Don't Stay Up Late (6 page)

“I don't believe that stuff,” Nate said, swerving to pass a school bus. “Everyone is so freaked out by the Fear family.” He shook his head. “I'm not friends with Brendan Fear, but I think he's a good dude.”

Brendan Fear was a senior at Shadyside High. I'd seen him in the halls, but I hadn't met him.

“Isaac said I shouldn't take the job because it's on Fear Street,” I said.

Nate stared straight ahead. “Isaac reads too many comic books,” he said.

That ended the conversation.

The sun went behind clouds as we turned onto Fear Street, and the sky darkened. Tall trees slanted over the street. The houses looked old. They had wide front yards and were set far back from the street.

A rabbit darted across the street in front of us, and Nate swung the wheel to miss it. “Whoa!” I cried out as I was swung against the passenger door. “My first dangerous moment on Fear Street,” I joked.

But Nate didn't laugh. We passed a wooded lot. A tall, dark-shingled house came into view, set behind a low hedge. “What number is that?” I asked. “I think that's the house.”

Nate hit the brake, and we crept past the driveway. The number on the mailbox was thirty-two. “Yes. That's it.” I gazed up at it through the windshield. The house was completely dark except for an orangey light in the front window.

As we pulled up the drive, the front porch light flashed on. “Mrs. Hart must have been watching for me,” I said. I straightened my hair. “Do I look okay?”

Nate finally turned to me. “Yeah. You look fine.”

My chest suddenly felt fluttery. My hands were cold. “I can't believe I'm so nervous,” I said. “Guess I really want the job.”

“Piece of cake,” Nate said. He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Go get 'em.”

My face tingled. I didn't expect him to kiss me. “I've got to pick up my brother at his piano lesson,” he said. “I'll drop him back home. Then I'll swing back and get you.”

I started to open the door. “Good luck,” he called after me.

I took a deep breath and strode toward the brightly lit front porch.

 

15.

Brenda Hart pulled open the door before I rang the bell. “Lisa? Come in.”

She pushed open the storm door and ushered me into the front hall. The house was warm and smelled of roast chicken. The walls were dark green. A tall brass lamp stood over a table with a stack of unopened mail on its top.

She shook hands with me. “Nice to meet you. I'm Brenda Hart.” The front entryway opened into the living room. A steep wooden stairway led to the second floor. The living room had the same dark green walls. Two ceiling lights sent down a wash of pale light over the dark furniture, two armchairs behind a low coffee table, facing a steep-backed black leather couch. An open copy of
People
magazine lay on the couch.

Brenda motioned for me to take one of the chairs. She was a thin, pretty woman, probably in her late thirties. She had black hair pushed straight back and tied in a loose ponytail behind her head. Her eyes were dark, and the lines beneath them made her look tired.

She was dressed young. She had a short pleated skirt over black tights, and a long-sleeved cream-colored T-shirt. She sighed as she took the armchair next to me. “It's been a long day. I'm glad you came.”

“Thank you,” I said, clearing my throat. She seemed like a nice person. Why couldn't I get over my nervousness?

“Do you live nearby?” she asked.

I nodded. “My mom and I … we live on Village Road near the pond. We just moved to Shadyside. A few months ago.”

Her dark eyes locked on mine. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I said. “It's a little different from Shaker Heights. I mean, smaller. But I like the school. And I've made some friends.”

She pulled a pack of sugarless gum from her T-shirt pocket and offered me a piece. I waved it away. She slid two pieces into her mouth. “I'm addicted to this stuff.”

“I'm a Mentos freak,” I confessed.

She let out a dry, almost silent laugh. Her dark eyes flashed.

“Let me tell you about the job,” she said, leaning closer to me.

“It's babysitting, right?” I said. I suddenly realized I didn't see or hear a kid. The house was silent except for the soft tick of a large square clock on the mantelpiece. And I didn't see any toys or other evidence of a child in the house.

“It's a little more than babysitting,” Brenda said. She settled back on the chair. “I'd better start at the beginning. I just got a new job, and the hours are kind of long.”

