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playground, if I remember correctly."
    "Yes, she did. I got all this gravel in my knee."
    "And you called Mrs. Beckwith, Katherine, remember? You were furious."
    "I had every right to be furious. That child could have killed Anastasia. Imagine, pushing a seven-year-old off a swing!"
    Dr. Krupnik lit his pipe. "And Mrs. Beckwith, you'll recall, became very aggressive?"
    "I had no idea that woman was a criminal lawyer," said Mrs. Krupnik. "But it wouldn't have changed things if I
had
known."
    "And she began making countercharges," Dr. Krupnik went on. "She said that Anastasia had taken scissors during Art period, and had cut the ends off of Traci's pigtails."
    "Well," said Anastasia hurriedly, "that was no big deal. She had these very
long
pigtails. And her desk was right in front of mine, so her stupid pigtails were always dangling on my desk and flopping into my finger-painting. There wasn't any need to make a federal case out of it."
    "My point," said her father, puffing on his pipe, "is only that before we knew it, the two mothers were talking about law suits, and yelling at each other over the phone. But in the meantime, Anastasia and Traci were the best of friends. They were out riding their bikes together."
    "I don't see how that relates to Sam," said Mrs. Krupnik grumpily. But she had closed the telephone book. "Who gave that Coletti kid the right to gnaw a whole chunk out of Sam's little arm?"
    "Yeah," said Sam mournfully. "A whole big chunk." He gazed at the small pink mark on his arm.
    "Why didn't you bite Nicky Coletti back, Sam?" asked Anastasia.
    Sam's eyes grew wide. "Nicky Coletti is
big,
" he said. "Nicky Coletti is a
giant.
"
    They all stared for a moment at the tiny pink teeth marks.
    "Well," said Dr. Krupnik, "I think it's best to let the kids work it out between themselves."
    "Maybe so," said Mrs. Krupnik reluctantly. "But I found their name in the book: Coletti, on Woodville Avenue. Just in case I ever need to call."
    There was a knock on the kitchen door.
    "Oh, no!" cried Anastasia. "That's Sonya and Meredith. We're going to a garage sale on Bennington Street. Oh, rats! They're five minutes early!"
    "So what?" asked her mother, puzzled. "Go let them in.
    "Mom," said Anastasia, "you're wearing your bathrobe!"
    Her mother looked down at her plaid wool bathrobe. "It's clean," she said. "Surely they've seen bathrobes before."
    "Mom," said Anastasia hastily, "just do me a big favor, okay? Hide. Go stand in the pantry. It'll only be for a few minutes. And Dad?"
    Her father looked up from the paper. "I'm dressed," he pointed out.
    "Hide your pipe. Sonya's father is a doctor. I don't want her to know that you smoke. And Sam! Quick. Somebody comb Sam's hair, okay? And wipe your face, Sam; there's a Rice Krispie stuck on your chin."
    Anastasia's parents and brother all stared at her in
astonishment. None of them moved. Dr. Krupnik continued to puff on his pipe. Sam chewed silently on a mouthful of Rice Krispies.
    There was another knock at the back door.
    Anastasia threw up her arms in disgust. She grabbed her jacket from the doorknob where it was hanging. "All right, then!" she said. "Humiliate me! See if I care! I won't even ask them in!"
    She slammed the back door behind her as she went out. "Hi," she said to her friends. "I thought you guys would never get here."
    It was much more fun being with her friends than it was being at home with her family, Anastasia thought. Her friends never acted stupid or anything. Tall, slim, pale-blonde Meredith Halberg was full of fun; and Sonya Isaacson, chubby and freckled, was good-natured and bookish.
    And they knew how to dress. The three of them were all dressed alike, in jeans and hiking boots and jackets. Last week a girl in seventh grade had come to school wearing a jumper and a ruffled blouse, and everyone had hooted and laughed and teased her until she almost cried. Her mother had made her dress that way, the girl explained, because they were going to the airport