The red disc, shiny, brand new, a birthday present gone horribly awry, sailed over the worn white picket fence and into the neighbor’s yard. Toby Jannsen, who, at ten, knew all too well Mrs. Moran’s temperament from the numerous times he’d sent baseballs into her tomato garden, groaned loudly.

"Jeremy," he whined to his seven-year-old brother, who’d released the Frisbee in a perfect arc of which most children would be envious, had it not crossed the fence. Noah, for whom the Frisbee had been an eighth birthday gift, seethed at Jeremy.

"I told you not to throw it!" Noah cried, extremely distraught. That had been his favorite birthday present.

Jeremy’s chin quivered. "I’m sorry," he murmured, staring at his shoes. His six-year-old twin brothers Jacob and Jonah fixed severe glares on him, not completely comprehending the situation but knowing enough to know that their older brothers were angry. At six, that was enough for them.

"Told you that you should have done your homework," called Eli from the shadow cast on the ground from the three under which he sat, between pages as he read Oliver Twist for the seventh time.

No one listened, and Eli went back to absorbing the story.

"Go get it," ordered Toby. The oldest, though Eli was taller, Toby hoped to frighten Jeremy into submission.

Jeremy’s eyes turned wide as saucers, gazing frightfully toward the fence. "No. Come on, Toby. No!"

"Go!" Noah commanded. He was almost as tall as Toby, but with hair a darker shade of red, he looked much more intimidating.

Jeremy’s face crumbled. "Don’t make me, please, Toby!" His voice sounded thick with tears.

At his little brother’s despair, Toby softened. "Okay. It’s okay."

"It’s not okay!" Noah wailed. "That was my favorite birthday present! I want it back!"

"Noah," said Toby warningly.

"I want it back," he stated authoritatively.

"Too bad."

Jacob and Jonah’s heads snapped immediately to Eli as he spoke. "Too bah, Noah. Deal with it. It’s just a Frisbee."

Furious, Noah stalked over to Eli. "How would you feel if I threw your book over there?"

Eli rolled his eyes, looking much older than nine. "I would calmly retrieve my book, and then beat you with it."

"Yeah, right. You couldn’t kill a fly with that book." Eli was rather frail-looking, tall, skinny, with white-blonde hair, light blue eyes and small glasses.

"Grow up, Noah," Eli replied, unruffled.

Scowling with the loss of yet another verbal battle with Eli, Noah moved back to where Toby and Jeremy stood. Jacob and Jonah were jumping in the leaves Toby and Eli had raked earlier that day; daylight was now waning, and their Frisbee game had been thwarted. His Saturday was ruined. Noah was decidedly unhappy.

"I’m sorry," Jeremy repeated. Noah felt a pang of guilt and patted his shoulder.

"It’s okay."

Jeremy smiled gratefully, looking as if he would do anything to repay Noah for forgiveness; this gave Noah an idea.

"But we still want to play, don’t we?"

Toby’s eyes narrowed in suspicion; Jeremy’s widened in agreement as he nodded his assent.

"Where could we find another Frisbee?" Noah wondered out loud, stoking his chin at the place in which a beard would begin growing when he doubled his age.

Jeremy shrugged, looking confused.

Noah sighed. How, how to go about prodding his brother into realizing what he must do…

Noah looked pointedly toward the kitchen.

"Plates!" exclaimed Jeremy, looking pleased with myself.

Feigning surprise, Noah yelled, "Great plan!"

Toby sent Noah a disapproving look. "Right, because you know how very much Mom loves it when we use the plates to play Frisbee. So much we’re going to be grounded until we’re twenty and she’ll make us read that book Eli’s nose is permanently glued into."

"Into which Eli’s nose is permanently glued," called Eli. Toby laughed.

"Let’s use the china!" Jeremy grinned so hugely that his face might split. "Mom never uses it."

"The good china?" Toby howled at the same time that Noah cried, "Why didn’t I think of that?"

"Go get it, Jeremy," Noah added.

Jeremy ran off eagerly.

Toby turned to Noah, a big-brother look apparent on his face. "That’s really mean, Noah."

Moodily, Noah crossed his arms, replying, "He lost my Frisbee."

"It was an accident. You know he’ll get in trouble."

"So," responded Noah stubbornly.

Toby shook his head and sat next to Eli under the tree, watching Jonah and Jacob wrestle each other violently.

"I get to be Batman!" one insisted. Being identical, their voices were difficult to discern at a distance.

"No, I do!" The latter shoved the former’s head into a leaf pile as the former howled with pain.

"I’m telling!" The one on the bottom, Jonah, Toby noted, marched over to Toby. "He hit my bed and told me I can’t be Hatman." Jonah’s face screwed together with confusion. "He hit my head and told me I can’t be Batman, Toby."

"Who would want to be Batman? He’s lame. Be Superman. Jacob can be The Thing."

Looking pleased with Toby’s suggestion, Jonah marched over to his twin, declaring proudly, "Toby said that you’re the Sing and I’m Thuperman." Jacob didn’t need clarification of his brother’s inverting syllables and smiled acquiescently.

A plate landed at Toby’s feet and proceeded to shatter into a million little pieces of expensive china glass. Eli didn’t look up; Noah looked shocked; Jeremy’s eyes goggled; and the twins were too busy wrestling again to notice.

"Noah," hissed Toby sharply.

"Uh-oh," sing-songed Eli, looking characteristically smug.

Mrs. Jannsen thundered out of the house. She looked slightly unstable and ready to explode. Unsure of exactly whose fault the breaking had been, she sputtered, "Tobias Samuel! Elijiah Matthew! Noah Thomas! Jeremiah Michael! Jacob Daniel! Jonah David!" Having exhausted an entire breath one the full name of her six songs, she inhaled, than continued, "What is going on here?"

