What Happened to Goodbye(10)
Author: Sarah Dessen

Without even thinking, I ran down the deck stairs, hit the grass, and started across the muddy, frozen backyard. The light and the cop followed me, catching an arm here, a foot there. When I reached the thick row of bushes that marked the beginning of my own yard, he yelled at me to freeze or else. Instead, I plunged through them headfirst, crashing out the other side.

I landed on the grass, then immediately sprang to my feet to keep running. “Hey!” the cop bellowed, as the bushes began to rustle, the flashlight dancing above them. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop right where you are. Now!”

I knew I should do just that: he was close behind me, and I’d never make it to my house before the light hit me again. But in my panic, I scrambled forward anyway, even as I heard him coming through. I took one running step, and another, then suddenly felt a hand close around my left arm and yank me sideways. Before I even knew what was happening, I’d tumbled over a low wall on my left and was falling again. This time, though, I landed not on something, but someone.

“Umph,” whoever it was said, as together, we toppled down what felt like a flight of stairs, although it was suddenly too dark to say for sure. A second later, I heard footsteps, scrambling, and then there were two bangs, like doors slming shut. Wherever I’d landed, the bottom was flat and everything smelled like dirt. Plus it was dark. Really dark.

“What the—” I said, but that was all I managed before I was shushed.

“One sec,” a voice said. “Just let him get by.”

A beat later, I heard it: a thump- thump-thump noise, slowly growing louder, from overhead. As it grew closer, a yellow light appeared. When I looked up, I could see it, spilling through the cracks between what was, in fact, two shut doors above us. “Damn it,” I heard someone say, over a few huffs and puffs. Suddenly, the doors rattled, rising up slowly, before being dropped back down with a thud. Then the light was retreating, back the way it came.

In the silence that followed, I just sat there, trying to catch up with everything that had just happened. Sleep, crashing flowerpot, beer sips, Gulag, blue lights, and now . . . what? It occurred to me I should probably be nervous, as I was not only underground, but also not alone. And yet, for some reason, there was an odd calmness around me, a sort of familiarity, even in the midst of all this strangeness. It was the weirdest feeling. I’d never experienced anything like it.

“I’m going to turn on a light,” the voice said. “Don’t freak.”

Of all the things to say to someone you’ve just pulled down into some dark place with you, this was probably the worst. And yet, a second later, when there was a soft click and a flashlight popped on, I was not at all surprised to see my neighbor, the porch crasher, sitting beside me in jeans and a thick plaid shirt, a knit cap pulled down tight over his long hair. We were at the bottom of a short flight of stairs that led up, up to a set of doors, latched with a hook-and-eye closure.

“Hi,” he said, all casual, like we were meeting under the most normal of circumstances. “I’m Dave.”

In the last few years, as I’d been traveling with my dad, I’d had my share of new experiences. Different schools, various kinds of cultures, all new friends. But within five minutes, it became clear that never in my life had I ever met anyone like Dave Wade.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said as I sat there, openmouthed, staring at him. “But I figured it’s better to be surprised than busted.”

I couldn’t respond at first, too distracted by my surroundings. We were in what appeared to be a basement, a small space with wooden plank walls and a dirt floor. A single, worn lawn chair took up most of the square footage: a stack of books was beside it, another flashlight propped on top.

“What is this place?” I said.

“Storm cellar,” he replied, as if this was of course the first question you’d ask after someone pulled you underground. “For tornadoes and such.”

“This is yours?”

He shook his head, reaching to put the flashlight on the ground between us. As he did so, a moth fluttered past, casting weird shadows. “It’s part of the house behind mine. Nobody’s lived here for years.”

“How’d you know about it?”

“I found it when I was younger. You know, exploring.”

“Exploring,” I repeated.

He shrugged. “I was a weird kid.”

This, I believed. And yet, again, I was struck by the fact that not once during this entire incident had I been scared. At least not by him, even before I knew who he was. “So you just hang out here?”

“Sometimes.” He got up, brushing himself off, and sat down in the chair, which creaked. “When I’m not crashing on your back porch.”

“Yeah,” I said as he sat back, crossing his legs. “What, do you not like being at home or something?”

He looked at me for a second, as if weighing his response. “Or something,” he said.

I nodded. The digging and going underground might have been kind of weird. But this, I understood.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just coming out and saw the lights, then heard you coming. Actually, grabbing you was kind of an impulse move.”

I looked up at the doors again. “You have good instincts.”

“I guess. You know what’s weird, though? I just put that hook and eye in last week. Lucky thing.” He squinted up at it, then turned back to me. “The bottom line is, you don’t want to get arrested for drinking under age. It’s not fun. I know from experience.”

“How do you know I haven’t been already?” I asked.

He studied me, all seriousness. “You don’t look like the type.”

“Neither do you,” I pointed out.

“This is true.” He thought for a moment. “I rescind my earlier statement. You could very well be a delinquent, just like me.”

I looked below me again, taking in the small, tidy space. “This doesn’t really look like a den for delinquents.”

“No?” I shook my head. “What were you thinking? Junior League? ”

I made a face, then nodded at the stack of books: in the thrown light, I could barely make out one of the spines, which said something about abstract geometry and physics. “That’s pretty heavy reading material.”

“Don’t go by that,” he said. “I just needed something to prop the flashlight on.”