Please, Please, Please by Rachel Vail

me as a possible stalling tactic—I had to throw myself down the steps.
    Paul and I used to do it all the time, just roll down the steps—pretending we were stuntmen. I was smaller then, though, and I hadn’t spent so much time learning to be careful not to hurt myself. The past few years I’ve learned to hold onto banisters, avoid loose steps, not jump across puddles. I take the long way around. I never run; you could twist an ankle and be out for weeks. If you’re going to dance, you have to protect your body.
    I stood up at the top of the stairs and imagined heaving myself down, headfirst. I tried to, then grabbed the banister before I fell. If I twist an ankle , I told myself, I’ll get out of dance! Of course, no way she’ll let me go apple picking or play soccer if I’m hobbling around on crutches anyway. Oh, what to do? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think fast. Don’t think , I told myself, just fall . I counted to three and tried again, but my body wouldn’t let me.
    “CJ! Did you find it?”
    I was left with only the most desperate tactic in the world—the be stupid stall. “Find what?”
    “The phone! Oh! Here it is!”
    I ran down the stairs. “Don’t run,” Mom mumbled, setting the phone on the charger. “We don’t need you getting hurt, with Nutcracker auditions coming up.”
    “Sorry.”
    Mom pulled her glasses out of her pocketbook, stuck them on top of her head, and gave a kiss to Paul, who pulled away, looking at Zoe.
    I heard myself ask, “You’re not calling Aunt Betsy?”
    “I’m late. If she calls, tell her I just had to run out for a while and I’ll try to get her before dinner, OK?”
    “OK.”
    She kissed my forehead and then Zoe’s. Zoe looked a little surprised. She said, “Thanks!”
    Mom backed through the door, thanking Zoe for the cookies and for taking such good care of Paul.
    Zoe waved her hand like it was nothing, and the three of us watched out the window as Mom sprinted to her car.
    Zoe turned to me and said, “Close call.”
    “What?” Paul asked.
    Zoe and I looked at each other and started to laugh. “Hey, Paul?” Zoe asked. “Want to have a catch?”
    “Yeah,” he said.
    I ate another cookie and prayed for the people my mom was with to have a lot, lot of questions.

sixteen
    I could tell Dad had stopped paying attention. He was still alternating saying uh-huh and shaking his head when Mom paused, but like a half-second too late. Paul and I looked at each other. We knew Dad was in for it.
    “So the whole deal is going to fall through,” Mom said, spearing a piece of chicken savagely with her fork.
    Dad shook his head. He was staring past her, toward the sprinkler over in his vegetable garden. I was a little more relaxed than I’d been so far in the weekend because my family has a Family Night rule for Sunday nights—no phone calls after five. I was safe for the night.
    “I mean,” Mom continued with her mouth full. “I can’t believe I spent the entire day there. I think a lien on the house is something you ought to mention to the real estate agent at some point, don’t you think?”
    This time Dad forgot to say uh-huh, so Mom looked at me and Paul. We both nodded seriously, as if we had any clue what she was saying. But we both know when Mom starts talking with her mouth full, you just shut up and agree.
    “Unbelievable! So now after all this work, I mean, how many people did I march through that house? How many times can I possibly point out the fabulous possibilities of that cruddy waterlogged basement?”
    “Mmm,” Dad said, helping himself to more peas.
    Mom opened her mouth and touched her side upper teeth with her tongue, staring at Dad.
    “Uh-oh,” I whispered to Paul. He smiled a little at me. He loves when I pay attention to him, which I should, more. Zoe had, and he’s practically ready to hang posters of her in his room.
    “So then I bought a pig,” Mom said. “And painted the kitchen purple. Don’t you