I skipped s1.ep11, I might go back later on, probably not though as I originally skipped because I couldn’t think of anything.
Phil was in the kitchen, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, his voice projecting a forced, cheerful cadence.
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?
It’s a shame you have to work, huh?
Yeah.” He paused, listening.
“Anyway, I’d like a large sausage and pepperoni-”
His pizza order was violently interrupted by a sudden, piercing shriek from upstairs.
“It’s my stuff, okay?!
Just keep your hands off my stuff!” Haley yelled, her voice echoing down the stairwell, shrill and furious.
She came stomping down the stairs, hot on Alex’s heels, her face a mask of pure indignation.
Phil pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing.
“Hey!”
Alex spun around, her expression calm but defensive.
“I didn’t put my hands on your stuff.”
“Hey!
Just a second, Derek,” Phil said into the phone, holding his hand over the mouthpiece.
He looked between his two daughters, the air crackling with familiar sibling tension.
“What is the problem?”
Haley pointed an accusing, trembling finger at her younger sister.
“Alex read my journal!”
Alex rolled her eyes dramatically.
“I did not!
Why would I even want to read your stupid journal?”
“Because it contains the details of a life, and you don’t have one!” Haley shot back, a cruel, practiced insult.
Alex gasped, her face flushing with hurt and anger.
“Oh!”
Phil stepped between them, playing the peacemaker.
“Alex, don’t read Haley’s journal.” He offered a placating smile.
Alex groaned in frustration, throwing her hands up, and stormed off towards the living room, muttering under her breath about the injustice of it all.
Phil returned to his call, apologizing smoothly.
“Sorry.
My daughters.
You got kids?” He paused, listening to the pizza guy.
“Oh.
What grade are you in?”
Before the pizza guy could answer, Claire marched into the kitchen, her face a storm cloud of maternal outrage.
She held a printed piece of paper in her hand like a weapon.
“Phil!”
“Oh, that’s my wife, Claire,” Phil said into the phone, attempting a casual introduction to a stranger.
Claire ignored the phone, her voice tight with barely contained fury.
“Luke used my computer for this.” She slammed the paper onto the counter.
Phil, sensing the gravity of the situation, quickly ended his call.
“I’m gonna have to, uh, call you back.” He hung up and looked at the paper.
“He told me he needed it to do homework,” Claire began, her voice rising in pitch, “and then I find this, a-a picture…
of a topless woman, with the biggest boobs I have ever seen, driving a tractor.”
Phil leaned over, examining the image with a critical eye.
“Okay.
Um- Uh, first of all, that’s a combine, not a tractor.”
Claire stared at him, her mouth agape in disbelief.
“Phil!
Phil!
It is smut, and our 10-year-old is looking at smut!
It’s disgusting!
Completely unacceptable.” She began pacing the kitchen, her hands waving frantically.
“Where are you going?
I’m going to pick up Luke from his sleepover and Ethan from that carnival trip.”
“Why Ethan?” Phil asked, genuinely confused as to how their eldest son was implicated in this specific crime.
“Because I found this,” Claire declared, reaching under a stack of mail and pulling out a glossy, dog-eared magazine.
The cover featured a woman in a very compromised position, wearing very little clothing.
Phil’s eyes widened.
“Oh.”
“I’m 90 percent sure he’s the reason for this,” Claire continued, her voice trembling with righteous indignation.
“Luke once took one of Ethan’s filthy magazines to school for show and tell.” The memory clearly still haunted her.
“Well, that was kind of Luke’s fault for snooping in his room in the first place,” Phil offered, attempting a weak defense of his eldest son.
“The point is he shouldn’t have it,” Claire snapped, brooking no argument.
“We need to talk to him about this now.”
Phil held up his hands, trying to calm the storm.
“Claire, this is a very delicate situation.
If we don’t handle it right, Luke might end up having an unhealthy attitude about sex…
or agribusiness.
We’ll talk about it when he gets home.”
Claire sighed, her anger simmering down to a low boil.
“Okay, fine.
But I am telling him that every time he looks at porn, God kills a puppy.”
Phil winced.
“Maybe I should be the one to talk to him.”
“You can take Luke,” Claire decided, her eyes narrowing.
“I’ll talk to Ethan because your last talk didn’t work.”
Just then, the front door opened, and Ethan walked in, followed closely by Cassandra.
The carnival brawl had left its mark.
Ethan’s lip was split and bleeding sluggishly, a dark bruise was already blossoming on his left cheekbone, and his usually perfectly messy hair was wildly disheveled.
