It seemed like they were playing in it whenever my mom took us somewhere in the car.
Juli’d be swinging from the branches, ready to fall and break every bone in her body, while we were waiting at the stoplight,
and my mom would shake her head and say, “Don’t you ever climb that tree like that, do you hear me, Bryce?
I never want to see you doing that! You either, Lynetta. That is much too dangerous.”
My sister would roll her eyes and say, “As if,” while I’d slump beneath the window and pray for the light to change
before Juli squealed my name for the world to hear.
I did try to climb it once in the fifth grade. It was the day after Juli had rescued my kite from its mutant toy-eating foliage.
She climbed miles up to get my kite, and when she came down, she was actually very cool about it.
She didn’t hold my kite hostage and stick her lips out like I was afraid she might.
She just handed it over and then backed away. I was relieved, but I also felt like a weenie.
When I’d seen where my kite was trapped, I was sure it was a goner.
Not Juli. She scrambled up and got it down in no time. Man, it was embarrassing.
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