Nine Doors (3 page)

He smiled.

“We'll use stunt poo instead.”

I laughed—but Richard was apparently serious. He picked the chocolate bar off the grass and unwrapped it. It was starting to melt. He squished it with his hands and kind of bent it so it wasn't perfect. He put it on the grass beside the real thing. If you knew what it was, it still looked like a chocolate bar, but if you didn't...

Now I really laughed.

“So,” he said, licking the chocolate off his hands. “Problem solved?”

“No,” I said. “You're still lighting it on fire. That's dangerous.”

Richard threw back his head and groaned. “Look. Do you want to make a movie or don't you?”

“Yeah, I do. I just don't want to—”

He cut me off. “Well, then get used to it. Nobody pays to go to a
Batman
movie to
watch the Joker double-park. People want danger! They want excitement!”

I didn't say anything. Who did he think he was kidding? Burning bio-waste was gross, but frankly, it wasn't that exciting. I'd rather watch a car chase any day.

He waved his hand at me. “Oh, come on,” he went. “These are brick houses, cement steps, asphalt driveways. What could possibly catch on fire?”

“I don't know. Lots,” I said. “Frankly, I don't want to go to jail because I burnt down somebody's house playing”—I paused so he could hear how dumb it sounded— “Nicky Nicky Nine Doors.”

I turned to go.

Richard went, “All right. All right. You win.” He picked up the bag and tore the top half off.

“Okay,” he said. “How about this? Stunt poo, itty-bitty bag and a bucket of water to put out the flames. Does that meet your safety requirements, Fire Chief Murray?”

I looked at the bag. It was half the size of my shoe. I felt ridiculous. How
much harm could a little thing like that do?

I hesitated. I didn't want to look like a wuss.

“Okay, okay!” he said. “I'll also throw in a fire truck and—for a limited time only—a Dalmatian dog wearing a little red helmet too!”

I laughed. What could I do?

“Fine,” I said. “Whatever.”

“Excellent!” Richard plopped the chocolate bar into the paper bag and dug around in his backpack for matches. That's when I knew I'd been tricked.

The doggie-doo.

The bag.

The chocolate bar.

The matches.

Some inspiration. My guess is Richard had this planned right from the start. I could just see him planting the dog poop there himself. The weird thing is, I almost admired him for it. The guy sure knew how to get what he wanted.

“Now,” he said, “we just have to find a victim...”

He turned on the camera and started playing with the controls. “Nice,” he said. “You can zoom right into people's windows. Take a look.”

I peered at our house through the camera. I could see my mother pounding away on her computer. I scanned past Marjorie's place. I saw something move inside, but the curtains were closed so I couldn't tell if it was her or a cat or just the wind. The next few houses seemed empty—but the one at the end was better than we could have hoped for.

I passed the camera back to Richard. “See the house on the corner?” I said. “There's someone on the second floor... left-hand side.”

I waited while he zeroed in on them.

“If the house is laid out like ours,” I said, “the person's in the bathroom.”

I didn't need to explain. Richard understood immediately.

He put on that old-lady voice again. “Oh dear, oh dear. I do hope we shan't be catching them at an inconvenient
time...” He did this ha-ha chuckle thing.

“Oh and look, Nervous Nelly,” he said. “You're in luck. There's a hose at the side of the house. That's even better than a bucket.”

We crept down behind a car. He handed me the camera and looked right into the lens. He spoke in the whispery way reporters do when they're trying to sound important.

“Door number two. The prey has been spotted. All systems are go. Now it's up to yours truly—the fearless Richard B. Inkpen— to deliver the blow.”

He poked his face up like a periscope, did a quick check for witnesses and then booked it across the street.

He ran to the side of the house and pulled the hose over to the steps. He made this big deal of turning on the tap and demonstrating how the water spurted out. He gave me a cheesy thumbs-up, then tiptoed up the stairs.

