When we got back, our clothes were almost dry because we rode so fast, and my mouth was aching because I’d been laughing and laughing and laughing. We dropped our bikes and then I saw our car, which meant Mom and Berk were back and I wanted to bring Bart inside.

I wanted Mom to meet him.

I wanted to say, “Mom, this is my friend, Bart.”

I was about to invite him in, maybe tell him he could stay for tuna fish sandwiches or maybe we could even get Little Caesars pizza, I was about to do all that when Bart whispered hard, “Get down, get down.” He pulled me to the grass, hiding behind Mom’s car parked badly on the patch of lawn.

“What’s wrong?” I looked around. There was no screaming. No fights. No cop cars. No fireworks. Nothing.

Just the sounds of a softball game. The pinwheels in Delilah’s yard spinning. Tandi’s herb garden putting off the smell of mint. The park actually looked pretty, I thought.

The only person outside was Grant on his beach chair.

Bart said, “Don’t let him see us.”

“Who?”

“Him,” he said.

I looked over at Grant. “Grant?”

“Yeah. Grant.”

Grant burped. His bare belly jiggling.

“Why can’t he see us?”

And he said, “Because. FBI.”

And I said, “What?”

And he said, “FBI.”

And I said, “Really?”

While we were swimming he told me that something was going on in my neighborhood. That he was doing surveillance. I could see there being concern about the Conways or that motorcycle guy or even that Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson could be smuggling in those dolls. But Grant? Why would anyone care about Grant’s dumb-bum life?

But clearly Bart did.

We watched Grant put grease all over his fat belly, drink Mountain Dew, and sing We Built this City on Rock an’ Roll.

And then we saw Melody. She wasn’t on the steps anymore. She was moving boxes or something around the outside of her trailer and Grant said, “Melody. Go get me another Dew.”

And she said, “What?” And he said, “Get me a Dew.” He pointed to a box that was by his door.

And she said, “Get your own Dew, butthead.”

And Bart whispered, “I like her.”

And I said, “I like her, too.”

And then we watched Grant sit there and sit there and sit there and finally I said, “Are we going to do this much longer because my back hurts?” and Bart said, “Shhhhh,” and we had to keep lying there but thankfully Bob got back soon and he and Grant got in a fight because Grant left work early and wasn’t supposed to be lying around and he kept staying out late at night and not turning off the lights when he got in and then they started arguing about a football team and then they went inside.

That’s when we finally sat up.

“If you’re really watching Grant, he’s not a criminal.”

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because he doesn’t do anything. He just sits around. Eats. Drinks. Goes to work.”

“That guy said he goes out at night.”

I shrugged. “So?”

“So. That’s when he does bad things.”

I thought about how much I knew Grant. He’d been here for as long as I could remember. He sometimes helped Mom fix her car radio or gave us leftover headphones from his store that were sort of broken. He liked to play catch with a football whenever anyone would do it with him because he used to play in high school and he was a big star according to him, and at Halloween he always dressed up as Frankenstein and gave out king-sized candy bars.

One time he’d had a girlfriend named Trinity, the only time I’d ever remembered him having someone, and she had lots of tattoos and thick dark sunglasses that she always wore and she was nice because she said, “You girls want some gum?” It was Hubba Bubba Grape.

She gave us each two pieces.

Grant said to her, “These girls are sort of like daughters to me,” and I looked at him because we weren’t like daughters at all but he was smiling and so then I thought I’d smile, too, because everyone deserves to get a chance at love.

And Trinity said, “Aren’t you the sweetest,” and Grant said, “I really am the sweetest,” and they started rubbing noses and I said, “Gross,” but not out loud.

She ended up dumping him for a man named Mickey and everyone knew because Grant cried and cried and cried and told everyone and couldn’t think straight and Mom gave him peppermint tea back then and Dad said, “Dude, you got to pull it together. A woman is not worth this kind of torment,” and he said, “I know, I know but we were together two months, you know? I thought this was going somewhere,” and Bob said to Dad that Grant was a big fat baby.

So Grant, though a big fat baby and everything, was nice for the most part. He didn’t seem like he’d do anything illegal.

Bart disagreed. “He’s into some things that could hurt a lot of people.”

I stared at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“What about Bob?”

“What?”

“Bob. I would think Bob would be the one who would be more of a threat. He’s smarter.”

“Who?”

“Bob. His brother.”

Bart thought about this for a minute, which was strange because why wouldn’t he know about Grant’s brother? Like if there was an FBI case, surely Bob would have his own folder.

“Who’s older?” he asked.

“Uhh.” I had no idea. “I think maybe Grant?”

“It kind of seemed like the other guy was older.”

“That’s because Grant is lazy but more fun.”

“Is he more fun? How is he fun?”

This was weird. “Why do you care? How do you know him?”

Bart got professional all of a sudden. “He has a file at the FBI a mile high. He’s a dangerous person and he could possibly be a part of a gang.”

I started laughing. “A gang?”

“Yeah,” Bart said. “Why is that so funny?”

“Because he just lies around.”

“So.”

“So he’s like a teddy bear.”

Bart didn’t seem satisfied. He stared over at the trailer.

“Can you start documenting details about Grant?”

“Details?”

He wanted me to make a list of facts I knew about Grant.

“Like everything.”

He also wanted me to write down when Grant left and came home every day. He wanted me to write down who came and went from his trailer. He told me to keep track of anything suspicious and how many beers he drank.

“How many beers? How do I do that?”

Just count the boxes.

And it was true; Bob and Grant always had a growing mound of Budweiser boxes outside their place that were taken away by the garbage guy each week.

“Bob drinks, too,” I said.

Bart said, “Just count the boxes.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he said.

He stood up to leave.

I stood up, too.

“Will I see you at the lunchroom?” I asked. I hoped that maybe since today happened, he’d stop pretending he didn’t go to Dixon. We could walk together at school. He could maybe get me a job in the cafeteria, too. We could stand around together at fifteen-minute break. Maybe we could even hold hands someday.

He looked at me for a long time and I looked at him for a long time and he said, “Sure.”

My heart soared like a rocket.

Before he left he gave me his email address and I said thanks and I didn’t tell him that the computer was broken because I could just go to the library and he said you’re welcome and then he left and he kissed me but he didn’t but if he had I would have kissed him back and then I would have done a cartwheel and I wouldn’t have cared that he saw or anyone else.