Status: Discontinued.
Billie Jo
Part Three: Kenbrook
Mike kept good on his promise and when Billie Jo started school at Chastin her best friend walked up the sidewalk with her, a huge grin on his face. Mike poked her arm. "Hey, buck up, cutie. School sucks, but it ain't a fuckin' funeral."
Billie gave a small smile, keeping her head down as she followed Mike to the office. Fifteen minutes later they were shoving notebooks in their neighboring lockers before heading to separate classes, Mike to math and Billie Jo to a computer class. The girl tried to ignore the looks she was getting as she walked to Computer Lab B. She flushed pink when a boy in a football jersey whistled at her.
Please, God, please don't let them find out. she thought as she entered the classroom, taking the seat the teacher pointed out to her. Billie said the same prayer every time she started a new school and threw her Bible against the wall every time her prayer went unheard.
But she didn't have Mike before. And she had the feeling that would make a difference at this new school, this new school where no one yet knew her secret. The guy next to her leaned over, causing Billie Jo to stare directly at the computer in front of her, trying to scrutinize her appearance in the screen's reflection.
"So, you just move here?" he asked.
Billie Jo nodded, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Yeah."
"I'm Colby."
"Billie Jo." the girl replied.
The boy cocked an eyebrow. "Billie Jo?"
She giggled. "My mom's from Oklahoma." she said by way of explanation.
"So you from there, too?"
Billie laughed. "Hardly. L.A. But we moved a lot after I turned ten."
"Army brat?"
Billie bit her lip. "Something like that." she said softly.
* * *
"Yeah, well I don't like him." Mike said at lunch. They were standing near the fence, Mike smoking and Billie eating the apple she considered a meal.
"So?" she said, in a challenging tone she didn't normally use.
"Just sayin'." Mike shrugged and lit another cigarette. "You ought to eat more than that, you know."
"Look who's talking." Billie snapped, instantly feeling guilty. Her cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry."
Mike just shrugged again, holding out his cigarette to Billie who immediately shook her head. Mike continued to hold it out until Billie finally took it, taking a short drag and handing it back, frowning when Mike laughed at her cough.
"Shut up." Mike grinned and stuck his hand out to ruffle her hair, but Billie dodged it. "Uh-uh. You know how fucking long it took me to do my hair?"
"You girls and your fucking hair and make-up drama." Mike rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "You coming over after school?"
Billie shook her head. "Can't. Mom an' me are going . . ." Her voice trailed off. ". . . somewhere."
"Where?"
Billie Jo glared at him. "You have no tact at all, Pritchard."
"Yeah, well, I have an excuse."
"What's that?"
"I have a dick."
Billie didn't talk to him for the rest of the day.
* * *
The eleven-year-old sat in the corner sobbing, the phone still clutched to her ear long after the call had been disconnected. Her mother was still pressing against the door, repeating her instructions that if it opened Billie Jo was to go out the open window, no questions asked.
"But, Momma—"
"Billie Jo Armstrong—"
But then there was a sound that made climbing out the window unnecessary. Ollie Armstrong held her daughter in her arms, blocking the view of Billie's father in handcuffs.
* * *
Billie Jo stared out the window, plainly sulking. When Ollie reached out to take her daughter's hand, the girl pulled away violently, nearly hitting her head against the glass. "Billie—"
"I don't wanna go." the girl interrupted. "I hate going to Kenbrook. Why do I have to come every fucking time?"
"Watch your language." Ollie said sharply. "Don't make me ground you, young lady." Her voice softened a bit. "You don't have to go in. You can wait in the car or the lobby, Billie. But you're going to see your grandmother and that's that."
"I hate seeing her." Billie muttered.
"Billie Jo!"
"What?" the girl snapped back at her mother's accusatory tone. "She's mean to me. Do you like going to see people that are mean to you? All she does is stare at me and ask me questions and treat me like I'm a big stupid mistake."
"Billie, sweetie, no one thinks you're a mistake."
Yeah, right. The girl turned back toward the window, trying not to cry. She didn't know why her mother went to Kenbrook. Billie hated to even think about the place, let alone sit in a car for hours with only the radio and her mother for company to get there.
"How was school?"
"Ma, you've asked me that three times!" Billie said, exasperated. "It was the same as it was fifteen minutes ago."
"I know there's something you're not telling me, Billie Jo." Ollie said in a matter-of-fact tone. "What happened? Did you get in a fight? Did—"
"I don't have to tell you everything!" Billie all but screamed. "Can't you just leave me alone and stop asking stupid questions?"
"All right."
The rest of the car ride was silent, Ollie watching the traffic and Billie Jo staring out the window bitterly, but that didn't keep her from feeling incredibly guilty. When they arrived at Kenbrook Ollie was the first to speak. "I'd really appreciate if you came in, Billie." she said in a low voice.
