“Then prove it,” Scout shouts back. “Put your glove where your mouth is, sweetheart.”

“It’s Moose’s fault I can’t play. Blame him,” Annie shouts as we round the corner to the stairwell.

Scout snorts. “Dames, they’re all the same. Nothing is ever their fault.”

Upset as I am, I can’t help laughing at this. Scout sounds like somebody’s dad when he talks this way.

“Actually”-Scout smiles a little like he’s proud of himself for getting me out of my mood-“there are three types of girls in the world: lookers, okey-dokeys, and aunties. Lookers are beautiful. Okey-dokeys are not pretty, but not ugly either, and aunties are… they’re the other kind. That Annie doll, she’s an auntie.”

Mad as I am at Annie, I can’t let Scout talk this way about her. “Annie’s different. She can play ball, I swear she can.”

“Whatever you say, buddy, but that girl’s an auntie if I ever saw one.”

“Nah, she’s an okey-dokey,” I tell him. Up ahead are the parade grounds. Scout speeds up. I haven’t said that’s where we play, but he already seems to know.

“Auntie.” He drops his bat.

“Okey-dokey.” I toss my ball in the air.

Scout catches it with his bare left hand. We throw the ball back and forth, gloveless left to gloveless left.

“Pop flies,” I call, and Scout throws one up almost as high as the basement on the warden’s house, which sits on the top tier of the island. But I catch it, of course I do.

It’s impossible to stay upset when you’re with Scout.

“How come Annie doesn’t go to school with us?” Scout asks.

“She goes to Catholic school-St. Bridgette’s.”

“Any kid besides Piper live here? Anybody who can play? I thought you said there was another kid? Or you know, a stray murderer or something.” Scout’s eyes light up. “The kind with blood.”

“Everybody has blood, Scout.”

“On their hands, I mean.”