exactly why or how, but he was sure someone had been in here, poking through his stuff.
Things weren’t quite as he’d left them. At first glance
it. He’d never leave it like that—not after Mr. Rosen’s warning. He picked it up and smoothed it out. A least it hadn’t left a crease.
He took another look around. He was sure it hadn’t been his mom. Because if she’d messed with
his comic books. She was a neatnik. When she came into his room—or any room, for that matter—she couldn’t help straightening and neatening things
up. Nothing here had been straightened. Touched, yes, but not straightened.
That left Tom.
Careful y, Jack opened his closet door. No problem. He pul ed the string to light the bulb in the ceiling. He was wearing his Vans today, and his black
Converse Al -Stars lay where he’d kicked them off Monday. Or did they? He couldn’t be sure. He picked them up and looked inside to see if Tom had left
him a little surprise. They were stil damp from Monday’s rain, and didn’t smel al that great, but he found nothing hidden inside. The clothes on the
hangers looked pretty much the same, but the top shelf …
Someone definitely had been messing around up there.
He stepped out and dragged his desk chair over for a better look. His comic book col ection was arranged in the usual way, but he could swear he’d left
his
Tom had been up here he’d have taken it for sure and tried to figure out a way to use it on Jack.
But if it hadn’t been Tom, then who?
No. Had to be Tom.
He jumped down and pul ed the chair back. But why hadn’t he taken anything, or left anything?
Maybe whatever he was up to was stil in the planning stage.
As Jack pushed his chair into the desk’s knee hole he noticed how the screen in the window to the right wasn’t seated square in the frame. Never
noticed that before.
Why not?
Because I’m paranoid now, that’s why.
Maybe that was what Tom was up to. What did they cal it?
that movie.
But that wasn’t Tom’s style. A bucket of water over the door was more his speed.
Wel then, what was the story with the screen?
Jack stepped over to it and saw that the old-fashioned hook-and-eye latch had popped free. He grabbed the hook, pul ed the screen al the way in, then
latched it.
He looked out into the darkened yard. Their property lay on the north flank of Johnson and backed up to a neighboring cornfield. He couldn’t see the
moon itself, but its light played off the stalks.
Had somebody come in through the window? That somebody could be out there now, watching him. In fact he almost felt as if someone was.
He shook off a chil . Nah. Nothing like that. He was just reading too many weird books and magazines. Why on Earth would any stranger want to sneak into his room? Not as if he kept a fortune in his desk.
Desk—his money from USED and mowing.
He pul ed open his middle drawer and found his neat stack of bil s. Whew!
Get a grip, Jack.
A little later he flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Somebody—a somebody named Tom—had been in his closet tonight. And the
only reason for that would be that he was planning something.
Since the best defense was a good offense, Jack figured it might be smart to do some planning of his own. But not something completely different. He
didn’t want to waste a second idea on Tom. Besides, he had al that pepper juice left.
He lay there thinking, scheming, and after a while he felt a smile stretching his lips: the exact same trick,
