"Jessica, stop being so snoopy!"
     I jerked back from my bedroom window, gritting my teeth. Sometimes I felt like telling my pesky ten-year-old sister that she was the snoopy one. Couldn’t I do as I pleased without Angie always poking her nose into my room? "Be quiet, Angie. Who says I can’t look out my window?" I gave my feathered cut brown hair a shake and pulled back the curtain a little farther.
     My gaze riveted on the new family that’d arrived across the street. A big yellow moving van was parked in front of their slate-colored Victorian house, commonly known as the old Schrader place. Several people were dashing in and out, carrying crates and cardboard boxes. Behind the van, someone had parked a white Mercedes with a California license plate. Next to it stood a midnight blue Porsche. "Snoopy, snoopy, snoopy. That’s what you are," Angie persisted in her high pitched voice. "What if they see you spying on them?"
     "So what?" I couldn’t help thinking she was more annoying than the buzzing, half-dead fly caught between my window and the screen. I picked the fly up inside a wad of Kleenex, opened the screen, and shook him outside. Wouldn’t it be great if you could get rid of little sisters just as easily? "Hey, Angie, Mom’s calling you."
     She stuck out her tongue. "Don’t lie to me, Jessie! Mom’s still at the library. She working later than usual today."
     I flashed her an evil glare, hoping she’d get the message and take off. Just because she got straight A’s and was the smartest kid in Mr. Alexander’s fifth grade class didn’t excuse her from being a smart aleck. I could run my life without her expert advise.
     No luck. Angie carelessly brushed my side, then plopped down on my yellow-quilted bedspread, crossed her legs and stared at the ceiling.
     I did my best to ignore her. Looking again across the street, I shaded my eyes against the October sun. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light streaming through my window.
     A guy with sandy blond hair appeared from the neighbor’s garage. Toting a skateboard under one arm, he wore black sweats and a red T-shirt emblazoned with a jumble of brightly colored designs.
     The guy strode to the driveway. With a toss of his head, he then hopped onto the skateboard. Wheels clacked against pavement as he roared down the incline, zigzagged up the neighboring driveway, twisted and shot back down onto the sidewalk. There he jumped over two cardboard boxes and landed in perfect control. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was gorgeous—and practically a pro skater!
     Angie started chanting some dumb song about a bear in tennis shoes she’d learned at camp last summer. I knew she was doing it to irritate me, but I refused to let it. I was determined to keep watching that gorgeous guy
     across the street.
     Board in hand, he emerged from the shadow of the maple tree two houses down from his. I squinted, trying to make-out the designs on his shirt. Something to do with skateboarding, no doubt.
     What I wouldn’t give for him to look up here and notice me. Or better yet, meet me face to face. 
     Yet the idea of that really happening filled me with panic. What would I say? What would I do?
     Suddenly the thought of facing him seemed more nerve- wracking than the day last year in school when I had to speak in front of the entire student body. I was running for freshman class secretary and almost threw up in the girls’ locker room while I was waiting for my turn. After an experience like that, I couldn’t understand why my father, a dentist, had ever decided to run for mayor of Preston. My attention shifted back to the boy with the skateboard and I got a strange quivery feeling inside. I knew it was time to get my act together. Leaving Angie singing louder than ever, I raced downstairs, headed for the utility room, and grabbed a bucket and sponge out of the closet. It was a golden, Indian summer afternoon— perfect for washing the car!
     My hands tingled from the icy water that blasted from the hose and the wet driveway felt rough beneath my bare feet. Sunshine warmed my back.
     As I was soaping down the hood of the car, I kept looking across the street. A man dressed in blue and white pin-striped coveralls poked his head out of the van and called to the boy with the skateboard. The boy dropped the board, climbed up into the truck, and started helping the man tug an oversized couch off the back.
     It didn’t appear things were going too well. The sheet, partially draped over the couch, kept getting caught underneath it. They had to stop every few minutes to yank the sheet free.
