Hey folks, I know the past two weeks have been a murder fest, but sometimes fictitious people have to die. I promise you that there will be no fictitious deaths in this story, so those of you who can't stand it when imaginery people die are safe. I did borrow the results of the car accident from one of my favorite classic LW stories. Those of you who've been around the block a time or two will probably recognize it. Thanks as usual to Mikothebaby for editing this story despite the fact that she's very busy right now and also undergoing a family issue. Thanks also to my beautiful wife for driving me crazy playing this song over and over again until I had to write a story about it. So I included her in the story. For those of you who don't know it AlleyKat's real name is Helen. And thanks most of all to all of you who come here every week and read these things.

My name is Melinda Carson. My friends, for some reason, just call me Linda. My daddy calls me Kit and he's ... Hold on for a second, I have to do something.

"Shut the hell up Mother. If you don't stop that God damned crying right now, I'll have the ushers walk you out of here. This is a happy occasion. Didn't you notice that everyone here is smiling?" I hissed at the woman sitting only a few inches away from where I'm standing.

"But this shouldn't be happening," she whines through her tears. She looks at me for sympathy and finds none.

"Mother, everyone in town is here and having a great time. You, more than anyone else in town, are responsible for this and the party that's going to come next. So suck it up and try to enjoy it," I hiss again. Luckily for me, my voice isn't carrying very far. I just smile and wave to the two or three people who notice our exchange. Everyone else has their eyes riveted to the back of the church.

Anyway, as I was about to say, my daddy is the only person who can get away with calling me Kit. Shit, I've lost my train of thought. I have no idea of what I was about to tell you. Okay, I guess the story is over.

No, you're not getting off that easily, but since I don't remember where I was, we should probably start at the beginning.

About one year ago I was walking into my house after school. I had to decide on an outfit to wear to my school's harvest festival dance. The harvest festival was a big deal because it was the only outdoor dinner and dance we had. We live in California and our weather is moderate. We don't get the wild storms that they get during the fall along the coast and we don't get the mudslides they get near the mountains. We're lucky enough that in October and November, the temperatures are still mild enough to have an outdoor dance.

The evening air is a bit chilly, but a light jacket or wrap is sufficient. I needed just the right outfit. Although I'm not a cheerleader, I'm pretty popular, so I have to make a good impression. I don't have to worry about finding a date or impressing anyone because I'd had the same boyfriend since my sophomore year. With him being a PK, that's preacher's kid, he's pretty moral. We concentrate more on having fun than having sex. My goal, drummed into me by my mom since I was old enough to understand her, was that I should go to the altar a virgin, but have my husband wake up tired and sore the day after the wedding. I intended to do more than that. I was going to have Dean wake up scared.

Part of the reason for my popularity is my brains. I've made the national honor society every year of high school and except for my freshman year, I've had a 4.0. During my freshman year, I got a C in gym. I'd never been very athletic. That year, as usual, my dad came to my rescue. During the summer, he started me running with him every morning. When I went back to school, all of those stupid things I had to do for an A became very easy.

After we ran, Dad and I worked on the machines in his home gym. Without my knowledge, my body changed over that summer. I got a lot stronger but I also slimmed down in some key areas as well. I think it was the bench presses, but my boobs got bigger over the summer. My skinny legs and butt not only got bigger but got a better shape as well. And the changes weren't only cosmetic. I was much stronger and much more coordinated. The first day in gym was a day that I dreaded. It was the day when they did the assessments. The assessments were designed to see where you placed on a national scale for fitness. It was based on how many pushups, sit-ups and chin ups you could do. There was also a rope climb and finally the mile run. It usually took our first week of school to get everyone through the assessment.

My freshman year, I'd done terrible. And when the assessment was done again the last week of school, I needed to show significant improvement in fitness and I hadn't. So they gave me a "C."

My dad had looked at my report card and hadn't said a word. He just hugged me and told me he was proud of me. I thought that he'd have been a bit upset but he clearly wasn't.

