Peter trudged up the stairs. He could hear angry muttering and whispering back in the den, but he couldn’t make any of it out.
There was a bathroom next to his bedroom. As he brushed his teeth he mentally tallied all the reasons he hated moving here from
Boring…stupid…all my friends are gone…a psycho for a grandfather…who hates the one kid who lives anywhere near me…NO TV…gotta go to bed like a three year-old…can’t even walk out in the flippin’ back yard…can’t even go to the ocean…
He pulled off his clothes and climbed into bed under the musty sheets. It smelled like old people.
Peter fluffed his pillow and coughed. He was glad the lights were off; he didn’t want to see the dust that was probably in the air.
Gross.
The one good thing was that he had a perfect view out the window from his bed. Lying there in the dark room, he watched the sliver of a moon far over the trees and wished he could be in
Where it’s two weeks away till school, he added angrily to his list.
And now Dill is going to hate me, he thought. He’ll think I stood him up for sure. The one friend I could’ve made is going to totally hate me –
“Yo, dude,” somebody whispered outside his window.
Peter bolted upright, his heart thudding in his chest.
“Dill?” he whispered back.
There was a familiar buzzcut silhouette perched right outside the window. It waved.
Peter jumped out of bed and climbed up on the cushioned ledge. Sure enough, there was Dill, seated precariously on the windowsill outside.
Peter searched around for a second, found and unlatched a lock on the left side of the glass panes, and pulled. The window swung open towards him like a door.
“How’d you get up here?” Peter asked, amazed.
“The tree, man. I can climb like a monkey. Hoo hoo, haw haw!” Dill scratched his underarms and poked out his lips like a chimpanzee.
“Sorry I can’t come. They made me go to bed,” Peter said morosely.
“I figured when I saw the lights go on in this room and then go out. Lucky thing you’re by the tree, I didn’t wanna have to go far on this roof.” Dill waved his arm. “Well, come on, get dressed and let’s go.”
Peter looked at him, dumbfounded. “Go?”
“Yeah, let’s boogie.”
“I can’t leave! I’m supposed to be in bed!”
Dill groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re a teacher’s pet.”
“No…”
“You’re probably a straight A student, aren’t you? You probably go to dance class, don’t you?” Dill stuck out his arms and flicked his fingers across an imaginary keyboard. “‘Hi, my name is Peter,’” he said in a high, nasally muppet voice. “I play the piano and I practice every day!’”
“I do not!” Peter almost shouted, then looked around uneasily in case someone had heard.
“Then get dressed and let’s go. Unless you’re a weenie,” Dill said. “A wussy, wussy weenie.”
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Copyright © 2008 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.
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