Carla started up the hilly street away from her. Julie set off walking in the opposite direction, toward her own home. Maybe she’d stop at Joy’s house and see if Joy wanted help with the dog-walking job.
She crossed the busy street and continued up the next block. A familiar figure came around the corner, wearing a light blue hooded jacket. It looked like Carla—but hadn’t Carla just set off in the opposite direction?
“Hey, Carla!” shouted Julie, and she started running. But the figure didn’t turn. Perhaps it wasn’t Carla after all. Julie slowed, frowning.
It was Carla. She was sure of it. But if Carla had errands in Julie’s neighborhood, then why hadn’t she said so? Had she changed her mind about going straight home, then gone around the block and crossed the street ahead of Julie? Maybe she just didn’t hear me shout, Julie reasoned. She shouted Carla’s name again, more loudly, but still the figure ahead of her did not stop. In fact, it walked even faster—almost as if it didn’t want someone catching up.
Her curiosity piqued, Julie decided to follow. Certainly Nancy Drew and Harriet the Spy would want to know what was going on! Julie sucked in her breath, hitched up her school backpack, and started walking faster.
She shadowed Carla—if it was Carla—for two blocks, even past her own street. The backpack seemed to grow heavier and heavier with each block. Then Carla veered off toward Market Street, and Julie’s steps faltered. If she went as far as Market, she’d really be going out of her way. But the neighborhood ahead wasn’t entirely unfamiliar; Julie had been there once before when she’d visited the veterans’ rehab center where Hank worked. Maybe she could stop in and see him, and he’d offer both her and Carla rides home. But what if Hank wasn’t there?
As Julie stood there indecisively, the toot of a car horn made her jump. “Hey, babe, goin’ my way?” called a familiar voice.
It was Tracy, driving Mom’s station wagon. She had the window rolled down and a grin on her face. “Mom sent me on an errand! I’ve finished at the bank now, and there’s time for ice cream. Want to hitch a ride?”
Julie watched the light blue jacket a block ahead merge into a throng of people crossing busy Market Street, and then disappear in the crowd. Ice cream with her big sister suddenly sounded like a lot more fun than playing Harriet the Spy. “It’s a date!” she said. “Thanks, Tracy.”
...
After their ice cream, Julie and Tracy arrived home to find Mom and Hank outside, building a ramp to go up the front steps leading to the apartment. “There’s no way the soldiers in wheelchairs will be able to get up these steps,” Joyce Albright explained to her daughters.
Hank nodded, his kind face creased with a frown. “So many buildings are not accessible to people in wheelchairs. How are they supposed to live independently if they can’t even get inside most buildings in this city?”
“It’s a real problem,” Julie’s mom agreed. “But at least our apartment is going to be accessible when we finish this ramp!”
“The ramp would also be good for getting strollers into the building, Mom,” Julie pointed out.
“I guess so,” her mom replied. “But nobody in the building has a stroller.”
“But we could have one,” said Julie, “if we had a little kid to push in it! Oh, Mom, I’d love to have a little sister or brother.”
Hank laughed. “I think your mom has enough on her plate just raising you two girls.”
“The other day you were asking for a border collie and a bigger house—and now you want another sibling?” Mom smiled ruefully at Julie.
“She wants what that new girl has,” Tracy said. “That Carla.” Tracy rolled her eyes and brushed past Julie on her way inside.
Julie followed. “What’s wrong with that? It would be nice to have a bigger house, and a dog, and other sisters and brothers, especially if they weren’t so crabby all the time!”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing Carla doesn’t have,” said Tracy as they opened their apartment door and went into the small, cozy living room.
“What?”
“She doesn’t have two brothers at a private school called Maxwell Academy, that’s what.”
The hairs at the back of Julie’s neck seemed to stir in a nonexistent breeze. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, Tracy?”
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