“The master plan,” his dad said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jack said.

“Of course you do, luv,” his mom said. “Everybody knows about the master plan.”

“No, they don’t,” Jack answered.

“Certainly Aunt Julia talked about the master plan?” his dad asked.

His mom glanced at his dad. “Julia didn’t actually approve of the master plan.”

“But we talked about it every time we saw you,” his dad said.

Jack thought about that. His parents had always talked about this plan or that plan. But one plan pretty much mixed with another in Jack’s head. They were all just the “we’re leaving again” plans.

“Okay, what’s the master plan?”

“Well,” Jack’s mom said, “by the time you were born, we had already been through a few different careers.”

“Careers?” Jack said. “What careers?”

“Let’s see,” his mom said. “We were forest fire lookouts for a while.”

“Until the fire,” his dad said, shaking his head.

“We house-sat for a soap opera star once.”

“He got a little melodramatic over one tiny gas leak, but that’s Hollywood for you.”

“We tried crop dusting.”

“Finding the landing strip is harder than you’d think.”

“When you were very little, we were chimney sweeps.”

“Who would have thought it would take two fire companies to get me out of that last chimney?” his dad said.

Jack suddenly understood why he had soot on his face in so many of his baby pictures. He had always wondered about that.

“So, it was all a bit of a laugh. We were just going along, certain we would hit upon the perfect jobs for us,” his mom said.

“But you turned three, and we still couldn’t afford to buy you a pony.”

“We realized we had better buckle down and get serious.”

“Actually, Julia said we had better buckle down and get serious.”

“We analyzed everything that had gone wrong in our different careers and came to two remarkable conclusions.”

“One,” his dad said, “if we kept going on the way we had been, we’d spend our entire lives in and out of court. American judges have no sense of humor.”

“And two, we were clearly not suited to have bosses,” his mom said. “Especially not American bosses. They are so particular!”

“Those conclusions are pretty remarkable,” Jack said.

“Yes, we saw that at the time,” his dad said. “You, meanwhile, were getting old enough to notice that you did not have a pony.”

“All the facts pointed in one direction,” his mom said. “If we wanted to live the American dream, we needed to look outside America.”

“Once we figured that out, the rest was easy.”

Jack’s dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic pouch. “Waterproof. Keeps the plan nice and dry.” He opened the pouch, pulled out a dirty and crumpled sheet of paper, and smoothed the creases.

Jack took the paper and read it.

Our son Jack, named after the courageous Jack of beanstalk fame, just turned three years old. We are determined to buckle down and get serious so he can have a really fun life. We both grew up wishing for things we didn’t get (ponies!) and getting things we didn’t want (shots!) and have figured out how our parents went wrong. They didn’t have a master plan. Here’s ours: Jack will have a pony, he will have as much candy as he wants, bring as many animals home as he wants, go to school only when he feels like it, sleep out in the yard in the summer, take long canoe trips by himself, ski the Alps, and have his own Easy-Bake Oven in his room so he can make cookies in the middle of the night. He will not have a bedtime or any homework. He will have the childhood we wish we’d had.

“Of course, you already had some of those things. No bedtime and lots of candy,” his dad said.

“But we had to get more money,” his mom added.

“So we left you with Aunt Julia and off we went to make our fortune,” his dad said. “Though, when we look back now, it’s taking longer than expected.”

“Ages longer,” his mom said. “We figured you’d be with Julia for six months, tops.”

“And here it’s been nearly eight years …”

“But every time we got discouraged,” his mom said, “we’d think: remember, we’re doing this for Jack.”

Jack said, “I’ve never wanted a pony.”

“Every kid wants a pony,” his mom said.

“No, they don’t.”

“How about a llama?”

“No.”

“Well, whatever it is you do want,” his dad said, “we’ll buy it for you directly.”

What did Jack want from his parents? He wasn’t sure. But he knew where to start. He said, “I want you to stop doing crazy things.”

“Stop doing crazy things,” his mom said. “We can do that, Richard. Assuming he spells out exactly what he means by crazy?”

“I’m sure we can, luv. We’re the Berensons. We can do anything.”

“Done. No more crazy things,” his mom said.

Jack got up and paced around the cave.

“What is it, Jack?”

“Son?”

So his parents had promised not to do anything crazy anymore. Just like that. Now everything was fine?

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, “but this is ridiculous. I want to have homework, and I want to get enough sleep. I have never thought about taking a long canoe trip by myself. Okay, maybe the Easy-Bake Oven is a good idea. But who would leave their kid with a relative, run around the world trying to get rich, and call it a master plan? And you named me after ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’? Who does that?”

“Us?” his mom said. Jack’s mom swiped at her eyes. His dad stared at the ground. They didn’t look how they usually looked—all cheery, no worries. They looked more like … real people. Like Aunt Julia.

“Could’ve been worse,” his dad mumbled. “It’s not as though we named him after Jack the Ripper.”

His mom said, “Jack. All of our plans have been for you.”

“They’re not for me,” Jack said. “If they were for me, you wouldn’t have been gone all the time. You would have noticed when I was missing for an entire day. You wouldn’t have left me on a boat with no gas.”

His mom looked like she wanted to speak. Jack waved his hands to stop her. “It’s okay, I’ll get over it. I just thought, you know, that I should say it at least once.”

The cave was silent.

