Free Home Invasion by Monique Polak Page B

wrappers, parking tickets and car wash coupons. I couldn’t help laughing.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?” Clay asked. “I told you there was a bag in there,” he added triumphantly, pointing to a tattered plastic bag balled up in the back corner of the glove compartment.
    â€œWhat do you feel like having for supper?” he asked me when we’re turning the corner and heading onto our block.
    I knew what I didn’t feel like having. Pasta with peanut butter. “Whatever,” I told him, shrugging my shoulders.
    â€œWell then, I guess I’ll invent something.”
    My heart sank. What was he going to do—add jam to the recipe?
    â€œI’m going to shoot some hoops,” I told him as we pulled into the driveway. I hoped that maybe I’d bump into Patsy, the girl from that morning, on the way to the park
    I was dribbling my basketball down the sidewalk when I noticed a telephone company van parked outside Patsy’s house. They were probably getting their phone hooked up.
    When I got closer, I noticed the garage door was half open. I slowed down for a better look. Maybe Patsy’s dad was doing some yard work. But there was no sign of anyone.
    I looked over my shoulder. Nobody was watching. Then, just like that, I walked into the garage. It was like I was on autopilot. I didn’t know what made me do it. Curiosity, I guess.
    I remembered something we learned in English. This guy, Edgar Allan Poe, came up with an idea he called “the imp of the perverse.” Mr. Johnston—I had him for English last year—said it’s like when you see a sign that says
Wet paint. Don’t touch
, and you have this overwhelming urge to touch it. It was like that with the Levesques’ garage door. If it hadn’t been open, I never would’ve thought of going inside.
    My heart was thumping like crazy, and I was sweating. The weirdest part was I didn’t think I ever felt more alive. Or more excited.
    The garage was filled with cardboard boxes, stacked one on top of the other. They were all labeled.
Kitchen—pots. Dining room—fragile—good china. Pats
, which I figured was short for Patsy. I spotted some barbells on the floor. They were probably her dad’s.
    A steel door led into the house. I turned the handle, sure it would be locked. But it wasn’t. I was in the basement. There wasn’t much light and the air smelled like old socks.
    I heard a voice from upstairs. It was Patsy, saying something about a phone jack.
    â€œAnnette, do you really think it’s a good idea to let Pats have a phone in her room?” a man’s voice asked.
    â€œI promised her she could,” Patsy’s mother said.
    â€œNext thing she’ll be wanting her own number.”
    â€œNow that you mention it, Dad…” Patsy’s laugh sounded like bells.
    Careful not to make any noise, I sat down on the wooden steps that led from the basement up to the next floor. Now they were all laughing. Patsy, her mom and dad, and someone else. Did Patsy have a brother—or was the guy from the phone company in on the joke?
    My heart was still thumping. What would I say if they found me? That I was on myway to the park when I decided to drop by? I knew I should leave, but it was like some gravitational force was keeping me there. Besides, it felt good to hear them laughing.
    â€œOkay, that’s a long-enough coffee-break!” Mrs. Levesque was saying, and I heard a box being lugged across the floor. “Let’s get a few more boxes unpacked, shall we?”
    Someone tore open a box.
    â€œWhat did you think of Josh?” Mrs. Levesque asked. Even though the basement was cool, I felt my face turn hot. It isn’t too often you get a chance to hear what people have to say about you when you’re not there. Or when they don’t know you are.
    â€œHe’s okay,” Patsy said. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Then Patsy