Chapter Fifty-Five

“Okay,” Nora said. “We found a very nice babysitter, and I want you guys to be good for her, all right?”

“Okay.” Three little boys, neatly scrubbed and dressed in pajamas, nodded angelically back at her.

“We’ll be good,” Taylor promised. “We’re always good.”

Isaac scratched his arm. “I mean, like, we won’t be bad or anything.”

“Not even a little bit bad,” Zac agreed.

Nora smiled. “I know you will. If there’s any reason you want to call us, though, the number of the restaurant is by the phone.”

“Okay,” Isaac, Taylor and Zac agreed.

“But don’t call unless it’s important,” Nora cautioned.

“Okay.”

“And if Mrs. Flittinger tells you you have to go to bed, you have to go to bed,” Nora went on. “You can’t give her a hard time.”

“We won’t,” Zac told her.

“Not in a billion, million years,” Taylor added.

“Not in infinity years,” Isaac finished.

Grinning, Nora nodded. “That’s very reassuring.”

Mrs. Flittinger was a tall, pale woman in her early sixties, dressed in a long aquamarine skirt and matching blouse and shoes. Her narrow, pointed face was surrounded by a carefully maintained halo of tight white curls, as wide and perfectly round as an afro. She clutched a large leather handbag, smiling so tightly it looked like a grimace. “I’m Mrs. Flittinger, from the agency,” she warbled, in a reedy Southern accent. “Hello, Dr. Conway.”

“Er. . . actually, I’m Mr. Conway,” Dan corrected.

Mrs. Flittinger squinted. “But the agency specifically specified Dr. Conway.”

“She’s my wife,” Dan explained.

“I see.” Mrs. Flittinger’s pursed lips were a clear indication that she did not approve of women with small children who worked outside the home.

“She’ll be down in a minute,” Dan promised. “Um. . . the kids’re around somewhere.”

“Hmmmh.” It was now evident that Mrs. Flittinger considered anyone who had only a vague notion of his children’s whereabouts was unfit to have any.

Dan felt guilty. “I mean, um. . . you guys? Where are you?”

“Shh!” came a little voice. “Don’t tell him!”

“You guys!” Dan groaned. “Come out of there.”

“No, thank you,” Zac told him. “I think we’ll stay here.”

“Tsk, tsk,” tsked Mrs. Flittinger. “Little boys! Little boys! Come out, come out!”

“Aaaaah!” Taylor screamed. “It’s the Big Bad Wolf!”

“What?” Isaac asked.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” Taylor repeated. “The Big Bad Wolf!”

“No, the Big Bad Wolf was ‘little pigs, little pigs, let me come in,’” Isaac corrected.

“Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!” Zac piped.

“What?” Isaac asked.

“It’s what the little pigs said,” Zac explained.

“I know who said ‘Come out, come out wherever you are,’” Taylor remembered. “It was Glenda, the good witch of the east. She said-” here, he sang in a high, reedy falsetto- “‘Come out, come out where-ever you are, to see a young lady-” He paused and stood up, peering over the back of the couch. “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?” he asked Mrs. Flittinger.

“Cut the crap, you guys,” Dan groaned, then grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

Luckily, Mrs. Flittinger had been too taken aback by Taylor’s question to hear Dan. Taylor, however, heard him perfectly.

“Ooh,” he breathed. “You said-”

“Finish your song, Tay,” Isaac suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” Taylor agreed. “To see a young lady who fell from a star!”

“Okay, the three of you!” Dan exclaimed. “Now!”

Reluctantly, Isaac crawled out from behind the couch.

“Say hi to Mrs. Flittinger,” Dan directed.

Isaac looked down. “Hi.”

“This is Isaac,” Dan told Mrs. Flittinger, as the phone began to ring. “Excuse me for a minute.”

“Hello, Isaac,” Mrs. Flittinger said, extended a bony hand in greeting. Her fingernails were long and red. They looked like daggers. Obviously, Mrs. Flittinger took great stock in fingernails because she squinted suspiciously at the tips of Isaac’s fingers. “You mustn’t bite your nails,” she said.

