Sharon squinted against the sunlight streaming through the classroom window. She was not interested in her English teacher’s lecture on Homer’s Odyssey. It was silly to expect a group of fifteen year-olds to recognize the deeper meanings of life, let alone understand them.

She snorted.

“You had something to add, Miss Whittington?” Mr. Brinkman asked.

“I don’t thinks so.” She rolled her eyes and looked out the window again.

The boy sitting next to her raised his hand. “Mr. Brinkman?”

“Yes, Mr. McCormack?”

“This story reminds me of a book I read,” the boy said.

“Which book?”

“Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” A couple of students giggled under their breath. “No really. I mean the way that Ulysses’s choices come back to haunt him--even when they seem completely unrelated to the rest of his life.”

The teacher nodded. “That’s right, Mr. McCormack. What do you think Homer’s trying to teach us?”

“That our decisions affect the rest of our lives?” one girl said.

“Maybe. But what else?”

A jock sitting behind Sharon raised his hand. “Watch what you do because you don’t know when it will bite you in the ass.”

The classroom burst into laughter. Mr. Brinkman shot him a look and was about to get onto him but the bell rang. “Essays are due on Monday. Please try not to procrastinate beyond, say, Sunday evening? Have a nice weekend,” he said, but the class was already out the door.

Sharon thought about the jock’s comment. Though he had intended it to be a joke, she wondered if he knew how right he was. She thought about her choices and how they had forced her into her path home to face her step-brother’s best friend, Del.

She made her way to the computer lab, tossed her backpack onto the teacher’s desk, and sat down behind it. She typed her username and password into the workstation. The computer greeted her as network administrator and informed her of several issues. A student workstation had attempted to access the email server without authorization. One of the machines had dropped off the network without explanation. And the same computer from China had portscanned her network again. She couldn’t figure out what hackers five thousand miles away sought to gain from a high school computer lab in Lorain, Ohio. She checked the intrusion detection system to see if it had logged an IP. Again, it hadn’t. She sighed. Without an IP she wouldn’t be able to trace them. She had nothing else to do in the lab. Sharon checked her watch. Three thirty. The email issue was nothing major, probably an accident. But the dead workstation. Maybe that would give her an excuse to work late. If the machine had problems, it was her job to fix it and repairing a busted computer could take hours. The later the better, she thought. The longer she stayed away from her house, the greater the chance that Del and Craig would have left for yet another Friday night spent in a drunken stupor chasing cheerleaders. They were always gone by six. Drunk by seven, passed out by ten. At six thirty, Sharon could safely go home.

The dead workstation was across the room. A dark monitor stared at her. She pressed the switch. Nothing. The PC was off as well. Sharon sighed, reached behind the desk, and jiggled the power cord. The machine and monitor buzzed to life. She returned to the teacher’s desk and sat back down.

Email. Check your email, she said to herself. She logged onto her school account. Her mailbox was empty. She checked the other email account, the secret one that only a few hacker-friends knew about. Empty.

“Miss?”

She jumped. A janitor was standing at the door.

“I got to close up now,” he said. “You’re going to have to leave.”

She checked her watch. It wasn’t even four yet. “Why so early?”

“It’s Friday. I’ve got family. I can’t close up until you’re gone. You’re the last one.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “So book it.”

Sharon grabbed her backpack. Walking past the janitor, she knocked his shoulder with hers. “Excuse you,” she said.

“Freak,” he mumbled.

She stopped and turned. “What did you just say?”

He looked away.

She closed in on him. “What did you just call me?”

He glared back. “I called you a freak. That’s right. Freak. Died hair, peircings and all. F-R-E-A-K, freak. If you don’t like it, learn how to dress. Leave now or I’ll have you suspended.”

She stormed away. By the time she reached the parking lot, she had brushed it off. It wasn’t as if she didn’t face the same crap from the world every day. She had come to expect it. They didn’t understand what it was like to live with a father that blamed her for a failed law career and for her mother’s death. She took solace in knowing that they wouldn’t have fared any better in her situation. They would be fucked up too.

She wandered toward the bus stop without any particular destination in mind. Maybe she would just ride around until time to go home. Or go shopping. At least the bus would be air-conditioned and she could sit down. A long line at the bus stop told her that the bus was late. She sighed and kept walking, not wanting to wait.

As she passed the stores, Sharon again thought about Homer’s Odyssey and the jock. Her choices had come back and bitten her. She had always thought that hacking was in her best interest, that it taught her the skills she would need to get away from Lorain, from her family, from her life. Changing the grades of people she disliked was only a minor perk. If she had known, though, that Del later catch her and use his discovery as a bargaining chip, she would never have touched a keyboard. What kind of penance was oral sex for fraud?

