Kate, 1986 age 15: Shutting my eyes, I scrunched down farther under the covers to block out the sound of his voice.
"I'm not here." I muttered to myself.
"Kate! Get up! Get ready for school!" my brother Kurt yelled from the bathroom for the third time. The pink bathroom is across the hall from mine. It is long with three separate parts to it. The first part has a huge mirror across the main wall with small mirrors on each side that if opened would reveal small shelves inside. Shelves littered with half empty mascara and eye shadow containers. A collection of assorted and mostly used perfume bottles, a half dozen or so used up toothbrushes and aerosol hairspray. The counter under the long mirror is a mess of used towels, brushes, hairdryers and curling irons. This is where one can wile away the hours staring at ones self, trying to create the best 'face' for the public. The next partition of the bathroom holds a sink with a few small mirrors so that while brushing your teeth you can examine the blemishes that you are blessed with. The third and final room, the only part with a door, holds the shower, toilet and another sink along with the water heater that works for the whole house. This is the 'girl's' bathroom because it's pink, although I'm the only girl left down here. Pink everything. My brothers have no choice but to use it unless they want to go upstairs and wait in line for the 'family' bathroom by the kitchen. I heard my brother walk up the stairs over my head. He wouldn't be late. He would drop my little brother off at the elementary school and then go to the High School. I, on the other hand, will stay here in the covers, way down deep, and pretend to sleep until I really do slumber and keep my eyes closed and not move a muscle.
'Get up.' Said Claire.
"I can't hear you." I whispered.
'We can't miss school again. Get up.'
"Can't hear you…somewhere far away….can't go today"
'We CAN go today. We need to go today. You go to sleep and I'll take us to school.'
"Ok." I mumbled. The new high school is only three blocks away, but we Ralston's always have a car to drive. Kurt is the primary driver now. Before him was Rhonda. She is two years older than Kurt. She was the last driver of the '78 Subaru, now retired. The small Toyota truck my dad drove to and from work, until it was too run down for a doctor to be seen in, suits me just fine and I can't wait till it's my turn to occupy the driver seat. Claire got up and into the shower. The pink tile and shower curtain set off a rosy glow and invigorated her. I shut my eyes and went to sleep. I can do this in my sleep. I can not do this in my sleep, because Claire will do it for all of us. Dressing in tighter jeans than I would have chosen and more makeup than I would prefer, Claire ran upstairs, yelled bye to mom, grabbed our books and headed out the door. Mom, still in bed of course, yelled a muffled 'Bye'. Claire likes makeup, clothes, boys, friends, and parties. She is cute. Maybe even pretty, but more important, she has self-confidence, something I lack. She doesn't give much precedence to my parent's rules and religious practices. Life is too short, she'd say. The person that has the most fun before death is the winner.
She doesn't have a lot of feelings. They get in the way of having fun. Feelings mean responsibility, and if you're too responsible then you can't be free to do what you please. Other people can worry about themselves. I get exhausted from worrying about everyone's feelings. It's a trait of my mother's and that only reinforces Claire's views. I'm too tired this morning to argue with her about how my mother should have been up to send me off and at least cared that I'm late. Let her think what she wants. Claire, 1986, age 15: Trespa High School is a large brick building complete with football field, gymnasium and auditorium. It only takes about ten minutes to walk there from the house and it's only English class I'm missing so I'm not real worried. I've been tardy at least ten times this semester, but my first period teacher, Mr. Halstone likes me, so he doesn't write them down. That's how most of the teachers are. I even call him by his first name, Brant. Not many of the students can get away with that. But like I said, he likes me. I don't turn in half of my homework assignments, either, but it hasn't affected my grade at all. Most all my guy teachers are like that. Flash them a pretty smile, show a little leg, flirt with the old bastards and you can slide through pretty much everything. Last year I got an A in History all year and I couldn't tell you one thing we learned. The women teachers are a little different. You have to actually learn enough to sound like you're trying. They always let me do extra credit to make up stuff I don't do, and it's usually easier than the original assignment. It helps being the Dr.'s daughter. Kate should be kissing the ground I walk on. I've made her high school years a breeze. Everyone likes her. She's popular, beautiful, has a boyfriend and gets mostly good grades. I walk into class, and of course, it's already started. My friend, Alana, has saved me a seat. She smiles, I wave a finger of hello and then flash my pearly whites at Mr. Halstone.
"Hi Brant" I mouth to him. "Sorry I'm late" "Welcome to class, Kate. Glad you could join us." he says a little sarcastically. I can feel his eyes following my ass in these tight jeans as I go to take my seat. Poor guy, he probably hasn't been laid in weeks. He'll have to play pocket pull to cover how much he likes to look at me. Men, as a general rule, are weak animals. Other women have been known to call them pigs, but I just prefer to call them sad. To be ruled by your hormones: that really is sad. If they could just control themselves, women wouldn't control their world with sex. On the other hand, it makes my life interesting and easy.
