Chapter 4

Dana's turn:

It really IS a turn. I live with Gramma now.

Mo finally did it. Went over the edge. Got thrown in jail. I spent the night with a foster family until Gramma could get to me to rescue me. That's when I met my knight in shining armor.

That would be Edward Paul Allen. He was driving Gramma. She's seventy-something. She drives herself around town, but she doesn't like to drive on longer trips. Edward – Ed – he lives in the apartment across the alcove from hers. He had her for a teacher when he was in high school.

Don't get me wrong – the first time I saw him, I didn't KNOW he was my knight in shining armor, but I sort of figured it out. I thought he was Gramma's boyfriend and he surely does NOT look Gramma's age, not by a long shot, so at first I was thinking, "Go, Gramma!"

Gramma corrected me fast. I asked Ed if he had a girlfriend. When he told me no, I asked him if he wanted one. Don't know why I asked him that. I am not usually so forward, but there was something that just told me that Ed needed to be asked, and not only that, but he was safe to ask.

I've seen plenty of the not safe kind of man. Mom's dragged, herded and led dozens through my life, men who drank and smoked and did dope and did Mom and several times, wanted to do me. I'm fourteen and I have managed to avoid that – those men. I've seen the normal kind, of course – teachers, doctors, just ordinary men going about ordinary lives.

And then I saw Ed.

I guess he's supposed to be like one of those guys on the covers of cheap romance paperbacks. He's not. He's fit. He's neat, kind of nerdy, the way he dresses. His hair is short and he shaves and bathes every day.

He's smart. Gramma told me that. She knew him in high school. He went to college and he's got a degree and he's got a job. All that's good stuff, to be sure, but on top of that, he HELPS people, like driving Gramma to get me, and helping all the OLD people in the apartments with their computer problems.

He also helps teenaged girls NOT be bored.

I love his apartment. Books. Computers. Ham radio. Yeah, I know, ubernerd. Also a reader. And lover of classical music that speaks to my soul, music for being joyous and happy, music for being pensive, music for bringing my soul to life and for putting it to rest, he's got it.

Like I said, Gramma's in her seventies and with the exception of Ed, everybody in the apartment complex is retired. That means no kids my age. And there's Ed. Interesting, intelligent Ed. Ed that seems to like having me around.

Ed is somebody I can talk WITH. He doesn't talk down to me and he doesn't talk AT me, he talks with me. Some people think I'm the quiet type. I'm not. I just don't rattle on about stupidness with random people. I found out quick that I toss a subject at Ed and he has something to say about it, even if it's, 'Yeah, I don't know. Let's see what we can find."

Gramma seems to see me 'n' Ed as a good combination. At least she doesn't have to figure out what to do with a fourteen year old girl dropped into her life.

That's how it started. Every time Ed went somewhere, I was with him. Okay, that first week was the week of Thanksgiving and he took vacation for the three days prior to the actual holiday. But I was there every day.

"Dana, don't be a pest, young lady," Gramma said.

"I'm not, Gramma. I pay attention. If he didn't want me, I could tell."

"Perhaps so, dear," Gramma said. "Still, he's a young man."

"Oh, come on, Gramma. He's twice my age."

"He's a man."

"He's a good guy, Gramma. You know that. You let me stay with him the first night I was here."

"He is indeed a good man. But do not overstay your welcome."

I know Gramma's asked him herself several times, telling him to send me home or just say no if I'm getting tedious or in the way.

What I actually find is that Ed's been looking for a buddy, somebody that would not threaten his world, who would be interested in what he did and what he thought. That would be me. That first week, he never left the house without me.

It gets better. I have a choice – watch TV with Gramma, stay in my room and play on the computer that Ed gave me, or walk across the alcove and hang around with Ed. At first, I guess he felt some need to entertain me. We visited a lot of places, watched a lot of videos, played with the technology he works with.

Now that might have gotten tedious. So I sort of balked, and actually, a couple weeks into this, I can just go over there and we just exist in the same space together, doing different things. Like homework. School.

School. I feel bad. Gramma took me to the school, announced that I was an eighth grader, and –BOOM – I was in school. Plain 'ol school. Just like the last one. I can do this, I told myself. All I have to do is show up and I can pass. Make 'Cs'. Kept Mom from having to go to any meetings. Tossed in a few 'Bs' and the occasional 'A' if I felt particularly ambitious.

