Knee Socks Ch. 03

"Are you alright?" he breathes, pulling her away and observing her, worried in a way he can't put his fingers on. Colors still high in her cheeks, her eyes gleaming, Sarah giggles and kisses him on the lips, moving her hips again lazily against his spent cock, making him grunt in protest.

"Never been better. You'd better get your panties changed."

"So says the naked lady."

"Guess neither of us is very presentable now for Dad's breakfast table."

"Much less side by side."

The intrusion of reality on their sprouting intimacy feels as abrupt and ruthless as the shattering of a dream. Sarah gazes at him with a hopeless air incongruous with her confident self, her features tinged with suppressed anger. She is not used to not having what she is determined to have, especially when all her past experience has been confirming her belief that no goals are unattainable with enough willpower and effort. Less optimistic and impulsive, Andrew unexpectedly finds himself to be the voice of reason this time, his natural cautiousness and discretion reinforced by his role of the shy, mild yet reliable sibling providing them with a protection, however flimsy, against the overriding power of desire.

Andrew can tell Sarah doesn't like it at all. But maybe for once, she has to learn to compromise as everybody else does.

"Sarah, listen...there's something we need to do."

"What is it?"

He wavers a little as Sarah frowns despite herself, but manages to find his voice again by reminding himself that he is not the only one at stake.

"We should...we should try to spend as little time together as possible before Mom and Dad."

"What the hell does that mean? So, let me get this straight, we can't fuck, OK I get it, it's sick and gross anyway. But this? We can't even-"

Despite her best attempt at lowering her voice, Sarah is practically bristling with rage. It's such a torture for him to face any form of confrontation, especially with his strong-willed sister. Usually evading her altogether whenever she gets too worked up over something, he is now struggling to breathe properly as fear and anxiety threatens to take over and silence him once and for all. But this time, this is what they must do together, and he needs her on his side.

"Sarah, think about it. They're our parents, and quite attentive ones at that. Do you honestly think they can't tell if something is off? That something being as huge as their children are nearly fucking?"

It is as if a bucket of icy water had been poured down over Sarah's head. It's disheartening for Andrew to see his usually proud, unyielding sister so helpless, to see himself so helpless, but his throat tightens and he can't find anything else to say. Dropping his head, he suddenly feels a childish urge to cry. Sarah turns her face away, biting down hard on her bottom lip, her hands balling into fists on either side of her body.

"I don't like it - why it has to be so hard? Why it has to be so fucking complicated?"

"Sarah, please. Once we get out of here, we can do whatever we want. Just a bit more patience. That's all I'm asking for. Please, think of Mom and Dad," he didn't know he could sound so desperate.

"Who the fuck cares!"

Jumping off the bed and grabbing her clothes scattered about on the floor, Sarah storms out of his room without a backward glance, slamming the door shut behind her. Slumping back down onto his bed, Andrew curls up and closes his eyes slowly, feeling as if his heart had been ripped into pieces.

*

"Oh, hi morning sunshine!" Daniel says when Sarah enters the kitchen freshly washed and dressed, without looking up from his phone, "slept well last night?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

Sarah's heart skips a beat at Daniel's question. She puts down her backpack at the feet of the table, steps up to open the cupboard and takes out a clean glass, glancing quickly back at the messy breakfast table strewn with opened jars and pots and unfinished food, making sure she has what she needs over there.

"Nothing, just saw your light's on when we came back. That was pretty late."

"Oh, yeah, I fell asleep with my light on," she puts on her best dismissive face, "was doing exercises for the competition. Mom's left?" she asks in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yep, big project, tight deadline, that sort of things. Don't get into accounting like your mother did, for Christ's sake. People like my daughter get to choose," Daniel lays down his phone and stuffs a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, smiling approvingly at his daughter. A bearish man in his fifties with a hefty build acquired over the years as a byproduct of his hearty nature and good taste in food cultivated more as a creed than as a domestic duty, Daniel never shies away from expressing his approval for his children. With his hair still as dense and lush as in his younger years and his clear light brown eyes, he looks so much like Andrew, although Sarah then realizes with unease that it should be the other way around.

