Saving Sky (6 page)

B
Y THE LIGHT OF TWO
battery-powered Coleman lanterns, plus the windups from the house, Luke pried the plywood panels off the left side wall of the feed room, exposing the studs and the plywood nailed to the other side, which lined Peanut's stall. Using leftover timber from the greenhouse project and some odd bits of wood from the garage, he built a sloppy but serviceable frame to support a new wall, about eighteen inches in from where the old one had been.

The feed room was ten feet square, two and a half plywood panels per wall. The half panel, attached to the corner stud with self-closing hinges, would serve as the entry door to the hiding place. There would have to be a handle on the inside, for pulling the door open, as well as a bolt for fastening it shut. But Luke couldn't attach
them with nails. The panels weren't thick enough; they'd go right through. So he glued one-inch wood blocks to the inner sides of the panels and nailed everything to them. It worked perfectly. And with the molding reattached to the wall and the ceiling—though not actually nailed to the smaller panel—the result was completely convincing. No one would ever believe, walking into that room, that it held a secret compartment.

“I want to try it!” Mouse said when they were finished.

“It's way past your bedtime,” Ana said.

Luke flashed a glance at her, then his eyes slid over in Kareem's direction. If Mouse went first, it might take some of the fear out of it. Make it fun. Make it a game.

“Please, please, please!” Mouse begged.

“Oh, all right. But be quick.”

Mouse pushed on the edge of the panel with both hands. It swung in only so far before it hit the other side of the wall.

“Hey,
gently
!” Luke said.

But she was already inside, the panel closing after her.

“Where's Mouse?” Sky said. “Omigosh, she's completely disappeared!”

“I'm in here!”

“I can't see her anywhere. She's gone!”

“I'm in
here
!”

“Oh, wow, I was really worried.”

“Daddy?”

“What, sweetie.”

“It's really dark.”

“No kidding. Hold on a minute, Mouse. Listen, everybody; I want you to be very quiet for a minute. Mouse, move around a little. No, not that much. Just like your legs are tired and you're getting restless. Shhhhh.”

They all stood in silence, listening to the soft rustle inside the wall.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What did it sound like?”

“Like a mouse in the house.” Luke pushed the door open. “Okay, come on out. Kareem needs to try it.”

“That's all right,” he said, taking a step back.

Mouse came scampering out, announcing that it was fun.

“I'm sorry, Kareem,” Ana said “I know this is creepy, especially at night; but I think it's better if you experience it now, when you know you're safe and surrounded by friends. If, God forbid, you really do have to hide in there, it shouldn't be for the first time. You'll know what to expect. Okay?”

“All right.” His voice was expressionless. He went over to the panel, pushed it open, and stepped in as Mouse had done.

“Wait,” Ana said. “Come back out.”

He did.

“Go in the other way. You want to be facing the feed room. I doubt there's enough space in there for you to turn around.”

“Why does it matter?” Sky asked.

“It'll be easier for him to slide the bolt in. And it's better psychologically. Whoever is searching—you don't want them behind you, you know?”

“It didn't bother
me
!”

“Well, you're extra brave, Mousie.”

Kareem turned around and slipped in again.

“Try locking it,” Luke said.

They heard a scraping sound.

“Okay. It's locked.”

“Now, Kareem,” Ana said, “try moving deeper into the space, till you come to a beam. That'll give you something to lean against if you get tired. It's probably not a good idea to lean on the panels.”

“Okay,” he said again.

“You need to be very still in there. The space isn't all that soundproof, as you just heard. So close your eyes and try to relax. Do you have a mantra?”

“I don't know what that is.”

“Meditation?”

Silence.

“Never mind. Just concentrate on something—list the states in alphabetical order, or count backward from a hundred. Try to make the world go away. Take long, slow breaths. When you breathe out, let your body completely relax—”

“I need to get out of here, Mrs. Brightman,” he said. “Now, please.”

 

Kareem was very quiet as they walked back to the house.

“You all right, Kareem?” Sky asked. She
did
keep asking him that question, didn't she?

“I guess.”

“Was it…what was it like in there?”

He turned toward her and stopped walking.

“Dark. Like your sister said.”

“Yeah.”

