In the car, I put down my window. Afternoon sunshine feels warm and the air smells like honeysuckles. I lean my face into the breeze, close my eyes, and imagine running down that Country Goods hill with my dog—who I’ve decided to call Noble—at my side. My two favorite types of dogs are Labradors, because they’re so friendly, and German shepherds, because they’re trusted by police and blind people. My not-so-favorite type of dog is Mr. Fancypants. He’s a pug and he’s been around since before I was born. Mr. Fancypants only likes naps, snacks, and Nicholas—probably since Mr. Fancypants and Nicholas are both scared of lightning and need to have their food cut up into tiny pieces because they have reflux issues.

  Now that we’re in the country, I hope we’ll get a genuine, tail-wagging country dog. I’ve wanted one for so long. Mr. Fancypants won’t care. I doubt he’d even wake up to notice.

  On the way to the farm, we stop by the Old Post Road Animal Clinic. We’ve been here before when Dr. Plumb was the vet. Gran was friends with Dr. Plumb and she took all her animals to him until he retired. The Old Post Road Animal Clinic is very different from my parents’ city clinic, which had automatic doors and a view of the street. This clinic is at the end of a dirt road. It looks more like a house, with a covered porch, a barn, and kennels out back. Mom and Dad have been fixing it up, and now it’s as cozy as a pair of socks. One whole wall in the back office is pictures of us, and our two living room armchairs and rug make the waiting room feel like home.

  They proudly show us around. Then, it’s back in the car.

  Except for Christmases and two weeks in the summers, we Branches haven’t spent much time at Blackberry Farm. A few roads are familiar and others seem brand new. But as soon as I see the flag, I know we’re close.

  Behind the store, Blackberry Farm spreads out wide. There’s the main farmhouse, the henhouse, the chicken run, the pony barn, and the silo where grain is kept. In the farthest field, I see Farmer Jack on his tractor. Gran and Farmer Jack share farmland for planting corn and grain. Farmer Jack also helps stock the store with his dairy’s milk, cheese, and yogurt.

  Gran is standing outside the farmhouse’s red-painted front door, where her sunflowers are blooming. Gran reminds me of a sunflower. She is tall and cheerful and planted strong to the ground in her cork sandals.

  “Beautiful Alert!” I call as I hop out of the car. I like to say that when I see something beautiful. “Gran, your sunflowers look so happy!”

  Except—are they her flowers anymore? Gran is moving to the apartment above the farm store to give us space. After she hugs me, we look at her flowers. Then we go into the kitchen. “Hey, Gran,” I ask, “are you sad that we’re kicking you out of your home?”

  “We’re not—” Dad starts.

  “Heck, no!” Gran cuts in. “It suits me two times over. I love my family, and I also love a change.”

  “Me too!”

  “Can I go see my bedroom?” asks Caroline. “My own private bedroom?”

  “Of course,” says Gran. “This is your home now.”

  Mom looks up from where she’s unpacking plates. “Put anything that seems like storage or trash outside your bedroom door. I’ll come help you later.”

  Caroline races upstairs, but I stay to visit with Gran. I bet it’s strange for her to have all this new furniture jammed and jigsawed into her house. Dad and Mom were hoping that Gran might declutter some of her things before we got here. Looks like that hasn’t happened yet.

  “Woo-wee. What a lot of stuff,” Gran says, as if she’s heard my thoughts. “It kind of crept up on me.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s way messier than I remember!”

  Gran laughs. Mom looks embarrassed and says, “Becket, upstairs.”

  But I know Gran likes a loud truth more than soft politeness. That’s why we get along.

  My new bedroom was Gran’s old sewing room, but there hasn’t been a sewing machine in it for a long time. “Hello, new room!” I say. “Hey, two cute windows. Hi, yellow-and-blue braided oval rug. Hello, bed just for me. Hi, bookcase.”

  It feels empty, though. Instead of two twin beds, I see just one, and it looks really old-fashioned. And these stacks of newspapers in the corner are not getting a happy hello from me.

  “Do we need to keep these old newspapers?” I shout over the banister.

