by Louis Woodley
Right until the very last moment, even with all evidence to the contrary, I still couldn't believe that Mom was going to go through with her plan. This was the meanest, cruelest, most mortifying idea she had ever come up with. I'll admit that I was guilty (I was caught red-handed so there's no reason to claim otherwise) but that doesn't justify embarrassing me in front of my best friends.
They would definitely never look at me the same way again; hell, I'd never be able to look any of them in the eye again. And all it would take would be for one of them to spill the beans about this fiasco and I'd be humiliated in front of the whole school. I could only imagine the nicknames I'd be forced to endure from total strangers, just because I took a short unauthorized trip last night.
Okay, so the unauthorized trip was out my window, down the tree, down the street, into Courtney Walters' car, and off to a party that my mother had already said 'no' to. Morgan Madison, Amy Spaulding, and Becky Murrell were also in the car, which is why they're now involved with this horror show.
I'd been climbing out the window for several years now. Originally it was just for fun, to prove that I could do it, but lately there have been several late night escapes to have a little fun under my mom's nose. She can be pretty hard-nosed about things, but she's pretty trusting that her high school senior daughter wouldn't be sneaking out after she's gone to bed. Or at least that's what I thought...
So when they dropped me off about 1:45 I snuck back and climbed up the tree. Then I pushed the window up, expecting it to open like it normally did. But this time it didn't budge. I panicked and almost fell out of the tree; why was it stuck?
I hadn't brought my keys with me because I didn't want any clinking sounds that might attract Mom's attention. But now I was stuck. Or was I? What a dumbass; I forgot about the spare key we keep hidden because Mom has a bad habit of locking herself out. I'd just have to be very careful opening the front door since it tends to creak a bit.
So I found the key and unlocked the door, turned the handle, and nothing happened. Then, after another panic attack, I realized that the deadbolt was still locked. That was weird; we didn't normally lock it unless we were leaving the house. So I undid it as well, carefully opened the door, and made it about two inches before the chain stopped it from moving any further. Dammit! I knew then that it was intentional; Mom had locked me out of the house.
My car was locked and without my keys I couldn't open the garage door (which would have woken up half the neighborhood anyway), and if she'd gone to this much trouble I couldn't imagine that she'd left me a way to wander around to the back of the house and come in through the kitchen door. Nope; the gate to the side yard was locked. I was a sitting duck with nowhere to go.
So I could face the riot act then, or camp out all night on the porch, freeze my ass off, and then face the riot act. I figured Mom was on the other side of the door snickering at how she'd outwitted me. But her making fun of me would be the least of my worries; my bigger concern was the train wreck she'd be making of my backside for sneaking out of the house. I also knew I could kiss my social life goodbye.
But then the choice was taken away from me. Mom must have been lying in wait, because not five seconds later the door was shut in my face, the chain undone, and then yanked open again.
"Get your little butt inside!" was Mom's greeting. Like I said, I was caught red handed, so what else could I do but come inside and prepare for a tongue lashing and then a butt thrashing. Mom certainly delivered on the first part.
I got lectured about the dangers of climbing out the window, the irresponsibility of sneaking off without permission, the lying about going to bed and Mom not knowing where I was. The fact that I'd been drinking was just the icing on the shit cake as far as she was concerned, and she didn't care that I claimed to be sorry because she intended to make me very sorry indeed.
I was already waiting for the word on where to march and what implement I needed to fetch for Mom to tear the stuffing out of my tail with. But instead she wanted to know which of my friends were involved in my get-away. I explained that I didn't want to give away their names because I figured she was planning to call their parents.
But she said that wasn't her intent because that wasn't any of her business; for all she knew the other girls' parents knew what their daughters were doing. I was the only convicted sneak. She reminded me of how much trouble I was already in, and did I really want to make things worse for myself by withholding the requested information from her?
She had me there. I knew I was already doomed and holding out would make things even worse. I said a silent prayer that she wasn't lying about notifying their parents and gave up my friends' names. And then she explained what she had planned for me, and I groveled on my knees for her to think up a different way to punish me. But she just took away my phone, and then my laptop, so I had no way to contact them. She said we would put her plan into operation first thing in the morning.
