1) Nothing really to say... You guys remember when my ANs used to be around seven points long? Now, I'm just like, "Meh."

6. Words

4,268 words

Glam & Glamour was the single most popular daycare center for girls in our area, and I had the pleasure – or misfortune, depending on how you viewed it – of working there. I was currently employed as a glamour girl, otherwise known as a glorified babysitter that plays dress-up and pretend for hours on end with little girls. There were a lot of sparkly clothes, fake child-safe makeup, a miniature hair salon, and other girly things. It was basically a little girl's dream come true. And unfortunately for Optimus… I had to work there this afternoon.

"I am uncertain about this, Private," he stated from his perch on the "mirror shelf" I was standing at. In our school's girl locker room, the upper half of one wall was completely taken up by a humongous mirror, and just under that mirror was a wall-to-wall shelf that had multiple outlets just underneath it. I was currently utilizing the shelf and an outlet. The curling iron I kept in locked up in my changing room locker was plugged in and warmed up to 360°F, and my hair dryer was sitting off to the side, already used and discarded.

"Optimus, there's really nothing to be afraid of. There's only about sixty little girls there at a time, and we've got plenty of supervisors making sure everything's safe," I assured him evenly as I removed the clip from my hair and started curling the top layer of hair.

"I do not fear injury, Tex. I fear endangering your job. I have never been good with children – "

"But that's what you're programmed to do!" I argued incredulously. "You're a toy, Optimus." Optimus made a flustered sound with his engine.

"Be that as it may, you did not activate my toy programming. I was made to be a toy, yes, but my memory states that I was not in charge of the sparklings on Cybertron, Elita was." I frowned at him.

"What about Bumblebee?" I asked, grimacing at a curl that refused to curl correctly. My inner perfectionist balked at the growing thought that I might have to give up on this curl and just let it be free to curl looser than all the others. Optimus frowned.

"Bumblebee was primarily in the care of Ironhide and Chromia," he informed me. "I had little input on raising him."

"Really?" I asked, surprised. I had read enough fanfictions to gather that while Optimus hadn't been the primary caretaker, he had still been very involved in the minibot's upbringing. Apparently not, though.

"You assumed different?" Optimus questioned wryly. Over the last few days, he had quickly grown to the fact that I had many preconceived assumptions about his past, his personality, and his beliefs. I gave him an amused look, one that told him I knew he was teasing, and turned my attention back to the stubborn curl.

"Well, if you're really that nervous, then you can stay in my backpack locked in my locker. No sticky-fingered children will find you there," I offered. Optimus grimaced.

"You know I could not allow that. It is my duty to protect you," he claimed, never one to give up his duties. I sighed loudly as I gave up on the stupid curl and moved on to the next one.

"Optimus, I highly doubt you need to worry about five- and six-year-olds beating me into submission," I informed him lightly. He grunted in disagreement.

"I refuse to allow you leave my sight. I… I believe I would worry too much over you," Optimus explained hesitantly. "You are the only thing I have in this world." I stiffened at this admission and looked down at him with wide eyes. Well, that was unexpected. I wasn't quite sure how I liked that statement, either. It had once been my dream to have someone that needed me, someone that loved me so much and had no one else to turn to. If they had no one else, I didn't have to worry about them leaving me, about them stabbing me in the back.

But I hadn't expected that once that happened… I'd feel this guilt. I was literally the only person Optimus had in this world. Suddenly, I felt so insufficient. How could I add up to Ratchet or Ironhide? To Bumblebee or Jazz? Pit, how would I measure up to Elita-One? Yeah, I wasn't pushing for any type of romantic relationship – he was a toy and a robot, no matter how sentient he was, and I wasn't any sort of deviant – but I was the only female in his life right now. He'd want someone to talk to; a confidant. He couldn't really have that with me.

"Uhm, well, on Mondays, my glamour gift is royalty…" I began. Translation: On Mondays, I had to dress up like a queen and pretend to rule over the many little princesses I would be taking care of. I couldn't continue the sentence, though. I had explained my job description and how our "glamour gifts" worked to my Personal yesterday while we got used to each other's presence in my room. I was uncertain what Optimus could do with this bit of information, though.

