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I would never be a teacher, had never even dreamed of it as a career, but one thing I’d learned about teaching was the effectiveness of positive reinforcement.
That was how it started. They finished their work in record time, and, aside from a few simple mistakes, correctly. As with most things in life, getting the Murphy boys to learn calc was a matter of simple motivation. I wanted them to get A’s, and they wanted my mouth on their dicks.
It wasn’t until they both dropped trou that I started thinking I might actually be getting the better end of the deal. I’d never thought much of Chase and Chance as boyfriend material. For one, they seemed sort of a package deal, despite my insistence to their mother they were two separate people. Two, they were a real pair of Weasleys, my very own Fred and George. Dark auburn hair with the pale skin to match, dark brown eyes. The freckles on their noses might’ve seemed a little Howdy Doody, but when Chase and Chance both pushed their jeans and briefs around their ankles, the only wooden puppet I thought about was the stiff, thick branches of their not-quite-identical cocks. I didn’t know at the time they’d never been with a girl before. All I saw was beauty.
And I was greedy for it.
I made them stand shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. I got on my knees in front of them. The carpet in their parents’ finished basement was thick and soft, a perfect cushion. I took them each in a hand. I slicked them with my spit. I took the first one in my mouth, and then the other. I do remember who was first, because I was looking up at him when I did it. He was looking down.
It was Chase, though it should’ve been his brother, since I picked him totally by chance. Later it would make a difference, but at the time I don’t think any of us cared. I slid his thick, pretty cock as far as I could into my mouth, and sucked, while I used my hand to stroke up and down his brother’s prick.
Both of them groaned at the same time. They sounded the same. They looked the same. In another second I discovered they tasted the same, too.
If I could’ve taken them both in my mouth at the same time, I’d have done it. As it was, they had to be satisfied with my equal but back-and-forth attention. And at the end of it, wanting to watch them both when they came, I left off the use of my lips and teeth and tongue to lean back and finish them with my hands. They shot within seconds of each other, spurting onto their flat, rippled bellies. Both of them had closed their eyes, heads bent. Mouths I would later learn were talented with kissing and licking and sucking were lax and open with their moans.
Chase was the one who looked at me first. His hand, which had been gripping the table behind him, the one on which we’d spent hours scribbling equations, loosened its grasp and stroked along my hair. His thumb passed over my lower lip, which felt swollen and wet. He blinked slowly, as if waking from some dream he didn’t want to leave.
“Fucking hell,” Chance had said, breaking the moment. “That was awesome.”
That was just the first time.
Chapter 3
“Wow,” Meredith said when I’d finished. “That is …”
I didn’t really want her to say crazy. It couldn’t dilute what had happened, couldn’t make it something it wasn’t, but still. I didn’t want her to say it like that.
“Fucking supernova hot,” Meredith said.
I flushed, heat creeping up my throat and down lower. I hadn’t told her the rest of it, but I thought I might, if she asked me. All about that long fall with the brothers Murphy, the three of us graduating from simultaneous blow jobs to cunnilingus and every combination of fucking that two cocks and a pussy can get into. It was over by Christmas.
“It’s absolutely not what I thought you’d say,” she told me with a shake of her head. “Wow. Not at all.”
“What did you think I’d say?” I’d finished my chai and break time was over, but I was curious exactly what she’d thought she knew about me.
“I told you. Hidden treasures.”
I blinked slowly under the heat of her gaze. She’d kissed a girl, sure, but what did that mean? Nothing.
There’s never any point in flirting with straight girls, you understand. Not even the “curious” ones. Straight girls have come to the conclusion that it’s perfectly okay to make out with their bestie on the dance floor as a way to get guys’ attention, or because they’re drunk, or because it’s trendy. Straight girls know that unless you eat pussy you’re just experimenting, and even if you do go down on another girl it doesn’t mean you’re a dyke.
I’m not a straight girl.
