Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle by Nan Marino Read Free Book Online Page B

and doing laundry, anything to keep away from Shirley.
    Every so often I sneak back outside and glance down the block at the Rattle’s front lawn. But the only thing gathering on Ramble Street is a bunch of puddles.

Chapter Twelve
Let the Game Begin
    W ORD TRAVELS FAST on Ramble Street. Even a day of torrential rain couldn’t stop the entire block from hearing about Muscle Man’s challenge.
    The morning after the storm, we’re ready for him. At 9:30, eleven of us are standing on the Rattle’s front lawn. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen us all together.
    Big Danny and John Marcos stand in the center of the group. The others swarm around them.
    Tony Mogavero pedals by with those punky kids at his side. As soon as Big Danny explains the situation to him, Tony drops his bike. “Catch you later,” he tells those two kids from Catholic school, and just like old times, he’s back with us.
    I almost get knocked over by one of the Donovan twins. He’s too busy shoving his brother to even say sorry. After eleven years, Matthew and Michael Donovan haven’t figured out that both of them can’t occupy the same space at the same time.
    â€œCome on, guys, cut it out.” Benny Schuster is friends with both of them and probably says those words a hundred times a day.
    MaryBeth floats around the crowd with her little sister, Janie Lee, showing off their matching outfits and silky hair. It reminds me that I should have at least redone my pony tail this morning.
    I stand next to Conchetta Marchetta for a while. You can always count on a Marchetta to show up for a big event. Conchetta is a nice girl. Dull. But nice. I try to talk to her about summer and sprinklers and stuff, but after about thirty seconds, I run out of things to say.
    By 9:50, I can’t wait any longer. I work my way into the center of the crowd. “Maybe we should call for him.”
    â€œHe’s got ten minutes,” says John Marcos. “He’s not even late.”
    â€œYes, let’s be fair and give him a chance.” MaryBeth bats her eyelashes at him.
    â€œI’m always fair,” I protest.
    John Marcos pays no mind to either one of us. Instead he walks over to where Billy Rattle is showing off his new transistor radio.
    I kill time by standing next to MaryBeth, listening to some story about that uncle of hers who works for Grumman and the Apollo 11 mission.
    â€œTammy, did you hear anything I said?” she asks.
    â€œOf course,” I say, not taking my eyes off of Muscle Man’s house.
    â€œWe’re having a big party at my house on moonwalk night.” MaryBeth puts her hands over her mouth like she’s said something terribly wrong. “Oh, Tammy, I’m so sorry.”
    I shrug like I don’t care at all. It’s not like I expect an invitation. Whenever the Grabowsky’s have a party, my family’s not invited. Oh sure, if there’s a party where they invite everyone on the entire block, we get to go. But when it comes to a house party where only certain people are invited, the Simpsons never make the grade.
    MaryBeth always seems to let it slip, though, whenever her family is having a party. We never have any kind of a celebration at my house. If we ever do, I’ve made a solemn vow that I’ll accidentally let her know too.
    â€œOh, Tammy, are you mad?” asks MaryBeth, in a make-believe sad voice.
    I shrug again and walk away from her. I end up standing next to Big Danny, who’s finishing a swirly cone.
    â€œWhere’d you get that?” I ask. Mr. Softee’s first drive down Ramble Street is normally after lunch.
    â€œWe ‘ave a whole boonch of ‘em in the freeza.” His mouth is too full to say any more. “It’s my ‘ird one.”
    â€œHey, what time is it?” I notice he’s wearing a watch.
    â€œFive minnuz afta.” He pushes the entire rest of the cone in his mouth, and I