No Passengers Beyond This Point(3)

The room is suddenly quiet. Not even the clock is ticking. We all stare at her.

“Where will you be?” I ask.

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito. I have to finish the school year. If I leave them high and dry mid-semester, I’ll never get another teaching job—not only that, I’m not accredited to teach in Fort Baker. In the summer I can take the classes I need to get credentialed in Colorado.”

“You’re shipping us off by ourselves to some uncle we hardly know?” India asks.

“Look, I’m not going to lie to you. This is going to be hard on everybody. But Uncle Red is happy to have us coming. He’s been calling every day full of ideas for how we’ll get settled in with him. He’s putting up a basketball hoop.” She tries to smile at me. “He’s found a poster of the planets for Mouse and a place where the teenagers all go.”

“A poster and a hamburger stand . . . that’s supposed to make us feel better?” India asks.

“India, do you think I did this on purpose?”

India’s eyes register the break in my mom’s voice. “No,” she mutters.

My throat is so tight I can hardly swallow. “When exactly are we leaving?”

My mom takes a deep breath. “You’re flying out tomorrow night. Uncle Red has arranged to have you picked up at the Denver airport.”

Now we all talk at once—pelt her with reasons why this is impossible. The game next week, battle of the books, outdoor ed, the oath I signed for Coach P.’s team. Some party India’s going to with Maddy. Bing doesn’t have time to pack. We need to stop the clock so he won’t have to hurry.

Mom lets us wind down.

“Tomorrow night,” India squeaks. “That’s a joke, right?”

Mom shakes her head slowly as if she doesn’t want to jiggle her brains.

“Look, this makes no sense.” India’s voice is suddenly reasonable. “We can’t leave in the middle of the school year, any more than you can. We’ll all stay with Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito.”

My mom shakes her head, harder this time. “No room.”

Aunt Sammy’s house is tiny; one room on top of another, each one smaller than the last. All the boys sleep in one room, Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito in the other. But if I can’t stay in my own home, I’d rather be at Aunt Sammy’s house than any other place in the world.

“I can sleep in the boys’ room on the beanbag chair. I do it all the time,” I tell her.

“I’m staying with Finn on the beanbag chair,” Mouse announces.

“Thanks a lot,” India snaps.

“Finn’s nicer than you are,” Mouse tells her.

“Stop! This is hard enough without you two fighting. Finn, you can’t stay at Aunt Sammy’s. You will all three stay together, no matter what.”

“You heard them. They don’t want me. I’ll stay with Maddy,” India insists. But she must know Mom will never agree to this. She won’t even allow double sleepovers.

“Mouse needs you,” Mom says.

“Mouse can’t stand me.”

“She’s right. I can’t stand her,” Mouse agrees.

Henry’s cowering under the coffee table. She hates it when we fight. I run my hand down her fur to the spot under her chin she likes me to scratch. “It’s okay, Henry,” I say as she puts her big paw over my hand to keep it there. That’s when my heart stops cold. “Henry! What about Henry?”

“She needs a ticket,” Mouse offers.

“You need a special traveling crate and shots, Mom. Remember when you had that kid in your class that moved to Hawaii? He had to put his dog in quarantine for three months. Remember?”

“I remember,” she mutters.

“We can’t just take Henry to the airport tomorrow night.”

“No, we can’t,” she agrees quickly—too quickly.

“Mom, have you even checked into this?” I ask.

“We’ll wait until Henry can go too,” Mouse suggests. “Then Bing will have time to pack.”

Mom’s chin sinks down below her shoulders. “It might be better if we found Henry a new home.” She croaks the words out.

We stare at her as if she’s just suggested we run over our grandma.

“Henry is a part of our family,” I say.

“Even homeless people have dogs,” India declares.

“India Jena Tompkins, don’t make this worse than it already is.” My mom’s voice rises.

“She’s our dog, Mom,” I whisper.

“Okay, okay . . . I’ll try and find a way to bring her,” Mom concedes, “but not tomorrow night.”