One of the Boys

I swore to secrecy, and then followed Mark inside the backyard fort he’d built with my other older brother. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the low light that leaked in through slats and knots.
Mom’s kitchen towels hung tidily on the wooden walls. Mark lifted one to reveal a lurid centerfold, its glossy page chewed by snails. With me reeling, Mark then exhibited their cigarette stash—KOOLs swiped from Dad’s dresser.
Rather than protecting their den of iniquity, as I intended, they posted my perfect gift on their bedroom door. I was to KEEP OUT, they howled, thus clipping any notion I ever had of being one of the boys.