She was a quarter of a mile from Southview High before she realized she was sweating. Ohio wasn’t supposed to be this hot, she thought. A bright pink and tan ice-cream cone floated above the sidewalk. She decided to get ice cream. Again, air conditioning. Save for the clerk, the ice cream parlor was empty. She wandered back and forth in front of the coolers a few times, trying to decide what she wanted.

“Can I help you?” the boy asked. She looked up.

Sharon recognized him from her chemistry class. She smiled at him. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scanned the ice cream troughs. “Thirty one flavors and all.” He came around the counter. She followed him back and forth while he pondered his answer. Sharon had always thought he was nice, but she couldn’t remember his name. Barney, Barrry? Something with a B. He tapped on the glass, pointing to a particular bucket. “My favorite is mint chocolate chip. But a lot of people don’t like it because it’s too--“

“Minty?” she said. He laughed and nodded. “That’ll be good. Give me a single scoop of mint chocolate chip.”

“Coming right up.” He bopped around the counter and tossed open the freezer.

Bobby, she thought. That’s his name. “So, Bobby, how are you doing in Dr. Cordish’s chem class?”

He dipped a scoop into the cup. “I bombed the last test. I don’t get chemistry. Why? How did you do?”

“Made an A,” she replied. He reached to dip another scoop. She protested. “No, I just wanted one.”

“It’s on the house.” He winked and slid the cup across the counter. “Maybe you can help me with chemistry next week or something to make it up?”

She smiled. “That would be nice.”

A group of small children rushed in and overtook the counter, their mother in tow. Sharon decided to stay and talk to him. That would keep her away from home for at least an hour. She found a chair and removed a book of poetry from her backpack. Every once in a while, she glanced over the top of her book at Bobby behind the counter. She liked that he didn’t judge her green-and-black hair dye or the extra earrings or the henna covering her arm. Maybe he would like her.

Sharon ate her ice cream, read a few poems, and watched Bobby working for the rest of the afternoon. Something to do, she thought, to keep her away Del. That was all she had wanted. Two hours later, Bobby followed his last customer to the door and turned the sign around so that it read “closed”.

He sat down at her table. “Well, I would ask you out tonight, but I think my mom already has plans.”

She blushed. “No, really. It’s okay. Maybe some other time.”

He nodded. “Definitely. Can I walk you home?”

Home. She checked her watch. Six fifteen. “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks. But you can call me sometime.”

They exchanged phone numbers and she left, comforted by the knowledge that Craig and Del were already gone for the weekend. She boarded a bus toward her house and didn’t notice the prodding stares of the passengers. Bobby liked her, even if no one else did.

Sharon slid her key into the lock and turned the knob. Someone yanked the door from her.

It was Del.

“Hey! You finally made it.”

Her heart sank. “What are you still doing here?”

He pulled her into the house. “Craig’s gone out with some chick. Said I should wait here. So we’re all alone.” He walked into the living room. “You coming? Or do you want to back out? I’m sure Principal Marcus would be--“

“No,” she said too quickly. “We’re good.”

Del kicked his shoes off, reached for the top button of his jeans. Sharon blushed and turned away. The large oak tree in which she had spent so many childhood afternoons stood just outside the back door, only a few feet away. Sunlight streamed through the leaves, casting little oval shadows and lights on the beige carpet.

“I’m ready,” Del said.

Sharon faced the sofa. Del lay naked, stretched across the sofa with one leg thrown over the coffee table. Sharon closed her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s just that I’ve never...” she began, but could not finish.

He smiled. “That makes this all the more fun.” He pointed to his crotch. “Well, whenever.”

The roughness of Berber carpet rubbed her knees raw through her skirt. A breeze fluttered through her oak tree. The shadows and lights on the carpet began to dance with an odd, punctuated rhythm. Sharon saw the blue sky, a bird on the patio table, clouds that reminded her of the space ship she’d once seen in a movie, and the little oblique shadows continued their dance. The clock on the mantle chimed five o’clock. The wind had picked up and the shadows settled into a steady, back-and-forth cadence, a metronome of light.

The front door opened. Sharon was vaguely aware of Craig’s voice announcing his return. When his words finally registered and her mind had returned to the living room, she sprung to her feet, stumbled backwards across the coffee table. Her wrists absorbed the brunt of her weight when she slammed into the hearth.

