Polka dots of itch ointment covered their bodies, and Skye’s upper lip was swollen. Jonathan sat fidgeting and signing with Tim at their cabin’s table. Skye was busy answering a zillion questions about all her spots while she helped the Five Ferns kids get their food and sit down. Her attitude was anything but cheerful. Frankly, she was tired of all the pointing, giggles, and stupid jokes. “Have you seen Mr. Wheaten?” she asked Morgan. “I’m so frustrated with Jonathan—I’ve gotta talk to the boss.” Morgan wheeled to her place at the Five Ferns table. “Nope, haven’t seen him yet. Oh—there he is—coming in now.” She pointed toward the door. Starting toward Mr. Wheaten, Skye yelled back to Morgan, “Looks like all our kids have their act together. I’ll be right back.” “Okay. We’re cool.” Skye weaved her way around several tables busy with clanging dishes and noisy chatter. Just as Mr. Wheaten made his way to the breakfast line, Skye joined him. “Sir, could I please speak to you sometime today?”
