Is Anybody There? Read Free Page A

his car right at that minute turning into our driveway, coming to a stop below his apartment.
    “Speak of the devil,” I said. “Old Nick him-self!”
    I came out from under the tree and walked across the grass. “Hi,” I said. The key was hidden, sharp and warm in my closed fist.
    “Hi, Marcus. You just get here?”
    “Just about.”
    He was leaning into the back of the car bringing out a box with “Two Dozen Multicolored Christmas Lights” printed on it.
    “I promised your mom I’d get a set of these on my way home. She thought the tree was kind of bare.”
    “Oh.” She hadn’t mentioned to
me
that the tree was kind of bare. When did she and Nick have these private conversations? And when had he taken that photograph?
    Nick headed around the house, and I walked a pace behind him.
    “It’s locked,” I said when he stopped at the door.
    “You have your key?” he asked. I nodded, but kept my fist closed. Without saying anything else Nick took his keys from his pocket and put one in the lock, and the door opened.
    “You have a key to our house?” I asked, trying not to sound the way I felt. Actually, I wasn’t sure what way I felt. One thing, though. If he had his own key, he didn’t need mine.
    He glanced down at me. “Your mom gave it to me. In case I need to do laundry when there’s no one home, stuff like that.” He moved to one side. “Come on in.”
    “Gee, thanks.” I didn’t bother to disguise my sarcasm. Where did he get off inviting me into my own house?
    I picked up my backpack and Aunt Charlie’s package and stepped past him. But just inside the door I stopped. “Wait a sec, Nick.”
    I was listening, listening hard but hearing nothing. It made no sense anyway. If someone had been here, they’d gone already. If someone had been here, they’d used the key and put it back.
    “What are we waiting
for
?” Nick asked.
    I shrugged, glancing around the kitchen. Everything looked normal. I set the parcel and my backpack on the table.
    “I thought I heard a noise,” I said to Nick. “This time of year, you know … the house empty … sometimes people try to get in and rip stuff off.”
    Nick bent to look into my face, which I made carefully blank, then put a hand between my shoulder blades. “Well, let’s just check.”
    I liked it that he didn’t give me any bull. I liked it that he didn’t sound fake cheerful either, the way you’d be with a little kid who thought there was a monster in the closet. I guess most teachers are psychologists too.
    We went from room to room, and I have to admit it was nice having Nick there. Who’sgoing to jump out from under a bed and tackle a big guy like this one?
    The house was calm and quiet, filled with the comforting warmth of sunlight. Mom had put some white camellias in a glass jar on her bedside table, and one of the petals fell with a plop and a dusting of pollen.
    “Nobody here,” I said.
    We have a laundry room with a toilet and washbasin. Nick opened the door to look inside. A narrow flight of uncarpeted steps from the laundry room led to our half-finished attic.
    “I’ll just check above too,” he said, and I nodded.
    “Why not?”
    Our attic’s full of old boxes, the trunk Dad had when he went away to college, the old cedar chest, and cobwebs.
    When Nick was partway up the steps, he opened the hatch that was the attic door, and then all I could see were his furry legs, his white socks, and his white Nikes.
    “Nothing there.” He edged back down, closing the hatch behind him. “It must have been Santa and his elves you heard.”
    “I guess so.” I hadn’t realized my stomachwas knotted until it relaxed on me. So I had simply hung that key on the wrong nub this morning. OK. I followed Nick back into the living room and watched as he clipped the new lights on the tree.
    “That’s better,” he said when he turned them on. I thought so too, even though I’d thought there were enough before.
    “Mom should have asked me,”