Year's Best SF 13

Introduction

The year 2007 in SF was a year in which average mass market sales decreased, and bestseller sales increased—a few books sold a lot of copies and fewer copies were sold of a lot of books. Generally hardcover sales were good. The SF magazines hung on. A publisher that did a lot of edgy SF, Thunder’s Mouth, closed its doors and ceased to exist, the Orbit line was launched in the U.S. by Hachette, and the military and economic news in the real world was not good.

One of SF’s standard scenarios, global warming, long accepted as science by scientists, was accepted by some politicians when it was suddenly discovered that the Arctic ice cap was melting very fast and might well be disappearing. Other politicians continued to maintain that science is just a matter of opinion. Still, I suppose we could say there was progress. The last volume of Kim Stanley Robinson’s major trilogy on global warming was published.

Tens of millions of computer games were sold. As the year progressed, it was announced again that the electronic book is just about to replace the printed book—we are not holding our breath until it happens, though everyone in publishing would like to be able to make more money on electronic books. The money isn’t there yet. There was a World SF convention in Japan, and a conference in China.

The rhetoric of fear was invoked by politicians fairly steadily to shut off debate about freedom, individual rights, and moral and ethical responsibilites, never mind objective reality. Much government corruption was exposed in the U.S. and elsewhere, and a truly enormous amount of debt heretofore hidden was noticed by the world economy. The assumptions of the quality of daily life granted as permanent in the twentieth century were rapidly disappearing.

And a lot of SF short fiction was published in magazines, anthologies, online, in pamphlets and printed zines, and by small presses of all descriptions. Much of the best of it was concerned with how we will deal with the world of the future that has replaced the assumptions of the present (now past) we have been clinging to, progressively more uncomfortably. And as in 2006, the highest concentrations of excellence were still in the professional publications, including the regular short short stories in the great science journal, Nature; in the anthologies from the large and small presses; and in the highest paying online markets, though the small press zines and little magazines were significant contributors as well. The small press really expanded in recent years and was a major force in short fiction this past year, both in book form and in a proliferation of ambitious little magazines, in the U.S. and the rest of the world. The difference in 2007 was that this was the year of the ambitious original anthology, in both fantasy and SF. Aside from the usual pretty good and partly good anthologies, there were several outstanding ones, including Fast Forward 1, The New Space Opera, Eclipse 1, and The Solaris Book of New SF.

Jim Baen’s Universe and Strange Horizons remained the leading online SF publications, with Subterranean changing at the end of the year from print to online, and looking to join them at the top. And Aeon, Revolution SF, Eidolon online, Fantastic Magnitude, Clarkesworld, and Challenging Destiny, for instance, continued to show real promise.

This is a book about what’s going on now in SF. We try in each volume of this series to represent the varieties of tones and voices and attitudes that keep the genre vigorous and responsive to the changing realities out of which it emerges, in science and daily life. It is supposed to be fun to read, a special kind of fun you cannot find elsewhere. The stories that follow show, and the story notes point out, the strengths of the evolving genre in the year 2007.

This book is full of science fiction—every story in the book is clearly that and not something else. It is our opinion that it is a good thing to have genre boundaries. If we didn’t, young writers would probably feel compelled to find something else, perhaps less interesting, to transgress or attack to draw attention to themselves. We have a high regard for horror, fantasy, speculative fiction, and slipstream, and postmodern literature. We (Kathryn Cramer and David G. Hartwell) edit the Year’s Best Fantasy as well, a companion volume to this one—look for it if you enjoy short fantasy fiction, too. But here, we choose science fiction.

We make a lot of additional comments about the writers and the stories, and what’s happening in SF, in the individual introductions accompanying the stories in this book. Welcome to the Year’s Best SF in 2007.

Baby Doll

JOHANNA SINISALO

Translated from the Finnish by David Hackston

Johanna Sinisalo lives in the city of Tampere, in southern Finland, and is a contemporary Finnish SF and Fantasy writer. She is also a reviewer, columnist, comics writer, and screenwriter. She worked in advertising for fifteen years before turning to writing full time. Her first novel, published in the U.S. as Troll: A Love Story, was awarded Finland’s most important literary prize. Her first collection came out in Finnish in 2005, Kädettömät kuninkaat ja muita häiritseviä tarinoita [Handless Kings and Other Disturbing Stories]. She has edited The Dedalus Book of Finnish Fantasy.

