“There’s no return address?” A fake blond stood behind the desk, holding my package. God, why didn’t I just put it in a envelope like a normal person?
“No” It doesn’t need one. The lucky person to get this is going to know exactly who sent this little present.
“Okay, That’ll be five fifty, Miss Jane” I slid my money across the counter and left, wondering why she had called me that, “Miss Jane” is not me any more. Not until the day that staircase falls. With my luck, that’ll be never. As I swung the front door pf the post office open I caught a glimpse of my self, and shuddered. In so little time I was so very different, my hair was cut in a sleek bob, my tank to hugging my chest, my jeans, loose an curving, in all the right places, How could I have not realized why he was so interested in me?
I followed the yellowing side walk down the foreign street, wondering if I’d be late. Late for school, for life, for everything. But my hopes were shot down when I entered math class, a long time before the bell. He arrived next. Mr. Steven Skane. Mr. Know everything, see everything, do nothing, himself. I couldn’t stand it. Stand knowing he knew. Wondering what happened at his locker after school that very special day, so long ago now, that changed my whole concept of life. So Mr. Steven Skane, your going to be target number one. I’m telling your story first.
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