Nine Doors (4 page)

Mom was standing at the window with a coffee in her hand. She saw us looking and waved. She'd kill me if she knew what we were doing. She hates “boneheaded” pranks.

We waved back. “She doesn't seem that scary to me,” Richard said. He put on that innocent voice of his. “Seriously. Are you afraid of her? Is that the problem?” He leaned toward me as if this would be our little secret.

I looked at him with my eyes half-open and said, “No,” in the flattest voice I could. I stuck my hands in my pockets and acted bored.

Richard had this smirk on his face. He raised his eyebrow as if he didn't believe me. I ignored him. He'd have to find some other way to bug me. He turned away.

“Hey, look!” he said. “I think the old lady's watching us again.” He pointed at Marjorie's house and gave this big beauty-queen wave. What a jerk.

I checked to see if Marjorie saw. There was no one in the window. I looked at Richard. He just smiled. It would have seemed innocent enough to anyone else, but he didn't fool me. I got the feeling he was up to something. I was pretty sure I knew what it was.

Talking with Richard was like playing hockey with this kid I know. I can be one-hundred-percent sure that Tommy Grant is going to go one way with the puck—then he'll deke past me the other way. It works every time. He always scores on me.

I was willing to bet Richard was trying to do the same thing. Pretending to go one way when he was actually planning to go the other.

He didn't really want to get my mother. She was just a normal, boring, middle-aged woman. Who'd want to watch her in a movie? (No offence, Mom.)

What Richard wanted was a sick old lady. It would make much more interesting footage—especially if she was creepy or cranky or, even better, clearly insane.

My guess is Richard figured that if he bugged me enough about hitting up our place, I'd break down and agree to do Marjorie's instead. I can't be sure that's what he was thinking, but it made sense in a weird sort of way.

I was wondering if I should say anything to him about it when a car pulled into a driveway down the street. Richard forgot about Marjorie. He had a new victim.

A lady got out, carrying a big pile of groceries. She must have gone in and out of the house about four times before she had everything unloaded. She propped the door open with a bag of potatoes and went back to the car. She took out two babies— twins, I guess. She had one in each arm. They weren't very happy. They kicked and screamed and slammed her in the face all the way into the house. (I take back what I said before about wanting to have kids.)

We waited until she was inside for a few minutes before we struck.

I ran up the steps, lit the bag and rang the doorbell. The kids started howling again immediately. I gave the bell another ring, just to make sure, then slipped down beside the stairs where the hose was.

Despite everything I just said about not wanting to do the movie anymore, I was excited again. I was thinking this scene could be pretty funny. I was also thinking how impressed Bebi would be when she found out we were making a film.

The door opened. The sound of the babies' screeching made me want to cover my ears. I wondered if the camera mike would pick up the noise or if we'd have to add sound effects later.

I expected the lady to go into a big panic over the fire but she didn't. She didn't scream or jump around or anything. She didn't even try to put it out.

She just slumped down on the edge of the step, put her face in her hands and started to cry.

It was the saddest thing I ever saw.

I felt so bad. I felt like I'd pushed that poor lady right over the edge. I mean, what was I thinking? It was pretty obvious she already had enough to handle with four tons of groceries and two maniac babies. Did she really need me ringing her doorbell right then? It wasn't even funny. It was just cruel.

“Oh, lighten up!” Richard said. “It's only a game! Give her a couple of days. By then, she'll be laughing about it.”

He could tell by the look on my face that I didn't buy it. He got all serious.

He said, “Or maybe this little incident will actually help her. Who knows? It could turn out to be the thing that finally pushes her to get the mental help she so clearly needs.”

He waited a couple of seconds just so he didn't appear totally heartless, and then he shrugged. “Either way, it's going to make an excellent segment. It's a nice change of pace. It adds a little heartache. That's what people want in films: the full range of human experience.”

