Part 8

Steve's parents were in their bedroom when he got home. He got himself a quick snack of beef stew. In his pajamas, he checked his e-mail. He had received two copies of the real story of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, a reminder from Ken of the work sessions on the next two days, and an inquiry if he still played MUDs on-line. There was nothing from Shannon.

"Thinking about you," he sent her, and signed it "An Unknown Admirer."

When he went off-line, he slipped the disk from Dave into his floppy drive and looked through the pictures. Steve figured that once a day was about right. He could come more often than that, but he wanted to exercise some self-control. In the past forty- eight hours he had lacked relief. Not only that, he had been making out with Shannon and almost at the limit when Peggy interrupted. This wasn't a time for dreaming of Shannon; this was a time for something really dirty.

Dave had his own indexing system. Steve looked through the rear views until his cock demanded action. Then he switched to the pictures of rear entry sex. At the fifth couple, he shot into the Kleenex until it was soggy. He dropped that in the waste basket and took a last piss in the bathroom. He removed and stashed the disk, turned down the monitor, and crawled into bed.

He'd do homework on the bus. There was no sense trying to stuff his head when it had turned itself off.

Steve woke to the alarm in the morning. His recovery was complete, except -- ironically -- the he had the firmest morning erection that he had suffered in some months.

Dad being home, Mom cooked breakfast for everybody. "Want some spaghetaroni to take for lunch?" she asked. "There doesn't seem to be any stew left."

Instead of cafeteria lunch? "Sure. Thanks Mom."

"If you'll actually study this morning," Dad said, "I'll drive you to school. No 'just checking my e-mail.'" Well, he had a point; checking e-mail could take all the time available. And Mr. Babaian had all but told him that there would be a quiz that day.

"Thanks, Dad." He got nearly forty-five minutes in on physics, and left in plenty of time for the start of school.

"Shannon impressed me as a really nice girl last night," his dad said in the Jeep.

"I coulda told you that. I did tell you that."

"I meant 'nice' as a person, not her looks."

Steve sighed. His parents thought that he was so superficial. "That's what I meant, too. Look, Dad..." This was as good a time as any.

"Yes?"

"If you had the chance to change your life, you could have gone to a much better school, gotten a better education. Only, it would have meant never even meeting Mom. Would you have done it?" He seemed to be jumping back and forth in time. Could Dad hear what he was asking?

Roger Anderson could see where this was heading. "You're not really considering this Albino College?" That couldn't be right.

"Albion. And no. But what if IIT does accept me? What if I want to go to U of I instead?"

"Well, it's your choice. Your mother and I might think that your commitment to Shannon is a little premature, but we're seeing it from the outside. Everybody always does. If that last sentence makes sense."

"Sure. But you can see a little of it. Shannon is a class act, through and through. Question is what she sees in me."

"Don't sell yourself short, son. That's part of being a class act, seeing your potential. Just don't ruin all of that."

"Thanks Dad." They were turning into the parking lot outside of school. The thanks could have been for the ride, the advice, or the permission. He didn't know. It even could have been for the approval of his choice of girl. The approval wouldn't make much difference in his relationship with Shannon, but it would make his next eight months at home easier.

Shannon, who looked unhappy, sent him a questioning glance just before the class started. All he could do was shrug back. It wasn't really during class time, but Mrs. Foster asked them both to stay after class.

He'd decided to take the punishment in silence, however unfair. Mrs. Foster graded mostly on tests, anyhow. When they got to her, though, she had something else on her mind. "Look, that baby you said you took to the emergency room. What was her name?"

"Amy Jensen." Wherever this was going, he didn't see any sense in lying.

"And," Mrs. Foster continued, "you were babysitting for her?"

This was addressed to Shannon and she answered. "Yes."

"Well, the party where the Jensens were? The host was Ted Foster. He's some sort of cousin, third cousin twice removed or second cousin thrice removed, something like that, of my husband's. We aren't close enough to go to the party. They'd have to hold it in the gym. You know." The last was directed at Steve. There were larger Anderson clans in town, but his relatives weren't all going to fit into one house either.

