by Clay Cormany
Two long steps took me to the wall leading to the grass, then three more, and I’d reached the porch. The front door was open, allowing in the warm, early summer air. I gave a quick knock on the screen door, but didn’t wait for anyone to answer.
“It’s me, Mrs. Perry!”
“Afternoon, Mercedes.” Her voice came from the kitchen, as usual. That woman always seemed to be in the kitchen. (Not like my mother, whose most hated words in the English language were What’s for dinner?) Mrs. Perry added, “Want some frozen yogurt?”
“Maybe later, Mrs. Perry. Thanks!”
My feet flew up the stairs, and my fingers grabbed the dark, polished banister as I took the flight at least two steps at a time. The wood protested as I spun the corner at the top, turning sharply. My heart now pounded in my chest, and my lungs complained mightily, but I didn’t care. My hand twisted the door handle, I knocked once, and pushed on the bedroom door.
“Con—”
He sat, tipped back on his desk’s chair, the phone at his ear.
I dropped onto his bed, scooting back to lean against the wall.
“This sounds like a great opportunity, Mr. Schlemmer.” He gave me a grin.
“Really?” I mouthed.
He nodded. “All right. See you then. Thank you.”
The phone hadn’t even settled fully on the desk when I let out an ear piercing shriek of joy and launched myself at him.
“Easy, Merck!” he complained, using his pet name for me as we collided. “Give a guy a break. I need air.”
“We’re going! We’re going!” I screamed with glee. “We’re really going.”
He laughed and peeled my arms from around his neck. “Yeah, we’re really going, but so help me, if you get me into trouble…”
I dropped back onto his bed with a heavy “humph,” and put my feet on the metal bed frame. “Trouble? Me? Now, what sort of trouble could I get you in?”
