"And maybe she just doesn't know anymore
She walks down the street
And hears the wrong name
But maybe
Maybe she just doesn't know,"
Michelle Mars sang, finishing the song while strumming her guitar. She was sitting in front of her computer, and put her guitar down in front of her desk. She'd just finished practicing her new song, and was going to record it soon.
But first, I'm going to go eat some dinner, she thought to herself. Just as she was about to get up, she glanced at her computer monitor, and noticed that someone had sent her an instant message while she was playing.
Or maybe not. She made herself comfortable on her chair again.
"Hey, Michelle. Got a minute?" her friend, Jamie, had asked.
"Yeah, sorry," she typed out. "I was playing guitar, didn't notice; I think I've got this song down well now."
"That's just fine." The response only took half a minute. "Hey... new song? You gonna have something new recorded for me?"
Jamie Murray ran an internet radio station for the past three years-- about as long as she'd known him for. They'd only been playing her songs for the past couple of years, and she'd managed to become somewhat popular with the station's tiny number of listeners.
"Yeah. I dunno how good it is, though," Michelle answered.
"It better be great, or your studio album's never going to do well."
"Aha...," she typed out with a snicker, "right. I've still got plenty of time to worry about that."
"That's what I've been wanting to talk to you about, actually. The evil corporate overlords tell me that they want to call you; you wouldn't mind me passing on your phone number, right?" he asked.
The evil corporate overlords he was refering to was the company (a record label looking to expand) that he'd sold the radio station to, nearly half a year before. According to Jamie, they'd been doing pretty well; just a month ago, they'd released their first album for one of the station's artists, and it was selling great.
"Uh... yeah, go ahead," she typed after a minute, surprised. "Wait, my cell number, not the home one. I don't need them calling mom while I'm out. Say they should call sometime after 3:30.
"So, uh... what exactly is this about?" she added.
"Somebody's getting a record deal. Guess who?"
It took Michelle a while to think about that.
"Holy shit," she finally managed to reply.
The physics teacher wrote out an equation on the board for the class to copy, continuing to lecture endless. It might seem somewhat excessive to say that the class was the most boring hour of any of the students' lives; but as far as any of the three kids at the back were concerned, it was.
Two of them were boys; sitting alongside them was a girl in boy's clothing. She sighed quietly, taking notes and trying very hard to maintain interest in the lesson. She glanced at her watch: ten more minutes until dismissal.
One of the boys next to her noticed, and asked her for the time. "Hey, Mike, what time is it?"
"Ten minutes left," Michelle whispered.
They seemed like the longest ten minutes ever, but finally, the bell rang, cutting of their teacher mid-sentence. Immediately, everyone stood up and started to pack up their bags.
"Ugh... finally!" Michelle exclaimed to her friends. "That felt like it'd never end..."
"Man, you don't say," one of the boys, Gabe, muttered.
"Oh, hey, Mike," another, Rob, started to say.
"Yeah?" Michelle answered.
"Did Eric get a chance to talk to you yet?"
"Nope," she replied, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Why?"
"He's got a gig in a few days; some last minute thing. Anyway, he wanted to invite you to it, since it's his first serious gig and all that."
Eric was a friend of both Michelle and Rob's; he was a year older than them, and so he had graduated from high school last year. They hadn't been in particularly close contact since he'd graduated, but she was still definitely interested in seeing him perform; he was a pretty talented guitar player, and she was glad to hear that he'd managed to at least have some success as a musician after graduating.
The three of them headed out together.
"Wow, that's great," Michelle said as she walked out. "Yeah, I'd really like to see that. When is it?"
Rob told her the time and where it was. As they walked through the hallway to leave the school, a girl passing by shot Gabe a nasty look.
"Hey, go to hell, Mary!" he yelled at her as she walked away.
"God, I hate that bitch," Gabe told the two of them. "You hear that she fu--"
Please shut up, Michelle thought to herself, trying to ignore him. No other girls ever have to deal with listening to this. She didn't mind her male friends most of the time, but then they'd go on and make the most obnoxious, immature and appalingly sexist comments she could imagine. But they treated her like a guy-- after all, they didn't know any better-- and as such, their painful comments that most girls were spared having to hear, were constantly inflicted on her. I hate teenaged boys.
"...so like, what a SLUT, that stupid hypocritical..." Gabe still hadn't shut up.
