by Penelope Jones

Created on: February 01, 2008

MOM WANTED!

Suspects:
- taking a nap
- in the shower
- gardening
- visiting neighbor
- on the phone
- on the computer
- gone shopping
- doing laundry

"Race ya!" Tracy shouted and started running. With one eye keeping careful watch to ensure that she didn't step on any cracks, she timed her pace and glanced quickly over her shoulder. As usual, her brother was shuffling along about six sidewalks squares behind. He was teasing the neighbor's fluffy little brown dog into a barking frenzy by throwing an imaginary ball over the fence. "The loser has to give me one of your cookies!" she called.

"Whatever." Peter grumbled, not speeding up the slightest bit. The library books he requested weeks ago for his report had finally come in. All at once, of course. He recounted the days on his fingers to the due date next Friday morning. There were only nine short afternoons left. The pressure of the paperweight in his backpack seemed to get worse and Peter had to pushed himself hard not to slouch.

He looked up just in time to watch Tracy rush past the back hatch of their mother's brown Pontiac and climb the porch stairs in only two steps. As she turned the knob, she squealed her conquest. "I win! Girls rule!"

The tone of her voice changed quickly from triumph to dismay. "Oh my goodness! Mom, Help! Check- " Peter didn't hear the rest because the sound of her voice was cut off by the door slamming behind her. As soon as he cracked the door open, her wailing greeted him again.

"Mom! Mom! Help! MOM!?!" Tracy was frantically pulling at her hair and running from room to room searching. "Where are you? MOTHER!?!"

Peter had to shove on the door hard to squeeze through and bring his heavy load into the house. Groaning and staggering against the closet door to his left, he kicked at his twin's red and grey trimmed backpack and powder pink spring jacket. Finally, the worst of the obstacle rolled together in a twisted bunch near the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor. Still using only his feet he nudged the four muddied sneaker behind the door and kicked it closed. Then, without untying them, he peeled off his own.

Peter crouched slightly to slide his burden off onto the bench behind his knees, letting out a sigh as he stretched straight again. It felt so good that he decided to reach for the ceiling and touch his socks. When he turned to hang his jacket he realized the closet was bulging and the door was stuck, as usual.

Peter rolled his eyes. He didn't doubt that would be his sister's

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