"Daddy doesn't even know who I am, Mom." Billie said, tears blurring her vision. "He keeps asking for Billie Joe."
There were no words for that moment and Billie's mother knew it. She pulled the keys from the ignition, fingers shaking. "I'll be about a half hour." she said. "Maybe forty-five minutes." She dug in her purse, extracting a ten dollar bill. "You know where the Subway and Taco Bell are, sweetie." She leaned over to kiss her daughter, but Billie pulled away once more.
Eyes filling with tears of her own, Ollie left the bill and keys on her seat, grabbing her purse and stepping out of the car.
Billie burst into tears the moment her mother was out of sight, her head in her hands. Loud, jerky sobs escaped her lips. "It's not fair." she whispered to herself. Over and over, like a mantra or a prayer, she whispered those words.
* * *
Billie Jo was sitting in Subway nearly thirty minutes later, picking at a six inch veggie sub and drinking an iced tea. She was thinking about lots of things. Her fight with Mike, her father, if she could make herself puke to get out of seeing her grandmother. She wasn't thinking about the boy who sat down in her booth, directly across from her.
"Waiting for your boyfriend?" he asked.
Billie shook her head. "No." she said softly.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" the boy pressed on.
She shook her head again, dark locks falling in her face. She ran a hand through her hair, forcing them back into place and giving the boy a look at her dark green eyes.
"Lucky me." The boy grinned in a way Billie didn't like. "You want to get out of here?"
"S-Sorry." she mumbled. "I've got to meet my mom in, like, five minutes." She fumbled with the bracelets on her wrist.
"Can I get your number?"
Billie Jo shook her head, slipping out of the booth and out the door. She fumbled in her purse when she heard the footsteps behind her. A quick glance, however, showed that the footsteps belonged to a girl in converse sneakers, fishnets, and a denim miniskirt. The girl glared at Billie Jo as she walked past her, causing Billie to check her reflection in the nearest window, paranoia setting in as it so often did in situations such as these.
Billie Jo and her mother reached the white Honda at the same time, the daughter wordlessly handing the keys over. The mascara Ollie Armstrong had tried to wipe away had left a small smudge under her right eye. Billie decided not to mention it. Neither of them spoke as Ollie put the car in reverse, maneuvering out of the parking lot before turning right on Monroe Drive.
Billie's hand moved to her hair, adjusting it. Ollie kept her eyes straight ahead, occasionally darting a quick glance at her daughter. The green-eyed girl dug around in her purse, fishing out a tube of pink lip gloss and turning the radio on, pointedly ignoring her mother.
* * *
"Momma, no." twelve year old Billie said, pulling on her mother's hand. "Momma, I don't want to see him." Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Billie," Ollie bent her knees and looked her daughter in the eyes, "your father is sick. We talked about this in the car. He wants to see you."
The girl shook her head. "No. No, he doesn't Momma. He wants to see Billie Joe. I hate it!" she pulled away from her mother and started running toward the elevator doors, stopping when her mother wrapped her arms around Billie's waist from behind.
"Five minutes, Billie. Angel, sweetie, just five minutes. If you want to leave, then we'll leave." Ollie whispered, kissing the young girl's temple.
"He hit you!" Billie snapped through her tears. "He hit you and he tried to hit me! He hates us. Why do you still love him?"
"Billie, sweet—"
"I hate him." the girl said bitterly. "I hate him."
* * *
"Billie's still wearing dresses and make up." Nicolette Armstrong observed, glancing out her screen door where her granddaughter was kicking at the ground, kneeling to pet a cat that had wandered into the yard.
"That's what girls do, Mother." Ollie said coolly. "Let's not do this again. Billie Jo is who she is. You making her cry and lock herself in the car isn't going to change any of that."
"You know I can't have that child at any family occasions until she . . . he . . . Dammit, Ollie, it's not natural!" the older woman snapped, throwing her napkin on the table. "I don't know why you've let this go on for so long. Billie needs psychiatric help. He's sick!"
Ollie sighed, standing up. "It was nice seeing you again too, Mother. I'm sure your granddaughter feels the same."
"Billie needs help." Nicolette repeated. "And if you don't do something about it, I'm calling Children's Services."
Ollie turned around at the door, purse in her hand, face set. "And tell them what, Mother? That my daughter likes to wear pink? There's absolutely nothing wrong with Billie Jo, just what she gets told. And what she gets told isn't right, it's what people have been taught to think. Much like what you're trying to do now. You cannot convince me that my child is sick."
She stepped out of the front door, taking Billie Jo by the hand and heading her to the car. "I'm sorry." she whispered to her daughter.
