Operation Stink Bomb Chapter 1

Reese sat in his dingy basement, the only light coming from a dim, flickering bulb hanging above him. The smell of the various grotesque ingredients for his ultimate prank, "Operation Stink Bomb," filled the air. Dog faeces, animal guts, human excrement, blood, pig intestines, horse manure, cow dung, and dead animals—all mixed together in a large tank. This was his masterpiece, his final send-off to the Year 12s who had tormented him throughout his school life. He smiled, the thought of their horrified faces bringing a rare sense of satisfaction.

He glanced at the letter from his grandma, her spidery handwriting suggesting ways to make the stink bomb even more disgusting. She had always been his partner in crime, the only one who seemed to understand him. He knew this prank would get him in serious trouble, but he didn't care. He was tired of being the family's punching bag, the school's outcast, the black sheep. This was his moment of rebellion, his declaration of war against a world that had never given him a break.

"Reese! What the hell are you doing down there?" Lois's voice pierced through the basement door. Her tone was as sharp as ever, filled with the usual anger and frustration. Reese could almost see her standing there, hands on hips, eyes blazing with that familiar mix of rage and disappointment.

He quickly shoved the letter into his pocket and covered the tank with a tarp. "Nothing, Mom! Just doing some homework."

"Homework? Since when you care about homework?" Lois's scepticism was palpable. "Get up here! Dinner's ready."

Reese sighed, knowing he couldn't avoid her wrath forever. He trudged up the stairs, his mind already racing with thoughts of the chaos his prank would unleash. As he entered the kitchen, the usual scene greeted him—Hal reading the newspaper, Malcolm glaring at him, Dewey lost in his own world, and Lois dishing out food with a scowl.

"Sit down," Lois ordered. "And for once, try not to ruin dinner."

Reese took his seat, his mind still on the prank. He wondered if this would finally make them see him, really see him. Maybe not as the screw-up, but as someone capable of pulling off something epic, something unforgettable.

As the family ate in tense silence, Reese's heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement. He knew there was no turning back now.

The day of the Year 12 graduation ceremony had arrived. Reese stood in the shadows behind the bleachers, his heart pounding as he watched the students, and their families gather on the field. He could see the principal, Mr. Herkie, standing at the podium, adjusting his tie and preparing to give his speech. Reese's fingers trembled as he held the remote control that would set off the stink bomb. This was it. This was his moment.

He glanced around one last time to make sure no one was watching. The tank was hidden beneath the stage, perfectly positioned to unleash its vile contents upon the unsuspecting crowd. He took a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of revenge and vindication. Then, with a determined flick of his thumb, he pressed the button.

The reaction was immediate and catastrophic. The tank erupted, spewing a foul, noxious cloud into the air. The stench was unbearable, a nauseating blend of rotting flesh, excrement, and decay. Screams filled the air as students and parents alike clutched their noses and gagged. Mr. Herkabe's speech was cut short as he doubled over, retching violently.

Pandemonium ensued. People scrambled to escape the stench, knocking over chairs and trampling each other in their haste. The once orderly ceremony descended into chaos, a scene of utter mayhem. Reese watched from his hiding spot, a twisted smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. He had done it. He had finally made them pay.

But his triumph was short-lived. As the crowd dispersed, the authorities quickly zeroed in on the source of the chaos. It didn't take long for them to trace the stink bomb back to Reese. Within minutes, he found himself surrounded by police officers, their faces grim and unforgiving.

"Reese, you're under arrest," one of the officers said, cuffing his hands behind his back. "You're facing multiple charges: vandalism, public endangerment, assault, and destruction of property."

Reese's heart sank as he was led away, the reality of his actions crashing down on him. The satisfaction he had felt moments ago was replaced by a cold, gnawing fear. He had wanted to make a statement, to show everyone that he wasn't just a screw-up. But now, he was facing consequences far more severe than he had ever imagined.

