Date: Fri, 18 Nov 2005 22:56:05 -0800 (PST) From: Robin Eagleson Subject: The Luckiest Summer Part 6 The Luckiest Summer Robin Eagleson robineagleson@yahoo.com Part Six I woke up at eight the next morning, bright eyed and fully alert. A quick glance out in the hall told me Brad's door was still closed, but there were noises coming from the kitchen. I assumed it was his dad, and I didn't really want to have to talk to him, so I bounded out of bed and closed my door quietly. I kept myself busy with Tyler's Xbox for a while. It was like being inside a movie store where every rental was free, as many games as he had. At nine I heard the garage door go off and a vehicle back out of the driveway. I figured it was Brad's dad leaving for work. I paused my game of Midtown Madness 3 and tiptoed out into the living room. The house seemed perfectly silent, indicating my guess had been correct. I ventured into the kitchen to get something to drink; my throat was painfully dry. Upon opening the refrigerator, I was met by countless bottles of water and almost nothing else in liquid form. There was no soda whatsoever, and aside from a few different kinds of juice, there really was nothing else of the thirst quenching variety. With no small amount of reluctance, I grabbed an Aquafina and trudged back to Tyler's room, stepping over the pair of jean shorts I had pulled off and left on the floor last night. I got restless and flipped off the Xbox around ten, quietly stepping out into the hall and slowly opening Brad's door. He was still sleeping, turned on his side, his pillow propped up against the headboard. His left arm was sticking out straight down his side, while his right arm was bent inwards at the elbow, part of it disappearing underneath the pillow. He was almost too long for the tiny bed. His bare feet were poking out from under the bottom of the sheets, and dangling an inch or two over the edge of the bed. I watched him sleep for a minute, listening to his steady breathing, and then grinned evilly. I approached the bed and knelt down, tickling his feet. He jerked them back, just a quick lunge in his sleep, and unconsciously retreated them back into the safety of the sheets. I carefully positioned myself at the foot of the bed and crawled slowly up to where our faces were almost aligned, flicking his ear softly. He mumbled and batted away it with his free hand, but still didn't wake up. I stifled a giggle and tried to come up with another subtle way of waking him up. Just as I started to think, his cell phone went off beside him, playing music very loudly. It startled me, and I jumped backwards and fell, my bottom landing on his legs. The music had successfully done what I couldn't manage, and Brad was now sitting upright, probably wondering why there was an extra hundred pound weight on his legs. He frowned slightly when he saw me, and then with some difficulty, leaned over to the desk and pulled his phone off it. "Hello?" he grumbled, sounding very much like someone who had just been woken up. "I have to work until three. Maybe we can go tonight, though." He paused, and the other voice on the line, a distinctly female sounding one, spoke for a few seconds. "Well, call me later and we can decide, then. I just woke up, and I probably won't remember anything we talk about now, anyway." He hung up. "Who was that?" I asked innocently, still sitting on his legs. "No one," he answered. "Why the hell are you sitting on me?" "I was trying to wake you up," I admitted. "Then your phone rang and scared the shit out of me, so I fell backwards and landed on you." He looked at me as though I was crazy. "Well, do you want to move? You're right on my knees, and it's not very comfortable." I did as he asked. He had requested I move, not get off the bed altogether, so I wedged myself in between him and the wall and rested my head on his now unoccupied pillow. He was still sitting upright, the sheets bundled up in his lap. He wasn't wearing a shirt, so I watched his bare chest move as he breathed. His chest was very different from mine; he actually had some definition and pectoral muscles, whereas mine was narrow and ran in a straight, flat line. "I had some water out of your refrigerator," I told him shyly. "Is that okay?" He studied my face for a second, and then scowled at me. "No. You owe me fifty cents," he said, holding out his hand. I blinked, and he smiled. "Yeah, it's fine. Don't be so fucking polite. You can have anything you want." He scratched his head, and I looked with curiosity at the scraggly blond tufts of hair in his armpit. It was the only spot on his entire upper body that had any hair. He looked over at his alarm clock, saw it was a quarter after, and groaned. "I have to get ready for work," he said, throwing the sheets off him and standing up beside the bed. From my position, his crotch was at a direct eye level, and I stared stupidly at the coiled up lump in his boxers, which he adjusted quickly. The lump lessened