A round of hesitant glances crisscrosses the table. “Oh-oh,” says Haley ominously. I look to Aleks. “Should we answer it?” He slips out of his chair and goes to the window. “It’s him.” There’s only one “him” he could be referring to: Mr. Brooks. “I’ll get Mom,” Haley declares, hopping up and heading for our home office. “Oh my God,” I say, picturing a bloodbath of a showdown with submachine guns and rocket launchers. I mean, these are Russian spies we’re dealing with here. The rapping stops, then starts up again. “What’s he doing?” I ask. “Well, not going away, apparently,” Aleks says. I can’t tell whether he’s panic-stricken like me or itching for a fight. “It looks more suspicious if we don’t answer, right?” I say, sneaking over to the door and bracing my hand on the knob. As soon as I hear Haley and Mom marching up behind me, I ease the door ajar. “Oh, hi,” I say, as if I’m surprised to see the man. His eyes seem to have grown two sizes.
