I hate boys’ games.
“Run!” I yell to Pam. “They’re right behind you.”
She dodges the boys, races past Mommy’s vegetable garden, and heads toward the maple tree in her backyard. If she touches the trunk, we win, and the boys will finally have to keep their promise to play house with us.
I kneel behind the shrub. My side aches with each deep breath. Using the hem of my shirt, I wipe sweat off my forehead.
Steve sneaks behind Pam and drops the hula-hoop lasso over her head. She kicks and screams as her brother drags her to the cave, the cinderblock barbeque pit in my backyard, and rolls a pretend stone in front of the cave door.
Pam beats on the rock. “I can’t escape. They’re going to eat me.”
Hula-hoop in hand, Steve turns toward my hiding place. “I’m coming to get you.”
“No!” I race toward the tree.