Isaac nodded, his eyes trained on the ground. “I guess not.”

“Young man, when a lady speaks to you, you should look her in the eye and be polite!” Mrs. Flittinger put her hands on her hips. “Now, try it again.”

Isaac swallowed. “What do I say?” he whispered.

“You say, ‘that’s correct, Mrs. Flittinger,’” scowled Mrs. Flittinger. “Hasn’t anyone taught you anything?”

Isaac shook his head. “Not stuff like that.”

“Well, you will learn!” Mrs. Flittinger exclaimed. “Who is this?” she demanded, gesturing to Zac. He was standing behind Isaac, hoping Mrs. Flittinger wouldn’t see him.

“This is Zac,” Isaac said.

“Mrs. Flittinger,” Mrs. Flittinger prompted, trying to get Isaac to add her name to the end of his sentence.”

Isaac looked puzzled. “No, he’s Zac.”

“Zac,” Zac added, mournfully, and put his thumb into his mouth.

“Another nasty habit!” Mrs. Flittinger screeched. “Get your finger out of your mouth this instant!”

Zac’s eyes filled. He shook his head.

“Take it out!” Mrs. Flittinger exclaimed. “Hands are covered in germs!”

Zac took his thumb out of his mouth and inspected it. “Don’t see any germs,” he told Mrs. Flittinger, before putting it back in.

“What belligerence,” Mrs. Flittinger scoffed. “And who are you?” she demanded of Taylor.

“Taylor,” said Taylor, beaming angelically. “Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

“Where in the world would you get the idea that-” Mrs. Flittinger began, just as Nora came down the stairs and into the room.

“Hi, Mrs. Flittinger, it’s so nice to meet you. Thanks for coming.”

Mrs. Flittinger managed a pained, tight-lipped smile. “Well, I can see there is a lot to do-”

“Yes. . .” Nora began, rather distracted. Isaac had positioned himself behind Mrs. Flittinger and was pretending to kill himself, drawing his finger across his neck and falling to the floor. When she raised her eyebrows at him questioningly, he stuck his finger into his mouth and pretended to throw up, pointing at Mrs. Flittinger. Nora gave him a warning look. He sighed.

Unaware of the elaborate pantomine going on behind her, Mrs. Flittinger engaged in a simpering monologue about how much she loved children and wanted to instill in them absolute devotion to “good old fashioned values.”

“Oh,” said Nora, too distracted to be aware of what she was saying. “Like whipping.” It was the first “old fashioned value” that came to mind.

“Yes, exactly!” Mrs. Flittinger agreed. “Children today are spoiled. A sound whipping ever now and again is an excellent idea.”

Nora, who hadn’t been serious, didn’t hear her. Zac had motioned her to kneel next to him, wanting to tell her a secret.

“Nora, I think you should stay home,” Zac said, around his thumb.

Nora hugged him. “We’ll only be gone for a little while. Not very long.”

Zac’s lower lip quivered. “I don’t like it when you go away.”

Dan and Nora exchanged a guilty wince. “Buddy. . .” Dan began.

“I know,” said Zac, wrapping his arms around Nora’s legs. “You’ll be home soon.”

“We will,” Nora agreed. “You’ll probably be asleep when we get home, but we’ll come in and check on you guys, okay?”

Isaac had drawn back, regarding Mrs. Flittinger, Dan and Nora with an expression of mild, distracted interest, which turned into a winning smile when Dan turned around and gave him a mock appraising look. “Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?” Dan rumbled, lowering his voice so that he sounded like a TV announcer.

“Um. . .” Isaac bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling. “Be good?” He thought for a moment. “And stuff?”

“Are you going to do it?” Dan asked.

Isaac considered this for a moment. “Maybe,” he grinned.

“Maybe!” Dan pretended to be appalled. “Maybe?”

“Okay.” Isaac nodded. “I will.”