When we started running together, he'd just proposed it as a fun way for us to spend more time together. And being a daddy's girl, I was all for it. He was very subtle. We slowly increased our distance and the length of our runs. We talked as we ran and we laughed and joked. I could tell my daddy anything.

When he started talking about us going on vacation at the end of a run one day, I followed him into the gym, and it just seemed natural to start doing curls with him. In fact, it took me a while to realize that he'd planned it. There was already a dumb bell with very light weights on it next to his heavier one. Before I knew it, I was doing a whole workout with him and we'd go out for, or just have breakfast together before we started our day. He didn't make it seem like a big deal. It's not like I was ever over weight, I was just out of shape and he gently nudged me into becoming more fit.

The first thing I noticed when I returned to school after that summer, was that there were a lot of people, both male and female, staring at me in my gym-wear.

"What the hell happened to you over the summer?" asked Becky Thatcher. Becky's been my best friend since birth and lives around the corner from me. Since both of my parent's work, as did hers, we met in daycare.

"Did you like take supermodel classes or something?" she asked. "Did you get implants?"

"Nope," I smiled.

"What the hell did you do?" she asked.

"I just hung out with my dad," I said. "I did get my hair streaked and highlighted though, maybe that's it."

The previous year I'd been able to do eight girl type pushups and twenty sit-ups. I'd nearly vomited afterward. I continued talking to Becky during my turn. I knocked out twenty five pushups and noticed that everyone was staring at me as I moved to the next station to do my sit-ups.

The gym teacher ran over to me and asked me who I was. Even Becky was staring at me.

"Linda, you did twenty five pushups," she said incredulously.

"I should have shut up while I was doing them," I said. "I probably could have done more. I wasn't really paying attention."

"Linda, you did boys pushups," she said. "Except for the jocks and some cheerleaders, no one was even close to what you did."

Before the time ran out, the teacher told me to stop doing sit-ups. "You only needed to do fifty to max out the scale," he said.

The previous year I hadn't been able to do one chin up. I had to do what they called, "the hang."

In the hang, you pull yourself up and you hang there with your chin above the bar for as long as you can. They'd had to lift me into position because I couldn't pull myself up. I was only able to hang for about two seconds.

This year, I went right after Big Mill. Millburn Drysdale, Big Mill, was the center of our football team. Big Mill weighed over two hundred pounds in high school. Because of all of that weight, it was difficult for him to pull himself up. But he was as strong as an ox and grunted out eleven chin-ups.

I jumped up on the bar and did twelve. When my feet hit the floor, a gasp went through the gym. My dad had me doing multiple sets of chin-ups with a weight belt around my waist. Our reward system got me a donut or a treat every time I beat my previous best. The second and third sets were the tough ones. I was used to doing eight chin-ups with twenty five pounds strapped to my waist. Doing only one set of twelve with no additional weight was hardly a challenge.

That was the end of the first day in gym class. Everyone was already talking about me. Boys who never paid me any attention before were buzzing around us. Becky loved the attention. We still sat at the table with the same people we always did. I already knew what I wanted to do with my life so being around smart people was a good thing. I like to think that I never changed throughout high school. But my sophomore year, the way other people saw me changed. It was still that way last year in my senior year.

As I said, I was trying to find the perfect outfit and I was home early. My English teacher was sick and they had no substitute. Since English was my last class, they let us out early. As I walked through the house, I heard the sounds of moaning coming from my parent's bedroom. I didn't think about it. I was eighteen years old. I knew what sex was although I'd never done it. I knew that it was healthy for my parents to do it and I didn't fault them for it.

I knocked on their door and told them that when they were done, I needed some help with something. My mom always gave me advice on fashion. Dad always gave me a guy's opinion on how I looked.

"Dad, where's the Mustang?" I asked. My dad never went anywhere without that car. And he never put it in the shop without whining to me about how much he was going to miss it.

Suddenly my memory jumped its track. I remembered hearing my mother's voice moaning but not my dad's. I pushed the door open and anger ripped through me. I saw my mother hurriedly trying to get her clothes on and the principal of my high school pulling his pants up.

