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     I giggle and grin at Autumn. ‘At least a million,’ I say. ‘Maybe even a million and a half.’
     ‘Right, well they’ll all have to wait, because I need a hand with these,’ Mr Leonard says as he pulls the last of their cases out of the car.
     I stare at the pile of matching designer cases next to the Porsche.
     ‘How on earth did you get it all in?’ I ask.
     Autumn beams at me. ‘It’s the Tardis – didn’t you know?’ she says, her eyes glinting with mischievous delight. She spins round and waves her arms around her, making creepy time-machine noises.
     Mikey looks up for the first time. ‘The Tardis?’ he says. ‘Where?’
     Mrs Leonard strokes his cheek. ‘Your sister’s joking, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘It’s not a Tardis at all. It’s a Porsche. Otherwise known as a middle-aged man’s mid-life crisis.’
     Mikey screws his nose up and looks at his mum. ‘What’s that?’ he says. Autumn smiles affectionately at her brother. ‘Just boring grown-up stuff; nothing for us to worry about, kid,’ she says, ruffling his hair.
     Mikey shrugs off the ruffle and goes back to his game.
     ‘Kid brothers,’ she says with a dramatic sigh. ‘Don’t you just love them?’
      She’s joking, but I know she means it, really. Mikey brings out Autumn’s love and protectiveness like no one else can. I guess he’s to her what Craig is to me. We love them to death – but we wouldn’t tell them in a million years!
     Mikey’s eight. Two years older than Craig, so they’re not best friends or anything, but they hang out a bit when we’re here, which makes Craig feel very grown up. Although ‘hanging out’ might be a slight exaggeration. It’s generally a case of Mikey sitting around playing on his latest game and Craig being given the privilege of watching. Still, it works for them.
     ‘Right, come on,’ Dad says, reaching for my hand and pulling me away. ‘Let’s leave them to it. I’m sure the million and a half things can last till later. See you guys at Reception for the welcome meeting?’
     The welcome meeting is when the Riverside Village people tell us what activities are going to be on during the week. There’s a little cinema inside the reception block where they show a different film every night, and there are always loads of things going on each day, trips out and stuff. Everything from bird watching trips to hot air balloon rides.
     ‘Absolutely!’ Autumn’s parents say in unison.
     Autumn jumps to attention and salutes. ‘Aye, aye, cap’n, see you there,’ she says and blows me a kiss in the air as she runs off to help her parents with the bags.
     I can’t help wondering what crazy activity Autumn will rope me into at this year’s welcome meeting. She always tries to drag me off on some zany trip – and I usually end up going. I can’t imagine saying no to Autumn over anything. I think it’s got something to do with the gleam in her eyes, and the laughter on her face. You always know that if she suggests something, it’ll probably be half mad, half bad but 100% better than anything else – as long as you do it with her. She could make bricklaying seem exciting! Don’t ask me how; she just could.
     If it wasn’t for Autumn, I’d avoid any of the adventure trips. I prefer to visit museums with my mum. I know that sounds boring, but I don’t think it is. Museums open my mind and make my imagination run away with itself. All those old objects and strange artefacts make me think about all the people who existed and used them before me, and wonder what their lives were like.
     And Dad usually drags us out on at least two mammoth walks while we’re here. Walking is Dad’s big thing. That and writing. He’s – well, he’d say he’s a writer but that’s just because he’s been going to this creative writing class and the teacher told them they all have to call themselves writers. She says that’s the first step. Personally, I’d have thought the first step would be putting pen to paper, but that’s just my opinion.
      He’s really a maths teacher. Deputy head of maths at the same school that I go to! How embarrassing is that? Actually, Year Seven wasn’t too bad. I wasn’t in his set, and as long as I never get him as my form tutor, I don’t mind too much. Mum’s a counsellor at the university in the next town. She doesn’t talk much about her work because she has to virtually sign the official secrets act every time someone speaks to her.

***

Dad and I walk along beside the river. A great big swan and two fluffy brown cygnets are paddling in the water, swept along sideways by the rush of the current. It’s gushing past quicker than we could run.
     ‘River’s full,’ Dad says swinging my arm as we walk.
     ‘It’s in a hurry,’ I say.
     Dad stands back from me and stares for a second. ‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘I like it.’ Then he gets out his notebook and scribbles down what I said. You have to be careful around Dad. When he’s in one of his ‘creative’ moods, pretty much anything you say could get jotted down and saved up for the day he writes his bestselling novel.
     I say novel. What it really is, if we’re honest, is a notebook that he’s had for years, stuffed with scraps of paper and torn cigarette packet lids and napkins where he’s scribbled tiny half ideas and the odd line of poetry.
     He says that’s the mark of a real novelist, the fact that he carries this notebook around. I’ve tried telling him the mark of a real novelist is a real novel, but he just closes his eyes and smiles to himself in that way that means he knows the real truths about life and I’ll understand when I’m older.
     I write a bit too, but only in my diary. I’ve never shown it to anyone. I’d die before doing that, although I sometimes read bits out to Autumn. She always points out hidden meanings in what I’ve written, picking up on every little thing to tell me something about myself that I hadn’t noticed when I wrote it. She makes me sound much more interesting than I really am!
     Autumn doesn’t keep a diary. She wouldn’t have the patience. Everything she does has to involve moving about, preferably outside, even when it’s raining. She can’t bear to sit still. She goes rock climbing with her dad and goes to a weird dance class that a friend of her mum’s runs. She’s tried to get me to go to it with her but I can’t dance. I’ve tried it but I just freeze up. I turn so stiff I feel as though I’m wearing a suit of armour.
     You might be wondering what exactly we have in common. I do too, sometimes. But it’s as if we’re two different halves of one whole or something. I can talk to her about absolutely anything, and she’s the same with me. We never get bored of each other’s lives. We have to share everything – every last detail.

***

Dad and I stand watching the water foam and fight as it rushes to get under the bridge. A couple of lads in trainers and shorts climb on to the wall and we watch them prepare to jump into the swirling water.
     ‘I tell you,’ Dad says, shaking his head as the first boy splashes loudly into the water, ‘if either of you kids ever thinks about doing that─’
     ‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ I laugh. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it!’ We have the same conversation every year. How he even thinks I might consider it, I don’t know.
     ‘GERONIMO!’ Another splash as the next boy pounds into the river.
     I shudder as we move on, down to the weir. One year, we’d had a really hot summer and the weir had completely dried up. You could see a wall running across the river, only a tiny layer of water covering it up. Autumn skipped across it and dared me to do the same.
     I tried to say no, but like I said, Autumn doesn’t really do ‘no’. In the end, she held my hand and practically dragged me across. I clutched her hand so tightly she had red marks from my nails in her palm for a week.
     It felt amazing once we got to the other side, so I was glad she’d insisted – as I usually am. I’d never do something like that of my own accord though. Never in a million years. It’s not that I’m a complete wimp; just, well, it’s dangerous! It might look safe, but you never know what’s underneath or how slippy it is, or if the river will suddenly change and you’ll get washed away and knocked unconscious on the rocks below. Too risky by half, and the Green family doesn’t do risky. We like t gGenerous Milflatinlover Sk Interviews Php MILF Love Sex I was a teenage book geekz MILF Love Sex Private%20%B5%E7%D3%B0%C4%BF%C2%BC 9vvbb oGenerous Milflatinlover Sk Interviews Php MILF Love Sex I was a teenage book geekg j %C5%B7%C3%C0%D0%D4%B0%AE%C7%F8 1