The not-very-bright barbecue chef had gone off somewhere, taking his spatula with him. The big barbecue was smoking up a storm, but all the food was still in the kitchen of the Front Street house or laid out on the dining-room table. There were two huge Westphalian hams and giant bowls of German potato salad. There was a pantry, between the dining room and the kitchen, where the caterers were keeping the wedding cake hidden. There was no hiding the washtub of beer on ice from Uncle Martin and Uncle Johan, who were already drinking beer and laughing loudly about the platter of uncooked food that was going to be barbecued—salmon steaks, chicken breasts, and burgers. Apparently, my uncles found these food choices as funny as foreign films with subtitles.

I slipped upstairs to the second floor, where it seemed likely I would discover the rest of the girl jocks. Fresh from their baths and showers, with wet hair and wearing only towels, the spanking-clean girls made a formidable barricade on the bottommost steps of the stairs leading to my attic bedroom. I couldn’t step over them or make my way through them.

“Sit here, Kid,” one of the girl jocks said. She moved over and I sat on the stairs beside her, with my back against the knees of the girl jock on the step above me.

“We can’t let you go up there, Adam—there’s a battle with a dress going on,” said the girl jock sitting behind me.

“You’re killing me, Molly!” we could hear my mother screaming.

“Stop holding your breath,” the trail groomer told her.

“I’m not holding it—I can’t breathe!” my mom shouted.

“You’re being dramatic, and it isn’t helping,” we heard the snowcat operator say.

“Your wedding clothes are laid out for you on the bed in your mom’s room, Adam,” Nelly told me. I was relieved to see no visual evidence of her yeast infection. “You’re supposed to shower in your mom’s bathroom,” Nelly added.

“Then we’ll help you get dressed, Kid—all of us!” said the girl jock sitting behind me. She bumped me with her knees, and the other jocks laughed.

“That’s okay—I can manage by myself,” I told them. I knew they were kidding, but I was both agitated and excited by the prospect of all of them dressing me. “Do you have to get dressed in the big tent—all of you?” I asked them.

They all groaned. “It’ll be a sauna in there,” one of the girl jocks complained.

“We can all get dressed in Ray’s room, with Adam,” Nelly suggested. The girls all laughed again, but I had to restrain myself from saying what I wanted to say to them. I would have loved it if they all got dressed (or undressed) with me.