I’m not a queer girl, either. I guess you could say I’m sexually fluid. Love comes in all shapes and flavors, and I just want to be able to taste them all. But if there’s anything I learned from working at Morningstar Mocha, where the coffee flowed like Niagara Falls and waistbands expanded just by coming within a few feet of the dessert case, it’s that wanting and having are two different things.
“It was a long time ago.” I sounded lame.
“Can’t have been that long ago,” she pointed out, sounding wry. “You’re barely out of high school.”
I laughed. “Hardly. I’m twenty-six.”
“A baby,” she said, but fondly. “An experienced baby.”
Age didn’t mean much to me. “I have to get back to work. Darek’s giving me that desperate look that means someone’s ordered a drink he doesn’t know how to make.”
“Tesla to the rescue. You’d better go help him then. Anyway, I need to get going. I have some things to do.” Meredith gave another of her low, sultry laughs that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
We both stood at the same time. She’d been coming in here for months, but today was the first day she’d ever hugged me. For the first few seconds, standing startled in her embrace, I didn’t know what to do. She’d moved closer, and the smell of her was exotic and expensive and subtle. Her arms went around me, pulling me closer. Her sweater was soft on my skin, her hands warm on my back between my shoulder blades. We stood chest to chest and crotch to crotch for the span of half a heartbeat.
By the time I’d relaxed into her touch, closed my eyes and breathed in the deliciousness of her, it was over, except for the lingering heat in my ear from her breath where she’d whispered a goodbye, and the tingle in my cheek where I might’ve only imagined she brushed her lips.
“Tesla?” Eric said this from his place in front of the self-serve station, shaking me out of what must’ve been quite a show of shock. Meredith had already left the shop, the bell on the door jingling behind her. Eric cocked his head to give me the once-over. “You okay?”
“Oh, sure. Fine. Of course.” I held out my hand for his empty mug. “You finished? I’ll take it up for you.”
He looked amused. “Nah. Gonna have another, if that’s okay with you.”
I laughed, embarrassed that I was so out of sorts by something so simple as a hug that had lasted less than a couple of seconds. “Of course. Drink away. If you don’t, someone else will.”
“Isn’t that always how it goes?” He lifted the mug at me.
Then he turned to fill it with another round of coffee, Darek meeped out a cry for help up at the counter, and I got back to work.
Chapter 4
When I got home from work, the house was unusually silent, with no sign of anyone else. Normally I’d have sent out a not-so-quiet little hoot of bliss—I loved the people I lived with, but also craved having, and hardly ever got, the house to myself. Tonight, though, I was totally bummed to come home with not even the porch light left on to welcome me. No dinner, either, and that was worse. I made myself a tuna sandwich with a side of mac-n-cheese, because there really is nothing better than that. Unless it’s hot dogs with mac-n-cheese, and sadly, we were out of hot dogs.
I couldn’t help wondering what they’d gotten up to, those Murphy boys. The memory of them was a small, sore spot in my brain I worried once in a while the way I’d have done with a slice in my gum from flossing too hard. But my thoughts of Chase and Chance hadn’t been close to the surface in a long time. Time has that funny way of smoothing out the rough edges of things, even ones that hurt a little bit. Or a lot.
“You’re a user, Tesla,” Chance had said to me the last time we’d been together. “Nothing but a user.”
It wasn’t true—I was more than a user. I was a lot of things we were too young and dumb to understand. And when he’d said it to me, I’d turned my back and walked away, burning with the self-righteous fury of being maligned. Now, with time and distance and experience between us, I understood why Chance had felt that way.
I hadn’t heard anything about them in years, though it would’ve been easy enough to find out what they’d been up to. My brother, Cap, three years younger, would probably know. I’d had friends; Cap had been popular. Football player, stage crew, homecoming king, voted Funniest in the yearbook. He’d had a good enough time in high school that he kept in touch with buddies from back then. Not that he’d been friends with the Murphys, but he could find out.
Calling my brother to get intel on a pair of guys I’d had sex with was right up there with walking in on your parents fucking. I mean, that had happened to me, but it wasn’t something I either wanted to think about or dwell on. Cap was probably the only other person who knew about me and the Murphys, but just because he’d known about it back in the day didn’t mean he’d be down for discussing it now.
