For months, I thought I’d struck gold with my neighbor’s kids—two teens who cleaned up the street every Sunday like they were campaigning for mayor. But when I caught one of them hiding something under a bush, I realized their “good deeds” weren’t what they seemed. As a woman in my 60s, I’ve seen it all in this neighborhood.
The good, the bad, and everything in between.
But watching two teenagers, Calla and Idris, barely out of middle school, sweeping sidewalks and picking up trash every weekend? That gave me hope for the younger generation.
Every Sunday morning, I’d sit by my window with my tea, watching them work. They pushed brooms, hauled trash bags, and made the street look spotless.
I was impressed.
They reminded me of my own kids when they were young—before they grew up and moved away. It was almost… inspiring. One morning, while watering my plants, I saw their mom, Odes, hurrying out of her house, probably off to work.
“Odes!” I called, waving.
“Your kids are doing a great job cleaning up the street. You must be so proud!”
Odes paused, giving me a strange look—like I’d said something odd.
But then she smiled politely. “Oh, yeah… thanks.
They’re… good kids.”
Something in her tone felt off, but I let it go.
I figured she was just rushed, maybe late for work. Over the weeks, I kept watching them—Calla and Idris—out there every Sunday, working harder than most kids their age. I offered them lemonade once, but they politely said no, explaining they had “stuff to finish.” I thought they were so mature for their age.
Last Sunday, something weird happened.
It was their usual routine—Calla and Idris were out there, heads down, moving along the street. I was watching from my window when I noticed something strange.
Idris wasn’t just picking up trash. He was crouching near the big oak tree by my house, brushing leaves aside, and carefully placing something under a bush.
I squinted, trying to see better, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
It didn’t look like trash. He seemed sneaky about it, glancing around before standing up and moving to the next house. I frowned, my curiosity kicking in.
Why was he hiding something under a bush?
I decided to wait until they were done. I wasn’t letting this slide.
After 30 years in this neighborhood, I know when something feels wrong, and this definitely did. Once the kids were out of sight, I put on my gardening gloves and headed outside.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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