Ducks eating Cats (ONE)

The sound of chalk scraping against the rough sidewalk drew Paul out of his admiring of the rear end of Mrs. Lane across the street. He was supposed to be watching his little sister and, as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the delectable Mrs. Lane as she washed her car outside, he returned to daydreaming with only half-attention for his two-year-old sister, Delaney.
Paul was not the only one that knew that Mrs. Lane was the hottest mom on the block, most of his friends were also content just to watch from his second floor bedroom window with the hopes of seeing the sexy momma. She seemed, in Paul’s opinion, to support the idea of the boys’ fantasies and Paul knew that, because Mr. Lane was never home, Paul would, once he was old enough (as in, had grown a little bit of stubble… or a few hairs) try and persue the older woman.
A shrill scream made Paul jump. He looked around for Delaney and, seeing her calmly playing with the blob of yellow that used to be chalk before it crumbled enough to leave residue all over her arms and clothing, he scanned the neighborhood. It had to be Mrs. Lane.
The water from the hose that Mrs. Lane had been using was splashing against her legs and she did not seem to notice as she stared at the young girl in front of her. The girl was small, maybe about eight years old, with a beaten up black backpack and scuffed sneakers, jeans with holes too numerous to count, and a bright red t-shirt that supported a bar somewhere in Texas. The remarkable thing was that the girl resembled Mrs. Lane so closely, Paul was worried that she would be Mrs. Lane’s daughter.
Even from across the street, Paul could hear Mrs. Lane’s surprise in her voice as the young girl handed Mrs. Lane a letter and, after she read it, her eyes opening in surprise more with every word, she quickly ushered the girl inside the house and out of Paul’s line of sight.
He sighed, annoyed that Mrs. Lane was going inside, and knowing at the same time it was about that time to take Delaney inside and get her cleaned up before Mom noticed that she was covered in chalk… again.
He scooped up his little sister, who squealed once, then wrapped her yellow arms around her brother giddily, and walked inside, pushing open the door with his toe so that it slammed shut with a snap. The cool air that assaulted him as he walked inside took him by surprise, but he was sure to make no noise. He had not noticed how hot it really was outside.
He took the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor and the bathroom where he uncermonially dropped his sister onto the ratted rug in front of the tub with the order to strip down so she could take a bath. When he returned in ten minutes she was still wearing most of her clothes with an arm stuck half in, half out, of her t-shirt. He sighed heavily and assisted her in taking off the rest of her clothes before he ran lukewarm water.
Distracted, yet again, he half-heard the noise of Delaney splashing around in the water and giggling, but not as much as he imagined the conversation of Mrs. Lane with the mysterious girl and what the letter could possibly be about. He had no idea, but with an imagination like his (and the fact that Mrs. Lane was involved) provoked him to think of the most lude sort of concepts.
Mrs. Lane must have had an affair.
Mr. Lane had an affair?
Both of them had an affair and this girl came out of it.
Who could Mrs. Lane have shared a bed with? Some burly guy with lots of muscles (Paul regretted skipping his weight class earlier that day) with chin hair that would make any man proud.
Paul stood up and checked for the thirtieth time that day to make sure that he had not started to grow any beard (which he hadn’t.) He was disappointed, but sure that someday it would happen to him too.
Frowning, he grabbed the fluffy pink towel with the hood that looked like a pig that Delaney loved so much and scooped her up, a giggling mass of damp kid, and dried her all over before shrugging her over his shoulder and boucing off to her bedroom. He pretended like he was going to toss her on the bed as she shrieked until he tucked her under the covers and, as he had seen his mother do, kissed her on the forehead.
About four minutes later, Delaney was asleep and Paul was in his bedroom, staring out his window, waiting for a glimpse of his love.