Evan glanced down to the ground. Trigger had finally stopped barking. But he continued to stand and stare up at them, his front paws against the side of the house, his stubby tail spinning like a propeller.
“Dumb dog,” Evan muttered.
“Let’s go,” Andy urged. She didn’t wait for Evan. She practically did a swan dive into the house.
It took Evan a few moments to get his legs to work. Then he ducked his head and climbed through the window after Andy.
Holding his breath, he led the way on tiptoe to the bedroom door. He stopped and listened.
Silence. No one in the dark hallway.
He could hear the Barbers’ voices downstairs in the kitchen.
He and Andy made their way to the top of the stairs. Then, holding tightly to the banister, they crept halfway down.
Evan stopped to listen again. Andy bumped right into him, nearly sending him sailing down the stairs. “Shhh!” she cried.
They could hear Conan talking to his parents in the kitchen. He was complaining about the other guys on the basketball team. “They’re all wimps,” Evan heard Conan say.
“Well, that’ll make you look even better,” Mr. Barber replied.
Evan took another deep breath and held it. Then he made his way down to the bottom of the stairs.
Almost out, he thought, his entire body shaking. Almost out of here.
He reached for the front doorknob.
“Conan, go upstairs and get your math book,” he heard Mr. Barber say. “I want to see the homework you had trouble with.”
“Okay,” Conan replied. His chair scraped against the floor.
Andy grabbed Evan’s shoulder.
They stared in frozen horror at each other—one foot away from escape—and waited to be caught.
“Conan—don’t go now. Get the book later,” Mrs. Barber chimed in. Then they heard her scold Conan’s father: “Let the boy have his cake and ice cream.”
“Fine, fine,” Mr. Barber replied. “He can show me the book later.”
Conan’s chair scraped back into place under the table.
Evan didn’t wait another second.
He jerked open the front door, pushed open the screen door, and burst out of the house like a rocket.
He could hear Andy gasping as she ran behind him. And then he could hear Trigger’s shrill yips as the dog followed, too.
Down the Barbers’ front lawn, into the street. Their sneakers slapped the pavement as they ran full speed through the darkness.
They didn’t stop until they reached Evan’s driveway.
Evan leaned against his family’s mailbox and struggled to catch his breath. He raised his hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead—and saw the blue can still stuck there.
“Help me,” he pleaded. He reached out his hand to Andy.
She was breathing hard, too. Her eyes kept darting back down the street, as if she expected Conan to be chasing after them.
“Close one,” she murmured. She turned to Evan. Her eyes glowed excitedly in the light from the streetlamp. “That was fun!”
Evan didn’t agree. In his opinion, it was far too scary to be fun. And here he was, still stuck to the can of Monster Blood.
He pushed his hand toward Andy. “Pull it off,” he told her. “I think you need both hands. I can’t do it.”
She grabbed the can in both hands. The green gunk bubbled over the sides, making loud sucking sounds.
Andy tugged. Then tugged harder. Then she took a deep breath, leaned back, and tugged with all her might.
The Monster Blood finally let go of its grip on Evan’s fingers. The can slid off with a loud pop. Andy went tumbling back onto the pavement.
“Ow!” Evan held up his three fingers and tried to examine them under the streetlight. They were all wrinkled and pruney, the way they looked when he had been swimming for an hour or two.
“Yuck! That stuff is so gross!” he cried.
Andy climbed slowly to her feet. She still cradled the Monster Blood can in both hands. “At least we got it back,” she murmured.
“Yeah. Now we can bury it again,” Evan said, still examining his fingers.
