Karen is always the right answer

Back when they'd lived in L.A. or in Michigan, Matt had always seen Karen as his rival. She'd been smarter than him, better looking than him, more popular than him, and she'd always seemed to make friends easily. But while moving to the Hill was **** in so many ways, it had brought him together with his sister in ways he hadn't imagined possible. If anyone could figure out how to handle Mrs. Hartman's proposal in a way that would work, it was Karen. So he went to her.

He was tempted to barge through the Chinese silk screen that separated out what had once been a dining room but was now her bedroom but instead he stopped and knocked.

"Busy."

"Sorry. I have a problem and need to talk to you about it."

"Fine, come in."

Karen lay on her bed, her Biology textbook propped on her naked breasts, one hand gently stroking her pussy.

"Uh..."

"It's hot and we don't have air conditioning. What did you expect?"

"I need to talk about Amy."

"Let me get this straight. You're looking at a beautiful naked girl, {if pamdate=true}you recently got blown by two hot Asians,{elseif cindidate=true}you recently got blown by a cute little Asian girl,{endif} you just got back from a pool party where the two hottest girls in school were running around in French maid costumes, and you want to talk about a horse-girl whose face got smashed in. Do I have everything straight?"

He nodded. "That about sums it up. Can I sit with you?"

"Hell, why not? I don't see how this could get more fucked up."

Matt quickly explained Mrs. Hartman's proposal and his response. "But how," he concluded, "am I going to deal with Amy finding out. Because no matter what Mrs. Hartman promised, you know she's going to find out. And when she does, no more money, no more tutoring, and you're fucked too."

Karen set aside her Biology text and traced a contemplative pattern on her breast. Finally she said, "you will pay me thirty dollars out of each hundred in exchange for my brilliant solution."

"You're shitting me."

"Mrs. Hartman should be paying me all of it. Who was it that told you to dance with Amy? Who practically threw you together?"

"Do you really have a solution?"

"Of course."

"Fine, I'll give you thirty."

"And if you end up banging Mrs. Hartman, I want pictures."

"Who said anything about doing Mrs. Hartman?"

"I know how your sick mind works."

"Okay, deal."

"Fine. I'll handle Amy. Get out of here and I'll call her, spin the payment just right, and you'll be a hero. I'll tell her you turned the money down because you weren't a gigolo but I persuaded you to take it, okay? And don't tell me you want to be a gigolo. I know that's every teenage boy's fantasy but it's not real sexy to us girls, okay?"

"Got it."

"Now stop staring at my boobs like they're some kind of freakshow and get out of here. In case you didn't know, we like it when guys notice us, but not when they stare at us with their tongues hanging out. Damn, you're eighteen years old. I shouldn't have to be telling you everything."

He got out, went to his room, and jerked off. Again.