Chapter 1

Without love, parents would be bullies or sluts. That is, the members of the species who out-compete, push their way to the sufficient resources to succesfully produce and support offspring. Without love drawing two individuals together, at least one parent would be a bully, or a non-genderspecific slut. Lust isn't love, but it is in the equation, motivation for resource expenditure. These traits are superficial learned behaviours, which have been successful to some degree or other since the first monkey started walking on her hind limbs, to keep one hand free to hold her infant, with love. Sex is just another resource to be aquired, without love, or a tool to use to gather resources.It has always been all about lust and power- control over others, slavery, control of resources through intimidation or sly thievery; These are the underpinings of the successful if you look underneath the trappings and finery of whatever current style flaunts power, without love.

I look at someone wearing a power suit, or driving an expensive car, and I know that probably there goes a bully, and that the elegant stylish woman with the expensive jewelry and perfect hair and makeup, probably is a slut- or vice versa, or each are both. Especialy, if they have children, without love.

I should know I am such a child. My name is Franklin Sothersby Plimsdale III, but all my friends call me Freaky, both of them.

I will start with Hardcase, or as the school records office knows her,

Tiffaney Rachael Khon. We call her Hardcase because she is so serious, and so good at solving problems, but she is such a softy inside, the kind to rescue strays. I should know, I am one of her projects. She is so smart, that she breaks all of the tests, all of them. They gave her the senior finals from the state university, and she got every question right, even when the test writer had the wrong answer for his question. She also noted the correct answer in the margin, and explained why the answer the test wanted was incorrect. She knows the answer to every trivia question, but you would never know it if you didn't ask her to answer it. Give her a problem, and she can solve it. Well, in most cases.

She can't stop my dad from being an asshole. But, she helps me deal with it.

Hardcase is easy to look at, too, being short, well proportioned, and having these huge hypnotic blue green eyes. Oh, her hair is black, this week.

My other pal is Steetch, that's a combination between stretch and twitch. He is the tallest walking disaster on the face of the planet. A one man demolition team, with a huge reach. If it can be tripped on, bumped, bigfooted, hipchucked, knocked over, overthrown, or left hanging, he is the one to get the job done.

He's been my pal since fourth grade, but I won't walk into a store with him, or follow him through a door too closely. Hardcase knows just what his problem is, but says only time and practice will fix it. He is growing too fast, and his brain just doesn't know where his edges are yet.

She suggested trying Martial Arts, but the Sensei at the local JuJitSu Dojo suggested he wait a year, after Steetch gave him a black eye- trying to shake his hand as the Sensei was bowing.in greeting. One thing about Steetch, is he is fast. I don't mean he can run fast, although he can- until he falls down when he catches his foot behind his knee- I mean he is Fast! He is not clumsy when he is playing video games, he is devastating. In more ways than one- last time I was in the store with him, he knocked an orange off the display, and his hand flashed out to catch it, starting an avalanche of apples. In a chain-reaction of attempted saves there soon wasn't an unbruised piece of fruit in the produce isle- I watched in amazement, it only took four seconds from start to finish. I love the guy, but

I won't let him in my kitchen, I wouldn't do that to our maid Consuela.

I can't help that my father is a rich asshole, and I am only 16, so I kind of have to live with my parents- They are annoying, but not to the point of having to go live on my own. And, I admit, I like having access to the things money can buy. Without love, my parents don't care what I do, and as long as I don't cause them any grief, as long as I am invisible, they leave me alone, and let me buy what I like. Franklin would like me to be a Jock, but he doesn't waste his time or energy anymore. When he starts berating me, I just tune him out- without love, it is only words.

I dress like a typical teenager, and get around on the public bus and on a skateboard. No one knows that I live in a mansion except for Hardcase and

Steetch, because I don't invite people over. I am the only one to use the swimming pool, and I use it every day, early in the morning before breakfast

Hey, it is heated, and this is Southern California, after all. I swim so early to avoid getting a tan. Tans are not the image I am going for.

I carefully maintain a B average. I could get straight A's, but straight A's are not compatible with my image. And as long as no C mars my report card,

I don't have to deal with the parents.

I don't try to be Freaky, but I have always been described that way.

The first time that I recall, I was about five years old, I watched some city workers digging up the street in front of my house.

"Whatcha doin'?" I wondered at them.

"We are digging up the sewer line, to fix it because it is broken" replied the oldest one, leaning on his shovel as he watched the backhoe pry up the blacktop

"But the sewer line is over here," I pointed three feet over, where I felt the sewage under the street,

"and it is broken where it joins the big pipe." I continued.

"Aw, for cripes sake, don't tell us our jobs, kid. Get Outa here!" he replied. So, I got. Three days later, I noticed them giving me strange looks as they dug their new hole in the middle of the street, offset three feet from the old one. I overheard one of them mutter to the other,

"Freakin' kid is Freaky!" something I have heard often since then.