“Avalanche!” calls Frankie. “Volcano! Blizzard!”

  When lightning zigzags across the sky, Frankie is the first inside. Nicholas gets the hiccups and follows, Annabelle right on his tail. Nicholas and Annabelle definitely tie for being storm scaredy cats. Not that I would point it out to him, since Nicholas is feeling so good about other ways he’s become brave.

  In the next minute, the rain hammers slantwise. Winds kick up and begin blowing our party hats and napkins onto the field. The rest of us rush indoors. Everyone is laughing, even after the lights flicker off and we are plunged into darkness.

  “I bet a tree fell and brought down a power line,” says Dad. “We could be without electricity all night.”

  “Good thing it’s bedtime,” says Mom. She lights the hurricane lamps so that we can find our way to our rooms.

  “I don’t like this,” mumbles Nicholas.

  “I REALLY don’t like this!” shrieks Annabelle.

  “When the power goes out, please don’t shout,” I tell her.

  With only the wobbly lamplight to guide us, we file upstairs. Annabelle is gripping tight to Caroline, and Frankie is gripping tight to Nicholas, while Mr. Fancypants and I bring up the rear. I can feel Mr. F trembling like a fat, scared football in my arms.

  Everyone gets a sleep buddy—except me.

  In my bed, I am wide-awake, staring at the ceiling. I listen to the rain pound on the roof. Crrraaaack! Lightning brightens my room and turns my face erasers into tiny mean-eyed goblins. My heart is racing too fast to sleep.

  In the city when it rained, I always had Caroline in the bed right next to me. She used to make my penguins sing silly songs like: “It’s fine in here, we have no fear. Outside’s the storm, inside’s the warm.” Also the streetlights stayed on even when the electricity went off. So I never thought to be scared about thunderstorms. “When the power goes out, please don’t pout,” I whisper to myself on repeat.

  Not every single thing about the country is better than the city.

  The storms are definitely scarier.

  I burrow deeper under my quilt. It is hard work being brave.

  Creeeeeeeak!

  “Hello?” I sit straight up like a vampire. Who is opening my bedroom door? There’s no one there! A snorfling noise near the floor makes me look down. “Oh! Mr. Fancypants!”

  He shuffles in at his usual extremely slow pace. I had no idea he even knew where my bedroom was. It must have taken him a million years to get down the hall. It’s not a trip he makes too often.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper. I scoot out of bed and give him a pat, then hurry to get him some water in the bathroom, using my own drinking cup. He slurps for a long time. It’s a little gross but there’s nothing else. Then I scoop him up and lift him onto my bed. His heart is beating faster than mine. At the next crack of lightning, he licks my face. Oof, Mr. Fancypants has some really bad old-dog breath. But he sure is scared.

  “Okay, looks like you can be my bunkmate tonight, Mr. F,” I tell him. “Just calm down that old heart of yours.” I give him his special ear scratches. I wonder if Mr. Fancypants also thinks country storms are scarier than city ones.

  When I’d written “Host the Fairs” as the next thing on my list, I hadn’t thought I’d also be hosting Mr. F, too. Then again, Mr. Fancypants has never chosen me over Nicholas before. Maybe he knows that I’m not as bothered by lightning? Or that I won’t hold on to him too tight, the way Nicholas does? It takes Mr. Fancypants a long time to get himself comfy. He scuffles at the covers, then he has another coughing fit, then he starts up his panting again, and then I have to get him more water. Some of it spills on my pajamas, ugh.

  Just when I think I’m going to be awake all night with him, Mr. Fancypants makes one last hrrrmph, curls up at the end of my bed, and falls into a very deep sleep. He makes a nice warm lump at my feet, and his snoring is so loud that it even drowns out the sound of the rain.

  chapter 17

  Make Something Special

  The next morning after breakfast, the Fairs say goodbye. After they’re gone, and with the weekend over, Caroline is in a slump of missing Annabelle.

  “Even if Annabelle didn’t have the greatest time, I know you tried to help,” she says to me.