Billie watched her grandmother as their car pulled out of the driveway before smoothing out her skirt and pulling lip gloss from her purse once again.
Billie gave a small smile, keeping her head down as she followed Mike to the office. Fifteen minutes later they were shoving notebooks in their neighboring lockers before heading to separate classes, Mike to math and Billie Jo to a computer class. The girl tried to ignore the looks she was getting as she walked to Computer Lab B. She flushed pink when a boy in a football jersey whistled at her.
Please, God, please don't let them find out. she thought as she entered the classroom, taking the seat the teacher pointed out to her. Billie said the same prayer every time she started a new school and threw her Bible against the wall every time her prayer went unheard.
But she didn't have Mike before. And she had the feeling that would make a difference at this new school, this new school where no one yet knew her secret. The guy next to her leaned over, causing Billie Jo to stare directly at the computer in front of her, trying to scrutinize her appearance in the screen's reflection.
"So, you just move here?" he asked.
Billie Jo nodded, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Yeah."
"I'm Colby."
"Billie Jo." the girl replied.
The boy cocked an eyebrow. "Billie Jo?"
She giggled. "My mom's from Oklahoma." she said by way of explanation.
"So you from there, too?"
Billie laughed. "Hardly. L.A. But we moved a lot after I turned ten."
"Army brat?"
Billie bit her lip. "Something like that." she said softly.
* * *
"Yeah, well I don't like him." Mike said at lunch. They were standing near the fence, Mike smoking and Billie eating the apple she considered a meal.
"So?" she said, in a challenging tone she didn't normally use.
"Just sayin'." Mike shrugged and lit another cigarette. "You ought to eat more than that, you know."
"Look who's talking." Billie snapped, instantly feeling guilty. Her cheeks flushed pink. "Sorry."
Mike just shrugged again, holding out his cigarette to Billie who immediately shook her head. Mike continued to hold it out until Billie finally took it, taking a short drag and handing it back, frowning when Mike laughed at her cough.
"Shut up." Mike grinned and stuck his hand out to ruffle her hair, but Billie dodged it. "Uh-uh. You know how fucking long it took me to do my hair?"
"You girls and your fucking hair and make-up drama." Mike rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. "You coming over after school?"
Billie shook her head. "Can't. Mom an' me are going . . ." Her voice trailed off. ". . . somewhere."
"Where?"
Billie Jo glared at him. "You have no tact at all, Pritchard."
"Yeah, well, I have an excuse."
"What's that?"
"I have a dick."
Billie didn't talk to him for the rest of the day.
* * *
The eleven-year-old sat in the corner sobbing, the phone still clutched to her ear long after the call had been disconnected. Her mother was still pressing against the door, repeating her instructions that if it opened Billie Jo was to go out the open window, no questions asked.
"But, Momma—"
"Billie Jo Armstrong—"
But then there was a sound that made climbing out the window unnecessary. Ollie Armstrong held her daughter in her arms, blocking the view of Billie's father in handcuffs.
* * *
Billie Jo stared out the window, plainly sulking. When Ollie reached out to take her daughter's hand, the girl pulled away violently, nearly hitting her head against the glass. "Billie—"
"I don't wanna go." the girl interrupted. "I hate going to Kenbrook. Why do I have to come every fucking time?"
"Watch your language." Ollie said sharply. "Don't make me ground you, young lady." Her voice softened a bit. "You don't have to go in. You can wait in the car or the lobby, Billie. But you're going to see your grandmother and that's that."
"I hate seeing her." Billie muttered.
"Billie Jo!"
"What?" the girl snapped back at her mother's accusatory tone. "She's mean to me. Do you like going to see people that are mean to you? All she does is stare at me and ask me questions and treat me like I'm a big stupid mistake."
"Billie, sweetie, no one thinks you're a mistake."
Yeah, right. The girl turned back toward the window, trying not to cry. She didn't know why her mother went to Kenbrook. Billie hated to even think about the place, let alone sit in a car for hours with only the radio and her mother for company to get there.
"How was school?"
"Ma, you've asked me that three times!" Billie said, exasperated. "It was the same as it was fifteen minutes ago."
"I know there's something you're not telling me, Billie Jo." Ollie said in a matter-of-fact tone. "What happened? Did you get in a fight? Did—"
"I don't have to tell you everything!" Billie all but screamed. "Can't you just leave me alone and stop asking stupid questions?"
"All right."
The rest of the car ride was silent, Ollie watching the traffic and Billie Jo staring out the window bitterly, but that didn't keep her from feeling incredibly guilty. When they arrived at Kenbrook Ollie was the first to speak. "I'd really appreciate if you came in, Billie." she said in a low voice.