“And close. And cold.”

“Ah.”

“Like a grave.”

“I
HAVE A SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT
for you,” Mrs. Chavez said. “Any of you ever heard of the Land of Enchantment Essay Contest?”

A few hands went up.

“Well, it's a charming little blast from the past, a New Mexico tradition since the late forties, early fifties. Your
grandmother
may have written one of these things, back when she was in seventh grade. I certainly did. It was called the New Mexico Youth Essay Contest then. They changed it to Land of Enchantment later on.”

“What's the prize?” James wanted to know.

“It doesn't matter 'cause you're not going to win. So get that out of your heads right now. This is a
statewide contest
, guys, with thousands and
thousands
of entries. Besides, it's not about winning. Yes, Jason?”

“Then what
is
it about?”

The class giggled.

“It's about learning—about exploring an issue in depth, taking the time to
really
think it through, then exploring it some more by writing about it.”

“Can we do multimedia?”

“Yes. You can do anything you want, as long as there's a primary written component.”

She picked up a pile of papers from her desk and handed them to the first person in each row.

“These are the guidelines. Please pass them back so everybody has one.” She waited till the rustling of paper had died down, then continued. “This is supposed to be fun, okay? And in that spirit, everybody gets an A—as long as you turn something in, of course.”

Naturally this got a very warm response—clapping, and cheering, and plenty of smiles.

“See, I think by seventh grade you ought to be mature enough to give something your very best effort—not for a grade but for the simple pleasure of doing it well. Javier, that wasn't meant to be funny.”

Sky noticed that Gerald was writing something on a piece of notebook paper. Or maybe he was drawing; she couldn't tell which. He was covering it with his hand. Now and then he'd glance over at her and smirk.

“You have two topics to choose between: ‘What I Love
About My Country' and ‘What Is the Meaning of Courage?'. They're a bit broad, if you want my opinion, and a little corny. But that's okay. It'll make it more of a challenge. Yes, Rachel.”

“How long is it supposed to—”

“It's in the guidelines.”

Gerald was folding up the paper now, tinier and tinier. When it was about the size of a spitball, he flicked it at Sky. It bounced off her desk and landed on the floor.

Mrs. Chavez went to the board. Marker in hand, she turned to the class. “What would you say good writing is?”

Jacob raised his hand and said that good writing should be interesting.

“All right.” She wrote it down.

Now that the first olive was out of the jar, more came tumbling out. Good writing should make sense. It should have the words spelled correctly and have proper grammar. One by one, Mrs. Chavez wrote all these things on the board.

“Pick it up,” Gerald whispered to Sky.

She ignored him, so he poked Helen, who sat between them. “Give that to Sky.” Helen reached down, got the wad of paper, and laid it on Sky's desk.

“Anybody else?”

“Um, it shouldn't jump around?”

“That's a good one, Bethany. It should proceed in a logical and orderly fashion.”

“Read it!” Gerald hissed.

No, Sky thought. Most definitely not. If she read that thing, whatever it was, she'd regret it to her dying day. “Hamster,” she mouthed.

He raised his eyebrows, and grinned, and shook his head. He pointed at the paper again.

“Gerald, do you have something you want to share with the class?”

He looked up at Mrs. Chavez. “No,” he said.

Sky moved her hand to casually cover the wad of paper so the teacher wouldn't see. But it wasn't there. To her left, she heard Jose make a little snort. She shifted her eyes in his direction and saw that he was clutching something in his balled-up fist. He was fighting to hold back a grin. Oh, great!

“Thank you,” Mrs. Chavez said. “Now, I'd say we have a pretty good list here. I'd like to add my own personal favorite.
Good writing is clear thinking
.”

Jose quietly began unfolding the paper. The only thing worse than reading Gerald's note was having
someone else
read it. With the speed of a pouncing cat, Sky reached over and snatched it out of his hands. In the process, she hit his desk with a thump.

“Sky, what
is
the problem?”

“Jose swiped my paper. I was just getting it back.”

Mrs. Chavez looked truly disheartened. “Please,” she said. “Can't you just
pretend
you're here to learn?”

Sky nodded and looked down. “I'm really sorry,” she said.

