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kind of how it felt.
    â€œMom,” Susan said with a huff, “we’re going to be fine.”
    â€œI know, I know.” Mom sniffled and hugged us again. “But remember . . . no cutting your own hair. And no tattoos.”
    We all laughed because we knew that last one was just a joke.
    Luckily, Mom didn’t say anything along the lines of “no play rehearsals at the house.” I was still operating on the right side of the law—technically, at least.
    When Mom and Dad were finally out the door, Susan and I enjoyed a terrific Caesar salad, courtesy of Nana, and Papa shared his butterscotch candies with us.
    â€œThis might turn out to be one of the best weeks of our lives,” Susan observed, popping a third candy into her mouth.
    â€œLet’s hope so,” I said.

    I was so excited to get started on The Odd-yssey , I barely slept at all. Knowing what I knew now about producing and directing and handling diva-size egos and guiding reluctantperformers, I was sure this show would be as big a hit as our first one had been, if not bigger.
    I just wished we had a home.
    Because the clubhouse theater really had become exactly that: our home.
    Odysseus would understand , I thought, rolling over in bed to see 6:45 a.m. displayed on my alarm clock. After all, that was what The Odyssey was all about—someone finding his way home.
    I slipped out of bed, threw on a sweatshirt, and stepped into my sneakers. Then I tiptoed downstairs. Quietly, I opened the door, crept outside, and walked briskly toward the clubhouse. The sky was misty lilac, with a ribbon of deep pink along the treetops. I saw a few neighbors out for an early morning stroll and Mr. Davenport walking the family dog, a cocker spaniel named Patches.
    I also saw Mackenzie Fleisch, which shocked me. She was dressed in a pair of running shorts and a baggy T-shirt, jogging along at a pretty good clip. Even her running was graceful. When she saw me, she stopped to catch her breath.
    â€œAnya! I didn’t know you were a runner.”
    â€œI’m not,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d walk over to have a look at the theater.”
    Kenzie smiled. “Well, I’m just about ready for mycooldown. I’ll come with you.”
    She fell into step beside me. “Do you run every day?” I asked, trying to imagine rolling out of bed on a summer morning to sprint around the neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong. . . . I like exercise as much as the next girl, but I prefer to do it after the sun comes up. Especially during summer vacation, when sleeping in is practically mandatory for middle schoolers.
    â€œNot usually,” Kenzie replied. “But my mom was worried I might have put on a pound or two, so she thought I should get ahead of it. You know . . . more exercise, fewer carbohydrates.”
    I wasn’t sure what to say to this. Mackenzie was as slender and fit as she’d always been as far as I could tell. If she’d gained a pound, I sure couldn’t see it.
    As we walked on, something occurred to me. “Hey, Kenz, can I ask you something?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWell, I know you’ve been dancing, like, forever, and you plan to become a professional ballerina someday, but . . . do you actually like it?” I shrugged. “I mean, do you love it?”
    Mackenzie looked at me as if I’d just asked her if she believed the world was round. Then she laughed. “Nobody’s really ever asked me that before,” she admitted. “But yeah, ofcourse I do.”
    I smiled. “I kind of figured,” I said. “I guess I just wanted to be sure.”
    Mackenzie shrugged. “I mean, I don’t always love the long drives into the city, or how snippy and competitive some of the other dancers can be. And I can really do without the sore muscles and bloody toes. But I’m really good at it. And it’s fun to be good at