Mom followed me in the car, my bike weaving in and out of the headlights and making spooky shadows on the pavement. She kept the windows up because once Genki saw I was riding my bike without him, he had begun to howl.
We stopped in front of March’s house, and he came out through the garage before I even parked my bike. We both wore black, but March had a hoodie on that made everything but his face disappear into the darkness; he wheeled a bike next to him.
Mom pulled ahead and stopped when she was even with us. Soundlessly, we rode back to Summer Glen and stopped at the middle of the block, where she flipped a U-ey so that she’d see us when we rounded Colonial and made our way back toward the car. As she did, I could hear March’s quick breaths, and the sound made my heart beat faster and my stomach flutter. Once she parked, Mom rolled down the window and handed me an armload of rolled newspapers. I layered them in my basket.
“Do both sides of Colonial and then come back to Summer Glen,” Mom said, her voice low. “I’ll be waiting right here. I’ll follow you to Honeysuckle until you turn back up Morningside.”
Genki stood with his front paws on the console, trying to push his bulk around her so he could stare me down. Even from where I stood, I could hear the sad hum from his chest. Mom pushed him back with her elbow. “That should be enough papers until you reach Summer Glen.”
I couldn’t wait to reach Summer Glen. Whatever we discovered, the mission would be over then, and we could go home.
Mom put the car into park and pulled out her phone. I gave March a side-eye before taking off ahead of him on my bike, realizing that while our main purpose was to complete the mission, I still had to deliver newspapers. We didn’t have any time to lose since Mom would get worried if we didn’t make it back to the car soon. Delivering to the five houses on March’s street, including Geezer’s, would be the only time we were out of her sight.
I threw the paper onto the porch of the first subscriber on Colonial; March wobbled behind me.
We had three more papers to deliver before we reached Geezer’s house. I opened my pack, took out the ski mask, and pulled it over my head. March did the same, watching me closely. Then I put the headlamp over the mask and buckled the utility belt. I handed March a paper but had to wait while he finished putting his gear on. “Toss this on your doorstep.” I took off ahead of him and delivered the remaining two papers in a few seconds. I stopped at the last house and waited for March to catch up.
Across the street and two houses down was Geezer’s house, which, as always, was a dark abyss, the trees and shrubbery blocking the view. March stopped next to me, his breath ragged and matching my own. While I wore a dark jacket and had warmed up as we rushed through the route, my arms were suddenly cold and prickly.
“We don’t have much time,” I whispered. Even though I could feel the urgency of our mission—our one chance—I stayed there, safe on my bike. We hadn’t moved, yet my heartbeat grew stronger, and I heard it in my ears like the sound of a seashell pressed tight to my temple. I shook my head and handed March a newspaper from my basket. “You deliver the paper to his doorstep, and I’ll start looking through the garbage. Remember, don’t turn on your headlamp yet.”
Slowly, we rode toward the house. Geezer’s pickup was parked in the middle of his driveway, and I laid my bike down behind it while March parked his in the gutter, fighting with the kickstand to get it balanced. He walked toward the porch as I pulled open the lid on the garbage can and turned on my headlamp.
Inside were three white garbage bags tied at the top. I hadn’t really thought about this part. We would have to tear through the bags to see what was inside. How often do people look into their trash cans after they roll them to the curb and before the garbage man comes? Not often, I guessed, although if Geezer did look, he would know someone had picked through it all. I didn’t have time to think about it anymore; we had to hurry. I tore through the first bag.
A smell of rotten meat blew at me, and I pulled my head back instinctively. March stood next to me, turned on his headlamp, and looked inside. “What?” he asked.
“It’s gross,” I whispered.
I turned the bag over and watched meat scraps, eggshells, paper napkins, plastic silverware, coffee grinds, envelopes, and DineWise boxes tumble out. I leaned over to grab the second bag but couldn’t reach it. I stood on the curb, bent over the side of the can, and grabbed at the knot on top. As I went to pull it out, the can tipped into the grass and March’s bike fell over, clanging when it hit the road. We both stood and waited as the sound echoed through the neighborhood. I got on my knees in the grass and reached into the can, now flat in the yard, and tore into the second bag.
“Kazu!” March whispered, pointing toward Summer Glen. Car lights shone from a distance. “I think it’s your mom.”
The second bag smelled worse than the first, but I pulled the trash out with my hands anyway and raked it toward me as I moved the headlamp over everything. In the last pile, stained by grease and some liquid, was a dog collar.
“We gotta go!” March said, and I shoved the collar inside my jacket and righted the can on the road.
“Take off the ski mask and the utility belt.” The dog tags on the collar jingled beneath my jacket as I jogged to my bike. I pulled off my mask, headlamp, and utility belt and dropped them into my basket.
We met Mom in the middle of the street. She rolled down the passenger window and leaned across the console. “Where were you?”
“Just turning around,” I said. “I think we missed the house that’s back from vacation. Which one is it?”
Mom pulled the bundle-top from the dash and studied it under the interior light. March and I sat on our bikes, parked right at Colonial and Summer Glen, within eyeshot of Geezer’s front door.
“It’s two-seven-two-two,” she said. “The house next door to March’s.”
“Okay,” I said. “Then we got it right.”
I began to pedal toward the next subscriber, even though I hadn’t delivered to 2722 and would be charged a dollar for the miss.