considerably, and I pulled my eyes away from it. "I don't want to go home," I complained. "It'll be boring and empty there." "It'll be boring and empty here," he retorted, throwing open his closet to search for a work shirt. He came up with one and then rooted through his dresser, hunting through his shorts. "You can come to work with me if you want, though," he said, selecting a dark pair of khakis. "I can?" I asked, excited. "Sure," he shrugged. "It's only about a two-minute drive. You can hang out in the back room for a while. We're almost never busy on Monday afternoon, so you'd probably have it to yourself. If you get bored you could just walk home." "Okay!" I agreed happily. "I'll just wait here until you're ready to go," I said, pulling up the sheets and repositioning myself comfortably in the middle of his bed. I sunk into the large impression he'd made in the mattress from the night before. "You can take a shower too, if you want," he suggested. "I'll be done in a little bit," he added, leaving me with my thoughts. I wondered how long it had been since I'd last showered. I definitely remembered taking one on Friday before I went out with Nadia, but that had been the last one. The fact that I had gotten through yesterday without being nagged to take one was an indication that Mom wasn't paying as much attention to those kinds of things currently. She usually made sure I took one at least every other day. Granted, she had other things on her mind yesterday. I reached underneath the sheets and caressed myself through my boxers. What had started as a semi quickly sprang to full size, and I slipped my hand inside the waistband and started tugging on it slowly. Once I'd started, I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop. I didn't want to get anything on Brad's bed, so I kept my boxers on even as I worked. As was the pattern lately, my session didn't last long. I thought of Brad, and the lump I had seen in his boxers, and his naked upper body with his defined chest. I thought of being in the shower with him, and being able to see the bulge between his legs in the flesh instead of it being concealed behind a thin layer of red fabric. I was panting by the time I finished, and immediately wished I had waited until my turn in the shower. Now there was a sticky substance in my boxers that I would have to live with until it dried. I pulled at the fabric until my dick wasn't resting directly in the mess, and then waited patiently for Brad to get out of the shower. I remembered what he'd told me the time he'd been in the shower after it had taken him a while and giggled. I wondered if he was doing what I had just gotten done doing and touched myself again. This time there was no spark; it was too soon. He reappeared after ten minutes, fully dressed (much to my disappointment) and violently scrubbing his scalp with a towel. His hair was getting longer than it had been at the beginning of the summer. It had been just a shade longer than beard stubble back in the early days of June, but now it was a little thicker. I wondered if he was going to keep cutting it that short or if he was going to grow it out. "All yours," he said, pointing to the bathroom. "If you want to take one, that is." I kicked the sheets off and got to my feet, again reminded of my dirty deed by the cold wetness on the front of my boxers. I hoped it hadn't made too big of a spot on my crotch. Either way, I definitely needed a shower now. "I'll be right back," I squeaked, darting out of the room before he had a chance to notice I had shot off in my boxers. I showered quickly and then peeked back in his room. He wasn't there, so I walked into the living room, wearing only a towel around my waist. "I can't take you anywhere like that," he smiled, seeing that I was still wet and mostly naked from the shower. He had settled into the couch and was watching a morning edition of Sports Center. "I wanted to know if I could use your gel again," I said, feeling self-conscious now that he had turned to look at me. My hand automatically reached back to hold the towel in place even though I had tightened it pretty well already. "You can have it," he said. "I told you I don't use it anymore. Go ahead." Grinning, I skipped back to the bathroom and let the towel drop. It was exciting to leave the door open while I dressed. He would have to turn around to see me, though, and he was pretty caught up in the TV, so I didn't think it was going to happen. I slid back into my soiled boxers, cringing when I felt the wet spot against my crotch, although it had already dried a little. I found the deodorant he had told me I could have the last time, swiped it in each respective pit, and then grabbed the gel. I started to apply it to my hands, but then stopped. "Brad," I called. He grunted a reply. "Will you help me with this again and do it like last time?" I asked, trying to sound innocent even though I wasn't exactly fitting that description in my request. I was pretty