“Hey, Mrs. Babysitter!” Taylor yelled. “You can play Trouble with me!”

Mrs. Flittinger, it turned out, did not want to play Trouble. She did not want to do anything, in fact, except sit on the couch and read a Harlequin Romance novel. She did not want to do anything else at all.

“Is this how a babysitter is supposed to be?” Zac asked Isaac.

Isaac shrugged. “I don’t know. I never had one before.”

“She’s not.” Bitterly, Taylor kicked the refrigerator. “I saw a movie. Babysitters are supposed to be nice to you.”

“She’s not being mean, exactly.” Isaac pointed out.

“Shut up in there!” Mrs. Flittinger yelled. “Children should neither be seen nor heard!”

Zac folded his arms and gave Taylor and Zac a pointed look.

“Okay,” Isaac amended. “She’s mean.”

“Will you children go to bed!” exclaimed Mrs. Flittinger. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s only seven thirty!” Isaac called back. “We don’t go to bed this early.”

“Do as I say!” Mrs. Flittinger appeared in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “Go to bed!”

“But it’s-” Isaac protested.

“I’m telling on you!” Taylor interjected.

“Enough!” shrieked Mrs. Flittinger. “Too bed!”

“You’re mean at little kids,” Zac informed her.

“Go! To! Bed!” Mrs. Flittinger shrieked. “This instant!”

“Fine.” Isaac narrowed his eyes at her and took Zac’s hand. “Come on.”

“The sun’ll come out, tomorrow. . .” Taylor rested his chin in his hand, gazing out the window. He was pretending to be Little Orphan Annie. “Betcher bottom dollar that tomorrow. . .”

“I’m sick of this babysitter,” Zac sighed. “I want this babysitter to go home.”

“She’s not the babysitter,” Taylor contradicted. “She’s Miss Handyman.”

“Hannigan,” Isaac corrected. “Miss Hannigan.”

“She’s her,” Taylor agreed. “And Zac, you’re Molly. And Ike, you’re the rest of the orgies. And I‘m Annie.”

“I don’t want to be girls,” Isaac protested. “And it’s orphings, not orgies.”

“Me neither,” Zac agreed.

Taylor’s eyes blazed with frustration, but he held it back. “Fine,” he said. “You’re boy orgies.”

“I don’t want to be an orgy,” Zac told Taylor.

“Not orgy,” Isaac told them. “Orphings.”

“Be quiet up there!” Mrs. Flittinger hammered on the floor.

Taylor rolled his eyes and stared back out the window. “Just thinkin’ about tomorrow! Clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow! ‘Til there‘s none!” He turned to Zac. “Molly, your parents will come and get you soon. Don’t be scared.

Zac’s eyes filled. “I don’t want my parents to come and get me. I want to stay here!”

“Oh, no, Molly.” Taylor shook his head. “You don’t want to stay here in this nasty orphingage!”

“I’m not Molly!” Zac buried his face in Isaac’s shirt. Isaac was deep in thought.

“You are so,” said Taylor. “Don’t be silly, Molly. When I’m stuck with a day, that’s gray! And lo-own-ely! I just stick out my chin! And grin! And saaaaaay-”

“We need a plan, Tay.” Isaac looked up.

“Ooooooooooh! The sun’ll come out tomorrow! So ya gotta hang on ‘til tomorrow, come what may. . .” Taylor paused. “What kind of a plan?”

“To get rid of the babysitter,” said Isaac. “I’m thinking about it now.”

“What plan did you think about?” Taylor inquired.

Isaac shrugged. “That’s the problem. I don’t think any of them would work.”

“Tomorrow!” Taylor finished. “Tomorrow! I love ya! Tommorow! You’re always a da-a-a-a-a-a-ay a-a-a-a-a-a-a-wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay!” He turned back to his brothers. “I gots a plan.”

“What’s your plan?” Isaac asked.

“We wait until Miss Handyman sings her song about little girls, an’ then we lock her in her room!”

