Note to the reader: This is a sixth in my “Home Alone For The Weekend” series. This story varies from the others in that Jason is arrow-straight, without a whisper of gender confusion. Like the others, this story includes occurrences of incest, specifically between Jason and Kendal, his year-older sister. This story incorporates elements of all the other stories, so readers familiar with the series will recognize these occurrences.

Although sex is a major underpinning of the story, I should warn you that it contains no detailed sex acts. Everything is revealed through remembrance, and/or dialog between Jason and Kendal. The story also features a strong Sci-Fi element, as Jason can teleport objects, and control events. (Hence the name, Event Planning.) If either of these elements bothers you, perhaps you should pass up this story for another. It’s distressing to get a low score from a disgruntled reader. To everyone else, I hope you enjoy the story.

Further note: I am currently working on a 7th ‘Home Alone’ story, this one centering on Stephanie McCardle, a 28 year old, 8th-grade English teacher. She is alone on a Friday night, and decides to get high on the balcony. As with her fellow protagonists, things get decidedly weird. The name of the story is Infidelity’s Bedroom. I’ll post it in a few weeks.

The other stories in the Home Alone series are: World’s Record, Apparition, Power Failure, Star Light, Star Bright, & Mrs. Dexter’s Magic.

EVENT PLANNING

The weekend Jason’s life changed forever actually began the preceding night, on Thursday, January 7, 2016. Jason sat hunched at his desk, trying to decipher a trig problem when his mom dropped by.

“You want to stay home this weekend?”

Distracted, Jason looked up, refocusing on his mom in the bedroom doorway. What had she asked?

“Kayla is desperate to get away for the weekend with Aaron, and wanted to know if you’d baby-sit the twins.”

Jason struggled to get his head around the statement. Kayla was his aunt, Mom’s younger sister, and had never asked for baby-sitting assistance before, not from him, at least. “What?” he asked dumbly. He’d yet to fathom the import of her question.

“She actually asked for Bell, but Bell is the reason we’re headed for Philipsburg, tomorrow, so that’s a no go. I suggested maybe Kendal, but Grandpa promised Kendal a tour of the campus this weekend, so that leaves you. Interested?”

Kayla and Aaron lived in Gaithersburg in the Rich family home, where she and Kayla had grown up. It was a split level on a corner lot with a huge yard, both front and back. Aaron was helpless against the twins and gave them anything they asked for, sometimes against Kayla’s wishes. They were 11 years old, Donny and Patricia, and pretty well behaved--despite Aaron’s lack of parenting ability. The cats, though!

“Noooo!” he protested, shaking his hands. “Not if I have to watch them there, Mom, no way!”

Mom nodded in understanding. Jason was allergic to cats, and Kayla had half a dozen in the house. Jason could never manage a weekend in Gaithersburg; no matter what allergy medicine he took. He’d break out in hives within minutes.

“She’d drop them off on the way out of town, tomorrow night.” She leaned against the jamb. “I can tell her no, if you’d rather not.”

Conflicted on the plus and minus points of the situation, Jason swung around in the chair and gripped his knees. “Where would they stay?”

“Patricia in Kendal’s room; Donny in the front den?”

“That’ll go over well,” he muttered. Mom gave a wry grin. Kendal was not half as possessive as her older sister--Bell would never agree to anyone invading her bedroom, 11-year-old cousin, or not--and could imagine Kendal’s initial push-back.

“They’d have to come in clean clothes,” he warned. “And have clean clothes to change into Saturday, and Sunday morning.” He shivered at the thought of clothing contaminating the condo. That had happened on previous visits, most recently over the Christmas holidays. “That includes stuff you wouldn’t normally think of, Mom, like their backpacks, and stuff.”

“I already went over that with your aunt. She’s willing to do anything to get away this weekend, including new backpacks for them both. She promises you won’t suffer. Plus, you’ll make $100, what do you think of that?”