"No thanks, I'm not selling my soul to corporate greed. And now you're turning your daughter into your marriage counsel, wow, real mature, Dad," evading his eyes, Sarah sits down opposite her father, pouring milk from an opened carton into her glass and reaching for the strawberry jam and the toaster. Sarah suspects that Daniel quit his job to take care of Andrew and her after they were born so that their mother could concentrate on her career, but she never asked out of a strange sort of pride. If anything, she feels closer to her father than to her mother, but is somehow ashamed to admit that.

"Aren't I?" Daniel says proudly, "that's why Livie fell in love with me. A real mature man at fifteen."

Sarah rolls her eyes but can't help smiling. Her parents were high school sweethearts against all odds, and are still going out on weekly date nights after nearly forty years together. Sarah thinks herself too cool to care for her parents' love life in the same way she scoffs at her peers' romantic fantasies, but if she is being honest with herself, she also longs for the safety of lifelong love and intimacy so exemplified by them as everyone else does. The thought of Andrew flickers in her mind, and her heart twists in myriad feelings too complicated and intense for her to even begin to understand.

"Where's your brother?" Daniel asks as if on cue.

"Don't know," she shrugs with a careless air, taking a bite of her toast. Her heart is thumping fast in her chest.

"Oh well, guess he'll turn up," Daniel doesn't seem to be paying more attention to it as he goes back to reading on his phone. Finishing her breakfast absently, Sarah finds her more and more anxious as Andrew's absence lengthens.

She knows that she was unjustified in losing her temper when all he was trying to do was to protect them. Her unreasonableness and selfishness must have hurt him. Scolding herself yet again for her inability to rein in her impulse, Sarah struggles to fight back the urge to cry. She is just so frustrated, so desperate, and so angry at herself. The privilege of being able to express love and affection publicly, to fulfill their desire for each other that so many people take for granted is yet utterly unreachable to them...it hurts so much to even think about the unfairness of it all.

"I should go," pushing her dish aside, trying to keep her voice even, Sarah rises to her feet, picks up her backpack and starts to make her way towards the front door, her face turned away from her father, "see you this evening, Dad."

"You're not waiting for Andrew?"

No sooner do the words leave Daniel's lips than Andrew appears in the kitchen. A quick glance in his direction, and Sarah has to turn back around to steady her breath. He is dressed in his everyday uniform, his face blank and pale, his hair disheveled, and she would never forget the way he gazes at her, so full of longing and hurt. Perhaps he is right. Perhaps the best thing to do is just to keep her distance. Opening the door before her and trying to suppress the tight knot in her throat, Sarah closes her eyes, taking a deep, long breath.

"No, I've got a group presentation, wanna go through it one last time before the class. Bye."

She doesn't look back.

*

"So, this guy, he literally shat himself, because he was getting spanked so hard and it just exploded-"

"Max, please," Andrew says desperately, "no one wants to watch videos of guys shitting themselves at lunch."

"They're not shitting themselves at lunch, they're shitting themselves playing truth or dare, which is an important distinction."

"Oh, shut up."

Slapping his tray down onto the table in the school's crowded canteen at lunch time, Andrew sits down with a sigh. The crushing weight that has been hanging in the pit of his stomach since Sarah stormed out of his room this morning isn't lessening in the slightest, much less with his friend Max pestering him as usual as if nothing was wrong. Is this what the throes of passion are about? The same ones that have obsessed poets and philosophers since time immemorial? He doesn't feel like glorying in their promise of elevating his emotions to an artistic and intellectual height. He only hates himself and wants her back.

Max sits down opposite him with his own tray, shoving his phone into his pocket, grinning from ear to ear.

"That curry though," he points at the content in Andrew's plate with a fork, "it reminds me of-"

"Shut up!"

Flinging a grape from his dessert cup at Max's chubby face, Andrew makes a disgusted sound and grimaces as Max bends over and reaches down to pick the grape up from the floor and throw it into his mouth.

"Five seconds rule," Max chews and slurs, satisfied, "I was quick."

"You're disgusting."

"Stop acting like a chick, Andy," Max knows how much Andrew hates it when people call him Andy, "you picked the wrong person to hang out with, and now the joke's on you."