Baby Doll, which appeared for the first time in English in 2007, in The SFWA European Hall of Fame, edited by James Morrow and Kathryn Morrow, was previously collected in the 2002 Finnish anthology Intohimosta rikokseen; it has also appeared in French, and in several other languages. It is a dark story which extrapolates on all-too-familiar social trends. Bruce Sterling singled out this story as one of the highlights of The SFWA European Hall of Fame, describing it as a Finnish denunciation of materialistic exploitation of children. James Morrow calls it a nightmare world of assembly-line Lolitas. Cutting-edge Finnish SF apparently has much to offer the world SF readership.

Annette comes home from school and shrugs her bag onto the floor in the hall. The bag is made of clear vinyl speckled with metal glitter, all in rainbow colors that swirl around the iridescent pink hearts and full kissy lips. The vinyl reveals the contents of the bag: Annette’s schoolbooks, exercise books, and a plastic pencil box featuring the hottest boy band of 2015, Stick That Dick. The boys wear open leather jackets across their rippling bare torsos, and their jockstraps all feature the head of some animal with a large beak or a long trunk. Craig has an elephant on his jockstrap. Craig’s the cutest of them all.

Annette slings her bright red spandex jacket across a chair and starts to remove her matching stretch boots. They’re tight around the shins, but she can’t be bothered to bend down and wrench them off. Instead she tries to pry one heel free with the opposite toe, but succeeds only in tearing her fishnet stockings.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

Mumps walks in from the kitchen, still wearing her work clothes. What was that, darling?

I said, ‘Golly, I’ve wrecked my tights.’

Oh, dear, not again. And they were so expensive. Well, you’ll just have to wear the plain ones tomorrow.

"I’m so not wearing anything like that!"

Darling, you don’t really have a choice.

"Then I’m not going to school at all!" Annette snatches up her bag and stomps off toward her room, but the TV is on in the den, and it’s time for her favorite show, Suburban Heat and Hate. I’d look like a total dork! she continues, half to herself, half to her mother, who can no longer hear her, as she throws herself on the couch.

The show begins. The plot’s as thick as it gets. Jake has just been discovered in bed with Melissa, but Bella doesn’t know that Jake knows she’s having an affair with his twin brother Tom. Jake meanwhile doesn’t know that Melissa is in fact his daughter, because years ago he helped a lesbian couple get pregnant.

Let’s make a deal, darling. Mum has come in from the kitchen and is standing by the couch.

Quiet! I can’t hear a thing. Just then Bella pulls Jake off Melissa, screaming a barrage of abuse, leaving Melissa’s enormous boobs and Jake’s white butt in full view. At school today Annette heard Ninotska telling everyone to watch this afternoon’s episode because Jake’s got such a fantastic butt. Annette doesn’t see what’s so fantastic about it. It’s paler than the rest of his brown skin, and it isn’t as hairy as other men’s butts. Still, tomorrow she’ll find an opportunity to tell Ninotska she got a glimpse of Jake’s butt, and of course she’ll say she thought it was totally hypersmart, and give a low giggle the way you’re supposed to when you talk about these things.

Mum waits till the commercials come on. I have to go back to work the minute Dad gets home.

I’ll be fine.

Lulu’s at a shoot. Dad’ll pick her up around nine or ten, and then it’s your bedtime.

Tell me something I don’t know.

One more thing, darling. I’m going on a business trip tomorrow, and I’ll be away for two days.

You’re always going off somewhere.

Dad can help you with your homework.

Yeah, right, I bet he makes me watch Otso so he can play squash.

That’s what I mean by the deal. Promise me you’ll help Dad and all you kids will behave yourselves.

Annette is pissed off—big time. Whenever Mumps goes away, they end up eating all sorts of weird meals that Dumps cooks himself, instead of pizza or deli sushi or toasted sandwiches like Mumps gives them. You need to tell Dumps at least a hundred times what stuff to buy at the store, and why you need it. Once when Mumps was away Annette spent an hour explaining to Dumps why she categorically had to have a new eyelash-lengthening mascara and a bottle of golden body-spray.

On one condition, Annette says.

What’s that?

Can I go to a sleepover at Ninotska’s Thursday night?

