"You know what's a good name for a girl?" Annie asks from the kitchen counter, straw wedged between her lips as she sips on the lemonade Laurie's mother made earlier that morning.

With a plate and a towel in her hands, Laurie looks up at the ceiling in thought.

"I don't know," she eventually murmurs.

A pout forms around Annie's straw. "'Karen' has a nice ring, doesn't it?"

Laurie dries the plate and puts it away. She considers for a second, eyes trailed up to the ceiling again, but this time in faux thought because 'Karen' sounds like a mediocre name. She wouldn't be opposed to someone else naming their daughter that, but certainly not hers.

"'Jamie'," Laurie says absently.

"Jamie?"

Catching up to the moment of her answer, Laurie nods, this time resolute. "Yes."

Annie scrunches her face at that, a face which almost incites Laurie into a challenge, but thankfully her friend resigns to a thoughtful silence.

"Guys!"

Both Laurie and Annie look up to hear the distant excitement, a contagion of Lynda's energy sounding through the back door. And, with all the zest of a cheerleader at half time, their friend barges in, nearly pulling the screen door off its hinges.

"Did you hear?" Lynda exclaims.

Annie rolls her eyes, taking a long slurp of her lemonade. "No, Lyn, we've been here all day?"

"C'mon! You should guess!"

"I don't want to guess— stupid," Annie retorts. Laurie feels Annie petulance— for some reason her friend thinks it's a look that suits her well — but it never suited her. Maybe age will shed it away, just like age shed away much of Laurie's presumptions about the world.

"Out with it Lynda," Laurie orders lightly, "before Annie throws a tantrum."

"Will not!" Annie spits— a little lemonade sprays out onto the counter top. Laurie sighs, dish rag ready in hand.

Lynda, unhindered by the girl's irritable demeanor, admits, "Y'know the old shop Taylor's dad owns?"

"What about it?" Laurie asks, wiping the counter for the tenth time since Annie arrived.

"Taylor?" Annie's eyes flutter, and her spine straightens like a dog responding to a treat. "The one on the basketball team?"

"Please keep your tongue in your mouth Ann," Laurie advises, "You'll get drool on the counter."

With a scowl, Annie sticks her tongue out at Laurie.

Lynda leans in conspiratorially, her two friends miming her action, and whispers, "It got broken into last night."

A second passes and Annie blows air through her lips.

"That's it? Daddy already investigated that robbery," Annie says, " Probably was some middle schooler failing math with nothing else better to do." It takes one to know one, Laurie thinks as she stares a hole into Annie's possibly empty skull.

Lynda's hands grab at the sides of her waist. "For Haddonfield, this is the most exciting damn news since Ben Tramer's death."

Laurie winces at that but no one pays her any mind.

"It's not like we live in the city," Lynda continues. "This doesn't happen here."

And Lynda is right. Who has the gall to rob Taylor's dad? He's the nicest shopkeeper in town and lives true to the American dream of the small businessman. Before Michael came home, Laurie would drop into his store and buy a bag of strawberry buds as she walked back from school, especially if she didn't feel like putting up with the rowdy middle schoolers who shared the bus. The nerve of some people to take what they want without giving mind to who it affects— it can almost make someone lose faith in the world.

"What'd they take?" Laurie asks Lynda, but Annie feels obligated to answer.

"A few tools. Messed up the costume section too. Maybe wanted something for Halloween."

Laurie squints at that.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it was Troy or Billy," Lynda says with a smack of her gum. She blows a bubble and pops it back into her mouth. "Those two were always troublemakers. Seriously. Y'know they gave Tommy a wedgie yesterday and left him hanging on Mrs. Blankenship's picket fence. I wouldn't be too surprised if one of them wanted to use those tools to pull those stupid Halloween tricks."

Suddenly, the sound of her father coming into the hallway announcing his presence with the call of her name makes Laurie forget about the gravity of this recent robbery.

"Laurie! Can you grab my toolbox from the shed?"

"Sure!" Laurie forgoes the apron, folds it hastily and leaves it on the kitchen counter. "What's up?"

Her father comes into the kitchen, not in a suit or tie, not even a tucked in shirt, but in his old sweats and a loose t-shirt. This is what he looked like when he'd take her to the park in elementary school so that he could do his exercises. Her father has preferred a more sedentary lifestyle compared to back then and it shows a little in his belly.