  “No problem,” I say. “I wish she’d liked the country better.” I brace myself for the usual bumpkin comment.

  “She didn’t give it a chance,” says Caroline. “It’s too bad she doesn’t have your good eye for Beautiful Alerts.” She smiles at me for a moment, a real, from-her-heart smile that makes me feel like we are sisters again.

  “Remember, it’s only thirty-eight days until you can go to the city for Annabelle’s birthday,” says Mom. “That’ll be fun.”

  “And you’ll get to use your new wheelie suitcase,” says Dad.

  “It’s fun to look forward to something,” says Mom.

  “When you start school, you’ll make some brand-new friends, too, don’t forget,” says Dad.

  “It’s been a quiet summer for you, Caroline,” says Mom.

  “Hey, it’s been a quiet summer for me, too,” I remind them. “The only thing that’s been noisy about it is the fact that I’m noisy.”

  Mom and Dad laugh, but I’m not really joking.

  Meanwhile, Caroline goes back to drooping around the house like a flower without water.

  That afternoon, the mail comes with—a postcard from Caleb!

  Dear Becket,

  Camp is fun. Your letter was funny! I like your new name.

  I traded my toothbrush for some socks.

  We almost won on Flag Day but our canoe tipped over.

  From,

  Caleb

  Even though I’m so happy to hear from Caleb, it gives me that pain of missing him that I haven’t had since the start of summer.

  I take out my list to look at it again. I’ve got a little more work to do on “Make Something Special.” I guess I thought it would be easy to make new friends because I’d always had my old friends, so I never had to put in the extra effort. Live and learn, as practically every grown-up I ever met likes to say. I get out my shoebox of Beautiful Alerts for some final touches.

  When I’m done, it looks pretty good. I made the wrapping paper last week, a penguin pattern, and once it’s all taped up, I tie it with the long blue ribbon I saved from Caroline’s birthday cake box.

  After I put away my project, I’m still in an art mood, so I add a sketch of Mr. Fancypants to the bottom of my Country Kid List page, sitting like a chunk on his cushion, right next to Noble. Even though Noble looks cool, my sketch of Mr. Fancypants has many more realistic details. I work on it a long time, so that I even get his bulgy eyes and his jowls just right.

  Then I put a bunch of exclamation marks next to “Drive a Tractor (Like a Natural)” because I want to remember the excitement of being up high near the blue sky, behind the wheel and on the move. I should always be on the lookout for how good that felt.

  The next morning after Nicholas and I are dropped off at Young Explorers, I’ve got my package ready. I see Frieda on the front lawn. She is playing Frisbee with some of the older kids. Dang, Frieda is great at Frisbee. Plus she knows how to be friends with anyone, even older kids I’d be nervous to talk to.

  I stand on the sidelines, and once there’s a break in the game, Frieda runs over. “What’s up?”

  “Here,” I say.

  “Oh.” Frieda turns over the package in her hands. “Homemade wrapping paper? These penguins are too cute.”

  “You can open it whenever,” I add. “Like, later. Maybe when you’re home.”

  “Okay,” she says. But then she pulls the ribbon and unwraps the paper right in front of me.

  “Wow.” She holds the boat up to inspect every single detail. “You made this—for me?”

  “As a replacement, yep.”

  “But that boat took me an hour to make. This one must have taken—”

  “A few weeks,” I finish. “I worked on it every night. I sanded it and painted all the detail myself. I made the Frieda out of a matchstick and her dress out of dandelion fluff. It’s shiny because I put two coats of glaze on it. Gran helped me stitch the canvas for the sail.”

  “That’s really nice of you, Becket,” says Frieda. “It was never a big deal that you sank the first one.” But then she looks me in the eye. “When I first met you, I thought maybe you were sort of a braggy loudmouth,” she admits. “But you’ve definitely chilled out. You’re a good sharer at crafts time, and the stories you tell about Laying Godiva and Archie and Pickle and Chew make all the kids laugh.”

