Taken (6 page)

The first thing I saw was my backpack, a familiar dark red shape against the white metal floor. It looked very flat. I wondered what the kidnappers had left inside it. The next thing I saw was the dark boy’s two-way resting against a rubber wheel of the stretcher. He had, apparently, left it behind. What would Dr. Reyes think about that?

I leaned closer and listened for a moment. The crackling gave way to voices, at least two of them. They were arguing, it seemed, in a foreign language. Creole? I suspected so. Some words were clear, and they sounded like French.

I soon gave up trying to understand them and scooted back up to my usual position. I thought for a moment about the dark boy. He presented himself as being such a genius. Had he just made a really stupid mistake? Could I, if I had the nerve, pick up that two-way and call for help? To Victoria? Or to Patience?

Most likely not. Most likely I would need a password to use it. Or maybe he had left it there on purpose to see if I could be trusted? But what if he hadn’t? What if it had been pure stupidity on his part? Just a stupid, dumbass mistake. What would Dr. Reyes do to him for that? Would the dark boy get treated any better than the guy who had fallen asleep in the front cab? I didn’t think so.

Anyway, my moment of opportunity soon vanished when the dark boy returned. He sat down without a glance toward me, picked up the two-way, and joined in the Creole conversation.

I sat there for a good ten minutes, mentally kicking myself, feeling myself a coward for not trying to get help on the two-way. Patience would have tried it. Most kids I know would have tried it, with the possible exception of Hopewell.

That’s because most kids had never been taken. Only Hopewell and I knew what it was really like to face kidnappers; to try to remember our training; to try to survive.

So I forgave myself. I told myself that I was doing the right thing. I forced myself to concentrate again on the events of December 22.

The Highlands guard pulled the van into a church parking lot near the center of Mangrove. He let the engine idle while he contacted the local police on a securescreen.

Mangrove was an interesting place to me. It was as different from The Highlands as it could possibly be. The town had a combination of dirt roads full of deep ruts and asphalt roads full of potholes. The roads were lined on both sides with brightly colored cinder-block houses—green, pink, orange. The houses had rusty room air conditioners sticking out of the sides and ripped screen doors in front.

Something must have been wrong, because we sat at that church for a long time. While we waited, Patience and I quietly played a game called Syllogisms. It’s a logic game that you can use to prove or disprove any point (naturally, we learned it from Mrs. Veck). There are different types of syllogisms to choose from. For example, the Categorical Syllogism says that everybody in a category has the same thing.

I started the game by stating the first premise: “All members of the Dugan family have coarse hairs sprouting from their noses.”

Patience then stated the second premise: “Pauline is a member of the Dugan family.”

I stated the conclusion: “Therefore, Pauline has coarse hairs sprouting from her nose.”

Then we switched, and Patience began: “All girls who wear the same white shirt to satschool and to cheerleader practice have pit stains.”

I added: “Maureen wears the same white shirt to satschool and to cheerleader practice.”

Patience concluded: “Therefore, Maureen has pit stains.”

I started a third one: “All mammals have spines.”

Patience opened her mouth to respond; then she stopped and glared at me.

I suggested, “Hopeless does not—”

But she cut me off. “What? What are you saying? My brother doesn’t have a spine?” She looked like she was about to punch me.

Patience had been getting very impatient with Hopewell jokes, especially after the attack by the Dugans. I leaned back and muttered, “Uh, sorry.”

“Do you really think that? Because it’s not true.”

“No. I just said it for fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah.”

She continued angrily, “Fun? Really? From you? Isn’t your idea of fun to follow your maid around the kitchen?”

Now I was the one who was offended, but I responded meekly: “I said I was sorry.”

Patience’s eyes bored into mine. “And don’t call him that stupid name anymore.”

“I won’t. Take it easy.”

“No, I won’t take it easy! That’s when people attack you, when you take it easy. That’s why the Dugans thought they could attack Hopewell, because even
I
was going along with it. I was treating my own brother like a joke. Well, I’m not doing that anymore.”

“Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

She finally mumbled, “Okay.”

