The Stranger Next Door (3 page)

Something is fishy, Clifford thought. It just doesn’t add up. Whatever it was that Mother and Tim were keeping from him, it must be truly terrible.

“Can I take my bike?”

“You’ll get a new one,” Tim said. “We’re going to stay at a motel for a few days. There’s a suitcase on your bed; pack as many clothes as you can in that.”

Clifford nodded. He picked up the kitchen phone.

“No phone calls,” Tim said.

“I have to call Nathan.”

“You can’t,” Tim responded. “We aren’t telling anyone.”

“Nathan’s been my best friend since we were three. We were going to meet at the corner tomorrow morning and walk to school together. Thursday is his thirteenth birthday; all the guys are going out for pizza. I can’t just disappear and not tell him.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to.”

“What’s he going to think if I don’t show up for his birthday?”

“Nathan’s a good friend,” Mother said. “He’ll think that something happened to keep you from coming to his birthday party.”

Nervous suspicions began to snake through Clifford’s mind. His parents sounded as if they were running away, hiding from the police or something.

Clifford’s mother and father had divorced when Clifford was two. A year later, Mother married Tim. Clifford’s father had remarried and moved away, but Clifford didn’t know where. He never sent support money, nor did he ever write to Clifford. Clifford and Tim had always gotten along well. In Clifford’s heart, Tim was his dad.

Now, for the first time, Clifford wondered about Tim’s past. Before Tim and Mother got married, had Tim robbed a bank or stolen money from his employer? Had he murdered someone? With the new sophisticated devices for testing DNA and matching fingerprints, people are sometimes charged with a crime that was committed years ago. Had Tim thought he had gotten away with a crime and now the police or the FBI were closing in on him?

Clifford couldn’t imagine Tim committing any crime, especially murder, but why else would he sneak away without letting anyone know where he was going?

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” Clifford asked.

“No,” Tim said.

That was all. Just “no.” No explanation, no discussion.

Clifford opened a cupboard and began putting Rocky’s canned dog food into a bag, to take along.

“Rocky won’t be going with us,” Mother said.

At the sound of his name, the dog’s tail thumped against the table leg.

Shocked, Clifford stared at his parents. “We can’t leave her behind,” he said. “She’s part of the family!”

“The Olsons will take her,” Tim said.

“Our next-door neighbors know we’re moving, and they’re getting my dog, but nobody bothered to tell me about it?”

“It isn’t that simple,” Mother said. “The Olsons don’t actually know yet. They’ll be contacted as soon as we leave. I’m sure they’ll take good care of Rocky; they’ve always liked her.”

Clifford didn’t doubt that the neighbors would be good to his dog, but that wasn’t the point. Rocky was his dog. He knelt and put his arms around the retriever’s neck and allowed her to plant slobbery dog kisses all over his face.

“If Rocky can’t go, I’m not going, either,” Clifford said.

“I’m afraid there’s no choice, son,” Tim said.

“Why?” Clifford said. His voice broke as he struggled
to hold back tears. “Give me one good reason why Rocky can’t go with us.”

Mother looked near tears herself. “We’ll explain it all to you later,” she said. “For now, you’ll have to accept our word that it has to be this way.”

“Believe me,” Tim said, “we would take Rocky if we could.”

Clifford did not believe him. What possible reason could there be to give Rocky to the Olsons, instead of taking her along to their new home? Why couldn’t the Olsons keep Rocky just until Clifford’s family was settled and ready for her? Then he and Mother and Tim could come and get her, or, if it was too far away, the Olsons could put her on a plane. Dogs flew all the time. It wouldn’t be as good as taking Rocky with them now, but at least they’d be together in the end.

“She won’t understand,” Clifford said. “She’ll think I’ve abandoned her.”

“She’ll adjust,” Tim said. “Dogs are resilient.”

“Well, I’m not,” Clifford said. He stood up, facing his parents. “If you make me leave Rocky behind, I’ll turn into a juvenile delinquent. I’ll never do another sentence of homework. I’ll refuse to take a shower after PE, and I’ll talk back to the teachers.”

Anger made the words spill out like unpopped popcorn from an open bag. “I’ll be disruptive in class; I’ll start food
fights in the cafeteria; I’ll carve graffiti on the top of my desk.” Clifford’s voice got louder. “I’ll spit on the floor and write with markers in the library books. I’ll get myself kicked out of school!”

