DODGER SAID, standing on his hands and leaning his feet against the wall, “what’s our strategy, dude?” We were in the family room at my house after school. My mom had set us up with a snack of apples, then gone outside to work in the yard. Lizzie and I were munching on the apples. Dodger had just gobbled down an entire bunch of bananas that he had pulled out of his Bottomless Well of Treats, a magical bag that filled up with whatever food you wished for. I had had a little mishap with the bag right after I’d met Dodger, so now it had a big patch on the bottom. Also, everything that came out of it tasted a little bit like milk and chocolate doughnuts. Long story. Anyhow, we were having the first meeting of what Lizzie insisted on calling, “Team Ryan-Barrett!!!” I had asked her jokingly whether the three exclamation points were optional, and she had replied with an icy no. As if the only thing standing between us and total victory was a lack of exciting punctuation. Lizzie called the meeting to order—no, I’m not kidding—and took out a yellow legal pad and a pencil.
