Disclaimer: Frye Road and its environs belong to the city of Alexandria, VA. The original Titans, Little Richard, Ritchie Valens and Elvis Presley belong to themselves and Emma Hoyt belongs to Disney. The remainder belongs to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks to The Morning Starr for helping me try to make this story more authentic and to darkdestiney2000 and Rae Kelly for the reviews!

Chapter Three — The Recruiting Game

Rustle. Rustle. "Ow! Are you sure this tree doesn't have prickles?"

"Hush up, Emma! They'll hear you!"

"Something's got my hair!"

Rustle. Rustle. "There. Now gimme the binoc'lars."

It was a quiet afternoon on Frye Road. There weren't many people around because lots of the grown-ups were still at work. The sun was out, but it wasn't that hot anymore, and a slight breeze was blowing. It was perfect weather for playing outside.

It was also perfect for spying, which was just what Betsy and Emma were doing in a tree across the street from the Buddses' house. Betsy had heard her brother talking on the phone, setting up the first-ever meeting of the boys' football club, and knew she had to be there, too, so she could check out the competition.

"I see Gerry," Betsy reported, "an' Julius Campbell…an' Alan Bosely…an' the Hunter twins…an' a lot of black boys I don't know…golly, they musta rounded up every boy in town to join their club!"

"What are they doing?"

"Standin' around."

"What?"

"Gerry's sayin' somethin' and they're all standin' around listenin' to him."

"I thought it was a football club," Emma remarked. "Ain't they gonna play any football?"

"Football players need a coach to tell 'em what to do. I s'pose Gerry's the coach of the club and he's tellin' 'em what to do."

"Oh." Emma took the binoculars and peered through them. "Some of those boys look awful big."

"Yeah, so we'd better get some big girls, too, to be in our club."

"Do you know any big girls?"

"No, but that won't stop me from askin' 'em to join our club when I see 'em."

Suddenly, Emma gave a squeal. "Oh! They're playing!"

"Really? Lemme see." Betsy took the binoculars again. "Oh, they ain't playin' a real game yet," she said. "They're just practicin' passin' the ball to each other." A couple of the boys were really good, she noted grudgingly; Gerry would probably make them quarterbacks. Quite a few, however, fumbled the ball, tripped over their feet trying to catch it, or got bonked on the head.

"But still, they're practicing!" the other girl said. "They're already playing, and we haven't even gotten any new members yet! We'd better find people to join our club, and quick!"

Tamsin bolted down a few forkfuls of eggs, gulped down her orange juice, and put down her glass with a thud. "Can I go out and play now?" she asked, chomping on a curl of bacon.

"No," Uncle Jon answered, "you may not go out and play just yet; and please chew with your mouth closed. You have to rest and let the food digest a bit," he explained when Tamsin scowled. "Playing right after you eat might give you a stomachache."

"Someone's in a hurry to get out of the house this morning," her mother observed.

She nodded. "Cat and Sharon and me are going to hang out."

"Hang out, huh?" Uncle Jon repeated with an amused smile. "Sounds like a really grown-up thing for three little girls to do. Where are you going?"

"Just downtown. We're going to play in the park first, and then we're going to have lunch at Cat's house, and then we're going window-shopping until it's time to go home." Tamsin fidgeted in her seat and swung her legs restlessly. "Can I go now?"

"All right," her mother said. "But walk slowly. Do you have money?"

"Yes, I have money," she replied, jumping to her feet. "I have a dollar and some change."

"Well, take care not to lose it. And call home if you need someone to come get you. And don't talk to strangers!" Her mother called after her. While she was speaking, Tamsin had been edging closer and closer to the front door. "Bye!"

"Bye!" Tamsin called back, waving and letting herself out of the house.

Once she was out, she turned toward the street and smiled. It was a bright and sunny summer day and she was going to play with her friends. What could be more perfect?

Even though her mother had told her to go slowly, Tamsin couldn't help walking quickly to the park. What could she do? She was a fast walker.

She met Cat and Sharon by the fountain and the three girls had a lot of fun playing until Cat's big brother came to tell them it was lunchtime. They ate at Cat's grandmother's house a couple of blocks away. Mrs. Davidson — or Maxie, as she liked to be called — owned a jazz club downtown. Tamsin knew this before Maxie even said anything because she had heard her mother and Uncle Jon talking about the place. They said it was as good as the places they used to go to in New York.

After lunch, Maxie also insisted that they rest a bit, but Tamsin thought it was more fun this time around because they listened to records while they were waiting to leave. Maxie had lots of jazz records, but she had rock n' roll records, too. "And I mean real rock n' roll, chères," she said in her special Southern drawl. Tamsin had never heard anyone talk like her before. "Little Richard, Richie Valens, Elvis — not those pretenders all the little girls are squealin' over."

