![]() ![]() I look up but can’t see his expression in the rearview mirror. ![]() We’re alllllmost there,” Dad says in that voice he uses when he’s trying to lighten the mood. Shadows dance in the darkness stretched out in front of us. The car swerves violently around something in the road, and I crane my neck to see what it was. It isn’t a dream, but there’s no telling them that. Think of all that original wood! And those high ceilings! It’s a dream.” So of course there will be some work to do,” Dad says, loud enough so I can hear, but quiet enough not to wake my little brother, Jonah. “Our house was built in the late eighteen hundreds, you know. My parents keep saying this place is going to be everything we ever needed but didn’t know existed. Nineteen hours in a seat belt, four Twinkies, twenty-one old episodes of The Simpsons, and one cramped hotel later we finally get here . . . City lights fade to a blur in my tired eyes. Rain batters the windshield of our ancient minivan, the wipers furiously working to keep the glass clear. I don’t even think they’re listening to themselves or they wouldn’t have made me give up Florida. ![]() I begged them to change their minds, but they said Dad’s new job is important to him and that families should support each other-not make each other give up the things they love. We’re in the van already and it isn’t even light outside. I can’t believe they’re making me do this. ![]()
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