My name is Trish. Short for Patricia. Which I hate. My mother and father call me by my full name all the time and my older sister does when she really wants to get to me. The rest of the time, she calls me Pint.

That started when she was a freshman in high school and I was in the sixth grade. She wanted to go to the movies with her two bimbo girlfriends and Mom made her take me along. Of course, I'm the one she blamed for it. She was yelling at me when I told her that the movie she got tickets for wasn't the PG film she told Mom she was going to see and "Pint" came out of her mouth. Then she told her friends I wasn't big enough to be a half pint, so that made me a pint. I tried to explain to them that a half of a pint was smaller than a full one, but my sister and her friends aren't the brainiest girls in the crowd. I think there was a combined allotment for brains and tits when they were born and all three of them went overboard on the tits.

I'm still small for my age and I guess I erred on the side of brains. Though I think what I do have looks pretty good on me. At least they won't hang down to my knees when I'm fifty. I know they work just fine, even if they aren't a G cup. I can almost bring myself off by just playing with them.

This is my first year in high school. Unlike Tiffany, my older sister, I'm not always hanging around with the in-crowd, able to say dumb things and have a crowd of groupies laugh their fool heads off. The nerds and geeks are more my style. Hey, that's what we call ourselves, too. It's a joke as far as we're concerned. I bet Bill Gates calls himself a geek.

Tiffany is just what her name sounds like. A big titted, bubble headed Bimbo. Somehow she got blonde hair while mine is a reddish brown. You've heard the blonde jokes? I've heard them all, too. I think Tiff inspired most of them. Especially the ones about the only thing a blonde's good for. That's Tiffany, and she's been good for most of the jocks at our high school at one time or another.

The funny thing about it is she has both of our parents convinced she's a virgin, saving herself for marriage. I don't know what she's saving. Tiffany likes to talk about what's happening when she has a guy in her room while Mom and Dad are at work. And she's not quiet about it. She's had cocks in her mouth, her pussy and her ass. And she makes every guy eat her out before she does anything for him. I've heard the guys complain about it when they don't think anyone's around. But then they laugh and say she's worth it. They call her the Hoover. I've thought about calling her that, but I'm waiting for the right time. Like when Mom and Dad are there and she blames me for something she did.

So anyway, tonight is Halloween and we're both home. Mom and Dad got invited out to a dress-up party and Mom talked Dad into going. Dad's idea of a good time is falling asleep in his armchair during Family Hour. Mom must have promised him some nookie to get him to go. She got this dynamite outfit that shows off her tits like you wouldn't believe. Mom must have gotten a double allotment, because she's got brains as far as everything but Tiffany's virginity is concerned. She owns a travel agency that she built up from a one woman outfit to one with thirty employees.

But, back to the costume. It's red, almost like a one piece bathing suit only with hot pants. Remember those? I've seen pictures in old magazines, and that's what they look like. But with the red fishnet stockings and the red vinyl shoes with the three inch spiked heels and the two red horns on the top of her head, and the cherry red lipstick that looks like wet paint, she looks hot. Really hot. She told Dad she was a horny little devil. He had a Robin Hood costume, and those tights made his reaction to her pretty obvious as they were going out the door.

Tiffany was all set to go to her own Halloween party, one with lots of beer and pot. And I'm sure they were going to be bobbing for something other than apples. But we got our report cards on Wednesday. If Tiffany doesn't do something quick, she won't be able to graduate. And that's something that's just not acceptable in our family, even from Tiffany. She's been grounded until she gets her grades back up above failing. Which could be until after Christmas break when the semester ends. Oh, I'm sorry, Christmas is un-American. It says so right in the Constitution. Holiday break.

Dad wouldn't even let her talk him out of the grounding. Mom was real pissed at her and I'm pretty sure she told Dad that either Tiffany was going to be grounded or he was. Let's see — a quick kiss on the cheek and a "Thanks, Daddy," as Tiff goes out the door or the big mac from Mom. Tiffany didn't stand a chance.

Mom's only pulled out the big guns like this once before. I never got the whole story, but it had something to do with a beach party, 4 AM and throwing up all over the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom. Tiff lost on that one, too. Which is good for Mom. She likes her play time, and I don't know if she'd be able to hold out if Dad went against her wishes. It's not that Mom has Dad by the balls or anything. It's more that Tiffany can do no wrong as far as he's concerned, and he's ready to forgive her for whatever she does. You'd think he was getting some head out of the deal instead of the phony gratitude she gives him.

