The Better Seat

Every summer we drive to see my grandma in Reno. It's four hours in the car. My sister sits on the left, and I sit on the right.

We drive for one hour without a fight.

My sister looks at me. “My seat is better than your seat,” she says. She's six.

“No, it isn't,” I say.

“Yes, it is. I can see the trucks. You can only see the trees.”

My dad looks at us in the mirror. “I don't want your opinions,” he says. “I want quiet.”

We stop for gas. Then my dad says, “New plan. You two switch seats.”

Now I can see the trucks. My sister can only see the trees.

She's quiet for two minutes. Then she says, “My seat is better.”

“It's my old seat,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “It's better now.”