The Fiery Boys (A Sample)

Chuck tried to appeal to the men. "Hey, you saw that picture. This is a girl who can drink you under the table and spray you with beer while she does it. Be nice to her, or I'll have her come out and hose you all down."

Oh great! Did he really think that would help the audience's attitude? Because if he did, he was wrong. They just got louder.

But apparently Chuck wasn't done humiliating me. "And you girls out there don't have to worry about Annalisa. She's the first woman I've met who doesn't want to have sex with me."

The man had no sense in his head. Once again, his attempt to make the audience like me backfired. Now the women's booing was louder than the male voices. I turned and ran.

I made it back to the bus as fast as I could and climbed into my cubicle. Safe behind the closed curtains, I let my tears fall.

What was wrong with Chuck? Why was he so dedicated to abusing me all the time? He'd seemed like he wanted to honor me at the show, but the way he went about it left me wondering. How could he be such a showman and yet be so clueless? And if he really was a fool, then how had he written "Fiery Life" and those other sensitive songs? That left me with only one conclusion: he hated me. Probably because I wouldn't have sex with him. I pulled the blanket tightly over myself and somehow fell asleep.

When the show was over, the band piled onto the bus. I awoke to the sound of groupies screaming for Chuck, the clacking of their heels mixing with the heavier stomping of male shoes. One woman's voice was familiar and aggressively unfriendly. "Where's the contest bitch?" Inferna was on the bus.

I shrank back in my cubicle and prayed she wouldn't find me. Of course, there was no chance of that-Inferna knew this bus as well as anyone. She drew back my curtain and glared at me. Two other women stood by her side. "Fucking-A, Chuck! You put her right above you?" She snarled at me. "You little whore."

Inferna had me at a distinct disadvantage, so I flattened myself against the back of my cubicle, as far from her as I could get. If we'd been standing in an open space, I might have said something, engaged her in some way. But I was trapped in there, vulnerable, afraid, and no doubt showing it. All the power was hers.

She hissed at me through clenched teeth. When she reached toward me, I grabbed my backpack to use as a shield. If necessary, I'd swing it at her, although I knew it wouldn't be very effective-my purse and a change of clothes were the only things in it. After last night, I'd decided to stay lightly packed at all times in case of trouble. Trouble like this.