It was just an average summer day. No school to attend. No bus ride. No mama rushing her daughter to get out the door on time.

When you’re a 12-year-old girl, the summers are free. You might have to help wash the dishes or clean up your room. And why not? The best trained kids in any town have chores to do, even in the summertime.

Most people don’t know this, but girls can be slobs, too. It’s not just the boys who hide jelly-stained T-shirts under the bed.

But for the most part, being out of school is all about looking for adventure. You call your BFF and make plans to goof off. You dream of swimming. You run through sprinklers. You listen to music and dance in front of the mirror with the door closed.

You’re always on the lookout for any excuse you can find to get out of the house. Escape the boredom. Spend time with your friends.

Meet Peyton. Bright eyes. Big smile. A little bit mischievous, but sweet as candy. She’s sitting on her bed holding her tired old Teddy Bear, trying to think of something fun to do when her mom walks into the room.

“Your grandpa called,” she says. “He’s going into town to run some errands, and he wants to know if you want to tag along.”

“Really!”

“Yes, really.”

“Can I call Anna and ask if she can go with us?”

Peyton and Anna have been BFFs for nearly a hundred years. Like forever. They are almost inseparable. They finish each other’s sentences. They like the same foods, the same music, and the same shoes. Whenever they pinky-swear, they are bound by oath to have each other’s backs.

“Your grandpa knew you were gonna ask. He’s already said you could invite her to go with you.”

Mom adds, “You finish up this room before he gets here.”

Peyton rushes around like she’s won the summer lottery. She loves her “MyMike,” her name for her grandpa. And she loves his big truck. When she rides in it, she feels like she’s on top of the world because it sits up so much higher than her mom’s car. Plus, MyMike lets her ride with the windows down.

Anna shows up around the same time that MyMike pulls into the driveway. The girls are giggling and holding hands as he shoves the shifter into park. He smiles and waves through the windshield. The girls run toward him.

Mike gets out. He turns to open the back door. The girls pile into the back seat.

“How long you gonna be gone?” Moms always want the details.

“I’ll have them home by suppertime.”

“Thanks for doing this,” she says.

“You don’t have to thank me. I love spending time with Pippa.”

You see, grandpas always have pet names for their special girls. Grandsons are great. Nothing against the boys, but granddaughters have a way of melting an old man’s heart. Their eyes cut right to the soul. Their smiles are infectious, and their hugs are bigger than life.

Even though Anna and Pippa are buckled in, they are bouncing around like bowling balls. This is what BFFs do. They never sit still. Mike takes a look in the rearview mirror and wonders if he ever had so much energy. He can’t remember.

“MyMike, can you play some music for us?”

Mike hands her his phone. “You find a song for us.”

Pippa has Bluetooth and phone app skills that grandpa can’t begin to understand. In just a few seconds the music starts playing and heads start bobbing.

Mike makes a couple of stops in town. One at the bank and another at the hardware store. The girls are happy to stay in the truck listening to their music. After the last stop, and before Mike gets back into the truck, Pippa and Anna have a plan.

“MyMike?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Will you take us to Starbucks?”

I’m interrupting this story to tell you that I am not a Starbucks kind of guy. I don’t get the attraction. I have been to a Starbucks one time in my life, and I ordered a small cup of regular old American coffee. Black. All the concoctions that are whipped and stirred and poured over an otherwise good cup of coffee are a waste to me.

Mike looks into the mirror in a half-hearted state of disbelief. What he sees looking back at him are two sets of sad puppy eyes with the pouty lips to match.

He knew he was whipped.

“Sure,” he said.

It’s the middle of the afternoon. There shouldn’t be much of a line. “I’ll just pull around to the drive-thru window,” he thought. Well, the line was halfway around the building.

As he creeps along, a county deputy’s car gets in line behind him. His natural reflex is to hope that the girls don’t get out of their seat belts.

After a few minutes, the girls notice the police car behind them.

“Can we wave at him?” they ask.

“You bet’cha.”

Mike thought it might be good for the girls. So, they open the sliding window in the back of the truck, stick their little arms out up to their elbows, and wave as only little girls can do. Not a princess wave with just the hand, but a whole-arm wave. Wild and without reserve.

To their delight the officer sticks his arm out his window and waves back. All he can see from his front seat are smiles about the size of a slice of watermelon.

Then the officer makes a surprise move. He hits a short burp on his siren. The girls go wild and Mike, who is half dozing in the heat, jumps and grabs his steering wheel.

Then the really unexpected happens. The deputy gets on his mic and calls out to the girls.

“You wanna play rock, paper, scissors?”

When girls who are BFFs scream at the same time, the sound pierces through the atmosphere at supersonic speeds. The blast of air from their lungs causes tidal waves along the coastlines of distant Pacific islands. If a man happens to be in the front seat, just a few feet away, he experiences a temporary loss of hearing.

The other customers in line are not sure what is going on. All they can see are two sets of small arms hanging out the back window of a truck making what looks like fists pumps in the air, while the police officer behind the truck is returning fire out his window.

By the time Mike picks up the Frappuccinos for the girls, three or four games of rock, paper, scissors have transpired. The girls have a new friend, and an overworked police officer has a story to tell when he gets home.

Mike takes the cups from the window and hands them back to Pippa and Anna. Then he hands the clerk another $20 bill.

“I’m paying for the guy behind me.”

“True story,” says Mike. “Whoever you are with the Henry County Police Department. Thanks. You made those girls’ day.”

It seems that Cops are people, too.