*Great,' Jim muttered.

*So, where we gonna go?'

*Nowhere,' I said.

*We gonna go look in windows?'

How long had he been listening to us?

*We aren't going anywhere,' Jim said.

*I'll go with you. I like to look in windows. You get to see all kinds of neat stuff.'

*What are you,' Jim asked, *a little pervert?'

George laughed, spraying out some potato chip crumbs.

*You'd better never be looking in my windows,' I told him.

*Or mine,' Jim added.

*Nah. I only like to see girls.'

*You been spying on my sister?' Jim asked.

George shook his head and jammed his mouth full of potato chips.

*He knew about your pool,' I reminded Jim.

*Yeah. You been snooping around my house?'

*Huh-uh. Honest.'

*You better never, man.'

*I'll give you some good stuff if you let me come with.'

*You're not coming "with",' I said.

*Please?'

*Good stuff like what?' Jim asked.

*Twinkies.'

*That's no big deal. What else?'

*Cut it out,' I told Jim. *He's got nothing we want.'

*I'll getcha some booze,' George said.

*Really?' Jim sounded interested.

*Forget it,' I said.

*What kind?'

*Anything. Pop's got a whole big bar in the den. And he's got a wine cellar.'

*You can get us a bottle of wine?'

*Sure.'

*Your old man'll kill you,' I said.

George shrugged. *He won't know any better. Sides, who cares if he finds out? I'll swipe us a bottle, okay?'

*Cool,' Jim said.

*Are you nuts?' I asked.

*Are you? Come on. We can tie one on the way over to Cyndi's.'

*Good going,' I muttered. I couldn't believe he'd spoken her name in front of a sleeze like George.

*Who's Cyndi?' George asked.

*n.o.body,' I said.

*Is she the girl we're gonna spy on?'

*Go on home and get the wine,' Jim said. *But don't come back till eleven. We aren't leaving till then.'

*Promise you won't go without me?'

*Cross my heart and hope to die,' Jim said. *Now get going.' George shoved the potato chip bag through the fly screen, then sprang up, and ran off through the dark.

*You a.s.shole!' I yelled.

*I know what I'm doing.'

*You a.s.shole! You told him Cyndi's name You told him where we're going'We, I'm not going. Not if that sleazy little s.h.i.t's coming with us. No way. I'm not gonna have him spying on Cyndi.'

*Like he's been spying on my sister?'

That slowed me down. *You think he's been doing that?'

*You think he hasn't? Like you said, how does he know about the pool?'

*He might've heard splashing, ora'

*From the street? Huh-uh. He's been snooping around. I bet he's even climbed over the fence. Joan's window is right there, man.'

*That doesn't mean he's ever looked in.'

*Hey, he confessed. He said he looks in girls' windows.'

*Not Joan's, though.'

*Like I'm sure he'd admit it. Get real. And what do you suppose he was doing in your backyard tonight?'

*Trying to find us, probably.'

*Yeah, maybe. Or maybe he came along to check out your parents' bedroom. Maybe he comes along every night to look in their window. Maybe he gets a charge out of watching your mom undress.'

*She shuts the curtains,' I said, feeling kind of hot and awful inside.

*Yeah, but does she shut them all the way? If there's even the tiniest open s.p.a.ce betweena'

*That dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d better not be watching Mom.'

*I bet he does. Maybe my mom, too. Maybe Joan and Mom. And your mom. Maybe every gal in the whole neighborhood. You heard him. He likes to look in windows.'

*If he ever spied on my moma'

*We gotta teach him a lesson. That's how come I said he can come along. You think I want his wine and Twinkies? We'll take him with us, all right. And then we'll nail his rotten Peeping Tom a.s.s.'

We lay down on top of our sleeping bags, heads toward the front of the tent so we could keep a lookout for George, and hatched our plans.

At about ten-thirty, the light came on in my parents' bedroom. Mom stepped up to the window and pulled the curtains shut. After a while, the light went off. But a faint, trembly glow showed through the curtains. It came from their TV, which they liked to watch in bed till after the eleven o'clock news. They weren't likely to get up again except maybe to use the john.

*Ready to go?' Jim asked.

*Pretty soon.'

We waited a while longer. I was feeling awfully nervous. Not so much about sneaking into the house for our stuff. About the rest of it.

Finally, I said, *Okay.'

We crawled out of the tent and crossed the patio to the back door. We didn't try to be quiet shutting the door and heading for the bathroom. Jim went in. I waited in the hall. When he flushed the toilet, I used the noise as a cover to rush into my bedroom. I flicked on the light, found a coil of rope in my closet and gathered up our clothes. Quick as I could, I turned the light off. Then I waited in the darkness at the doorway until Jim flushed the toilet again. While it made its gushy running sounds, I hurried to the back door. I opened it, stepped outside, checked my parents' window to make sure n.o.body was looking, and ran to the tent.

I kept watch through the fly screen.

Before long, Jim came out.

He crawled into the tent.

*Any problem?' I whispered.

*No sweat.'

We turned on our flashlights just long enough to sort out our clothes. Then, in the darkness, we stripped. It felt weird, being naked, feeling the warm air on my body, the sleeping bag under my rump. It might've been kind of exciting if there'd been nothing on my mind except going to Cyndi's house. But George had ruined things.

Once all my clothes were on except my shirt, I wrapped the rope around my waist. It had to go around several times. I did it carefully so the coils weren't all bunched on top of each other, but arranged flat against my skin. I tucked the ends underneath.

I'd just put on my shirt when Jim whispered, *Here he comes.' Quickly, I fastened the b.u.t.tons.

We picked up our flashlights and crawled outside.

Jim pressed a finger to his lips. George nodded, and raised the grocery sack he was carrying.

I led the way. We stopped at the side of the garage.

*You got the stuff?' Jim asked.

*Sure.' George opened the sack. He lifted out a wine bottle. *I got the Twinkies, too.'

*Great. Put it away.'

*Don't you want some now?'

*Later.'

*We know a good, secret place along the way,' I whispered. *We'll stop there and have a little party.'

*Neat!' George said.

The hike to our *good, secret place' took about twenty minutes.

It was a railroad underpa.s.s beneath Jefferson Avenue.

If George hadn't been with us, Jim and I would've walked over it just as fast as possible and been mighty glad to leave it behind us.

Even in daylight, the place gave us both the creeps.

We'd never gone down there at night.

I felt jittery the whole time as we walked toward it.

Partly, I was worried that we might be spotted by cops or by someone we knew in the cars that went by. I turned my face away every time a car approached us from the front.

Mostly, though, I was scared about going down into the underpa.s.s.

We'd explored it quite a few times. From what we'd found, we knew that other people used the place. There was writing on the concrete walls, some of it pretty weird and sick. And there was always a lot of junk scattered around: empty booze bottles, smashed beer cans and cigarette packs, a ratty blanket or two, even an old, stained mattress. Clothes, too. Like a flat, dirty sneaker, a sock, somebody's old underwear, a pair of pants.

Once, we got pretty excited when we spotted a bra. Jim had picked it up. It was caked with dry mud, and one of the shoulder straps was torn loose.