Jason whistled softly. “Can I order pizza tomorrow night?”

Mom laughed. “I’ll leave you money for both nights.” She pushed off the jamb and folded her arms. “No funny business. I know how you and Donny can be when you get down to planning sneaky business.” Spock-like, she raised her right eyebrow at Jason’s put-upon reaction. “You also need to be inclusive of Patty. She won’t have anyone to play with if you and Donny commandeer the Xbox to play Call to Duty all day long.” She raised both eyebrows at his eye-roll. “There is also the matter of Patty being 11 years old, and alone with two older boys.” She lowered her head to fix him a stare over her lenses. “Do you know what I mean by that, Jace?”

Jason squirmed under her intense gaze. “She’s 11 years old,” he protested. “I don’t play doctor with 11-year-olds, Mom.”

“And neither will Donny. You are to make sure of that, okay?

Jason raised a brow of his own. “Is that, like ... a danger?”

Mom raised and dropped her shoulders. “Just be mindful, is all. 11 years old is a bad age.”

As it happened, no opportunity for hi-jinks ever presented itself.

Mom called at quarter to five. Jason was cleaning his bedroom, as ordered. He didn’t expect to be hit with the best news of his life.

“Jason, I’m gonna kill your effing aunt!”

Caught up short, Jason blurted, “Huh?”

Yelling over a passing semi, Mom complained: “She, Donny, and Patricia are all sick with a stomach bug! Donny came home with it from school yesterday afternoon, and Kayla didn’t think it was any big deal. Thought he’d be over it in a day. Instead, he gave it to everyone else, and I am so angry with her!”

Jason looked distractedly around his bedroom. Was Mom about to say... ?

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“We just got onto I-99.”

Too far away to turn back, Jason thought.

Bella attended Dad’s Alma Mater, Penn State. Gramp’s lived the other side of State College in Philipsburg, PA, half an hour’s drive from the college. It’s where the family was headed now, to drop Bella off at her dorm for the second semester of school, and then visit Grandma and Gramps for the weekend. Gramps had promised to drive Kendal around campus Saturday morning, the same guided tour he’d given Bella the winter before. Kendal graduated the following spring, and planned to follow Bella to Penn State. Her dad was so proud. Jason had two more years of high school to decide where to go.

“So, they’re not coming at all,” he guessed.

“Not unless it clears up by tomorrow, and that looks less likely by the moment. Donny’s been throwing up since two, and now Patricia is too. Kayla said that Aaron looks pretty green, though he isn’t actively sick, yet.”

“Aunt Kayla’s OK?”

“Aunt Kayla’s OK,” she confirmed. “Until I get my effing hands on her.”

Growing up, Kayla was the wild child, the undisciplined younger sister, always in trouble, blowing off school, messing around with the wrong boys. Twice she’d gotten pregnant in high school and gotten abortions. She’d been diagnosed with syphilis twice, gonorrhea, and then genital herpes. Kayla wasn’t aware he knew all this.

“Am I here all weekend alone?” Behind his back, he crossed his index and middle fingers, and his ring finger and pinkie. Unwillingly, he let his eyes stray to the closet where he had five grams of weed stashed on the top shelf.

“I don’t see any way around it,” Mom allowed, dourly. “We’ll head home first thing Sunday morning.” She paused. “This is not a Get Out of Jail Free card, young man. I expect you to behave yourself the next two nights. No one over, and no one knowing you’re alone. Mrs. Hannity knows to watch out for anything I wouldn’t approve of--” Which is just about anything I’d want to do, Jason thought wryly. “--and is authorized to take you over her knee for a good, hard, bare-bottom paddling.”

Caught by surprise, Jason laughed. “Okay, that’s enough to keep me in line the entire weekend.” His grin widened at the laughter of his older siblings in the background. What he wouldn’t give to put Brat Bella over his knee, the cunt, and light up her rear end. Kendal he’d never consider upending and embarrassing like that; you couldn’t ask for a better sister than Kendal. He unwillingly allowed his eyes to stray in the direction of her bedroom across the condo. Cut that out, he told himself.

