A Grudge with a Rolling Pen

I marched straight into the shadowy fort under the coffee table to inspect our afternoon perimeter. Right in the center lay a shiny blue ballpoint pen, resting smugly like it owned the carpet. I didn't hesitate—I charged right at it and slammed my belly into its plastic barrel! It rolled two inches away and had the nerve to click loudly right at me. I threw myself forward again, pinning that noisy clicker under my side until it went dead silent. Nobody makes threatening clicking noises around Russia and my crew, not on my watch.