Chapter Three

May 5, 2309—4:59a.m.

THE WORLD—PLANET Earth—has just recovered from the longest, hardest depression known to Earth's grandchildren as the Second Dark Ages.

A scream rang through the house. It wasn't an ordinary scream. It was innocent and pure like only a child's scream could be. There was a mixture of emotions in the scream: sadness and fear mostly, but also confusion and concern. The noises that followed the scream were hurried footsteps along the hall, a deep, guttural man's shouting, a door squeaking open, and the lights flicking on as the two runners charged in the room where the screaming girl laid.

There were more harsh, incoherent words from the man before he left. And he did leave. Without even saying an intelligible thing to the fearful child.

But the tall girl stayed. She stayed with her all night—or what was left of the night anyway. She sat on her bed and pulled the child close to her. She didn't say anything for a little while; just let the girl cling to her. The child held tight to the bigger girls sleep shirt and buried her face in her chest. She wept until she had no more tears (which had seemed like an eternity of weeping, but was really only a little ten minutes).

The flow had not stopped easily. There was so much to cry for. But when she finally got a hold of her self and gulped down the last of her fear, the older girl spoke. "Quetzy? What's wrong, Hon? Did you have a nightmare?" She pushed her away slightly to examine her face with concerned eyes.

She choked back another batch of tears and cried, "Yes."

Aeron nodded and pulled her back against her. But Quetzy was done crying. She had no need for more consoling. She wanted to tell Aeron to go back to bed. But she wouldn't have even if she had told her. Aeron was convinced that Quetzy needed constant protecting. If only Quetzy could have gone back time to quiet her own screaming. If only Aeron could be somewhat like Nathan and go back to sleep; leave her with her thoughts.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. Quetzy felt like she was in a psychiatrist's presence rather than her sister's. Aeron was always looking for a reason to pat Quetzy on the back or a reason to hold her and make her feel better. When would she learn that Quetzy wasn't such a little girl anymore?

"No, I'm okay." That was to say the least. She was great actually. This dream—it had awakened her a bit. She just wished she could dwell on it. She wished she could remember it all. There was so much to take in.

"Are you sure? You seemed…really scared," she was studying her closely.

"Yes, yes. I'm okay," she repeated.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?"

What could she say? Of course she didn't! But she couldn't exactly tell her to go away. Fortunately, she didn't have to. Another wave of tears flooded her. They weren't the same tears they were before though. They were more like tears of relief. This dream had answered so many questions. She understood now.

Of course, Aeron didn't know that. All she saw was a scared child sitting in her pj's, frightened by a bad dream. She tried to hug her again, but Quetzy slunk back into the bed sheets and on her pillow. Aeron just took it as fatigue and left her there. She sat on the end of the bed for a little while before her alarm went off in her bedroom. She glanced at the girl again, then crept off to begin her morning routine. She presumed she was asleep.

But she wasn't.

She had been thinking while Aeron had sat there. And now she could think even harder. She could stand and pace the room if she wished. So long as the door was shut, that was. But she didn't wish to stand and pace. She was content to sit in her bed, lying in a sleeping position with her eyes shut, and just think.

She thought hard. Real hard.

She tried to conjure up parts of the dream. She tried to remember. But she had lost some of it. Why had she screamed? If only she hadn't been so afraid. She wouldn't have forgotten the dream so fast if she hadn't screamed. It was only a few parts though. She hoped they hadn't been very important parts.

Let's see, she thought, There had been a gate. It was huge! And it surrounded something—something huge! I was there. And Aeron. And monsters—lot's of monsters. But some of them were nice. They helped us. Because we were lost and we didn't know where we were going and we were in the woods. But they helped us. But the other ones wanted to eat us! She started to cry again, but only faintly. There was a fight. It was little. It was two boys. But they weren't boys! They were monsters! They were monsters in disguise. And…

Aeron tapped on the door and came in. "Quetzy, it's time to get up and get ready for school." She smiled. "You have to get ready." Her hair was still damp from the shower but her makeup was fixed. It was Quetzy's turn to use the bathroom to get ready.

"What time is it?" she asked weakly.

"6:30," she answered.

How had she managed to lay there for almost an hour and get nothing accomplished? She knew partly what her dream had meant, but not fully. There was more—much more. She wanted to remember. But she didn't have time. And she didn't have time to argue with Aeron, to tell her that she didn't want to go to school today.

Aeron was leaving the room. Quetzy walked to the bathroom groggily and stared at her face in the mirror. There wasn't much to stare at. Besides sleep buggers, she couldn't see any blemishes. Of course she couldn't! She hadn't quite reached adolescence yet. She was still too young to wear makeup and fix her hair. Not that there was much to fix. She didn't have problems with her hair yet. In fact, she was fine with the way she looked. Most eight years olds were.

She felt gross, though. She splashed her face with cold water and shivered at it met her skin. She felt a little better. She took a washcloth and wetted it. She ran it over her skin, trying to cleanse herself of the sleep sweat she had accumulated during the night. Then she dressed and brushed through the tangles in her hair.

The kitchen was most likely cleaned out and picked through, so she didn't even go there. She could eat breakfast at school if Aeron got her there in time. She usually did. Aeron was good at being on time to school; she just wasn't so great at staying in school. That usually made Quetzy one of the last kids to be picked up.

She found her backpack sitting in a corner of her room, right where she left it. There wasn't much in her room. She didn't care much for toys and dolls. She liked to draw; not to color. She was good at it too. Her art teacher always commented and praised her drawings. She said, "You have an artist eye, Dear." She also said that Quetzy was good with details and that she drew things people usually didn't think of as interesting. She said that she drew ordinary, everyday objects and made them something important. She said that that was called…that was called…pop art.

But Quetzy didn't just draw soda cans and street signs. She liked to draw the world as she saw it. She had showed one of these drawings to her teacher once, expecting praise and admiration, and received a look of fear and disbelief. That was followed by a note sent to Nathan telling him to meet with Mrs. Armstrong. He hadn't met with her.

Aeron had.

Mrs. Armstrong hadn't liked meeting with a sixteen year old. (Aeron had been sixteen at the time.) But Mrs. Armstrong hadn't had much of a choice. Nathan had refused to talk to her over something he said was "stupid" and "not worth my time."

Aeron had been shocked too.

She hadn't expected to see how dark her kid sister's mind was. Not that it was hard to see what was going on with the world. But still…no seven year old should have known what the real world was like. And they certainly shouldn't have been able to understand it with such…such…vividness.

They had talked about letting her see a shrink. But Aeron had been leery. She didn't want Quetzy to feel like she had done something wrong or that there was something wrong with her. They had decided against that. Instead, they let her talk to the school counselor. That hadn't lasted long. He said that he saw nothing wrong with her. Mainly because she didn't want to talk to him. So she wouldn't. He couldn't get anything out of her.

He gave up.

Quetzy hadn't minded though. She went back to drawing pictures of oceans and sunsets. Ever since then, Aeron hadn't stopped worrying. Every silent car ride, every unspoken notion about the world, and every drawing of a happy, smiling family of stick figures, complete with a daddy, mommy, brother, sister, dog, and big smiling house behind them, Aeron worried for her sister.

Quetzy was too intelligent. She was just too young for her mind. If the girl had been an aged and experienced scholar, her thoughts would have been bizarre. At least, in this world where everything was supposed to be thought out for you.

With her backpack behind her, she sat on the couch waiting for Aeron to finish her touchups. She hated the way Aeron dressed. Aeron wasn't like that. She was one of those sweet, preppy girls at heart. But she had to prove otherwise. She just wasn't satisfied with being regular. And Quetzy understood part of that. But why, oh why, did she have to be so eccentric? Maybe it was just beyond a child's mind. The thing was, Quetzy didn't have a child's mind.

