Right hand on the latch, I'm almost out into the cold, cold morning when **

the sledgehammer falls: **

Where do you think you're going, dressed like some lunatic street person?

Just the tone of Daddy's voice makes my entire body quake. I don't dare turn **

around, don't dare look into his eyes.

In them, I know I'll see the real lunatic.

I find an excuse. "Uh, we...we have a play rehearsal this morning. This will **

help me get into my role, that's all."

He doesn't buy a word of it.

Today is Wednesday. You have drama Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

Has he actually memorized my class schedule?

Does he really keep an eye on such things?

161.

I mean, yes, he's a control freak and all....

I finally face him, crazy man in the eyes and all **

He's there, okay, daring me not to admit the lie. I know better. "Yes, that's right, **

but I'm already running late. I don't have time to change now."

The lunatic levels me.

No daughter of mine goes out in public like that. Go change. I'll drive you.

162.

I Back Up the Hallway Eyes firmly planted on Daddy, who follows. Why does it have to be just the two of us here?

I want my sister. I want my mom.

Surely he won't trail me into my room. Won't watch me undress.

Won't stop me from transforming from hippie to soc. Right? Right?

Please tell me I'm right!

I back into my room, start to close the door, hoping he won't push inside. "I'll hurry, okay, Daddy?"

I stare at him, try to measure him, and the weirdest thought flashes inside my head: He must **

have been incredibly good-looking once, before life crashed around him. Took him down. He pauses.

Should I help you choose what to wear?

His voice is soft as baby skin.

163.

This can go a couple of ways.

Say no and face his anger?

Say yes and face...what, exactly?

Instinct tells me to accept his offer.

Uh. Sure." But I start to shake as he steps through the doorway, **

moves swiftly across the floor to my closet, pokes inside, swaying back and forth like an Indian cobra charmer.

This, he says, has always been one of my favorites. You look like your mother in it.

164.

He Caresses A pink angora sweater, pets it softly, as if it were the bunny the fur was stripped from.

He hands it to me, along with a slim pair of burgundy jeans. Daddy has good taste.

I take his offerings, start toward the bathroom, but he stops me with the force of his eyes.

I know what he wants. Sudden nausea rocks me, but just as I think for sure I'll vomit right here, **

the telephone rings, yanking Daddy from his trance.

His head turns toward the door.

Oh. Been expecting that call.

Hurry and change. You don't want to be late for school.

165.

The Jeans Rub My Cut And painfully so, but the pain reminds me that I'm still alive, still in control of at least one thing.

Right now I need to feel more in control, so I stash my hippie clothes deep in my book bag.

Daddy is still on the phone.

I call "good-bye," rush out the door, down the street, after the bus.

I can see the flash of its tail- lights, breathe its greasy exhaust, but I can't catch up to it.

I watch it swing wide, onto the highway and up the hill toward school. Now what?

Behind me, I hear a well- tuned car and know without turning it's Daddy's Lexus.

166.

He Pulls Up Not quite scraping the curb.

The window lowers, and I wait, **

expecting a hot wave of anger.

Instead his eyes sweep over **

my body, assessing. He catches something he doesn't like.

Much better, except for your hair. Take them out.

Take what out? Oh, the braids.

I do as instructed. Wait again.

That will do. Now get in. Why didn't you wait for me?

"You were still on the phone.

I thought I could catch the bus."

I settle into the plush warmed leather, unworthy of its comfort.

You know I hate disobedience.

I hope it won't happen again.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just trying to save you the trouble...."

167.

His head snaps in my direction, and his hand flashes toward me.

It takes all my willpower not to flinch, not to bloat his anger.