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Jackson and Charlie have never had sex."She lowered her pointing arm and a frown danced across her face.Sighing she began to lower herself back into the seat, pausing a coupleof inches before her bottom touched wood. A double-arched browexpression of utterly stunned confusion instantly replaced the frown."Hold up," she said. "Why did you just refer to yourself in the thirdperson?" I wasn't referring to myself," I said as deadpanningly serious as Icould. "I was referring to Charlene."Her brow furrowed. "You were referring to Charlene. So, you're sayingthat you're not Charlie?"I shook my head. "No. I am Charlie. Just not your Charlie." Not my Charlie." Exactly. I'm a Charlie from another dimension. A dimension that is alot like this one, with some really big differences." You're an alien?" She shook her head. "Wow, Jackson really did anumber on you." I'm not an alien, Katie. I'm Charlie. Just not the Charlie thatbelongs in this universe." Before she could parrot back my statement asa. .. were the three Lucas students, who arrived drunk at our school to perform at our Valentines’ dance, with Samantha’s former band.”“It wasn’t Samantha’s band,” Jessica hissed out in response to our vice-principal’s statement as she returned to an upright, sitting position. “She was in OUR band.”“You can say that again, Jessica,” Sammy fired off which earned her a stern finger point and ‘zip-it’ motion from Mr. Williamson. “Sorry, Sir, Coach Sharten,” Sam quickly replied after her ill-timed, but accurate statement.“Well, that to me just confirms Samantha story about them being visitors to our school, and simply cheering on their team while you were the chief instigators of this disturbance,” Coach Sharten said as an older gentleman and middle-aged lady were stepping up the bleacher steps.“It’s good to see you, Tom. And just what is going on here, Jeremy?” the older man said to our vice-principal and then to his school’s basketball coach.“It seems that we had an ornery group of Lucas.
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We still had visions of lovely fruits and vegetables, but it was rapidly getting to the point where no fruits or vegetables could possibly be worth the effort. But, at Annie’s insistence, I persevered. Janice noticed and thanked us for our work. ‘You know,’ Janice said, ‘the crowds will come back. Right about harvest time.’ Sure enough, when it was time to harvest, we had the full group again. The harvest was a bit of a disappointment. We had visions of glorious vegetables, but when we pulled up the onions and garlic, we were stunned to see these misshapen lumps of food. ‘It’s not like in the store, is it?’ Janice pointed out. We shook our heads. ‘There’s a reason the food looks so nice in the store,’ she said. ‘There’s also a reason it doesn’t taste so good. People have gotten used to perfect-looking vegetables and the stores have learned there’s no point in putting out anything even slightly deformed, it won’t sell. Tomatoes, in particular, have been bred to travel well, so they.

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