Having absolutely no desire to spend any more time listening to that rubbish, she apologized, making an excuse about having to get home earlier, and sped up, walking quicky away from the two of them. After finally putting some distance between them, she slowed down, and continued on her way home.
After walking for a while, her cell phone rang. Oh... that's probably the person from the record company, she thought. She cleared her throat and sang a couple of quiet notes, making sure she could get her voice into the right range-- she'd been speaking in a male voice all day. She let the phone ring until she made sure she sounded fine.
"Hello?"
"Hi. Is this Ms. Michelle Mars speaking?" a woman's voice asked.
Ms. Michelle Mars. I like the sound of that, Michelle thought to herself.
"Yes, it is," she answered. "Who is this?"
"I'm Jen Rook-Powell, from Swan Song Records," the woman introduced herself, talking quickly. "I was told that now would be a good time to try to get in contact with you. I assume you know why I'm calling."
"Uh... yeah. You uh... wanted to talk to me about a record deal?" she stammered, taking a moment to figure out her response.
"That's right. I understand you live in Toronto; do you actually live inside the city, or are you in a suburb?" Jen was quick to hit her with the next question.
"Uh, in the city."
"Okay, that's great. I'd like to meet with you in person to discuss this-- it works better that way-- if that's okay with you. When are you available? Does lunch, Saturday, sound good to you?"
"I think so... yeah, I'm free then," she answered, barely thinking about it.
"Wonderful. There's this wonderful Japanese place at Pape and Danforth-- don't worry, it's on me-- if that's okay with you. Is 12:30 or so alright?"
"Uh... yeah, sure. Okay."
"Wonderful. So I'll seeya Saturday," Jen said. "It's been nice talking to you." She hung up.
When Michelle put her cell phone back in her pocket, she realized that she'd barely been on the phone for a couple minutes. Holy shit, she was fast, she thought to herself. What the hell did I just agree to? Shit.
Michelle continued on her way home, stunned.
And that's how Michelle found herself in the ladies' section of a second hand clothing store, looking through a rack of shirts.
It'll be fine, she mentally reassured herself. She'd thought for a long time about the idea of meeting this Jen woman, and she'd eventually decided that she would go meet her; after all, she couldn't argue with the possibility of getting a record deal.
That was surprisingly little comfort, though, she had tried reminding herself while holding up one of the shirts on the rack. I need to find something that's feminine enough, but doesn't look like I'm trying too hard, she thought. She was worried; would Jen think she wasn't a woman? Would her appearance give her away? She didn't think she was very pretty; but she'd shown a picture of herself to Jamie not too long ago, and he'd never suspected that she was born a male.
Besides, she reassured herself, so what if she suspects? I shouldn't care. It's some nobody that I don't know, who's meeting me as part of her job. It'd be unprofessional of her to act like she cares, even if she catches on.
Michelle took the outfit up to the counter and paid for the clothes, blushing in spite of herself.
She walked down the street heading home-- on her way, she passed by a drug store, the make-up section filling one of the windows at the front. She stared at it-- now that'd make me look distinctly feminine, she thought. Too bad even if I bought any make-up, I wouldn't know what the fuck to do with it; I'm sure most girls don't have that problem.
Michelle struggled in front of a mirror for the good part of half an hour, before she finally decided to leave the house. She hadn't managed to make herself believe that she'd look like a convincing enough girl for this Jen woman, but she kept telling herself that even if she suspected, it wouldn't make a difference. It wasn't much comfort, but it got her out the door and into the car in time. The restaurant she was heading to was within walking distance, but she didn't want to chance anyone she knew seeing her dressed up like that walking down the street. So she drove.
It didn't take long for her to arrive at the restaurant. She practiced singing for a couple minutes in the car-- just to make sure her voice was in the right range-- and finally got out. Nervous as hell, she walked into the restaurant, a waitress coming up to her to give her a table.
"Uh, hi," Michelle stammered, "I'm supposed to meet someone here, actually."
"Ah. Over here," she answered, showing Michelle to a booth occupied by a single woman. The waitress then left.
"You must be Michelle," the woman in the booth said, offering out her hand. "Pleased to meet you."
Michelle took a seat across from her, and shook her hand. "Yeah... nice to meet you."
"So," Jen said, handing a menu over to Michelle. Jen smiled. "Can I ask you the obvious question... are you interested in this deal? Or are you just here because of free food?"