As he was shoved into the back of a police car, Reese caught a glimpse of his family standing at the edge of the field. Lois's face was a mask of fury, Hal looked bewildered, and Malcolm's expression was one of smug satisfaction. Reese knew he had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

The courtroom was a cold, sterile place, filled with the murmurs of curious onlookers and the occasional rustle of paper. Reese sat at the defendant's table; his hands clasped tightly in his lap. His public defender, a dishevelled man with bags under his eyes, was slumped over, snoring softly. Reese couldn't believe this was happening. He had known the prank would get him in trouble, but this was a nightmare.

The judge, a stern woman with a no-nonsense demeanour, banged her gavel to call the court to order. "Reese Wilkinson, you stand accused of vandalism, public endangerment, assault, and destruction of property. How do you plead?"

Reese's lawyer jerked awake, blinking groggily. "Uh, not guilty, Your Honor," he mumbled, before promptly falling back asleep.

The trial was a blur. Witness after witness took the stand, each one painting a damning picture of Reese's actions. Students testified about the chaos and fear they had felt, parents spoke of their disgust and outrage, and teachers described the extensive damage to school property. Even Mr. Herkabe's, still pale and shaken, recounted the horror of the stink bomb.

Reese could feel the weight of their words pressing down on him, each testimony another nail in his coffin. The public gallery was filled with angry faces, their eyes boring into him with a mix of contempt and pity. He glanced over at his family. Lois's face was a mask of fury, Hal looked lost and helpless, and Malcolm's expression was one of smug satisfaction. Dewey was the only one who seemed genuinely upset, his eyes wide and fearful.

When it was finally time for the verdict, Reese's heart pounded in his chest. The judge's voice was cold and unforgiving. "Reese Wilkinson, for your actions, you are found guilty on all charges. You are sentenced to six months in juvenile detention, followed by community service and mandatory counselling. Additionally, you will not be expelled from the state school, but your record will be permanently marked."

The courtroom erupted in whispers and gasps. Reese felt like the floor had dropped out from under him. Six months in juvie. Community service. Counselling. His life was effectively over. He was led away in handcuffs, the weight of his actions finally sinking in.

As he was escorted out of the courtroom, he caught snippets of conversation from the crowd. "He deserves it," one student sneered. "I hope he rots," a parent muttered. "Maybe this will finally teach him a lesson," a teacher said, shaking her head.

Reese's mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, regret, anger. He had wanted to make a statement, to show everyone he wasn't just a screw-up. But now, he was paying the ultimate price.

Malcolm stood outside Principal Herkabe's office, a confident smirk playing on his lips. He had always been the smart one, the one who could talk his way out of any situation. And now, with Reese's monumental screw-up, he saw an opportunity to not only distance himself from his brother's disgrace but also to gain favour with the school administration.

He knocked on the door and waited for the principal's gruff voice to beckon him inside. When he entered, he found Principal Herkabe's hunched over his desk, a stack of papers in front of him. The man looked up, his eyes narrowing as he saw Malcolm.

"Malcolm Wilkinson. What brings you here?" Herkabe's tone was wary, but Malcolm could sense the curiosity beneath it.

"I wanted to talk to you about my brother, Reese," Malcolm began, choosing his words carefully. "I know what he did was terrible, and I don't condone it at all. But I think there's a way I can help make things right."

Herkabe raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Go on."

Malcolm took a deep breath, laying out his plan. "I know the school is facing a lot of backlashes because of Reese's prank. The community is outraged, and the reputation of the school is at stake. I want to help. I can use my position as one of the top students to organize a series of events—fundraisers, community service projects, anything that will show the public that this school is still a place of excellence and integrity."

The principal studied Malcolm for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "And why should I believe that you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart, Malcolm? What's in it for you?"

Malcolm's smirk widened. "I won't lie, Principal Herkabe. I do have something to gain. By distancing myself from Reese and showing that I'm committed to the school's reputation, I can improve my own standing. Maybe even secure a few extra recommendations for college applications."

