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Chris Withers caught the ball, almost falling over as it forcefully hit his hand. Sam laughed. “A little fast for you?” he asked his friend. Chris rolled his eyes and tossed back the mini-basketball. Sam expertly plucked it from the air and twirled it on his finger. “Show off,” Chris muttered, glaring at him. He pushed his dark blonde hair from his eyes. Samuel Neuman saw this and stated, “You really need to get your hair cut.” His hair was short and black. Sam was a little taller than average height and very athletic. Chris was short and spent most of his time playing video games. Sam tossed the ball back. Chris eyed it as it soared through the air, landing over the neighbor’s light brown fence. He groaned and sighed. “I’ll get it.” He stepped toward the fence, examining it for a second. He then hopped up, grabbed the top of the fence, and hung there. He faced Sam. “A little help, please.”
Sam chuckled and pushed Chris’s feet up until he was on top of the wooden structure. Chris then started leaning to his left. He flailed his arms wildly in a futile attempt to regain his balance. He landed flat on his back in the neighbor’s small garden. Almost as if she had sensed it, an old woman burst through the door, waving a kitchen knife in the air. She screamed at Chris in a heavy southern accent, “You better get out o’ my roses, boy, or yer gonna be plantin’ them again!” Chris jumped to his feet, running faster than he had ever done before. He flew into the front yard and dove for the driveway. Sam quickly jogged to him. “That lady has issues.” He held out his hand to help Chris up, who was on his knees, panting. Chris took his hand and stood, still catching his breath. “Yeah,” he agreed between loud pants. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small inhaler. He pressed down the top and sucked in, letting himself breath normally.
A voice called to Sam, “It’s getting late! Come on in!” It was his father. He opened the door to let the two boys in the house. Sam asked his dad, “Is it okay if Chris spends the night?” His dad shrugged. “That’s up to his parents,” he replied. “May I use your phone, Mr. Neuman?” Chris asked. Sam’s dad nodded as Chris slowly made for the phone. He dialed his number and waited for an answer. Meanwhile, Sam’s little sister excitedly hopped down the stairs, exclaiming in a sing-songy voice, “Next week is my birthday! Next week is my birthday!” She crashed into Sam and looked up at him. “Did you get me a present yet?” Sam smirked. “Maybe,” he replied. “You’ll have to wait until next Sunday to find out.” He took his patted his sister’s shoulder as he waited for Chris to finish with the phone.
The 7-year old Mabel grabbed her dad’s hand. “Did you get me a present?” she asked him. Mr. Neuman sat on the couch and sighed. “Do you have to ask me that every day?” he questioned. Mabel nodded. “Did you get me a present yet?” she repeated. Mr. Neuman replied, “Yes I have. But don’t go looking for it. It’s hidden in a place you’ll never find it.” Mabel leaped off the couch happily and ran next to Chris, who was hanging up the phone. “I can’t spend the night today, but I can tomorrow,” he stated. “Alright,” Sam replied. “See you tomorrow then.” Chris grabbed his coat and headed out the door, almost forgetting to close it.
Mabel asked, “How come your friends always get to spend the night and not mine?” Sam shrugged. “Because I’m more responsible with people than you,” he replied, walking away. His sister ran to catch up with him as he headed up the stairs. “I’m responsible!” she said. “I know how to use the microwave!” Sam opened his door. “Really? So do I!” he replied jokingly. “Night,” he said as he shut the door. “Night!” Mabel yelled and waved as if he could see her. She yawned and skipped into her room.
