Stories of an Old Boy

By: XPud
(© 2018 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

xpud@tickiestories.us

Chapter 11

So that night finally ended, The Night Matty's Father Got Caught, but only after Matty went for a rape kit to be conducted on him. I know he had already been through a lot, but I also know why his mom wanted him to get checked out immediately. She also told him that they'd go to the doc Monday to make sure everything was okay, y'know, and also just for a general checkup.

As for myself, once the Petersens left the station, we didn't have any more reason to stay, so we went home (with Dad driving one car and Mom driving me in her own). Mom stayed silent the entire trip, not a single word. Knowing my mom, that's either astonishing or downright horrifying, depending on what she's preparing herself for. Finally, we all made it home, and the moment we got inside, Mom said, "You better sleep well, Phillip, because you have some work to do tomorrow."

Joy. Oh well; I asked for it. Funny enough, there's not even a good reason to stay up, seeing as I don't have a damn phone anymore (no idea when I'll get it back, but I can only hope the court proceedings take place sooner rather than later), so I lay in bed and close my eyes, hoping for a sleep that would stay tantalizingly out of reach behind a layer of anxiety and stress.

When sleep finally does come, it brings with it dreams of tragedies I've witnessed and people I've let down, but most of them aren't literal recollections, instead being modified to include Matty rather than whoever the original memory was about. When I wake up, it dawns on me that this is the first night in, if not lifetimes, at least this life, that has given me actual dreams instead of just past memories. I've been alive a while, but even I don't have answers to this one.

It turns out that I awake literally seconds before Mom pokes her head in my room and invites me to breakfast. Real dreams and a real breakfast; today is gonna be weird, I can tell. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes (what little I had, anyway), I put on a nearby pair of blue jeans and head downstairs to join the parents at the table, noticing that the sisters weren't given the same invitation.

Oh. Oh, no. Mom made banana pancakes. This is bad--that's my favorite breakfast. After pissing her off as bad as I did yesterday, this can only mean that this is my last meal before execution. "Mom, I...wow. Thanks. Why--?" I begin to ask, but she cuts me off.

"Enjoy your breakfast, dear. We have a conversation to have, afterward. Food first, though."

Awkward silence ensues as I enjoy the hell out of some banana pancakes. I'm not gonna let my impending doom get in the way of the deliciousness of this moment. I can't help but notice that both parents are staring at me weirdly now and again, as if they poisoned the pancakes and were wondering when I'd keel over, or maybe why I hadn't yet. Meh, they can stare.

After I finally slow down a bit, Mom asks, "Son, can we have a serious chat?"

It begins. "Well, sure. What's up?"

"About last night..." she begins, and stops to collect her thoughts. "I'm really struggling to understand a few things."

"Well, if it's about Matty, I do love him, so I guess that makes me gay." I shove another piece of pancake in my mouth; there's still half a pancake left, and eating is a good excuse not to have to talk.

She rolls her eyes. "No, it's not that. Well, that's part of it, but not what I--okay, look. How did you know that Matty was in trouble?"

I pause, savoring the taste of banana while deciding how to answer this one. I decide to go with the same spiel I gave Matty's mom, that sometimes I get visions that help me and all that. The 'psychic' story has been working out well for me this time around.

Mom watches me intently as I answer her, but then looks over at Dad, passing the interrogational baton, as it were. He picks up the cue: "I'm rather skeptical about that to begin with, and we'll get there in a moment, but when--and where, or from who--did you learn how to drive?"

I...shit. I didn't think about that one. Fuck fuck. I can't just say I had visions of how to drive a fucking car--that's going too far.

"Who have you been hanging out with at school?" Mom asks with narrowed eyes.

"What?" I ask reflexively. They think I learned this from someone else? At school? This is golden. "Nobody. Everyone thinks I'm weird."

Dad leans forward. "Have you really been hanging out with Matty all these times, or have you been hanging with another crowd entirely?"

I suppress every possible urge to crack up laughing at the absurdity here. "No, honest! You can ask his mom--I'm surprised she isn't completely annoyed with both of us yet. Look, I--I learned from watching YouTube videos. I really really wanna learn how to drive, so I've been watching tutorials and stuff. And...and when I had a vision of Matty in trouble, I knew that I had to do something, anything, to save him. So I used what I learned. I promise I was extra-safe! You saw how I parked!"

Dad's squinty-eyed response gives away his lack of a retort; Mom tries her best to continue the silent stare treatment, hoping to team up and bore holes into the truth with their eyes, but after a few seconds, I get bored and decide to shake things up a bit. "Well," I say to their suspicious glares, "I'm just glad you guys aren't, like, making this all about me and Matty. That's...okay with y'all...right?" Pff. I was worried the first time I came out, a few lives ago, but I already know their feelings on it by now.

Mom sighs heavily. "Honey, you know we still love you no matter what, but don't try to change the subject right now." Dang. She caught on quickly. She continues, "I don't really believe you could have learned to drive just from watching videos, so I'm grounding you until I learn the truth."