"Need to give the car an oil change," Her father replies. "'Bout on its last fumes." He nods at Lynda and Annie. "Oh, hey girls."

"Good Morning Mr. Myers!" Lynda smiles sweetly.

"But you always take it to the mechanics," Laurie points out to him.

Her father scratches the back of his head. "Not in front of your friends."

He acts minutely embarrassed, because God forbid, you become less of a man if you admit you don't fix your own car.

"That's okay," Lynda giggles, "My boyfriend could come help you. He likes cars."

"I bet that punk couldn't change a tire," her father grimaces, and though Lynda says nothing to that, her smile goes a little flat at the insult to her boy toy. "Anyways, for some reason, the shop was closed today. All the lights were off. I think the old man forgot to mention that he was gonna be on vacation. Now, I've gotta be the grease monkey."

Her father was never one for cars— but he'd judge anyone in her age group for not knowing anything about them. In fact, he didn't work much with his hands either, or at least from what she's observed. If it weren't for his degree in management, Laurie doubts he'd even be qualified to manage the company. But, regardless of his work, it's what he brings that puts food on the table and that's enough for Laurie. A shame it's not enough for her mother.

As Laurie slips outside and to the tool shed she notices that the door was left ajar. When she opens it she sees a pile of dark blue fabric on the floor next to her father's tool box. She nudges it out of the way with her foot, recognizing the collar and zipper leading down the front, disappearing in the folds; she pieces together the confounding realization that it's a mechanic's uniform. Maybe her father was a handyman after all...

In less than a minute she returns inside, white knuckling the hefty metal container with rust eating at its corners.

"Here ya go." Laurie almost lugs it to him. He catches it, struggles to grip it in one hand, but he wouldn't use both to carry the metal box— not in front of her friends…Her very female friends. Nothing hurts a man more than the opinion women have of him. And if they suspect he's useless— then he's useless.

"Thanks honey." He grabs it from his daughter and to Laurie's embarrassment, kisses her cheek. A fatherly gesture— but Laurie senses it's forced. Another show for her friends who already have uneasy relationships with their fathers. "Alright, girls, it was nice seeing you around."

Her father disappears out the front door and when Laurie turns to her friends, Annie sighs wistfully.

"Wow. How old's your dad?"

Laurie furrows her brows, and crosses her arms.

"Fifty."

"And I told myself no one around my dad's age," Lynda mutters.

As it dawns her, Laurie scowls. "You two are gross."

Annie shrugs, "Say what you want, but the men in your family really got it going for them."

A quick glance up the stairs and Lynda tiptoes to the first step. "Where is Mikey by the way?"

"I don't know. Upstairs."

"Hmm. I haven't seen him come down all day," Lynda says. "What's he doing?"

"Sleeping, maybe. Or eating. Whatever a hamster would do," Laurie replies.

"Sounds boring," Lynda frowns, then discards it for a sly grin, "Maybe he wants some company."

Then, it happens, like a tea kettle screams when the water boils.

Laurie snaps.

"Knock it off!"

Annie and Lynda freeze and Laurie even surprises herself, but she's too on a roll, it's impossible to stop.

"Michael is mute and he's in treatment," Laurie says disparagingly, "Leave him alone."

Lynda is the first to swallow down the hard pill that is Laurie's tone. Unfortunately, the surprise comes with a hurtful blow, because they both have never seen this side of her.

"Well, sorry, Laurie," Lynda mumbles, returning back to the kitchen to where Laurie stood stiffly. " Didn't know you felt so protective over your stud brother. If you don't like it, I won't say it. But, if that doesn't stop me, you can never talk to me again and I'll be okay with that. Promise."

Lynda has never looked so remorseful, even when she has broken boys' hearts ruthlessly, as she does now. And, it may have been what touches Laurie the most and reminds her of why Lynda is her friend to begin with. Where there was Annie, who is all fun and easy going and emotionally expressive, Lynda is the softer side that appeals to all feminine sensitivities. Lynda may treat boys like utter shit, and at times negligent, but when it comes to the girly things— Lynda knows best. Lynda knows where it matters for a girl because she's most in tune with herself.