This time he didn't take any chances. He rang the bell a bunch of times and waited until he heard someone coming. He leaned
down, lit the bag on fire and disappeared around beside the steps.

The door opened, and the all-time hairiest guy I've ever seen stepped out, wearing nothing but a white towel. He looked around for a second before he noticed the fire. He followed the script exactly.

He stomped on it with his bare foot.

He screamed.

His towel fell off and landed on the fire.

He stood there buck naked for a second—just long enough for me to get a clear shot. Then he picked up the flaming towel and ran back into the house.

We just lost our
PG-13
rating, but that didn't matter.

It made amazing footage.

Watching Naked Guy try to put out the fire was what did it for me. Suddenly, I was convinced our movie was going to win an Oscar. I didn't want to miss my chance at stardom. It was my turn to ring the doorbell.

We scoped the neighborhood for another target. I noticed signs of life in a house at the far end of the dead-end street. Richard got the bag ready, then ran me through the procedure.

My heart was pounding as if I was about to jump off the high diving board, but Richard didn't need to know that.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I got it. It's not that hard.”

I grabbed the bag and the matches from him. I said, “You ready?”

He nodded, held the camera up to his eye and then went, “Aaand...Action!”

I took off across the street. I almost tripped on my shoelace, but there was no way I was stopping to tie it. I stumbled up the steps. I put the bag on the welcome mat and lit a match.

A breeze blew it out.

I tried again—but this time I put the match out myself. What was I thinking? The mat was made of straw or something. If a spark landed on it, it would go up in flames for sure. That's all I needed.

I pushed the mat out of the way. The people who lived there had obviously been using it to cover a big crack in the concrete. I put the bag back down on the porch. My hands were shaking so hard by now
I had to light four matches before one worked.

The bag whooshed up into flames. I didn't expect such a big fire. It made me jump. I knew Richard must have been laughing his face off at that, but I couldn't let it bother me. I pulled myself together and rang the doorbell.

I wanted to take off right then, but I didn't. No way was I going to run if Richard hadn't run. I didn't want to look like a chicken. I put my ear up to the door and listened.

A couple of seconds passed. No sound. I rang again.

Bingo.

Almost right away, I heard footsteps bouncing down the stairs.

I turned to run—and almost fell flat on my face. I jerked my leg forward but couldn't move my right foot. I looked down. My shoelace was stuck in the crack in the concrete. I tried to pull it free, but the knot at the end was rammed in there good.

Someone inside said, “Coming! Coming!” Even if I'd taken my shoe off right away, I'd still have been nailed. I had no time to run.

That stupid bag was still burning. I suddenly remembered I didn't get the hose ready. Lot of good it would do me now.

I had to put the fire out before I got caught.

I blew on the bag. That just fed the flame.

I thought about throwing the whole thing into the bushes, but I canned that idea pretty quick. The weather had been so dry lately that the place would burn down for sure.

The lock on the door clicked open.

Why was the bag taking so long to go out? You'd swear it was the Olympic flame or something. A thought flashed through my mind. Richard probably stuffed the bag full of extra paper when I wasn't looking. He might have even soaked it in lighter fluid for all I knew. I wouldn't have put it past him.

I tried to spit on it, but my mouth had gone completely dry. That always happens when I'm in trouble.

The hinges squeaked. The door was opening.

The fire was still burning. I did the only thing I could think of doing. Not quite “stop, drop and roll” but close enough.

I sat on it. The fire went out with a little puff and a whistling sound.

Someone said, “Hello?”

I looked up. This girl with long black hair was standing there looking down at me.

She had the brownest eyes I'd ever seen. She scrunched them up as if to say, “What are you doing?” (Or maybe she was asking, “Why is there smoke coming out your pants?”) I put my hands up like “I don't know.” I must have looked ridiculous. She shook her head. Then she kind of smiled.

I tried to smile back, but you wouldn't believe how hot that chewy caramel filling suddenly was. I started to worry I was doing serious damage to myself. Some day I wanted to have children.

