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funny.
    IKssBoiz&Grls: U let ur job color ur outlook. B happy!
    The upstairs floorboards creaked and Wendy heard a rough cough from down the hall. Sliding off her bed, she hurried to her desk and pulled her Algebra book toward her.
    EgonSpengler: Dad's up. C u l8r. xox
    IKssBoiz&Grls: Pick u up @ 7. Bai!
    Floorboards squeaked and there was a soft tap at her bedroom door. The door creaked slowly open. “Hey Pippi Longstocking, are you up?”
    “Yeah, Dad.” Wendy stuffed the phone behind her Lit book. Jabber, spotting her father, hissed and jumped to the floor, scooting through the dust ruffle to hide beneath the bed. “Polynomials are kicking my as— uh, butt.” That little white lie stung somewhat; Wendy did quite well in math when she could find time to concentrate. Luckily, Mr. McGovern gave her leeway when it came to homework since she always aced the quizzes and tests.
    “Ouch.” Wendy's dad eased into her room, gingerly shutting the door. The edge of the door caught his robe and he had to tug it free, ripping the threadbare terry cloth in the process. “Damn,” he cursed, pushing his glasses up his nose. He sagged so that even his plaid pajamas seemed dejected. “This's my favorite robe.”
    “It's cool, Dad.” Wendy waved her hand at a pile of similarly mauled clothing in the corner of the room. “Chuck it over there and I'll get to it next weekend.”
    “That's an impressive stack.” Her father neatly folded the robe and set it atop the teetering pile. “How do you manage to constantly ruin or rip up perfectly good clothes?” He held up the stockings from earlier in the evening. “Didn't we just buy you these last paycheck?”
    “You know me,” Wendy lied glibly, “clumsy, clumsy, clumsy.” The clock chimed three downstairs and she held up her notebook. “Is there anything I can help you with, Dad? I have to be up before seven and I'm only half done.”
    Her father scratched his thinning red hair and settled on the edge of her bed. He leaned forward and asked, almost apologetically, “Actually, there is. When did you get in tonight, Winifred?”
    Wendy paused for a brief moment, as if considering, and then shrugged. “I don't know, Dad. I didn't check the clock. It wasn't that late, though.” Setting her notepad down on the corner of her desk, Wendy turned in her seat so that she was facing her father, and arranged her features into a mask of concern. “Why? Did I wake you?”
    “No. You never wake me, honey.” Her dad sighed and sat back and rubbed his hand through his hair again, a sure sign of distress. Her father had once had a head of hair as full and garishly auburn as her own…until her mother's accident. Now he was practically bald.
    “Look, Wendy, I know you're sixteen and you're practically an adult and all that jazz, I understand that. And you've never gotten into trouble. After your mother…well, for the past six months you've been a super help around the house. I know the twins wouldn't cope as well as they do if it weren't for you.” He hesitated.
    Inwardly, Wendy snorted and thought: Well-adjusted. Right. If her father knew half of what was going on in their house, there was no way he'd be in such a big rush to hurry from assignment to assignment the way he did. On the bright side, his willful ignorance left her plenty of time to roam around town in the dead of the night, so she wasn't anxious to alert him to his misconceptions.
    Wendy sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah. But?”
    “Wendy, sweetie, I'm just worried about you. You used to be a straight A student. You used to be in choir, you were on the student council. But now you and Eddie…” He waved his hand half-heartedly. “The two of you dye your hair black and paint your nails black and all those piercings can't be healthy. Don't even get me started on the ink your mother approved right before…well, you know.”
    Wendy's hand flew to her ears where, under her palms, seven studs marched up