Chapter 1

Dorothy sat on the kitchen counter, eating bran cereal and kicking her heels against the cabinets below. It was early morning on a Saturday and she was usually the only one in the family up so early, but not today.

"Really, Dot, you are the craziest teenager I know," Garret, her big brother, said entering the kitchen. "You're up before the hens, on Saturday no less. You perch on the cabinetry instead of using perfectly good chairs. And you eat, and enjoy, old-people cereal." He shook his head as he examined the enigma of his younger sister in all her morning glory.

"Yeah, well what are you doing up so early?" Dorothy asked. Her brother, despite being in college, where supposedly responsible people go, was the least responsible person she knew. He lived at home because he didn't have a job, and had no interest in getting one for that matter. Their parents did everything for him, including his laundry, cleaning his room, and feeding him. Dorothy was eighteen and in her last year of high school.

Garret said that he didn't have time to worry about the hassles of day-to-day life, because he was an artist, and he had to create art when the mood struck him. Therefore he could not have even a part time job, which would just interfere with his real calling. And his parents went along with it because he had won several awards for his paintings and photographs. Some were even in a gallery, and selling albeit for minimal prices, which is how he got his spending money.

"I'm going to meet with an art dealer, who is interested in some of my work, and wants to talk about making a series," he said in answer to her question. He picked up a bagel and popped it into the toaster.

"Oh, cool." Dorothy went back to eating her cereal. She wasn't really interested in his art career. She knew he was good, because other people said he was, but she just wasn't the biggest art fan.

"Mmm, hmm," he said getting the cream cheese out of the fridge and setting it next to the toaster, "And guess what paintings she really likes," he leaned one hand on the counter and stared down at her.

"Which ones?" she asked. Dorothy was finished with her cereal, and set the bowl with the left over milk on the counter. "Smoky," she called to her cat.

"The ones I did of you." He tapped her nose with his finger as he said it.

"Me? Really?" she said surprised. Garret pulled his bagel out of the toaster and spread the cream cheese evenly onto both halves.

"Don't sound so proud of yourself," Garret said, rolling his eyes, "They are my paintings don't forget."

"Yes, but it is my alluring beauty that draws people to them. Thank god you have me, or your art career would be in the trash," she said jokingly.

"Yes, my little muse," he said smiling fondly at her. She hopped off the counter, and left him alone to eat breakfast with Smoky.

That evening, Garret, Dorothy, and both their parents sat eating dinner around the kitchen table. It was rare in their house to have family dinners, because their parents were either traveling or working late, or one or the other of the kids was out, but tonight they had all gathered to feast on spaghetti and meatballs.

"So you know how I met that art dealer today? Well, after talking, she said that she loved my paintings of Dottie so much; she wanted me to make it a series. She would even give me a cash advance for any supplies I needed."

"That's wonderful sweetie," their mother said beaming.

"Yeah, but the best part is, they're going to show in a gallery opening in Paris in four months."

"Ahh ha, I knew you could do it son," their father said clapping his hands. "Didn't I say he would be a famous artist some day?" he addressed their mother, then turned to Garret, "Even when you were a toddler, I knew, I just knew you would grow up to be an artist."

"Honey, four months? How many painting do you need?" their mother asked worriedly. Both parents had always been very supportive of Garret's career, but his mother had always been the more practical one.

"Well, at least six more," Garret told her, "But it shouldn't be a problem, I just have to work really hard, and I need Dottie's help as much as possible." Garret turned to Dorothy to get her agreement on the subject.

"Of course your sister will help you, this is a huge opportunity," their father said, and continued to eat his spaghetti.

"Yeah, I'll model for you," Dorothy agreed, although somewhat reluctantly. She didn't mind helping Garret, but modeling could be boring and tedious.

"Thanks," he said looking at her seriously. She nodded and continued to eat, barely catching a glimmer emotion in his eyes that she didn't have time to put a name to, but when she lifted her head again a second later, he was already back to eating, not even facing her. She dismissed it, and returned to her dinner.

Dorothy sat in the tree in the back yard, resting her head against her arm, which was resting against the trunk. The tree was a big oak, but it had a branch low enough for Garret to pick her up and set her down on, telling her to stay.

He now painted her furiously. Dorothy didn't understand why she even had to be there. His paintings were realistic enough where one could tell it was a painting of her, but they were not portraits by any means. He could probably do it from his mind, she secretly thought, or a picture of her. When she told him that though, he rejected it, saying he needed inspiration, a live model, not a two-dimensional photograph.

Dorothy wasn't sure how long she sat in the tree, but long enough for the position to be incredibly uncomfortable. Garret, somehow sensing her distress, finally put down the paintbrush and walked over to her, lifting her out of the tree.