So, because even monkeys have been known to use tools, I turned to what I had on hand. The internet. My laptop had crapped out on me a few months ago, and I hadn’t seen the way to buying a new one. Not until I’d saved up enough to get the biggest, fastest, sweetest Mac I could afford, which was going to take me a long time unless I could get over my addiction to cute retro clothes and glittery eyeliner. That didn’t seem likely. Until then, I checked email and stuff from my phone and used the ancient desktop upstairs.
I’d set up my own user account on the desktop not so much because I wanted to look at things little kids shouldn’t see, but to prevent them from messing up anything I’d saved. At four, Simone could expertly wend her way through the labyrinth of online kiddie games, but she also had a quick-draw delete finger. I’d lost documents and important emails more than once. Her brother, Max, at two and a half, was more likely to simply pound a bunch of keys, making the computer perform any number of wacky functions we had no idea it could do, and that it probably wasn’t meant to.
Since nobody had come home yet, I didn’t have to worry a lot about being pestered to look at videos of cute pets or play an educational game with colors so bright they made my eyes bleed. I didn’t have to be careful about little eyes watching over my shoulder as I glanced through the pictures posted to my Connex friend feed. Meredith had been wrong when she said I didn’t have to answer to anyone. I lived with four other people, one of whom would hand my ass to me on a plate if I exposed his kids to junk they shouldn’t see.
Stalking people on Connex is supereasy if they’re not concerned enough to make sure they tick off all the appropriate privacy controls. I don’t have my account on lockdown because I never upload any pictures or anything too private that I don’t want the world to see. Besides, I want people to be able to find me. That’s what it’s for, right?
I found the brothers Murphy with only a few keystrokes. They both belonged to a fan group for our graduating class. I hadn’t joined. In their profile pictures they looked less alike than they ever had. Still tall and lanky, but time had put weight on them both, and it suited them.
Chance was married. Two small kids. I surfed his photos, feeling only vaguely creepy about it. He was living in Ohio, working for some accounting firm. He had a beautiful family and appeared happy. My cursor hovered over the Add Friend button, but I didn’t click it. I was happy to see Chance looked like he had a good life, but I didn’t feel any need to be even a peripheral part of it.
Chase wasn’t married.
And he looked damned fucking fine, I won’t even lie. He had lots of pictures uploaded. Albums of him hiking, biking, boating. Lots of shots with his shirt off, belly all ridged, arms buff. Lip-smacking good. He also had a lot of pictures of him with the same guy. Over and over, arms slung casually over shoulders. Laughing. I scanned Chase’s profile information, which just said single, but it was clear to me there was a reason for this other man being in all his photo albums. Maybe Chase hadn’t chosen to announce it to the whole world on Connex, but there was no hiding it.
I didn’t friend him, either. I wanted to. I wanted to send him a message, ask him if he was happy. If the reason he hadn’t wanted to be with me was because he was into guys, not because he didn’t love me the way I’d loved him. I wanted to ask him a lot of things, but in the end I didn’t. There’d be no point in picking at that old scar.
I distracted myself surfing the Apple website, yearning for what I wanted and couldn’t have. It seemed to be the theme of the day. I imagined I smelled Meredith’s perfume clinging to me, felt the softness of her sweater against me. With a low, muttered groan I twirled around in the desk chair with my head tipped back and only my feet moving. Round and around, the ceiling twirling above me until I dug a toe into the carpet.
I stopped. The room kept moving. If I stood, I’d stumble, probably fall. It was not quite enough to make my stomach sick, though in retrospect the tuna hadn’t been the best idea. As I turned back to the computer, my eyes still trying hard to focus on one unspinning thing, I heard the front door open and the sound of little shoes on the tile entryway. Then voices. Simone, shrieking at her brother, who was giggling like a lunatic. Their mom, Elaine, admonishing them without much force. Then the diversion of the noise from the den, up the stairs and presumably toward the bathroom, where the kids would be bathed, toothbrushed and pottied before being put into their beds.
