RV There Yet?

Chapter One

The morning after the wedding, just as the sun's first rays crowned the mustard-colored hills of the Mil Robles Valley, the five Merrivale and Buckfort children were awakened by blaring trombones.

Twelve-year-old Charlotte "Cricket" Merrivale had, as usual, fallen asleep writing the night before. Now she sat up to discover that her lucky feather pen had juddered mid-sentence, dragging a U-shaped line across the bottom of her notebook. She quickly turned the line into the mouth of a smiley face (because her mother was always saying that positive energy was essential to creativity). Then she glanced around the room at the unfamiliar wallpaper and furnishings, trying to get her bearings amid the noise. Were the blaring trombones some sort of torturous alarm clock? She didn't know, but anything was possible in this new world Cricket had awoken into.

Her mother had married Arthur Buckfort yesterday, and Cricket and her brother and sister, along with their two stepbrothers, had spent the night at Arthur's sister's house. "Aunt Tildy," Cricket was supposed to call her now.

It was strange that Cricket had an aunt she hadn't had just the day before. It was even stranger that her own mother had suddenly become Mrs. Buckfort instead of Mrs. Merrivale, as if she were no longer a Merrivale at all. So much had changed in the last twenty-four hours, including her mother's last name.

Now the Merrivales and Buckforts were officially a family of seven.

It didn't seem real. Not yet.

Sitting on the bed across from hers, Cricket's sister, Flossie, was already dressed and shoving her tangled honey-colored hair under her favorite brown fedora. Flossie wore it anytime she saw adventure on the horizon, and Flossie always saw adventure on the horizon. The fedora had a real rattlesnake's skull perched on its brim, its open mouth revealing daunting fangs. She'd superglued it to the brim after a hard-won battle with their mother, who'd only agreed to the alarming adornment after she'd had the skull thoroughly examined by a local taxidermist to ensure it had been rendered venomless. (Although Flossie still loved to taunt unsuspecting gawkers by declaring that the skull could and would bite.)

Flossie had discovered the skull on one of her excavations in the hills behind Mil Robles Elementary School. According to her, those hills were chock-full of treasures. So far, she'd found a red-tailed hawk feather, a desert tortoise shell, five geodes, and-once-a coyote tooth. The snake skull was her best find yet, despite the fact that Principal Juárez had banished her from the hills afterward with stern warnings about tetanus and rabies. But banishment, as the Merrivales knew but Principal Juárez did not, never worked with Flossie.

"Get up, slug!" Flossie ordered now, yanking back Cricket's covers. "Before we miss whatever's happening."

Cricket scowled. How lovely it would be to stay in bed, daydreaming and writing under the covers. Why did Flossie's nose for adventure so often result in her own loss of sleep? Though tempted to ignore her sister, Cricket didn't want to be left out of the excitement, either. So she quickly dressed and slid her slender notebook into her back pocket. Maybe whatever was about to happen might provide some decent story ideas, at least.

Meanwhile, across the hall from the sisters' room, three more children had also heard the trombones' call.

Six-year-old Newt, the younger and more daring of the two Buckfort boys, was the first to respond. He leaped from the top bunk, despite having broken his foot in a poor dismount from said bed only the year before. He poked his head into the lower bunk, his mussed black curls springing around his face.

"Wake up!" He shook his brother, Darwin (or the blanket-covered lump he assumed was Darwin). "Dad's back."

The lump responded with a delighted bark. On further inspection, Newt discovered the lump was not Darwin. It was their hundred-pound gray-and-white sheepdog, who had a long-held belief that sharing beds with his humans was his inalienable right.

"Archimedes!" Newt scolded.

Archimedes gave him a drooly lick, then sprang off the bed in a flurry of fur and scrambling paws. He dashed for the door with Newt, pausing only to shove his cold, wet nose into Parker's ear along the way.

Not yet used to Archimedes's wake-up tactics, seven-year-old Parker Merrivale yelped in surprise.

"You're one slimy alarm clock." Parker giggled as he wiped his ear. Parker was the quietest of the children, which was fine by him. The less he said, the less chance he had of anyone not liking what he had to say. Being a man of mystery saved him from having to answer questions that made his hands sweat, like whether or not he'd eaten all his lima beans (not) or how he felt about Aunt Tildy's yodeling (thankful he'd only heard it once).

He'd never had a dog before, although he'd been asking for years. In the last twenty-four hours, he'd acquired a dog and two stepbrothers. While the jury was still out on Darwin and Newt, Archimedes was definitely a keeper.