Herkabe's lips curled into a thin smile. "You're a shrewd young man, Malcolm. I like that. Very well, you have my permission to proceed with your plan. But remember, if you fail, it will reflect poorly on both you and your family."

Malcolm nodded, his mind already racing with ideas. He had always been the underappreciated genius in a family of screw-ups. This was his chance to shine, to show everyone that he was more than just Reese's brother.

As he left the office, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. Reese's downfall was his opportunity to rise. And he was going to make the most of it.

Reese returned home from juvenile detention; the weight of his six-month sentence still fresh in his mind. The house was eerily quiet as he walked through the front door, his footsteps echoing on the worn linoleum floor. He knew his family despised him even more now, but he had no choice but to come back. At fifteen, he couldn't legally be kicked out until he turned eighteen.

Lois was the first to greet him, her face a mask of barely contained fury. "You're back," she said, her voice cold and clipped. "Don't think for a second that things are going to be easy for you here. We've made a list of punishments and rules you will follow."

Reese nodded, his eyes downcast. He knew better than to argue with her. Hal stood behind Lois, looking uncomfortable and unsure of what to say. Malcolm, on the other hand, wore a smug expression, clearly relishing Reese's downfall. Dewey was nowhere to be seen, probably hiding away to avoid the tension.

"Mom, Dad," Reese began hesitantly, "I know I messed up, but I still have a right to an education. The school didn't expel me. By law, they have to let me go back."

Lois's eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that. But don't think for a second that you're off the hook. You're grounded indefinitely, and you'll be doing chores from sunrise to sunset when you're not at school. Understood?"

Reese nodded again, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knew he had no choice but to comply. But as he trudged up to his room, a small, secret smile tugged at his lips. He had received a letter while in juvenile detention, informing him of a ten-billion-dollar inheritance from his dead friend Sasha. He would receive one million dollars a year until he turned twenty-one, when he would get the full amount. It was a secret he planned to keep, a lifeline in the storm of his life.

As the days passed, Reese fell into a routine of school and chores, his family's disdain a constant presence. Malcolm, meanwhile, continued to bask in the glow of his newfound status as the golden child. He had organized several successful fundraisers and community service projects, earned the admiration of the school administration and cemented his place as the perfect son.

Reese's return to school was met with whispers and glares. He knew he was an outcast, but he didn't care. He had a plan, and for the first time in his life, he had something to look forward to. The inheritance was his secret weapon, a way to escape the misery of his current situation.

One evening, as Reese scrubbed the kitchen floor, Malcolm sauntered in, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "How's it feels, Reese? Being the family's biggest screw-up?"

Reese looked up, his eyes cold and determined. "You enjoy it while it lasts, Malcolm. Things can change in an instant."

Malcolm laughed, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his eyes. "We'll see about that."

Reese returned to his chores, his mind already racing with plans for the future. He knew he had a long road ahead, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

The high school gymnasium was bustling with activity as college scouts from prestigious universities set up their booths. Banners and posters adorned the walls, each one promising a bright future for the students who could secure a spot. Malcolm and Lois were in their element, moving from booth to booth, basking in the admiration of the college representatives. Malcolm, with his impressive academic record and recent community service projects, was the star of the day.

Reese, on the other hand, was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floors of the hall as part of the many punishments he had to endure. The mop bucket beside him was filled with dirty water, and his hands were raw from the constant cleaning. He had become accustomed to the whispers and glares, the way people avoided him as if he were a disease. The stink bomb incident had cemented his reputation as the school's biggest screw-up, and his six-month stint in juvenile detention had only made things worse.

As he scrubbed, he couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew something they didn't—something that gave him a sense of satisfaction amidst the humiliation. He had enough money to buy Harvard many times over, thanks to Sasha's inheritance. It was a secret he kept close, a beacon of hope in his otherwise dismal life.