"You fucking whore," I screamed at my mother. "And you Mr. Eddington, my father is going to kick your ass. When this all comes out you'll be looking for a new job."

I slammed the door closed and ran out of the house. Before I'd gone a block, my phone started ringing. I looked at the display and saw that it was my mother. I pressed the button to answer the call and then immediately hung up on her. I went to Becky's house. I hung out with Becky that afternoon and stayed with her until I was sure that my dad was home.

As I walked up the driveway, I saw his Mustang. The big chromed exhaust pipes, chrome rims and racing stripes made the car look far more evil than it was. I guess we all see things differently. My dad looked at the car and saw beauty. I looked at it and it just looked angry, with vanes and scoops and wings. And the sound it made. That car was fucking loud. But to my dad, the sound of those pipes was like music.

I used my key and walked in the door. My mother immediately looked nervous as soon as I stepped inside the door.

"Hey Kit," said my dad smiling. He came over and hugged me like he always did. My dad squeezes me so hard that I can feel the love oozing out of him.

"Are you okay, kitten?" he asked.

"It's been a rough day, Dad," I began. "You know how you go through life thinking that you can count on some people and they just turn out to be full of it?" My mom blanched at my words.

"Melinda, can I..." she began. I snapped my head around and glared at her. My dad didn't notice the exchange.

"Dad, there are some things that we need to talk about," I said.

"Sure, Kit," he said. "Do you want to wait until after dinner or should we do it now?"

"After dinner is fine Daddy," I said. My dad had a way of always keeping things in perspective. No matter what the problem was he made me feel safe and secure. Other people felt that way about him too. My dad was an automotive engineer. He solved problems for a living. He just had a way of looking at things from a different angle.

"Great," he said. "I want to put my tuner on the car. I think I'm going to dial down the horsepower and throttle response a bit. My gas mileage was never great but it really sucks right now."

"You go and play with your car, Honey," said my mom. "Melinda and I will get dinner on the table." She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen after kissing my dad. Just seeing her put her lips on him made me sick after what I'd seen.

"Melinda, Honey..." she began.

"I know you're supposed to be my mother, but take your fucking hands off of me, right now," I hissed. "Don't ever touch me again."

"Melinda, you have to let me explain this," she said.

"Explain what?" I spat. "For my entire life you've been giving me nothing but bullshit. You and daddy have been like on and off switches. Daddy has always told me that I can do anything I put my mind to. If I want to be on the student council, he'd say, "Go for it." You told me that a lot of people ran but they only pick six so the odds weren't good. You told me I shouldn't run for home coming queen because they always give it to a cheerleader. Daddy gave me a necklace that said I was his homecoming queen before the election even started. When I won, he asked me if I'd ever had any doubt. You were shocked. You've never believed in me Mother."

"You've constantly told me everything not to do. You've filled my head with everything I can't do or shouldn't do. Melinda, your skirt is too short. Melinda, nice girls don't do that. Melinda, people will think you're a slut if you wear that. When I decided to go into pre-law in college because I decided that I want to be a prosecutor and help to bring criminals who hurt other people to justice, what did you tell me? You said, Melinda, that's not something a girl should do. It just seems like all you've ever wanted to do is to piss on my dreams, Mother."

"Watch your language, young lady," she said. "I'm still your..."

"My what?" I asked. "Are you still my shining example of what a woman should be? I don't think you are unless what everyone woman should be is a cheating whore. Daddy deserves someone who loves him and is faithful to him. Oh wait, isn't that the same bullshit you've been giving me since I was old enough to think about boys? If you can't walk the walk, maybe you shouldn't talk the talk."

"But Melinda, I love your father. This was only a slip. I made one mistake. I'm human baby. Please give me one chance. It will never happen again," she whined.

"Mother, mistakes happen on a spur of the moment or while you're drunk. This was premeditated and has probably happened before. You don't accidentally bring a man home and screw him in my father's bed. It's also someone you work with every day. He's also married and has small children at home. You ruined two families because you can't keep your legs closed."

