“Nah,” she says. “I saw him right before I was about to leave the city. He was still at Isabella’s, hitting on some poor little freshman with a lip ring.”
“But then … why are all the lights on?”
“Um, probably because his parents are home,” Marissa says. “And because they’re obviously not worried about their carbon footprint. Now, come on.” She starts crossing the lawn, heading over to the side of the house where Cooper told us the open basement window is. I follow her, but … it’s kind of creepy out here.
And dark, which in the city didn’t seem so bad, because there were people around. And, yeah, some of those people were shady, but at least they were people. Out here there’s just … nothing. But darkness. And crickets.
And okay, yeah, maybe Tyler’s not here, but what if someone’s about to jump out at me? Not even one of the 318s, but someone else? Like a real murderer or maimer, who’s hanging out in the woods, waiting to get me? Not that there are woods out here. But Tyler’s backyard does have a lot of trees and a lot of good hiding places for crazy people. Wouldn’t that be a horrible, unfortunate coincidence? Some kind of weird stalker/killer type hanging out back here on the one night I attempt to break into Tyler’s house?
“Hey,” I whisper to Marissa. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”
“Do you want them passing your notebook all over school?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “But they won’t post it all over school if I do everything they say.”
“How do you know?” She’s a few steps ahead of me, and she looks over her shoulder meaningfully. Oh my God. I never even thought of that! I mean, there’s no way to know for sure that the 318s are going to stop this. I could do everything they want, and they could still pass my notebook around or post it online. The only real way to make sure all the secrets stay safe is to get the notebook back.
“There it is,” Marissa whispers. She points at the basement window, which, just like Cooper said, is open. Just a tiny bit, so little that you wouldn’t even notice it if you didn’t know. I guess that’s the point. So that Tyler’s parents and/or burglars don’t realize that people can get in if they want.
There’s no screen on the outside, and Marissa leans down and slides the window open easily. I take my cell phone out of my pocket and turn it on, letting the light flash into the cellar. There’s a black folding chair under the window. Again, just like Cooper said.
“That thing doesn’t look so sturdy,” I say, looking at it doubtfully.
“Oh, please,” Marissa says. “If it can hold Eric Partridge, it can hold us.” Eric Partridge is one of Tyler’s best friends, and he must weigh at least three hundred pounds. One time in gym class when we had to do rope climbing, Eric started climbing and the whole apparatus snapped and fell from the gym ceiling.
“I don’t think Eric Partridge uses that chair,” I say. My stomach turns a little bit at the thought of actually going into Tyler’s basement. Isn’t this breaking and entering?
“We’re not going to get caught,” Marissa says, as if she’s reading my mind. “No one’s going to hear us, we’re going to get in and get out.”
“Fine,” I say uncertainly.
“I’ll go in first,” she offers. Which is really nice of her, since (a) it’s my notebook that we’re trying to get back and (b) we don’t know for sure that there aren’t snakes and/or someone waiting down there to kill us.
She turns around and slides down through the window, taking a second for her feet to find the chair. I hear her step down, and then she disappears into the darkness.
“Nice,” she whispers. “It’s carpeted.”
I sigh and turn around, then slide myself backward through the window. My hands get wet grass all over them, and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be doing this in the outfit I’m wearing. Hopefully Kate doesn’t love these pants. My legs flail around until I feel the chair, and then I step down onto the carpet of Tyler’s basement.
Marissa and I stand there for a second, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness. Hmm. Okay, so this place is starting to seem not so creepy. There are big squashy couches and a dart board on the wall. A big flat-screen TV is mounted in the corner, and a couple of empty beer bottles sit on a coffee table, which is littered with sports magazines.
The floor is clean, and it looks kind of like a bachelor pad, if the bachelor had someone (I’m assuming Tyler’s mom) making sure that the place stayed clean and didn’t get too gross. And it’s not even really that dark down here, with the moonlight streaming in through the windows.
Over in the corner, near what looks like the furnace, is a circle of chairs.
