This morning, young Linda James from across the street decided that today was going to be my lucky day. She stood outside her house, in the shadows of the side alley, armed to the teeth with tomatoes and cheese. Not any kind of cheese, you see. She had carefully selected this one from a large variety of Swiss and Monterey Jack -the most colorful one of all: Blue to be exact. She didn't mind spending her hard earned, cumulative allowance (for 7 weeks she saved) on the pricey smelly food product.

So she waited. And waited. And waited until mother finally drove up, hit the garbage can for the 32nd time in a row and parked diagonally on the driveway, knowing full well that there was no room left for daddy to park his lovely vehicle. My brother and me in the back seat waited until the station wagon had made a complete stop to exit with our backpacks and lunch boxes.

I shut the door and fought my unruly sweater back into place.

That’s when Linda James made her appearance. She looked at me for a second and smirked as she raised her hand above her head and prepared to lunge.

Suddenly, the station wagon began to move backwards. Mother had forgotten the parking break again. Linda, in all her emotion and satisfaction of throwing the fragrant cheese, was blind to the car coming toward her, gaining speed like the cheese flying in the air.

I took a quick step to the left and avoided the cheese. At the sight of the cheese missing my lovely hair and face, Linda suddenly became aware of the large car coming her way.

She could have made it, but instead resigned to yet another humiliation caused indirectly by me, her sworn enemy.

The next day I found out she suffered a broken leg and arm and plenty of stitches on her knee. While the doctor stitched her up, one by one, she once again began to plot against me. What will it be next time? Albacore?