Watch Your Step (14 page)

“Should we do our chores first?” she asks when I'm done.

“Good idea. We'll finish as fast as possible and then get to our real mission.”

We retrieve our supplies from the living room and head for the kitchen. Elinor opens drawers and looks for silverware. I go to the sink and fill the watering can. When the can's full, I turn off the faucet and heave out the heavy container.

I'm about to go to the living room when a thought occurs to me.

“Can I ask you something?”

Elinor looks up from a gleaming spoon. “Anything.”

We've come a long way—because I know she means it. And this is an especially big deal since Elinor's troublemaking talent is lying.

“Is this weird for you?” I ask. “Looking for evidence against your mom?”

She shrugs. “Maybe a little. But we wouldn't be looking if she'd just plant flowers and bake cookies and be a normal mother.”

“Okay. Well if it does get really weird, or if you're uncomfortable at all and want to stop . . . you'll let me know?”

She gives me a small smile. “I will. Thank you.”

I smile too. Then I go to the living room and get to work. There are six plants. I water them all until their brown soil turns black. Then I take the trimming shears and survey the plants' leaves. Most are smooth and green, but a few are wrinkled and gray. Using the shears, I focus on clipping the dead leaves from their stems.

I pause only once, when I hear Elinor singing softly in the kitchen. Then I'm distracted by images of future Elinor and future me doing chores around our future home. In this scenario, Elinor's just as pretty as she is now. I'm taller. And we're doing chores because they're a good excuse to spend time together, not because someone told us to.

“Focus,”
I tell myself.

“Did you say something?” Elinor calls from the kitchen.

“Ficus!” I call back. I think that's the real name of a real plant Mom has at home. “This one's out of control!”

When I'm done in the living room, I take the watering can
and head for the next room. I stop at the first door I come to—and it's locked. Looking down the rest of the hall, I see that every other door is wide open.

I'm instantly suspicious. I'd check the top of the doorframe for a key, but I can't reach. I'm tempted to drag over a chair—but decide I should finish plant duty first. Annika's top secret mission is most important, but I don't want to invite attention if Samara makes a big deal about who didn't finish their chores later.

I dart into the next room. Judging by the rumpled blankets and open suitcases, it's the one Mom and Dad are using as their bedroom. I quickly find and trim four plants, then take a K-Mail break.

TO:
[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

CC:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
So?

Hi! Just wanted to see how everything's going. Any weird observations yet?

Elinor and I had some right away. (She's helping
me since her mom's not here and she doesn't have a cabin to clean.) Will tell all later!

—S

I hit send. Before I can pick up the watering can, my K-Pak buzzes.

TO:
[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

CC:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: So?

My parents aren't here. Correction: their BODIES are here. But their brains have clearly been sucked out and replaced with unidentifiable matter. Details later.

Side note: Your girlfriend's working with you? That sounds like mixing business with pleasure. And THAT sounds like a bad idea. One that could seriously compromise our group's goals.

—Abe

Heart thumping and cheeks blazing, I press reply. It's bad enough that Abe's singling out Elinor and me again . . . but to call her my girlfriend?
And
copy her on the note? That's totally unnecessary.

I'm about to start typing when my K-Pak buzzes again.

TO:
[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

CC:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: RE: So?

Abe, did the aliens that stole your parents' brains also take your heart? So what if Seamus and Elinor want to hang out together all the time? I think it's GREAT!

XO!

Gabby

I've just finished reading Gabby's e-mail when another new one comes in.

TO:
[email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

CC:
[email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Oops!

Sorry—forgot to mention my parents! Nothing to report yet. I actually haven't seen them. Maybe they're still sleeping?

XOXO!

Gabby

Still reeling from Abe's first note, my heart hammers like I'm sprinting around the room. Before anyone can send another mortifying message, I start typing.

TO:
[email protected], [email protected]

FROM:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
HEY!

Elinor and I are just FRIENDS. And we're just trying to WORK. So since there's nothing else to say, can you not talk about us anymore? Please??

—S

I send the note and wait. My in-box stays quiet. I'm happy Abe and Gabby listen to my request, but I wouldn't mind hearing from Lemon about his parents.

A minute later, when there's still no word from my best friend, I put away my K-Pak and go to the glass doors on the other side of the bedroom. They lead to a balcony. Since the house sits on a huge hill, maybe I can see all of the other houses—including Lemon's family's—from there. At the very least I can make sure he didn't fall asleep in a lounge chair or set up an origami station on the beach.

I have one hand on the knob when something catches my attention.

Mom's coupon folder. The one that looks like a mini filing cabinet stuffed between red plastic covers. It's on the nightstand next to the bed. Mom never goes anywhere without it, so normally I wouldn't give it a second glance.