His mother gasped.

Tim looked angry. “This discussion is over,” he declared. “Go to your room.”

Clifford stomped up the stairs, then slammed the bedroom door behind him so hard that the windows rattled.

He sat on his bed, stunned by his parents’ announcement.

Ten minutes later, Mother knocked on his door.

“It’s time to leave,” she said.

Clifford hastily stuffed some clothes into his suitcase, put his favorite books in his backpack, then trailed her down the stairs. As he reached for the Dodgers jacket that he had worn home from school, Mother said, “You won’t be able to wear that jacket. We can’t take anything with a team name from this area.”

Clifford looked at her in disbelief. The Dodgers jacket had been his Christmas present.

Mother seemed near tears, but she said, “I’m sorry. The jacket stays here.”

Furious, Clifford dropped the jacket on the floor. He looked around for Rocky, to say good-bye, but didn’t see her. He supposed she was already over at the Olsons’.

Feeling as if he had been caught up in a tornado and was being blown away to some unknown destination, he followed his mother out the front door.

Tim waited in a white car that Clifford had never seen before. A man, who was introduced as Mr. Valdez, sat behind the wheel. Tim sat beside him in the passenger’s seat. Clifford and his mother got in back.

As soon as the doors closed and the seat belts were buckled, Mr. Valdez drove out of the driveway.

Clifford twisted around to look out the rear window. “Good-bye, house,” he whispered. “Good-bye, Rocky.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.

He heard sniffling beside him. When he looked at his mother, he saw that she was crying, too.

Clifford hunched into the corner on his side of the car. I’ll run away, he thought. I’ll sneak out the first chance I get and come back and live with Nathan. Nathan’s family likes dogs; they’d let me keep Rocky.

No one spoke for the first half hour. Then, as they drove north on the freeway, Tim turned to Mr. Valdez and said, “Do you know yet what our new names will be?”

“The last name is Morris,” Mr. Valdez replied. “Your first name will be Blake; your wife’s will be Ginny.”

“What are you talking about?” Clifford asked.

“He doesn’t know?” said Mr. Valdez.

“Not yet,” Tim said. “We didn’t want to take a chance of anyone else finding out.”

Tim turned around to face Clifford. “We’re changing our names,” he said. “From now on I’m Blake Morris and your mother is Ginny Morris.” Shadows flickered across Tim’s face as he spoke.

“Why do you have to change your names?”

“We’ll explain everything when we get to the motel,” Tim said.

Clifford’s mother said, “Ginny Morris. It isn’t what I would have chosen, but I guess it’s all right.” She leaned forward and asked Mr. Valdez, “What about Clifford’s name?”

“I am not changing my name,” Clifford said. “You guys can be Mr. and Mrs. Morris and I’ll be your son, Clifford Lexton, just as I’ve always been.”

“The last name has to be Morris,” Mr. Valdez said.

“Why?” Clifford said. “My last name hasn’t been the same as theirs ever since Mother and Tim—”

“Blake,” corrected Mr. Valdez.

“—ever since Mother and Blake got married. Why does it have to be the same now?”

“Please don’t argue,” Mother said. “This is hard enough for all of us without arguing.”

“Your name is Gerald Morris,” Mr. Valdez said.

Clifford glared at the back of the man’s head. Who did
he think he was, coming here and bossing them around, even picking out new names without giving them any say in the matter?

“We have to do this, honey,” Mother said. “All of us. You have to use a different name, too.”

“Why can’t I pick a name I like?” Clifford said. “I hate the name Gerald. I won’t answer if anyone calls me Gerald.”

“I think you’d better explain to your son what your situation is,” Mr. Valdez said to Blake. “When he realizes how much danger you’re in, he’ll be more cooperative.”

Danger. The word seemed to hang in the air next to Clifford, even though the adults kept talking.

“I’d rather tell Clif—uh, Gerald—when we aren’t in the car. I’d like to be able to look him in the eye.”

Mr. Valdez shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.

“If I can’t be Clifford Lexton,” Clifford said, “then I’ll be Rocky.”

“Oh, honey, no,” Mother said. “Not the dog’s name.”

“Rocky,” Clifford repeated. “You can name me anything you want, but I’m going by Rocky. It will be my nickname.”

