There stood a teenager, well maybe a little older. He or she was wearing a plain jacket. I didn't see a costume but the visitor was wearing make-up to...look like a witch. Snaggly hair going six ways from Sunday, close set eyes, a long thin crooked nose and a pointy chin. "I'm not giving out anything," I hollered through the door."Excuse me, mister. I just moved in across the street. I'm afraid I locked myself out. Nobody is at home. Can I come in, please?"The house across the street was a. Screw him. I put the Pyrex dish in the refrigerator.I went into the bathroom, washed my face and redid my lip gloss. As I was looking in the mirror, brushing my hair, I wondered why I was going to so much trouble to look good for my father. Because he's your father, Dummy. And your man's sitting out there with him.I grabbed a scrunchie and was all set to pull my hair together in back. No, Jack likes my hair like this — brushed till it shines, loose. He likes to put his arm around my shoulders,. More

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