The Old Willis Place

rules. They had to be obeyed. No burgers for us. Not tonight, not ever.
    Heron Man smiled at Lissa. "Well, what do you think of our new home?"
    "It's kind of spooky," she said slowly. "We've never lived in a place like this. No neighbors. Just woods and fields and that scary old house. I don't know if I'm going to like it or not.
    "It will be a great place to write, though," her father said. "I might actually finish my novel here."
    Lissa frowned. "What am I supposed to do while you sit at your computer?"
    "You'll have your schoolwork," he said. "And three hundred acres of land to explore. You and MacDuff will have a lovely time."
    "How about friends? I'll never meet anybody way out here." She leaned across the table. "If I could go to school, real school, I'd—"
    Heron Man shook his head. "You'll get a much better education at home. School grinds kids down, destroys their minds and their imaginations. Makes them into conformists, unable to think for themselves—"
    "Okay, okay!" Lissa got to her feet. "I've heard it all before." Gathering her plate and glass, she went inside. Bang! went the door.
    Heron Man sat at the table for a while. By now it was too dark to see his face, just the sharp outline of his nose and his crest of hair. In the kitchen, Lissa ran water in the sink and began washing dishes with a lot of clattering.
    Georgie nudged me. "What's wrong with her? She should be happy she doesn't have to go to school."
    I sighed, too embarrassed to tell him how much I missed school myself—not arithmetic or geography or social studies, but reading and drawing and playing with my friends at recess. I missed my favorite teacher, Miss Perry, and my best friend, Jane, and a red-haired boy named Stephen. I missed jump rope and dodge ball and field trips. I even missed the cafeteria food.
    Heron Man gathered his dishes and went inside. Through the kitchen window, I saw him give Lissa a kiss on the cheek. "There's a YMCA not far from here," he said. "I'll sign you up for gymnastics. Would you like that?"
    Lissa gave him a hug, and they finished the dishes together. When they'd dried the last fork, Heron Man said, "Shall we see if the television works?"
    "TV," Georgie whispered, "oh, let them watch TV. I've missed it since Mr. Potter left. He kept the TV on all night long. Remember? We could see and hear everything."
    I smiled, remembering the fun we'd had watching TV through the window while Mr. Potter dozed in his armchair. Sometimes Georgie sneaked inside and changed channels with the remote. Mr. Potter snored away, never suspecting a thing. Finally, Georgie decided to steal the remote to save himself the trouble of climbing through the window every night.
    When he woke up, Mr. Potter noticed the remote's disappearance and wasted hours searching for it, cursing up a storm the whole time. Then Georgie got the bright idea to change channels while Mr. Potter was awake. Sometimes he turned the volume up; sometimes he turned it down; sometimes he'd switch the TV off, then back on. I couldn't help feeling a little sorry for Mr. Potter.
    Not too long after Georgie stole the remote, Mr. Potter quit. We heard him tell the property manager the solitude was driving him insane. He was going to stop drinking, he said, and straighten his life out. Georgie and I felt good about helping Mr. Potter reform.
    Lissa's answer disappointed Georgie. "I think I'll just go to bed and read for a while," she said. "I'm tired, Daddy."
    He yawned. "I'm pretty done in myself. We've had a big day."
    The kitchen light went off and the bathroom light came on. In a few moments, the light in the small bedroom came on, too.
    Without a word, Georgie and I sneaked across the yard to Lissa's room. We'd peeked in the windows many times before, often with pranks in mind. To make things easier, we'd hidden cinder blocks in strategic places. Standing on them, we could look in any window except the one in the bathroom, which was higher than the others. Of course, we wouldn't have looked in the bathroom even if we could have. People deserve some privacy.
    Lissa was already in bed. The grumpy old men caretakers had used her room for storage, but now it was clean and neat. A green and yellow rag rug covered most of the old linoleum tile. A small desk, a narrow bookcase, and a white dresser with a mirror were crammed into the tiny space, along with Lissa's bed, painted white to match the dresser. She'd made a little nest of pillows and quilts and stuffed