When Burning Bridges Burns Your Butt

When Burning Bridges Burns Your Butt

“This is going to get ugly,” Waldo, said shaking his head as we watched one of our homeliest, ex-best friends, being confronted by his hot sister for something he did not do.

“Hell, she can’t make him look much worse?” Mac said.

“We really set him up this time,” said Waldo winching in sympathy. “We’re gonna burn in hell for this.”

“Big Al done got fugly long ago. No amount of lumps from his sis will appreciably increase his fugliness… am I right, Mac?” I said.

He didn’t answer; his evil grin said it all.

While making fun of Big Al we missed seeing her knock him to the lunchroom floor. Our eyes followed the sound. Poor schmuck was a cowering mess of flannel and faded jeans. Towering over him, a vision of Amazonian loveliness in her short cheerleader skirt and low-cut top stood Tori. Every guy in school wanted to date her. Al’s younger sister, turning 16 and blossoming into a goddess made Al instantly popular
.
“How could someone that gorgeous be related to someone as unsightly as Al?” It turned into a mantra that circulated throughout the school, nowhere more intensely than in the hotbed of adolescent fantasy, the boy’s locker room. 

Al’s sudden celebrity transformed him from a childhood friend into a smug elitist, hanging with the rich boys who were using Al to get at his tasty sister.

“He shouldn’t have scorned us like that in public.” I said, watching Tori kick the crap out of her big brother. “Been friends since forever.”

“Those were some amazingly good faked pictures of Tori,” Mac said to me. “Photoshop?”

I nodded wondering if we went too far. She might just kill him this time.

“Good? They’re filthy you pervs,” Waldo said, “Where’d you get them?”

“Your dad’s stash.”

(300 words)