Although Annette hasn’t actually been invited, rumor has it Ninotska’s still deciding on the final guest list. Annette has noticed Ninotska checking out the Stick That Dick pencil box that Mum and Dad brought back from London. Annette could give Ninotska the pencil box, then later ask Mum for money to buy another—she could always say she cracked the old one.

Just in case she gets invited, she has to make sure she has permission to go. If you get invited you have to be able to say Sí, sí, gracias without worrying about it. Nobody is tragic enough to say they need to ask permission, and if you say Sí, sí, gracias and don’t turn up, you can pretty much forget about being invited anywhere again.

Who’s Ninotska?

Ninotska Lahtinen from our year, stupid! She lives on Vuorikatu.

And why do you have to go over there?

She’s having her nine-yo party. And I’ll need to take a present. I can catch a bus if Dad can’t take me.

Mumps sighs, and with that Annette knows she won’t have to sweat it anymore. The commercials finally end, and Annette turns back to the tube. Melissa’s a professional stripper. She’s wearing a bikini with golden frills. It’s so mega.

The apartment door opens, and Dumps comes in, having picked up Otso at the nursery. Otso is five-yo.

Mumps has laid the table with pasta salad from the deli. It’s all right except for the capers; Annette doesn’t like them and shoves the awful things aside. Dumps starts raving on about how they’re the most delicious bits, then spears a caper off Annette’s plate and stuffs it in his mouth, loudly smacking his lips. Otso only ever eats the pasta twists, but wouldn’t you know—nobody gives him a lecture about it.

So Otso, how was nursery today? Mumps asks, all treacly like a TV kiddie host. Did she really use that twittery voice on Annette when she was five?

I’m going on a date! With my girlfriend! Otso can’t say his f’s properly, and his speech therapist has her work cut out with his r’s too. The word girlfriend sounds like Otso’s trying to spit something out between his front teeth.

Mumps and Dumps exchange one of their grown-up looks. Well, our big boy’s going on a date! says Dad in the same cringe-o-matic voice as Mum. When is your date, and who is it with?

Tomorrow, with Pamela. Her Mum’s picking us up.

Mum and Dad simper at one another again, pretending to swoon, then shake their heads in the phoniest way, meanwhile smiling like split sausages.

Pamela’s my main squeeze, says Otso, shoveling down different colored pasta swirls.

Once Mum has gone back to the office, Annette flops down to watch the reality show Between the Sheets, in which the contestants try to find the perfect sex partner. What first comes to mind when I look down your cleavage: (a) lemons, (b) apples, or (c) melons? a male contestant asks a woman sprawled behind the curtain on a canopy bed when the door opens and Dad and Lulu walk in.

Lulu’s only two years older than Annette, but looking at her you’d never believe it.

She’s still wearing her photo-session makeup, a pair of giant false eyelashes, with so much black and gray around her eyes it no longer looks like makeup at all; the eye-shadow just gave her a tired and hungry look. Her lips feature a dark crimson pencil-line to straighten her Cupid’s bow, the puffy parts filled with a lighter plum-red, and there’s so much lip-gloss involved that her mouth appears bruised and swollen. Her hair has been curled in tiny ringlets and tied in a deliberately careless bun.

Not long ago Lulu got calls from photographers in Milan and Tokyo, and she burst into tears when they later told Mum and Dad not to bring her because she was too short after all. Before that disaster she’d been weighing herself twice a day, but now she’s checking her height three or four times a week. She has a special chart on the wall for marking her growth. The pencil lines are so close together they form a gray smudge.

Lulu’s face recently landed on the cover of the Finnish Cosmopolitan, a very big deal, so now her agent says she has to stop posing for the catalogs. Being associated with Monoprix and Wal-Mart won’t help her image. She’s far too sensual.

Lulu heads upstairs to rinse off her sensual makeup. Annette’s stomach twists and churns. She goes to her room and stands before the mirror and tries to stare herself down, as if she could make her face look more sensual by gazing at it angrily enough. She sucks her belly in, but she still resembles a flat squash.

Annette! Bedtime! comes Dumps’s voice from downstairs.

Yes yes YESYES!

Annette’s a slut! the boys start shouting as she walks onto the playground, pretending not to hear them. It’s fairly normal and not worth worrying about; anybody they’re not trying to pull they call a slut—and they’re not trying to pull Annette.

There are far worse things they could shout out.

