Chapter 1

I was very happy to be home, with the school week over and done with. I was pretty late, as mom called and gave me a fat shopping list. The price of a car for my recent birthday was all the transportation and provisioning errands, which struck me as eminently reasonable, especially as mom pitched in for the fuel and insurance. I was most especially eager to see my girlfriend, in all her glory.

That's exactly what I went to do, after unpacking, a quick shower and change of clothes later. My girlfriend is the girl next door, quite literally, and has always been the girl next door for me, so it wasn't much of a walk. And yes, she's just as cute as the girl next door is supposed to be, with long auburn hair, smoky brown eyes and a body to die for.

Her mother was home, and I waved at her before climbing the stairway. Melanie's mother is pretty cool, which is very fortunate. She works mostly from home as an accountant, and if she hadn't been liberal about things it would have seriously cramped our alone time. Ms. Pherl, or Minnie as she had everyone call her, was also in pretty good shape for her advanced age of thirty plus. More full bodied than overweight, she enjoyed flustering our friends with stories of her the good ol' times. A divorcee living in what she jokingly called "single mom row," a street where you would be hard pressed to find a single husband, she spent a night away often enough for us to speculate about her dating habits.

Their place wasn't very large, with just a pair of bedrooms and the necessary on the second floor. Melanie had often told me how much she missed having a sibling, a sister by preference.

My girlfriend was at her desk doing homework when I came in, without the blare of music for once, and I went over to hug her.

That's when things went wrong.

Rather than hugging me back and throwing on a passionate kiss, she avoided my outstretched arms and looked at me with a frown. "Can't you knock? Like, privacy and that basic courtesy bullshit you're always off ranting about?" she growled at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked plainly. I didn't think presenting her favorite chocolate, which I had ready in the back pocket of my jeans, was the thing to do.

Melanie leaned back against the wall and assumed that mule-stubborn expression, the one which always told me that she'd made some sort of decision from which she would not be moved come hell or high water.

"I'm going to the dance with Mark Preston."

"So you're switching Marks. At least you're not changing Johns," was all I could say in response. I was on automatic, in such a shock that I couldn't really think.

"Mark Philip Darby! You don't own me. And it's not as if you asked me, now did you?" she glared at me, theatrically pointing a finger in accusation. Melanie fancied herself a thespian.

"No, I don't and no I didn't," I answered and took out the bar of chocolate, tore the wrapping and took a bite. It was sweetness that failed to quench the bitterness spreading through my body, an icy feeling of failure. "I came by to ask you now, as a matter of fact, but I suppose it's a bit late. I'll make sure to correct my other mistake next time." The words felt like frozen acid drops falling from my lips, but sounded awfully normal. "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me the real reason, would you? I'd really like to know."

"You do know who he is, right? Even you aren't that oblivious," Melanie rolled her eyes in scorn. "Like, the biggest catch in school. And I do get tired of all my friends laughing at me for being with you. I'm just taking a step up. Several steps. What'd you mean," her tongue peeked between those luscious lips, "by other mistake?"

"Ownership," I replied and turned to leave, hurt and anger welling up. "Trust. Love. That sort of thing."

"Oh come on, it's just a dance. Leave the chocolate!" her voice rose as I reached the door.

"Not, it's just several steps. Up, I think you said. As for the chocolate," I took another bite, "Well, I don't think I want to give you anything at the moment. Not even rat poison." I didn't look back, not wanting her to see my eyes tearing up.

"Right, go off and sulk. Like that's gonna be uuuseful," she threw that last word at me.

Off I went, walking slowly, trying not to think. I've never been with anyone else, never been interested in anyone else, never done anything or even really thought of doing anything with anyone else. Perhaps the fact that she refused to give me her virginity should have told me something, clued me in. The pain was debilitating. I was actually crying.

Minnie wasn't the sort to miss the obvious. She came over too fast for me to avoid, and hugged me, if not quite to her bountiful breasts. I'm a head and a half taller, but not too tall to cry over her shoulder.

I backed away after a minute, fetching tissues to wipe my nose and eyes. A thunder of music began beating from Melanie's room.

"Is there anything I can do?" Minnie sounded distressed.