Who did he think he was? Some big-time movie producer? As if he knew everything. As if giving some poor lady a nervous breakdown was okay because it's all part of “the full range of human experience.” It was enough to make me barf.

He picked up the camera. “Okay. My turn!” He focused in on a house a few doors down. “Hmmm...I thought this one was empty, but I'm pretty sure I just saw some movement. I'm going to give it a try.”

He handed me back the camera. “You ready?” he said.

No, I wasn't. I didn't want to play the stupid game anymore. I felt bad for that lady. And, come to think of it, I was also feeling kind of bad for Naked Guy and the guy in the apron too. I wasn't sure how comical any of them would find our little game.

So why didn't I just tell Richard, “I quit”?

I was all ready to. I opened my mouth. I took a breath. But before I could say anything, he went, “I hope this is as good as the scene you did with that girl. Even half as good! I mean it. That was amazing!”

He was so excited. He was like a little kid about to open a big birthday present or something. It was almost sad. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't snatch it away from him now.

That was the thing about Richard. On one hand, it was like he had some power over me. He could talk me into doing all sorts of things I didn't want to do. On the
other hand, I felt kind of sorry for him, like he was my dopey little brother or something. I had to protect him, look after him. I had this feeling I was the only friend he had.

Maybe
that's
the power he had over me.

What could I do?

I sighed. “Yeah, okay. I'm ready.”

Richard ran across the street and rang the bell. A second later, this big, black pit bull came flying out from the backyard, barking its ugly, beady-eyed face off. If its leash had been even a centimeter longer, Richard would have lost his leg. The dog was lunging and snapping at him as if it hadn't eaten in a month.

Richard was too scared to even scream. He practically dove across the street. He lay there panting with his back against the car. He was white and sweaty, and shaking as if he was caught in the middle of his own personal little earthquake.

The very first thing he said was, “Did you get it? Did you get that on tape?”

The guy barely escaped with his life, but that's all he could think of. The movie. You've got to laugh.

And we did. For quite a long time— especially after we noticed the big tooth marks in Richard's pant leg.

We stopped dead, though, when we noticed a cop car pull up in front of Naked Guy's house. My first thought was, This is bad.

Richard thought the same thing—but that's the difference between us. For Richard, bad is good. He grabbed the camera from me and started shooting.

We couldn't hear what the guy was saying to the cops, but I was pretty sure he was talking about us. He pointed to a spot on the porch and then threw his hands up in the air. You could tell he was mad. The female cop rubbed her boot back and forth over the concrete and wrote something in a little notebook. They shook hands with the guy, and then the cops started walking down the steps.

“Let's get out of here!” I said. Richard didn't move. He didn't even stop shooting.
I grabbed the camera from him and started walking back toward my house as fast as I could. I would have run, but I figured that would have given me away.

I heard, “Boys! Excuse me! Boys!” It was still really hot out, but suddenly I was cold all over.

We turned around. The male cop was smiling at us. He waved us over.

Those were the longest ten steps of my life.

“Mind if we have a word with you fellas?” he said.

He looked me right in the eye and put his hands on his hips. He had a big black club hanging off his belt. He said, “You wouldn't know anything about some fires being set around here, would you?”

If he'd turned his head even three centimeters to the right, he'd have seen the paper bag and matches that Richard had left behind the car.

“Ah, no, officer,” I said. My voice came out higher than it usually did. It didn't even sound like a boy's voice—or a girl's
voice, for that matter. It just sounded like a liar's voice.

“Me neither,” Richard said. His voice was higher too—but higher the way a little kid's is. An innocent little kid. I got the feeling he made it sound like that on purpose. If I hadn't known any better, I would have thought Richard was about eight years old. The guy had morphed right before my eyes.

I suddenly knew I didn't stand a chance. Who were the cops going to blame? The tall skinny guy with the camera and the big I'm-guilty chocolate stain on his pants? Or the little curly-headed kid who looks like he's just waiting for his babysitter to come get him?