“That’s a bad plan,” said Isaac. “I don’t think she’s going to sing a song about little girls. Anyway, she doesn‘t even have a room. ”

“Hmm,” said Taylor. “Thinking of a plan. Think, think, think.”

Zac frowned. “Let’s tie her up,” he suggested.

Isaac considered this. “Do we have a rope?”

Zac didn’t hesitate. He slid to the floor, rooted around beneath the bed and reemerged with something better than a rope. It was a bungee cord.

Mrs. Flittinger snored gently in the living room. She didn’t hear Isaac and Taylor tiptoe across the room and crouch behind her chair. “You hold it,” Isaac whispered, “and I’ll wrap it around her.”

Suddenly, both of them froze. Mrs. Flittinger was standing up. She yawned, rested a hand against the small of her back, and shuffled out of the room.

“She’s going into the bathroom,” Taylor mouthed to Isaac.

Isaac’s eyes widened. “The bathroom?”

“Should we run away?” Taylor whispered.

“Shh!” said Isaac. “I’m thinking.”

A little face peered down at them from over the top of the chair. “Hey, you guys,” Zac said, “I lockeded the babysitter in the baff-room for us.”

“Let me out!” Mrs. Flittinger banged on the door of the bathroom. “Let me out right now!”

Taylor looked questioningly at Isaac. Isaac squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to laugh. He didn’t know if he wanted to leave Mrs. Flittinger in the bathroom.

“Let me out!” Mrs. Flittinger bellowed, shaking the doorknob. “Let me out!”

“Maybe we should,” Isaac whispered to Taylor.

“But she’s mean,” Taylor pointed out.

“I think we should leave her,” Zac added.

“Yeah, but I mean. . . she’s an old lady. Maybe she’ll have a heart attack.”

“A hearty tack?” Taylor repeated. “Like on TV?” He clutched at his chest and fell over. “I’m having a hearty tack!” he exclaimed. “Save my life!”

Isaac bit his lip. “I don’t think we should leave her. . .”

Zac threw himself in front of the door. “Don’t let her out!” he yelled.

“Let me out, little boys!” Mrs. Flittinger screeched. “I’ll tell on you!”

“I’ll tell on YOU!” Taylor yelled back. “You mean old lady!”

“Tay!” Isaac admonished, heaving Zac out of the way. “Uh. . . we’ll get you out!”

“No!” Taylor and Zac screeched. Zac grabbed Isaac and tried to pull him away from the door. Isaac clutched the doorknob, trying to turn it.

“Get off of me, Zac!” he exclaimed, then swallowed hard. “It won’t move. It’s locked on this side, too.”

Zac nodded. “You have to have a key.”

“Where’s the key?” Isaac asked.

Triumphantly, Zac led Isaac into the dining room and pointed to the heat register in the corner.

“Where?” Isaac asked. “I don’t see it.”

Zac grinned. “I know.”

Slowly, something was dawning on Isaac. “Zac! You didn’t drop the key. . .”

Zac giggled, nodding. “I think it’s gone now.”

“That’s not funny!” Isaac ran back into the hallway. “The babysitter is locked in the bathroom and we can’t get her out! What if there’s a fire or something?”

Taylor shrugged. “I guess the firemen will have to rescue her.”

“Mrs. Flittinger,” Isaac called, “um. . . can you open the door on your side?”

Mrs. Flittinger giggled, breathless. “No, no, no!” She sang, laughing. “No, no, no! I am locked in.”

Isaac turned to Taylor, horrified. “I think she went crazy!”

“Keep her in there!” Taylor shrieked. “I don’t want a crazy person!”

Zac thrust himself in front of the door again. “Don’t open the door!”

“We’ll have to call 9-1-1 or something. . .” Isaac thought fast. “Unless I can. . . I have an idea.”

“Me, too,” Zac agreed. “Never, never open the door.”

“What if she starves in there?” Isaac asked his little brothers. “What if she wants ti go home?”

Suddenly, Taylor realized the gravity of the situation. “What if she has to pee?” he asked, sadly.