After that, we sat in awkward silence until the van started to move. We left the parking lot of the church, a Catholic one called La Iglesia de la Natividad, and turned onto the main road. It was a nice wide road without any potholes. I could see a makeshift stage ahead, positioned in front of a building that said
MANGROVE TOWN HALL
.

Just before the van stopped for good, Albert stood up and addressed us all. “Stay within the perimeter established by Security. Speak only to the kids within that perimeter.”

We parked behind a big oak tree. Mickie and her crew led the way out. They were followed by Mr. Patterson, the butlers, Mrs. Veck, the students, and the maids. The first thing I noticed was a large vidscreen, about four meters high, set up in front and to the left of the stage. The audience members would have close-up views of Mickie on that. Her rectangular red glasses would appear to be ten times their normal size; so would her mole.

Up on the stage, Mickie, Lena, Mr. Patterson, and the mayor of Mangrove had resumed an argument begun the previous year. It was like no time had elapsed. The mayor, a thin old man in a black suit, wanted to talk to Mr. Patterson on-air about starting new businesses in Mangrove. Mickie told him, “That’s dead airtime, Mr. Mayor. Nobody wants to listen to that.”

We students were supposed to mingle with kids from Mangrove in a loose circle in front of the stage. Our security guards and butlers flanked us on one side; several men with Town of Mangrove police uniforms flanked us on the other. Just as in the previous year, though, none of the kids really interacted, and that was too bad. I would have liked to.

Also as in the previous year, the Mangrove kids gravitated to Victoria like she was a movie star. I pointed that out to Patience: “Mickie never lets Victoria get near the camera because she’s so attractive. You know? She makes Mickie look like a monkey. No offense to monkeys.”

Patience smiled slightly, so I guess I was finally forgiven for mocking Hopewell. She joined me as we unloaded the bags of clothing and started passing them out to the Mangrove kids.

Kurt set up his camera to shoot the scene. Lena told the Highlands kids to “smile” and the Mangrove kids to
“sonreir.”
We had soon passed out all sixteen bags of clothes. Then Lena and Mrs. Veck distributed the books—dozens and dozens of them—all describing the bilingual adventures of Ramiro Fortunato.

After that, Kurt changed position to vid the locals presenting their gifts—the homemade
tornada
dolls—to the visitors. Some of us said
“Gracias”
to the Mangrove kids. Some of us (I don’t need to tell you who) laughed at them.

Maureen Dugan held her doll up and cried, “Gross! Its ears look like Hopewell’s.”

Pauline added, “It’d be even grosser if it looked like Sterling Johnston.”

I don’t think the Mangrove kids understood their comments, which was good for everyone involved.

Mrs. Veck herded us to the right side of the stage. The local kids, along with a few adults, congregated on the left side. Mickie then walked out carrying a wireless microphone. Lena pulled out a bilingual sign that read
APPLAUSE/APLAUSOS
and pumped it up and down until members of the audience, mostly from the Mangrove side, applauded.

Mickie gave the crowd a big smile that was almost frightening on the four-meter vidscreen. “Welcome! Welcome, all of you, to the third annual Kid-to-Kid Day. We are in the town of Mangrove, Florida. As always, I am joined by the mayor, the Honorable Samuel Ortiz. Welcome, Mr. Mayor.”

Samuel Ortiz walked out slowly and stood next to her. He leaned into the microphone. “Welcome to you, Mickie. This is actually
our
home, so I should be welcoming you.”

“Thank you. Did you see that scene earlier with all those kids giving to other kids?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It was very touching, and, of course, it is the essence of Kid-to-Kid Day. You have some really needy kids here, don’t you?”

“Some, sure. But most have what they need.”

“I think all of us can use a prayer now and again, Mr. Mayor. And my trips to Mangrove and other towns always make me think of this one: ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’”

He answered defiantly: “It’s not so bad being us, you know.”

“No. Of course not.”

“There are a lot of good people here.”

“There are. Let’s do some good for one of them right now, shall we? Let’s change one young woman’s life for the better.” She looked at the audience. “What do you say?”

Lena held up the
APPLAUSE/APLAUSOS
sign. The Mangrove side of the crowd applauded obediently.

