“I know that,” I replied, leaning over the front seat. “But why can’t we go with you? Why do we have to stay with Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Because we said so,” Mom and Dad declared together.
Because we said so. Once they said those deadly words, there was no use arguing.
I slumped down in my seat.
Mom and Dad had some kind of work emergency in Atlanta. They got the call this morning.
It’s not fair, I thought. They get to visit a cool city like Atlanta. And Clark—my stepbrother—and I have to go to Mud Town.
Mud Town.
Well, it’s not really called Mud Town. But it should be. Because it’s a swamp. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Eddie live in southern Georgia—in a swamp.
Can you believe it?
A swamp.
I stared out the car window. We’d been riding on highways all day. Now we were driving on a narrow road through the swamp.
It was late afternoon. And the cypress trees began to cast long shadows over the marshy grass.
I stuck my head out the window. A blast of hot, humid air hit my face. I ducked back in and turned to Clark. His nose was buried in a comic book.
Clark is twelve—like me. He’s much shorter than I am. Much shorter. And he has curly brown hair, brown eyes, and tons of freckles. He looks exactly like Mom.
I’m kind of tall for my age. I have long, straight blond hair and green eyes. I look like Dad.
My parents divorced when I turned two years old. The same thing happened to Clark. My dad and his mom married each other right after our third birthdays, and we all moved into a new house together.
I like my stepmother. And Clark and I get along okay, I guess. He acts like a jerk sometimes. Even my friends say so. But I think their brothers act like jerks, too.
I stared at Clark.
Watched him read.
His glasses slid down his nose.
He pushed them up.
“Clark …” I started.
“Shhhh.” He waved his hand at me. “I’m at the good part.”
Clark loves comic books. Scary ones. But he’s not brave—so he’s always terrified by the time he finishes.
I glanced out the window again.
I stared at the trees. At the branches, all draped in long gray webs. They dangled from every tree—curtains of gray. They made the swamp look really gloomy.
Mom told me about the gray webs when we were packing this morning. She knows a lot about swamps. She thinks swamps are pretty—in a spooky sort of way.
Mom said the gray webs were actually a swamp plant that grew right on the trees.
A plant that grows on a plant. Weird, I thought. Definitely weird.
Almost as weird as Grandma and Grandpa.
“Dad, how come Grandma and Grandpa never visit us?” I asked. “We haven’t seen them since we were four.”
“Well, they’re a little strange.” Dad peered at me through the rearview mirror. “They don’t like to travel. They almost never leave their house. And they live so far back in the swamp, it’s very hard to visit them.”
“Oh, wow!” I said. “A sleepover with two strange old hermits.”
“Smelly, strange old hermits,” Clark mumbled, glancing up from his comic.
“Clark! Gretchen!” Mom scolded. “Don’t talk about your grandparents that way.”
“They’re not my grandparents. They’re hers.” Clark jerked his head toward me. “And they do smell. I can still remember it.”
I punched my stepbrother in the arm. But he was right. Grandma and Grandpa did smell. Like a combination of mildew and mothballs.
I sank deep into my seat and let out a loud yawn.
It seemed as if we’d been riding in the car for weeks. And it was really crowded back there—with me, Clark, and Charley kind of squished together. Charley is our dog—a golden retriever.
I pushed Charley out of the way and stretched out.