A Harvard scout, a distinguished man in a crisp suit, noticed Reese's smile and raised an eyebrow. He approached Reese, curiosity piqued. "What are you smiling about, young man?" he asked, his tone more amused than accusatory.

Reese looked up, his eyes meeting the scout's. "I could buy your university 20 times over," he said quietly, pulling out a small, discreet letter from his pocket. He handed it to the scout, who unfolded it and read the contents, his eyes widening in disbelief.

The scout glanced around, making sure no one else was watching, before leaning in closer. "Is this real?" he whispered; his voice tinged with awe.

Reese nodded, a smug smile on his lips. "Every word. But keep it to yourself, alright?"

The scout nodded, handing the letter back to Reese. "You know, with that kind of money, you could do a lot more than just buy a university. You could change your life."

Reese's smile widened. "That's the plan."

As the scout walked away, Reese returned to his scrubbing, his mind racing with possibilities. He had endured two months of hell since returning from juvie, but now, he had a way out—a way to turn his life around. He just had to bide his time and play his cards right.

Across the hall, Malcolm and Lois continued to bask in the adoration of the college scouts, completely oblivious to the secret Reese held. They had no idea that the family screw-up was on the brink of a transformation that would leave them all in the dust.

The Harvard scout, intrigued by Reese's earlier revelation, approached him again later in the day. Reese, still scrubbing the floors, looked up and saw the scout standing there, a curious and somewhat sympathetic expression on his face.

"Look," Reese said quietly, glancing around to make sure Malcolm and Lois were nowhere in sight, "can I talk to you when my Brainiac brother isn't around and when my crazy mother won't rip my face off? Can we talk on the phone someday, like next week?"

The scout nodded, understanding the need for discretion. "Of course. Here's my card. Call me next week, and we'll talk."

A week later, Reese found himself in a secluded corner of the house, phone in hand. He dialed the number on the card and waited as it rang. The scout answered on the second ring, his voice warm and professional.

"Hello, this is Robert from Harvard. Is this Reese?"

"Yes, sir," Reese replied, his voice steady. "Thanks for taking the time to talk. I'll make this quick. I have a plan, and I need your help to keep it hush-hush."

"Go ahead, Reese. I'm listening."

"I plan to join the Army Reserve," Reese began, his tone earnest. "I know with my criminal record it will be a challenge, but I will try. I want to serve for eight years and then use the GI Bill to enter Harvard in my mid-20s. I want to show that I'm not just another rich kid. I want to earn my place."

The scout was silent for a moment, absorbing Reese's words. "That's quite a plan, Reese. It's ambitious, but it's also admirable. I respect your determination to turn your life around and earn your way. I can keep this confidential, but you'll need to be prepared for the challenges ahead."

"I understand, sir," Reese said, a note of relief in his voice. "I just need someone to believe in me, someone who can see past my mistakes."

Robert's voice softened. "I believe in second chances, Reese. And I believe in you. Keep in touch and let me know how things progress. I'll do what I can to support you."

"Thank you, sir," Reese replied, his heart swelling with gratitude. "I won't let you down."

As he hung up the phone, Reese felt a sense of hope and purpose that had been missing from his life for so long. He had a plan, a way to prove himself, and someone who believed in him. It was more than he had dared to hope for.

Over the next few days, Reese continued with his chores and endured the disdain of his family, but his secret plan gave him strength. He knew that one day, he would rise above it all and show everyone that he was more than just the family's screw-up.

A week later, Reese found himself dialling Robert's number once again. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the scout to pick up. When Robert's voice came through the line, warm and professional as always, Reese took a deep breath.

"Hello, Robert. It's Reese again. Sorry to bother you, but I had a few more things I wanted to discuss."

"Of course, Reese. What's on your mind?"

