Zoe shouted out, “Three million and four and three hundred and twenty.”

“Eight,” Jim said. “The Levins, that’s five. And the Ramirezes, that’s three.”

“So?” Cal shouted.

“Yeah, is that really so bad?” Harley asked.

“It is when you consider that sixty-four have moved away in the same period.”

“Why?” Josh asked. “I mean, we can survive without a post office.”

“How about a school? Can Petersville survive if Waydin closes? Schools that weren’t even as small as Waydin have closed all over upstate New York. Basically, what we’re hearing is that it doesn’t make sense for the State to pay to keep open a school for so few students.”

I knew small classes were bad news for me, but I’d never thought they might be bad news for the whole town.

“If Waydin closes, kids will have to travel a full hour to the school in Crellin, which will mean families moving away to be closer to the school. And if there are fewer people living here, what will happen to the businesses over time? To Turnby’s? To the Gas Mart? How will The Station House stay open if it doesn’t have local customers?”

“But the restaurant is doing well, right, Mom? Really well, right?” Jeanine asked.

“Shhh,” Mom whispered, without looking at her. “Let’s just listen.”

“But, Mom?” Jeanine said.

Dad put his arm around Jeanine. “Of course. It’s doing great.”

“But if it weren’t, we’d get to move back to the city, right?” Jeanine asked.

“But it is doing great,” Dad said.

“But if it weren’t, we’d get to move back, right?”

“But it is doing great,” Dad repeated.

Jeanine may be the one with the genius IQ, but she still thinks we could move back to the city whenever my family wanted. I once had so many spelling mistakes on a history paper, the teacher asked my parents if English was my second language. I’m not the genius, but I know we moved to Petersville because my father lost his job. Nobody told me. I just knew. I never believed we moved here only because my parents wanted “something different,” no matter how many times they said it, just like I didn’t believe them then that The Station House was doing “great.”

“This isn’t about the post office,” Jim said. “It’s about what the closing of the post office means about the future of Petersville.”

Mr. Jennings, who owns a turkey farm a few miles from our house, stood up. “So what are we going to do?”

“Exactly!” Jim snapped and pointed at Mr. Jennings. “What are we going to do?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s what I said.” Mr. Jennings looked around the room to see if others were as confused as he was.

“What. Are. We. Going. To. Do?” Jim was shouting now.

“I think Jim’s having some kind of breakdown,” Jeanine said.

“Are we going to lie down and let Petersville disappear?” Jim called like he was a cheerleader at a pep rally.

The room was silent. Maybe pompoms would have helped.