“Gus,” Zoe said.

“Right, Gus. It would be so perfect.”

“No. Way.”

“Do you realize how selfish you’re being? You won’t even do this for the town?”

“No.”

Jeanine leaned forward into the front seat. “Do you hear this? Aren’t you going to do something?”

“Like what?” Mom said.

“Like make him send an audition tape to Can You Cut It?”

Mom laughed. “We’re not going to force one of our children to audition for a televised cooking competition.”

“Talk about bad parenting. I mean—”

“Jeanine! Sa soo fee!” Dad barked.

None of us speak French, but you can’t live with my father and not figure out that those words mean “cut it out.” Dad only French-es when he’s angry, so it’s not as if we need, or even want, an exact translation.

Jeanine sat back and gave the back of Dad’s head a dirty look.

That’s when I asked the question I’d been waiting to ask since Jim told us about the post office: “Mom, how come The Station House stopped serving lunch?”

She didn’t answer. Her elbow was leaning on the armrest and her chin was in her hand, a finger over her nose, bouncing like it was tapping out a secret code.

“Mom?”

Her finger froze mid-tap. “I told you.”

“You told me it was too much work, but the work would have been worth it if people had been coming, right? I mean, wasn’t part of the problem that there was no lunch business?”

Tap-tap. Tap. “The Station House is fine.”

“The Station House is great,” Dad said as if Mom had just said something he needed to set straight.

“Mmm-hmm. Great,” Mom said, hitting the t all weird.

“You didn’t really answer my question,” I said.

“Sure we did,” Dad said. And there was something about the way he said it that sounded like, “The end.” “Hey, you know what I was thinking Petersville needs?”

“People?” I said.

“A newspaper. What does everyone think about The Petersville Gazette?” Dad’s sycamore-syrup smile was taking up the whole rearview mirror.

“How is a newspaper going to help bring people to Petersville?” I asked.

“It won’t, but it will improve the Petersville experience. You know, like, it will list events, provide a store guide, a map—”

“A map? Petersville has one street.” My dad had worked in a bank before we moved to Petersville; couldn’t he come up with an idea that might make the town some money?

“It wouldn’t be to keep people from getting lost. It would be kind of like an activity guide. You know, like a ‘Time Out Petersville.’”

“Ooh, maybe I could write for it,” Jeanine said, all excited again. “Or even have a column. Could I, Dad?”

“Sure.”

“It’s perfect for my Young Leaders Scholarship application. ‘Writes weekly newspaper column keeping town residents informed.’ Talk about making an impact in your community, right?”

“Hey, Tris, you want to write an article for the newspaper?” Dad eyed me in the rearview mirror.

“No, thanks.”