"Sorry, Mom," said every child but Eli in unison. She chuckled at their reaction, but stiffened again at the sight of her ridiculously costly tea saucer lying on the ground at her oldest son’s feet.

"Who is responsible?" she queried.

Her sons glanced at each other; Eli, however, simply continued reading his lovingly battered Oliver Twist.

"Not Eli," murmured Toby sarcastically. Eli hit him with the book; perhaps, though Mrs. Jannsen, that was precisely why it was so worn.

"It was me," Toby said.

Eli dropped his book in surprise. "Toby!"

Jacob and Jonah looked surprised. Jeremy tugged on Toby’s t-shirt and looked up at him with questioning eyes.

"Toby, really," scolded Mrs. Jannsen. Noah’s guilt was evident in his eyes; however, she wouldn’t interfere with her sons’ affairs. Toby always tried to be noble and brave; her oldest son was deeply a perfectionist as well as deeply protective of his little brothers.

"Sorry, Mom," he murmured again.

"Grounded, one week. And your allowance is suspended." She walked back inside.

Noah still stared at Toby, pale blue eyes wide. "Toby…"

Toby crossed his long, gangly arms, and looked levelly at Noah. "Don’t thank me. Apologize to Jeremy," he said, and turned to go inside.

Eli, who unobtrusively worshipped Toby, glared at Noah. Jeremy, still young, looked confused; the twins resumed wrestling.

At a loss for words, Noah picked up the pieces of the saucer, using a branch for a broom and a bucket leftover from the summer sandbox Eli had built, strewn on the ground next to him.

"Sorry," Noah said.

"Take me to the dish store," Noah said.

Eli looked up; A Tale of Two Cities dangled from his hands. "What?"

"I need to go to the dish store." He reached into his pocket and fingered the twenty one-dollar bills stuffed inside.

"I’m nine years old. How in the world are we going to get to the dish store? Ask Toby."

Meaningfully, Noah stared into Eli’s eyes. He’d never noticed they were the same shade as his before. All of the Jannsens had different colored eyes; Toby’s were navy blue, steady and stable; Jeremy’s were a bright shade of cerulean, comforting and whimsical; the twins’ eyes were flecks of all three shades, and both Noah and Eli bore pale, pale blue eyes that could be cold or caring, depending on what the facial features surrounding them decreed.

"Okay," said Eli, dog-earing a page, "but if we get into trouble-"

"I’ll take the blame," Noah assured him.

They left the broad yard of the Jannsens’ house. Together the boys, almost alike in height with only hair color to set them apart physically, walked down the street, Eli nervously looking for cars as Noah trailed behind him.

Strange, Noah thought, as Eli usually trailed behind Noah. When they walked together, Jeremy, Noah and Toby led, followed the twins with Eli in the back, nose in that week’s book. Noah thought Eli too serious, too boring, to ever really bond with his directly older brother. For reasons currently beyond Noah’s comprehension, he’d always thought of himself as cooler than Eli, somehow, but after the weekend’s events, he was reevaluating that opinion.

Toby had surrendered his perfect disciplinary record for Noah’s sake. Noah, for his own part, repeatedly encountered trouble. The two years between Toby and Noah seemed like much more; it could have been only that Toby was ten, in the double digits, but Noah didn’t think so. Noah’s dad had left when Noah wasn’t even five yet, and Toby took over as head of household. He packed their lunches and made sure they did their homework every night.

"Eli…do you remember Dad much?" His outburst surprised him.

"Not really," Eli replied tersely. At Noah’s chagrined look, he continued, "I was still pretty little. And he wasn’t around that much, anyway."

"Does Toby?"

"Probably, he was seven." From behind his glasses, pale blue eyes peered shrewdly at Noah; he suddenly understood why every teacher he’d ever met had pronounced Eli a genius. "Why?"

"Jus’ wondering," Noah replied, and the subject dropped.

At the dish store, a sales clerk eyed them worriedly; luckily, they carried Mrs. Jannsen’s china pattern, with dots scattering the lip of the plate that almost resembled UFO’s. Eli pointed this out as Noah laughed.

When Noah paid (ten whole dollars for one saucer!), they left, and began the walk home. Eli remembered to look both ways when he crossed the street. Noah didn’t.

"Why’d you get that?" Eli asked him suddenly.

"It wasn’t fair for Toby to be punished and me not be punished at all."

Faintly, Eli smiled. "We might make a prince out of you just yet."

Noah grinned and ducked his head.

At the Jannsen’s, after a touchy encounter with Mrs. Moran’s cat, during which time the saucer was almost broken, along with various bones in both Eli’s and Noah’s skulls, Noah climbed to the room Toby shared with Eli.

He sat quietly by the window, pencil in his hand, pensive look upon his face. "Hey, No," he said without even glancing toward the door.

"Hi," Noah replied. "Here."

He dumped the plate onto Toby’s bed, the one closest to the window, and jetted out of the room to complete his spelling homework.

At dinner, Toby presented Mrs. Jannsen with her saucer. She was delighted and thanked him, lifting his sentence immediately. Eli smiled at Noah, and Noah smiled back; the twins smeared mashed potatoes in each others’ hair; Jeremy watched the scene carefully, picking up clues for when he’d have to take a big step toward growing up like Noah just had; Toby watched them all paternally, and Noah realized, for the first time, exactly how well Toby did do as head of their household.

"Thanks, Toby," he said for no particular reason, but when Toby smiled at him and he smiled at Toby, he decided he really didn’t need a reason. Maybe he’d understand it when he was Toby’s age; maybe he’d have to grow up more.

Both of those things, Noah mused, are fine with me, and got up to display the saucer on the buffet, where no eye could fail to see it.