Chapter 1: The Nudist Trap (Part 4)

The walk to the car was maybe a hundred feet. It felt like a hundred miles.

The parking lot was mostly empty now---just Principal Morrison's sedan, her dad's SUV under one of the streetlights, and a few other cars scattered around. The asphalt was cold and rough under Chloe's bare feet, little pebbles digging into her soles. The air had gotten even colder, and the wind picked up as soon as they stepped outside, raising goosebumps all over her body. Her nipples tightened painfully, and she could feel the hair on her arms standing up.

She wrapped her arms around herself, hunching forward, trying to cover what she could. Her hair had mostly dried by now, but the wind caught it and blew it across her face, across her shoulders, doing nothing to hide anything.

Please don't let anyone see me. Please. It's dark. It's late. Nobody's out. Nobody's watching.

But she couldn't stop scanning the parking lot, the street beyond, the dark windows of the houses across the road. Anyone could be looking. Anyone could see her---a naked eighteen-year-old girl walking across a school parking lot at nine o'clock on a Friday night.

Her father walked ahead, his head down, his hands in his pockets. He still hadn't looked at her. Her mother walked behind her---Chloe could hear her heels clicking on the asphalt, steady and unhurried. She felt her mother's eyes on her back, on her bare butt, on the backs of her thighs, and she wanted to run. She wanted to sprint to the car and throw herself inside and disappear.

But she walked. One foot in front of the other. Pebbles digging into her soles. Wind biting at her skin. The streetlight making everything too bright, too visible.

Almost there. Almost there. Just get in the car. Just get in the car.

Her father unlocked the SUV. The beep of the remote was way too loud in the quiet night. Chloe opened the back door and climbed in, and the leather seat was freezing against her bare thighs and butt. She slid across to the far side, as far from the door as she could get, and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

Small. Make yourself small. Maybe if you're small enough, none of this is happening.

Her father got in the driver's seat. Her mother got in the passenger seat. The doors closed---thud, thud---and then it was just the three of them, sealed in this bubble of silence and leather and the faint smell of her dad's coffee.

The engine started. The heater kicked on, blowing cold air at first. Chloe shivered.

Nobody spoke.

Her father pulled out of the parking lot. The streetlights slid across the windows---yellow, dark, yellow, dark. Chloe watched them and tried not to think. Tried not to feel the seat under her bare skin or the cold air from the vent hitting her nipples or the way her mother kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

She's going to yell at me. She's going to ask questions. She's going to---

But her mother didn't say anything. Nobody said anything. The silence was worse than yelling. At least if she yelled, Chloe would know what she was thinking.

The drive took fifteen minutes. Chloe counted the streetlights. She counted the stop signs. She counted the turns. Anything to keep her brain busy, to keep it from spiraling into the panic that was waiting for her at the edges of her thoughts.

I'll explain when we get home. I'll tell Mom what really happened. She'll understand. She has to. She's my mom. She'll be mad, but she'll help me figure this out. Maybe I can just... maybe I can just tell the school I was confused, or it was a misunderstanding, or---

When they turned onto their street, her heart started pounding harder. Their house was the third one on the right---a two-story colonial with white siding and black shutters and a big oak tree in the front yard. The porch light was on. The living room light was on. Ethan was probably in there, playing video games or watching TV or whatever he did on Friday nights.

Ethan. Oh god. Ethan is going to see me. My brother is going to see me naked.

Her father pulled into the driveway. The garage door opened with its usual grinding rumble, and he pulled inside. The door closed behind them, sealing them in.

Chloe didn't move. She stayed curled up in the back seat, her knees against her chest, her arms wrapped tight around her legs.

"Chloe." Her mother's voice was sharp. "Get out of the car."

She unfolded herself slowly. Her skin made that awful squeaking sound against the leather. She opened the door and stepped out onto the cold concrete of the garage floor.

The garage was cluttered with the usual stuff---her dad's workbench, the lawn mower, boxes of Christmas decorations, Ethan's bike. The door to the house was ten feet away. Ten feet of cold concrete and then she'd be inside, and Ethan might be right there, and---

Stop. Just stop thinking. Just walk.

She walked. Her father was already at the door, his hand on the knob, his back to her. Her mother was behind her again, those heels clicking on the concrete. Chloe could feel her eyes on her body, and she wanted to scream.

The door opened. Warm air rushed out, smelling like whatever her dad had made for dinner---pasta, maybe, or something with garlic. The kitchen was empty. The living room beyond was empty too, though the TV was on, some action movie playing to nobody.

Where's Ethan? Upstairs? Please be upstairs. Please don't come down.

"David." Victoria's voice was calm. Controlled. "Make some coffee."

Her father nodded, still not looking at Chloe, and disappeared into the kitchen. The coffee maker started gurgling.

Victoria turned to Chloe. "My room. Now."