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buildings, factories and parking lots. “Where do they build hay forts?” he asked.
    â€œNo hay in Chicago,” Dad answered.
    Dana leaned forward to get a better view of a large school with a concrete playground next to the highway. “What do they feed the cows?” she asked.
    â€œNo cows,” Mom said.
    Tim tried to spot one thing that looked familiar as they passed a few more buildings, but it was hopeless. “What do they have?” he asked.
    â€œPeople. Lots and lots of people,” Mom said.
    â€œLittle girls, too?” Dana asked.
    â€œYes, lots of little girls, too,” Mom said.
    Tim stared out the window as the highway became more and more crowded with cars. “Poor Roxy must hate it here,” he said.
    Dad turned the family car onto a narrow road that wove between row after row of huge apartment buildings. “Almost there,” he said. Tim could see groups of kids on the grassy lawns between the buildings and saw a playground with mostly little kids playing on swings and monkey bars. None of them looked very excited, but they sure had nice clothes.
    Tim’s dad finally pulled the car up in front of one of the apartment buildings and stopped. Aunt Linda and Roxy came out of the entrance of the building, waving and smiling.
    â€œI missed you so much,” Roxy said, giving Tim a big hug. “We’re going to have a lot of fun.”
    â€œDoing what?” Tim asked.
    â€œMeeting my friends,” she said.
    She took Tim’s hand and pulled him into her apartment. The first order of business was giving the visitors food and drink. Then Tim went with Roxy to her room and they listened to some of her growing record collection—it was filled with music from the hottest rock-and-roll bands. One of bands was called “The Beatles” and they were from England. Tim didn’t know beetles could sing and play guitar.
    â€œWant to dance?” Roxy asked.
    â€œDance?” Tim asked.
    The scared look on Tim’s face must have given Roxy a clue that her cousin was drifting alone in an alien world, very much in need of help. “Never mind,” she said, realizing Tim felt out of place. “Hey! I need you to help me with something. Come on.”
    Roxy grabbed Tim’s hand again and pulled him out of the apartment and into the courtyard. Tim was very uncomfortable with Roxy’s actions, as he was always the one in charge whenever Roxy came to visit him on the farm.
    â€œSee those three boys over there?” she asked, pointing.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œThe tall one is always picking on me. Can you make him stop?”
    Tim instantly felt better knowing that Roxy needed him. “No problem,” he said.

    * * *

    Roxy had complete faith in Tim’s ability to defend her—he had protected her from 1,000-pound cattle, stray dogs, collapsing hay forts and electric fences. Tim had also been defending himself from bigger kids on the bus ride home from school almost daily for years. He could wrestle with the best of them. Farm kids didn’t fight with their fists, because they needed to keep their hands healthy to do chores. Trying to grip a shovel to move manure with banged-up knuckles was no fun at all. So they wrestled instead. That was the unspoken rule when farm boys fought.
    As Tim approached the group, he thought about what he was going to say to the tall boy. It’ll be okay. How tough could city kids be, anyway? He also thought about how to take him down with his favorite wrestling move.
    But Roxy was not one to leave things to chance. She sprinted past Tim and went up to the tall boy, punched him, and then took off running again. The stunned boy went after Roxy, but stopped when Tim stepped in front of him. “Leave her alone!” Tim said.
    Pow! Tim was flat on his back, nose bleeding, dazed, wondering what had hit him. Then the tall boy jumped on top of him, clenching his fist for another blow. Tim was