"Come on, little bird," he said as he did it, then setting her to her feet. "That's enough for today. Why don't we go inside and watch a movie, order a pizza?" he asked.

Dorothy shook her head, "No, I have a date tonight." Garret looked at her fiercely.

"Oh yeah, with who?" Dorothy was used to him playing the protective big brother act.

"His name's Josh, he's really nice. We're just going to see a movie," she said smiling.

Garret looked at her suspiciously. "Okay, and you better be home by ten. With mom and dad out of town, I'm responsible for you."

"My curfew's not till midnight, come on, I'm not a little girl. I'll be leaving for college next year." Dorothy told him as they walked inside.

"Don't argue with me, be home by ten," Garret said in his most authoritative voice, which was very authoritative, despite the fact that he was usually so laid back.

"God Garret, you're such a bully. Why can't you just let me slide, be my friend?" Dorothy was mad; she would lie to mom and dad for him.

"We are friends," Garret told her.

"You are not my friend, friend's have each other's backs," she said and slammed off to her room. Garret knew why she was mad, she wasn't a baby and didn't deserve to be treated like one, but if it were up to him, she wouldn't go out at all. She would stay home with him, forever.

Dorothy didn't come out of her room, until eight. She didn't even call to say she was leaving, only slammed the door closed. Garret ran to the front window just in time to see her hop into a beat up old car. If he had seen the short skirt and tube top she was wearing before she left, he would have made her change.

Garret sat in the comfortable living room chair, flipped on the T.V. and prepared for a long night. He desperately hoped she would be home by ten, and couldn't stop thinking about what she was doing. Was that punk trying to touch her, or god forbid, kiss her?

Dorothy stumbled up the drive, barely making it to the front door before collapsing on the rough concrete, her clothes and hair in complete disarray. She rested her weary head on the hard door, when it suddenly opened, causing her to tumble forward.

"Jesus, Dottie," she heard her brother say, but all she could do was grumble and lay there. She felt herself being lifted up into strong arms and carried inside the house. She knew she could count on her brother to take care of her, as he placed her in bed and tucked her in. He was always there when she needed him most, and she fell asleep instantly.

Garret wasn't so calm, staring down at his little sister. Not only had she not come home by ten, she had not even come home by midnight. Instead, she had drunkenly stumbled up the front steps at two in the morning. She could barely walk, or speak. He wasn't so mad that she had gotten drunk, he had been there before, he was mad thinking that she had no one to take care of her. Anything could have happened, and with the condition she was in, she would have been powerless to stop it.

Had something happened? Garret couldn't help but wonder. He knew his little sister was a virgin, he had made sure to scare off anyone who would even think of taking advantage of her. He just hoped now that he hadn't failed at keeping every man, except for himself, away from his Dorothy.

Dorothy stayed in bed the next day till way past noon, living off of ginger ale and Tylenol. She had only seen Garret once when he brought her supplies, and asked her if she was okay, if anything happened. She told him she was fine and he had left without another word. But by three o'clock, she felt good enough to venture out of her room and face Garret.

"Hi," she hesitantly said to him. She braced herself for the yelling she knew would come, but was surprised when it didn't.

"Hey," he turned his attention back to the T.V. Why wasn't he yelling at her? She wondered.

"Um, I'm really sorry for last night." Was he really not mad? She couldn't let herself believe it.

"Tell it to mom and dad." Ah, there it is, she thought. He wasn't going to yell at her, he was just going to threaten to tell mom and dad.

"Come on, Garret, you know you're not going to tell them," she said coaxingly as she slid over the back of the couch to sit next to him.

"Dorothy, you don't know just how angry I am. You just wait and see what I'm going to do."

Dorothy instinctively leaned away from him at the anger in his voice. He had turned to look at her, and she could see the temper burning in his eyes.

"Garret, come on. I'll do anything."

This is what Garret had been waiting for. He knew that she would try to bribe him out of telling their parents, and he had spent the night thinking of what the wanted her to do.

"Okay," he said compliantly, "I won't tell mom and dad, if you let me take pictures of you."

Dorothy didn't get it; she let him take pictures of her all the time. She noticed that the look in his eye had changed from one of anger to one of guilefulness. But she didn't really have a choice but to go along with him, their parents would kill her for coming home drunk.

"Okay, fine."

"Good, come up stairs."

She followed him up to his room, where he shut the door and got his camera ready.

"Okay, take off your shirt," he directed her.

"What!" she shouted.

"Yeah, the photos are going to be nude."

Dorothy stared at him in disbelief; he wanted to take pictures of her naked?

"Absolutely not," she said in anger, walking for the door.

"Fine, but then I'll have to tell mom and dad."

Dorothy seethed. Garret was being the biggest jerk. She ripped her shirt off and threw it at him, crossing her arms over her chest. She stood there glaring at him, and he snapped a picture.