Colonial Madness by Jo Whittemore Page B

want to.”
    He perked up a bit. “Really? With me?”
    â€œWell . . . yeah,” I said, smiling. “But I’ll leave if it’ll get you in trouble.”
    Caleb took a step closer. “I won’t say anything if you won’t.” He glanced around and gestured for me to come in.
    I slipped through the doorway, feeling equal parts guilty and excited.
    We didn’t talk any about his family’s financial situation or mine. Instead, he told me about his regular life outside the 1600s, and I told him about life in my town. We quizzedeach other on interests and likes and dislikes and teased each other about them.
    â€œYou don’t like hummus?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t like the texture,” he said. “It’s like eating that white paste from kindergarten.”
    â€œYou don’t like the white paste from kindergarten?!”
    Caleb laughed and placed a sheet of paper on the table beside us. “Tell me what kind of earrings you want.”
    â€œOnes that will give me superpowers.”
    â€œCute.” He tapped me on the nose with his pencil. “But something more realistic.”
    I thought a moment. “Can we make flower earrings?”
    Caleb began sketching. “How many petals? Round or pointed?”
    â€œFive round ones.” I watched while he drew. “Perfect.”
    Caleb picked up a piece of sheet metal and got to work on the real thing. I wanted to stay and watch the whole process, but the hour passed quicker than I expected and I had to say good-bye.
    â€œSorry, but my cousin will only cover for me for so long.”
    â€œYour cousin knows you’re here?” he asked, wide-eyed.
    â€œAngel,” I told him. “And don’t worry, she’ll keep it a secret.”
    Caleb nodded. “I should have these done for you by tomorrow, but I don’tknow how I can get them to you.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Unless you want to hang out again?”
    My stomach did a flip-flop. “Sure!” I blurted. “I mean . . . whatever, yeah.”
    â€œWay to play it cool,” Caleb said with a smile.
    I laughed and we hugged good-bye, me praying the whole time that he wouldn’t smell me and change his mind.
    Before I left, he stepped outside and checked for signs of life. Then he turned and beckoned me forward. With one last wave, I darted from shadow to shadow again, all the way to the back door.
    Which was locked.
    â€œShoot!” I whispered.
    There was no doubt in my mind who did it, but at the moment I had more important things to worry about . . . like getting back inside. I prowled the length of windows until I found the one for Angel’s room. Then I picked up a rock and threw it. It clicked loud against the glass and I ducked into the bushes. No movement from above.
    I picked up another rock and threw it, pressing my back against the building. The curtains over Angel’s window rustled.
    I jumped out and started waving my arms but froze.
    Mom was looking down at me.
    She drew open the window and leaned out. “Tori? Well . . .what on earth are you doing out there?” The confusion in her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I thought for sure you’d be here in Angel’s room. Isn’t that the strangest thing?”
    And that’s when I realized Dylan hadn’t locked me out. Mom had.
    â€œPlease please please let me in!” I whispered as loud as I dared.
    â€œGee.” Mom scratched her head. “I really wish I could, but since I’m not smart enough to figure out your plan, I’m probably not smart enough to unlock a door either.” She shrugged. “Sorry! Have fun sleeping in the barn!”
    And with that, she closed the window and shut the curtains.
    As I sulked down the path to the barn and tried to find a patch of ground not covered in poop, I realized I didn’t feel one bit guilty for what I did. If