The Graham Cracker Plot by Shelley Tougas Page B

awake.” She sat up, and her blond-and-pink wig shifted to the side of her head. A few brown hairs slipped out of the wig.
    Graham made a face. “Man, this is gross.”
    â€œI don’t think he lives here,” I said. “There aren’t any boy rooms upstairs. Everything’s all quilted and flowery and old.”
    â€œSo what’s he doing here?”
    Ashley and Graham scooted by me and crouched down. The guy wore a baseball cap and a hoodie. Tall and skinny, he crossed the driveway in a couple strides and disappeared inside the barn.
    Fred was licking the puke off Graham’s back.
    I slapped him. “Stop it! Fred, you’re disgusting!”
    â€œWhat are we gonna do?” Graham asked.
    I grabbed our backpacks.
    â€œHe’s leaving the barn,” Graham said.
    Fred growled. He put his head under the curtain and barked.
    â€œIs he going to his car?” I asked. Please, please, please let the answer be yes.
    Graham whirled around. “I can’t tell. The pickup’s in the way.” The longest ten seconds in my life followed. “He’s coming to the house! Run! Hide!”
    We jumped up and froze, waiting for someone to take the lead.
    â€œUpstairs!” I led Ashley and Graham to the bathroom. I pushed the shower curtain open, and we climbed inside the tub and closed the curtain. Ashley reached past the curtain and pulled the fancy guest towel into the shower. She wrapped it around her eyes. Her breathing came hard and fast.
    I looked around for something we could use as a weapon. All I could find was shaving cream, so I picked it up and put my finger on the button in case I needed to spray a face. I held a pink razor in my other hand. Graham had the toilet plunger.
    My heart throbbed and banged in my ears. The thumping was so loud I was afraid it echoed in the shower. Graham was so nervous he breathed in and out through his mouth, not his nose. Slimy marshmallows clung to his shirt. Man, it was the stink of all stinks! Dog puke and morning breath trapped behind a plastic shower curtain.
    We listened. A door slammed, and the killer barking turned into hello barking.
    â€œMaybe he’s a robber,” Ashley whispered.
    â€œI don’t think so,” I whispered. “He looked at your car like he knew it didn’t belong here.”
    There were footsteps across the creaky wood floors on the main level. Back and forth. Back and forth. And the clinking of Fred’s toenails. Back and forth. Back and forth.
    Then a voice. Were there two people? Couldn’t be. I figured he was on his cell.
    When he stood under the vent, we could hear him. “Mom, it’s like somebody partied hard, but there ain’t any bottles. No keg … Lillian never lets the dog in the house, right? He’s in the house!… Marv promised me forty dollars, and it’s not here … I am looking around, Mom … If he did crap on the floor, I’m not cleaning it up, that’s not what I signed up for … Man, it reeks in here…”
    Then his voice got louder. “Yeah, it could be a burglary, but I don’t see anything missing … I mean, I’m not even sure what they had … nobody wants those stupid old records, Mom…”
    The words faded. My breathing came easier until I heard those clinky toenails outside the bathroom. The door swung open, the shower curtain rustled, and Fred’s nose poked through. He was happy to see us. His tail thumped, thumped, thumped against the door.
    â€œGo away!” Graham hissed. “Get outta here!”
    â€œIs it Fred?” Ashley smiled. “Hi, Fred.”
    â€œGet!” I pushed his face and pulled the shower curtain shut. In two seconds, his nose was back in the tub, sniffing. Thump, thump, thump went his tail.
    â€œHi, sweetie,” Ashley whispered.
    I heard footsteps on the stairs and the boy’s voice. “… Maybe some kids turned it