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scrounging clean underwear out of the laundry basket and stuffing it into an old gym bag. “Gee!” she exclaimed at the sight of him. “What did you do, crawl through a culvert? You've got two minutes to take a shower!”
    “What's up?” I whispered.
    Mama raised her shoulders, then her eyebrows. “He changed his mind. If you still want to, you can go. But listen to me, Ronnie. He told me that some days he'll be gone for hours at a time on his motorcycle and he'll have to leave you and Gee at a campground. I told him you're used to being in charge, but at home you have some backup, at least. It's an awful lot of responsibility. If you don't feel up to this—”
    A week or more in an RV? “I'm
on
it.”
    “I know you are, sweetie. Just hope this isn't a big mistake. Have you seen Gee's inhaler?”
    “Inhaler?!” Pop yelled from the living room. “What's that for?”
    Mama's laugh sounded nervous. No wonder: a hyper little boy was one thing, but a hyper little boy who sometimes stopped breathing might send that RV out of the driveway even faster than the first time. “For his asthma, Dad. It's not serious. He just has a minor incident every few months—less all the time, really—and when it happens we all know what to do. Oh, and Ronnie—”
    She signaled me to come closer, murmuring, “Be sure you take the Ritalin prescription. Just in case.” She smiled really big, only it wasn't her usual smile. “One more thing—I bought a new cartridge for his Game Boy last month—Mad Mechanix. It's on the top shelf of the linen closet. Supposed to be a birthday present, but…”
    She wiggled her fingers and I thought,
Good plan
. A new game could keep him occupied for most of our first day on the road, and part of the second, and maybe as much as an hour on the third, and by then we'd be so far away Pop would have to think twice about turning around to bring us home.
    After his two-minute shower, which didn't quite get all the green off, Gee stuffed some action figures and a toothbrush in the gym bag Mama had packed for him. Then she sent him outside for a farewell tour of the neighborhood so he'd be out of our hair while I packed my own stuff. Mama hobbled back to the couch, where she keptremembering things to do: “Take some macaroni and cheese!” “See if I've got a calling card in my purse—and do you want to pack my old binoculars? I'm not sure where they are.” “I need my glue gun! I think it's under the bed. …”
    “All packed,” I announced, marching through the living room with my duffel bag under one arm. “Where should I put this, Pop?” He only shrugged—a little stunned, I guess.
    Mama was back on her feet, rummaging around in her desk drawer. As I went out the door, she called, “Bring your brother with you when you come back in.”
    Gee was in the driveway, trying to explain Pop's job to the neighborhood kids. In Gee-speak this came out as “wind prowler.”
    “What's that?” Casey wanted to know.
    “He goes looking for wind,” Gee said, “and we're gonna help.”
    “Help
how
? Wind just happens, whether you're looking or not.”
    I walked between them to get to the RV door, which is near the back and opens into the kitchen. The sink was directly ahead, dinette to the right, bathroom to the left. Everything was in its place, from the row of vitamin bottles above the sink to the row of books beside the bunk— not a stray spoon or sock or spatula. What I like about RVs is how efficient they are, every bit of space accounted for. Then it hit me: wherever I put my bag, it wouldn't belong. And
anywhere
Gee put himself, he didn't belong. He sure couldn't be tucked away like a spatula in his own special drawer.
    No, the minute he came on board, this tidy little world would be wrecked. If my shy little duffel bag spoiled the order, just imagine what a mini-whirlwind could do. Maybe this trip wasn't such a good idea.
    I shook my head and tried to think like Kent Clark: when you come to a