"Very well. I am the Lord Prime of Cybertron. High-caste events are not out of my social range," he responded as he watched me unplug my iron. I strode to my locker where I kept most of my work clothes. Every day, I wore whatever I needed to work, then I washed the clothes and brought them back the next day. I was actually lucky that I got this job as a senior because we got the biggest lockers. Though my locker was thin, it was tall enough to hold the dress that I was supposed to work in today. I gingerly reached in and pulled it out.

My outfit for today – for every Monday – was a simple white Grecian sweetheart dress made of taffeta and embellished with pleated ruffles. It was actually rather exquisite for a glorified babysitter, but no one ever said Glam & Glamour did things halfway. I kept my back toward Optimus as I pulled off the tank top and cotton shorts I had donned after my locker room shower.

"Optimus, I don't think these little girls are going to view you as the Lord Prime. They're going to view you as the fun, new toy I brought with me for them to play with." I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see Optimus wince, so I quickly went in for the kill. "You'll probably end up with the role of 'baby' while they play house." This time, Optimus' wince was pronounced, and I could sense the grimace under his face mask.

"Primus bless… Still, no matter how difficult or how… humiliating the task is, I have a duty I cannot abandon."

"Optimus," I groaned in exasperation as I shimmied into the dress and lifted the bodice to make it easier to zip up. I grimaced a little as I started doing my weird arm dance where I attempted to twist my arms awkwardly to reach the stupid zipper.

"No. I will not be swayed. Come here, and I will assist you with your gown," he ordered, and I obediently trudged over to him, shoulders slouched in defeat as I held the bodice up to cover myself, as if Optimus cared about seeing anything. "This is a lovely gown. Did you purchase it yourself?" he questioned as I turned my back to him. I had already gotten the zipper halfway up before he called to me, so he only had to zip it from the small of my back to my shoulder blades, the part that was always hardest for me to reach.

"No. My employer purchases them. The manager takes us out shopping the day of orientation. We have to pay them back for them if we work there for less than a year."

"I see," he responded as he finished zipping me up with only a little bit of difficulty. I turned to face him, reaching for my now cool curling iron. "You look very elegant. I believe no other high-caste femme could hold a candle to how you look right now."

I blushed – oh, how I blushed! – and looked down at myself as I touched the taffeta ruffle at my thigh. I had never been called elegant before. Heck, my father was the only one who had ever called me "beautiful." My brother had once commented that I looked "pretty" once, and Dylan had noted one day that I "looked like a girl." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but I had taken it as such. With Dylan, everything was normally meant as a compliment. When I looked back up at Optimus, he was frowning.

"Th-thank you," I stuttered as I wrapped the cord around my curling iron. I grabbed my hair dryer and walked them to my locker. I grabbed the high heels that went with the dress as well as a pair of comfortable moccasins I had been given. I slipped the moccasins on my feet and did a quick lock-up, stuffing the remaining clothes into my gym bag. I slung my backpack over one shoulder and the gym bag over my other, setting the heels on the flat top of the gym bag before holding my arm out to Optimus. He frowned.

"I do not want to wrinkle your dress," he stated. I rolled my eyes. The thing I loved about leaving my dress in the locker room was that the volleyball girls basically steamed the wrinkles out when they took their showers in here. The vents in the room were old and barely worked, so after school, when cheerleading and volleyball was over, chatty girls filed into the locker room to shower and dress in one of the three shower stalls, giving my outfits around an hour of steam cleaning. It was pretty fantastic. Like today, I normally waited until everyone was done and getting ready to leave before taking my shower. The locker room echoed, and all the mirror space and outlets were normally taken, so it was just better to wait it out. Normally, Dylan waited for me. In fact, he was probably standing outside the locker room either flirting with any girls that exited or mumbling about how long it took girls to get ready for the day.