He looked less like a punk rocker and more like a brawler who had lost a fight with a circus tent.
Cassandra looked relatively unscathed, save for a slight rip in her black trench coat and a smudge of dirt on her cheek.
Claire gasped, her maternal instincts momentarily overriding her anger.
“Ethan, what happened to your face?”
Cassandra, stepping forward protectively, offered a blunt explanation.
“Um, he fought a clown for calling me a wide ride.”
Claire blinked, trying to process this absurd information.
“What?”
Ethan, wincing as he touched his split lip, puffed out his chest slightly.
“I’m no longer afraid of clowns anymore.” He sounded surprisingly proud of this minor psychological victory.
Phil, oblivious to the deeper implications, beamed.
“Good on you, buddy.”
“And we’re banned from the carnival,” Cassandra added, her tone dry and matter-of-fact.
Claire, shaking her head as if to clear it of the bizarre clown imagery, remembered her original mission.
The maternal outrage returned in full force.
“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”
Ethan sighed, already anticipating a lecture about fighting.
“Go ahead and talk, we’re a band.
We have no secrets.” He gestured loosely to Cassandra, who nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” Claire said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy calmness.
She held up the glossy magazine, the cover clearly visible.
“What is this?”
Ethan looked at the magazine, his expression perfectly blank.
“That’s not mine.” He scoffed lightly.
“Why would I be looking at those magazines if I have the internet?”
It was a logical defense, delivered with a casual arrogance that only infuriated Claire further.
“So you have been looking at smut?” Claire challenged, her eyes narrowing.
“I plead the fifth,” Ethan replied smoothly, crossing his arms.
Claire, undeterred, launched into her interrogation, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Does owning this magazine make you a better person?”
“No,” Ethan answered honestly, rolling his eyes.
“Did owning this magazine make you more popular at school?”
Ethan hesitated, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Yes.” He saw Claire’s glare intensify.
“No.”
“How do you feel having owned this type of magazine?” Claire demanded, leaning forward.
“Ashamed,” Ethan deadpanned, his face utterly devoid of shame.
Cassandra, leaning against the doorframe, offered a quiet commentary.
“Nice.”
Claire, ignoring her, continued.
“Do you have anything you want to say to women for having owned this offensive magazine?”
Ethan looked directly at Claire, then at Cassandra, his expression perfectly sincere.
“I’m sorry, women.”
Cassie clapped, slowly echoing in the quiet kitchen.
Claire had reached her breaking point.
“You’re grounded for two weeks.”
“Settle down, Claire,” Ethan protested, his casual facade slipping.
“One week is plenty; that’s not even mine.”
“Four weeks,” Claire countered, her voice ringing with finality, “and I’m going to need the keys to your van for beating up a clown.” She held out her hand, palm up, demanding the keys.
Ethan stared at her hand, disbelief warring with anger.
“This house is ridiculous.
I can’t wait to get out of here when I go to college.”
He dug the keys out of his pocket and slammed them onto the counter with a loud clatter.
Without another word, he turned and stomped up the stairs, each step heavy with adolescent fury.
Cassandra, casting a sympathetic look at Claire, silently followed him.
“That’s even if you get to college!” Claire yelled after him, her voice echoing up the stairwell.
“I’m going to college just to get out of this madhouse!” Ethan yelled back, slamming his bedroom door with a resounding thud that rattled the pictures on the wall.
Up in the attic, the air was thick with tension.
Ethan marched straight to his drum kit, grabbing his sticks with white-knuckled intensity.
He launched into a furious, deafening beat, the cymbals crashing like thunder, the snare snapping like a whip.
It was a chaotic, aggressive rhythm, a physical manifestation of his frustration.
Cassandra stood by the door, watching him with quiet understanding.
She let him pound away his anger for several minutes before the chaotic rhythm finally slowed, then stopped entirely.
Ethan slumped over the snare drum, breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his split lip throbbing anew.
“Are you okay?” Cassie asked, her voice soft, stepping fully into the room.
“I’m fine, Cassie,” Ethan mumbled, not looking up.
“At least it wasn’t even your drums,” Cassie pointed out, trying to offer a silver lining.
Ethan sat up, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair.
“This house is ridiculous.
If she weren’t on my ass constantly, I wouldn’t have to have those magazines.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by his logic.
“Please explain to me how this works.”
“She checks for pornography on the internet so I had to get the magazines,” Ethan stated, as if this were a normal household occurrence, “how else am I supposed to take the edge off?” He sighed, leaning back on his stool.
