Another reason why I passed

The summer I was I think 16 or 17 I started up a thing with a girl in the neighborhood named Tory. Or was it Tori? I don't remember.

Our parents didn't go for it, or we imagined they wouldn't, so we never told them. We didn't live on the same street -- our two streets were right next to each other, separated by woods, so to get to each other, we'd either meet at the intersection, which was a walk, or in the woods, but we didn't really have anywhere we could go. So when things started heating up we found a kind of a clearing in the woods between our houses and dug a kind of a hole there and I brought a tarp we had in the attic and laid it out and that's where we'd do our fooling around. After we'd have to brush ticks off each other.

One day my dad asked where the tarp was. He wanted to paint one of his ladders on the front lawn. I asked him why he thought I'd know where the tarp was. Did he ever see me using the tarp? Did I seem like the kind of person who would use a tarp? No. No. So don't ask me any funny questions about the tarp, I said. He gave me a look I would describe as coming out of the side of his eyes. I noticed I was sweating quite badly. My dad said, to no one in particular, that he expected his tarp to be returned to the attic in 24 hours, and if this happened, there would be no questions asked.

That afternoon around 5ish I met Tory at the tarp. She was staring at a book -- Tom Sawyer, I think, or some other summer reading thing. It was hot and muggy and she was wearing no clothes. Quick as a flash, I rolled her up inside the tarp and carried it/her over my shoulder towards my house. I could feel her kicking around inside the tarp for a little while, but then she stopped.

I must have dropped her somewhere, because by the time I got to the front yard, it was just an empty tarp on my shoulder.

I have taken enough psychology to know when I am lying to myself.

My dad was hammering something to the front door. I dropped the tarp on the grass. He turned around when he heard the crinkling. He nodded and smiled, clearly satisfied with himself.

"You found the tarp," he said.

"Yup," I said, "but I'm not the one who took it."

"Oh?" he asked. "Who did?" I shrugged.

My dad frowned. He walked over to the tarp, which was all folded up on itself. He picked it up by two corners and spread it out. The whole thing was covered in dark, dry blood -- nearly black with decay. He gave it a shake and most of it fell off in flakes. He gave me a long, hard look, and then I went inside and he started painting his ladder.