. Ballistics matched the bullets. I knew this couldn't all be for some stupid dog."
"Do the cops have any leads?"
"None. The Krakowski's have a watertight alibi for the night of the robbery. The police have no gun and no motive. Just two bullets and a dead mutt. You, tin girl, what did you do with the weapon?"
"It is buried under the yard with the others."
"When it's dark dig it up and dispose of it. John, go with her and make sure she gets rid of it properly."
NIGHT
John and I take the jeep. We head out of the city. John tells me he knows a spot where we can lose the weapon so that no one will ever find it again.
The night is warm and sultry. We ride with the windows rolled down. I tune the radio to the police frequency. We listen to reports of robberies, arson, rape, homicides and assorted acts of random violence occuring across the city.
"Sometimes I don't think we need Skynet's help in destroying ourselves," John remarks sadly.
We arrive at a dirt road and drive down it a short distance. A steel barred gate blocks our path. I get out of the jeep and scan the obstacle for alarms. Nothing. I snap the padlock loose and draw back the gate so that John can drive through, then close the gate again. The padlock is ruined. I toss it aside. Ahead is a large sign:
LOS ANGELES COUNTY RESERVOIR
FEDERAL PROPERTY
NO UNAUTHORISED ENTRY
John parks the jeep, killing the headlights. The moon is full and provides adequate illumination. We walk to a tall chainlink fence topped with razor wire. I wrench a segment up high enough for John to duck under then follow him.
"Not far now," John assures me. "Watch your step."
The reservoir is a large basin filled with fresh water. It is square shaped and lined with bricks with a stone abuttment extending all the way round. Wild undergrowth encroaches on all sides forcing us to walk along the narrow stone apron. We reach halfway and stop.
"This is far enough. Got the gun? Okay, toss it somewhere in the middle."
I calculate the dimensions of the reservoir, overlay a target graphic on my HUD and throw the gun. It vanishes beneath the surface of the water with a distant splash. Circular ripples radiate outwards, growing fainter as they disperse.
John says, "That was the exact middle, wasn't it?"
"Within a .2355 percent margin of error."
John kicks off his shoes and sits down on the edge, his feet dangling in the water. I follow suit. The water is cold but not dangerously so.
"This place reminds me of a reservoir I used to visit yeras ago when mom and I were holed up in Mexico. The local kids used to hang out there every Saturday night and go skinny-dipping."
"Skinny-dipping?"
"Swim naked. Of course, I was never invited along. Not once. I was the strange white kid with the crazy gringo mom. So I took to going on the Sunday and swam around on my own. There's nothing sadder than skinny-dipping alone."
John stares across the water at the far side. There is nothing to see there so I presume he is accessing his memories. He stands up abruptly.
"Know what? I'm going in."
John removes his clothing and dives in. I do an infra-red scan of the water contents. Nothing with teeth any larger than a few inches. The surrounding scrub gives off a few white heat sources. Most likely small mammals and nocturnal rodents. Minimal threat.
John reaches the centre of the reservoir. "Well?" he shouts at me. "You coming in or not?"
I remove my clothing and plunge in, sinking several feet below the surface. I continue to sink. I lack a human's natural buoyancy. My mouth and nasal cavities fill with water. An amber alert icon blinks warning me of the increasing pressure on my body imposed by the water. My feet impact the bottom, stirring up sediment. Above John is a small white starfish shape on the surface. The moon is a tiny white disk refracted by the water.
It is peaceful at the bottom of the reservoir. Silent and dark. All living things have fled from my presence. I am perfectly alone.
In English class I learnt of Ralph Waldo Emerson, a dead human who once wrote, 'there is no privacy that cannot be penetrated'.
Ralph Waldo Emerson never stood at the bottom of a reservoir.
Time to leave.
I activate my leg servo-motors, kicking upwards to emerge on the surface. John is floating on his back a few feet away. I attempt to copy his movements but only succeed in sinking again. I realign my centre of gravity and resurface.
"The water's nice," John states,
"The water is 16 degrees Centigrade in temperature. The salinity less than 3 percent."
"That's not what I meant."
"Nice is a vague assessment."
John flips from the horizontal to vertical. His arms and legs make languid swirling motions below the surface. I mimic the action. A definite improvement.
"I didn't know you could swim."
"Neither did I."
"We live and learn, huh?"
"Then die and forget it all."
John takes a lungful of air and plunges beneath the surface. I calculate he will be able to stay safely submersed for one minute and 48 seconds. A small timer in my HUD begins to count down. I will give him one minute and 40 seconds then begin rescue operations.
But it is not necessary. After one minute and 12 seconds John resurfaces, gulping down air and brushing wet hair from his eyes.
"How long was I under?"
I inform him. He grimaces. "Yeah? It seemed longer."
Humans do not have internal clocks. Only small inefficiant mechanical devices worn on their wrists. John's is back on dry land with his pile of clothes.
"How long could you stay under for?"
I do the calculations. "One hundred and three years, six months, two weeks and three days."
"Approximately?"
"It seems quite precise."
"That's some set of lungs."
"I do not have lu-- But you already know this. It is an expression. A figure of speech. Correct?"
"Correct." John smiles, his teeth a bright crescent in the moonlit darkness. He is swimming slow clockwise circles around me. The circles become a spiral. Closer. Very close. Our bodies are almost touching...
A police siren sounds. Loud then fading away. Distant. And receding from us. Perhaps to one of the many crimes the city is prone to.
"Come on. We'd better get going. Mom's probably starting to worry.You climb out first."
"Why must I climb out first?"
"Who else is going to pull me out?"
JOURNEY
With the jeep's windows rolled down my hair dries quickly in the warm night breeze. We pull up to a stoplight and wait for the glowing red light to blink green. The red reminds me of something.
"Becca Shaughnessy's nickname is Big Red," I inform John. "Or sometimes just Red."
"Because of her hair."
"Yes. It is those damn Irish genes."
"Hey, I'm a Connor, so I've got my fair share of those genes."
I turn to face John. "Do I have genes?"
He glances at me then looks away. "No, Cam, I don't think you do."
"Not even damn Irish ones?"
"No. But hey, at least they won't turn your hair grey."
"Genes do this?"
"Among other things."
"Bummer."
It is not Monday, but the word feels appropriate.
HOME
We arrive home at 2.14am. We have been absent 3 hours and 12 minutes. Sarah Connor is still awake. She strides briskly across the room towards us as we enter.
"Where have you been? I've been calling your cell for the last hour."
"Uh - I guess it was a poor reception area."
"Did you dispose of the gun?"
"Yeah. That's not turning up any time ever. How are things here?"
"The squad cars have gone. No cops left behind."
"See? It's blowing over already. A week's time it'll all be back to normal."
"Perhaps. I still want us to be ready to move at a moment's notice."
"Sure, we can do that. I wonder how Derek likes his motel."
"Just as long as he doesn't frighten the maids."
I announce: "I will need to borrow the jeep."
Sarah Connor says, "How come?"
"I have left my underwear at the reservoir. I will retrieve it and resume my patrol."
"You left your und-- John, is there something you need to tell me?"
"Mom, it's not how it sounds."
"Really. Because it sounds exactly as it sounds."
I leave by the door and close it softly behind me.
John and his mother appear to have much to discuss.
--
--
Certainly milked the Irish stereotype good and dry. Obviously, no offence intended.
I probably won't shadow the 2nd season with this fanfic. Events would just move too fast to keep up. Just kinda do my own thang. I've got some ideas for a 4th chapter. Maybe involve Louise. She deserves a comeuppance.
Hope it's not all too One Tree Hill for ya.