Page 9 of Trick Play

The eight-year-old shrugged. The two-year-old bit her lip and looked ready to cry. Larry tensed beside me, so I bent toward the toddler. “Who wants to play a game?”

All eyes moved to me, including Larry’s.

I held up my hand, the one connected to him. “I’m Kelli, and my friend is Larry. As you can see, we have to stick together.”

“Were you arrested? Are you criminals?” a girl around seven asked. She stared at us with wide eyes.

“No. We’re not criminals, and we weren’t arrested. It was a joke that got out of hand. Do you have a brother?”

She nodded.

“That’s how it happened. My brother was a dummy.”

“Are you going to be together like that forever?” asked a younger boy.

“That could be a problem.” Oh hell, what if I suddenly had to pee? “Larry and I have jobs to do, and we couldn’t do it handcuffed together. I work for a dentist, and imagine what that would be like!” I mimed cleaning someone’s teeth, and Larry’s arm followed my movements. The younger kids laughed, and a couple of them touched their teeth as if they were recreating the scene.

The eight-year-old stared at the handcuffs. “How are you going to get them off?”

“We’re getting a key to unlock the handcuffs, but until then, Larry and I have to be a team. So, to make things fair, we’re going to pair you guys up and play tag.”

“Tag? That’s a kid’s game.” Because eight was so grown-up.

“Are you a good skater? Cause we’re doing this on the ice.”

“Yeah. I can skate.” He crossed his arms, undoubtedly reflecting an older sibling’s attitude.

“Excellent.” I took a couple of steps, Larry following, and put my free hand on the shoulder of the two-year-old. “This is your partner.”

“What the hell?”

I held up a finger. “If you’re good, we have to handicap you. And please, be careful what you say around the little ones.”

I moved on, hoping he’d stop complaining. Once we had the pairs sorted, I volunteered Larry and me to be It to start, and the kids skated away.

It wasn’t a perfect way to handicap people. Danny, the eight-year-old, simply picked up the toddler and skated with her, and the others had a hard time catching up to Danny. Larry and I were faster than any of them, so that helped us to keep on top of any problems, and since we let people catch us, we made sure to tag Danny often.

We tried a race after, where the older kids had to start at the far end and the younger ones had a shorter distance to cover. Danny won, which made him a lot happier. He was willing to help some of the younger kids with their skating while Larry and I worked with older ones, teaching them to stop and skate backward.

We tried a big line, littlest in the middle, Larry and I on the outside, and skating in a big circle, the outer ring going faster and farther than the inside ones. I was running out of ideas, so I was relieved when the pizza break was called.

We shepherded our charges into the room where the food and drinks were laid out. The kids met up with their older siblings or cousins or neighbors, and Larry and I got a break to grab some pizza without looking out for anyone else.

He reached for the Hawaiian and I yanked his arm back. “No!”

He turned to me, brow furrowed, the makeup now streaky from where he’d been sweating. Mine probably was too. “What? Is there a problem?”

“You cannot eat pineapple on pizza.”

A grin crossed his face. “One of those, are you?”

“Those?”

“Pizza snobs. Purists.”

“It’s not being a snob to refuse to desecrate pizza.”

He extended his left arm, the one without a cuff, and grabbed a slice of Hawaiian.