"I'm pretty sure I started out alright," Andrew fiddles absently with his salad with his fork.

"No, you didn't," Max shovels a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth, the watery tomato sauce splashing all over his chin, "let's face it, you're just as much of a weirdo. Even more so today."

"What?"

"You're acting weird today."

"What are you talking about?"

Come on, Andrew. You woke up with your naked sister on your bed and made her come twice before she lost her shit and started to yell at you, and now she hates you more than she does anyone else on earth. Oh, and you bombed your Philosophy exam as expected. Of course you're entitled to acting a little weird today.

Max pauses suddenly, leaning in and scrutinizing him. Andrew recoils uncomfortably.

"You're in love," Max says, narrowing his eyes.

"The fuck Max! Go back to your Grindr!" he is blushing so hard he's sure his face is dripping blood.

"See, the problem with people like you," an accusatory dab of his fork in Andrew's direction and a disapproving pout, "is that you don't think gay people function in the same way as you straight people do. You don't believe that we too have our own love stories, so you think we are only some comical ornament for your wanky, cheesy straight ones. But never mind. Oh yeah, I can see it, crystal clear and all over your face. You're not in love. You're besotted and smitten and madly want to fuck."

"Do we really have to make everything so political?" Andrew says hopelessly. He hasn't even touched his main course yet and is already feeling fed up.

"Everything is political, my friend. You're purposefully ignoring my diagnosis. So, tell me, who is she, the girl who stole your heart?"

"Andrew?"

Startled, Andrew raises his head to find a girl with a tray in her hands standing right next to his seat and smiling down at him. The expression on Max's face is priceless.

"Oh, hi," Andrew almost chokes on his food, his face burning, "hi, Carla."

"Haven't seen you for a while! Are you going to participate in the photography competition?"

She is still so enthusiastic and forthright with her neat little braids, round glasses and tidy navy-blue sweater, perhaps a bit too much for his current state of mind. But at this stage of acquaintance, he is only grateful that she isn't bursting out laughing before he can squeeze out a coherent sentence as other girls do.

"Um...yeah, I guess so. I'm just trying to come up with an idea."

To be fair, this more serious venturing into photography on his part has been met with enthusiasm at home. His parents applauded his initiative predictably, and Olivia particularly hinted at the possibility of socializing more with his peers, in other words, girls, given how shy he is with them. Of course, his mother was more subtle than that. "People with shared interests turn out to be more similar and compatible in general too, you should know," she said carefully, "not that there aren't exceptions." But Andrew has the perhaps unjustified vague impression that deep down inside they still brush off his interests as unimportant and frivolous, as he always feels like they were much more excited when Sarah was selected to be part of the school's math competition team. She's got so much potential, they say. A degree in math from a prestigious university will open so many doors she can choose from at will, they say. No one mentions Andrew with his stupid little photographs of cows and chickens and his dream of writing for newspapers and journals bound to be outdated by online media. But he can't forget how proud of him Sarah looked the next day when she told him she was glad for him and wanted him to tell her when he would have got an idea, nor can he deny that it made his heart swell with so much happiness and gratitude. Andrew pinches himself hard on the arm. Better not to think about it now.

"Me too. It's hard to find, isn't it, inspiration?" Carla continues cheerfully, unheeding, "I finally got something. Actually, this Saturday I'm going to the animal farm on the outskirts, near the city park, cause they must have animals I can take photos of for the competition. Do you want to come with me?"

Max's jaw literally drops, his eyes flitting back and forth between Carla and his friend, a huge grin on his face. Andrew tries his best to ignore him.

"Sure, I guess why not," he says, nodding awkwardly. He doesn't really know why he is saying yes. Perhaps he just needs to run away from Sarah, from the mess in which they find themselves ensnarled, so that he can have some space to breathe and think, even if only for a little bit. Perhaps he just wants to.

"Great! Let's change our phone numbers and I'll give you the details. What do you say?"

Putting her tray carefully down on the table as Andrew scrambles to make room for it, she takes out her phone from her pocket, and saves Andrew's phone number on it.

"Just sent you a message."

