THERE WERE THREE people in Simon’s driveway.

There was a woman about my mom’s age. She had a boy with her. He was younger than a kindergartner but big enough to walk without falling down. There was also an older kid, like a teenager. He looked like he was in high school or college.

He was the one who saw us come out of the garage. He called to us, “How much?”

“What?” Simon called back.

The teenager pointed down at something on the driveway and asked again, “How much?”

We couldn’t see what he was pointing at because the blue Toyota Camry was in the way.

“How much what?” Simon asked as we got closer.

The teenager leaned down and picked up one of the bright-pink flamingos.

“How much for a flamingo?” he asked a third time. “This would look awesome in my dorm room.”

“Umm, I don’t know,” Simon said.

Rosie was the first to figure it out. Again.

“They think it’s a garage sale,” she said. “They think the stuff in the driveway is all for sale.”

“No way,” Simon said.

“Way,” Rosie answered and laughed a little.

“I’ll be right back,” Simon said and ran into the house.

“He’ll, umm, be back,” I called to the teenager.

“Okay,” he said, shrugged, and put the flamingo down. He started to look through some of Simon’s comic books.

Simon came out of his house with his mom. He waved to us, and Rosie and I ran over.

Simon explained to his mom that the people in the driveway thought we were having a garage sale.

“I’ve been trying to get rid of that stuff for years. But your father wouldn’t let me,” she said and laughed. She was making fun of Simon’s dad without being mean. “If there’s more than one of something, you can sell it. And you can keep whatever you make.”

“Really?” Simon asked.

“Really.”

“What about the prices?” Simon asked.

“You three are smart. You’ll figure it out,” his mom answered and then pulled her phone out of her pocket. She looked at it for a few seconds. “You better get moving though. Dad’s almost to Remington.”

We ran back to the driveway.

And we had a garage sale.