The picture to the side is Mr. Emeron's Gran's house. Isn't it adorable?
Chapter Nineteen
Bat 'er Up
Colton and I freeze and stare, bewildered, at Mr. Emerson. He continues to just stand there, his hand raised and chest moving as he tries to catch his breath. Did he run here from his car?
Finally, after a few long moments of staring and heavy breathing, Colton asks, "What?"
Mr. Emerson lowers his hand and shrugs, as if what he did was totally normal. "Nothing. I just wanted to see how you two would react to the unanticipated."
I blink at him. Beside me, Colton does the same.
"So, did we pass?" Colton asks at long last.
"Pass what?" Mr. Emerson seems genuinely interested.
A muscle twitches in Colton's jaw. "Your stupid test that gave us heart attacks!"
"Oh, that." Mr. Emerson says, as if he did not just conduct the "test" seconds before. He waves a hand, giving us the impression it is unimportant. "It wasn't an inquiry of whether you pass or not. Rather, a question of how you would react to such an arbitrary turn of events."
My legs cramping from crouching for so long, I finally stand. Colton follows.
"Oh, of course." Colton replies to Mr. Emerson in mock understanding.
Mr. Emerson, sensing Colton's sarcasm, frowns. "I was only trying to prepare you for the unexpected..." He mumbles.
"I could show you unexpected-" Colton offers, so soft only I can hear. The fingers on his right hand twitch.
"Down boy." I shoot Colton a sharp look and he has the decency to look sheepish.
"And you," I point at Mr. Emerson, momentarily forgetting he's my teacher and therefore a figure of authority. "Don't scare us again. You really did almost give me a heart attack."
Mr. Emerson grins mischievously. "Maybe I should do it again. I'm sure Pearce would be more than delighted to give you CPR."
My face feels very hot all of a sudden and I avoid looking at Colton. To try to keep what little dignity I have, however, I stick my chin up and look Mr. Emerson right into his warm brown eyes and say sweetly, "I'm sure he would. But I'm also sure that you want to have children. So, to keep that wish, you should stop with the surprises."
"Why, Mrs. Pearce!" Mr. Emerson looks delightfully astonished. "I am amazed that those words came out of your mouth! Bravo. Really, bravo." He claps a few times, a wide smile stretching across his face.
"Yeah, yeah." I wave away his dramatic flourishes and sneak a glance at Colton, who is smirking behind me.
"So," Mr. Emerson rubs his hands together excitedly. "Shall I give you the grand tour?"
Colton and I look at each other and shrug. Mr. Emerson takes it as 'yes' since he goes out the doorway he just ran through and begins walking up a flight of stairs directly to his right. Colton and I follow.
The top of the stairs end at a long hallway filled with doors, at least six of them I count. At the end of the hall is a small flight of curving stairs.
"Bedrooms." Mr. Emerson gestures to the doors lining the hall. "Bathrooms." He continues forward until he's at the small staircase, which he begins to climb. I hesitate, the conversation between Colton and myself that one day coming to mind. About Mr. Emerson and killing and paperclips. But I feel a warm pressure on my lower back and know that Colton is right behind me, so I begin to climb.
The stairs are narrow and curve sharply in a full circle by the time you get to the top. They open into a large, dark room filled with boxes. The attic, I'm assuming. Mr. Emerson stands in the middle of the room, his back to us, the top of his head almost brushing the ceiling. It's hot and stuffy in here, a clear indication that it must be warming up slightly outside.
"Is this where we're starting?" Colton asks.
"No." Mr. Emerson turns so he's facing us. "This was a hint at what is to come. We are starting in the kitchen; I'm afraid there might still be some food in the fridge."
On that worrying note, he leads us back down the two flights of stairs and onto the main floor, where he continues with the tour.
Unlike the open floor plans of today, this old house features small rooms, each with its own particular purpose. Mr. Emerson shows us a sitting room, another bathroom, the living room Colton and I broke into, and finally the kitchen.
It's larger than I expect, with a square table surrounded by four chairs on one side of the room and the kitchen on the other.
"State-of-the-art appliances," Mr. Emerson motions to the quaint, slightly rusty stove and counters. "Smooth linoleum finish." Kicks the floor, which is covered in the same light brown hardwood that goes throughout the entire house. "And it even has a walk-in pantry!" He goes to a narrow door and opens it, revealing a little room full of shelves.
"Now, children," He turns back to Colton and I, his 'teacher' voice reverberating in our ears and a finger pointing at both of us in turn. "There will be no making out in such pantry. No tomfoolery where we keep the food! No mischievousness where we keep the macaroni! Understand?"