Then as the teacher went on about the virtues of clear thinking, Sky slipped Gerald's message onto her lap and, under the cover of the desk, she opened it and read:

 

Does Sky wear BOYS underwear?

 

I saw you ha ha

 

S
KY STOPPED AT HER LOCKER
to pick up her lunch and put away her sweater. Gerald was waiting there, slouched against the wall, grinning like the python that just swallowed your cat. He was very, very pleased with himself.

“So, Sky. What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

She'd known this was coming since English class.

“I don't know what you thought you saw at Target, but it sure wasn't me in my underwear.”

She was playing for time, her mind searching wildly for some way out.

“No. What I saw was you and your mom buying
boys'
underwear. In the
boys'
department. Shirts, and jeans, and other stuff, too. And seeing as how you don't have a brother, I kind of wonder who they're for. Your boyfriend, maybe?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.”

“You know, Abdool-a-moosh? Whatzit? He just sort of disappeared, didn't he? I think I know where he went.”

“If I were you, I'd seriously keep that hamster in mind.” A hollow threat, and she knew it.

“Yeah, well, here's the thing. I'll trade you the hamster for the underwear. Deal?”

“There was hardly anything left in the store.” She was desperate now. “We just got whatever they had. Boys' jeans, girls' jeans—what's the difference?”

“Jeans, maybe. Even shirts. But not the underwear. Sorry, Sky. I'm not buying it.”

“That was for my dad.”

Gerald laughed. “I know you think I'm stupid, but I'm not. Is it a deal or not? 'Cause all I have to do is make a phone call.”

She sighed. “Name your terms.”

“If you say
one
word about that thing in kindergarten…”

“You mean, specifically, the hamster that—”

“
One
word, Sky, and I'll make a call. If I'm wrong, so what? No problem for me. But if I'm right, see, that's a real mess, isn't it? For Abdool-a-moosh. And for you. And your parents.”

“All right, Gerald,” she said. “Deal.”

“T
HE STORY JUST BROKE THIS
afternoon.” Ana fished the computer printout from her purse. “I'm sorry, Kareem, but you were right. President Bainbridge signed a National Security Directive—that's basically an executive order—allowing DHS to hold certain people in custody for the duration of the war. Actually, he signed the thing about a month ago, but they've kept it a secret till now. I guess they wanted to get the deportation centers back in operation and start making arrests before word got out.”

“What exactly does it say?” Luke asked. “The executive order.”

“It authorizes”—she read from the printout—“‘the arrest and internment, for as long as is deemed necessary, of any persons of suspicious origin or associations.' It goes on from there, but that's the heart of it.”

“Whoa! They could arrest anybody they want with wording like that.”

“I know. It's shocking. But the president has the power to do it. And the internment of the Japanese was upheld by the Supreme Court. So…”

“It's legal.”

“That's what it looks like.”

“Well,” Luke said, “at least we know the situation now.”

“Kareem,” Ana said. He was sitting over on the window seat, staring glumly at his fingernails. “I know this is horribly disturbing. But there's every reason to believe your father and your cousin will be all right.”

He nodded.

“And frankly, the more people who are arrested, the less likely it is they'll be harmed or mistreated. Your dad's just one name on a big, long list of people who come from the wrong part of the world. Nobody suspects him of anything. Eventually this is going to be over, and he'll be released.”

Kareem nodded again, but he still looked down and didn't meet her eyes. The word
eventually
hung in the air.

“That's all we know, I'm afraid. This is a very dark and shameful day in the history of our country.” She was winding it up now.

Kareem said nothing. Sky ripped off a loose end of fin
gernail with her teeth.

“But at least you're safe, Kareem.”

Sky nervously chewed at the last few fibers of fingernail that were hanging loose.

“It's what your father wanted.”

“Um.” Sky finally found her voice. She'd been dreading this moment all afternoon.

Luke turned and stared at her. “Um, what?”

“Um, well, there's this problem. Actually, it's not
really
a problem. It'll be okay, I'm sure of it. Only I thought I ought to mention it. I mean, you need to know and all.”

Luke buried his face in his hands. “Please, Sky, just skip the preamble and tell us.”

“Well—you remember Gerald?”