Ninotska and Veronika are standing by the main entrance, whispering to each other. Veli and Juho walk past. Veli attempts to grope Ninotska, and Juho tries shoving his hand up Veronika’s black leather miniskirt. Ninotska giggles, squirms, and pushes him away, and Veronika dashes to hide behind her. Veli and Juho swagger toward the door, and on their way each boy sticks his index finger through the looped thumb and finger of the other hand. Ninotska and Veronika giggle until the boys are out of earshot.

Annette approaches the two girls. Hi, she says awkwardly.

Veronika and Ninotska toss their fountains of permed hair and look at her disdainfully. Ninotska’s skimpy shirt allows a wide strip of skin to show between her golden shiny hipsters and her spaghetti-strap top. She has a silver ring in her bellybutton.

Ninotska, can you come over here for a minute? says Annette, backing toward the Dumpster. We need to talk.

Ninotska glances at Veronika, a scowl on her face, then joins Annette. Well, what’s the big deal? she asks suspiciously.

Annette reaches into her bag and brings out the Stick That Dick pencil box. You know, I’m really bored with this. You want it?

Ninotska’s eyes light up, and Annette realizes her offer’s having the desired effect. What makes you think I’d want your old crap? Ninotska bluntly replies, but it’s all part of the script.

Annette shrugs. Okay, fine then, she says and starts to throw the thing in the Dumpster.

Ninotska’s hand shoots out, grabbing the box before it can join the rubbish. Easy pleasy. I believe in recycling.

Annette smiles as Ninotska slips the pencil box into her golden bag printed with the words EAT ME. Hey, what’re you doing Thursday night? she asks finally, and Annette’s heart leaps with excitement.

On the bed Annette has spread out everything she’ll need: best lace-chiffon nightie, makeup kit, perfume—plus books and stuff for the next day at school. Her nine-yo present for Ninotska is wrapped in silver paper, three shades of nail polish that Annette picked out herself because Mumps would’ve gotten something tragic. It should all fit in the flight bag borrowed from Mumps. Now Annette must decide what to wear for the evening. She plumps for a pair of lizard-scale leggings and a skirt with a slit up the side. She hasn’t got any swank-tanks like Ninotska, but her green top is fray-proof, so she takes a pair of scissors and cuts a good ten centimeters off the bottom, making it stop well short of her bellybutton. The ragged cut is totally glam; it looks a bit like those TV shows where the jungle women’s clothes are so tattered they reveal lots of skin.

Annette studies the nightie and the matching thong underwear. Then she looks in the mirror.

She slips off her skirt, leggings, and panties. She opens her makeup kit and removes a black eyeliner. With her pink plastic sharpener she gives the pencil a serious point.

She sits spread-eagled before the mirror and with careful pencil strokes draws thin wavy lines between her legs.

Ninotska’s Mum and Dad are away somewhere for the evening. In addition to Ninotska and Annette, Veronika and Janika and Evita and Carmen and Vanessa are all naturally at the pajama party. The sleepover boasts buckets of pizza-flavored popcorn and big bottles of high-energy soda, so we can last through the night, squeals Ninotska.

Once Ninotska has opened her presents everybody gets ready for the fashion show. Back home Annette thought her nightie was fantastic, but now it looks like an old woman’s shirt. It’s too long, reaching almost to the knees, and totally unrevealing. Everybody agrees that Evita’s nightie is the best. It’s slightly see-through, like violet blue mist, and it’s so short it barely covers her ass. Ninotska’s is nice, too, with wide frilly shoulder straps and loose laces on the front so it’s open almost all the way down, and it’s made of red silk. But because it’s her party Ninotska decides to be generous and votes for Evita’s nightie.

Around ten o’clock everybody gets all excited and snickery when Ninotska takes a stepladder and goes into her Mum and Dad’s room and comes back cradling a stack of DVDs. Let’s watch a film. The girls sort through the pile. Each DVD has naked men and women on the cover, sharing the space with titles like Hot Pussies and Grand Slam Gang Bang. All the girls start giggling, hiding their mouths with their hands, and Ninotska puts a DVD in the player.

