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I don't want to stay here. Please don't leave me here." Evan Ross tugged his mother's hand, trying to pull her away from the front stoop of the small, gray-shingled house. Mrs. Ross turned to him, an impatient frown on her face. "Evan -- you're twelve years old. Don't act like an infant," she said, freeing her hand from his grasp. "I hate when you say that!" Evan exclaimed angrily, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Softening her expression, she reached out and ran her hand tenderly through Evan's curly, carrot-colored hair. "And I hate when you do that!" he cried, backing away from her, nearly stumbling over a broken flagstone in the walk. "Don't touch my hair. I hate it!" "Okay, so you hate me," his mother said with a shrug. She climbed up the two steps and knocked on the front door. "You still have to stay here till I get back." "Why can't I come with you?" Evan demanded, keeping his arms crossed. "Just give me one good reason." "Your sneaker is untied," his mother replied. "So?" Evan replied unhappily. "I like 'em untied." "You'll trip," she warned. "Mom," Evan said, rolling his eyes in exasperation, "have you ever seen anyone trip over his sneakers because they were untied?" "Well, no," his mother admitted, a smile slowly forming on her pretty face. "You just want to change the subject," Evan said, not smiling back. "You're going to leave me here for weeks with a horrible old woman and --" "Evan- that's enough!" Mrs. Ross snapped, tossing back her straight blonde hair. "Kathryn is not a horrible old woman. She's your father's aunt. Your great-aunt. And she's --" "She's a total stranger," Evan cried. He knew he was losing control, but he didn't care. How could his mother do this to him? How could she leave him with some old lady he hadn't seen since he was two? What was he supposed to do here all by himself until his mother got back? "Evan, we've discussed this a thousand times," his mother said impatiently, pounding on his aunt's front door again. "This is a family emergency. I really expect you to cooperate a little better." Her next words were drowned out by Trigger, Evan's cocker spaniel, who stuck his tan head out of the back window of the rented car and began barking and howling. "Now he's giving me a hard time, too!" Mrs. Ross exclaimed. "Can I let him out?" Evan asked eagerly. "I guess you'd better," his mother replied. "Trigger's so old, we don't want him to have a heart attack in there. I just hope he doesn't terrify Kathryn." "I'm coming, Trigger!" Evan called. He jogged to the gravel driveway and pulled open the car door. With an excited yip, Trigger leapt out and began running in wide circles around Kathryn's small, rectangular front yard. "He doesn't look like he's twelve," Evan said, watching the dog run, and smiling for the first time that day. "See. You'll have Trigger for company," Mrs. Ross said, turning back to the front door. "I'll be back from Atlanta in no time. A couple of weeks at the most. I'm sure your dad and I can find a house in that time.

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