So that's why Tiffany's home on Halloween. But why me, you ask? Because I'm the baby in the family. I was all set to go out with three of my nerd friends and had my Padme costume all ready to go. I was really looking forward to being with my friends on Halloween for the first time. And then Tiffany had to get a couple of F's. She started to campaign against my going out the minute she got grounded. Not right out in the open. Oh, no. Tiffany was real concerned. I was getting to that age where men might try to take advantage of me. Look at her — she's so tiny, she wouldn't be able to defend herself. It's not like the old days when you were kids, Mom and Dad. There are perverts out there, all over the place. She convinced them I was going to be raped and left for dead the second I set foot on the sidewalk. And they went for it, hook, line and sinker. That's another area where Mom's brains don't quite work. I'm her baby. Fourteen years old and she'd have me in diapers if she thought she could get away with it.

Did I mention that Tiffany's a blonde? Well, she was just so proud of herself, spoiling my night out. And then Mom told her that she was going to have to watch me all night since they were going to be gone and I was too young to go out. The look on my sister's face when Mom told her that almost made the whole thing worth it. Almost.

So, here I am, handing miniature candy bars to all the little kids. The ballerinas, the princesses, the super heros, the kids who think that a piece of plastic with a couple of holes that they can't quite see through makes them able to leap tall buildings or look beautiful. There were a couple whose parents had taken the trouble to make imaginative costumes for who probably didn't appreciate them and wanted the ones out of the box with the painted body on the cheap pajamas. It was getting on 9:00, and most of the kids had their masks off their faces somehow, either on top of their heads or under their chins. Most of the dogs were cuter than the kids, but they had their masks, bunny ears or antlers hanging down below their necks, dragging on the ground, almost one for one.

Tiffany had had her cell phone and the phone in her room that she never used anymore taken away as part of her punishment. That didn't stop her from unplugging the one in the living room and taking it into her room. She didn't realize that Mom and Dad would see who she called when they got the bill next month. Like I said, Tiff thinks more of head than ahead.

My guys came by; a pretty neat Yoda, Anakin and R2D2. They talked for a few minutes but the little kids kept coming up and I finally gave up and told them to go ahead and have a good time. None of them had been raped as far as I could tell.

By 9:30, the traffic had died down. It was about twenty minutes since the last kid had been by around, so I turned off the porch light and put the candy on the end table next to the couch. I turned on the TV, but there wasn't anything on I was interested in.

Tiffany came out of her room and said "Doug is coming over. I don't want Mom or Dad to hear anything about it or I'll see to it that they never let you out of this house."

"Whatever." She still hadn't gotten it through her dense little head that she was the one who had fucked up, thus she was the one who was grounded.

About ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Tiff came skipping out of her room and whizzed by me as I was grabbing the bowl of candy just in case it wasn't Doug. Whoever that was. I'd given up keeping a scorecard on my sister. It would have too many players on it to keep track of. Most of whom scored home runs, anyway.

Well, it was Doug. A big linebacker type guy I'd never seen before. He looked like he'd have an IQ even lower than my sister's. And he hadn't missed many meals for the past ten years or so. Definitely not the class of horn dog she usually has between her legs. I guess all the good ones were at the party, so it was either this loser or Mr. Plastic Vibrating Prick.

She had him by the hand and stopped as she got near me. "Remember what I said, Pint."

"You too, Dork," said Doug, looking over his shoulder at the entryway.

That was when I noticed that there was someone just inside the front door, staring at the ground. The light wasn't on in the entryway so I couldn't see him clearly, but he looked kind of familiar. I walked over there and realized who it was.

"Hey, Dougie. Are you with Doug?"

"Yeah. Hi Trish. He's my brother."

"You have a brother with the same name as you?"

"Not really. He's actually my stepbrother. Everybody calls him Doug and me Dougie."

"I see. Come on in." He followed me into the living room and sat down on the couch when I pointed to it. I sat down next to him and held out the bowl of candy. He dug through it until he found one of those flying saucer shaped butterscotch candies. The kind your grandma has in a crystal bowl when you go over there.

"That's old people candy. Take a Tootsie Roll or a Baby Ruth."

"I can't." He opened his mouth and picked up his upper lip with one hand, pointing with the other. "They get stuck in my braces."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot."

"That's OK. I get them off just before New Years." He looked really excited.

"Cool. They must be a drag."

"Yeah, kinda. But you get used to them." He unwrapped the candy, put it in his mouth, then looked around for a place to put the wrapper. Dad quit smoking a few years ago, so the ever-present ashtray wasn't there. I took it from him and put it on the end table along with five or six I'd left there.

I knew Dougie had braces. Not that he smiled that much. Dougie usually kept his head down and very rarely looked right at anybody. Which was a shame, because I thought he was cute. Real cute. I'd had a crush on Dougie since seventh grade. And had been too shy to do anything about it.