Chapter 47: Becky

Somehow, we made it through all of Sunday without being together; Becky's mother wouldn't permit it. That is not to say we didn't talk. I called the McFadden home at seven A.M., eight A.M. and nine A.M.before Becky came to the phone. We talked for thirty minutes, about nothing, about everything. We talked again that afternoon and again on Sunday evening.

"What have you been doing?"

"Did you miss me?"

"Answer my question first"

"Missing you."

Nothing of substance was said in the nearly two hours we spent on the telephone that day. We both knew we were repeating meaningless trivia, but we could not let go. We both knew we needed to study, but we couldn't let go. Eventually, we came to grips with the nonsensical things that were being said and said goodnight.

On Monday we found it impossible to sit in the cafeteria by ourselves, something that had been impossible to avoid the week before. Becky took it all in stride, warning me to think 'unpretentious' when giving answers to the barrage of inane questions that besieged me. She even fielded some of them so I could eat. "No, he didn't think before he did it. No, he wasn't frightened. No, he doesn't mind being known as the apple-corer boy," she would say with an air of courtesy that astounded me.

It was evident when I got to biology class that Gina had abandoned the custom of wearing the dresses that I had chosen for her. She was already seated when I entered the classroom, dressed in form-fitting jeans and a red sweater that I had not seen before. Her head was turned to the side, obviously avoiding looking my way. I took my seat, resolving to let it go.

That night Becky arrived at my house about the same time I got home from football practice.

"How was it?" She asked, taking a seat on the other side of the table and opening her book bag.

"Practice? It was fine. Coach made a speech about why I had to sit on the bench for the first half of the game, but when he finished he said he hoped there were no hard feelings. Buzz was the first to shake my hand and tell me he was glad to have me back in good standings, and this caused most of the other guys to shake hands with me too. Practice went smoothly. I don't know if I trust Buzz but he seems to want to be my friend."

Becky studied me as I ate the food my mother left in the warmer. "Are you going to be okay?" She asked.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?" I asked, baffled by her concern.

"Are you happy?"

I put down my fork and looked at her. Her facial expression was solemn, like she half expected me to answer in the negative.

"Becky, I've never ever been happier in my life and I think you know the reason. It's all you."

Her eyes gleamed and she smiled before opening a book and looking for her page marker. "Eat your dinner before it gets cold," she said, smiling at me. I smiled back.

And that was the beginning of the courtship of Samuel Kovel and Rebecca McFadden. Becky researched the requirements for the G.E.D. exam and set up a study schedule for my sister. She came to my house most weeknights to study, we sat together in the cafeteria at lunchtime. She came to all the home games and Saturday nights we spent with Greg and Trisha. Becky's mother begrudgingly let this schedule prevail, thinking, I suspect, that I was preferable to the Connors brothers. Sundays, however, were our designated days of separation and the reason for weekly battles between Becky and her mother. "We just study, Mom," Becky would say. "You can just study apart," her mother would answer, with finality.

On Tuesday, I got to play-practice late and Becky was frantic. "You were going to be here for dress rehearsal," she said, almost near tears.

"I'm sorry, I got held up. I'll see you in the second act on Thursday night," I said. I really had been held up. Priscilla had called and it took me twenty minutes to convince her that I was not coming to her apartment, ever again. But I didn't want to tell Becky my reason for being late. If she asked specifically, I would have told her about Priscilla but she didn't press me.

I went to the Thursday night performance alone and sat with Greg and Trisha for the Saturday night show. Naturally, I cheered when the curtain went down after the second act and stood and cheered when the entire cast came on stage for the final curtain call. We didn't get to talk on Friday night. Our game was away and the team stopped for a late meal on the way home from the game. Even I knew it was too late to call her when I got home, but Becky berated me the next morning when we spoke. "You could have phoned me. I was awake. I couldn't sleep. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

"No, I didn't get hurt and we won," I assured her.

