Tianna the Terrible (Anika Scott Series) (13 page)

"Anika, go get the nurse," he said. "I think Sabrina's broken her arm."

I paused and looked at Tianna—she looked so scared—but Mr. George said, "Hurry, Anika! Run!"

By the time I got back—the nurse had brought me with her in the car—the other kids were back in the classrooms. Mr. George helped to put Sabrina in the car and left with her for the hospital.

In our classroom the kids were all in clumps talking.

"Well, I don't think she's so bad," Amy was saying. "I mean, how would you feel if your parents separated and sent you to the other side of the world?"

"So?" said Trevor. "She doesn't have to go breaking people's arms."

I looked around frantically, but Tianna wasn't there. "Where is she?" I asked Lisa quietly.

Lisa shrugged and said, "She took off right after you left." The classroom door slammed into the wall as I tore out of the room. What if Tianna was running away?

What if she was already gone? I raced down the hill, my breath tearing in my throat and my lungs hurting.

I shot into the dorm room and skidded to a stop. Tianna wasn't there. Her drawers were hanging open. I yanked the closet open and looked inside. Tianna's gym bag was gone. I whirled and ran out of there toward the hospital.

Darn that Muthoni!
I thought furiously between breaths. My side hurt, so I dropped into a walk. Suddenly the song we'd sung on Sunday came into my head, "He's my rock, he's my fortress, he's my deliverer, in him will I trust. Praise the name of Jesus."

It was like a weight went off me. I took a slower, deep breath and said, "OK, Jesus, you're my safety. Let this be your thing. I can't handle it. I don't get why you let this happen, but help me be on your side. You handle it."

Suddenly I wondered if I was all worried for nothing. Tianna probably didn't have any money, so she couldn't go anywhere. She'd be scared and mad, though. I started trotting again.

There are always quite a few people around at the kiosk by the hospital. There were women sitting on the ground, bright scarves on their heads. A bunch of people were sitting on rickety chairs outside a little shop, holding glasses full of strong milky tea. A matatu, which is like a small pickup truck with a covered back, was there, and people were crowding around to get on. A boy wearing ragged khaki shorts ran up to me and said, "Givi me a money!"

One of the African ladies yelled at him in Kikuyu, and he looked at her and ran off. I searched the group frantically, looking for Tianna. Then I saw a white face in the back of the matatu. It was Tianna! The matatu started to drive away.

I ran after it, waving my arms and yelling in Swahili,
"Bado! Bado qua mimi!"
Wait! Stop! Stop!

There are lots of different languages in Kenya. The people around VCA talk Kikuyu. Other tribes talk Kikamba or Masai. White people talk English, Danish, French, or whatever, and Indian people talk Hindi or Urdu. But the one language that all the different groups speak is Swahili. It's called a trade language, which means everyone uses it to talk together. The only people who talk Swahili at home are the Swahili, and they live at the coast. Many Kenyans speak three languages: their tribal language, Swahili, and some English, which they learn in school. Like most kids on the mission compound, I knew enough Swahili to get by.

The driver of the matatu heard me yelling and stopped. I ran up and grabbed hold of the tailgate. "Tianna! Come on, get out. You can't—"

The matatu started moving. The driver couldn't see me from the front and must have thought I'd gotten on. I couldn't just leave Tianna. I held on to the side and jumped on the bumper. Two African men in the back grabbed my arms and helped haul me on board. I whacked my knee hard on the tailgate.

"Eeeea,
pole pole,"
a bunch of the people said almost in chorus.
Pole pole
means something between "I'm sorry" and "Take it easy."

I staggered forward, trying to keep my balance.

People squashed over to leave room, and I sat down hard by Tianna. The shoulder of the man next to me was practically in my ear. The back of the tiny pickup was packed. Everybody was staring at us.

"Tianna, we have to get off!" I blurted, trying to stand up. "Kids who run away get expelled from school."

She jerked me down. "No way."

