I headed upstairs, intending just to stash the snacks under my bed, but even though I’d had a good lunch, the urge to eat was strong. I opened a family-size bag of Ruffles and dug in.
The bag was all but empty before I rolled it up and stuffed it back under the bed along with the other snacks I’d gotten from Mrs. Dasko on the way home from school.
An hour later, I was glad I’d eaten. Although I envied Hank’s spaghetti and meatballs, my salad was enough, and there was plenty still waiting for me upstairs.
“Can I be excused?” I said, eager to get back.
A flicker of surprise behind his eyes. Perhaps he thought the diet was starting to grow on me. “Sure, sport. Rinse your bowl in the sink before you go, huh?”
I slept in until past ten the next morning. It was a little strange that Hank had let me. In his house oversleeping, even on weekends, was frowned upon.
When I came down, there was a bowl and a box of cereal on the kitchen table.
“You’ve been doing so well on your diet,” Hank said behind me, “I thought I’d cut you a little break.”
Now I was regretting eating half a package of Chips Ahoy! before coming down.
I approached the table and shook some Honey Bunches of Oats into the bowl. “Not too much,” he said. “A cup is a serving.”
I poured some back into the box.
“Say, sport, after breakfast maybe you oughta get out of the house for a bit, get some exercise. Maybe go down to Target and get yourself some of those Pokémon cards you like.” He pulled some money out of his pocket, raised it, and left it on the counter with a wink.
Once he left, I saw it was a twenty.
Something didn’t feel right. He was being too nice: letting me eat, giving me money. He never gave me money.
Still, a new pack of Pokémon cards was hard to turn down.
After breakfast, I got ready and set out. It was a two-and-a-half-mile walk, about an hour’s journey, but not as bad as running laps. It was less strenuous, and I didn’t stick out as much at this pace. Between the nice weather and my music, it was almost a pleasure. Maybe Icoulddo this more often.
The Pokémon cards were a bust. All duplicates except for a Torchic. Oh well. After a short break with a cup of water from the café, I returned to Whispering Tree Lane.
There were no vehicles in the drive when I got home. Hank must’ve gone out. I left his change on the counter and went upstairs, tired and ready to eat.
Crouching in front of the bed, I bent down. My breath hitched.
The snacks were gone.
Hank had found my stash. That must’ve been why he sent me out: he’d suspected something was up and wanted to have a look.
The garage door rumbled beneath me. I parted the mini blinds and saw his Toyota Highlander pulling into the drive.
I yanked the bedroom door shut and locked it.
I paced around, waiting.
Though I heard him downstairs, he didn’t come up. He seemed to make a couple of trips between the house and the car—ferrying groceries? It was unlike him not to make me help.
I remained in my room for hours, scared even to use the bathroom.
I was on my bed playing Game Boy at the lowest volume when finally there came a knock at the door. I tossed the game, scrambling back against the headboard.
“Hey, sport,” Hank said, “you in there?”
I hesitated. “Y-yes.”
“Dinner’s just about ready. I think you’re gonna like it.” His voice was upbeat, unthreatening. Somehow it was worse than if he’d yelled.
