No Passengers Beyond This Point (13 page)

At last I see a dull flicker of light above, like a flashlight that needs a new battery. I speed up, full of hope, ignoring the nasty voice in my head that tells me Mickey and the other sleazes will be in my dream house now too. Mickey has everything I own that’s worth anything, but I won’t let him get my house. No way. The light glows brighter as I inch upward coil by coil, my arms shaking. My muscles are so tired but I’m doing this. I’m going to climb right back into my house!

“Way to go, India. Way to go, girl,” I tell myself as I pull my legs out of the tunnel into the bedroom suite. The tunnel comes out under my bed, but the bed isn’t broken or cracked the way it was when I fell out of it. I guess they repaired it already because it’s all in one piece now. Though when I look closely I see a fault line—an uneven crack in the mattress. Must be the repair job. I mean, how do you fix a bed split in two.

This makes me think about the street vendors selling a second chance. It’s as if there’s a whole industry built around the loss of your home. How disturbing is that?

I have to scoot on my belly to get out into my room, which looks totally different now. The bed is in the same place. The chair, the window seat, and the bathroom are too, but the decor is different. There’s a white satin comforter with pink bows, flouncy pillows, white lacey curtains, and a white shag rug. Ballerinas and pink ribbons are everywhere. Nothing about the room says me.

Then I see the cat, her white fur an exact match to the rug. Is this the same cat that scared off the birds? If so, how did she get back up here? The cat’s tail flicks, and something jingles around her neck. Her green eyes watch me as if she knows something I don’t. Next to her is a package wrapped in lime green paper, tied with bright pink and orange polka-dot ribbon and marked with the wild lettering they use for me.

India,
the tag reads.

I tear it open. Inside are my jeans with my cell phone and the puzzle piece safely in the pocket. And there’s something else too. A tiny computer screen with a wristband—a cross between a watch and a computer.

I buckle it on my wrist and as soon as I tuck the end of the strap in, up pops Maddy, her corkscrew curls bouncing around her face.

My knees collapse under me. “Maddy, oh Maddy. This is so awful you can’t believe it,” I blubber from where I sit like a lump on the carpet.

“In? What’s going on?” she asks.

“I’m moving to Colorado,” I sob.

“Look, this is a terrible connection. I thought you said you were moving to Colorado. Tell me where you are. I need to come over right now,” Maddy says.

She can totally hear how upset I am.

“But Maddy . . . I’m at four-oh-one, that’s all I know . . . it’s like this big street. Four-oh-one some road.”

“Find the street name, In. My mom will take me,” she says, but the screen image is fading until I can hardly see her.

“Maddy! Maddy!” I call, but she’s gone. There’s only me yelling at an empty gray square on my wrist.

The cat is busy licking her paws. Her eyes glow green. Around her neck I notice the ring my cool mom was wearing, tied with a ribbon. She gets up and stretches, her tail in the air, as if she has all the time in the world.

I try to grab her, but she leaps easily out of my reach.

“Finn and Mouse,” I whisper to the little screen, but nothing happens. There are no buttons or dials. It isn’t a touch screen. I try to flip up the side or slide open the bottom, but this device is as smooth as an eyeball.

“Maddy,” I whisper again and again. But the screen stays dark.

“Finn and Mouse,” I enunciate as clearly as I can. I even write Mouse’s and Finn’s names in the air above it.

Downstairs in that room with all the screens, I never had to do anything. The right faces were just there.

That’s where I need to go.

But this is somebody else’s house now. The screens probably have that person’s friends.

I tiptoe to the door of the bedroom, and look out past the giant hall to the staircase.

The cat watches me as if she’s wondering what I’ll do. I take a deep breath and scoot out of the room, but the second my toe hits the first step, an alarm rings. It’s loud—a series of repetitive bips with answering beeps like an alarm and its mating call. I pull my toe back, run through the bedroom to the bathroom, and lock the door. The lock breaks off in my hand, which totally freaks me out because now I hear somebody’s coming.

I huddle in the corner of the bathroom and listen to the approaching footsteps and commanding voices. The shadows shift in the sliver of light under the door. And then all at once the door shoots open, banging against the wall. Men in midnight blue uniforms with white cloud patches and blue gloved hands stand outside.

“India Tompkins, you are in violation of code number seven-five-two-two,” they say. “You need to come with us.”

O
ne of the Marvins has India. There were six Marvins on the screen. All Boy Marvins, but I’ve seen Girl Marvins here too.

India is going to be mad. If that many policemen have you in custardy, that will definitely go on your record and you won’t be able to get your driver’s license.

I wish my arm didn’t hurt. I wish every time I wanted to cry, Bing didn’t tell me
Don’t be a crybaby
.

I tell Finn that we need to get in trouble so the Marvins will come and take us to India. Finn says that’s not a good idea. He says it will be easier to get her out if we aren’t locked up too.

Did they take India to jail? When I saw her on the big TV her hair needed brushing. Maybe they took her to the hair salon?

We have been walking a long time. When I ask Finn
Do you know where we’re going?
he walks faster and pretends not to look at the street signs.

Now Finn is asking a Marvin about India. “What did he say?” I ask when Finn comes back.

