He wore a 10 thousand dollar suit with an equallyexpensive watch and drove a car that cost as much as a three story home, but none of that mattered if a Japanese investor felt those damning, middle class hands. He'd spent a fortune on hand creams, but nothing worked. The next step, of course, was Botox."Green Party..." he said with clinched teeth, his lips drawing back as if retreating from the poison words. He stared at a photo of his daughters that sat on his mahogany desk. He grunted, and slammed his fist down. Stonemiller snatched the photo. He looked upon the smooth faces of his daughters, and growled. Sandra was his eldest daughter at 24. She had inherited her mothers looks with her dark red hair and blazing green eyes. In the photo, the straps to her tank top had fallen off of her shoulders. She had a mischievous smile on her milky face. Her figure reminded him of her mother's. She looked like a belly dancer with her curvy hips and tapered waist. He smiled briefly, but then. But not fiction. Biographies mostly. Mr. Redmond collected them and said I could read them anytime so long as I didn't crack the spines or damage the covers. He got me a leather cover that fit most of books so I didn't get fingerprints on them. He was way cooler than Ms. Redmond but I saw him a lot less often. I guess even White kids don't really have dads. I thought about them for a bit. I mean, if I had a choice, I'd be back with Marie. But the Redmonds weren't bad. Ms. Redmond was all freaked out about being some perfect TV mom shit so she was way too far up in my business way too often. And Mr. Redmond was home to eat, sleep and change clothes. But he didn't try and touch me like a couple 'Fathers' did and she meant well. For a minute, I thought my life might actually be getting kind of ok.When I got to school, I went to homeroom. I opened my book — Benjamin Banneker today — and was all set to ignore the next twenty minutes of overhead announcements and whatever else happened in.
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