     I guessed they must be father and son. The man called the skater Cam.
     Cam...I repeated the name softly to myself over and over. It had a nice clear ring, a lot like the ring of his voice when I’d heard him and his dad talking.
     "Oh there you are!"
     I whirled around to see Angie swinging another bucket in her hand. "Can I help? You promised Mom you’d be nice to me."
     I fought back angry words. "I don’t need any help, Angie. Go find someone to play with..." I turned my back to her and continued washing the car, pretending she wasn’t there. I simply didn’t want her around when I made my fantastic debut to Cam.
     To me, the typical guys at school had become boring. They were all wrapped up in their farmboy ways or stuck on acting preppy. There’d never be anyone in Preston worth dating, I’d told myself. I couldn’t help wondering if they’d included a job description for nuns in my careers survey class. But now? I glanced again across the street and my stomach fluttered. Now maybe things would be different.
     "Jessica!"
     My sister’s voice shattered my thoughts. I forced myself to ignore her. At last her footsteps thudded indignantly across the driveway and around to the back yard.
     As I yanked at the hose, I watched Cam out of the corner of my eye. In between snatches of conversation with his dad, he looked over at me and grinned. My pulse raced.
     The pounding of skateboards, mingled with the clattering of wheels, drew nearer. Three more skaters whizzed into the driveway at the old Schrader house. This guy works fast, I thought. Already he’s made new friends! Maybe there was hope for me.
     "Jessie!" My sister’s voice came from my upstairs bedroom window. What was she doing in my room again?
     "Jessie! Megan’s on the phone."
     This time I couldn’t ignore her. Reluctantly I flicked soap suds off my hands and dashed inside the house.
     "What’s going on?" my best friend asked after I’d picked up the receiver.
     "I’m washing the car and watching the new neighbors move in." I wasn’t sure whether I was ready to tell her about the cool guy yet. Megan had flowing blonde hair that looked like corn silk and her figure was terrific. All she had to do was flash her round blue eyes a time or two and any boy she wanted would be clamoring at her front door. The last thing I needed was competition.
     "Want to go with Mom and me to the mall tomorrow?" she asked. "The stores are celebrating Super Sale Sunday. I’m going to look for a sweater to go with my new khaki pants."
     "Sounds terrific." I twisted the phone cord around my hand, stalling for time. If only there was some way I could get out of helping my family distribute campaign flyers, but I knew there wasn’t. Dad said he depended on me. "I’m afraid I can’t go with you," I added. "There’s only a little over two weeks left to get out all of my father’s campaign stuff."
     "Again? You’re always helping with the campaign." She let out an audible sigh. "I’ll be glad when the election’s over."
     "Me too. Especially me. Consider yourself lucky you don’t have a father in politics."
     "I do, I do." She paused. "What are your new neighbors like?"
     I glanced back out the window. "Umm...well... interesting."
     "Interesting! Is that all you have to say? Interesting?"
     Giggling into the receiver, I answered, "Yeah, that’s all I’m saying for now." I liked keeping Megan in suspense.
     We talked a while about the weird new teacher in Sophomore English who’d taken over for Mrs. Craxton after she’d left to have her baby and what a big zero the homecoming dance had turned out to be. But what could you expect from a backwards little school like ours?
     Gravel crunched outside. I glanced out my bedroom window and saw Mom turn our van sharply into the driveway. I gulped, realizing I’d left the bucket, sponge, and a pile of polishing rags directly in her path.
     I told Megan good-bye and bounded back down the stairs. Outside in the driveway, my mother had already stopped the van, a perturbed look crossing her face.
     "Hold on! I got it!" I scooped up the bucket. By now the sun had dried the soap suds onto the car’s black paint job, and I knew I’d have to start all over. Oh well! At least it gave me an excuse to still be out in the front yard.
     I peered over at the slate-colored house again, but everyone had gone inside. So far, my plan to get Cam to see me wasn’t working too well. I’d have to think of something better...