The pounding music and the script with its endless shouts of Give it to me, baby and Meats to the sweet are all very monotonous, but they still stare at the screen—nobody dares not watch. Annette feels twitchy and uncomfortable, and sometimes it’s like there’s a second little heart beating under her stomach, and that makes her uncomfortable, too. She knows you’re supposed to stay the distance with this stuff, and you’re also supposed to pretend it doesn’t bother you in the slightest, the way boys watch slasher movies—if you let on you’re scared, everybody laughs and takes the piss. Even though the whole point of horror flicks is to upset you, and that’s why they get made in the first place, you’re still not allowed to be scared. And so they have to watch these grand slam hot pussies as if it didn’t mean anything.

Once the second flick is halfway over, and two black dudes simultaneously pumping a woman with gigantic boobs, Ninotska gives a loud yawn, and this is a sign that the guests are no longer expected to be interested in the film. She switches the machine off, slipcases the disc, and drops it on the stack.

Who wants to check out my Mum and Dad’s room? she asks, and everybody wants to, of course. The girls jostle behind Ninotska and make their way into a lovely bedroom with an enormous four-poster and a gold-framed mirror on the wall. Ninotska climbs the stepladder to the top shelf of the closet. She returns the stack of DVDs, then takes down a big cardboard box and jumps back onto the rug. She opens the box and spreads the contents across the bed. Red-and-black underwear that’s nothing but a belt with bits of fabric on the sides: in the middle they’re completely open. A pair of manacles with fur on the cuffs. Ninotska grabs a pinkish zucchini and gives the end a twist, and the thing starts shaking in her hand. Brrrrr! she says, trying to imitate the noise of the zucchini, then waves it in each girl’s face, and they all move away giggling hysterically.

Has anybody ever tried one of these? she asks slowly, challenging them, and Annette feels like Ninotska is looking straight at her.

"I’ll bet none of you would dare." Ninotska glances across the group of girls. Somebody attempts a giggle, and then they all fall silent.

I dare you. I dare you.

The silence rings in Annette’s ears, her mouth is dry with anticipation, and she feels that any second now Ninotska’s eyes will stop at her.

Lulu’s chewing gum and trying to look mega, but every now and then she gives a quick laugh, her straightened, whitened teeth flashing between her dark red lips while the tabloid photographer takes her picture, over and over. Occasionally the female reporter glances at the LED screen to see how the photos are coming out. Annette is sulking in the den. She can look into the living room, but the people from the newspaper can’t see her, and she would refuse to be photographed next to Lulu even if they begged her.

In any case, they haven’t asked.

So tell me, how does it feel being the new face of Sexy Secrets Underwear? the reporter asks.

Lulu lowers her false eyelashes, so overlong they almost reach her boobs, and smiles. Annette knows that Lulu uses this posture so she’ll have time to think without seeming like a dork. Finally Lulu looks up.

Okay.

People say you’re about to become the object of a national fantasy. Do you agree?

The eyelashes tilt down, then rise again. I guess.

The reporter smiles and switches off her digital recorder. Thanks, Lulu. That’ll be all.

Annette simply has to walk out of the den before the tabloid people leave. She’s got her makeup on, and she’s wearing her shiny black dress—plus of course her high-heeled ankle boots, even though Mumps has told her not to use them on the parquet.

Well, lookee here, the photographer says, squinting at Annette, "there’s another stunning woman on the premises," and he almost sounds sincere, but she can’t be sure.

That’s my little sister, Lulu says before blowing a bubble gum bubble. She’s eight.

Annette could kill Lulu. Annette thinks she looks at least ten-yo, but by now the tabloid people are already in the hall, telling Lulu the article will run on Friday.

Naturally Mumps has bought three copies of Friday’s paper. On the front page of the fashion section is a picture of Lulu, her head thrown back, a gush of curls cascading down her shoulders, her teeth showing between pouty lips and her eyes half shut. MODEL SENSATION LULU: I LOVE BEING THE STAR OF GUYS’ WET DREAMS! screams the headline.

Lippe from the next apartment has come over to share a glass of wine with Mum. Lippe admires Lulu’s picture, and then they gab about the contract. Though Mum whispers, Annette, sitting in front of the TV, can still hear her. With her hand to her lips, Mum says, A hundred and twenty thousand euros. At least they’ll get back all the money they sank into Lulu’s career, Annette thinks. A year ago Lulu took some modeling courses that cost ultrabucks, but thanks to that move a fancy agent saw Lulu at the graduation show and signed her up on the spot. Lulu doesn’t go to regular school anymore; she’s supposed to be studying with a private tutor and taking the odd exam, but Annette hasn’t noticed much evidence of this. There have been no reported sightings of Lulu reading a schoolbook.

