“Where?”
“The Dixons’.”
“What?” Eli follows me across the street. “Nina!
Wait!”
Mr. Dembrowski is backing out of his driveway. He turns onto the street just as we reach the sidewalk in front of the Dixon house. When I look back, he’s stopped. His window is open.
This couldn’t be crazier.
“What’s the trouble?” he asks.
“Mr. D.,” I say, like I talk to him all the time. “Do you know anything about fixing a leaky water pipe?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he says, pulling over and getting out. He’s the most normal-looking person I’ve ever seen, in a pair of khaki pants and navy shirt. Not a criminal or hoarder. And of course he knows about fixing pipes.
I lead Eli and Mr. Dembrowski to the back of the house. “Oh, man!” Eli shouts. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do this!” I yell. “You think I did this? It just happened! I’m trying to fix it! This is number fifty-three!”
They give me confused looks.
“The pipe under the sink is shooting out water.”
Mr. D. says he’ll be right back. I hand Eli some towels, then start throwing my stack onto the floor, trying to soak up the water. He’s just standing there. “Are you going to help me?”
He unfolds a towel, puts it down, and starts moving it around with his foot. “You’re going to need something more than towels. I’ll get a mop, and the squeegee from my garage.”
I nearly slip on a wet towel. “Good thinking.”
Eli leaves as Mr. D. walks in with a metal box of tools. He goes to the sink, takes out what might be a wrench, and then lies on his back, half in the cabinet. In a few minutes, the water stops. He pokes his head out. His shirt is soaked.
“Oh, God, I’m really sorry,” I say.
He stands. “It’s all right. I’ll stop home and change.”
“Were you going to work?”
“I was.”
“Is the pipe fixed?”
“For now. I’m not a plumber. I did what I could.”
“Wh-what do you do?” I ask. “I mean, your job?”
“I’m a security guard.”
I nod. “Oh.” Makes perfect sense. I gesture to the room. “Really, I didn’t—”
“I figured.”
Eli walks back in with the mop and squeegee as Mr. D. packs up his tools and glances at his watch. “I haven’t been late to work in five years. The last time was when some neighborhood kids ran through my flower bed.”
I bite my lip, but he picks up his toolbox and smiles at me. “It’s good to be late once in a while. Life doesn’t get boring that way.”
He squishes across the towels, nods at me, and goes out the door. I think Mr. D. and I are okay.
“That was weird.” Eli looks around the kitchen. “Should I even ask?”
“Not unless you want to hear a ghost story.”
“Huh?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, and sigh.
Eli shoves aside some of the wet towels and starts using the squeegee to push water in the direction of the glass door.
It occurs to me that number fifty-three is different. And remarkable. It was a good thing with two other people.
As I kneel and try to sop up the water, I can’t help it, I look at Eli’s back. His shoulders, his arms. These curly parts of his hair over his ears. Stop! Stop looking at something you can’t have.
I pick up a towel and go outside to wring it out on the patio. When I come back in, Eli grabs the mop and shoots water at me.
“Hey!”
He does it again.
I throw the towel at him.
Mop, squeegee, towels, water. We’re soaked, and I’m not sure the floor is any drier.
He comes close. Touches my chin. We’re inches apart.
“What about Jorie?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. He’s about to kiss me again.
And my parents choose this moment to arrive on the scene.
Dad’s voice calls from the doorway. “Nina? What’s going on in here?”
This is not good.
“Nina?” Mom says slowly, her brows creased. “Why are you in here?”
Dad eyes the towels, the water, the open cabinet. “What happened? Did you do this?”
“No. I was cleaning it up.”
He walks across the towels on the floor and peers under the sink. Eli and I take a step away from each other.
“Dad—”
“Mr. Ross,” Eli says. “Nina came to get me, and—”
“What a mess,” Mom is saying, looking around. “I can’t believe this. We’re going to have to contact the realtor. I’m not paying for this.”
