Let me break it down for you, so that you can understand the full scope of theG tragedy that was about to take place on my first day as a senior in high school.
It was my birthday; I was eighteen--on that very day. Once I was out the door, Mom planned to bake a vanilla buttermilk sheet cake for me. The presents were piled high on the kitchen table, waiting for me to get back from school.
I had earned enough money at the movie theater where I worked the past two summers to pay for my own car. My friends didn't know; I kept it a secret for two weeks. I was driving it to school to show everybody for the first time.
And it was a truck. I always wanted one. Mine was used, of course. Well-used. But still mine. I loved it. Whenever I saw it parked beside our home, waiting for me, my heart soared.
I was showing off another thing, too--my new body. I had grown a ton during junior year, so I dedicated the summer to lifting. On that first day of school, I wasn't a stick anymore; I was fit and strong, and this was my year to get some pussy.
Plus, my older sister, Kiley, was gone. She left for college the day before. It was just Mom and me in the house because my only other sibling, my oldest sister, Renee, had been gone for years. I was finally king of the castle. The bathroom was mine. The basement--mine.
This was my year.
Too jacked for the big day, I woke up early and went to school while it was still dark--our school had early classes and an early out, 7:00am to 2:00pm, on account of the shifts at the big plant where most of the people in town worked. I parked in the number one spot. The student lot was empty except for me, and it was just after 6:00am.
I waited, smiling and imagining my friends seeing my truck. I thought about the reactions of those classmates I hadn't seen all summer. I thought about girls.
A lot.
I pulled out my phone and looked at some pictures I had downloaded.
Scanning around at the onset of dawn, I realized I was up pretty high in my truck, and my crotch was pretty low in the bench seat. I unzipped my pants, and--well, you know.
The next thing I knew, my cock was in my hand, and the principal, Mrs. Call, was pounding on the window next to me.
I put myself away in a flash, but it was too late. She led me to the office. Cars were starting to come in at that point. My classmates saw Mrs. Call marching me into school.
Apparently, a fellow senior, walking to school early for marching band practice, had seen me and reported it to the principal. The police would have to be involved.
I had to listen to Mrs. Call's telephone conversation with my mother.
I had to wait for the police.
All the while, that same fellow senior--the blabbermouth drum majorette--was telling everyone what she had seen in the parking lot that morning.
Oh, fuck me.
All of that promise and excitement for the new year? Evaporated and gone.
My beautiful truck was "The Jerkoff Mobile."
My last name being Andrews, the people who used to call me "Andy" were now calling me "Handy." Scratch that--everyone was calling me "Handy."
My senior year kind of sucked.
***
My sister, Kiley, had it even worse than me during her high school years. Poor girl.
First, I've got to say how cruel high school can be because Kiley is awesome. She's smart, she's funny, and she's kind. My sister was never into drama; she always, always tried to look for the good in people. I can recall three or four times when we stayed up all night talking about life, love, and the future. I never slept a wink, and I didn't miss the sleep from the laughter and amazing ideas pouring out of her.
She had a few things against her, though.
Starting in seventh grade and peaking during her junior year, Kiley had horrible acne. Mom spent a lot of money trying to help her, but nothing worked. Imagine a redhead you know, one with a zillion freckles. Change those freckles into zits, and that was Kiley's face--for years. Fuck, it was bad. It was difficult for even me--a bother who admired and loved her--to look at her on those throbbing, greasy days.
Another trouble spot: she inherited my mom's body. Kiley was chubby. Old pictures of my mom tell the tale. A normal kid, Mom began getting bigger around sixth or seventh grade. Mom's senior pictures show a young lady about five-foot-seven and one hundred eighty pounds. Kiley was five-seven, one-seventy-five during her senior year.
The bigger problem with inheriting our mom's body was what happened after high school. Mom went from one-eighty to two-eighty. My oldest sister, Renee, got my mom's body, too. She was a lesbian, and when she got in a serious relationship after college, she ballooned to two-ninety.
The writing was on the wall, and Kiley knew it. All the women on Mom's side of the family had that look--tiny breasts on a chubby body that seemed poised to explode in fat--and eventually did.
It is easy to guess how high school went down; she was the fat, ugly girl. It was totally unfair, too. Kiley's brown eyes were bright and intelligent. She had a lovely profile, a pleasing shape to her face, and beautiful blonde hair. Her weight and pimples made those positives vanish. By the end of her senior year, the acne was beginning to recede, but it was too late to change things for her.
She cried a lot. When she wasn't resenting Mom, they were together, hugging, bawling, and making promises to one another about losing weight. Mom would last two days. Kiley would hold out for a few more, but progress was never fast enough for her, and she once told me, what did it matter how thin she looked when there were all those pimples?
Kiley wanted to resent me, too. My body came from our dad's side of the family. As I said, I sprouted six inches during my junior year. By the end of my disappointing senior year, I was a lean, muscular six-foot, one-eighty. What stopped my sister from resenting me was that I was the only guy in her life that treated her with love and kindness--the only guy that liked her. If she hated me for getting better genes, it never lasted too long.
No doubt, my father would have--and did--adore Kiley, but he died in an accident at the plant when I was twelve and Kiley was thirteen. Mom didn't want to move us away from friends, so we stayed in town, living off Dad's pension.
One cool thing about Kiley I should mention: when she found out about my masturbation incident, she never said a word to me. Can't say the same about Renee: "What kind of pervert are you?" "You're disgusting!" "Mom is so embarrassed."
Renee sucked. Kiley ruled. Mom? She was an old sweetheart. How can you not love your smiling, overeating, big-laughing Mom?
***
Two interesting things happened at the start of my summer break between high school and college.
First, I learned that Kiley would not be home for four weeks after her finals ended. Mom wouldn't tell me why other than to say, "She's got matters to attend to." I called Kiley, of course. Asked her about it. She said basically the same thing: "Oh, just some things I have to get done here."
I was kind of pissed that she wouldn't confide in me. We always told our secrets to one another. Had college, I wondered, changed her?
The second interesting thing was that the house immediately behind our home finally sold. It had been vacant for two years after the Thackers moved. The new occupants--a couple--were new employees at the plant.
Mom met them first, and when she told me about them, she seemed to have more questions than answers.
"A couple?" I asked Mom. "Married?"
"Well, I don't know. I don't think so. I didn't see any wedding rings."
"But, a guy and a girl, right?"
"Yes."
"Same last name?"
"Yes, but--." She didn't finish.
"But what, Mom?"
"I--I can't really say, son. I don't dare talk out of turn."