Parker tumbled from bed and trailed after the dog, slipping on his fighter pilot helmet as he went. People asked him even fewer sweaty-hands questions when his helmet was on. Plus, he never knew when an intergalactic battle would be waged, and he wanted to be ready when it was.

He, Newt, and Archimedes burst from the bedroom into the hallway at the same moment Cricket and Flossie emerged from theirs. In the tumult of barking, elbowing, and chattering that ensued, no one noticed Darwin standing at the top of the stairs. That is, until Archimedes pounced on him, giving his glasses a good-morning slobber, then bounded by him, down the stairs, past a yawning Aunt Tildy, and out the open front door.

"How'd you get out here so fast?" Newt grumbled. It was no secret to the others that Newt always liked to be first for everything. When Darwin shrugged, Newt barreled down the stairs after the dog. "Dad must be outside," he called over his shoulder.

Darwin adjusted the smudged glasses on his freckled face with one hand while rubbing his worry stone with the other.

"The song," he said. "It's 'Ride of the Valkyries.' "

"What does that mean?" Cricket asked, troubled by Darwin's alarmed expression.

"It means there's mischief afoot," Aunt Tildy said from where she was standing in the foyer below. She winked at them, then raised her eyes to Maximus the Cat, who was lazily perched atop her tousled curls, batting at her neon-green glasses.

"Dad plays it to start every Buckfort Mission." Darwin rubbed his worry stone faster. "He played it right before he surprised us with Archimedes. And the time he took us hot-air ballooning."

"Oh," Cricket breathed in relief. "So, it's . . . good, then?"

"If you like surprises," Darwin answered glumly.

"I hate surprises," he added at the same moment Flossie cried, "I love surprises!"

Cricket didn't like surprises these days, either, but she kept quiet. It had been the worst sort of surprise when her parents had told her, Flossie, and Parker they were getting a divorce. Only it hadn't exactly been a surprise for Cricket. She'd heard her parents arguing late into many nights as her brother and sister slept. But Cricket hadn't liked seeing how surprised Parker and Flossie were. That hadn't seemed right or fair.

Parker hadn't said a word. Instead, he'd put on his pilot's helmet and refused to take it off for an entire week. Flossie had burst into tears and vowed to run away. (In fact, she had run away but only made it as far as the backyard tree fort, where she'd spent several hours before coming back, puffy-eyed but tight-lipped, in time for dinner.)

Now, though, eleven-year-old Flossie was dragging both Cricket and Darwin down the stairs, wild strands of hair escaping from her hat as she went. "A mission!" Flossie was saying. "I'll have to bring my metal detector, and my specimen jars-"

"Flo, we don't even know what's going on," Cricket countered, not wanting to see her sister disappointed if it ended up being a Let's-Clean-Out-Aunt-Tildy's-Garden-Shed sort of mission.

"Darwin said Arthur's back, which means Mom must be, too."

Cricket shook her head. "That doesn't make any sense. Mom and Arthur can't be here. They're supposed to be on their honeymoon."

"Oh, they're here all right." Aunt Tildy swatted Maximus's paw from her face with one hand while trying in vain to gulp coffee from her dragon-claw mug with the other. "What else could possibly spur us to rise at such an unholy hour? Early mornings make Maximus insufferable." Maximus yowled in response, then knocked her glasses from her face.

As Aunt Tildy grumblingly retrieved her glasses, Cricket stepped through the front door.

Her mother and Arthur, her brand-new stepfather, stood in the driveway, arm in arm, in front of the biggest motor home Cricket had ever seen.

"Surprise!" they shouted over the final notes of "Ride of the Valkyries."

Arthur swept his hand grandly before the RV, which took up the entire driveway. He was wearing one of his goofy science T-shirts. This one read You Matter. Until You Multiply Yourself by the Speed of Light. Then You Energy. Cricket might've rolled her eyes, but her eyes were too distracted with staring at the camper. "Behold . . . the Titan!" Arthur announced. "Our passport to fun and adventure."

"A house on wheels!" Newt stuck his head out of one of the motor home's cab windows. "And we're all going to live inside."

"We're not moving into that." Cricket glanced at her mother uneasily. "Are we?" With rust streaks trailing down its faded white-and-brown exterior and large dents in its siding, the Titan looked prehistoric and not at all roadworthy. But between Archimedes's barking and everyone's talking, no one heard her.

