Stacy reminded him, “Your dad said no.” James did another somersault, this time tumbling to the floor amid childish giggles, and Stacy tugged on the back of his shirt to make him stand up. “Come on, James. It’s getting late.”
“Are you sleepy already?” James wanted to know. “I’m not even tired yet.”
Stacy thought that was a stupid question to ask, but he shrugged his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. “Which room’s mine?”
James raced back into the hall, bounced off the railing by the stairs, then hit the door on the other side of his bedroom door. “Bathroom,” he said as he slapped the door. The one beside it he christened, “Closet.” Then finally, at the end of the hallway, he reached the last door. Looking back at Stacy, he tapped the door. “You.”