  “Now why would you need a key to the zookeepers?” Gran calls up. She is slightly deaf at long distances.

  “NEWSPAPERS!” I yell. “CAN I THROW THEM OUT?”

  “YES!” she yells back.

  My parents are wrong. I don’t always need to lower the volume. Sometimes with Gran, I need to UP THE VOLUME.

  Gran is a collector, just like me—but her collections are newspapers, as well as paper bags of fabric and yarn and cardboard and magazines and hangers. I’m still putting stuff in the hall when Nicholas comes charging in.

  “My room’s got bugs in it!”

  “Oh, no! Not worse than silverfish?” In the city, sometimes we had a silverfish problem. They are not actual fish but wriggly bugs that lived in our walls.

  “Double worse! These ones are dead! On my windowsill!”

  I get some toilet paper and follow him. Nicholas’s room is Dad’s old bedroom. It’s still got Dad’s boyhood stuff in it, his bunk bed and his atlas wallpaper and his square Pine-O-Matic pillow stuffed with pine needles that smells so good. I forget about the bugs so I can drop down to my knees to press my nose into the Beautiful Alert pine smell.

  “Stop smelling! These bugs need graves!”

  I look up. “Hello, dead stinkbugs!”

  Nicholas scoots behind Clive while I pinch up the dead stinkbugs with toilet paper. Then I run down the hall to drop them in the toilet. They feel dry and light and brittle, like picking up packing peanuts. Nicholas isn’t doing anything, but the whole time he looks like he might throw up.

  “Thanks,” says Nicholas when I’m done. “I saw a mouse outside! It almost ran over my sneaker! So gross! Remember when our school closed the kitchen because of mice?”

  “Mice should not live in a school kitchen, but they are allowed to live outside. You can’t get upset when mice are just hanging out where they belong, Nicholas. The outdoors is their home. Think of them all as Mrs. Frisby.”

  Nicholas doesn’t look convinced. “I already miss the sound of sirens,” he says. “And I wish the food truck would pull up. I want steamed dumplings so bad.”

  “What if you got yourself a country nickname? Something that makes you feel cool and different, so you don’t remind yourself of a city kid?”

  He shakes his head. “Nicholas is all that I am.” Then he takes Clive’s bow and begins to play a tune that’s probably called “Sirens and Dumplings.”

  At the other end of the hall, I hear Caroline’s voice. When I peek into her new room—Gran’s used-to-be guest room—Dad’s already hung her new wildflower curtains in all three of her windows. The adorable brass bear lamp from our old apartment is on her bedside table. She’s opening her boxes while on a FaceTime call with Annabelle, who is helping to tell her where to put things. It’s the first time all day that Caroline looks happy.

  As soon as Caroline sees me, she yells “Privacy privacy privacy!” in a loud, urgent voice like I’m doing something terrible to her, and she makes big hand motions for me to leave. On the phone, I hear Annabelle laughing.

  I point to the bear lamp and mouth how come you got that? Caroline shakes her head and kind of pushes me out the door.

  Okay! Whatever! She’ll miss me soon enough. Once she’s off the phone with Annabelle, she’ll want to come see my room and how perfectly cute I’ve made it. And I know I’ll keep it a lot neater, too!

  Back to work, I open my moving box marked penguins. They traveled together because that’s how penguins like to do things. I’ve been collecting stuffed animal penguins for years. Caroline says I’m obsessed with penguins and she’s probably right, but penguins are so wonderful, I think it’s weird not to be obsessed with penguins.

  All in place, they take up half my bed.

  Next I line up my hammies and hamblings on the dresser. They’re so glad to be out of their suitcase they go bananas, squeaking their secret hammy language until they understand I’m not playing with them. Then they are quiet.

  On the top of my bookcase, I arrange my eighty-four pencil-top erasers. They’re very small and don’t take up a lot of space when I get them all lined up like soldiers. I’d never have started collecting erasers if Caleb didn’t also collect them. We’d give them to each other as gifts when one would ask the other to borrow a pencil. They are shaped to look like food and cute animals, but I haven’t collected any new ones since Caleb gave me his best, a smiling slice of purple-frosted toast called Huckleberry Pop, right before he left for camp.

