Mortified

I slid under a low-hanging mulberry tree and peeked around. No cars were coming. I took my opportunity and out, across the street, down fifty yards to where the alley began. I took the corner at a full sprint, dodging a couple trash cans on the way. With twenty yards left, the intersection at the next street brightened with the approach of a car. I willed my legs to move faster as a stitch tore at my side.

The lights got brighter, I saw the amber turn signal reflecting off Mr. Starke's white-painted fence. This had to be either him or mom. As the lights began arcing into the alley, I came to my own fence. My heart rate was faster than a machinegun as I fiddled with the gate latch. I could barely make my hands work, all fine motor control was shot. As the lights arced around further, I made a gamble. Posting my hands atop the gate, I vaulted over with all the grace of a drunken deer.

I hit the grass awkwardly and scrambled to my feet and ran the final twenty yards to my window (thankfully, unlocked and on the first floor). Lights blazed from within the house, and I saw the moonlight glinting off the black paint of my father's truck. He was already home! Please still be walking Bert! I mentally begged my father. I knew he'd gone to walk our black lab, as he would have tackled me and lapped away at my face if he were home. Finally, I was at my window. I awkwardly clawed my fingers underneath the wooden frame and with a powerful squat press, I flung the window open.

The motorized vehicle gate at the back of the yard began to whir as it opened. SHIT! That was mom! I took two steps back, ran with all the power my tired legs could give me, and jumped up, catching myself on the windowsill at about navel height. I awkwardly looked over my shoulder and saw the edge of the backyard lighting up from mom's headlights. Planting my arms against the wall beneath the windowsill, I pushed myself in and collapsed in a heap on my bedroom floor. Slowly, I got up, padded over to my closet, and quickly snagged the first articles of clothing that came to me: a polo shirt, a camisole, and a pair of denim shorts. I tucked it all under my arm and eased my door open, took a careful look out, and padded across the hall to the bathroom. I quickly yet quietly snapped the door shut, locked it, and turned on the lights.

The woman looking at me in the mirror was a face I hardly recognized. Her pale face was flushed red, pouring sweat. A broken mulberry twig sat in her hair. And she was butt naked and slightly sunburnt. I picked the twig out of my hair, dried off, and got dressed, willing my pulse to lower. I never thought clothes could feel so good! I relished the feel of the soft cotton against me. I was finally safe.

Breathing slowly and deeply, I left the bathroom and tried my best to nonchalantly walk down the hall. I heard the indistinct noise of my brother in the living room, playing video games. As I passed, he said, "'Sup?"

"Chillin'. You?"

"Trying to beat Matt on NHL 18." His eyes didn't move one degree toward me as he furiously mashed his controller. I could have still been naked, and he'd have been none the wiser.

I laughed. "Good luck. Oh, shit. I forgot I left my phone on the boat. Tell Mom I'll be back."

Monotonously, he replied, "OK."

I found another pair of sandals by the door, stepped in them, and entered back into the cool night, much calmer than I had been. The only thing that still ate at me was Mr. Starke. I knew he was bound to see me and my boobs. Thankfully the seat of the boat blocked off my most intimate areas from view, but I still didn't like the fact that he'd see me topless. I crossed the street, and tried to look nonchalant as I walked toward the marina. Walking back to the boat to retrieve my camera and phone proved to be the longest walk I'd ever taken. My heart was in my throat the whole way.

After opening the gate, I strode right down the main dock, then turned right down my slip. I gently hopped aboard, opened the locker that contained my stuff, and saw that my phone screen was lit with a recent message. My stomach fell as I read it.

"What were you doing on my boat? And where was your shirt?"