T W O

Someone was knocking on my door.

"GO AWAY!" I shut the black notebook closed.

"Honey..." the voice was my father's, worried and careful. He was back from his trip to Europe, I suppose.

I didn't care. Maybe he brought me gifts-Yeah right. Or maybe he wanted to say 'Hi' to his abnormal, grumpy, frustrated, and annoyed 16-year-old daughter. Even more unlikely.

Which left only one thing for him to want me for.

The 'You need to respect Susan, Kimmy. She's my wife now, and your mother...' blah, blah, blah talk.

"I said, 'Go away.'" I turned away from the door, pulling my knees up to my chest and hugging them. I stared at the Joan Jett poster on my wall.

Dad came in anyway. "Kimmy..."

"Kim, Dad."

"You need to-"

"I know the speech." I turned around and hopped off my bed and went out the door.

Susan was a Barbie Doll. Dad was Ken. Rich, hopelessly confused, Barbie-loving Ken. Four years ago, he married Barbie. Eight years ago, Mom died.

I guess I can understand where Ken was coming from. Barbie was perfect. Or, she likes to think she's perfect. Blond (Mom was a redhead, but I think Barbie's really brunette), fashionable (Mom classified a a hippie), 20, and she could do everything Dad couldn't-like cook.

But she married him for the money-I have a Franklin on it. He's rich, and she needed money for LBDs. Little Black Dresses. She tried to buy one for me.

I thanked her and proceeded to cut it up. Now it's a black tu-tu sewn onto a pair of jeans that I gave to Jazz for her birthday.

I texted Jazz.

KIM: DAD IS TRYING 2 CONVINCE ME 2 GET ALONG W/ BARBIE AGN MEET U SPOT

I came into the front yard and felt the rain hitting my head. Stuffing my RIZR into the back pocket of my dark jeans, I ran.

I heard Joan Jett's Bad Reputation and pulled out my cell.

JAZZ: K

I stuffed it back.

My black-and-neon hair was soaked with rainwater. It stuck to my face like glue and was sending shivers though my body as I bolted. I was cold and wet, shivering in the soaked-though black Myka Jelina Piper Fairy Tee and black cargo pants. Just the way I liked it.

The cold kept my brain off of things I didn't want to think about.

Jazz Reed is my best friend. She and I have known each other for ever. We can read each others' minds, finish each other sentences... we're like sisters. At school, we sick together like paper and glue. We're just about the only people who will talk to us-And we like it that way.

I saw a flash of bright orange hair in the trees ahead.

Jazz.

I ran faster.

"BOO!" said a voice. It was Jazz, I knew before I even turned to see.

"Oh, I am sooo scared!" I laughed, then put my arms out in front of me, walking around like a zombie. "Noooooo! Not the horrible Cat Queen! Anything but! Noooooo!!"

We both exploded with laughter.

"Okay," said Jazz between giggles, "You called me out here in the pouring rain, what do you want, Crazy?"

"Well, I'd tell you, but we're not there yet. Nice hair, by the way. I thought you were going green though."

"Orange is the new green." Putting on a old-kung-fu-master voice, she added, "Grasshoppar."

Jazz had a thing for abnormal hair colors that got her in trouble. She did styles sometimes too. She'd been bald, Fro-hawk, Mohawk, 'fro, blue, pink, rainbow...

All I had were neon streaks.

Today Jazz was sporting a bright orange pixie cut, spiked up with gel. Her blue eyes shone, the color contrast making them very noticeable. She was wearing a button-up white collared tee with the most busy tie she good find-A purple one with green stripes and orange polka dots, topped off with red swirls. She had the pants I made her on, and black boots.

Returning to reality, I bowed, hands together. "Thank you, Mastar."

She saluted.

Jazz and I had reached a barn inside the forest. It was big and silent. Some of the paint had chipped off, and the sides were covered in graffiti. Our band practiced there. I played bass guitar, and Jazz played drums. Lyn, who's family owned the place, played keyboard, Is, her sister sung and played electric guitar. Most days, sound loud enough to kill could be heard though the barn walls, but today it was quiet.

"Well, I'm grounded for a month." I puffed my cheeks up, stuffing my hands in to my pockets. The rain had stopped, but it was still cold.

"What'd you do?"

"Called Twerpy a twit, dummy, and twerp, then didn't listen to Barbie telling me not to call him a twit, twerp, or dummy, ran off to my room, ran out here when Dad tried to get me to apologize, and there's a sixty percent chance that I'll be out past my curfew."

"And your grounded for a month?"

"Forth time this week."

"Oh."

"Yeah."