I didn't get much sleep, wallowing in fear of the pain and humiliation to come. I tried to hide in bed for as long as possible, but Mom was her usual charming self when I'm in the doghouse and reminded me that there was work to be done. I pleaded for her to just grab her hairbrush and beat my butt then and there, but she had her vision in mind and I couldn't convince her to change it. This was going to be memorable all right; I was certain that my friends would never stop talking about it.
Over breakfast, which I didn't want but forced down anyway, she explained how she'd caught me and why I deserved such an embarrassing punishment. She'd tried to stick her head in my door to clear the air over my disappointment at not getting to go to the party. She normally wouldn't have gotten that bent out of shape about my door being locked, but she'd knocked on my door and called my name several times without response.
It would have been unusual for me to have been asleep by then, but maybe I had headphones on and was either not hearing her or intentionally ignoring her. But when I still didn't respond to loud banging she went and grabbed her phone and called me. I hadn't taken my phone with me because she'd already used the "Family Sharing" function on my iPhone once to prove that I wasn't where I'd claimed to be; I didn't want her looking at her phone and figuring out that mine was seven miles from my bedroom.
Unfortunately, when she heard the ringtone in my room and I still didn't respond she thought either I was really sick or had done something really stupid. So she got a screwdriver and eventually jimmied the lock open, only to find an empty bed and open window. So she was not in a forgiving mood for worrying the crap out of her, and decided she was going to make my upcoming punishment so awful that I'd never pull a similar stunt. She'd had plenty of time to ponder the details while waiting for me to discover that I was locked out of the house.
Mom made me send them a group text invitation to come by our house at 11:00, then took back possession of my phone before I could send a follow-up message begging them not to show up. Mom happily reported that Courtney, Morgan, and Becky RSVP'd although Amy had a family commitment and couldn't come.
But by then I was sitting miserably at our picnic table whittling down the three vicious switches that Mom had selected and made me cut and trim. She warned me to hurry up so everything would be ready when my guests arrived. This was going to be the most humiliating day of my life.
But finally the switches met Mom's approval. She told me to take them up to my room, shower, get dressed like she'd instructed, and then wait to be called downstairs. I carried those switches like they were rattlesnakes.
I heard the doorbell ring several times, with Mom letting my friends in and probably assuring them that I'd be down shortly (I couldn't risk getting caught snooping so I couldn't hear exactly what Mom had been telling them). I was sitting on my bed, hating myself and my mother equally, awaiting Mom's marching orders to come downstairs and put on a show for our guests that they'll never forget. I thought about climbing down the tree and escaping. But she'd already took possession of my driver's license and car keys, along with my phone and computer, just to make sure I complied with her master plan.
Finally everyone had arrived, no doubt curious about what was happening. Finally she shouted for me to come down to the den and not come empty handed (like I had any choice). Those damned switches had been keeping me company ever since I'd finished prepping them. The Satanic Hairbrush was Mom's primary weapon of choice, but she decided that for a roomful of witnesses a bare butt thrashing would put on a better show.
I came downstairs in my nightgown, carrying those damned switches like a bouquet. My friends were seated on the couch and I saw the shocked looks on their faces. After that I kept my eyes on the carpet. Then Mom started her lecture.
"I know you all picked up April last night, took her to a party and then brought her home again. It was a party I'd already told her that she couldn't go to, so she snuck out her window and then hitched a ride. I caught her trying to sneak back in and she's already confessed, so there's no need for you to protest your innocence. I'm not your mother; so it's not my business about what the rest of you were doing. But I can only assume that whoever was driving the get-away car was not drinking?"
Courtney spoke up. "No ma'am; I swear I didn't drink. My Daddy would kick my butt seven ways until Sunday if I ever drove after I was drinking."
"That's a very noble sentiment. But you were aware that Becky didn't have permission to go to the party, correct?"
"Well ma'am, I didn't really ask but since she told me not to come up to your house I sorta figured she didn't want you to know."
"Don't ask, don't tell, was that the deal?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Well, I'm not mad at you girls for helping my daughter sneak out. That's not why you're here." I could hear sighs, like my friends had been holding their breath, waiting for confirmation that they really weren't in Mom's doghouse. But they still couldn't miss me in my nightgown with a bundle of switches in my hand.
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