I mean, it’s not like I have a problem sitting. Obviously. But the DVD player broke last month, and there’s nothing to do back here but watch the river appear and disappear again. If you’ve never seen the Mississippi, you’re not missing anything. The M–i–double s–i–double s–i–double p–i is ugly. It’s murky on a good day. In winter it’s toilet water.

At least there’s a big, beautiful lake where we’re headed. If I play it right, maybe Mom will let me do more than sit with my feet in it this summer. Water is the only place my body isn’t the enemy. In water I’m weightless. I can float free.

“I’m starving.”

“Let’s get past Memphis.”

“But the barbecue’s in Memphis!”

I saw an episode of The Great Food Truck Race where they went to Memphis. I want to go to Leonard’s Pit, get a whole pile of their barbecue pork and shoestring fries.

I yell out the exit number at every mile marker for ten miles.

It works.

We’re back on the road in less than half an hour with greasy paper bags full of food. Why do barbecue joints always give you those tissuey napkins that tear to shreds when you try to use them?

Mom’s such a pushover, but she’s good at road-tripping like this. “Let’s make it an adventure,” she’ll say whenever we have to do something half-miserable, like go for leg brace fittings or clothes shopping. Clothes shopping is the worst, with Mom following me into every fitting room and helping me try on jeans. As if anybody wants her mom to watch her try on jeans. But she somehow makes it easier. We’ll skip school, take the day, eat picnics in the park or get Auntie Anne’s pretzel nuggets at the mall, and take long drives with the windows down. She can spin anything.