I ask myself why I would ever have the urge to make out with Colton in a pantry of all places. Wouldn't a broom cupboard be more preferable? But I just nod my comprehension along with Colton.
"Excellent." Mr. Emerson lets out a relieved breath and closes the pantry door. "We can now begin sketching out our game plan."
He plucks a magnetic white board from the fridge (which is the only updated thing in the room and is a shiny stain-less steel) and straddles one of the chairs at the table. He takes the cap of the marker off with his teeth and begins scribbling on the board.
"Kitchen cleaned." He mumbles around the marker cap. "Things boxed. Boxes labeled..." His speech gets a tad jumbled and I can't understand him.
Colton, who has joined Mr. Emerson at the kitchen table, seems content to just listen to his garbled words. This is like school all over again.
I roll my eyes and yank the marker cap from Mr. Emerson's mouth, trying not to think how weird it is for me to be doing it and also trying not to touch his lips. I think I succeed in the latter.
Mr. Emerson doesn't even pause in his planning. He simply carries on, as if one of his students did not just practically put her hand in his mouth. The weirdo.
I take a seat at the table and turn to find Colton smirking at me. He glances from Mr. Emerson to me and makes kissy noises. I make in sound in the back of my throat that sounds almost primal, and Colton just chuckles.
"And finally, we sweep." Mr. Emerson finishes with a flourish of his marker.
I nod, trying to seem as if I was listening to his entire plan. Colton doesn't even try to keep up pretenses. He crosses his arms behind his head and leans his chair back on two legs.
"I hope you realize that Carlton and I weren't listening to that at all." He says.
Mr. Emerson nods, unsurprised. "I'm aware of that. But one must always be prepared." He sticks the white board -now covered in his calligraphy writing -back on the fridge and holds his hand out to me. "Cap?"
I place the cap in his palm and he clicks it back on the marker.
"Alright," Mr. Emerson gives Colton and I a look that can only be described as evil. "Let us get started on the kitchen."
~&~&~&~&~&~&~
'Getting started on the kitchen' entails cleaning out the fridge (something Mr. Emerson conveniently 'forgot' to do when first moving his Gran out), washing down the appliances and counters, and boxing up everything else.
It takes a total of three days, which, actually, isn't that long when you think about it. However, it is actually that long when you consider whom I am working with. And whom I am working with are tweedle-de and tweedle-dum.
"Whoa," Colton breathes, pulling something out of the box he's supposed to be labeling. "Check this out."
It looks like an old photo album, but when Colton opens it I see it's one of those books you use to display your baseball cards.
We're in the attic, having finished with the kitchen just yesterday. Mr. Emerson decided we should tackle this room before it gets so hot outside that it's sweltering in here. For once, I actually agree with his logic.
Colton is sitting cross-legged on the dirty attic floor, the album on his lap. Mr. Emerson crouches beside him, both slowly perusing through the old pages. With each page Colton turns, their eyes get bigger and bigger, making them look like two little boys again. I laugh softly to myself and continue browsing through my own box. A strangled gasp, however, makes me look over to them.
Both are staring, open-mouthed, at the album. Their eyes, now as big as saucers, focused unblinkingly on the book in Colton's hands.
I slowly stand and approach them, wondering if some air-born virus has been opened with the boxes and these are the first side-affects.
"Colton?" I go to him first, laying a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't answer.
"Colton, sweetie." I shake him gently, hoping my use of a term of affection will shock him out of his strange stupor.
But he just continues to stare down at the baseball card album.
Curious as to what has him and Mr. Emerson in such a tizzy, I peer over Colton's shoulder. Eight baseball cards stare back at me, all perfectly arranged in the small slots in the album. Each card features a rectangular picture of an unsmiling player, some holding bats and some not. This does me nothing, however, since I know as much about baseball as Colton knows about designer shoes.
"Do you think-?" Colton finally speaks, his question directed at Mr. Emerson.
"I don't know."
"Know what?" I'm getting frustrated. This is annoying listening to statues converse.
"If this is a 1910, Honus Wagner, original." Colton spouts off the words that mean complete gibberish to me.
"It might be." Mr. Emerson admits as he gawks down at the album. "But why wouldn't Gramps sell it earlier? He had to have known what it was worth."
"And how much is it worth?" I ask, curious. How much do people actually pay for baseball cards these days? "At least ten thousand dollars?"
Colton finally breaks his stare with the cards and looks up at me, his green eyes bright.
"Cassidy, you don't understand." I barely have time to recover from the shock of Colton using my first name before he delivers another blow. "The last time this card was sold it brought in 2.8 million dollars."