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town’?” their father asked.
    â€œBronxville.” Genevieve tightened her jaw. “This isn’t like Cleveland.”
    Landon looked back and forth between them like it was a Ping-Pong match.
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œCertain things are expected here, Dad.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œLike nail polish. Tevas instead of Crocs.” Genevieve wiggled her toes at them. “Nothing too crazy, but it’s different. Oh, and Tuckahoe are our mortal enemies.”
    â€œTuckahoe?” Their father wrinkled his brow.
    â€œArch rivals in all sports, especially football.” Genevieve handed Landon the shirt she’d been holding. “Here, put this on.”
    â€œI have a shirt on.” Landon pointed to his dark gray Minecraft Eye of Ender T-shirt.
    â€œIzod. Put it on,” Genevieve said. It was an order.
    Landon looked at his father and shrugged. “She’s good at this stuff.”
    Genevieve looked away as he tugged the blue collared shirt with its little alligator patch down over his jiggling belly.
    â€œGood.” Genevieve turned from Landon to their father. “Now we’re off to lunch.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘off to lunch’?” he asked.
    Genevieve sighed. “It’s what kids do here, Dad. They meet at the diner or the club or the pizza place.”
    â€œAnd how do kids pay for that lunch?” He scratched his jaw.
    â€œMom gave me a credit card,” Genevieve said. “She said if you had a problem to say it’s this or join the country club. Lots of kids eat there.”
    â€œI don’t golf.” Their father blinked.
    â€œI know,” Genevieve said.
    â€œGuess I’ll make a sandwich and get back to work.” He gave Landon a knowing look. “I think I had a breakthrough.”
    Landon retrieved his Cleveland Browns cap and followed his sister.
    â€œDon’t walk behind me, Landon.” She waved her hand. “Walk beside me.”
    Landon hustled up. “Well, you walk so fast. It’s always like a death march or something with you. You and Mom.”
    â€œWe have places to go,” she said.
    They were passing the library when she tapped him and asked, “What’s Dad’s breakthrough?”
    Landon explained as best he could. Genevieve shook her head. “He’s something.”
    â€œ I like it.” Landon didn’t want to trample his father. In fact, he wanted to look up to him, but sometimes it was hard. Whenever anyone asked what his father did and Landon told them he was a writer, the next question always hurt. He tapped Genevieve’s shoulder. “Do you have to have a book published to be a writer? Technically, I mean?”
    Genevieve frowned. “Of course not. Did you ever hear of A Confederacy of Dunces? ”
    â€œYou saying Dad’s stupid?”
    â€œNo.” Genevieve swatted him. “It was a book no one wanted. Dad told me about it. The author was John Kennedy Toole, and he never published anything. He died . . . actually, he killed himself.”
    Landon’s stomach clenched. “Geez, Genevieve.”
    â€œYeah, but then his mom forces some writing professorto read her son’s manuscript and bam , it not only gets published, it wins the Pulitzer Prize.”
    â€œGosh.” Landon thought about that all the way to the diner.
    When they arrived, there were no bikes outside, and that relaxed Landon a bit. They went inside, and Genevieve waved to a table where two girls sat holding two empty places.
    â€œGuys, this is my brother, Landon.” Genevieve presented him with a flourish. “Landon, this is Katy Buford and this is Megan Nickell. We’ll all be in seventh grade together.”
    Katy’s short hair was straight with bangs and so blond it was nearly white. Megan had dark, wavy hair pulled back by a band across the top of her head. They both wore shorts and colorful Polo shirts with Tevas on their