JUNE 29, 9:30 A.M.

Vacation Village does not look like anyplace I’d want to vacation at. It’s a regular old building with ancient-looking furniture in the lobby and ancient-looking people shuffling in every direction. You can’t even turn around without bumping into one of them. And it smells like old people’s feet. Who would want to vacation in a place that smells like old people’s feet?

I hold my breath and try to make it all the way to the elevator before I have to exhale. No wonder some of the old people wear oxygen masks. In the elevator my parents raise their voices, talking louder and faster to Yin-Yin like they have a lot to say before the doors open.

“You will love it here!”

“You are so lucky they have a spot for you!”

“Our house is so close by!”

We step out of the elevator and everybody stares at me. A lot of the old fogies try to touch me and pat my head like I’m some sort of dog or something. It’s so creepy, but I let them because … well, I don’t know why I let them. Old people make me nervous. Maybe next time I will tell them to stop.

Mom and Dad do not seem to notice how ugly the place is, but Sarah and I look at each other and grimace. Yin-Yin keeps her head bowed as we make our way down the hall. The tissue in her hand is all shredded. She’s shuffling like the rest of the old people. Yin-Yin didn’t do that before.

“Oh look! Fresh flowers!” my mother exclaims.

Dad announces, “It says here on the bulletin board that they are serving pot roast tonight. Yin-Yin, you love pot roast.”

“No, I don’t,” my grandmother mumbles. “You do.”

“Hello! Hello! Hello!” an old man shouts at us. He is way down the hall but comes racing toward us in a weird slow-motion sort of run that makes him look like he is going to tip over. His hair is tilted to one side. “You must be the new girl,” he says to Yin-Yin.

She gives him a glare. “I’m neither new nor a girl.” His mouth hangs open as he watches her walk away.

“This way, Yin-Yin,” my mother says as she pushes the door open into a small apartment. It is actually just a bedroom with a couch and table and a bed. Hey, the bathroom has a telephone in it! The walls are plain, but there is a tree outside the window. I can see the branches. We are on the third floor.

“Isn’t this nice,” Mom comments. What? Is she blind? “We’ll bring some of your furniture and decorate the walls and it will be so cozy.”

“A room with a view,” Dad says, trying to sound cheerful.

Yin-Yin doesn’t answer. She just stands by the window and stares out at the parking lot.

“Come on, Stanford,” my father says. “Let’s get Yin-Yin’s things.”

“Yes!” my mother chirps. “And while you do that, Sarah, Yin-Yin, and I will go exploring. I hear they have aerobics and arts ’n’ crafts and all sorts of fun activities here!”

Mom and Dad have been chattering away nonstop ever since we left the house. Why are they talking to Yin-Yin like she’s a little kid? And why isn’t she protesting? I know if they tried to imprison me here, I’d make a run for it.

Dad doesn’t say anything as he hands me Yin-Yin’s boxes from the trunk. The more silent he is, the madder I get. Finally I blurt out, “Why can’t she still live with us?”

“It’s complicated,” is all Dad will say.

He thinks I won’t understand. Why doesn’t he ever want to talk to me? He and Sarah used to talk for hours.

As we lug the boxes into the building, the bottom breaks on the one I am carrying. I expect Dad to yell at me, but instead he puts down his box and together we pick up Yin-Yin’s things.

I hand him a photo of Sarah and me on Christmas Day the year we got the new television. Dad stares at an old picture of himself standing next to his father. They both look grim. The plaster imprint of my hand that I made when I was in kindergarten has broken in two. “That’s easy to fix,” my dad assures me.

I like it that it’s the two of us doing something together. I just wish we were doing something else.

We drop off the boxes in Yin-Yin’s room. She’s still standing in the same spot by the window.

“Where’s Kristen?” Dad asks.

“She and Sarah went exploring,” Yin-Yin tells him without turning around.

“Did you want to go with them?”

“No.”

The three of us are silent for a long time. My father keeps looking like he’s about to say something, but then doesn’t. Finally he speaks. “Mom,” he says softly in a tone I’ve never heard before.

My grandmother turns around. She’s been crying.

Dad looks shaken. “I’m going to go get some sodas for us,” he says. Then he rushes out of the room.

I go up to Yin-Yin and put my arm around her. Am I getting bigger, or is she getting smaller?

Yin-Yin keeps staring out the window. I can’t tell what she’s looking at. Without facing me she whispers, “Stanford, you have to get me out of here. C’mon, Stanford, help me run away.”

“Sure, Yin-Yin. Whatever you say.”

“No!” she suddenly shouts. She turns to me. Her eyes look wild. “Promise me,” she pleads. Her grip on my wrist is strong. “Promise to help me!”

“I, I promise, Yin-Yin,” I sputter. “I promise.”

She lets go of me and calmly looks back out the window. My dad returns with three sodas. “Root beer, anyone?” he asks brightly.

Yin-Yin ignores him.

For a moment he looks lost. “Stanford?” he says, holding one out to me.

I take it and he seems grateful.

“Give it a little time,” he tells Yin-Yin. “You’re going to love it here.”

“Please go away,” she tells him.

“Mom …,” my father pleads.

“Go,” she says firmly.

“Bye, Yin-Yin,” I say as we leave.

She does not say good-bye to me.

We find my mom and Sarah watching some old people watching a movie about some old people who swim in magic water and turn young again. “Time to leave,” says Dad.

We step into the elevator. When I was smaller, there was always a race between Sarah and me to see who would get to press the buttons. Neither of us moves, so it’s up to Mom to hit the down button. We all face forward in silence and watch the numbers above the doors count down as the elevator hums its way to the ground floor.