“Compared to everyone else, I’m a good kid.”
“Yeah, you got teen moms at our school,” Cassie agreed, nodding slowly.
“See, if anything, she should be grateful for the fact that I’m just looking, instead of trying to contribute to the population,” Ethan reasoned, his voice laced with defensive arrogance.
“I guess there is that,” Cassie conceded, unable to argue with the flawed logic.
“Seriously, I can’t wait to get out of here and go to college,” Ethan repeated, staring at the slanted ceiling of the attic, dreaming of escape.
“What college are you thinking?” Cassie asked, leaning against a stack of amps.
“I don’t know.
Probably something to do with music,” Ethan replied, his voice softening as he thought about his future.
“That could be fun,” Cassie said, a hint of wistfulness in her tone.
“What about you?” Ethan asked, turning to look at her.
“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it,” Cassie admitted, looking down at her boots.
“I was kind of riding on the band thing.”
Ethan looked genuinely surprised.
“Seriously?”
“I always thought we would go on tour once high school ended?” Cassie said, her dark eyes meeting his, a rare vulnerability showing through her tough exterior.
“Maybe, I guess,” Ethan said, hesitating.
“But we’re not really making enough to make a living out of it.”
“Because you’re always grounded,” Cassie pointed out, her tone sharpening.
Ethan bristled, his defensive walls slamming back up.
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Cassie replied calmly.
“Wrong!
You’re supposed to be on my side,” Ethan insisted, feeling betrayed.
“I would, but you make it so hard.
You’ve got to admit, some of these reasons you’ve been grounded are so stupid,” Cassie argued, crossing her arms.
“No, I’m right,” Ethan stubbornly maintained.
“She’s a nutcase who gets her rocks off making my life harder because she has nothing going on in her life.” He was deflecting, projecting his anger onto his mother.
“That was your cigarette burn on the couch,” Cassie reminded him, not letting him off the hook.
“I don’t smoke,” Ethan stated flatly.
“Yes, you did,” Cassie countered, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Well, not in the house,” Ethan quickly clarified, his voice dropping slightly.
“I’m not stupid.
It was my grandfather’s Christmas ornament.
You know how they make a fire using a magnifying glass?
It was pretty much that.” He gestured vaguely, trying to explain the bizarre physics of his accident.
“So why did you lie?” Cassie pressed.
“Oh, my siblings are pretty much my servants now,” Ethan chuckled remembering how he’d manipulated them ever since.
“And what about the magazine?
You’re the one who did something stupid at school to get Regina’s attention, and you fought the clown,” Cassie listed his recent transgressions, her voice filled with exasperation.
“Why the hell are you on my ass about that?” Ethan demanded, his voice rising, feeling attacked on all fronts, “I was defending your honour.”
“Because you’re being dumb,” Cassie stated simply, her dark eyes piercing his defenses.
“That’s rich coming from you,” Ethan shot back, a low blow.
“Says the person who tried to make me think a magnifying glass can set something on fire?” Cassie scoffed, crossing her arms tighter.
“It can,” Ethan insisted, his pride wounded.
“So a Christmas tree ornament burnt your couch?” Cassie asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.
“Yes,” Ethan maintained stubbornly.
“You’re lying,” Cassie declared, shaking her head.
“Fine, stay there,” Ethan ordered, hopping off his drum stool with sudden, frenetic energy.
Ethan rummaged through a box of junk in the corner of his room, finally emerging with the offending Christmas tree ornament that acted perfectly as a magnifying lens.
He walked over to the small, grimy window that let in a single, intense beam of afternoon sunlight.
He positioned the ornament carefully, adjusting the angle until a pinpoint of concentrated light appeared on Cassandra’s black, heavy cotton jumper.
“Nothing is happening,” Cassandra observed, unimpressed, crossing her arms and waiting for him to fail.
“Wait,” Ethan instructed, his eyes fixed on the tiny point of light, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration.
“Wait for what?” Cassandra asked, her tone bored.
Suddenly, a thin wisp of smoke curled up from the black fabric.
Before either of them could fully process it, a small, bright orange flame erupted on the chest of Cassandra’s jumper.
The heat was instantaneous.
Cassandra shrieked, batting frantically at her chest.
“Oh my god!”
Ethan, panicking, dropped the ornament, which shattered on the floor, and rushed forward to help her put it out.
In the chaotic, frantic struggle to extinguish the small fire before it spread, they grabbed and pulled at the thick material.
In a sudden, tearing motion, the heavy jumper was pulled up and off, revealing what lay beneath.
