Chapter 4

I put on the pink dress that used to be Jenna’s. I always get her dresses when she gets too big for them. Luckily, my great-aunt Minnie buys me a new dress every spring for my birthday. Otherwise I’d always look like last year’s Jenna.

My blue party coat also used to be Jenna’s, but it has a velvet collar, so I don’t mind. I love the way that velvet feels on my cheek.

Mr. Kling showed up, like I said, and I got wedged in between Mrs. Kenly and Courtney. Courtney was chewing this gross bubble gum. It smelled watermelon-ish, and she kept blowing giant bubbles. When they popped, poof, I’d get a big watermelon breeze in my face. That made my stomach feel REALLY iffy right away.

In the way back, Maddy Goldstein and Emma Fox and Katy were singing:

“The ants go marching one by one,
hoorah, hoorah, The ants go marching one by one,
hoorah, hoorah, The ants go marching one by one, the last
one stopped to EAT A BUN ...”

In the next verse, the ants go marching two by two and the last one stops to tie his shoe or whatever you could think of that rhymed. Then they’d go three by three, then four by four, and the song goes on for about a million years. This can be totally fun if you’re not in a crowded van and full of pancakes. But after about verse five, the thought of all those black bugs rushing around made me feel even iffier than before.

Plus, Courtney and her mom and dad kept arguing about what to play on the radio. Mr. Kling wanted the football game.

“Naw,” Courtney said. “I hate football! And it’s my birthday, so I should be radio boss!”

“But ...” Mr. Kling loves the Chicago Bears.

“Dan, just ... please,” Mrs. Kling chimed in.

So Courtney got to shout “Change!” whenever she wanted to switch the radio station. This happened about every forty-five seconds because they kept landing on commercials.

Some guy yelled about used cars:

“I want YOU, on Michigan Ave-NUE!
Get ’em while they’re HOT!
No need to spend a LOT!”

“Change!” (Watermelon breath.)

On the next station, an actress screamed about toothpaste:

“BRUSHA, BRUSH, BRUSH,
DON’T BRUSH IN A RUSH ... !”

It seems like people on the radio always think they have to yell or you won’t hear them.

“Change!”

“Honey, just gimme five minutes, please?” Mr. Kling was desperate.

“Fine!” Courtney said, like it was so NOT fine, but they switched to the game anyway.

“THAT ONE SPLITS THE UPRIGHTS AND THE BEARS ARE STILL IN THE HUNT FOR THE WILD CARD!”

I wasn’t at all sure what the sports announcer meant, but Mr. Kling seemed happy.

“YES!” he shouted.

“Change!” Courtney ordered.

“Aw, baby, just a couple minutes.” Mr. Kling was begging now.

Between the radio wars and the ant song and the watermelon gum, I was feeling pretty rocky. I imagined the pancakes in my stomach making faces and complaining, like the twins do when they’re trapped in their high chairs.

But what was I going to do, say, “Excuse me, you don’t happen to have a bag handy, do you? I need to barf quietly here in the backseat.” Or, “Excuse me, can you open the window and let in some air that’ll freeze your eyebrows off so I won’t throw up and ruin the party?” I mean, I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be just as embarrassing as barfing, so I kept quiet.

I closed my eyes, but that made it worse. I tried to look out the window, but all that stuff whizzing by made it REALLY worse. The pancakes wanted OUT.