4 Switch

Chapter 4 Switch switch (v) to secretly exchange one object for another; (n) a sudden change in plans "What do you mean?" asked Evan. His mother had been preparing for this trip for weeks. She'd done all the laundry in the house, put fresh sheets on the beds, and scrubbed the bathroom clean. "That was Peggy on the phone," said their mom. "She's fine. She'll be fine. But she got in a small accident this morning, and, well, she's in the hospital with a broken arm." "What bone did she break?" asked Jessie. Evan glared at his sister. "She already said, Jessie. Her arm." His brain was ticking through the possibilities of who could stay with them: Grandma, no. Pria, their high school babysitter, no. Mrs. Blom, a neighbor who lived one street over, no.

"But which bone?" insisted Jessie. "There are three bones in the arm: the humerus, the radius, and the ulna." She tapped each part of her arm as she recited the three bones. "I don't know," said their mother, shaking her head as if she still couldn't believe what she was saying. "All I know is that it's a bad break. They're pretty sure she's going to need surgery. And that means... I'm not going anywhere." She plopped down onto the seat of a kitchen chair. The chair groaned loudly, as if it might collapse in despair. "Goodbye San Francisco! Goodbye mini-vacation! Goodbye!" Mrs. Treski started to laugh, but Evan thought she looked as if she could cry at any moment. Each cheek had a bright red spot at its highest point. "You seem relieved," said their dad, draining his coffee cup and then getting up for more. As if he lives here! thought Evan. As if it's his house! Although, in truth, it had been, once. "Well, I'm not sorry to miss the airport and the

flight, that's for sure," said their mother. "But I was looking forward to seeing Joanna. And San Francisco. And then, too, there's the money..." Mrs. Treski was a freelancer. That meant she got paid only when she worked. There was no such thing as a steady paycheck in their house. If she didn't go on this trip, her client wouldn't give her any money. And that meant trouble when it was time to pay the bills. "Oh, well," said their dad. "Freelance assignments come and go. You'll get something else, right?" Evan wanted to shout, It's not that easy! What did his dad know about how hard his mom worked? Sometimes he sent money, but sometimes he didn't. His mom could never count on it. She tried not to let it show, but Evan had overheard enough phone conversations and seen the worry on her face to know that paying the bills each month was hard. Grownups thought kids didn't notice this stuff, but Evan did. And it stirred up in him that old fear that had set in after the divorce and never quite went

away: that they would have to sell the house and move someplace else. Sure, it was a junky old house, with just about everything broken, but Evan didn't want to leave. "Mom," he said. "You can still go. Jessie and I can sleep over at someone's house. Maybe Adam's or Jack's." "I am not sleeping at someone's house!" said Jessie. "I can't sleep—" She looked at her mother, and Evan could see the panic in her eyes. Jessie had never slept at anyone's house except their own and Grandma's. "Then someone can come here. There's got to be someone..." "Evan, it's too late. My flight leaves in two hours. I can't just call someone up at the last minute and ask them to baby-sit for seven days. These things need to be planned in advance. I called Peggy about this trip two months ago." Evan couldn't accept this. There had to be a way to fix it. "Mom, you have to go..."

She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. He could see that she knew what he meant. It had always been like this. He and his mom. They just understood things about each other. "It's charming the way you can't wait to get rid of me, but—" "Dad can stay with us," said Jessie loudly. There was a moment of stunned silence. Evan looked at his father, then back at his mom. "Oh, Jessie," said their mom, shaking her head. "No!" said Evan. It came out louder than he intended. His father cocked his head and looked right at him, as if he'd been poked in the side with a very sharp stick. "Your dad..." began Mrs. Treski, looking for words. "Well, actually, Susan," said their father stiffly, "I could. After all, I am their dad." Evan looked desperately at his mother, but she was staring at his father. "Yay! Hooray! Hip hip hurray!" shouted Jessie, jumping awkwardly into the air and landing heavily

on her feet. "This is great! This is the best!" She jumped up again and nearly crashed into the table when she came down. "Jessie, stop," said their mother. "Dad can't stay with you while I'm gone." She turned to her ex- husband. "It's a whole week, Jake. You can't stay a whole week with the kids." "Sure, I can," he said. "It's nothing. Seven days." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, as if he were on the beach, watching a sunset. "You never stay for seven days," Evan said harshly. "You never even stay for two." "Well, this time"—he looked at Evan—"I'm needed." "We don't need you," said Evan, the words sliding from his brain onto his tongue before he even realized he was saying them out loud. "Evan," said his mother in her warning voice. "It's not a question of—Look, Jake. You must have somewhere else you need to go. You've always got