I know Joey is younger than I am, but for some reason, when I am with him I feel younger too. It’s almost like we become the same age. I even enjoy playing with his toys and stuff. I can’t really explain it too well; it just happens and though I would probably die if any of my friends back in California ever knew about it, I still like it.
Since it was so early when we arrived at Joey’s we didn’t get a lot of time to play before Beth (That’s Joey’s mom) was calling for us to come back downstairs.
Joey led the way as we raced down the hallway and tromped down the steps like a herd of stampeding buffalo. When we neared the bottom of the steps, Joey, with only three steps to go, leapt to the floor below, landing with a solid thump. Of course, I couldn’t be shown up by someone younger and smaller than me, so I did the same thing only from four steps up; I mean if you’re going to outdo someone, you can’t very well do what they just did. That would have just made me a copycat.