“No fair!”

Her shout carried across the playground, just loud enough to be heard by the recess guard, Mrs. Lambernicki. All of us kids, from 2^nd to 6th grade, had reason to be scared. She looked like a witch! No exaggeration. A giant mole stuck out above her right eyebrow. Her nose reminded me of a pickle dotted with a few moles, although not as big as the one above her eyebrow. Her gray hair was thinning, giving her an old haggard appearance. Her shape was massive, almost like Jabba the Hutt, if he had two legs. It took her a while to walk, small steps. The Reeboks she wore were exhausted, each shoe leaning inward. But when she was angry? You didn’t want to see that. That old bitty could flat-out move! If she was mad enough, she could’ve beaten Pele at football. Us boys? We were especially frightened of her because she treated us worse than the girls. We all knew it. Even the girls were aware, often using it to their advantage. Gracie’s shout was sure to bring the Lamber down on us boys.

“What are you talking about, Gracie? You got your turn on the swing. It’s Nick’s turn, then mine. And then yours again.”

“Nick cheated. He shorted my swings. I was supposed to get twenty. I only got sixteen.”

“Did not!” Nick shouted from the swing.

“Did too!” Gracie yelled back. We all knew the Lamber would punish us boys if she kept it up. Punish us for what, exactly? Didn’t matter. We’d catch all the flack, and Gracie would get her way.

“Nick,” I whispered harshly, “knock it off! Get off the swing. You’re going to bring the Lamber down on all of us.” The last thing I needed was another detention this close to the end of the school year. “Get off the swing.” I looked over at Gracie. “And you, Gracie. If you stop yelling, Nick will get off the swing, and you can have it until the end of recess.”

“What?!” Nick screamed. “Are you serious? It’s my turn, dang it!” We all heard it, stopping in our tracks. The dreaded whistle. A silver coach’s whistle hung from the end of a piece of thick red ribbon wrapped around the place where Lambernicki’s neck should be. It sort of dangled off her collarbone. Three short bursts. It meant to stop what you were doing, turn, and face the Lamber, waiting for further instructions. One time, all the boys didn’t stop what we were doing. Forty-five kids, all the boys on the playground, were sentenced to three days in detention because we failed to listen to the whistle. And none of the grownups believed that she had it in for us. Well, us boys anyway. I stopped, Nick jumped off the swing, and Casey turned around, dropping the chunks of redwood bark in his hands.

Once Lambernicki had everyone’s attention, she yelled, “Who’s making all that racket? Was that you, Gracie?” I looked back towards Gracie and gritted my teeth, hoping to God she didn’t say a word. With my back turned to Lambernicki, I looked at Gracie, eying the swing, hoping she would understand the nonverbal signal. Gracie nodded back to me, smiling. Then her smile faded.

“No, Mrs. Lambernicki,” she stepped closer to the swing, “It wasn’t me,” she said, sitting on the swing, grinning the biggest smile straight at Nick. “It might have been one of the kindergarten girls, but it wasn’t me,” Gracie said, swinging with all her might, the rusty chains squeaking as she moved back and forth.

“Nickolas! Casey! Stephen! Play nice.” And just like that, she blew her whistle again, three short bursts, indicating we could resume what we were doing.

“That was a close one, Nickolas,” Casey sneered. “Sheesh. You can’t leave well enough alone, can you?”

“What about you, bark boy? Got splinters in your fingers yet?” Nick pushed him, the kind of playful push boys give each other. It wasn’t mean or rude. Just boys being boys.

“If I did . . .”

“Knock it off, guys. Way to go, Nick. You totally blew us swinging because you had to cheat Gracie.”

“I didn’t cheat her,” he said, a slight grin creeping across his lips. “Not that much, anyway.”

“Think she did it to get you in trouble, Steve? She’s your sister, after all.”

I watched my baby sister swing higher and higher. Her giggling made me smile, but I didn’t let it show from the outside. She was only a little younger than me by fourteen months. It wouldn’t be until I was a lot older and understood reproduction that it would occur to me how, soon after I was born that Mom got pregnant again. Yikes. Andrea and I planned it a little better, giving ourselves roughly two years between kids. That worked reasonably well. But I never forgot Gracie’s laugh that day. Even though Lambert almost nailed me, Nick, and Casey.