“Who knows?” said Joe.
They stared at it.
“It kind of looks familiar,” said John. “Like somebody I know.”
“Who?” asked Joe.
“I’m not sure,” said John.
Joe noticed it, too. “It does look familiar,” he agreed.
“I’ve seen that face somewhere before,” said John.
“Me too,” said Joe.
The smile on the potato salad abruptly turned into a frown.
“Wow, did you see that?” asked Joe.
John’s eyes filled with terror. “I—I just figured out who it looks like,” he whispered.
“Who?” asked Joe.
“Mrs. Gorf.”
The potato salad laughed.
“Ha! Ha! Ha!” said Mrs. Gorf. “Now I’ll get you! You think you’re so cute, don’t you! Well, you won’t get away from me this time!”
She wiggled her ears, first her right one, then her left.
“Quick, Joe!” said John. “Eat her!”
The two boys dug their plastic utensils into the potato salad and shoveled it into their mouths as fast as they could.
Joe swallowed the final mouthful.
“Whew!” said John. “That was close.”
Joe rubbed his belly and sighed.
They both stared at the empty plate.
“You know, Joe,” said John, “that didn’t taste too bad.”
“It was pretty good,” Joe agreed.
They went back for seconds.
&nb
sp; g
g
Chapter 25
A Story That Isn’t About Socks