“He can use a nickname if he wants,” Mr. Valdez said.

“But Rocky was our dog,” Mother protested.

“This way we’ll never forget her,” Clifford said.

“Be glad the dog wasn’t called Fluffy,” Mr. Valdez said.

Blake chuckled.

Clifford refused to laugh’. How could they make jokes at a time like this?

“Do you want to know your middle name?” asked Mr. Valdez, looking at Clifford in the rearview mirror.

Clifford glared back at him.

Mr. Valdez answered his own question. “It’s Michael,” he said. “Gerald Michael Morris.”

Clifford did not answer.

“I’ll have the new documents for all of you late next week,” Mr. Valdez said.

“What documents?” Clifford asked.

“New birth certificates, driver’s licenses for your parents, a marriage certificate—all of the things you’ll need for identification when you get to your new home.”

“What about Social Security cards?” Mother asked.

“We need to get the birth certificates first. Then you’ll apply for new Social Security numbers.”

Clifford’s parents nodded as if that were perfectly logical, but none of it made sense to Clifford.

He leaned his head against the seat and decided to save his questions until they reached their destination.

He closed his eyes, inhaled the new-car smell, and practiced saying his new name to himself: Rocky Morris.

He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together.
Rocky Morris, juvenile delinquent. Rocky Morris, troublemaker.

If I have to change my name, he thought, I’ll change my personality, too. I’ll teach them to keep secrets and make me give my dog away.

I’ll become Rocky Morris, bad kid.

A
lex! Are you awake?”

Alex forced his eyes open. Benjie stood beside the
bed, with his red jacket on over his pajamas and his blue Seattle Mariners baseball cap on his head. The binoculars that he used when he pretended to be a spy dangled around his neck.

Pete, who had been curled up beside Alex, stood and stretched, watching Benjie warily. For once, Benjie wasn’t shouting, but Pete didn’t trust him. He waited, ready to leap down and hide under the bed if Benjie got loud.

“Hi, Petey,” Benjie said.

“What time is it?” Alex reached for his small alarm clock, blinked, and looked at the dial. “It’s only six-thirty,” he said, “and this is Saturday. No school. Go back to bed.” He replaced the clock on the table.

“Get up,” Benjie said. “The new neighbors might be here any minute, and we don’t want to miss seeing them.”

“They’re going to live next door,” Alex replied. “We’ll have plenty of chances to see them at a more reasonable hour.”

“You’ll miss all the fun if you don’t get up,” Benjie said.

“I doubt it,” Alex muttered.

“I’m going to ride my scooter while I watch for the moving van.”

“You had better get dressed before you go outside. Mom will have a fit if you go out in your pajamas.” Alex rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Benjie left.

Pete climbed on Alex’s chest, lay down with his front paws on Alex’s shoulders, and butted his head under Alex’s chin. He loved the way Alex’s chest moved slowly up and down as he breathed; it made Pete feel like a tiny kitten, snuggled with his mother. Purring happily, he kneaded his front claws in and out, digging into Alex’s pajamas.

“Ouch!” Alex said. He pushed Pete off his chest.

Pete licked his shoulder for a minute, pretending it had been his idea to get off Alex. Then he jumped to the floor and went into the kitchen for breakfast.

*   *   *

“Ready, Rocky?” Blake stood with the motel-room door open.

Rocky closed his suitcase, which contained some new clothes, a new radio, and his new toothbrush.

“Ready,” he said.

He was getting used to being called Rocky, although inside he still felt like Clifford.

He lifted the suitcase off the bed, then rolled it to the door. He was glad to leave. Two weeks in a motel was about thirteen days too many, especially when he had spent so much of the time memorizing details of his newly created “past” so that he could answer questions if he needed to.

The only good part had been the fact that his parents allowed him to watch daytime television, which they normally forbade. Even that had turned out to be boring.

As usual, Mr. Valdez was waiting in the car. He had driven Rocky and his parents everywhere they had gone for the last two weeks: to a shopping mall to get clothes, to a grocery store to choose some snacks, and, twice, to different motels. Now he was driving them for the last time: to the Orange County airport, to catch a flight to Seattle.

Rocky had grown to like Mr. Valdez and was sorry that they wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

As they drove to the airport, Rocky said, “I wonder what school I’ll go to in Seattle.”