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Show 99 EIGHTEEN Parker swung out of the driveway, the lights of his dad's Continental carving a smooth arc across the neighbor's yard, and drove down the long hill toward the boulevard. He glanced at his watch. 7:40. He was late getting started for the airport. Cleaning the house after school had taken longer than he expected, but his mom would raise the center beam on the roof if she came home to his mess. If only his parents had left Hawaii on schedule! He hated passing up the slide show at Timberline after waiting for it all winter. The date, February 22, had been stuck on his bathroom mirror since Christmas. Now, thinking about it, he found he was also peeved at Mrs. Simpson. She'd made him announce the event to the whole class when she caught him studying the brochure instead of judging short stories for the literary magazine: her idea of slapping his hand. He wondered if Sanelli and Vandermeide were/there right now watching his climbing slides. Photographically, Fitz Roy in Patagonia was the ultimate. Oh well, Parker. Win a few, lose a few. Accommodation's the name of the game. Parker slipped over into the right lane to enter the freeway. He had to admit he'd be glad to see his folks, inept as he was on the domestic scene. He did okay cooking on a backpacking stove, but using the microwave was another matter. He chuckled. One night he'd petrified the chicken. Another he'd liquified a frozen souffle. His mom had her faults, but she was a super cook. Suddenly Parker caught himself laughing, thinking about what had happened at school that morning. Crazy Jan! He'd been complaining about cooking for himself, so she got the girls together and they had breakfast ready for him when he arrived for period one. Egg McMuffin, orange julius, coffee and a side of hash browns. The egg was rubbery and the potatoes looked like the pine chips he'd once used for bedding his hamsters, but he got it all down. He had to! They all sat there, laughing their heads off watching him. Parker ducked to peer through the windshield at a plane roaring overhead, its lights flashing. Was it a 747? It was United, all right. He felt a fluttering in his stomach, the way he always did seeing the big |