Votes




The parents were very expressive about their enjoyment of the production. They even took us to dinner at a steakhouse in the next county, something usually reserved for birthdays or other celebrations.

They’d planned this out. Dad had gotten reservations, including a sylph-scaled table on top of our table. Mom handed a fancy dress to the back seat and Electra changed inside the carrier.

Well, I say fancy, but it wasn’t all that formal. Not a hoop skirt or anything. Still, it was a marked improvement over the body suits she usually had.

I got a tasting plate, four dishes reduced to appetizer serving sizes. Electra picked one, a petite steaklette cooked to her specification.

And she dipped her own drink out of a kid-sized soda rather than share.

The folks kept alternating between saying we should have won and pointing out their favorite parts.

It was a heady amount of attention, really. No one rolled their eyes or shook their heads like they had at the Communications Officer mini-skirt, or the four hundred condoms inflated inside the principal’s car, or the time someone connected the Chemistry lab exhaust to the air conditioning intake and made the whole school smell of rotten eggs.

There was no mention of those antics, other than Mom saying maybe I could enjoy using ‘my dark powers’ for good.

Electra heartily seconded that suggestion. Dad shouted, “Motion carries unanimously.”

“Hey!” I protested.

“Even if you vote for evil,” Dad said, “it’s three to one against you.”

“Three?” Electra repeated. I almost pointed out that I owned her vote, but saw her stunned expression. For once, Conrad shut up before ruining the moment.

Maybe I can be a force for good…?

Anyway, we finished up there and went to an ice cream parlor for dessert.

Then it was very late by the time we got home. And very quiet. Mom and Dad were relaxed, Electra was contemplative, I was full to the brim and dozing.

I just wanted to curl up in my bed and sleep until noon.

So of course, once I was IN bed, Electra wanted to talk.

“Conrad?”

“Tomorr’,” I mumbled.

“Conrad? Please?”

I sat up and turned on the light. She was in a black leotard and up in her treehouse.

“What?”

“Your dad counted my vote.”

“Of course he did. You were on the right side, he wanted an overwhelming majority.”

“But… You could have said you own my vote, right?”

“I own you, Electra. Your body. Not your mind. You don’t have to be a puppet to state my opinions.” I looked away from her for a moment.

“Stop designing my marionette strings!” she shouted.

“I hadn’t gotten past the harness, I swear,” I said. She fumed. “But you were saying?”

“I… I counted. Like I was a real person.”

“Yes,” I said. “Just exactly like. Does… Is that a problem?”

“It’s weird,” she shrugged. “Parents don’t ask for input, in my experience.”

I didn’t know much about Jennifer Beatty’s family. They were divorced. Rumors (from Mom’s network of gossips) was that it was a bad divorce. Electra had not offered any details to her captor.

“And earlier, Chrissy apologized to me.”

“What for?”

“For dating Chip. She found out he was my boyfriend, and wanted to make sure I didn’t hate her guts.” She stared pacing the little space she was in.

“What did you say?”

“I’m dead. Legally. Jennifer died. I’m Electra. I can’t be his girlfriend anymore, so she’s not poaching.” She paused and looked at me. “And I don’t even WANT to hate Chrissy.”

“I can see why all of this is upsetting to you,” I said, putting a confused expression on my face.

“Well, it’s just… People are treating me like a person.”

“The horror,” I said, like Brando in Apocalypse Now.

“Don’t be an asshole,” she snapped. “I just… I don’t want to flash the dads when we babysit anymore.”

“I never said you had to,” I pointed out.

“Well, at first, it… It was like nothing mattered, you know?”

“Not even slightly,” I said. I didn’t have to sell the confused expression.

“I was a pet. A toy. A dead high school teenager. A former cheerleader. Nothing I did mattered. So why not show ‘em my boobs? It’s not like it could have been demeaning to me.”

“Oh. I thought…” I stopped. It didn’t matter what I’d thought. I had barely known her or her situation at the time she started letting the dads have a look-see.

Then it became a habit.

“What?” she asked.

“In the interest of advancing this whole ‘Electra realizes she’s a person’ realization, let’s just skip over thoughtless assumptions made way back then, when I was young and stupid.”

“Three months ago?” she asked.

“I didn’t say MUCH younger…”

“So, is it okay with you?”

“Sure. In fact, I was thinking of cutting down on the babysitting, anyway. There’s a flyer on the bulletin board at school. They’re looking for interns at the radio station.”

“Oooh, Conrad, you’d be perfect for radio!” She bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping for me.

“It’s not like they’re offering me a show.”

“But you’ll have a foot in the door. You’ll get there! Seriously, you’d be good at it.”

“Flattery will get you a cupcake and a shovel,” I said. She smiled. I smiled back and waited a moment. She didn’t say anything else, so I reached for the light.

“Conrad? What did Chip hit you for?”

“He didn’t hit me. He slugged me. A guy thing.”

“Oh. What for?” she pressed.

“He apologized for inventing the nickname, ‘Gonad,’ and I forgave him for it. Then he slugged me to say we were cool.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t Chip that…” she tried to protest. I stared her down.

“I was THERE. In Mrs. Fenn’s class. He got a big smile and connected Gonad and Hard-on to Conrad and Loudon.” I shrugged once more. “It was inevitable, I figure. Him or someone.”

“Why did you forgive him?” she asked softly.

“It was nothing. I’m over it.”

“No,” she said. “You HATE being laughed at. I heard you. You remember every nickname you were ever teased with. Why forgive Chip for this one?”

“I, uh…” I looked at the wall. At my poster of the solar system. I counted the planets twice. I glanced back. She was leaning on the rim of her treehouse, watching me patiently. “I figure Chrissy put him up to it. Or at least told him he should consider it.”

“And you like Chrissy,” she nodded.

“No, that’s not it. I don’t think he’s thought of that nickname in four years. But whether he did, or if she brought it up to him, he DID apologize. And he seemed sincere.”

“Really?” she asked. She looked… hopeful.

“Like I said, he’s not the jerk I thought he was. I had fun at the talent show. And he obviously cares about you, still, so at least partly, I forgave him for you.”

“Aw, you’re a soft touch!”

“Well, not anymore. Now I’m just afraid Chrissy’s going to hit me again.”

“You made a pass at her boyfriend!” She burst out laughing. I laughed with her. Then I turned the lights off and we laughed in the dark for a while.



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Index

17. Talents

19. Internal Matters