My head starts hurting. “Mom! Why would you have to pay? I didn’t do it!”
Dad picks up one of the bottles, examines it. I see his face. He knows. “This isn’t your fault,” he says, “is it?”
I remember Mom saying to Matt, “You made a bad choice. Don’t screw up again.”
“It wasn’t Matt!” I shout. “It was a bunch of teenagers! I don’t know who they are! They were in here.”
“You saw them?” Mom asks.
“Y-yes!”
Mom and Dad look at each other. Dad’s shoulders sink a little. He shakes his head.
“I swear!”
My fingers are crossed behind my back. I turn around and look at Eli. Is this a good thing? I’m lying. My head is pounding so much, it’s hard to think straight.
Dad takes hold of my arm. “You’re coming home, right now. Mom and I will deal with this water situation later. Nina, this is breaking and entering. Vandalism. You need to tell us everything. Do you understand?”
“I didn’t break in! The door was open!”
I can’t even look at Eli. Like I’m five, Dad pulls me out of the Dixon house and keeps a tight grip on my arm.
A few minutes later, we sit in chairs at the kitchen table.
Mom has been unusually quiet, but then she says, “Just tell us, Nina. It was Matt, wasn’t it?”
“The root beer,” Dad says. “He drinks it all the time.”
“No,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “That’s a coincidence. I heard some noises, went over there, and a bunch of kids ran out of the house. The pipe was leaking, and the floor was flooded when I got there.”
Mom and Dad aren’t convinced.
Mom says, “Why was Eli there?”
“He was helping me clean up.”
“Why didn’t you come get us?”
“You? Aren’t you preoccupied? The case? You’d have said, ‘In a sec, honey,’ and then never come. Every night, you sit here and work. That’s all you care about anymore.”
Mom looks shocked.
“You have absolutely no idea the pressure we are under,” Dad says.
“You are the one who has no idea!” I cry. “About anything.”
“Nina, that’s not true.” Dad’s voice cracks.
“Let’s stick to this situation.” Mom folds her hands. “You’re absolutely positive you don’t know the kids?”
I stand. All I can think about is the way I felt when Eli was close to me. Wanting to kiss him so much.
Dad rubs his forehead. “If you withhold information, in a way, you’re just as guilty. We’re trying to keep you out of trouble. It’s for your own good.”
My own good. Right.
“Was it Eli?” Mom says. “I wouldn’t be surprised. His father is a deadbeat. Everyone knows that. You don’t need to be hanging around with him or getting involved in his problems. Pretty soon they become your problems.”
I glare at her. “This isn’t Romeo and Juliet. Eli’s one of the best people I know. He’s nothing at all like his dad.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“Grandma was right! You make it so hard!” I scream. “Can’t you just, for once, not be so harsh about everything?”
Mom stares at me. “Don’t change the
subject, Nina. We’re not talking about Grandma now. Or … me.”
Dad glances at her, then reaches for my hand. “Nina, honey, if someone saw you there, if you know something—”
I pull away. “I don’t expect you to get it, but I was trying to do something good.”
Fine and Ross send me a text the next morning that their case is down to the wire and they won’t be home until very late. Try to stay away from other people’s problems today, Mom writes. Is she being funny?
I go back to the scene of the crime. The glass door is shut. I peer inside. Eli must have finished cleaning everything up. The towels, mop, and squeegee are gone, and the floor looks dry.
The Millman house is strangely quiet.
As I’m walking home, Jorie calls from her window. “Nina! I need you! Come up here!”
She has two dresses spread out on her bed—red satiny and purple flouncy. “Did you get my text?”
“No.”
She groans.
Maybe these missed texts are a symbol of our friendship—hanging on by a few intermittent words.
She points to the dresses. “Which one?”
“For homecoming?”
“Duh.”
I sit on her chair, the fuzzy one that makes my legs itch. I feel like the fabric is going to swallow me up. “Tell me the truth,” I say. “Right now. Are you going to homecoming with Eli? Did he ask you?”
