NANCY The suspense was starting to kill me. It was just barely after sunrise on the morning we were set to leave for LA, and my dad had just dropped me off in a small parking lot near the highway that led out of River City. Between words of advice (“Always have money for a cab, just in case” and “Don’t bet against the Russian gymnasts”), he adamantly refused to tell me why he was taking me… wherever it was we were going. For the last two weeks, the only thing that George, Bess, and I could talk about was our upcoming road trip. That’s right: road trip! Through a mixture of begging, pleading, and promising to do a million chores when we got back, we’d gotten our families to agree to let us drive on out to Los Angeles. Ever since I’d gotten my sky blue hybrid-electric car—nicknamed “Twinkle”—we’d been talking about taking a road trip somewhere, and this seemed like the perfect time. What could be more all-American than taking a road trip across the country out to see the Olympics?
