I pull my denim jacket out of my pack. “You’re not a little baby, you know,” I snap at Dylan. Right away, I feel bad.

Dylan pops his thumb into his mouth and looks at the mountains.

Mama frowns. “I seem to remember, young lady, you asking to be held when you were five.”

I turn away to pull on my jacket. I don’t want her to see me try to swallow past the lump in my throat. I don’t want her to know that even though I’m almost twelve now, I’d give anything to climb right into her lap. Or Daddy’s. I quickly touch my Firefly Girls sash in the bottom of my pack for comfort, then zip it up.

Doreen, the bus driver lady, comes over to Daddy, still puzzling over the paper. “Can I help you?” she asks. She’s almost as tall as Daddy, which is saying something.

Daddy holds out the paper to her. “This is the address I have for where we’re going, but I can’t make sense of it.”

Doreen studies the address, then looks over at Mama holding Dylan. “I see,” she says. She clears her throat. “You’re going two blocks that way north”—she points—“and then you’ll turn west—left—and go three blocks. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thank you,” Daddy says.

Doreen nods and heads back to the Country-Wide Travel bus. She pauses before she climbs the stairs. “Good luck to you,” she calls.

“Okay, let’s get going then.” Daddy slings the duffel bag over one shoulder and grabs the heaviest of the two suitcases.

Mama sets Dylan down. She threads his arms through the loops of his SpongeBob backpack. “Time to be a big boy now,” she says, handing him his stuffed shark.

I pull my backpack on. I take Dylan’s hand. “Let’s go, Toto,” I say. I hold on to his little hand like a lifeline to normal.

We walk and walk and walk and walk.

After a while, Dylan whines, “I’m tired, Daddy. When will we be there?”

I see Daddy’s shoulders tense under his thin flannel shirt.

“Let’s play I spy,” I say.

Before Dylan can complain any more, I say, “I spy with my own little eye something yellow and black with big wheels.”

“School bus!” he yips, pointing at the bus waiting at the red light.

I squeeze his hand. “Good job. Your turn.”

Dylan looks around. He smiles and gives a little hop. “I spy with my own little eyes something small and brown and furry.”