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No. She says, “Oh, my mom knows where I am.

She said it was fine.” Then she points across the street

and says, “We just live right over there.”

My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, “Oh boy.” Then he looks at me and

winks as he says, “Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside

and help your mother?”

I knew right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it until later, but ditch wasn't

a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a

ditch is not something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kid it's

okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or

muddy they might be.

But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to wink twice. I smiled

and said, “Sure thing!” then jumped off the liftgate and

headed for my new front door.

I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just sounded like she was

chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way.

But before I got up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and

yanking me along.

This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest

thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion

to break away from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tangling into

hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud

monkey's hand!

I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along, saying, “C'mon!”

My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest look on her face.

“Well, hello,” she says to Juli.

“Hi!”

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I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, looking at

our hands and my fiery red face. “And what's your

name, honey?”

“Julianna Baker. I live right over there,” she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand.

“Well, I see you've met my son,” she says, still grinning away.

“Uh-huh!”

Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're seven years old — I

dive behind my mother.

Mom puts her arm around me and says, “Bryce, honey, why don't you show Julianna around

the house?”

I flash her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's not receiving. Then

she shakes me off and says, “Go on.”

Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't noticed her shoes and told her to take them

off. And after those were off, my mom told her that

her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them off

and left them in a crusty heap on our porch.

I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked myself in the bathroom instead. And after about ten

minutes of yelling back at her that no, I wasn't coming

out anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes went by before I got

the nerve to peek out the door.

No Juli.

I snuck out and looked around, and yes! She was gone.

Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.

My troubles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over and over again.

“Can Bryce play?” I could hear her asking from my hiding

place behind the couch. “Is he ready yet?” One time she even cut across the yard and looked

through my window. I spotted her in the nick of time

and dove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She's

got no concept of personal space. No respect for

privacy. The world is her playground, and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!