Cassandra stood there, panting, the smell of singed cotton hanging in the air.
She was wearing a simple, tight black tank top underneath.
And Ethan, in that moment, froze.
His eyes widened, his jaw physically dropping in shock.
The heavy, oversized jumpers she constantly wore had been hiding a secret.
Boobies.
They were huge.
The biggest he’d ever seen in real life, certainly outside of the magazines Claire had just confiscated.
He stared, completely dumbfounded, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to reconcile the image of his best friend from kindergarten with the sudden, undeniable reality of her physical maturity.
B-cups?
Hell no, they were bigger than that.
C-cups?
No, definitely D’s.
Maybe even double D’s, his adolescent brain calculated frantically, completely incapable of formulating a coherent thought.
Cassandra, realizing what had happened, immediately crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her face flushing a deep, furious red.
“Can you stop looking at them?” she hissed, her voice trembling with embarrassment and anger.
Ethan stammered, his eyes still wide, unable to tear his gaze away.
“Sorry, they’re just so-”
SMACK.
Cassandra’s hand connected with his cheek with a resounding crack, a sharp, stinging blow that echoed in the quiet attic.
The sound finally broke Ethan’s trance.
He rubbed his cheek, a red handprint already forming next to the bruise from the clown.
“I probably deserved that,” Ethan mumbled, looking down at his feet, mortified by his own reaction.
Cassandra, still glaring at him, marched over to his wardrobe.
She threw open the doors, grabbed one of his oversized, faded band hoodies, and pulled it over her head, instantly hiding her figure once again.
“How could you do that to me?” Cassie demanded, her voice tight, tears of frustration pricking the corners of her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan pleaded, genuinely remorseful.
“I wanted to be proven right, and they scared me.” It was a terrible, clumsy explanation, born out of pure shock.
“They didn’t scare me, they startled me,” he corrected, as she rolled her eyes.
“When the hell did you get those?”
“Puberty, you dumbass,” Cassie snapped, turning away from him.
“I was surprised, that’s all,” Ethan tried to explain, his voice pleading.
“I would react the same way if you got a haircut.”
Ethan, back on the couch, looked directly into the camera, his expression completely serious, totally unaware of the absurdity of his statement.
“A giant haircut.” He nodded, as if this perfectly explained his reaction.
The attic was silent, the tension thick and uncomfortable.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Cassie finally said, her voice low, a clear threat underlying the words.
“I promise,” Ethan said solemnly, raising his hand in a mock pledge.
He then, almost involuntarily, let his gaze drift back towards her chest, despite the oversized hoodie now concealing it.
“Will you stop staring at them?” Cassie yelled, throwing a drumstick at his head.
The atmosphere in the living room was thick with a different kind of tension.
Luke, looking surprisingly solemn, approached his mother, who was sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in her hand, looking exhausted from the day’s events.
“Mom, can I talk to you?” Luke asked, his voice small and hesitant.
Claire put her tea down, her maternal instincts instantly kicking in.
“Sure, honey.
What’s going on?”
Luke fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, avoiding her gaze.
“I feel bad about something I did.”
Claire’s face softened, preparing for a confession.
“Oh, sweetie.
Is this about the computer?”
“Yeah,” Luke admitted, his voice barely a whisper.
“Something you shouldn’t have been looking at?” Claire asked gently, guiding him.
“Yeah,” Luke said, finally looking up, his eyes wide.
“It was just so freaky.
I couldn’t stop looking.”
Claire nodded sympathetically, assuming he was talking about the smutty image she had found.
“I know, sweet pea.
But the important thing is you did stop looking.”
“Yeah,” Luke confirmed, nodding slowly.
“After about an hour.”
Claire’s eyes widened slightly at the duration, but she maintained her reassuring tone.
“Okay.
Well, it’s perfectly normal to be curious about these things.”
“Some parts were funny,” Luke mused, a small, confused frown creasing his forehead.
“Mm-hmm,” Claire encouraged, unsure where this was going.
“And some parts just seemed crazy,” Luke added, shaking his head.
“Well, I hope you realize that some of those parts weren’t real,” Claire said, trying to impart a gentle lesson about the unrealistic nature of pornography.
“Hmm,” Luke pondered this.
“But they can be totally real, right?” Luke asked, seeking confirmation.
“Hmm,” Claire murmured, unsure how to answer.
“Like Anne Frank’s?” Luke asked innocently.
Claire froze, her tea cup halfway to her mouth.
“What?” The image of a tractor-driving topless woman and Anne Frank crashed together in her brain with horrifying dissonance.