She pushed up her sleeve and held her little princess watch to her face. It read, 7:15. Aeron was right on time.

"Are you ready?" She asked her, stepping out of the bedroom. Quetzy nodded. "Okay, then," she smiled, "Let's go."

Nathan was snoring in his bedroom, sleeping off all his late night partying. She pulled on her little windbreaker over her backpack, like some children did, and followed Aeron out the door. She kept walking to her sister's car even though Aeron had stopped to lock the door behind them.

She really didn't want to go to school today. There were so many reasons. She sighed as Aeron unlocked the door and stepped in. Quetzy followed almost robotically. She wished she could drive. She would skip school too. She would skip school just like Aeron. With Aeron. She would skip school with Aeron.

It seemed like such a short drive to the Elementary school. If she had wanted to come to school today, the ride would have been as slow as Christmas.

It was raining. There was a teacher standing outside with a long white raincoat hanging over her and a newspaper held over her head even though she was standing under the pavilion. She was waving kids in, helping some out of the cars, and trying to keep dry. Quetzy pushed the passenger side door open and stepped out. She pulled the hood of her windbreaker up over her head and turned.

Aeron told her to have a good day. Quetzy nodded and then she shut the door. She stood there for a second, watching Aeron's little red car drive off to her own school where she would not remain. The teacher in the white raincoat was trying to get some whiny boy out of the car and into the building. He was crying and screaming that he didn't want to go; that he was sick. His mother was telling him that he still had to go to school, and the teacher in the white raincoat was trying to coax him out of the car.

The hood of Quetzy's windbreaker had blown off in the wind. The rain was drenching her hair and was cool on her face. Aeron's car was long gone, but Quetzy was still standing at the curb, staring off in the direction in which the car had gone. She closed her eyes for a second. There was something hiding behind her eyelids that she just couldn't see with her eyes open.

There was blood. Lots of blood. Who's blood? There was a monster. It was tall and scary and…and…and its mouth was bloody. There was blood on its mouth. And there was blood on the ground. Blood coming out of someone's belly. Then someone screamed. And there was more blood. And…

The teacher in the white raincoat was shaking her. She was yelling. There was fear in her cries. She was saying to Quetzy, "Honey! Honey, come on! Wake up! Why won't you wake up?" Then she said to someone else, "Please, please! Someone help me, please! I need help!" But she didn't need help. Quetzy was fine. A little shaken, but otherwise fine.

She couldn't look at the teacher though. She was afraid she would look down and the face of the monster with the bloody mouth would be there, ready to eat her. So she kept staring at the street where Aeron's car had turned. It wasn't just a street anymore. There was someone down there.

It was the monster with the bloody mouth!

She turned and clung to the teacher in the white raincoat. She hid behind the white raincoat that was protecting the teacher from the rain. The teacher was trying to draw her out, but Quetzy couldn't be eaten. She didn't want to be eaten. The teacher understood that, didn't she? The teacher manage to pull her out. She was just as frightened as Quetzy was. But her fear was fear of the unknown. She didn't know why Quetzy was acting in such an odd way. "What's wrong, Honey?" she asked over and over.

There were other teachers standing there now: a man in a long trench coat and a woman—the nurse—in bright pink scrubs. They were looking at her questioningly. She wanted to tell them about the dream, but she couldn't tell anyone about the dream. And she couldn't tell anyone about the monster with the blood on its mouth.

She couldn't find her voice anyway. So she pointed in the direction that she had been staring at. All three adults stared and for a moment, couldn't see anything. Then, almost all at the same time, they saw it—the monster with the blood on its mouth. The man said quietly to the teacher with the white raincoat, "Finish getting the rest of the kids in before the bell rings. Just keep a sharp eye on everyone." She nodded.

The nurse said to Quetzy, "Come on, Baby, let's go in."

Quetzy, the man in the long trench coat, and the nurse all walked into the Elementary school building. She couldn't help but steal a glance back at the monster with the blood on its mouth. She expected to be frightened and have to be carried into the building. But she wasn't scared. She wasn't scared at all when she looked into the face of the boy with the big, dark eyes, which were staring right back at her, who stood in rain with only a dirty black hoodie pulled over his head.

The nurse's office was perhaps the friendliest place Quetzy had ever been in. There were bright, colorful posters hanging on every wall; in every corner, telling children to wash their hands after and before they ate or shook hands or used the restroom and to "Cover Your Cough," as one poster exclaimed. There was a long black couch that reminded Quetzy a lot of one of those couches psychiatrist used to put their patients on. Quetzy was sitting on that.

Mrs. Yethrow was definitely cut out for school nursing. She was probably friendly to everyone she met, but she was especially good with kids. She was a short black woman with neat black hair pulled into a sharp, but somehow fitting, bun. Her pink scrubs were spotted with cute little puppies that smiled happily at you. Mrs. Yethrow never frowned. Or at least, not when she was facing you. She made great conversation, talked about everything from her kids and grandkids to your favorite school subject to books and movies or whatever interested you.

"Now, Quetzy, Darlin', I see you've never been to my office before," she said studying the computer screen in front of her on her desk. Everything had to be kept on record for "protection purposes." The government wanted even little things to be filed away so it would never be hard to find information. It was a scary idea, really. The government could pull up one file about you and absolutely everything you'd ever done would be written somewhere on it.

So, it was true that Quetzy had never paid a visit to the nurse's office. She was in third grade and had never once been. She didn't see much point in it. You couldn't just go to the nurse without making irritating phone calls to your parents. So she would have to call Nathan. If he was at work, he wouldn't be able to get her, and if he wasn't, he would just decide not to. He would say, "Suck it up, Kid. You'll get over it." So she had. Her injuries had never been anything serious enough to need to see the nurse.

She nodded her head. Mrs. Yethrow smiled, showing all her white, crooked teeth. If Quetzy had known she would enjoy herself this much, she would have come to the nurse's office sooner.

The nurse rolled her chair over to the couch where Quetzy sat. "So, what do you like to do in school, Quetzy?" she asked as she took out a thermometer and ran it up and down the side of her head.

"I like art," Quetzy answered.

Mrs. Yethrow through her head back and rolled with laughter, "Do you, now?" She rolled her chair back to her desk, opened up one of the drawers, and took out a notepad. "So do I," she grinned and handed Quetzy the notepad.

Each and every single page was full of beautiful charcoal outlines of everything from landscapes to people and animals. Her eyes couldn't get enough of all the drawings. She stared up at Mrs. Yethrow with even more respect than before. Bright eyed, she asked, "How did you learn to do this?"

Mrs. Yethrow let off another burst of contagious laughter. "I didn't learn it, Sweetheart. It just came with me when I was born. Someone thought it fit to give me a bit of an artistic ability. To further the kingdom, I suppose. My parents (rest their souls) couldn't draw worth two of your good penny halves. So I know I didn't inherit it from them. And if anybody else in my family can draw, they've been keeping it a secret."

Quetzy was in awe. She loved all of drawings. The dogs were spectacular; they looked at if they could leap off the page and lick your face until you were sick. There were a few cats that looked just as grand. The people were fantastic as well. None of them had faces—they were just outlines—but it wasn't hard to put a suitable one with each body. There were many, many, many cities, each better than the last. "What are these?" Quetzy asked, pointing to one of the cities.

"Ah, those are my favorites. I suppose you could say they are imaginary, but I don't think they are. I think they are just as real as you and me are, sitting right here. These drawings are of a place that exists so far away, none of us could ever reach it in this life. But it's there. Oh, it's there." She looked away very dreamily. Quetzy thought she might be done speaking when she started up again, "That's where my mother and father are. And it's where I'm going too. Someday."

She studied Quetzy's face. Quetzy was staring up at the woman she had recently decided she admired so much. She thought she wanted to get to know her better. She wondered if Aeron would like her; if she would like Aeron.