Craig looked first at Sharon, then to his naked best friend on the sofa. He pointed an accusing finger at Sharon. “You little slut!”

His voice betrayed a sense of joy she’d never heard before. Sharon was sure that he was glad he caught her.

“Mom and Dad are going to shit when they hear about this.” He looked at Del. “You dog! Man, are you that hard up that you had to go for her? That girlfriend of yours is hot? She doesn’t put out?”

Del sat stunned, flushed, unmoving. Craig kicked his boxers to him. “Put that thing away, man. You’re making me jealous.”

Del pulled his boxers up. “It isn’t what you think, Craig.”

“What?. You just thought you’d get a little extra on the side? Hey, man. Whatever floats your boat. But you,” he said, turning on Sharon. “Who knew my step-sister was a little slut!”

Sharon struggled to her feet. She crossed the living room in two hurried steps and slapped Craig with the back of her hand. “I am not a slut.”

He stumbled back, stunned.

“Del caught me changing grades and blackmailed me. It was either this or expul--“ She stopped. She had said too much.

Craig turned to Del. “Bye, Del.”

“I’m leaving?” Del asked?

“Yes,” Craig said. He nodded toward Sharon emphasizing both words as he repeated them. “Bye, Del.”

Del nodded in understanding. “See you later, Craig?”

Craig nodded once in reply, but his eyes remained fixed on Sharon. She watched Del walk out of the living room in hope that he would rescue her. Before opening the door, he mouthed a silent apology to her. She had already begun to back toward the stairs, knowing she would be unable to outrun Craig, but if she made it to her bedroom before Del was out of the house, maybe--

The door closed.

Sharon bolted up the stairs. Craig followed. She turned too sharply at the top of the stairs. Her dress hung on the banister. She ripped it free. The door to her room. Through the door, turning, slammed. It stopped, three inches short of the frame. The toe of Craig’s left shoe blocked it from closing. He pushed his way into her room.

“Craig--“

He pressed a finger against her lips. “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you. Hey, who knows? Maybe you’ll even like it.”

She backed away, almost tripped on the rug. Nowhere to flee. Craig closed the distance between them with one step. His hand trailed up her shoulder. “Now, you have a choice. Mom and Dad find out about your little sofa-session with Del, and about the grades at school. Then Del tells Principal Marcus. Or you can go along with me.”

Sharon wondered if she could overpower him. Tackle him to the floor, and then hide away in her father’s room until Del got back. If she did that, though, Del, hacking, everything would come out. Her future would end. Without looking at him, she sighed and collapsed onto her bed.

“Take off your shirt.”

Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her shirt. A shrug sent it off her shoulders.

He moved closer to her bed. “Now your bra.”

Sharon reached behind her but stopped. “Craig, please.”

He shook his head. “Bra.”

She released the clasp. The elastic contracted into a smaller version of itself on her chest, barely covering her breasts. Another shrug and her bra fell into her lap. She drew her shoulders in and covered her breasts.

Craig shook his head. “I want to see them. Stand up.”

Sharon complied. Her arms dangled at her sides.

Craig reached toward her left breast. She recoiled. “Not bad for a freak,” he said. “Lay down.”

Sharon looked at him, her eyes pleading for mercy. When he did not respond, she fell back against her pillows. His hands crept up her thighs. He lifted the torn skirt above her knees and hooked the inside seam of her underwear with his thumb, pushing them to the side. Sharon almost couldn’t breathe under the weight, but it didn’t matter. She was holding her breath.

Her perfume floated through the air. Einstein watched down from a wall-poster, mocking her with his tongue stuck out. The pink teddy bear, a gift from her grandmother on her tenth birthday, sat facing away from her. Her laptop was only a few feet away, just out of reach.

His hands cupped her breasts.

She stared out the window. Her tree was there, agitated in a light breeze. But there were no dancing shadows on the floor, no bird at the window, and the clear, sunny spring day had begun to darken. Downstairs, the mantle clock announced six. The sun settled toward the horizon, sending long shadows across her room.

Hot moist air on her cool neck. Condensation ran down the side of her throat. She focused on the branch just outside. A caterpillar crawled along the branch. The tree rocked back and forth in the strengthening wind. She felt the caterpillar on her hand, the wind fluttering in her hair. Through the window of her bedroom, Sharon watched Craig thrash about on top of some foreign, dead object. And then he stopped, rolled off her. She heard him speak and she opened her eyes.

“See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Craig said, struggling to catch his breath. He stumbled from her room. The clock on the mantle struck seven. Sharon pulled herself into a ball and tried to fight back tears.