  A braggy loudmouth? How awful. “I’m glad you like my stories, but I promise, Frieda, I can be a quietmouth, too.”

  She smiles. “Cool. This was really thoughtful of you. I can’t wait to launch the new FF Frieda-tastic when I get home. We have a little pond, so it can’t disappear downstream.”

  I smile so big that the feeling stays with me through crafts time, where I try to be an even better sharer. At lunch, I tell the story of how Mr. Fancypants sneaked into my room to snore out the thunderstorm. Kids do laugh! Nothing works better than a nice compliment to make you want to prove that it’s true.

  That evening in the middle of dinner, Mom’s cell phone rings.

  “Here we go,” says Dad, thinking it’s a vet emergency, but soon Mom looks pleased and is nodding. “How nice. Thank you,” she says. “I think this will be a yes. Sure, let’s put the girls on.”

  Then Mom hands the phone—to me. I am already smiling, because I have a feeling I know who it is.

  “Hi, Becket,” says Frieda in a happy voice. “I tried out my new boat! When I asked my parents if you could come over to watch me sail it, they thought it would be fun to have a whole family play date. And Nicholas can come, too.”

  “Yeah! We’re on!” calls Nicholas, who has overheard everything from across the table.

  “Cool,” I say. I push past the twinge of not wanting to share Frieda with Nicholas. “We’d love to.”

  “Also, will you bring Mr. Fancypants so he can meet Oro?”

  “Oh, sure.” Frieda sounds so enthusiastic and hopeful, I just don’t have the heart to tell her that the most amazing thing about Mr. F is how he sleeps every single hour of the day, except for the hour that he’s eating.

  The Franca family play date has even got Caroline out of her droop. “I’ve been wanting to see those alpacas all summer!” she says once I get off the call.

  “We’ll need to bring Mr. Fancypants’s arthritis cushion, and we should give him his muscle relaxer an hour before we leave,” I instruct. “Otherwise, he’ll feel all the bumps on the car ride.”

  Mr. F, who is right at my feet, looks at me like he is glad I suggested all these things. “It’ll be okay, Mr. F,” I tell him. “I’ve got your back.”

  chapter 18

  Runaway Suki

  Saturday, as we turn up the Francas’ driveway lined with big shaggy pine trees, we see a sign with the outline shape of an alpaca.

  “Alpaca Crossing!” I look both ways. “When alpacas are around, you’d better slow down. But I don’t see any—clear to move, Dad!”

  As we pull close to the farmhouse, Oro bounds over to greet us. He’s bigger from the last time I saw him, but he is still a happy golden ball of puppy fun.

  When I put Mr. Fancypants on the ground, he sniffs around and seems very interested in his new surroundings. Oro tries to get him to play, but when he realizes it’s not going to happen, he bounds off.

  “Mr. F is a senior citizen,” I explain to Frieda, who looks a little disappointed, but what can I do? That’s how Mr. F rolls—ancient and wheezy.

  Frieda’s family has arranged a picnic table lunch under a tree, which is a sweet spot for me to place Mr. F on his cushion, right on time for his nap. The table is full of things to eat. Frieda’s mom introduces us to the whole Franca family—there’s some cousins and aunts and uncles, and too many names to keep track of, though I do try—and then she tells us each dish. I heap my plate with little rolls called papas rellenas.

  “That’s potato dough stuffed with hard-boiled eggs and raisins, then baked. Sometimes we add meat,” explains Frieda’s mom. “And we make the dough from our own potato crop.” I eat two papas rellenas, and I kick Nicholas under the picnic table when he reaches for his seventh.

  There is also a spicy, smoky roast chicken, pollo a la brasa, and a custard called tres leches for dessert.

  “Whenever I think I should stop eating, my stomach finds more space!” says Nicholas.

  Dad laughs. “I think that’s a problem for us all,” he says.

  Not me. I’ve still got a case of nerves for this play date to work out, and I don’t want to mess anything up. At least Frieda still likes her boat, which she passes around the table for everyone to check out.

