“Bad boy,” said the woman with obvious insincerity. The dachshund barked. The woman smiled, said, “My, yours is quiet,” and walked on, the perfect enabler.

My attention shifted to a spot up the road. Two people exiting the front of the van.

The first was the driver, a soft-looking, fuzz-bearded guy in his twenties wearing a blue shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He placed a wheeled suitcase on the ground.

From the passenger side came a bespectacled, curly-haired woman around the same age, garbed identically. She carried a multicolored paisley bag heavy enough to require both hands.

The man slid open the van’s rear door and extended his hand. A doll-like Asian girl accepted his help and descended, truing the straps of her own pink backpack. She wore a yellow T-shirt, lavender shorts, bubblegum-colored running shoes topped by frilly socks. Long black hair was held in place by a silver band.

She began laughing as a younger Asian boy leaped out, landed on his feet, and punched air. His hair was spiked, his backpack, black dotted with white specks that were probably skulls. A white T-shirt billowed over green shorts worn long and baggy, skater-dude-style.

Next came an older boy, skinny, smallish, with skin the color of coal. I knew he was thirteen, but puberty hadn’t arrived and his limbs were licorice sticks. His purple shirt and yellow satin basketball shorts sported the Lakers logo. On his feet were black athletic shoes with silver trim.

Kembara.

Kyle-Jacques.

Kion.

The youngest boy tried to get Kion sparring. Kion mussed his brother’s hair, waved his hands, feinted back, refused to take the bait.

Kyle-Jacques shouted, “Aaaah—you die!”

Kion hooked thumbs to his chest, flashed a who-me? grin.

Kyle-Jacques bounced, turned to his sister, began to harass her the same way. She looked at him the way compassionate gods regard sinners. He appeared to settle down. Then he leaped in the air and let out what the non-initiated would consider a martial arts yell. Landing offbalance, he flailed, stumbled back comically, managed to stay on his feet.

The bearded man said, “Good save, K.J.”

Kion and Kembara laughed uncontrollably.

Kyle-Jacques scrunched his face, jumped around, stood still as if abruptly sedated.

The bearded man said, “Okay, tribe, time to learn some science—Julie, we doing the full tribe or is Bunny-Boo still reluctant?”

“I’ll check.” Julie disappeared around the van, appeared seconds later holding the hand of a little towheaded girl.

Four-year-old Kristina wore a white blouse, a pink chiffon tutu, and sparkly sandals that said she’d picked her own outfit. She rubbed her eyes, yawned.

Julie said, “Still sleepy, Boo? Want me to carry you?”

She began lifting Kristina. The child resisted. Julie backed off. Kristina whimpered.

Julie said, “It’ll be okay, Boo, you just woke up—wanna see the turtles?”

Head shake.

“How about the ducks—remember the ones with the funny red heads?”

Silence.

Kristina sat down on the dirt.