Mom finally came home. "Lindsay," she called upstairs, "help me get the groceries out of the car."

I dragged myself out of my bedroom and down to the kitchen. I was determined. I'd tried to talk to her before, but she told me to stop thinking those terrible things. I'd told her Sam was 'doing things', but she told me to shut up, that Sam was a very nice man. She got so mad, I was afraid she'd kick me out. Have me arrested. But I wasn't going through another session like that last one.

I caught her at the back door. "Look, we have to talk."

I dreaded having to do this. I was ashamed and halfway thought it was my fault. Sam said it was.

She brushed past with a bag of stuff.

"Mom." I followed her.

She set the bag on the counter next to the fridge.

"Mom." I felt so stupid. "Sam--"

"--I don't want to hear a word against Sam, do you understand?"

Whoa, she was icy.

"You don't understand," I begged. "We have to talk." I followed her back to the car and got a bag of stuff. "Mom, listen."

She turned on me. Not to me, on me. "No, you listen. I don't want to hear a word against Sam. It's you who doesn't understand. Do you think we could live in this big house, drive two new cars, and have nice clothes, if it weren't for him?"

My world sort of came apart. I could hear pieces of it falling, hitting the garage floor. She knew. I blinked. "But--" I followed her back inside.

Mom said, "Sam is a good provider. He treats us very well. It's time you learned the world isn't the way we want it to be, sometimes."

I couldn't believe my ears. Or the look in her eyes. "But he--you don't get it, he--"

She slapped me. My head bonked the fridge. Talk about seeing flashes of light.

"Lindsay, get this: without Sam, we'd be in that single-bedroom apartment. No air conditioning. Drunks for neighbors. Secondhand clothes. Do you want that?"

"Yes, I want that!"

She slapped me again, but this time I managed to block most of it. She hurt my arm, though.

"I don't, Lindsay. So shut up. Live with it." The next day she got me on the pill. And that was that. I never wanted to be part of it. It was humiliating.

Sam convinced me he cherished me, though. He pulled me into his web, or he spun one around me, I don't know which, until I just accepted him with the same enthusiasm I did the laundry. Fighting him never occurred to me. The dull, repetitive shock numbed any fight left in me. I didn't even get upset much anymore.

And to be fair, Sam was never rude or crude or deliberately hurtful. If I'd do what he wanted without a fuss, I got money or clothes or neat stuff. I didn't have any choice, what with Mom being okay with it. So I accepted it.

Sam affected me in ways other than numbing my modesty, a natural thing that went first. Oh, he was a good trainer. Something else went that I didn't realize, because it hadn't gotten a real chance to develop: an interest in guys. On the bus, the guys made lewd comments, and most of the girls blushed or giggled or whatever. I knew all that stuff. I just ignored them. A couple of other girls did too, but this one girl got super vulgar towards them. She wore the best clothes money could buy. I thought of her as Rage Girl. The other one looked like a dork. She always tried to sit next to me on the bus. When the guys started with their comments, she'd just pull her coat collar around her ears and chew on the point of one. The other kids teased her a lot because she always wore these dorky clothes. Granny dresses. Except these were the real thing. Never nice ones, either. Just long and ill-fitting, mid-calf when the style was above the knee. Lots of girls wore shorts. So that's how I thought of her: Dork. She never spoke if she could avoid it.

I had gym class with her and the vulgar one. Rage Girl was hateful. Angry. Dork was stone quiet. Like me. Like I was getting to be, I realized. I had this awful secret life I had to protect, because Sam made me believe I'd go to some girl's reformatory if anyone ever found out. That Mom would go to jail. I seldom got to go out with my friends. Sam demanded most of my time. If he took me malling, it was just the two of us.

I loved to run; I wanted to be on the track team. I thought Sam would have a fit, but he surprised me by almost pushing me into it. I never wondered why. But he warped that too, because to be part of a team meant you got to be friends with other girls and slept over or malled or just hung out, and this Sam liked a whole lot. Pretty soon, they stopped coming to my house. Then they stopped inviting me to theirs.

So I got to be like, the Outsider. I quit the team when they started whispering about me and Sam ... loudly enough for me to overhear. Then the team captain started getting nosy.

I went to Coach and handed in my uniform.

"What's this for Lindsay? You've got a future."

Yeah, right. "My grades aren't so hot, so I have to cut, somewhere." It was hard not to cry; my last outlet, my last activity that got me out of the house and away from him for awhile, was gone.

One day in mid-winter, when it was warm enough to run outside, the guy teacher--who was also the track team coach--shooed us all onto the track. I was tired that day, because Mom was on another business trip for Sam's company, which left me alone with him. He had a perverted imagination when he had time to use it.

