“ Did I wake you up?”
“ Yes,” he lied.
“ But it’s only eight-thirty.”
“ I go to bed early, ’cuz of my paper route.” He didn’t want to tell her that he couldn’t stand watching television with his father, that he’d much rather be alone in his room.
“ There’s someone outside.”
“ Get your mother, right now,” he whispered into the phone.
“ She’s not here, and I’m kinda scared. I turned all the lights off, so I can hide better if he comes in.”
“ No, that’s stupid,” he whispered loudly. “Turn ’em back on. You don’t want it to look like nobody’s home. And turn on the TV.”
“ But whoever it is knows I’m here.”
“ Make sure all the doors and windows are locked. I’ll be right over. Don’t let anyone in till I get there. Oh, yeah, I’ll knock three times, Knock, knock, knock,” he said slowly, “that’s how you’ll know it’s me.”
“ Do you know where I live?”
“ I know.” Arty knew where everybody lived. “I’m leaving right now.”
He hung up the phone and pushed himself off the bed. He might be in serious trouble with his father tomorrow for sneaking out, but he had a friend who needed him tonight.
He pulled his flannel pajama pants out from between the crack in his buttocks, then pulled them down. For an instant, naked from the waist down, he wondered about what to wear, then he dropped the thought and pulled on the same underwear he’d worn to school. His mother never would have approved. Then he went to his dresser and pulled out a faded pair of Levi’s from the second drawer.
Breathing heavily and already sweating, he stuffed his feet into the same white socks he’d worn earlier. If he was violating his mother’s rule about never wearing anything he’d taken off till it was washed again, he might as well go all the way. But not the white tennis shoes, he’d never wear those again. He rummaged in his closet and came up with his new Nikes and put them on.
He took a deep breath, to calm himself, after he’d laced them up. He scratched the back of his neck, to chase away the chilly willies, and took another breath, before opening the second from the top dresser drawer and taking out an old sweatshirt. He put it on over his pajama top. He knew how cold it was outside.
Now he had to get out of the house. There was no way he was going to get down the hall, through the kitchen and out the back door. His mother spent every night sitting at the breakfast table, alone, reading. And he wasn’t going to get out the front way either. His father spent every night in front of the television, also alone. That meant he had to go out the window. Something he hadn’t done since he was younger-and leaner.
He pulled the curtains aside and raised the window. The squeaking sound it made going up caused him to jump back. He held his breath and waited. But nobody came.
He stared at the open window for a long half-minute. Outside meant danger, excitement, a friend. Inside was his mother in the kitchen, his father in front of the TV and Arty alone in his room. He blanked his mind, putting tomorrow and his parents out of the picture and his leg through the window.
Fifteen minutes later he was huffing up the sidewalk in front of Carolina’s house. He jogged up to the front porch without thinking, grabbed a lungful of air and knocked three times. The door opened immediately.
“ Boy am I glad you came.” The relief in her eyes made whatever his father decided to do to him tomorrow worth it.
“ I got here as fast as I could.”
“ Come in, quick. I think someone’s been looking in the window.”
“ You didn’t turn the lights on,” he said. “We gotta do that.”
“ You sure?”
“ Yeah, how many movies have you seen where the bad guy comes into the dark house?”
“ Okay.” She walked over to the couch and turned on the lamp.
“ Where’s your mom?”
“ On a date. Follow me.” She led him over plush white carpet, across a living room filled with a bright orange and yellow overstuffed sofa with matching love seat and chair. “My mom likes bright things,” she said. “My room is this way.”
“ I can’t go in your room.”
“ Why not?”
“ I don’t know,” he said, but he knew the answer and he didn’t feel like holding it back. “My mother wouldn’t like it.”
“ So, don’t tell her.” She turned on the light as she entered her room.
“ It’s nice,” he said. “I’ve never been in a girl’s bedroom before. Actually, I’ve never been in anyone’s bedroom but mine. My parents won’t let me in theirs and I don’t have many friends.”
“ That’s too bad,” she said.
“ How come you got two beds?”
“ They were on sale when my mom bought the furniture for the house. She thought it would be a good idea, in case I had friends sleep over.”
“ You got many friends that spend the night?”
“ Not yet.”
“ The bedspreads are different,” he said. Then he screamed.
“ Sheila,” Carolina said, sounding cross and trying not to. “Come here.” She laughed as the ferret jumped from Arty’s shoulder into her lap.
“ What is it?” Arty asked, feeling sweat run under his arms.
“ It’s my ferret. Arty meet Sheila, Sheila meet Arty.”
“ Keep it away.”
“ Oh grow up. She won’t hurt you. She’s as harmless as a cat.”
“ You’re sure?”
“ Sure. Stick out your hand.”
He obeyed and extended his arm. Sheila approached warily and nuzzled his hand. “She likes me.” He stroked her fur. Then he said, “She has a gold necklace like yours.”
“ Yeah, mine was too long, so I used a pliers and made it shorter, and since Sheila had to have a name tag I used the leftover part instead of a collar.”
“ I’ve never had a pet before,” he said.
“ Me either, Sheila’s my first, and my mom doesn’t know about her.”
“ What?”
“ She’s a secret pet.”
“ If she’s a secret why does she need a name tag?”
“ Because if she gets lost and someone finds her, I want them to know she’s a pet and not a wild animal, so they don’t hurt her.”
“ How did you get her?”
“ I saved my allowance and lunch money, till I had enough. I got her at the pet store in Tampico.”
“ So how come it’s a secret?”
“ Because I know my mom. She’d make me give her away. She hates animals.”
“ How do you keep her from finding out?” He smiled at the clucking sound the ferret was making.
“ I buy dried cat food with my allowance and keep it in my underwear drawer. My mother never looks in there.” She smiled more with the right side of her face than the left.
“ You have a crooked smile.”
“ Really?” She looked in the mirror above her dresser. “Yeah, I do.”
“ Where does it go to the bathroom?”
“ At first I thought that would be my big problem, but it wasn’t. I leave the window open a little bit and she squeezes out when she has to go and comes right back in afterwards.”
“ Did you train her to do that?”
“ No, she always did it. She’s never gone in the house.”
“ Does she ever bite?”
