She takes her hand out of her mouth. “I know that, genius.” Then she puts her hand back in and squeals again. “They’re exquisite!”

I watch the two giant pandas rolling around and munching greenery. “Yeah, they’re definitely fun to watch. But if you ask me, flamingos are much more entertaining.”

A bunch of kids in matching school uniforms pass by us. One of the girls drops a paper on the floor. She tries to stop and get it but is bumped by a bigger boy, who rushes her forward. When the stampede disappears, I pick the paper up. It’s a map with pictures of animals all over it. There are some Chinese symbols at the top. But there is also some English that indicates our location.

“Where are we?” Zoe crowds in next to me, crunching the map.

“Can’t you tell? Look around! We’re at the BEIJING ZOO.” I search the map for our location and tap my finger near the center. “We’re here. At the panda house.” A bright blotch of color on the map catches my eye. I trace a line with my finger from the picture of the panda to the blotch.

“The flamingos aren’t far from here. Looks like they have them in an enclosed aviary.”

Zoe rips the paper from my hand. “Why do you need to see flamingos in China? You can see flamingos in any zoo. You can’t always see giant pandas!”

I stare right at her. “I like flamingos better. Plus, I have a feeling I’m supposed to be there.”

I don’t wait for Zoe to give permission. I pull the map out of her hands and follow the directions out of the panda house.

Zoe sighs. “Okay, but then we’re coming right back here!” She reaches in her backpack for her phone and attempts to take a picture of one of the pandas. She shakes it and then shoves it in her shorts pocket. “My phone never works on these Triple T adventures. Ugh!”

*  *  *

The door to the aviary has a sign on it with Chinese symbols I can’t read.

Oh, well. I know what’s in here.

I reach for the handle and pull the heavy thing open. A family enters in behind me and Zoe. When the teenager at the end of the line doesn’t close the door all the way, her dad shouts, points to the sign, and pulls the door shut.

“Come on, Zoe, this way!” I follow a sign with an arrow that shows a picture of an orange bird with a crooked beak and very long, uncoordinated-looking legs.

We turn the corner . . . and there they are.

“Look, Zoe! A flamboyance of flamingos.” I jostle her with my elbow.

She rolls her eyes. “You mean a flock of flamingos.”

“The technical term is flamboyance.”

“I didn’t know you were into technical terms.”