satisfaction, but all I feel is dread. And it grows when Uncle Jet says, “Put him in the basement.”
I open my mouth to protest, but realize the alternative is to put him outside, where he’ll run to his daddy as soon as he regains consciousness. And then we’ll really be in trouble.
“Need me to open the door?” I call after Uncle Rod.
“You’re staying right here,” Uncle Jet says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
Not wanting another interrogation, I decide to argue anyway. “That guy is a slimeball. I mean, obviously. You saw for yourselves. Look, yes, I went to a party last night. I took some moonshine. I only wanted to have some fun. It’s my senior year and . . .” I choke back the words I was going to say. That after this year my life feels like a dead end. That I have nothing to look forward to except having a life exactly like theirs.
“It’s my senior year,” I repeat lamely. “And W2’s just pissed that nothing happened between us last night, so he came here to get me in trouble. Whatever he did to himself down there is some stupid prank he thinks we’re all dumb enough to fall for.”
Uncle Jet stares at me long and hard, looking a little perplexed. “That was no prank.” His brows furrow even further than before. “Lennie, you do know what your uncles and I do for a living, right?”
I laugh more out of nervousness than anything else. “You sell moonshine and it’s illegal. And I know it was bad to take it to the party.”
Uncle Jet looks angry now, but thankfully his stare isn’t directed at me. He’s pointing a finger at Uncle Dune. “I thought you talked to her. What was it . . . three or four years ago? You drew the short straw and then a few days later said you and Lennie had a good talk.”
“I was gonna!” Uncle Dune roars. “But then you had to stick your nose in and tell her first!”
“I sure as shit didn’t!” Uncle Jet shoots back. “Who told ya I did?”
“Well, Lennie . . .” Uncle Dune’s voice trails off and once again the focus is on me. Worse, Uncle Dune is looking at me with a look reminiscent of Bambi after his mother got shot. “Lennie . . . you lied to me?”
I gulp. “A little lie. I thought you were trying to give me the sex talk.”
I can still clearly remember five years ago, looking up to see Uncle Dune standing in my bedroom doorway. He’d cleared his throat before announcing, “Lennie, you’re old enough now. It’s time you were told how things really work.”
I assumed that things was a euphemism for penises. And I really did not want to discuss the ins and outs (excuse the pun) of such things with my uncle Dune of all people. In a panic, the lie popped out. “Oh, Uncle Jet already told me all about it.”
“He did?” Uncle Dune’s face got all crinkly and confused then.
“Yeah, we were watching Road House together and you know how that movie always makes him real emotional and he just sorta told me. Everything. All the details. More than I needed to know really. So there’s nothing more for you to tell me. It’s been covered like a plate of extra-cheesy nachos.”
“Oh,” Uncle Dune said. Then came the dreaded follow-up question. “And do you think that’s something you’ll want to do sometime soon?”
“No! God, no! I’m way too young for that. In fact, I think I’m one of those late bloomers who end up waiting till I’m thirty or forty to do it for the first time.”
Uncle Dune finally cracked a smile at that. “Okay, I get it. You’re freaked out. I was the same way at your age. It seemed impossible that it all worked that way. I promise, it all comes together how it’s meant to. But look, when you’re ready, I’d like you to grant a wish for me.”
Assuming Dune meant that he wanted me to practice safe sex or something like that, I’d quickly agreed just to get him out of my room. “Sure, sure. You’ll be the first to know when I’m ready.” As if.
“Damn it, Lennie!” Uncle Jet explodes now. “That wasn’t sex ed! He was explaining how the shine works. He was preparing you for the day when you’d start granting wishes and take over for us so we could retire. Are you