We’re in the skateboarder kid’s car, Charlie and me and the kid, sitting in traffic. Being me, I feel an urge to communicate. Since I’m the only girl in the car, I’m the only one with this urge. There’s only so many times you can ask, “What did you do today?” and hear, “Nothing,” until you give up.

I‘m not good at giving up. If I’m told I can’t do something, my immediate reaction is, “Watch me.“ Only with a lot of painful mistakes and age have I trained myself to say, “Is this a good idea?“

The skateboarder’s sister, Cheyenneh, doesn’t have painful mistakes or age on her side. Her immediate reaction when told she can’t do something is not, “Watch me,” but “Watch me, you loser.” You don’t question her, she questions you.

She wanted a dog and promised to take care of it. She gets her face right close on you and keeps repeating her convincing arguments. We know better, but we get worn down. Our endurance is no match for her determination so we got her a dog. She was never home. The dog was, and left steaming piles of crap for us to clean up. The carpet had to go eventually. The dog had to go now.

“Never again,“ we said while returning the dog to the Humane Society and paying another $100 fee. We know ‘never again‘ is only a matter of time. Nobody’s able to withstand the will of the mighty Cheyenneh.

Having her for a sister might be why the skateboarder acts like a Stoner all the time. Why bother talking when someone‘s going to plow over you? Might as well watch “Sponge Bob” and eat a dozen fruit bars.

Charlie’s doing all the hard jobs fixing up the house. He doesn’t worry about how much he can cram into his day. He doesn‘t push himself, and he doesn‘t have to worry about saying, “Watch me“ too often. He’s steady when he works, and he gets everything done. Still, I can’t help but think how much faster everything would be done if we didn’t do stupid things like sleep or eat. (Starbucks doesn’t count as a stupid thing.)

I have to control my inner child, because my inner child is too much like Cheyenneh. Pushing people around might get you what you want immediately, but not in the long run. In the long run, I’d rather not worry and enjoy Starbucks once in a while. Besides, the more I bring out my inner Cheyenneh, the more Charlie might expose his inner skateboarder. I couldn’t take two people watching “Sponge Bob” all day long.

The other two people in this car might as well be watching “Sponge Bob,“ for all the talking they’re doing. Don’t guys know cars are for communicating? If they’re not going to say anything, I’ll fill in the spaces.

I tell Charlie and the skateboarder about a friend who changed professions because she hated her job. Now she‘s happy doing something completely different. “It’s useful to know what you’re good at,” I say. “Then you don’t get yourself in situations where you don’t like what you’re doing.”

I didn’t think anyone’s listening, but at least it’s not quiet in the car.

Charlie says, “You’re right. It’s good to know what you’re good at. For example, I sucked at everything except at being a prick. That’s why I became a Cop.”

I gave up and turned on the radio.

We’re at home and it’s quiet again. The weather’s perfect so we have all the doors and windows open. It’s so quiet all you can hear are birds outside. Even the neighbor kids are quiet.

As gentle as a hurricane, Cheyenneh flies up the stairs and stands practically on top of me. I thought I’d have a quiet week since she’s at her Dad’s for now. The skateboarder, I notice, sneaked off somewhere safe.

“Look at me,” she says. “I’m talking to you.”

“I see that,” I say. Her oldest brother follows behind her. He’s hanging his head like a dog, not saying anything.

“You’re not going to have a problem with me getting my ear cartilage pierced, are you? Say no.”

“Eww,” I say. “I got mine pierced four years ago and its still infected. I still can‘t sleep on that side.”

“I’m not you,” she says. “I don’t get infected. You’re fine with my cartilage piercing, right?”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“I have money. You’re driving. You have to sign the paper because I’m under sixteen. Same as when I got my belly button pierced.”

“You don’t even wear earrings in the normal part of your ears.”

“Whatever, Mom. Cartilage is cool. I’ll make an appointment for next week. It has to be done before I go to Young Life camp.”

“You have to get more piercings before you go to Christian camp?” I ask. She moans and leaves the room.

“I’ll call you,” she yells from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ve only been with her five minutes and I’m already worn out,” her brother says. “I’ll call you, too. I had something to talk about with you, but I can’t think what it was right now. I think it was important, too,” he says.

“Hurry up!” Cheyenneh yells to her chauffer brother.

“She’s too good at getting her way,” he says. “Help me.”

No matter how nice it is outside, I’m keeping the front door shut. Hurricanes don‘t ask themselves, “Is this a good idea?“ You just have to get out of the way.