“Most of them don’t have security systems,” says Tatum.
“Couldn’t you just fix up your pool?” I ask.
“Nah,” says Meer. “Too complicated.”
“How do you know which houses to go to?”
Tatum grins. “A girl I used to know works for a cleaning crew that a lot of these high-end places use. She gave me the passwords for a couple of their rental service accounts.”
“She was his girlfriend,” says Meer. “Last summer they used to go hook up in the pools like total porno heathens.”
“Shut up,” says Tatum softly, his ears turning red. “Anyway, this year I can still log in to a couple of them, so I just check their calendars.”
“So are you coming tonight or what?” says Meer to Tatum.
“I just think we should go somewhere else.” Tatum looks at the tops of his sneakers. “Anywhere else. On the whole Vineyard.”
“This is just a night adventure,” says Meer. “You don’t want to go on the night adventure, don’t go. But it’s not that different from the others.”
“It is different. You obviously know that.”
“Why?” asks Meer. His face is open and childlike.
“People died there last week,” says Tatum.
21
He goes anyway.The boys pull three Vespas from one corner of the garage. They offer me a spare helmet. They don’t want June to hear the motors, so we walk the scooters down the long driveway in the dark.
No one has a phone, but I’m still holding a flashlight, so I shine it in front of us.
We walk mostly in silence till we’re far from the castle. Glum trails us till about the halfway point, then turns tail.
Brock starts singing a nonsensical assortment of pop songs that are currently popular—“Call Me Maybe” mashed up with “Payphone.”
“Brock,” says Tatum.
“Shut up, you love me,” says Brock.
“I love you,” says Tatum. “But not your music taste.”
“Oh blerg. Matilda, did you know Tatum has a banjo band of roving troubadours?”
Tatum turns to me, flushing. “The music program at school had bands. I did this one where we played traditional songs and like, seventies folk rock.”
“There was a banjo!” yells Brock.
“I didn’tplayit,” says Tatum. “But if I did, that would have been extremely cool, you judgmental butt.”
Meer puts his arm around me. “I play ukulele, but I think I could torture Brock more with banjo. Do you play anything?”
“I play nothing, but I sing like a rock god,” puts in Brock. “Nobody appreciates me.”
“I thought you didn’t need praise anymore,” says Meer.
“I’mtryingnot to need praise,” says Brock. “But I still really like it.Doyou play an instrument, Matilda?”
“No, but I did choir at a bunch of different schools.”
