The Stranger Next Door

by Peg Kehret

  Ignoring them was easy to say, Alex thought, and hard to do.

  Pete jumped down from his perch on top of the piano. He marched to the door and glared through the glass. How dare those boys be mean to Alex, who had rescued Pete from the animal shelter when Pete was only six weeks old!

  “Let Duke ride past me on his dirt bike,” Pete said. “I’ll shred his tires and bite him in the ankle.”

  “Sorry, Pete,” Alex said. “You can’t go outside yet unless you’re on a leash. You might get lost.”

  “Lost!” Pete howled. “I’m descended from mighty beasts who can find their way in the jungle in pitch dark. I know every inch of this property, and I’m sick of that leash and harness! You’ve made me wear it all summer.”

  “Maybe he’s hungry,” Mrs. Kendrill said, and she poured crunchies into Pete’s bowl.

  “No wonder he’s so fat,” Mr. Kendrill said. “Every time he meows, somebody feeds him.”

  “Fat! I am not one bit fat,” Pete said. Then, to prove his fitness, he sprinted across the room, leaped to the top of the computer desk, and knocked two pencils to the floor. He peered over the edge of the desk as they rolled to a stop.

  “You had better exercise that cat, Alex,” Mrs. Kendrill said, “or none of us will get any sleep tonight.”

  Alex put Pete’s harness on him, then snapped on the leash, opened the door, and followed Pete outside.

  Pete flopped onto the sidewalk, which was still warm from the afternoon sun. He rolled back and forth—partly because it felt good to scratch his back and partly because he hoped he could wriggle out of the harness. It was embarrassing to walk around attached to a leash, as if he had no more sense than a foolish dog.

  When the harness stayed firmly strapped around Pete’s shoulders and middle, he stood, then rubbed against Alex’s ankles.

  Alex leaned down and stroked Pete’s fur. “It’s a good thing I have you to talk to, Pete,” he said. “None of the kids at school will have anything to do with me.”

  Pete headed for the vacant house next door. He loved to sniff around the outside, especially when Alex let him climb the front porch steps, leap on a window ledge, and look in.

  “This is the last time we can come here for your walks,” Alex said. “People are moving in tomorrow, and they won’t want us prowling around their house and peeking in their windows.”

  Pete jumped on the porch rail.

  Alex leaned against the rail beside him, watching the crescent moon appear over the maple tree. “Star light, star bright, first star I’ve seen tonight.” He murmured the old rhyme, then wished that he would make a friend.

  With his thoughts on his wish and his eyes on the sky, Alex didn’t notice the three people walking past his house.

  Pete saw them. His tail twitched, and his ears went flat.

  “Well, look who we found.”

  Alex jumped at the sound of Duke’s voice. Duke, Henry, and a boy about seventeen years old stood on the sidewalk. The older boy resembled Duke; Alex wondered if he was Duke’s brother.

  “That the kid you told me about?” the older boy asked.

  “That’s him,” Duke said.

  “What do you want?” Alex asked.

  “Just want to see which mansion the rich boy lives in.”

  “I told you before, I’m not rich.”

  “Right,” Duke said.

  “Right,” echoed Henry.

  Pete’s tail thrashed back and forth. Those kids had better not come any closer. If they did, they would have to deal with the fierce jungle beast.

  Alex put one hand on Pete’s back. He didn’t want the cat to jump off the railing and run toward Duke and Duke’s buddies.

  “That your cat?” the older boy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “He’d make a mighty good meal for my dog.”

  “My brother’s dog is huge,” Duke said, “and hungry.”

  Alex quickly looked to see if a dog was nearby.

  Duke and Henry laughed.

  Pete dug his claws into the railing. “Bring your dog around here,” he said, “and he’ll need thirty stitches in his nose.”

  To Alex’s relief, Duke’s brother turned around and walked back the way he had come. Duke and Henry followed.

  Alex wiped his palms on his jeans. Why did Duke and his pals want to know where he lived? What did they plan to do? He hoped they didn’t intend to come and hassle him here at home. It was bad enough to have to deal with them at school.

