My One Hundred Adventures by Polly Horvath

people should want not to have children. World over-population is the biggest problem on the planet. I was on the fence about it before, but now I know for sure. I don’t want any. They’re disgusting.”
    â€œYour children won’t be. They won’t be like the Gourds, for heaven’s sake,” I say. I look at the little Gourd baby in his carrier. We take the liberty of removing the blanket Mrs. Gourd always keeps draped over it. He blinks in the unaccustomed light. He probably just needs some stimulation.
    â€œThey may not be like the Gourds, they may be delightful, but it is clear to me that they wear you down. And I don’t want to be worn down. I want to design fabulous clothes for horrible women dripping in wealth who can afford them and who will invite me to their silly, pretentious parties.”
    Ginny’s ambitions never make a lot of sense to me but they somehow keep a fire burning in her that propels her forward every day. Mrs. Gourd always looked fireless but now with this new job she begins to look different, as if she is being propelled forward too. A fire is starting to burn in her as well. I think this fire changes everything about a person. Now she won’t look tired all the time. Now maybe we are going to be the ones who look tired all the time. Me, because my one hundred adventures must be put on hold. I cannot have such adventures with so many people in tow. I long to venture forth alone. I am suffocating, my fires of purpose dwindling to embers. I tell Ginny all this while we sit on the beach, and she stares at me the whole time, her mouth slightly open, her eyes round and fathomless, but she says nothing.
    The morning drifts on; we make sand angels and talk and help the children with their castles and occasionally pass out snacks. We have taken a jar of peanut butter and some bread from the Gourd cabinet to avoid having to go back and face Mr. Gourd in his undershirted glory.
    It really isn’t so bad, only another four hours of this, I think, when a car pulls up to the public lot. Cigarette Guy is already there sitting on a cement divider and watching the waves crash. He hasn’t started smoking yet. He eyes the car with curiosity and then Ginny sees it and says, “What’s my mom doing here?”
    But she doesn’t go up to greet her. Instead Mrs. Cavenaugh walks down to the beach looking primly annoyed. She takes a starfish out of one of the Gourds’ mouth. A little something we have missed but when you’re watching five children at once you do tend to miss things from time to time.
    â€œThese children are filthy,” she says.
    â€œWell, we aren’t paid to give them baths,” says Ginny. “In fact, we aren’t paid at all.”
    â€œAnyhow, tell your little friend goodbye,” says Mrs. Cavenaugh. Mrs. Cavenaugh always refers to me as Ginny’s little friend, I think because she secretly hopes I will shrink to nothingness and disappear altogether. It is extremely wishful and imaginative thinking on Mrs. Cavenaugh’s part. “Come on, we have to go. I have enrolled you in soccer camp.”
    Mrs. Cavenaugh grabs Ginny by the upper arm and hauls her to her feet. This surprises me. Ginny seems surprised by it too.
    â€œOuch,” she says, yanking her arm free. We’ve been taught at school how to deal with potential kidnappers. Always make a fuss and resist. I wait patiently for Ginny to start screaming “NO, NO, NO,” which is step one, but she doesn’t.
    â€œBut I thought soccer camp was full,” says Ginny.
    â€œThere was a cancellation. I had you on a waiting list.”
    â€œAnd you told me I didn’t have to go to any more camps this summer. That I could stay home and design dresses.”
    â€œAre you designing dresses right now? Besides, I don’t recall saying anything of the sort,” says Mrs. Cavenaugh.
    â€œBut you did,” says Ginny.
    â€œWell, if I did