"Well," Reese began, his voice steady but filled with a new kind of determination, "I also run a small business. I make dresses, and I've made a few hundred over the years. Plus, I have a few hundred sketches I can send you. I can send you half a dozen dresses as proof of my work. I love making dresses, and it's something I'm really passionate about."

Robert was silent for a moment, clearly taken aback by this new revelation. "That's impressive, Reese. I'd love to see your work. It sounds like you have a real talent."

"Thank you, sir," Reese replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "I also wanted to ask if Harvard offers mixed degrees, like fashion design and Russian history or Byzantine history. And if I remain in the Army Reserve, is Harvard flexible with that? I know it sounds like a lot, but I believe service is better than living in luxury. The military will give me a lot of skills, and I want to balance that with my passion for making dresses."

Robert's voice was thoughtful as he responded. "Harvard does offer flexibility with mixed degrees, and we have programs that can accommodate students who are in the military. Your plan is ambitious, but it's also unique and driven by a genuine passion. I think it could be a great fit for you."

Reese felt a surge of hope. "Thank you, sir. I just want to prove that I'm not another rich kid coasting through life. I want to earn my place and make a difference."

"I believe you, Reese," Robert said warmly. "Send me your sketches and dresses. I'll review them and see what we can do. Keep working hard and stay in touch. You're on the right path."

"Thank you, sir," Reese replied, his heart swelling with gratitude. "I won't let you down."

As he hung up the phone, Reese felt a renewed sense of purpose. He had a plan, a way to combine his passions and prove himself. Over the next few days, he continued with his chores, enduring the disdain of his family, but his secret plan gave him strength. He knew that one day, he would rise above it all and show everyone that he was more than just the family's screw-up.

Reese spent the next few days meticulously packing his best dresses and sketches, carefully folding each garment and placing them in a sturdy box. He wanted to make the best impression possible, knowing that this was a crucial step in his journey. He took special care to include a letter addressed to Robert, expressing his gratitude and outlining his future plans.

Once everything was ready, Reese sealed the box and took it to the post office, his heart racing with anticipation. He knew this was a significant moment, one that could change the trajectory of his life. As he watched the clerk stamp the package and send it on its way, he felt a surge of hope.

Later that evening, he sat down to write the letter.

Dear Robert,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your support and guidance during our recent conversations. I have sent you my best dresses and a few dozen sketches as proof of my work. I hope you enjoy them, and you can keep them for your wife, daughter, or anyone you care for. Consider it my thanks for giving me the time of day.

Additionally, I want to let you know that I plan to seek to get my record expunged over time. If you know of any good lawyers who could assist me with that, I would greatly appreciate any recommendations. You have already helped me a lot, and I am grateful for the opportunity you've provided.

Thank you once again, and I hope you like the dresses.

Sincerely,

Reese Wilkinson

After sealing the letter, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He had taken a significant step forward, and now all he could do was wait for Robert's response.

Days passed, and Reese continued with his chores, but his heart was lighter. He felt a sense of purpose and direction that he hadn't felt in a long time. His family continued to treat him with disdain, but Reese was determined to rise above it all.

Then, one afternoon, as he was folding laundry in the living room, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Robert.

"Reese, I received your package today. The dresses are beautiful, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I will investigate lawyers for you and get back to you soon. Keep working hard, and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything else."

Reese's heart swelled with joy. He had made a connection, and it was beginning to feel like he was finally on the right path.

Reese's phone buzzed again with a message from Robert, this time with an unexpected offer.

"Reese, I've been incredibly impressed with your determination and talent. I want to put your name down for the 2010 year at Harvard. It's 2004 now, so you'll have plenty of time to prepare. I also want to let you know that I fully support you in your journey, no matter what it entails. If you need any assistance or guidance, don't hesitate to reach out."

Reese's heart raced as he read the message. He couldn't believe it—he had a spot at Harvard waiting for him. He quickly typed a response, his fingers trembling with excitement.