“So I have to be good,” he confirmed. “Does that mean I can’t get drunk and smoke all your dope and parade around in Bella’s unwearable’s all night!”

When Bella hollered, “You stay out of my bedroom, you freak!” Jason realized Mom had him on speakerphone. He laughed as Kendal chimed in: “My bedroom too, freakazoid”, responding, “Whatever, Chloe Grace. Your bras wouldn’t fit me anyway.”

To steal a phrase from Twilight, Bella Bows was everything that Bella Swan was not: Tall, blonde, sporty, big-boobed. Kendal, by comparison was two inches shorter than Jason, 20 pounds lighter, an unreasonable facsimile of her older sister in the breast department: she wore a humiliating size 28AA bra. Though perfectly excusable as her younger sibling, Jason rarely taunted Kendal about her small breasts. Their relationship was borderline incestuous: they’d impetuously kissed twice, and Jason had fondled her breasts the second occasion. Kendal and Jason had a problem.

“My bedroom is off limits as well, young man,” Mom quipped. “And as far as you drinking--” There was a hushed back and forth with his dad. “--you can have two beers tonight, and two tomorrow night, and no dancing in anyone’s underwear, yours or otherwise.”

More laughter from Bitch Bella, and a titter from Kendal. Jason unwontedly flashed on Kendal’s small breasts, captured inside a lace bra. Would they ever have sex, he wondered? They’d talked about it ... more rightly, talked around it. He alternately hoped yes, and no.

Mom chose not to address the dope-smoking crack, and Jason wisely avoided a second mention. He’d been busted before, smoking after school with Tim, and he and Kendal had lit up before on the rear balcony. It said a lot that your 1-1/2 year older sister smoked dope with you.

Mom hung up at 4:55 pm. Giddy with excitement--he’d never been alone in the condo over a weekend, certainly not with 5 grams of exceptional weed--he gazed again at his closet. It was past sunset, though not yet full dark. It made no difference, as the earliest he’d ever consider lighting up on the balcony was 11:00 pm. Still, it gave him a tingle strong enough to stir his cock into wakefulness. “Easy boy,” he muttered, thinking about calling Tim and suggesting they party.

Should he? Take the chance his mom would find out? He snorted: nothing ever escaped Mom. Not with busybodies like Mrs. Hannity and Mrs. Robb at her disposal. Nothing went on at 8700 Belvedere that Nosy Parker One and Nosy Parker Two didn’t know about. Still, the desire to text his best friend was nearly irresistible.

To distract himself, Jason returned to cleaning his room, no longer struggling against a deadline. Mom and Dad had left minutes after he’d arrived home from school; it surprised him they’d made such good time. The memory of his last trip to PA put them a good half-hour ahead of schedule. Amazing, considering the BMW contained three of the tiniest bladders in Maryland. Kendal griped constantly about how often she had to go pee. Stop drinking Diet Coke, he’d told her last time. Right, she responded with a disgusted eye-role.

Kendal could almost be his twin: dark-haired like their dad, small features on an oval face, high forehead, slightly protuberant ears, thin lips and a slight overbite. Both wore braces, Kendal looking decidedly cuter in hers. Where Jason was athletic, excelling at soccer, baseball, and lacrosse (sports where shortness of stature and slightness of frame weren’t automatic exclusionary factors), pigeon-toed Kendal was bumbling, slow, and stumble-footed. Very much the actual version of Bella Swan. She was also a virgin.

