“So, Casey,” Mike said as they walked down the school corridor toward their lockers, “how could you concentrate on a Math test when you’ve got all this summer business on your mind?”
“Easy,” Casey said. “Either I do well in all my exams or there’s no way my dad will let me take on that Tyrrell job. He’ll be home Saturday and will want a report on how I did.”
“You won’t have your results by then,” Mike said.
“No,” Casey agreed, “but I’ll have a good idea of how the tests went.”
“We’ll really miss you on the baseball team — you are one strong catcher.”
“I’ve been using one of those hard rubber hand things you squeeze over and over. It’s a great way to build your arm and hand muscles. Here, shake a paw.”
Mike grasped Casey’s hand and Casey squeezed hard.
“Yeow!” Mike shouted. “Let go!”
“See?” said Casey.
“See nothing, I feel,” Mike said, massaging his right hand with his left. “That’s a wicked grip you’ve got.”
“Yeah, and it’s going to get a lot wickeder over the summer. That’s something I work on when I’m watching TV.”
“I’m going to get me one of those squeeze things, so you watch out — by the end of the summer we’ll see who’s strongest.”
Mike’s locker door slammed as he said, “You hear about the party old prissy pants, Greta Maitland, is giving Friday night?” he asked. “We’re all invited to her family’s big house for supper and a dance. I can just see it. The girls will likely have to wear little white gloves and we’ll be expected to wear shirts and ties.”
“You have got to be kidding!” Casey was appalled. “Did they really say that’s what we have to wear?”
“Well, no,” Mike admitted. “But can’t you just imagine it?”
“All we have to do is make sure nobody wears a shirt and tie. There’s no way the Maitlands are going to kick out all the boys. Greta wouldn’t allow it — she likes boys too much.”
“I haven’t said that I was going to go yet,” said Mike. “Can’t we have some sort of year-end celebration of our own?”
“Okay by me. I don’t think I’ve been invited anyway,” Casey said.
“Yes you have,” Mike told him. “Greta got up in home room and invited the whole class.”
“But maybe nobody told me,” Casey said hopefully. “How about we head out to the Old Willson With Two L’s Place and party?”
“You been out there since that hate gang was turfed?” Mike wondered.
“No,” Casey said. “Have you?”
“No,” said Mike. “My folks heard about what went on there last fall and put it off limits.”
“Mine too,” said Casey. “But they wouldn’t have to know. We could take out a bunch of stuff to eat and an iPod and some wood for a fire. It’d beat the heck out of a party at the Maitlands’.”
“Who else will we ask?” Mike was warming up to the idea.
“Any guys who haven’t told Greta they’d be there,” Casey said. “We’ll ask around, subtle like. Not tell the others what we have in mind until we know they’re free.”
By Thursday they knew. Every other boy in the class had told Greta they’d be at her party.
“Still want to go to the Willson place if it’s just the two of us?” asked Mike.
“I do if you do,” Casey said. “I’ll bring my new iPod. And I’ll bring a litre of Coke and some chips and a dip.”
“I’ve got two albums you haven’t heard, and I’ll bring doughnuts,” said Mike.
“We’ll need wood for the fire.” Casey was remembering how he’d burned up everything he could find in the house trying to keep Mr. Deverell and himself warm the night he went there last fall.
“I got wood,” said Mike.
“Sounds good.” Casey figured it could be fun. “Now all we have to do is get that English exam over tomorrow afternoon and — CELEBRATION TIME!”
“Mom,” said Casey as he headed out the back door, “I don’t know how late I’ll be.”
“Be home fifteen minutes after Greta’s party’s over. You know your father’s rules,” his mother said. Casey winced. His mother just assumed he was going to Greta’s, and he hadn’t told her the truth.
“But Dad’s not here,” Casey told her. “What say you set some new rules — just for tonight?”
“Sure.” His mother smiled. “Be home twenty minutes after the party’s over.”
“Oh, Mom.” Casey hitched on his backpack. He knew his mother wouldn’t question him about the backpack; he never went anywhere without it.
“You don’t have to wait up,” he said from the open door.
“I’ll wait up,” his mother replied. “Have fun.”
Casey and Mike didn’t talk much as they crossed the field to the Old Willson With Two L’s Place. Was Mike thinking the same thing he was? wondered Casey. That this might not be the single smartest thing they were doing ? But the night was warm and the sky was still light and it would be fun to see the old place again.
“You bring any matches for the fire?” Mike asked.
“No,” said Casey. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” Mike stopped. “A lotta good this wood I’m carrying’s going to do. Shall I pitch it?”
“Maybe there’ll be matches there,” Casey said, but he didn’t believe it. “Maybe other people have been using the old place like we used to before.…”
“Yeah, before those Hate Cell guys almost finished off old Deverell and you both almost froze to death. I’ve heard. I’ve heard.”
“Well, don’t remind me.” Casey did not want to remember the last time he’d hiked across this field to the old house and found Mr. Deverell unconscious, almost covered by snow, and with a huge gash in his head.
“You did bring a flashlight?” Mike asked.
“Sure,” Casey reassured him. “If we can’t have a fire, we can prop the flashlight in the fireplace. It’ll be better, really. We won’t have to worry about sparks flying around.”
“Sure no signs of life out here,” Mike said as they climbed the sagging fence round the Willson property when they found the high gate locked. “We’ll have a great time on our own.”
“Sure.” But Casey was anything but sure. They were near the house now. The evening sun should have been reflecting from the windows. There was no reflection.
“The windows are boarded up,” Casey said.
“Hope the door isn’t,” Mike said as they turned the corner of the house.
“No boards,” Casey said, not sure if this was good or bad. “Maybe it’s locked.” He led the way up the front steps and tried the door handle. The door swung inward and as it did a siren wailed louder and louder and louder.
“Ohmygosh,” Casey yelled, “let’s get the heck out of here!”
They did. They fairly flew across the field back to the edge of town, their backpacks thumping, their hearts pounding.
When they could talk again, Mike stopped, dropped the wood from his backpack in a heap and asked, “What now?”
Casey thought a minute.
“Now we go to Greta Maitland’s fancy end-of-school-year party.”
“We do?” asked Mike. “We never said we’d come.”
“We never said we wouldn’t,” Casey replied. “Nobody’s going to care if we show up.”