Hi. I’m Albie. Today my sticks almost got glittered.

Branches thrashed and the dogs barked, so I picked the stump farthest from the noise. My grandfather GO would say, “Oh no… dogs.” He says that a lot, even when there aren’t any around.

It was a warm September day. Clouds ran overhead—big sheep with nowhere to be. One looked like a dragon. One looked like a shoe. One looked like my sister’s curly hair.

Then the real Nomi showed up.

She twirled into the yard, sneakers thumping, arms wide. “Your sticks need glitter,” she said. “Nope. No glitter,” I said. She twirled anyway, like she was already glittering something.

She grabbed stick Steve. “Potion time!” Mud. Leaves. Two berries for color. “Not berries!” I said. She grinned. “That’s what GO would use.”

Rock blinked once. Slow.

I didn’t listen.

Nomi stirred the mud with Big Steve, cooking for a hundred raccoons. “Want some?” “No.” I poked it with Gary. It squished and stuck and smelled like wet leaves. “Still no,” I said.

She flicked a scoop at me. I ducked. Maximum Moo didn’t.

Poor Moo. Bath time for sure.

Sadie Lou barked something that sounded like, “Duck!” A little late.

Chipmunks froze under the porch. One dropped his acorn. Another squeaked and ran. The last one stood there, trying to decide. Then he ran too.

Maximum Moo stayed put. He’s small. I’m small. But when he presses against my leg, I feel taller. He looks at me like I’m important. Even with potion mud on him, he looked proud to be mine.

Wind shook the leaves above us. They brushed together like quiet clapping.

Nomi tumbled down, leaves stuck to her elbows and mud on her nose. She laughed so real that I laughed too.

We sat together—Nomi sweaty and stinky, right against my arm, Steve’s rough bark scratching our legs. She leaned on me, breathing fast from all the twirling. “Good throne,” she said. “Better with two,” I said.

Rock blinked once. Slow.

Mud fades.

The kingdom remembers.

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