Three days into it, I was in 'daydream' mode in math class. Basic algebra, some that, to me, appeared so stunningly obvious as to be mindless. I totally GOT it. Grokked, according to one of Ed's SF novels. My mind's half a week away because Ed said something about a state park to visit.

Through the fog, a voice intruded. "Dana. Dana! Can you work this problem?" It was my math teacher.

And I was feeling put upon and a bit bitchy. "Does the day end in 'Y'? Ooops. I said that out loud. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry for the remark."

Compared to my other classmates, my remark was mild, a good reason NOT to be a teacher.

I pissed 'er off, though.

"Come up to the board and show us." Mizz Nagle gave me the evil eye. I honestly thought that she doubted me.

I left my desk and walked confidently up to the board. I took the marker and wrote the answer.

"Where are the intermediate steps?" she asked.

"In my head."

She took the marker, scribbled furiously. "What about this one?" She handed me the marker.

It wasn't one from the book. Simple, though. Same order of complexity. I looked for a few seconds, applied the pattern, wrote the answer out. "Right?"

"You did it in your head?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Murmurs from the class.

"I don't find this difficult," I said.

"You were further along in Texas?" she questioned.

"No, ma'am, I don't think so. It's just that it seems obvious."

"Go sit down, Dana."

New girl's a legend because of that. New girl's also a subject of the cliquey girls and a lot of the boys who drool over them. Most of 'em, I imagine, are sluts in training. Several lay claim to 'dating' high school boys.

"Dalton says you're cute," one of the girls told me. I get the distinct expression that she thought I was gonna swoon or something. Then she got happily catty. "Says you're kinda flat-chested. He likes titties."

"Oh, well," I said. "I shall pine away."

Silly girl probably thought I was talking about a tree.

"I guess I need to schedule surgery soon, huh?" I shifted to that 'mall-rat' accent that she affected. "I mean shallow guys are, like, yaknow, soooooo cooool!"

She spun on her heel and left me behind.

That day I went to Ed's.

Before he had much of a chance to talk, I blurted, "Why do you like me?"

He spluttered an answer.

"What's with guys and TITS?!?" and I told him the whole story.

Poor Ed. I flustered him badly, but the recovery involved him making me feel really good about myself.

And him.

You know, I was – have been teasing him about us being boyfriend and girlfriend. I think that's the day that I really began to think we are.

We started our new relationship (that he didn't know we had) with me sitting on the sofa, or lounging on the sofa, or whatever, and him in his recliner, usually.

That was the first week. Saturday, after we did a bunch of stuff, we're back in his apartment and he's kicked back and I need to snuggle. You have to understand that Mom wasn't the 'come here, baby, and let Momma hug you' type. I had a happy day, and I decided that a cuddle might be in order.

He sort of dozed off. He woke up, though, when he felt me crawling in beside him.

"Dana..."

"Shhhhh! It's okay, Ed. I'm just sort of snuggling. Nobody hugs me, Ed. I haven't been hugged in YEARS."

"Your gramma..."

"Okay. Do you want to WIN this argument?"

He thought for a second. "I'm not arguing. But Dana..."

"Am I – is this too much?"

"Almost, Dana. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Ed. But please don't make me leave just yet."

"Dana, you're gonna kill me."

"Ed, I lost my momma. She might not have been much, but she was still Mom. And she's in jail. I have Gramma, and I have you. And you're my friend, okay?"

"Okay."

I gave him a little break when I got up and changed the Rimsky-Korsakov CD we'd gotten from the library for a Bach selection.

Yes, I know. I jumped backward. However, stepping out of a strict chronological order is a valid narrative technique. In this case I used it to explain that after that initial hug, Ed no longer had heart palpitations when I was in the recliner with him. It's a BIG recliner. I can fit in sideways between him and the arm of it. I'm thinking wintertime, cold room, blanket...

I also have knowledge that there are certain movements that a woman uses to tease a man. I don't do that, not intentionally. I'm not trying to get Ed, not trying to make him crazy. It would not be fair to him and I will do NOTHING to jeopardize our friendship.