A Storyby E. D. Watson
Today of all days there’s a window washer. The first time I’ve ever cut school—and with Nadine too—this guy’s hanging on his little swing outside the picture window, squeegeeing. My first thought is that we’re busted. The window washer will report us as truants. My dad has told me they aren’t supposed to look in the windows, but my instinct is to hide. Nadine, though? She’s smiling like a panther.
“Let’s have some fun, Harriet,” she says, peeling off her cardigan and sashaying toward the window, like a girl in a sexy movie.
“Um,” I say. Tenants are discouraged from engaging with the window washers. There’s a notice in the elevator.