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“Why didn’t you say so? Jump in,” she said.

“Neecey, I’m not in the mood for your crap, really.”

“Don’t be such a fairy. Like I’d let you shower with me, you little perv. There, I’m done anyway, hand me a towel,” she said, turning off the water and sticking out her hand.

I handed her the towel but kept my eyes on the floor.

“Look, Genie, I have something to show you.”

“No,” I said. I wasn’t going to fall for that one again.

“Come on, sissy, I had my bikini line done, check it out.”

“Jesus Christ, Neecey!” She was un-fucking-believable. “I don’t give a shit what you do with your bikini line, and I sure as hell don’t wanna see it.”

“Chill out, Genie, I totally wouldn’t show you anyway. And stop being such a wuss, okay,” she went on, “because it’s not like you’ve never seen a
vagina
before.” She sang the word like it was part of a witch’s spell instead of the female body. “I bet you wouldn’t be such a chicken if Cynthia was here and you were in my closet.”

Cynthia was Neecey’s
best friend—she was every bit as smoking as Neecey, and because she didn’t have a boyfriend, there were lots of
rumors about her. Everybody called them the Twins because they looked so much alike—same color hair, same height, similar facial features, same kind of figure—and it freaked me out a little, actually. Anyway, they were always together, so Cynthia was at our place all the time and slept over a lot. About a year ago, Cynthia was spending the night and they had an argument, a nasty one. To get back at her, Neecey hid me in her closet while Cynthia was in the shower and told me to stay there until Cynthia returned, and then jump out and scare her. Neecey’s closet door had horizontal wood slats, and if you were inside with the door shut, you could see out, but nobody could see in. Well, Cynthia came in all right—shiny-wet, soapy-smelling, wearing only a towel—and I could definitely see her strolling back and forth between the bed and the vanity, drying her hair, inspecting herself, but as I was about to make my move, her towel hit the floor. Everything went from PG to
Porky’s
so goddamn fast that I didn’t know where the hell I was or what was going on, but I couldn’t jump out because Cynthia was completely naked just a few feet away and I suddenly felt kind of warm and rigid all over. All I could do was wait for her to get dressed and try to make the best of it until she did. After Cynthia went downstairs, Neecey came in to see why I didn’t frighten her, and I told her what happened—most of it anyway. She smiled at me, gave me a hug, said she was sorry, and told me to forget about it. But after that I couldn’t look at Cynthia or be in the same room with her. It was like I knew something about her that I wasn’t supposed to know, and if I looked at her, she’d be able to tell and then she’d crack me one.

When Neecey noticed how I was avoiding Cynthia, she pulled me aside and said what happened wasn’t my fault and that I had to stop feeling bad about it, and the only way to stop feeling bad about it was to do it again. She’d read that in one of her books, too. So the next time Cynthia slept over, Neecey hid me in the closet when she was in the shower, and told me it didn’t matter if I jumped out to frighten her or not, I just had to try to relax so I wouldn’t be freaked
or act all weird around Cynthia anymore. Cynthia came in, and I watched her change. No, I didn’t jump out, but it wasn’t because I was caught off guard, like the first time. Maybe knowing what to expect made the situation easier to handle, because I sure as hell handled it.

The next day, Neecey asked me if I was still freaked, and I said no, and she asked me why didn’t I jump out, then. I didn’t answer her. She smiled and said it was fine if I liked it; it was perfectly natural for me to want to look at Cynthia, who was totally gorgeous. She said my liking it was probably the only normal thing about me, and I should feel good about being normal in something, and that it would be our secret. After that, when I was having problems in school or feeling really down, Neecey tried to cheer me up with some closet time. We called it Manning the Lookout because that’s what I did: I looked out. For a few months, I guessed Cynthia didn’t know anything about it, but I supposed she must have found out the time I was Manning the Lookout and mom came home early from work, because Neecey rushed into the room and made Cynthia get dressed real fast and go downstairs, and pushed me into my room while Cynthia was still in the stairwell. I was convinced she’d seen me, and I was totally embarrassed and couldn’t talk to her or look at her or be in the same room with her again, and everything stopped for a few weeks. But about two months ago, Cynthia was staying over and mom was working at the bar and Neecey said it was all clear to Man the Lookout again, if I wanted to. Since then, I’d been doing it pretty regularly, about once a week, all through the summer, and the only thing different was that Neecey had started teasing me about it, and I’d started to wonder if Cynthia knew.

