"Hey, Linc," Lynn said.

"What?"

They were sitting next to one another in the back seat of the van. On the opposite side, Lisa gazed out at the passing countryside and muttered a litany of horrors that could befall them: "Fuel tank could explode, drunk driver could hit us, we could break down and be abducted by chainsaw wielding serial killers..."

"Wanna play a game?"

Lincoln was reading a comic book that he'd already read before. His cellphone lost service back in the foothills, and his DS was dead. "What game?" he asked.

"Auto attack."

Auto attack. Right. The one where she punched him in the arm every time she saw a car. Sure. Love to, sis. "No."

"Aw," Lynn moaned, "come on."

"No."

A few seconds later, a Mac truck blew by in the opposite lane, the wind displaced by its passage rocking the van.

Bam!

Four boney knuckles wailed his left arm, sending an electric bolt of pain into his head. Reacting, he shot his elbow out and caught Lynn in the chest. "Knock it off!" he yelled.

"You little shit," she growled, and socked his arm again, twice in rapid succession. That was it. He was sick and tired of getting wailed on by his sister. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head. She let out a yelp, and back-handed him in the face, one of her knuckles busting his lip: The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Suddenly, she was on top of him, slapping him in the head. He yelled, and, without thinking, punched her in the stomach. The air left her with a muffled umph.

"Lincoln and Lynn!" mom yelled, "cut it out!"

Lynn rolled off of him and dropped to the seat, holding her stomach.

"She started it!" Lincoln wailed. "She punched me in the air!"

"He pulled my air!" Lynn said breathlessly.

"I don't care who started it, I'm ending it."

Lincoln crossed his arms and sighed. Lynn was always slapping him around. Sure, she didn't mean anything by it (most of the time), but he didn't like it, especially since some of the other guys made fun of him for it, saying she was more of a man than he was. Lincoln had ten sisters. He loved them all dearly, but he was acutely aware of his own masculine failings. Most of the time it didn't bother him, but ever since he started puberty, it did; it was the testosterone flooding his system, maybe.

"This isn't over, Loud," Lynn snarled, fixing him with a deadly glare.

Lincoln mouthed fuck you, and Lynn shoved her middle finger into his face. He slapped her hand away, being sure to hook his fingers so that his nails slashed her skin.

"...Lincoln and Lynn could cause our father to momentarily divert his attention from the road, leading him to drive us off a bridge and into a body of water..."

"Shut up," Lincoln and Lynn both said in unison.

Lisa closed her mouth.

The atmosphere was tense in the van now. Lincoln heaved a heavy sigh and looked out the window. Tall pine trees pressed close to the narrow two-lane highway they were traveling along. After a mile, they parted, and a dry, rock-strewn riverbed curved up and away into the mountains.

Every summer, usually in the middle of July, dad shoved the family into the van and drove them two hours to Sloppy Top Campground on Lake Michigan for a weekend full of sunburn, mosquitos, spiders, pooping in the woods (or, worse, the campground's filthy public restrooms), and sweltering heat. None of the kids looked forward to these yearly excursions, though they all usually enjoyed themselves. This year, things were different: They weren't going to Sloppy Top...they were going into the tree-crowded mountains of the Upper Peninsula. Someone at dad's office knew someone who owned a huge parcel of land along the Ojibwa River, and said that if dad wanted, he could "Bring the kids on up" for "some real camping." Lincoln didn't know yet if this "real camping" was better than Sloppy Top or worse.

He turned, and caught Lynn staring at him, her eyes slitted and a small grin on her face. She looked wicked.

She forced herself to frown and looked away. She was mad at him, sure, but she was also kind of impressed. Lincoln didn't usually stand up for himself like that; he was kind of a pussy. This time around, though, he really let her have it. Her stomach still ached a little, and she was sure she'd have a bruise on her chest come tomorrow. The hair pulling was kind of girly, but she had to admit, it worked: When he yanked, tears filled her eyes and she almost yelled.

She liked it.

Thinking of her brother, she realized that he had been acting different lately. How, she couldn't say. He gave off a different vibe. She watched him from the corner of her eye, taking note of his arms. They weren't as...noodley as they were before; he was building muscle tone. His face was different too, not as soft, more...manly? That was entirely right, but it was close enough.

Eleven was a little young to be going through full-blown puberty, wasn't it? She didn't start until this past Spring: Hair was growing in strange places, her hormones raged, and she started taking special notice of boys.

That included her brother.

It wasn't that she was attracted to him. She was just...curious. What did a penis actually look like? How big was his (and other boys')?

A couple times over the summer, she tried to steal peeks at him when he was in the shower; once she caught a flash of the thing between his legs, but she whipped her head away and left the room. Her heart was racing and her stomach was rolling. She felt so dirty and ashamed that she couldn't look herself in the mirror for nearly a week.

If Lincoln was going through the same thing she was going through...did he ever look at her?

Yuck. Gross.

She took a deep breath and glanced out the window. Tall, wooded hills loomed over the highway. A station wagon with bags of luggage strapped to its roof passed by, heading down into the flatlands, closely followed by an ancient Ford pick-up. The van slowed, and suddenly they left the highway in favor of a narrow dirt road that wound through the forest.

Ten minutes later, they parked in a grassy clearing surrounded by trees and piled out. "It's beautiful," mom breathed, looking around.

"It's also muggy," Lori said, wiping sweat from her brow.

"And hot too," Leni added.

"I hate these dirty, grody camping trips," Lola whined, struggling with a pink suitcase.

"I like dirty and grody," Lana said.

"I already miss my guitar," Luna mourned.

Lincoln grabbed his bag from the back of the van and turned. Lynn shoulder-checked him and grabbed hers too. Ooooo, Lynn thought, if looks could kill, I'd be dead.

"Got something to say?" she asked.

Lincoln's nostrils flared, but he didn't reply. Instead, he turned and walked away.

"That's what I thought," Lynn called after him, and grinned. This was kind of fun.