sure I could do it fine without his help, but he really was good at it. And I liked it when he touched me. "For Christ's sake, Zach, it's not hard," he complained, but he came anyway. Then he was in the doorway, leaning against the frame and taking me in. "I'll show you one more time," he said. "After that you should be able to do it on your own." I beamed inwardly as he stood right behind me, taking the gel and rubbing it in his palms. I settled back against his chest and tilted my head back so he would have a vantage view of my hair. His hands were enormous and covered the entire surface of my scalp, but his fingers were graceful nonetheless. It felt so nice to have him scrubbing my head that I wanted to close my eyes, but I liked watching him do it in the mirror more. He was working on the front now, tousling it carefully to stand up straighter than the rest, his shirt pressing up against my bare skin. I could smell cologne on him, but it wasn't the kind he usually wore. "Thanks," I grinned when he was done and it looked just as good as it had the last time. I stared at myself in the mirror, unable to keep from smiling. "Can I wear some of your cologne again?" I asked, looking back up at him hopefully. "You don't need cologne today," he said, shaking his head. "That's only for special occasions. If I start letting you use it all the time you're going to cost me a lot of money." I was disappointed, but I shrugged it off. "Hurry up and get dressed," he ordered me, turning to go back to the living room. "We need to be gone in five minutes." I stayed in the bathroom and stared at my reflection for another minute, and then scampered to Tyler's room to grab my jean shorts. I stepped into them, buttoned them, and then put my belt on. I spent another few minutes trying to find my shirt before I realized it was still in the bathroom. Just as Brad called out that he was leaving without me, I found it and threw it on, racing out into the garage after him. I made him put in the Ben Folds CD with "The Luckiest" on it even though the drive was short. This time I listened to the words more closely and began to feel I had something in common with the singer. He sounded about as thankful that he'd met whoever it was he was singing about (his wife, maybe) as I was about meeting Brad. I turned to look at Brad as the car filled up with the piano notes, giving him a helplessly smitten stare before he caught me and I turned away quickly. We pulled into the shopping center and parked crookedly in a space right by the door of the building he worked inside. It was just a local pizzeria, and of modest size. We went in the front door together and he pushed me towards the back, which held a smattering of tables but was filled mostly with arcade games, a pool table, and a big screen TV. He returned a few seconds later with a cup and told me I could get as many drinks as I wanted, and then disappeared for a while in the kitchen. I sat down at a long table that could have seated ten people and looked up at the giant TV. It was on Comedy Central, which suited me just fine. I sat there for about half an hour before the bell rang for the first time and a customer walked in. Out of curiosity I got up and wandered out into the front, where Brad and another worker were stocking the buffet while another guy took the customer's money. The customer was an elderly gentleman of substantial size, and it looked like he'd have no trouble putting a dent in the buffet all by himself. Brad saw I'd come out to the front and motioned for me to go back. "I need quarters," I whined. "I can't watch TV all day!" "I have a ton in my car," he said, throwing me his keys. They jingled as they flew through the air and landed in my open hands. "In a few hours the buffet will be over and I'll come back there with you," he added before going back to the kitchen area. On my way outside to get the quarters another pair of customers walked in, this time a middle-aged couple. I frowned, hoping they sat in the front instead of somewhere in the back where they would keep me from having it to myself. When I'd grabbed a handful of quarters and started to return inside, though, another handful of people were at the entrance, including a gaggle of small children. So much for getting the run of the place. I spent the next hour trying to avoid the customers, going through all the games and about five glasses of Root Beer. By a little after one, the place had emptied out again and the back was empty except for me and a bunch of dishes. I had just run out of quarters, so I sat perched on a bar stool, slurping another glass of Root Beer and watching TV. Somewhere along the way it had gotten changed to CNN, so I swiveled around in circles to entertain myself. One of the workers came back to clear a table and gave me a strange look. He looked younger than Brad, and considerably smaller. I waved at him as I continued to spin around in circles, the gallon of Root Beer playing a large