Tuesday 200 - #17

“Hurry up, or I’ll be late for the carnival.”

“Jesus Michael, shut up and stand still or I’ll shove these sheets down your throat,” Sarah said, wrapping my arm. “Why a mummy? A ghost’d be so much easier.”

I reminded my dimwitted twin we’d been studying Egypt, and Mrs. Kreske asked the class (at least those who weren’t grounded) to dress accordingly.

“Why not Cleopatra? You’d look pretty in eye liner and a wig.” She tied off the strip and tore another from the old sheet.

“Very funny, but no. Besides, Wroble called dibs.”

“Ah, little Jimmy. He ask you out yet?”

“Fuck off. Just wrap me so I can go, or I’ll tell Mom you were blowing Doug again.”

That shut her up. She finished my costume while I imagined her boyfriend, leaning back against the dryer, my sister kneeling before him.

Sarah’s reputation as blow job queen of our sophomore class had evaded Mom’s radar, at least till Ma found Doug getting starched in our laundry room.

Unlike my sister, I’d mastered discretion. So I couldn’t tell Sarah how perfectly Douglas learned her oral tricks. Or that he was at the carnival, waiting to unwrap his Halloween treat.

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