“Cynthia’s not my
fucking sister,” I pointed out.

“No duh, dipshit. But you’re not such a total horn dog that you
can’t see me in a towel without getting all freaky, are you? Because that’s like way gross.”

“No,” I said.

“Then what’s your damage?”

My damage was I didn’t know if she was right or wrong about any of these things, and I was starting to resent being the guinea pig in her experiments. Plus, I’d had a rough day and felt like she was really riding me for some reason, and I wanted her off my back. So I broke the silence I’d always kept about her business, because I usually didn’t want any part of it. “Why don’t you get Razor back in here and make him look at it? Or has he seen it already?”

That got her. Her face went flush. She wrapped the towel tighter around herself and said, “So, you saw him leaving?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why? You thought you could hide it from me? Fat fucking chance,” I added, realizing I was suddenly much angrier than I’d thought, maybe because thinking of Neecey and Razor reminded me of seeing him with Stacy earlier. “So, tell me Neecey, did you show him your snatch? How’d Razor like playing ball on a field with fresh-cut grass?”

“Stop it, Genie,” she said calmly. “You’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

“Or did he trim it for you? Is that it? And then you thanked him by banging him silly on my bed, right?” My face was hot and my hands were shaking.

“Calm down, Genie,” she soothed. “You’re scary when you get like this.”

“Oh, so now who’s scared? Who’s the fucking chicken now?” The anger was running on its own steam, racing forward, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. “I’ll show you who’s the fucking chicken!” I pulled my shorts down to my ankles and whipped off my shirt.

Neecey let out a shriek, jumped back, and covered her eyes. “Jesus
Christ, Genie!” she barked. “Put your shorts back on right now and like get a grip!”

Yeah, sometimes I had problems with self-control. I bent over and quickly hiked up my shorts. “They’re on,” I mumbled.

“You are so majorly deranged sometimes, it’s like, I don’t even know what.”

As I stood back up, my heart was still racing, but my wits were coming back; they were telling me I should feel like an idiot. My cheeks reddened and my chin drooped toward my chest. “Neecey, I…” I began, but didn’t finish.

She sighed loudly, calming herself. “Seriously, Genie? Don’t
ever
do any shit like that again, I totally mean it.”

I couldn’t look at her, so I nodded at the floor.

“Let’s just like forget it now, okay?”

I nodded again.

“Except…”

“Except?” I asked.

“Except,” she snickered.

“Except
what
?” I cringed, panting, edgy like a madman.

“Except those big-ass balls of yours! Holy shit, Genie!” she said, and burst out laughing.

“Shut up, Neecey. They’re not so big.”

“Shit, yeah, they are. They’re like sideshow big, and you’re not even thirteen yet.”

“Two more months,” I said.

“And you’ll still be a dork.” Her laughter trailed off and she shook her head. “But you never know, you could have a decent little pecker when you get older, so maybe you won’t always be like a total waste of humanity.”

“You think?” I’d never thought about that before, that when I got bigger I’d get bigger all over.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. It reminds me of Murray’s. Remember Murray? He moved like two years ago?”

“You mind sparing me the details, Neece?”

“God, you’re like such a little priss sometimes, Genie. Get over it already.” She flipped her hair back over her shoulders. She was starting to relax again, and all of a sudden she was excited, clapping her hands together and bouncing up and down. “Ohmigod. I
so
can’t wait to tell Cynthia! She thinks you’re totally cute. Weird as shit, but cute. That’s why she keeps letting you Man the Lookout even though she knows about it. You know that, right?”

