noises about being too old for trick-or-treating.
“Meet me at the fort at seven,” Stony said.
Finally he decided, What could she do, ground him?
He conceived a two-part plan. Part one consisted of begging. He explained that he’d be dressed as a mummy,wrapped head to foot, and that no one could possibly see anything. That they would only go to five houses. That Junie and Kwang would cover for him. (Junie said, “What? No! I’m going with the youth group.”) He promised that he wouldn’t even
speak
—Kwang would do all the talking.
No, his mother said, as he knew she would. No, no, absolutely not.
He argued for a good fifteen minutes, even raising his voice (which he hardly ever did), while his mother grew more and more angry. What’s gotten into you? she kept saying. He almost bailed out on his plan then. Mom was still on edge from Chelsea’s disappearance, and it didn’t seem fair to hit her when she wasn’t at the top of her game. Then he thought of Kwang taking off without him, and he played his trump card.
“I’m going out,” he said. “And you can’t stop me.”
Her face went white. “What did you say?” Her voice, Stony thought, was like a knife sliding between two ribs (
Head Case
, chapter 4).
He took a breath. “I said—”
“Go … to … your …
room
.”
He stopped fighting. He turned and marched toward his bedroom, his mother two steps behind him. He walked into the room and before he could slam the door his mother slammed it for him. He tried to think of what his sisters would say, and finally yelled back, “Fine!” Then he loudly and conspicuously locked the door.
His bedroom was a converted pantry, a tiny room with one broom closet for his few clothes, and enough space for a bed and a dresser and a small writing desk. By his mother’s design, there were no windows. Maybe it was a bit paranoid to think that anyone could see into the house this far from theroad, or that strangers would sneak up to the house and peek in, but he’d never objected. He was comfortable in the dark.
He sat down on the bed. He stared at his hands, the floor, his shoes. He thought he heard his mother crying, but maybe that was Junie. After thirty minutes, nobody had checked on him.
He went to the closet, opened the door, and knelt. He pushed his shoes out of the way, then worked his fingers into the holes he’d bored into the rightmost floorboard. He lifted, and a two-foot-square section of floor lifted away.
“You are such a jerk,” Stony said.
Kwang laughed. He wore torn clothing smeared with dirt. He’d painted his face white, then darkened under his eyes, blackened his gums. He’d even made a fake red wound on his forehead. He moaned, lifted his hands.
“And I do not look like that,” Stony said.
“No, you look worse. Are you ready?”
He wasn’t, quite. Kwang helped him finish wrapping and taping. Weeks ago Stony had come across two rolls of white crêpe paper in the hall closet, which had triggered the mummy idea, but that went quickly and he’d had to supplement with toilet paper. The tissue would not stay together. He stood still while Kwang used silver duct tape to reinforce his back and legs. Last Stony wrapped his head, leaving an inch-wide gap for his eyes.
They hit the first five homes in quick order, then kept walking toward town, where the houses were closer together. “These are full-size Snickers,” Kwang said after one house. “Do you know how rare that is?”
He didn’t, but he was happy anyway. Their pillowcases grewheavy, despite Kwang eating constantly as they went. Stony didn’t care for candy—he didn’t care much for anything, food-wise—but he loved the idea of
loot
. Each Three Musketeers and pack of Smarties was a sign of accomplishment; each Chunky a medal of honor. Even the lesser treats—popcorn balls, hard candies, caramel corn—were valuable for the weight they added to his bag.
Stony’s mummy costume had begun to shred,
“Meet me at the fort at seven,” Stony said.
Finally he decided, What could she do, ground him?
He conceived a two-part plan. Part one consisted of begging. He explained that he’d be dressed as a mummy,wrapped head to foot, and that no one could possibly see anything. That they would only go to five houses. That Junie and Kwang would cover for him. (Junie said, “What? No! I’m going with the youth group.”) He promised that he wouldn’t even
speak
—Kwang would do all the talking.
No, his mother said, as he knew she would. No, no, absolutely not.
He argued for a good fifteen minutes, even raising his voice (which he hardly ever did), while his mother grew more and more angry. What’s gotten into you? she kept saying. He almost bailed out on his plan then. Mom was still on edge from Chelsea’s disappearance, and it didn’t seem fair to hit her when she wasn’t at the top of her game. Then he thought of Kwang taking off without him, and he played his trump card.
“I’m going out,” he said. “And you can’t stop me.”
Her face went white. “What did you say?” Her voice, Stony thought, was like a knife sliding between two ribs (
Head Case
, chapter 4).
He took a breath. “I said—”
“Go … to … your …
room
.”
He stopped fighting. He turned and marched toward his bedroom, his mother two steps behind him. He walked into the room and before he could slam the door his mother slammed it for him. He tried to think of what his sisters would say, and finally yelled back, “Fine!” Then he loudly and conspicuously locked the door.
His bedroom was a converted pantry, a tiny room with one broom closet for his few clothes, and enough space for a bed and a dresser and a small writing desk. By his mother’s design, there were no windows. Maybe it was a bit paranoid to think that anyone could see into the house this far from theroad, or that strangers would sneak up to the house and peek in, but he’d never objected. He was comfortable in the dark.
He sat down on the bed. He stared at his hands, the floor, his shoes. He thought he heard his mother crying, but maybe that was Junie. After thirty minutes, nobody had checked on him.
He went to the closet, opened the door, and knelt. He pushed his shoes out of the way, then worked his fingers into the holes he’d bored into the rightmost floorboard. He lifted, and a two-foot-square section of floor lifted away.
“You are such a jerk,” Stony said.
Kwang laughed. He wore torn clothing smeared with dirt. He’d painted his face white, then darkened under his eyes, blackened his gums. He’d even made a fake red wound on his forehead. He moaned, lifted his hands.
“And I do not look like that,” Stony said.
“No, you look worse. Are you ready?”
He wasn’t, quite. Kwang helped him finish wrapping and taping. Weeks ago Stony had come across two rolls of white crêpe paper in the hall closet, which had triggered the mummy idea, but that went quickly and he’d had to supplement with toilet paper. The tissue would not stay together. He stood still while Kwang used silver duct tape to reinforce his back and legs. Last Stony wrapped his head, leaving an inch-wide gap for his eyes.
They hit the first five homes in quick order, then kept walking toward town, where the houses were closer together. “These are full-size Snickers,” Kwang said after one house. “Do you know how rare that is?”
He didn’t, but he was happy anyway. Their pillowcases grewheavy, despite Kwang eating constantly as they went. Stony didn’t care for candy—he didn’t care much for anything, food-wise—but he loved the idea of
loot
. Each Three Musketeers and pack of Smarties was a sign of accomplishment; each Chunky a medal of honor. Even the lesser treats—popcorn balls, hard candies, caramel corn—were valuable for the weight they added to his bag.
Stony’s mummy costume had begun to shred,
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