"No, of course. It's... pretty amazing that you would," she responded quickly. "Offer a record deal, I mean. I'm still amazed that anyone'd even consider it, to tell you the truth."
She doesn't seem to be phazed by my appearance, she thought. Maybe I shouldn't have worried after all. Or maybe she's just good at hiding surprise.
"Great. That's what I was expecting-- although now I'm kinda wondering, since I noticed you didn't bring your purse," Jen said with a bit of a laugh.
Aw, dammit. I knew I forgot something, Michelle cursed to herself.
"Oh, well--," she started to answer, trying to think of an excuse.
"Relax," Jen interrupted, "I was kidding, don't worry about it. It's all on me.
"Well, actually, it's all on the company," she added with a slight grin. "You would not believe how much I'm allowed to expense. We both get free lunch."
"Uh, thanks, then."
"So, business. The idea is we write up a contract for one album, and if that works out well, we'll talk about more. It's all pretty standard stuff, although making some small changes shouldn't be too much trouble," Jen explained. "Okay?"
"Alright, that sounds good...," Michelle then trailed off, since the waitress had come back to take their orders.
After they'd finished ordering, Jen got back on track.
"I've listened to the songs of yours that Jamie sent, and while most seem solid enough, there's one thing you're going to need to address," she told Michelle.
"What's that?"
"Your instrumentals are... somewhat dry. Your guitar playing isn't particularly bad, but there's just nothing backing it up," Jen answered. "We can work out getting a couple of others to play alongside from our other bands, though, so it's not a huge worry."
"Actually...," Michelle started to reply, "If it's all the same, can I see about having someone else play alongside me?"
As the man on the stage finished the guitar solo, it occured to Michelle-- and certainly not for the first time-- how completely insane everything was. The whole idea of the record deal was one thing; it was the fact that her lunch with Jen, as a woman, went perfectly fine. She figured that Jen didn't suspect a thing. And as a result, she felt absolutely great, and more confident than she'd ever felt her in life.
She looked up again, realizing that the man that she had come to see-- Eric-- and his band had just finished playing. When they got off the stage, she smiled and waved at him; it didn't take too long for Eric to end up at her table.
"Hey," she told him, "you were really great."
"Thanks a lot," he said, sitting down. "I totally fucked up so much while playing... I'm really hoping it wasn't too noticeable."
"I sure didn't notice."
"Ah, well... that's good. So how are you doing?"
"Really great, actually," she answered.
"Ah, that's good to hear," he said, trailing off. "I think it's pretty obvious what's going on with me right now, but what's new with you?"
"Well, uh, actually," she started to say, her heart racing at an insane rate just thinking about telling him. She stammered, "lot of stuff... really big, actually. There's a coupla things I've been meaning to tell you...." She looked down, trying to regain her composure. Come on!, she scolded herself. You haven't even said anything yet and you're panicing!
"Oh?" He frowned, seeing her shift in her seat. "Is something the matter?"
She shook her head quickly, her long hair swinging with it. She fixed her hair. "Not at all... it's just...," she trailed off again. She didn't know why she was having so much trouble talking to him; she'd recited what she was going to say to him so many times before she came. "Do... you have some time? It's kinda long, and I don't wa--"
"Look, man, whatever it is, go right ahead," he interrupted her. "I've got all the time in the world. Just go ahead."
She took a deep breath, trying hard not to pay attention to the fact that her heart was racing fast enough to amaze an Olympic sprinter. She took another.
"Alright, then. There's... well, there's no really easy to say this...," she said, suddenly very quietly, "So, I'll just outright say it."
She breathed deeply again. Come on. You can do this. You've done it before, she told herself, knowing that she wasn't reassuring herself very well.
"I'm... transgendered," she told him, barely above a whisper. She shivered. "You... know how you think I'm a guy? I'm... well, I'm not. I'm a girl," she told him, knowing full well how awkward it sounded.
He sat there, very silent. She had no clue what he was thinking, and she wasn't actually sure if she even wanted to know; all she was hoping was that he'd be understanding. She'd given this same speech to a couple of people online before; but it was people that already knew she was a girl, rather than the other way around, and she didn't have to look at them in the eyes. It was hard enough telling people that way. But she continued.
"It's... some sort of birth defect. Where for some reason, the body grows to be male but the brain ends up being a woman's...," she stammered, "I've uh, known for a few years now. I... uh... really hope you understand."