"But," she continued, "we're close enough to hear the gossip. Ted's son, Bobby, was on the Internet when you called; he's been grounded for life. Ted's wife says that the mother thinks you two walk on water. I'd not go all that far, but I over-reacted to Steve's comment yesterday. I'm not taking those points. Here's an excuse for each of you."

She handed them the slips which would excuse their lateness to the next class. They started in Shannon's direction. "The kid is grounded for life, is he?" Shannon said. "I'll bet that his grounding ends before mine does."

"Shit!" Then he looked around, but no teachers were listening.

"Didn't check your e-mail?"

"Last night after work. I got a ride this morning if I spent all the time on homework. Dad approves of you."

"Can I come live at your house? My parents definitely disapprove of me."

"The last thing I want is to have you for a sister. Even in exchange for Mallory. I gather that they found out about our babysitting dates."

"You drove me home in Mrs. Jensen's car and didn't walk me to the door. Mom guessed the rest. About five hundred percent of the rest. I poured my heart out to you in that e-mail."

"And I'll read it. Can we finish this at lunch?"

"We'll have to." And she continued while he turned around and headed for class.

There wasn't a quiz in Physics. At lunch, Shannon laid out the rest of her punishment. "Thing is," she said, "they probably haven't finished yet. Dad asked for my TV late last night. They canceled my birthday party, my eighteenth birthday party." She wiped her eyes at that. "I'd better tell people." She'd made short work of her lunch, being quite hungry that noon.

He offered her one of his brownies, then -- impulsively -- all three. She took one, then broke the other in half and took that half. She left him to tell her friends that there wouldn't be a party.

There was a quiz in calc. It covered enough that he wasn't absolutely lost. On the other hand, the grade on that quiz wasn't going to do anything good for his GPA.

The hearts for the dance decor were much easier to prepare than they had been the previous day. He asked Mr. Babaian to repeat his explanation, and it made sense. His problems (except for his share of Shannon's) were clearing up; hers had just begun. What hadn't happened, despite Mr. Jensen's visit to the drug store, was that either one of them got any reward for their good deed. Well, he'd noticed something similar often enough before.

"Where was Shannon?" Ken asked him on the way home. "Will we see her tomorrow?" He had specified two meetings out of three.

"She's grounded. I doubt that she'll get to another meeting. I'm starting to worry about the dance itself."

"Grounded? What did she do? The dance is more than two weeks from now."

Allison Bryant had arranged her schedule so that she was home when Shannon was due. "I said ten minutes." It was nearly fifteen minutes after school let out.

"Come on, Mom. The busses don't even leave ten minutes after the ending bell rings. I had to get to my locker, arrange my books, put on my coat, and then trot home. You only count walking home. I'm not sure that I can make this schedule. I never did for Mrs. Green. Of course, if I slip on some ice and break a leg, that will cut out my social life for you." The walks along her path home were mostly clear, but there was sure to be more snow.

"All right. Fifteen minutes after the ending bell rings. Tonight, you'll need to start dinner at four-thirty. You can study till then." Shannon decided not to try her e-mail. Steve couldn't have replied; he was still at school. She suspected that her parents might block that connection to the outside if they noticed her using it.

And she did want Steve's reply. In the middle of the night, despite how tired she had been, she'd awakened and hadn't been able to go back to sleep. She had written Steve about her parents, and then about what he meant to her. She'd never quite said those things before.

Which meant that she was still tired. She'd make an early night tonight, what choice did she have? And so it was time to start on homework. She did so until her mom knocked on her door.

Some of the best times she'd had with her mom had been working together in the kitchen. This wasn't going to be one of them. For one thing, Shannon did all the work. Her mom supervised from a chair.

"Let me guess," Shannon said. "This isn't going to get me out of doing the dishes?"

"You're right. Look, one thing I'll give you. Anything you told me last night, you can change your story without penalty. Anything you forgot to mention?"

"Not really."

"Then tell me one thing. Steven called once when you were babysitting. He sounded very surprised at the news."

Shannon could feel herself blush. Someday she'd laugh at that mess, if she didn't die of old age first. "Remember that I told you that Steve was sensitive and picked up on things real well."

"Something like that." Allison remembered it very well. Shannon's boyfriend was sensitive, unlike her mother.

