Dannie is close at my heels as we climb up into the tree house and I reach around, yanking up the robe ladder after her. I wonder about her sometimes. I mean, Dannie Thatcher, that's her name, is a pretty nice person when you get to know her, but something about her always seems a little off. I look her over and roll my eyes; the girl really needs to learn how to scale fences properly. Her jeans are covered in clay up to her knees, although, at the moment, I'm not much better off.