"I work with little kids, Optimus," I pointed out. "They won't notice." Optimus gave me a pained look as he gingerly sat on my forearm right beside my bent elbow, his little hands gripping my shoulder. Somehow, I knew he was avoiding my dress, seeing as he usually gripped my shirt for balance, and I was thankful for his thoughtfulness, because I really didn't wanna accidentally flash someone. With all my stuff loaded up, I strode from the locker. I held my dress up with my free hand as I walked through the connecting bathroom and smiled when I exited to see Dylan leaning against the wall, staring up at the ceiling with such an appearance of boredom that I had to laugh. His eyes flashed to me, and he grinned back.

"'Bout time!" he teased, pushing off the wall with a grunt. "Wasn't sure you was gonna ever come out!"

"Hey! Perfection takes time, thank you very much," I responded in a lofty voice. Dylan locked eyes with me before reaching down to grab his bags.

"And perfection you are. Ya look like a girl, Liz," he stated with a smile. I rolled my eyes.

"Thank you, Dylan. I needed someone to reaffirm that for me," I teased back as we strode outside toward the senior parking lot. I didn't have a car yet, but Dylan did, and since our jobs were close to each other, he didn't mind dropping me off for work. It was what besties did for each other, according to Dylan.

"So, what's Optimus gonna do while you work?" Dylan asked as he opened the trunk to his blue 2012 Chevy Camaro. It was a collective birthday gift from his mom, his dad, both sets of grandparents, and one of his uncles. We called it Carlisle because, let's face it, a Chevy Camaro would never be seen as a female car ever again in our eyes. Curse you, Michael Bay.

"Apparently, he's hanging out with me," I responded as I dumped my gym bag into the trunk. I shifted Optimus over into the arm before dropping my backpack in after it. Dylan snorted in amusement but didn't respond as he shut the trunk and moved up to the passenger side of the car. Optimus and I shared a glance.

"Dylan's reaction to my situation is not reassuring," Optimus informed me seriously. I smiled down at him.

"Don't worry; I'll keep you safe," I promised.

"Hey, Liz, we leavin' today or do you wanna sit and chat wit' 'im for a while?" Dylan called back from where he was holding the passenger door open for me. I smiled at him as I strode forward and seated myself in the low bucket seat, carefully arranging my dress so it wouldn't get caught in the door.

"He is quite the gentleman," Optimus commented as Dylan jogged around the front of the car.

"His momma raised 'im right," I informed him.

"Okay, so now that the group's gone, can ya tell me what exactly went down between you and Megan last week while I was away?" Dylan requested as he slid his key into the ignition. Carlisle growled to life, his Camaro engine rumbling with power. I grimaced at the question.

"I already told you. Nothing," I responded as I pointedly stared out my window. Dylan scowled as he backed out, watching behind him for any idiot that felt like being funny.

"Yeah. Ya told me nothing. So tell me some'in' now," Dylan returned, purposefully twisting my words in hopes of get a response.

"Dyl…" I began, then I sighed. "Not now. Please?" Dylan huffed irately.

"Liz, I love ya. You're mah best friend," Dylan informed me. "But I can't protect ya if ya don't keep me up ta date. There's a lot of rumors –"

"Yeah, I know," I snapped. I hated him in that moment for bringing this up in front of Optimus. Even if Dylan didn't get anything out of me now, Optimus would ask later, and there was no lying or avoiding a topic with Optimus. "Look, Megan got pissed because Zach went out with me. She spread some rumors, did some damage, but it's all over."

"Does it got anything to do with why she wasn't at our table today?"

"I'm not some helpless victim, Dylan. If she wants a war, I'm more than happy to fight back. I've got more firepower and more connections than she does."

"I didn't even know you and Zach was datin'," Dylan responded with a frown, glancing at me from the corner of my eyes.

"We're not. I seriously don't even know what she was so upset about," I admitted. "We went and saw Hotel Transylvania, then we ate at Chili's and talked about what our respective summer camps were like. He talked about football. I talked about cheerleading. We ate. We went to our respective homes. End of story."

"Well, I ain't heard nothing from Zach in the locker room, and I ain't her nothing from any of the other guys, so I know he ain't the one spreading the rumors," Dylan noted. I shrugged. I actually wasn't really as upset about the rumors as I was about the person spreading them.