But I do now for two reasons.

#1: It's here, at Kamp Kilter. Where everything is free.

#2: The folder's flat. At home it's always stuffed with small paper squares offering ten cents off paper towels, fifty cents off tofu, and other shopping deals. Here it looks empty.

But it's not. I realize this when I go to the nightstand and pick it up. It doesn't hold coupons, though. It holds a book—a real one, with paper pages.

I check behind me to make sure I'm alone, then slide out the book. I wonder if it's the same one Mom was reading in the kitchen back home, that she tried to cover up when I came into the room.

When I see the title on the front cover, I know it is.

MY LIFE WITH SEAMUS

by Judith Hinkle

“This is private property,” I tell myself. “And none of your business.”

Only my name's on the front cover. So how is it anything
but
my business?

Heart thudding, I open the book to the first page. It was written thirteen years ago, on my birthday. My mom's handwriting was the same then as it is now. Neat. Even. With no cross-outs or any other sign that she started to say something she didn't mean.

Which makes her first entry especially interesting.

He's perfect.

After all this time, all these months—no, years—of hoping and waiting and hoping some more, he's here. And he's even more breathtaking than I could've ever imagined.

I'm reluctant to spend even a few minutes apart from him, so I'll keep brief these first thoughts in what will eventually be a lengthy dedication to the light of my life. But suffice it
to say that this is the happiest I've ever been. The joy is truly overwhelming, and will only grow. Of this I'm certain. And that's for one reason, and one reason only.

My son.

Seamus.

I look up. Blink. Could I possibly have read that right?

The morning sun faces away from this room. The light's dim. Deciding I need a better, brighter view, I take the book outside.

At the balcony's railing, I look down and start rereading.

Once again I'm instantly struck. But not just by my mother's words.

By white balls. Dozens of them, maybe more. Flying over the balcony railing, they hit my chest. Bounce off my head. Stunned, I stumble toward the glass door, which my back hits. And I drop to the floor.

I try to get up. But the aliens that sucked out Abe's parents' brains must've come for mine, too. Because the world starts to grow fuzzy.

And then it disappears.

N
ame?”

“Ssshhaymmmm  . . .”

“Age?”

“Thirrnnn  . . .”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Killt . . . er  . . .”

“Killed her? He said ‘killed her!' Why's he talking about the teacher he—? Um, OW? What—”

“Would you please pipe down? Not everyone knows what
Seamus did to get in here. If he wants to spill the beans, that's his business. Not ours.”

“But he said—”

“He doesn't know what he said. He's a vegetable right now.”

“Would you
both
please pipe down? It's hard enough hearing him in all this ruckus without you two bickering like Rodolfo bickers with Esmeralda.”

“Who's Esmeralda?”

“The spoiled Pomeranian next door. My poor baby can't bury a bone without that one squeezing through the fence and digging it right back up. Why, the other day—”

“Wait! Did his eyelids just twitch? I swear I just saw them twitch.”

“Maybe I should sing? Injured people really respond to beautiful music. It, like, heals them from the inside out. If I just—”

“Gabby.”

“Seamus? It's Elinor. Can you hear me?”

The world lightens. Soon I can see actual colors. Gabby's pink T-shirt. Abe's blue baseball hat. Ms. Marla's red lips.

Elinor's copper eyes.

“What happened?” I whisper.

Gabby squeals. Abe exhales. Ms. Marla winks.

“You had a little accident,” Elinor says. “You're in the infirmary.”

“Are you kidding? That was no—”

Elinor shoots Abe a look. Then she turns back to me. “I found you lying on the balcony. Totally out of it. Surrounded by ping-pong balls.”

“Whoever was playing has some arm,” Gabby says. “To send so many balls that high? And hard enough to put Seamus in a coma?”

“Seamus wasn't in a coma.” Sitting on a stool next to me, Ms. Marla leans closer and shines a light into each of my eyes. “He doesn't have a bruise or bump to speak of. It's hot out there. My guess is he was surprised on top of overheated, and his body just took a little break. How do you feel now, sugar?”

I'm not sure. It's hard to separate potential physical pains from mental ones.

Because Elinor found me lying on the balcony? Was I drooling? Did my T-shirt ride up when I fell? Did she see my chest and learn just how white white can really be?

“I think I'm okay,” I finally offer. Then, “Ms. Marla, what are you doing here?”

“Making sure everyone makes it home alive at the end of the summer.”

I take in her white coat and the stethoscope. “You're the camp nurse?”

“Indeedy.”

“What about the Hoodlum Hot—”

Her hand clamps over my mouth. “Whoa, take it easy there! You just came to. Don't want to overexert yourself!”