  Next are my seven glasses cases. I just have one pair of eyeglasses at a time, but whenever I visit Dr. Pytlak’s ophthalmologist office, I get to pick out a new case. Now I’ve got a collection, and I never say no to a collection. Even if this one is slightly accidental.

  All done. I step back. My collections look fantastic. But my room is so quiet! In the city, Caroline and I didn’t just share a room—we shared a view and knock-knock jokes and fluffy socks and ghost stories.

  “Do you want to come see my room?” I ask, standing in her doorframe.

  “PRIVACY!” Caroline isn’t on the phone anymore. “Get out get out get out!” I guess she’s not missing me yet.

  “Cheese and crickets, I got it, Caroline!”

  Dad is in my room when I come back. “Look, it’s a waddle of penguins!” he says. He’s holding boxes marked with my old name. “It’s a colony of penguins! A rookery of penguins!”

  “Look, it’s a vanishing of Dads!” I point my finger at the door, but just as a joke. I don’t have a privacy problem like Caroline, kicking me out of her room the minute she finally gets one. “Why is Caroline being such a jerk?”

  “Change is hard. I think each of you kids might have different moments this summer when it really sinks in that moving is a big deal,” says Dad. “Go easy on her, and on Nicholas. I’ll be saying the same things to them about you.”

  “Except change isn’t hard for me,” I remind him.

  “Good to know, Rebecca.” Dad picks up some trash bags and leaves.

  “Becket,” I call after him. See? I can even change my name, easy as a snap.

  After I put away my clothes and shoes and books, I tiptoe down the hall and put my ear to Caroline’s closed door. Then I open it just a tiny crack. She is sitting on the floor, looking at her old yearbook. I shut the door and go back into my own room, where I sit on my bed and flip open my notebook.

  “Change My Name” looks pretty good at number two on my list. Then I add “to Becket” and it looks even better.

  But my list needs work. I retrace numbers one through ten using my gold marker for more pop. At the bottom of the paper, I draw Noble and me running down a hill, just like in the Country Goods Farm Markets billboard. He looks kind of like a very small horse, or a giant squirrel. I’m not great at drawing dogs yet.

  Oh, well, when I get the real Noble, I’ll do a better portrait.

  There’s still a lot of blank space on this paper.

  And that’s when I get my next great idea.

  chapter 4

  Same Faces, New Places

  A great idea needs the perfect time and place to launch it.

  So when Mom calls us for dinner, I run outside. I have to set the mood. I gather purple thistles and yellow buttercups and put them in a jam jar for a table centerpiece. I fold white paper napkins into swans. I’d learned how to do this on my favorite TeenyTinyCrafts channel. When I’m done, it looks like a professional restaurant.

  “Beautiful Alert! At Blackberry Farm, flowers aren’t just for restaurants!” I say. “Flowers are for anytime you want people to be in a good mood.”

  “The flowers are free, and so are the salads.” Caroline lets me take a two-second peek at her bowl of lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes that she’s picked from the garden. “At least we’ll be healthy bumpkins.”

  “That salad needs cheese,” I tell her.

  “Nobody else wants cheese,” says Caroline. But Mom puts some cheddar cubes in a saucer just for me. I take Punkin out of my pocket and set him on a chair I’ve made from a matchbox, and I put a tiny piece of cheese in his paw.

  “This is not how we sat at home,” says Nicholas, looking around. “I sat there.” He points to me.

  “I like my new place,” I say, “because it’s between Punkin and Gran.”

  “Your new place is my old place and that’s not fair,” says Nicholas.

  “Pregnant ladies or people with canes are the only ones you should give up a seat for,” I tell him. “You’re neither. So, I’m staying put.”

  “Can I be excused?” Caroline asks after a couple of minutes. Her plate is clean. “I just want to go call some friends back home.”

  “This is home,” I say.

  Caroline is looking at Mom, who nods.