"Can we talk about something else? I mean, this really doesn't matter because nobody believes the rumors anyways," I pleaded, completely honest with my words.

"Okay," Dylan agreed. "How was cheer practice?" I brightened.

"Great! Clarisse only knocked the air out of me once! And no black eyes!" The conversation digressed from there to the dangers of cheerleading versus the dangers of football, and despite the cheerful conversation around him, the little Personal remained silent.

We arrived at Glam & Glamour about ten minutes later, and I opened my door the second he parked.

"Liz!" Dylan called, grabbing my wrist before I could stand out of the car. I paused, looking back at him with a frown. He seemed to hesitate, debating his words before he spoke. "I'm on your side. If Zach's the one spreading the rumors, I'm gonna kick his a-butt," Dylan promised, cutting off his curse word when I gave him a warning look. My swear jar was legendary amongst my clique.

"Dyl, I'm not worried about this," I informed him. "You shouldn't be either. Now pop the trunk."

I stood from the car as Dylan obeyed. I helped Optimus readjust and find his balance on my arm, and we had just reached the back of the car when the engine cut off. Dylan stepped out and jogged to my side, reaching around me to grab my backpack and gym bag. I sighed loudly as I grabbed my heels and stepped back to let him close the trunk.

"You're really taking this 'Southern Hospitality' thing a little too far," I informed him flatly.

"I jus' wanna help," he whined, widening his eyes for effect. I rolled my own hazel orbs and strode into the building, Dylan trailing behind me after he slammed the truck closed. We entered the huge building, and as always, Dylan shuddered before scurrying along the wall to the lockers against the wall.

Glam & Glamour could be easily classified as a huge dream house for little girls. In the far right corner was a huge castle with carpeted stairs, hallways, and balconies with high railing that little girls couldn't climb over. The castle was painted pink, and the inside held a throne room, a jewelry room, a small kitchen area with fake food and fake ovens and such, and a bedroom with a big bed for sleeping princesses. The thing was built so that it looked like the girls could only see the bottom portion of it, appearing as if the tall spires appeared above the roof.

Beside it stood a huge plastic 20-foot-tall tree that worked as a jungle gym for the little girls pretending to be wildlings and fairies. The tree supported walkways that twisted around toward its branches, and a big treehouse was situated at the top. Nets lined the walkways for safety. The bottom of the tree was hollowed out to make a pixie art room, where girls could color, paint, and sprinkle "pixie dust" on whatever they pleased.

To the far left, opposite the two fairy-tale structures, a large stage was set up with a karaoke machine, stage lights, and a microphone. Perfect for little popstars that are ready to sing to their tone-deaf hearts' content.

Then directly across from the door were the "salon," the "dress shop," and the "supermarket." Glam & Glamour employed two hair stylists who needed the extra cash, and their only job was to do little girl's hair. Popstar, princess, fairy. It didn't matter; the stylists came up with something. G&G also ensured that the stylists had a huge supply of disposable combs and hair accessories to reduce the chance of lice and other such hair problems.

The dress shop was a room that was set up like a clothing store with dress-up clothes that went over the girl's clothes and were returned and washed at the end of each day. A woman worked in there to make sure girls got the right sizes and everything stayed clean and tidy.

The supermarket was the final area. It had little hand-held baskets, and the girls could walk through the supermarket and buy whatever they wanted to cook. Then, they went to the "self-checkout," where they scanned each item, "paid" for it, and left to cook in the palace.

As I mentioned before: Glam & Glamour doesn't do things halfway. The building itself took up about half a football field, give or take a few yards, and at the moment, it was crawling with little girls playing their make-believe games and glamour girls trying to keep up.

As I walked along the entry wall toward the personnel lockers hidden in the front left corner, I glanced down at my strangely silent Personal. Optimus hadn't said a word since Dylan sat in the car, and I had a sinking feeling I knew what he was thinking about. Well, might as well get this over with while I had a good excuse to quit the conversation. If I broached this at home, I'd never get him to back off.