“You mean you work late?” I asked.

She brushed back her ponytail. “Yes. Three days a week I don't get home till nine or ten. So … this is what I need, Lisa. I need someone to pick Harry up at four o'clock three days a week.”

“How old is Harry?” I asked.

“Harry is eight going on thirty-five,” she joked. She gave that dry, whispery laugh again. “Actually, he's a sweetheart. You'll love him.” She drummed the arm of the chair. I noticed her long, perfect fingernails, a dark red.

“Harry has to be picked up at my sister's house,” Brenda continued. She waved a hand. “It's a few blocks away. My sister Alice is homeschooling Harry, and she's just a terrific teacher.”

“Nice,” I said awkwardly. She was waiting for me to respond, and I didn't know what to say. I heard a creaking sound and turned toward the door.

Brenda sighed. “That's just the old stairway,” she said. “It likes to creak and groan like an old man. You'll get used to it. I don't even hear it anymore. I had some carpenters out to look at it. But they said all old houses shift and groan.

I gazed at the stairway for a moment. The banister was smoothly polished dark wood. The steps had no carpet on them.

“So you pick up Harry at four,” Brenda said. “You bring him home. You help him with his homework. Sometimes Alice piles it on, even though he's only eight.”

“Harry is a good student?” I asked.

“He likes to work,” she answered. “He's very curious about all kinds of things.” She chewed the gum for a while, studying me. “After homework, you give him dinner. Then entertain him for a while. He has an Xbox game he loves. He plays it for hours.”

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“You put him to bed around eight. And wait till I get home at nine or ten.” She leaned close again and put a hand on my wrist. “Is that too many hours for you, Lisa?”

“No,” I said. “I don't think so. I can do my homework after Harry goes to bed.”

She nodded. “If you can take the job, I'll pay you well. I'll be honest. I'm really desperate to find someone good. I'll pay you three hundred dollars a week.”

Whoa! I thought maybe I hadn't heard correctly. “Three hundred a week?” I repeated.

She nodded.

This will really help our money problems,
I thought.
We'll be fine till Mom can go back to work. Finally, I've had some good luck.

“Does this sound like something you'd like to do?” she asked. She tugged at a loose strand of her dark hair.

“Definitely,” I said. I wanted to jump up and down for joy. I couldn't wait to tell my mother the good news. “Definitely.”

“Harry is quiet and very self-sufficient,” Brenda said. “He'll let you do your homework. What year are you, Lisa?”

“Junior,” I said.

“Have you started to look at colleges?”

I hesitated. “Well … my mom and I have had some bad luck. I think I'm going to have to work for at least a year before I can go away to school.”

She nodded, her dark eyes locked on mine, studying me. “Well, I hope this job helps,” she said. “You'll like Harry. He's a little moody at times, but he'll be very little trouble.”

I gazed around the living room again. I still didn't see a single clue that an eight-year-old boy lived here.

“Can I meet Harry?” I said. “Is he home?”

“He's the kind of kid who needs his rest,” she said. “I try to put him to bed early.” She climbed to her feet. She adjusted the short skirt over her tights. “Come up to his room with me. I'll introduce you.”

I followed her to the stairway. The old wooden steps creaked and groaned under our shoes as we climbed to the second floor.

Harry's room was at the end of a long, dimly lit hall. The carpet was thin and torn in places. I heard the soft
drip drip
of water from a small bathroom as we passed it.

Harry's door was closed. We stopped at the door and Brenda knocked softly.

No answer.

She pushed the door open slowly. To my surprise, the room was totally dark. No light of any kind.

“Harry, are you in here?” Brenda called softly. “Harry? Are you here?”

 

16.

Silence.

Then a lamp flickered on, and I could see the boy sitting up in his bed, blinking in surprise.

My first thought: He's adorable.

He was round-cheeked and blond, his hair tousled over his broad forehead. Squinting into the lamplight, I saw that he had big, blue eyes and a sweet angelic smile.

