How did this timid geek, on a bright, sunny summer day, get locked outside in his own backyard, with nothing to cover up with, for the next 5 hours until his mother makes it home? How does he react to the realization of being locked outside?
Trevor is used to sudden nakedness in open areas prime for voyeurism, and this is because he has been hazed in such a manner before: an initiation into his fraternity, because it was either that or get a tattoo on his ass cheek. It's not that he hates needles; he just didn't trust a fellow frat brother to do it. Not with that health score. Not with the obvious smell of moonshine curling Trevor's fingers into a shaking fist. He really would have punched the too-buff, too-much-turd of a guy. Only in Trevor's mind though, if his peaceful, reserved ways had anything to say about it. Which they did, in a loud, bolded "DO NOT DO IT. YOU WILL DIE. YOUR MOTHER WILL BE VERY UPSET, TREVOR." "Kid, you got a backbone or what?" asked Hale, the tattoo artist. He was chewing tobacco. What was his deal? "Yes. Yes. I will be revealing it shortly," Trevor had said, running out of the parlor and toward freedom. He was out of towels, that's what had started this business. The dryer was busted, and his mother had taken to old-school clothes-lining it. He had made the gamble and lost, the patio door locked behind him. The sun, in her ethereal ways, had dried him out to the bone and begun a subtle tan to embellish his birthday suit. Just 5 hours until his mother could rescue her stupid baby boy. He sat in the shade of his father's maple tree until then, digging up a time capsule of books from when he was younger. It was too soon to open it, but the situation of boredom was too dire not to. And there he found it, his favorite book.
