“And that brings me to the next point,” Mom said. “Aunt Sarah and Uncle Brandon and Tilly are going to stay at the Village Inn with Pops and Gams. But they’d like Chip to stay here.”
She paused for a second and gave me a little smile.
I didn’t like that little smile. It meant something.
“Chip’s a very nice boy,” Mom said. “And I think he’s grown up a lot. Sarah says his teacher calls him ‘the perfect little gentleman.’”
Perfect little turkey, I said to myself. Even though the adults don’t seem to realize it, Chip is a turkey. His real name is Brandon, but that’s also his dad’s name, so everyone calls him “Chip.” He’s a giant pest. Last summer we spent three days with their family at a lake house, and every time I turned around he was right there, buzzing around like a little gnat, telling me what to do, and saying he could do it better. Even though he couldn’t.
I had tried to be nice to him, but it’s hard to be nice to someone who drives you bonkers. My mom told me he followed me around because he wanted to be just like me, and said I should be patient.
Sometimes grown-ups are completely clueless. Even mothers.