was only fourteen. Well, I’ll be fifteen in November, she thought with a laugh. Suddenly, there was a knock at her bedroom door. Could Aunt Sylvia have come already? Janice glanced at her nightstand. It was only eleven forty-five; Sylvia was due to arrive at one.
    “Jan honey?” her father whispered. “It’s me, Dad. Can I come in?”
    Janice laughed at this, too. He always said that – as if it could be someone else. There were never any visitors, especially not male ones. Daddy wouldn’t allow it. He never said that, but she would bet her life that if she asked, no would be the answer. It didn’t matter, though. She didn’t have a boyfriend anyway.
     “Come in, Daddy,” she replied.
  ...

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