She had almost finished when she noticed four children riding bikes down the street. She stared at them. They lifted their heads and stared at her too. One raised a hand to wave. The old woman hoped they weren’t out to make trouble. She gripped her broom tighter. They came closer and closer. They stopped at her gate and got off their bicycles. She peered through her spectacles at them. They didn’t look like bad children, except maybe the red-haired boy with a face covered with freckles. He might not be bad, but he carried mischief in his eyes. She meant Tommy Thompson, and of course she was right. “Hello,” Tommy called out through a megaphone, which made his voice very loud. The old woman leaned on her broom and gave him a sour look. “I ain’t deaf. I can hear ya, boy.” Her voice was sharp. “What do you want?” Tommy lowered the megaphone.
