Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere (27 page)

I opened my eyes and there were four sets of blue eyes watching me like I was a mime on Bourbon Street.

“Hey, are you sure you're okay, Armani?” He knew my name.

“How do you know my name?” I hoped I didn't look like Miss Priscilla Nash and her plastered-smiley self.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know. Just do, I guess.”

The only Boman girl stepped up. She was wearing a lavender tank top just like Sealy's new one. That shirt filled me with relief. If there was more than one lavender-colored tank top, it made sense that there'd be more than one daffodil-yellow shorts set.

The girl tugged on her big brother's sleeve. “Matthew, can we go now? I'm hungry.” His name was Matthew.

“
Attention, residents: You must have prior approval to board the transport unit departing for Houston at eleven
A.M
. If you do not have your authorization code
 . . .”

The stupid recorded voice echoing through the air set my nerves in motion again.
What if that fat lady with the kid dressed in yellow was running to catch a bus?

“Well, I best be gettin' back.” I nodded and started to take a step.

Matthew took a step with me. He laid his hand on my arm. “Armani,” he said in a hushed voice. He looked around. I knew that look. He didn't want anyone to overhear whatever he was fixin' to say. “Are y'all alone? I mean, where's your mama and daddy?” Truth potion must've been pouring out of his blue eyes, 'cause without even considering my answer, I shrugged.

“Yeah, us too.” He swung his head to the side, moving the hair out of his eyes. “Our foster Auntie Mama got crushed by a tree.” He said it like he was telling me what he'd had for supper. The other three Boman kids had their heads hanging—all that blond hair swooping down toward the floor. “She couldn't get outta the way fast enough in her wheelchair.”
Crushed like poor Mrs. Tilly
.

I couldn't think of one thing to say right then.

“So, anyway,” Matthew said, “this is my sister, Martha, and my brothers Lukey and little John.” One of the mini-Matthews looked up from under his wavy hair. I could tell by the way he looked at them that Matthew had special feelings for each one. “Lukey won't talk. He ain't said one word since the tree fell.” The boy named Lukey stared at the floor. Even with all that hair covering half his face I could still see the cute in him showing through.

“How old are you?” I asked Martha.

She twirled long honey-colored hair around her finger. I was thinking about how much I'd love to braid that hair. The braid would come clear to the middle of her back. “I'm seven,” she said all proud. “I like your boots.”

“Oh, thanks, they're my Memaw's. My Sealy's seven years old too. You'll like her—everybody does.” Sealy was gonna be so excited to have someone her own age to talk to. I wondered if Martha liked books. I was fixin' to ask her when Matthew spoke.

“Is Georgie with y'all?” My whole body stung when he said my brother's name. The heat ran out of my face. “Me an' him have math class together. He's funny.”

“Umm—”

“Did a tree fall on him?” little John piped up. His eyes were so sad.

I blinked the sting from my eye. All I wanted to do was get back to my sisters.

Matthew leaned in and whispered, “What happened to Georgie?” Our faces were so close I could feel the air coming out of his nose.

“I don't know where Georgie or my daddy is.” I swiped at the tear that ran down my cheek. I knew when I seen the look on Matthew's face that I'd tell him everything, but not in front of them sad little boys.

My arms felt empty for the first time in a long while. I was grateful when Lukey, the boy who didn't talk, came over and took my hand in the two of his. Martha smiled a sweet smile at me. Matthew grinned. “He must like you, 'cause he don't take to many people.”

I squeezed the little boy's hand. “Well, I like him too, and I don't take to many people neither.” Lukey didn't smile, but when he looked up at me, I seen the possibility of happy sneak up into his eyes.

Matthew sniffed, shook the bangs out of his face, and cleared his throat. “So it's just you and your sisters?”

“Well, we have Mr. High Pockets. Do y'all wanna meet him?”

The Boman kids followed me, except for Lukey, who was latched onto my hand.

“Oh, look.” I pointed to where ol' Mr. High Pockets was lying on his side, facing the wall with his back to us. “Y'all are gonna love him. He does tricks.”

“You mean like magic tricks?” asked Martha.

“Yeah,” I said. I stopped walking. Something was wrong. A tiny thump started in the back of my head. Our cots were empty.

My heart was about to pound right out of my chest.

I just stood there.

“What's up?” Matthew asked.

I let go of Lukey's hand. I couldn't take my eyes off the empty space where Sealy and Khayla should've been, waiting on me. The shaking started in my knees and spread every which way so fast there was no stopping it. My breathing came in huffs.

“My sisters. The cots. The cots are empty!” I felt like I was gonna throw up.

“Ain't that Sealy over there?” Matthew said all calm.

I looked, and there they were. Sealy was standing up in the middle of the three MawMaws, and Khayla was all snug as a bug on MawMaw Sun's lap. Sealy seen me and gave a little “hey” wave.

I sat down on one of the cots and buried my head in my hands. I rocked back and forth for a good while, knowin' I'd crumble up and die if I ever lost Sealy or my baby sister.

Sealy never knew about me thinking I'd lost her and Khayla. She must've thought I'd lost my mind, though, when I came walking up behind her while she was telling the three MawMaws one of her
I-read-this-in-a-book-one-time
stories and I all but tackled her with a big ol' hug. I couldn't stop myself. Sealy was my sister, and right then it didn't matter one way or the other if she liked me or not.

“Hello! Hello!” MawMaw Sun said, waving us in closer like she was having us into her house for supper.

“Where have you been, Armani? I was getting worried about you.” Sealy wiggled out of my hug. “Khayla was crying for you.”

Khayla scooched off MawMaw Sun's lap and buried her face in my belly. I hugged her head.

I introduced the Boman kids to Sealy. Her and Martha came together like a pea and a pod.

