Barry’s parents stared at him. “You what?” his mother exclaimed.
Barry’s heart pounded. “I pretended I caught the ball,” he said.
Susan cleared her throat, and Barry looked at her. Their eyes locked, and he wished she could read his mind: Keep out of this, little sister.
“And you got away with it?” his father said and shook his head. “Barry, I’m surprised at you.”
“And I’m disappointed,” his mother added, her eyes wide as she looked at him. “What a terrible thing to do, Barry. I think you should tell Coach Parker.”
“It’s too late for that, Mom,” Barry said. “I’m sorry I did it. Okay? I promise I won’t do it again.”
Susan coughed, and their eyes clinched again.
“I said I won’t, and I won’t,” he said to her, his voice higher. “Okay?”
“Okay!” Susan cried. “I didn’t say a word, did I?”
“No, but you coughed,” he said. “That’s almost like saying something.”
“Okay, okay,” Mr. McGee cut in to settle the argument. “Barry apologized for what he did, and I’m sure he won’t let it happen again. Now let’s finish our dinner.”
Barry breathed a sigh of relief. Boy! he thought. What a big deal over a stupid dropped ball!
The next morning Barry felt like skateboarding with José. Just as he lifted his green-and-white skateboard out of the closet, he heard his sister’s high-pitched voice ask, “Can I skateboard with you? I won’t be in your way, I promise.”
He looked at her, and then at Tommy, who was clinging onto Susan’s blue jeans.
“Aw, Susan,” Barry moaned. “You’re always butting in.”
“Butting in? I didn’t butt in at the dinner table last night, did I?” she said with a gleam in her eye. “You cooked your own goose.”
Barry had to smile. “Well, all right,” he said. “But Tommy stays here.” He leaned over and tickled his little brother’s chin. “Keep an eye on Mom, pal. Okay?”
Tommy nodded. “Okay.”
Smiling triumphantly, Susan pulled out her red-and-white skateboard — which was just a few inches shorter than Barry’s and had a T-handlebar — and followed Barry out the door.
Once outside, they skateboarded up the cement walk. Their wheels clacked over the cracks, and more than once Susan’s board rolled off the walk.
The second time Susan bent down to put her board back on the walk, Barry noticed something blue sticking out of her left-hand pocket. That sister of mine, he thought. Her pockets are always bulging with some kind of junk.
“Hey, Barry!” he heard a familiar voice say, and he saw his friend José sweeping around the corner on his fancy skateboard.
“José!” Barry called. “Race you down the block!”
“You’re on!” José replied. The two of them stood side by side for a second, then took off down the sidewalk, leaving Susan staring after them.
Suddenly four more boys on skateboards appeared from the other direction.
“Well, look who we’ve run into!” Alec Frost cried. “McGee and Mendez! The Mudders outfield!”
“Not quite,” said Barry, feeling a tightness in his stomach. The last guy he wanted to come across was Smart-Alec Frost. Barry recognized the other three, too. They were all members of the High Street Bunkers baseball team: Fuzzy McCormick, Judd Koles, and Tony Workman.
Both Barry and José slowed down, moving to the right side of the curb to let Alec and his friends pass by. The four boys took their time and hogged most of the sidewalk. Another six inches and Barry and José would have been on the grass.
“Hah!” Barry heard one of the guys laugh, but he ignored him. He was just glad they were leaving.
Barry and José got into position to continue their race. Then Barry heard a scream behind him. The boys pulled up short, looked back, and saw Susan yanking out her pockets and yelling, “It’s gone! It’s gone!”