Carol Kerney Books

Chapter 1 I was thinking about adventures as I pulled the house key from my backpack. In class today my teacher talked about how life is an adventure. And he said that good stories—like life—take us on wondrous adventures.

We never have any adventures.

“We” is my Dad, Dr. Carter Sanderson, who is an archaeologist, plus my sister Madeleine (Maddy), my sister Caroline (Cari), and me—Bettina Sanderson. I’m called Bett. We three girls are identical triplets. You heard me right—identical triplets. It’s totally crazy, but true.

It was September, school had started, and we were in our same old routine. And me—I think I’m the reason that we’re stuck in that old boring routine.

I have diabetes. I came down with it last year. Having diabetes means I have to eat healthy food and check my blood by pricking my finger several times a day. I always have to carry certain snacks with me. I also have to give myself shots several times a day.

I mostly try to ignore having diabetes, except when I can’t, like having to give myself a shot at every meal. It’s a nuisance, okay, and I don’t like fooling with all that stuff. Dad worries about me all the time, but I don’t like thinking about it. I haven’t had any problems so far, so why worry about it, right?

It was my day to fix dinner. We take turns cooking. Our mother died when we were little. Dad talks about her all the time, so we feel like we know her.

When I walked into the kitchen, I saw that Maddy and Cari had left their breakfast dishes on the table. Sighing, I rinsed them and popped them into the dishwasher.

I had made a casserole with leftover chicken, noodles, sour cream, mushrooms, and mushroom soup before I left for school. I set the casserole inside the microwave and started fresh green beans steaming.

Although we take turns cooking, I’m the one who does it if Maddy and Cari are busy with after-school activities. Face it, my sisters are superstars—Maddy is a superstar athlete and Cari is a superstar actress. I’m not a superstar. My only claim to fame is having diabetes.

The back door opened suddenly. I jumped, because I didn’t expect anyone home this early.

“Hey, Bett.” It was my Dad. He was pulling off his jacket and loosening his tie as he walked in. He plunked his briefcase on the kitchen table and smiled at me.

“Hi, Dad,” I said. “You’re home early.”

My father teaches archaeology at the local community college. He used to teach archaeology at the university. But his boss, Dr. Stevens, fired him during the summer. Dr. Stevens said Dad stole an ancient pot from the university’s archaeology museum. Dad didn’t do it. It was incredibly unfair, and I was still angry about it.

“I have news,” Dad said.

“What?” I asked.

“You can stop cooking,” he said. “I’m taking you girls out for a fancy dinner!”

“Isn’t that kind of—?” I started.

“Expensive?” Dad finished my sentence for me. Dad doesn’t talk about it much, but since he lost his job at the university, money has been really tight at our house. That’s why we do all our own cooking and cleaning and laundry and gardening now, when Dad used to hire people to come in and help us.

“Something happened today that means you can stop worrying so much about money,” said Dad. “You shouldn’t worry anyway. Worrying’s my job.”

He sat down at the kitchen table and grinned at me.

“What do you know about Lascaux?” he asked suddenly.

“Las who?” Maddy was suddenly there. She thundered in from the dining room and plopped her soccer ball on the table. It promptly rolled off, bounced a couple of times, and plunked into the dog’s water bowl. Water splashed on the floor.

Our dog, Pyramid, opened one eye and looked at the black and white ball in his bowl. He considered it for a minute, then closed his eyes and rolled over.

“Lascaux,” Dad repeated. “It’s in France.”

“It’s a site where Stone Age people painted their cave walls,” I said, grabbing a towel and sopping up the water from the floor.

Maddy rolled her eyes. She thinks I’m a junior archaeologist or something.

“Like cave men?” Maddy asked, as she grabbed a pear from the fruit bowl. She bit into it and wiped the juice that ran down her chin with her fingers. “Hunting saber-tooth tigers? That kind of thing?”

“They wore animal hides. That’s the same thing as leather. Very cool fashions.”

This comment came from my sister, Cari, who trotted in from the living room. “Dad, I want a leather jacket for Christmas. I saw one at the mall.”

“You are 12 years old which is too young for leather clothes,” Dad said. “I’ve told you before.”

“But it’s really nice, Dad. And warm. I would stay warm this winter.”

“We live in San Diego, California, Cari. It never gets really cold.”

I decided to get the conversation back on track.

“So what were you saying about Lascaux, Dad?” I asked.

Dad grinned, looking around at the three of us.

“We’re going to Lascaux, France.”