  Alex picked Pete up. “Time to go home,” he said. “It’s dark.”

  Pete growled once, to let Alex know that he would prefer to stay outside. The darker it got, the more Pete liked it. When Alex didn’t put him down, Pete put his front paws on Alex’s shoulders, butted his head under Alex’s chin, and allowed himself to be carried into the house. A cat works up an appetite outside, even on a leash. It was time for a little snack.

  2

  Clifford dumped his load of library books on the hall table. Sixth grade had a lot more homework than fifth grade.

  Rocky came wagging to greet him. After petting the dog, Clifford headed for the kitchen. He hoped Tim would get home from work early, as he had the last two nights, so they could eat dinner soon. Clifford was starving, even though he’d had an apple and a bag of chips after school.

  Just before he reached the kitchen, he heard Mother and Tim talking softly. Clifford stopped, knowing he shouldn’t eavesdrop but too curious not to listen. Something was wrong in his family, and he didn’t know what it was.

  Whispered conversations, which stopped abruptly when Clifford arrived, had been going on for weeks, making Clifford more and more uneasy. Mother and Tim were hiding something from him.

  What was going on that they wouldn’t tell him? Were they planning to get a divorce? He had rarely heard them argue, but Clifford couldn’t think what else they would be so secretive about, and Mother had seemed jittery and unhappy lately for no particular reason.

  He paused just outside the kitchen.

  “We’ll have to tell Clifford tonight,” Mother said. “We can’t expect him to do this without knowing why.”

  “We’ll tell him as soon as we reach the motel.”

  Motel! Clifford blinked. Had Mother and Tim planned a surprise vacation? But Mother wouldn’t be unhappy about that.

  “Hi,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “What’s this about a motel?”

  “We have something to tell you,” Mother said. Her fingers fidgeted with a paper napkin, twisting it tightly. Clifford could tell from the look on her face that the news was not a surprise vacation.

  “We’re moving,” Tim said.

  “Moving!” Of all the possible scenarios Clifford had imagined, never once had the idea of moving occurred to him. “Why? Where are we going?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Mother said.

  How could they be moving and not know where?

  “When?”

  Tim and Mother glanced at each other. “Today,” Tim said. “In half an hour.”

  “Today!” Clifford said. “How can we leave so soon? We haven’t packed anything.”

  “We won’t be taking any furniture or household items,” his mother said. “This is a fresh start; we’ll buy all new things after we get there.”

  Clifford’s jaw dropped. His mother, queen of thrift-shop bargains and surely the most frugal person on earth, was planning to buy all new furniture? All his life she had told him to make do with what he already had rather than ask for something new.

  Clifford looked at Tim. “What about the shop?”

  Tim owned A-One Auto Repair. He had been a mechanic in someone else’s shop when he and Clifford’s mother married, but three years ago he had purchased his own place, and now he had two full-time employees, Kenny and Lance.

  Sometimes on Saturdays, he let Clifford spend the day there, running errands and watching Tim work on cars. Lately he had even taught Clifford to do some minor repairs, then supervised to be sure
they were done correctly.

  Tim took great pride in the fact that no customer had ever returned to complain about work done at A-One.

  “Kenny and Lance can run the shop,” Tim said.

  “But you own it!” Clifford said.

  “I’ll buy a different shop. Taxes are too high in Southern California anyway.”

  Clifford could not believe that Tim would walk away from his business, no matter how high the taxes. Tim had spent most of his adult life dreaming of being his own boss; if he had to move to a different city, why wouldn’t he sell the business first so that he’d have the money necessary to start a new one?

  Something is fishy, Clifford thought. It just doesn’t add up. Whatever it was that Mother and Tim were keeping from him, it must be truly terrible.

  “Can I take my bike?”

  “You’ll get a new one,” Tim said. “We’re going to stay at a motel for a few days. There’s a suitcase on your bed; pack as many clothes as you can in that.”

  Clifford nodded. He picked up the kitchen phone.

  “No phone calls,” Tim said.

  “I have to call Nathan.”