Tod, Len and Ryan all say hello to me. Of course they are all thinking the same thing: they think I'm hot. It's fun flirting with them. If I lean down a little when I talk to them, they get a little peek at the 'girls'. A cheap thrill, but I don't mind doing that for them. They are OK guys, after all. As long as it's not that geek Jerry. He grosses me out so bad with his greasy hair and zits. Where is his mother to help out with hygiene? I mean, really! But, on the other hand, who else in his sad little life will ever give him the time of day? It's supposed to be good to be nice to all of God's creatures, right? I can't help smiling as I think of Jerry thinking I really like him. What's the harm? I'm a once in a lifetime for him. 'You're so not nice, Claire,' Sydney says. 'He has feelings, too.' 'Shut up, Syd.' I tell her in my head. 'You think guys care about us? They just use us to get what they want. It's a cat eat dog world. Besides, every time you get a chance to prove to me that you're right, they blow it for you.' I haven't been paying attention to class. It doesn't really matter anyway. Class is over. I go to exchange my books for math. The teacher, Mr. Files, is the only exception to the rule. Probably why I'm getting a C in pre Algebra. He's a tall lanky guy who always looks like he just swallowed something sour. I think he's a little weird. After all, I seem to have no affect on him. Maybe he's gay. When I open my locker, a small, folded up, football-shaped paper falls out. With out looking, I know it's from Ryan, my boyfriend. I share this locker with him. He's a senior, and since I'm just a sophomore, that's pretty cool. I shouldn't even be in this hall. The actual locker that's assigned to me is on the other side of the school. My friends are so jealous. Ryan is one of the 'jocks'. He has dark hair, blue eyes and he's about the same height as me, but I'm tall for a girl, 5'10", so lots of the guys are the same height or shorter than me. Ryan is built: nice muscular chest and arms, nice backside. In fact, he looks good from all sides and that's just what I need. As long as you're not tender hearted, like Kate or Syd, dating high school boys is no big deal. You just have to know how to handle them, know what to expect. For instance, if they 'go out' with you for over a year and you haven't 'done it' consider yourself lucky. Most guys won't wait past a few months. Who cares if they are Christians and supposedly believe in abstinence until marriage? And don't get fooled into thinking they really care about you, either. They are just thinking about one thing: getting down your pants so they can tell their friends about it. It's all a game and as long as you know the rules, you can win.
Just knowing I always have a date to everything makes my life less stressful. Not to say that I don't flirt, because I know I do, but I wouldn't actually go out with all these losers who want me. I just like to keep them all guessing. The note says:
Hey You!
Didn't see you before 1st P.
How unusual…Ha Ha
You better be around soon, or ELSE.
(You know what else.)
Don't forget, I.L.Y.
R. He always signs everything I.L.Y., which, of course, is short for I love you. I wonder if he really thinks he means that. I wonder if he even knows what that means. I know I don't, but I say it back to him all the time. It just seems like the thing to say. I don't think people really know how to love other people. When you say 'I love you', I think what you really mean is 'I love myself when you say you love me. It makes me feel more important'. I write back to him on the other side:
Hey You!
Next time try opening your eyes.
Tell me what else.
I like to hear you beg…Ha Ha
I.L.Y.2.
K. Then I grab the lipstick from the top shelf, put on a thick coat and kiss the paper. Jamming the note, now wrinkled and smeared with lipstick, into the crease along the side, I grab my math book and slam the door. He'll see it first thing when he opens it. I don't mind everyone calling me Kate. It's the name we are known by on the outside. Syd cares more. She wishes everyone would call her Sydney. She wants to be known.
It's kind of pathetic, really, the way she wishes things all the time. Why waste your time wishing or complaining? If a thing can be fixed, then fix it. If not, then shut up and accept it.
Kate is a nice name. People can call me whatever they want. It makes them feel more comfortable than if I told them to call me Claire. My friends would freak. My parents would have more reasons to worry about me and shake their heads. Who needs that kind of pressure? The Others: Protector, G.K., and Kate Too (Too for short) don't mind staying under the Kate name, either. Predator…. well, let's not talk about Predator. On my way down the halls to my math class, I wave and say hi to everyone. My brother, Kurt passes me right in front of the office. I look at him, he looks at me and then he forces his face to smile and says "Hey, Katy Kate."
"Hey, Kurt." I don't smile back as I walk past him. I see no reason to pretend. I know he doesn't really like me. Since he's my brother, he wants me to feel guilty about the way I act, dress and talk. I embarrass him. He's a Ralston, a son of Dr. Ralston. I confuse him by changing the way I act all the time. But that just happens when we switch. I don't act the same as Kate, Sydney or the others. It's not my fault. I'm just myself. I can't control it and I don't plan to lose any sleep worrying about what he thinks of me. Kurt and I used to be real close, back before I knew better, back when I thought he liked me just for me, however that was, back before I started high school and started embarrassing him. I think he betrayed me. We used to hang out. He'd take me on dates and stuff, just for fun. We always went to the church teen activities together. I thought he was the one guy I could trust. But, after starting school, I realize he's just like my dad. He doesn't even ever say 'hi' to me in front of his friends. He's so worried about appearances. This town is so hypocritical. Saturday night I'm out with the majority of kids partying, dancing, and getting stinkin' drunk and high as a kite. The next day, as long as you show up for church and look penitent, everyone thinks you're a great Christian. I'd love to show all these mommies what their boys are up to the night before they choke on their ties, half drunk and still high as they sit on the pews. It's all a game. I hope math class goes fast. I could use a smoke about now. | 