The female cop raised her eyebrows way up and went, “Hmmm...” What did she mean by that?

“You're sure?” the other cop said.

We said, “Yeah.”

He pushed back his cap and looked at me for a while. Then he went, “Well, okay.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “This
is my number. If you hear of anyone setting fires around here, give me a call. It hasn't rained in weeks. I'd hate a fire to start just because a game got out of hand...”

I nodded and smiled before I realized this might not be the appropriate time to smile, so I just nodded again. I knew the more I fussed, the guiltier I looked, but I couldn't help it. I didn't know what to do with my face.

The cops turned to go. They were already getting in the cruiser when the female cop said, “And one more thing you should know, guys—arson is a very serious charge.”

We kind of stood at attention on the side of the road until their car disappeared. Then Richard cracked up. I glared at him. I didn't find this funny at all. I started walking home.

“What? What's your problem?” he said. “That was hysterical! That was great!”

“No, it wasn't,” I said. “That was the end. I'm finished. I'm not doing this anymore.”

“Oh, come on!” Richard said. “I can't believe you're going to let a little thing like
that scare you! That's all they were doing, you know.” He shook his head and laughed. “I mean, please. Arson? Like lighting a bag on fire is arson. I'm not that dumb.”

I just kept walking. He ran after me and gasped. “You
are
scared—aren't you?”

He was so annoying. I blew up at him. “Okay, so I'm scared! You happy now?”

Someone else said, “Scared of what?”

I turned around. It was Bebi. She was standing there with a Snack 'n Go bag in her arms, smiling at me.

“Oh...ah...nothing,” I said.

Richard clapped me on the shoulder like I was the new Heavyweight Champion of the World.

“That's right,” he said. “Emery Murray is afraid of nothing! The guy is incredibly brave. I'm talking fearless!”

I cringed, but Bebi laughed.

“That's good,” she said. “I guess you won't be scared then when I tell you that my dad was ready to kill you! You should have seen him. He didn't believe that story about science camp for one minute...”
She rolled her eyes. “That's my dad for you. He doesn't trust teenage boys
at all
.”

“With a daughter like you, I can't blame him.” Richard actually thought he was being smooth, but he just came across as cheesy. I could see Bebi was embarrassed. She looked away. She pushed this little strand of hair off her face and said, “Ah... so...where are you guys going?”

I shrugged and kind of nodded in the direction of our house.

“Is that where you live?” she said, pointing to Marjorie's.

“No,” I said, “I live next door.”

A whole sentence.

Wow. I actually said a whole sentence to Bebi without stuttering, fainting or wetting my pants.

“Would you care to join us?” Richard said. He was still trying to do that smooth thing.

“Thanks, but I better get going.” Bebi had these amazingly long eyelashes. “I've got Dad's milk. He needs it for his tea.”

She walked away. Her hair came down way past the middle of her back. She turned
around to wave and caught me staring at it. I must have looked like a perv.

I spun around and took off up our driveway. “See ya,” I said to Richard.

“You're going?” he said. “What about our movie?”

“Look,” I said, “I told you. I don't want to do it anymore. I don't care what you say. The cops scared me.”

I thought he was going to make fun of me, but he didn't. He just said, “Fine. If it's the arson thing that's bothering you, don't worry. We just won't do the fire part anymore.”

I shrugged. “What's the point then? We already talked about that. It'll be boring without the fire.”

“So? We'll come up with something else.”

This was never going to work—and I was just as glad. “Like what?” I said. He followed me right up onto our front porch.

“We'll, um...”

He didn't have a clue. He looked around like he was going to find the answer in
the shrubs or the flowerpots or the neighbor's curtains.

He clapped his hands together.

“We'll do it at night!” he said. “Like, three in the morning or something. It'll be pitch-dark out. We'll wake people up. They'll be all groggy and mad and everything. It'll be hysterical.”