Annette once applied to the modeling school, but you have to get through the preliminary round. They looked at her for about half a second and didn’t bother asking her any questions. A month later a letter came saying that she didn’t have sufficient camera presence.

Mum explains to Lippe that originally another girl had been tapped for the Sexy Secrets campaign, a seventeen-year-old from Turku called Ramona who’d already done a lot of modeling and was a runner-up for Miss Finland.

Hasn’t her face been used to death? asks Lippe.

She’s well past her prime, Mum says, nodding, so Lulu got the contract.

The door rattles, and Dad comes in with Otso. Otso’s cheeks are red, and he’s wearing a smart jacket, a white shirt, and a bow tie. He’s been on another date with Pamela: Dad took them to a film or something. Both Mum and Dad prattle about what a handsome little boy they have. Otso runs into Mum’s arms shouting Guess what! Guess what! Me and Pamela got engaged! which of course starts off such a wave of fawning and gushing that Annette feels like throwing up.

Annette is on the school bus. The journey is less than a kilometer, only a few blocks, but the law states that all school-aged children must ride to school in their parents’ cars or on a supervised bus. For the protection of our children, ran the ads a few years ago when the law went into effect. Annette is standing in the aisle, but her new platform shoes cause her feet to slide down toward the point, and she keeps losing her balance. Once the bus stops at the traffic light she raises her eyes, and the view out the window hits her like a punch in the face.

From a gigantic roadside billboard Lulu stares back at her, ten times larger than normal, her eyes dark, her lips shining cherry red, a wind machine billowing her hair.

When Annette finally gets off the bus, as if to further taunt her, another billboard appears, a startling three-panel display this time, looming near the school gates. And of course the star is Lulu, modeling three different lines of underwear—Naughty Red, Sinful Black, and Seductive Green, according to the words.

Each image bears the same caption: BABY DOLL.

Trussed in a bright red string, Lulu’s ass practically bursts from the first panel; with half-closed eyes she twists her head toward the camera, brushing her hands against her bare shoulders so that her false nails, painted the same color as her panties, gleam against her skin like drops of blood.

Then comes Lulu crouching, shiny black-laced boots matching her underwear, holding a ridiculous toy snake and making like she’s kissing the thing, its orange velveteen head sliding between her lips.

And finally there’s a shot of Lulu from the side, hugging a beige teddy bear. Her back is arched, and her boobs, wrapped in jade-green lace, thrust defiantly upward.

Lulu’s priceless tits.

But a few days later a miracle occurs.

Annette arrives on the playground for recess, and instantly her stomach starts tightening, her chest pounding, just like every other time she has to walk past the gangs of boys. She hunches her shoulders, lowers her head, and wonders where the mockery will come from today, the cries of slut and dwarf-butt, and of course the comments about her tits—bee-stings, milkduds.

One gang mutters something indistinct, but Annette manages to reach the pavilion without her face blushing bright red. All of a sudden he’s standing right next to her. His name’s Timppa, she knows that. He’s two years ahead of her and plays ice hockey with the F Juniors, and many times she’s heard Ninotska and Veronika whispering that Timppa is absolutely shagtastic. He’s still standing right next to her, looking at her, and Annette is so startled she almost runs away for fear of yet another insult, but Timppa gives her a friendly smile and doesn’t look a bit like all he wants to do is shove his hand down her top.

You’re Annette, right? he asks. Annette is so taken aback that all she can manage is a nod. She’s utterly speechless. Timppa must think she’s a total dork because she doesn’t know how to respond with something quick and sassy the way Ninotska and Veronika always do when boys talk to them. But Timppa doesn’t seem to care; he looks Annette up and down, and his eyes stop at the sight of her platform shoes.

Awesome boots.

Thanks, Annette stammers as Timppa reaches into his leather jacket and produces a packet of SuperKiss, which he holds out to Annette. Gum?

Annette takes one, fumbles off the wrapper, and pops the stick in her mouth just as the bell rings, saving her. Timppa backs away, smirks, and waves at her. Catch you later, Annette.

Annette stands there and forgets to chew her gum, her mouth half open. Her heart is about to burst out of her chest.

During the next lesson Annette writes TIMPPA TIMPPA TIMPPA on her arm with a sharp pencil, scratching so hard the skin almost breaks.