Page 5 of Keeper
“Well, can you tell me why you’re out here?” Her eye-lined eyes pierce me with judgement. Mum won’t let me wear makeup either.
I point up to the window. “Erm…Booker is…erm…my mate.”
She laughs again—that glorious peal of church bells. “Why didn’t he tell you where the key is hidden?”
She bends over and lifts the rug in front of the door. Why didn’t I think to look there? When she stands, she shows it to me with a grin, like we’re sharing a special secret. I move over, and she inserts the key and turns the knob. She pauses on the threshold and looks back over her shoulder with her gaze narrowed. “How old are you?”
I consider lying and telling her I’m sixteen because that seems like the age when cool things start to happen to people. Instead, I blurt out the truth. “Twelve.” I’m such an amateur.
She shakes her head. “A little young to be sneaking into a boy’s room in the middle of the night, don’t you think?”
Well, this would be a first. I consider telling her the real reason I’m here, but then the pain comes back in my throat and I think I might cry. So I change directions and ask, “Who are you here to see?”
“Tanner, though I’d happily visit Gareth or Camden if they were an option. Booker’s a bit too young for me.” She winks and giggles, so I giggle back. It seems like the polite thing to do.
“What about Vi?” Booker’s sister is so nice. If I were older, I’d want to be her mate.
The girl smirks and whispers, “I’m not here for girl talk.”
I whisper back, “Then what are you here for?”
She puckers her mouth and licks her lips like a serpent. “Never mind that. After you.” She gestures for me to walk in and follows close behind me.
We pass through the dark conservatory and into the long marble-floored hallway that leads to the front door. I’ve been in this house a million times, but it feels a bit different in the middle of the night. The Harris house isn’t known for its warmth and comfort. Really, Booker comes to my house more than I come to his. But things have been different lately. Booker and his brothers are all practicing with the football club their dad manages, so I’ve been seeing less and less of him. I miss him.
I take a sharp left to climb the grand staircase. There’s a dim lamp at the top of the stairs illuminating our path.
The girl whispers in my ear, “Stay to the right side on the steps. The rest of it creaks like Granny’s rocking chair.”
“Booker doesn’t have a grandma.” At least not one that I’ve ever seen.
The girl begins laughing in hushed tones, so I do as she says, only tripping twice because I activate my perfectedJames BondMI6 stealth walk. I’ve tested it out with Booker in the park many times, and I know I look cool doing it.
When the girl and I complete the long climb, I watch her as she passes me, stopping at the first door on the right. “Toodles,” she says with a wink and opens the door. I catch a peek of a shirtless Tanner laying on his bed with a lamp on. He looks up with a grin, obviously expecting her.
I shrug and tiptoe to the end of the hallway to Booker’s room. I’ve been in his before, but for some reason, this plan seems so much scarier than it did a moment ago. But then the pain in my chest returns and all I want is my best friend.
Quietly, I open the door and catch a faint outline of Booker’s bed as my eyes adjust to the lack of lighting in his room. “Booker,” I whisper. He shoots up like a gun went off. He’s always been a light sleeper.
“What is it? Who’s there?” He ruffles the top of his dark mess of hair and shakes his head to wake himself up.
“Shhh! It’s me, Poppy.”
“Poppy?” he asks and swings his legs off the bed. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
“I was going to climb up to your window like a brave white knight, but a girl was here to see Tanner. She showed me where you guys hide the key, so I…walked in with her.” Man that seems so much less dramatic than my original plan.
“Oh, okay,” he states with little feeling. “What’s up?”
He says the same welcoming phrase he says to me on any regular day, but after the night I’ve had, that simple question brings a quiver to my chin. “Book…” My voice cracks. “Pink died.”
“Oh no, Poppy! How?” He rises up out of the bed and pads barefoot over to me in the dark. My arms are hugging myself as tightly around my middle as I can stand, but he manages to wrap me up even tighter. “What happened to him?”
I sniffle into his shirt. “I came home from piano lessons and Pink was going crazy, growling and nipping at me and my sister…It was like he didn’t know us!” I stop talking to let out a few soft cries, and Booker begins rubbing my back in slow circles. I bury my face in his smooth, soft chest and have a proper cry before I tell him the rest. “Dad took him into his clinic and did some tests. He says it was a brain tumor and that Pink didn’t know what he was doing. We had to put him to sleep, Booker. I watched the entire thing.”
“You watched him put Pink to sleep?”
“Yes,” I croak.
