by Max Howard
Shut up, Lucas, Sophie wants to say, but her throat feels too dry.
“What’s that in your hand, Sophie?” says Amy.
Sophie glances down. She’s clutching the handle of a plastic jug.
“I found it,” Sophie says. She tries to let it go. Her fingers feel frozen.
“Did you find it by the body?” Lucas says. “That’s evidence. You should turn it in to the police.” He walks over to a police car. He knocks on the window.
The officer opens the car door. When she steps out, Lucas shrinks back. The officer stands over six feet tall. She peers down at Lucas.
“Well?” the officer says.
Lucas points at Sophie. “She’s got evidence.”
Sophie opens her mouth. No words come out.
“She found this jug thing by the body,” Amy says.
The officer snaps on a pair of blue gloves. “I’ll take that,” she says. She uncurls Sophie’s fingers from the jug. The officer clicks her tongue. “Makes me sick.”
“What is that, anyway?” says Amy.
“It’s a water jug,” the officer explains. “Sometimes people leave them in the desert. They’re for migrants who are crossing the border. If somebody hadn’t come around and cut a hole in this jug, that girl might still be alive.”
“She died of thirst?” Amy says.
“That’s for the coroner to decide,” the officer says. “But I’ve seen this before. Lots of people die crossing the desert. Adults. Kids. Families. It’s dangerous to travel from Mexico to the U.S. on foot.” The officer looks at Sophie. “She’s the one who found her?”
“Yep,” Amy says.
“You take care of your friend,” the officer says. “It’s not easy to find someone like that. You kids be careful.”
Chapter 5
Dear Mom,
I’ve started sleeping in Violet’s bed.
I fall asleep okay, but nightmares wake me up. I dream about Violet. When I wake up, I have to go and check to see if she’s breathing.
So it just makes sense to sleep in her bed.
One night I heard you say my name when I was falling asleep.
“Sophie!” you said. It was so real. “Sophie! Get me a glass of water!”
I sat up in bed. I ran down to the kitchen. I poured a glass of water. Then I remembered–you’re dead.
You didn’t ask for water.
You died of breast cancer four years ago.
Love,
Sophie
Sophie, Amy, and Lucas sit in the back row of the auditorium. As kids file in, Lucas says, “Happy Dead Girl Assembly.” Amy laughs. Sophie elbows her, hard.
“Can you tell him to shut up?”
“Huh?” asks Amy.
Principal Lee taps the microphone. “Attention. As you know, a body was found in the desert. Many of you are worried. I want to give you the information you need to move forward. The police don’t know the girl’s name. They believe she was between twelve and twenty. She may have been traveling from El Salvador.”
He flips to a PowerPoint slide: a map of Central America. “El Salvador is south of Guatemala. It is west of Honduras.”
He flips to a photo of a woman drinking fizzy water. “We do know she died of thirst. So I don’t want any of you to think there’s a killer on the loose.”
“Except there is a killer on the loose,” Lucas shouts.
“Shh!” Mr. Orr, the history teacher, turns around. He shakes his head. His white beard wobbles.
Lucas leaps to his feet. “A girl was killed! And you want me to keep quiet?” His tongue ring clicks when he talks, but this time, it doesn’t seem so annoying. This time, Sophie thinks, Lucas kind of has a point.
Principal Lee says, “This young woman died of natural causes.”
“Criminal causes,” Lucas says.
“Someone slashed her water bottle!” Amy shouts.
“She was murdered!” Lucas yells.
“Calm down,” says Principal Lee.
“He’s right!” someone yells out.
Sophie peers around the dark auditorium. She spots someone standing up, way down in the front row. Someone with wild, curly hair.
Rubén Velez looks small at this distance, but he holds his fist in the air. “This was murder!” he shouts.
“Sit down, all of you,” says Principal Lee. “Frankly, I think you all should be more worried about your own drinking.”
Principal Lee flips to the next slide: a picture of a beer bottle. “The police told me about the desert party. I will not tolerate drinking!”
Rubén doesn’t sit down.
Principal Lee flips through the rest of his slides.
Rubén stays standing. He stands there until the bell rings. Still, Rubén doesn’t move. He stands there with his fist in the air.
In art class, Sophie rolls her clay into a narrow worm. Amy whispers, “What do you think the dead girl’s name was?”
