Page 114 of Triple Play
Grant: Just come over. We’ll be quiet.
Wyatt: We miss you
That last one does it. Wyatt doesn’t say things like that unless he means them.
Me: If we get caught I’m blaming all of you
Jordie: deal
I wait twenty minutes until I’m sure the house is completely quiet. Then I slip out of bed, grab my phone, and ease the door open.
The hallway is dark. Every floorboard sounds like it’s screaming under my feet.
Jordie’s room is at the end of the hall, past his parents’ room, which is possibly the worst layout in the history of architecture.
I make it three steps before a door opens behind me.
I freeze.
Mrs. Dickson is standing in her doorway in a bathrobe, arms crossed.
We stare at each other.
“I’m just—” I search for a lie. Any lie. “Getting water.”
“The kitchen is downstairs.”
“Right. I got turned around.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Then: “If you’re going to sneak around my house, at least be quiet about it. My husband is a light sleeper.”
She goes back in her room and closes the door.
I stand there for a full thirty seconds trying to process what just happened.
Did she just—give me permission?
I text the group chat:Your mom is terrifying
Then I tiptoe the rest of the way to Jordie’s room and slip inside.
All three of them are awake. Grant’s on the bed, Wyatt’s in a sleeping bag on the floor, and Jordie’s leaning against the headboard fully clothed.
“She caught me,” I whisper.
“And?” Jordie’s grinning.
“And she told me to be quiet so I don’t wake your dad.”
“See?” He pats the bed next to him. “Told you she’s cool.”
“That’s not what cool means.”
But I’m already crossing the room, already climbing onto the bed between Grant and Jordie.
Wyatt shifts his sleeping bag closer. “You good?”
“Better now.”
