Home Invasion (7 page)

If only I had a little more time. In the end, it was Mrs. Levesque who helped me out. “There's grocery money too. Not a lot, but
you can have it if you'll go away and leave us alone,” she called out so the home invader would hear her. “It's in the back pantry in a peanut butter jar.”

The home invader whistled. “That's what I like,” he called out. “Cooperation!”

I held the bucket by the handle, careful not to let it bump into anything. It wasn't exactly a lethal weapon, but it was all I had.

I took a deep breath and tiptoed toward the kitchen, keeping as close as possible to the wall. Like before, all I could see was the home invader's back. He was crouched on the floor, rummaging through the pantry and making grunting noises as he searched for the peanut butter jar. The handle of the knife jutted out of his side pocket.

I willed him not to turn around. Just give me a few more seconds, I thought. This time I couldn't hesitate.

I was so close I could smell him. I swung the pail with every ounce of strength I had, aiming right for the middle of the thin white elastic that was holding his skeleton mask in place.

He yelled as he tumbled over, his face to the ground. He was sprawled on the tile floor; his arms and legs were twitching. The bump on the back of his head was already as big as an egg. How long did I have before he regained consciousness? My fingers shook as I slid the knife out of his pocket. Then I raced back to the living room.

First I used the knife to cut the tape on Mr. Levesque's wrists and ankles. “Phone the police,” I told him as I began freeing Mrs. Levesque and Patsy. The electrical tape had left red welts on their wrists and ankles. When I took the gag from Patsy's mouth, she started to cough. I hoped the noise wouldn't wake up the home invader.

In the background, I heard Mr. Levesque whispering on the phone.

Mostly, of course, I was listening for sounds in the kitchen. For now, all I heard was the steady drip of the Levesques' leaky faucet. With the knife in one hand, I grabbed what was left of the roll of electrical tape.

Patsy and her parents followed me back into the kitchen.

“Quick!” I said, keeping my voice low. “We need to drag him someplace where we can tie him up.”

“The table!” Patsy said.

Together the four of us managed to drag the home invader over to the table. His mask was half off now, so we could see a bit of his face. It was badly sunburned and he had a thin moustache and small beard. He looked like a regular guy.

Using the long strips of tape Patsy handed me, I tied his wrists to the table legs. If he wanted to go anywhere, he'd have to take the table with him.

Suddenly he moaned. Then he opened one bloodshot eye. I lifted the knife into the air so he'd see I had it. “Don't make me use this,” I said. I hoped he wouldn't notice my voice was shaking.

He moaned again when he heard the sirens. Mrs. Levesque let the cops in, while Patsy, her dad and I stayed in the kitchen with the home invader. His eyes were closed again, but he seemed to be breathing normally.

Four cops rushed into the kitchen, their hands on their holsters. “This young man managed to subdue him,” Mr. Levesque said, clapping me on the shoulder. One of the cops loosened the home invader's hands from the table leg. At the same time, another one clasped a pair of handcuffs around the home invader's wrists.

I recognized the last cop. It was the woman from the police station — the one who'd complained about her boyfriend's kid. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyebrows arching as she spoke. “Your stepfather's supposed to be supervising you.”

“I guess he's not doing a very good job,” a voice said. I didn't have to turn around to know it was Clay. He was standing in the hallway, his cowlick sticking up. For the first time ever, I was glad to see him. Well, kind of glad, anyhow.

“What
were
you doing here?” Patsy wanted to know after the police had escorted the home invader from the Levesques' house. We were standing on the front balcony. Clay was inside, chatting with Patsy's parents.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Are you sure you really want to know?”

“Of course I do,” Patsy said.

“I don't want you to think I'm a freak,” I whispered.

I thought Patsy might turn away, but she didn't. “Look,” she said, “whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“The thing is,” I said as I looked up into her eyes, “I'm kind of a home invader myself.”

“No,” Patsy said, blocking my hand when I tried to reach into my pocket for money. “I want to pay for both of us.”

“No way,” I told her. “Next time.” I wanted her to know I hoped there'd be a next time.

It wasn't exactly a date. I'd been invited for dinner at her house, and it had just seemed kind of natural to suggest catching a movie at the mall afterward. I already liked Patsy,
but I liked her even more when she told me she was into martial arts movies.

