Nick Next Door

CHAPTER 2: Getting Ready for Backyard Partying

Bartholomew Winslow Pewington the Third.

Otherwise known as every teenage girl's 10-year-old-boy-next-door nightmare. This kid has been annoying me since he came out of the womb.

Bartholomew is now clutching his side from laughter on my front lawn near my bedroom window. I'm just grateful Nick and his brothers are no longer outside.

I've opened the blinds so Bartholomew can see our faces.

"Such losers!" he says through the window, loud enough to hear through the glass. "And you know they saw you, right?" He tries to catch his breath from laughing.

"Who?" I ask.

"Who?" He laughs harder. "The Rangioni's! And every other neighbor within 10 blocks, that's who!"

"Listen, kid." I put on a serious face. "The only pervert peeping into windows is you. So I suggest you head back to your cartoons before I call the police."

"Yeah, right." He scoffs and starts to walk home. "I don't even like cartoons. Wait till I tell your mom about this."

"Stay off my property!" I yell back. "Enjoy your Smurfs!"

He continues to laugh as he crosses into his yard next door.

"Well, that was fun," I say to Roo.

"I'm mortified. Do you think Nick really saw us?" she asks.

"No! Please don't take the word of that demon-child from next door. He's just bored. Even his parents pretend to work 20 hours a day to avoid him."

"That's true." Roo nods.

"What's true?" someone asks.

Roo and I look up to see Errol, my brother, standing in the doorway.

"Hey Errol!" Roo smiles and sits on the edge of my bed.

"Bartholomew is a turd. That's what's true," I explain.

Errol laughs. "I think he's just a little lonely, Emma."

"Just a little lonely? Remember the time he put all those frogs in my bedroom?"

"You shouldn't have left your window open." Errol grins.

"And the time he filled our yard with a million spoons? Plastic-wrapped our family car? Or when he hung all my laundry, including my underwear, on the front lawn to dry?"

Roo and Errol laugh.

"Yeah, that was pretty embarrassing," Errol agrees. "How did he get your laundry again?"

"Offered to help mom with some chores. She innocently accepted."

"Crafty, that one."

"Don't I know it."

"Care to chat about Affair on the Square?" Errol asks, changing the subject. He's still standing in my doorway.

"Yes!" I plead and plop on the bed next to Roo.

"Cupcakes. Mom wants to serve them at the Affair - what do you think?"

Affair on the Square is a block party. Our street is blocked off from traffic courtesy of a few plastic cones at each end of the street and a hand-painted sign stating: No Traffic Permitted. We're just a suburban neighborhood, so it's easy to do, and we also happen to have a police officer living on our street.

Every house participates, at least for as long as I can remember, and that's pretty much since birth. All the neighbors walk down the street, chatting, drinking, and eating. Tables lining the street are filled with cakes, casseroles, kettle corn, and pizza; in the middle of the street are yard games like ring toss, arts and crafts, and some mild neighborhood talent like juggling or kiddie dance routines.