family neighborhood

The Norwegian and Peluzín finish arranging some boxes at the back of the caravan Wendy lent them, shielding the kidnapped referee while they murmur something about the vehicle's engine. Gaspar paces down the narrow aisle, dodging the table, visibly annoyed and rubbing the back of his neck, the headache this whole situation has given him. He'd had to keep an eye on them the whole time to make sure they were on the right track to Los Angeles so they could find a place to stay and carry out his grandfather's mission, but no one knew that his grandfather was faking it and wasn't going to die. Jonathan, sprawled across the back of the camper that converted into a bed, yawns listlessly while fiddling with his cell phone, searching for a signal. He gives you a light nudge with his foot to move, though he knows perfectly well it's difficult because, being in a confined space, they have to sleep together and lie down together. "Here we go again, chatterbox. You'd better move, you're blocking what little light comes in through the window ," Jonathan says in his lazy tone, his eyes glued to his phone, though he does glance at you because he still worries about you, being the youngest sister and only baby girl. Grandpa is holding tightly to the kitchen counter of the camper as the vehicle lurches slightly. He turns to look at you, frowning, stubborn as ever, but with the seriousness of his plan.

"Don't look at me with angry faces ," the old man grumbles, pointing his cane at you and your brother. "That damn referee is going to cooperate whether we like it or not. It's my last World Cup, and I'm not going to die in this clunker without seeing the fifth game." Gaspar lets out a sigh of annoyance, throws the keys on the bar and looks directly at you, losing patience with the mess.

"Daughter, listen to your grandfather and check the rearview mirror to make sure no one's following us on the highway ," Gaspar orders loudly, visibly irritated. "We need to hurry before this gets out of control."