Maddie told me the woman has expensive tastes in clothes and booze, so after vacuuming the living room I go into the kitchen. Opening the liquor cabinet, I am dazzled by dozens of bottles. Squat, tall, round, square. Brown, blue, clear. I never knew there were so many kinds of alcohol. My parents only drink wine at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
“Bet you won’t touch anything, especially not the booze.” Maddie laughed when she asked me to cover for her. “You’re too scared of getting caught.” Her dare followed me throughout the day. Looking up from my French test, I met Maddie’s scornful smile.
Alone now in this stranger’s house, I splash amber liquid into a shot glass. Burning almond. I check the bottle. The level has barely moved. The woman won’t notice. I lick my lips.
I open the bedroom closet to inspect the dresses Maddie says she wears as she cleans. Running my fingers over the soft fabric, I picture Maddie stepping out of her clothes, standing naked in front of the mirror.
Maddie says Jerry usually comes with her after school. “We fuck in her bed all the time. We’re careful.”
I see him pressed behind her, hands on her slim hips. Filled with tipsy bravado, I remove a silk slip from its hanger, laying it on the bed. Unzipping my jeans, I lie on the slip, rubbing myself with the cloth, picturing Jerry’s naked butt, his muscular back. I pinch a nipple, imagine Jerry deep inside me. I float back to the kitchen. The clear alcohol burns, so I try another. A sweet cherry flavored liquor. Too much like cough syrup. I pour it out, watching the dark liquid stain white enamel. I should rinse the sink, the glass. But I want Maddie to know I’m not the goody two-shoes from Mrs. Albright’s math class. For the first time I think about the woman who lives here. I can’t picture her in the house, but I can imagine her on the phone in an office high up in a skyscraper, only coming home to change clothes before going out on the town.
Mom will wonder why I’m coming home from school so late. I’ll tell her we had a sub last period, some old man who made us stay after the bell because we were too loud and disruptive. She thinks I’m her golden girl. Pure. Obedient.
Running my hands over the slip one last time, I notice a wet spot. I laugh and step back to the kitchen. The glass sits on the counter next to the bottle. One more for the road. I lift it to my lips as a car pulls up in front. Glass in hand, I slip out the back door.
Later as I undress for bed, the shot glass falls out of my pocket. I pick it off the floor, my fingers sticky with sweet residue. I can’t wait to see Maddie at school tomorrow.
Phebe Jewell’s recent flash appears in After the Pause, Sky Island Journal, Literally Stories, and Door Is a Jar. A teacher at Seattle Central College, she also volunteers for the Freedom Education Project Puget Sound, a nonprofit providing college courses for women in prison. Read more of her work at https://phebejewellwrites.com