As we straggled around the track, I fell in with the pack towards the back--girls who were putting in their forty-five minutes of hell, the coaches' voices whipping us into a dogtrot.

Dork was having problems running. I heard her whimpering as we slogged along. I shrugged, figuring it was none of my business. Anyway, I didn't feel too perky myself. Rage Girl noticed, too.

And that's when my life took another screwy turn.

I slowed and angled closer to Dork. I could see her teeth were clenched and her face was white. And she made these hurty sounds.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm okay. Leave me alone."

Rage Girl and I traded a fast glance. I felt like I'd been slapped.

"Come on, Bones, help her out."

"How?" I glared at her.

"Run slower, stupid."

So I hauled back to what was a fast walk. I noticed Rage Girl was making a big deal out of high-stepping, making it look good. Anyway, I didn't like the nick 'Bones' even a little. I wasn't that thin.

Dork made one lap and staggered over to the bleachers and threw up. Now, seeing someone throw up always triggered me to join right in, but Rage Girl whacked me one. "We've got to help her."

"How?" I rubbed my shoulder.

"I don't know! What, do I look like Dr. Spock?"

"Leave me alone," Dork slobbered.

The Head Dyke came across the track, leaving the other coaches standing around doing whatever coaches do. The guys were out too, but they were running the outside of the parking lot.

"What's going on here, girls?"

"She's sick," I said.

"Shut up!" Rage Girl poked me. I made a mental note to poke back when Coach wasn't looking.

Dork was having dry heaves, now.

"Ellen, go to the nurse. You two, hit the track."

"Maybe she needs some help getting there," I said.

Coach Dyke looked at me. "Lindsay, you said you're trying out for the team again, didn't you? Hit the track. Terry can take Ellen."

They hated it when someone got an idea. I guess it threatened them or whatever. I always imagined Coach Dyke's brain was like a soap bubble, thin and transparent. The colors you could see on a big bubble were like her thoughts: very light and always changing.

"I love you too." Rage Girl glared at the coach. "We ought to get together, sometime," she sneered.

If it hadn't been for the fury in her eyes, I'd have thought she was kidding. She had this chirpy way of talking. But just look into her eyes...

"Keep it up, Terry." The coach glared back. "Just keep it up."

"C'mon, Ellen." Rage Girl helped Dork walk away.

I watched, a little sad. Dork had it tough. Nobody liked her, and she was sort of imploding.

"Lindsay! What part of 'run the track' don't you get?"

I plodded off across the scuzzy mud and grass to the track and started. Now that I was alone, I let it all hang out. I lapped the pack, and when I'd done the required ten laps, I was ahead of everyone but the major runners. And I was gaining on them. I even slogged once around the track to cool down, and Coach didn't say a word.

Then we had to play volleyball. I got on one team, about as thrilled as the rest, and we sort of tossed the ball back and forth, except for the jockettes, who screamed for blood. I managed to duck all of 'em, though.

At some point Rage Girl--Terry--came back. She deliberately let a slow loft from across the net hit her on the shoulder. Didn't even try to hit it or get out of the way. One of the bigger girls jeered, and Terry flipped her off. That got her another ten laps around the track. I thought fast and stepped in front of the next one, unfortunately a pretty good slam, and caught it on the back. I got jeered. I flipped off this humongous sweathog and lo, out to the track I was sent.

It was a piece of cake to catch up to Terry. I slowed down; she was clomping along at a slow trot.

"How's Dork--er, Ellen?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"What's wrong with her?"

"She said it was the flu, or something. Why do you care?" Terry flashed a look that wasn't quite full of rage.

We poked along. Finally I said, "You think that's what it is?"

"No."

"Huh?" I missed a step.

"Clumso," Terry jeered.

"Oh yeah? Want to try me once around the track?"

"You're on, Bones!"

She was fast. I let a whole lot out just to keep up. It was impossible to pass her. Maybe if I'd had more than two uninterrupted hours sleep last night, I'd have done it. Or hadn't already run flat out for a mile. Then a wonderful thing happened: Terry didn't fall out at the finish line, she threw me a dare-ya look and kept going. Well, now. I hung with her. I had no idea she was so fast. She had a much nicer figure than I did; I spent enough time pounding along behind her to notice. Then I got my wind back, and we really burned that track.

I went into runner's high, loving it. Coach's whistle bleated from somewhere unimportant. Lots of others had stopped to watch. I felt so removed from it all. So clean. The school band should have been there playing 'Chariots of Fire,' yeah it was that good.

Coach Dyke and a major sweathog were waiting at the finish line.

Terry turned off about ten paces after. I followed, stumbling over her feet and mine. We trotted to the group of draggly-looking girls and stopped, laughing like crazy, hanging onto each other.

"Terry and Lindsay, stay here. The rest of you motley examples of humanity hit the showers."

