Page 9 of The Game We Played

I roll my eyes. “They’ll be gone for a while.”

Beth rubs her hands together. “Good. We can resume our discussion of strategy.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m not helping you steal Plank.”

“Why not?” Anne pouts.

“Maybe because the last time I helped you with a prank, my eyebrows were burnt off.”

“Not our fault!” they shout in unison.

I lift a, thankfully once again full, eyebrow at Beth. “It wasn’t your fault that you lit a match while spraying hairspray in my direction?”

She shrugs. “I got distracted.”

“By what? It was the middle of the night.”

I never should have agreed to help them prank a classmate. I thought we were going to toilet paper his house or maybe attach cotton balls to his car. I never in a million years imagined they wanted to throw firebombs at his treehouse. Or that they wouldn’t know how to make a Molotov cocktail.

“I thought I heard a police car.”

I give up. We’ve had this argument a million times. There was no police car or any other car, for that matter. I’m convinced my sisters targeted me on purpose. You refuse to cover for them when they break curfew one time.

“I’m hungry. I want a hamburger.” Anne stands and walks to the grill.

Benny, who’s lounging on the patio near the grill, barks as she approaches.

“Knock it off, Benny. It wasn’t my fault you got burs in your fur.”

Judging by his growl, he doesn’t believe her.

“Stop being a baby.”

Uh oh. If there’s one word Benny hates, it’s baby. He jumps to his feet and snaps his teeth at Anne. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she whips her hands up. Unfortunately, the hot dog on the plate she was holding falls to the ground.

Benny pounces on the food. It rolls under the grill, but he’s determined. He sticks his snout under the grill. His tail wags as he burrows further.

The grill wobbles since there isn’t room for a fifty-pound dog to fit under it.

“Grab the grill!” I shout as I jump to my feet.

Anne reaches for the grill but it’s too late. It topples to the ground. The charcoal spills onto the grass and fire explodes.

“Dad!” Anne and Beth shout.

“What’s wrong?” he yells from inside.

“Fire!”

“Again?”

Spoiler alert. This is not the first fire ‘accidentally’ ignited by the twins. And probably won’t be the last.

Dad flies out of the house with his shirt unbuttoned, yielding a fire extinguisher. He sprays the grass while Benny barks and runs circles around him. I imagine the dog is trying to explain how it’s not his fault.

Beth points to me. “You are not writing about this fire in the newspaper.”

“Yeah, sis,” Anne adds. “We are not going around town being referred to as those arsonists again.”