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he asked me a question.
    â€œI didn’t know he was going to be there,” I say. “And Alfie shouldn’t—”
    â€œIt’s
still my turn
for best and worst,” Alfie interrupts, furious. “Just because I’m little doesn’t mean you get to talk all over me!”
    â€œAlfie’s right,” Mom says in her most soothing voice. “What was your worst thing, honey?”
    â€œWhen everybody talked all over me at dinner,” Alfie says, her arms folded across her chest. “My very own family.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Alfie,” my dad tells her. “It won’t happen again. Everyone deserves to be heard.”
    â€œEspecially me,” Alfie says, lifting her chin.
    â€œBut EllRay,” Dad adds, turning to me, “I think we need to continue our conversation about who you’re spending time with. We have to establish some ground rules, son.”
    â€œAfter dinner, maybe?” my mom says, passing the salad for the second time. Alfie peers suspiciously into the bowl for anything that’s not lettuce, then helps herself to a couple of sprigs of green.
    Mom has a way of suggesting things that’s really more like saying, “Look, this is how it’s going to be,” at least at the dinner table. And my dad always agrees with her.
    They’re a team.
    â€œAfter dinner,” Dad agrees, helping himself to more salad. “But
right
after dinner son. In my office.”
    UH-OH . Dad’s office!
    Not good.

9
    This Dumb New Rule
    â€œBut Henry’s our neighbor,” I say to my dad for the third time, about ten minutes later. “And he’s the only kid anywhere near my age on our whole street, so who else am I supposed to play with? You’re always telling me I should make more friends.”
    Which I had better start doing if I’m losing Kevin, I think, frowning.
    That would just leave Corey, and he’s usually at swimming practice.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with Henry,” Dad tells me from across his shiny wood desk. “And the Pendletons are very good neighbors. We’re lucky that house isn’t empty anymore.”
    â€œSo it’s okay if I hang with
him
,” I say.
    â€œIt’s fine, as long as at least one parent is home and you ask Mom,” Dad says.
    â€œBut it’s not fine when Fly’s there?” I ask, trying to understand this dumb new rule. “Why?”
    Dad looks as if he’s arguing with himself about whether or not to tell me something. “Fly is three years older than you, EllRay,” he begins. “That’s one big issue. But let’s just say he’s been in more than a few scrapes lately. He hasn’t been making very good choices.”
    â€œHuh,” I say.
    â€œLook. The Pendletons know his mother,” Dad continues. “And they’ve been trying to help out by having Fly over after school every so often—to give his afternoons some structure. And that’s their decision. But your mother and I don’t want you going over to the Pendletons’ house when Fly is there. That’s
our
decision.”
    â€œBut—how do you know all that stuff about Fly’s scrapes and bad choices?” I ask, trying to make it sound like a regular question, not an argument. “You never even met him! And it’s not like he’s going to infect me with his badness. You shouldn’t punish me because Fly Reilly messed up a couple of times.”

    â€œI did meet him once,” Dad reminds me. “In the Pendletons’ driveway. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye or say hello. And he has messed up more than a couple of times, son. Believe me. He’s a troubled kid.”
    â€œBut lots of kids are shy around grown-ups,” I point out. “And that doesn’t mean he’s some gangster, Dad. Just because he didn’t look you in the eye.”
    The idea of a shy Fly almost makes me