On our way back to the Petersmobile after dinner, we walked by our old apartment. Zoe wanted to ring the buzzer to see if we could go up, but Mom said we couldn’t, so Zoe cried and sat down on the stoop and refused to get up, no matter how many Dessert Days mom threatened to take away. Mom made us all walk away like we were actually going to leave Zoe there, even though everyone, including Zoe, knew we wouldn’t.

“What do we do now?” Jim asked when we got to the corner and Zoe was still on the stoop.

“Just wait here and don’t turn around,” Mom said.

I’m pretty sure Zoe won this round because Mom did eventually turn around and go back for her. Also, because as she was walking back, Zoe ran her hands up and down the whole buzzer panel, ringing every apartment in the building.

I don’t think I would have gone up to see our old apartment even if we could have. I’d been looking forward to going back to our old neighborhood, but when we got there, whatever I thought I was going to feel, I didn’t. I felt the way I do when I see baby pictures of me, like it’s not me, like it’s somebody else, somebody I won’t ever get to meet and don’t even remember but somehow miss. This neighborhood, our old building, none of it was mine anymore.

I lay there staring at the rusty screws in the Airstream ceiling hoping that eventually, when I got tired enough, I’d drift off. But I didn’t. I just lay there feeling like a rubber band someone was stretching a little farther every second.

Besides not being that dark, it wasn’t that quiet either. You wouldn’t think sleeping makes much noise, but the thing about seven people in an RV, really everything they do makes noise, even sleeping.

We were only seven because Dad had gone to G-Mare’s—that’s what we call his mom—for dinner and decided to stay over. He was the least into the Petersmobile, which wasn’t a surprise. He wasn’t into much these days, besides his newspaper. He was on his laptop so much, it was basically his new face. Part of me wondered if he even cared if I won Can You Cut It? Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think he wanted me to lose, but that’s not the same as wanting me to win. I think what he wanted was for me to want to write dumb articles for his newspaper and go around with a lying, happy face all the time. I guess right now, we both wanted the other one to want something different. And maybe that’s okay. What wasn’t okay was that I was the only one who could admit it.

Just then, I heard a scritch-scritch.

“Shh.” It was Zoe. “Go to sleep.”

“Zo Zo, who are you talking to?”

She didn’t answer. Then there was another scritch-scritch, and our bunk bed shook.