"Quetzy, it looks like you're all fine. No fever; no pain. I would say you just felt a little flash of vertigo, nausea maybe." She stood. Quetzy wanted to ask what vertigo was, but the woman was still speaking. "Sure was a good thing you spotted that boy. He might have been trying to cause a bit of trouble. We have to keep those people in our prayers." She gave Quetzy a stern look. Quetzy nodded even though she didn't know why she was nodding. "But most kids might not have spotted him. Good thing you did."

She looked around the room and peeked around the corner past the door to her office. "I want to tell you a secret," Mrs. Yethrow said. "I think you're a very special little girl, and I think I can trust you. Can I trust you, Quetzy?"

She nodded again.

"Okay," she smiled. She opened up the same drawer that she had kept her notepad in. She dug around in the drawer's contents for a few moments before pulling out what looked like a bookmark. She handed it to Quetzy.

Inscribed at the top was, "Don't Forget to Wash Your Hands" and underneath that was a bulleted list of "What to Do When You're Sick." Quetzy read through the entire list twice, trying to see if there was some coded message hidden inside the helpful phrases. When she couldn't find anything, she looked up at Mrs. Yethrow expectantly.

The nurse was smiling down at her expression. "Turn it over," she said, still smiling.

Quetzy obeyed. And on the back was one of those messages that changed when you tilted it a little. The first message had an address and a phone number.

"Oh, don't worry about that part, Baby. That place is long gone." She shook her head sadly. "I want you see the other part."

The other message was a simple "Jesus Loves You" with a big smiley face underneath. The girl was confused for a moment. She didn't know if this was a joke or a trap. She furrowed her brows and stared at the lady who was smiling at her again.

"Don't worry, Sweetheart. I'm not trying to trick you." Her look turned very serious very suddenly. "But you know, I could get in big, big, big trouble for this. It has to be a secret—just between you and me."

Quetzy was still trying to figure out if the woman was for real or not. This was a big deal. You certainly didn't go around joking about this kind of stuff. If the nurse really was being honest, she was taking a big risk. Why in the world would she put her life in the hands of an eight year old girl? And why Quetzy? But if this was a big trick to see how Quetzy would react, then she didn't know what to do.

Her first impression of the woman had been the best first impression you could ask for. Quetzy had been very eager to get to know the school nurse better. But now she was unsure. She wanted so much to trust her instincts, to keep the bookmark. But what if her instincts were wrong? She would be in bigger trouble than detention, that's what.

Of course, her instincts had never been wrong yet. Then again, she had never been in a real situation like this where she would have to try them out. Maybe it was stupid; maybe she would regret it, but she acted on her instincts. She was only eight. How could she possibly know what lay ahead of her? She couldn't. And she would certainly regret taking the bookmark from Mrs. Yethrow.

The kindly old nurse smiled brighter than ever and gave her lolly pop. "Now remember, this is our secret. Just between you and me." She winked and Quetzy smiled, thinking what a good friend she had made.

Mrs. Yethrow walked Quetzy to room 304 where class had already begun. She and the nurse had already said The Pledge with their hands over their hearts, facing the striped flag in the corner of the room. Quetzy noticed that Mrs. Yethrow had said an extra part she had never heard before. It was between "to the republic, for which it stands" and "we are indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." She had said something like, "One nation, under God," which had put her behind Quetzy and the rest of the school.

When Quetzy had asked her what that meant and why she had said it, she responded, "I'm an old nurse. I've been here for a long, long while. When I was young and the world was somewhat sane, that was The Pledge we said." Quetzy had asked again just why she had said it. The nurse had first laughed. "Partly because I'm an old goat and I'm stubborn and set in my ways. But mainly because it's the truth—even though it's sometimes hard to see it that way anymore."

Quetzy didn't really understand what she was talking about. So she just nodded and let herself be led out of the nurse's office and through the hall down to Room 304. Mrs. Yethrow had knocked quietly on the wooden door and Ms. Ingram, disrupted in her teaching, had crossed the room to the door. She had found herself staring down at both the nurse and her tardy student.

"Don't worry, Ms. Ingram. Quetzy has a pass," Mrs. Yethrow said smiling.

Ms. Ingram gave her a strange look that Quetzy couldn't quite read, but she knew that it was full of hate. It could have been because she was black. Mrs. Yethrow kept smiling though. She pushed Quetzy through the door, turned, and walked down the hall back to her office.

Ms. Ingram didn't miss a beat. She resumed her teaching as soon as the door was shut without waiting for Quetzy to take her seat. They were covering mixed numbers this morning. Quetzy hated math. She was good at math—really good. But she didn't like it at all.

She tried to concentrate on what Ms. Ingram was saying—she really did—but she just couldn't. She couldn't stop thinking about Mrs. Yethrow and the bookmark she had given her. It was in her windbreaker pocket. She hadn't taken it off yet. She didn't want to risk it falling out of the pocket. Even if it wouldn't raise suspicions, she didn't want to risk it. And if the windbreaker itself brought about question, she would simply say that she was cold. That was believable enough. It was raining outside.

Her mind floated from one thing to another and every single thing had nothing to do with math. She wasn't really worried about tests or anything. She had always done well on her tests and she had never had to study. That had always just come naturally to her. Aeron had always had trouble with that sort of thing. She would stay up all night in the kitchen with the study lamp on, her books and papers thrown about the table. Not that skipping helped her. Regardless, things didn't come easy to Aeron like they did to Quetzy.

There again, Aeron was quick in a situation. If they were ever in a tight spot with Nathan, or with anyone for that matter, Aeron knew how to get out of it. She was strong too. Not as much physically, though Quetzy wouldn't have doubted for a second that she wasn't. But Aeron was very strong willed. Quetzy could never recall seeing Aeron give up or back down. If she wanted something bad enough, she would find a way to get it.

Of course, it wasn't to say that Aeron wasn't smart. Because she was. But she wasn't smart like Quetzy.

Quetzy didn't think she could have a better sister than Aeron. All siblings fought. But Quetzy couldn't remember a time when she and Aeron had really been angry with each other. Both were the other's fall back person. Aeron was more of one for Quetzy than Quetzy was for Aeron, but still, they were sisters. And nothing—nothing—could change that.

Everyone was looking at her. Ms. Ingram was too. No doubt she had asked Quetzy a question that she hadn't heard. It was written on the board: 1 ½ + ¼ =

Without hardly thinking, she spouted off a number, "1 ¾."

Satisfied, Ms. Ingram turned and conjured up another problem for someone else to solve.

Quetzy could almost remember a time when she had enjoyed coming to school, sitting in her desk with her working buddy beside her, solving problems before any of the other kids could, drawing in art class. But now, those memories seemed to be lost with the those forgotten of the time between the darkness of her infant years and the age of Nathan.

There had always been a Nathan. If Quetzy had been a normal child, she would have assumed he was her real father. But Quetzy wasn't normal. She saw through the veils the New World leader and his government liked to put up to shade normal people's view, and she drew pictures of her interpretations. So It was all the easier for her to see that something wasn't right with Nathan. It was the big what question that bothered her.

He wasn't really a bad father. Or father figure, rather. But he wasn't much of one either. He had never abused her or Aeron (as far as she knew.) There had always been food on the table (sort of,) and he had never failed to pay the bills. No one accused him of paying them on time, but they got paid.

There had always seemed to be something of a wall that kept her and Nathan from having a father-daughter relationship. Quetzy had always just assumed things would get easier as she got older, but it had only gotten worse. It had begun to become apparent that nothing was ever going to come from Nathan's one-layered heart. There must have been a reason. Surely Aeron knew. But there never seemed to be a right time to inquire on the subject.

