Was Crowell outside the room?
If we ran into the hallway, would we bump right into him?
We had no choice. We had to take the chance.
Our escape route to the side of the house had been blocked. We had to try the kitchen door.
“Let’s go!” Spencer cried.
We stampeded after him.
I struggled to hear Mr. Crowell’s footsteps. His voice. A cough. Anything.
But the only sounds I could hear were the pounding of my heart and the thud of our shoes on the hard floor as we made our way to the kitchen.
A moment later, we pushed our way out the door, into the night. The cold wind shocked my hot face. I gasped and forced myself to run deeper into the darkness.
Was that Mr. Crowell shouting behind us?
Or was it a dog howling at the moon?
I didn’t stop to figure it out.
We ran through the dark, empty yards. We didn’t slow down, even though we knew we were safe. We knew we had escaped.
As we crossed the street that led to Spencer’s block, Lenny let out a cheer. It became the signal for us to celebrate, to whoop and shout and cry out our victory.
And still we ran.
Will I ever forget the sight of Spencer, his blond hair flying as he ran full speed, ran bringing his knees up high, almost strutting, ran with Mr. Crowell’s CD player gripped tightly in both hands?
No. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight.
And I know I’ll never forget his grin, his wild, spinning eyes, his crazy expression of excitement, of triumph.
Spencer … Spencer …
I was still thinking about him minutes later as I crept back into my house and up the stairs to my room. I closed the door behind me and started to get undressed in the dark.
“Diane?”
Mom’s voice nearly made me jump out of my skin.
“Diane?” She knocked twice on the door. The door started to swing open.
I dove for my bed. Somehow I managed to slide—fully dressed—under the bedspread before she poked her head into the room.
“Diane? Is everything okay? I thought I heard something.”
I yawned and pretended I’d been asleep. “Mom?” I choked out. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought I heard someone walking around,” she replied. In the darkness, I could see her peering around the room.
“I—I’m okay,” I whispered. “Just … so sleepy.”
“Sorry, dear.” A few seconds later, the door closed again. I could hear her soft footsteps heading back to her room.
I waited a few seconds longer, my heart pounding. Then I climbed out of bed. A close call, I knew.
We’d had a few close calls tonight.
I changed into a long nightshirt. But I knew I was too wired to fall asleep. I carried my cordless phone to bed and punched in Cassie’s number.
She answered after less than a ring. “It’s me,” I said.
“I can’t sleep, either,” Cassie offered before I could get in another word. “I’m totally crazed.”
“It was kind of fun,” I confessed. “I mean, it wasn’t boring!”
We both laughed.
“Not trashing Crowell’s house was a good idea,” Cassie remarked. “But almost getting caught was a really bad idea!”
“And once again Spencer went too far,” I groaned.
Cassie was silent for a moment. “Yeah. What’s with that guy?” she asked finally. “It’s like he always has to go one step further than we do. Like he always has to top us.”
“Yeah. I know,” I quickly agreed. “It’s like one thrill isn’t good enough for Spencer. He isn’t satisfied unless he does something really dangerous.”
“Weird,” Cassie replied softly. “The whole thing about Spencer is so weird. He used to be so shy. We all used to think he was a joke. Now, even Lenny and Jordan think he’s great.”
“That’s what kind of scares me,” I confessed. “If they see Spencer steal a CD player, I hope they won’t want to start stealing, too.”
“Hey—Lenny should be happy,” Cassie said. “He got his revenge on Mr. Crowell. That’s all he cared about.”
“I hope so,” I replied.
Cassie and I chatted for a few minutes more. Then I realized I was starting to feel sleepy, so I said good night and hung up.
I was carrying the phone back to its base on my desk when it rang again. Startled, I raised it to my ear. “Cassie? What did you forget?” I said. Cassie can never talk just once. She always calls back at least once or twice.
“I saw what you did tonight,” a whispered voice rasped, harsh and menacing in my ear.
“Huh? Cassie?” I gasped.
“I know about your Night Games, Diane.”
Hey. This was not Cassie. “Bryan?” I cried. “Bryan—are you back again?”
“I know what you stole tonight. I know about your little revenge.”
“Bryan—you’re not scaring me!” I snapped through gritted teeth. “You might as well give up.”
I realized I was squeezing the phone tightly. I carefully relaxed my grip.
I could hear heavy breathing now. Slow and steady.
“Bryan—is that you?” I demanded. “Is it?”
“You’ll pay, Diane,” came the raspy reply. “You’re going to pay for what you did.”