Outside of their table, it was very noisy. A hundred conversations continued behind them, none of them half as important as theirs.
Eric stared at her for a few moments, finally saying "wow." After thinking for another few moments, he reached out across the table, putting his hand on hers.
"Of course I understand," he told her. "That's... wow, that's a lot to take in. But you've been my friend for a long time, and... well, I'm glad you told me, Mi--," he started to call her by name, realizing he probably shouldn't a bit too late. "Sorry. That's... going to take a while to sink in."
The first time she'd told someone, she'd gotten a similar, overwhelmed reaction, and pretty much just as understanding. It wasn't that she was a poor judge of character; far from it. She knew not to try to explain it to someone who she knew wouldn't be understanding, and she knew who those kinds of people were. But always at the last moment, she panicked and worried; she'd learned to try to overcome that, and try to be reasonable, but that didn't always work out. Over-confidence only got her as far as resolving to tell someone, it never helped her actually explain.
"And I'm okay with that," he awkwardly added. "I'm sure a lot of others would be judgmental after hearing something like that... but I'm not gonna think less of you or anything."
That made her feel a lot better; she reminded herself to never underestimate the ability of boys to be sincere when saying the silliest things.
She nodded. "That's fine. Thanks. Thanks a lot."
He just smiled in response; she started to wonder if he was just faking a smile while he tried to make sense of what she told him-- and quickly stopped that line of thought, reminding herself that she really did know better.
"You know," he finally started to say, "I guess that explains a lot."
"Really? What do you mean?"
"Oh, I don't know. All sorts of little things. Just... the way you act, I guess." He added with a laugh, "that, and your amazing sense of fashion."
She giggled softly, still shivering. "Thanks."
They sat there in silence for a while, neither of them noticing that nothing around them was silent at all, neither really sure as to what to say. Michelle didn't want to try to rush things, but the reason why she'd even told him about herself at all at that time was because she wanted to ask him to play alongside her. She still felt a bit guilty at having an ulterior motive for telling her close friend something so important.
"There was...," she finally decided to say, "something else I wanted to mention to you."
"Sure," he replied with a bit of a laugh. "I've already found out that a good friend of mine's really a woman; I don't think I could be any more surprised."
She explained everything that happened to her in the past few days: how she'd gotten the mind-blowing news, Jen's fast talking on the phone, how she'd been on the most awkward and amazing shopping trip ever, and the final confirmation in the face-to-face conversation.
"...and it really did amaze me that she didn't seem at all surprised by how I looked, like she didn't suspect at all. Or maybe I was just too excited to notice," she told him.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I can believe it. I guess it's not so bad to say now; but you've always had this fairly feminine appearance to you. I'm sure with the right clothes... well, I mean, you're not like, really hot or anything, but...
"Well," he continued, clearly somewhat embarassed, "I guess I can say it now, you are kinda pretty."
Wow, she thought. Holy-crap wow. Well, she actually thought it out loud.
"That's really...," she quickly added, "uh, thanks."
He shook his head. "Really."
"So, uh, anyway," she said, trying to stop the conversation from getting more awkward than it already was, "I'd really love for you to play with me for this album, if you're interested."
"Geeze," he said in amazement, shaking his head again. "That's... an amazing offer. I'd love to. I mean, I'd absolutely love to."
She'd been worried about how he'd answering that question; and it made her feel great that like her other worries, it'd ended up not being founded at all.
"You know," Eric added, "I don't think I've ever heard you sing..."
"I'm just totally in love
with fallin' in love
I just wish that it'd fly
I'm just all in love
with findin' that love
If only someone caught my eye
Why won't you show me?
Why don't you appear in si--
"No? No good? Sorry, my bad," Michelle suddenly stopped singing, seeing the man behind the insulated recording room glass give her the sign to cut. Eric beside her stopped playing.
Just two weeks later, and she'd already become comfortable in the recording studio. She wasn't sure how; but she was glad.
"No, that's good," the voice in her headphones told her. "I think we'll go with that one. Now let's just hear the top of the third verse again."
"'kay," she answered, and waved for Eric to start again.
Over the last month, Michelle found herself trying harder and harder to care about her classes. Even just a couple months ago, she was practically napping through physics class; and she was struggling even more to pay attention, now.
So when the bell rang, Michelle was extremely relieved to be finished with that day of school. The only other person sitting at her table, Gabe, got up at the same time.