I closed down my windows and cleared my history before logging out, and was just turning in the desk chair to face the doorway when he came in. “Hey, Vic,” I said.
“Hey.” He looked tired. Kids could do that to you. Vic pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, then focused briefly on the computer. “Didn’t think you’d be home.”
“Not everyone has a blooming social calendar like you,” I teased.
His smile quirked faintly on one side. Just the one. “We took the kids over to Elaine’s mom’s house for Nancy’s birthday. If I’d known you were going to be home I’d’ve told you.”
“It’s okay. I had stuff to do.” Elaine’s mom and sister had never been mean to me, but they’d never gone out of their way to be nice, either. We had a policy of neutral ground when it came to family events. If they came here or we met someplace else, we treated each other distantly but politely, never really delving too much into my place in their son-in-law’s life. I simply never went to their house.
He nodded. “I’m going to help Elaine with the kids. You up for some Resident Evil 4 in a bit?”
It was our favorite video game, especially played on Vic’s Wii with the special guns that attached to the controllers. “Hell, yeah. You guys need some help?”
“Nah.” He shrugged and yawned. “We got it covered.”
“How’s she feeling?” Elaine was pregnant with their third and didn’t have morning sickness. She had all-day sickness.
“Like shit.” He shrugged again, a man bewildered by the complications of women’s bodies, though not unsympathetic.
It was enough to make me determined never to get pregnant. Like, ever. Well … maybe if Christian Bale was donating, I could be persuaded. But other than that, probably not. “I’ll set up the game for when you’re ready.”
There was no reason for me to have told Vic I’d been thinking about looking up Chase and Chance Murphy. It still felt like a lie, one that weighed heavily enough on me that I couldn’t quite keep my concentration on the game. Since it was single-player, Vic and I took turns at it, switching when one of us died. I died a lot.
“What’s up with you, Tesla?” Vic took the gun controller from me as the red ooze dripped across the screen, showing I’d kicked it again.
“Long day at work, I guess.” I got up. “I should go to bed. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” But Vic didn’t get up. He leveled the gun at the screen again, starting the next level. “‘Night.”
The rest of the house had gone quiet hours ago, Elaine and the kids in bed. It was just Vic and me, sitting in the dark, killing zombies. The flickering light from the TV made shadows move on his face, giving him expressions I knew he wasn’t making.
He caught me looking and paused the game. “What?”
“You should go to bed. You have to get up early, too.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Vic said.
I shrugged. “I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. I just want to finish this level, that’s all. You go to bed. I’m fine.”
Since Vic often got up even earlier than I had to for the morning shift, I knew he wouldn’t be fine. “You look tired—”
“I’m a grown-up, Tesla,” he interrupted through tight jaws, his eyes steady on the waves of zombies coming to kill Leon S. Kennedy, until he flicked a gaze at me. “I can decide for myself when to go to bed.”
I stepped back, tossing up my hands. “Fine. You’re right. Good night.”
“ ‘Night,” I heard him repeat as I left the den and headed for my bedroom.
He was right, of course. I wasn’t his mom, perish the thought, and I wasn’t his wife. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have the right to worry about him, did it? Vic worked hard, long hours at the garage and used-car lot he owned. He had two kids and a pregnant wife. He had me living in his basement.
Showered and in bed, I heard the faint sounds of zombie deaths through the door. Then, as I was drifting to sleep, silence. Then the comforting creak of the floor in the kitchen, the living and dining rooms. Vic was making his rounds. Checking the doors and windows, making sure everything was locked and we were all safe.
His footsteps on the basement stairs sent me staring, wide-eyed, into the darkness. I heard him moving around the perimeter of the basement, doing what? Checking the windows down here, too? They were too small and awkward for anyone to get through. I heard the rattle of a toy being kicked, the mutter of a curse. Then the metallic squeak of my doorknob being turned slowly.