“I kind of figured that.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Anyway, she totally knows. She was kind of mad at first, because she’s like scared of boys, and that’s why she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s totally curious and won’t ever stop talking about it, but she’s like, I don’t know. Whatever. Anyway, I told her she shouldn’t be mad because it happened by mistake, but you got really excited seeing her, and it was like one of the only things that made you happy, with you being a miniature Holden Caulfield and all.”

“Who?”

“This guy in one of our summer reading books last year. He’s totally lame and hates everything and has a nervous breakdown.”

“Thanks, Neecey, that’s really encouraging.”

“Don’t have a baby, Genie, I’m just busting on you. Besides, you’re like
way
more evil. Anyway, Cynthia started asking me all these questions about you and what was wrong with you that you didn’t think she was heinously fat and ugly, because she has like this really weird thing about being a total sled dog, even though she’s a complete babe and everybody always tells her so.”

“Cynthia thinks she’s heinous?” It was impossible for me to imagine that.

“You’ve seen her family. She’s like the only non-lard-ass of the whole lot, and she thinks it’s in her genes or something. I mean, she totally eats, and doesn’t scarf and barf or anything like that, but she’s got it in her head that she’s gonna swell up any minute like it’s the ghost of Christmas future and shit.”

“That’s so bogus.”

“For sure. But like I was saying, she started getting all curious about you Manning the Lookout, and she was like, well, your brother’s really sweet, and if it makes him totally happy, what could it hurt?”

“No way.”

“Yeah way,” Neecey assured me. “But the thing is, I think she likes doing it because it makes her feel sexy, you know, and even though it’s kind of strange, it’s totally safe.” She paused. “When I tell her you got that little monkey pecker down there, she’s gonna totally shit herself.”

“Okay, Neecey, that’s enough.” I didn’t think the Lookout’s stature was any of Cynthia’s business, or an appropriate topic for them to dish about. I knew Neecey was only trying to get my mind off what I’d just done, like she usually did when I went off the deep end, but I couldn’t tell if she was teasing me or bullshitting me or if she was really going to tell Cynthia or what. More than that, the whole situation suddenly struck me as so fucking weird that I couldn’t figure out what the weirdest part was—the fact that I knew it was weird or the fact that it didn’t feel as weird as it should have. I didn’t know what to do. So I just looked back at Neecey, keeping my eyes on hers, and we both smiled, but I didn’t know why.

She turned to leave.

“Neecey,” I said before she got through the door, “are you a slut?” For some reason, I felt like I had to know.

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder at me. “Why? Did somebody say something?”

“No,” I said, “I just want to know.”

“No, Genie, I’m not a slut. I’ve only been with two guys, Gary and Darren, and I wouldn’t do it with just anyone, because that’s like gross and pathetic. Besides,” she continued, “even if I was a slut, whose business would it be but mine?”

I didn’t know, so I shrugged my shoulders, and she left.

I turned on the water, took off my sneakers and shorts, and stepped into the shower. The hot water felt good—so good that I didn’t think about the case, or who was out to get me, or how screwy my sister was, or whether or not I was going to jail for incest because of what just happened. After a couple of minutes my mind had cleared out and began to fill up with images of Kathy and Cynthia and Stacy, and I soon realized the Lookout had already manned his post and was on the alert, standing at attention.

FIVE

Once I’d dried off I hid the ten-dollar bill under a
box of Magic Markers in the top drawer of my desk, threw on some cutoffs and the
WHO FARTED?
T-shirt Neecey had bought me a couple of months ago, and went downstairs. I had a couple of pointed questions I wanted to ask her about what Razor had been doing at our house, but when I got down to the living room, she’d already cleared out. And since it was her job to watch me while mom was at work, that meant mom would be home any minute, because if there was one thing I was
not
allowed to be, it was home alone at night with nobody watching. Someday I would be, sure, like in two months when I was fully self-sufficient. But until then, waiting for “someday” felt a lot like being strung along by a marathon of movie previews when all you really wanted was for the show to start.