"So… changing your mind?" I asked lightly. Optimus jolted a little as if startled from his thoughts. He glanced around at all the children as if seeing them for the first time, then peered up at me.

"I have no doubts that you will keep me safe from these children's exuberance," he stated. "Would you like to tell me what Dylan was speaking of?" Of course. Well, I suppose it would be better to let him know the cruelty of high school now: when our relationship was at its start.

"A friend of mine, Megan, got jealous because a guy asked me out, so she went around telling people that I was… intimate with the guy. It's okay, though, because I got her back." Optimus frowned at that.

"Though I dislike her spreading rumors about you, I doubt revenge was the best response," he informed me. I shrugged.

"It's not like I ruined her reputation. I just made some of her friends understand how cruel she can be. As I said earlier, I have connections."

"That does not change the fact that you hurt her in return, and you now have no idea how she will retaliate." I sighed.

"Optimus, high school is kind of like war. It's a dog-eat-dog atmosphere, and if I don't strike back, people think I'm weak."

"Forgiveness and mercy are not weaknesses," Optimus chided.

"No, but striking back sets a precedent. Nobody else will spread rumors about me now," I returned as I arrived at the lockers. Dylan was already stuffing my gym bag and backpack into one of the slim lockers

"And the rumors she spread about you?" Optimus asked, his voice layered with concern. I smiled down at him.

"They're just words. Words can't hurt me. I'm not worried," I responded, and I wasn't. Megan might have been able to spread lies about me, but I was the captain of a cheer squad, all of whom had the ability to gossip with each and every person they walked past. Megan had chosen the wrong girl to mess with. I knew Optimus was about to reply, but I had to slide my time card and get to work, so I hugged Dylan and said my goodbyes. I placed Optimus on the floor as I pulled off my moccasins and replaced them with my four-inch gold stilettos. With my full outfit complete, I strode the few feet to the time clock, grabbed my card from above the clock, and punched it in before returning it to its spot.

"Okay, Lord Prime, you ready?" I asked as I held my arms out to the small Personal. Optimus nodded as he stepped into my arms, seating himself on my forearm as I walked toward the castle, where I would be working today.

"Those shoes appear rather painful to walk in," Optimus noted as he glanced around my arms to gaze at the back of my shoes as I walked. I grinned at his statement, the same statement that millions of men around the world had made.

"Eh, you get used to them. It just takes time and—"

My words were cut off with the cheerful shout of "Queen Elizabeth!" That title alone made my whole day worth it. Yeah, I was definitely nowhere near as wise or leadery as the true Queen Elizabeth, but there was a part of me that snickered whenever they called my name. It was the same part that snickered every time I heard my grandmother mention her foot surgeon, Dr. A. L. Pepper. Dr. Pepper. For some reason that was hilarious to me.

"Hello, my little princesses!" I greeted as I was quickly surrounded by a small swarm of girls dressed in pink, blue, and purple dresses. "Ladies, this is Sir Prime, my noble knight. We have to play nice with him because it's his job to make sure nobody gets kidnapped. Everyone understand?"

"Yes!" came the synchronized response. I grinned at them.

"Very good. Now, let's head to the castle. I am quite in the mood for tea. I don't suppose any of you little princesses knows how to host a tea party, do you?" Just like that, the crowd dispersed, some going to the castle and others going to the supermarket. I, however, moved directly to the throne room, moving around the castles internals until I found what I was searching for. I sighed happily as I sat on my throne and looked down at Optimus, who sat in my lap.

"See? Not so bad. I think you'll be fine." He looked up at me, sighed, then leaned back against my chest.

"I don't suppose you wish to continue that last conversation, do you?"

"Nope," i responded easily. He sighed again.

"Very well, my queen. When shall this mystery kidnapper appear?"

"Our evil sorceress for the day, Chloe, should be here around four-thirty. That's when we'll have to worry."

"Very well. Let us commence the tea party."

