We talk about the summer movies we want to go to, and Micah invites Sam to come with us. I don’t admit to them that I probably won’t go. I pretend that it’s all fine, though, and we discuss which theater is better. We have a small one at one end of town that shows artsy films and a bigger one on the other side of town that shows the blockbuster kind. The bigger one is really old, and people call it the Sticky instead of the Stickley, which is its real name. When you walk down the aisle to get to your seat, your feet stick to the floor because they never mop it. And you have to be careful and check your seat before you sit down because there could be someone’s messy candy wrapper or popcorn pieces in it. But the screens are bigger, so it’s more fun to see action movies there.

“One time I was walking up the aisle to go use the bathroom in the middle of a movie and my flip-flop came off because it got stuck in a wad of gum,” Sam says. “I lost my balance and had to step down with my bare foot and I stepped on a gummy worm and thought it was a real worm and I screamed bloody murder and everyone in the theater shushed me at the same time. It was so embarrassing! I couldn’t find my flip-flop until there was an explosion in the movie and the screen lit up the aisle a little.”

“I think we were there!” Micah says. “I kind of remember that!”

“Me too!” I say. “That’s so funny.”

“It’s funny now,” Sam says. “But it was kind of horrifying at the time.”

We spend the next hour or so sharing our most embarrassing stories. I always thought Sam was kind of a snob, but she seems different this summer. When our fingers turn into prunes, we decide to get out and dry off. Soon it’s time to go, so we drag Ivy away from her pals and bike home. She and Micah come to the Townsends’ to help me with chores, and I introduce Ivy to all my new friends and enemies. When we get Lucy her feed and water, she does her usual body-slam routine and Ivy thinks it’s too funny for words.

“Boy, she really hates you, Rachel!” Ivy says.

As if to confirm this, Lucy flicks her tail and poops. Pig poop is ten times smellier than anything I’ve ever smelled. When the stench hits us, Ivy exaggerates, clutching her chest and falling to the ground.

“I’m dying!” she yells, rolling around and plugging her nose.

Lucy ignores us.

“She’s no Wilbur, that’s for sure,” Ivy says. Charlotte’s Web is one of her favorite books. I’ve probably read it to her four or five times.