She picks up a bottle of nail polish and shakes it. “All I want to know is which dress you like better. I bought them both because I wasn’t sure. My mom thinks—”
“Jorie.”
“We’re going.” She pushes the dresses aside and flops onto her bed. “I’m just waiting for him to say yes. And he will.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here’s the thing, Neen. I got tired of waiting for him, so I asked. I mean, it was a done deal anyway, so what’s the difference who asked who?”
I stand and scratch my leg. How does she sit on this chair? “There’s a big difference. So you put the sign on his garage?”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t ask you?”
“Right. So?”
“You said … All this time, you made it seem like …”
“We’re still going. And I’m still trying to get Leo to ask you.”
“And I told you not to do that. I don’t want to go with Leo. Or Grady, or any other boy you think I should go with. I’ve been talking about going with Sariah and some other girls.”
She starts playing with her hair. “Wait, Sariah?”
“She was at your party.”
“Oh. You’re friends with her?” Jorie rolls onto her side. “Why would you want to go with just girls?”
“We thought it would be fun.”
She jumps up and squeezes me in a hug. “But I really want you to go with me! It would be way more fun with dates. This is high school! You know, the whole thing. Dresses, killer shoes, corsages, pictures.”
“Why couldn’t we still get dresses and take pictures? And wear killer shoes?”
“You could, of course, but it’s not really the same.”
I don’t answer, and she looks at me. “What’s the matter?” she asks. “You look sad.”
“Jorie, you just say things, and you don’t even think about how someone might feel. How I feel.”
“I’m sorry.”
I walk to her doorway. “You push too hard sometimes.”
She sits on the fuzzy chair, pulls her knees up. “I go after what I want. Like I told you at my party, you have to make it happen. My dad tells me that all the time. What’s wrong with that?”
I shake my head. “I need to go.”
“Wait, you didn’t tell me which dress you like better.”
“Wear both. Change halfway through the dance.”
Jorie gasps. “I never thought of that! Should I do that? I could do that!” She frowns. “But how would I get the other dress to the dance? I could ask my mom to bring it.”
I’ve given her something to think about for the rest of the day. This is too sad to count.
I am going to finish the sixty-five good things if it kills me.
54. I go around to the back of Mr. D.’s and water the forget-me-nots. Several more green sprouts have appeared. Grandma is popping up everywhere.
55. I put a note in his mailbox that says: Thanks for your help the other night. I hope you weren’t too late for work :) From, Nina Ross.
56. I send my brother a serious text: Stop avoiding me. We need to talk. I hope it goes through.
Nine more to go.
Eli is at my door with the towels, folded and stacked. Dry and extremely clean.
“Although I suck at making pasta, I’ve gotten pretty good at laundry,” he says, and smiles. “You have any laundry questions? I’m your guy.”
I take the towels. “Thanks. For washing them. And cleaning up. I would have helped, but …”
“No problem.”
We stand there, awkward.
I so badly want to ask him what’s going on with homecoming, but then I’d be like Jorie. Pushing.
“Was it really some kids who broke in?” Eli asks. I don’t answer.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
Over his shoulder, I see Mrs. Chung. Riding a bicycle. Actually, a tricycle.
I put down the towels and step outside. “Look, Mrs. Chung got her cast off.” I point. She’s riding in slow circles around the cul-de-sac on this sort of adult tricycle with a metal basket in the back. Her leg looks normal again. She waves to me, and I wave back.
Eli shakes his head. “You are …”
“What?”
“I don’t even know how to describe it. You’re like so hopeful all the time.” He looks at my feet. “And you have some sort of anti-shoe thing going on.”
I smile. “What can I say?”
Behind Eli’s back, Mrs. Chung gives me a thumbs-up.
Eli walks onto the grass and pretends he’s shooting a basketball. “Well, I should go.”
