“Biff gets all the breaks,” Ted complained. “Don’t see why I can’t go, too.”
“Because you’re too young, that’s why,” retorted his twin sister, Monica. “You’re just eleven.”
“You are, too,” the younger boy shot back. “Way you act, anybody’d think you were older’n me.”
“Your time will come, Ted,” Mr. Brewster said, acting as a peacemaker between his youngest children. “When you’re five years older, like Biff, the world will still be here. There’ll be plenty of chances for you to spread your wings and fly.”
“Right,” said Ted emphatically. “And I’ll go by rocket.”
“But what about me? I’m a girl,” Monica wailed.
“Yes, Tom. Answer that one,” Martha Brewster said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, Monica,” she continued, “we women will show these men a thing or two.”
“Like what?” the girl said, pouting.
“Like how fast you can get ready. Right now. We have to leave for the airport.”
As they drove into the busy terminal, Biff felt a lump in the pit of his stomach. First signs of homesickness, he thought. It had happened before. Biff always felt homesick at these last moments. But once he was under way, the feeling left him. Except sometimes late at night, just before he fell asleep.