Angel897: Thank you, my dear! I'm glad to have entertained you. :)

I Am The Silver Lining: Sadly, he won't. Persobots Inc. is busy with Marvel, DC, and Mattel. The next Personal: Transformer won't come out until Jan of 2014, two years from this story's first chapter, and that will be Autobot Bumblebee. Seeing as Persobots Incorporated is actually a pretty small company that hand makes every part and develops its own technology, they have to take a lot of time coming up with designs, technology, and pre-made robots to sell as demands grows. Elita-One is low on the priority list, especially when they can sell Optimus, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and other such popular Autobots.

Autobot Phoenix: Thanks. I worry that my mouth will hurt too much to talk the next day, and my job requires speech, so I needed to know if I would wanna take the next day off, ya know? Thank, though. :)

A Wiccan: :( I feel for ya. Everyone knows that I write fanfiction, but few care. I don't give my username out to my friends (I was super pissed when my friend Lynn gave Dylan my username.) Nobody knows that I write romance, though. I just tell them it's science fiction. It's good that you have that support, though, even if it's only from one person.

PepperCornPie: My thoughts exactly. My mom actually pondered that one to me when I was telling her about this story. I could only imagine the pain of knowing that none of your friends exist and in reality, none of them may ever exist.

And yes, these are my true friends (under alias in this story, of course. The except being Dylan, who told me I could put him in my story if I made him sexy *eye roll*) And yes, my physics teacher was just like that. He only let the seniors get away with it, though. He knew we didn't care about the class, and his heart was in biology, so he just let us blow the class off. I, personally, had the class after lunch and generally spent the entire class sleeping. It was rather glorious.

CodeRed73: *snicker* In the e-mail, it blanked out the word "blow" like it was a cuss word. *snicker* Aw, you make me blush! And you make Dylan blush! I'll have to let him know that you think he's awesome. He's such a sweetheart. And believe me, by the end of the first semester, we all hated Margaret, too. We just didn't have the heart to kick her out. *le sigh* And believe me, she was a pain in the aft before Tex got the Personal. *grumble*

Oh, hey! Love meeting my fellow Texans! Okay, okay. Um… favorite fast-food Mexican restaurant, favorite country singer, and most hated creature in Texas: Go! And it's on the top of my profile. It's just questioning whether you'd prefer me answer reviews via PM or at the end of my chapters.

PandaGirlPlaysTheTuba: Lol, I guess you get tired of repetitive plots? That's my pet peeve for this site. Too many people copy other people. And you'd actually be okay. Once the Personal imprints on you, it can't belong to anyone else, so once your thief goes to sleep at night, your Personal will sneak out, access his GPS, and return to your home address with documented proof of the thievery if you wish to press charges. :D Best. Toy. Ever.

Esperanza Hyde the Vamp Queen: Ikr?! I would love a Personal: TF! I wish I could will my ideas to life. DX

Jaacs McHenry: That makes sense. I was reading online, and everyone just said it hurts a little. I didn't believe them. Thank you for being honest with me. And thank you for the compliments. :)

SunnySides: Huh… That'd actually be kinda cool, to be considered the third trine member… Tell you what, you'd have some friggin' loyal Personals at that point… Interesting idea, though.

Jim: Omg, I know! I play my iPad when I do my hair, and it's half impossible to find the song I'm looking for because I usually search via album cover. Gag me! I don't know how to fix it either! I tried syncing it and everything, but no. Itunes has to be difficult. Maybe I'll google it…

Anonymous: No. No OP/OC romance in this. Maybe OC/OC, but I'm not sure. And I agree. I don't think they thought it through. Or maybe the programmer wasn't thinking when he wrote the memories into his programming. Who can say? He was a prototype. Prototypes are supposed to have mistakes. Besides, I think they were concerned that if they left out anything in his past, they'd change his personality in some way, ya know? I understand their thinking, just don't agree.

Glam & Glamour seems like it would be such a fun place to work. Anybody else got any dream part time jobs?

And on another note, revenge is not a good thing. The things Elizabeth did here, the things I foolishly did in the past, are not things you should ever think of doing. Elizabeth is luckier than me in this because she won't have the consequences I did (or maybe she will. I'm still deciding), but revenge never makes things better. It only creates more anger and a harsher retaliation. Turn the other cheek. Forgive. You don't need that kind of bitterness in your life.