It’s like they never wash or something.
We stop, trying to size up the side of the porch where the hole was, trying to see if it’s still there.
“Do they still have that dog?” I whisper to Emma.
“How’m I supposed to know?” she hisses back.
“I’m just saying. If they do have that dog still you better get ready to run ‘cause his barking’ll wake up the whole house.”
95
96
ELIZABETH FLOCK
I can tell Emma’s cranky from no sleep. I’m older so I don’t get as cranky with little sleep.
No sign of the dog. What was that dog’s name, anyway? I can’t remember. It was something stupid, something a boy would definitely call a dog: Spot, Buddy or something like that.
I start over to the left side of the porch that looks as rickety now as it did back the last time we were here and sure enough, the hole is still there. Only it looks a heck of a lot smaller than it did when we crawled through it last.
“What happened to the hole?” Emma says quietly.
“Nothing happened to the hole,” I say. “We just grew, that’s what. We can still get through it, though. You watch. I’ll go first.”
Now this is a big deal, me going in first and all. There are probably a million different kinds of spiders and caterpillars hiding under this porch, and not the cute doodlebug kind of caterpillar that’s fuzzy and soft. I’m talking about the scaly ones that have a hundred legs to make it run superfast right toward you. But I have to go in first because Emma’s acting all weird, I can just tell. I’m not used to seeing her like this so I better suck it up, like Richard always tells us to do.
I’m on my knees right in front of the crisscrossed wood that makes an open-air wall with diamond shapes on the side of the porch. I feel like it’ll be sunny any second now so I stick my head through the hole first, and sure enough, my shoulders get caught by the jagged pieces of wood. I wish I said cusswords because I’d say one right about now. What a good thing I don’t because if! said the d-word like I want to, then someone would hear me, and if someone heard me then someone would find us and if someone found us then we’d have to go back home and if we went back home, Richard’d kill us.
M & EMMA
I turn to the side a little and try to move in that way, but it’s like the porch is keeping me out on purpose.
“Let me try,” Emma whispers. So I pull my head out and crouch over and out of the way so she can try. What’s that? Jeez-um. I think it’s the dog.
“Hurry up,” I tell her. “Come on!”
She hears it, too, and pushes her second shoulder blade past the jagged wood like it’s only fingers holding us out. Next thing I know the sound is right above our heads. It’s a clicking noise—paws on
wood.
“Hurry!” I say.
She pulls her legs through and now it’s my turn but it’s amazing how fast you can go when you’re afraid of getting caught. I stick my arm and shoulder in first, like I’m reaching for something on a shelf, then I fit my head through—but just barely, I feel the wood scratching my cheek—and sure enough, my other shoulder blade pops in with no problem. Good thing because the dog is now barking up a storm above us and footsteps are hurrying to the door to let it out.
Underneath the porch I feel around for rocks, the bigger the better. Any ones I can find I stack up in front of the hole so when the dog comes out he won’t rat on us. Emma’s taking off her sweater and bailing it up and trying to stuff it in the hole but that’s just plain dumb, if you ask me.
“Don’t,” I say as I pull it out and throw it behind me. “Rocks,” I quickly whisper to her, but it’s too late.
The latch on the door clicks and we both freeze. Like a bullet from a shotgun the dog busts through the door and down the steps, barking like he’s seen a ghost, which is funny if you think about it since
97
he kind of has. We must look pretty ghostlike to a dog in the
We stop, trying to size up the side of the porch where the hole was, trying to see if it’s still there.
“Do they still have that dog?” I whisper to Emma.
“How’m I supposed to know?” she hisses back.
“I’m just saying. If they do have that dog still you better get ready to run ‘cause his barking’ll wake up the whole house.”
95
96
ELIZABETH FLOCK
I can tell Emma’s cranky from no sleep. I’m older so I don’t get as cranky with little sleep.
No sign of the dog. What was that dog’s name, anyway? I can’t remember. It was something stupid, something a boy would definitely call a dog: Spot, Buddy or something like that.
I start over to the left side of the porch that looks as rickety now as it did back the last time we were here and sure enough, the hole is still there. Only it looks a heck of a lot smaller than it did when we crawled through it last.
“What happened to the hole?” Emma says quietly.
“Nothing happened to the hole,” I say. “We just grew, that’s what. We can still get through it, though. You watch. I’ll go first.”
Now this is a big deal, me going in first and all. There are probably a million different kinds of spiders and caterpillars hiding under this porch, and not the cute doodlebug kind of caterpillar that’s fuzzy and soft. I’m talking about the scaly ones that have a hundred legs to make it run superfast right toward you. But I have to go in first because Emma’s acting all weird, I can just tell. I’m not used to seeing her like this so I better suck it up, like Richard always tells us to do.
I’m on my knees right in front of the crisscrossed wood that makes an open-air wall with diamond shapes on the side of the porch. I feel like it’ll be sunny any second now so I stick my head through the hole first, and sure enough, my shoulders get caught by the jagged pieces of wood. I wish I said cusswords because I’d say one right about now. What a good thing I don’t because if! said the d-word like I want to, then someone would hear me, and if someone heard me then someone would find us and if someone found us then we’d have to go back home and if we went back home, Richard’d kill us.
M & EMMA
I turn to the side a little and try to move in that way, but it’s like the porch is keeping me out on purpose.
“Let me try,” Emma whispers. So I pull my head out and crouch over and out of the way so she can try. What’s that? Jeez-um. I think it’s the dog.
“Hurry up,” I tell her. “Come on!”
She hears it, too, and pushes her second shoulder blade past the jagged wood like it’s only fingers holding us out. Next thing I know the sound is right above our heads. It’s a clicking noise—paws on
wood.
“Hurry!” I say.
She pulls her legs through and now it’s my turn but it’s amazing how fast you can go when you’re afraid of getting caught. I stick my arm and shoulder in first, like I’m reaching for something on a shelf, then I fit my head through—but just barely, I feel the wood scratching my cheek—and sure enough, my other shoulder blade pops in with no problem. Good thing because the dog is now barking up a storm above us and footsteps are hurrying to the door to let it out.
Underneath the porch I feel around for rocks, the bigger the better. Any ones I can find I stack up in front of the hole so when the dog comes out he won’t rat on us. Emma’s taking off her sweater and bailing it up and trying to stuff it in the hole but that’s just plain dumb, if you ask me.
“Don’t,” I say as I pull it out and throw it behind me. “Rocks,” I quickly whisper to her, but it’s too late.
The latch on the door clicks and we both freeze. Like a bullet from a shotgun the dog busts through the door and down the steps, barking like he’s seen a ghost, which is funny if you think about it since
97
he kind of has. We must look pretty ghostlike to a dog in the
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