Colorful cartoon characters splashed across the television screen in the den. There Rosetta Blay sat in her father's favorite lounge chair -- the large, brown La-Z-Boy, the one that reclined so that Rosetta could take a nap in the chair if she wanted to.

While the television filled the den with noise, Rosetta busied herself sketching pictures of animals in her arts book. Sketching animals - it was one of Rosetta's hobbies. There was hardly a Saturday morning when she wasn't sketching.

Across the room from where she sat, Alexander, one of her favorite cartoon shows, played on the flat screen television. Her hand moved swiftly across the arts book page, sketching the outline of a jaguar, while Alexander and his friends Joey, Hop-On, Smarts, Moment and Jacks played a game on television.

                Rosetta could hear dogs barking outside. When she glanced out the den window, she spotted squirrels playing at the front edge of her family’s home. Joe, the Blay pet dog, a friendly Husky, tugged on his leash in the back yard. Instead of barking at squirrels at the front of the house, Joe barked at a stray cat in the alley.

                The neighborhood was waking up to the start of an exciting day. It was a warm Saturday morning in Cincinnati, Ohio. Sun rays beamed through the Blay house windows, making the crystal vases that decorated the den end tables sparkly.

                “Rosetta!” her older sister, Francine, hollered from where she stood at the top of the living room stairs. Her hands were cupped at the sides of her mouth, as if she was calling to someone outside half a block away. She wore a purple crop-neck t-shirt and matching cotton shorts. She stood tall and bold at the top of the stairs. Next year, she'd be attending Josiah Henson High School as a big-time ninth-grader and she was feeling real grown up.

                Two sports bags bordered Francine's feet. The first bag belonged to Francine. It was red and green. The second bag had “Rosetta Blay” handwritten with a thick black magic marker across its side. The writing was large and cursive with bumblebee drawings above the letters, evidence of Rosetta's creative flair. Rosetta had scrawled her name across the sports bag after her father brought it home from work a week ago. No way was she going to give Francine a chance to walk off with her brand new yellow and black sports bag, accidently or otherwise.

                “Ro---“ Francine stood on tiptoe and started to holler again.

                Out of nowhere, the sound of house shoes flapping against the polished wood floor echoed behind Francine. “Hush that noise,” Lynda frowned at her oldest daughter. A second later, she asked Francine. “Why are you hollering anyway? Where’s Ro?”

                Francine’s eyebrows rose. Her glossed lips were pursed. “She’s downstairs, probably drawing sketches like she always does on Saturday mornings.”

She folded her arms and lay them hard against her chest. She was mad at her mother for fussing at her. She hadn’t been bothering anybody when she called for Rosetta. On top of that, she hadn't called for Rosetta as loudly as her mother sometimes did.

                “Well,” Lynda tossed her hand out towards the stairs. “Go downstairs and find her. Don’t stand up here screaming at the top of your lungs. Your father, brother and I are trying to sleep.”

                Teenager or not, Francine knew to respect her elders. Her parents and grandparents wouldn’t have it any other way. And so, despite how angry she was with her mother for causing her to feel like she’d done something wrong, she nodded and said, “Yes, Ma’am.” Then she grabbed both sports bags and took off down the stairs.

                She was near the bottom of the stairs when Lynda stopped heading back to her husband Robert and her bedroom.  "Where are you going with those sports bags?" But she was too late. Francine had descended the stairs and rounded the corner. 

                Standing in her bedroom doorway, Lynda peered up at the clock on the wall.  “It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning,” she whispered.

                Robert was sleeping so soundly that he didn’t move when Lynda entered the bedroom.  Even so, Lynda looked at him and wondered if the girls had discussed their early morning plans with him. She turned her head and told herself that’s exactly what had happened. The girls had told their father where they were going.

“Besides,” she thought.  “Rosetta can’t keep one itty bitty secret in all the world.” She laughed and shook her head. “They must have told Robert where they were going.”  Convinced that they had, she pulled back the covers on the side of the bed closest to the window and climbed back into bed.

**********

                “So, you’re just going to sit there?” Francine asked Rosetta as soon as she entered the den.

                Rosetta grinned, grabbed her arts book and sketch pencils, turned the television off and headed for the kitchen. 

                Francine followed her.

                Once inside the kitchen, Rosetta laid her arts book and pencils on the table. Then, she pulled a box of Tasty Early Morning cereal out of the cupboard and milk out of the refrigerator. She poured cereal into a bowl and poured milk over the cereal, then returned the milk to the refrigerator's second shelf and sat down.

                “Rosetta,” Francine said. "Don't you ignore me!" Her hands were planted firmly against her hips.

                “I’m eating,” Ten-year-old Rosetta looked up, her eyes wide, and piped up. Her grin looked permanently planted on her face.

                “Oh,” Francine said while she headed for the refrigerator. “I guess we could eat breakfast before we head out.”

                “I’m not going with you,” Rosetta said. She stuck a spoonful of cereal inside her mouth.

                “What do you mean?” Francine stopped halfway to the refrigerator and turned and looked at Rosetta.

                “I mean,” Rosetta said with raised brows. “I’m not going with you. Paulette and I are going to the skateboard park.”

                Francine rolled her eyes. “Just-like-that, you're going to change your plans?” She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the milk. “You know we don’t get together often,” she walked back to the table, poured cereal into her bowl and plopped down in the chair next to Rosetta so hard, Rosetta’s cereal jiggled.

                Spreading her hands, Rosetta said in a sing-song way, “We just changed our minds. Where’s the wrong in that?”