"Well, the way she was shouting, you probably know that there's nothing you can do for me, nothing I can think of," I stopped to cough. "But you might want to keep a closer eye on your daughter. She's trying to make it into the fast crowd, which is likely to end up with her getting badly hurt."

Minnie moved back and her mouth opening to say something, but I cut her off, "Really, it's a bad crowd and they'll use her up. She'll need you, really need you, because she won't have any real friends left, not if she spreads that attitude around. Serious," I used my old swear-it's-true word and ventured a weak smile. "Was I taking her for granted?" I asked plaintively.

"I really don't think so," Minnie shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry, but I think it'll be a while before I visit again," I shook my head and took my leave.

The walk home and to my room was short, so short that I didn't really notice it at all. The first thing I did was send the message to everyone, SMS and email. A brief message, telling them that Melanie had dumped me and for whom. We had our own little gossip network and I really didn't want them hearing things from someone else.

Then I lay down, face down in a pillow. It was quite a while later when I came back, the maelstrom of emotions subsiding when my energy ran out. I took a quick shower to feel clean and changed clothes again, then went down to fix dinner. My mother is another of the single moms on the street, and owns a confectionary cum bread shop, or vice versa, working long hours. It afforded us a decent living even before we got the insurance money from my father's death, not to mention lots of sweets, which kept me on the fat side when I was younger. Mom grew a bit distant when I finished my last growth spurt, lost my fat and muscled out, and it took me almost half a year to figure that I now looked a lot like the lowlife father, or rather, male progenitor, who left her to fend for herself as a pregnant teen. It sort of soured her on men.

Since there were just the two of us and we had decent fridge space, we generally had a couple of pots or woks with leftovers and side-dishes at all times. Time management was something very important mother taught me, how to do everything necessary in an exemplary fashion in the least amount of time, and for as much bang for my buck as I could get. Exemplary fashion, as I enjoyed clean non-ragged clothing and good food. I didn't really care about keeping things clean and orderly, but mother was a complete neat freak, so there wasn't much choice. Well, not if I cared about her, which I did.

I hadn't answered my phone, so with a sigh, I went through all the messages as I forced myself to eat. I hated the whole in and out process of eating, the entire mechanism was a cosmic joke of Sisyphean proportions. The whole slew of condolence messages was utterly depressing and I literally slammed my forehead against the wall to shake myself out of it.

'Going off and sulking' was not going to cut it. What I needed was something positive and the only positive thing I could think of was a new girlfriend. Not to mention finally getting more sex than oral. Of course, there was all that rebound issue, but seeing as everyone would scatter at the end of Senior year, it wasn't that much of an issue. No, the real trouble was, who could I go after that would be a step up and that I actually wanted?

I looked at the large standup mirror in the living room and quickly went to wash my face and dry off the tears. Then I smiled, as the answer was obvious.

Most parents leave education to school or TV, letting their children pick things up on their own. This leaves the vast majority of high school graduates confused about their futures, lacking a family business. The rich, I think, use tutors, which works a whole lot better, and already mostly have a path mapped out for their errant offspring — who frequently rebel. It's sort of classic and accepted.

While my mother didn't really have a lot of spare time, she'd spent a good chunk of it making sure I wouldn't be confused about what I wanted to be and how I was going to get there. We went over career choices and what the work involved was actually like, as well as the rewards and problems inherent in each path, even going so far as to set up meetings for me with people she knew and having me do a few days' work here and there for no monetary compensation, mostly as a gofer, just for the experience. It was something of a surprise, how many people of different professions mom knew.

She had me read quite a few articles and advice slash self help books, like that Monk and Ferrari thing, and I came to the conclusion that if you wanted to make money, what you needed was to work money rather than actually work. While the idea of a career in science was attractive, I just didn't believe I had it in me to come up with a great invention. The only problem was getting my hands on the initial stake, which actually wasn't much of a problem, not with my former father's disgustingly generous insurance policy.

What I settled on was familiarity with the money markets, which required math. I'm not talking about the fairly superficial math involved with studying a bachelor's degree in economics, but the more complicated math involved in economic modeling and algorithms for expert programs, a real understanding of the option markets and hedge funds. I took math and economics classes in the local community college, and was seriously struggling at the moment with a class on partial differential equations. It would take a few years before I was anywhere near competent.