role in my restlessness. Just as the first kid disappeared into the front with his pile of dishes, Brad came back to help and saw me spinning. "I can change it back to Comedy Central if you want," he suggested with a smile. "Or you can give me some more quarters," I giggled, holding out my hand expectantly. "You had to have gone through at least five dollars of them already," he said, not looking surprised that I had used them all. "Here, get change," he sighed, handing me a few more one dollar bills. "Thanks, I'll pay you back," I said, snatching the bills out of his hand and running over to the change machine. I was starting to build up quite a tab, one that I continually forgot to pay. Right now I had too much sugar in my bloodstream to feel guilty, though. I quickly used two of the quarters on yet another game of pinball, which I was horrible at. By two the dishes were cleared, the buffet was put away, and all the workers were gone except for Brad, who was supposed to stay until three and the night crew came in to finish the evening. Brad finally came back to check on me, holding a box of pizza in one hand and a drink in the other. He set them down at a booth and called me over. "I made half of it with just cheese," he said as I sat down and began to salivate. I was going to beg him to make me something the second I saw him, but apparently he had read my mind. "I've had seven Root Beers," I told him for no reason at all, a hyper upwards lilt in my tone as I slid into the booth beside him instead of across from him. "Seven," he said dryly, ignoring my odd choice of seating. "How nice. You are the epitome of healthy living." "What?" I asked, inhaling the first slice of cheese. He didn't answer, and I didn't expect him to. I kicked him under the table and grinned, unable to keep from being silly. "Can we go swimming when you get off?" I asked hopefully, loudly smacking on my pizza. "I can't," he said. "I'm meeting someone." "Who?" I demanded, pinching his arm when he chose to take a bite of his pizza instead of answering me. I opened my mouth wider as I chewed my pizza so he would have to watch me eat it. I had succeeded in grossing him out because he reached out and turned my head away from him. "Who?" I asked again, pushing his hand away and smearing the pizza sauce on my fingers on his arm. He frowned and wiped it off. "A girl," he finally answered. "It's none of your business who I'm seeing. We can swim later this week, maybe." "What girl?" I asked, taking a sip through my straw. "Her name's Sara," he said finally. "You met her once." "The girl at Pizza Hut?" I asked, stuffing another piece of cheese pizza in my mouth. "You guys are going out now?" "No," he said quickly. "Well, kind of. I don't know, we've seen each other a couple of times. So not really," he shrugged. "Have you held hands?" I asked with a grin, wondering if he'd gotten as far with her as I'd gotten with Nadia. "No," he admitted. "Holding hands isn't on my list of priorities, though, if you know what I mean." "What do you mean?" I asked, eyeing him cautiously as I finished chewing on my second slice. "You mean like, kissing her?" "Sure," he chuckled. "That's my ultimate goal, Zach. Once I get that kiss I move on the next one. What else is there to do with a girl besides kiss?" He had a very ironic look on his face, and I was pretty sure he was making fun of me for suggesting a kiss as being on his list of priorities. "Are you being funny again?" I asked him, never sure when he was serious or not. "Forget it," he said, taking a firm bite of his pizza. He ate much more carefully than I did, and with much more precision. I just picked up my slice and swallowed, and it often resulted in a mess. Brad ate calmly and with more care, but just as efficiently. "We're not talking about this anymore." "Why not?" I asked, giving him another soft kick under the table, hoping it would persuade him to tell me what he meant. He ignored it, and my question altogether. I was about to kick him again when he nudged me out of the booth and left for the front. I wondered what he was doing until the channel changed, and then I realized he had gone to get the remote. He had put it on the History Channel, which in my experience could either be relatively interesting or endlessly boring, depending on the topic they were featuring. Today it was a look back at some of history's most prominent serial killers, which was very exciting. When he came back, he flipped off the overhead lights that hung down from the ceiling over every booth, making the room almost like a movie theater. I got up so he could have his spot against the wall back, and then nestled in beside him, draining the last of my Root Beer. I looked over at Brad, who was now facing my profile directly, having rested his back against the wall and extended his legs as far as they could go across the seat. I looked down and saw his dirty American Eagle Game-Day Trainers just inches away from my jean shorts. "Do you