Under the pondweed part #3

Sassy stroked the material of her dress. It was smooth and silky, satiny soft and pleasing to the touch. It was chiffonier than it seemed as if it should be, almost ethereal. She liked the way it felt, but she couldn't see herself at the pond’s edge catching frogs in such an outfit. And frog-catching was her favorite activity.
She glanced at Lonnie and saw that while his face looked like Billy's, his expression did not. He had a dreamy, relaxed friendly look. His eyes glowed with happiness. And his clothes--he'd been wearing Billy ratty cutoff’s and Power Ranger T-shirt, but now he too was dressed in satin, in a shimmering satin shirt open at the throat and a satin skirt. A skirt. He was wearing a skirt.
Sassy thought of the bagpipe players she'd watched at the Celtic festival. They had skirts on. But they didn't call them skirts; they called them kilts. Her friend Marty had whispered to her that they didn't wear underwear under their kilts and she and Sassy had squatted down pretending to pick up some cards they'd dropped, but they couldn't see high enough under the kilts to see if the men with their hairy legs and bulging calf muscles were wearing underwear.
Sassy flushed, looking at Lonnie and his skirt. It didn't look like the kilts the men had worn at the Celtic festival. It was a softer and finer material, no plaid or pleats. But the question of whether Lonnie wore undies brought color to her cheeks, she could feel it.
She looked down. At that moment, there was a loud trumpeting sound, a long bark of sound barely akin to music, followed by 3 sharp short barks, and Lonnie tackled her, knocking her to the floor of the open carriage.
He shoved her under the seat and crawled in with her. "Get back, get back,” he said, “it’s an aerial dragon attack."
* * *
To be continued (I only had ten minutes to write today).