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afternoon, but this was a new and interesting piece of information.
    â€œSo then what do you do?” I asked. “Once you got a live skunk in a trap?”
    Unk shrugged. “The guy didn’t tell me the rest of the story.”
    Al snorted. “Here’s the rest of the story: the guy opens the trap, the skunk comes out, lifts its tail, unloads on the guy, and runs back under the porch.”
    This amused him so much I thought he was going to choke, but he finally recovered and took a swallow of beer. Then he held up the can and shook it. “Empty,” he announced. He looked at Unk. “You?”
    Unk drained his can and stood up, and the two of them headed into the office, I guessed to get more beers.
    Augie and I kept painting. Suddenly he groaned quietly and murmured, “Oh, man. Don’t look now, but Morrie and J.R. are coming.”
    Of course I looked. Sure enough, the two older kids were riding down the road toward us on their bikes.
    â€œThey already spotted us,” I whispered.
    â€œHey, look!” called Morrie. “It’s Lame and Lamer!”
    â€œLooks like Wimpy and Wimpier to me,” said J.R.
    They pedaled hard toward us, then braked suddenly, purposely spraying us with gravel and dust from their rear tires.
    â€œAww, look at that pretty pink wood,” said J.R.
    â€œWhatcha making, girls?” Morrie asked.
    â€œNothing,” said Augie, without looking up from his painting.
    I admired how casual and nonchalant he sounded. Meanwhile, I stood frozen, not wanting to call any attention to myself.
    â€œLooks like a lot of work for nothing ,” J.R. observed. So quickly I never saw it coming, he grabbed the brush from my hand and dropped it on the ground.
    Morrie, seeing this, lunged for Augie’s roller, but Augie held on tight. They struggled for a moment, but Morrie was bigger and stronger than Augie. He twisted Augie’s arm so the paint-covered foam end of the roller mushed up against Augie’s cheek, leaving a big brown streak. Then the roller, too, hit the ground.
    â€œEw, gross,” said Morrie. “What ya been eating, Augie? It’s all over your face.”
    J.R. snickered. “Looks like—”
    He didn’t finish, because suddenly Al and Unk were standing right there. They moved pretty fast and sneaky for two old guys.
    Al looked a little bit like somebody you wouldn’t want to mess with, with his bulk and his sudden, fierce scowl. But Unk was pretty scrawny. And, in his plaid hat and yellow-and-red-checked Bermuda shorts, with black socks and giant beige sneakers at the ends of his spindly white legs, he didn’t exactly inspire fear.
    â€œThis here is private property,” Al said, his arms folded over his substantial stomach. “And this is a private party.”
    J.R. and Morrie tried to cover their surprise at seeing Al and Unk. “Like we’d want to come to your loser party,” Morrie murmured, just loud enough so Augie and I could hear it, but not Al.
    â€œSo,” said Al, “the two of ya—make like a tree and leave.”
    Morrie looked at J.R. and smirked. “Ooh, I’m scared, J.R. How ’bout you?”
    J.R. pretended to shiver with fear. “Petrified.” He gestured toward Unk. “’Specially of him.”
    They both laughed, but they got on their bikes. As they rode away, Morrie looked back over his shoulder and called, “Sorry we can’t stay and play, girls, but you have fun with your pink boards.”
    The four of us stood there for a minute. I was mad. And, for some reason, I felt kind of embarrassed and ashamed. Which didn’t really make sense, since Morrie and J.R. were the ones who had acted like jerks.
    Almost as if he’d heard me, Augie shouted, “Jerks!”
    â€œGuys like that,” Al said with a shrug. “Coupla punks. Don’t let ’em get to you.”
    â€œSooner or later,” Unk said,