always having droughts out there. It's all dead cattle bones lying around in deserts. There's no place to go swimming."
But Joanna Tate appeared, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. "Don't be silly, James," she said. "Sure, Caroline, pack your bathing suit. There'll be a pool somewhere. No ocean, of course, but I'm sure there will be a pool. Or at least they'll have a sprinkler you can run through."
Caroline sighed and tossed her blue bathing suit into the suitcase. She hoped they didn't have a "What I Did on My Vacation" assignment for English class in the fall, because if her composition said, "I ran through a sprinkler in Des Moines with my half brother Butchie (or Dutchie, or Kootchy, or Something)," she would be laughed out of Burke-Thaxter School.
Caroline's very best friend, Stacy Baurichter, was going to sailing camp in Maine. And one of her very worst enemies in school, Ruthie Pierce-Donnelly, was spending part of the summer at a special science program for gifted children at Yale University. Boy, talk about showoffs; Caroline wouldn't have been at all surprised if Ruthie had had cards printed: RUTH ELLEN PIERCE-DONNELLY, GIFTED CHILD.
J.P. was gifted, too, thought Caroline, even if he was obnoxious. He could have gotten in to the special thing at Yale; they had said so at school. They had said he should apply. But it cost a lot, and Joanna Tate couldn't afford it.
She couldn't even afford the plane tickets to Des Moines. But their father had sent them. Tourist class, of course.
Caroline tossed some socks into the suitcase. She added her books and poked everything so that it fit and the lid would close.
"There. I'm all packed, I guess," she said gloomily to no one in particular.
J.P. heard her. "Me too," he said, equally gloomily, and came to stand in her doorway. "I packed all my transformers and batteries and wires, and my tool set, and a broken radio that I'm working on, and some diodes and electrodes and cathodes and some computer components, andâ" He looked suddenly over at Caroline's suitcase.
"Oh," he said and turned to go back to his bedroom. "I forgot clothes."
2
"Pretend you don't know me," J.P. said. "I want to walk by myself. I don't want people to know I'm with you guys. Especially with
her,
" he added, gesturing toward his sister.
"Jerk," Caroline said.
Their mother frowned. "James," she said, "walk by yourself if you want to. But keep us in sight, okay? This is a huge airport, and I don't want to lose you. The flight is number eight-nine-two, and it leaves at one-thirty from Gate Forty-five. Do you both have everything? The stubs for the checked luggage are stapled to your tickets. Do you both have your tickets?"
Caroline opened her pocketbook and showed her ticket to her mother. J.P. was looking the other way, pretending he'd never seen them before in his life. But his ticket was visible, the end of it appearing at his jacket pocket.
"Are you sure you don't want to check that bag?" Joanna Tate asked him. "It looks heavy."
"I told you," J.P. muttered. "It's my valuable stuff." He shifted the small suitcase from one hand to the other. It made a clanking noise.
"It's all his tools," Caroline explained to her mother. "Plus a dumb broken radio and a busted clock that he found in a trash can on Eighty-second Street."
J.P. glared at her angrily. "Why don't you print up announcements about my personal life, Caroline?" he asked sarcastically. "Maybe you could stand on a street corner and distribute them."
Their mother shook her head. "I hope you two will outgrow this warfare," she said. She looked at her watch. "Okay. Onward. James, from now on we'll pretend we don't know you. But don't you
dare
wander off and get lost."
J.P. had shifted his clanking suitcase again and started off. Caroline walked behind him, with her mother. She had an odd desire, suddenly, to hold her mother's hand. But she resisted it. She was eleven years old, after allâalmost an adult. She was just as tall as
But Joanna Tate appeared, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. "Don't be silly, James," she said. "Sure, Caroline, pack your bathing suit. There'll be a pool somewhere. No ocean, of course, but I'm sure there will be a pool. Or at least they'll have a sprinkler you can run through."
Caroline sighed and tossed her blue bathing suit into the suitcase. She hoped they didn't have a "What I Did on My Vacation" assignment for English class in the fall, because if her composition said, "I ran through a sprinkler in Des Moines with my half brother Butchie (or Dutchie, or Kootchy, or Something)," she would be laughed out of Burke-Thaxter School.
Caroline's very best friend, Stacy Baurichter, was going to sailing camp in Maine. And one of her very worst enemies in school, Ruthie Pierce-Donnelly, was spending part of the summer at a special science program for gifted children at Yale University. Boy, talk about showoffs; Caroline wouldn't have been at all surprised if Ruthie had had cards printed: RUTH ELLEN PIERCE-DONNELLY, GIFTED CHILD.
J.P. was gifted, too, thought Caroline, even if he was obnoxious. He could have gotten in to the special thing at Yale; they had said so at school. They had said he should apply. But it cost a lot, and Joanna Tate couldn't afford it.
She couldn't even afford the plane tickets to Des Moines. But their father had sent them. Tourist class, of course.
Caroline tossed some socks into the suitcase. She added her books and poked everything so that it fit and the lid would close.
"There. I'm all packed, I guess," she said gloomily to no one in particular.
J.P. heard her. "Me too," he said, equally gloomily, and came to stand in her doorway. "I packed all my transformers and batteries and wires, and my tool set, and a broken radio that I'm working on, and some diodes and electrodes and cathodes and some computer components, andâ" He looked suddenly over at Caroline's suitcase.
"Oh," he said and turned to go back to his bedroom. "I forgot clothes."
2
"Pretend you don't know me," J.P. said. "I want to walk by myself. I don't want people to know I'm with you guys. Especially with
her,
" he added, gesturing toward his sister.
"Jerk," Caroline said.
Their mother frowned. "James," she said, "walk by yourself if you want to. But keep us in sight, okay? This is a huge airport, and I don't want to lose you. The flight is number eight-nine-two, and it leaves at one-thirty from Gate Forty-five. Do you both have everything? The stubs for the checked luggage are stapled to your tickets. Do you both have your tickets?"
Caroline opened her pocketbook and showed her ticket to her mother. J.P. was looking the other way, pretending he'd never seen them before in his life. But his ticket was visible, the end of it appearing at his jacket pocket.
"Are you sure you don't want to check that bag?" Joanna Tate asked him. "It looks heavy."
"I told you," J.P. muttered. "It's my valuable stuff." He shifted the small suitcase from one hand to the other. It made a clanking noise.
"It's all his tools," Caroline explained to her mother. "Plus a dumb broken radio and a busted clock that he found in a trash can on Eighty-second Street."
J.P. glared at her angrily. "Why don't you print up announcements about my personal life, Caroline?" he asked sarcastically. "Maybe you could stand on a street corner and distribute them."
Their mother shook her head. "I hope you two will outgrow this warfare," she said. She looked at her watch. "Okay. Onward. James, from now on we'll pretend we don't know you. But don't you
dare
wander off and get lost."
J.P. had shifted his clanking suitcase again and started off. Caroline walked behind him, with her mother. She had an odd desire, suddenly, to hold her mother's hand. But she resisted it. She was eleven years old, after allâalmost an adult. She was just as tall as
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