Wow. Savage. I mean, I expected it, but still. Ah, well, time to play the preteen: "But MOM! I'm telling the TRUTH! God, why don't you believe me?!"

"Don't you raise your voice at your mother!" Dad says in his most authoritative tone.

"But--" I add for good measure, and just sigh melodramatically. "Whatever. Can I just go be miserable now?" I start to get up from my chair. "I'll just make sure I never save anyone ever again. Stupid visions."

"Phillip," Mom says firmly but quietly. "Sit back down. We're not done." I do so with enough eye roll to sever my optic nerves, but she ignores the bait. "We don't believe you because this isn't the sort of thing that ever happens. People don't just get visions and learn to drive without ever practicing. We're worried that you're doing unsafe things, and--and I know you saved Matty, but you could have died, and then what?"

And then I'd just rewind it because I'm apparently not allowed to die in peace. Involuntary flashes of the multiple times I tried to commit suicide flash through my mind, followed by other painful moments where I was murdered or severely maimed either doing stupid shit or trying to save other people, and finally the list of people I have tried and failed to save--those that were 'fated' to die, I guess--ties the whole package of regrets off nicely with a little bowtie of depression. I wonder sometimes if those who are able to die are better off than I am.

As the tears well in my eyes, my parents soften a bit. Dad reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of mine. "We love you, son, and we're just looking out for you. You see now why we're so worried?"

Eh, at this point, it's just easier to give in to the emotions and cry than it is to try to explain anything else. This isn't how I expected this whole thing to go, but curse my brain for remembering dozens of deaths. If anybody ever wonders why I distract myself with sex and entertainment, well, it keeps me from thinking. I put my head down and weep softly. I don't really care if they think I'm crying for the thought of me dying in a car crash--that'd be one of the best ways, as long as I did it right. Ugh, brain! Stop thinking about suicide!

They let me cry for a little bit before Mom says, "Dear, I just want you to know that we really do care about you a lot, and just want you to be safe and happy, but if we have to choose, it's safety before happiness. Speaking of which...we're both very happy that you've found someone that you like." She manages to end that sentence with a tone of voice that sounds simultaneously like she's not going to say anything else, but that she REALLY wants to.

I compose myself little by little, wiping my tears and snot away with a paper towel. "But..." I say, prompting her to continue.

"W-well," she stammers, obviously hitting an uncomfortable spot, "just like I said a moment ago, I--we want to make sure you're safe and happy, but safety first, right?"

...Oh shit, we're going there again. This is always fun. "I guess so?" I say, acting like I'm lost.

"So even though your mother and I met in the 7th grade," Dad begins, "we didn't...we started going out, but only held hands and sometimes kissed. We didn't do anything more until way later."

"Oh you mean like having sex?" I say tactlessly. Might as well fast-forward this. Besides, sex talk keeps me off of death thoughts, so let's get with the sex talk.

"Phillip!" Mom snaps, shocked, but then Dad nods, "Yes, Phillip. We waited to have sex until we were much older. A 12-year-old, or even a 13 or 14-year-old, isn't emotionally ready for sexual relationships, and teen pregnancy is a very serious issue."

I try so hard to resist, but I just can't: "But neither of us can get pregnant."

"That's NOT the point!" Mom practically shouts before composing herself. "You're just too young for that kind of thing, and you won't understand until you're older why sex can ruin a relationship if you're not ready for it."

Hm. She almost sounds like she has some experience with this issue. But if they started dating in the 7th grade, either she cheated on Dad, or...she got started really early. Maybe they broke up a while and got back together. Eh, learn something new every life, I guess. I'll find out more later.

"I...okay," I say, nodding slowly. "I understand. I mean, y'know, that we're not supposed to have sex."

"Promise us that you'll be responsible about this. It's for your own good."

God fucking dammit. I hate promises. "I'll be responsible. I don't want to mess things up with Matty."

"Promise." Mom's eyes disallow any wiggle room.

...Fuck. Here's one more on the list of broken promises: "I promise I'll be responsible." I'm emotionally drained already, so I take initiative: "Can we, uh, talk about the whole 'visions' thing later? I really don't think I can handle talking about that right now. It's...it's hard."

"No," Dad says, "I want everything out in the open right now. You don't have to explain everything, but I do want to know a few things."

Welp. I'm running out of expletives to curse in my head, so I'm just going to stick with 'fuck': fuck fuck fuckity fuck. "Okay, like what?" I say with as much exhaustion in my voice as possible.

He takes a deep breath. "As skeptical as I am about things, I can't really deny what happened last night was basically a miracle, from what I understand. What exactly...what 'vision' did you have?"

"Please, Dad," I beg, "please don't make me talk about that." I honestly just want to move on from yesterday anyway. That shit ranks high on the list of hard-to-deal-with.

