Jakarta Missing (21 page)

1. Mom and Dad would be on my team.

2. The problem is that Dad is in Guatemala and Mom is on some North Dakota farm.

3. You live in the U.S. now, Dakar. Have you ever heard of such a thing as long-distance calls?

4. I've never made a long-distance call before.

5. That is so stupid. You are in sixth grade. Sixth graders know how to make long-distance calls.

6. But I don't.

7. Anyway, Aunt Lily doesn't have a phone.

She snaked her arm out, again, and reached around for her pillow. There. She was an elephant, rooting around for everything she needed, using the delicate tip of her trunk to feel things out. “Did you know an elephant's trunk has 150,000 muscles?” she wrote in her book.

With the second blanket wrapped around her and her head on the pillow, she closed her eyes and chanted softly to herself. “The universe is goodness all around me. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy.” Think of something pleasant, some time when the four of them were together. She was back in Kenya sitting with Dad at their favorite camping place at Lake Naivasha. Perfect. She even had the tent.

Dad's arm was around her shoulders, and he was pointing to an impala that stared for a moment and then pronked away, making both of them laugh. That afternoon they'd all gone hiking in the lower gorge. It was a supaloaf time until she started to read the guide they'd picked up at the gate. “If you cross to the far side of the dam,” it said, “beware! The deep pool at the head of the spring is guarded at times by a large black cobra!”

Then they were deep in the gorge, walking between walls so high that sometimes they could hardly see the sky. Jakarta was studying trails of eggs streaming out from the frogs they could see everywhere in the stream. Mom was pointing out a tall, glossy acacia tree she wanted to come back and paint. No one would pay attention when Dakar showed them the place in the guide that said, “You need to keep an eye on the weather. When there is a torrential downpour in the hills and cliffs above, the water starts racing from here for ten kilometres down the Njorowa Gorge, sweeping all vegetation, gravel, and even huge boulders before it.”

“Look,” she'd told them. “Look at the clouds.” But they wouldn't look. Sure enough, they'd barely climbed up the last steps out of the gorge when the first fat raindrops had pelted them. Why didn't anyone care about keeping this family all safe except for her? No wonder she had to worry.

Suddenly she was sick of it. She put her head on the pillow, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes. No more quests. Enough.

After what seemed like hours and hours she had finally drifted off to sleep when a crash knocked her half awake. In her drowsiness she was sure she and Dad were on a camping trip, cautiously slipping from bush to bush, following the hippo trail. Dad pointed silently to the elephants about a hundred feet ahead, browsing in the trees. Every muscle in Dakar's body felt tense.

One of the elephants raised his head, ears fanned. He poked his trunk in the air and looked straight at Dakar. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the trackers lift their rifles to Position One.

Dad was touching her arm. She unfroze and stepped behind a tracker. Slowly they all started walking backward. The elephant trumpeted, an air-shivering sound. He took several steps forward, pawing the ground. He took another step.

Dakar couldn't breathe.

Then, in deadly silence, the elephant charged. Dakar was running, running backward. All she could think about was that she was going to trip. The elephant would be on them in perhaps six seconds when one of the trackers suddenly stopped, dropped to one knee, and fired over the elephant's head.
Pop, pop, pop, pop
.

Dakar screamed and opened her eyes. Wait. She was in North Dakota. But what was that crash? Cautiously she poked her head out of the tent. Even with the light on, the living room corners were silver, whispering shadows. The insides of Dakar's eyelids felt as if someone had just scrubbed them with a rough washcloth.

No! Dakar pulled her head back and started to pound the pillow with all her strength. Nooooo. She was just a kid. Maybe everybody did need for her not to need them, but it was just too, too much. She grabbed the pen and started to scribble.

1. I'm
TIRED
of being brave and resourceful.

2. I'm tired of having Donbirra eyes and hiding what I'm thinking from everybody.

3. I'm don't
WANT
to be the hero of my own life anymore, no matter what Dad says.

4. I'm tired of being a princess and having to do impossible tasks. It is too
HARD
to keep the faith.

5. I want a
T E A M
. Team.

6. I give up. I give up.
I GIVE UP
.

S
he woke up the next morning with the light still on and her fingers curled around the pen. Her eyes went right to the list. Don't think. Don't think. She crawled out of her tent and put on her coat and gloves.

Outside, she could see what the clunking and crashing had been all about. Branches. The snow must have been too heavy for them. She'd never seen a world turn white this way. She stomped down the sidewalk, amazed at the clear footprints her shoes left in the snow.

At Melanie's house long icicles hung from the eaves. Cool, Dakar thought, and laughed grimly at her own joke. She knocked on one of them with her glove, then shook it. It came off in her hand. She reached out and tapped it lightly on Melanie's window.

The curtains wiggled. Dakar couldn't see the expression on Melanie's face. At least she didn't see any purple on her hair yet. She held her breath. The face disappeared. A few seconds later the door opened.

