Watcher by Valerie Sherrard Page A

switched around.
    Like last month, at Pockets — a neighbourhood pool hall — he’d put down coin, but when his turn came up, this girl I sort of like, Lavender Dean, was on the table. He stepped off and gave me the spot without a word, which I knew he’d do.
    That’s a small thing, of course. I mean, it’s not like he gave me a kidney or anything, but it’s one of the ways you know someone is solid, when they do the right watcher thing without even stopping to think about it.
    Anyway, when we got to the bakery that morning, Mira wasn’t even there. I managed to keep my mouth shut about that, but it wasn’t easy.
    Dunja was no joy to work for, either. She acted like we should know what to do without being told and made what I know were rude comments in another language when we didn’t. Even Tack was losing some of his cheerfulness after a couple of hours of that.
    Then Mira arrived. She smiled at us and said hello, but after tying on an apron (something which I hate to tell you, Tack and I were also wearing) she spent most of her time out front — first setting up the displays and later waiting on customers.
    By twelve o’clock, which was the time Dunja had generously decided to let us — the unpaid help — off work, I never wanted to see flour or shortening or sugar again. And don’t even get me started on eggs. I’d been given the job of separating forty of them, which is no easy thing considering how slippery they are and how easy it is for bits of shell to break off and end up in the bowl.
    But I did it, and what do you think happened next? Dunja threw the yolks into this batter she was making and then, not five minutes later, she beat the whites and tossed them in too! I mean, if you’re going to put them all in there anyway, why take them apart in the first place?
    The worst thing was the way the place smelled. Think about it. There I was, no breakfast, stuck in a kitchen with breads and cakes and cookies and stuff all baking away. It was all I could do not to start eating my way out of bondage, like the prisoner I was.
    â€œYou’d think she could have given us some lunch,” I grumbled as we headed toward our street.
    â€œMmm,” Tack said. It was hard to tell if he’d even heard me.
    Except food was suddenly unimportant, because there, on the other side of the street, was The Watcher. He was standing in front of a shoe store just a short distance ahead of us, but he was looking in our direction.
    This time I decided to act like I didn’t notice him, just to see what he was up to. Sure enough, as soon as we passed him he started ambling along the same way we were going, staying on the other side of the street, moving steadily enough to keep us in sight.
    â€œTack,” I said, “don’t look now but there’s a guy across the street who’s been following me for the last few weeks.”
    â€œSay what ?” Tack started to look, which was exactly what I’d just told him not to do.
    I bumped into him on purpose, throwing him off balance enough to keep him from gawking and letting the guy know I’d spotted him.
    â€œ Don’t look ,” I repeated.
    â€œAw, man, who’d be followin’ you ?” Tack said.
    â€œI dunno, but I’ve caught him at it a few times recently,” I said. “C’mon, let’s speed up a bit and see if he stays with us.”
    We stepped it up, hurrying along until we reached our street, which was at the next corner. We turned up and went a short way. I pretended to drop something and start searching around for it. Tack joined me.
    â€œThat’s him,” I hissed, a jolt running through me at the sight of the guy, now heading straight toward us from around the corner.
    But the guy must have realized that he was spotted. He turned off the sidewalk and headed toward the same apartment building he’d used for cover another time. Only, when he