At 6:30, having rendered his bedroom Waldorf-Astoria presentable, Jason grabbed up his phone and headed for the kitchen. Like all 5th thru 12th floor units at 8700 Belvedere, the condo was a four bedroom floor plan, just shy of 1500 square feet, built around the central kitchen/dining room complex. The condo had front and rear balconies, the rear balcony nearly twice the size of the front. Jason’s miniscule bedroom, adjacent the front den, was the only bedroom this side of the condo. The balcony ran the length of his bedroom, but offered no access. That was offered via the den, and a sliding glass door. Ditto the balcony out back, also accessible from Mom and Dad’s balcony door. Bella resided across and down the hall from Mom, with Kendal next door. Either den could act as a spare bedroom in a pinch. Had Donny not taken sick, he’d have sacked out Friday and Saturday night on the front den’s convertible couch.

The refrigerator contained a 12-pack and a half of Heineken bottles. Not Jason’s favorite beer, but suitable in lieu of Samuel Adams. Snatching out a bottle, he rolled it appreciatively in his right hand, enjoying the cold, slightly moist glass. Beer-wise, the parents were Heineken exclusives. Mom also liked wine, however, and the refrigerator contained an unopened bottle of Chardonnay, a three-quarter’s full bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and a bottle of Yellow Tail Moscato, a gift. He liked the Chardonnay best.

Call Tim, he thought furtively, get him over here for some fun. Tim looked 21 and had a fake ID. Tim could fill the fridge with stuff they could drink. Tim would convince him to invite girls, party all night, or late as the girls could manage to stay out. Not for the first time, Jason wished he had a car.

Closing the refrigerator door, he punched it lightly. “This fucking beats all,” he muttered. “All alone, and no one to party with.” Again, his eyes crept toward Kendal’s empty bedroom. He was also a virgin, determined to preserve that gift for the one girl that mattered in his life. Whom he wished were home with him now, whom he was certain would hold out to accept his gift, giving hers in return. His lips tingled, imagining her kiss, and that triggered an unwanted reaction below the belt. “Cut it out,” he grumbled.

Frustrated, he dug out his iPhone, dialed Papa John’s Pizza, and ordered a medium, hand-tossed pepperoni with a side of breadsticks and a 2-liter Diet Pepsi. Chances were the two bottles of Diet Coke in the fridge would last all weekend--he checked the pantry on a hunch and discovered a third bottle--and he much preferred the taste of Diet Coke. His mom preferred he not drink carbonated drinks at all, but that wasn’t likely to happen, not in her lifetime, was it? Still grumbling, he dispensed ice into a glass and filled it with soda.

The dope in his closet he’d scored from a friend of Bella’s over the holidays. He’d smoked a joint with Kendal, getting momentously high. It was supposedly imported from southern Congo, though Jason wasn’t sure he believed that. No denying the veracity of the weed’s potency, though; he’d never smoked anything like it before. He anxiously looked forward to toking it again tonight, unfortunately, minus Kendal.

On the way to the bedroom, Jason stopped up short. Tim had the papers. Grimacing, he banged the wall with his fist and muttered invective. He’d need to use a page from his Sunday School bible, which he disliked doing. It was the only acceptable paper substitute at his disposal, though, and would have to do. In October, he’d been caught with the pipe (and consequently gotten grounded for two weeks), and had never gotten around to finding a replacement.

The bible had two blank pages left: one in the front, and one in back. Chagrined, he continued to his bedroom and snatched the bible off his two-tier bookshelf. It was the only non-sci-fi book on the shelves.

He had spare paper, it turned out: half a page, which he didn’t remember being in the book. Blessing his good luck, using Zig-Zag paper dimensions as a guide, he cut the half-sheet into six, joint-sized papers, wisely flushing the remaining bits of paper down the toilet. At his desk, he pinched out a line of finely ground marijuana along the center of each paper, cautiously rolled each paper into a joint, licking and sealing the edge. He was much better at joint making than Tim, a point of pride. Done, he sealed the six joints into a Ziploc bag and stashed it away, pending 11:00 pm. Two of his five grams of weed, gone; he couldn’t wait to light up.

