CHAPTER 8
We jetted north to Russia.
Saint Petersburg, to be exact.
“Saint Petersburg is the second-largest city in all of Russia,” said Storm on our taxi ride into the city. “It is located on the Baltic Sea’s Gulf of Finland.”
Tommy scratched his head. “I thought we were in Russia, not Finland.”
“Tommy, did you keep up with your geography homework while I was being held hostage in Cyprus?”
“Chya. Of course I did, Mom.”
She gave him her patented you’re-not-fooling-me look. It’s like a superpower that only moms have.
Feeling the force of it, Tommy glanced down. “A little. Some.”
Mom kept giving him her look.
“Okay, not at all,” Tommy admitted sheepishly. “Sorry. My bad.”
“Well, Thomas,” said Dad, “there’s no better way to learn about geography than to actually visit the landmasses and seas you are studying.”
“Um,” I said, “I thought this was supposed to be our summer vacation?”
“It is. Nine whole days. But that doesn’t mean our brains need to take a break too.”
“Actually,” said Beck, “in America, kids get, like, two or three whole months off.”
“They play a lot of video games over the summer,” I added. “Then they ride their bikes, go swimming, go to camp, play some more video games, and eat a ton of hot dogs, toasted marshmallows, and ice cream.”
“A couple of them read too,” said Storm. “The ones with good summer-reading programs.”
“If you ask me,” said Dad, “summer vacations at American schools are far too long. Three months? That’s ridiculous. It might be the reason so many American kids forget everything they’ve learned during the school year.”
“Summer vacation can also create bad work habits,” said Mom.
“Like what?” asked Beck, who was sketching the onion-like domed roof of the Cathedral of the Resurrection, the coolest building in all of Saint Petersburg.
“There’s no structure,” said Mom. “No routine. Summer vacations are just too loosey-goosey.”
Yep. That’s our mom and dad. Even though our constant globe-trotting meant we couldn’t attend a real school, they always made sure we were keeping up with our studies.
“So, even though we’re on vacation,” announced Dad, “there will be no Kidd family summer slide. We’ve hired a tour guide and tutor for our time in Russia. Ah, there she is.” He tapped on the divider window to get the taxi driver’s attention. “Pozhaluysta, ostanovite zdes’,” said Dad.
The cab came to a stop in front of that awesome cathedral.
“Spasibo,” Dad said to the driver. “Come on, Kidds. This is going to be our best, most exciting summer ever!”
We stepped out of the cab and met our tutor, Larissa Bukova.
The second Tommy saw her, I’m pretty sure he started having his best summer ever.