Archenemy by Patrick Hueller Read Free Book Online Page B

floor.
    I spot an empty jewelry case just as the dogs start barking loudly.
    â€œWoof!” Belle barks.
    â€œArf!” Skittles howls.
    â€œOw!” another voice yells from downstairs. I freeze.
    This voice belongs to a human. And it doesn’t stop: “Owwww!”
    It doesn’t sound like Eva or her mom or dad. Whoever it is, he’s swearing now, something Eva’s parents would never do. Without thinking about it, I bend down and pick up a soccer cleat that’s lying on the floor.
    I should stay up here. Even in my adrenaline-crazed state, I know I should. But I don’t. Maybe it’s because of the adrenaline or because the screaming voice sounds more pained than fierce—but rather than lock Eva’s door I open it. I sprint down the stairs.
    I race through the kitchen with the soccer cleat raised above my head like a tomahawk.
    As I round the corner and enter the living room, I see that the shoe won’t be necessary. The dogs have the situation under control. Each has her incisors deep into an ankle of the burglar, who is sitting on the floor and still yelping in pain. He’s swatting vainly at the pooches, who are too busy chewing on his jeans to notice.
    As for the burglar, he’s nowhere near as scary as the ones on TV. In fact, he’s just a pimply faced kid with his pockets full of jewelry and a couple laptops stacked next to him. My guess is the kid is thirteen years old. Fourteen, tops.
    â€œWho are you?” I demand.
    â€œHe says his name is Tony,” a voice says from behind me. I turn and see Eva standing in the entryway, looking straight at us.

E
    va’s parents walk in a few moments later. They ask what’s going on, and Eva says, “Ask him.” That’s when Tony tries to escape but quickly changes his mind. For one thing, his ankles are well chewed and don’t offer much stability. For another, Skittles and Belle lurch at him so aggressively that all he can think to do is get into the prone position.
    Eva’s dad says, “I guess we’ll have to call the cops.” He looks at us. “Girls, why don’t you help him wash out those cuts?” Leave it to Eva’s parents to say something like this. They leave their door unlocked because they believe so much in community, so why wouldn’t they treat a burglar like a guest?
    â€œWhat?” Eva says. “Why would we help this creep?”
    â€œBecause everyone deserves to be helped out, Eva.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œPlease, girls,” Eva’s mom says. “I think the dogs really did a number on the poor kid.”
    Â . . .

    â€œOwwww!” Tony says.
    â€œQuit your whining,” Eva says, giving his ankle another splash of hydrogen peroxide.
    We’re in the bathroom, cleaning out the bite marks on Tony’s leg. I can hear Eva’s dad talking to the police on the phone. Eva’s mom hung out in the bathroom for a few minutes but then decided no adult supervision was necessary. Tony’s a little too pathetic to do anything worse than yelp in pain. In fact, he hasn’t stopped shaking for a second since the dogs attacked.
    â€œOwww!” he says again.
    Really, the bites don’t look too bad. More like scratches than cuts. When we first lifted Tony’s pant legs, I thought we were going to find really nasty wounds, but his jeans protected him pretty well.
    â€œJust wait until the cops get done with you,” Eva says. She has Tony’s foot propped on the toilet seat so all the peroxide and blood drip into the bowl. “They’ll cuff your wrists so tight you’ll get permanent scars.”
    What is she so mad about?
I wonder, remembering how angry I am with Eva. After all she’s done to me, what right does she have to threaten anyone? I’m mad at her for being mad at him. He’s just a dumb kid.
    â€œYou might as well sic the cops on me while you’re at it,” I say.