juice, Mallory-silly-billy-goo-goo?" Sometimes she'll add, "Puh-lease, pun-lease, with a cherry on top?" It's annoying, but at least she doesn't do it as often as she used to. Besides, Claire is huggable and affectionate, so it's easy to overlook the "silly-billy-goo-goo" stuff.

Then there are my parents. My mom doesn't have a job. I mean, a job outside of the house, like being a doctor or an insurance salesperson or something. She says us kids are her job, and that with eight of us it's a big job.

My dad is a lawyer, but not the kind you see on TV, making wild speeches in a crowded courtroom. He's what's called a corporate lawyer. He's the lawyer for a big company inStamford,Connecticut . (We live inStoney-brook,Connecticut , which isn't far away.) Mostly, he sits at a desk or attends meetings. Once in awhile, though, he does go to court, but I bet he doesn't make speeches. I think he just stands up a lot and says, "Objection!" and things like that.

Every single one of us Pikes, even my parents, has dark brown hair (Mom calls it "chestnut brown" to make it seem less ordinary) and blue eyes. Nicky and Vanessa and I wear glasses (all the time — not just for reading, unfortunately), but as I mentioned earlier, I am the only one with curly hair. I'm also the

only one with freckles across my nose. I really stick out. If only Mom would let me get contacts. But she won't. Not until I'm fifteen. And she won't let me get my ears pierced until I'm thirteen.

Being eleven is a real trial.

I will admit one thing, though: No matter what age you are, being the oldest of eight kids sure teaches you responsibility. And it taught me a lot about baby-sitting.