"We need to know how--" Dad says, but Mom interrupts, "Herbert. Last night was very stressful for everyone, especially Phillip. I think that can wait." To me she asks, "Can you tell us in general what these 'visions' are? How often do you get them? What do they tell you?"

"Well, I usually get them when something really big is going to happen. It'll be like I'm watching a movie of where I'll be when it happens, so like with yesterday, I had a vision of Matty at school crying to me and telling me that...that..." I take a deep breath; though this part isn't true, it makes me think about last night, and that's tough enough. "He tells me about what happened on the weekend, and then I get an idea of like when I can do something about it. It's not really all 'visions' but sometimes just, I dunno, a feeling? Like when you know the answer to a question. It's just 'right.' It's...hard to explain."

Dad carefully prods for more information. "Have you ever had visions about us?"

Hm. What could I tell them? Oh, I know. Each life, Dad tries to get this one job where he ends up at a refinery that blows up and sends him to the ICU. I figured out a few lives ago how to fix that.

I take a deep breath. "So you remember a few years ago when you came home and said you were looking to get a new job with that other chemical company?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "They never called me back."

"They did, actually," I say. "But when you told us about it, I had a vision of the refinery exploding, and you were there. Then I just knew, I dunno why, but I just knew that if we went to the movies, that you wouldn't get the job."

He thinks about it a moment, the pieces falling together. "They did have an explosion last year. But you could just be making this all up now. How do I know you're not doing that?"

I smile dryly. "Dad, what movie did we go see?"

"Deepwater Horizon." His eyes narrow.

"Remember how suddenly I was super interested in seeing it because I wanted to know more about your job and about oil drills?"

"Well, yeah, but I thought it was just because, y'know, you were interested."

"And you know how Mom didn't want me to see it because it was PG-13, but I kept saying I really really really wanted to see it?"

"Yeah...?"

"And it was about an oil drill accident where a bunch of people died? I wanted to see it so I could understand what happened in my vision. I didn't realize it wasn't really the same thing, but that was the big reason behind it. That, and I knew from my vision that if we went out right then, that you'd miss the call 'cuz we'd be in a movie."

"That's fine and all," Dad responds suspiciously, "but I would have known that they called when I checked my cellphone after the movie."

"Afterward, I told you I left my phone at home and I wanted to look up something about oil drilling. You handed me your phone. I got rid of the 'missed call' notification. I mean, it was in your log still, but...yeah. Sorry for messing with your phone like that."

He opens his mouth to protest, but the weight of the evidence finally sinks in. "I...that's incredible. Why didn't you ever say anything?!"

This part is total truth: "Because I knew that if anybody knew, they'd all think of me differently."

"But you have a gift! You could do so much with it!"

Mom catches on quickly as I stare at the table silently. "Dear, you're making Phillip uncomfortable. Gifted or not, he's still a 12-year-old boy. It's his choice to do what he wants with it, and I understand if he wants to keep it quiet."

"Thanks, Mom," I say sheepishly. "Please, y'all...don't tell anyone. I don't wanna be the weird kid--well, weirder than I already am."

"You're not weird, honey," Mom insists.

"Can I go upstairs now, please?" I ask in a quiet, defeated voice.

Dad opens his mouth to say something, but Mom interjects quickly, "Yes. Thank you very much for talking with us."

"So," I probe, "I'm grounded, but does that just mean from going places? Can I still have Internet?"

Mom looks to Dad, who says, "No. If what you said is true, I don't want you getting bad ideas from the Internet."

"Daaaaaad!" I draw out. "I already don't have my phone! What am I supposed to do?!"

"Well, the lawn needs mowing every weekend. You could help me with the gardens. The garage needs to be reorganized. I could teach you how to manage your finances. We could--"

"Oh yeah, I have Reading homework to do! There's that whole novel we're supposed to read. I guess I'll just go get started on that." I excuse myself from the table amid Dad's chuckles.

Upstairs, Katie walks out of the bathroom and raises an eyebrow at me. "You're up early. For you, anyway."

"Mom made breakfast. Banana pancakes." I don't know why we always felt it necessary to speak to each other in short chunks of sentences like two cavemen who just learned words, but hey--builds efficiency, right?

"What? Why didn't y'all tell me?"

Aw, she broke the Caveman Code. "Still some left. They, uh, we had to talk."

She snorts and smirks slightly. "About you driving, right?"

"Um, well, yeah." I look at the floor in mock-sheepishness.

"Where did you learn to drive?" She turns her head just to give me the stink-eye with maximum efficiency, but spoils it with that same amused smirk. "Have you been watching me or something?"

"A little, yeah." I shrug. "Mostly YouTube videos. I get bored."

She laughs and gently pushes me aside. "Out of the way. I'm hungry."

"Is Stephanie awake yet?" I ask as she descends the stairs.

"Nope. More for me." She rounds the flight of stairs out of sight.