Or maybe Aeron didn't know. It was possible that she was just as blind to the evils of the New World as everyone else. It was possible that she wasn't everything Quetzy had always thought she was: leader, role model, sister.

All that was possible. But was probability the answer to all those queries?

The bell rang down the hallway signaling that break had begun. She and her classmates rose as Ms. Ingram herded them out of Room 304. There was commotion in the halls as children ran to bathrooms, snack machines, water fountains, or corners where crowds gathered to catch up on the latest elementary school drama.

Quetzy had always been sort of a loner. It wasn't that she was more comfortable by herself; she just didn't want to have to seek out friends. And after the art class incident, her peers thought she was weird or infected with cooties. It was obvious that they didn't want to be around her, and she didn't want half-hearted friends.

It was probably better that she wasn't close to anyone. Nathan was such an embarrassment. If she had been close to another child, there would be questions or play dates or parent get-togethers so the child's mother of father would know their child's whereabouts. Nathan wasn't up for such things, and if Quetzy somehow managed to get him out and about, it would be chaos. It just wasn't worth it.

There was someone that she liked to talk to. Her name was Thalia. Like Quetzy, Thalia was somewhat of an outcast. (It was funny how the outcasts seem to flock together.) Racial discrimination was the higher than it had ever been in the United States, and Thalia was black.

Quetzy wasn't sure how it had escalated like it had. Aeron could probably tell her. Aeron knew all about that kind of stuff. But Quetzy knew it had something to do with Malaci Decorr and his policies and changes.

Thalia had come to Ickes Elementary School at the beginning of the year. No one had really acknowledged her presence. Quetzy had felt bad for her. There was a lot of empathy shared between them. So she had approached Thalia. Quetzy had expected her to be very alien because of the way the other kids, and ever Ms. Ingram, had treated her. But she was just a kid like Quetzy and the others. She had a family and three brother—two older and one younger. She had a mom and a dad who both worked. Not to mention she liked to sing.

She was an incredible singer. Quetzy had never heard a black person sing. She wondered if all black people sang like that, and, if they did, why more of them didn't sing openly. There weren't many that she knew. Most went to their own schools so there wouldn't be any "outbreaks." Now, she knew two, and Thalia was the only one she had ever heard sing. Even that had been brief, and Thalia had seemed fidgety.

In comparison to the day that would follow after recess, the hours in between were uneventful. There was more teaching from Ms. Ingram, more of that itching that urged Quetzy to reveal the bookmark, and intuition. She couldn't help but feel that something—something—bad was going to happen.

She drummed mindlessly on her desk until the recess bell rang. Everyone stood and made their way to the door noisily. This was the time they were all allowed to run and scream and do almost whatever they pleased. As long as it corresponded with school rules, that was.

Their playground was due for an upgrade and a major cleanup. Didn't they hire custodians for that sort of thing?

The paint that covered the big slide that spiraled down was chipping; the swing set squeaked loudly. There was a rope web designed like monkey bars, but several of the ropes had been cut. The rock wall was missing two or three rocks, and many objects scattered around the grounds seem to have no purpose at all. Not to mention the graffiti covered the brick wall behind the playground, and small pieces of glass littered the ground.

A metal fence surrounded the playground to keep children from wandering off, or to prevent others from running off with one of them. Next to the door of the elementary school, there was a shaded pavilion and a chair provided for Ms. Ingram. She rarely lifted an eye to the students. She was most often too engrossed in the latest edition of Cosmopolitan or Soap Weekly.

For Ickes, this might have been a state-of-the-art playground. But Quetzy expected something…safer?...for the elementary school student.

A spidery, metal dome acted as Quetzy's seat. Most everyone veered away from that area. Quetzy didn't think it was because of her presence. At least, she hoped it wasn't. She figured it was because of Thalia's.

Secretly, Quetzy was grateful that Thalia liked her enough to talk to her. It was nice to have a friend who didn't judge; didn't ask too many questions. She just talked. Quetzy assumed Thalia felt the same way. She had virtually no one to talk to around school. At least Quetzy had caused her own discrimination. Thalia could do nothing about it.

The pair was mostly quiet, as they sat there on the dome. Occasionally, one would make some sort of comment, and the other would respond in the same toneless manner. Thalia's thoughts were unknown, but Quetzy was still deep in concentration on the bookmark.

She reached into her pocket and fingered it. She traced the rectangular shape and pressed hard onto the corners. She pressed harder when she saw the figure of Mica silhouetted against the afternoon sun. She let one of the corners stay between the skin on the tip of her finger and her fingernail as Mica and his crew walked towards her and Thalia. He could only want one thing from the two misfits—trouble.

Mica apparently said something that Quetzy was too far away to hear. A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd making their way to the dome. Mica's joke must have been very funny because they kept laughing until they stopped right in front of Thalia.

Mica stood almost two inches taller than Thalia. He stood up straight and seemed to dominate over her. Quetzy could see Thalia's shoulders sag as the boy stood over her, ready to strike. Mica was tall, strong, and just about the coolest boy in school. But he was mean. He was mean to Quetzy and even worse to Thalia. Part of Quetzy's shunning was due to Mica's labeling. Once you were "uncool" in his book, there was no going back.

It was clear that the purpose of his presence was to bully Thalia. It didn't seem like Quetzy was going to be involved in this session. She was grateful for this and considered sneaking away from the whole scene. But then she thought that one of them would catch her and pull her into the mix. So she stayed where she was, observing the cruelty her only friend was about to silently suffer through.

It had started with a little shove and the usual, "What's wrong with your skin?" banter. Thalia had seen it all before. There didn't seem like there was anything new Mica or his buddies could say or do that hadn't already been said or done to her. Then there was the name-calling—dummy, stupid, and one even went so far as to say the G word. To Quetzy, that seemed completely uncalled for and irrelevant since Thalia was nothing close to the G word.

But still, she stood there, taking Mica's harassment with a blank stare on her face, unfazed.

Weren't bullies supposed to leave you alone if you didn't act offended by their insults? Quetzy had always heard that if you acted like those things didn't bother you, eventually, the bullies would go away. But Mica and his sidekicks didn't go away. They did something unthinkable, or, rather, Mica did something unthinkable. It was so unthinkable in fact; he didn't have a chance to act.

There weren't many explanations to justify the events that followed. It might have been adrenalin, or spontaneous impulse, or insanity. But what it was that impelled Quetzy to jump off the dome and touch—barely touch—Mica on the shoulders, she couldn't explain. She stood there, staring right into his eyeballs, (they were the same height) for what might have been ten seconds. Thalia and all Mica's friends had backed up about two feet, giving Quetzy and Mica room to fight—if that's what it amounted to.

Quetzy took her hands off him and shrunk away, expecting a hard shove or, at the very least, a fresh batch of insults. But Mica made no attempt to swing at her, or even to advance towards her. He stood in the exact same position as he had before. If there had been any movement since Quetzy had touched him, she couldn't tell. All of them kept staring at him, waiting for him to give some sign of consciousness.

Nothing happened.

The boys began to shuffle their feet nervously; Thalia backed up farther and farther away from the crowd. Quetzy was too shocked to know what to do. Mica seemed…paralyzed or stunned or something. She took one step forward and lightly poked the boy. Static electricity passed through her finger to the boy's body, sending a shock to him. He immediately tensed and almost fell over. Without the aid of one of the other boys, he would have tumbled to the ground.

Upon shocking the kid, Quetzy backed up out of the circle. She kept backing up until she reached the gate surrounding the playground that was, for some reason, left open. At that point, she turned and began running forward.

She seemed to be watching her body from above. She wanted to tell her feet to stop moving, but they kept running towards the road. Before she knew it, she was actually in the road. Then, as if her feet had just gotten the message, she stopped running.