There was a long pause. “Tay, she’s in a bathroom,” Isaac pointed out.

“Oh,” said Taylor, as if this was news to him. “Right.”

“Let me out!” screamed Mrs. Flittinger.

“Hang on!” Isaac called, dashing out of the room and into the kitchen. He reappeared pushing a kitchen chair, a package of Pop-Tarts clutched between his teeth. “I’ll be right back!” he exclaimed, ripping off the plastic and pushing the Pop-Tarts underneath the door. “Eat these before you starve!”

Zac’s lower lip went out. “I didn’t get any Pop-Tarts.”

“Me neither,” Taylor agreed.

When Isaac came back, brandishing the chisel and hammer Dan kept on top of the refrigerator, Taylor and Zac were gone. Relieved that they wouldn’t be in the way as he worked, he climbed onto the chair and began hammering away at the door hinges. “I’ll get you out!” he called to Mrs. Flittinger, who was blithering something about hating little boys. “Don’t worry!”

The door fell in with a mighty crash, knocking Isaac off the chair and Mrs. Flittinger into the bathtub. Her hair was flying in a million different directions, her glasses were crooked, and she was wearing a foamy shaving cream beard.

Isaac, momentarily stunned by his fall, shook his head a few times, blinking.

“Free!” Mrs. Flittinger sang. “Free, free, free!” She giggled.

“Mrs. Flittinger?” Isaac asked, as he waited for the room to stop spinning around him.

“I am Sunitra, Queen of the Mighty Planet Griffenmendore!” declared Mrs. Flittinger.

“N-no you aren’t. . .” Isaac stuttered.

“I am!” Mrs. Flittinger danced down the hallway. “I am!”

“Watch out for that-” Isaac began, but it was too late. Mrs. Flittinger skidded across the floor on a G.I. Joe and hit the ground heavily.

Isaac held his breath. Mrs. Flittinger slowly lifted herself off the ground.

“Are you all right?” Isaac asked.

“I most certainly am not!” The old Mrs. Flittinger was back. The mean one. “I am leaving. I am not staying in this house of hell one moment longer!”

Isaac swallowed, uneasily. “Okay.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Flittinger set her jaw primly. “I shall take my leave.” She opened the front door and slammed it behind her. Isaac watched through the window as she stormed across the front walk. Something occured to him.

“Wait!” he called to Mrs. Flittinger, chasing her across the yard. “Your purse! Your car keys! I got them for you from the living room.”

Mrs. Flittinger nodded, haughtily, and accepted her things as if they were now contaminated. Isaac bit his lip.

“Um. . . we’re sorry,” he said.

“As well you should be!” admonished Mrs. Flittinger, screeching away in her car.

“Tay! Zac!” Isaac was looking for his brothers. They were nowhere to be found. “C’mon, you guys, where are you?” With a sigh, he surveyed the shaving-cream covered bathroom, wondering how he’d get the door back on it’s hinges. “This isn’t funny. I hope you know!”

“We want Pop-Tarts!” came a little voice. “We’re locked in!”

“And we aren’t coming out!” piped another little voice.

Isaac groaned. “Come on, you guys, come out.” He leaned against the closet door and buried his face in his hands for a moment.

“She got Pop-Tarts,” Zac pointed out, from inside the closet.

“We want some, too,” Taylor added.

Isaac thought for a minute. “You have to clean the bathroom first.”

“No!” Zac yelled.

“We will not do that!” Taylor added.

“You messed it up,” said Zac.

“Give us Pop-Tarts or we’re telling,” Taylor threatened.

“Fine.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “You can have Pop-Tarts.”

“Push them under the closet door,” Zac directed. “Like you did for the scary, mean lady.”

“Okay,” Isaac agreed. “Will you come out after that?”

“Yeah, we-” Taylor began, but there were sounds of a scuffle behind the closet door and he didn’t finish.

“Maybe,” Zac told Isaac, calmly. “Maybe we will. If we feel like it.”