"Well, usually he does. But there are exceptions." She told the story of his being jealous about 'the visit from her friend.'

Allison wondered where Shannon had picked up that euphemism. Not from her mother, who had been careful to use the correct terms. Anyway, despite Shannon's emphasis on the study and the talk, messy genitals made the entire visit undesirable. She could believe her about the talk, on the other hand. Those kids could spend an hour a day on the phone talking about the e-mails that they had already sent each other.

Wayne Bryant looked up Nurse Green on the roster. She was on orthopedic, scheduled to work that night, and -- as he already knew -- on the second shift. He called the supervisor of ortho, and asked if he could speak with Nurse Green for a very few minutes.

"This is Mr. Bryant of the finance office," the supervisor told Nurse Green. "He needs five minutes of your time." Wayne hoped to keep it down to three.

"More to the point," he told her on the edge of a wide hallway, "I'm Shannon Bryant's father. She's babysat for you."

"Yes. She's very reliable."

"Fine. And you allow her boyfriend to visit while she's there."

"Yes," she said. "I suggested it the first time, then she almost made it a condition. I don't have any complaints, though. She always gets her job done, and with two boys that isn't easy."

Wayne had heard stories about those two boys, but that wasn't who he was worrying about. "Was Steve, the boyfriend, at your place last Saturday?"

"Well, he's usually gone when I get home. I get off at twelve thirty, you know. But last Saturday? The big storm? She told me that he'd been there."

"Well," Wayne told her, "I'll let you get back to your duties. But don't count on her for babysitting anytime soon. She's been grounded." He turned to go.

"Grounded? Why would you? She's such a fine girl."

But Wayne was in no mood to discuss parenting with some stranger, let alone such a failure at parenting as this one. And seeing that he was done, the senior nurse of the outgoing shift grabbed Mrs. Green. There was still a lot to do.

After dinner, Shannon filled and started the dishwasher while her parents watched TV in the living room. "Let's go up and make some phone calls," Allison said when her daughter joined them. "Which of your customers need a warning that you aren't available?"

So Shannon followed her upstairs to make the calls. She left a message on Mrs. Green's machine, feeling a little relief when she did so. About having to make the next one, she felt unmixed resentment. "Mr. Jensen, this is Shannon Bryant. First, how is Amy doing?"

"She's home now. Did your mother tell you what I'd told her?"

"Not really."

"Well, the attack didn't help, of course; but she's basically recovered. I hope your mother gave you the envelope if not the report."

"Just a second. Mom, did you get a letter for me?"

"I forgot!" Allison went to get the envelope.

When she got back, Shannon was saying, "They don't need a reason; they're my parents." There was a pause. "That might have been it. But I don't blame you." Another pause. "I'm sure that wouldn't do a bit of good. I'll just have to wait until they change their minds."

When Shannon had hung up, Allison said, "Shannon! We do have a reason, and you know very well what that reason is."

"Do you want to call back and explain? I'll give you his phone number. For that matter, do you want to make these phone calls? It's not fun telling parents who have trusted you to care for their children that your own parents treat you like one of those little toddlers." Shannon put the envelope in a drawer. "I'll save that for later, when I can read it in privacy."

Shannon figured that the customers who hadn't called in the new year didn't deserve a warning, and she made the rest of the calls. Most didn't ask why she had been grounded. For the others, she stuck to, "My parents think I did wrong." She gave recommendations to a few customers, but most already had their backups.

"Wayne," Allison called, "we're done."

He came upstairs at the next commercial and removed the phone and the jack to the modem. "You can keep the computer," he said. "It was supposed to be for homework anyway."

"I use the connection for homework," Shannon pointed out. "The Web is full of reference material."

"Well, dear," her mom said, "not every kid in your school is connected. Anyway, you can do research using my computer when I'm home and not using it. I'll need to check on you."

"I set up a new user name on AOL," her dad said. It goes from the computer in your mom's office. It is just for homework."

Her parents watched television; she did homework. There was enough of it to do, Tuesday's not having been quite completed, and Wednesday having passed in an emotional blur. When she was done, she read Mr. Jensen's letter. The hundred- dollar enclosure gave her ideas. She hid both away, turned off the light, and got into bed. For a long time, however, she lay sleepless and scheming in the dark.

