Free Colonial Madness by Jo Whittemore

mock.” She waggled a finger at me. “Without electricity or books or you , this was the only thing I could find to entertain myself. I came up with two games. Roll the Yarnand Stare at the Yarn.” She bounced to her feet and smiled. “But now you’re back to tell me about your exciting date!” She nudged the yarn away with her toe.
    â€œHey, look at that,” I said. “Kick the Yarn. And my exciting date . . . wasn’t.”
    Mom grimaced. “He turned out to be a bore, huh?”
    â€œNo, he was fine,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Dylan was not.”
    â€œSay what now?” Mom raised her eyebrows.
    I told her about the evening, and Mom just shook her head.
    â€œOn the plus side, I have a cool new bracelet.” I held it up, and she smiled.
    â€œYour dad’s initials.” Mom leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “If only he could’ve seen the amazing creation you turned out to be.”
    She scooted off the bed and opened the trunk. “What nightgown do you want? Not-so-pretty in pink? Or garish gray?”
    â€œDepends.” I wrinkled my nose. “What makes it gray?”
    Mom lifted the gown and took a whiff. “Smells clean.”
    I took it from her warily. “I’ve seen you apply the same sniff test to clothes on your bedroom floor.”
    I switched into the nightgown but couldn’t quite jump into bed.
    â€œI can’t brush my teeth.” I ran my tongue over them. “And I really need to.”
    â€œRub them clean on your nightgown,” Mom said, demonstrating with the hem of hers.
    â€œGross! Stop it!” I smacked the cloth out of her hand. “You don’t know who died in that thing.”
    I picked up my modern-day street clothes and used my T-shirt instead. “So why didn’t you hang out with Aunt Zoe instead of the yarn?” I asked as I cleaned.
    Despite my warning, Mom put the nightgown back in her mouth. “They all went to bed early. Something about breakfast.”
    â€œUgh. Porridge,” I said. “Well, at least there’re no weird ingredients.”
    I draped my shirt over a towel rack in the bathroom and climbed into one side of the bed.
    â€œTomorrow’s our first official contest day,” I said. “Are you ready?”
    â€œSure,” said Mom, snuffing the candles around the room. “We can handle whatever they throw at us.”
    Except, as it turned out, waking up at the crack of dawn.
    It felt like my eyes had been closed for just a few seconds when someone banged on our door and threw it open.
    â€œWake up, lazy layabouts!” Eli boomed.
    I sucked in a sharp breath and scampered backward,disoriented, until I was against the wall. Mom continued to snore beside me.
    â€œWhat time is it?” I asked. The only light came from the hallway.
    â€œTime for you to be downstairs working!” Eli shot back. “Ten minutes or home you go.”
    He backed out of the room, slamming the door, and a moment later I heard him rousing someone else. I turned to Mom and shook her.
    â€œWake up! We have to move.”
    Mom shoved my face away and rolled over. “The roaches are more afraid of you than you are of them,” she mumbled.
    â€œMom!” I shook her again. “We’re not at home. We’re in Massachusetts.”
    She didn’t say anything.
    â€œMom.” I leaned closer. “Funk is downstairs.”
    Her eyes shot open. “What?” She threw back the bedsheets and sat up, wild haired. “He can’t see me in this gown that doubles as a toothbrush!”
    Mom jumped out of bed and promptly collided with something. She muttered a string of words that definitely weren’t colonial or ladylike.
    â€œMom!” I called out. “Funk’s not really here. I just wanted to wake you.”
    There was silence and then . . .
    â€œGeez, Tori!” she