Four
After last night, I’m anxious about the commute back from Lily’s, but fortunately, her father returns before dinner, and I can make it home before dark.
When my mom died, our house had been too empty and too expensive, so my dad and I moved to an apartment near my school.
It’s a duplex townhouse, with us on the right side, and our landlady, Ms. Pellingham, and her three brown Dobermans; Snoopy, Linus, and Lucy, on the left.
A wire fence closes off Ms. Pellingham’s half of the yard, and the dobermans keep watch.
The dogs miss nothing. If a squirrel drops a nut from the oak tree across the street, they’ll bark and claw the dirt like they’ve hidden thousands of nuts in it, just to send a message.
The dobermans bound up to the fence when I reach the porch. Their tails wag a happy greeting, so their kibble must have been edible. I normally deliver their food because it helps Ms. Pellingham, the store is on the way to Lily’s, and my dad and I get to stay on our landlady’s good side.
“What’s up, guys?” I’m not allowed to feed them treats, but I’ve seen Ms. Pellingham give them part of a granola bar, so I dig through my pockets for a peanut butter one and toss them each a tiny bite.
“I have to be quick, okay? Before your mom comes out.” As I add that, Ms. Pellingham’s door creaks open. I rush inside and they bark after me.
My dad occupies the kitchen and fiddles with the stove. He’s changed since work, but black grease still smudges his forehead. An occupational hazard of being an auto mechanic is that there’s always grease on his face.
“Smells like spaghetti,” I say. I dump my backpack and beeline for a glass of water and some headache meds, which he’s already left for me on the counter.
“And how’s Lily today?” he asks, noting the marker stains on my jeans. A pot boils over on its burner, and he hops over to rescue the pasta.
“I feel like a dragon swallowed me, decided I taste like sardines, and spit me out into a pile of babysitter carcasses.”
“Nothing new, then.” He nods.
Today, Lily gathered her stash of markers and turned their family’s new, state-of-the-art kitchenette into what she defined as the “pretty princess castle for pretty princesses,” which includes Lily and excludes me.
Even though I’m bigger, stronger, and faster than she is, she locked me out and I never witnessed her finished product.
I’ve seen the mural she gave her room, however, and definitely would not call it museum material.
“I can’t believe they keep asking me back,” I say.
“They’ve probably run out of other babysitters. Great job security.” That, and Lily’s father works for Mayor Bridges, meaning he works a lot.
I still haven’t told my dad about Raincoat Guy. “Um,” I start, but the dobermans’ barks bellow through our wall. A second later, tires squeal on the driveway.
“Cut it out, dogs,” Arielle shouts.
My dad stirs his tomato sauce. “Madaroni, will you please invite your sister in?”
No way in hell. Yet, because it was my dad who asked, I cooperate.
“Hi.” I open the door. Arielle moves impressively fast in her pressed clothes and fancy shoes. Her hair swirls around her shoulders like a blown-out cape, which she pats into place once she’s safe from the dogs, though she doesn’t intrude farther than the coat closet.
“Hello, sweetheart,” says my dad. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Their relationship is a small step up from Arielle’s and mine, in that they talk on holidays and whenever else she deigns to appear.
That isn’t new. Arielle moved out several years ago, when she attended the university in Capital City, and since then, we never know when she’ll swing by.
It can’t be easy for Dad to see Arielle and me together; we look exactly like our mom. Arielle even started wearing heavy peach-colored lipstick, Meredith Roberts’ signature look.
Arielle heaves a sigh. “I assume you’re following the news?”
“If by news you mean the daily crossword,” he says. “Finished it this morning. Twenty-seven down was tough, but you’re not here to compare answers, are you? Come on in, let’s discuss over spaghetti.”
My sister shifts from one heel to the other. “There’s been a crime spike, especially in neighborhoods near here. I wouldn’t go out after dark, if I were you. Storm season is coming too.”
“Thanks.” If my dad is dejected that Arielle has ignored his invitation, he doesn’t show it. “But tell Phil that there wouldn’t be a so-called crime spike if his force were still patrolling.”
“You’re welcome for the concern.” She twists toward the door, her face as blank as snow and just as cold. Arielle the ice princess. Lily definitely would have invited my sister into her pretty princess castle.
