The tray slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a loud splat.
A pair of legs hung through my office window.
Attached to those legs was Bobbi.
Her torso was already inside, bent awkwardly over the windowsill while the rest of her remained outside. One sneaker kicked slightly against the siding as she tried to scoot farther in.
For a full second my brain refused to process the situation.
“How did you get there?” I shouted.
Bobbi froze halfway through the maneuver.
She twisted her head to look at me, hair falling across her face where it had slipped loose during the climb.
“Your front door was locked. And the balcony door.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She wriggled slightly and dropped the rest of the way inside, landing lightly on the floor.
“Oh,” she said. “Window.”
I stared at her. “You scaled my balcony.”
Bobbi frowned. “I used the railing.”
I stared at her some more. “The balcony railing.”
“Yes.”
“You walked along the outside railing of a second-floor balcony?”
She shrugged. “It’s very sturdy.”
“That does not comfort me at all.”
Bobbi pulled the rest of herself through the window and landed lightly on the floor.
I frowned. “Why are you here in the middle of a school day?”
Bobbi looked mildly offended by the question. “Conference day. Teachers have meetings, so the children are released into the wild.”
“That feels like a design flaw,” I said.
“Can Markie play?” she asked.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then I sighed.
“Okay,” I said. “What are we playing?”
Markie leaned forward on his perch immediately. “PLAY.”
Bobbi lit up.