Steve went to his computer and downloaded Shannon's e-mail as soon as he got home. He didn't really do the venison justice at dinner, much less the conversation.

"Still not recovered from your long night?" Dad asked.

"Well, I chose to sleep rather than do homework last night. I still think it was the right decision. But I'm running behind, and Shannon got grounded for having me over when she babysat. So my body's recovered, but my situation isn't. I don't know about my mind."

"Anything that little isn't worth worrying about," Dad said.

"Steve, really," Mom said, "helping Shannon break her parents' rules is breaking our rules for you. You should know that."

"It really wasn't breaking her parents' rules; she just didn't mention that I would be there. Now they are mad." Of course, what his mom had said was retroactive as well. Still, she wasn't threatening punishment. "Please don't eat the daisies," Mom said. Dad nodded. Steve didn't ask. Shannon wasn't the only one with weird parents.

He actually spell-checked his response to Shannon. He'd spent less time than he usually did for a paper for school, but one hell of a lot more care.

What she would read on AOL would be:

 > Beloved,   
 > I don't know what to say about the punishment, except that 
 > it sucks.  And you knew that already.   
 >   
 >> And, the horrible thing is that they intend to hurt you,   
 >> too. If nothing else, all the time that you've spent on the   
 >> Valentine's Ball is lost.  Even if you want to abandon me,   
 >> you'd have a hard time finding a girl worthy of you that   
 >> soon.   
 >   
 > Don't worry about me.  Your the one who is suffering 
 > directly.  I'll see less of you, and miss it awfully.  But 
 > you're being cut off from everybody.  As for a girl worthy 
 > of me, I already  have one I'm not worthy of.  I just can't 
 > take her to dances right now.   
 >   
 > I'll probably finish what I'm committed to on the Ball   
 > committee.  For one thing, I seem to have more free time and   
 > less social life all of a sudden.   
 >   
 > I'm not being a martyr, that would be playing into their   
 > hands.  I'll hang out with the guys as much, probably more,   
 > not deprive myself because you're deprived of hanging out 
 > with the ladies.   
 >   
 > But I don't WANT to dance with anyone else.   
 >   
 > Anyway, what they complain about is what WE did.  Any   
 > injustice is to US.  If they have a case against you, they   
 > have a case against me.  (And, really, they do.  They're 
 > just being totally unreasonable about it.)   
 >   
 >> I don't know what we have.  I really don't.  Part of the   
 >> reason that I confessed everything we did to Mom was I 
 >> wanted to ask her questions.  You know, what's it like?  Is 
 >> this marriage?  That sort of thing.  She's being totally 
 >> unhelpful.  Shannon's been a *bad* little girl for the past 
 >> few months, but never what Shannon might be in the future.   
 >   
 > I don't get this thing about the confession and your mother.   
 >   
 > I do know what you mean about not knowing what we have.  I   
 > certainly can't imaging being married to anyone other than   
 > you.  The problem is, I can't imagine being married AT ALL.   
 > Oh, PARTS of it.  I can imagine our wedding night just fine.  
 > But I don't know what marriage means.   
 >   
 > I can look at my parents (or at yours).  They're married all   
 > right.  But they are also old and tired.  What did marriage   
 > mean when there was a spark between them?  I'll admit it 
 > makes me feel all funny to even think about it.  But I'm 
 > here; for that matter, Mallory is here, or somewhere.   
 >   
 > And what does "engaged" mean (except for the ring, which I   
 > couldn't afford)?  Anyway, the reason that I haven't 
 > proposed is not some alternative in the back of my mind.  
 > The reason is that I have no future in the front of my mind, 
 > or anywhere in my mind.   
 >   
 > (One point WRT the future, I mentioned to my father the   
 > possibility of my going to Champaign in spite of being   
 > accepted at IIT.  He wasn't thrilled, but he said that was 
 > my decision.  (What he actually said was that he and Mom 
 > thought that my commitment to you was premature -- but that 
 > was a view from outside.  And that the view from outside was 
 > always that the commitment was premature.)  Anyway, there 