“I think that’s—,” I start. From upstairs, a big booming sound comes, like someone dropped something on the floor. Then I hear a woman’s voice say, “Oh sorry, Cal, I just wanted to make sure I got this in the fridge now that our guests have gone.”
Ohmigod! Tyler’s parents! Tyler’s parents are in what sounds like the kitchen, and I can hear them! Talking about getting something into the refrigerator! I look over to the stairs that lead up to the house and notice that the door at the top of them is open just a crack. OH. MY. GOD. Is Cooper crazy? Why would he send me into Tyler’s house if he knew that THE DOOR AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS MIGHT BE OPEN? And that Tyler’s parents might be flouncing around the kitchen?
“Edward!” the woman’s voice says next. “What are you doing up? It’s very late, young man, you get back upstairs to bed right now.”
“BUT I WANT WOOBY!” a little kid’s voice (Tyler’s brother?) screams. Yikes.
“Well, I don’t know where your Wooby is, you probably …” the woman’s voice fades away, along with the sounds of high heels clicking over a tile floor. I can hear soft classical music playing upstairs. Probably Tyler’s parents had some kind of old people party or something, which is why they’re still awake. And now apparently Tyler’s little brother is awake too, looking for his Wooby.
Leave it to us to pick the one night there’s a big commotion going on upstairs. I mean, parents should be in bed at this hour, sleeping or reading or watching 60 Minutes.
I look at Marissa and put my finger to my lips, signaling her to be quiet. She gives me a look, as if to say, “Duh, I know.” I start making my way slowly over to the corner, where the chairs are set up. In the middle of the circle I can see what looks like a box. A big black box. A big black box that probably has my notebook in it. A big black box that has a big black combination lock on it.
Shit, shit, shit. I crouch down and try to slide the top of the box back, but of course it doesn’t open, and when I close my eyes for a second and will the lock to open, it doesn’t happen.
“Shit,” I whisper. I try to pick up the box, but it’s way too heavy.
“What is it?” Marissa asks, tiptoeing over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s locked.” I’m punching Cooper’s number into my phone. I cannot believe he would do something like this to me! Talk about sending me to the wolves!
“Eliza?” he asks when he answers. “What is it, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He sounds panicked, probably because he’s afraid of getting into trouble with Tyler and the dumb 318s.
“You asshole,” I hiss. “Why didn’t you tell me it was locked?” From upstairs, the sound of a TV comes through the floorboards. It’s muted, but sounds like some kind of late-night talk show. “And why didn’t you tell me his parents would probably be up, basically partying in their kitchen?”
“I didn’t know,” he says.
“That it would be locked? Or that the parents would be up?”
Marissa, who’s listening to my side of the conversation, sighs in exasperation.
“Either,” he says. “But listen, it’s okay, I know the combination. Twenty-eight, seventeen, seven.”
I take a deep breath and start to turn the dial on the lock. But my hands are shaking, and I go by number 7, and so I have to start over. And then, right when I’m on the number 17 for the s
econd time, the door at the top of the stairs starts to open.
Chapter Eight
12:18 a.m.
My stomach jumps into my throat, and I look over at Marissa, whose eyes become wide with fear. Shit, shit, shit. I put my finger to my lips and then don’t move, hoping that whoever is at the top of the stairs is going to, you know, go away. Or at least decide they don’t need whatever it is they wanted from the basement.
But then the light flips on, and we hear footsteps shuffling down the stairs, and suddenly a little boy appears. He’s about six or seven, and he’s wearing a pair of pajamas with planes all over them.
He’s holding a book, and when he sees me and Marissa there, huddled over the box in the corner, he drops it on the ground.
“Oh, hi,” Marissa whispers. “Hi, honey.” She gives him a big smile. “We’re friends of your brother.”
The boy doesn’t say anything. He just stares at us, his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “We’re friends of Tyler’s, and I thought I forgot something here, but it turns out I didn’t.” Abandon plan! Abandon plan! Time to get the hell out of here.
Marissa and I are both moving back toward the window now, nodding as if that will make what we’re saying true. Tyler’s little brother (at least, I’m assuming that’s who it is unless Tyler has some other reason for a seven-year-old kid to be living with him) is just watching us.