The bow of her lips is a soft smile, and Lynda weaves her fingers through Laurie's clammy ones. Laurie hadn't realized anger could make one physically sweat.

"We've got a deal then?" Lynda asks.

"Sure," Laurie concedes.

Satisfied, Lynda hugs her friend, her thin arms managing a strong squeeze around her shoulders. Laurie can almost cry.

"In other news," Annie speaks up as the girls break away. "There's a Halloween party coming up tomorrow! You guys goin?"

Laurie shakes her head. "I'll be giving candy to the kids."

Lynda nods. "Yeah, me neither, Ann. I've got to babysit the Doyles."

"And when did you start baby sitting, Lyn? You hate children!"

"Do not. Also, I've been kinda short on cash lately, so some work could help."

"Why? Bob's bumming off ya again?" Annie quirks a brow and smiles at Lynda whose look darkens.

"Shut up."

"I think you're on your own on this one," Laurie says to Annie.

"Ughh... You two are ninnies," Annie grumbles in defeat, sucking down the rest of her lemonade.

XXX

Laurie lays out on the lawn when her mother's shadow falls over her face, and suddenly she feels cold.

Laurie squints up.

"Mama?"

"That's how you get burns, dear," Her mother admonishes lightly.

"I can barely feel it," she replies. It is October, and it feels cool enough that the sun could do no harm. But, could Laurie ever justify that? She can barely finish her sentences with her mother interrupting her all the time. Maybe, it's why Annie said Laurie sounds like a robot in their conversations— she always sounds stilted. But, Laurie just wants to speak her mind as efficiently and quickly as she can before someone cuts her off.

"Whatcha need?" Laurie asks.

"Oh…" Her mother feigns surprise, but Laurie knows she only feels pride for having programmed her daughter to anticipate giving her chores. And like the programmed little robot she was, Laurie has obeyed, almost unfailingly. And it makes Laurie sick.

"I was going to ask you what would be a good birthday present for Michael."

"Michael?"

"Yes, his birthday is coming up real soon. Halloween— funny how that works? And," her mother bends forward, so as to lower her voice, "It completely slipped my mind to buy him something."

Laurie sits up , grass blades stuck on her back, and her mother, with a sigh, squats down to pick it off of her daughter.

"Always a mess, Laurie," her mother comments.

But, Laurie is too busy feeling nervousness churn her tummy. She hasn't interacted with Michael since the kiss, and thinking about it now, with her mother right behind her, makes her skin redden because she thinks there's a chance the woman can read her thoughts.

"I—" Laurie looks down. "I don't know," she mumbles.

"And that's where I am too," her mother says , mildly exasperated. "Since Michael can't talk, it's hard to know what that boy wants…"

Laurie holds in a snort— maybe it's because he doesn't want anyone to know anything. The most she could do is predict her brother's mannerisms, like when he goes to the bathroom and when he comes down for food that's waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

"I tried taking him to the strip," her mother adds cheerfully, "But he'll just follow me, and I can't tell if he's interested in any of the girls, like Kelly or Rosie who've both graduated now. Oh, but, I can tell by the way they look at him that they find him attractive." Her mother kneels behind her, and Laurie senses that she's stopped picking grass from her back.

"I thought it'd be nice to throw a birthday party, but it'd just be us, and he hasn't eaten anything I've baked for him. I don't think he likes sweets so a cake wouldn't be in good taste, but I'm sure he'd love it if you seared him a steak, Laurie."

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Good. Good. I'm sure he'd love that. He'd love that for sure."

And then Laurie feels pressure between her shoulder blades, the weight of her mother's forehead against her.

"It's never enough."

"What is?"

Her mother sobs, and for some reason Laurie's heart shatters, a feeling that is almost sharper than having known of Ben Tramer's death. Ben Tramer's death felt like a sledgehammer, while her mother's despair is like a knife. Because never— never— has her mother cried, and as Laurie feels wetness soak through her shirt in the back, she can't think of a time her mother has sounded so terrible. Even when they both suspected her father of going out and cheating. Even when her own mother died.

And Laurie is realizing that, of course, the pain of being cheated on and the pain of losing your mother to old age, compares to nothing when you're Mrs. Myers, where she's outlived one child and hopes uselessly that the other will come alive from his robotic trance.

"Everything I do," her mother sputters, "Nothing I do, Laurie."

