I didn’t wait for them today. I met them two blocks down the street. Devon was still whining, “Take me now!”
When he saw me coming, he hopped out of the wagon and practically tackled me. “Lil-wee! You take me to McDonald’s.”
I picked him up. “Sorry, little dude. It’s too far away and I don’t drive.”
He punched me. “I hate you!”
“I hate you too,” I told him, and gave him a big wet kiss.
He went, “Ouuu!” and scraped it off with his little fist and went running back to the wagon.
“If you take him for a week, I’ll give you my supercool train hat,” said Sydney.
“No thanks,” I said. “One brother is enough.”
Sydney had a bunch of babysitting money, so we went to the dollar store and got Tootsie Pops and temporary tattoos. “On my face!” Devon piped. Before we left the store, he had four Bullwinkle tats on his cheeks and forehead.
“Your mother’s gonna kill you,” I told Sydney.
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. She’s so happy I take him all day, I can do anything I want.”
We went to Bert’s Deli and got hoagies and sodas. Then I suggested we take our lunch to 214 Monroe Drive and eat it there. That’s where my parents are working. They’re building an addition on a house.
So that’s what we did. My parents were sitting on the back steps, just opening their lunch boxes when we arrived. By the time I sat down, Devon was rooting through my mother’s lunch box. My parents laughed. Sydney was mortified. “Devon!” She slapped his hand. The stolen MoonPie he was holding fell to the ground. Devon yelled, “See what you did!”
My mom picked up the MoonPie. She broke it in two and gave half to the kid. It was almost in his mouth when Sydney grabbed his wrist. “What do you say to Mrs. Wambold?”
He glared at his sister. “I say poop-poop to you.”
By the time we were all done laughing, the half MoonPie was in his stomach.
My father mussed the kid’s hair. “You got a handful here, big sister.”
Sydney nodded. “I’m cursed.”
We were all getting down to some serious munching when Devon pulled on my father’s pants leg. “Will you take me to McDonald’s?”
I explained the situation. My parents tried to tell Devon nicely that they had a job to do and couldn’t go driving little kids around to McDonald’s playgrounds every day. When my mother saw Devon’s sad-sack face, I thought she was going to start bawling herself. Then she seemed to snatch a passing thought from the air. She looked at me. “Well, Lily, you know what Dad and I always say. If you want it—”
—make it.
Click! A light went on.
“Make it!” I said. I turned to Sydney and said it again: “Make it!”
She looked at me. “Huh?”
“We’ll make a playground for him. We’ll do it ourselves.”
I saw the light click on in her eyes. “Hey—yeah!” She looked around. She pointed. “Like…there?”
She was pointing to the empty lot next door. It was like a bare lawn. No shrubs or anything. Just high grass.
“You’d have to ask the owner of the property,” said my dad. “You can’t just go ahead and do it without permission.”
“Do you know who owns it?” I asked him.
He patted the porch step. “Right here,” he said. “These people. Mr. and Mrs. Addison. They own both properties.”
“Mrs. Addison is inside,” said Mom. “Upstairs.”
I jumped up. “Let’s ask her.” I hauled Sydney to her feet. I looked at my parents. “Can we ask her?”
“Sure,” said Dad.
“Who’s stopping you?” said Mom.
We barged into the kitchen, into the dining room, into the living room. Devon trailed us. We stopped at the foot of the stairs. I called, “Hello? Mrs. Addison?”
She came down in bare feet, cutoff jeans, and a T-shirt that said:
STOP GLOBAL WARMING
FART IN A
FREEZER
I asked her about making a playground for my friend’s brother on her next-door lot. She thought for a minute. Then she made a sad smile and said, “Sorry. I’m afraid not.” Because if somebody got hurt, they could be sued, she said. Plus they were thinking of putting in a vegetable garden.
“Poop,” said Devon before Sydney could clamp his mouth shut.
We slunk back to the porch. I flopped down beside my mom. “We struck out,” I said.
“And she had such a cool T-shirt,” said Sydney.