couldn't get it any tighter, I opened the door to find Joe waiting outside. This was going to be an annoying routine.
"Sorry about your stuff," he said as he slipped past me.
"What?" But Joe had already clicked the door shut and locked it.
How would Joe know my clothes had vanished? I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I walked woodenly over to my old room and cracked the door open. Two empty beds. Not a surprise about Rachel, she always stayed out all night. But Monica? She never got up before noon. She was hiding.
I turned around and canvassed the house, looking for my clothes. Had Monica bleached them or something? They weren't in the tiny laundry area. I didn't really have to tiptoe around my mom in the living room. She'd fallen asleep in front of the TV, and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song was so loud, it gave me plenty of cover.
As I made my way to the kitchen, I realized that the television had also drowned out the sound of the dogs. I looked out the window over the sink and bit my lip. My mother's three Rottweilers lay in their fenced enclosure, snapping at each other and writhing around in a torn up nest of what had been my jeans and t-shirts. As I watched, Felony took a scrap of denim in his mouth and shook it violently, gnawing on it, working his teeth until foam sprayed through his jowls. Monica had obviously dipped my clothes in something that the dogs couldn't get enough of. They were utterly destroyed. If it weren't for my cheerleading uniforms, I'd have no clothes at all.
I knew I should grab something for breakfast, but my stomach twisted at the thought of food. Joe appeared in the kitchen, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his arms full of maroon and gold material. "I took these out of your room. Monica wouldn't check under the bed while you were in it, but these uniforms would be gone by the time you got home tonight. If they won't all fit in your locker I wouldn't mind giving you some space in mine."
I nodded wordlessly, and took my uniforms from him.
"Now that Phoebe's decided you're relevant you're really in for it," he said.
He moved silently to the front door, opened it a crack, placed his fingertips on the top of the door, and quietly eased it open. It always squeaked shrilly when I came and went, but now it didn’t make a sound.
"How did you?" I whispered, but Joe put his finger to his lips and motioned me through the door. Once I was down the front steps, he joined me on the scrubby lawn.
"Let's meet Kaia out in front of Mrs. Dutton's house," he said.
Joe loped with long strides across the lawn to our neighbor’s house. I could barely keep up, weighed down by all my uniforms. I tripped over the garden hose that lay limply in the patchy grass, and accidentally kicked not one, but two discarded aluminum cans. Joe gave me an exasperated look.
"I'm not feeling so ninja today," I muttered.
We stood on the street in front of Mrs. Dutton's funny little cottage-style house to wait for Kaia. I could still see our shabby turquoise mobile home, but we were definitely out of earshot. "How did you open and close the door without it squeaking?" I asked.
"Put just enough pressure on the top of the door when you're opening it and it doesn't make any noise. Too much or not enough and it won't work. I'll teach you tomorrow."
"What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"
"Let me put it to you this way. I saw Phoebe asleep just a few minutes ago when I rescued your uniforms. But do you know when the last time she saw me was?"
I shook my head. "No idea."
"Last Thanksgiving."
"Are you serious?"
Joe nodded. "Almost ten months. I've turned it into a game, just for the hell of it. I know I'll lose eventually, but I really enjoy playing."
We were quiet for a couple of minutes and I kicked at a rock in the road. Damn, I was bound and determined to ruin these blindingly white shoes. "Joe?"
"Yeah?"
"Yesterday, when I saw you in the hall outside our bathroom, I actually thought how weird
"Sorry about your stuff," he said as he slipped past me.
"What?" But Joe had already clicked the door shut and locked it.
How would Joe know my clothes had vanished? I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I walked woodenly over to my old room and cracked the door open. Two empty beds. Not a surprise about Rachel, she always stayed out all night. But Monica? She never got up before noon. She was hiding.
I turned around and canvassed the house, looking for my clothes. Had Monica bleached them or something? They weren't in the tiny laundry area. I didn't really have to tiptoe around my mom in the living room. She'd fallen asleep in front of the TV, and The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air theme song was so loud, it gave me plenty of cover.
As I made my way to the kitchen, I realized that the television had also drowned out the sound of the dogs. I looked out the window over the sink and bit my lip. My mother's three Rottweilers lay in their fenced enclosure, snapping at each other and writhing around in a torn up nest of what had been my jeans and t-shirts. As I watched, Felony took a scrap of denim in his mouth and shook it violently, gnawing on it, working his teeth until foam sprayed through his jowls. Monica had obviously dipped my clothes in something that the dogs couldn't get enough of. They were utterly destroyed. If it weren't for my cheerleading uniforms, I'd have no clothes at all.
I knew I should grab something for breakfast, but my stomach twisted at the thought of food. Joe appeared in the kitchen, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his arms full of maroon and gold material. "I took these out of your room. Monica wouldn't check under the bed while you were in it, but these uniforms would be gone by the time you got home tonight. If they won't all fit in your locker I wouldn't mind giving you some space in mine."
I nodded wordlessly, and took my uniforms from him.
"Now that Phoebe's decided you're relevant you're really in for it," he said.
He moved silently to the front door, opened it a crack, placed his fingertips on the top of the door, and quietly eased it open. It always squeaked shrilly when I came and went, but now it didn’t make a sound.
"How did you?" I whispered, but Joe put his finger to his lips and motioned me through the door. Once I was down the front steps, he joined me on the scrubby lawn.
"Let's meet Kaia out in front of Mrs. Dutton's house," he said.
Joe loped with long strides across the lawn to our neighbor’s house. I could barely keep up, weighed down by all my uniforms. I tripped over the garden hose that lay limply in the patchy grass, and accidentally kicked not one, but two discarded aluminum cans. Joe gave me an exasperated look.
"I'm not feeling so ninja today," I muttered.
We stood on the street in front of Mrs. Dutton's funny little cottage-style house to wait for Kaia. I could still see our shabby turquoise mobile home, but we were definitely out of earshot. "How did you open and close the door without it squeaking?" I asked.
"Put just enough pressure on the top of the door when you're opening it and it doesn't make any noise. Too much or not enough and it won't work. I'll teach you tomorrow."
"What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?"
"Let me put it to you this way. I saw Phoebe asleep just a few minutes ago when I rescued your uniforms. But do you know when the last time she saw me was?"
I shook my head. "No idea."
"Last Thanksgiving."
"Are you serious?"
Joe nodded. "Almost ten months. I've turned it into a game, just for the hell of it. I know I'll lose eventually, but I really enjoy playing."
We were quiet for a couple of minutes and I kicked at a rock in the road. Damn, I was bound and determined to ruin these blindingly white shoes. "Joe?"
"Yeah?"
"Yesterday, when I saw you in the hall outside our bathroom, I actually thought how weird
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