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Typically, there was such a crack, as window shades rarely fit exactly. But he’d have to stick his eyeball right up close in order to see through a peeping sliver like that.
    He couldn’t risk it.
    No way.
    Perhaps his binoculars would reach into the sliver from fifty feet away, but he had his doubts.
    He grabbed them, exited the car, shut the door quietly, and moved through the grass in the darkness toward the border of MacArthur park and Bailey’s yard.
    As he approached, the back patio light tripped on.
    He moved behind a pine tree, listened as a door creaked open, then peeked around a bough of fragrant green needles to see Bailey Howard’s dad in swimming trunks. He proceeded to light four patio torches surrounding a round hot tub. Using the binoculars, Stuart Renly zoomed in. In the flicker of torch light, he could clearly see a hairy belly button sunk in a pale white, rounded gut.
    Not what Stuart Renly had in mind!
    The porch light tripped off, the door creaked again, and what emerged onto the patio now was the disgustingly fat Mrs. Howard, donning a small bikini.
    The husband and wife piled into the hot tub, and within moments she was upon him, straddling him, if that was actually possible, which it obviously was, although a putrid sight. The binoculars captured the back of his head, and her gargantuan white utter sacks, pressing into his face, and Stuart Renly simply could not believe his eyes.
    He hadn’t seen anything like this before.
    Beluga whales mating.
    Not what he had in mind!
    *     *     *
    Bailey Howard sat on her bed.
    As soon as she’d gotten home, she had told her parents that she was going to be on a homework call with another student from Algebra class.
    They had said okay.
    They were outside lounging in the hot tub now.
    She was waiting for the phone to ring.
    She had taken the quickest shower possible, and now her phone read 8:47—no, actually 8:48—and Eric Cady still hadn’t called.
    This is pathetic , she thought. I’m fidgeting, a bundle of nerves, wondering if he’ll actually call. And now I’m doubting he will because he’s three minutes late. Relax. Don’t be a dingbat. If he doesn’t call, he doesn’t call. You’ll be fine. What do you care anyway, if he doesn’t? Was he on your mind three weeks ago? No. Okay. But he is now. God, he is now! It’s pathetic!
    The phone rang.
    It was Jany.
    Bailey answered quickly, saying, “Jany, get off my phone. Eric is supposed to be calling me.”
    “When?”
    “Three minutes ago.”
    “Call me back,” Jany said. “Goodbye.”
    Then her phone buzzed and the name Eric Cady flashed in green above Jany’s disengaging call. Bailey had programmed him into her contact list immediately after clocking in at the Chicken Shack.
    “Hello, this is Bailey,” she answered.
    That sounded priggish, she decided. Don’t be a geek! She leaned back against the pillows lining her headboard. She exhaled slowly through her mouth, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, or be able to tell she was going out of her mind with nervousness. She knew he couldn’t hear the fact that her palms were sweating.
    “Hey, it’s Eric.”
    “Hey,” she said.
    “You’re off work now, huh?”
    “Yeah. I worked until eight fifteen.”
    “Cool. Do you make good tips there?” he asked.
    Straight Q & A was fine with her. Short answers she could handle, she hoped, without her voice cracking.
    “Not bad.”
    “The more, the better, I’m guessing, huh?”
    “Yep,” she answered. Then she felt compelled, for fairness’s sake, to ask him something, so she said, “Have you finished your Algebra?”
    “No.”
    “Want to work on it?”
    “No.”
    “Oh. Why are you calling?”
    “To talk. Have you decided about my party?”
    Bailey smiled. To talk sounded good. Sounded great, in all honesty. Regarding the party, she hadn’t had a chance yet to ask her parents. Her dad would probably say no, but her mom wore the pants, and she’d probably say yes. Still,