Ivan was sixteen years old.

Sixteen is when teenagers suddenly gain access to all of those freedoms that they’d been dreaming of since puberty—and its resulting mental unbalance—had struck them three or four years ago. The thoughts of independence and self-reliance began to be realized. Now, they didn’t have to wait for their parents to be ready to drive them; they had driver’s licenses. They didn’t need an allowance anymore; they had jobs! Now, their clothes, and music, and gadgets, and proofs of age—everything from heroin to condoms to Budweiser—could be bought and used without anyone helping or supervising. Sixteen was the time when all those dreams went from background whispers of “some day” to yelling crowds of “Now!”

Lynn was sixteen years old.

In two years, the teenagers whispered, they’d be gone! Some would go to college—in another town, or state, if they could manage it—others would get apartments and day jobs in the city, and the rest would bag groceries at the local Best For Less supermarket (promising the best in quality since 1976). But in one form or another, their independence would be complete! They’d live by their rules, which meant parties until 4 am, leaving the beds unmade and rooms in disarray, and even indulging in those forbidden pleasures of childhood, like cookies for dinner, and jumping on the bed. In two more years they’d have their freedom! They’d have to settle for a little less now, but in just two years they’d be free!

Ivan was sixteen years old, and he didn’t want to be free.

Lynn was sixteen years old, and was—mentally—on the plane for Yale.

Ivan had spent sixteen perfectly happy years in his parents’ house. They’d paid for his clothes, his food, tuition; everything that he needed. They’d provided wonderfully for him: a warm house, his own room, a host of good memories….He had no reason to leave. Besides, his parents needed him. Ever since his father had been laid off four months ago, Ivan had helped his Mom bring in the bacon, and manage it, too. He planned the family’s expenses around their small budget and helped make sure that all the bacon made it to the table. Ivan was one of this planet’s rare individuals who measured value solely by function. If it worked well, then who cared what color it was? Or what style or shape? He could never understand why perfectly reasonable men and women would pay thousands of dollars to change the size of their nose when they could breathe and smell just fine. Home make-over shows he understood even less. If they stove worked, why get a more expensive “modern” one? Even if it did come in trendy designer colors, they’d only have to replace it in a few years when it became aesthetically obsolete. He was quite fine with his car (an old Yogo who’s only redeemable quality was that it moved), his room (with its unadorned, gray-with-dirt walls that kept the cold out), and his entire situation. Why go through the pain of relocation when his home was fine?

Lynn was very used to relocation. Her mother’s job in the army had relocated the two of them frequently, much to Lynn’s delight. She loved seeing new places, meeting new people, and was never quite happy with the present. She’d been harried her entire life by one loud question that lurked, patiently and interminably in the back of her mind: What else is there? Sure, this town was nice, but had she ever been to Nevada? Maybe the towns in Nevada were nicer. This endless feeling of restlessness had expressed itself in Lynn’s one real talent: running. She had always been on the track team, ever since there were track teams available. And she had always been the best. Lynn had deep, endless stores of energy tucked away in her body, and it was these little pushes of adrenaline that she managed to find when she thought her reserves were dry that made her the best. The trouble was, all that running made it hard for Lynn to stand still. That was her main problem in life; new and exciting things and places kept turning into old, boring things. Because of the frequent moves, however, that little problem had always fixed itself. Until two weeks ago. Her mother had suddenly decided that it was time for “a steady job, one that doesn’t juggle you across the country every two years, for Christ’s sake!” She’d announced this opinion loudly and frequently at dinner. Two weeks ago, the army had been getting ready to relocate her mother again (just in time for Lynn; over the past few years, her “new” town had become an “old” town), when she—her mother—had decided that she liked this town. She suddenly came to realize that the people she’d been griping about were really sweet, caring, and sadly misunderstood people. The half-way to dilapidated kitchen that she had falsely despised was truly a work in progress and would be a shame to leave when all it needed was some TLC and several rolls of duct tape. Lynn did not share her mother’s sentiments or optimistic attitude regarding their stay. It would be at least a week before her mother found a new job, which meant a temporary fast for Lynn. It also meant staying for two years in exile from the rest of the world before she would be able to rejoin it after high school, a college student. College was the sole content of Lynn’s “In Case of Emergency” box. It was her safety blanket, and perpetual back-up plan. But, of course, she would have to wait two years before she could use it.

Lynn was very, very bad at waiting.

A/N: Yeah, first shot at a new story. I like the characters and basic idea, but I need a plot. If you readers have any ideas, please email them to me at

Oni