Chapter #27A Story About Stephanie's Brother by: Seuzz   "Stink bombs?" you exclaim. "After that build-up, I was expecting better than stink bombs!"
"Fuck you," Carson snarls. "You wanna get out now?" He veers toward the shoulder of the road.
"No! Ah, fuck it, let it be stink bombs. I got nothing better to do anyway." You slouch in your seat.
"No, just some extra credit you're blowing off. It sure makes me feel special," Carson grumbles, "that you only wanna hang out 'cos you got nothing stinking else to do."
"That's not true! I ditched—" You count them up on your fingers. "Three other possible commitments. Four, if you count Caleb."
"Right, your life is so full."
"I did!" You tick them off one at a time. "There was Keith and that extra credit thing, that's one. Caleb, I had to dodge him in case Keith went looking for him. Braydon Delp wanted me to go up to the university to talk to some professor or other."
"Keyserling?" Carson does a double take at you. "What's with you blowing off all these academic commitments?"
"It wasn't an academic commitment, it was about a—! Never mind! I'm sick of telling that story. Anyway, that's three. Oh, and Stephanie Wyatt wanted to borrow my truck to move some stuff."
"Stephanie!" Carson barks. "Wyatt? God!" He shakes his head.
This reaction startles you, but you quickly decide he must be thinking of those rumors Caleb mentioned. "Yeah, I know, right? Caleb says she's a dyke."
"Well, that's her business if she is," Carson snorts. He peers down his nose at the traffic coagulating at the upcoming intersection. "I'm thinking abut her brother. Jesus. You remember her brother? Kevin?"
"I didn't know she had a brother. Oh, wait, I heard—"
"Oh she's got one. One at least. I hope that's all. He was a senior when we were freshmen. You must remember him."
"No. So what about him? I guess he made an impression on you. I mean, I remember Lucy Vredenburg," you continue when Carson says nothing. "She was a couple of years ahead of us, but—"
"Oh, Lucy! Fuck me, yeah!" Carson sucks hard on his lower lip. "Those senior girls, oh yeah, I remember all the senior and junior girls when we were—" He pounds the car console with his fist and falls silent. You too go into a bit of a reverie as you remember some of those girls—or, at least, their bare legs and ripe boobs and cascading hair. God—or whoever arranged this seating chart—is very good, you thought to yourself your sophomore year when you were put behind Brenda Tremaine in your Spanish class. Brenda, who wore her hair short and the backs of her dresses low. Her neck made you think of ice cream—so lickable!
"But Kevin Wyatt." Carson's voice shakes you out of the memory. "Fuck."
"Yeah? So what about this guy?"
Carson only compresses his lips and concentrates on the traffic. He darts you a couple of glances when you say nothing else, then shrugs. "Oh, not something I like to talk about."
"Why? Was he an asshole, he did stuff to you back in the day? Like Black and Patterson do to you now?"
"No, but he was on the basketball team, and I think Patterson learned at least some of his asshole tricks from him. I heard he really fucked up some guys in his time. And he wasn't big, either, not like Gordon and Patterson are big. I mean, he was taller than most, and he worked out. But he looked pretty normal otherwise. Oh, except he wore his hair in a mullet. Christ." Carson shakes his head again. "And you know the really fucked up part? He actually looked good in it."
You grin. "You thought he was good looking?"
"Fuck you. I got testimonials. He was Mr. Leopold's teacher's aide the year I took freshman Algebra, and I got to watch all semester as all the girls crawled all over him like maggots on a dead dog. He wore these cheap, tight t-shirts and torn jeans, and flip-flops, and he had this weedy moustache like he was a fucking stoner. But he was on the basketball and track teams, too, and when I looked into joining the debating club I found out he was the president of it and also taking AP classes out the ass. I heard later he got a full scholarship to Duke, fuck 'im, and not an athletic scholarship either."
"No wonder you're jealous."