I catch Marissa’s eye, and I can tell we’re thinking the same thing—just get the hell out of here, and then we can worry about everything else later. It doesn’t matter that we don’t have the notebook, the most important thing is getting out of here without getting caught.
“So, um, we’ll see you around, little buddy,” Marissa says. She puts one foot on the chair and starts to climb up, but unfortunately, her upper body strength isn’t that great, and she’s unable to hoist herself back out the window. I guess Cooper forgot to take into account that we’re girls, and that his dumb football-playing friends are probably lifting every single day, while I haven’t lifted in … since … well, ever.
“Let me try,” I say, after Marissa has tried six times unsuccessfully to lift herself up onto the ledge. Tyler’s brother is still standing there, just staring at us.
But it’s the same thing for me. I can’t get up.
“Let me try to lift you,” I suggest. “Then once you get outside, you can pull me out.”
“Oooh, good idea,” she says. I put my arms around her waist and lift with all my might. Marissa hauls herself up onto the ledge, and for a second, it looks like she’s going to do it, she’s going to get out, and yes, we don’t have the notebook, but for a second it seems like we’re going to be free, free, free.
And then Tyler’s little brother takes a huge deep breath and screams bloody murder.
Tyler’s mom is the first one to get down to the basement, and when she sees us, she freaks out.
“Cal!” she screams. “Cal, there are INTRUDERS IN OUR BASEMENT!” She picks up a broom from where it’s leaning against the wall, and for a second it seems like maybe she’s going to attack us with it. But then she thinks better of it, and just sort of stands there, brandishing it and looking threatening. She’s all dressed up, in a black cocktail dress and high heels, so the whole thing is kind of funny. If it wasn’t so serious, I mean.
“Oh, no,” I say “We’re not intruders. I mean, yes, we did intrude on your house, but we’re not … I mean, we don’t want to take anything.” Lie, but sort of not really. We don’t want to take anything that doesn’t already belong to us, but something tells me that wouldn’t go over well with this woman. “We’re friends of Tyler’s, and he told us we could come in through this window.”
“Tyler would never say such a thing!” Mrs. Twill looks like she can’t believe I would even suggest anything so outlandish. Shows how well she knows her son. “And especially not when he knows we were having the McIntyres over for dinner.” She pulls Tyler’s brother toward her. “You girls probably woke up Edward! His room is right over the basement!”
“I want my Wooby!” Edward yells.
“Of course, darling,” Mrs. Twill says. She smoothes his hair and then looks around the basement. “There he is, over there on the couch.” Edward scampers off and grabs a teddy bear off the couch, then buries his face back into his mother’s dress.
“Anyway,” Marissa says. “Tyler did say we could come in through the window. He told us to climb in, and to wait for him here.” She shrugs and opens her eyes all innocent. I like where she’s going with this, although I don’t like her tone (kind of bitchy, which I think is the wrong tactic, since I can already tell Mrs. Twill is one of those mothers who doesn’t think their kid can ever do anything wrong).
“It’s true,” I say, all sweetness and light. “He said to come in here and wait for him, that he’d be home soon. He said you guys didn’t mind him having friends over late, but that he didn’t want to disturb you and Mr. Twill and Edward. So we just came in, but we’re so so sorry to scare you, I can’t even imagine how horrible that must be, I know that I get super-scared when I’m home alone and I think like every single little noise is some kind of stranger creeping in, not that I’m home alone that much, but I am this weekend, my parents went away, so I can understand what you must feel like, coming down to the basement and seeing us here.” I’m babbling now, but I can’t stop.
Then Tyler’s dad comes thundering down the stairs. “What’s going on, Meg?” he asks. “Are you okay?” And then he sees us. “Oh,” he says. He peers at us closely. “Eliza, right?”
“Yes!” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. Because I just remembered that Mr. Twill knows me! Well, sort of. I met him one time when he came to pick Tyler up from Cooper’s house. He seemed nice enough, and we chatted for a few minutes about the weather and some football game he was excited about. He must be really good with names.