I go in my room and instinctively pat my right pocket looking for my phone before catching myself. I really hope they return it soon. I sit in my chair in front of my computer and stare at the slowly-booting desktop screen, wondering what the hell I'm even going to do once it loads up. I could succumb to boredom and jack off repeatedly, I guess. I do have some pics and videos saved in a hidden directory. I could also do something productive, like homework or chores, but I'm already here in front of the computer, so I'm thinking 'no' to the 'productive' choices. Part of me kinda wants to just piss in my jeans while I'm sitting at the comp and ignore it until someone smells it, but the other part of me really wants to stop abusing my power for small things like that sort of amusement. Of the few things I ever keep my word for, I'd really like to keep that one. For that matter, and for the first time since probably when puberty hit (and maybe a bit sooner), I have no sex drive for the moment. The thoughts of the shit that Matty went through weigh so heavily on me that I really can't even get into looking at porn.

Long story short, Saturday and Sunday are boring as hell. I do end up having to explain to my sisters all the shit that happened (leaving out key details for Matty's privacy), but they promise not to shout out on social media that I'm some kind of psychic freak. If it does get out, though, I'll deal with it to save someone like Matty. He's too good for that piece of shit alcoholic, deadbeat rapist father. They think that me driving a car is bad? They haven't seen me murder someone without a trace yet.

Matty doesn't come back to school until Tuesday. A small part of me worries the entire time that he's in danger, or that he's going to move away because of some stupid reason, or that he's sick or injured from the whole thing, or maybe stress, or his dad escaped and they're on the run from him...when you've had centuries to see the things that can happen to people, your inner voice gets very creative. Needless to say, I'm distracted as hell in class; Canelito even notices Monday during Reading class, and intentionally goes to the pencil sharpener to come talk to me.

"Hey, what's up?" he asks, not even glancing down at my package (for once).

"Huh?" I ask, shaken out of my worry-induced reverie. "Nothin'. Just...lot on my mind."

He looks back at the teacher as he finishes sharpening his pencil, and says just loud enough for me to hear over the machine, "Well, if you wanna talk, lemme know."

"Okay," I mumble. Jesus--I make his life a living Hell and he's still willing to talk to me? Sure, I kinda made up for it, but I still wouldn't talk to me after that shit. Seriously. Now he's just making me feel worse.

Anyway, fast forward past the part where I'm miserable and anxious for the entire rest of the day, and Tuesday finally rolls around. I don't see Matty for the first half of the day, even though I keep my eyes open in the hallways. I do finally see him in Gym class, breathing a silent sigh of relief as he passes by me in the locker room. He looks down and smiles at me on the bench as I take off my shoes, but it's pretty clear that he needs to go to the bathroom, and somewhat quickly. On his way, though, he gets pushed back by none other than the incorrigible Rod; of course, this time he has his right-hand man Diego with him blocking the path to the bathroom.

"Pay the toll," Rod says in his hoarse, husky voice.

"Move! I have to pee!" Matty insists.

"Not until you pay the toll. 5 bucks."

Matty starts squirming in place. "I don't have any money, just move!" Matty tries to squeeze past Rod, but he and his friend Diego block the path.

Looking around for an answer to this predicament, I wad up my gym shirt (which I did not take home this weekend, so it's ripe) and chuck it straight at Rod's face. As expected, it takes him wildly off-guard and he takes a moment to deal with the distraction. The moment he does, Matty ducks under his arm and darts between him and Diego, straight into an open stall. Diego almost manages to grab Matty's shirt as he squirrels by, but a very fortuitous elbow from Rod blocks Diego's attempt. Very shortly after, the dam bursts in the stall as Matty unleashes his bladder on the poor, unsuspecting toilet.

"You motherfucker," Rod says in his most menacing tone.

"Oh! You found my shirt!" I say innocently. "Sorry, it totally slipped out of my hand. My bad, yo. Help a fellow out?" I hold my hand up, signaling for him to toss my shirt back.

As expected, he only gets more angry. "Your fucking shirt is over there," he spits, tossing it on the floor near the urinals behind him. "Where it belongs," he adds snidely. "Piss-lover."

Hmm. That's a new one from him. I mean, it's true, but hey--gotta give him some credit for inventive insults. Wonder if that's just coincidence, or if he's calling back to Matty's and my first encounter. Eh, either way.

"What?" I say innocently, ignoring his verbal assault. "Oh, yeah--who doesn't like taking a good piss? Speaking of which, I gotta go. Excuse me," I say, attempting to walk past him nonchalantly.

He pushes me back with a thick index finger in the sternum. It's unpleasant, to say the least. He leans in and growls, "I am going to beat the shit out of you after class, faggot."

"You will?" I say, leaning in closer. "Listen, 'Spanky,' you don't get to be the boss of anyone or anything here. You're in over your head." This last statement is delightfully ironic, seeing as he's almost a head taller than me (and an entire body wider).

He shoves me back and snarls. "You wanna do this here? Let's go!"