I was still hanging onto the high. I think Terry was, too.

"Why don't you two try out for Junior Varsity?" Coach was being nice. To me! I was amazed, because when I'd asked about getting back on the team, she'd been pretty caustic.

Terry dragged a last lungful of air from the winter breeze. "Yeah. We'll think about it. Kinda fun, running with real people, instead of girls who want to be guys."

"I don't think that's nice, Miss Smartmouth."

"Accurate though, huh?" Terry grinned. At least her lips did.

"Not in the least. Now you hotdogs, do you have what it takes to make the team, or were you just running off your morning coffee?"

"Gee, Miz Prathers, why'n'cha call my mom? I'd love to be on the team," Terry said.

I shuffled.

Coach turned to me. "Lindsay, why don't you try harder? You can run with your friend here. Make the times, and I'll move both of you up to second string. You make the cut, you'll go first string next semester."

"My life's dream," Terry said. She hacked up something vile and spat. She grinned at me, wiping her chin on her sleeve. "Knocked some cinders loose didn't we, huh?"

I grinned back. 'We'. I was a 'we', again.

"Hit the showers, girls."

"Be sure and call my dad, too," Terry said, with a mocking laugh.

Lots of girls wouldn't shower. They were too embarrassed. I had a friend, now, so it didn't bother me.

I held up my stringy hair in front of the mirror. Terry was next to me, brushing vigorously. "Nice color hair," she said. "You ought to get him to pay for a nice hairstyle."

The room spun. I never dreamed you could tell. Well, at first I was sure of it, but then I convinced myself nobody could tell by looking.

"What! I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you do. But don't worry, only us been-theres can tell."

"You're nuts!"

"Well, walk out after school with me, and I'll show you something."

I shrugged and tried to do something with my hair.

The sweathog Terry had flipped off ambled over. "You little bitch, right after school, I'm going to teach you some respect."

No one else in gym messed with Terry. She was strong for her size, and she 'hesitated not' as the books say, to wade right into somebody and knock the snot out of them. But sweathogs, by definition, are not just big, but numb. I think they had to be, to put up with each other. Or maybe I was just bitter about how they'd pressured me off the team.

Terry reached into her purse, turned, and a really wicked switchblade snicked open. "Why wait, lard ass?"

Whoa. It was a good thing just a few sweathogs were left. They were set to watch the fun.

"Hey! I'm gonna report you!"

"And if you do, my two big brothers will come looking for you, Charlene. They like fresh meat."

Charlene ran, not walked, to the rest of the 'hogs.

Nothing ever came of it. I was awed by what I thought was cool courage.

I walked out of school that afternoon. Ellen hadn't shown up for any of the other classes I had with her.

A big Chrysler waited. Terry waved me over. I could swear she looked like she was stepping into hell. I told myself it was a big act; tenth-graders went in for that stuff.

I hesitated. I threw a look at the line of busses. Not moving yet. Darn it.

Terry trotted over and said, "C'mon, meet my daddy the Doctor."

"Uh, that's okay." Her tone told me everything about Doctor I wanted to know.

"You don't believe me, Bones."

"I believe."

Terry had this sort of magnetic pull. I followed her. That Chrysler was black. I guess I was more of a head case than I realized, because that car seemed to gleam, not with wax, but with slime.

"Doctor, this is my friend, Lindsay." Terry stepped back from the open door.

I ducked to see in. Later, I couldn't remember a thing but the look in his eyes. Just like Sam's when he was getting ready. Sordid. Icky.

"Lindsay. Hello." He told me his name, but his words just skidded off my frozen brain, because underneath the rich smell of that car was one of animal stink, dirty. Maybe it was my imagination. I was a sucker, I mostly believed people. In this case I'd thought Terry was putting on this big act. She wasn't.

Doctor was the first old guy I'd met who I knew was like Sam. It was something you could sense, once the connection was made. What was most horrible, they knew you understood, and it pleased them.

I almost fell backwards. "Uh, I gotta go. Can't miss my bus," or something. Whatever, I got away from there. The other scent I'd picked up was despair. The kind I felt that made me scream into my pillow when Sam got through, and I was alone.

I fled for the bus and flopped on a seat. I was surprised when Dork--er, Ellen--got on and sat beside me.

"Hi, how're you feeling? I figured they sent you home."

Ellen shrugged. "Okay." Short.

I figured, the heck with her. Except I started picking up little cues that I'd missed--or ignored. The look in her eyes. Her hair was clean, but just wound up in back and pinned. She twisted a strap on her ratty book bag, and was biting the tip of her coat collar.

"Thanks for helping me," she said. Her voice was sort of like a recording. About that much inflection.

"Huh? Terry helped you. I just sort of got included."

There were tears in Ellen's eyes. "Uh. Thanks, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."