"Daddy doesn't even know who I am, Mom." Billie said, tears blurring her vision. "He keeps asking for Billie Joe."
There were no words for that moment and Billie's mother knew it. She pulled the keys from the ignition, fingers shaking. "I'll be about a half hour." she said. "Maybe forty-five minutes." She dug in her purse, extracting a ten dollar bill. "You know where the Subway and Taco Bell are, sweetie." She leaned over to kiss her daughter, but Billie pulled away once more.
Eyes filling with tears of her own, Ollie left the bill and keys on her seat, grabbing her purse and stepping out of the car.
Billie burst into tears the moment her mother was out of sight, her head in her hands. Loud, jerky sobs escaped her lips. "It's not fair." she whispered to herself. Over and over, like a mantra or a prayer, she whispered those words.
* * *
Billie Jo was sitting in Subway nearly thirty minutes later, picking at a six inch veggie sub and drinking an iced tea. She was thinking about lots of things. Her fight with Mike, her father, if she could make herself puke to get out of seeing her grandmother. She wasn't thinking about the boy who sat down in her booth, directly across from her.
"Waiting for your boyfriend?" he asked.
Billie shook her head. "No." she said softly.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" the boy pressed on.
She shook her head again, dark locks falling in her face. She ran a hand through her hair, forcing them back into place and giving the boy a look at her dark green eyes.
"Lucky me." The boy grinned in a way Billie didn't like. "You want to get out of here?"
"S-Sorry." she mumbled. "I've got to meet my mom in, like, five minutes." She fumbled with the bracelets on her wrist.
"Can I get your number?"
Billie Jo shook her head, slipping out of the booth and out the door. She fumbled in her purse when she heard the footsteps behind her. A quick glance, however, showed that the footsteps belonged to a girl in converse sneakers, fishnets, and a denim miniskirt. The girl glared at Billie Jo as she walked past her, causing Billie to check her reflection in the nearest window, paranoia setting in as it so often did in situations such as these.
Billie Jo and her mother reached the white Honda at the same time, the daughter wordlessly handing the keys over. The mascara Ollie Armstrong had tried to wipe away had left a small smudge under her right eye. Billie decided not to mention it. Neither of them spoke as Ollie put the car in reverse, maneuvering out of the parking lot before turning right on Monroe Drive.
Billie's hand moved to her hair, adjusting it. Ollie kept her eyes straight ahead, occasionally darting a quick glance at her daughter. The green-eyed girl dug around in her purse, fishing out a tube of pink lip gloss and turning the radio on, pointedly ignoring her mother.
* * *
"Momma, no." twelve year old Billie said, pulling on her mother's hand. "Momma, I don't want to see him." Tears ran down her cheeks.
"Billie," Ollie bent her knees and looked her daughter in the eyes, "your father is sick. We talked about this in the car. He wants to see you."
The girl shook her head. "No. No, he doesn't Momma. He wants to see Billie Joe. I hate it!" she pulled away from her mother and started running toward the elevator doors, stopping when her mother wrapped her arms around Billie's waist from behind.
"Five minutes, Billie. Angel, sweetie, just five minutes. If you want to leave, then we'll leave." Ollie whispered, kissing the young girl's temple.
"He hit you!" Billie snapped through her tears. "He hit you and he tried to hit me! He hates us. Why do you still love him?"
"Billie, sweet—"
"I hate him." the girl said bitterly. "I hate him."
* * *
"Billie's still wearing dresses and make up." Nicolette Armstrong observed, glancing out her screen door where her granddaughter was kicking at the ground, kneeling to pet a cat that had wandered into the yard.
"That's what girls do, Mother." Ollie said coolly. "Let's not do this again. Billie Jo is who she is. You making her cry and lock herself in the car isn't going to change any of that."
"You know I can't have that child at any family occasions until she . . . he . . . Dammit, Ollie, it's not natural!" the older woman snapped, throwing her napkin on the table. "I don't know why you've let this go on for so long. Billie needs psychiatric help. He's sick!"
Ollie sighed, standing up. "It was nice seeing you again too, Mother. I'm sure your granddaughter feels the same."
"Billie needs help." Nicolette repeated. "And if you don't do something about it, I'm calling Children's Services."
Ollie turned around at the door, purse in her hand, face set. "And tell them what, Mother? That my daughter likes to wear pink? There's absolutely nothing wrong with Billie Jo, just what she gets told. And what she gets told isn't right, it's what people have been taught to think. Much like what you're trying to do now. You cannot convince me that my child is sick."
She stepped out of the front door, taking Billie Jo by the hand and heading her to the car. "I'm sorry." she whispered to her daughter.
Billie watched her grandmother as their car pulled out of the driveway before smoothing out her skirt and pulling lip gloss from her purse once again.