"Dutchess," mumbled Mom, with a mouthful of the omelette I'd made.

I assumed she was saying "Delicious," so I answered, "Thanks."

I was halfway through my own omelette when I heard a horn honking outside.

Mom scowled. "So early in the morning?" she grunted.

Ding-dong went the front door bell.

"Time to go!" I cleared my plate, grabbed my coat from the outside hallway, and ran to the front door.

"Did you take your medicine, sweetheart?" Mom called out.

"Yes, Mom."

"Bundle up!"

"Yes, Mom. 'Bye!"

My medicine, by the way, is insulin. It regulates the sugar in my bloodstream. Most people's bodies make their own insulin, but diabetics have to inject it daily. (Please don't barf. It's not as gross as it sounds.)

"Hi!" Buddy Barrett greeted me as I opened the door. "Lindsey was blowing the car horn. She's in big* trouble."

Buddy is eight. Lindsey DeWitt is eight. Put them together and you get . . . big trouble. (Did you think I was going to say sixteen? Faked you out.)

Behind Buddy I heard squealing voices:

"I want to sit with Suzi!"

"Close the windows!"

"Ryan's drooling!"

By the curb in front of our house, kids were running back and forth between the Barrett sedan and the DeWitt station wagon. Mrs. Barrett and Franklin were standing outside, directing them like traffic police.

As Buddy and I walked toward the cars, I heard Suzi Barrett cry out, "Stacey sits with us!"

"Uh-uh! No way!" Taylor DeWitt retorted.

Suzi's five and Taylor's six. Usually Suzi is sweet-natured, but Taylor brings out her competitive side.