“It wasn’t concern,” I blurt. “Why do you care where we go at night? What’s Phil planning now? Hiring burglars to steal family heirlooms for his campaign fund?”
Everyone knows that Phil, my brother-in-law and the mayor of Capital City, depends on the Supers, not the cops, to keep crime in check.
Instead of fixing problems, he throws fundraisers and floats around on yachts.
Somehow, the people of Capital City love him anyway, and his approval rating is at 95 percent.
Yet, it’s only a matter of time until criminals realize that Golden Ace can’t be in two places at once.
“That’s enough,” says Dad.
“It’s fine.” Arielle fixes her void stare on me. “I thought I would remind you before anyone else in this family does something stupid, like venturing out during a crime spike, or traveling after dark during the worst storm in decades.”
“That’s enough, ” says Dad. She hit a nerve and we all know it.
“Enjoy your evening.” Arielle opens the door to leave. Before stepping over the threshold she adds, “Be careful who you trust.”
I slam the door behind her. The dogs drown out the clacking of her shoes against the pavement. Be careful who you trust. That’s rich, from Arielle. Mom once told us, “Be careful of people who don’t seem to have enemies.” Specifically, Phil Bridges.
Without a word, my dad divvies up the spaghetti and we sit down for our family dinner. While I eat the delicious carbohydrates, I realize that I’ve learned two things from Arielle’s visit:
1. Somewhere, deep down inside, Arielle still cares about my dad and me. At least she cares enough to tell us that…
2. Something big is about to happen in Capital City. Something so big, Arielle wants us to avoid involvement at all costs.
What is my sister hiding?
~
After dinner, I choose to ignore Arielle’s warning and go for a walk, because she isn’t the boss of me. Besides, I know my neighborhood, and I’ve seen the latch where the dobermans’ gate unlocks. And, according to D.S., Raincoat Guy is no longer with us.
The dilapidated playground at the end of my street feels bigger at night than during the day and even rustier.
The neighborhood parents built it years before my dad and I moved in.
Their kids are long gone, but the swings are a nice place to think, and I’m up to date on my tetanus shots.
I relax onto my favorite swing and push off the splintered woodchips. Back and forth. Squeal. Squeak.
Autumn wind stings my neck, and I rub my hands together. In a few months, the little park will be covered in leaves and snow and abandonment. For now, it has me. Right on the edge of the cul-de-sac, there’s nowhere to hide around here. No one to hide from.
Arielle’s words simmer in the stillness, something stupid, like going out after sunset during the worst storm in decades.
Crickets feast on what hangs in the air and their chirping makes my stomach twist. My dad and I talk about my mom a lot, but Arielle never mentions her, which can’t be healthy.
I guess I can’t judge though. Some days, I get so tense that if someone in class drops a pencil on the floor, I’ll jump in my chair and hit my knee on my desk.
Then I’ll have a giant bruise for swim practice and Fox will say, what happened to the other guy?
And Arielle will frown at us, and it’s a whole thing.
The car accident was three years, two weeks, and two days ago, on the day I started high school.
That night, Phil Bridges officially launched his election campaign.
Arielle had gotten engaged to him the week before and was supporting Phil at his event.
My mom and Mr. and Mrs. Levine, Fox’s parents, were reporters, carpooling on their way to cover it.
Arielle was correct: the accident was during the worst storm in decades, with fierce winds and a torrential downpour so thick it flooded the high school parking lot.
My dad and I watched Phil’s event on TV. A breaking news update interrupted it, showing the car crash, and the police knocked on our door just seconds later.
My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, jolting me back to the present. The screen shows a message from Fox, who never texts me anymore.
Have u done the calc hw?
It’s funny how Fox can still be annoying without being near me.
Yeah. Why?
A minute later, he responds. Ur the only one who got an assignment sheet. We all forgot. Can you send a pic?
Ah. Fox had asked everyone in our class before he’d asked me. That makes more sense.
Not home right now, can when I get back. I press send and shove my cell phone back inside my windbreaker.
The stars twinkle in bright white and pale yellow, and a sudden shadow stretches over the woodchips. Steady breathing advances from behind me.
I never did buy that pepper spray.
“Have another $200 for me, Roberts?” A hazy figure takes the swing next to mine, which creaks when he sits.