The boy's locker room

Tatiana

“You are an hour late.” Emily is standing by my locker when I get to school. She looks furious and a little concerned. I stuff my books into my locker before turning to her.

“My car wouldn’t start, and my foolish brother thought it wise to get on my nerves while I was trying to fix it. I swear, sometimes I think he enjoys watching me struggle.” I can see the tension in Emily's shoulders relax slightly as she rolls her eyes, her expression softening.

“Well, at least you made it. Let’s just hope we don’t miss the first period again.”

Just then, Hasan walks by with a group of friends. He smiles and winks at me before wrapping his hands around one of his friends, blabbing nonsense as they disappear into the hallway.

“God! Isn’t he dreamy?” Emily gushes, bringing her hand to her chest whilst dramatically hitting her back against her locker. There’s a big smile on her face and her wide eyes are glued on Hasan’s behind, I swear you could see the stars in there.

Bile rises in my throat, and I make a fake gag sound. “Jesus, Emily! That’s my f*ck*ng brother. Of course, he isn’t dreamy.”

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t once had a nasty thought about Hasan since his transformation.” Emily looks at me briefly before turning back to stare at the hallway where Hasan and his group of fuckers were. “Because I sure have. Every night, I dream of him doing nasty, dirty things to me.”

I roll my eyes, and this time, I almost vomit. Not from disgust at Emily’s thoughts of my brother, but out of jealousy because I have had those thoughts about him too. Hell, I even acted out on those thoughts, and I fear he may have caught me. But of course, I don’t tell Emily that.

I leave her standing, dreaming about my brother, and walk to class. Seconds later, she’s by me, struggling to meet my pace. We march steadily to class, and she begins recounting the meeting with the cheerleading team I missed.

Although it was the first day back in school, the school football team had a match. My girls and I spent the last days of summer practicing. While I had trust in them to do an amazing job, I still wanted to discuss some details with them. Thankfully, Emily was aware of this and did that in my absence.

We made it to class before the tardy bell. The teacher walked in almost immediately after we took our seats. She scribbled her name on the board before addressing us.

“Good morning, class. Welcome to AP Chemistry. I am Miss Treton.” Her introduction was brief. She took attendance, and each one of us answered present. Except for Hasan. She called his name the second time before it struck me that he took up AP Chemistry.

I remember Mom’s orders. Suddenly, I didn’t want Hasan to get in trouble on the first day of school.

“Miss, Hasan Olivera is part of the football team. They’re currently out for practice.” I regretted my lie as soon as I spoke. What if it comes to bite me in the *ss? True, the football team did have practice, but not until break. Miss Treton doesn’t say a word and begins class.

An hour later, when the bell goes off, everyone walks out of class.

“A word, Miss Olivera.” Miss Treton calls out. Emily and I exchange puzzled looks. I signaled for her to wait for me outside.

“I understand Mr. Olivera is your brother— “

“Step.” I quickly corrected, shrinking on the spot when she looks at me with a look cold enough to freeze me on the spot. “He is my stepbrother.”

She resumes scribbling in her jotter. “I understand Mr. Olivera is your brother, and you are trying to look out for him. Lie to me one more time and I will fail you. We don’t want that soiling your Yale application, do we?” her voice lowers into something low and threatening, a stark contrast to the sharp, happy voice she used when she introduced herself.

I swallowed a gulp and nodded. She dismisses me.

HOURS LATER

The football game was about to start. The girls and I met an hour earlier to run our choreography one more time. The stadium was large and filled with students from Windsor High, our high school, and a few from the team we were competing against.

Dressed in our cute little cheer dresses, the girls and I stood on the exit way that led to the field, cheering our poms as the boys walked out. Hasan was the captain and stood first on the line. He winks at me, and my insides do somersaults, and I almost forget my routine.

My girls, however, gushed and squealed, thinking Hasan had winked at them. I roll my eyes and give them a stern look, silently telling them to be on their best behavior. In effect, I acted out of jealousy. I hated that they would even think Hasan had winked at them. He belonged to me and me alone.

What? Wait?

The roaring in the crowd tears me from my daydream only to realize that the girls had already transited to the next routine. I mentally curse myself for letting Hasan and his gimmicks get to my head. I rapidly fall into the routine, hoping that no one took notice of my fault.

The game starts. The first shot from the Windsor team has the crowd roaring louder than when they had first sprinted in. In seconds, we hit our first touchdown, and the crowd went crazy, the cheer team included. By the end of the game, Windsor High was leading by a whopping twenty points. I mean, did the other team even practice?

After the game, I am in the locker room cleaning up. A group of girls walk in, blabbing and gushing about being invited to a party being organized by the head of the football team. I slam my locker shut and immediately scurry for the boy’s locker room.

I didn’t think twice as I walked in. It hadn’t occurred to me that the room would be full with a bunch of horny high school boys. But alas, the deed had already been done. I sprint for Hasan’s locker as though I had been in here a dozen times, ignoring the murmurs and coos that came in as I walked past.

Hasan is talking with some friends when I slam his locker shut, drawing his attention to me. The brown of his eyes and the whiteness of his teeth almost knock me off my feet. He raises his left hand and rests it against the locker. My eyes follow his movements hungrily.

“Yes, Taty?” he lifts a brow in a nonchalant yet s*xy way.

“You’re hosting a party?”

“I am. Matter of fact, you are invited.” Hasan retorts almost immediately. He picks a towel from the bench and begins to wipe his damp hair. He drops the towel and walks away from me. Momentarily, my eyes are glued to his hair, each strand seeming to have a life of its own.

I quickly snap out of my daydream, remembering what had brought me into this horny trap in the first place.

“No, you can’t. You’re under my care and I refuse to let you make a mess of the house. Mother will kill me if she finds out.” I follow behind him as he grabs his shirt and throws it over his head.

“And you will take very good care of me, won’t you, Taty?” his voice lowers into something low and sultry that makes a tear roll down my thighs. “You’ll have to put an extra eye on me so you can report back to mummy dearest, right?” He winks and walks past, leaving.

That f*ck*r!

He knows. He knows what I did last night. He’s going to use that to taunt me to his heart’s satisfaction. I go to clap back only to realize Hasan had left the locker room.

“Hey, Taty! Want to s*ck my d*ck?” I roll my eyes at Hasan’s dorky teammate.

“S*ck what? The same d*ck you were born with? Yeah, no.” His friends burst into laughter, and I dart out of the locker room, hoping to finish my conversation with my hot stepbrother.

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