"Let's go!" Coach calls out from the entrance to the locker rooms, somehow in perfect sync with Rod.

I call out obnoxiously loudly, "Oh, I'll be right there. Rod just needs to talk to me." I give Rod a knowing look. "We are just talking, right? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure you'll be sent to 'Juvie' if you get any more fights on your record. At the minimum, that's another ticket."

Diego mutters to Rod, "We can take him. I gotcha."

I see Matty behind the two of them, right behind Beto, who has my shirt. Apparently he decided to switch sides. At least one of the 'Mexican Mafia' has some intelligence.

Rod actually shows a tiny spark of smarts as well when he snorts and starts heading for the door. As he passes by me, though, he gets a quick sucker punch right in my solar plexus, making me double over slightly as a collective gasp runs through the boys still in the locker room.

My eyes narrow. Possibility after possibility of the myriad ways I could fuck his life over without getting so much as a ding on my record flash through my head, until they finally settle on a particularly amusing prank. I'm not going to get even, physically. At least, not with physical pain. 'Piss lover,' is it? So be it.

I straighten up after a few seconds, grim determination on my face. I close my eyes and inhale through the pain, exhaling into a calm, collected demeanor. "I'm good," I say to the general audience, and head out to the gym.

Thankfully, today is a relay race, so there isn't any time for Rod to make an idiot of himself. After we are done, we move on to free-time activities; as I'm playing Four-Square with the 6th graders and Matty, I see Rod having an argument with Beto across the gym. While I can't hear the conversation, I can only imagine it's about Beto's 'betrayal.' Ah, well--them's the breaks, kid. No pity here.

Rod is surprisingly aloof when we go back to the locker room, seeming a bit more pensive than I thought possible for him. Now I'm itching to know what Beto said, but at least Rod isn't fucking with anyone. Diego gives me an acid stare when he walks by, but says and does nothing else. I can live with that. Rod tries to burn me with his own glare as I walk by with Matty out of the gym on the way to lunch.

We walk towards the cafeteria, and I start up the conversation with, "So, how are you?"

"Good," he replies.

"How, um..." I start. "How did the--doc visit, was it?--how did that go yesterday?"

"Good," he responds again, but continues after a short, awkward pause. "I'm fine and all that; there's no, um...well, only a little tearing. I'm fine."

"Good to hear," I say, equally awkwardly.

After another moment he adds, "Oh, also he said that my kidney is doing really good, so I don't actually have to drink as much water as I was."

"Oh, that's awesome!" I say, genuinely happy for this news (though my inner fetish-pig did love the desperation). "That should really help."

"Yeah, I hope," Matty mutters.

More awkward silence. I take another stab at clearing the cobwebs: "So...about, um...about the whole, you know, thing that we talked about on Friday. I'm totally in favor of keeping it on the down-low at school. I don't want you to get picked on for being gay."

"It's not fair, though," he pouts, "all the other guys get to go around kissing their girlfriends and all that."

"I know," I admit ruefully. "Just, y'know, I understand that it's dangerous for you to do that, so you're not going to, like, upset me or anything. I get it."

"Yeah, but what about you?" Matty asks. "It's not just about me."

"Pff," I spit, "I'm already apparently a piss-loving freak nerd...something else. Oh yeah, 'fag.' They already call me that, so I have that base covered."

Matty giggles. God, I've missed that laugh. "Wow. They really hate you, don't they?"

"Well, sure," I shrug. "I don't let them get away with their stupid shit."

"Young man!" says an older white lady, one of the 8th grade teachers I think, as she walks by me.

"Oops!" I exclaim, "I'm so sorry--I just got a little angry, is all. Won't happen again, Ms..."

"Cummings. And it better not." I manage to repress my automatic snicker at her name as she scolds me.

We walk off in opposite directions, and Matty spins on me as soon as she's out of earshot, hissing, "Dude! You're gonna get in trouble!"

I roll my eyes ostentatiously, explaining, "I could talk my way out of shooting someone if I wanted to. I don't, mind you, but I could."

"Have you?" Matty asks. "Shot someone before."

I feel like I've answered that before for him, but oh well. I stay silent for enough time to get my point across. "I fought in overseas wars; I decided to join the Army one time, and, well, yeah."

We get to the lunch line and pick up some vague representation of an enchilada with rice and beans. I can see that Matty is mulling the idea over as he pays for his meal and goes to his seat. I follow shortly behind and join him with the twins already seated and Kyle showing up very shortly afterward.

"Matty!" the twins say in unison, and then, "Phillip!" followed by, of course, "Kyle!" God, they're adorable.

Conversation isn't terribly exciting or funny, just the usual mid-week banter. The twins mention in passing that they're glad Matty is back, but they've already had Choir together, so it's not news to them. The only particularly interesting part is when Matty clears his throat and says, "Guys? So, um, I was gonna have my birthday party next weekend, after this weekend when I was gonna be with Daddy--my dad, but, um, it's, it's gonna be this weekend instead since I'm...I'm not going over there anymore. This weekend, I mean."