“All I know is it really made me wonder about Haley,” Luke said, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
Claire stared at him, utterly bewildered and deeply concerned.
“That’s disturbing, sweetie.
Why Haley?”
Just then, Haley came thundering down the stairs, her face flushed with fury, her phone clutched in her hand like a weapon.
Luke pointed at her, the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.
“It was her journal.”
Haley stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes narrowing as she locked onto Luke.
“You read my journal?
You little creep!” She lunged towards him.
Luke cowered behind Claire.
“I’m sorry!
I couldn’t help it.”
Claire held up a hand, stopping Haley in her tracks.
“Wait.” The relief that he wasn’t looking at porn was quickly replaced by the headache of sibling warfare.
“Haley’s journal too?
Luke, you are now banned from the computer.”
Alex, hearing the commotion, emerged from the kitchen, a smirk playing on her lips.
“What happened?
Who’s in trouble?”
“Luke read my journal!” Haley shrieked, pointing an accusing finger.
Alex crossed her arms, a look of vindication on her face.
“I told you it wasn’t me!”
Haley, her fury reignited, turned back to Luke.
“You know, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Haley, calm down,” Claire ordered, rubbing her temples, the headache pounding steadily now.
“Wait, you’re not even gonna yell at him?” Haley demanded, her voice shrill.
“That was private.”
Claire, exasperated, scoffed.
“Oh, please.
The most shocking thing in there was your spelling.”
Haley gasped, a look of profound betrayal crossing her face.
“You read it too?”
Alex looked around the room, a confused expression on her face.
“Am I the only one who hasn’t read it?”
Ethan, who had quietly descended the stairs having heard the shouting, leaned against the banister.
“I haven’t.”
Claire turned to Haley, trying to justify her actions.
“I was looking through the computers in the house for pornography.”
Ethan immediately seized the opportunity to point out the hypocrisy, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“So when I do it I’m a misogynist, but when you do it, it’s fine?”
Claire shot him a withering look.
“Not for me.
I wanted to see what you guys are looking at.”
“So you’re violating our privacy,” Haley accused, crossing her arms defensively.
“When I find out that my children are looking at a naked picture online, they don’t have any privacy,” Claire declared, her voice firm, attempting to regain the moral high ground.
“Who was looking at naked pictures?” Haley asked, genuinely confused, the journal momentarily forgotten.
“That doesn’t matter,” Claire said, waving her hand dismissively, realizing she had lost control of the narrative.
“I wasn’t,” Haley stated emphatically.
“Wasn’t me,” Alex added, shaking her head.
They all turned their collective gaze to Ethan, the most likely suspect.
Ethan scoffed, leaning against the banister, a smirk on his face.
“You really think I’m dumb enough to look at that on the internet with this nut in the house?” He gestured towards their mom.
“I’m not a nut,” Claire protested defensively.
“You are,” Haley agreed, nodding solemnly.
Ethan smirked before he looked to Luke.
“Last time I checked, that leaves one person.”
They all slowly turned to look at Luke, who was still standing near the couch, looking bewildered.
Luke stared back at them, his face a picture of innocent confusion.
“That’s gross.
I’m 10!”
Claire paused, the reality of the situation finally dawning on her.
The pieces clicked together.
“Wait a minute.”
Luke looked at his family, his face contorted in disgust.
“What’s wrong with you people?”
“If it wasn’t you, who was it?” Claire asked, her voice dropping to a whisper, the horrific truth hovering in the air.
The front door swung open, and Phil walked in, a wide, enthusiastic smile on his face, oblivious to the tense, accusatory silence in the room.
He held three large pizza boxes high in the air, the smell of pepperoni and sausage filling the entryway.
“Mangia!” Phil announced cheerfully, completely unaware that he had just walked into a firing squad.
Claire sat on the couch, her shoulders slumped, a cup of tea cooling in her hands.
The frantic energy of the day had drained away, leaving a quiet, weary melancholy.
“I couldn’t care less about the picture,” she admitted, her voice soft, gazing towards the staircase where the kids had disappeared.
“I was just upset when I thought it was Luke.”
She sighed, staring into her teacup.
“Haley’s off in her own world.
Alex has never really been a kid.
Ethan used to be a sweet kid who wanted to do everything together, but now he’s all grown up and never wants to do anything together.”
A flicker of sadness crossed her face as she remembered a time when Ethan would beg to help her bake cookies, standing on a stepstool, his face dusted with flour.
A/N) Do you want to see a young Ethan?
It will be a Volume Zero if you will.