"I'm glad that's over with," Gabe said with a sigh. "That homework's gonna suck."
"Tell me about it," Michelle muttered.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and the two walked out of school together.
"Hey, have you seen Rob recently?" Michelle asked. She hadn't; she didn't have him in any other classes, so all she saw of him was during physics. And he wasn't there that day.
"Yeah, he was skipping today," he answered.
"Well, I haven't seen him much lately..."
"What happened with you two?"
"What do you mean?," she asked, puzzled.
"You didn't get in a fight or anythin'? I just thought...," he trailed off. "Well, I dunno, I figured you did. I... kinda got the idea that he was avoiding you."
Michelle stared at him, surprised. "Oh... really."
"Yeah," he said with a nod, and Michelle stopping as they arrived at the subway station. She was heading down to the recording studio after school, like she'd been doing for a while now.
"I'm not going right home today, so seeya," she told him.
"Alright, later." And with that, they parted ways.
It took them long enough, but by the end of March, they'd managed to finally finish recording the album. After that, it was just a matter of weeks before it was published and ready for sale. And just days after those few weeks, Michelle and Eric both found themselves in Jen Rook-Powell's office, looking at her wave an album labeled "The Mars Quartet" at them.
Specifically, their album.
"So... you did it," Jen said, grinning. "It's finally out."
"Yeah," Michelle said, looking at the physical album, "that's amazing."
"We're still waiting on how well it's gonna do... but hey, my boss seems pleased, so it might end up going pretty well," Jen told them.
"I'm just amazed we've even gotten this far."
"Well, congratulations," she said. Jen picked up a folded letter from her desk. "I got this yesterday-- it's a request for an interview." She added, "don't worry, it's a radio interview; since I know you don't want people to see your face, but that won't be a problem here."
Originally, the artist doing the cover art for their album wanted it to feature a picture of Michelle (she never managed to figure out why); but she objected rather strongly to that, since-- despite knowing that it'd hardly be very popular or well marketed-- didn't want to risk the chance of someone she knew seeing the picture of The Mars Quartet's lead and realizing that it was the same person as Michael Mars. She was already taking what she considered to be a pretty big risk by using her real last name; but while Michelle wanted secrecy about her full name and what she looked like until she at least graduated, she did want her name to be on it in some form. So it was a risk she was willing to take.
Her desire of secrecy wasn't particularly irrational, even for someone who didn't know her secret, but since she'd insisted on it so strongly, it was quite memorable both to the artist and Jen.
Jen passed the letter to Michelle. She was wondering who'd even care about her, somewhat modestly; but then she realized that it wasn't really that modest when she saw the letterhead. It had been sent by the CBC-- an interview on public broadcast radio wasn't exactly a sign of anything. But it was still something.
"Ah," was what she said out loud.
"Yeah. It's not that great," Jen said with a shrug. "But it's not bad, either. I already wrote them back saying you accepted. It's next Thursday at 8:45 or so, but it'll be by phone."
"Thanks for asking," Michelle said sarcastically; but she'd already gotten used to Jen being like that by now.
"Any time," Jen quickly replied.
When she got home that night, Michelle first took off the jacket she'd worn past her mother, then changed into her boy's clothes. When she was done with that, she flopped down on her chair and went onto her computer. She went into the radio station's chat room; she hadn't been doing that often lately, since she'd been busy enough with recording sessions and the homework that she'd managed to convince herself to do.
"Hi, everyone," she typed out. Several people greeted her.
"Hey Michelle," Jamie's line of text appeared on her computer screen, "how's it going?"
"BUY MY ALBUM," she jokingly replied.
Michelle was glad to be in there; although not nearly as much as she'd used to be. Before, the internet chat room had been a great escape for her. After day in and day out of being treated like a boy, she was glad to have one place where she thought of by how she looked, but instead, could be acknowledged for who she was. It was that, and her music, that kept her going through the school day of being forced to deal with guys and being treated like one.
But now, she'd been going out as a woman-- no, herself-- in the recording studio, with her good friend Eric, and her somewhat freaky manager, Jen; so it felt like she needed less and less of that escape.
But she was still glad to talk with those people online. She still had good friends she'd met through there. She stayed on there for a few hours-- first answering the expected barrage of questions about her album, but finally going on to talk about far more normal things.
