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be a while. Once Jerome starts talking, or worse, signing autographs, there’s no telling how long he’ll be,” she said.
    â€œEven when he should be hurrying,” Sherea said. “We’re always late whenever we’re going almost anywhere.”
    â€œJerome just has trouble saying no to people,” Nikkollette said.
    â€œYou can say that again,” Sherea said.
    â€œAnd his girls should be grateful for that,” Nikkollette said.
    Sherea gave a coy smile.
    â€œAll the girls have to do is smile and say ‘Please Daddy,’ and he just melts. The man is the biggest softy in the world. He gets that from his father,” Nikkollette said.
    â€œFrom Sergeant Push-up?” I asked in shock.
    â€œDon’t let his act at the camp fool you. He’s a strong man; he believes in discipline and working hard, but he’s just as soft, just as big a kid as his own kids.” She paused. “You’ll see more of that side tonight.”
    â€œTonight?” Kia asked.
    â€œHe’s joining us for dinner.”
    â€œDinner…we’re not going to have to do push-ups if we have bad table manners, are we?” I asked.
    Everybody laughed. Actually I hadn’t meant that as a joke.
    â€œNo push-ups, but you probably will have to play Scrabble with him or drive the go-carts,” Sherea said.
    â€œI love go-carts!” I said.
    â€œSo does Jerome. He owns five of them.”
    â€œThat’s incredible,” Kia said.
    â€œDo you have a track near here?” I asked.
    â€œNot
near
here. Here,” Sherea said, pointing to the grounds.
    What was she talking about? They couldn’t possibly have a go-cart track right on the property…could they?
    â€œYou have a track, right here?” I asked in astonishment.
    â€œIt’s quite a nice track. With all the curves it’s about a half a mile long.”
    I shook my head in disbelief.
    â€œI couldn’t imagine there would be many homes that feature their own go-cart track,” Nikkollette said.
    â€œOr an official NBA-sized basketball court,” Sherea added.
    â€œYou’re joking, right?” I asked.
    â€œNo joke. I’ll show you both on the tour.”
    â€œHow about if you start with the go-carts and track, and then you finish up in the house with the arcade?” Nikkollette suggested.
    â€œArcade?” Kia asked.
    â€œI told you. Jerome’s just a big kid and big kids need lots of toys.”
    â€œCome on,” Sherea said.
    Kia and I trailed after her. Gabby—Gabrielle— was still holding onto her sister’s hand.
    The meal was almost finished. Actually it had seemed more like two meals than one. Mrs. Williams—she told us to call her Nikkollette— wasn’t just a good cook, but she prepared lots and lots of good food. The table had been almost over-flowing with food—plates and platters and bowls of chicken and fish, steak and salad, peas and corn on the cob, biscuits and dessert. Even more unbelievable than the quantity of food that had been set out was that most of it was gone! Maybe it was a combination of the food being good and all of us working up such an appetite in the gymJerome, Johnnie, Joshua and Mr. Williams were all big guys and they had cleaned their plates and gone back for seconds and even thirds. Not that I should talk. I was working on my third helping of the chicken.
    â€œNow that we’ve all topped off the tank,” Mr. Williams said, “who’s up for a little game of Scrabble?”
    â€œScrabble would be fun,” I said. “But I was hoping we could drive the go-carts.”
    â€œRiding is fun. Racing is even more fun,” he said. “Shall we have a mini-Indy?”
    Jerome and Josh both yelled in agreement.
    Johnnie was the official starter, and we were all strapped into our carts—Kia, Mr. Williams, Sherea, Josh and me. They were beautiful gocarts—all shiny and