12:50 AM.
"Double-dog dare ya."
"Triple-dog."
"If you do this, little man, I got a five-dollar bill in my pocket with your name on it."
"Her room's empty, bro! Your parents are asleep and the chicks are a hundred miles away."
The high-schoolers surrounded me. I could smell the congested virility like cold broth.
"They're in the ballroom," I said. "They could come downstairs any second."
"They're asleep!"
I shook my head. "I don't think Mara even has a diary." This was a lie. A dozen times I spotted Mara scribbling in a blue journal while pondering its poetry.

"Psht!" Ryan said. "Every girl's got a diary."
Whit forced himself between the males. He shook his head and mouthed, "No."
"It has a lock!" I said.
Ryan pounced. "Ah ha! She does have one!"
"Locks don't matter," said another kid. "Jon over there could bust into Fort Knox with a rusty paperclip."
The ghosts from the end of Raiders couldn't make me share Mara's innermost feelings with these grunts (especially the grunt who locked lips with the girl only minutes ago). But if I wanted a chance to read her diary for myself, a group of savage perverts could provide a believable excuse for a broken lock...
"Forget it," Ryan said. "I'll do it."
"No!" I blurted then looked to Whit for reassurance.
Again, he shook his head. But I was out of options.
"There's a set of walkie-talkies in my closet," I said. "Ryan, stand guard in the parlor. If you see anybody, warn me."