“Blue whale suffering from cloud-itis,” Micah says.

“It’s a pony,” I say. “With cotton-itis.”

“You two are weird,” Ivy says.

Micah reaches for my hand again, and I hope for those old hummingbirds but of course nothing happens. I reach over and hold Ivy’s hand, so the three of us are connected. I lift our hands up so they can see I’m holding both.

Normally Ivy would say “ew” and pull away, but seeing that the three of us are joined together, and that she’s part of the connection, she squeezes my hand instead. “Thanks for hanging out with me today, you guys,” she says.

“Anytime,” Micah says.

“Well,” I add, “mostly. If you poop in the bathroom before I have to brush my teeth again, there will be trouble.”

“Ew!” Micah says. “Ivy, that’s disgusting.”

Ivy giggles. “That’s payback for the meadow muffins.”

“Ha! I forgot all about that!” Micah elbows me. “We were so evil back then.”

“It’s just what siblings do,” I say.

We let go of hands then and settle with our own thoughts until my mom calls us in for dinner.

After Micah leaves, I go to my room to read. Ivy comes in and sits at the end of my bed before I can open my book.

“Mom and Dad started arguing again,” she says.

We listen for a minute, but I don’t hear anything.

“I’m worried.”

“They’ll be OK,” I say. “It’s just about money.”

“That’s what I’m worried about. The money.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard Mom on the phone while you were at the Townsends’. She was talking to a bank, I think. She asked them about how to take out a second mortgage. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“It didn’t sound like a good thing. And it didn’t sound like they would let her borrow more money. She started crying on the phone.”

I put my book down and look out the window, trying to think of something reassuring to say.

“What happens when you can’t pay your mortgage?” Ivy asks.

“I don’t know. But try not to worry. Mom and Dad will figure something out.”

But I’m not sure that’s true. I’m not sure at all. Until recently, my mom almost never cried, and certainly not over money. I wonder how much we owe the bank, and how many hours of babysitting I could work in addition to my job at the Townsends’ to help pay for the mortgage. My guess is not enough.

“Maybe I could get a job,” Ivy says. “I could babysit for the evil twins.”

“But you’re practically the same age,” I point out. “I don’t think their parents would hire you.”

“There has to be something I can do to help.”