“I’ll take more when they come back,” I say.

We open our lunch bags and eat our peanut butter sandwiches. While we’re sharing mini Oreos from a bag, Jason and Carter slouch into sight. This time they come from Marie Drive and head across the field toward the woods. They have no idea we’re watching them. I wonder if I’ve ever been watched without knowing it. A creepy thought.

“I wonder what they do in the woods.” Skylar pulls her Oreo apart and licks the filling. “We should follow them. We might learn something interesting.”

I look at her. “I don’t care what they do in the woods. There’s no way I’m following them anywhere.”

Skylar goes on talking like I haven’t said anything. “Last night I got to wondering what they were arguing about yesterday—some sort of secret, a deal. I don’t know, it just sounds interesting.”

“Not to me. They’re too stupid to do anything interesting.”

“They must live around here,” she says. “Probably in one of those old houses we passed.”

We laugh. And I relax. Skylar’s not saying we’ll follow them today. We might not see them again. She might forget about it.

When we finish the Oreos, we eat our apples and read. It’s really fun to be on my own, safe from bed making and dish washing and all the other boring chores on Mom’s list. When I’m grown up, it will be like this most of the time. I’ll be on my own every day.

Just as I’m getting kind of stiff from sitting so long, I see the SUV slow to a stop behind the gray car.

Skylar whispers, “They’re back.”

I look down. If only the SUV had a sunroof, we could see the people inside. Or at least the tops of their heads.

The man and woman are talking but too softly for us to understand them. They could be saying I love you or they could be plotting to blow up a building or assassinate an enemy.

Skylar nudges me. “When she gets out of the car, take a video. We can watch it later in slo-mo and get a better look at her.”

While the mysterious couple talk, I video the SUV, but leaves block my view of the license plate.

At last the door opens and I glimpse the back of a man’s head as the woman gets out. Still wearing her hat and sunglasses, she says, “Love you. See you next Thursday.”

“Love you, too,” he says.

I video her getting into her car, making a U-turn, and driving away, her face still hidden.

The SUV waits a while, but after maybe five minutes it leaves. I get a shot of its license plate—Maryland 9PS4227—and a faded bumper sticker for the local radio station.