I was a bit worried that it'd be hard to make conversation, but so far we had lots to talk about. Clay told me that on his first date with my mom, he'd actually written up a list of stuff they could discuss. But in the end, he'd said, he hadn't had to use it.

“So what did you think of my mom's lasagna?” Patsy asked as we got closer to the ticket booth.

“She makes great meat sauce.”

Patsy laughed. “You mean tofu sauce.”

I gulped. “That was tofu? I hate tofu.”

“I thought I hated it too. At first. Then I got used to it.”

“Your mom and dad seem to be doing okay,” I said. Patsy and I hadn't talked much about what had happened that day at her house, but I had this feeling I had to say something. After all, I knew more about her family than most people did. And of course, she knew a lot about me too.

“Mom's a lot happier now that Dad's in counseling for his gambling problem,” Patsy
said as casually as if we were still talking about lasagna. I looked around to check no one else was listening in. “Mom and I are gonna have to go too. For family counseling,” Patsy added.

“They want me to go too,” I said, dropping my voice.

When Patsy smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkled. “Family counseling is in,” she said.

“It is?”

I was glad she let me pay for the tickets.

“Do you want butter on your popcorn?” I asked her as we headed for the concession counter. There was a line there too. Oh well, I thought, that gives us more time to talk.

Patsy was the one who came up with the next topic. “Are you going to the trial?” she asked.

She was talking about the home invader, of course. Now that he was out of the hospital, he was going to be tried on nine counts of break and entry. I'd told Mom I wanted to go — even if it meant missing a few days of basketball camp. I'd talked Mom and Clay into enrolling me for another month.

“I'd like to go,” I told her. Then I told Patsy something I hadn't told anybody else. “You know, I'm kind of relieved all the home invader had was a concussion. The thing is, I feel kind of connected to him. Like I understand him.”

Patsy raised her eyebrows.

“Not the tying people up part, or stealing their stuff, or scaring them,” I added quickly. “More the observing people part.”

I felt Patsy's eyes scan my face as if she were looking for something. “Why can't you just observe them outside their houses? Like here, for instance.” She lifted her eyes up toward the girl who was selling popcorn. The girl tugged at her hair net, then reached down to massage her lower back. You could tell she was eager to finish her shift.

“I can. I do. It's just that observing people is more interesting when they don't know you're watching them. Then you really get to know them.”

This time Patsy nodded. I had the feeling she was starting to get it. “I guess it's like watch- ing a movie — or reading a book,” she said.

“Uh-huh,” I told her.

Someone tapped my shoulder. It was my mom. She was with Clay. “What are you kids doing here?” my mom asked.

“Patsy and I figured we'd catch a movie after supper. We're going to see
Tae Foo Rumble
. What about you guys?”

Don't say you're going to see
Tae Foo Rumble
, I thought to myself.

No such luck.

“Us too,” my mom said. “This is great. We can sit together. It'll be like a double date.”

I felt my ears turn hot.

“Sure,” Patsy said, in a voice that didn't sound so sure.

“You know, honey, now that I think about it, I'm not exactly in the mood for a martial arts movie,” Clay said, taking my mom's elbow. “Wasn't there a chick flick you wanted to see? I'd bet they'd let us change our tickets.”

My mom looked at him. “Sure,” she said, “that sounds like a good idea. You two enjoy your movie, okay?”

“I thought you hated chick flicks,” I heard
her tell Clay as they walked back to the ticket booth.

“A guy can get used to anything,” he told her as he put his arm through hers. Even from behind, I could see his cowlick sticking up in the air.

Patsy had been watching them too. “So are you getting used to him?” she asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess so,” I said. “Just do me one favor, Patsy.”

“Sure.”

“Don't tell him.”

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Pete likes to play pranks. It doesn't matter what it is as long as it gets a laugh. When he impersonates his vice-principal on a radio call-in show, he goes too far and is suspended from school. Pete's parents send him to spend the summer working with his uncle, a whale-watching guide in a tourist town far from the city. When a whale is injured by a reckless tour guide, Pete struggles to save the animal. Then Pete has to pull the most important prank of his life to bring the guide to justice.