His cousins were visiting. Tommy knew he should like it when his cousins visited, but they were a little older than him and always treated him like a baby. So when his parents and their parents went to the beach, Tommy spent most of his time playing in the sand with Puppy.
That was how Tommy found it, digging in the sand. It was a silver shell. The shell was perfectly silver, gleaming and smooth. Tommy was looking at it when he heard someone calling to him.
They sincerely tried to escape the house. But when the wheel popped clean off of Grandpa’s carefully maintained car—a car that had outlived countless relatives and was taken care of with all the tenderness of a baby—they knew they weren’t going anywhere.
“Dad’s going to kill me,” said Mr. Hanes gloomily, examining the dislocated wheel.
Mrs. Hanes, in the driver’s seat, offered no comment. Their two kids, Amy and Mike, looked at each other uneasily.
Yesterday, the Imp and I read a most provocative post prompt. The “Brand New You, Effective Tomorrow,” was very interesting to me—I have a secret itch to be the hula hoop artist in Cirque du Soleil—but Wallie was indignant. He couldn’t think of anyone he would rather be.
He told my friend in Impish (the language of the Imps) that he wouldn’t be anyone with less than eight arms and six eyes. I don’t know why he didn’t throw in two heads. But he was very adamant, and that was that.