"Alright," he mumbles, secretly wishing to strangle Max as the latter keeps on smirking at him, "thanks."

"Gotta go. See you around!"

Carla disappears into the crowd. Looking up at him, Max emits the most grotesque noise Andrew has heard him make ever since they knew each other at twelve.

"I swear to God, Max-"

"Andrew Larrison," Max murmurs dreamily to himself, "in love. With a brunette beauty! Oh, so beautiful! So eager to please him with her big boobs and butt and farm animals! Andrew, you're finally not turning into a wizard!"

Andrew has to remind himself that it's better that Max believes this instead of discovering what is really going on to prevent himself from smashing Max's head right there against the table.

*

Glancing up for the umpteenth time at the clock on the wall in five minutes, Sarah finally turns around to frown at the math competition teammate seated behind her.

"You know what's happening? Why isn't Mrs. Willington showing up yet?"

"Don't know," Connie shrugs, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She is a swarthy Asian girl with thick bangs, fake eyelashes and a vivid pink hairband, who won the first place in last year's provincial competition, "got lost? Had a car accident? Son's in emergency? Diarrhea? Found out husband's cheating on her so is on a transcontinental call with her lawyer? All of these are statistically possible, you know."

"No wonder you're so good at statistics, then."

Connie flashes her a big fake smile.

"I think you're jealous, but I'll take it as a compliment. Math girls aren't catty bitches, cause we smart, are we?"

"No, we're not," Sarah mutters, keeping the thought 'but are sure as hell all freaks who either only wear pink or are trying to fuck their brother' to herself, "we should go home if she still doesn't show up in five minutes. I don't have time for this."

"Relax, Sarah. You'll grow wrinkles if you keep being so uptight like this," Connie drops her tone dramatically, "careful because white people age like bananas."

"This is so racist."

"Welcome to my world."

The handful of other students in the classroom are also murmuring among themselves in the face of their math tutor's unusual tardiness. Some of them have taken out their phones, while others are doing exercises from the books they have brought with them. The buzz in the classroom is growing louder when the door is abruptly pulled open, and Mrs. Willington charges into the room with exercise sheets under her arm. A sturdy woman in her fifties, she is wearing a gray cardigan, red-rimmed square glasses and a white fluffy sweater, looking very spirited.

"Alright kids," she sing-songs, "sorry I'm late, got caught up in some paperwork because why do anything useful at all when you can spend your day filling out forms that only end up in trash bins? Ok, let's welcome our new team member, whom I'm sure some of you already know from the school's sports events. On top of that, he's scored perfect marks in the last three math exams, and is now excited for more challenges I'm sure he'll find here! Because you're such a star, aren't you, Percy?"

"No one can score perfect marks. It must be a fraud," Connie murmurs resentfully under her breath behind Sarah.

Turning her head around and beaming dotingly, Mrs. Willington beckons to Percival Morse standing at the door to come in. Flashing a charismatic smile and raising up one hand as if to respond to the imaginary applause and cheers as in a sports event when actually there are only blank stares and slightly raised eyebrows, Percival Morse is a perfect contrast to the nerdy type of which consists the bulk of the math competition team around him. It isn't hard for him to spot Sarah among the few students in the room, who has trained with him as a teammate of the school's indoor track and field team. With a skillful tilt of the head that signals a popular male's interest in a female he considers fortunate to receive such special treatment, Percy approaches Sarah and sits down in an empty seat beside her purposefully.

"Hey Sarah," he asks briskly, not looking at her, and Sarah has to admit he is indeed very charming with the impressive muscles under his uniform shit, his dark hair and emerald eyes as well as the carefully angled smile on his handsome face, "what's up?"

Sarah doesn't give him any reply except for a short nod as Mrs. Willington starts to distribute this session's exercises. It seems to Sarah that guys like Percival Morse tend to believe that they are the center of the universe or somewhere pretty close to it, and it repulses her on some fundamental level. Evolutionary psychology is such pure rubbish, she thinks ironically. Melissa is going to lose her shit again, though.

"Hey, you've got a minute after the training? I've something more interesting than parallelogram to ask you," not having received the response he expected, Percy finally turns his head around and asks Sarah in a casual tone.