Free Isle of Enchantment by Precious McKenzie, Becka Moore

Pack Your Bags

    My brother and I never stay home for long. Even though we’re both 12 years old, I bet we’ve slept in our own rooms, in our own beds, maybe ten or 15 times. Okay, maybe I over exaggerate a bit. We’re always bounding around the world, following our parents on their research trips. Our mom is a bird biologist. Our dad is a historian.
    Most of the time it’s pretty sweet. While Mom and Dad work, Tomas and I log onto our laptops and do our homeschool assignments even though we’re thousands of miles from home. Sometimes we go on field trips. Sometimes we help with the research. Sometimes we help with camp.
    Yeah, camp. For the research trips, we travel in groups with other professors and their families. We usually sleep in tents. Once in a while, we’re lucky enough to travel in motorhomes. Those are nice.They have full kitchens, an indoor shower, and real mattresses to sleep on instead of foam pads that go under a sleeping bag. Tomas says we look like a band of gypsies with laptops, binoculars, and specimen jars. But I don’t mind. I think kids my age are lame. I’d rather hang out with adults.
    Tonight, I’m doing laundry and packing my duffle bags for our next research trip. We’re heading to Puerto Rico so Mom can study the elusive Antillean crested hummingbird. Mom is really excited about this trip, especially since it is the middle of winter here in Chicago. She told us to toss our swimsuits and flip flops in our bags–we’re going to a tropical paradise.
    Dad, of course, doesn’t plan to spend much time on the beach. He wants to visit museums and soak up history. When he isn’t teaching, or reading, he’s in a museum archive. He loves museums so much he was even locked in one overnight because he didn’t hear the closing time announcement. The museum guard thought everyone was out and locked up for the night. And there’s Dad, reading about the Korean War, completely clueless. Itwas pretty embarrassing to read about him in the newspaper the next day.
    â€œYou don’t know, Marisol, that we won’t need long underwear,” Tomas whined in my face as we packed our bags.
    â€œTomas. Stop. Listen to yourself. We are going to the tropics, not Siberia.” My brother gets a little stressed whenever we pack for a place we’ve never been before. He likes to be prepared and plan for every little detail.
    Tomas pushed his round eyeglasses up his nose. He scratched his forehead. Even though we’re twins, we look nothing alike. Tomas is short and kind of round. His green eyes are alert and cautious. I’m tall and, as Aunt Bernadette says, athletic. Tomas’s dark hair is puffy and curly. Mine is dark and straight. Total opposites but we always have each other’s backs.
    Tomas ran his fingers through his curls. “Fine. How about jeans? A pair? Two?”
    â€œSure. In case we go out to eat or something.”
    We both giggled at the idea. We never went out to eat. The research camps were usually hours from civilization. We had to eat whatever was at camp: plain rice, peanut butter sandwiches, dried fruit and nuts.

    â€œI’m sneaking candy bars in my bag.” Tomas loved sweets and missed his American candy bars when we were in a jungle or desert somewhere.
    â€œDon’t do it. Mom will have a fit. She’ll accuse you of trying to attract bears or something,” I chuckled.
    â€œI don’t care. I am tired of canned beans and dried prunes.” Tomas didn’t usually challenge Mom and Dad’s rules but this time I think he meant it. “I am a growing boy. I need those calories.” Tomas stretched his arms and patted his belly.
    â€œFine. Pack those candy bars in your bags. Then, when a bear eats you alive, I will tell you I told you so.”
    â€œMarisol, how do you plan to tell me that you told me so if I am in a bear’s belly?”
    I tossed my bed pillow at