Trouble is a Friend of Mine

‘No, from the other side,’ Digby said.

Windows wrap around my room, so I could see both the alley behind my house and part of the mansion’s front, but the sound Digby heard came from the part you couldn’t see. Before I could stop him, he’d opened the door and run to the window on the landing. Henry and I followed.

‘Get back in my room, Digby.’ Funny how panic-whispering is actually louder than just normal low-talking.

‘Look,’ Digby said.

‘I don’t see anything,’ Henry said.

‘Above those bushes.’

It was Ezekiel hanging from an upstairs window. He dropped onto the lawn and jogged toward the back of my house. We ran back into my bedroom.

Digby lowered the blinds and turned off my bedside lamp. We peeped through the slats at the alley.

Here’s what we saw. Bicycle Guy was nervous, smoking and jigging in place. He flicked open his Zippo, struck it, and shut it over and over.

Ezekiel pounded out a greeting with Bicycle Guy and took a brick-sized package from under his shirt. They got to work. It looked like they were opening paper packets and collecting whatever was in them into a Tupperware. When Bicycle Guy stooped, the butt of a gun flashed from his pants’ waistband.

‘Gun!’ I said.

‘Let’s get a closer look,’ Digby said.

Henry grabbed Digby’s arm. ‘They aren’t messing around, dude. They will shoot us.’

‘They won’t see us … c’mon, Princeton. You don’t want to see what these people are doing in your neighborhood?’

‘Wow, easy question – no. Not even a little,’ I said.

‘We’ll go to your back fence and listen. They won’t even know we’re there,’ Digby said.

Digby left. We had no choice but to follow.

The backyard was freezing and I shivered in my pajamas. I didn’t realize I was being loud until Digby jammed a finger between my chattering teeth and shushed me. He removed his jacket and slipped it around my shoulders. The pockets were packed with stuff. I flapped the jacket, feeling its weight.

‘It’s full of junk.’

‘Batman has a utility belt …’

We snuck behind Mom’s car and looked out the fence into the alleyway. Bicycle Guy tucked the Tupperware into his backpack and handed Ezekiel a big roll of bills. They were talking but all I heard were them repeating the words used whore. Gross. Bicycle Guy picked up the empty paper packets, sprayed them with lighter fluid, and lit them with his lighter. He tossed the flaming bouquet into the Dumpster. As had probably happened before, the garbage in the Dumpster caught fire too. Bicycle Guy whooped and gave the trash a squirt of fuel that made the flames dance higher. They shared a dudely hug/back-pat combo and split up.

They were barely out of the alley when Digby threw the gate open. ‘I need to get into that Dumpster.’

I think we actually did have the whole ‘It’s on fire, are you crazy?/I need to see what they set on fire’ argument telepathically. I lost.

‘Wait!’ I ran into our shed to retrieve the mini fire extinguisher Mom was planning to install in the kitchen.

Digby was already running down the alley when I got back. Henry grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprinted after him. Digby leaped from a trash can straight into the burning Dumpster. Henry followed, spraying the extinguisher from the moment he got air. When they finally climbed out, they were covered in white extinguisher dust. The Dumpster was fizzling.

‘Dude, I hope that was worth it. My new jeans are wrecked,’ Henry said.

‘Check it out.’ Digby showed us a shred of brown paper with a sticker of a skateboarding banana with an Afro wearing sparkly gloves and an eye patch. ‘Does this look familiar?’

We stared at the sticker in the half darkness.

‘Let’s go inside … I’m freezing.’ I led them back through the house.

Digby somehow managed to snag the fruit basket on his way up and was eating the plums Mom was saving for her lunch. Henry noticed me noticing and patted my back.

‘Dude, get used to it. Just so you know, putting “do not eat” notes on your food won’t help,’ Henry said.

So annoying that he called me dude.

‘It looks familiar. Like a tattoo or a T-shirt I’ve seen …’ Digby said.

‘Zoe?’ Mom was groggily calling to me from bed.

‘Party’s over,’ Digby said.

Henry climbed out the window. I gave Digby his jacket and he handed me the basket and last half-eaten plum.

‘By the way, Princeton, I’d describe you as a classic wide-eyed American girl next door with a nice-to-meet-you vibe who’s hiding behind a disappointed divorce-kid downer persona,’ Digby said.

‘Zo? Are you watching TV?’ I heard Mom getting out of bed.

‘Go,’ I said.

‘And looks-wise, I’d say a young Anne Hathaway.’ Digby stepped out onto the tree. But, just in case that left me feeling too good about myself, he ducked back in for an encore. ‘Except horsier. Seriously, Princeton, wear your retainer.’