Creeping with the Enemy by Kimberly Reid

him,” says Mrs. Larsen. “It’s the hold he seems to have over her in such a short time. She never mentions his name, but he’s all she talks about. Like she wants to keep his name a secret.”
    â€œYou mean when she’s even talking to us,” says Mr. Larsen. “Soon as she comes home, she goes straight to her room, won’t talk to us at all. She didn’t used to be like that. We figured the change was due to this boy.”
    â€œMr. Larsen, you keep a pretty tight leash on Bethanie, right?”
    â€œIs that what she told you?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œIt’s for her own good. When she asked for that car, instead of having Tiny drive her to school, I let her, didn’t I, Mama?”
    Molly and Tiny. Seriously, these names have to be just as made up as Bethanie .
    â€œI think that may be the problem,” Mr. Larsen continues. “We give her too much. She thinks having money makes her grown. I should cut back her allowance. What do regular kids make for allowance these days, Chanti?”
    â€œI don’t really get allowance. I had a job until recently, and I’ll probably start looking for another one soon.”
    â€œOh, that’s right. You’re poor,” Mrs. Larsen says, shaking her head like she just learned I’ve come down with an incurable disease. I want to remind them that until recently, they were broke, too. But I stay quiet because Bethanie doesn’t want them to know I know about the lottery ticket.
    â€œWell, I think maybe we overindulged her,” Mr. Larsen says. “Whatever the going rate is, I’m pretty sure it isn’t a thousand a week.”
    I try not to spray a mouthful of Coke all over them.
    â€œYeah, it’s safe to assume that is nowhere near the going rate for ‘regular’ kids,” I say after I recover from that information. “Maybe she’s just breaking out a little. It’s like when I go on the cabbage soup diet. Once I get my first taste of chocolate after a week of cabbage soup, I can’t just stop at one piece.”
    The Larsens stare at me like I’m speaking Farsi. Since my analogy is clearly lost on them, I try a different approach. The truth.
    â€œLet’s just be frank,” I say, because I have always wanted to say that and this seems as good a time as any. “You’re worried this guy is after your money, right?”
    â€œMy money? My money,” Mr. Larsen says twice, like this thought never occurred to him. Then he smiles at his wife and slaps his leg. “Yes, the money.”
    I take a big swig of Coke and actually hope Bethanie walks in right this moment so she can translate her family’s madness for me. And to reassure me Tiny is not an escaped serial killer.
    â€œDid you have other concerns about Cole besides him being a potential gold digger? You know, since you’re in oil and everything.”
    â€œNo, young lady, we shared the same exact concern as you. A father can’t be too careful about his pride and joy.”
    I wouldn’t know, but nod in agreement.
    â€œStill, we would be very appreciative if you could talk to her, maybe warn her against getting too caught up with this boy. She might listen to you.”
    Mr. Larsen seems so relieved that all Cole is after is his money, I don’t have the heart to tell him his daughter probably wants nothing to do with me, or that it’s too late—she’s already too caught up with Cole. When he asks Tiny to drive me home, I decline because I’m not sure I want to be in a car alone with Tiny. But no use hurting anybody’s feelings, so I tell them a Bentley rolling through Denver Heights would surely get us jacked, which amuses Tiny enough that he actually cracks a smile. After many protests between Mrs. Larsen and me about how I’m getting home, I agree to let Mr. Larsen drop me at the nearest bus stop. Once I’m finally on the