“You know her?” Mrs. Twill asks. She says it almost accusingly.
“This is Cooper’s girlfriend,” Mr. Twill says. “Right?”
“Yes, yes,” I say, not bothering to correct him. “Yup, I’m Cooper’s girlfriend all right.”
“We haven’t seen Cooper around here lately,” Mr. Twill says. “What’s he been up to these days?” Um, going out with me as a joke and then getting involved in some sort of cruel blackmail game involving your son and a weird notebook that I keep? “He’s just been, you know, busy with school and stuff.”
“Ahh,” Mr. Twill says, putting his arm around Mrs. Twill. “Young love.”
“Yup,” I say. “We’re young. And totally in love.” I beam at him. Although now that I think about it, Mr. Twill’s young-love theory might not be that far off. If Cooper isn’t hanging out with me, and he’s not hanging out with Tyler, then he’s probably hanging out with Isabella. They’re probably spending all their time at her dumb little apartment, pretending they’re newlyweds or something.
“You’re pretty,” Edward says shyly to me.
“Thanks,” I say, happy in spite of myself. I mean, how sweet.
“So, it’s been great catching up, but obviously we’ve disrupted your night and I guess Tyler must not be coming home after all,” Marissa says. “So we’ll just be on our way out of here.”
“Sure, sure,” Mr. Twill says. “Come on upstairs and use the front door this time.” He gives a big hearty laugh. “And we’ll make sure we tell Tyler that you stopped by.”
Marissa and I look at each other in horror.
“Actually, um, if you could … not do that, we’d really appreciate it.”
Mrs. Twill narrows her eyes at us. She has short brown hair and a pointy nose, and when she narrows her eyes like that, she looks kind of like a chipmunk. But not in a cute way. More in a “I’m a deranged chipmunk that wants to maybe kill you” kind of way. “Why?” she asks suspiciously.
“Why?” I repeat, stalling for time.
“Yes,” she says. “Why would we not tell Tyler you stopped by, if,
in fact, he asked you to?” She still has the broom in her hands, and it’s making me kind of nervous.
“Because,” Marissa says. She still sounds a little haughty, which really makes no sense, since we have no reason to be haughty. Like, at all.
“Because,” I say slowly. “The thing is, Tyler didn’t invite us here.” Mrs. Twill gives us a smirk. Ugh. How annoying is she? No wonder Tyler is so misogynistic; he completely and totally hates his mother. “The thing is, that um, he just invited me.”
Mr. Twill frowns. “Say what, now?”
“Well, Mr. Twill,” I say, deciding that if there’s any way out of this, it’s with Tyler’s dad and definitely not his mom.
“Please,” he says, holding up his hand. “Call me Cal.”
“Cal,” I say, “The thing is that my friend Marissa here”—I point at Marissa—“she kind of has a thing for Tyler.”
Marissa’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to say something, but I shoot her a warning look. “Yes,” she says morosely. “It’s true. I have a thing for Tyler.”
“A thing for him?” Mrs. Twill asks, looking slightly interested.
“Yes,” I say. “She, you know, likes him.” I rush on quickly before anyone can say anything else. “And since Tyler is one of the most popular and sought-after boys in our class, you can see how Marissa would be shy about telling him her feelings.” I’m not sure which is more sickening—that Tyler’s mom seems to be lapping up all these compliments about her son, or that, unfortunately, all the things I’ve said about Tyler are true. He is one of the most popular and sought-after boys in our grade.
“I get that,” Cal says. “Tyler is kind of a ladies’ man.” He looks pleased. Maybe he’s glad Tyler’s getting a lot of ladies. Maybe he himself didn’t do so well when he was in high school. Mr. Twill isn’t bad looking, although he could stand to lose a few pounds. But his super-nice personality makes me think he might have been one of those nice guys who always finished last. I mean, he did end up with Mrs. Twill.
“Totally a ladies’ man,” I say, deciding to lay it on real thick. “In fact, if I didn’t already have a boyfriend, I’m sure I’d be after him too.”