Saturday night, after the play, we went parking with Greg and Trisha. I could tell that things were heating up in the front seat but I suspected they had not had sex yet. "I think they're doing it," Becky said, making me laugh at her assumption.

"I don't think so," I said, feeling her breasts against my chest. She was wearing the jeans and KU sweatshirt I had bought for her.

"You're not wearing a bra under that shirt." I said, suspiciously.

"Huh ah," she said, mashing her chest into mine.

"Why not?"

"Cause, I thought it would be easier ... if ... you know."

"Becky, we talked about this. We're not going to do anything until you're fifteen," I said. She must have felt my cock stabbing her tummy. I certainly felt it.

"I know what you said, Sammy. I just thought that if you wanted to ... you know ... it wouldn't be like real sex or anything."

"You're too damn smart for you own good. Do you know that?" I asked as I raised the sweatshirt and lower my lips to her nipple.

She giggled as I took a nipple between my lips and flicked it with my tongue. "Are they okay? Not too flabby and you know, not too small?"

I replaced my lips with my hand and kissed her. Her breast felt firm and filled my hand. "Becky, I've thought of doing this since that day at the pond last year. They're not flabby and they're not too small. They're just right," I said, flicking her nipple with my thumb for emphasis.

"Thank you. I'm glad you like them," she said. "Do the other one, please."

I played with her breasts for the next hour, sucking, pinching and holding them in my hand. "Help me, I have to put my bra back on before I go home," she said when we heard Greg and Trish stir in the front seat, indicating it was time to go.

Becky removed the sweatshirt and I held it while she tucked her breasts into the bra and fastened the closure at the back. "That was fun. Did you like it?" She asked when she was back in the sweatshirt.

"Thank you for letting me," I said.

With the play over our studying together became a nightly affair, well, not an affair by any means but we met Monday through Thursday. Becky kept her promise and worked with Heather in the living room, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Some nights Heather went into her room early and I accused Becky of bribing her so we could make out on the couch. "I just want to keep you interested until I'm fifteen," she would say.

One Saturday morning Becky accompanied me on my run, she riding her bicycle. There was a note on Mr. Olsen's back door.

Sammy,

I'm at my neighbor's house. It's the next house, nearer to the road than mine. Dan

I hopped on Becky's bike and peddled us to the next driveway. We rode around to the back of the large house and saw Mr. Olsen through the glass door. He was holding a baby lamb, feeding it with a bottle of milk.

"Miss Duffy!" Becky exclaimed when she spotted the woman, also holding a baby lamb and feeding it the same way Mr. Olsen was feeding the one he was holding. I recognized the woman too, only I remembered her married name.

"Mrs. Styles," I said. She was my second grade teacher.

"Becky McFadden and Sammy Kovel," the woman said, showing that she recognized us too.

Mrs. Styles was a litter heavier than I remembered but still an attractive woman. I recalled that she had gotten married when I was in the third or forth grade, something I would remember because of the crush I had had on her. Her breasts looked larger than I remembered and, sitting in the chair, she didn't look as tall.

I introduced Becky to Mr. Olsen. She was fascinated with the feeding of the lambs and for once, didn't try to answer half of the questions that were directed at me. "We've gone to all the home games, Sammy. It's so much fun to see one of my second graders play so well. You've gotten big since I last saw you. Oh, Dan, did you see where they both made the honor roll?"

Becky looked at me, her face glowing with pride. Mr. Olsen nodded that he had seen our achievement in the newspaper.

"They got five A's," Mrs. Styles said. Becky's ass made contact with my hip but only for a second. She had a habit of reaching for my hand when she was nervous. I felt her hand in mine.

"They put it in alphabetical order. I should have gotten top billing because I take harder subjects," she complained.

"We take the same subjects except she has chemistry and I take biology," I said to clarify what Becky was boasting about. She maintained that chemistry was the tougher subject.

"You always were at the top of your class. Didn't you skip a grade?" Mrs. Styles asked Becky.

"I used to be at the top of my class until bright-eyes here came along. He tries to take my mind off school so he can take my place," she said, her ass really jarring me this time.

