Free Grover G. Graham and Me by Mary Quattlebaum Page A

and as usual he agreed. “Better sooner than later,” she humphed.
    I watched a few sweetgums through the car window.
    “Twee!” Grover pointed.
    “That’s right,” I replied. “Tree.”
    “Twee,” Grover repeated.
    Behind sunglasses, Tracey’s face showed no expression.
    I wished Jenny could have come, but she was studying for an exam. She said she wanted to finish college early,even if that meant studying the whole summer away. Shoot, she must be plenty stubborn to get through all those books. They were thicker than Dr. Spock’s
Baby and Child Care!
On one of her visits Jenny had even asked if I planned to go to college. Me? I shook my head no. I just wanted to get through A, B, and C on my list of goals; I didn’t want to think about adding D.
    The Torglemobile bounced over a rut and Tracey clutched at the cooler in her lap. Today she was proud as Red Riding Hood with a basket of goodies. Tracey had insisted on bringing the food, to save Mrs. T. the trouble, with her bad back and all. I wondered if she had remembered to pack Grover’s favorite fish-shaped crackers.
    Probably not.
    When we reached the park, Kate, Jango, and Charmaine raced for the picnic tables. Tracey handed the cooler to Mr. T. and tried to unhook Grover’s car seat.
    She fiddled, tugged, twisted the strap.
    I leaned over and—
click!
—unsnapped the catch.
    Tracey’s sunglasses briefly turned in my direction; then she picked up the baby.
    “You’re welcome,” I said.
    Mrs. T. frowned at me.
    Let her frown. Someone had to watch out for the kid. His mother
still
didn’t know what to do.
    Mr. T. was already spreading a red-checked tablecloth and Kate was flinging paper plates on the table. Jango lifted plastic tubs from the cooler. Tiny triangle sandwiches. Potato salad. Chopped fruit with colored toothpicks.
    Mrs. T. threw up her hands like a kid at Christmas. “What a beautiful picnic!”
    “Do you like it?” Tracey smiled. “I tried to make it look like a picture I saw in
Ladies’ Home Journal.”
    Kate peeked inside a cookie tin. “Wow!”
    The smell of homemade cookies made my mouth water, but I tried to blank out any interest.
    Good thing I did. That picnic might have looked good, but it sure flunked the taste test. The bread was dry and the potato salad goopy. The cookies were hard as dirt clods.
    “Jenny told me I wasn’t measuring carefully—and Jenny is
always
right.” Tracey tried to laugh, though her lips trembled. She crumbled a cookie. “At least I didn’t mess up the fruit.”
    “Bish! Bish!” Grover hollered for his favorite fish crackers.
    No one said a word about Tracey forgetting them. Mr. T. handed Grover a bread crust.
    He threw it down. “Bish!” he demanded.
    Mr. T. handed Grover a chunk of melon. “Why don’t you all go to the playground? The swings might distract him.”
    The twins skipped off but Tracey held back. She didn’t try to pick up Grover. Without the dark glasses, her eyes looked sort of sad.
    Grover squished the melon till juice ran down his arm.
    “Oh, Grover.” Tracey grabbed a napkin.
    He squealed and reached for me.
    “Ben,” Mrs. T. began, “why don’t you stay here and let Tracey—” But then Grover set off and I had to skedaddle after. Tracey followed, her hand on Charmaine.
    That dog would do anything for a pat.
    At the playground, Kate and Jango were taking turnswith the whirl-go-round. One girl would push it fast, fast, fast while the other spun and shrieked.
    The whirl-go-round. I’ve always hated that ride. What’s the point of spinning till the whole world falls away? Till dizziness fills your head? I was once whirled so fast that I lost my grip. I remember my fingers slipping, the wind sucking hard. And then I was whirling and twirling through spinning air till the ground rose up and smacked me. I banged my head, scraped my shoulder,
and
upchucked my lunch. Just watching the twins on that stupid ride made my stomach jump.
    I herded Grover toward the