After school, I plopped down on the couch and put my head in my hands.

Mom sat next to me. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

My little sister, Mia, started singing a Princess Sing-Along song. “Boys can cry. It’s okay, la la la. Boys can dance in ballet, la la la. Play with dolls or wear pink clothes, la la la. Polish the nails on your toes, la la la.”

“I’m not going to cry. And I don’t want to dance ballet or play with dolls or wear pink clothes or polish my toenails,” I said.

“I feel like crying,” my older sister, Alexa, said. She came into the room holding a bunch of pencils. She said, “I spent a lot of money on these scented pencils a few years ago. They were really popular. But now they’re just stinking up my bedroom.”

I told Alexa, “You think you have it bad? I’m one of the only kids in third grade whose parents won’t buy him any Puppet Pals.”

“I’ll buy you some Puppet Pals if you sweep out the basement,” Mom said. “No one’s been down there since your father left.”

My dad is a soldier. Two months ago, he left to fight bad guys in a top-secret place. The place is so secret he can’t even tell us where he is.

My dad used to exercise in the basement. But I’m scared of the basement. It’s very dark down there.

I told myself to be brave like my dad. Plus, I really wanted some Puppet Pals. I told my mom, “Okay, I’ll sweep the basement.”

I got a broom and dustpan. Then I went down the very dark stairway to the very dark basement.

Did I mention it’s very dark down there?

I felt all over the wall for the light switch. But I couldn’t find it.

I don’t believe in monsters.

Not usually.

But if there were monsters, very dark basements would be a good place for them. And they’d probably love to snack on eightyear-old boys.

If monsters were real.

But they aren’t.

Probably.

Finally, I found the switch and turned on the light.

I looked around. The only things I saw were Dad’s weights and his treadmill. No monsters.

Unless they were hiding or invisible.

But there’s no such thing as monsters.

Probably.

Then I spotted something even more frightening than a monster—a moth. It flew very close to me.

I wanted to run away. But I needed to clean the basement to get Puppet Pals. So I stayed where I was.

I put my hand on the wall to steady myself so I wouldn’t faint from terror. That’s when I saw a terrifying spider on the wall, just a few inches from my hand.

I took my hand off the wall and put it over my mouth. Then no one could hear me scream.

I did not run away.

I started sweeping the floor.

Inches away from my foot were more terrifying insects—ants!

I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran out of the basement and up the stairs.

I couldn’t speak for a long time.

Finally I told my mom, “I changed my mind. I’m not going to sweep the basement.”

“Then I won’t buy you any Puppet Pals,” Mom said.

I sighed. “I’ll buy Puppet Pals with my allowance money.”

“I thought you were saving your money for the Great Epic Superhero video game,” she said.

“The game will have to wait,” I said. I tried not to cry, even though it’s okay for boys to cry.

Mom took Mia and me to the toy store.

Mia ran to the Princess Sing-Along aisle. Pictures of Princess Sing-Along were printed on all kinds of stuff: Dolls, sheets, towels, cups, plates, shirts, socks, and even underwear.

She used her allowance money for a Princess Sing-Along washcloth. She clutched it to her chest and said, “I love this washcloth! What a great Princess Sing-Along item for my collection!”

“You can use it during your bath tonight,” I told her.

Mia shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t get it wet. This Princess Sing-Along washcloth is much too special to actually use.”

“I bet you’ll get tired of Princess Sing-Along,” I said.

“Never,” she said.

In a few months, I thought.

Next we went to the Puppet Pals part of the toy store. It was huge and crowded. There were Puppet Pals and copycats like Felt Fingers, Finger Friends, Happy Hands, and Puppet Playmates. I saw Puppet Pal carrying cases, books, games, stickers, and underwear, too.

I chose a box of twelve Puppet Pals.

Mom peered at it and said, “That’s a lot of money for bits of colored felt.”

“Some of the Puppet Pals are rare and valuable,” I said.

“You don’t seem very excited about them,” she said.

“I am.” I shrugged.

“What?” she asked. “I can’t hear you when you talk so quietly and dully.”

“I am excited about them,” I said.

“What?” Mom asked again.

“Never mind.” I frowned.

We walked toward the front of the store to pay for my box of Puppet Pals and Mia’s Princess Sing-Along washcloth.

On the way, I saw the Great Epic Superhero video game.

I stopped.

I stared at it. I touched it. I took it off the shelf. I gave it a little hug.

It was so great and epic and superhero-ish. I wished the kids at school liked the Great Epic Superhero video game as much as they liked Puppet Pals.

I sighed. Then I returned the video game to the shelf. I walked to the cash register to pay for my Puppet Pals.

I forced myself not to look back.

The box of Puppet Pals cost me most of my allowance money. It would take me a long time to save up for the Great Epic Superhero video game.

I still didn’t feel like ballet dancing, wearing pink, playing with dolls, or polishing my toenails.

But I did feel like crying.