"Thank you so much, sir. I am incredibly grateful for this opportunity. I also want to be honest with you—I'm transgender and plan to transition in a year or two. I hope that won't be a problem. Honesty is important to me, and I want to be upfront about everything. I hope to make and send you many more dresses over the years until I finally arrive."

Robert's reply was swift and reassuring. "Reese, your honesty is commendable, and it won't be a problem at all. I'm here to support you in any way I can. Keep working hard, and I look forward to seeing more of your incredible designs."

That night at dinner, Reese couldn't help but smile. He had a future to look forward to, a path that was finally opening before him. As he sat at the table, the usual tension hung in the air. Lois was eating, her eyes darting suspiciously at Reese's uncharacteristic cheerfulness.

"What's with you?" she snapped, her fork clattering against her plate. "Why are you smiling like an idiot?"

Reese looked at her, his smile widening. He felt a surge of defiance, a need to assert himself in a way he hadn't before. Without a word, he raised his hand and gave her the finger.

Lois's eyes widened in shock, her face turning an alarming shade of red. "Reese! How dare you!" she screamed, slamming her hands on the table. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hal looked up from his newspaper, bewildered, while Malcolm and Dewey exchanged nervous glances. The room seemed to freeze; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Reese stood up, his heart pounding but his resolve firm. "You know what, Mom? I'm done being your punching bag. I've got a future ahead of me, and nothing you do or say is going to change that."

Lois's face contorted with rage. "Get out of my sight! Go to your room! You're grounded for the rest of your life!"

Reese didn't flinch. He turned and walked out of the dining room; his head held high. He felt a sense of liberation, a newfound strength that he hadn't known he possessed. As he climbed the stairs to his room, he knew that this was just the beginning of his journey.

The next night at dinner, the atmosphere was tense as usual. Reese, however, couldn't help but smile. He had a future to look forward to, and no amount of punishment could take that away from him. As the family ate in silence, Lois's sharp eyes zeroed in on Reese's uncharacteristic cheerfulness.

"What's with you?" she demanded, her voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "Why are you smiling again? Didn't I make myself clear last night?"

Reese looked up, meeting her gaze with a calm, steady expression. "You said I'm grounded for the rest of my life, Mom. But you can't do that. When I'm 18, I'm gone. So that's not the rest of my life. What are you going to do, track me down when I'm 20 and drag me back to clean the dishes?"

Lois's face twisted with anger, but Reese continued before she could interrupt. "You always talk about honesty, so for once, be honest with me. How long am I grounded for? And don't just say 'for life.' Give me a proper answer. I haven't been in trouble in months, so I at least deserve to know the truth of that. And I don't need to prove myself to you."

Lois sneered, her eyes narrowing. "You think you're so clever, don't you? Fine. You want the truth? You're grounded until I say otherwise. You think just because you haven't been in trouble for a few months, you're off the hook? You've caused this family more pain and embarrassment than anyone else. So no, you don't get to just walk away."

Reese felt a surge of frustration but kept his composure. "That's not an answer, Mom. You can't keep me grounded forever. At some point, you must let go. I've been working hard, doing my chores, staying out of trouble. I deserve a chance to prove that I can be better."

Lois's sneer deepened. "You think you deserve anything? After what you did? You're lucky you're even allowed to sit at this table."

Hal, who had been silently observing the exchange, finally spoke up. "Lois, maybe we should give Reese a chance. He's right; he hasn't been in trouble lately. Maybe it's time to ease up a bit."

Lois shot Hal a withering look. "Don't you dare undermine me, Hal. This is my decision."

Malcolm and Dewey sat silently, their eyes darting between their parents and Reese. The tension was palpable, and it felt like the room might explode at any moment.

Reese took a deep breath, his voice steady but firm. "I'm not asking for a free pass, Mom. I'm asking for a chance to show that I've changed. I'm not the same person I was before."

Lois's eyes flashed with anger, but there was a hint of something else uncertainty. She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. The room fell silent, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.