Hm. Apart from how 'adorkably' awkward he's being, he's also giving off some interesting cues. Note to self: do NOT mention any reasons why custody shifted--not that I would have anyway, but it's clear he doesn't want it to be a big deal.

"Yeah!" Kasha shouts with entirely too much excitement. Vik rises up as if to hit Kasha for startling him, but ignores the impulse, saying, "That is excellent! We will be there!"

Kyle slinks down in his chair and mutters, "I have to go camping that weekend. It's a big family thing."

"Aww," I sigh with him. "Well, you know I'll be there. I--ah, shit."

"What's wrong?" Matty asks with obvious anxiety in his eyes.

"I'm grounded."

"Hah!" Kasha barks. "What you do?"

Matty bristles visibly, but I just shrug and roll my eyes. "Disobeyed the parents. It was for a good reason, though."

"Vell?" Kasha asks, slipping into a heavier accent, likely on purpose. "DO tell."

"You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not going into details on this one. Let's just say that I was right and knew I was right and they can deal with it."

Vik's face is killer; he's staring at me with abject fear, like I've just confessed an undying love for Satan. Of course, with a father as imposing as theirs, I'd be scared shitless to disobey. Kasha, however, just gives me a 'not bad' expression, a nod of approval, and holds out a fist. I bump it. Whatever gets them off the trail.

Matty butts in, "Can't you just, I dunno, tell them that this is super important or something?"

"I mean, maybe?" I admit. "Maybe if I do lots of chores and act stupid nice around my sisters. I'll see what I can do. Count me in for it, and I'll work my magic."

Matty gives me a suspicious look, and I immediately shake my head in an unspoken 'not THAT kind of magic.'

"So," Matty continues, "It'll be y'all, and maybe Cory, and probably Zacky if he can come, and I think maybe that's it. I dunno."

"What about that Sean kid in Orchestra?" Kasha suggests. "He was the one who was playing the piano after school when we were singing that one time."

"It was like three times," Vik corrects.

Kasha gives him the stink-eye and continues. "He's really nice. You should invite him."

Vik gives Kasha his characteristic upside slap on the back on the head. "Kasha! This is not your party! We already had one, da?" It sounds like when he gets worked up, he slips up on his language, too.

"Yeah, but..." he retorts weakly. "Yeah, he's right, sorry. I just get excited."

"No no," Matty replies quickly, "it's fine. He is pretty cool. I could ask. I don't want too many over, though."

I stay quiet during this exchange, though I could easily have plenty to say about it. Instead, I sit and think about the fact that we've been going out for three days and the moment he mentions some guy I've never heard of, I get a flare of jealousy. Jealousy. ME! The guy who spends most of his time corrupting people sexually just to pass the time is jealous?! I'll just keep that one to myself, though--I don't need to cause drama, no matter how 'tween' I am. My emotions can go and suck it, just like he could go and suck...whoever the hell he's talking about and I wouldn't care about it at all.

Scratch that, I'd be pissed. What the fuck? I don't even know this kid and I'm ready to beat the shit out of him. I swear...a millennium does nothing to dull the raging hormone-induced emotional tidal wave of puberty. I'll get over it.

"Phillip?" Matty asks carefully.

I shake myself out of it and join back in. "What's up?"

"What do you think?"

"What do I think...about what?" I ask, lost.

"Maybe we could go see a movie or something for my birthday." Matty shrugs. "I dunno, just an idea."

"No, that sounds fine!" I quickly reply. "That's great. I mean, we'd be sitting for hours, though..." I try to give a meaningful glance to Matty, thinking about the last time we watched a movie.

"Oh yeah." He says, pondering. "Maybe not."

"What is wrong with movie?" Kasha asks.

Matty freezes, but I come prepared with an answer: "I have ADHD and get really fidgety sometimes. I think I'll be okay with a movie, but it needs to be exciting. No chick flicks."

The other boys start laughing, Kyle included. He adds, "I had to sit through some stupid romantic movie with my parents last year. Mom got mad when I started snoring."

"I wouldn't fall asleep," I admit, "but when I was younger, they'd have to stop me from crawling over the seats just to bother other people. I was bad."

"You?" Matty says. "But you're so calm normally!"

"Not when I'm bored, yo." This is...mostly true. I don't have literal ADHD, but I cannot tolerate boredom. It's earned me a strange sort of half-class clown, half-weird kid reputation. I'm pretty okay with it.

Having deflected the conversation, we do end up deciding on the movies, one of the new superhero ones out--I haven't kept up, so I'm just more interested in it being an action film than about anything else. Well, there's the whole part where I'll be watching a movie with Matty, which is one step away from 'Netflix and Chill(TM),' if you know what I mean.

