The Fort (Aric Davis)

bunch of people are going. Jammi, Molly, Tara, Tracy, Stacey—lots of people. It’s going to be cool.”
    “Tell him who else,” cooed Tammy, between bites of salad. “Because as much as I hate the idea of you seeing a couple of R-rated movies with all of your polite, well-mannered, and utterly gracious girlfriends, all of whom I’m sure are saving themselves for marriage, I really love the idea of that deadbeat—”
    “He is not a deadbeat!” Becca nearly shouted. “Tyler is cool, and didn’t even ask me to go. He’s just going to be there, it’s not like it’s a date or anything.”
    “Which is good,” snapped Tammy. Tim forced himself not to smile as he ate. “Because as it has been made quite clear to you on numerous occasions, you are not going to be dating anyone. Not Tyler Cranston, not Harrison Ford, not anybody.”
    “Heard some great news, Mom,” snapped Becca in an exact replica of her mom’s tone. “It is now the 1980s, and everyone is dating. Even babies like Tim go on dates if they’re not too ugly, or busy playing with their loser buddies.”
    “Twelve-year-olds are dating?” Tim asked. That was news to him.
    His question was ignored, however, as his dad stood, dumped salad on his daughter’s plate, and sat back down. “Becca, eat.” To demonstrate, he stuffed a forkful of salad between his lips, chewed, and continued. “And she did say it wasn’t a date, Tam.”
    Tammy rolled her eyes at her husband, who pretended not to notice. “So if it’s not a date, what is it?”
    “A gathering of friends,” said Becca, her voice all but dead.
    “And will this gathering of friends be consuming alcohol or smoking pot?”
    Becca rolled her eyes. “None of my friends do that. They’re not idiots. Besides, Tyler has to stay away from all that stuff, or he could lose eligibility for football. Even the people that do that stuff don’t do it around him, just because it wouldn’t be fair for him to lose his chance at a letter.”
    “When would you be arriving home?” Stan asked.
    “When the second movie is done.”
    Stan Benchley made the sound of a buzzer going off. “Not good enough,” he said, pointing at a clock that was hanging on the wall over Becca’s head. “Those run on hours and minutes, not movies. When does this all start?”
    “Seven thirty.”
    “Who’s driving?”
    “Jammi.”
    “She has her license?”
    “Got held back in first grade because she needed glasses and they didn’t figure it out until too late.” Becca chuckled into her fist. “They thought she was retarded.”
    “All right,” said Stan, between bites. “Mom gets last approval on clothing and makeup; you’re home not one second after my clock, not yours, says midnight; and you make good choices. You were raised right. Don’t make me into a bad guy for letting you do something a little grown up.”
    Becca shrieked, and Tim watched his dad ignore a positively evil look from his mom. “Thanks, Daddy, I’ll be good, I promise.”
    “You better be,” said Tammy somberly. “I feel like having wine. Tim, would you do me the honor?”
    “ Oui, madame .” Tim jumped out of his chair and headed for the pantry. He had been taught how to work a corkscrew only a few months ago. Sweet.

3
    Hooper sang as he showered. He started—loudly—with the national anthem, and then switched it up to the theme from Cheers . He had a good singing voice, but it wasn’t something that anyone knew about, because it was something he was almost, but not quite, embarrassed of. The water slowly began to turn from hot to cold, and Hooper shut it off, then stood in the shower to enjoy a final moment of warmth from the steam. It was good to be clean. He stepped out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and quickly ran it over his body. Not as taut as it had been in the shit back in the day, but still, not terrible.
    Once he was mostly dry, Hooper walked naked to the bedroom, giving himself a look in the mirror, and feeling a stirring in his loins at the sight. I look good. Looking good was important, that was what women liked, and being liked by women was very important. Having a sense of humor was good too, but Hooper had never felt very confident in that aspect of his personality, almost like he had to force himself to even fake being funny, and still wasn’t very good at it. Still, the kind of woman Hooper liked was the kind you paid to have a good time, and Hooper figured that if they had to pretend to laugh at