"Melinda, I'm sorry," she said. "Please don't do this. It would hurt your father and tear our family apart for nothing. You just said it. Why ruin two families to punish me? Do you want to see your father hurt?"

"Pick up that God damned phone and call the asshole and tell him that as of right now, you quit. Find another job somewhere else if you have to, but if you go back to the school for any reason, I'll tell Daddy immediately. Give me your cell phone, if that asshole calls you, I'll be the one answering. And Mother, I'll be checking the phone records for the house as soon as the bills come in from now on. If you call him even one time, you know what will happen. And from now on don't talk to me, period. As far as I'm concerned, you died today. I'm an orphan. I want you to convince my daddy to sleep in the guest room tonight and don't have sex with him.

Tomorrow, I want you to get a new bed and burn that one. Tell him it had frame rot or bedbugs or something. I don't care what but you'd better make it happen."

"But Melinda, your father will notice if we don't act the same way we always have. And this is your senior year. A lot of things are about to happen to you. There are going to be cases where you'll need a woman's opinion or advice. I know you're a daddy's girl, you always have been, but you need a mom too," she said.

"I'll find someone, I can trust and look up to, to fill the role," I hissed. "Remember what I said."

I turned and left the kitchen. I went and got her purse and handed it to her. "Melinda, can't I call him on my phone?" she asked.

"No, because I'll have your phone; hand it over," I said. She gave me her sleek iPhone.

"I should make you call him at home," I said. "That way his wife would probably answer the phone and you'd have to ask her if you could speak to him. You'd have to listen to the sounds of his kids playing in the background. Maybe that would make you realize just how nasty a bitch you are."

"Melinda, do you have to use that kind of language?" she asked in a whining tone.

"Yes I do, Theresa," I said. "You once told me that being a lady, isn't just knowing how to curtsy and use the right fork. Being a lady means doing, acting and speaking in the correct manner for the situation. Do you remember that?" She nodded her head.

"Well, when I'm with a person who has no morals and no class and has the nerve to cheat on someone who loves her very deeply, this is the language that fits the situation. Besides, you and I won't be talking much from now on. And once I go away to college next fall, we'll only have to see each other when I'm home visiting my dad. I have one more request for you, MOM," I said. She looked at me pleadingly.

"This is for the future. From now on whenever there's a big event in my life, I want you to manage to be sick, injured or just unavailable. That means I don't want you at my graduation. I don't want you at my college graduation either. I don't want you at my wedding and if I ever have kids, I expect you not to be there. Are we clear?" I asked. She nodded. "Call him."

She picked up the house phone and dialed Eddington's number. "I have to quit my job," she said. "As of right now, you need another secretary. I won't be back at all. Have someone pack my personal things and send them to me. That someone is not to be you. Mail my last check or direct deposit it. Don't call me again or Melinda will tell my husband and your family. Goodbye."

"Well done Theresa," I said. "Did it hurt?"

"Did what hurt?" she asked.

"Telling your lover you could no longer see him?" I asked. "Does it tug at your heartstrings? Do you feel that empty feeling in the pit of your stomach?"

"No, Melinda," she said sadly. "I don't love Russell. I only love your father. Russell was just..."

"Shut up, whore," I spat. "If you loved my Daddy, you wouldn't..."

"Melinda, you're very young right now," she said. "Someday you'll understand that..."

"I hope I never understand anything the way you see it," I said acidly. "I will never understand how a woman who is married to a man who loves her totally can cheat on him with a man like Mr. Eddington. Do you even know half of the rumors about him? I mean you're clearly stupid, but are you THAT stupid? Mother, you're nowhere near the first woman or even the first woman in our school he's played around with. You're just the latest. I'll bet you he finds someone else to play with in under a week. While you're here at home playing with your pussy, thinking about him, he'll have found another sucker."

I put her phone into my pocket and walked out of the room. I went into the garage to see my dad. He had the hood up on his Mustang and had his tuner connected to the port on his engine. His new tuner could wirelessly send information to his iPad. Men were like little boys with their toys. As they grew older, the toys just got more complicated and more expensive.

