Chapter One

Two hundred miles or two thousand miles or all the way to Mars. What difference did it make? Tomorrow morning, Ruthie Reynolds' mother was getting on an airplane and flying away.

Ruthie sat cross-legged on her mother's bed and watched as she packed. Pants were neatly folded at the crease and lowered gently into the bottom of the suitcase. Shorts came next, then the long skirt with the red and orange stripes that was Ruthie's favorite. Socks were rolled and carefully placed in a little plastic bag. Sandals and sneakers went into another bag. “Roll things, Ruthie,” her mother instructed. “Then they won't wrinkle. Just because you're traveling, that's no excuse for wearing wrinkled clothing. Get me my travel bag, will you?”

Ruthie ran to the bathroom. There was the blue cosmetics bag with the gold stars that held her mother's travel supplies: Q-tips, the little orange toothbrush in its container, the collapsible cup Ruthie wasn't allowed to play with because she broke one once, a lipstick, a nail file, moisturizer, foundation, lavender shampoo, lavender conditioner, and sun block. The bag was always restocked after each trip. Ruthie used to imagine the bag had to be ready because her mother was a spy and never knew when she might have to leave in the middle of the night.

Her mother's silver bracelets clinked as she took the bag from Ruthie. “Thank you, Ruthie,” she said.

“Take me with you. Please,” Ruthie said. “It'll be educational.”

“I can't, Sweet Pea. It's work. Someday soon I will. When you're a little bit older.”

“But why didn't you tell me you were going?”

Ruthie's mother squeezed a drop of moisturizer into the palm of her hand and rubbed. “I didn't know myself until last week, Ruthie. If I'd known, I would have told you. This trip took shape very suddenly.” Ruthie's mother was a professor. Last year, she went to Peru for six weeks to study ancient footwear and missed Ruthie's ninth birthday. Now she was going to Mexico to learn about Aztec wedding rituals. Ruthie pictured her bureau crowded with trinkets from her mother's other trips. There was a ceramic mermaid from Ecuador. A patchwork purse from Peru that turned into a rat when you twisted it inside out. An Indian doll with long black braids carrying a baby in a shawl called a rebozo. “I'll miss you so much.”

“Yeah.” Ruthie stood on the bed and hopped up and down. “Why can't you stay home like Ellie's mother?” she asked. Ellie Birnbaum was Ruthie's best friend, ever since preschool. Her mother came to every soccer game and sometimes brought snacks for the whole team. She also helped with special class projects, like last year's unit on community, when every kid in the third grade sewed a square for the community quilt.

Ruthie's mother put her hands on her hips, staring at the two jackets draped on a chair. She chose the beige-linen one. “I have obligations, Ruthie. And please sit down. That's bad for the mattress.”

“Take me with you,” Ruthie said. “I don't have any obligations.”

Ruthie's mother stepped closer and brushed Ruthie's bangs out of her face.

“Of course you do,” she said. “Who's going to feed Tiny if you leave?” Tiny was the box turtle in Mrs. Drury's classroom. Ruthie was the only person who volunteered to feed her a handful of squirming crickets every day, even though Sarah Torrey called her a murderer.

“And Miss Miniver would be so disappointed. She was thrilled when I called.”

“Miss Minivan!” Ruthie dropped to her knees and pleaded. “Not Miss Minivan! No!” Miss Minivan started taking care of Ruthie when she was in first grade. Ruthie hadn't been able to pronounce Miniver, so she had called her Miss Minivan instead, and the nickname stuck.

Of course, Miss Minivan was nice enough to Ruthie when Ruthie's father was around. Then she'd get all cozy on the couch and offer to read her any book she wanted, even if the chapters were really long. She'd also ask Ruthie to take Candy Land out of the closet, and while Ruthie was arranging the pieces, she'd reach into her brown purse with the cracked handle and take out a tin of dusty raspberry drops. Ruthie could eat as many as she wanted, even if she finished them.

But as soon as Ruthie's father left, Miss Minivan flicked on the TV and made Ruthie sit there, still as a statue, while she watched the Weather Channel. One time last year, Ruthie whispered that she didn't feel good, and Miss Minivan said “Shhh” until Ruthie finally threw up all over the gold chair. It was a good thing her father came home when he did, because otherwise Ruthie would probably have run away.

“Now stop being dramatic, Ruthie,” her mother said. “Miss Miniver is lovely and responsible and can use the extra income. Besides, somebody has to keep an eye on your father. Make sure he doesn't park the car on the lawn, or stock the house with nothing but Reese's Pieces.”

“I wouldn't mind that.”

“I bet you wouldn't,” her mother said. “Nonetheless, my dear” -- she wrapped her arms around Ruthie, and Ruthie could smell her moisturizer -- “this is where you need to be. Now close your eyes and hold out your hand,” she said in a singsongy voice. Ruthie did as she was told, even though somewhere, deep inside, she wished her mother wouldn't talk to her like she was still a baby.

“I saved something for you, for a special occasion. One, two, three, open!” She placed a little red pouch in the palm of Ruthie's hand. Ruthie unzipped the pouch, peered inside, and turned it upside down, and a tiny gold heart fell into her palm. “I got it last year. It's an amulet…