“Glad to hear it,” said Roger. “My name is Frank. And this is George and Joe,” he said, pointing to Randy and Scott. “And that’s David,” he said, pointing at David.
David’s face flushed.
“A pleasure,” said Mrs. Bayfield. “I’m Felicia Bayfield.”
David wasn’t worried that Mrs. Bayfield knew his real name. As long as she didn’t know his last name. It was just that Roger had done that on purpose.
“Would you boys like some lemonade?” asked Mrs. Bayfield.
“Why, thank you, Felicia,” said Roger. “We just love lemonade. Don’t we?”
“I love lemonade,” said Randy.
David shrugged. “Sure,” he muttered, hoping that they’d change their minds and just drink the lemonade, then leave.
“Nothing like a cool glass of lemonade on a hot day,” said Scott.
It wasn’t a particularly hot day. They were all wearing jackets.
“There are some cups on the porch, if you would be so kind,” said Felicia Bayfield.
Roger and Randy headed for the porch, directly behind Mrs. Bayfield. David watched as they stomped through her small flower bed, crushing the flowers. He smiled at Mrs. Bayfield, trying to show her that he really didn’t mean her any harm.
“I hope the lemonade’s not too sour for you,” she said. “It’s homemade.”
“I like it sour,” said David, still smiling. He watched Roger whisper something to Randy as they got some Styrofoam cups out of a plastic bag on top of an ice chest.
Roger returned with four cups and set them on the small table. “I’ll pour,” he said, and picked up the pitcher of lemonade.
Randy remained behind Felicia Bayfield.
“I hope there’s enough,” she said. Her eyes were bright green and sparkling like the green eyes on the snake-head cane resting on her lap.
Randy took hold of the back of the rocking chair with both hands.
“Oh, there’s plenty,” said Scott.
“Now!” shouted Roger.
Scott grabbed the cane while at the same time Randy pulled the rocking chair all the way over.
Mrs. Bayfield cried out as she fell on her back in the chair. Roger poured the pitcher of lemonade over her face, turning her cries into sputters.
Her legs were sticking up in the air and pointed right at David. He found himself staring at the strangest underpants he’d ever seen—black-and-white-striped with red ruffles. They extended from above her waist down almost to her knees.
Roger hurled the empty pitcher at the porch. It crashed through her front window.
“C’mon, David,” yelled Randy, standing by the gate. “Before she puts a curse on us!”
Mrs. Bayfield slid backward out of the chair. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at David looking at her.
He wanted to help her or at least tell her he was sorry, but he didn’t.
He flipped her off.