 > would be nothing on my side of things comparable to what 
 > your parents are doing.  Assuming we do that.)   
 >   
 >> You keep doing things.  I like making out with you. I *love*   
 >> making out with you.  I don't want to have sex.  It isn't not   
 >> wanting to have sex *with you*.  I simply don't want to do 
 >> it.   
 >>   
 >> And I think that this is moving from making out to having 
 >> sex.   I asked whether this is so, but Mom was on her "Bad  
 >> Shannon" gig and wouldn't answer the question.  You're my   
 >> only friend, don't try to trick me.  Is that what you are   
 >> trying to do with all those nibbles and kisses on my ears   
 >> and elbows?  *Elbows!*   
 >>   
 >> Anyway, couldn't you turn off that attack for a while?  I 
 >> know that you want to go farther.  But I can't fight the 
 >> whole Goddamn world.  Could we, maybe, put that struggle on 
 >> the back burner until I have another friend in turn to?   
 >   
 > 1)   I don't think that we'll be having problems restraining   
 > ourselves in the next little while.  I don't know when I'll   
 > see you again off school grounds.   
 >   
 > 2)   I wasn't trying to trick you.  I want to seduce you, 
 > you should know that.  But I haven't brought a rubber along 
 > on a date for the longest time.  (For one thing, carrying 
 > them in my wallet or pocket ruins them after a little.)  Get 
 > clear on that, if you are suddenly carried away, I'm not 
 > prepared.   
 >    
 > I want to make love to you, make love with you.  But I want      
 > you to wake up the next morning saying, "Steve and I had a   
 > wonderful time last night.  We expressed our love for one   
 > another."  Even if it is not such a wonderful time, and I 
 > hear that it often isn't for a girl's first time, I want you 
 > to say, "Steve and I BOTH DECIDED to start something.  It 
 > will get better as we gain experience."   
 >   
 > What I couldn't stand is your saying, "Steve tricked me last   
 > night.  I won't trust him ever again."   
 >   
 > 3)   "Is this secretly the road to real sex?"  What do you   
 > think I am?  "93 of the last 100 girls with whom I have had   
 > sex got carried away when I kissed their ears"?  ALL my real   
 > experience of making out has been with you.  I read, oh how I   
 > read.  I look at pictures.  I study the techniques of   
 > fictional lovers.  But I don't KNOW anything that you don't   
 > know.  I know less about how girls react than you do.  I 
 > know one *HELL* of a lot less about what turns *SHANNON* on 
 > than you do.  And that's the question, really.   
 >   
 > When you decide that we'll do it, you can tell me what turns   
 > you on most.  That's the real question.   
 >   
 > 4)   What happened with the kisses?  You controlled what we   
 > could do.  As long as we did more fairly often, I wasn't 
 > about to complain.  Then you said, "That's as far as we go.  
 > That's as much as we do."   
 >   
 > Now, I'm not a rapist; I have to accept the first half.  (I   
 > also learned a little from Curt.  A guy gets one grab at   
 > Shannon.)  So that's as far as we go.   
 >   
 > But why is it as much as we do?  If we are only going so 
 > far,  there are such lovely spots along the way.  Every 
 > single bit of you is kissable.  Sometime I'll get you back 
 > to that meadow when you think you must wear jeans.  You'll 
 > let me take off your blouse.  I'll kiss parts of you that 
 > you have forgotten exist.  I'll kiss your shoulder blades 
 > and each single vertebra.  I'll kiss your fingers, and I'll 
 > kiss your toes.  I'll kiss your elbows, and I'll kiss your 
 > nose.  I'll send an  hour on your left arm and another hour 
 > on your right.  
 >   
 > I'll take one whole morning on your breasts and another   
 > morning (still above your belt) on your belly.  You have an      
 > extraordinarily attractive belly, did you know that?   
 >   
 > 5)   You set the limits.  You always have.  You've stepped   
 > back.  Remember when you wouldn't make out in the car?  
 > All I need (far from all I want) is for you to express 
 > those limits clearly.  I've managed to figure out that I 
 > can kiss your mouth but not your mound.  If you want me to 
 > kiss your breasts but not your ears, you'll have to tell me.   
 >   
 >   
 > Look!   
 > I LOVE YOU!   
 > That's the bottom line.   
 >   
 > Steve.    

