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WINSTON HOOKED THE leash onto Blueberry. For most of the way, the cat moved at a smooth pace. When they arrived at Diana’s doorstep, Winston let go of Blueberry’s tether to smooth out the wrinkles in his T-shirt and make himself more presentable. He wanted Cam to see them as desirable company (cute cat plus two friendly neighbors) when Marcy’s voice broke into his fantasy.
“The cat bolted!” she yelled.
Winston looked around, and sure enough, Blueberry had taken off. The leash trailed behind the cat. Blueberry made straight for Bill’s house, and Winston darted after the cat.
Unfortunately, Winston had never run a five-minute mile in his life. Maybe more like a fifteen-minute mile. Marcy, the better athlete, also tried chasing, but her heeled sandals slowed her down.
Blueberry was about to spring up and over Bill’s fence when Winston caught up. The cat’s haunches tensed, and Winston tackled him. If only Winston’s PE teacher could see him now.
They returned to Diana’s house a bedraggled group. Marcy limped. Winston’s arms were decorated with scratch marks. And Blueberry kept hissing like a possessed banshee. Winston rang the doorbell.
Instead of Diana opening the door, a teen boy slouched in the corner of the wooden frame. He had bowl-cut hair and huge glasses took up half his face. His skin seemed a minefield of zits, and he wore a striped shirt with polka-dot shorts. Around his neck, lay a heavy silver chain with a letter on it.
Marcy hobbled closer to the boy and extended her hand. “Cam? My brother and I live around the corner. We know your mom.”
Cam looked Winston over, maybe trying to see if he was a threat. “I’ve seen you two before,” Cam said. “At a neighborhood meeting. Looked out the window with my binoculars.”
A people watcher. He’d make a great witness, Winston thought.
“So you know us then,” Marcy said. “Mind if we come in?” She’d taken off her shoes at this point and seemed ready to fall into the house.
“I’m not supposed to let strangers in.” He played with the metal chain around his neck. Winston could spy a pendant attached to the thick metal rope and recognized it right away.
“Nice H symbol,” Winston said.
Cam’s face grew pink. “Uh, thanks.”
“Fits perfectly into that blank space on my car’s trunk.”
Cam backed away several inches, while Winston advanced toward him. “What other Grand Theft Auto pranks are you pulling?”
Cam wrung his hands. “It was just the once, I swear.”
“Really? And why the H, not a C for your name?”
“For Harvard. A dare from my Academic Decathlon captain,” Cam mumbled.
Winston snorted but believed the trembling teen. “Fine. How about you let us in, and I’ll forget about the damage to my Accord?”
“Thanks.” Cam lowered his eyes. “Just so you know, Mom’s not home. She’s at the store grabbing Martinelli’s.”
“Ah, that’s right. Gratz on your big award! A scholarship and everything.” He tried to give Cam a high five, but the boy didn’t respond.
Winston and Marcy marched into the house, still filled with science experiments and schoolwork. Winston dragged Blueberry into the living room, where the cat rolled into his signature ball. “Like animals?” he asked Cam. “Want to pet him?”
“Nah. I don’t do live things.” The teen looked at Blueberry as though the cat might unleash some Pokémon power from his curled position. “But my mom might. Could make her less stressed about college apps.”
Marcy shook her head. “Yeah, I remember all those crazy deadlines.”
Winston had only ever applied to his local community college, and that was one application too many for him. “She helping you with the forms?”
“Kind of. Looks them over. Tells me to put down the right extracurriculars, dictates my essays,” Cam said. “She even Googles my name to make sure I look good online. Says admissions might run a Web search on applicants.”
Winston looked over at Marcy and raised his eyebrows. What would prospective colleges say if they saw Cam’s mom dancing like a stripper?
Marcy stared with longing at the couch, which Winston noted was still overtaken by a chemistry kit. Sighing, his sister sat down on a nearby rug and rubbed her feet. She told Cam, “Don’t worry. You made that great robot. You’re a shoo-in.”
Cam fiddled with his glasses. “Well, Mr. Bill and I did it together. He even pulled an all-nighter to create the final version.”
“Bill was a genius,” Winston said.
Cam started picking one of his pimples, and Winston hoped the boy wouldn’t pop it in his nervousness. “He could have made even cooler stuff if . . .”
Winston looked Cam in the eyes (in fact, he and the teen were about the same height) and said, “I miss Bill, too.”
Cam sniffled a little but didn’t say anything more.
“Did you happen to, uh, see him fall?” Winston asked.
“No, I was organizing my rock collection.” The boy seemed totally serious. “But I remember Mom running into my room, saying something bad had happened. Then she thrust the robot into my arms.”
He took a wavering breath and continued, “I heard the sirens, the ambulance, but I didn’t want to look. I distracted myself by fixing Adom.”
“Was the robot broken?”
“Minor problem. Needed a new tread to move around. The old one got gunked up with mud and grass.”
Winston had heard the boy mention tread before in this very same house. For the robot. To move.
The tracks, Winston thought. Flattened grass near where Bill had fallen. The robot had been at the crime scene.
“Can I look at Adom?” Winston asked.
“Sure.” A genuine smile popped up on Cam’s face.
Cam brought the little robot over and placed it at Winston’s feet. Just when Winston was about to scoop Adom up, the door opened and in walked Diana.
She stared at them in her living room, and the bag of groceries slipped from her hands. Something shattered. Glaring at Winston and Marcy, she asked, “What are you doing in my home?”