“Neally Standwell! Neally Standwell!”
Mickey ran to the tetherball court, where Quinn, Sam, and Neally stood in line behind Kelsey King.
“How are you, Neally Standwell?” Mickey gushed.
“I’m very well, thank you, Mickey Andrews-Lee,” Neally replied.
“Can you come to our house after school? Can she, Quinn? We have Alice and Peppy—my rat and Quinn’s hamster. I have swim practice but not ’til later. We could have snacks and ...”
“I’m going to Neally’s house after school,” Quinn said.
Neally saw the gray clouds forming in Mickey’s eyes, and she turned to Quinn. “Maybe Mickey could ...”
“No way!” Quinn urgently whispered.
Neally silently mouthed Sorry to Quinn and then spoke aloud. “As I was going to say, maybe Mickey could show me your pets after we stop off at my house?”
“Whoopee!” Mickey raised her arms above her head and pirouetted on one foot, spinning around and around until she staggered backwards, bumping into Sam.
“Perhaps the ballet is not your calling, Mistress Mickey.” Sam gently lowered the still-reeling Mickey to the ground.
“My brain is all whirly inside.” Mickey tapped her fingers against her temple. “I don’t know how dancers can do that without barfing all over their pretty pink tutus.”
“YOU’VE DONE YOUR LIMIT,” Kelsey yelled to the two sixth graders on the tetherball court. “YOU’RE PLAYING EASIES. LET SOMEONE ELSE HAVE A TURN.”
Neally hit the side of her head as if she were trying to dislodge a pebble from her ear.
“She’s not really yelling,” Sam assured Neally.
“She’s not?”
“For anyone else it would be yelling,” Sam said. “But for Kelsey, it’s just her voice. It’s not like she’s mad at anything.”
“So, does she whisper when she’s mad?” Neally asked.
“HOWDY, NEIGHBOR.” Kelsey King’s mother strutted briskly toward the tetherball line. She waved to Neally in passing and slapped her daughter on the back. “I DROPPED OFF A NOTE AT THE OFFICE,” Mrs. King bellowed to Kelsey. “I’M TEACHING A CLASS THIS AFTERNOON, WHICH MEANS YOU’LL BE IN AFTERCARE UNTIL FIVE AND THEN YOUR DAD WILL PICK YOU UP.”
“Howdy, neighbor?” Quinn asked Neally. “Does she know you?”
“Our house is across from Kelsey’s,” Neally explained.
Mickey gazed up in awe at Kelsey’s mother and began counting. “One, two, three, four ...”
“Don’t point!” Quinn grabbed his sister’s finger.
“SEE YA, BABE!” Mrs. King saluted her daughter and marched toward the parking lot.
“You made me lose track!” Mickey whined to Quinn.
“I got up to seven on the left side,” Neally said. “You were counting her earrings, right?”
Mickey nodded. “Some of them were so teensy.”
“THOSE ARE CALLED POSTS.” Kelsey posed triumphantly on the court, holding the tetherball against her hip. “SHE WEARS THE POSTS ON THE LEFT EAR, AND THE HOOPS ON THE RIGHT EAR.”
“What does your mom teach?” Neally asked.
“GYMNASTICS. SHE WAS ON THE AMERICAN OLYMPIC SQUAD.”
“Why does she wear so many earrings?” Mickey asked.
“WHY NOT?”
Quinn frowned at his sister, but Mickey continued. “Does anyone ever tease her about it?”
“WHAT DO YOU THINK?!” Kelsey cocked her arm back and slammed the tetherball against the pole. “WHICH ONE OF YOU IS GOING TO BE THE FIRST TO DIE?”