Neil Armstrong Is My Uncle Read Online Free PDF Page A

bicycle. Two punky kids, who are strangers, ride with him. Big Danny waves, but Tony shakes his head and peddles away, his punky friends at his side.
    â€œIt’s been like that ever since he transferred to Catholic school,” says the Donovan twin. “I guess he thinks he’s too good for us.”
    I nod. “Yeah, I noticed.”
    A few weeks ago, I asked Tony if he wanted to play kickball. And even though he is the best outfielder we’ve ever had, he shrugged it off as if the game meant nothing to him.
    I’ve had a hard time liking him ever since.
    â€œWe’re ready,” says John Marcos.
    I’ve never been clear on how John got the job of running the gripe votes, but he’s been doing it every summer for as long as I can remember. And except for when I don’t agree with him, he does a pretty good job at it.
    I look around, wondering whose head is on the chopping block. On Ramble Street, you have to be careful. The slightest misbehavior can get you ousted from a game. And there is no point to summer if you can’t play kickball.
    â€œI would like to begin,” says Billy Rattle. Then he jingles the change in his pockets to show he means business.
    As soon as he gets the nod from John Marcos, Billy Rattle makes his big announcement. “Big Danny stole money from me.”
    Big Danny jumps to his feet. “No way! I found that money over by the railroad tracks.”
    John Marcos orders Big Danny to be quiet and lets Billy Rattle tell everyone how he lost fifty cents and how it was an awfully odd coincidence that Big Danny found the exact same amount that very same day.
    Big Danny explains over and over again how he found the money by the railroad tracks and asks Billy if the fifty cents that he lost was in quarters, nickels, or dimes.
    â€œTwo quarters. Five dimes. Who remembers? I have so much change, I forget,” says Billy Rattle.
    Like most kids with money, Billy knows when to flaunt it. When he shakes his pockets again, a bunch of change falls to the ground. The sight of all those nickels, dimes, and quarters scattered on the lawn blocks out anything sensible that Big Danny has to say.
    Big Danny looks worried. And who could blame him? To be accused of stealing? That could get you banned from kickball for days.
    John Marcos stands up, and I figure he’s going to say that it’s time to put this money thing to a vote. Instead he nods at Benny Schuster. “Now for the second order of business.”
    I look around to see who’s next.
    Benny grabs at MaryBeth’s arm. “Look what Tammy did to MaryBeth,” he says, waving her arm back and forth like a flag.
    The Donovan twin leans over. “That looks bad.”
    Everyone, even John Marcos, rushes over to take a look.
    I spring up to see for myself. On MaryBeth Grabowsky’s dainty little arm there is a tiny, faint bruise, one that I have to squint to block out the sun to see.
    â€œWhen?” I demand.
    â€œYesterday when we were playing, you pushed her to the ground,” says the Donovan twin, and I wish I could remember which one he is so I know exactly who I’ll be carrying a grudge against for the rest of my born days.
    â€œShe was standing on the baseline. I was running for third.” I point my finger at MaryBeth. “It’s her fault. No fielder is allowed to stand on a baseline. There are rules about being in the way.”
    As soon as I see that solemn look on John Marco’s face, I realize that we are looking at MaryBeth’s arm for a reason. “Wait a minute! You’re going to vote? On a little thing like an accidental shove?”
    â€œIt didn’t seem like an accident to me,” says Billy Rattle. “And it hurt, didn’t it, MaryBeth?”
    Rubbing her arm for effect, MaryBeth nods. And the boys gather around MaryBeth Grabowsky like they always do.
    â€œ I should be the one who has a gripe against her . She was in the