Finn pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Shhh, Mouse I need to think.”

“I can help, you know.” I raise my good arm. “I am good at thinking. I have a muscle for it right here.” I point to my brain.

He nods the way Mommy does when she is driving someplace she has never been before.

I take his hand and hold it tight. I am not a scaredy cat, but I would pretty please like to go home now. “When are we getting India back?” Bing wants to know. He’s not going any further until we have a plan. Bing likes a plan.

A new person flashes on the movie screen, but for a half a second in between I see India looking at a tiny screen buckled to her wrist.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

“What?”

“India on the screen.” When Finn looks up, she’s gone. There’s only the girl snowboarding.

“What was she doing?” Finn asks.

“Looking at her wrist, which had a funny watch on it,” I answer.

“She doesn’t wear a watch,” Finn says.

“I know,” I say. “But she had one up there.” I point at the big screen.

He scratches his head.

He doesn’t have a plan yet. I am going to have to help. “Finn, can I see the puzzle Mr. Chuck gave you?” I hold out my hand.

Finn wiggles his fingers into his pocket and he pulls out his wooden tree puzzle. It has a tiny green branch just like mine does. They are twins except they don’t look alike. We sit on the curb and snap the pieces together. We turn the two-thirds puzzle all around, but we can’t tell what it will be until we get India’s piece.

Just holding Mr. Chuck’s puzzle in my hand, I feel better. Bing feels better too.

W
here did they take India? The police station? The security office? The court? And why? What did she do?

Sparky could tell me exactly what’s going on. But I’m afraid if I pick up a white courtesy phone he will think that’s because I’ve decided to go work for him. Right now, I feel so discouraged I almost want to. What if the phone knows that?

The white courtesy phones are everywhere, tucked in alcoves, mounted on the sides of buildings, at the tram stations. You don’t notice unless you’re looking for them. They fit right in with the city.

Almost everyone here is in uniform and a lot of them are security. I hope they don’t decide to cart off Mouse and me. I talked to one security guy already and he didn’t arrest us but he didn’t tell me anything either.

The uniform colors clearly signify something. Weather seems to be a big theme. All of the brightly colored vests and tunics have embroidered badges that show rain, snow or sun, fog, clouds, lightning, hail, wind, or rainbows.

I ask a tall blond girl with a lavender tunic and a rainbow badge, “Where is everyone going?”

“To the welcoming,” she says. “All the welcomings are held at the amphitheater unless there are too many arriving at the same time,” she explains helpfully. “Are you looking for someone?”

“My sister India.”

“Long dark hair, about my age?” the tall girl asks.

I nod.

“She’s a welcomer now. Lucky duck. She’ll be wearing a blue tunic.” The girl smiles at me as if just having a sister as a welcomer has suddenly made me someone special.

I guess when we arrived, there were other people being welcomed, so they took us directly to our houses. I wonder who else arrived when we did. Falling Bird is a lot bigger than I thought. I could see that when I was in Skyline.

The streets are mobbed today—the crowd is so large not everybody can fit in the amphitheater, so people spill out into the nearby streets. The video screens are full of the face of the new arrival, singing karaoke, taking her first step as a toddler, doing tricks on her skateboard.

It feels like a spirit rally—like I’m attending the basketball playoffs at the high school. Only then I’m excited to be there and now I just want to grab India and get away from all of this.

There is a swarm of security people in carts and on foot, plus the welcomer people in blue tunics, and others in yellow and green and lavender tunics with suns and moons on their badges. Mouse and I walk by a choir of blue-tunic welcomers. They are practicing harmonizing a chanting song for the new arrival. A woman in a yellow-sun tunic cups her hand behind her ear and points to the sopranos to sing louder.

“Jew-elll, Jew-elll, you so ruuu-elll,” the choir sings. “Cooo-elll, coo-elll, that’s our Jew-elll.”

“How are we going to find India?” Mouse asks as we wade through the packed crowd. “What color is she wearing again?”

“Blue,” I tell her as we climb up high in the amphitheater, combing the crowd for a beautiful girl with long, brown straight hair.

“Maybe she’s not here,” Mouse says in a small voice.

“We’ll find her. It’s like playing I Spy, Mouse, and you’re good at I Spy.”

“I spy a lot of people who aren’t India,” Mouse grumbles.

“Look for her hair,” I suggest.

“I’m looking for her hair. Bing is looking for her hair too. Hey wait! There she is! There! There!” she squeals, pointing down to the pit, where a girl with long dark hair and a blue welcomer tunic is unfurling a banner that says:
Welcome, Jewel
. The way she tosses her hair, this is definitely India.

“Why would she want to be a welcomer?” I ask.

“I told you they wanted her,” Mouse says. “Everybody wants India.”

“Careful of your arm, it’s awful crowded down there,” I tell Mouse.

“Bing will go first to get people out of the way,” she informs me, holding her arm carefully.

It’s slow going once we get to the pit, but Mouse is so small she ducks under and through. Even with a broken arm, she’s fearless. That’s how badly she wants to see India.

India is surrounded by girls in blue tunics. They are all holding hands and laughing. India looks like she fits right in—like these girls are all good friends of hers. How could India make friends so fast?