Drawing Amanda (18 page)

Could it be true? Was there really a creepy guy behind Megaland, or was Inky just making that up? Hawk said he was a strange one. Maybe he had a fight with someone at the game about his artwork or something, and this was just revenge.

But what if Inky was right and she’d been chatting with some dangerous guy? Who was this Woody, anyway? She couldn’t exactly ask Woody if he was a creep, but maybe there were other things she could find out.

Amanda signed on to Megaland. The home page appeared, and she immediately felt the storm within her subside. She liked having this special place, a little mindless amusement and the chance to chat with someone she found easy to talk to. It made her sad that it would never be the same. The chat box opened.

Megaland:
Welcome back Justagirl. Do you want to see the new scenarios for the game?

Amanda wondered how he knew to sign on when she did. Did his computer make a sound, like when you get a new email, to let him know that someone signed on to the game? How did he know it was her? Were there other girls? Did they have each have their own special sound? All of a sudden Amanda was nervous. She hadn’t planned what she was going to say. When in doubt, try the truth, her father often said.

Justagirl
: I don’t feel much like playing. I bombed my report today.

Megaland:
Maybe playing will take your mind off of it.

Justagirl
: I just feel like chatting.

Megaland
: OK. So tell me, did you totally bomb or were there good parts?

Justagirl
: There was good stuff. Usually I’m scared to talk in front of a group, but I practiced and it felt OK. Then I got into it and started talking. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I hurt someone.

Megaland
: That must hurt you, too. I know it can be very hard to pick up after you’ve made a mistake.

Zut
, Amanda thought. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Still, chatting with him was making her feel better.

Justagirl
: At least I know I won’t make the same mistake again. I’ll just stick to what I planned.

Megaland:
Don’t be too hard on yourself. It’s tough not to repeat mistakes.

Amanda thought about that for a moment. It was one of those wisdom things adults say, but she thought he might be talking about himself, too.

Justagirl:
Does that happen to u? Do u make the same mistakes?

The cursor blinked. It seemed to take him longer than usual to reply. Was she on to something?

Megaland:
Change is very hard.

Amanda didn’t reply right away. She was curious what else he might say.

Megaland:
But don’t you worry, maybe your teacher saw all the good things in your report.

It felt like he closed down. Was this all she’d get to work with to figure out who he was?

Justagirl
: Not. He didn’t even let me finish.

Megaland:
Life is filled with surprises – like the pictures you have in store for your family. Think about that.

Amanda couldn’t help but notice how he’d changed the topic. Now maybe she could get him to say something that would show his true intentions. But what?

Justagirl
: I’m looking forward to that. What will it be like?

Megaland:
What do you want to know?

Justagirl
: Oh, everything. What I should wear, what I should do.

Again, there was a hesitation. She bit her lip until it hurt.

Megaland:
Oh dear, that’s a lot of questions. Don’t worry about what you’re going to wear; there will be lots of costumes to choose from. The pictures will be beautiful, because you are.

Justagirl:
Why do you say that? You don’t know what I look like.

Megaland:
I know this much, you’re a beautiful person. That will show through in the pictures.

Justagirl:
IDK, but tnx.

Amanda smiled at using one of the abbreviations Hawk had taught her.

Megaland:
Well, I do know. I think I know you rather well, Justagirl. But I don’t know which costume you would pick. Perhaps you’d like to be a cheerleader? Pride in your new school and all. Would you like that?

Merde. Sacrebleu.
He was talking about a cheerleader costume. Hadn’t Inky told her he liked girls to dress up like cheerleaders? Her hand started shaking as she started to type a response. The guy behind Megaland really was a creep. Inky was right. But how could it be? She was too smart to have this happen to her.

Justagirl:
A cheerleader? I’ll have to think about that.

Justagirl:
I guess I have all week to think about who I want to become.

Chapter 30

Making Contact

“M
ICHAEL KAHN WILL TELL US ABOUT
‘Caste, Costume and Custom,’” Mrs. Patel announced from the podium.

Dang, Inky thought as he approached the microphone. He’d forgotten to tell his teacher that he changed his topic. Mrs. Patel hated surprises.

“I, er, hello, everybody. I am Michael Kahn, but I’m not going to talk about costume or custom. What I’m going to present to you today is called ‘Making Contact.’”

Inky saw Principal Harooni pucker her lips like she’d bit into a lemon. She glowered at him. Inky took a deep breath. He clicked on his first slide. It was the long text of an email. He magnified the first paragraph and read the words as they appeared on screen.

“‘Ted, I have the most extraordinary news. I’ve found a previously uncontacted tribe of Indians.’”

Inky could see Rungs in the middle of the auditorium. He gave Inky a thumbs up.

“And so it began,” Inky said. “That email was from Raoul Costa to his college roommate, a documentary filmmaker. Costa is an officer in FUNAI, the Indian land rights organization in Brazil.”

