When I wake up, Radar and Ben are loudly debating the name of the car. Ben would like to name it
Muhammad Ali, because, just like Muhammad Ali, the minivan takes a punch and keeps going. Radar
says you can’t name a car after a historical figure. He thinks the car ought to be called Lurlene, because
it sounds right.
“You want to name it Lurlene?” Ben asks, his voice rising with the horror of it all. “Hasn’t this poor
vehicle been through enough?!”
I unbuckle one seat belt and sit up. Lacey turns around to me. “Good morning,” she says. “Welcome
to the great state of New York.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine forty-two.” Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, but the shorter strands have strayed. “How’s
it going?” she asks.
I tell her. “I’m scared.”
Lacey smiles at me and nods. “Yeah, me, too. It’s like there’s too many things that could happen to
prepare for all of them.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“I hope you and me stay friends this summer,” she says. And that helps, for some reason. You can
never tell what is going to help.
Radar is now saying that the car should be called the Gray Goose. I lean forward a little so everyone
can hear me and say, “The Dreidel. The harder you spin it, the better it performs.”
Ben nods. Radar turns around. “I think you should be the official stuff-namer.”
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