She was just about to turn and run back to the playground when the sound of a car came racing towards her. For a brief moment, she was just as paralyzed as Mica was. Then, she knew exactly what to do. She didn't run. She stood her ground. She didn't have time to run now if she wanted to. All she could do now was wait. Wait for just the right moment…

Suddenly, it occurred to her that this might not work. She braced herself for a head on collision with the car. It was coming fast and it was right on top of her before she knew it. There was no time to think. She just had to act. Just like she had with Mica. As the car came close enough to touch, she reached out.

Static electricity ran through her fingers as they came into contact with the hot metal of the hood of the car. There was a millisecond of fear that coursed through her entire body, threatening to burst through one way or another. But she stood there, finger tips barely touching the hood of the car, staring eyeball to eyeball with a boy. He wore a look of confusion, thoughtfulness, and fear. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and his whole body was tense like Mica's.

Quetzy was so scared that she had paralyzed him too, that she almost wet herself right there. She removed her fingers from the car slowly and stared at them as if they weren't hers. They didn't seem like they could be hers. They had never been so powerful before. How was she expected to trust that these were in fact her own fingers?

A flash of vertigo washed over her as memories of baseball games and the smell of oranges and images of faces she didn't recognize flooded her.

There was a gun. And there was blood. All over the seats and floors.

Thoughts of Aeron and her friends touched her briefly, but those quickly disappeared. There were other more complicated thoughts that made her want to faint. Thoughts of a man…her real father?...thoughts of a woman with long red fingernails…thoughts of a boy. A boy with blood on him. A monster in disguise? She couldn't tell.

She didn't realize she had been shaking until Ms. Ingram scooped her up and held her tightly, forcing her to stop convulsing. "Oh my," she whispered over and over. Ms. Ingram pulled an unsteady hand away from Quetzy and held it out. She murmured something about staying back and kept walking across the street. Quetzy was too drained to look back at the boy even though she desperately wanted to know if he was the boy with blood on him.

Quetzy didn't know how long it had been since Ms. Ingram had ushered all the children inside. The first order of business was to take care of Mica. Ms. Ingram had requested Mrs. Yethrow's assistance, and she had responded over the room-to-room intercom saying that she was on her way. Just as Mrs. Yethrow and Ms. Ingram closed their conversation, the regular intercom beeped as a small voice began to speak.

"This is your principal, Mrs. Ardem. We are experiencing a dangerous situation—a criminal has escaped and is hiding on campus. We are issuing a lockdown. The alarm will sound momentarily, and we expect all teachers to follow lockdown procedure."

There was another beep as the announcement ended, and, just as Principal Ardem had promised, the alarm sounded. Ms. Ingram stood and began muttering that something was wrong. "Why didn't they just play the alarm? Why did she make an announcement? That's not normal. Something's wrong. Something's wrong."

She walked to the windows to draw the blinds. She pulled the string. Then she screamed.

The bloody face of a man appeared in the window. His eyes were tired and his hair was muddy. He looked worse than the boy in the car. There were bruises on his head and cheeks, dark circles under his eyes, and a small scar under his chin. His nose was bleeding and his lips were cut. His eyes were scared, darting from one thing to another. Finally, they settled on Quetzy.

She knew she was supposed to be afraid of him. He was the criminal that had caused the lockdown, she was sure. But he wasn't scary like she had imagined. He was the scared one.

He must have collapsed because he fell down out of view. Two police with stun guns ran towards the man. Quetzy realized that one of the stuns was already trained on the man. That must have been the reason he had fallen.

The policemen stood over him for some time, staring at him and moving slightly. She imagined they were beating him. A pang of sorrow for the man tugged her heart. She didn't know what he had done to deserve such treatment, but surely it couldn't be that bad. Could it?

One of the men turned towards the window and saw the students and bewildered teacher watching the two take justice into their own hands. He gave Ms. Ingram a death glare, she let the string go, and the blinds fell over the window, making the room darker. The blinds may have prevented the children from seeing the scene outside, but they failed to stop them from hearing the swearing of the police; the grunts of the criminal.

It might have been coincidence that the man—criminal—had chosen today to break away from prison. It might have been coincidence that the police had chosen Room 304 for their inspection. It might have been coincidence that, just as the police were charging through the doors, Mrs. Yethrow was walking down the hall.

Or maybe it was fate.

Quetzy had considered a lot of things when she received the bookmark from Mrs. Yethrow this morning which seemed so long ago now. Getting caught had certainly crossed her mind. But she had imagined Ms. Ingram or another teacher would discover her secret. Surely it wouldn't be as bad as what the police would do if they found the contents still hidden in the pocket of her windbreaker.

Snarling dogs could be heard coming down the hall. The police pounded on the door to Room 304. All the children tensed as the dogs burst through the doors followed by their masters who looked just as fierce.

The two policemen strutted through the doors confidently. The first was heavyset, slouched a bit, and had graying black hair. His uniform looked like it had been bunched in a pile in the corner before he'd put it on, and there was mud caked on the knees. His face was dirty and flushed like he was out of breath. He looked stiff too, like he was under someone's careful observation.

The second was thin and considerably younger than the first. He had bright red hair and deep eyes. His face was pale as if he had seen something awful. He stood up straight with his shoulders back like he was proud of himself for something. He followed the older man into the classroom and held the dogs.

They were two great German Shepherds with foaming mouths, wagging tails, and shaking limbs. They growled as the younger man led them up and down the rows of desks. They sniffed at the children's backpacks and shoes. Quetzy didn't know what they were looking for but they apparently didn't find it.

Every year at the beginning of the year, all the students were called to an assembly where they were instructed on dress code, good conduct, and what not to bring to school. On that list were: any kind of drugs, weapons, and any forms of religious items. They were told that at random times throughout the year, they would have an inspection of a random student from a random class to make sure they weren't breaking school rules.

Quetzy's class had never been inspected, but she had known a boy in another class that had been. He said it was no big deal unless they found something on you. And if they did…well, it meant trouble.

While the younger man was holding the dogs, the older one was waiting on Ms. Ingram to fetch him a roster. The younger man joined the older man who was bent over the roster. They both stood there for a minute of two as if they couldn't decide which unlucky soul would be the victim of the inspection. "Mica Turner," said the older man finally.

Everyone turned in their seats to stare at Mica who was still paralyzed. They had been able to get him into a sitting position, but he hadn't moved on his own since. Ms. Ingram stood in protest. "I don't mean to question your opinion, Sirs, but Mica seems to be…ill. I just spoke with the nurse. She'll be here any moment to determine his condition. If you would just wait until—"

"Ma'am we don't have time for this. We just want to do our job and go home. We've got families too."

Quetzy couldn't help but wonder where talk of families played into the discussion of Mica.

"But with all due respect—"

As if on cure, Mrs. Yethrow sauntered in the room, completely unaware of the situation. She had to stop for a moment to take it all in. She first stared at the police, then at Quetzy, trying to decide if Quetzy was responsible for their appearance. This was all terrible timing.

The men eyed her with little suspicion, so she concluded that the police weren't here on account of her. She stepped toward Mica but didn't pay him much attention. She was studying Quetzy with worry written all over her face. Quetzy could tell she wanted to know what was going on. But it was impossible for her to convey the message without the officers noticing. Besides, she didn't want to attract much attention to herself.

Seeing that there was almost no way to check the boy for illegal items, they moved on to the next child. It would have been easier to move to the person in the next desk or to Mica's study partner. But Quetzy was beginning to wonder how much of this wasn't preordained by a high power.

"Quet…Quetza…Quetzelchital…

"Quetzalxochitl," Ms. Ingram corrected. "We call her Quetzy."

"I can see why," the man said quietly. "What is that? German?"

"Aztec," Quetzy spoke up.

Everyone stared at her bemusedly. "That's pretty interesting," he studied her closely.

She squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes. My ancestors…they were Aztec."

"Very interesting indeed." He was silent for a moment, then turned to the other man and said, "Start with the bag."

The younger man stalked up to her desk and pulled her backpack out from underneath her seat and began forcing her books and other things out of it. His face was calm, composed. One by one, he laid all of her possessions on the flat of the desk in front of her. The whole time, he kept his eyes on her. She wanted to keep hers away from his, but something about them kept drawing hers back to his smooth face.

If Quetzy had been old enough to think of such things, she would have found the officer considerably handsome. But he seemed cold too. Dark mystery sort of hung over him like a storm cloud hanging over a cartoon character's head. She didn't like feeling his presence. Having him near her made her nervous, as if she wasn't nervous enough already.

When he was done, he looked at her with a strange look. It was completely indecipherable. It held something that she thought might have been pleasure, or satisfaction. But honestly, she wasn't sure. He stood and looked at the older man. He shook his head sadly as if the two were sharing some secret mentally.

"Stand up and take off your jacket," he commanded.

Her heart seemed to fall straight to the floor. She stood up obediently. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have told them that she was cold and wanted to keep the windbreaker on. It would have been a harmless request that, even if rejected, wouldn't have cost her anything. She didn't really think the outcome would have been much different, but it was worth a shot.

Unfortunately, fear had drenched her from head to two, leaving her without capability to think logically. There had to be some way out of this! But she could see none.

The red haired boy grabbed the jacket from her and began digging through the pockets. It didn't take long for him to discover the bookmark. Other than that, there was nothing save pocket fuzz.

He examined the bookmark carefully, just as Quetzy had done sitting in Mrs. Yethrow's office. He read over the "What to Do When You're Sick" list and decided there was nothing too suspicious about that. He laid it down on the table and nodded at the older man.

Quetzy breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know how it had happened, but she had managed to make it out of this. She was free. Then she noticed that the boy hadn't laid the bookmark down on the desk with the "What to Do When You're Sick" list face up. The side with the changing message just sat there, staring at the boy, practically screaming at him. It seemed to beg him to look down.

In her mind, it seemed only normal to want to stare back at it. She couldn't seem to take her eyes off. Maybe if she could stare at it hard enough—will it hard enough—the message might disappear and the officers would leave her alone.

She needed a miracle, and right now, there was only one person to really turn to. Quetzy had never been to church, so she didn't really know what to say. Luckily, she was a child. Children sometimes possess a faith like none other. She reached out with all her being and prayed that the boy wouldn't look down.

Maybe the phone lines were down today, or she didn't have a good signal. Whatever the case, her message didn't go through. The boy glanced down only slightly. It was enough, however, for him to notice the changing message on the back of the card.

"Hendrix," he called to his partner. "Look at this."

The older man—Hendrix—looked along over the boy's shoulder. "Well, I'll be—" He said the D word. "That's the cleverest thing I've seen in quite some time." He looked at Quetzy with new respect. Maybe he knew that she hadn't come up with the clever disguise of the message. Maybe he didn't. No matter. She was in possession of the bookmark, and that was all that matter.

Hendrix gave the younger cop a look that seemed to say, "Let's take her in." He turned and showed Ms. Ingram the bookmark. When she saw the hidden message, she gasped. She stood and started to walk to towards Quetzy and the officers, but she stopped as if she couldn't go any further.

It was apparent that neither officer had ever done this before—not arresting someone, but arresting a kid as young as Quetzy. They weren't sure how to go about doing it. Surprisingly, it was the younger officer who took action. He pulled his handcuffs from his belt and looked questioningly at his partner. The older man said nothing.

Ms. Ingram remained quiet. She looked stunned; paler than pale. Even Mrs. Yethrow's black skin had lightened. All the kids around her had panicky eyes which darted every which way. No one could believe that good, silent Quetzy was in possession of something so illegal, that she was getting caught with it.

Of course, Mrs. Yethrow had known. She had been watching closely. Now Quetzy was watching her closely. This had to be a trick or something. Things like this didn't just happen. It had to be a prank or a test or…or…something! She kept waiting for the hidden cameras to come out, for Ms. Ingram's frown turn to a laughing smile, for all the students to point and laugh at the fool who had believed their act. But none of that happened.

Something else happened.

"Stop!" a not-so-distant voice cried. All eyes were turned to the little nurse standing awkwardly by Mica's desk. "Stop," she repeated.

"Something you have to say?" Hendrix said gruffly. Quetzy didn't like his tone.

Mrs. Yethrow was silent for a second. Then she murmured, "Yes."

They waited for her to gather her courage before she went on. "I gave her the bookmark. I put it in her pocket as she was leaving my office this morning. She didn't know." She stopped and started again quickly, "I was trying to spite her."

Everyone was quiet. No one knew what to say, least of all Quetzy. She had trusted the nurse, and here she was, telling everyone the whole thing was a setup. It had to be a lie, didn't it? It couldn't be true.

But she had just admitted to a crime so foul and scorned. Confession was enough proof for the two men. No questions asked; no emotions shed, they began to go about their business.

Mrs. Yethrow silently let them put her hands behind her back and cuff them together. As they were just walking out the door, Quetzy stood and ran to the nurse. "Wait!" she yelled. Despite the feeling of betrayal, she felt she needed to speak to the woman.

They stopped. Hendrix didn't seem to mind but the boy grumbled to himself.

"Why are you letting them take you?" Quetzy cried, tears welling in her eyes. Whether it had been a trick or not, Quetzy couldn't help but cry for the woman.

"Oh, Baby. Don't cry. It's okay." She still smiled despite everything. Her smile was so lovely. "I was just getting ready to leave anyway." She bent down close to Quetzy's ear and whispered, "You remember those cities that I drew?"

Quetzy nodded.

"Well, that's where I'm going. I hope to see you there."

With nothing left to be said, Hendrix and his partner led the nurse out of the room. Quetzy wasn't sure what the woman was talking about, but it made her feel better to know that she was going to a beautiful city.

The rest of the day was a blur. Ms. Ingram was too shocked to teach; the kids too scared to learn.

There had been plenty of searches as the school before, but no one had ever seen anyone get taken away—wherever away was. Quetzy had known a boy once to actually get searched. His name was Shane. He was a grade younger but they had gotten along quite well. Quetzy didn't know much about boys but she knew that she liked him. And he liked her too.

It had been the first day of October that the police had come with their dogs. She had heard them coming but she hadn't known until afterward that it had been his class they were making their way to. He had told her about it, but she got the feeling he had left a lot out. Probably better. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the whole story.

He had told her that they had made him take off his jacket upon not finding anything in his backpack. After they still came up empty-handed, they escorted him to a private room. That was where the story had ended. Obviously, they hadn't found anything in that room either. Quetzy shuddered to think what might have happened to Shane if they had found something on him; what was about to happen to Mrs. Yethrow.

Shane was always different after that. He always seemed like he was thinking about other things. He didn't talk to Quetzy as much, or anyone else, for that matter.

Then, there was the art incident, and no one wanted much to do with her.

She couldn't help but feel guilty about what had happened to her new friend, the nurse. There was really nothing she could have done differently to change the turn of events, but she still felt responsible. Maybe if she had run away—skipped school—when she had the chance, or if she had not taken the bookmark in the first place. Or even if she hadn't touched Mica.

The police would have searched him instead. Maybe that was a horrible thing to wish upon her own peer, but at least it wouldn't have resulted in Mrs. Yethrow's fate—whatever that was. Quetzy doubted Mica had any sort of religious items on him, and he didn't seem the type for drugs or weapons. At worst, he would have been taken to the private room.

Now she felt even guiltier. She was asking for a third grader to sacrifice himself for an old woman she had just met.

