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dough—their version of the four food groups.
    “Slow down,” Cassidy warned Joe as he shoved an entire chocolate egg into his mouth. “You’re going to asphyxiate yourself on old Easter candy. That’s an embarrassing way to die.”
    “I can’t help it. This feels like my last meal,” Joe admitted. “I don’t think I’ll get to eat any of this stuff again for a long time.”
    “Why?” Cassidy helped herself to a chip. “You said you were going away or something, right?”
    “Yeah.” Joe sighed deeply and produced a crumpled brochure from his pocket. “Here.”
    MCCAINE INSTITUTE FOR AT-RISK YOUTH—SUMMER
    VENTURE , was printed the front. It had a picture of wholesome smiling kids doing trail work with snow-capped mountains in the background.
    “You’re at risk?” Cassidy asked. “For what?”
    “For turning into a big burnout like my brother, apparently,” Joe said. “You know that bag of weed he gave me to hand off to his friend? Well, I totally forgot about it and my mom found it in my pocket when she was doing laundry the other day. She and my dad flipped out. I guess they’re scared of producing another wayward kid like my brother, so they want to get me straightened out ASAP.”
    “But you didn’t even smoke any of it,” she said. “Did you?”
    “No,” Joe replied. “To tell the truth, I’ve never taken a hit in my life. I’m about as into the idea of turning into my brother as my parents are. Then again, he used to lie about it all the time, so I guess they have trust issues.”
    “That sucks!” Cassidy couldn’t believe this. Joe’s summer was actually going to be even worse than hers.
    At least her parents didn’t have her pegged as something she wasn’t.
    “Justice is blind.” Joe shrugged.
    “But that doesn’t mean your parents should be too,”
    Cassidy argued. “Did you even get a chance to defend yourself?”
    “Not really. As soon as they saw that bag, I knew I was done for. They’re shipping me out tomorrow.”
    “And I thought I had it bad.” Cassidy said, launching into a description of the summer French course as Joe sat back against the wall of the tree house, munching a chunk of dough and nodding sympathetically.
    “I guess neither of us is getting the summer we want,”
    he said when she was through.
    “I guess not.” Cassidy sighed. “But what can we do about it?”
    “Nothing,” Joe agreed. “But I know what I want to do now .” He looked down at his lap and chuckled softly to himself. “You’ll think it’s really lame, though.”
    “I won’t,” she assured him. “I promise.”
    “Okay. I’ll be right back.” Joe scurried down the tree house ladder and returned a few moments later with a large box under his arm.
    “Pictionary?” Cassidy shrieked, glancing at the box.
    “You’re my hero!”
    Joe smiled. “I remembered how much you loved this game when we were kids.”
    Cassidy rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
    “Oh, I’m going to wipe the floor with you. Just you wait.”
    “Feeling a little competitive, eh, Jones? That is unwise,” Joe said in the tone of voice that could only be heard in the overdubbing of kung fu movies.
    “Fine, you go first,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Picasso.”
    Joe plopped back down on the carpet and opened the game box. He got out a pad of paper and a pencil, picked up the card and read the clue, then turned over the miniature hourglass filled with sand. Joe scribbled frantically on the piece of paper. Cassidy thought he’d drawn stick people, but she wasn’t entirely sure. So she just began guessing.
    “They’re bullfighters!”
    “What? No way!” Joe replied.
    Cassidy saw that time was ticking away and looked again at Joe’s sketch pad as he kept drawing. “Um …
    oh! Wait, I got it. It’s a cockfight!”
    Joe stared at her. “No one’s fighting, Cassidy. Jesus.”
    “I’m just calling it like I see it.”
    “Then you need glasses.”
    Joe scribbled some