Our church is small and kind of boring, but mom makes us go every Sunday anyways. She dresses me up in stiffly ironed clothes and Mia in a stiff velvet dress and then we sit in the long, uncomfortable pews surrounded by a bunch of stiff adults and their equally stiff children.
Mia never seems to mind in the slightest. She sits perfectly still, her hands on her lap, and drinks in every word the preacher says.
I nudged her arm.
"What?" she said, keeping her eyes on the preacher.
"Shhh," she said.
"Shhh," mom said.
I poked Mia's shoulder. "Don't think about pink elephants," I said.
"Quit pestering your sister."
I settled back into my seat and glowered at the pastor. I managed to stay quiet for another ten minutes before I broke.
"Mia," I whispered.
She glared at me. "What?"
"Did you know that baby mice are called pinkies?"
That got her. "Really?" she whispered back.
"Uh-huh. Or kittens."
She was trying not to smile, but I saw her eyes light up. "Really?"
"Yup. Mouse. Kittens."
The smile broke through, but it lasted only for a second before she squashed it and turned her attention back to the preacher.
"C'mon, Mia," I said. "I'm dying here."
She sighed. "Fine."
And then the mice swarmed the church. They came out from the corners and carpeted the floor in blacks, browns, and whites, making their way between pews and surrounding the front stage.
Chaos ensued. People screamed and jumped onto the seats. Others tried stomping on the mice. None of them ever got any. People started pouring out of the building.
"Bye mom meet you at the car!"
I laughed and grabbed Mia's hand and we ran outside together.