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“Uh-huh,” Cody said. “But before you can join, you’ll need to pass one more test. Can you still come with us on Halloween?”
“I’ll have to fib to my dad.” Trevor knew how much his father hated lying. But sometimes it was the only way to get around him.
“Have you got a bike?” Skip asked.
Trevor shook his head. He’d had no place to keep a bike or ride one in Seattle. His dad had promised him a real grown-up one if he behaved himself until Christmas. But that was a long time off—almost two months.
“That’s okay,” Skip said. “I can pick you up close to your house. You can ride behind me. So, are you in?”
“You bet.” It felt good to have cool friends, and even better to belong to their club. He could hardly wait for Halloween.
* * *
When the thirty-first arrived, Trevor seemed restless as nightfall approached.
“Dad,” Trevor said, “I’ve got a new friend. His name’s Michael. He wants to go out trick-or-treating tonight.”
Cooper stopped working to give the boy some attention. The technicians had arrived earlier that day to install the phone and internet, and he’d finally got his computer set up and working. At last he could finish his article assignments and get some money coming in. Between that, the undecided question of the ranch purchase, and thoughts of Jess, he’d almost forgotten it was Halloween. At least he’d remembered to buy candy. But the kids coming by would make it hard to get much writing done.
“I thought you said trick-or-treat was for kids,” he said.
“I did.” Trevor was doing his puppy-eyed thing. “But Michael knows the houses that have the best candy. We’d just be going to those. He lives over in the next block. I can walk to his house.”
“Well, at least you won’t be going snipe hunting with those two ninth-graders,” Cooper said. “What’ll you do for a costume?”
“Michael’s got some Halloween makeup. I’ll just smear some on my face and go as a hobo. I’ll be back by ten thirty. Okay?”
“Fine. You know our new phone number. If you need to be picked up, you’ve got change for a pay phone. Call me.”
“I will.” He was out the door and gone.
* * *
Heart pounding, Trevor crossed the porch, flew down the steps, and raced along the sidewalk. Fallen leaves crunched under his sneakers. The risen moon cast the bare branches into eerie shadows on the ground. The air was chilly but not too cold. Perfect Halloween weather.
He was out of breath by the time he reached the corner where he’d agreed to wait for Skip and Cody to show up on their bikes. Little kids in costumes, some with their parents, were trooping from house to house, their sacks open for treats.
What could he expect from his new friends tonight—a treat or, more likely, another trick? He didn’t fully trust them, but no one else had come forward to offer their friendship. And he did like the idea of being in a club.
He waited, kicking at the leaves. Maybe the boys weren’t coming. Maybe this would be like the snipe hunt, where he would end up waiting for someone who had no plans to show up. But no, here they came down the street on their bikes, laughing and waving as they saw him.
Their bikes were the old-fashioned kind with thick tires. Cody’s bike was missing the bar between the handle and the seat, like a girl’s bike. Until now, Trevor hadn’t realized that they were probably from poor families. The slick new racing bike his father had promised him was something he’d assumed most kids had. But he was still learning how other people lived.
Skip braked to a halt. “Climb aboard! Let’s have some fun!”
There was a narrow platform mounted over the back fender of his bike. Trevor sat on it, gripped Skip’s waist, and they were off.
Cody’s bike had a wire basket on the front. In the basket was a plastic grocery bag with something inside. As they turned down a street in the nicer part of town, the boys stopped their bikes. Cody reached into the bag, pulled out an egg, and handed it to Trevor.
“This here’s part of your test. See that red brick house? That’s where Mr. Millsap, the middle school principal, lives. When we ride past, you throw the egg at his front window. If the egg hits the window, you pass. Got it?”
“Got it.” Trevor held the egg carefully, afraid of humiliating himself by breaking it in his hand. He sucked at throwing, but desire lent his arm strength. As Skip sped along the sidewalk past the red brick house, Trevor flung the egg so hard that he almost fell off the bike. The missile struck the window with a hideous yellow splatter. The boys whooped and cheered as they flew down the street, pedaling like crazy.
A few blocks away, they stopped to catch their breath.
Skip was laughing. “Yee haw! That was awesome!”
“I got more eggs,” Cody said. “How’s about trying for two out of three?”