Of course, struggling means tutors, and I was very fortunate to find a capable one. Most of my school's math teachers were only barely capable of teaching advanced math, but we had a couple of really good math and physics teachers. I'd thought one of them would be willing to help me, but to my utter astonishment, they directed me to Alice Mueller for help.

Alice was our school's untouchable. Her father and mother were the president of the largest bank in town and a senior partner of the largest local legal firm respectively, and she was a certified Mensa genius. She made some of the teachers uncomfortable, so much so that some of them simply excused her from class or just ignored her when she was present. Alice was so intimidating that, well, I actually sweated having to talk to her. Melanie had to psych me up to it, but it was still excruciatingly embarrassing. I actually stammered and blushed.

Alice was amused, which only made it worse, but her cool, collected front helped me settle down and actually communicate. And yes, everyone referred to her as the Ice Queen. Which she wasn't, not really.

One or two weekly sessions for the past eight months, always in that gigantic mansion she called home, showed her to be fairly normal, if somewhat closed off. She didn't show off, she was very good at helping me understand the subject matter, she was nice and polite, but everything about her, from clothing to body language, screamed "Don't touch!" and "Back off!"

I got her involved in helping me run investment simulations and later real investments, and I was pretty surprised at how well I did, even with the help of the data-mining and sorting programs I ran. Reading the financial news and some specific blogs regularly was also enormously helpful, and Alice's insightful and penetrating questions helped me prepare complete and rational arguments in answer to her eternal "why" when entering or leaving a position. She also gave me a list of books to read, including one of Warren Buffet's. Two months of work and I was up 37% on a 100k investment, after taxes. Alice actually smiled at me last week.

I suppose it was the memory of that smile that set the target, but it wasn't that alone. I'd gotten a sense of how lonely and unhappy she was, and wanted her to smile more than once a month. Alice was nowhere near as beautiful as Melanie. Truthfully, she first struck me as rather plain, with an undistinguished figure and an unremarkable chest, though she was much taller than the average, closer to my height. Smiling, however, made her lovely. I remember her having some serious zits last year, but her skin had cleared up beautifully. On the other hand, I could only really think of two girls in school who, to my taste, looked better than Melanie, and both were cheerleaders with noses way up there. I wanted someone I'd enjoy spending time with and they sure didn't qualify.

With the target set, I started working on my plan. To make sure nobody interrupted, I sent another general message, asking everyone to let me wallow in misery, at least until Monday. That gave me some breathing space.

I started assembling the tools, flash-ordering what I didn't have on the Internet. Then I called her.

"Mueller residence, how may I help you?" Natasha's affected accent made me smile. The maid and cook was third generation Russian, and didn't even speak the language beyond pidgin.

"Hello Natasha, this is Mark. May I speak with Alice, please?" I'd gotten something of a shock dealing with the Muellers — they sort of insisted on what they called 'proper' English. Alice's explanation, that as the clothes supposedly made the man, so did language betray education or lack thereof, made a mort of sense. A crash course on proper speech had me sounding almost like a gentleman or a preppy or, yuck, educated.

"Of course, Mark," her tone changed from formal to friendly, "but don't tell me you're calling to cancel Monday?"

"Naturally not. I'm addicted to those marvelous cookies you bake. I'd wither and die were I to go more than a week without a taste of heaven. Only death would keep me away."

"Right. Your drama queen girlfriend in the room?"

"Ah... ," I stumbled on my tongue, "No and no longer girlfriend." Even to me, I didn't sound good.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Here's Alice," Natasha made her escape.

I had to wait for nearly a minute, which gave me time to collect myself. My stomach was roiling, but I was back in control.

"Hey, Mark. Sorry to hear about your ex," Alice's tone was as business-like as ever.

"Ya. Anyway, I wanted to know if I could come over and use your pool tomorrow afternoon. I need to burn off some energy and if I run, I might never make it back," I semi-joked.

"I ... I don't know, I'll have to check with..."

"Alice, don't bother lying. I know your parents trust you. Hell, I venture to guess that you are in fact more trustworthy than they are. A banker and lawyer? Be serious. I'll teach you how to really swim and throw in a massage, gratis. So what do you say?"

I could feel her hesitating. I knew that she was usually alone during weekends and afternoons, as her parents were rarely home and Natasha usually left after preparing lunch and never spent the weekend.

