"Are we using rifles or machine guns, sir?" I asked.

"Are you crazy?" he barked. "We'd never be able to carry a machine gun through all that mud." He nodded at the carpet.

"Rifles it is, sir," I agreed.

"And if we're taken," he warned me, "save the last bullet for yourself."

We started up the stairs like a couple of soldiers, firing imaginary guns at imaginary enemies. It was childish, but great fun. Steve «lost» a leg on the way and I had to help him to the top. "You might have taken my leg," he shouted from the top of the stairs, "and you might take my life, but you'll never take my country!"

It was a stirring speech. At least, it stirred Mrs. Leonard, who came up from the downstairs living room to see what the racket was. She smiled when she saw me and asked if I wanted anything to eat or drink. I didn't. Steve said he'd like some caviar and champagne, but it wasn't funny the way he said it, and I didn't laugh.

Steve doesn't get along with his mom. He lives alone with her his dad left when Steve was very young and they're always arguing and shouting. I don't know why. I've never asked him. There are certain things you don't discuss with your friends if you're boys. Girls can talk about stuff like that, but if you're a boy you have to talk about computers, soccer, war, and so on. Parents aren't cool.

"How will we sneak out tonight?" I asked in a whisper as Steve's mom went back into the living room.

"It's okay," Steve said. "She's going out." He often called her she instead of Mom. "She'll think we're in bed when she gets back."

"What if she checks?"

Steve laughed nastily. "Enter my room without being asked? She wouldn't dare."

I didn't like Steve when he talked like that, but I said nothing in case he went into one of his moods. I didn't want to do anything that might spoil the show.

Steve dragged out some of his horror comics and we read them out loud. Steve has great comic books, which are only meant for adults. My mom and dad would hit the roof if they knew about them!