The plan had been for the entire family, Buckforts and Merrivales combined, to move in together after the wedding. Cricket had been sure they'd move into a real house. Not one on wheels. She'd even overheard her mother talking on the phone with someone about numbers of bedrooms and acreage. Maybe, she'd thought hopefully, it would be a house big enough for her to finally have her own room. She glanced at the motor home, her spirits sinking.

Newt's head vanished from the window, but his muffled voice could still be heard from inside the RV. "There's a kitchen and toilet . . . and beds that hang down from the ceiling."

"I'm copilot!" Parker hurried up the RV's stairs to join Newt.

"Probably full of bedbugs." Darwin eyed the Titan suspiciously.

"Can we drive to the Museum of Death first?" Flossie sank to her knees before her mother, hands clasped with dramatic flair. "Please? I've always longed to go. They have a three-headed chicken in a jar."

Mr. Buckfort chuckled, and he and Mrs. Merrivale-now-Buckfort shared a smile that made Cricket sad and happy all at once. Sad, because she couldn't remember ever seeing her mother and father share a smile like that when they'd still been married. Happy, because her mother had found someone she could smile like that with.

"A three-headed chicken is almost too fascinating and disgusting to resist," Arthur said to Flossie as he withdrew the protesting Newt from the motor home's depths. "But our familymoon should probably start on a sunnier, less death-centric note."

"Familymoon?" Cricket repeated.

Her mother nodded as Arthur said, "Gather round, isotroops! Time for a data debriefing."

"I bet we're the only kids in the universe who have a stepdad that talks like that," Flossie whispered to Cricket.

"He's definitely punnier now than when we first met him," Cricket admitted. She'd learned that Arthur, who was a physicist, firmly believed language was much more interesting whenever science was a part of it. The names he'd chosen for his sons and dog alone were proof of that. But his puns sometimes mystified her. "I know Arthur drew us that weird atomic diagram to try to explain it, but I still don't understand what isotopes are. Do you?"

Flossie shrugged. "Nope, but I'm going to find out."

This came as no surprise to Cricket. After all, Arthur worked in a laboratory conducting important experiments and Flossie was an experimenter, too. No one else in their family understood Flossie's love of dissecting owl pellets or inspecting dragonfly wings under a microscope. But since they'd met him, Arthur had proved to be a devoted supporter of Flossie's collection of curiosities.

"The floor's all yours, dearest wife of mine." Arthur nodded to her mom now.

"The two of us have been planning this for months," she explained, beaming at the children. "We wanted to surprise you. Instead of a honeymoon, we decided a familymoon would give us a chance to have some fun. You know, fuse us with some great forever glue."

Her mom clasped her hands together as Newt giggled and mumbled, "Crazy glue's more like it."

Darwin elbowed him.

"Now that it's summer," her mom continued, "we don't have hectic school schedules to worry about. The five of you can get to know each other even better before we all move in together. Arthur's coworker, Mr. Mitchell, was nice enough to lend us his RV. So . . ." She settled her bright green eyes on her husband's blue ones. "We're taking a road trip to Yellowstone National Park!"

"Road trip?" Cricket's heart sank to her toes. "When?" Sleepaway camp started on Monday, and she'd already arranged to be in the same cabin as her BFFs, Hazel and Shauna. There was no way her mom would make her miss her creative writing camp. Not when she looked forward to it all year. "For how long?"

"We'll be gone for three weeks," her mother said, a little too gently, as if she'd anticipated Cricket's disappointment. "I already told the director you'd be skipping camp this year. You can go again next summer." She squeezed Cricket's hand.

"But-"

"Just think of the writing fodder you'll have after this trip, Cricket," Arthur said.

Cricket swallowed thickly, unable to return his smile. She was still getting used to her stepdad calling her by her nickname. It wasn't easy, because her dad was the one who'd invented it. Whenever she wrote a lightning bolt sentence-the one-of-a-kind sort she was particularly proud of-she gave a little chirp of happiness. It wasn't something she did on purpose. In fact, most of the time she didn't realize she was doing it. When her dad had first noticed, he dubbed her "Cricket." The nickname stuck.

She knew it would be weird if she didn't let Arthur use her nickname. But a part of her worried that her dad would get mad, as if Arthur had stolen something from him. Though that would be even weirder, since everyone called her "Cricket." Still, that didn't stop her from thinking about it. It was one of many "weirds" that came with divorce, she supposed, and she'd just have to get used to it eventually.