I landed with a thud and looked back at the road disappearing behind us. We were headed for the big highway above the station.

"You can't keep running away. I don't have any money, and I bet you don't either," I said. "The driver will be really mad."

"No, he won't," Tianna said. "I told him that all I have is American dollars. Dad gave me a bunch when I left. He said they're good anywhere in the world. The driver of this taxi thing took them, anyway. He took ten bucks and said he'd take me to some hotel at Naibashi or somewhere. I'll pay for you, too. I'm not going back now. He was really helpful."

I bet,
I thought. That driver wouldn't want to let us off, not if he thought he'd lose a chance at getting more American money. He could change the dollars on the black market for an awful lot of shillings.

"Did he say Naivasha?" I asked Tianna. She just shrugged, so I looked up and asked, "Is this matatu going to Naivasha?"

A couple of people shrugged, but a girl whose whole head was covered with tiny long black braids so that she looked like an Egyptian princess answered in English. "The driver has told her that he would deliver her to the tourist hotel near the lake at Naivasha. Your friend showed him many dollars, so he will be happy to take you, too."

A wave of fear went over me. If people knew Tianna was carrying a lot of money, we could get robbed.

Just then the matatu jerked to a stop. We were at Kishengo, up by the highway above the station. People started climbing out. I got up, too, but Tianna jerked me down again.

I grabbed the girl's sleeve and started talking Swahili so Tianna wouldn't stop me. "Please, can you get someone to tell the people at VCA where we have gone?"

The girl nodded as she climbed over the tailgate.

"What did you say to her?" Tianna demanded. I shrugged.

"I bet you're trying to get me caught," she said. "You're no friend!"

"OK, let me go back, then," I said. She was still holding on to my arm. The driver was outside yelling out where we were going, and new people were crowding into the matatu.

Tianna clutched my arm tighter and stared at me, wide-eyed. "No, I'm scared."

I swallowed and thought,
I'm scared, too.
The matatu started moving, and I was nearly squashed when the fat lady next to me lurched into me.

My jaws snapped together when the matatu hit an extra big pothole. The bones in my seat already hurt from being whacked by the hard ledge we were sitting on.

If this matatu takes us to the hotel at Naivasha,
I thought,
I can call home from there. I could if I had some money anyway.

"Tianna," I whispered, turning my head and putting my mouth close to her ear. "How much money do you have?"

She shoved me off with her elbow. "Stop it!" she demanded loudly. "Don't hiss in my ear. It's not a state secret. I've got two hundred bucks."

"Shhh!" I hissed furiously. "You don't have to brag. That's more than most Kenyans ever see. We're just two kids by ourselves, so shut up about it, OK?"

Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide. "I showed the driver," she said in a scared whisper.

I frowned without answering and slid lower on the ledge, hugging my arms. Just last term two of the seventh-grade girls went off campus by themselves, and a man had threatened them and yanked their watches off.

The matatu jerked to a stop. It was hot inside and stunk of sweat from crowded people. I looked out but couldn't tell where we were. A woman with three tiny kids climbed on. People scooted over and she sat down right across from us. The toddler pressed himself up against his mother's leg, put his thumb in his mouth, and stared at us with huge dark eyes. His little brown shoulder showed through a huge hole in his ragged T-shirt.

Suddenly Tianna and her whole family seemed like spoiled brats to me. There they were, rolling in money and luxury, and all they could do was make trouble for themselves, while people like that cute toddler's mom were struggling just to feed their kids and send them to school. It wasn't fair! I wanted to grab Tianna's money and hand it to that woman.

I glanced at Tianna and sighed. She was looking out the back and chewing her fingernails. She probably would make a big stink if I grabbed her money. Besides, if I gave the money away, what would happen to us?

"Chicken," I whispered at myself. The matatu started again with a jerk that banged my back against the hard edge of the truck. I watched the road going backwards, and the people walking on the side getting smaller, and wished I'd never met Tianna. My stomach felt hollow and scared. On top of that, it was lunchtime and I was hungry.

