1.
âTears Wonât Help!â
âChrissyâs going to throw up again!â Jenny shrieked the news.
The back of Uncle Ralphâs thin neck turned red. He swung the car off the road and braked at the edge of a steep slope. Chris hurtled out of the car. Halfway down the hill, she knelt and waited for the waves of sickness to overwhelm her.
Nothing happened. A breeze cooled her forehead. The air was sweet after the pizza-and-oranges smell of Uncle Ralphâs old Chevy. At the bottom of the hill, a stream glittered in the sun.
Neat
, Chris thought. She wished she could stay right there. She wished she could walk to Grandmaâs house in Oakleigh. Or fly! She was sure that if she got backin the car, sheâd be sick again.
âHow about it, Christina? We havenât got forever.â
Chris looked up and saw Uncle Ralph and Jenny peering down at her. Uncle Ralph sounded annoyed, as usual. He sometimes called Jenny âold girl,â and he called other people âsportâ or âBuster.â But he always called Christina Christina.
âYou look sort of green,â Jenny said when they were back in the car. âSort of green and sort of gray. Very yucky.â
âThatâs how I feel,â Chris told her. âOpen the window on your side, okay? And donât eat any more oranges.â
For the next hour Chris kept her face turned to the open window and tried to think good thoughts. Going to Grandmaâs was okay to think about. If she had to be away from home, sheâd rather be out in the country with Grandma than anywhere else. Thinking about home, even for a second, was a mistake. Every time she pictured her house standing empty, she began to feel sick again. By now her parents were in Seattle, on their way to five weeks of conference-and-vacation in Alaska.
No, donât think about that
.
Think about sleeping in a sleeping bag out under the trees. Grandma let her do that, as often as she wanted. Think about fishing in the little river a quarter-mileaway. Think about exploring the old barn, or climbing to the very top of the oak in Grandmaâs front yard. Last summer sheâd scrambled two-thirds of the way to the top before Jenny saw her and tattled.
The wind blew Uncle Ralphâs visored cap from the back-window shelf onto Chrisâs lap. She slicked her dark hair behind her ears and put on the cap, tilting it to one side. Then she leaned over the seat and twisted the rear-view mirror so she could see herself.
âWill you cut that out?â Uncle Ralph pushed the mirror back into position. His long, narrow face glowered at her. âAnd take off my hat. If you please.â
Jenny giggled. Chris took off the hat.
âYou donât like me,â she said softly, but of course Uncle Ralph heard.
âI do like you,â he said. âItâs just that you always get things in a muddle, Christina. You donât think. Iâm a past-middle-aged man, and I suppose I have past-middle-aged opinions. I happen to believe a girl should . . . should act like a lady. And dress like one,â he added.
Chris considered throwing the cap at him and decided sheâd better not. She glanced down at herself and then at Jenny. Her sisterâs jeans looked brand-new; Chrisâs were worn almost to whiteness, the way she liked them. Jenny wore a crisp red-and-white plaidshirt, and Chris wore a T-shirt with a Spider-Man picture on the front and a hole under one arm. Even though Jenny was only eight, two years younger than Chris, she insisted on blow-drying her pale brown hair so that it fell in waves around her face. Chris didnât care how her own hair looked, as long as it didnât get in her way.
âChrissy is a tomboy,â Jenny commented. âShe canât help the way she is.â
Chris threw the cap at her.
âCan we just forget it?â Uncle Ralph said. âTomboys are okay. Youâre fine,
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