The black SUV was incredibly conspicuous and four calls to 911 from worried neighbors had no effect whatsoever. No police arrived to check it out. No helicopters flew overhead to establish a perimeter. The car just sat there, parked across the street next to an empty lot with overgrown grass and a collection of empty beer cans, wine bottles, and fast food wrappers. Looking out the one window of the first floor of a two-level duplex, Maurice and Kayla watched with a mix of concern and fascination. They had been in their new home for only a week and they were still adjusting to the change in fortune. After being told the list was long and the options for subsidized housing were few, they none-the-less found themselves two days later being handed keys, a bag of groceries, and two small duffel bags of clothes. Two bus routes later, they were walking into a small renovated townhouse with two bedrooms, a kitchen, small den, and an even smaller fenced in backyard that had more cement than grass. Despite several questions and even a few half-hearted demands for information, they learned little other than “something had opened up” and they could either take it or not. They took it.
Today threatened to take strange to a new level. It started when the home phone rang startling them. Who’s phone rings anymore? Though, as Kayla pointed out since neither she nor Maurice had a cell phone, they really had no reason to be judgy. She answered it to find Web Stockbridge at the other end of the call.
“Um, hey,” he said.
“Hi. How’d you get this number?” Kayla asked. “I don’t even know what the phone number is.”
“Oh, from the ice cream guy,” Web replied. “You know whoever puts it away.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t know how you got my phone number. It just happened because you wanted it to?”
“Well, kind of. I thought you’d think the ice cream thing would be funny,” Web said.
Kayla sighed. “Kind of, I guess. What’s up? I guess you know we found a place to live.”
“Yeah, Jordan totally came through. She knows people in that place you were staying. Is it nice?” Web asked, clearly happy to be done with his attempts at humor.
“Wait. What do you mean Jordan came through?” Kayla demanded, her voice taking on a frosty tone.
Oh, this was bad, worse than the ice cream situation. “I, well, I thought you’d want to have a place to live that was yours. So, I asked Jordan if she knew anyone that could help. She did, so that’s good, right?”
“Let me get this straight,” Kayla said, starting to feel a headache stirring or maybe a panic attack. Her body had no idea how to react to Web Stockbridge. “You wanted to help me and my dad, so with connections to the entire national government, the Pentagon, the FBI, the Supreme Court, the FBI, Judge freakin’ Judy,” Kayla’s civics knowledge was a little rusty, “you went and asked the woman in the elevator for help?”
“She’s nice to me and she liked you a lot.” Web felt defensive suddenly and didn’t think that was fair at all. He got Kayla a house and she didn’t seem very appreciative. To be fair, after Jordan told him she did not have an extra house Kayla could have, he asked if she knew of any empty houses Kayla could take instead, then he’d sort of dropped the whole thing, only to find out later that it had worked. Kayla was right about things just happening around him sometimes. It was like a superpower. That was cool. He felt better.
“I liked her too, Web, but I didn’t ask her to get me and my dad a house. You should have talked to me first.”
“Sorry, I guess, but you like it, right? I mean it’s better than the other place.” Web was sure it must be better than the other place.
“It’s better. It’s real nice. Can you please tell Jordan it’s great and thank her?” Kayla said.
“Sure. Hang on.”
“No, wait, not—” Kayla looked over at Maurice exasperated. Maurice just looked back at her with a blank expression, having given up minutes ago trying to guess what was being said on the other end of the phone. “He’ll be right back,” she noted.
“Uh huh,” Maurice responded. “Should I start putting our things back in duffle bags in the meantime?”
“No, I think it’s okay. Weird, but okay.” Then the call cut off.
Then it got weirder.
An hour later a black SUV with tinted windows and government plates parked across the street from their house and just sat there. For ten minutes Maurice and Kayla stared out the window unsure what to do. They jumped when the phone rang again.
Kayla picked it up. “Hello?”
“Oh, hey,” Web said. “So, can I come over to show you something?”
“Are you sitting in that black car across the street?” she asked.
“Um, yeah. Nice house.”
“Why are you just sitting there?”
“I realized I forgot to ask if it was okay to come to your house. Then we were outside, and I wasn’t sure if we should go back to the White House and call you or if I could call you from here. I’ve been arguing with Mr. Pikney about it. He refused to drive me back, so I called. Can I come over?” Web asked.
“I don’t know. Let me ask my dad,” Kayla said and put her hand over the phone just before breaking into laughter.
“What are you doing? That’s the President’s son. Invite him in,” Maurice demanded.
“I will. I just need a minute.” She took a deep breath to compose herself and took her hand off the phone. “Totally okay, Web. Come out of the car.”
Five minutes later Web Stockbridge sat on Maurice Thompson’s second hand couch while a secret service agent who looked to be about twelve years old sat on his front step in a leather jacket and black jeans trying not to look like a secret service agent and failing miserably, except for the three neighbors who thought he was a drug dealer, but still no police came. Actually, this was little different than would have been the case if the Secret Service hadn’t forewarned the DC Police. It just gave them an excuse not to show up.
Maurice thought Web looked like a relatively normal teenager, but of course, he had yet to hear him speak.
“Kayla tells me you had something to do with us getting into this place. I guess I should say thanks, and I’m thankful to get Kayla off the streets, but you didn’t have to do that,” Maurice said, pride warring with relief.
“It was nothing,” Web said. “Really. This nice lady at the White House helped.” Turning to Kayla, he said, “She says, you’re welcome.”
“Cool,” said Kayla.
“Uh, huh,” Web agreed and then fell silent.
“So, why did you want to come over?” Kayla asked. Maurice shot her a look, which she just shot back. She spoke Web, he did not. And it was an acquired language.
Web shifted uncomfortably pulling his phone out of pocket. “I got another message I thought you’d want to see, but you know. It’s kinda private.” He looked at Maurice guiltily.
Maurice looked at Web and then to Kayla, saw no future in which there was likely to be an awkward conversation about birth control, and decided he needed to finish unpacking his two new pairs of pants and the package of boxer shorts.
Back on the couch, Web placed his phone on the small table in front of them and unlocked the home screen.
“What’s it say?” Kayla asked, excitement clear in her voice.
“It’s short, but I think it’s important. I don’t know what to do. Read it.”
Can you talk?
Hang on.
Are you there?
Hi, yeah. I had to close the door.
Very smart. Your father will be proud when he learns how careful you have been.
Maybe.
I wanted to let you know we believe there may be an opportunity in the next 7-10 days to help your father and completely change the relationship between our countries. Are you still willing to help?
Definitely. What do you need me to do?
We are still working on details. It’s very complicated. But soon.
Okay. This is still totally cool.
Yes. Totally cool.
“That’s it?” Kayla asked.
“Yeah. What do you think?”
“I think whoever it is thinks they’re a lot cooler than they are. I don’t trust them. Why are they offering to help your father? He hates other countries.”
“Not all of them,” Web protested.
“North Korea.”
“Okay, yeah, that one. But maybe we can help. If it gets too weird, I’ll tell,” Web suggested.
“It’s pretty weird now,” Kayla pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess,” Web admitted, but she could tell he wasn’t going to stop talking to whoever was on the other end of the texts. She’d talk to Maurice later and see what he thought. Then she laughed.
“What?” Web asked self-consciously.
“Sorry, just can’t believe I’m sitting here with the President's son talking about international relations and secret messages. I did not see that coming. I was sleeping on a sidewalk two weeks ago.”
“That’s pretty crazy,” Web agreed.
Crazy was just getting warmed up.
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