“We Stink” Up the Garage Sale

I don’t think I’ve ever worn this coat,” Grandma Dotty said as she put a $3.00 sticker on a purple quilted jacket. “No wonder we have a closet full of clutter!”

“Actually, Grandma, that’s my coat,” I said, plucking the sticker from the sleeve.

“No wonder it’s so small!” Dotty grinned and moved on to a blue-and-gray-striped winter hat. “Oh, this has got to go.”

I was being Super Sister, so I rescued the hat, which was Rafe’s. So far, he’d been pretty helpful with the garage sale. The good news: Most of our belongings had reappeared over the weekend. The bad news: Dotty kept getting confused and putting price tags on them. We had to act fast, or our friends and neighbors would be wearing our clothes and snuggling our stuffed animals. But Dotty was having a ball with the tags—she’d even stuck one on the straw hat she was wearing. So I was trying to rescue only things we really needed, like winter clothes and moldy science projects.

I was—as Dotty says—making orange juice from lemons.

No, literally. I was making orangeade. I’d read on a website that giving away drinks and snacks at a garage sale puts people in a good mood and makes them want to buy stuff.

“Where does this go?” Rafe asked as he lugged a telephone table out onto the lawn.

“Let’s put it toward the front,” I told him. “We can display my old ceramic-cat collection on it.”

“You’re getting rid of that?” Rafe looked surprised. “I always kind of liked it.”

“You did?” Wow, that was a shock. Rafe used to tease me about it constantly.

“Yeah, it made it easy to buy you Christmas presents.” Rafe shrugged. “Oh, well.” I was touched as he hauled the table away.

Is it possible, I thought, that my brother isn’t so bad after all?

“HEY, GEORGIA! I’M HERE TO HELP WITH THE GARAGE SALE!” Beaming, Rhonda grabbed a glass of orangeade. “WOW! THIS IS SO REFRESHING!”

“Um, hey, Rhonda.” I had no idea how she’d even found out about the garage sale. Is she psychic? Or psycho? Or maybe she just reads the newspaper. “Actually, I kind of have to leave in a few minutes.”

Rhonda looked horrified. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”

“Just to the garage. The band is coming over,” I explained. “We need to rehearse.” Emphasis on need.

Rhonda’s eyes bugged out behind her glasses. “BUT THAT’S PERFECT! YOU SHOULD PERFORM!”

I laughed, but Rhonda just kept gazing at me with that happy, hopeful expression.

The band chose that moment to appear.

“Hey, Georgia, what’s up?” Nanci’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, cookies!” She took three.

“They’re homemade,” I said, which made Nanci take two more.

“Look what I found!” Patti said, holding up a ceramic calico cat. “Isn’t it adorable? I need this. I love animals.” She plunked a dollar on the table.