"Mu-um, Callum has eaten all of the pancakes again," I said in exactly the kind of sing-song, petulant voice that I knew would annoy him the most.
"You said you didn't want the last one," he replied angrily, pointing to my plate which still had half an uneaten waffle on it.
"I never said I didn't want it," I argued back. "I said I
might
want it if I was still hungry."
"But you're obviously not still hungry, look at your plate."
"Kids," Mum said in a stressed voice. "We're supposed to be having a nice time on holiday."
"How am I supposed to have a nice time on holiday if Callum eats my pancakes?"
"How am I supposed to enjoy myself if Evie keeps whinging like a brat?"
I made a shocked face and Mum turned on Callum.
"Don't call your sister a brat. Evie, honey, you can have an extra pancake tomorrow morning. Callum, you can help me with the washing up while Dad sorts out the water."
Callum groaned. "I washed up last time."
"You should have thought of that before eating your sister's pancake."
"Now who's being a brat?" I said to him, grinning. He gave me the finger, but unfortunately Mum was looking the other way.
My breakfast finished, I set about relaxing while Mum made Callum help her with the dishes. The RV Dad had hired for our 'last ever proper family holiday' was gigantic, about three times the size of anything you'd be allowed to drive back in the UK. So I was able to hide myself away on the sofa, putting my bare feet up on the cushions and getting out a book, far away from Callum's wrath. I'd rather have gone on my phone, obviously, but Dad had completely banned phones from the holiday in favour of 'family bonding'. Look how that was going.
"Right, everyone, we're all set," Dad said, climbing back into the RV. "In an hour we should be pulling into Fayenneston, Minnesota!"
Nobody mustered much of a cheer. We'd been going more than ten days, touring around the Great Lakes region, but whilst I had pictured a US road trip to mean bright lights in Vegas or luxury relaxation in LA, Dad had opted for small-town charm and backwater attractions. 'The Real USA' he called it, but I don't know what he would know about it, since he'd spent his entire life living in Bedford. He was just one of those people who could be enthusiastic for anything, no matter how mundane.
"Don't all jump up at once," he muttered, getting into the driver's seat.
"We're done with the dishes," Mum announced, and Callum raced off to the back of the RV immediately, as far away from me as he could get. He wasn't a reader; I didn't think he'd brought a single book with him. His real love was playing rugby, which he did for his university first team, but when he couldn't do that (like when he was touring around a country which had barely heard of it), he just played computer games on his handheld PC thingy. I thought that was childish and had told him so several times.
"Fayenneston is home to the US National Museum of the Self-Propelled Crop Sprayer," Dad said proudly, pulling out of the campsite now that Mum was safely seated. "It was invented in Minnesota."
"Sounds really interesting," Mum said bravely. I knew she wasn't interested in self-whatever museums, but she did love Dad and liked going along with his whims.
"Count me out," I said flatly. "I'll stay in the RV and read."
"Suit yourself," Dad said. He'd long since stopped battling with Callum and I about what we did and didn't do. "We could do with a few more supplies, though, so either you or Callum will need to go into town to buy them."
"Bagsy not me." Callum would have his headphones on for gaming so he wouldn't hear until later.
"You can both go," Mum said firmly. "Last time we sent Callum on his own he forgot half the things we needed."
I sighed. "Fine. But you know, he's twenty-one and he manages fine when he's at uni. He's just pretending he's useless so you won't ask him to do things."
"Evie, you're almost nineteen and manage fine when you're at uni," Mum added, so I went back to my book, pretending I hadn't heard her. That was the reason for the holiday: Callum had already got a job lined up for the summer now he'd graduated, so from then onwards we might not all be free at the same time. I thought I was too old for family holidays with my parents and brother, but this one had been compulsory. I couldn't wait for two years' time when I could graduate and live completely independently.
The truth was, Callum really wasn't that bad. It was just fun to wind him up and set him going, and both of us needed a bit more space than afforded by the RV, where we basically all slept in one room. Once Dad had pulled up in the car park of the museum and Mum had given us some cash and a shopping list, we were on our own. And in the warm spring sunshine Callum didn't feel so much like an annoying older brother. I was pleased I'd opted for a t-shirt and jean shorts, because it was almost getting hot.
"I say we buy everything as cheap as possible, dump it back here, then spend the rest of the money," he said, counting the notes. "There's got to be somewhere fun to hang out even in a town like this."
We'd seen enough 'small towns' on the trip to know that they were broadly the same, with similar shops and coffee places. I would be completely happy drinking coffee all morning and watching the locals doing their shopping, moving their cars twenty yards down the road to go into another shop instead of just walking.
"Works for me," I told him.
"If you can stop being a brat for long enough."
I knew he'd still got an insult in there somewhere. He didn't like it when he didn't get the last word.
"It's you that's the brat," I replied sweetly.
"Why don't you just go back to the RV and read your book? I don't need this hassle."
"I would, but Mum is making me go with you because you're too stupid to follow a shopping list."
He looked over at me. Callum had inherited Dad's genes: tall, dark hair, athletic. On the other hand, I was more like Mum: petite, blonde and perky. We were so different that people had a hard time telling that we were related, although there were a few similarities when you looked closely. For fun I sometimes wondered what it would be like if we'd had the opposite genes: I could be a fast rugby player on the women's team, and he would probably be a gaming geek or something.
"American shops are confusing. They call everything something different to what we call it," he explained. "What the hell is 'cake flour'?"
"Probably the flour you use to make cakes, dumbarse."
"How would I know what that was? I don't fuck about in the kitchen making prissy little cakes like you do."
"Why do you think I make cakes? I haven't made a cake since I was about nine."
"I don't know, it's a girl thing, isn't it?"
"So now you're being sexist. Awesome work, Callum."
"Fuck off, Evie."
Did I say Callum didn't feel so annoying out of the RV? Clearly I was wrong.
When we'd walked the quarter of a mile into town and found somewhere to cross the road, the place was weirdly busy. There were cars parked everywhere and big banners draped between buildings, and you could hear a marching band or something playing in the distance.
"'June Jarl Festival'," Callum read off a banner. "What the hell's this?"
I spotted a flyer advertising it and went over to look at it. "'Celebrate our town, June 1st, with a festival of all things Minnesota. Bring your Viking spirit. Food and drink stands, prizes to be won.'"