Sealy was giggling, the Bomans and the MawMaws were saying their “Hey”s, and I was thanking Jesus up in my head.

I sat there a good long while hugging my knees when I spotted Mr. High Pockets sitting up against his wall. I stared at Khayla sleeping
restless up between Sealy and Martha, and then I glanced over to where Matthew had slid two cots in for him and the boys. Everyone was knocked out napping except for me and Mr. High Pockets.

I slipped my boots on and got up. There was no way I was gonna be able to sleep ever again until I told someone what was sitting heavy on my mind.

I pressed my back against the wall and let myself slide down into a sit the way I'd seen Mr. High Pockets do a thousand times. For a good while we just sat there, sharing space. Somehow he knew it wasn't magic I was needing right then.

“Khayla's sick.” My voice was barely more than a whisper. “Sealy don't know it yet, but in the morning I'm taking Khayla to the clinic so she can see a doctor.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mr. High Pockets nodding away at my words. “She hasn't had but maybe one cracker to eat since yesterday. And I don't know why she won't drink for me no more.”

Without lifting my head from the wall, I turned and looked at my friend. His sadful, watery eyes tugged on me.

“I'm gonna miss you.” I choked on a sob.

He scrunched up his shoulders and tilted his head in a
whatchatalkin'-about
way.

I didn't have the energy to explain to him that when I went marching into that clinic to get help for my sister, we'd be turned over to the authorities for sure.

My head found the man's shoulder. It was hard and lumpy—not comfortable like Memaw's.

Khayla had to get better, and if that meant us all going to foster care or something, oh, well. I swallowed the cry trying to find its way out.

Mama and Daddy weren't coming, and I could barely breathe.

A soft voice floated into my ear and the smell of Juicy Fruit gum made its way to my nose. “Hush, hush, honeybee, it's gonna be all right.” I shivered with cold. Soft mama-like arms wrapped around me and took me in. Miss Priscilla Nash sat flat on the floor with her back up against the hard wall and stroked my head resting in her lap. I wanted to stay there forever.

I looked up and there was Mr. High Pockets looking down, keeping watch over me. He smiled a smile of worry leaving and then he turned and walked away.

“Do ya feel like talkin'?” she said quiet-like into my ear.

“I can't.”

“I know.” She purred the words like a mama cat. “I know, child. Everything's gonna be all right.”

“It's my fault. All of it.” My head did a teeny hop every time I hiccupped between messy sobs and sniffs.

“You'll see, honeybee, it's all gonna get better.” She stroked my lumpy, frizzed-out hair.

I pulled my heavy head up. She right away caught my face with a wad of tissue. My own mama hadn't wiped my nose for me since I was six or seven, but I didn't care. I let the lady wipe whatever she
thought needed wiping. My face was swelled up. Even my lips poofed out. “Miss Nash—”

“Please, call me Priscilla.” Her soft, round, made-up face matched her mama-like arms.

“Miss Priscilla, you don't understand. Everything that's happened to my family is my fault.”

Miss Priscilla stuck some tissue in my hand. “Nothing that's happened is anybody's fault. It was a terrible, spiteful storm.” She let out a long sweet-smelling sigh.

“I know.” I picked at the tissue. “But you don't understand.” My eyes got heavier by the second.

Miss Priscilla leaned in and laid her cheek up on the side of my wet, gooey face. Her nutshell-brown cheek felt warm, and the flower garden smell on her was strong.

“All I wanted for my birthday was a puppy.” The words came out of my mouth in a calm whisper. I turned my head up and let my heavy eyes fall on the sad eyes of Miss Priscilla. I wasn't crying no more, but the tears kept coming. “I broke my promise to Cricket. I told her I'd always take care of her an' keep her safe.”

Miss Priscilla dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue. “Oh child, I don't know what in the world you're talkin' about, but I
do
know that whatever it is that's got you so upset”—she blew her nose hard into her tissue—”I'm here to help any way I can.” She shoved the used-up tissue into the pocket of her red vest.

She didn't understand.

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled.

“Hush now and rest,” she said. “You don't have a thing to be sorry about.”

Yes I did. I had plenty to be sorry about.

I sat there all snug and sad with my eyes stuck shut. She just kept on with her hushing.

“Khayla's sick,” I said. “She needs a doctor.”

“I know. I've been wantin' to talk to you about that,” Miss Priscilla said. “My oh my, would you look at that?” She sounded like Memaw when she said them words.

Walking toward us was all the kids. Matthew Boman had poor little Khayla in his arms, where she was resting her head on his shoulder. Lukey and little John stood behind their brother, playing shy with me and Miss Priscilla.

I held my arms out and Khayla leaned down, wanting to be with me. Sealy and Martha took seats on the floor with me and Miss Priscilla.

Sealy was so young. I wondered if she was gonna forgive me for ruining her life when I confessed to the people in charge at the clinic that we were kids without parents.

“What's goin' on?” Matthew said, looking from me to Miss Priscilla.

“Oh, Matthew, it's . . . ,” Miss Priscilla said.

“You know Matthew?” I interrupted.

They looked at each other and nodded. “Sure, Miss P.'s been lookin' out for us ever since we got off the bus.”

I was as shocked as collard greens in ice water.

Matthew smiled all dimply at Miss Priscilla. “She's been helpin' me sort out some stuff, you know—with CPS, 'cause of what happened to Auntie Mama and us bein' foster kids an' all.” He walked over and offered his hand to Miss Priscilla, and she took it. She stood up with a grunt.

“I don't understand,” I said to Matthew. “You
talked
to CPS?” My tired heart went to racing again.

“Well, yeah.” Matthew shrugged his shoulders. His smile looked more like a smirk.