She fucking squirted. She's never done that before. "My," Mr. Smith says quietly, stopping about two feet away from her desk, "what a mess." "Sorry, s...r." She says weakly, embarrassed. She knows she should be feeling a lot more than just embarrassed, something like terror or anxiety or dread, probably a combination of all three, but somehow she knows that she isn't going to get in trouble for this—not the kind of trouble that involves principals and expulsion and criminal charges, anyway. She's. Really. I dressed up often enough with Ruthie, that it doesn't really bother me?well, not much. It's worth it if we can shake the two thugs off my trail." Then I told her the double date story, figuring we were too old now to get grounded, and to get her mind off the present problems. She laughed, and told me that Ruthie had told her about it years ago. Just then, the doorbell rang. I could see through the glass in the door that it was the two thugs. Mom shot me a quick, nervous glance, put on. More

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