Before you can do anything, something breaks your window

As soon as you put down the phone, the mysterious caller having had hung up without much of a farewell, you hear a crash towards the front of the house. You turn to see shards of broken glass, a gaping hole through your window, and the culprit lying on your carpet. It's none other than a softball.

You hear voices outside. One that sounds like a kid says, “That's a homerun right?” followed by laughter by other kids.

“That's nothing to laugh about, boy,” says another voice, this one deeper and older. Heck, you even recognize it. Without thinking, you approach the window, yet when you get closer, you step on a sliver of glass.

'Shit!' you exclaim in your head, the hobble to the window. Before you show your face, you remember you're topless and have been since that call. You try to cover yourself with a discarded towel that is conveniently lying on the floor, before looking out of the broken window. You see a trio of young boys on the other side of the street, one of them holding an aluminum bat over his shoulder. You look further and see a familiar face standing in your yard.

“Sorry about that! Me and my nephews were playing some softball and one of them hit a fly ball into your window! Are you doing okay?” the man says. You recognize him as your neighbor that lives across the street, in the only bungalow in the whole neighborhood. You try to nod, signaling that you haven't been hurt, yet remember at the last minute you did step on some glass.

One of the kids across the street calls out, “Can we get our ball back, lady?” His voice, a clear sign he hasn't hit puberty yet, comes off rather rude and insensitive. You are reminded they don't see you as a guy, but as a woman. Your neighbor is quick to dismiss him.

“Get the hell inside, you three. You don't have the right to ask that! Now scram!” your neighbor intimidates the kids, who go running towards his house. He calls up to you. “I think I can fix it for you, do you mind if I meet you at the door?”

You shake your head, knowing well that your father would be asking why there is a gaping hole in your bedroom window. He'd try to get a hold of the people responsible and demand they compensate for the damages. At least your neighbor is kind enough to help. You step away from the window, minding to avoid the shards of glass on the floor. You head for your door and remember that you are not in a proper state of dress. It would indecent of you to answer the door in nothing but a towel over your breasts and your boxers. You wonder where you can find some clothes.