THE TWINS ARE CRYING WHEN I get home from school, which is not a shock because the twins are always crying.
“How was your day?” Mom asks as they wail, and I say, “Fine,” even though it was not.
“I am going outside,” I tell Mom. “Timmy is not allowed to come.”
“Timmy is taking a nap,” Mom says. “And no funny business today, do you hear me?”
“Yes,” I answer, and I open the back door.
“Mandy,” Mom calls behind me. “I mean it—you be on your best behavior out there.”
“Okay,” I answer, and I say the “kay” part super-duper loud, so Mom knows I heard her. I walk over to our swing set and sit on the swing farthest from the kitchen window. I pump my legs back and forth, and the swing rises in the air quickly. I may not be any good at the monkey bars, but I am an excellent swinger.
I pull my arms back and forth on the rope handles and move my body front and back at the same time as my legs. I swing as high as I can—so high that I could touch the moon if it were nighttime. I would jump off this swing right now, like the fourth graders do on the playground, except I do not know how to do that exactly.
I pump my legs back and forth very strongly, and push my body against the wind. I whizz through the air, my hair falling out of my ponytail and my nose so close to the clouds that I think I can smell them.
“What you doing, Mandy?” Timmy wanders out the back door and over toward the swing set.
“Why are you out here?” I ask. “I told Mom you were not allowed to come.”
Timmy shrugs. “I wake up. What you doing?”
“Jumping off the swing,” I tell him, even though I have not actually done that yet.
“I try too,” Timmy says, and he pulls himself onto the swing next to me.
“You do not know how to jump off swings,” I tell him. “You are a baby.”
“I jump off steps,” Timmy tells me.
“That is not even the same because—” I begin, but then I stop myself. I feel my eyes spread out wider and wider into humongous pancakes.
Because Timmy has just given me a great idea.
I hop off the swing and jog toward the back door.
“Where you going, Mandy?” Timmy calls after me, but I do not answer him. I do not have time to talk to preschoolers when I have finally found a way to make my week better in a big way. I run through the house until I am at the bottom of the steps, then I climb up the first one. I turn around, jump as high as I can in the air, and land on the ground.
On two feet.
So I turn and climb up two steps and jump high in the air again.
And I still land on two feet.
“What you doing, Mandy?” Timmy appears around the corner.
“Shh. Mom cannot hear.”
“But what you doing?”
“Breaking my arm,” I tell him. “Now shush, because it is a secret.” Timmy slides his hand across his mouth like it is a zipper, and he watches me as I climb all the way up to the third step. I turn around, take a deep breath, and leap toward the floor.