  “You can’t,” Tim responded. “We aren’t telling anyone.”

  “Nathan’s been my best friend since we were three. We were going to meet at the corner tomorrow morning and walk to school together. Thursday is his thirteenth birthday; all the guys are going out for pizza. I can’t just disappear and not tell him.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

  “What’s he going to think if I don’t show up for his birthday?”

  “Nathan’s a good friend,” Mother said. “He’ll think that something happened to keep you from coming to his birthday party.”

  Nervous suspicions began to snake through Clifford’s mind. His parents sounded as if they were running away, hiding from the police or something.

  Clifford’s mother and father had divorced when Clifford was two. A year later, Mother married Tim. Clifford’s father had remarried and moved away, but Clifford didn’t know where. He never sent support money, nor did he ever write to Clifford. Clifford and Tim had always gotten along well. In Clifford’s heart, Tim was his dad.

  Now, for the first time, Clifford wondered about Tim’s past. Before Tim and Mother got married, had Tim robbed a bank or stolen money from his employer? Had he murdered someone? With the new sophisticated devices for testing DNA and matching fingerprints, people are sometimes charged with a crime that was committed years ago. Had Tim thought he had gotten away with a crime and now the police or the FBI were closing in on him?

  Clifford couldn’t imagine Tim committing any crime, especially murder, but why else would he sneak away without letting anyone know where he was going?

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Clifford asked.

  “No,” Tim said.

  That was all. Just “no.” No explanation, no discussion.

  Clifford opened a cupboard and began putting Rocky’s canned dog food into a bag, to take along.

  “Rocky won’t be going with us,” Mother said.

  At the sound of his name, the dog’s tail thumped against the table leg.

  Shocked, Clifford stared at his parents. “We can’t leave her behind,” he said. “She’s part of the family!”

  “The Olsons will take her,” Tim said.

  “Our next-door neighbors know we’re moving, and they’re getting my dog, but nobody bothered to tell me about it?”

  “It isn’t that simple,” Mother said. “The Olsons don’t actually know yet. They’ll be contacted as soon as we leave. I’m sure they’ll take good care of Rocky; they’ve always liked her.”

  Clifford didn’t doubt that the neighbors would be good to his dog, but that wasn’t the point. Rocky was his dog. He knelt and put his arms around the retriever’s neck and allowed her to plant slobbery dog kisses all over his face.

  “If Rocky can’t go, I’m not going, either,” Clifford said.

  “I’m afraid there’s no choice, son,” Tim said.

  “Why?” Clifford said. His voice broke as he struggled to hold back tears. “Give me one good reason why Rocky can’t go with us.”

  Mother looked near tears herself. “We’ll explain it all to you later,” she said. “For now, you’ll have to accept our word that it has to be this way.”

  “Believe me,” Tim said, “we would take Rocky if we could.”

  Clifford did not believe him. What possible reason could there be to give Rocky to the Olsons, instead of taking her along to their new home? Why couldn’t the Olsons keep Rocky just until Clifford’s family was settled and ready for her? Then he and Mother and Tim could come and get her, or, if it was too far away, the Olsons could put her on a plane. Dogs flew all the time. It wouldn’t be as good as taking Rocky with them now, but at least they’d be together in the end.

  “She won’t understand,” Clifford said. “She’ll think I’ve abandoned her.”

  “She’ll adjust,” Tim said. “Dogs are resilient.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Clifford said. He stood up, facing his parents. “If you make me leave Rocky behind, I’ll turn into a juvenile delinquent. I’ll never do another sentence of homework. I’ll refuse to take a shower after PE, and I’ll talk back to the teachers.”

  Anger made the words spill out like unpopped popcorn from an open bag. “I’ll be disruptive in class; I’ll start food fights in the cafeteria; I’ll carve graffiti on the top of my desk.” Clifford’s voice got louder. “I’ll spit on the floor and write with markers in the library books. I’ll get myself kicked out of school!”

  His mother gasped.

  Tim looked angry. “This discussion is over,” he declared. “Go to your room.”

