6
THE PREVIOUS NIGHT, Grandma Rankin’s death mask had kept Luella from sleep.
Tonight, it was Chandelle’s bright, happy smile.
She couldn’t help her visceral reaction to the thought of Chandelle being... whatever she was. Luella couldn’t stop thinking about the teen, couldn’t help feeling duped, though she couldn’t articulate why.
She felt foolish. She felt tricked. She felt utterly naïve.
Did everybody know? If they did, they certainly didn’t seem to mind. Everybody at Meadowlark adored Chandelle.
Luella tried to picture what the girl would look like minus the long braids. Would she look more like a man if she wore baggy jeans rather than those smart tailored suits? No... because... because a young man wouldn’t have bosoms. How did Chandelle have them? Did she wear falsies?