It was after a few hours that a person with a name that she didn't recognize came in. That didn't really surprise her; there were lots of people she didn't know. He greeted everyone, and everything seemed perfectly fine.
That "perfectly fine" didn't last too long.
"hey mars" he typed out in broken, lazy English, "im looking for shemales
"do you know any?" he added. "any shemales in toronto?"
When Michelle saw those lines of text appear on her screen, only three words came to mind: what the fuck? She then started to go into a panic.
Who the hell is this guy?, she asked herself, not typing out a reply to him. Nobody that I can't trust knows. Except for a couple-- everyone makes bad judgment calls, after all-- but they don't know I'm a singer, or live in Toronto. Or my name. Shit. She went through a mental checklist of who knew she was transgendered-- it was a very short list-- and came up stumped. It could just be random, but it looks more like some guy fucking with me... but what the hell?
She stared at the screen, trying to calm herself down. Nearly everyone else ignored the comments made by him.
Nobody's taking him seriously, she reassured herself, he's just trying to shake you, and he's succeeding. But her mind quickly wandered to who it could possible be; that not only knew, but had something against her?
"mars can i buy your panties" showed up on her screen.
It didn't take too long for one of the chat room's administrators to forcibly remove him. It was surprisingly unreassuring.
"The interview sounded fine, just so you know," Jen told Michelle on Thursday afternoon.
Before she reply "oh really," Jen cut her off by continuing.
"Nothing really that great, but interviews with musicians pretty much never are; especially on the radio. All you can do is hope that it doesn't turn out to be too embarassing, and a few people decide they're curious enough to want to buy your CD."
"Really?" Michelle grinned, "I thought that was all you could hope for."
"Touché, kid," Jen said, laughing.
Not being one to ever miss a beat, Jen pulled a stack of folded papers out from under something on her desk. She handed a few sheets to Michelle.
"What--"
"Fan letters," Jen answered before she finished asking. "Most were e-mails, but it's all from just random people who bought the album. It's just a few, granted, but hey, it's not like it's even been out that long."
"Wow," Michelle said in amazement.
"You know," she added, "conversations with you always seem so damn surreal. Do you ever slow down?"
"I sleep," Jen answered with a grin. "Here, I like this letter: Dear Ms. Mars, I just bought your album a few days ago, and I must say, you're easily the best Canadian rock musician I've ever heard. Your songs have a very real feel to them. I especially liked Fallin' in Love and... okay, it rambles on for a bit, here. Here we go: Here's hoping you do well, and here's hoping even more that you hurry up and make a second album. Sincerely..."
Jen showed her a few more of the letters; and as she figured it would, Michelle was starting to get in quite a great mood, and quite inspired.
After going through the stack of printed e-mails, she reached under and pulled another, smaller stack from under something else. Jen sighed.
"Hey, there's something else you should probably know," she told Michelle, her tone a bit more serious. "I got these a couple days ago; now, understand that it doesn't mean shit and it's not going to effect anything... but I figure you should know that someone sent these."
What's she talking about? As per usual, her mind went into instant panic mode-- which certainly hadn't been helped by the person harassing her online-- and assumed the worst. And like what happened when she usually assumed the worst... she wasn't particularly wrong.
Jen showed her a couple of the sheets of paper at the bottom of the stack. They were photos. Specifically, pictures of a girl, wearing boys clothes; herself.
"They look like they were taken by a camera phone or something. They were e-mailed to us through some hotmail account. I'm not going to read you the letter; quite frankly, it's poorly written and gets really boring after the third or so time he says "fucking fag"," Jen said, trying to smile slightly. "He wants money, which I personally think is hilarious, since I think you and I both know that you don't even have any."
Michelle sat there, staring in shock. It wasn't humanly possible for her face to be even more red than it already was. "Er... yeah...," she managed to force herself to say.
"I dunno what's going on in here, other than you apparently look really attractive when you're dressed like a boy-- or why anyone'd think that'd make good blackmail material, but frankly, I don't give a damn."
Michelle nodded, shaking in her seat.
"But, just between you and me, personally... if I were you, I'd want to find out who's got something against you that much, even if they're not too smart," Jen said quietly. She reached across her desk, putting her hand on Michelle's shoulder, trying to be comforting.
"Hey, come on," she told her, looking right into Michelle's eyes, which were awfully watery; she was on the verge of tears. "It's nothing. Are you going to be okay?"