The first Monday morning of summer break brought the smell of scorched coffee under my bedroom door. I went to the kitchen to find the coffeemaker turned on, but nothing but a circle of burned blackness in the bottom of the pot. Through the window above the sink, I could see my dad stepping high over the dew-soaked weeds of the backyard.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal, wedged my fingers into the sugar bowl trying to get at the last few clumps, and then searched the drawer for a spoon that hadn’t been chewed up by the garbage disposal. The only smooth one I found was too big to fit in the sugar bowl, but I did catch a glimpse of my upside-down self reflected in it, and my upside-down self said to me, So, why in the world aren’t you finding that cell phone and calling your mom? I also happened to notice that upside-down me looked about as puffy-eyed and ugly as right-side-up me was feeling.

I ran straight to Dad’s bedroom and stood on a flipped-over laundry basket to search the shelf at the top of his closet, his one-and-only place for hiding things my whole life. Sure enough, among dusty papers and an old hunting knife, the phone sat right there, so I snatched it and ran to my own closet. Taking my first real breath of the day, I put the phone up to my ear and pressed MOM one more time. I don’t know what in the world I’d planned on saying, but the voice on the other end sure enough decided for me when it said, “Your prepaid minute balance has expired. Please purchase a refill.” I immediately pictured Dad calling dumb things like dial-a-joke over and over again just to let the minutes leak out of the phone, and it made my heart feel tight like a sunburn.

On the way out of the closet, I got poked in the foot by the corner of the pink plastic beauty box. Peeking out from underneath a layer of mangy Beanie Babies, the box offered no help for my heart, but at least maybe a fix for my eyes. I nestled back into the closet floor in a dusty strip of sunlight and carefully unfolded the box’s levels, one by one, until I found a big jar labeled Goin’ Undercover. The stuff inside was probably too tan for my skin, but I spread it on good and thick under both eyes, all the while thinking about what Mom might say, like, If sad is what you feel, use this to conceal! And when I was done, my eyes did look sort of okay in the little beauty box lid mirror. Okay for a darkish closet, that is.

“Cass! I need your help!” my dad yelled. Dad never rhymed, not even by accident.

I closed up the beauty box, the cell phone still inside, and headed outside to find Dad trying to yank the blue cover off The Roast. He was already in a sweat.

“I thought I could do it in one grab,” he said, pulling off his T-shirt to wipe his face. The contrast between Dad’s tan arms and his white chest made him look like he was wearing another shirt underneath. His curly brown hair was fluffed out like he’d run his fingers through it a million times. Even his beard was all mussed up.

“Want a sip?” Dad grabbed a bottle of Yoo-hoo from off a lawn chair and twisted it open.

It made me even madder at him that he would drink something as cheerful-sounding as Yoo-hoo on such a sad day.

“No thanks,” I said.

As he gave it a guzzle, the morning sun lit up the gray-brown flecks in his eyes.

“You mind helping me uncover this thing?” he said.

“Okay,” I said. “But…why?”

“So we can clean it up,” he said. “Now, you take that corner, and I’ll get this one.”

As I reluctantly grabbed a handful of cover while trying to avoid blotches of mildew and bird blech, the thought crossed my mind to be glad that Dad might very well be planning to sell the beast; but it crossed my mind real fast, because my mind was a busy street full of other bigger thoughts. Like how I could figure out a way to talk to Mom again. To steal her back away from Ken and the not-really orphans. How when she waved good-bye to them, her little Cass silhouette charm would ting in the Florida sunshine. Then she’d come make things right with Dad, and press the unpause button on all my plans.

And until that day, how in the world was Aunt Jo’s storm cellar going to hold all the bads in my head, including the one that was about to jump out of my mouth.

“Did you let the minutes run out on purpose?”

“Excuse me?” he said.

An angry itch spread beyond my ears and into my whole face.

“Why’d you have to hide the phone from me? Why won’t you let me talk to Mom?”

Dad dropped his corner to the ground.

“Two words,” he said. “Surplus suffering.”

“What?”

“It’s kind of like that time you wanted to play storm rescue and put on a whole box of Band-Aids at once,” he explained.

“But you told me no.”

“Exactly, because I knew they’d pull all the fuzz out of your arms and make you hurt more than what a Dad should ever allow his daughter to go through.”

He picked up his corner again.

“And frankly, Cass, you talking to your mom right now is what I would call surplus suffering.”

Dad crumpled the blue plastic in his fists and said, “Now pull!”

We both grunted and snorted as we yank-yank-yanked the cover into a pile, sending a puff of shower-curtain smell all around us. Then Dad grabbed the half-empty Yoo-hoo bottle, held it by the tip, and waved it in the air, saying, “It’s no sparkling grape juice, but fit for a christening such as this.”

“Christening?” I said.

“You know, like sending a ship off on its first journey,” he said, and smacked The Roast three solid times before the Yoo-hoo bottle shattered against it, spattering the side with watery chocolate.

“What journey?”

The lift in his voice sure didn’t sound like he was talking about a journey to the junkyard.

“Didn’t I promise I’d get you out of this terribleness?” Dad said, tossing the jagged Yoo-hoo neck toward the garbage and missing, landing it in the grass. “Well, three days from now, we’ll be blasting off, Casstronaut. Just you, me, and The Roast,” he announced, trying to hug an arm around my shoulder. But I backed away just out of reach.

“You. Me. The Roast. Three days?” I stammered.

“Yep,” he said. “I figure if I work nonstop, that’ll be plenty of time to get her ready to travel.”

“Travel where?” I said. “To Florida?”

“Not to Florida,” Dad said abrubtly. “Maybe everywhere but there.”

“But what about Mom?” I asked.

Dad looked like I’d just licked my fingers and pinched out his flame with a tsssss. “Your mom’s already made her own travel arrangements.”

“I know,” I said. “But what if she changes her mind?”

Dad knelt in front of me. “Look, Cass, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. I know I’m feeling my way around in the dark right now, but I figure an adventure together might just bring some much-needed inspiration into our lives. I’ve saved us up a little money, and who knows? Maybe I’ve a bit of excitement tucked up my sleeve too. Maybe you’ll find that your dad’s not a total bore after all.”

Yeah, and bologna potpie might be delicious, I thought. “But what if I made other plans?” I said.

“Well, one thing I do know for sure is that you and I are going on this trip regardless,” he said. “And we’re going to have us some fun, even if it takes us weeks.”

“Did you say a week?”

“Nope. I said week-suh.”

One thing I knew for sure was there wasn’t enough goo in that beauty box to conceal the disappointment on my face.

“Come on and help me shine this baby up,” he said. Perhaps not enough goo in the world.