Maxie let them go just when their feet started moving to the music. "That's how I know y'all got your energy back," she told them with a laugh. "All right, you may go. Have fun, bebés."

But window-shopping proved to be less fun than it sounded. The girls walked around town looking in the store windows, but soon tired of looking at dresses and hats they couldn't wear. Instead, they turned their attention to the people around them.

"My uncle calls this 'people-watching,'" Tamsin remarked as they leaned against an empty bicycle rack and watched the people going by.

"It sounds like bird-watching," Sharon laughed.

"I think it's the same thing, only with people," Cat said.

The men were boring to watch; they all dressed alike and didn't appear very cheerful. Lots of the mothers looked busy or unhappy, too. Their babies were sweet, though. A little boy with blond hair and blue eyes gave them a cheerful, drooly grin before his mother hustled him away.

Tamsin's favorites were the "bad girls." She liked the way they dressed, with their tight skirts, bright scarves and satin baseball jackets. She admired the way they strutted down the street as if they owned it and blew bubbles with their gum at anyone who dared give them a disapproving look. "I want to look just like them when I grow up," she said as a redheaded "bad girl" glanced at her over the top of her cat's-eye sunglasses and gave her a scarlet-lipstick smile.

"Tamsin, you wouldn't dare!" Sharon said, scandalized. "Everyone will think you're a bad girl!" She didn't know what bad girls did exactly, but the label spoke for itself.

"So? Just because I'll look like one won't mean that I'll actually be one."

"Your momma won't let you out of the house dressed like that."

"Of course she will," Cat scoffed. "Tamsin's momma is one cool lady."

Just then, a bulky body in a blue uniform obstructed their view. "What are you little girls doing here?" the policeman asked them.

Tamsin looked surprised at the question. She looked to her friends and, when none of them said anything, took it upon herself to speak for the group. "We're just hanging out, officer," she said. "We're people-watching."

"Do your mommas know where you are?"

"Yes, sir, we all asked permission before we left the house today. Right?" she asked her friends. Sharon and Cat nodded mutely.

"Well, isn't it about time y'all went home? Little girls like you shouldn't be hangin' around here by yourselves."

Tamsin started to scowl. "We're not by ourselves — we're together!" she blurted out.

Sharon poked her in the arm. "Tamsin, don't talk back to policemen!" she hissed.

The policeman looked down at them and Tamsin felt her friends shrink away from him. He looked awfully big. "Be that as it may, little girl, you still ain't got no adult with you."

"Those little boys look like they're all by themselves, too," she replied, pointing down the street to a group of kids only slightly older than she and her friends. "Why aren't you hassling them?"

"I will right after I'm through with you," the policeman told her. "Now, are you going to go home like good little citizens, or am I going to have to take you home myself?"

"Come on, Tamsin." It was Cat's turn to poke her arm. "Let's just go."

"I don't see why we have to," she muttered rebelliously as the girls started down the street. "We weren't doing anything wrong." Tamsin glanced over her shoulder and saw that the group of boys she had pointed at was still there. "And what are they still doing there? He didn't talk to them at all!"

"Well, they're boys," Sharon said. "I guess the policeman thought they could look after themselves."

Tamsin bristled indignantly. "And we can't just because we're girls?"

"They're also all white," Cat pointed out.

Tamsin scowled and shook her head, frustrated. "There is no justice in the world."

She was still in a bad mood when Emma Hoyt found them. "Tamsin!" the blonde girl said, trotting up with the girl called Betsy in tow. "I was hoping we'd bump into you!"

"Why?" Tamsin asked flatly.

Emma pulled Betsy forward. "Betsy has something to ask you."

Tamsin arched an eyebrow at the other little girl, who didn't look very happy to see her, either. "Well, what is it?"

Betsy glanced at Emma, and then turned back to Tamsin. "Me and Emma are formin' us a club," she mumbled. "We were wonderin' if you'd like to join."

"Me? Join your club?" Tamsin repeated. "I thought you said you didn't play with people like me."

"That was before," Emma jumped in. "Now Betsy wants to be friends."

For a while, it looked like Betsy was going to deny it, but she eventually nodded in agreement. "It'd be really great if you joined our club."

Tamsin thought it over for a moment. She thought Betsy was only pretending to be friendly so she could get people to join her club, but she didn't know that for sure. Innocent until proven guilty, Uncle Jon always told her. Everyone deserves a second chance. "OK, I'll join your club," she finally said, "but only if Sharon and Cat can join, too."

Tamsin watched Betsy peer at her friends. If Betsy didn't want to let them join because she didn't play with blacks, then Tamsin would say that she didn't play with racists and refuse to join the club.

But Betsy nodded her head. "If they want to join, they're in."

Cat and Sharon exchanged glances. "Sure, we'll join," Sharon said after a while. Then she looked curiously at Betsy. "What does your club do, anyway?"