“Honey, why don’t you look at all the amazing scenery out the window? Maybe you’ll see Hogwarts.” Ugh. I can tell by the smile on Mom’s face that she think she’s being cool.

“Shut up, Ug.” He is so lulzy and stuff. Leigh is my middle name. Get it? Ug-leigh?

Brad’s no prize either. My friend Kat says he’s hot, but he’s more of an Arm Pit than a Brad Pitt. My brother, the Arm Pit of humanity.

She says I’d better go to my room before she Avada Kedavra’s my face. Except she says “abracadaver,” but I get mad anyway.

“Mom!” I say. “The Killing Curse is not a joke!” I slam the door behind me, but it’s sort of pathetic because the door doesn’t latch. It bounces open again.

“What?” But really… for WHICH thing? Being a Neanderthal, being annoying, or telling me that the best thing about Harry Potter is that Emma Watson is hot? As if that’s a GOOD THING.

A girl with red hair brushes past me. Ginger. They call it ginger here, right? Like ginger ale and gingersnaps and my mom’s fantastic ginger chicken, all of which are brown. But the girl has Weasley-red hair, and so I mouth the word as I look at her. Ginger.

Just past her, I see him standing on the end of the dock. Him. Stepping straight out of every fantasy I’ve had since I first read Philospher’s Stone. Him. HIM.

Harry Potter is on my vacation.