Something happens. I’m suddenly seized with this urge to just … I’ve never done anything like this before. I run up, jump toward his face, and kiss him on the lips.
Mrs. Chung stops her tricycle and softly claps.
He leans down and kisses me back. Right there. On the warm grass. Under the bright sun.
Except.
I see a flash of hair from Jorie’s window.
She saw. She knows. Oh, God. I’m dead.
What have I done? My life, and the Fertile Crescent, are a mess.
Two days later, Jorie won’t talk to me, Eli has disappeared again—maybe something to do with his dad—and Matt hasn’t texted me back. My parents seem to have forgotten about the Dixon break-in and are working more than ever. And the Millmans haven’t left their house in days.
I hear Mrs. Cantaloni telling Mrs. Chung that Mrs. Millman is now suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome. The same thing Beanie has.
“I’ve been bringing over groceries. Poor Stan is worried sick about her. She’s on medication. Apparently, they really did see a ghost in there,” Mrs. Cantaloni says.
Mrs. Chung narrows her eyes.
“That place could be haunted.” Mrs. Cantaloni rubs her stomach. “I mean, don’t you think there’s lots of things in this universe we know nothing about?”
Mrs. Chung nods slowly.
The Cantaloni boys are tumbling across their lawn. “Do not push your brother, Jack!” Mrs. C. shouts. “How many times have I told you that?” She marches toward them. “Jack! Jeremy! Jordan! Inside, now!”
The boys bolt into their house, Mrs. Cantaloni follows, and Mrs. Chung pedals off on her tricycle. Thomas crashes through the bushes and trots toward me.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He scratches a mosquito bite on his arm. “The girl over there?” He points toward Jorie’s. “She came over to my house and yelled at Eli.” His eyes get big. “She’s mad at you,” he whi
spers. “Real mad.”
I sigh.
“But Eli was mad at her too. They were yelling so much, I had to cover up my ears!”
My heart flutters. “Why was Eli mad?”
Thomas puts his hands on his hips. “About the sign she put on our garage. I’d be mad too if somebody hanged a sign on my house and I didn’t want them to.”
A white truck pulls into the cul-de-sac.
“What’s that say?” he asks.
I read the letters on the side. “ ‘IPIT. Illinois Paranormal Investigative Team. For all your ghostly needs.’ ”
“I can’t believe this,” I say as Thomas holds up his sword.
This guy in a navy jumpsuit gets out and knocks on the Millmans’ door. It opens, and he disappears inside. A few minutes later, he comes back out with the Millmans. Mrs. Millman has circles under her eyes. She’s wearing a gray sweat suit, and her hair’s sticking up.
They start walking around the Dixon house. The jumpsuit guy is holding a little tape recorder and talking into it. Mrs. Millman must be recounting the ghost sighting.
“This is completely crazy,” I say to Thomas. He runs over to the sidewalk and points his sword at the Dixon house. “Pow!”
Mr. and Mrs. Millman and the guy stand and talk a little more; then finally the guy gets into his truck and drives away.
Mr. Millman pats Mrs. Millman softly on her back. “They’ll take care of it, Myrna,” he says. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get rid of that ghost.”
Thomas runs back to me. “This is the most exciting place in the world!”
Fifty-seven?
Jorie is pounding on my door.
“I am not talking to you,” she says as she storms in. “I just came over to tell you one thing. You’re wasting your time. Forget about it.”
Jorie has looked better. Hair in a messy ponytail. No lip gloss. Old cutoff shorts. Puffy, red eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Him.” She tips her head in the direction of Eli’s house. “He’s asking someone else. Not you. Not me.”
Swallow. “How do you know?”
“He told me.”
Take a breath. “Who’s he asking?”
“I don’t know. It’s killing me. He wouldn’t give me a name. He just said, ‘There’s this other girl.’ I stalked him on Facebook, but I couldn’t figure it out.”
The Summer I Saved the World ... in 65 Days Page 12
