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know what, J.P.?"
    "What?" He stirred his ice cubes with a straw.
    "I've been thinking. You and I have always been enemies, right?"
    "Right."
    "At home we're always plotting rotten things to do to each other," Caroline pointed out.
    J.P. nodded. He grinned. "Like the time I hot-wired the coat hangers in your closet, so that every time you reached for something to wear, you got a shock."
    "Exactly," Caroline acknowledged, remembering the incident. "And then I hid a centerfold from
Playboy
inside your math book, so when you opened your book in class, Miss October popped out, and Mr. Jacobsen made you stay after school and explain—"
    "Yeah, that was really stupid, Caroline. I don't even
like
girls. The only thing I like in
Playboy
is the science fiction and the car stuff. Remember how I got even? I wired up that burglar alarm on your locker at school, so when you opened it to get your books out—"
    "Right. And then I—wait a minute, J.P. Let me tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking that in Des Moines, you and I shouldn't waste a lot of valuable time being enemies. We should maybe take a summer vacation from being enemies. We should team up."
    "What do you mean, team up? You're not going to try to get me to play baseball, Caroline—"
    "No, no," Caroline reassured him. "I just meant we should stick together. Because there will be
other
enemies in Des Moines."
    "Dad, for one," said J.P. gloomily. "If he calls me 'fella' just once—just
once—
"
    "And his wife. I can't remember her name. She wasn't so bad, but she's always on his side," Caroline said.
    "His wife's name is Lillian. Don't forget that I have a photographic memory, Caroline. Anything you want remembered, just ask me."
    "Their kid. That obnoxious little kid. He had some weird name—what was it?" Caroline asked. "Was it Butchie?"
    J.P. choked on the last piece of ice. He sputtered, laughing. "You can't remember the kid's name?"
    "No. Dutchy?"
    J.P. doubled over. "I'm not going to tell you. Wait till you find out, though. They'll be at the airport, and the kid will be there, and Dad will say something like, 'You remember our son—' and you wait, Caroline, you
see
if you can keep a straight face. I
dare
you to keep a straight face."
    Caroline sighed. "I'm pretty good at straight faces," she said. "Anyway, you see what I mean, J.P.? It's you and me against
them.
So I think we ought to call off our own war, just for the summer."
    "Détente," announced J.P.
    "What?"
    "You ought to pay more attention in school, Caroline," he said. "Or read the newspapers. When two countries that have been enemies decide to try being friends, it's called détente."
    "Like the United States and Russia?" Caroline asked.
    J.P. nodded. "We might as well try it," he said.
    "The Tate Détente," Caroline pronounced. "It sounds pretty impressive."
    "You want to shake hands?" her brother asked.
    She looked at him suspiciously. "You don't have your hands hot-wired, do you, so I'll get a shock?"
    J.P. exhibited his hands, palms up. "They took all my electronic equipment away, remember?"
    Caroline shook his hand solemnly. Then she giggled suddenly when she thought of something.
    "I have a toast," she said, and held up her empty ginger ale glass. J.P. tapped his glass against hers.
    "To us," Caroline announced. "To the United Tates of America!"

3
    "You won't be able to miss our car," Herbert Tate announced as he carried the two suitcases across the parking lot. The gleaming parked cars all shimmered in the bright sunlight. It was so hot that the asphalt was steaming, and the air seemed blurred in front of Caroline's eyes.
    Of course, she had a particular problem that might be affecting her eyes. She was still trying to keep a straight face. She had told J.P. that she was pretty good at straight faces. And she
was,
ordinarily. But this was an unusual situation. When her father had said, as Caroline and J.P. got off the plane, "You remember our son—" and then