     That night after I’d stuck the last utensil into the dishwasher, it came to me. Why not get started passing out Dad’s flyers right away? Who said we’d have to wait? Besides, Mom and Dad had made plans to take Angie to a movie, so I’d finally be on my own. I was certain I could cover at least six square blocks before it got too late, and of course, my main target would be Cam’s house!
     I shared my plan with my mother as she folded sheets in the laundry room near the front of the house. Of course, I didn’t say anything about my real intentions. Mom would never understand.
     "Good idea, Jessie." Mom beamed at me as if she couldn’t believe my sudden enthusiasm, then went back to stacking the laundry. "The earlier we get started the better," she added.
     "Right," I agreed. "Projects like this take organization. I’ll start tonight by covering the streets between our house and the highway."
     She looked appropriately impressed. At first I thought she might object to me being out alone at night, but she didn’t. In a small town like ours, everyone knows everyone, so I guess that’s what she was thinking too.
     "I see the new neighbors moved in today," Mom commented matter-of-factly. "I should take over one of my pineapple upside down cakes." She shook out a towel and closed the clothes dryer door with a thud.
     "Hmmm. Guess so." I tried to sound noncommittal, but the clatter of skateboards, drifting in through the opened window, caused my voice to squeak. I wasn’t in the mood for anymore lectures about the evils of skateboarding. Mom and Dad were really into keeping our town the quiet, dull place it’d always been, and as a lot of the people in Preston saw it, skaters were nothing but big trouble.
     I think the biggest civic event last year was when the census takers got to change the four-digit population figure to a five-digit one. Luckily, we lived only forty miles west of a real city, Portland. As far as I was concerned, it was forty miles too-far-away.
     My mother’s voice rose. "I understand city council has officially banned skateboarding downtown." 
     Inwardly I groaned. Maybe the sound of the skaters had gotten her started, but she didn’t seem as if she’d heard them.
     "Too bad the city can’t build a skate park somewhere," I said. "At least it’d give the kids a place to go."
     Mom shook her head determinedly. "We don’t need skateboarders anywhere in Preston."
     "Oh, Mom." I sighed. "It really isn’t all that bad!" I remembered seeing at school a sticker slapped across one of the skater’s notebooks: "Skateboarding is not a Crime."
     "I might not have thought so at one time," she said with a new edge in her voice. "But ever since poor old Mrs. Winthry was knocked down and injured by a skateboarder in front of Phillips Department Store, I’ve changed my mind. I’m glad this town is finally beginning to take a stand. We can’t allow such carelessness to continue. And mark my words, if your dad is elected to office, he’ll see the new law’s enforced."
     "It could’ve been an accident," I reminded her. I refused to believe that any skaters would try to hurt a senior citizen on purpose.
     "Well what about those skaters who’ve been darting out in front of cars?" she continued. "I’m sure that wasn’t an accident! Skateboarders have no business cluttering our town. They’re nothing but a liability."
     As she ranted on, anger rose inside me. Somehow it didn’t seem fair. Take Cam, for instance. He impressed me as being a really nice guy. I hated it when my parents made judgements.
     Mom changed the subject and relief swept over me—but not for long. "I hope you don’t mind taking Angie out with you tonight," she said.
     "Angie!" I shrieked. "Why do I have to drag her along? I thought you were taking her to a movie."
     "Plans have changed. Ellie McFarlan invited Angie over tomorrow afternoon for a birthday party and they’re going to see the show then. In the meantime, Dad and I promised the Murrays we’d come over to play bridge."
     "Oh, all right. I’ll take Angie with me." I shrugged. Why did my little sister always have to mess up my life?
     I gazed down at the stack of boxes Mom had brought home from the printers. Dad must’ve been planning to pass out flyers to our town’s entire five digit population figure, whether they were voting age or not!