Everyone gets up at the bell and heads off to their classes, but Matty lingers at the table a moment longer. I take notice and wait a sec; he turns to me and mumbles, "Thanks. Again. Like usual."

"What do you mean?"

"I always get in situations where I just don't know what to say, like earlier with the whole...you know. The movie thing."

I can't help but smile. I'm thoroughly smitten with this damn boy; even when he's stumbling through words--maybe even especially when he stumbles through words--I can't help but be refreshed at his honesty and authenticity. It's not the right place to gush about that though, so I just respond, "Hey. I've had practice at this. It's cool."

Matty giggles. "Practice. Ya think?"

"Sometimes," I shrug.

We walk and talk on our way to the next class. "Matty, I have some bad news," I solemnly decree.

"What? What is it?" he asks, anxious.

"I think I may die soon...if I don't get my phone back. I will likely die of boredom without phone or Internet."

I deserve the shoulder smack with which he responds. "Phillip! You had me scared!"

"Hey, no Internet is scary! Humans would all turn into bloodthirsty monsters and destroy civilization!"

"No they won't," Matty groans.

"Think: without Wikipedia, how would people know anything? If nobody knows anything, how can we answer questions? If we can't answer questions--"

"Oh my God stop," Matty says with equal annoyance and smile.

"--if we can't answer, why would we ask? If we never ask, we'd never learn anything, and then BOOM! Bunches of stupid zombies walking around. End of the world." I punctuate it with nuclear mushroom-cloud hand gestures and explodey sounds.

"You are so..." he mutters.

"Weird?"

"Dumb."

"Thanks! I try." I smile stupidly to illustrate. Matty just snorts and laughs.

The rest of school goes by nicely and quietly, and then home life goes by slowly and excruciatingly boringly. The sisters bug me about my "psychic abilities," but all I tell them is that I foresee that a certain little brother is going to get really annoying in their near future because they won't leave him alone.

Dinner is blessedly silent about me and my sideshow weirdness. Well, mostly. Mom asks me about my day at school, so I say, "Eh, same ol', same ol'."

"Was Matty back today?" she asks guilelessly.

"Huh? Oh yeah, he came back to school today. I was super happy he was okay."

"Who's Matty?" asks Stephanie.

"My boyfriend," I reply nonchalantly, stuffing my face with more mashed potatoes.

Stephanie chokes on her own mashed potatoes a moment at my answer, spitting out a mouthful into her paper towel. Katie just gets this little smile on her face, half at my admission and half at Stephanie's misfortune.

"Stephanie!" Mom chides. "That's gross."

"MOM!" she snaps, "I was choking. God. Whatever. You have a boyfriend?" She aims the last part at me with an absurd upward inflection, like her words were leaving orbit.

I look blankly at her for a moment. "Yeah. What, can't believe that someone actually likes me?"

"You're gay?!" The upward inflection keeps rising; her words are going to blow a hole in the roof--or my eardrums--at this rate.

"Oh, that," I say, looking around as if to find the words. "I mean, I guess?"

"I had no idea," she admits, finally putting a piece of steak in her mouth.

I start to speak with a mouthful of corn, but Mom gives me The Look. Rolling my eyes, I chew a few more times, swallow, and reply, "I didn't really until I started liking boys. I mean, you know." Practically a tautology, but that's all she gets.

Apparently, it's enough, because she runs out of words (and potatoes) to spew out. After a pregnant pause, Katie adds, "I kinda knew."

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, "How so?"

"You don't really do anything straight boys do."

"Like...?"

She shrugs. "Like play sports, chase girls, make sexist comments, be an asshole--"

"KATIE!" Mom growls.

"They are." Katie is unmoved.

"Language, or you're grounded from driving, too."

Katie just affects a regal air and continues eating her queenly steak. I can't help but laugh at the whole thing, but Mom only gives me the stink-eye instead of calling me out. Dad very pointedly eats his dinner in order to hide his burgeoning smile.

Distractions aside, we finish dinner relatively quietly and clean up. As the evening winds down, though, I remember about Matty's party and begin to hatch a plan. "Hey Dad," I call from upstairs, aimed toward his office.

"Yes, Phillip?" he says after pausing his movie.

"You were right: the lawn is looking a little high. I'll mow it tomorrow. I'll even edge, if you want."

I can't see his face, but I hear a substantial pause, before: "How much money are you trying to get?"

Heading downstairs to complete the conversation (so as not to drown out Mom's TV), I reply, "I just want to show that I'm responsible, since I acted very irresponsibly this weekend."

He raises an eyebrow. I add, "...and $20. Just enough for a movie and snacks."

"You're grounded, remember?"

"That's what I'm working on. I mean, sure, I'm grounded right now, which means I have all this free time to show you I can be trusted. But I figure that, by Saturday, you'll realize how badly I want to go to Matty's birthday party, and--"

He holds up a hand. "Ah, I see. I see. Let me think...the lawn definitely needs a haircut...how about weeding the gardens, too? Can't have a nice lawn with ratty gardens, you know."