“Jack,” his dad said, “we may have gone about this all backwards and sideways, but how could we have known you wouldn’t love the master plan?”

“We thought it was great,” his mom said.

His parents really believed the master plan had been a good idea.

“Well, even if that’s true, I don’t know what we could do now,” Jack said. “You’re just not safe to be around. I can’t even imagine what dangerous thing you’ll come up with next. You never think ahead and try to figure out what might happen.”

His dad cleared his throat. “Now, Son, point taken. But since the drift snorkeling incident, your mom and I have made great strides. We brought petrol, a hairbrush, and a rubber raft with us on this go.”

“We even packed a lunch. Although we left that on the dock,” his mom said.

“And,” his dad continued, “we don’t want to go overboard on the whole thinking-ahead idea. We don’t want to think ahead so much we never actually do anything. I’ll admit, our master plan has not been the success we had assumed it would be. But we don’t want to spend our whole lives fretting about … disasters.”

His mom nodded. “Like imagining Lee Beach is surrounded by bull sharks.”

“You see, Jack,” his dad said, “when your mom and I noticed those dark patches in the water, we didn’t leap to that conclusion.”

Jack’s face burned. “They could have been sharks.”

“They also could have been treasure chests,” his mom said.

“Of course, when we swam out there, we realized we were mistaken,” his dad said. “We should have known that no pirate is going to leave his treasure in plain view. He’s going to bury it.”

Jack stared at his mom and dad. How could he and his parents have both looked at sea grass and come up with such different ideas? Jack understood how he had arrived at sharks. The first thing a sane beachgoer was going to worry about was man-eaters. But treasure chests? He would never understand what went on in his parents’ heads.

Then Jack remembered Tom. Tom had left him stranded in the ocean, and Jack hadn’t understood why. Jack had realized he would never know what Tom was thinking. All he could do was figure out his rules of engagement for whale sharks.

That was it. He needed rules of engagement for Richard and Claire Berenson. “We have to agree on family rules,” Jack said. “So we all know what’s okay and not okay. Then there won’t be so many surprises.”

“Rules?” his dad said. “What do you know, Claire? Rules are the last thing we would have put in the master plan. How could we have guessed the boy would want rules?”

“He’s turning out to be very unpredictable,” his mom said.

Jack opened the bag of potato chips and divided up the meal. Loco finished his first and then glared at everybody. Jack lay on the tarp, licking the salt off a chip, with his mom on one side and his dad on the other.

“First rule,” Jack said. “Whenever you go to do something, take a moment and think: Is there any danger? What could happen? After you’ve thought about it, you can decide whether or not to do it.”

“Agreed,” his mom said. “Think before doing.”

His dad said, “Rule number two: When thinking before doing, don’t get sidetracked predicting disaster. The Berensons have nerves of steel.” He paused. “Son, you can start with nerves of aluminum and work your way up.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, “no more expecting disaster. But I’ll still keep an eye out for bull sharks. Anybody that isn’t worried about them is just not dealing with reality. Rule three: All adults in the family must have jobs. Get-rich-quick schemes are a hobby, not a career.”

“That’s harsh,” his dad said.

“Jack,” his mom said, “now is probably not a good time to start on that rule. We’re certain pirate treasure is buried back on the island.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Jack said, sternly. “Left on your own, you’d spend the next six months digging holes, come up with nothing, and then say it seemed like such a sure thing.”

“When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so …” his mom trailed off.

“I smell a compromise,” his dad said. “We run the snorkel business five days a week and dig for treasure two days a week. How about that, Jack?”

“If that’s how you want to spend your weekend, that’s fine with me. Rule four: I spend my summer vacations in Pennsylvania with Zack. I feel a growth spurt coming on, and I’ll need to be there after it happens.”

His dad rolled over on his side. “Is this about a girl?” he asked.

“Don’t get distracted, Dad,” Jack said. “Focus on the rules.”

It took two more hours to work out the rest of the rules. Jack and his parents spent the majority of time haggling over exactly how long a typical workday was supposed to be. Jack’s parents felt that three hours should be sufficient. Jack thought they should work ten hours to make up for all the years they hadn’t worked at all. They finally settled on five hours.

Jack also got them to agree to rent Ms. Seldie’s apartment. He felt Seldie would be a good influence on his parents. And on himself.

His mom stretched out on the tarp. “Good, it’s all sorted,” she said.

As Jack lay there, a lingering idea kept bothering him. The rules didn’t cover every possible thing that could happen. His family needed a way to make decisions.

The next morning, Jack’s dad pulled the boat out of the lagoon and his mom carried the supplies down from the cave. Jack sat at the entrance and called down to the beach. “Don’t start the engine until I’m down there.”

“Right,” his dad called up. “I just said to your mom, the last thing we want to do is drive off before we’ve got Jack on the boat. We’re way ahead of you there.”

Jack picked up the dive slate and wrote out the Berenson family decision-making rules.

If you are Jack, don’t assume the worst will happen. Imagine what Richard and Claire would do and then take out the life-threatening parts.

If you are Richard and Claire, don’t assume everything will be fine. Try to imagine what Jack would do. If Jack would never do what you’re thinking about doing, that is a warning sign!

If we all follow the rules, we will probably survive.

Jack dug into his pocket. He walked over to the driftwood shelf and laid his Saint Anthony medal on top. The next castaway would probably need it.