  “My food tastes weird facing this way,” says Nicholas when she’s gone.

  “Sit in Caroline’s place,” I suggest.

  He slides over. “That didn’t work. My stomach hurts.” He looks like he might cry. Mom and Dad give me sad eyes.

  “Ugh, fine! But only because you’re ruining my dinner.” I jump out of my seat to switch with Nicholas.

  Nicholas sighs a thank you. He reaches for a roll and eats it in two bites to show how good his food tastes facing the right way.

  With Caroline gone and Nicholas being a baby, the moment feels right to remind my parents which kid is doing the best job so far at country life—and to launch my great idea.

  “I was thinking I could start taking care of the farm animals,” I say. “Like the chickens, and Pickle and Chew.”

  “That’s a great plan, Rebecca!” says Dad.

  “Becket,” I remind him.

  “Because your mom and I were just talking about how to divide chores around here,” says Dad.

  Mom beams. “Maybe Nicholas can help. Might get him in a country spirit.”

  “Sure,” I say. Except Nicholas looks like he wants to crawl under his plate. “Also, when you see how responsible I am . . .” I take a breath. “Then can I get a dog?”

  “Becket, what?” Mom tilts her head. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation a few times already.”

  “We’ve only had that conversation in the city.”

  “I’m just surprised you’d bring it up again, since as you’ve noticed, we have so many more animals to take care of. And especially considering we already have a dog,” says Mom.

  I look over at Mr. Fancypants, who is lying on his back snoring like a buzz saw. I don’t want to insult him, even if he is too deaf to hear, about how he’s not a real country dog, or how he hasn’t been a fun dog for years, since he’s become too blind to fetch, too stiff to cuddle, and too grumpy to please unless you’ve got snacks. “Mr. Fancypants is fourteen and a half years old. Also, he belongs to Nicholas,” I say carefully.

  “No, he just likes me best,” says Nicholas, “because I understand him.”

  “We have too much going on right now to get a new dog,” says Dad.

  It’s a good thing Gran is facing my way so she can give me her secret wink. That’s the wink she uses to let me know she’s on my side. “If you ask me, I think it’s terrific that Becket wants to show responsibility for all our animals,” says Gran. “Remember, William, being a team player and helping to take care of the farm and all our animals was how you proved you were ready for Patches.”

  “Aw, Patches.” Dad smiles. “She was a good dog.”

  “How old were you when you got Patches?”

  “He was ten,” answers Gran before Dad can speak.

  “I’m ten in October,” I say. “That’s pretty close.”

  “Let’s start you on chores tomorrow,” says Gran briskly. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

  I give Gran my best wink back although I can’t do it crisp like her. Gran might have some clutter in her home, but there isn’t any in her mind.

  “All right,” says Dad slowly. “First some chores . . . and then we’ll see.”

  “We’ll see is pretty good,” I tell Punkin. “It doesn’t squash the dream!”

  After dinner, Caroline comes downstairs to help clean up, and then Gran heats a pot of hot chocolate while we pick a movie. Nicholas chooses his favorite, Attack of the Zernoks. Although we’ve all seen it a million times, we go along with it, even Caroline, though she texts on her phone the whole time.

  “Thanks, sweetie,” Mom whispers in my ear as little purple aliens swarm across the TV screen. “This is all a big adjustment for your brother. I think he needs the extra comfort. You do so much better with adventure and change.”

  “I know. That’s what I was saying to Dad.”

  I look over at Nicholas. He has scooped Mr. Fancypants off his cushion, and now they are curled on the couch together. Mr. Fancypants’s neck is angled just so on the crook of Nicholas’s elbow, and Nicholas is drinking hot chocolate through a bendy straw, the only way he likes. They look as comfortable as two extremely picky friends can look.

  Gran has also popped a bowl of popcorn, and she stays for the whole movie. She and I snuggle up on the recliner, pulling Gran’s quilt over us.

  When I give Gran a squeeze, she seems littler than I remember. It makes me feel protective.

  Outside, the big old moon is glowing yellow over the fields.

  “Beautiful Alert,” I whisper.