Isaac sighed. “Come on. Please. Come out of the closet!”

Eventually, Taylor and Zac did come out of the closet. With great difficulty, they managed to help Isaac replace the door on its hinges. The bathroom was curiously empty of towels, but the only trace of shaving cream left was the pleasant, clean scent that hung in the air. (The towels, Isaac had thrown into the drier after using them to clean the shaving cream.) The casual onlooker would never have noticed a difference.

“Do you think Dan and Nora will notice the babysitter isn’t here?” Taylor asked.

Isaac nodded. “Yeah.”

“She went home,” Zac added.

“What are we going to tell them?” Isaac wondered.

Taylor was indignant. “We’re going to tell them the TROOF!”

The truth, however. . . or, at least, the entire truth. . . was not exactly what Isaac had in mind.

“Don’t say we didn’t let her out of the bathroom,” he directed his brothers.

“She was stucked,” Zac agreed.

“That’s what happened,” Isaac agreed, giving Taylor a pointed look. “The truth.”

Taylor considered this for awhile. “Okay,” he agreed. “But I still think maybe they won’t notice she’s not here.”

“I think maybe we should go to bed,” Zac suggested. “So when they come, they’ll see us being good.”

Isaac considered this. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“But-” Taylor began.

“What?” Isaac asked.

“I think we should have ice-cream first,” Taylor stipulated.

“Okay,” Zac and Isaac agreed.

An hour later, Isaac heard someone wrench the front door open. “Oh my lord, where is she?” Nora’s voice carried through the house.

“The car’s not there,” Dan pointed out. “She left.”

Nora was already dashing up the stairs. “Where are the kids?” The tone of her voice bordered on panic.

“We’re right here,” Taylor piped. “Being very good!”

“Oh, thank God!” Nora gasped, breathless. “What happened? Where’d the babysitter go?”

“Um. . .” there was a long pause. “She’s not here.”

“I know that,” Nora agreed. “Where did she go?”

“Maybe back to her house,” Zac suggested, helpfully.

“Because she doesn’t like to babysit,” Taylor added.

An unpleasant suspicion was creeping over Nora. “Did the three of you do anything to make her go away?”

“We would never do anything like that.” Zac shook his head.

“We would never do anything bad for the babysitter!” Taylor exclaimed. “You telled us not to do that!”

Nora turned to Isaac, who hadn’t said anything since she came into the room. Her gaze was calm and level. He avoided her eyes, guiltily.

“Ike,” Nora said, conversationally. “Where’s the babysitter?”

Isaac bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes wide.

“Ike,” Nora asked, “what happened before she left?”

Isaac shrugged. “She read her book? And she made us go to bed?”

“Did anything else happen?” Nora asked.

Miserably, Isaac nodded. He couldn’t lie to her. She wouldn’t let him.

“What else?” Nora prompted.

“Ithinkthatmaybeshemighthavegotstuckintothebathroombutwedidn’tdoitandwedidgetherout,” Isaac whispered, very quickly.

“What?” Nora asked.

“We didn’t do it!” Isaac burst out.

“Ike!” Taylor exclaimed. “You TELLED!”

“Wait-” Dan began, appearing in the doorway. “What happened?”

Taylor gazed at him, one of those “Village of the Damned” blond, blue eyed stares of deceptively empty innocence. “We didn’t like that babysitter,” he told Dan, his voice steady.

Dan shuddered. “So you killed her and got rid of her car?” he inquired, sardonically.

Isaac looked horrified. Dan thought they were capable of killing the babysitter. “We can’t drive,” Zac pointed out.

“We would never kill her,” Taylor scoffed.“But if she died or something, we wouldn’t be sad.”

“What did she do?” Nora asked. “What did you do?”

Isaac sighed. “She got locked into the bathroom,” she said. “On accident. And then we couldn’t get it open.”

“So, then what happened?” Dan asked.

Isaac buried his face in his hands. “Itookthedooroffthehinges.”

“What?” Dan asked.