There were three of our neighbors all gathered around with their heads under the hood of Daddy's car too. As I stepped up and watched him, he saw me and smiled.

"Is dinner ready?" he asked.

"No Daddy, "I said. "Take your time." As much as a full grown man can be innocent, my daddy was. He seemed to be happy. He loved his life. As he joked and talked with our neighbors, I felt like such an asshole for even thinking about taking that happiness away from him. He worked so damned hard to give us a nice life. Mom had only started working a couple of years ago, when I became old enough to look after myself. She had no secretarial skills and became a volunteer at my high school. They'd eventually started paying her as she took on more responsibility, finally becoming Eddington's secretary.

I decided then, not for my mom or for Eddington, but for my dad's happiness, not to say anything. I wasn't sure that I wasn't making a mistake but it seemed like the right call at the time.

When I got to school the next day, it started out great. Midway through my first class I was called to the principal's office. My great day started going to hell.

I opened the door to Eddington's office. There was no secretary because my mom had quit.

"Come in and close the door, Melinda," he said.

"I'd rather leave it open," I told him.

"Well, can you just pull it shut," he said. "What we need to talk about needs to remain confidential."

"You and I have nothing to talk about," I said.

"Melinda, what about your future," he said. "The colleges that you've applied to are still going to be interested in your grades. If your GPA happened to drop suddenly, you might lose a few of your choices."

"How would that happen, Mr. Eddington?" I asked.

"Some of your teachers might suddenly start to look at your work more critically," he said smiling.

"I suppose that you have some possible solution to that problem worked out, right?" I said. He nodded.

"Melinda, what happened between your mother and I was unfortunate, but it doesn't have to ruin your career or anything else. We can just..." I turned around and slammed the door to his office so loud they probably heard it in the gym.

His eyes got huge. "Who the fuck, are you supposed to be... ?" I yelled. "Are you Darth Vader? Is this some warning that the Death star is coming into position to blow my home world to smithereens?"

"Look Dick-less, this is the twenty-first century. No one falls for those dime store theatrics anymore. Is that how you got between my mother's legs? I'm not as stupid as she must be. I've had a four point GPA every year that I've been here except for my freshman year. Do you know how I got my grades? I busted my ass. No one gave me anything. If my grades did just start to suffer, I'd go to my teachers with a copy of my papers and ask for a review. They'd have to show me where my papers were wrong and examples of everyone who got them right. The second thing is that most of my teachers like me more than they like you so they wouldn't go along with your crap. The third thing is that you just made an even bigger fool of yourself, because of this..." I pulled my new iPhone out of my pocket and played back his threat for him. His eyes got even bigger and he slumped in his chair.

"So now I have evidence of you trying to coerce me into being quiet or you'll try to convince teachers to mess around with my grades. I believe that is illegal isn't it?" He nodded his head.

"So, it's not bad enough that you've been some kind of cut-rate Casanova around here for the past few years, now you're stooping to blackmailing children to cover up your affairs. Which one are you the most afraid of Russell?" I asked.

"That's Mr. Eddington to you Melinda," he whined.

"Mr. is a title or a term of respect," I spat. "I have none for you Russell. I hold your shitty little life and career in my hands. And you know what the stupidest thing about this is?" He shook his head.

"Before you interrupted my science class, I had already agreed with my mother NOT to tell my dad or your wife about this. So which one are you the most afraid of? Are you more afraid of my dad kicking your ass or losing your career? You think about it, I'm going back to class."

I walked out into the hall still seething and bumped into my favorite teacher, Ms. Abra.

"Are you okay Melinda?" she asked. And everything became clear as I looked into her eyes.

Ms. Abra was a near legend in our school. All of the boys and all of the men drooled over her. I remember more than once seeing a guy walk down the hall and get a glimpse of her and then end up walking into a wall or a door.

