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Bazarov on the freeway is plenty. You see all these new gray hairs?”
    â€œYou should see me on the I-10,” Alexei bragged.
    â€œNo, trust me,” her father said. “You want to keep your eyes closed. It’s better that way.”
    Her mom laughed. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go home!”

    As they pulled into the driveway, Anya noticed that everything looked exactly the same as she had left it. The mailbox was still painted bright blue with BAZAROV on it in yellow letters. The front yard still had a white picket fence around it, and her mother’s begonia bushes were in bloom.
    â€œWait till you see your room,” Alexei teased her. “I gave it an extreme home makeover.”
    â€œNo, you didn’t!” Anya shrieked. “Mom!”
    â€œHe’s kidding,” her father reassured her. “But I did give the kitchen a fresh coat of paint.”
    â€œWithout asking me?” her mom shouted. “No, you didn’t!”
    â€œKidding!” Anya’s dad and brother sang in unison.
    Anya pushed open the front door and bolted up the stairs to her bedroom. She held her breath as she turned the knob and opened the door. There was her pink canopy bed; her giant stuffed giraffe, Percy; and her autographed framed poster of prima ballerina Misty Copeland on the wall.
    â€œSee? Told ya I didn’t touch it,” Alexei said, peeking in. “Your smelly ballet shoes are still under the bed.”
    Anya lifted the comforter and peered underneath the bedframe. There—just where she had put them—were more than a dozen pair of beaten-up ballet slippers.
    â€œMy collection,” she sighed. “Thank goodness!” Each pair had a very special significance in Anya’s ballet career: they marked every first and last day of each level she’d been in. They were a symbol of her progress from primary to Level 6, and she loved to stand them next to each other and compare how much her feet had grown over the years.
    Anya flopped down in her white, fuzzy beanbag chair and kicked off her sneakers. “This feels so good,” she said, closing her eyes. “I missed this.”
    â€œI didn’t miss your snoring through the wall at night,” Alexei teased.
    â€œI don’t snore!” Anya insisted, tossing a throw pillow at her brother’s head.
    â€œDo to,” he said. “You sound like Dad’s lawn mower.”
    â€œWell, you’ll only have to suffer for a week,” she said.
    â€œI wish it was more,” Alexei said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It’s lonely around here with no one to pick on.”
    â€œYou could always drive Dad crazy,” Anya pointed out.
    Alexei shook his head. “Not the same. He doesn’t take the bait like you do.” He looked around the room and his eyes settled on the wall behind Anya’s head. Suddenly, his facewent pale. “Look out!” he shouted. “There’s a giant tarantula climbing up the wall!”
    â€œEEEK! Where?” Anya shrieked. She jumped out of her chair and grabbed her tennis racquet out of the closet. She sliced through the air, swinging it wildly. “I got it! I got it!”
    Alexei fell on the floor, laughing. “Oh, you got it all right!” he said, cracking up. “I got you!” He zoomed in on her face with his camera.
    Anya dropped the racquet to her side. “Seriously? There’s no spider?”
    â€œLike I said,” her brother smirked. “No one takes the bait like you, Anya.”
    It was almost reassuring to know that her brother could still pull her leg after all these months apart.
    â€œFine. You got me,” she admitted. “I’m still terrified of spiders.”
    â€œAww, you mean this little guy?” Alexei asked, pulling a tiny black insect out of his shorts pocket.
    â€œEEEK! Get it away from me! Get it away!” Anya screamed jumping up on the