The pizza was here. Thumbing the buzzer, Jason yanked out his wallet and went to wait at the front door. The young Pakistani stepping off the elevator didn’t faze him at all. Ahmed had made deliveries to the condo twice before, and Jason had spotted him driving a Honda Prelude with a Papa John’s fixture on the roof. He recognized Jason in return, nodding.

“Dude. You ordered this lousy pizza?”

Jason laughed; noting and pointing out that Ahmed had forgotten the 2-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi.

“Fuck!” Flustered, he looked around, as though expecting the bottle to appear via messenger. “I left it down in the car. I gotta go get it real quick, dude.”

Jason waved it off. “I hate Diet Pepsi, anyway. Keep it for yourself. I won’t even deduct it from your tip.” He extended a dollar bill, and then laughing, added the twenty-five he’d palmed. The order total was $20.22.

“I am seriously sorry, I really am, dude. I feel lousy about this.”

“Don’t worry. I got Diet Coke to drink.”

Ahmed grimaced. “You sure?”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “Enjoy the bottle. Or launch it out the window at some effing redneck’s head, maybe. One less Alt-righter in the world would not ruin my night, you know?”

Ahmed grinned crookedly. “Want to get me lynched, man?”

“In Chevy Chase?” Jason scratched his head, grinning. “I guess you’d have to drive to Rockville, for that.”

Waving good-naturedly, Jason watched Ahmed board the elevator to head downstairs. He considered the challenges a foreigner faced in present-day America. His reflection was cut short by the ping of a text message.

“We are safely ensconced at your gramps,” the note read. “Your sister undoubtedly plans to celebrate her emancipation tonight, back on campus. Gramps says hello; Grandma ran down to the market for biscuits. She correctly assumes we will demand biscuits with our breakfast in the morning. I am so sorry to strand you in that empty condo for the weekend, Jason. I have no forgiveness in my heart for that stupid sister of mine, and you shouldn’t either. Are you behaving yourself?”

Jason shook his head, marveling that only an adult would compose a text without the single use of an abbreviation, contraction, or emoji. In clear English, he responded: “I have pizza and Game of Thrones to watch. I do not suffer unjustly.”

“LOL. Watch anything you like. On Demand if you want. You don’t have to sit home and be bored.”

“I plan to commit genocide in Call of Duty tonight. Any particular species you’d like to see wiped out?”

“Aunts would be nice.”

Jason let that go. He was grateful for his aunt’s major blunder. “You all enjoy yourself. Tell Pocahontas I said hello. I haven’t drywalled over her bedroom door yet, but I have all weekend, right?”

“Pocahontas says you’re an a-hole, for which I plan to paddle her skinny behind. What is it between you two, anyway? I swear you two are male and female identical twins. I worry about you sometimes, Jason Bows.”

“I’d worry about me too,” Jason admitted (wisely, or otherwise), deciding not to shy from the subject. “You know I wear her underwear to school, right? I especially like her pink set with the furry white bunnies. Tell her I have them on now.”

“You are incorrigible. I’ll text you later. Behave yourself tonight. Love, Mom.”

Pocketing his phone, he briefly tried to recall what the text round had interrupted, and then shrugged it off in favor of a slice of cooled pepperoni pizza. The breadsticks went into the microwave for a good dose of radiation, making them too hot to touch, much less risk burning his palate. Nuking two more pizza slices, he surrendered the remainder to the refrigerator, and finished eating in his bedroom. He remembered his interrupted reflection on Ahmed in America, letting it go for lack of interest. Over the next three hours, he slaughtered divisions of Kraut soldiers and legions of zombies.

Mom texted at 10:45 p.m. “Your sister is binge-watching The Walking Dead with Grandpa. I can’t imagine a more bizarre sight than those two side-by-side on the family room couch, sharing a tub of popcorn and yelling together at the TV. Their hatred of the dead is monumental, nearly as obsessive as their disgust and anger at the remaining humans, none of who are apparently capable of making a single intelligent decision. Never would I have imagined your sister a Dead-head.”