About half of the girls in the school hated her. It was simply unfair. You have all of these young women on the verge of adulthood, like fruit on the vine that is just becoming ripe. Most of them realize then that they've hit the point in their lifetime when they're at their best. Time and gravity are their best friends. Then they run into a woman like Ms. Abra who makes them look like awkward, coltish, little boys.

And when you take a good look at her, your feelings of despair become even deeper. One of the things that most girls learn very early is that we're all different. We all have things about us that are noteworthy. We learn to play up our strong points and to downplay our weaknesses. So if you're a girl who's a butter-face, you know to wear sexier clothing to play up your body and downplay your face. You might also grow your hair longer and have it styled playfully to cover one odd eye or the other.

If you have no boobs, you probably have a nice ass or gorgeous legs, so you don't wear a bra, and you wear shorter skirts to play up what you have. If you don't have much ass or legs, it's no problem. You wear low cut tops, and show off the girls.

If you're the skinny model type with no butt, no chest and no legs, then you highlight your face. The point is that God gives us all something. The trick is to discover what you were given and do something with it.

Then along comes Ms. Abra to ruin it all. Let's start at the top. The woman is simply unfair. She has what I call reactive hair. Her hair is a light brown naturally. She told me that when she was growing up, they used to call it mousy brown, because it was so understated and mousy. The women who had it didn't stand out. It was neither a rich, sexy, dark brown that could be called smoldering, nor was it even vaguely blonde.

In Ms. Abra's case, her hair reacts to the sun. If there's a lot of sun, it only takes a few days and some of her hair starts turning a lighter shade. It looks amazing. Everyone always thinks that her hair has been highlighted. If she wears a pony tail or styles her hair so that some of it isn't exposed to the sun, then those areas seem to darken and before you know it she has two or three very natural hues blended into her hair. Half of the women I know spend a lot of money trying to get a look that she doesn't even think about. Her hair comes down nearly to her waist and it flits around like the wings of a butterfly.

And all that hair does is to draw attention to her face. Her face is as beautiful as the rest of her. She has the bluest eyes. When she talks about math, the worst thing you can do is to look at her. I've heard a lot of the boys say that they were looking at her and just fell into a trance. Her eyes are so blue that you just forget where you are. I wish that she had a huge honker of a nose but her nose is so tiny that it's like a decoration on her face.

And she does the stupidest thing. She has what she considers a flaw. She has a bunch of tiny nearly symmetrical patches of freckles across her nose. She covers them up with very light make-up because she hates them. Then when we have an outdoor activity and she doesn't wear the make-up, all of the guys see the freckles and fall even more in love with her.

I absolutely hate her mouth. At this point in history, we seem to be enthralled with lips. There are women all over the world getting collagen injections to make their lips fatter and fuller. Then there are women who were simply born with huge lips.

Ms. Abra has a tiny mouth. But it's shaped in that perfect Cupid's bow form that makes it look like her lips are bigger than they are. Her teeth are also really white and she smiles often. Her smiles are fleeting though, so if something happens that makes her smile in class, the entire room seems to get warmer.

If her head and face are outstanding, her body is scary. All of the pieces simply shouldn't add up to the whole. She doesn't have huge boobs, but it doesn't matter. In fact, last year we had a pool party for the senior class. I forgot my swimsuit and Ms. Abra told me that since she was only a chaperone, I could borrow hers. She said it made more sense for the students to have fun than for the staff. I was sure that I wouldn't be able to fill her top. Then I noticed that it was only a 34 C top. At 18 last year I wore a 36C top. Her boobs aren't big at all. But her ribcage and torso are so tiny that her average sized boobs look big on her.

Her waist is also tiny. It's like 23 inches which makes her butt look bigger than it is and she runs every day like my dad does so her legs are scary.

Ms. Abra does have a few quirks. The woman teaches math and science. She walks around all day long in a lab coat covering up her body. She also wears very long skirts and blouses that button up to the neck. She also wears those dorky safety glasses all the time, like she forgets that she's wearing them. It's like she simply doesn't realize how pretty she is.