"Fine then, I'll see you tomorrow at three. But I'm already quite capable of swimming."

"You may have some of the basics, but there are tricks to every trade. I'm not on the swim team because I look pretty, sweets."

"Sweets?" Alice sounded dumbfounded. "Did you just call me sweets?"

"Well, it complemented the sentence. And I'm not in my right mind. Really, Alice, I just had my heart ripped out by the girl I thought I loved for the last four years. I spent the last two hours crying into my pillow. Cut me some slack."

The silence was deafening.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive. I just..."

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't be laying into you. I'm just out of balance. I understand that you don't care and are being polite. Just expect me to be weird for a while."

"Hey! What do you mean by saying that I don't care? I'm not heartless, or..."

"Please, Alice, I'm not accusing you of anything. There's no reason for you to care. I appreciate you telling me exactly what you think, it's really nice to have someone you don't have to trade polite social fictions with. I'm a guy, remember. I won't crucify you for not caring. No need for two bleeding hearts."

"Hmmmf," she snorted over the phone, "I didn't think you of all people would call me Ice Queen, and in such a gracious fashion. Do you really believe I'm like that?"

"No. Come on, be serious. I've spent enough time with you to know better. I can't know what's it like for you, but I have some idea."

"Ah, amateur psychologist time," her voice turned icy.

"No, not really. Remember me, before Melanie. Remember what I looked like, then?"

"Oh," the line stayed silent for a moment.

"Yes, I'm sure you see. The worst thing was, I blamed my mother for it."

"What?!" I could almost sense her confusion. "Why would you do that?"

"What does my mother do?" I smiled.

"Oh, right! Those lovely ... and fattening confections. Did you really gorge yourself?"

It was strange to hear her actually interested. "Nope, which only made it worse. It was a hormonal-growing-up thing. Remember how I grew UP?"

"Actually, no. We weren't moving in the same circles, it was a couple of years before I made the connection. I was busy with," the warmth faded from her voice, "Oh, never mind. So I'll see you tomorrow?" Alice blatantly telling me to go and annoy someone else.

"Sure, and thanks. I'll come over at three or so. If I start moping, feel free to hit me."

"It will be my pleasure, see you," she said sarcastically and slammed the phone down.

I looked at my watch and ran down to fix dinner, since it was my turn. Mom, the cheat, ordered or brought something in about half the time — and she was the one who finessed me into really learning how to cook. First, she tried cooking all sorts of exotic stuff, trying to interest me in lists of ingredients and all those pretty, mouth-watering pictures. When that didn't work, she went hardcore, explaining how vital the skill was to any man. Pressed to the limits, she went nuclear and used the old "way to a woman's heart". At the time, I was naןve enough to swallow that line. Of course, since I never really had a chance to try it out, I might just be besmirching her motives without evidence.

Since I'd sent mom notice of my being dumped and not wanting to talk about it, dinner was pretty quiet. I could see her struggling to restrain the solicitous maternal instinct, but other than a long hug when she arrived home and a "If you need anything, let me know," she managed it.

I looked at my homework, but didn't feel like actually doing anything, so I simply went to sleep, utterly exhausted.

I woke up late, much later than usual. It wasn't surprising, considering the roller-coaster of yesterday. What was unusual was how good I felt. Looking at the clock, I saw that I had less than three hours before I needed to go over to Alice, and swimming doesn't go well with recently eaten food.

I was also famished, as my appetite last night wasn't the best. Mom was working, of course, so I heated up a lot of leftovers and planned her seduction. It wasn't much of a plan, but it should work out just fine.

With some time left over, I starting looking at my class assignments more thoroughly, checking to see if there was anything I needed help on. Which is to say, I did what homework I had, marking up anything I had doubts about. I tended to do a bit more work than my classmates, not just quoting Wikipedia for history and English, which was all the homework I had other than the math and economics classes I was taking at the community college. My only extracurricular activity at school was the swim team, which allowed me to finish most of the homework in class or during the breaks. Ordinarily, it would have made me a hermit or a complete outsider at school, but my willingness to help people with homework, sometimes bordering on tutoring, turned many acquaintanceships into a few friendships. If I were smarter, I could have finished all the work faster, but you work with what you have. My class load left me with little free time.