  Clifford stomped up the stairs, then slammed the bedroom door behind him so hard that the windows rattled.

  He sat on his bed, stunned by his parents’ announcement.

  Ten minutes later, Mother knocked on his door.

  “It’s time to leave,” she said.

  Clifford hastily stuffed some clothes into his suitcase, put his favorite books in his backpack, then trailed her down the stairs. As he reached for the Dodgers jacket that he had worn home from school, Mother said, “You won’t be able to wear that jacket. We can’t take anything with a team name from this area.”

  Clifford looked at her in disbelief. The Dodgers jacket had been his Christmas present.

  Mother seemed near tears, but she said, “I’m sorry. The jacket stays here.”

  Furious, Clifford dropped the jacket on the floor. He looked around for Rocky, to say good-bye, but didn’t see her. He supposed she was already over at the Olsons’.

  Feeling as if he had been caught up in a tornado and was being blown away to some unknown destination, he followed his mother out the front door.

  Tim waited in a white car that Clifford had never seen before. A man, who was introduced as Mr. Valdez, sat behind the wheel. Tim sat beside him in the passenger’s seat. Clifford and his mother got in back.

  As soon as the doors closed and the seat belts were buckled, Mr. Valdez drove out of the driveway.

  Clifford twisted around to look out the rear window. “Good-bye, house,” he whispered. “Good-bye, Rocky.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.

  He heard sniffling beside him. When he looked at his mother, he saw that she was crying, too.

  Clifford hunched into the corner on his side of the car. I’ll run away, he thought. I’ll sneak out the first chance I get and come back and live with Nathan. Nathan’s family likes dogs; they’d let me keep Rocky.

  No one spoke for the first half hour. Then, as they drove north on the freeway, Tim turned to Mr. Valdez and said, “Do you know yet what our new names will be?”

  “The last name is Morris,” Mr. Valdez replied. “Your first name will be Blake; your wife’s will be Ginny.”

  “What are you talking about?” Clifford asked.

  “He doesn’t know?” said Mr. Valdez.
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  “Not yet,” Tim said. “We didn’t want to take a chance of anyone else finding out.”

  Tim turned around to face Clifford. “We’re changing our names,” he said. “From now on I’m Blake Morris and your mother is Ginny Morris.” Shadows flickered across Tim’s face as he spoke.

  “Why do you have to change your names?”

  “We’ll explain everything when we get to the motel,” Tim said.

  Clifford’s mother said, “Ginny Morris. It isn’t what I would have chosen, but I guess it’s all right.” She leaned forward and asked Mr. Valdez, “What about Clifford’s name?”

  “I am not changing my name,” Clifford said. “You guys can be Mr. and Mrs. Morris and I’ll be your son, Clifford Lexton, just as I’ve always been.”

  “The last name has to be Morris,” Mr. Valdez said.

  “Why?” Clifford said. “My last name hasn’t been the same as theirs ever since Mother and Tim—”

  “Blake,” corrected Mr. Valdez.

  “—ever since Mother and Blake got married. Why does it have to be the same now?”

  “Please don’t argue,” Mother said. “This is hard enough for all of us without arguing.”

  “Your name is Gerald Morris,” Mr. Valdez said.

  Clifford glared at the back of the man’s head. Who did he think he was, coming here and bossing them around, even picking out new names without giving them any say in the matter?

  “We have to do this, honey,” Mother said. “All of us. You have to use a different name, too.”

  “Why can’t I pick a name I like?” Clifford said. “I hate the name Gerald. I won’t answer if anyone calls me Gerald.”

  “I think you’d better explain to your son what your situation is,” Mr. Valdez said to Blake. “When he realizes how much danger you’re in, he’ll be more cooperative.”

  Danger. The word seemed to hang in the air next to Clifford, even though the adults kept talking.

  “I’d rather tell Clif—uh, Gerald—when we aren’t in the car. I’d like to be able to look him in the eye.”

  Mr. Valdez shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.

  “If I can’t be Clifford Lexton,” Clifford said, “then I’ll be Rocky.”