Mexico is so green and sunny. Well, I'm off to the beach (with my sunscreen, of course). Love, Kat P.S. Remember to think of me at exactly 4 PM. P.P.S. Remember to tell me EVERYTHING! *** Rain. Big, fat drops of pouring rain. But that wasn't the worst of it. Dad was sick—nasty, disgusting sick. When he wasn't rushing to the bathroom, he lay there moaning. If only Mom had paid more attention to my list. Reason number 16: Montezuma's revenge. I stretched across my bed, writing a postcard to Fiona. The picture of Playa del Carmen's white, white sand and blue, blue water looked nothing like the rainy gray day outside. "What are you writing about?" Barb asked. "Dad barfing?" "No, of course not." I lifted my pen and tapped my mouth. "I just don't want them to forget about me." Maybe they'd add one of my postcards to the mini-camp scrapbook. Fiona had kept a scrapbook of every mini-camp since the first one back in fourth grade. I hadn't been invited until last year, when Grace Williams went on vacation during mini-camp.
