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think you will not be like me, Felix."
    I waited for her to say more, but, without another word, she turned off the highway on to a narrow dirt road leading toward the hills. "The windmills, they are this way," she said as we bounced over the ruts.
    "What do you mean I won't be like you?" I said, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. Did Grace think I was just an ordinary kid, an Amy whose one ambition was to be a cheerleader? "I'm going to see the whole world," I
told her. "Maybe I'll ride a bike or a motorcycle or maybe I'll hitchhike. I might even get a car just like this one."
    When she heard this, Amy sighed so loudly that Grace glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Then she shook her head again. "My life is not what you imagine," she said to me. "It is not all romance and mystery and adventure, Felix."
    "I bet it's a lot more exciting than staying in the same old place like my mother. This is the first time she's ever gone anywhere except Ocean City, Maryland. I don't want to end up like her."
    Grace frowned at me. "Your mother is very fortunate. She has a good man to love her, a big house, pretty clothes, money for this trip. She has never known poverty or war. Her life is safe, sheltered, protected. And so is yours. Many children are not so lucky, Felix."
    As she spoke, I noticed how tightly Grace was clutching the steering wheel. Her voice rose too, and she sounded angry. Worried that I was making things worse, not better, I slumped in my seat and wished I could think of a joke to tell, a funny story, something to make Grace laugh. But nothing came to mind, and I began to think nobody in the car liked me. Not Grace, not Phillip, certainly not Amy. They all hated me.
    Suddenly Grace reached over and patted my knee. "I did not mean to upset you, Felix," she said. "I only intended to say your mother is lucky to have what she has. Especially you. I do not understand why you complain, that is all."
    As I turned to her, Phillip leaned over the seat and
shouted in Grace's ear. "I'm starving. Couldn't you take us to McDonald's before we see the windmills?"
    "How much farther is it anyway?" Amy asked. "You promised we'd be back at seven-thirty."
    By then we'd been driving for at least half an hour, taking one turn after another until I had no idea which direction we were going.
    "Not far now, not far," Grace said as she negotiated a sharp curve. A herd of cattle watched us jolt past, their faces bored, their jaws working hard like people chewing gum.
    "Are you sure we're not lost?" Phillip asked.
    Uneasily I looked out the window. The countryside was dry and desolate. Not a town or a building in sight. In fact, the cattle were the only living things we'd seen since we turned off the highway.
    "It's going to be dark soon," Amy said. "How will you see the road at night?"
    Suddenly Grace leaned forward and pointed. "There, there they are," she said, "the windmills, you see? Straight ahead. Like Don
Quixote.
"
    Sure enough, three windmills stood above us high on a hilltop, their shapes dark against the rosy sky. From here, with a little imagination, they could be mistaken for monsters. I could almost see the man from La Mancha galloping up to them, brandishing his spear.
    "Let us look at them quickly," Grace said as she parked at the bottom of the hill. "Then we shall return to Segovia."
    "It is the true
España!
" I cried as I leapt out of the car, eager to impress Grace.
    "Watch out." Phillip pushed past me rudely and raced ahead. By the time I caught up with him, he was taking a picture of the windmills.
    "Do you like them, Felix?" Grace stood beside me, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. The sunset blazed in her hair and tinted her shirt as pink as the flower over her ear.
    "Oh, yes," I said, wishing she would look at me instead of staring at the sky. "They're so
Spanish.
"
    Grace nodded and glanced behind her, down the hill at the little Citroen. She opened her mouth to speak but Phillip ran toward us,