In retrospect, it did seem better for things to end up the way they had. Mrs. Yethrow was old and she hadn't seemed worried about going off to that place. Mica was young and had his whole life ahead of him. Even if all he would have to do was walk back to the room with the men, he might still have been traumatically scarred. Shane had been a scary image after what had happened to him. Would she really be willing to make Mica that way?

Then again, he had never been willing to make her life easier. Mrs. Yethrow had made Quetzy feel special even if she had only known her for a few hours. Just this afternoon, Mica had dared to do something so unbelievable. But still, not even the police would turn heads. Maybe it was a moral issue—not something to be taken up with the police. Still, it had been enough to make her react. Whether that reaction had been rational or irrational, she wasn't quite sure.

It had mostly been spontaneous. She had heard the word and acted. She had had enough of Mica's childish behavior, and using that word was where she'd drawn the line. Quetzy didn't have many pet peeves, but saying things you don't mean or understand was one she did have. She doubted Mica understood the meaning of the word.

Before she knew it, it was time for school to end.

Quetzy and Thalia stood up and walked towards the door together. Ms. Ingram was walking to Mica's seat. He still sat there, staring ahead blankly. He looked like a zombie, hunching slightly over his desk, expressionless.

For a second, Quetzy felt bad for him. She felt bad for what she'd done to him. She hoped he would get better. She didn't want him to be like that for the rest of his life.

As if willed by her, Mica stirred. He blinked a few times and turned his head. It took him a moment or two to get his bearings, but he seemed to come back to his senses.

"Oh, Mica! You're better! What happened? Are you allergic to something?" Ms. Ingram went about asking. Mica didn't seem to understand what she was asking at first. Then he began looking around the room. When he got sight of Quetzy, his eyes widened and he clung to the woman. She threw a confused look at her, and she began to understand.

Thalia pulled on her arm. "Com'on. Let's get outta here." They started walking outside with the other third graders. "What did you do to him?" asked Thalia in a whisper.

Quetzy didn't know what to tell her since she didn't really know herself. "I don't know. All I did was poke him. And that was to make sure he was okay. Before that, I just kinda shoved him, I think."

They walked outside into the sunshine. The rain had obviously gone away. Thalia noticed too. She inhaled a nice breath of air. Then she turned back to Quetzy. "Why?"

This question she neither knew how to answer nor what to make of it. "What do you mean why? He said," She looked around to make sure no one else would hear, "The N word."

Thalia furrowed her eyebrows. "No, he didn't," she said with correction in her voice.

"Yes, he did too!" Quetzy said a little louder than she had intended. Some of Mica's friends looked over at them. Noticing their presence, they made their way towards them.

"What did you do to Mica, Freak?" one said.

Another stepped forward and shoved Quetzy into Thalia who stumbled backward. All of them began to taunt and shove them. By the time Ms. Ingram came out holding Mica's hand, a whole mosh pit had broken out in front of the school. She broke it up quickly and separated Quetzy and Thalia from the boys. She gave Quetzy a look of fear. She seemed to be getting a lot of those today. There was no doubt in Quetzy's mind that Mica had divulged the whole story about Quetzy's freakness.

At that moment, she felt lower than low. Thalia wasn't sure what to make of it all. Quetzy could tell she didn't really want to be around her, and she certainly didn't want to talk. So Quetzy found a nice, quiet place in the shade and read her e-book while she waited for Aeron.

Almost everyone else was gone by the time Aeron pulled up. Aeron was always late getting to pick her up. Quetzy was too tired to wonder what Aeron had been up to today that had hindered her from arriving on time.

She did smile when she saw her sister. She was more than glad that she was here, whether she was late or not. She was taking her away, and today more than ever, she wanted to go away.

Aeron got out of the car to sign her out while Quetzy got in and waited patiently. When Aeron got back, she pulled her seatbelt over her. Quetzy did the same. She began to talk about everything. She started with the dream from the night before and ended with the boys picking on her and Thalia in front of the school. There didn't seem to be an off button; nothing could stop the flow of words.

When she had finished, she turned to her older sister, looking for some kind of comfort. But Aeron was lost in her own thoughts. "Aeron," she said. The older girl looked down on her. She considered recounting the whole thing again to her now devoted audience. But it was hard enough to say the first time. Instead she stated, "I'm hungry."

"Okay, I think we have something at home," she replied halfheartedly.

"Okay," she said back. First, she didn't want to go home. Second, she wanted Aeron to be a little more interested in her day. At any other time, Aeron would be all over her, wanting to know every little thing. At those times, Quetzy wouldn't want that. Now that she did, Aeron had more important things on her mind. What could possibly be so important?

That was selfish. Something really bad could have happened today that Aeron had dubbed Quetzy too young to know about. But something really bad had happened to Quetzy today, and she needed Aeron to be there for her.

They pulled to a short halt at a red light. As if reading her mind, Aeron had laid a hand on her shoulder. Quetzy had traced the arm with her eyes up to Aeron's face. She was smiling at her. That was enough to make her smile back.

There was a lone, blue car parked in front of the trailer. It was beat up and trashy but it got Nathan to work when he chose to go. Quetzy stiffened a little bit. She felt bad for feeling so afraid of the man. She told herself again that he had never physically hurt her in any way. He may not have been the best father, but he wasn't a bad one either. He tended to neglect and yell, but he had always treated her like his own. It was just sometimes hard to convince herself of this.

Aeron whispered the S word. Quetzy turned her head sharply towards her. Aeron had promised to stop. Quetzy knew that she regretted it the instant the word had left her mouth. She wore a look of guilt as she turned to her and said, "Sorry."

She stared down for a minute. She figured most of her resentment to Nathan had come from Aeron's own bitterness. But she didn't like to blame Aeron. Aeron probably had good reason to feel the way she did about Nathan. Whatever that reason was, Quetzy didn't know. Aeron didn't share much of that sort of information with her. It was none of an eight-year-old's business.

"It's a habit. I'm working on it," Aeron whispered.

Quetzy understood, but she still didn't like it.

The house was alive with the blare of the evening news. Nathan lay, half-asleep, on the couch. There were several empty cans of beer littered around the couch. His poker table stuffed into the corner held paper plates and more beer cans. An ash tray still smoked faintly. She assumed his poker buddies had just left.

"Hey. Hey, Kiddo," he said hoarsely. "Are you gonna give your dad a hug or what?"

She wanted to say the latter but she walked to him even so. His breath smelled like liquor (of course) and his clothes stunk of smoke and were well-used and soiled. She accidently inhaled his rank. She wondered how long it had been since he had showered.

"Now, get off me. You're all sweaty," he told her before patting her harder than he had meant to on the head. Her heart sank a little bit. She didn't think she was sweaty at all. But now she felt very self-conscious and quickly walked back to Aeron.

Aeron placed her hand on her head as if to cover up Nathan's touch. She steered her towards the kitchen. When they were there, she lifted her up unexpectedly. Sitting her on the counter, Aeron brushed her cheek against Quetzy's and breathed, "He's not your father." Quetzy nodded in understanding and Aeron continued loudly, "Good. Now, let's see if we have anything to eat."

Leaning forward and peeking around Aeron, Quetzy could see she was rummaging through the cabinets. She finally pulled down a moist looking rectangular box. There was no telling how long it had been up there. She whiffed it and smiled cheerfully, "Yum! Did you know people have been eating this cereal since 1941?"

For a second, Quetzy was intrigued. "So cave people ate this stuff?"

"Uh…maybe. You know, I think they did," Aeron answered.

After preparing a bowl for her sister, Aeron set it on the table. Quetzy hopped down from her place on the counter and made her way to a chair.

"There. Looks good doesn't it?" Aeron smiled.

She stared at it for a moment or two before asking, "Why is it moving?" She could see something was at the bottom of the bowl, pushing the O's around and shifting them slightly.