  While the grown-ups have coffee, Frieda’s dad sends us to feed the alpacas. Outside the barn, Frieda and her older sister, Daisy, fill some flat metal feed pans. When they start shaking the pans, the food makes that loud, sliding sound that is music to animals’ furry ears.

  And suddenly, here they are! Loping up from the pasture all in a herd. The alpacas know that noise means their dinner is served. Their long slender necks and perky faces are even cuter in person.

  Caroline gasps in delight. “Oh, my gosh.” Her eyes are shiny. “These are the sweetest-looking animals I have ever seen!”

  The alpacas are all different colors—white, cream, sandy, and black. They make noises like soft kazoos.

  “We have seventeen alpacas altogether,” says Frieda. “Half the land is for them to graze, and the other half is for our potatoes and corn crops. Here, hold the pans, so you can feed them yourselves.”

  Caroline has a lot of cash register experience this summer, but not much animal feeding experience. She holds the pan with straight-out arms and keeps taking a step back so the alpacas can’t get close enough to eat. And there is no way Nicholas will feed the alpacas. He is really not enjoying this.

  “I’ve been taking care of our donkey and mule this summer,” I tell Frieda, trying not to sound loud and braggy. “They like to have constant shade and water. They get uncomfortable when it’s too hot, so I try to exercise them either early in the morning or after dinner.”

  “Same with alpacas!” says Frieda. “I’m the one who feeds them and looks after them. Daisy prefers to garden.”

  “I like gardens, too,” says Caroline. “Mostly to make salads.”

  “Me too,” says Daisy. “I made the one you had at lunch.”

  “I had three helpings. I need that recipe,” says Caroline.

  “It’s just lettuce plus everything,” says Daisy, and both girls crack up.

  The alpacas make happy humming and crunching sounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nicholas inching his way to the paddock gates. I think I’m the only one noticing until I hear Frieda say, “Nicholas, don’t open that!”

  Too late. Just as Nicholas swings open the gate to slip through and escape, a chocolate-brown alpaca also charges through it.

  “No, Suki!” Frieda claps her hands and whistles. “She’s our new girl—the wild one. Come back, Soooo!” She unhooks a thin nylon halter from a nail outside the barn and looks at me. “Want to help me chase down an alpaca?”

  The answer to that is YES. I scoop a handful of pellets for my pockets, and we start chasing Suki, who is bounding across the fields.

  She’s faster than we are, but we never lose sight.

  Running through the open pasture with the wind on my face is a Beautiful Alert on the inside.

  When we finally catch up with Suki, she’s resting under a shady tree.

  “She’s cushed,” says Frieda. “That’s another word for lying down with her legs folded underneath. It means she feels relaxed.”

  “I’ll feed her to distract her while you harness,” I say.

  Frieda nods. “Good plan.”

  I creep up with my palms open wide to offer Suki some pellets. She puts her mouth on my palm and crunches away as Frieda slips on the halter.

  “You’re smart with animals,” says Frieda.

  “So are you.”

  We smile at each other.

  We get Suki to stand, and then we walk on either side of her back to the barn. Frieda holds the lead. “Suki just got here last month, and she’s still skittish,” Frieda says. “It’s hard for her, being new.”

  “It’s hard for me to be new, too,” I blurt. “I’m nervous about school next month. Nicholas is already good friends with Zane, and you make friends with everyone so easily.”

  “But you’re so outgoing, Becket. I never think you get nervous,” says Frieda. When I don’t say anything, she looks thoughtful. “I guess outgoing people can be shy, too.”

  “YEP!” I agree, shyly.

  Frieda laughs. Then she presses my nose freckle. “I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “Everyone does. I’m used to it.”

  After we pen Suki, we rejoin the grown-ups. Mr. Fancypants is shuffling around and around in a circle. He is having a hard time finding his comfort zone. I end up putting him on my lap, and then just hanging out with him while he naps as the others play a game of Frisbee with Oro. Daisy and Frieda are both good. So is Caroline. She and Daisy are really hitting it off.