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dripping on his jeans. “Yeah, they’re scared. Even me. Okay? I’m scared.” He looks me right in the eyes then. He lowers his voice a little and says, “But don’t say anything, all right?”
    I figure he’s trying to make me feel better, make me stop worrying about Birdie, so I play along. “Sure thing. But what are you scared of? You’re almost out of high school.”
    “I am out of high school.”
    I laugh because I know Robert has a couple of years of school to go.
    “Don’t go nuts on me, like my mom, okay? I turn sixteen in a few weeks and I joined the Navy. I’m shipping out the end of September.”
    “You quit school?”
    “I’m not all that great at books and things, you know. I’m good at fixing stuff, like my scooter. I don’t need a diploma for that, but I do need someone to train me. That’s what the Navy’s gonna do for me.”
    “But what about college?”
    “Caroline’s the one who should go to college, not me. I know what I want to do. I want to work on jets. They’re the future, you know.”
    He sticks the other half of his Popsicle in his mouth, like he needs some time to think.
    “Besides, this whole Cuba situation is pretty serious. We don’t really know what those Russian commies are doing these days. And I got to thinking about what President Kennedy said. I can do this for my country. My old man is Navy. It’s not a bad life, he says.”
    A jet roars over us, causing the windows in the back door to shake.
    “See,” Robert—Rob—continues, “those guys need help. I’m going to train to work on the jets on aircraft carriers. I’ll probably end up in Gitmo with the Mayfields. Anyway, I’ll get to see the world.”
    He would be in Guantanamo Bay with our old neighbors. Probably cuddled up on a Cuban beach with the beautiful Brooke Mayfield. He’d been kind of sweet on her before she moved. All I can think is that I won’t get to see Robert mow lawns anymore. Life really does stink.
    “Gitmo, huh? You can tell Brooke and Kevin I said hi.”
    “Sure thing, pipsqueak.” Robert chews on his empty Popsicle stick for a minute before breaking it in half. “So, ’fess up. What’re you scared about, Mellie?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I’m worried about the baby and Mama.” Robert’s looking at me with his big blue eyes, and I know I can tell him the truth. “I’m scared about being twelve. I hate it.”
    I wish I could suck those words back into my mouth like I stop the juice dripping down my Popsicle. Here, Robert is about to join the Navy, and I’m whining about being twelve. Damn, I’m such a goon.
    But he just looks at me as though I said something that made sense. “Yeah, I know. It’s tough. But, Mellie, you’re a good kid. You’ll make it fine.”
    Robert rolls his Popsicle sticks in the wrapper, the broken and whole one together. I suck the last bit of ice from mine. Robert tells me about the good teachers and the bad ones at the junior high. I’m dying to ask him some really important questions, like how do I get a boy to like me? I think Robert would tell me. He’s that kind of guy. But I don’t have the guts. I don’t want him to think I’m a stupid kid.
    For a little while, we just sit together on the porch. Steph walks up the street in her going-out-later head scarf and I call to her.
    She doesn’t even look at my house. I wonder what’s wrong with her. In the distance a train whistle sounds. Must be the five-thirty run crossing Beaver Street. Dogs bark and blue jays sing and the sun slips lower in the sky, turning the clouds into spun pink frosting. Marla and Paula, the twins who live behind us, sing “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” and try to cover all the parts.
    It’s nice sitting here with Robert.
    Then I think, gee, this must be what it’s like when Mama and Daddy sit on the porch. I always thought it was so boring for them. That they couldn’t think of anything to do, so they just sat here. But now I know that they are doing something.