I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, l
ooking atour hands and my fiery red face. "And what's your name, honey?""Julianna Baker. I
live right over there," she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand. "Well, I see you've
met my son," she says, still grinning away."Uh-huh!"Finally I break free and do the only m
anly thing available when you're seven years old — I dive behind my mother.Mom puts her ar
m around me and says, "Bryce, honey, why don't you show Julianna around the house?"I flash
her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's not receiving. Then sh
e shakes me off and says, "Go on."Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't notic
ed her shoes and told her to take them off. And after those were off, my mom told her that
her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them o
ff and left them in a crusty heap on our porch.I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked
myself in the bathroom instead. And after about ten minutes of yelling back at her that no
, I wasn't comingout anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes w
ent by before I got the nerve to peek out the door.No Juli.I snuck out and looked around,
and yes! She was gone. Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.My trou
bles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over and over again. "Can Bryce
play?" I could hear her asking from my hidingplace behind the couch. "Is he ready yet?" On
e time she even cut across the yard and looked through my window. I spotted her in the nic
k of timeand dove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli B
aker. She's got no concept of personal space. No respect forprivacy. The world is her play
ground, and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!Lucky for me, my dad was willing to run
block. And he did it over and over again. He told herI was busy or sleeping or just plain
gone. He was a lifesaver.My sister, on the other hand, tried to sabotage me any chance she
got. Lynetta's like that. She's four years older than me, and buddy, I've learnedfrom wat
ching her how not to run your life. She's got ANTAGONIZE written all over her. Just look a
t her — not cross-eyed or with your tongue stickingout or anything — just look at her and
you've started an argument.I used to knock-down-drag-out with her, but it's just not worth
it. Girls don't fight fair. They pull your hair and gouge you and pinch you; then they ru
noff gasping to mommy when you try and defend yourself with a fist. Then you get locked in
to time-out, and for what? No, my friend, the secret is,don't snap at the bait. Let it dan
gle. Swim around it. Laugh it off. After a while they'll give up and try to lure someone e
lse.At least that's the way it is with Lynetta. And the bonus of having her as a pain-in-t
he-rear sister was figuring out that this method works oneveryone. Teachers, jerks at scho
ol, even Mom and Dad. Seriously. There's no winning arguments with your parents, so why ge
t all pumped up overthem? It is way better to dive down and get out of the way than it is
to get clobbered by some parental tidal wave.The funny thing is, Lynetta's still clueless
when it comes to dealing with Mom and Dad. She goes straight into thrash mode and is too b
usydrowning in the argument to take a deep breath and dive for calmer water. And she think
s I'm stupid.