Mickie said, “She’s an RDS cook at a large estate in Palm Beach County, and I have had the pleasure of tasting her delicious cooking firsthand. Please welcome Isabella. Isabella!”

Lena helped a young woman climb up from the crowd and stand next to Mickie. The woman looked to be about twenty-five years old. She stared hard at her own feet as Mickie continued: “I happen to know that she’s a big fan of the Manor House Cookbook series, those collections of recipes from the great manor houses of England. What are some of your favorite recipes, Isabella?”

Mickie thrust the microphone under the woman’s chin, forcing her to look up. She was attractive, with long features and a reddish derma, as if she were part Indian. She muttered, “Beef Wellington. Chicken cordon bleu.”

“Yum. Well, the people at SatPub have heard about your cooking, and they liked what they heard. They want you to have the complete series of Manor House Cookbooks, hardbound, and here they are.”

Mr. Patterson walked out, all smiles, carrying a wooden display case stocked with books. Isabella looked very excited to see it.

Mickie asked, “What do you think of that, Isabella?”

The woman could only utter, “Thank you.
Gracias.
”

Mickie continued, “But, Isabella, that’s not the real reason I asked you up here today. Do you remember what you told me in the kitchen that night when I came in to pay my compliments to the chef?”

Isabella looked confused.

“Do you remember what you said?”

“No. Sorry. I am sorry.”

“When I asked you what you planned to do after you retired from RDS?”

“Oh. Oh yes!”

“You said your goal was to become a professional dietitian; to work for Social Services or for the school board, helping people to be healthier by eating better.”

“Yes.”

Lena held up her sign again; the audience applauded enthusiastically.

“That career requires a four-year college degree, doesn’t it, Isabella?”

“Yes.”

“What must you study to get that degree?”

“Anatomy. Nutrition. A lot of science. A lot of math.”

“The tough stuff, right?”

“Yes.”

“No Water Skiing 101 for you.”

“No.”

“And you’ve been saving your RDS money to help you pursue this goal.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Isabella. What kind of grades did you get in high school? And don’t fib to me, because Lena has already looked them up.”

The embarrassed woman answered reluctantly, “I got all A’s.”

“Yes, you did.”

The audience applauded again, on its own.

Mickie pressed her: “And what about your CCs? Your College Comprehensives?”

Isabella answered, “All tens.”

“That’s ten out of a possible ten, ladies and gentlemen!”

More applause.

“Well, I am authorized to tell you that, because of your great work and your dedication, you will be receiving a full scholarship to Nova Southeastern University from the Martin County Realtors Association.”

Isabella’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. Mr. Patterson handed her a rolled-up piece of paper with a gold seal on it as the Mangrove side of the audience applauded and cheered for several seconds.

When the clamor died down, Mickie gave the “cut” sign to Kurt, and Lena escorted Isabella from the stage.

As Mickie and her crew prepared for the next segment, Patience and I decided to try to mingle with the Mangrove kids. I used the Spanish I’d learned from Victoria, smiling at friendly-looking kids and saying,
“Como está?”

When they would reply, I would answer
“Bien,”
like Victoria had taught me.

Patience giggled at my efforts.

Pauline watched us and commented, “Look at the hors. They’re pretending they can speak Spanish.”

Patience replied, “So? You pretend you can speak English.”

Pauline sneered. “I can.”

Patience muttered to me, “It’s sad when they can’t even fight back.”

Pauline turned to Sierra. “You must know Spanish. Right?”

“Not right. I don’t know any.”

“Then does your dad?”

“No. Why would he?”

“Well, isn’t your last name Vasquez or something?”

“Yeah. So what? Why would I want to know Spanish? You get the servants to translate for you. That’s their job.”

I squeezed Patience’s arm secretly as I confided to them, “Personally, I would want to know what the servants were saying about me.”

Sierra looked quickly at her maid. “What? What are they saying about me?”

Patience took over from there. “We heard all the maids talking about you just now, over by the van.”

“What? They’re not allowed to do that.”

“They didn’t know we were listening.”