Her mother's arms come around her shoulders and Laurie holds them, because it is the only thing that keeps her from thinking that her entire family has long past fallen apart.

XXX

Her bedroom door is ajar and Laurie sits cross legged atop her bed covers in wait.

And why does she wait?

Because these past two days really have been…quiet.

The type of quiet that is felt not heard. It's funny how her mother hasn't bothered her about chores. The last thing her mother said was good night as she took a bowl of porridge up to her brother's room. Yet this time, there was a crack in her composure, one that exposed her hopelessness. Laurie tries to avoid thinking back on this afternoon, but the memory hangs like a dense cloud.

And her brother— it seems lately, he's reverted back to his old avoidant stances, not coming into her room, not barging in on her in the bathroom, not hovering over her shoulder as she readied his meals. A week ago, they made surprising progress.

And now, they are back to the starting line where she only catches him in snatches throughout the day. It wouldn't be too surprising if it's because Laurie ruined it. Actually, she did ruin it. She ruined it at her sister's grave by responding badly. How could Michael have known better than to kiss her? He grew up in a cell during puberty. Of course, he wouldn't understand the conventions of society. One doesn't simply know how not to be affectionate with a sister.

If anything, it is on Laurie to be more understanding — to be a grownup. She will always have the advantage of knowing more than Michael, of experiencing more than him. That would never change— not at the rate he's proven of not being able to fully integrate into society. Perhaps, her brother really is dumb too. The recollection of her brother's lips brings her face into the hollow of her hands.

She could scream, but she risks rousing her parents who'd none too surely barge into her room, her mother brandishing a house slipper and her father with something solid like the taxidermy mount of the steelhead he caught at Lake Michigan on a solo trip one spring. It still marks the only time Laurie believed him to be where he said would be.

So none of that tonight. None of that any night. Because Laurie will force herself to be a better person; there will not be any more of this evasiveness— awkwardness at dinner— no imagined stares at her back. And by god, she just wants things to go back to the way they were because these two days have been the most grueling and here she thought an hour in history class, attention half torn between Mr. Snyder's drawl and Lynda's hushed drivel was enough to submit her into Smith's Grove for a mental breakdown—

With a heavy sigh, Laurie grabs Lord of the Flies from her bedside as her limbs wriggle under her comforter. If she finishes these last few pages she might find out what happens to Ralph now that Piggy is dead.

But, she nevers reaches the end as her grip slackens and the book falls flat onto her chest, rising and lowering with every even breath. The words from the pages float into her mind and become meaningless sounds of branches snapping, an exotic bird squawking from a canopy of a tree set ablaze by Tommy Doyle, the boy she'd on occasion babysit, who points his crude spear in her direction and screams "FOOD".

It might have been a nightmare. But, Laurie, as distressed as she feels she is, never wakes. And savage Tommy Doyle continues to chase her as she bleeds at her elbows. A whimper may have escaped her lips and Laurie feels a pressure at her thigh and it's enough to dissolve the dream and all its terrible imagery.

When her room comes into focus, she realizes she left her lamp on and her book unfinished. And finally there he is, Michael sat beside her on her bed, shoulders hunched forward, the muscles of his arm smoothed because it is relaxed.

For the second time that day, her heart grows lukewarm and she trains her face to betray nothing. Why? Because this is the only way she can convey her maturity— by acting like she doesn't care, kind of like her mother.

"You came back…" she states.

Her brother shouldn't have responded, but he does by turning his head towards her.

Without bothering a glance at her clock, Laurie asks:

"It's late. Since you're here, could you tuck me in?"

Upon request, he moves with mechanical ease, pinching fabric and tugging it to her shoulders, leaning in as he does with Laurie still as death. His hands release the blanket and land on either side of her face, sinking into the mattress— Laurie's head sinks too and when she is totally immersed in his shadow, and his stoic face consumes her attention, the hammers of her heart rise with anticipation. It takes her all of a heartbeat to pull the edge of the blanket up past her lips.

It can't happen again— the kiss. Laurie steels herself from even entertaining the notion. What would her parents think if they saw? Unfortunately, Laurie battles this question with another...Is that the only reason they shouldn't do it? Because someone might condemn them for it?