We stopped at Naivasha town by the shops, which are called
dukas.
Everybody started climbing off.

"Come on," I said to Tianna and got up to follow.

"Is this where the hotel is?" she asked.

I barely nodded. It wasn't, but I wanted to get away from that driver who knew about Tianna's money.

We were the last people in the matatu, and I'd just started climbing over the tailgate when the driver saw me.

He hurried toward us, shaking his head and flapping his hands at us. "I have said I will drive you to the hotel. I will truly drive you to that place.
Karibu.
Sit, sit."

Karibu means "Welcome" or "Come in." Without pausing, he rushed around to the cab.

"Hurry, Tianna," I said, one leg over the tailgate.

"The hotel isn't here, is it?" she demanded.

"Come on!" I said and reached back to grab her arm.

It's a good thing I did, too, or I would have been thrown out when the matatu shot forward. Instead, we both fell onto the floor.

"Ow!" Tianna yelled, getting up off of me and holding her head. "You geek! Why did you grab me like that!"

I got off the gritty, rattling floor of the matatu and glared at her. "Me?" I said furiously. "How about you? Did it ever occur to you that that man might hurt us for your money?"

I sat down with a thump on the opposite side of the matatu from Tianna.

"If you wanted to get off to get away from the driver, why didn't you say so instead of trying to make me think it was the stop for the hotel?" she said, frowning. The knot in my stomach tightened. I hadn't exactly lied, but I hadn't told the truth either, and now things were worse.

"Sorry," I muttered.

There was a long silence. I tried to remember the way to the hotel from Naivasha, but I'd only been there a couple of times. The road unwinding behind the matatu didn't look familiar. A wave of goosebumps went over me in spite of the heat, and tears stung my eyes.

Finally Tianna said, "If you're such a good Christian and really believe that stuff, maybe you should ask God to take care of you." Then she added in a small voice, "And me, too."

I looked up at her in surprise. She was right. I hadn't asked God to keep us safe.

"OK," I said. "Good idea." Then I bowed my head and prayed, "Dear God, please keep us safe. Help Mom and Daddy or people from VCA to find us soon. Also, I'm sorry I lied to Tianna when I wanted her to get off this matatu. Um… please help the driver not to hurt us or steal Tianna's money, and help Tianna to get to know you. In Jesus' name, amen."

Immediately I felt much much better inside. My stomach didn't even hurt so much.

"Do you think he heard you?" Tianna asked.

I nodded.

"Then I wish you didn't ask him to let people from VCA find us," she muttered, shuffling her feet on the gravelly floor. "They hate me."

"They do not!" I said. I looked anxiously out the back, then had to brace my feet to keep from being knocked off the seat by another big bump. We were off the pavement, and dust was pouring into the back. Where was this matatu taking us? I swallowed hard. "Tianna, remember that song we sang at Sunday school? Can we sing it now?"

"I didn't know any of those songs," she said, scooting away from the back of the matatu to get out of the thickest dust. "Yuk! I hate dust."

"Well, I want to sing it," I said and started. At first my voice came out all quavery—only partly because of the bumpy road—but by the end of the song I was singing out. I knew Jesus really was my safety.

"Come on, you sing, too," I said to Tianna.

"Praise the name of Jesus! Praise the name of Jesus! He's my rock, he's my fortress, he's my deliverer, in him will I trust. Praise the name of Jesus!"

Tianna sort of joined in, then shook her head. "Anika, he's not my rock and all that stuff. I'm scared!"

"Do you want him to be?" I asked.

She nodded. "Ever since I watched your whole family praying at my house, I kind of wanted to do that, too. I was just scared God only liked good people like you guys." She looked up at me, and tears were running down her dusty face. She sniffed hard.

In fourth grade the teacher had made us memorize ten verses that she called the way of salvation. It had been kind of a pain. I mean, I knew all that stuff. But now a verse popped into my head to answer Tianna.