Inky clicked to the next slide. He lowered his voice and moved closer to the microphone so it sounded like the pleading whisper he imagined would be Raoul’s tone if he was reading the words.

“‘There are very few of them, you must come and document how they live. I can offer you harsh conditions, bad food, excellent company, only minimal upfront funding, and a chance to make history. Old friend, I need you. The loggers are encroaching on the Indian’s hunting land. Come soon. You must prove they exist so we can protect them. You must bear witness.’”

Principal Harooni still had her lemon face, but at least she was paying attention. Inky continued. “It promised to be a new and exciting chapter in the career of the filmmaker,” Inky said, with one hand tightly gripping the podium. “It turned out to be the final chapter in his life.”

Inky’s voice cracked, but he continued. “That documentary filmmaker was my father, Ted Kahn, who died in a plane crash returning from filming a newly discovered branch of the Awa Indians in the Brazilian Amazon. His film perished along with him. Today I’m telling the story he never got to tell.”

Inky looked out into the auditorium. He scanned the audience for Amanda. The dim lights made it hard to see faces. Hawk caught his eye and nodded from her seat near the front. Inky found that oddly comforting.

He switched to a slide of one of the images he had drawn. It was of a headband hanging from a branch, its bright feathers a contrast to the greens and browns of the jungle background. He liked how the brightly-colored drawing inks held their saturation on the enlarged slide.

“Raoul’s job is to survey the Indian population. He looks for signs of their campsites and marks off their land to keep out gold diggers and loggers and exposure to disease. The Indians in that region are hunter-gatherers; they move to their food source, some seasonally, some more frequently. He’s familiar with the language and symbols of most of the tribes.

“One day he found a headband, like this one, caught in the branches of a low jungle bush. It was a patterned headband with bright orange toucan plumage and yellow and red macaw feathers. He did not recognize the pattern as the work of any of the Indian tribes he was familiar with in the area. Raoul kept the headband attached to his canteen strap as he continued to traipse through the jungle looking for signs of Indian activity, his loose kind of census.”

Inky switched the slide. The image on the screen was a forest scene, seen from the perspective of someone on the ground looking up. In the treetops two pairs of eyes and two mouths were visible. The lines of the bodies were woven into the pattern of the foliage. It was an artfully done image, Inky thought with some satisfaction. The medium-nibbed pen had been the right choice. He continued to tell the story.

“One day, Raoul heard whispering coming from a tree above him. He knew he was being watched as he set up his camp for the evening. He made his food and pitched his tent. He let the Indians watch him. He was not afraid.

“In the morning, they were still there, or there again. Raoul packed up his things, then looked up in their direction. He knew they saw him, and felt that he’d caught their eyes.”

Inky changed the slide to one that was meant to be Raoul, as if viewed from the trees above. It showed him placing the headband on the ground.

“Raoul kept eye contact with the Indians as he placed the headband down by where his tent had been, and walked away towards a clearing. He did not turn around to see if they retrieved it.”

The next slide was his rendering of a giant tortoise that filled the screen. He looked out into the audience, this time seeing that Mrs. Patel and Mr. Lorenza both appeared to be interested. He quickly scanned the right side of the room. No Amanda.

“The Indians tracked down Raoul several days later. They brought a gift to his campsite. A giant tortoise. It was a valuable gift. Tortoise is an important food to a nomadic tribe; it could be stored live on a giant rack. The headband Raoul had found belonged to one of the tribe’s elders, and the gift honored him for its return.”

Inky switched the slide to a drawing of a tribal ceremony. The Indian men wore their lip plugs and body paint; the women were by the fire, tending to packets of food wrapped in giant green leaves. Inky explained the slide.

“Raoul was eventually invited to a ceremony. He called it a ‘moving on’ ceremony, as it coincided with the tribe breaking down camp and moving to another hunting location. I imagine a ceremony like that is the last thing that my father filmed.”

Inky paused for a second. His throat tightened. He fought back tears. He switched to the next slide. It reminded him a little of a Chagall print his father had taken him to see. It was his favorite drawing in the series. The image was of the Indians dancing around the fire, a swirl of bodies, their boundaries merging in a ghostly blur. To the side, where his father might have been seated, was the camera, and instead of his father’s face behind it, Inky had drawn his own.

“The ceremony was a way to offer thanks to the site for giving them the food that would get them through the season.”

Inky switched to a slide that showed a rack of tortoises and stacked packets of food for the tribe. Principal Harooni had dropped her pucker face, and she was leaning forward in her seat. Inky was coming to the end of his presentation. He scanned the lower left side of the auditorium. No Amanda.

“When the feasting and dancing was done, the campsite was broken down.”

Inky clicked on to his last slide. It showed a small vase-like vessel encased in a holster of animal skin and rope. It was decorated with the same pattern and bright colors as the headband. Inky looked up towards the middle of the left side of the auditorium. There was a cluster of Soccer Boys.

He wanted Amanda to see this slide. He knew she’d understand it. Where was she?