A/N: Chapter 2… hope you all like it! R&R, remember, this is for YOUR enjoyment!
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. I'm too lazy to keep stating the obvious.Door #7
The wind picks up as I pass the High School on my way back home. It's empty now… after all, it is 6:00. I managed to work another double shift. I don't mind it, really. I'm one of those chosen few who enjoy their work and getting paid a little extra never hurt anybody, especially with a husband who has a gambling problem. It's not his fault, though. If he had known that his family had a history of gambling addiction, he'd never have started. I'm not just making excuses for him. While Oscar isn't Prince Charming by any definition, he's still a good man. He tries my patience more than often but you have to remember that he wasn't always like that.
I stop for a while and just stare at the High School building. Mine was so different. It wasn't nearly as large as this facility… but then again, the school population wasn't even one third of this. It was a small building, but compared to the pathetic little grammar school I attended it was enormous. I remember my first day of freshman year. My mother had forced me to wear a white dress and a straw hat into which she commanded that my hair be tucked into. I looked like I had stepped out of The Little House on the Prairie. That's when I met Deana.
Deana was average height with black hair and brown eyes. Truthfully, she scared me shitless when I met her. She had fake leather pants with zippers all over and a chain belt. To match these, she had red high top sneakers. She had a black long-sleeved shirt rolled up to her elbows, exposing huge bracelets with spikes or fake fur.
"Hey, you got PE first period?" She asked.
I looked at my schedule and answered nervously, "Yes."
"And Music second?"
She extended her hand, "I'm Deana."
I took it weakly and gave a timid shake.
She laughed. "I don't bite."
"I didn't think you did…" I replied, more frightened than I had ever been in my entire life.
"What's your deal?" She asked.
I looked at her, confused.
"Who are you?" She rephrased.
"I'm Suzy." I answered.
"I don't mean to be rude… but what's with the dress?" She asked.
"My mom made me wear it." I replied.
"Ah. She strict?"
I made eye contact. "You have no idea."
"No way. Is she one of those crazy hippies?"
"What's a hippie?" I asked.
Deana looked at me. "You're kidding."
"No." I replied.
"Oh my God…" She gasped. "Do you not have a radio?"
"You don't have a record player either, do you?" She asked, fascinated.
"Listen, Suzy. Are you doing anything after school?" She asked.
"Good. You're coming over." Deana explained.
I knew my parents would be mad… but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. After talking to Deana all day, I wasn't so scared of her. Still, I wondered what it would be like at her house. Obviously her parents let her wear a lot of black. My mother said that black was the Devil's Color, and only acceptable at funerals. I had a lot to learn.
Deana's older brother picked us up from school. He had black pants, also with chains and a matching T-Shirt that said "The Ramones" on it. He had black hair and brown eyes like Deana. He looked strong and handsome.
"How's my favorite sister in the world?" He asked, rolling down the window.
"Can it, suck-up. I'm your only sister." Deana replied, opening the car door.
"How was your first day?" He asked.
"An experience." She said. "This is Suzy. She's coming over."
I followed her into the car and sat down.
"Brian, this is Suzy. Suzy, this is Brian." Dean said.
Brian extended his hand and I shook it. He had a strong, firm handshake. Deana explained that he was 19 and trying to get famous with his band. She also explained what a "band" was.
I found her parents incredibly amiable. They were normal and kind, always offering food or soda, trying to make me feel welcome. I learned that they had moved here from New York because Deana's father had received a job transfer. Deana's room was covered in posters of bands like The Misfits, The Clash, The Sex Pistols, Joan Jett, Social Distortion, The Ramones, Minor Threat, Guns n' Roses, and Bad Religion to name a few. She played her favorite records for me and explained that she modeled her style after Joan Jett.
"You know, my mother would kill me if she knew I liked this music." I said.
"Really?" Deana asked.
"She'd probably kill me if she knew I was listening to music." I answered.
Deana looked at me.
"Nothing… it's just… have you ever tried out some makeup? I think you could pull off the punk look."
Deana was right. She let me borrow an old pair of black pants and a shirt before she did my makeup. It did look good. Looking in the mirror, I felt like a new person.
I didn't want to leave, but I knew that of I wasn't home in time for dinner, my father would worry and my mother would be angry. Deana said that it was fine and that I was welcome to come over again tomorrow. I said that I would walk and she laughed, replying that she and Brian would drive me home.
When I got home, my father began to question me about school, asked me if I liked my classes and if I had made any new friends.
"I met Deana." I replied.
"What's she like?" My father asked.
"She's so nice. She's in all my classes, and she's really good at English."
"Where's she from?"
"She lived in New York but she moved here over the summer."
"New York, huh?"
"Well, Deana is welcome here anytime, so long as your work is done." He said.
"Suzy… what's on your face?" My mother's icy voice asked.
"Relax, Elizabeth. It's normal for a girl Suzy's age to wear makeup." My father said.
"It's normal for a whore to wear makeup!" My mother fumed.
"Everyone wears it nowadays." My father countered.
"Not my daughter!"
"Would you let her live a normal life?!" He replied, raising his voice.
"My daughter will not be a whore!"
"We raised her better than that! Makeup doesn't make anyone a whore, for Christ's sake!" He shouted.
My mother gasped again.
"What did you say, Peter?"
"For… Christ's… Sake… would you stop this?!"
She gasped again.
He just looked at her, refusing to back down.
"The Devil's in you, Peter Martin. The Devil' in you."
"The Satan's in you, crazy woman!"
Again, my mother gasped. "How… dare… you…" She said again, "How dare you…"
"Come on Suzy. We're going." My father said, taking my hand and escorting me outside.
Well, needless to say we didn't go back.
A/N: The timeframe is accurate… it took painstaking math equations to figure it out.