The Perfect Hiding Spot

Sal had found the perfect hiding spot.

It was behind the big blue recycling bin in the garage, tucked into the corner where the wall met the shelf full of old paint cans. There was just enough room for a six-year-old boy to squeeze in, pull his knees to his chest, and disappear.

Nobody could see him from the garage door. Nobody could see him from the driveway. Nobody could even see him if they walked right past the recycling bin, because the shelf made a shadow that swallowed him up like a cave.

It was, without question, the greatest hiding spot in the entire history of hide-and-seek.

And Sal had now survived four rounds.

Four.

The first round, his cousin Marco had been the seeker. Marco counted to thirty — he always rushed through the twenties — and then stomped around the backyard yelling, "I'M GONNA FIND YOU, I'M GONNA FIND YOU!" He found Priya behind the lemon tree. He found Devon under the trampoline. He found Lily inside the big cardboard box on the porch, which, honestly, was not Lily's best work.

But he never found Sal.

The second round, Priya was the seeker. Priya was good. She was quiet. She checked behind doors. She looked under things. She found Marco in the bathtub, which was a bold choice. She found Devon behind the couch. She found Lily inside the same cardboard box, because Lily really loved that box.

But she never found Sal.

The third round, Devon was the seeker, and Devon basically just wandered around eating a granola bar until he accidentally tripped over Lily's cardboard box and found her first. Then Lily helped him find everyone else.

But they never found Sal.

Now it was the fourth round. Sal didn't even know who was seeking. He'd been behind the blue recycling bin so long that his left foot had gone tingly and his right knee was making a crackling sound like a tiny bag of chips being slowly opened.

But he didn't care. He was winning.

He could hear them out there. Distant voices. Footsteps on the patio. Someone laughed — a big, exploding kind of laugh — and Sal wondered what was so funny.

Then it got quiet again.

He waited.

He studied the wall next to him. There was a tiny spider building a web between a paint can and a dusty roll of tape. The spider was doing a pretty good job, actually. Very organized.

"Hi," Sal whispered to the spider.

The spider did not answer, because it was a spider.

Sal's stomach growled. He could smell something. Was that... pizza? Grandma had said she might order pizza. Was the pizza here? It smelled like the kind with the little pepperoni cups that got crispy around the edges.

He swallowed.

But no. He was NOT leaving this spot. He was the hide-and-seek champion. He would be the legend that Marco and Priya and Devon and Lily — especially Lily — would talk about forever.

More time passed. Sal counted the paint cans on the shelf. Seven. He counted them again. Still seven. He named them: Gerald, Patricia, Old Rusty, Tiny Green, Big Green, The One With No Lid, and Paul.

"Hi, Paul," he whispered.

Paul said nothing, because Paul was a paint can.

From somewhere far away — maybe the kitchen — Sal heard another eruption of laughter. All of them, laughing together. Then music. Someone had put on music.

Were they... were they even still playing?

Sal's heart did something funny. Not a pain, exactly. More like a small squeeze. Like his heart had tried to make a fist.

He shifted his weight. His left foot was fully asleep now. If he tried to stand, it would feel like walking on a pillow full of bees.

But the spot was so perfect.

He pulled his knees tighter.

The spider finished one section of its web and started on another. Sal realized that the spider was also alone in this corner. But the spider probably liked it. Spiders were into that kind of thing.

Sal was not a spider.

Another huge laugh from inside the house. And then — was that Lily's voice? Lily had the kind of laugh that sounded like a hiccup and a trumpet combined, and once you heard it, you couldn't help but smile.

Sal smiled.

Then he stopped smiling, because he was alone behind a recycling bin and nobody was looking for him and the pizza was getting eaten and Lily was doing her trumpet laugh and he was sitting here winning a game that might not even be happening anymore.

He looked at Paul the paint can.

"What do you think?" he whispered.

Paul had no opinion.

Sal took a deep breath. He uncurled his fingers from around his knees. He pressed his palms against the cold garage floor. He stood up slowly — very slowly — because his left foot was doing the bee-pillow thing and his right knee sounded like someone crumpling up a paper bag.

He limped out from behind the recycling bin.

The garage was dim and quiet. He walked toward the door that led into the house, his left foot slowly waking up with every step, each one a little storm of pins and needles.

He opened the door.

The kitchen was bright and warm and smelled like heaven. On the counter sat three big pizza boxes, open like treasure chests. Grandma was at the table with a paper plate. Marco and Priya were sitting on the floor playing cards. Devon was eating his second — no, probably third — slice of pizza over the sink, dripping cheese everywhere.

And Lily was standing on a chair, telling a story with big arm movements, and everyone was watching her, and she was making the trumpet-hiccup laugh right in the middle of her own sentence.

Marco looked up.

"SAL!" he yelled. "Where were you?!"

"We looked everywhere!" Priya said.

"We called your name like a hundred times!" Devon said through a mouthful of cheese.

"We thought you went home!" Lily shouted from her chair.

"I was behind the recycling bin," Sal said. "In the garage. I was there the whole time. Four rounds."

Everyone stared at him.

"Four rounds?!" Marco said. "We stopped playing hide-and-seek like an hour ago."

"We couldn't find you, so we thought you quit," Priya said.

"And then the pizza came," Devon explained, as if that made everything perfectly clear. And honestly, it kind of did.

Sal looked at all of them. He looked at the pizza. He looked at Lily, who was now holding out a plate toward him with two big slices on it — the kind with the crispy pepperoni cups.

"You missed my story about the raccoon at school!" Lily said. "It's the best story. I'll tell it again. SIT DOWN."

Sal took the plate. He sat down on the floor next to Marco. The pizza was still warm. Lily launched back into her raccoon story, and it was really good — apparently the raccoon had walked right into the cafeteria during lunch and grabbed a tater tot — and Priya kept adding details and Devon kept interrupting and Marco laughed so hard that water came out of his nose, which made everyone scream.

Sal laughed too. The real kind of laugh, the kind that fills up your whole chest.

And he thought about the recycling bin, and the spider, and Paul the paint can, and the quiet, perfect hiding spot that nobody had found.

It was, without question, the greatest hiding spot in the entire history of hide-and-seek.

But sitting here on the kitchen floor with pizza grease on his fingers and Lily's trumpet laugh rattling the windows and Marco still wiping water off his face — this was better.

Way, way better.