2 Chapter 2: THE UNTOUCHABLE GIRL

Of all my siblings, Martin was the most like me, and we had an effortless bond between us. I was close to all my brothers, and although I wasn't supposed to have a favorite, Martin and I had spent a lot of time together. Most of my friends thought it was weird that we hung out so often, given the age gap. But as we grew older, my girlfriends thought it was cool because they all had a crush on him.

Martin's buddies used to get annoyed if I hung around, and Martin wouldn't let me tag along with them when they had something planned. However, he'd let me hang out with him when they were just sitting around in the park, or when they came over to hang out in our yard. He saw no harm in my being there at those times, telling his friends, I had needed to learn to be confident and sociable around boys and to handle myself with them.

I think it helped that I looked older than I was, and I had no interest in hanging out with kids my age. I wasn't shy or short of friends in school, but when I was with Martin, I felt like I could be myself. I'd led a sheltered life, compared to a lot of girls my age, and I lacked confidence when I went out in public, because most of my social life had taken place around our rural setting at home.

Hanging around a large group of adolescent boys meant I heard stuff I knew I shouldn't have had any idea about. I was around twelve when I'd started hearing about my brothers' - and their buddies' sexual encounters. I found out what a virgin was and listened to the boys talking about girls "putting out." Consequently, I'd learned which girls in high school were easy and hot.

Just after one of those conversations, Martin, and my eldest brother Kayden, taught me how a nice girl didn't let boys into her panties. Afterward, what I took away from that conversation was, while it was okay for all boys to take a shot at a girl, it was my job to say no.

At fifteen, I had the body of a woman not a girl. I'd developed early and looked older than my years. I'd never had that slender, boyish-girl thing going on that a lot of teenage girls had when going through puberty and it felt like I went to bed one night and woke up the next day with a pair of 32DD breasts and curves in all the right places.

My brothers' friends sometimes made comments on how I looked, which made all my brothers nervous. Kayden said I was the kind of girl men looked at twice. A "head turner," my dad called me. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I figured they were biased, because I couldn't see what the fuss was about because thought I looked quite plain.

One of my dad's cousins once commented that my green eyes, with their flecks of hazel were "bedroom eyes." My dad flew off the handle in response. His cousin retorted with, "Just sayin'," right before my dad physically threw him out of our house. I never saw that man at our house again after that.

***

Growing up the youngest, and the only girl in a four-kid family, had its benefits and disadvantages in equal parts. Living with three older boys was great training for how to take care of myself, how boys thought and talked, but sometimes they drove me crazy.

Being the only girl, I'd learned to keep house from an early age, and I was organized and capable. None of the males in my family did anything for themselves. All their chore allocations involved being outdoors - stacking the woodpiles, mowing lawns, or washing the cars. My parents both worked, so it fell on me to learn how to use the washer-dryer, the stove, and my least favorite small appliance - the iron. Martin did what he could to help me when he wasn't playing baseball, acting in the local theater, or working his paper route. Martin was the most like me in many ways, apart from him being a boy.

As we headed to where Kayden had parked, I glanced up at the brittle, leafless trees as we crossed the street to his old Ford Falcon car, it was his pride and joy. He'd restored it with the help from our dad and from the age of thirteen, I'd seen more of his legs than his face. He'd spent every waking moment underneath the damned thing, making repairs in the old barn behind the house, where he kept it parked.

"Looking good, Kayden," I commented as I patted the hood, his face lit up as he flashed a wide smile, showing off both of his dimples. He pulled his sleeve down, grabbed the edge with his fingers, and huffed out a breath on the hood to rub away an imaginary smudge he assumed I'd left behind. The black metallic paint gleamed.

"She's still my number one girl, Val." The way he'd said it made me stop and take a hard look at him. Kayden's face flushed a little, and I instinctively knew he was in love.

"Okay ... and number two is?" He pulled on the chrome handle, opening the door for me.

"Get in. I'm not talking about her in earshot of 'Sexy Susan' here."

"Kayden, it's a Falcon, not a nightclub stripper." I smirked and glanced at him, while he slid into his seat and turned the key in the ignition. The car purred to life, and his proudly smoothed both of his hands down the wheel to the bottom of it. He was about to release the hand brake when he turned and looked at me. His brow was furrowed in irritation.

"She's not an 'it', Val," he admonished with an annoyed look, because I wasn't going along with him genderizing his vehicle. Silence fell between us as he began to drive, and I stared out the window at the familiar landscape I'd known all my life, landscape that I'd run away from.

I leaned against the window, and my thoughts turned to how Kayden had always known what he'd wanted from life, and how I had no real clue about my direction. I knew I wanted to take pictures and had been thinking about photography, but I wasn't sure how much scope there was for earning a living taking photographs in our little town.

Cars had always been Kayden's thing. He'd decided not to go to college, and instead took an apprenticeship with our dad in his car repair shop. I'd never understood why it fascinated him to lie under a smelly car all day, getting covered in oil. All I'd ever seen him do was tweak a few bolts here and there.

Apart from my brothers, I hadn't taken much notice of boys until I met Bradley Sutton. I developed a crush on him when I was fourteen and was amazed when he'd asked me to go to the movies just after Valentine's Day that year. I suspected he might have been interested in me when I caught him stealing glances at me every day at lunch. I'd felt his eyes on me almost every day the moment I entered the school cafeteria.

Coleen, a friend and classmate, noticed him as well and began teasing us both. It felt mortifying. Eventually he asked me out. In no time I'd fallen into a deadly puppy love, and I somehow convinced myself we'd be together forever. However, a year down the line Bradley began pressuring me about sleeping with him.

Even though he was my world, I knew I wasn't ready for a sexual relationship, but I understood his need and felt my refusal was tearing us apart. I'd stupidly confided about it to Heidi, my best friend from school. She'd been incredibly supportive, and believed I was making the right choice not to give into his pressure when she agreed Bradley was "selfish for pushing." I never considered she'd snag him for herself by doing what I wouldn't.

Breaking the silence, Kayden smoothly changed the subject.

"Adam and Jim are both playing later. Fancy coming to hang out on the bleachers with me?"

"How's Adam shaping up?" I asked with interest. Adam was the brother closest to me in age. At seventeen and a half, there were less than two years between us. Adam played on the high school football team with his best friend Jim. Both had already been offered full scholarships to a few colleges. Adam was looking forward to accepting his at the University of Chicago.

"Yeah, he's doin' good... closing in on Jim's school record. I think Jim will be relieved when he moves on to college next year. Adam's proving himself to be stiff competition."

As Kayden answered, he swung off the road and down the long, tree-lined dirt driveway that led to our home. We had seventy acres of nothing but overgrown grass, except for the area of well-kept lawn nearest the house. My grandfather, my dad's father, had left it to my parents when he died. The house was amazing; it was more than a hundred years old and stood proudly at the top of a small hill. It felt good to be home.