"She's the one that takes my mind off school," I said, putting my arm around her to keep her from knocking me over.

"We're going to the Thanksgiving game. Becky, you're welcome to ride with us if you like," Mr. Olsen offered.

"Thank you Mr. Olsen but I have a ride," Becky said. Greg had invited her to ride with him and Trisha.

"These lambs lost their mother," Mrs. Styles said as she got up and put her lamb in a makeshift pen there in the kitchen.

"Oh, that's too bad," Becky said.

I wondered if there were more to their relationship than simple being neighbors. Becky was wondering the same thing. "Did you see the way she touched him when she took his baby lamb?" Becky later asked. "I wonder what happened to her husband."

The Thanksgiving Day game was away and it was the last game of the season. We weren't good enough to be invited to a bowl game. I was able to pick out my friends in the stands. Mom and Heather came, the first game of the season for either of them, as well. We played okay but lost by two points. The chant of 'Apple, Apple, Apple, ' sounded louder each week but for me, it was getting old. High school kids like to get excited about competition and the chant was a way for them to express themselves.

We had dinner at home, Mom, Heather and me. Then I went over to Becky's house for dessert and coffee. Mr. McFadden seemed to like me okay, the younger kids adored me and Mrs. McFadden tolerated me. Becky bragged about how well I had played that day. Mrs. McFadden wanted to know why we didn't win if I played so well. As soon as we ate our dessert, we got out of the house and took a walk. "We're going shopping tomorrow," I said.

"Oh, no, you're not buying me anything else. Mom is just starting to talk to you. Do you want her to have a heart attack?"

"Will it be okay if I give you something for Christmas?" I asked, giving up the idea of taking her shopping.

"You better," she said.

After the football season was over Coach Sterns put me on a lifting and running regimen. I lifted Monday, Wednesday and Friday, ran Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday and took Sunday off. Without football it gave us two date nights per week. Saturday nights were always spent with Greg and Trisha, but Friday night became our time to be with each other. We had no secrets; I answered every personal question and Becky told me anything I wanted to know.

"What's that?" She asked one night. I had closed my book and was using the time to catch up on answering my mail.

"It's a letter to Alice," I said, unnerved at having my concentration interrupted.

"Let me see it," Becky said, holding out her hand to receive the letter.

"It's not finished," I said.

"Let's have it," she said, gesturing with her hand to indicate for me to do it quickly. I handed her the unfinished letter.

December 18, 1986

Dear Alice,

If Blondie doesn't show up soon you can consider using hair coloring. But I think you should hold out for the real thing, don't accept a substitute.

I hope you and Brenda enjoyed your time at home. I'm sorry I couldn't be there because I have something important to tell you.

I've met someone. She's special. We spend all of our free time together. Her name is Becky; she's about four inches shorter than me and weighs about forty pounds less. She has the biggest dark eyes, dark hair that gets darker at night and lighter when the sun is shining. The best thing about her is the way she laughs. No, the best thing about her is the way she looks at me. No, the best thing about her is the way her hand feels in mine. (Have I told you I'm five nine and weigh one hundred and fifty-five pounds? So I guess that makes her forty-seven and one half pounds less than me.) She's smarter than me but never shows me up when we're in public, only in private. Except for one little flaw, she has a super figure.

We do everything together, almost, and that's going to change next year when she's fifteen.

By the way, we haven't...

Becky handed the letter back to me and went back to working on our algebra assignment. I finished the letter to Alice and started writing another one to Jessica.

"Who is that one to?" Becky asked, watching me curiously, her lips formed in that special way.

"Jessica," I said.

"Are you telling her the same thing you told Alice?"

"Yes," I said. Becky returned her attention to algebra, without comment.

By the time I was ready to seal both letters, she was closing her books. We had fifteen minutes to spare before it would be time for me to walk her home. As usual, we moved to the couch.

"Aren't you going to ask how the letter ended?" I asked, wondering why she hadn't been more curious about what else I told Alice.