pink blanket she used in the winter rested on the bottom shelf, with her backpack leaning up against it. As I pulled on the blanket, the backpack tipped over, spilling out a fan of multicolored folders.
I reached down to gather them, when I caught a glimpse of one of the covers.
MY ANCESTORS, it read. BY MIMI LAIRD.
I looked at the next one. MY ANCESTORS, BENJI BYERSON. MY ANCESTORS, JENNILYNN WOO. MY ANCESTORS, EVAN LITCHFIELD.
“What are you doing?”
The voice scared me so much that I dropped the stack of reports.
I just stared at her. “I came in to cover you up, but . . . why do you have everyone else’s projects?”
She gave me a look that said pretty plainly that she didn’t think it was my business.
“I’m a student grader,” she said at last.
“A what?”
“It’s new.” Kasey yawned and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Don’t bother with the blanket; I’m awake.”
She followed my gaze to the papers on the floor.
“I’ll get those later,” she said.
I was kind of surprised she hadn’t wigged out about me being so close to her dolls without supervision.
But she didn’t look anywhere near freaking out. And if she wasn’t going to freak out, I wasn’t going to either.
“There’s something wrong with the thermostat. Come help me check out the circuit breaker,” I said.
Kasey followed me downstairs and into the garage.
The cold had seeped under the kitchen door and even the garage was chilly. If Mom showed up now we’d be grounded until college. How long would it take to warm up the house if we opened all the windows? Then Mom would never know . . . until the electric bill showed up.
Built into the wall behind the garage door was a metal cabinet. Opening it revealed about thirty chunky black switches. Kasey leaned in to look at them.
“What are those?”
“Fuses,” I said.
“Which one is for the air conditioner?” Kasey asked.
I studied the little map at the top of the cabinet. Third down on the left, the little square was labeled “A/C.”
“This one,” I said, flipping the switch. “Go see if that worked.”
Kasey ran inside. A second later she came huffing and puffing back. “Nope,” she panted.
I stared at the rest of the circuits. “Okay,” I said. “Stay here and flip this switch when I tell you to.”
I went inside to the thermostat and looked at the little red light in the corner. “Flip it!” I called.
The red light went dark.
“Flip it back!” I called.
The light came back on. Then off, then on, then off, and on again. But none of that mattered, because the whole time, cold air never stopped blowing through the vent.
Kasey came in from the garage, shivering. “No luck?”
“No,” I said, my teeth chattering. “We’re going to get in sooo much trouble.”
“So what else is new?” Kasey said. She approached the thermostat and grabbed the switch, moving it back and forth. I almost told her to stop because I was afraid the stupid thing would break off.
“I’m freezing ,” Kasey said under her breath. “Turn off, turn off.”
Midflip, the air conditioner turned off. We stood in confused silence.
“Huh,” I said. “Weird.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Kasey snapped.
“Did I say you did?” I asked, going back into the kitchen. “Jeez.”
She stomped up the stairs, leaving me alone. I pulled a string cheese and a few pieces of sliced turkey out of the fridge and stood in the kitchen eating, just kind of looking around.
I looked at the garage door and then down at the floor. The light gray rag rug had dark smudges on it. Our footprints.
I lifted my foot and looked at the bottom of my sock.
It was covered in a fine dusting of grimy-looking dirt.
Just like the dirt I’d seen on Kasey’s sock that morning.
So she’d been in the garage?
At six thirty in the morning?
. . . Why?
The contact sheet from my earlier darkroom session was completely dry. I counted down to the fifth row of negatives and over three, to the
I reached down to gather them, when I caught a glimpse of one of the covers.
MY ANCESTORS, it read. BY MIMI LAIRD.
I looked at the next one. MY ANCESTORS, BENJI BYERSON. MY ANCESTORS, JENNILYNN WOO. MY ANCESTORS, EVAN LITCHFIELD.
“What are you doing?”
The voice scared me so much that I dropped the stack of reports.
I just stared at her. “I came in to cover you up, but . . . why do you have everyone else’s projects?”
She gave me a look that said pretty plainly that she didn’t think it was my business.
“I’m a student grader,” she said at last.
“A what?”
“It’s new.” Kasey yawned and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Don’t bother with the blanket; I’m awake.”
She followed my gaze to the papers on the floor.
“I’ll get those later,” she said.
I was kind of surprised she hadn’t wigged out about me being so close to her dolls without supervision.
But she didn’t look anywhere near freaking out. And if she wasn’t going to freak out, I wasn’t going to either.
“There’s something wrong with the thermostat. Come help me check out the circuit breaker,” I said.
Kasey followed me downstairs and into the garage.
The cold had seeped under the kitchen door and even the garage was chilly. If Mom showed up now we’d be grounded until college. How long would it take to warm up the house if we opened all the windows? Then Mom would never know . . . until the electric bill showed up.
Built into the wall behind the garage door was a metal cabinet. Opening it revealed about thirty chunky black switches. Kasey leaned in to look at them.
“What are those?”
“Fuses,” I said.
“Which one is for the air conditioner?” Kasey asked.
I studied the little map at the top of the cabinet. Third down on the left, the little square was labeled “A/C.”
“This one,” I said, flipping the switch. “Go see if that worked.”
Kasey ran inside. A second later she came huffing and puffing back. “Nope,” she panted.
I stared at the rest of the circuits. “Okay,” I said. “Stay here and flip this switch when I tell you to.”
I went inside to the thermostat and looked at the little red light in the corner. “Flip it!” I called.
The red light went dark.
“Flip it back!” I called.
The light came back on. Then off, then on, then off, and on again. But none of that mattered, because the whole time, cold air never stopped blowing through the vent.
Kasey came in from the garage, shivering. “No luck?”
“No,” I said, my teeth chattering. “We’re going to get in sooo much trouble.”
“So what else is new?” Kasey said. She approached the thermostat and grabbed the switch, moving it back and forth. I almost told her to stop because I was afraid the stupid thing would break off.
“I’m freezing ,” Kasey said under her breath. “Turn off, turn off.”
Midflip, the air conditioner turned off. We stood in confused silence.
“Huh,” I said. “Weird.”
“I didn’t do anything!” Kasey snapped.
“Did I say you did?” I asked, going back into the kitchen. “Jeez.”
She stomped up the stairs, leaving me alone. I pulled a string cheese and a few pieces of sliced turkey out of the fridge and stood in the kitchen eating, just kind of looking around.
I looked at the garage door and then down at the floor. The light gray rag rug had dark smudges on it. Our footprints.
I lifted my foot and looked at the bottom of my sock.
It was covered in a fine dusting of grimy-looking dirt.
Just like the dirt I’d seen on Kasey’s sock that morning.
So she’d been in the garage?
At six thirty in the morning?
. . . Why?
The contact sheet from my earlier darkroom session was completely dry. I counted down to the fifth row of negatives and over three, to the
Similar Books