Jason chuckled appreciatively. He’d watched every episode of The Walking Dead religiously, always to the scorn and ridicule of both sisters. He’d make Kendal’s return to Rancho Bows Sunday afternoon a misery.

“Which of the Walker’s does she most resemble?” he typed. “Tell her she’ll catch her twin sister in episode six of the second season. I did a screen capture and printed it off for her last year. Remind her of that.”

Mom replied, “I’ll let that tiger lie, thank you. Did you enjoy your pizza?”

“Excellent,” he wrote back. “Just about to start in on your beer.”

“Two. Then it’s off to bed with you, young man. I mean it though ... do not stay up all night playing video games or watching Game of Thrones. Show some restraint.”

“All the restraint I require is locked away in Bella’s closet. I have scars on my back to prove it, Mom.”

“BIG EYE-ROLL! Anyway, I retire to my bedroom for some binge watching of my own. Thank you again for putting me onto Heartland. I know how difficult that was, especially while controlling the urge to jam fingers down your throat. You find so little wholesome entertainment on TV nowadays. Especially cable. Dad says goodnight.”

“Night,” he wrote, thinking wistfully about Kendal kicked back on the couch, watching TV with Grandpa. Had she thought about him at all, he wondered? God, he wanted to see her. Aloud, though in a low voice, he gave voice to those words. Kendal didn’t answer.

Donning his parka, Jason crossed the condo to the rear den, unlocked the balcony door, slid it open, and slipped outside. According to the thermometer attached to the glass, it was twenty-eight degrees. The wind was brisk, hailing from the northwest, portending a teeth-chattering experience. He wouldn’t complain about the chill breeze, however (not yet, anyway); it would efficiently carry away the cannabis-laden smoke.

Hugging the balcony divider, he confirmed no one lurked on Mrs. Hannity’s side. It amused him, his neighbor sharing the name of the reviled right-wing commentator. Not that Mrs. Hannity wasn’t a right-winger herself; she only hated his continued haranguing of the left, to the detriment of her party’s conservative beliefs. Him and that moron What’s His Name: they’d be so much better off without them.

Lighting up in the corner, Jason cautiously inhaled and struggled to keep his lungs inflated. This weed was potent but harsh: inflaming the alveoli, burning his throat, triggering an almost irresistible urge to cough. He’d nearly hacked his lungs up the first time, smoking this stuff with Kendal and Tim on the balcony. He’d been super-cautious since.

Slowly, carefully, he emptied his lungs of smoke. “God, this stuff’s good,” he rasped.

Taking a second hit, and a third, he kept his back to the parking lot, feeling the leach of THC into his bloodstream. Closing his eyes and expelling a thin streamer of smoke, he imagined tiny molecules of the intoxicant reaching his brain and penetrating the blood/brain barrier, assaulting his defenseless neurons. He was feeling it now, a tingle of numbness in his fingertips and lips, the false sense of his tongue thickening, a quickening heartbeat. Extinguishing the tip between thumb and forefinger, he turned and eyed the adjacent buildings.

The development of Covenant Place consisted of six buildings, four of which were 20-story condos like Jason’s. The two original buildings were sixteen and eighteen stories tall. Constructed in the early 1960’s, 8400, and 8500 Belvedere stood alone until 1992, when adjoining acreage in Chevy Chase was secured. 20-story buildings were added as financing and land acquisition allowed, until 8900 Belvedere, the most recent addition (and assumed to be the last) was completed in 2001. Jason had lived at 8700 Belvedere all his life. He idly gazed at 8600 Belvedere, now, the neighboring building. 8500 stood beyond, then 8400, its shorter, older mate. It was 11:20 pm. He wished Kendal were with him.

