He lifts the ladder like a shield, and he’s laughing at me. Laughing. At me. “Rolf’s just round the corner,” he says, and now he’s thrusting with the ladder as if it’s a spear. “And Marigold thinks you’re such a nice guy—you wouldn’t want to blow it.”

Then he sticks his earpiece back in, picks up his paint can, and climbs the ladder. He’s going to reach the top of the window before me. He had a head start. I’m up my ladder with my brush in the can before you can say paint.

Cassie comes around the corner, dragging Rover. “I want to go home.”

“You can’t.”

“I want my Princess Melanie baking set.”

“We’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“I want it now!”

I miss a strip, go back, paint over it. She can keep this up for hours.

She says, “I’ll go get it.”

“You’re not allowed on the road by yourself.”

She drops Rover on the grass and kicks him. “You’re a big meanie, Brick.”

I hope Glenn has the volume on high. I move the stepladder nearer the window. Ten minutes and I’ll be done. “Where’s Tully?”

“Painting. I want someone to play with.”

There’s days I wish you’d never been born. Let’s face it, there’s entire years I wish you’d never been born.

“Where’s Caramel?”

“In his crate. I am so going to fetch my baking set all by myself.”

“No, you’re not!”

She plops down on the grass, drums her heels, and screams. Volume high. No tears.

Glenn pulls out his earpiece. “What’s up, Cassie? Mad at your brother? But he’s such a nice guy.”

Marigold comes on the run. “Is everyone too busy to pay attention to you, Cassie? How about I set up the sprinkler and you can run through it?”

The scream stops in midair; the two of them walk away hand in hand. Waiting until they’re out of sight, Glenn says, “Are you planning on throwing rocks at Igor again?”

“Depends.”

“If you do, I’ll borrow Dad’s digital camera and catch you in action. You wouldn’t want me to mail a print to your father.”

Drips slop from my brush. “Not your style,” I say.

“You passing your garbage along only makes it smell worse.”

“Yes, Reverend.”

“Are you gonna throw rocks at Caramel?”

“Are you gonna drop dead?”

He’s laughing again. “Wouldn’t that be convenient.”

I picture the paint can upended on his head, Sunshine Yellow slithering down his face. “You won’t always be at Rolf’s.”

“Stating the obvious is the sign of a lazy mind.” His brush comes almost to the edge of where I’ve painted. “I’ll finish up here,” he adds. “You can start the back.”

“I don’t take orders from—“

“Lunchtime!” Marigold calls from the back step.