Sheri went to the front room and turned on the television, turned it off again. She felt at loose ends. But she was enjoying the humming pleasure that coursed through her body, she was enjoying the high. Languorously, she walked upstairs again. At Robby's door she heard the familiar peck peck of his typewriter.

Robby was nice, she thought, leaning there in the hallway. It was funny having an uncle that young. Well, not too young. He was twenty, almost twenty-one. Maybe it was weirder that Mona was his sister. Sheri did some quick math in her head. She had been born when Mona was just about Robby's age. And her father… Why wouldn't Mona ever let her see a picture of her father? Mona swore she didn't have any. She hadn't even consented to letting Sheri know his first name. Something Hawkins. It seemed a drag not to know anything about your old man. But since her mother's hair was so dark, Sheri figured that her father had been blond. Like she was.

She had her ear against Robby's door now, listening to the typewriter. What a weird thing to be doing on a Friday afternoon. Typing on a damned old typewriter. She giggled again and a flood of laughing caught her. She tried to smother it but it was like stopping the wind. The typewriter stopped pecking. Sheri stepped back from the door just as it opened.

"I thought I heard something," Robby said, looking at her over the tops of his glasses. He pulled them off and wiped each lens carefully on his shirt tail.

"I'm sorry. I was just walking by and got the giggles, I guess." She tried to look around him into the room. She wanted company.

"Come on in if you want," Robby said, walking back to the typewriter. Sheri circled the room, looking touching. There was a chess board with carved figures all set in place. The king and queen were almost six inches tall. She picked one up and studied it.