"I didn't say I was jealous," Carson retorts. "That's not why—He was disgusting, that's how come—" He wrinkles his nose and rubs it. "I only told this to James and a couple of other guys, because I didn't want it getting around and back to Kevin what I'd seen, 'cos I didn't want him to come around and, you know, do to me what he'd done to some other guys. And then I just didn't want to talk about it."
"You're still not talking about it."
"And maybe I won't! Shut up, Prescott." And he falls quiet for a bit.
But having stung himself into the memory, apparently he can't keep it back. "So, anyway, and I'm just going to get this out as quickly as possible, one day I'm out by the portables being stupid when I hear these noises coming from out back, like people are talking, but real indistinct. So, like a moron, I go around to see what the deal is. And I come around the corner, and there's Kevin Wyatt. He's standing there, facing one of the portables, and he's bracing himself against it, you know, palms up against it, like he's doing calisthenics or like he's trying to push it over. But if he is, he's trying to push it over with his pelvis, because he's going 'Nnhn, nnhn, nnhn, nhhn' at it with his dick."
Your jaw drops. "You mean he was jerking off?"
"No. Because there was a girl wedged between him and the portable. Her skirt was down around her ankles and his jeans were down around his knees, and it was like he was trying to jam her through the wall with his cock."
"Jesus!" You'd heard rumors of such antics going out at the portables, but Carson has actually seen such?
"Oh yeah. And she wasn't facing him, either. She was turned to the wall, so I guess he was taking her, you know, by the back door."
"Fuck!"
"And the really disgusting part, the absolute cherry on the shit sundae that was Kevin Wyatt thrusting his cock up this girl's ass, al fresco, on school property?" Carson hisses at the memory. "He was smoking the whole time. Had a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth, and he was sucking on it and blowing out these little streams of smoke over the top of her head while she's going 'Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh!' in this squeaky little voice." He shudders. "And while I was watching, trying to collect myself so I could run away without leaving my jaw behind, he takes the cigarette out of his mouth, looks to the side, and spits. Big old blob, right at the ground. Then he puts the cigarette back in his mouth. And all the time he's still thrusting at her, didn't even break rhythm once."
You can't find your voice.
"Yep," says Carson. "That was Stephanie Wyatt's big brother, and if he's typical of the breed, they can keep to themselves as far as I'm concerned."
* * * * *
Well, that story makes you glad that you didn't help Stephanie, even if her big brother is off at Duke and there's no chance of running into him at her house. And somehow it puts her in a much worse light. Your heart sinks even as your gorge rises.
And that knocks you back into a semi-reflective mood. Why should this story about her brother bother you so much? Obviously it's not on account of what you now know about her brother, because until Carson told it you didn't even know he existed. No, it's because you're disappointed that Stephanie is related to such a cretin.
But why should you care enough to be disappointed? It's not like she's ever been one of your favorite people. On the contrary, Carson's story ought to confirm every bad impression you ever had of people named Wyatt. In fact, given the stereotype you've been carrying around in your head—plus Caleb's rumormongering—you can almost imagine Stephanie strapping on a dildo and doing the same thing to one of your own classmates.
But this story does cause your heart to sink.
Maybe—Oh God, could it be?—that with all the weird fixating you were having on her recently, you were getting a little bit of a crush on her?
You do a full body spasm, almost pitching yourself through the windshield.
"You okay over there, Prescott?" Carson asks. Only now do you realize that the conversation had entirely failed.
"Uh, yeah. Just got a real vivid picture of that scene you painted for me."
"Have a nightmare about it tonight, why don't you? I know I sometimes dream about it, and those are the mornings I don't wake up with wood."
"Well, anyway, the point is that I'm with you now instead of with Stephanie or any of those other guys. But where are we going?"
"Enemy territory," he says. And such is Carson's vocal mannerism that you can't tell if he's being sarcastic. But a few minutes later he's turning into the parking lot of Eastman High School.
"So what's here? Does it have to do with your next prank against Black and them?"
"Like you care," he sneers. "Let's just say I'm here to talk to some guys."
"Can I come in with you?"
"You can come in," he says as he slides into an empty parking spot, "you can stay here, or you can walk home. Your call, and I ain't hangin' around to see what you decide."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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