“Anyone who ever spent the shortest amount of time with that awful little Boris Blank is definitely going to avoid having anything to do with children for the rest of their life,” I said.
Karim gave his cousin a serious look. “I guess this means you’re never going to be a teacher, mother, or pediatrician now,” he said.
It was Friday afternoon, and Karim and Bahar were at my house, keeping me company while I prepared the meal I was catering for Boris and his parents. Well, Karim wasn’t keeping me company so much as he was establishing permanent legal residency in my home and getting to the point where even my parents would be unable to have him evicted. Not that they would ever want to.
And Karim went on, “Or a clown who makes balloon sculptures at birthday parties, someone who gives Shetland pony rides at the fairgrounds, or a miniature golf course owner.”
I rolled my eyes. I knew what Karim was getting at with his “miniature golf course” reference, but I wasn’t going to argue with him, because I did not have a crush on Bahar.
Karim said, “Face it. That Boris kid is a ruiner of people’s lives.”
“Boris isn’t that bad,” Bahar said.
“He takes baths in milk and Diet Coke. You told me he almost made you cry,” Karim argued.
Every once in a while, but not too often, Karim was right. I’d talked to Bahar about babysitting for Boris, and it was true that she had nearly cried, which is something Bahar never does. But here I was now, actually putting the finishing touches on a delicious meal for Boris and his parents. And I dreaded the thought of stepping foot inside the Purdy House, so I couldn’t stop asking my brain what my mouth had gotten me into.
“All I can say is, they must pay you pretty good for just sitting there with him, trying to keep him entertained when all he does is make you feel inadequate as he’s contemplating eating you, which is exactly what Little Charlie would have done,” Karim said.
“I don’t think there was any such thing as babysitters in the 1800s,” I pointed out.
“Any kid who’s been raised by wolves probably doesn’t need a babysitter, anyway,” Bahar said.
And Karim said, “All I can say is, you’re both crazy for agreeing to go inside that house.”
“If you were a true friend, you’d come along and help with dinner so we could both keep Bahar company. You could be a server with me,” I said. “And you never know. Maybe you’ll end up being the only human on the planet that Boris actually likes.”
Bahar added, “Or doesn’t want to eat.”
“Sorry, but I’ve made other plans for tonight,” Karim said.
“What plans are those?” Bahar asked.
“Um. I’m reading a book. It’s about a guy with an octopus growing out of his face,” Karim said.
“That sounds like a great book,” Bahar said unenthusiastically. Then she added, “You know who’d probably like to help out, Sam? Brenden Saltarello. He told me he’d give anything to have a look inside the actual Purdy House.”
I couldn’t tell if Bahar was teasing or not, but Karim gave me a look like he’d just been stabbed in the heart by his cousin. But Brenden Saltarello must have been crazy if he actually wanted to go inside the Purdy House for no reason outside of just seeing what it was like.
“Well, he’s not afraid of mayonnaise, so I’d bet he’s not afraid of cannibalistic wolf boy ghosts, either. Does he have a white button-up shirt?” I asked.
When you’re a professional caterer, the outfit counts.
Karim looked genuinely stung when Bahar said, “I’ll text him and ask.”
The chicken-tarragon potpie was nearly finished; the blood orange upside-down cake was cooling, and I was just about to put my herbed Persian Salad-e Shirazi in the refrigerator to chill.
And while Bahar texted (or pretended to text) Brenden, Karim leaned closer to me and whispered, “She wouldn’t really do that to me, would she?”
I didn’t honestly know if Bahar would do something like try to make Karim jealous, but, as she’d said, someone definitely had a crush on someone, so I just shrugged and gave Karim a palms-up I don’t know look.
Anyway, Karim deserved it. He’d been taking every opportunity to torment me and Bahar about anything he could.
I said, “Hey! Just think, Bahar—if it’s me, you, and Brenden in the Purdy House tonight, it’ll be just like my dad; James’s mom, Mrs. Jenkins… er, Miss Swineshead; and Oscar Padilla on a night from twenty-something years ago.”
And then I immediately regretted saying it because my dad and Linda Swineshead had been boyfriend and girlfriend (and I did not have a crush on Bahar). Plus I was terrified that something like what had happened to those three kids so many years ago might actually happen to us. But I didn’t like teasing Karim about things like that, so I felt bad for my friend, and also terrified for me and Bahar (and possibly for Brenden Saltarello if Bahar actually was talking—or texting—him into coming along). And I especially didn’t want to end up being arrested and going to jail, like my dad had.
Bahar said, “Brenden does have a white shirt. He said he’d love to go there with us tonight and he’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
Karim looked like he’d been punched in the stomach.
A few months ago, when I’d first posted my catering and dining jobs flyer in the library’s Teen Zone, I’d bought a white chef’s jacket and some houndstooth-patterned pants, with money I’d saved up from working at Lily Putt’s. And although the outfit was too big for me, I was thrilled for any opportunity that came along where I’d get to dress like a real chef.
The sleeves on my double-breasted jacket were rolled up to my elbows, and my pants were cuffed at least five times because they just didn’t make chef uniforms in boys’ size M. I’d have to change that, I thought. There were enough square yards of clothes fabric around my body to easily contain two or three Sam Abernathy–size chefs.
“That chef’s outfit makes you look fat, Sam,” Karim thoughtfully pointed out. He was pouting about Brenden.
“It looks like he’s been swallowed by a hungry circus tent,” Bahar said.
We heard the sound of slamming car doors, and then the ring of the doorbell. Brenden Saltarello, looking like a professional waiter, dressed in a white, tucked-in collared shirt and the kind of shoes you’d wear to a wedding, was at the front door.
And Karim dashed away down the hall to hide in my (his) bedroom.