Watchers

Tree Loot

Adam wanted me to sneak out of the house that night, but I really didn't want to. I mean, not only was I grounded, but I also wasn't allowed out of the house after ten. He wanted me to meet him a block away at midnight. I wanted to tell him that he was crazy for thinking I'd agree. Midnight on a school night? Come on. Sure, it was the second-to-last day of school, but we had a final exam in social studies. Not that I was going to stay up studying or anything; I was just using that as another excuse.

But I guess I was really the crazy one, because I found myself bustling around in the dark at about eleven forty-five, trying to get dressed so I could sneak out of the house. We had one of those older houses where every floorboard creaks when you breathe, so I had an interesting time trying to keep it down. As I hopped on one foot pulling on socks, I was sure I'd see Corey come plowing into the room at any minute, ready to blow the whistle on me. He didn't come in, though. He must've been sleeping like a dead dog. Fortunate for me, anyway. The only company I had in my secrecy was the block of moon pouring in through my windows. I was grateful for it, because it gave me some light to see by. I needed it too, for as clumsy as I was.

I dressed in under two minutes (or I bet it would've been under two if you'd timed me). Then I had to worry about the tough part: sneaking out of the house. I wasn't going out the window, no way. I was on the second floor, and knowing me, I'd break a leg or two trying to jump. So my next thought was the back door . . . until I remembered that the neighbor's dog had a burrow under the fence and could easily come after me barking and waking up the neighborhood. No, it was clearly going to have to be the front door. That was a tough one. My parents' room was right on top of the door. I had to risk them hearing me.

Trying not to think of how long my grounding would be extended if I was caught, I slipped into the hall and started down the stairs. I held my tennis shoes in my hands and kept my eyes on Corey's bedroom door until it was out of sight. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was startled for a minute by a moving shadow to my left. I stopped still, but then I realized it was only Scuzz, my brother's mangy cat. Sometimes I forgot the dumb animal was even there because it was almost always outside. For some weird reason, though, I was glad to see him there. It reminded me that I wasn't the only living thing around.

Scuzz slinked away from me, toward the front door. He wanted to go out, just like me. Seeing him gave me some courage. At least he was glad I was there. Slipping to the door, I unlocked it and, trying to get rid of any regrets tugging at my mind, disappeared from the house.

Once out in the muggy darkness, I pulled on my shoes and started to jog. We had motion lights at our house, but I knew how to avoid them. Nights of playing hide-and-seek and ghost in the graveyard with friends had trained me well for being sneaky. I could dart behind a lamppost or roll under a bush in an instant if the need arose. G.I. Cole, that was me. Suddenly, I found myself imagining I was on some war-torn battlefield with trenches dug out left and right and shells flying over my head. Bodies lying in heaps around me. Smoke rising through the dead, humid night. Tanks booming in the distance and aircraft whirring somewhere out of sight. I was crawling on the ground, dragging myself along for dear life, trying to get across enemy lines . . . trying to do the job of a real spy . . . forcing myself to withstand the pain of the shot that had ripped through my gut . . .

"What are you doing?" muttered Adam's hushed voice, completely breaking my concentration.

Looking down at myself, I realized that not only was I clutching my ribs but I also was kind of squatting toward the ground as I walked. "Uh . . . nothing," I answered. "Just thinking."

He raised his eyebrows a little but didn't say anything else about my weird behavior. Our days spent paintballing at Sloppy Soldiers had given both of us a strange desire to go to war. "Yeah. Well let's get out from under this streetlight."