Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(33)

I walk the stone path toward the porch steps. Evelyn’s house looks totally normal. Just plain old boring beige aluminum siding with a faded blue porch. I’m not really sure what I expected. Something with red and yellow polka dots, maybe. An inflatable-arm-waving air dancer on the roof. A lawn littered with giant garden gnomes and a Sasquatch sculpture. Perhaps some circus music blaring out of the windows.

But no. It’s just like anyone else’s house. And why not? Evelyn hides her madness pretty well herself. Except when she doesn’t.

I climb the porch steps and approach the front door, a thick sandy-colored mat “welcoming” me. Black iron letters spell out THE MOSSES under the brass knocker. It’s all so nonthreatening. Meant to lure me into a false sense of security. Just like the girl who lives inside.

Another slow controlled breath before I announce my presence. Glance at the instructions on my palm one last time, then reach up and give a little rat-a-tat with the knocker.

A moment later and the door creaks open a few inches.

Evelyn pokes her head through the gap and smiles. “Hello, Jell-O,” she says.

“Hi.” My mouth is super pasty. I should have brought a bottle of water or something.

“Hold on one sec.” She holds up a freckled forefinger. “I’ll be right out. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Evelyn shuts the door, leaving me standing there on the porch to stew in my anxiety a bit longer. All of a sudden, my hands feel like a couple of newly acquired appendages. I think about sniffing them, but instead I tuck them into my back pockets. Then untuck them again. I read over my palm notes once more and nearly levitate when the door opens again.

“Hey,” Evelyn says, slipping out her front door with a large brown paper bag clenched in her hand. “Your hand smells good, does it?”

I suddenly realize I’ve got my right palm cupped over my nose. Jesus, how did that get there? I yank it away from my face and smile nervously. “I was . . . um . . . helping my mom make cookies.” I waft my ink-free hand about. “I washed them but . . . they still smell like oatmeal.”

“I can think of worse things,” Evelyn says, laughing. “Come on, let’s sit down.” She makes her way over to a rickety old porch swing, brushes a thin layer of snow off it, and takes a seat.

“Oh, uh . . .” I glance over my shoulder. “I was wondering if we could . . . go for a walk?”

“Sure. Maybe after dinner.” She places the bag on the ground between her legs.

“Dinner? What dinner? Aren’t we just —?”

“I told you I had a surprise for you. You think you’re going to come all the way over here for a study session and my mom’s not going to feed you? Fat chance.”

“I, um . . .” This is not going according to plan. The last thing I want to do is go into that house. “What about just a little jaunt around the block? You know, a relaxing premeal stroll.”

“Sure, okay. But I want to show you something first.” Her eyes flit to the front door like she’s expecting someone to emerge.

“But . . .” I look over my shoulder again, feeling like my escape portal is rapidly closing behind me. “Can’t you show it to me while we walk?” I swing my arms like I’m already ambling.

“No. I want to show it to you here. Why are you acting so weird?”

“Weird?” I look around like I’m trying to find this weirdness she’s speaking of. “Am I acting weird?”

“Yes. Very. Now get over here. You’ll be happy, I promise.”

One last peek over my shoulder and I finally give up and make my way over to her.

“Okey-dokey.” Evelyn wriggles with excitement as I sit. “Now, remember our conversation at lunch yesterday?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” How could I forget?

“Wellll . . .” She smiles big and unfolds the top of the paper bag. “I told you I was going to get you something for your movie”— she reaches into the bag and gently lifts out a fairly large, very professional-looking video camera —“and here it is.”

“Holy crap!” I say, staring at it like it’s an ultra-scarce Pokémon Illustrator card. “These things are like three thousand dollars!” I can’t believe she actually did it. She got us a professional video camera.

I’m pumped at first. The biggest hurdle in the way of moviemaking glory has suddenly been removed. But then the full impact of this surprise hits me: how the heck am I supposed to break up with her now?

“Wow,” I say, blinking like a madman. “That’s . . . wow. But . . . where did you get it?”

Evelyn smiles coyly. “Ah, you know. It was just lying around. Take a look.” She holds up the camera by its handle, turning it this way and that, like she’s some kind of hostess on the Home Shopping Network. “It’s a pro model. High-definition and everything. Just like Coop asked for.”

I stare at it suspiciously. “You just happened to have this video camera lying around?”

“Who cares where I got it?” she says testily. “God. The point is, I got it. Just like I told you I would. Don’t you want to use it for the movie?”

“Yeah. No. I do, but . . .” I rub my aching forehead. “I’m just . . . a little confused.” It seems too good to be true. And if it is too good to be true, then I don’t have to accept the camera and I can still break up with her. Then we’ll just have to figure out another way to shoot our movie.