December Park(148)

Scott considered, then said, “They’re all worth zero, except for the Draw Four. If someone pulls the Draw Four, they get all four crackers.”

Peter nodded. “Ground rule double. Nice.”

Scott turned the fan of cards in his direction. “You pick first.”

Peter picked and came up with a green seven.

Scott said, “Not bad,” then stepped over to Michael.

Michael licked his fingertips, began to pull out one card, considered this, then tucked it back in. He pinched a second card between his fingers but did not slide it out from the deck.

“Will you just pick?” Scott barked.

Michael selected a red seven. He frowned at it. “What the f*ck? I’m tied with Chubby Checker over here?”

“Or I could knock your teeth out and you won’t have to worry about eating anything that isn’t through a straw,” Peter offered.

Scott turned the deck toward me.

I selected what turned out to be a green zero. “Perfect,” I muttered.

“Welcome to Loserville, buddy,” Michael said, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

Scott held the cards out to Adrian.

Adrian picked a yellow draw card.

“Zero points,” Michael shouted, pointing at Adrian’s card. “Eliminated. Ha!”

“Grow up.” I shrugged his arm off my shoulders.

“My pick,” Scott said, and he selected a card from the middle of the deck. He looked at it, frowned, then showed it to the rest of us: a blue zero.

“So,” I said. “Three zeroes and these guys are tied with sevens. Who’re the four winners?”

“I think me and Peter should get two each, since you guys didn’t get any points,” Michael said.

“You’re a real altruist,” Scott said.

“What is that, some kind of bird?”

“It means all five of us share,” Peter suggested, handing his card back to Scott. “Just break ’em up into pieces.”

Scott tucked the cards into his pocket, then looked down—somewhat mournfully, I imagined—at the pack of peanut butter crackers in his hands. He squeezed the crackers, reducing them to crumbs held together by stale brownish paste. Everyone held out their cupped palms, and Scott emptied a bit of the crackers into them.

We all popped our handfuls into our mouths except Adrian; he just examined the heap of crumbs on his palm the way a botanist might scrutinize new plant life. “I can’t eat this,” he said finally. “I’m allergic to peanut butter.”

We all groaned. Scott laughed.

“I’m gonna kill him,” said Michael, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“No sweat.” Peter shook Adrian’s crumbs into his own hand. Before popping those into his mouth, too, he looked around at the rest of us. “Unless you guys wanna pick more cards?”

“Just eat it,” I said, grinning.

Scott laughed harder.

Michael went back to the ladder. When he had finished unfolding it, I could see that he had been right—it would reach the window, no problem.

I helped him carry it over to the building. There were two brackets at the top, which were meant to hook over a windowsill. The window we were preparing to climb through had no sill—just a crumbling stone ledge. And to even refer to it as a window was giving it more credit than that inky black hole in the stone deserved.

It took us three tries to loop the brackets over the stone ledge, but we finally managed. Michael and I let go, and the ladder hung suspended three feet off the ground.

“I just realized something,” I said. “What do we do on the other side? Like, how do we get down when we’re in there?”

“Jump, I guess,” Michael said.

“I’d really rather not break my ankles today.”

“Maybe when you get to the top you can pull the ladder up and drop it through the window on the other side.”

“Me?”

“Huh?”

“You want me to do it?”

“Or whoever.” He looked over to Scott, Peter, and Adrian. “Who’s first?”

“We can draw cards again,” Peter said. “That worked out really well last time.”

“Shut up,” Scott told him. “I’ll go first.”

Adrian checked the flashlights to make sure they worked, then handed one to me. His fingers were grimy, the fingernails gnawed to nubs. He gave a second one to Scott, who clicked it on and off before sticking it into the waistband of his cargo shorts.

Peter stood at the bottom of the ladder, looking up. “Should one of us stay out here in case . . . Well, in case something happens?”

“Like if the roof caves in or if we’re all mercilessly butchered by the Piper?” Michael said.

“Either or,” said Peter.

“No, we all go in together. It has to be that way.” Adrian passed another flashlight to Peter.

Scott approached the ladder, shook it. It seemed sturdy enough. He lifted one long leg and set his foot on the first rung.

“Wait,” Michael said. “We need a war song. What did Jesus sing before going into battle?”

“You’re an idiot,” Scott said.

Michael scowled. “I don’t know that song.”

Peter lifted up his baggy T-shirt to expose the Walkman clipped to his belt. He dug the headphones out from the collar of his shirt and let them hang around his neck. He opened the Walkman, flipped the mix tape over, and reinserted it. “Whatever is on when I press Play, that’ll be our battle song.”