As I stood at the bottom of the giant staircase, I decided that if Bones had set a record this morning, I was going to do the same. Bones went first, and I clocked him at 8.23 seconds . . . his worst time ever.

     Normally Bones ruled the game, mostly because his orangutan arms went half way up the stairs when he was standing at the bottom of them. Today he actually looked tired as he ran up, like he was in slow motion. He just didn't seem himself.

     Still, Bones stood at the top of the stairs with the stop- watch pulled up on his phone, ready to time me. He figured he'd hurry me, giving me less chance of breaking his record. "Seven point nine eight seconds is the record. Ready, GO!"

     "Cut the crap, Bones . . . I say GO, not you."

     We only had a couple of rules. The guy at the bottom of the stairs started the time by yelling "Go!" and the time was stopped when he whacked the landing at the top. It was a simple game but fun.

     I took a deep breath, paused, then said, "Ready . . ."

     We always tried to surprise each other at the top with the "Go!" because it could earn you tenths of a second. Tenths were critical in this game.

     "Go!" I yelled.

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