I didn’t know very much about Dixon.

I didn’t know where the good closets were.

I didn’t know if there was a basement where they stored old desks and textbooks.

I didn’t know if there were offices that had mice or something bad so they kept them empty.

Basically, because I’d missed so much school I knew nothing useful about middle school.

When Mom dropped us off, this time me holding Berkeley’s hand, she said, “I’ll take you guys to the pool this week, okay?”

Berkeley said, “Yay!”

And I said, “Okay.”

Then she said, “Walk home.”

I nodded.

She winked at me. “Love you, Bumblebee,” she said, like I was four years old again.

Love you.

Then she looked at Berkeley, “Love you too, Missy. Be good to your sister.”

I started to tear up. Please don’t go, I wanted to say. Even more than before. Please.

Then she drove away.

Just like that.

Just drove away.

I took a deep breath.

The thing was, it wasn’t her fault.

I said I’d do it. Me.

This was my problem.

I’d said it.

She agreed to it.

Berkeley was bouncing. She’d never been to school before. Would there be tests?

“No.”

“Will they do art?”

“No.”

“Story time?”

I shook my head. How was I going to make this work? We could just go home but what if Mom found out? What if she really had to go to court and to jail?

We stood there, alone, with hundreds of kids my age getting out of cars and unloading off buses and locking up bikes. Talking in groups and throwing things.

I saw Carlene and dumb-bum Bonnie and I didn’t want them to see Berkeley even though they knew her and maybe they would feel bad for me and help?

No. No. They wouldn’t.

I scanned the crowds for Bart.

I thought he would help. He would. But then, what if he really was FBI? If he was, and if he saw us, he’d have to turn us in. Me in. Mom in. Dad in. Berk.

The voice in my gut started rumbling again. Rumbling and rumbling and it said: Take care of your sister.

Take care of your sister.

Take care of your sister.

Take care of your sister.

So I did.

I forgot about Bart. I forgot about Carlene and dumb-bum Bonnie. I even forgot about Mom and Dad and I took care of my sister.

I said, “Do what I say, Berk. And don’t let go of my hand.”

Then I took a deep breath, shook my hair out, which I wished was already reverse permed, and walked with my little sister right into Dixon Middle School.