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sat on a big rock, his back ramrod stiff, as if the slightest movement might result in decapitation. With the big blue towel wrapped around him to his feet, Miguel looked as small as an eight-year-old. “Now, don’t move,” Ashley warned. “Don’t even breathe.”
    The haircut was not making Miguel especially happy, but maybe he felt he owed Ashley. Frowning in concentration, peering close, then standing back, she worked her way around Miguel, scissors winking in the bright sun. Snip, snip, snip, went the blades as bits of black hair fluttered to the ground. Bugs buzzed around, but Ashley ignored them, intent on her work. “OK…I think you’re done.”
    She surprised Jack. She did a reasonably good job on Miguel. “Not bad,” she cried, brushing his neck. “There, Jack. Now try to tell me I can’t cut hair.” Looking speculatively at her brother, she raised the scissors and took a step in his direction.
    â€œNot me!” he yelled, backing away from her. “Not ever! Forget it!”
    â€œOK, OK, I’ll just have to wait till you’re asleep,” she agreed cheerfully.
    â€œAshley!”
    â€œJust kidding. Let’s all go up to the picnic table and sit there while we figure out what to do. First I’ll get dressed, then I’ll get us some cans of soda—you want grape or orange or cola?”
    The way Ashley was taking charge was a little much, but if Miguel could take it, Jack guessed he could, too. After he’d changed out of his bathing suit, they settled themselves at the picnic table—Jack and Miguel on one side, like the troops; Ashley on the other, like the general. Jack thought, I don’t ever want to live in a world run by girls. But he kept quiet because he was curious to hear what Ashley was hatching in her little pea brain.
    â€œI’ve wanted to keep Miguel a secret because Mom and Dad will have to call Social Services, and the officers will take Miguel away and send him back to Mexico, like they did the other two times.”
    When Miguel heard the word Mexico, his face clouded. “No Mexico,” he told them.
    â€œBut how long can we keep a secret like this?”
    Â 
    Jack protested.
    â€œThat’s just it. Maybe we don’t need to keep Miguel a secret any longer because I’ve been thinking,” she announced. Obviously, while Jack and Miguel were in the creek, she’d been constructing a whole scenario of her own. “I’m figuring this: When Mom and Dad see Miguel, especially now that he looks so nice with that great haircut, they’ll think he’s cute.”
    â€œAnd your point is…?” Jack asked.
    â€œWell, you know how we take in foster kids?”
    Oh, wonderful, Jack thought. The one vacation we’ve had without a foster kid tagging along, and she wants to pick up one on the road. Out loud he said, “Ashley, that won’t work. No matter what you’re cooking up, he’s still an illegal alien. He can’t be a foster kid in the Social Services system if he’s illegal. They’ll have to send him back.”
    â€œBack? Nogales? No!” Miguel shook his head.
    â€œI don’t want Miguel as a foster kid,” she said impatiently. “This is my idea: We’ll adopt him! Then he’ll be a U.S. citizen. He couldn’t be sent away.”
    Jack sat in stunned silence.
    â€œListen, I’ve figured it all out. He’ll sleep in the extra bedroom in our house where the foster kids usually stay, and when school starts in the fall, he’ll go with me on the bus, because this year you’ll be in junior high, Jack, so we won’t be taking the same bus. I don’t suppose Miguel will be put in my grade until he learns to speak English better, but he’s smart, and I’ll help him learn, so I bet by the end of the year—”
    â€œAshley!” Jack yelled to stop her.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œYou