We were only a few miles out of Stoneybrook when it started. Vanessa and I were riding in the front seat with Mrs. Pike, and the triplets were bouncing around in the back. The triplets, in case you don't know, are named Adam, Jordan, and Byron, and they are ten years old.

"Can we stop for donuts?" Adam yelled. "There's a place right up ahead."

"Certainly not," Mrs. Pike said. "We'll stop at Howard Johnson's at the halfway point like we always do."

"Oh, Mom . . ." Adam whined. "We're starving."

"Adam, don't be a pest. It's all for the best." Vanessa looked very pleased with herself.

Oh, no. Here we go, I thought. "Come on, Adam. You can hold out for another hour or so," I said encouragingly.

"That's right," Vanessa went on. "It's a very short ride, and you'll soon see the tide." Jordan stuck his fingers in his ears, but she ignored him. "A day at the beach is like a fresh peach. A trip to the shore leaves you begging for more. A drive to the ocean is like a . . ." she paused, temporarily stumped.

"Mom!" Byron screeched. "Make her stop that. She's driving me crazy!"

Mrs. Pike just smiled and shook her head. I should tell you that the Pikes have very liberal ideas about raising kids. (Totally opposite from my father's ideas.) The Pike kids are allowed to do pretty much what they want, within reason. They don't have to eat foods they don't like, and they can stay up as late as they want, as long as they're in bed. Mrs. Pike would never tell Vanessa to stop making up poems because she thinks that kids should be allowed to express themselves.

"Vanessa," I said gently, "you picked a bad time to make up a — "I nearly said "rhyme," but luckily I stopped myself.

"Make up a what?" she asked with a knowing smile.

"A ... a poem."

She shrugged. "But there's nothing to do." I braced myself for what was coming. "And you know that it's true."