outside to jam sticks into bee holes. Which was about the only thing there was to do at that place.
So I was outside, sitting there in the dirt by the street breaking up twigs, when I heard footsteps coming down the stairs behind me -- the other family's stairs, on the other side of the house. I got scared again, of course. And next thing I knew the girl was standing there beside me in this little green terrycloth outfit, hands on hips, her eyes squinting at me in the bright sun. I remember the freckles on her nose and cheeks and her dusty toes clenching and unclenching in her flip-flops. Or at least I think I do.
She just stood there a while, staring at me. Then she said, "I saw you looking at me, you know." I just ignored her and went on breaking up sticks. She took a step closer to me, so she was almost on top of me, and she said, "Do you want me to tell my dad?" I didn't say anything, didn't even look up at her. I was mad at her, though -- real mad, don't ask me why -- and I was trying to think up something mean to say to her as I was sitting there in the dirt.
"Stupid," she said.
"Stupid girl," I said.
Then she said, "I'm telling." She turned around and