Isaac took a deep breath. “I took the door off the hinges. But it’s okay, though, because I put it back on.”

“Ike. . .” Nora began, “how did you get the bathroom door off it’s hinges?”

Isaac shrugged. “With a hammer? And a chisel? It kind of took awhile.”

“And you got it back on?” Dan asked.

Isaac nodded, sadly.

“That was really smart,” Nora smiled.

“It was?” Disbelieving, Isaac blinked.

Nora nodded. “Better than I could do.”

“Yep,” Dan agreed.

“She went crazy in the bathroom,” Isaac went on. “She put shaving cream all over herself, and then she fell in the bathtub.”

“Was she all right?” asked Nora.

“She told me she was a queen,” said Isaac. “And then she ran out in the hallway, and she fell, and she wasn’t crazy anymore. She was just mad.”

“And then she left?” Dan asked.

“Yeah,” said Isaac.

“The agency said they screen their candidates!” Nora seethed. “They are supposed to send competent babysitters!”

“Maybe she was just too old,” Taylor suggested.

“That must be what,” Zac agreed.

“Maybe you kids did something to make her crazy?” Dan suggested, drily.

“Dan.” Nora rolled her eyes. “Of course they didn’t.”

“He only locked her in the bathroom,” Taylor provided cheerfully, pointing at Zac. He had no idea that he was giving anything away.

“You locked her in the bathroom?” Nora asked.

“Taylor, you tattletale!” Isaac exclaimed.

“I’m going to kick you off the bed,” Zac threatened.

“I wasn’t tattletaling!” Taylor shrieked, his eyes filling with tears. “I was just SAYING!”

Zac twined his arms around Nora’s neck and buried his face in her shoulder. “I only did it because she was mean. And because. . . because. . .” he sniffled, “Ike and Tay were going to tie her up. And I didn’t want them to do that!”

“What?” Dan looked questioningly at Isaac.

“We weren’t going to tie her up!” Isaac protested, but he bit his lip and looked down, guiltily.

“Zac!” Taylor sobbed. “Now you’re a tattletale!”

Zac grinned at Taylor over Nora’s shoulder, happily.

“We were just going to. . .” Isaac began. “Just going to. . .”

“Just going to what?” Dan asked.

“Put a seatbelt on her!” Isaac burst out. “So she wouldn’t fall out of the chair!”

Dan fell off the edge of the bed, laughing uncontrollably. Nora made a valiant effort to keep her composure, but she wasn’t able to, either. Isaac and Taylor exchanged a frantic, terrified look.

“What do we do?” Isaac asked.

“I don’t know,” Taylor whispered, but he did.

“It’s not funny!” Taylor yelled, folding his arms and stamping his foot. “You leave us with a mean babysitter, and she isn’t even nice to us! And she’s mean! And we had to be little orgies!”

Dan and Nora, who had tried to calm down and take him seriously, bit back smiles. “Little whats?” Dan asked Taylor.

Taylor rolled his eyes. “Little orgies,” he said, very slowly.

“Orphings,” Isaac clarified. “Like in the movie ‘Annie.’” He’d given up trying to think of a way out of this, and had flopped backward on the bed in exasperation.

“Orgies!” Dan blurted. Nora buried her face in his shoulder. Zac took his thumb out of his mouth and frowned at Taylor.

“And he made me be Molly. And I didn’t want to!”

“Look. . .” Dan began, “I don’t know what you guys did. And I don’t know if I even want to know.” He took a deep breath. “But tomorrow, I am going to call the babysitting agency and complain about Mrs. Flittinger, because she left you guys by yourselves. I am also going to find out what the three of you did that was so terrible.” He paused. “If anything.”

“Are we going to get in trouble?” Taylor breathed.

Dan sighed. “It depends. Yeah, if you did lock her in the bathroom and tormented her, you guys’ll get in trouble.”

“How big trouble?” Zac looked nervous.

“Not that big,” Nora assured him. “She was a bad babysitter.”

“Real bad,” Taylor agreed.

Chapter Fifty Six?

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