Caught off guard, a shocked Aeron asked in reply, "What?"

A decent sized cockroach and his partner crawled out into the open. She let out a short yelp and dashed away from the bowl. She didn't get along well with bugs—especially not large, scary ones. "What the—" Nathan said the H word. "What the — is wrong with you? Getta hold of yourself! Shut up, Kid!"

Aeron had come across the room to stand by her. She was trying to hold her, but Quetzy was fine. She was still shaken, but the real moment of terror was over. She just had to make herself stop crying. Grow up. She told herself. Don't be such a baby.

"I've got a hangover and I'm trying to watch T.V.!" Nathan finished.

"Don't worry. We're leaving," Aeron retorted curtly.

"Where do you think you're going, little girl?"

Aeron flushed but didn't take the bait. "Your friends ate every bit of edible food in this house and left of this…this…bug-filled cereal. We're going to get something to eat and stock the cupboards. Besides, I would hate to disturb you any further."

Quetzy wasn't sure where this was going, but it could only get worse from here.

"You will not go anywhere!" He shouted loud enough for the whole park to hear him.

"Are you gonna stop me? You can't get yourself off the couch, let alone stop me from doing anything." Quetzy had never felt so much respect for Aeron, nor so much fear of Nathan.

"Fine. Leave. Like I care what you do anyhow. Just leave her with me. She's still mine." He smiled wickedly, pointing at Quetzy. What could Aeron do if he wanted her? Could she stop him? Quetzy had never thought there was anything her big sister couldn't do. But what if she couldn't stop Nathan?

"You are not her father. You won't touch her."

Sure, she could say that. But now he was standing. He looked like he could've touched her if he wanted to. But he grunted painfully and sat back down. It was time to leave while he was incapable of making his move.

Aeron pulled her hand and they walked out the door together. She stole a glance behind her and saw him holding his head in his hands. She didn't know if he was crying or if his head just hurt really bad. For a brief—very brief—moment, Quetzy felt pity for the man.

"You'll come back!" he shouted, his voice muffled by his palms. "And when you do, I'll be waiting." The pity disappeared from her almost instantly.

When they were in the car and driving away from the park, Aeron handed Quetzy her windbreaker. She hadn't noticed Aeron had thought to bring it. She pulled it on and shivered. This was huge. What was going to happen now? They had nowhere to go; no one to turn to. There was nothing for them.

And as if the day wasn't bad enough already! Without warning, she began to cry. She didn't make a big deal of it, but she decided to let tears run down her face. It felt good—like she was letting everything go, running out of her eyes. Aeron's hand appeared in front of her face. Quetzy held it up to her cheek.

Aeron's rote flashed and beeped, alerting them of the message that had not been heard. The sudden light caught her attention and she turned sharply towards the machine.

"It's okay. I'm just gonna check it."

With Aeron's Rote in her ear, Quetzy couldn't hear the message. Within a few seconds, Aeron was spinning the car around, away from the city.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to see Faolan. He has some food for us." She didn't believe that at all.

Aeron seemed really tense as she turned the wheel with one white-knuckled fist. She started pressing buttons on the Rote positioned in her ear. Quetzy didn't know what to make of her behavior. There was something bothering Aeron—something she couldn't figure out. She must have pressed a button too hard, pushing the Rote out of her ear. It fell to the ground and Aeron muttered, "Crap." Quetzy much preferred that word over the other she might have chosen to use.

She unsafely reached down on the floor. She was glancing up over the dash, still able to see the road. But it was easy to forget she was driving. Staying down too long without looking back up could result in something neither of the girls wanted.

"Hit the light for me, will ya'?"

Quetzy sat up straighter and reached for the light. She was still too short so she pulled her legs under her. Now she could flick on the light without straining.

She didn't really notice the headlights since the light she had just turned on was dousing the light from the oncoming car. There wasn't time to think; to scream. Everything blurred together like an impressionist painting—the colors and sounds meshed together, making everything distorted and unrealistic.

She didn't have time for first or second thoughts. The whole thing was happening so fast. If there had been time to think about the irony of things, she would have thought about how, on this one and only night, she hadn't been wearing her seatbelt.

The rest was forgotten as everything slowed down just long enough for lights to fade and whites to turn to blacks.

Dying is an interesting thing. It's only after you realize that you have died that it becomes interesting. It's like watching your body from a distance. You feel your dying chest pushing hard, but the chest belonging to the body hovering above is breathing normally. Then you see that part of you is still alive. That's why you're still here, watching from above. You scream as loud as you can—though you can only scream mentally—at your body to wake up, not to give up, to just keep breathing. Then you see the blood. And you know that you've only got so much time left to observe before it's all over and you're called away—wherever away is.

Then something miraculous happens. You feel yourself being pulled away; pulled back to the shell of a body you've just been willing to live. And you breathe.

It felt like every bone in Quetzy's body had been smashed and ground into tiny pieces beneath the skin. She needed to know if she could still move, but she was afraid to find out.

She was lying on a stretcher, being lifted into a loud truck. It took her a moment to find her voice so she could begin protesting. The paramedics were startled by her awakening but relieved. They unstrapped her and tested her reflexes and pressing lightly on her bones. Everything was surprisingly intact. They were amazed. Her recovery—sudden as it was—was incredible in itself. According to all laws of physics and science, she shouldn't be here like she was.

They gave her a blanket and a seat in one of the squad cars. Two paramedics crossed the street where the wreckage lay to consult a young looking officer with bright red hair.

Quetzy took this quiet opportunity to survey the area. It was something of a gruesome sight. Two cars—Aeron's and the other car—lay in the ditches on both sides of the road.

Aeron's little red car was so mangled that Quetzy had to turn away. The sight of it made her stomach turn. It made awful thoughts play around over and over again inside her head. Despite the fact that she wasn't looking at the car, the image stayed burnt in her brain. She could see it overturned, windows smashed in, dents everywhere, rubber burnt off wheels, and various other things missing or broken off the car.

The other car wasn't quite as twisted. It wasn't upside-down for one thing. The front was bashed in pretty badly from where it had hit Aeron's car. It had swerved across the road and skidded to a stop in the ditch. The driver's door was still open, indicating that the driver had fled the scene.

Quetzy was suddenly hot with anger. What if something awful had happened to her or Aeron? Something awful had happened to her. But what if she hadn't gotten better? What gave the driver a right to leave without claiming responsibility, or at least staying to make sure everyone was alright?

The red haired cop was walking towards her. He was tall and might have been handsome on a night when his stress level wasn't so high. Premature wrinkles creased his forehead and he looked pale. It was possible that, as young as he was, this was his first major investigation. He was possibly unprepared and very scared.

"Hey, Quetzy. How ya' feelin'?" he asked casually.

"Um, fine."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Does anything…hurt; feel funny?"

"Uh…" she thought for a moment. "No. Nope, not really." She thought about how the doctors had tested her muscles and bones. She was a little stiff, but not at all achy. Most of the stiffness had worn off after she'd walked to the squad car. "Where's my sister?" she blurted.

The officer's expression turned cloudy. "Your sister is safe. We are just trying to wake her up now."

"Wake her up?" For a scary moment, she thought that Aeron might be in a sleep from which she would not wake.

The officer could see that he had alarmed the child and said quickly, "She is unconscious. But we are trying to wake her."

Another officer called over to the red haired one. He turned around and walked towards the calling man. He looked back quickly and smiled. A warm feeling coursed through her muscles. She felt strangely safe.

Sleepiness seemed to overtake her suddenly. She felt sure she would topple over, but she wasn't that tired. She leaned against the back seat and sighed deeply. Before she sank into a pleasant dream of a better world, Quetzy couldn't help but think that she knew the red haired officer from somewhere.