Hello friends and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Have you ever had a friend that you have known forever? Craig and Kat have been friends since kindergarten and are now in grade 3. One day they are sitting in Craig's basement when Craig comes up with a great idea for them. Agent 6 and 7, the watch on the counter. It all started with hair pulling. Not on purpose, Craig always said, his hand slipped. Kat said that was a lie and dumped a whole cup of paint on his head to make it even. Her teacher called it overreacting. Kat called it fair. That was kindergarten. Now they were in 3rd grade and they were best friends. Nobody could really explain it. They just were. They were sitting in Craig's basement when Craig got the idea. How about I call myself 6? He said, and you call yourself 7. And together we're the 6 7s. Kat looked up from the sports magazine she had been flipping through. Did you just say 6 7? No, 6 7 6 7. We said we were never going to do that again. She put her magazine down. And why is your number first? It's just the order they come in. 6 comes before 7. You put yourself first on purpose. Craig opened his mouth. Closed it. Fine. It's 7 and 6 then. Happy? No. Kat crossed her arms. Now it sounds like you're trying to trick me into thinking I'm first when really you just switched it around. That doesn't even make sense. You like Tracy, she said. I saw you go red when she walked by the library. I did not go red. Craig touched his face. And that has nothing to do with the numbers. Kat watched him for a second. Okay, I'll be Agent 7. It sounds better anyway. Your Agent 6. Craig leaned back like he'd won something. It's also kind of like that spy movie, the one with the secret agent. My mom watches that. I think it's a bit silly. You wrestle people for fun. That's completely different. Kat paused. Okay, fine. Agent 6 and 7. She said it like she was testing it. But every time we take a case, we have to say it out loud. Agent 6 and 7 are on the case. That part is non-negotiable. Agreed. I should probably be first though since I'm 7. Craig groaned. I'm just saying. Higher number. My grades are higher than yours, Kat shrugged. I won the wrestling thing. What did you win? I came first in the 100 meter dash last year. Running away from people isn't a skill, Craig. He didn't have a good answer for that, so we changed the subject. Okay, so now that we have our names sorted, what are we actually going to solve? Kat thought about it. We need a mystery first. Something will come up. Something always comes up. They sat with that for a second. I'm hungry, Kat says. Does your mom still have those cookies? Craig made a face. Dad ate them. All of them. He always does. Although... he tilted his head. There's a small chance I sleepwalked and ate them. I have no way to prove I didn't. You do look like a zombie sometimes. There might be chocolate cake though. My dad made it. Kat's expression changed. Not excited exactly. More cautious. Your dad made it? Yeah. She thought about this. Wasn't there a spaghetti incident involving your dad? Best to forget about that. Okay, she stood up. Let's go. They headed upstairs to the kitchen. Craig's mom was at the table with her kind of look adults get when they were doing their own homework. The serious, don't bother me kind. Craig had figured out a long time ago that adults had homework too. They just called it work. Any snacks? Craig asked. We need some pretty bad. There are apples and bananas in the bowl, his mom said without looking up, and I cut some veggies. They're in the fridge. Craig turned to Kat with a look of deep suffering. Mom, Agent 7 is our guest. Are we really doing veggies? His mom glanced up then. She wasn't entirely sure who Agent 7 was, even though Kat had been Craig's best friend since kindergarten, since the hair pulling in the water paint and all of it. One look at Craig's face made her shake her head a little. There's some chocolate cake your father made. It doesn't look... She paused picking her words impressive, but I'm sure it's fine. Cake it is, Kat said. The chocolate cake was a strange shape, not round, not square. It looks like a hat, Kat said. It always looks like something different, Craig said. Last time he made a pie and it looked like a dog. They each took a slice anyway. It wasn't bad, a little dry maybe, but chocolate was chocolate. Craig was on his second bite when he noticed the watch. It was sitting on the counter by the coffee maker. He was over with a worn brown strap. His dad wore it every single day, to work, to the grocery store, to bed sometimes by accident. He never takes that off, Craig said. Kat looked at the watch, then at Craig. So? So his car is still in the driveway, but my mom said he stepped out. Kat put her fork down. She looked at the watch again, then at the back door. Where does he go? She said slowly, when he steps out but doesn't drive. Craig didn't have an answer, but that was the thing about Kat. She didn't need the whole picture to know something was off. Agent 6 and 7, she said, wiping chocolate frosting off her thumb, are on the case. Craig pulled a piece of paper from the junk drawer, the one by the fridge that had batteries and expired coupons, and a magnet shaped like a lobster in it, and started writing things down. Okay, he said facts. One, watch on the counter. Two, car in the driveway. Three, mom acting like everything is normal, which means she knows something. Kat was already at the back window looking out at the yard. The garage, she said. I was going to get to the garage. The side door is open a crack. Craig looked up from his list. How can you even see that from here? Kat tapped the side of her head. Craig looked at his paper, then at Kat. She was already moving toward the back door. We should think this through first, he said. We can think while we walk. That's not how thinking works, I think. Craig folded his paper and followed her. He always did. The side door was open maybe three inches, enough to hear something scraping around inside. Kat put her hand out to stop Craig. He walked into it anyway. Ow! Shhh! They listened. More scraping. Then the sound of newspaper being crumpled up. Kat moved first, pushing the door open just wide enough to see in. Craig squeezed beside her. Craig's dad was crouched on the floor next to his workbench, surrounded by newspaper and tape and what looked like a very old, very rusty bicycle. He was trying to wrap part of the frame and it wasn't going well. A long piece of tape had stuck to his sleeve and he hadn't noticed yet. Craig recognized the bike. It used to hang on the wall in the basement behind the Christmas stuff. His dad always said it was junk, too old to fix, too good to throw out. So why was he fixing it? Kat grabbed his sleeve before he could figure it out and pulled him back outside. She was faster. She was always faster. You saw nothing, she whispered. I saw everything. Craig? He looked back at her, then back at the door. Okay, he said, I saw nothing. They walked back to the house like nothing had happened. Craig's mom was still at the table with her laptop. She looked up. Any good snacks out there? Nope, Craig said just the garage. His mom's eyes went a little wide, then she looked at Kat. Kat shrugged. We didn't see anything. Craig's mom looked back and forth between them. Then she closed her laptop. You want more cake? Yes, please. They both said. They ate the second slice in the basement. Craig was quiet for a while. Why would he fix something he always called junk? He finally said. Kat thought about it. Maybe it stopped being junk. That doesn't make sense. Most things adults do don't make sense. Craig couldn't really argue with that. He looked at the ceiling for a moment, then back at his plate. He'd probably find out eventually. That was the thing about mysteries. Sometimes you solve them, and sometimes you just had to wait. First case closed, Kat said. Craig nodded slowly. Agent 6 and 7. Agent 6 and 7. She agreed. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight.