want me to move to the other side?" I offered. "Too bad!" I grinned when he nodded, sticking my tongue out at him. "You shouldn't be sitting that way in a booth anyway," I pointed out before getting up to refill my drink. Naturally, he had stretched his legs out all the way when I'd gotten up, but I was prepared. I set my drink down and took my seat anyway, settling myself with some difficulty on his legs, and then repositioning myself so I was facing the same direction he was. I scooted back until I was almost in his lap, which was kind of uncomfortable but not altogether unsatisfying. He grunted when I had finally stopped squirming around, but otherwise didn't complain. His right arm was pinned underneath the table, so he had to reach his left arm around me to grab his drink. When he set it back I let my head fall all the way back until I could feel it pressing into his chest, the top of my head digging into his chin. Now I was comfortable. We stayed put that way for the next twenty minutes as we learned about serial killers in the dark. Occasionally Brad would take a bite of his pizza or a drink of water and I feel his mouth working just above my head. After a while I had an idea and started holding his water up above my head in front of his mouth every once in a while so he could drink out of the straw. He laughed the first time, but after a few times it became a routine and I started trying to guess when he was thirsty enough for a drink. I must have been pretty accurate, because he never once turned me down when I held up the glass for him. For a blissful moment he even wrapped his left arm around my chest, encircling the entire width of it and resting his hand on my right shoulder. I put my chin on his arm and froze in that position, afraid if I moved even an inch he would pull his arm back and the moment would be lost. Then the phone rang and ruined everything. I had to get off him so he could answer it. It was several minutes before he returned, and I knew the odds of me sitting on his lap again were slim. He flipped the lights back on, grabbed the mostly empty pizza box, and took the glasses away, too. "Jeff will be here soon," he explained. "That's the night manager. He doesn't let anyone take free food, so if this stuff's out when he gets here I'll be in trouble." He disappeared for another couple of minutes before finally returning, taking a seat in the booth, but across from me. My sugar high had worn off now, and I wasn't nearly as playful. "What time is it?" I asked. "Almost three. We'll be leaving pretty soon. Are you glad you came?" "Uh huh," I nodded. "Well, come up whenever you want. They've started scheduling me for this shift on Monday through Friday now, so if you're bored come by and hang out," he said. I got up to use the bathroom and pissed out all the Root Beer I'd swallowed. By the time I got out Brad was gone, so I walked back to the front to see if I could find him. He was in the kitchen talking a guy in his thirties. "Alright, man, I'm leaving. I'll see you later," he said to the guy as soon as he saw me. He grabbed a pen, glanced at the clock, wrote something down, and then came out to the front. He put his arm on my shoulders and guided me out the front door, where he proceeded to drive sixty in a forty mile an hour zone, coming to a screech outside my house. "Thanks for all the quarters and stuff," I mumbled, always finding it difficult to thank him for the many favors he did me. "And the pizza," I added. "It's cool," he said, giving me a smile. "You're a good kid, Zach. I'm glad I met you." He pulled back sharply into his driveway as soon as he said it and continued backing in all the way inside the garage while I watched him in the driveway. I smiled in the direction of his house, shielding my eyes from the sun, the lyrics from "The Luckiest" playing in my head. I needed to steal that CD from him. I went inside in a good mood. Mom had left a note for me on the kitchen table, telling me to call her at work if I heard from Jesse in any way. I took that as a grave sign that she still hadn't heard anything from her. She was working on a streak of two days now, which was certainly not an ordinary development. There was also a message on the answering machine from Dad for me, telling me he would be by to pick me up at six tonight. I couldn't decide whether or not that was a good thing, but either way I didn't want to hang around inside so I grabbed my racket and went outside to practice my backhand. When Dad came by to pick me up he sat down inside with Mom for a few minutes and they talked about Jesse. They didn't tell me to leave them alone, but they went into the dining room and talked quietly enough to where I couldn't hear much. I tried to compensate by turning the TV volume lower (it was on CNN so I didn't care that I couldn't hear it), but they weren't close enough. I found myself hoping they could settle their differences just for the sake of making sure Jesse did come back