But it sure bothers Dad, who is a full-fledged neat freak. My father's socks are organized by color in his dresser. His shirts are hung exactly

one inch apart in his closet. His desk looks like a window display for office supplies and his car still smells new, even though it’s several years old.

At first Dawn and I tried to share a room, but we soon discovered that we were just too different. She listens to music when she does her homework; I like silence. Her idea of a late snack is an apple and a carton of yogurt. For me, it’s a plate full of Oreos and a tall glass of milk. When we finally set up separate rooms, life became much easier.

There have been a few other rough spots — such as when Dawn went back to California to live with her dad for awhile because she missed him so terribly. That was hard. We talked on the phone a lot (you should have seen the phone bills!), but it still wasn't the same as having her in the next room. Now Dawn is living with us again, and I'm thrilled. I don't even mind her weird granola toast and special oat-and-nuts cereal (I've even taken to eating it for breakfast myself).

In fact, when she appeared in the doorway that Saturday, half asleep and verging on being a grouch, I had already eaten a large bowl of the stuff hours earlier.

"Mojo," Dawn muttered, pushing her long blonde hair away from her face as she bent to fill her cereal bowl. "How come James got a

regular name, and Mojo was stuck with Mojo? That hardly seems fair."

"They'll be at the Bedford Zoo. We have to go and see them," I declared, putting the paper down. "Since it’s springtime, m bet lots of the animals are having babies. I can't wait to see them!"

Dawn was starting to wake up. She took a sip of the orange juice she'd poured herself. "That sounds like fun. Why don't we go today?"

I shook my head. "Can't. Logan's coming over and the three of us are going to a movie, downtown. Remember?" "How are we getting there?" "Bikes. You know that." I snapped my fingers in front of her bewildered face.