Children's Fiction
We're hot and red-faced and breathless and when we see Dexter we both start to laugh.
"You too, Dexter," Mean Megan says. "You have to dance too."
I say, "Dex too."
Maybe Dexter is too stunned to say no, because she starts making her pretty swan movements while I snap my fingers and stomp my feet and Megan grooves and swerves her head around and makes her hip-hop moves. Mom and Dad stand in the doorway of the den, watching us and saying nothing.
Mr. Eyepatch stepped out from behind an old truck. At full speed, I almost speared myself on the huge knife he held waist high in my direction. I managed to throw myself to the side and dodge the knife.
I stopped a few stumbling steps later, turned to face him, and gasped for breath.
He snarled something at me in Russian.
