Chapter Two

“At least this’ll give you two an opportunity to bond,” Mom told us when we dropped her off at the airport.

Gramps had a heart attack. The good news was he was going to be okay; there wasn’t much damage to his heart. The bad news was Gramma had flipped out, and needed Mom to be with her in Toronto for at least a week. Which meant I was stuck with Clay.

I felt like puking when they gave each other one of those big mushy kisses. Instead I turned away and counted to five, hoping that when I was done the two lovebirds would be through. It was a good thing she had a plane to catch or they might still be at it.

On the way home, I made a point of not saying a word to Clay. I could tell from the way he tapped the steering wheel that I was making him uncomfortable. That cheered me up a little.

There was a slimy brown apple core at the edge of the floor mat, near my right foot.

“Oops,” Clay said when he noticed me looking down at it. “I didn’t want to throw it out the window.”

“Do you have a bag in here for garbage?” I asked him.

He pointed to the glove compartment, but when I opened it, all this junk came tumbling out onto my lap. Crumpled-up maps, candy wrappers, parking tickets and car wash coupons. I couldn’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Clay asked. “I told you there was a bag in there,” he added triumphantly, pointing to a tattered plastic bag balled up in the back corner of the glove compartment.

“What do you feel like having for supper?” he asked me when we’re turning the corner and heading onto our block.

I knew what I didn’t feel like having. Pasta with peanut butter. “Whatever,” I told him, shrugging my shoulders.

“Well then, I guess I’ll invent something.”

My heart sank. What was he going to do—add jam to the recipe?

“I’m going to shoot some hoops,” I told him as we pulled into the driveway. I hoped that maybe I’d bump into Patsy, the girl from that morning, on the way to the park

I was dribbling my basketball down the sidewalk when I noticed a telephone company van parked outside Patsy’s house. They were probably getting their phone hooked up.

When I got closer, I noticed the garage door was half open. I slowed down for a better look. Maybe Patsy’s dad was doing some yard work. But there was no sign of anyone.

I looked over my shoulder. Nobody was watching. Then, just like that, I walked into the garage. It was like I was on autopilot. I didn’t know what made me do it. Curiosity, I guess.

I remembered something we learned in English. This guy, Edgar Allan Poe, came up with an idea he called “the imp of the perverse.” Mr. Johnston—I had him for English last year—said it’s like when you see a sign that says Wet paint. Don’t touch, and you have this overwhelming urge to touch it. It was like that with the Levesques’ garage door. If it hadn’t been open, I never would’ve thought of going inside.

My heart was thumping like crazy, and I was sweating. The weirdest part was I didn’t think I ever felt more alive. Or more excited.

The garage was filled with cardboard boxes, stacked one on top of the other. They were all labeled. Kitchen—pots. Dining room—fragile—good china. Pats, which I figured was short for Patsy. I spotted some barbells on the floor. They were probably her dad’s.

A steel door led into the house. I turned the handle, sure it would be locked. But it wasn’t. I was in the basement. There wasn’t much light and the air smelled like old socks.

I heard a voice from upstairs. It was Patsy, saying something about a phone jack.

“Annette, do you really think it’s a good idea to let Pats have a phone in her room?” a man’s voice asked.

“I promised her she could,” Patsy’s mother said.

“Next thing she’ll be wanting her own number.”

“Now that you mention it, Dad…” Patsy’s laugh sounded like bells.

Careful not to make any noise, I sat down on the wooden steps that led from the basement up to the next floor. Now they were all laughing. Patsy, her mom and dad, and someone else. Did Patsy have a brother—or was the guy from the phone company in on the joke?

My heart was still thumping. What would I say if they found me? That I was on my way to the park when I decided to drop by? I knew I should leave, but it was like some gravitational force was keeping me there. Besides, it felt good to hear them laughing.

“Okay, that’s a long-enough coffee-break!” Mrs. Levesque was saying, and I heard a box being lugged across the floor. “Let’s get a few more boxes unpacked, shall we?”

Someone tore open a box.

“What did you think of Josh?” Mrs. Levesque asked. Even though the basement was cool, I felt my face turn hot. It isn’t too often you get a chance to hear what people have to say about you when you’re not there. Or when they don’t know you are.

“He’s okay,” Patsy said. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Then Patsy said something else. It was either “He’s not my type” or “He is my type.” The sound was muffled, so I couldn’t tell for sure.

“Clay seems pleasant,” Mrs. Levesque observed. “I gather he’s the stepfather.”

“Too bad about the corny sense of humor,” Patsy said. She might not have the best taste in guys, but the girl wasn’t stupid.

I couldn’t make out what Mrs. Levesque said next because the phone guy interrupted. “The jacks are installed,” he said.

He must have been wearing work boots because I could hear heavy footsteps on the floor above me. The sound came closer.

I couldn’t keep sitting on the stairs. I headed for the nearest hiding place—the crawl space underneath the stairway. The air smelled even mustier here, and there were hard black pellets on the ground that felt rough against my knees. Mouse droppings, maybe. It was so dark that I didn’t notice an old steamer trunk until I bumped into it.

“Did you hear something?” Mrs. Levesque asked. When she opened the basement door, a ray of light shone in like a spotlight. I took a deep breath.

“It’s these old houses,” the phone guy said. “Everything creaks.”

I almost sighed with relief, but, of course, I couldn’t. I didn’t even breathe as he walked down the stairs. He was so close I could see that the soles of his boots were worn.

My heart thumped even faster. Sure, I was doing something wrong, but it was definitely giving me an adrenaline rush. This must be what it feels like to be a home invader.