home eventually. A few times I distinctly heard the word "police" mentioned and wondered if they were planning on getting them involved. Finally Dad came back out to get me, and we left. I wasn't in the slightest bit hungry this time even though Mom hadn't fed me because of the pizza I'd eaten at three, but thankfully Dad wasn't hungry either so we just saw a movie instead. It was getting to the point where I'd seen pretty much everything that was out right now, but I didn't mind. There were worse ways to pass time. After the movie Dad drove us around and I knew we were to going to get around to one of our serious discussions again. I was immune to them after the first few times, and they no longer made me uncomfortable. "Don't worry about your sister," he told me, sounding confident. He looked better than he had a week ago. He still looked thinner than he used to be, but he was freshly shaven and his hair looked as though it had been cut. He ran his fingers through it right on schedule, a habit I had been cutting down on lately. I think I had been making a subconscious effort to stop emulating his mannerisms since the separation. "You think she'll come home soon?" I asked, looking out my window as the buildings flew by. "Of course she will. She's just gone on some road trip with her boyfriend, I'm sure. That's what seventeen-year-olds do. It's all part of a late teenage rebellion. You're a few years away from that," he said, poking me in the ribs. These days I didn't like to be touched by anyone other than Brad, especially there, but I didn't say anything or recoil from the touch; I simply ignored it. "I hope so," I said softly. "Because Mom is a mess." "She's doing fine under the circumstances," he said, looking startled that I would be such a harsh judge. "She has a lot to balance right now, you know. She's got to work all day and then worry about all the bills and the house work. You should be helping her out more." "I help!" I said defensively. "I mow the lawn." "You mowed the lawn when I still lived there." "I unload the dishwasher sometimes." "You should unload it every time. You should be taking out the trash, too. And it wouldn't kill you to vacuum every now and then, would it?" He lit a cigarette and I groaned inwardly. When were they going to stop this? "Why should I have to do everything? Jesse doesn't do anything. She doesn't even come home, and she isn't getting yelled at." "I'm not yelling at you," Dad said as he blew out his first puff of smoke and flicked the ashes out the open window. "And believe me, Jesse isn't going to get off easy. She's in serious trouble." I looked moodily out my window, avoiding eye contact. I hadn't expected a lecture from Dad about helping Mom out more when I wasn't the problem in the first place. As far as I was concerned, Mom and Dad were to blame for creating this situation firstly, and then after that Jesse was the next in line because she was taking it all so poorly and causing even more havoc by going through this late teenage rebellion as Dad called it. "Anyway, your mom and I have been talking about a few things," he started slowly. My heart leapt; were they already considering getting back together? "It's completely up to you, but it might save her a lot of stress if you would stay with me a few nights of the week, just for the rest of the summer. After that we'll work something out, and I'm sure I'll get a house eventually." This was not what I had been hoping to hear; this was much worse. "Mom doesn't want me at the house?" I asked quietly, a little hurt. "That's not it at all, Zach," he said quickly. "It was my idea. She's under a lot of pressure right now, and I offered to take you off her hands for a few days of the week. I'd like to see you more, anyway, and it would give her some time to herself." "I don't want to," I mumbled, noticing Dad's pained expression out of the corner of my eye. I felt bad momentarily, but then decided it wasn't my job to worry about everyone else's feelings. I was only a kid. All I was supposed to worry about was my own feelings. I crossed my arms over my chest and pouted. "I said you didn't have to," Dad said gently. "But I'd love to see more of you, and I think it would help your mom out a lot. Just for the rest of the summer," he added softly. "Think about it, okay?" I said nothing. I didn't want to think about it. I wanted to be able to see Brad every day, not just a few times a week. In truth I was fully aware Brad was too busy to see me every day anyway, but if I wasn't even home half of the week we'd barely see each other at all, and after the summer he'd be gone forever. I might never see him again. There was no way I'd agree to this. I stole a glance back at Dad and watched him flick more ashes out the window. He looked really unhappy, and as much as I had tried not to, I started to feel bad all over again. He dropped me off a few minutes later and gave me a half-hearted hug I returned feebly. Jesse was nowhere in sight.