Laurie has always been a stickler for rules; always been the coward because of it. But, no, Laurie knows it is wrong to kiss her brother in that way— and there needs no explanation. The decision is final— none of that tonight. And none of that any night.

"You…" Laurie whispered. "You hurt her, you know that?"

If guilt was a feeling Michael could feel, then he was much like their mother, in that he betrays nothing as well. He does it better than Laurie, and definitely has done it better than their mother.

"Don't come any closer…" She whispers— a desperate plea, because maybe he can feel guilty, because it's her. Oh how she knows she is foolish to want to have that much influence in his life. Still, she could want.

But, her brother is unhindered. He continues to lean in, until his lips find the smooth curve of her brow. There is a fraction of silk warmth upon her forehead, and when Michael pulls away, his gaze greedily holding hers, speechlessness is Laurie as her thighs clench together to placate the uncomfortable pull at the center of her body.

And as though sensing this, one hand lifts and flies down the length of her, one finger grazing the area of the blanket where beneath, one thigh vibrates with rigid tension. Her hands are bunched in the comforter, twisting and clenching, held flat over her cheeks to hide the whirlwind of shame that starts in her chest. She can feel her eyes water— as though crying is the only outlet for the disgust she has for herself.

"St-stop," she whispers pathetically. It's reason— but if she were a better person she'd have brandished Reason like a weapon. Unfortunately, she wasn't fueled by reason, she wasn't even fueled by compassion for her mother— who secretly hates her brother for getting in the way of her perfect family dream. If she were a good daughter she would reject all of this. But she wasn't.

And Laurie hates herself for it.

If Laurie can endure physical punishment to pay for her urges, and to never feel as she does now, then maybe she could forgive herself, because currently she is the most deplorable person she knows. There is no person she judges in this town as harshly as she judges herself now. Not her cheating father. Not Tracy Dacke. Not Lynda nor Annie. Not her mother who had failed at motherhood.

Because no matter how hot was her shame borne back from fifteen years of rigid morals, it isn't enough to outdo the infernal heat between her legs. And Michael, her brother, a man, stares into her— and she wonders if he sees in her the shame trying maddeningly to lash her lechery into non-existence. Because if he sees it, then he is only enabling her self-hatred.

And Laurie knows Michael is waiting, because the back of his fingers are touching Laurie's thigh.

Suddenly, the grandfather clock downstairs chimes, a deep sound which distorts as it travels up the stairs, down the darkened hall and into Laurie's room, right when Laurie's thigh shifts from its opposite and against Michael's hand.

Her brother moves as a blur on top of her, and Laurie finds her gasp muffled under the weight of his palm. That irritating pull Laurie felt earlier twines back, more taut, yet accompanied by a yearning that spreads like an oil spill. Michael's hands engage Laurie, tighter over her mouth, the other anchors onto her shoulder. His knee rubs her through the blankets.

Caged behind her teeth, a gasp dissolves to a squeak as she rolls her hips clumsily.

She'd put her face in the pillow if she could, so that she couldn't see herself reflected in the black mirror of his stare. Her mind caught in the undertow of emotions, prevents a coherent thought from forming, any suggestive action fashioned by reason drowns, hardly breaking the surface. This must be what Drugs are like.

Her knees squeeze Michael's, as if to prevent him from abandoning her. And his knee scoots harder against that fever hot area between her legs, where it feels sickeningly moist and sticky and dampens her underwear, and because her mouth is covered, her sigh escapes through her nose as her tears escape her eyes.

It might have been minutes, but it does take her a while, and she listens to her brother breathe, how heavy the air sounds coming out of his lungs. That pull, finally snaps and liberates her, and the snap comes after she nearly grinds his knee to dust, chokes on a breath, and falls apart like paper mache dissolving in a barrel of water.

Sweats beads on her chest. Lord of the Flies had fallen off her bed, though she can't recall if she heard it. Laurie felt swimmingly...as though floating in a pond of immeasurable depth and only beginning to sink to the bottom. Yet, the fear of drowning is void.

His hand is off her body, mouth. And Michael stares at her impassively.

And Laurie is in wonder, the type of wonder that makes all rational thought incapable of creation, of how she can hate so much the man she loves.

"Sometimes," Laurie croaks. "I imagine what it would be like if you didn't exist. And I know it'd be better."