The sky was clear, the cold air crisp and clean. Despite the inherent light pollution of west Chevy Chase, he effortlessly identified the bright point of Polaris to the north, the adjoining Little Dipper constellation, and overhead, Orion, the Hunter. Hung from the belt, the scabbard was easily discernible, a rarity under any viewing conditions. “Star Light, Star Bright,” he muttered.

At the balcony rail, he craned, gazing upward. In ten seconds, he identified a pinpoint of light marking a satellite in low orbit. American, he wondered? Russian, or Chinese? It wasn’t large or bright enough for the ISS, which he’d spotted twice over the summer, the last time with binoculars. That was so cool.

In the parking lot below, bearing no lights, a car ghosted along, almost unseen. He tentatively identified the gray form as a Toyota or Nissan sedan. Good way to get creamed, he thought wryly. Following the serpentine roadway, the vehicle disappeared behind 8600 Belvedere, reappearing moments later to slowly enter 8500’s underground parking garage. He leaned on the rail, wondering if the driver was male or female, sober or drunk, maybe getting high like him. The absence of lights indicated possible impairment. Dumb as a brick, in any case.

Pulling out a chair, he sat with his back to the balcony doors. The vertical blinds were closed, allowing no escape of light. The balcony was perfectly dark, his presence a presumed secret. So his impaired thought processes fantasized, anyway. He knew in reality that anyone looking would spot him without much difficulty at all. Good thing he wasn’t nude, he thought, snorting in amusement. Folding his arms over the parka, he stretched out, crossing his ankles. Damn, it was cold.

No longer caring to hide, he relit the joint and filled his lungs. The potent cannabis was triggering tunnel vision; everything pulsed along with his heartbeat, edges turning wavery, windows, and lights growing halos. A spot-on rendition of ‘Hello’ played in his head. He tapped his foot to the melody. He didn’t normally care for Adele.

Snuffing the nearly dead ember between his molars, Jason swallowed the roach and produced a second joint from his right coat pocket, and a bottle of Heineken from the left. The purple lighter belonged to Tim. Wishing his buddy well, Jason lit the tip of the thinly-rolled construct and again filled his lungs to capacity. It felt like his eyes would pop out. Squinting, he waited a 10-count and exhaled at the ceiling.

A light mid-way up 8600 winked out, and one beside it winked on. A kitchen window, he thought, and one in the adjacent den? Squinting again, he caught movement behind sheer curtains, someone walking about and bending to retrieve something on a table. A female? He couldn’t be sure, but hoped so. Maybe she’s nude, he thought, willing it so. He was no Jean Luc Piccard.

His cell phone pinged. Shifting, he dug it free of his rear pocket and checked the screen. It was Kendal.

“RU behaving yourself?”

“What a stupid question,” he wrote. “I haven’t even opened a beer yet, dummy.”

“I bet you smoked a joint though.”

Snorting, he responded: “I wish! Can I raid your stash?”

“You can have Bella’s stash. She keeps it in her lingerie drawer.”

Jason hoped that wasn’t true. Mom had a habit of reviewing her younger brat’s texts and emails for compliance.

“I didn’t see it when I executed a panty raid just now. Are you sure?”

“LOL. You stay out of my bedroom, bae!”

“Too late! The pretty purple ones are mine.”

“I haven’t even worn them yet! You better skurt my room, bruh!”

“Make me,” he taunted.

“Wanna get curved?”

Jason winced. Getting curved was teen-speak for being romantically rejected. Assuming Mom wouldn’t know the term was taking a big chance. He veered the conversation away.

“I found that website you were looking for,” he wrote. “It’s Home is Where the Art is. The girl from Arlington, right?”

“I can’t believe you found it! Hold on ... I gotta Google it.”

Waiting, Jason twisted off the lid and downed a big swig of beer. He’d pinched out the joint after reading Kendal’s first text; brandishing the lighter, he now relit the tip and sucked in a chestful of smoke. Kendal would undoubtedly be awhile.