Scheming and planning

"He's gonna tell," was the first time Nancy said when they re-entered the living room. "He always tells, even when he swears he won't. Oh, fuck, I'm gonna be in so much trouble! She'll make me take a pregnancy test and—"

"And we'll both be in trouble," Samuel finished. "Fuck."

She threw her arms around him. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know, baby. I don't know."

"Maybe... maybe you could scare him. Tell him you'll beat him up, or something? If he tells? Or... or pay him not to? You've got money, right?"

He figured it would probably work, but only temporarily. But if it backfired... he had no desire to get a criminal record for ****. And either way, he might be a scumbag for fucking a 19 year old girl—now 20—but causing her younger brother physical harm, or even just threatening to? That was just too much.

Payment? Same thing. Even if he accepted the money, once he had it there was no guarantee he wouldn't talk anyway; if not tomorrow, then next week, or next month, or next year.

Instead, his mind was racing down a different track. He knew how boys' minds worked, and there were other ways to keep them in check. Yes, if he weighed the risk of Samuel's wrath against the joy of telling on his sister, he might well decide it was worth it. But what if something else were at stake? What if he had something else to protect? Something even more fundamental to a teenager's sense of worth than his physical safety? Samuel thought back to the few interactions he'd had with the boy since discovering him spying, and an idea began to take shape in the back of his mind.

"I have an idea," he said. "It's risky and... well, you might not like it."

"What is it?"

"It's... probably better if I don't tell you. Just try and follow my lead, OK? No matter how crazy it might look."

"You're not going to hurt him, right?" She asked worriedly, apparently overlooking that she'd suggested threatening just that moments prior.

"No." Not if he could help it. But this was going to be tricky to pull off, and he didn't want her to jump the gun and ruin it—no matter how good her intentions might be.

He went back into the kitchen, Nancy hot on his heels.