Who's 'Bout to Bounce? Read Free Page B

I’m not gonna stop!”
    “I don’t know, but
you
are!” she screams, and giggles even more hysterically.
    “Okay, I’ll call you Cheetah Rita Butterfly, if you promise that we are gonna be sisters forever. You’re never gonna get away from me!”
    “Okay, okay!” she screeches, and I stop tickling her. After a minute, she stops laughing. “We’re not really sisters though, are we?” Twinkie asks me with that cute little face.
    “Yes, we are,” I say.
    “Then how come we have different last names?” Twinkie asks, suddenly all serious. She is so smart.
    “That doesn’t mean we’re not sisters, Cheetah Rita.”
    “Okay, then, I promise,” Twinkie says, teasing me, then she runs off, daring me to chase her. “I’m Cheetah Rita Butterfly! Watch me fly so high!”
    Putting one of the Pokémon cards from the jungle deck over one eye, Twinkie turns, then squinches up her face and yells, “Dorinda!”
    “What?” I turn to answer her back.
    “You can call me Twinkie again!” She giggles up a storm as I chase her down the hallway into her room, yelling, “You little troublemaker!”
    Twinkie shares her bedroom with Arba, who I already told you about, and my sister Kenya.
    Kenya is six, and she is a “special needs child,” because she is always getting into trouble at school, or fighting with the other kids. But I don’t think she is “emotionally disturbed” like they say She is just selfish, and doesn’t like to share anything, or listen to anybody. Twinkie and Arba don’t seem to like sharing a room with Kenya. Can’t say I blame them.
    I share a bedroom—a tiny one—with my two
other
sisters, Chantelle and “Monie the Meanie.” Monie is the oldest out of all of us. She is seventeen, and has a major attitude problem. I’m so glad she has a boyfriend now—Hector—and she’s over at his house a lot. She doesn’t like to help clean or anything, and she likes to boss me around. I wish she would just go stay with Hector. It would make more room for me and Chantelle.
    Chantelle is eleven, but tries to act like she’s grown already, sitting around reading
Sistarella
magazine, and hogging my computer.
    Mr. Hammer gave
me
the computer last year. He’s our super, and he knows how to fix everything—and who throws out what. He told me that a tenant from one of the other buildings was gonna throw out her computer, and he got her to give it to me. I call Mr. Hammer “Inspector Gadget,” ’cuz he’s got the hookup, if you know what I’m saying.
    The boys all share the biggest bedroom. That would be Topwe and Corky, along with Khalil (who has only lived here two months), Nestor (who we nicknamed Nestlé’s Quik because he eats really fast), and “Shawn the Fawn” (we call him that because he’s really shy, and always runs away from people). Four of the boys sleep in bunk beds to make more space.
    Mr. and Mrs. Bosco’s bedroom used to be the pantry—that’s how small it is. But since Mrs. Bosco is up all day with us kids, and Mr. Bosco works all night, usually only one of them sleeps at a time—so I guess it doesn’t seem as small to them as it does to us.
    Every time one of us leaves for good, I always think the Boscos will switch bedrooms around. But they never do. They always go and get another foster child to fill the empty bed. That’s the way they are. Lucky for all of us …
    I have followed Twinkie into her bedroom. Arba is sitting there on the floor, drawing with crayons, and Kenya has her mouth poked out, staring at a page in her school notebook. She’s always mad about something. I feel bad for her. But I know if I ignore her, then she will at least act nice for five minutes, trying to get my attention.
    I pretend Kenya isn’t even there. “There’s Arba!” I exclaim, kissing her dirty face. Then I sit on the floor to take off my smelly sneakers and socks.
    That gets Kenya. “Abba!” she yells, taking a crayon from Arba’s hand. Kenya never pronounces anybody’s name