“over,” it means over .
6
Great-Aunt Imogene to the Rescue
The next morning at school, Coco had on her pink Walkie-Talkies.
Hassan had on his blue lightning Walkie-Talkies.
All the rest of us had on our usual, boring feet.
Maya said, “My mom called six different shoe stores, but no luck. Everybody wassold out. They all said check back next week.”
“Everybody wants a pair, I guess,” said Coco.
She tied her right shoe while a bunch of us watched.
I have never been jealous of shoe tying before.
“I wore two pairs of socks so my blisters wouldn’t hurt so much,” Coco said. “But it’s worth it.”
“I wore about twenty Band-Aids,” Hassan agreed.
“Talk to the shoe, Hassan,” Coco directed.
“Band-Aids,” Hassan repeated into his left toe.
“I asked my mom again if I could get some,” Gus said. He sighed. “But shejust said ‘ No means no , honey.’ And then Babette spit up on her jeans.”
“My dad said something about singing underwear,” I said.
“What does that mean?” Gus asked.
I watched Coco tie her other shoe.
I sighed, just like Gus. “It means no in Dadspeak,” I said.
That afternoon after school, Max and I were in the front yard playing where-did-Goofy-bury-the-Frisbee-this-time.
A big truck parked in front of the house. A man in a brown hat jumped out.
He was carrying a shoebox-sized package and a clipboard.
“Is that for me?” I asked, because you never know.
“That depends,” he said. “Are you Master Roscoe Reginald Riley?”
“That’s me!” I cried.
“Sign at the X, sir,” he said.
I wrote my name very carefully and took the package.
“Who’s that from?” Max asked.
He looked at the return address. “Too bad,” he said.
I tried to read the handwriting. But it was full of loops and squiggles.
“Why too bad?” I asked.
“It’s from Great-aunt Imogene,” he said. “Tough luck, kid.”
Great-aunt Imogene has about two hundred great-nieces and great-nephews.
Sometimes she gets us mixed up.
She gets birthdays and holidays mixed up too.
Last year she sent me an electric razor for Saint Patrick’s Day.
Which was very nice of her.
Except that I am not doing a whole lot of shaving just yet.
The year before that, she sent me a frilly pink ballet tutu.
I gave it to Hazel.
I tore open the box. Inside was a present wrapped in yellow paper.
I opened the card attached to it.
“ Happy Fourteenth Birthday to Roscoe! ” I read out loud. “ With love and kisses from your Great-aunt Imogene. ”
Which was also very nice of her.
Except that my birthday was five and a half months away.
And I will not exactly be fourteen for another eight years.
“Oh, well,” Max said with a big-brother grin. “Mom always says it’s the thought that counts.”
“Remember that time she sent Hazel boxing gloves?” I asked. “And Hazel was only two weeks old?”
I crossed my fingers. Maybe there were boxing gloves in the box.
That would be a big improvement over a tutu.
I tore off a little paper.
I saw a big W on the box.
I tore off a little more.
I saw a big T .
No way. It couldn’t be.
I was afraid to hope.
I closed my eyes and tore off the rest of the paper.
“Whoa,” Max said. “Double whoa. Triple whoa.”
I opened my eyes.
I would have whoa ed along with Max.
But I was too busy screaming for joy.
It was a miracle.
There was no other way to explain it.
Great-aunt Imogene had sent me a pair of bright red, shiny, brand-new, right-size shoes.
I had my very own Walkie-Talkies!
7
Cool at Last
When I climbed onto the bus the next morning, Gus took one look at my feet and his eyes grew giant.
“You got some!” he cried.
We did one of our special secret handshakes.
It’s called high five, low five, foot five, no five.
“How did you get those?” Gus asked. “What did you say to your parents?”
“It wasn’t my parents. It was my Great-aunt Imogene.”
“The one who sent you a teething ring on the Fourth of