“Is something the matter?” she said.

“No. Um...It's just...,” I said.

This loud voice from inside the house went, “What's burning? Is something burning, Bebi?” The guy had a really thick accent.

I looked at her, all panicky, and shook my head. I whispered, “No! No!”

I could see the girl wasn't sure if she should help me or not, but I mouthed the word
Pleeeease
in the most pathetic way I could. She pretended to look mad at me for a second, but then she said, “No, Dad, it's nothing.”

That didn't stop him from coming to take a look for himself. He obviously wasn't too impressed to find me sitting on the porch like that. I would have stood up, but I didn't know what kind of mess I'd leave behind.

“I smell something,” her father said.

The girl shrugged and shook her head like she had no idea what he was talking about.

“I don't,” she said. Then she looked at me. “Do you?”

I shook my head too—but just gently. I was trying to keep myself out of the boiling
caramel as best I could. Any movement at all was proving painful.

Her dad looked back and forth between the two of us. He clearly thought we were up to something. He started talking to her in a language I didn't recognize.

“Dad!” she said. “You're wrong. He's in science camp with me! He's one of the kids on the team.”

Her father said something else. She sighed and went, “Because he came a long way, that's why! He's tired. Right...um, Donald?”

I figured that was me. I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said, “it's been a long day.” That much was true.

Her father tilted his head and looked at her with one eye. She didn't even blink. He shook his finger at her and then said something. She went, “Da-ad! You're so suspicious. Like it's a crime to sit on someone's porch!”

He went into the house. She got this embarrassed look on her face and said, “Sorry about that.”

I couldn't believe it. She was apologizing to
me
? It was almost funny.

I said, “No. No. I'm the one who should be sorry.”

She was already closing the door. She said, “I better go,” and then in a louder voice so her father could hear, “I'll find that book and bring it for you tomorrow, Donald.”

I hoped she meant it. For a second, I almost forgot I wasn't in science camp with her. I really wanted to see her again.

The door clicked shut. She peeked out the window and gave one of those little twiddly waves with her fingers.

I stood up. The chocolate bar—or at least what was left of it—had started to harden. These gross gooey strings of dirty brown caramel went from the porch to the back of my pants. I could just imagine what it looked like. (Bebi probably had never heard of stunt poo.) I backed down the stairs— and all the way across the street.

Richard was laughing so hard it
sounded like he was having an asthma attack.

I didn't care. Let him laugh. I didn't even mind the pain anymore.

I was thinking about Bebi.

I've never seen Richard happier. He had this big grin on his face, and his eyes were bouncing around like bugs in a jar. He looked as if he'd thrown back a few too many energy drinks.

He went, “This is SO great! Like, I mean, seriously. So great. We've got violence...We've got nudity...We've even got a hot girl. All we need now is a big musical number, and it's a wrap, folks!” He slapped his cheek in utter amazement at our brilliant creation.

Me? I didn't really care about the movie anymore. The only doorbell I wanted to ring now was Bebi's.

I think Richard guessed what was up. He snapped his fingers in front of my face and went, “Hey, yo! Earth to Loverboy. Let's get moving! We've got lots more doors to do. And since you just proved yourself to be a master of slapstick humor, I think you should do the honors again.”

My heart wasn't really in it, but I said, “Yeah, okay.” I figured the sooner we got this done, the sooner I could see Bebi again. Maybe I could find out what camp she was going to and sign myself up. My mother would be thrilled if I suddenly decided I wanted to study science for a week. She didn't like me “hanging around doing nothing all summer.” Little did she know.

Richard was looking through the camera. “I've scanned the whole neighborhood. As far as I can tell, there's only one possibility at the moment.”

“Yeah?” I said. “What's that?”

“Your place,” he said.

That woke me up. “No!” I said. “No way. I told you we aren't hitting my house!” He started doing that ha-ha chuckle thing again. He loved getting a reaction out of me.