A square of lighter darkness appeared as my door opened. I couldn’t make out his silhouette, but I could hear him breathing. I heard the soft scuff of his feet on the carpeting, and I closed my eyes tight. Stifled and slowed my breathing so there’d be no way he could think I was awake.
I tensed when Vic leaned over me. But instead of touching me, all he did was press the lock on the high, narrow window above my bed. Then, assured all was well, he left the room, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
I let out my breath in a whoosh and burrowed deeper into my pillows. Chill sweat had broken out all over me, and I was breathing hard. Warmth filled the cave I’d made, but it took me a long time to stop shivering.
And when I did, when I slept, I dreamed.
I don’t know what Vic does when he’s not at The Compound, but when he is here, he works on cars. Some people here, like my parents, for example, drive Volvos or BMWs the rest of the year, but during the summer they ride around in beater cars. Old Jeeps, dinged up and rusted muscle cars, stuff like that. Because The Compound’s not about money or status, it’s about getting along with people and raising vegetables and flowers or some shit like that, I don’t know. I’ve been coming here my whole life, and all I know is that this summer I’ve been bored out of my mind.
There’s not much to do for me here. I could hang out in what they call the crèche, helping with the little kids, but the stench of cloth diapers gets to me after a while. I could help in the gardens, weeding and stuff, but it’s the hottest summer on record for like, twenty years, and it’s just brutal out in the fields. And for what? I don’t even like tomatoes.
I’m like that girl in the song in that movie, the one about the family that sings while they escape from the Nazis. I’m sixteen, going on seventeen, and I don’t have a TV, a computer or a phone, and there are tons of younger kids here and lots of adults, but there’s only one other girl my age and we don’t get along. Her parents live here full-time, and she acts like that makes her better than me, when really I think it should be the other way around. She thinks Adam Ant was in Culture Club, and I know that’s a little old school for some kids, but still.
So I spend my time hanging around the garage. It’s loud in there with the clanking of tools, but Vic’s got a radio he tunes to classic rock. My little brother, Cap, hangs out here, too. He’s better with cars than I am. Well, fact is, Cap’s kinda fucking brilliant. I can replace a windshield wiper, that’s my accomplishment of the summer, but Cap can practically rebuild an engine.
Vic never acts like I’m in the way, though. He’s patient, showing me what parts go where and how they all fit together. He’s got grease in his knuckles and under his nails, even when he wipes them with the scraps of T-shirts he keeps in a big box on the workbench. Sometimes, when he uses the back of his hand to wipe his face clear of the sweat, he streaks his face with grease, too.
Today Cap’s gone swimming with some younger kids over at the gross pond that’s full of algae. They took a picnic. Healthy foods like hummus and pita and cucumbers grown in the gardens here. I’m dying for a cheeseburger, milk shake, fries. I’m wasting away here this summer, frying in the heat, mind numbed from all the smiles everyone has. I want to scream.
So I do. Really loud and hard, my fists clenched, eyes closed. I stomp my feet, one-two, in the dirt outside the garage. And I kick it. I stub my toes inside my old black Chuck Taylors against the barn siding. And then I lean forward to rest my head against the splintery wood and think about how there’s only a few more weeks left. How usually I’m sad to leave The Compound, but this year I can’t wait.
“C’mon. Can’t be that bad.” Vic’s leaning in the doorway, a wrench in one hand and some grease along his forehead.
“I’m fucking bored.”
Vic shrugs. “I’ll put you to work, Tesla. You know I will.”
That’s the reason why I came here. Because he’ll put me to work. And because maybe he’ll take his shirt off when he gets too hot, and I can watch the sweat run down his back, between the dimples just above his ass. Vic wears his jeans low on his hips and cuffed above his big black motorcycle boots.
Vic makes me lie awake in my bed at night, shifting restlessly in the sticky summer air.
I know all about sex. Everyone here does it with everyone else. Nobody talks about it, but it’s no secret. And if you think it’s gross to think about your parents doing it with each other, try thinking about them doing it with other people. Sometimes more than one at a time. Along with peace and love and organic veggies, there’s a whole lot of fucking going on at The Compound.