     I was tempted to stamp some of the flyers with my favorite butterfly stamp, the one I used whenever I signed my name. Though I knew Dad would kill me if I did, the idea became increasing appealing. To me, butterflies symbolized freedom and adventure. Some day—the sooner, the better—I’d break free of my "Preston" cocoon. I’d lift my wings to the beckoning sun and explore the exciting new worlds that were now beyond my reach.
     Hurriedly I retrieved my stamp and rose-colored ink pad from my room, stamped the top two flyers and then stuffed a bunch more into my book bag. I tried to think optimistically about the task ahead. Maybe it would go faster than I expected.
     Soon my sister and I were trudging out the door, our practiced smiles plastered to our faces. A huge orange moon inched higher into the purple night sky and the smell of the recently harvested hay in the field across the highway wafted our way.
     "Where’re we going first?" Angie wanted to know, charging ahead of me.
     "We’ll start with the houses on our side of the street," I told her. I figured it’d be a good way to ease into things. At least the two families next door knew us the best and if I said something stupid, it wouldn’t matter much.
     "Can I talk to the people? Ple-a-s-e Jessie!" Angie dropped a flyer, then ducked down to retrieve it.
     "Wait till you hear me do it a few times." I marvelled at the patience oozing from my voice. Already Cam’s presence in the neighborhood was doing strange things to me. "Now don’t forget to smile and look the people directly in the eye," I went on. "The worst thing we can do for Dad’s campaign is act like wimps."
     To my relief, the first several stops went pretty well. Even crabby old Mr. Weinstein took one of the flyers and managed to squeeze out a hint of a smile.
     As we moved from one house to the next, I noticed through lace curtained windows, the glow of warm lights and families moving about inside. I had to admit during fleeting moments like that, Preston didn’t seem so bad.
     The sight of a brick house with a campaign poster staked on the front lawn stopped me in my tracks. Harry Kappleton for Mayor, it read. The streetlight above our heads made the white lettering stand out all-the-more. I hesitated.
     "What’s the matter?" Angie piped up.
     "Those people are voting for Dad’s opponent," I explained. "Maybe we should just skip—"
     "No!" Angie protested before I could even get the words out. "We’re going to all the houses." I had to admit, for once my sister had a point. Squaring my shoulders, I led the way past a well-trimmed hedge up to the front door. Moths flittered about the dim porch light.
     I let Angie ring the door bell, but no one answered. She rang it again. Then we heard heavy footsteps on the other side of the door and a man with tousled hair and a wrinkled plaid shirt answered. I recognized him immediately: Harry Crosham from the Village Hardware.
     "What do you want?" he demanded crossly.
     Angie shrank back a little, but I held my ground.
     "Uh...er...good evening, Mr. Crosham." Haltingly I began my usual speech, but all the time I was thinking about not acting like a wimp. Unfortunately at the moment, my advice wasn’t doing much good.
     Mr. Crosham soon cut me off. "Didn’t you read the sign out front! Kappleton’s getting my vote. Now scram, you two. Can’t an old man ever have any peace and quiet these days?"
     Hurriedly we turned back onto the sidewalk.
     "I didn’t like that man," Angie said under her breath.
     "Me either." Then a horrible thought struck me. What if Cam’s family was equally rude? What if his mom or dad told us to take off too? It was enough to make me want to change my mind about going over there.
     In minutes the old Schrader place loomed before us. A chill coursed down my back. Was it from the brisk autumn air or was I really going to chicken out?
     The moving van was no longer parked in the driveway and the front yard appeared empty compared to the frenzied activity a few hours earlier. Even the Mercedes and the Porsche were gone. Near the side of the house, not far from the hedge, I thought I saw something move, but it was too dark to be sure. That’s the new neighbors you were spying on!" Angie pointed a chubby finger at the house.
     "Shh!" I clapped my hand over her mouth. "Watch it, will you? You know perfectly well I wasn’t spying. We’ve been over that already."
     "Why should I shut up?" Angie whined.
     "I never told you to shut up. I said—"
     "Hi. Selling Girl Scout cookies or something?" A guy’s voice sounded from behind.
     It had to be Cam....