Brenda blew a plume of smoke over Sheldon's head. "Now, you listen here, you little freak—"

"The owl. From my diorama. You have it."

"Your dog has poor taste in ornithology," Sheldon said.

The "Tiger Mom" had arrived.

"Watch me." Sheldon marched next door. He knocked precisely three times. Brenda Sparks, their chain-smoking, world-weary neighbor, opened the door. Behind her, chewing on a pencil, was her son, Billy.

The Unlikely Alliance

Mary sighed. "You can't just accuse someone."