He didn't seem surprised to see a stranger in his room. Brenda led the way to the side of the bed. Despite the warm night, Harry wore flannel pajamas with
Star Wars
characters all over them.

“Harry, this is Lisa,” Brenda said.

“Were you asleep? Why were you sitting in the dark?” I blurted out.

He brushed his hair off his forehead. “I like to make up movies in my mind,” he said. He had a funny, scratchy voice.

“I like movies, too,” I said, eager to ingratiate myself.

“Do you like
scary
movies?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I get too scared.”

“Me too,” he said, pointing a finger at his chest. “I don't like to be scared.”

“Lisa is going to stay with you when I'm at work,” Brenda said, straightening his striped quilt. “Would you like that?”

Harry's eyes grew wide. “Will you sing my favorite song to me?” he asked me.

I blinked. “Your favorite song? What is it?”

He grinned. “Eensy Weensy Spider.”

“Huh? But that's a baby song!” I said.

His smile faded. “Not if it's about a
real spider
,” he said in his scratchy voice.

Weird.

I turned to Brenda. “What is he talking about?”

“Harry likes to make jokes—don't you, Harry?”

“Not really,” he said.

“So Lisa will pick you up at Alice's and take care of you when I'm at work,” Brenda told him.

Harry turned his blue eyes on me. “Can we stay up late?
Can
we?”

Something about the desperate way he asked made me laugh.

“Well? Can we?” He really wanted an answer.

“I don't know,” I said. “We'll see.”

He tossed his fists in the air as if he'd won a victory. “Yessss!”

“Time to go to sleep,” Brenda said, smoothing her hand gently over his hair. “No more movies in your mind, okay? Just sleep.”

“Okay.” He settled his head on the pillow. “G'night, Lisa.”

“Goodnight,” I said. “See you soon, Harry.”

We stepped back into the hall. Brenda closed the bedroom door behind us. “So you'll take the job?” she asked softly.

I nodded. “Yes. I can't imagine
anyone
saying no to Harry. He's a total angel.”

I started to follow her to the stairway. But halfway down the hall, she turned and grabbed my wrist. “Listen,” she said in a whisper. “Don't let Harry stay up late. Seriously. It's very bad for him. Don't
ever
let Harry stay up late.”

 

17.

Nate kissed me lightly. I pressed my lips against his, harder. I wrapped my hands behind his head and held him there and kissed him until we couldn't breathe. I pulled my face back, my hands lingering in his hair.

“Finish the story,” he said, nuzzling my cheek with his head.

We were wrapped around each other, on the couch facing the fireplace in my living room.

“So the mother told you not to let the kid stay up late,” Nate said.

I nodded. “Yes. She said don't ever let him. And I said, why not? Does he have some kind of condition?”

“And what did she say?” Nate urged.

“She said no, he doesn't have a condition. He just needs more sleep than most kids. She said he gets very grouchy and he can't focus if he doesn't get eight hours sleep. Weird, right?”

“Wish I could get eight hours sleep,” Nate said, sighing. “My brother is an early bird. He jumps on my bed to wake me up at six thirty in the morning for no reason.”

“You should probably kill him,” I said.

Nate laughed. He thinks I'm funny. He pulled me against him and we kissed some more. When the front doorbell rang, we both jumped up as if we'd been caught doing something wrong.

I brushed back my hair and hurried to open the door. Saralynn and Isaac walked in. “Don't talk to me. I'm in a really bad mood,” Isaac said.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I said. “Did you come over to put us
all
in a bad mood?”

“Definitely,” he said. “Why should I be the only one?”

“He won't shut up about his band,” Saralynn said. “I've begged him to stop talking about it. Begged and pleaded, but—”

“Somebody put me out of my misery,” Isaac wailed. “No. Really. Shoot me now.” He plopped down on the couch beside Nate.

“Isaac, what's up?” Nate said.

Isaac raised his fist and punched Nate really hard in the thigh. “Did that hurt?”

Nate uttered a cry and scooted to the other side of the couch. “Yeah, that hurt. Are you
crazy
?”