Getting out of Bart House after hours isn’t exactly easy. There’s an alarm system on both the front and the back door, and also bars on the ground-floor and second-floor windows that give the house its cozy, welcoming appearance. But just because you can’t get out through the usual methods, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Libra has an on-again, off-again relationship with a guy named Lamar. He’s maybe five years older than Libra, and even though she’s cagey about it, I think he might have a record that would knock him off the list of people she’s allowed to visit. The third time I noticed her sneaking out and back in without getting caught, I agreed to keep her secret, but only if she told me how she managed it.
Not that I had any intention of leaving Bart House at the time, but you never know. I learned long ago to keep my options open.
Ten minutes after my conversation with Kelsey, Deo and I are ready to put Libra’s exit strategy to the test. After twelve thirty or so, there’s never anyone in the living room, and Libra said that, most of the time, if you’re really careful you can make it into the kitchen and to the door leading down to the basement without getting caught. There’s no exit in the basement, but there’s a narrow window about six feet off the ground. It’s behind a row of shrubs, so maybe the security firm missed it. Anyway, Libra says that if you stand on the dryer and lean a bit to the left, you can lift yourself up and shimmy onto the back lawn. Then you just have to climb the back fence, work your way across a few neighboring yards, and you’re two blocks off Georgia Avenue. In her case, Lamar is waiting there to pick her up, but since we don’t have a Lamar and since the Y Line has stopped for the night, we’ll have to hunt down a cab.
We make it to the kitchen without a hitch, which is a good thing. If Libra got caught in the living room or kitchen, all she’d have to do was pretend she came downstairs to get a drink or something and, worst-case scenario, call Lamar and cancel her plans for the evening. She’d only be in trouble if they caught her in the act of squeezing through the window. Deo and I, on the other hand, are already under scrutiny for missing curfew, even if it was—or maybe because it was—at the behest of the local authorities. And our backpacks are crammed with pretty much everything we own, including the pepper spray and sock full of coins that Daniel surprisingly turned back over to us without so much as a lecture when he dropped us off at Bart House. If anyone had seen us coming downstairs, we’d have been totally screwed.
The basement door squeaks when I push it open. To me, the noise is like a klaxon sounding.
“It’s okay,” Deo whispers. “Keep moving.”
I do, and Deo follows, closing the door behind him. We’re about five steps down when he says, “I feel like we’ve walked into a horror movie. Two teens sneak down to the basement, where the psycho killer lurks in the dark.”
“If you’re trying to lighten the mood, it’s not working.”
“Don’t worry. The psycho killer always targets teens who are sneaking to the basement in order to make out. But I do wish we had a flashlight.”
“I have a flashlight app on my phone, but I don’t want to risk it. What if someone comes downstairs and sees the light under the basement door?”
By the time we reach the bottom, my eyes have started to adjust. I make out the washer and dryer below the window, which is the only source of light in the room, and nudge Deo toward it.
“Want me to boost you up?” he asks.
“No. You go ahead.”
Deo hoists himself onto the dryer and inches the window open. It slides easily enough that I think Libra must have oiled it, even if she apparently didn’t bother with the door at the top of the stairs. Once Deo shoves his backpack through the window, he pulls himself up and through the opening.
I climb onto the dryer and hand my backpack to him. That part is simple enough, but as I stand, I realize getting out the window is going to be a bit more difficult for me. I’m shorter than Deo—and shorter than Libra, now that I think of it.
“Should have let me give you that boost,” Deo says, getting onto his stomach and reaching his hands down toward me. We lock arms. I kick off against the dryer, then use my sneakers to walk up the wall. I end up scraping my head against the window casing, but I make it.
Deo’s still facing the window. He tenses, but before I can ask what’s wrong, he says, “Run!”
I don’t question him, just grab my pack and haul ass across the yard. When we reach the chain-link fence at the back, he doesn’t ask if I want the boost. He simply grabs me around the waist and lifts me until I’m almost at the top. Our backpacks land in shrubs on the other side just as I grab the wire to flip myself across the fence. Deo and I hit the ground at almost the same instant and he tugs me down into the bushes.
“What was that about?”
He turns around so that he can peer through the leaves. “Light came on under the doorway at the top of the stairs. Someone must have heard us. And I doubt it was Pauline. She sleeps like the dead.”