“Melanie,” Dakar said quickly. It was so weird the way her breath really did puff out when she talked. “I don't deserve for you to be my friend again because I know I was mean and rude. I'm only asking your help for one thing that I'm sure would help the Lady Wildcats out. One thing. A hard thing for me that would be easy for you, but by the way, you have to promise not to tell
anyone
.”

Please, she thought. Please be interested in helping the Lady Wildcats to victory.

“And here.” Dakar held out the icicle. “This is the sword of truth that you can impale me with if I'm not telling the total and absolute truth, and I'm not going to
stop
even one time.”

“Kid-hey!” Melanie said, reaching for the icicle. “Get in here.” Her eyes were zingy with excitement. “You mean, you're having a real, true secret adventure and you even
thought
about not asking me?”

“Actually,” Dakar said, “I think it would work better if you came to my house.”

On the way, light-headed with relief, she explained everything.

“Wow,” Melanie said. “All right … it's coming to me. I can see this calls for an adventuresome secret plan. How big is this town where your aunt Lily lives?”

Inside the house Melanie grabbed the cordless telephone and a phone book. “In there,” she said, waving at the tent.

“It's a good place to scheme,” Dakar agreed. She felt like kissing Melanie's hand.

“First, we need to make sure it's the same area code.”

Dakar looked over Melanie's shoulder. Next time she would know about area codes.

“Yep. Seven-oh-one,” Melanie said. “Now I'm calling directory assistance.”

“Aunt Lily doesn't have a phone,” Dakar reminded her.

“Oh, right.” Melanie hung up and started chewing on her thumbnail.

It was Melanie who came up with the idea of seeing if they could get the name of the local grocery store—“Everybody buys food,” she said—and Dakar who suddenly said, “What about the post office?”

“Perfect!” Melanie started to dial again. “My grandma lives in a small town, and the postmaster knows everyone.” After a few minutes of talking she said, “There! All you have to do is dial a one and then this number.”

Dakar swallowed. “I don't think I can,” she squeaked.

Melanie laughed. “Here. Fine. I'll do it. What's her last name again?”

The woman on duty at the post office turned out to be the daughter of the postmistress, filling in because her mother was sick. “I don't remember all the older people,” she said, “but my mother would. Not an emergency, but very important, huh? When I get off work this evening, I'll go right over there, and we'll figure out something. If we can track her down, what should I say?”

“Uh, just a minute,” Melanie said. She and Dakar had a whispered conference. Then Melanie said, “Please give Deborah the message that her daughters called. Say their dad was called away, and her daughters need her at home.”

After Melanie hung up, they scrambled out of the tent and rolled around the floor, laughing and giving each other high fives. “I was great, huh?” Melanie said. “Want to come to my house until Jakarta gets back? I can show you how to make snow angels.”

“Sure.” Dakar could feel joy rippling across her chest like a jagged stream of lightning. “Just let me put this stuff away so Jakarta doesn't have a heart attack when she gets home.”

The rest of Saturday flew by in a blur. That evening, as Dakar listened to Jakarta giving her all the details of the game, she couldn't keep from glancing at the window. Was that a car she heard? No. It was as bad as waiting for the Jeep in Maji. And as disappointing.

All Sunday she waited. Nothing. “I guess she's not coming,” Dakar told Melanie on the phone.

“Well, she'd have to find someone to take care of her aunt. You didn't want to worry your mom, remember, so we said it wasn't an emergency.”

“I guess.” Dakar hung up, feeling numb. When had Africa turned into Babylon for Mom? It hadn't always been that way, had it? But at some point Mom must have hung her harp on the willow, alone and melancholy.

“I'm sending an e-mail to Dad,” Jakarta called from downstairs. “Want me to tell him anything?”

“Yeah,” Dakar called back. “Tell him to stay away from shaky buildings.”

At least the Bear Lake game would help keep her mind off Mom. The cheerleaders had even come by the house and put up a big sign that said,
GO
,
JAKARTA
!
TAKE US TO VICTORY
.

“Isn't this too much pressure?” Dakar asked as she and Jakarta stood outside and looked at it. Was she just imagining things, or were cars slowing down? Would people driving by see the sign? “What if your shot's off or something?”

“Everyone's shot is off sometimes,” Jakarta said. “Coach says to be patient and calm. There's nothing to do but have confidence and keep shooting.”

Jakarta's shot was not off. Dakar could tell even in the warm-ups that she was hitting. “How tough is this Wildcat team, really?” a man said behind her. “Think they can finally beat those Bear Lake kids?”

“Don't know,” another man answered. “Bear Lake's football team just slaughtered us. Of course, the football team this year is cream … cream
puffs
.”

“Those Bear Lake farm kids build muscles baling hay,” the first man said. “Our kids are softies compared to farm kids. They can't compete.”