"Deal."

"Find out what Mom wants, and report back to me after my movie is done. I'll have a verdict by then."

I peek my head into the living room. "Heyyyyyyy, Mom!"

"Heyyyyyyy, what?" she replies in kind.

"So I'm going to do the lawn and all that tomorrow, and so I'm going to be all sweaty, so I'm going to need to wash the clothes I'll be in, so I could just do all the laundry with it, if you want. I mean, since I'll be doing that anyway." I smile my best 'I definitely want something from you' smile.

She stares at me for a moment, blinking a few times. "What do you want," she states more than asks.

"Am I so transparent?" I ask rhetorically, hand dramatically pressed over my heart. "I need to go to Matty's birthday party on Saturday, so I want to prove my reliability."

"Do you even know how to do laundry?" she asks with obvious skepticism.

"Sure. Separate whites and colors, laundry on the standard settings you leave it on, dryer same, clean the lint trap, use a dryer sheet, fold immediately afterward."

She smiles. "You forgot one thing."

I rack my brain, but can't come up with it. "...What?"

"Delicates."

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Right. Wash those separate, cold water, dry on low heat. I can let you fold those, if it's okay."

"I'm just playing with you," she says with a very amused look. "I'll take care of those. You sound like you know what you're doing. Have you been watching YouTube on laundry, too?"

"I've helped you a few times, and I've just noticed the settings don't change a whole lot."

"You skipped a few details, but I'll show you tomorrow. This party must really mean something to you."

I smile sheepishly. "He's my boyfriend."

That strikes a chord with Mom; she can't help but show a little smile as she replies, "Well, thanks for the offer. You might want to bring your clothes down now, to get it out of the way."

"I'll do it after I mow, so I can just throw my sweaty clothes in the bunch after my shower and all that."

"You're still not getting Internet back tonight, though."

I play-pout for a moment but then say, "I know. I haven't done anything yet to earn it back."

"Bingo." She turns back to her show, but with an obvious pleased smile on her face.

I report back to Dad as discussed, and he seems pleased with the amount of effort. I mean, I'm still basically slave labor since I didn't do anything wrong, but I've got my own reasons.

Satisfied with my ingenious plan, I head upstairs only to remember that I'm Back in Bored-ville, but this time with plenty more energy and libido. This is generally a bad combination. I light up the old computer and open my hidden porn folder on it (this is not the first time I've been grounded from the Internet; I know better). They actually tried to install some kind of 'Net Watchdog software to prevent me from getting on adult sites. I couldn't have been happier, because after I figured out how to not only bypass the security but purge all the records (on the browser, too), it's just one more layer of protection against their suspicion. So anyway, I'm more stuck to pictures of adults having sex, of course, but that doesn't mean I haven't found lots of pictures of tween underwear models, and that's really enough for my sex drive. I whip it out and start working it, slowly up and down my third-of-a-foot of hot cock (yeah, not much you can say to make it impressive-sounding). I revel in the feel of the skin rolling just to the top of the glans, and slowly peeling back down, back up and slowly back down, igniting sparks of pleasure all throughout. Then my door opens.

"Phillip, I--oh God." Katie is standing in my door, averting her eyes.

"What?"

"I didn't know you were--"

"No, I mean what do you want?" I make no move to take my hand off my dick, but no move to hide it, either. Sister or not, I'm shameless.

"I was just gonna ask if you knew where my hair brush went," she tells the door.

"Nah," I say. I click open a pic of a hot twink with an 8-incher and a hairless tight sack. "Oh hey, check this one out," I say, swiveling my monitor toward her.

She actually looks for a moment before squinting and turning around. "Nope, No thanks, I'm good." She closes the door behind her.

I yell, "Hey, knock next time!" after her, and go back to my business. I learned a long time ago that if you make a big deal of it, then they'll keep interrupting you day after day. If you just act like it's nothing, it freaks them out, heh.

Back to my underwear models, I stroke slowly at first, browsing through them, imagining what it'd be like if I just slipped those undies off, how they'd look if their dams just burst, how it'd be if I just shoved my tongue up that little pink hole they're hiding, and then if I shoved my--

The orgasm hits me like a lightning bolt, clamping my muscles and flooding my body with electric pleasure as I feel the sperm come up the length of my dick like globs of bliss, the first one nailing me in the forehead, the second landing on the roof of my open mouth, and the third splatting between my nipples. The rest of the contractions either bring a dribble of semen or nothing at all, but the whole thing is 10 seconds of transcendent, passionate ecstasy. I don't really care that I lasted all of 30 seconds before orgasm--I have nothing to prove and nobody to impress. Besides, 25% of the time I devoted to this endeavor was orgasm, so hooray for quickies! I wipe my forehead and chest off, licking up the remains of the evidence, before heading over and getting an early start on sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day, so I need my rest.

To be continued...