He decided to print out a hard copy in case they had confiscated her computer,

He even copied the file onto a disk in case they had cut her connection but left her the computer. He put extra quotes into the file on disk so it would read the same (and so Shannon wouldn't foul up the attributions).

Allison gave Wayne some highlights of her evening while they were preparing for bed. "And then she told him, 'They don't need reasons; they're parents.' I could have strangled her. And, of course, the Jensens aren't going to listen to my side when they've heard hers."

"Can't quite blame them," said Wayne. "I mean, she asked them; what do they care whether she asked us? Mrs. Green feels that we're overdoing it, too, though I don't think I told her what our objections were. There was no polite way to express my opinion of her advice on parenting. The boys are hardly a recommendation."

"Shannon kept insisting that they didn't only pet. I'll believe that they talked. Why does she think that we got the second phone line? And she says that they studied together, too."

"Now, I'll believe they studied together. Look, let me just hold you." She pulled back the covers in invitation, and he did hug her. He could speak much more quietly this way. "Let me run this past you. What she did, beyond the particulars, the essence of what she did, is this. She constructed an elaborate scheme of dates at her babysitting appointments, and hid them from us. She was clearly willing to lie to hide them. How often she actually lied doesn't really matter. What matters is that she lived a secret for months, and she was willing to lie about it every day.

"Now," he continued, "I don't know how long this punishment is going to go on. Until she feels it, for sure. Her birthday and this next dance, the fancy one..."

"The 'Ball'?"

"Yeah. Those are clearly within the punishment. When those are past and we see some contrition, then we can ease up on the rules. But I really want to see the contrition first. What I see now is dumb defiance."

"You see dumb defiance," she told him, "because you weren't there to hear her describing our tyranny to babysitting clients. She's verbal enough then. And what do we do about her allowance? She's sure to have some money in her purse."

"Good! We want her to learn to budget. Dole out precisely what the school lunches cost. She has some cash above that, and no idea how long it has to last. That'll teach her to budget."

She grinned. "I don't know about contrition, though. Contrition is awfully easy to fake."

"Well, we won't ease things much until after Valentine's Day. By then, I -- at least -- might be willing to settle for fake contrition. After all, that still establishes the consensus reality. As long as she is saying that she didn't do wrong, we can't forgive her without agreeing with her. But these are just my opinions. I'm not going to relent without talking to you."

"I know. You just need to think these things out on a deeper level than I do."

He hugged her back to his front. "A different level. I'm still the guy who the hospital hired years ago to establish their accounting procedures." His hug pressed his semi-erection against her thigh.

Immediately, she pushed off his arms and moved away. "Wayne, you said..."

"I meant it. Look, different question. What is there about sex with me that you dislike so much?"

"It's not really dislike. We do it almost every Sunday and other times, too."

They did it maybe one Sunday in two. Every Sunday unless she was having her period, or was at the end of an especially bad week, or was especially angry at him. "Is it the mess?"

It was mostly that her body betrayed her with him. It was almost as bad as those talks he and Shannon had when they were away from the constraints of her presence. But the mess was one part of it. "Well, I have to shower before, and then I have to shower afterward."

"You don't have to, especially before. Couldn't you tell that just now?"

"I have to." She watched him climb out and into his own bed. "Thanks for supporting me with Shannon."

"Always!" he answered.

Shannon was rested and had her homework done when she got to school Friday morning. What else did she have to do? Mrs. Foster was beginning Act Five. Shannon and Steve weren't as far ahead of the class as they had been on Act Four, but they were clearly among those who knew what was happening.

"I used your questions," Steve said as they left the room. "Only the first scene, but I can catch up over the weekend."

"They took my connection away," she said. "Did you reply to my old e-mail? If so, I'll never see it."

"Talk at lunch," was all Steve could say before the streams going in opposite directions tore them apart.

At lunch, Steve wasn't as desolate as she thought that the situation deserved. "First," Steve said, "I wasn't trying to trick you. Never about anything serious. I'm on your side. Second, what did they do to your computer?"

"They cut off the connection. The modem is gone. I have a new connection to AOL. But it goes through my mom's computer. And I can only use it when she's watching, and only for homework."