Goodhead ran a hand through Fingerdoo’s hair, freeing it, allowing it to fall around her neck. “You have lovely hair,” she said softly. “Natur...l?” “Yes,” replied Fingerdoo. Goodhead slid her hands down Fingerdoo’s side to her waist. “We’re you excited out there?” she whispered, hot breath in Fingerdoo’s ear as she leaned in close. “Were you, touching yourself?” “I…..I’m sorry Miss-“ “Shhhhhs now, Miss Fingerdoo,” rasped Goodhead, leaning forward, placing her lipstick lips against Fingerdoo’s,. With that future song of yours for Mr. Ballows’ music assignment.”I smiled at her play on words as she batted her pretty eyelashes at me after making that suggestion. “Yeah, we can do that.” We headed out to our lockers once again and dropped off our unneeded math books before we headed downstairs to the music area of our school.As we walked hand in hand, Lynette asked me a question I hadn’t thought about before. “So, how do you get the information off your little device, so we uh, can see it. He padded down the hall, barefoot, being careful not to wake anyone along the way.He was thinking about exactly what he was going to say, rehearsing it in his mind the way they rehearsed those sugary songs over and over again. On auto pilot, he opened the door without knocking, while debating to himself whether to mention that part about the chest hair. He took a step into the room -- and stopped cold.His mom was sitting at her dressing table, facing away from him. With the angle of the door. She always wore pantsuits, I'd never seen her in a skirt. I did notice that about her, her outfits, because, I didn't like it, I hated it in fact. I wanted to see her in skirts, the slacks, like her stride, it seemed inappropriate, ill-befitting her true nature, an affectation. My coworker, he'd described her as 'proper', and I suppose that's as good a description as any. She had that air of structure, fastidiousness, restraint, but perhaps it was merely a fa?ade, a well-practiced.