Without thinking, Sophie answers. “Ellie.”
“Princess Ellie. That sounds right. Let’s hang out after school,” Amy says. She pinches a piece of clay into a little heart. She sets it down by Sophie’s elbow.
After school, Sophie and Amy stop to gas up the Jeep. While the tank fills, Amy texts Lucas. Sophie cleans up the car.
She opens the hatch. She tidies her dad’s “man camp” kit. She folds his jacket. She drains melted ice from the cooler.
But when she picks up the sleeping bag, she freezes.
There, in the back of the Jeep, are a half dozen water jugs—each slashed to bits.
Sophie reaches into the heap of wrecked plastic. It feels like reaching into a pile of bones. She gathers up the plastic in her arms. She dumps it into the gas station trash can.
She checks to see if Amy is watching. Nope. Amy’s texting. Good. Sophie’s heart pounds.
She doesn’t want Amy to see the ruined water jugs. She doesn’t want Amy to call Dad a murderer. She doesn’t want Amy to see her rolling up the sleeping bag like nothing happened.
Chapter 6
Dear Mom,
Amy wants me to write a play with her. Ms. Shane said she can produce the play spring semester in the black box theater.
I don’t know how to write a play, but Amy said we have to. “You found that girl for a reason! Ellie needs you to tell her story.”
So we put on Ice Fairies to keep Violet busy.
“Our first step is to make an info board,” Amy said.
I got out markers and poster board. We spread everything out on the kitchen floor. We lay down on our stomachs.
We got out our phones. We googled. We wrote. We drew.
For the first time in a long time, I felt calm. Maybe it was the squeak of the markers. Maybe it was just being with Amy.
Here are some of the things we wrote on our info board:
• 100 = Number of dead bodies found in the desert every year (just in our county!) Most are people who tried to sneak across the border.
• GUILLERMO + BEATRIZ - Amy’s grandparents, immigrated from Puebla, Mexico, in 1969.
• PASSION PINK = We know her nail polish color, but not her name.
• ELLIE = A cartoon fairy princess who traveled far from home, alone; an unidentified body.
• COYOTE = Smuggler hired to sneak people into the U.S. – dangerous!
• MS-13 = Gang that rules El Salvador.
• EL SALVADOR = Ellie’s home?
• EIGHT YEARS = Violet’s age. Also the age when MS-13 starts making kids work for them.
• MURDER = If you don’t want to sell drugs for MS-13, they kill you. Or if you don’t want to be a gang member’s girlfriend–they kill you. The only option is to RUN FAR AWAY.
• LA BESTIA = The Beast. Also known as The Death Train. When kids run away from gangs in Central America, they sneak on top of freight trains. They ride them north, to the U.S.
• 68,000 = The number of kids who tried to sneak across the U.S. border ALONE, without their parents, in 2014.
• 40 = The number of miles some people walk to cross the desert. 40 miles of desert and mountains. 40 miles without a house or a road or food or water.
After Amy went home, I googled the Desert Rangers. I heard Dad’s car in the driveway. I closed my tabs. I cleared my history.
I don’t know if you can hear me or not. Dad says you’re an angel, but he might just be saying what we want to hear. I don’t know what I believe.
I do know I need your help.
Love,
Sophie
“The house looks so clean. Did you mop? Good job, kiddo,” says Sophie’s dad. He opens three take-out containers from the restaurant. “Fish special tonight.”
“What do you do with the Desert Rangers?” she asks.
“You know, nature stuff. Man stuff. Okay, I admit it— birdwatching stuff,” her dad says. He cracks open a beer.
“Why do you bring guns?” Sophie says.
“For protection.”
“From who?”
“Wildcats.”
“Not people?”
“There’s nobody out there, honey. Are you worried about me?”
“No.”
“After what happened with your mom, it would be normal to worry about something happening to me.” He pours his beer into a frosty mug.
“This isn’t about Mom!” Sophie says.
“Then what is it about?”
Sophie fills a sippy cup with milk for Violet. Violet still prefers sippy cups. (“They make milk taste better,” she says.)
“You lied. There are people in the desert.”
“OK,” her dad says. “Sure. Sometimes.”
“So why did you say there weren’t people out there?”
“I don’t know, Sophie. I’ve had a long day.”
“That girl died out there,” Sophie says.
“She shouldn’t have been out there.”
“Well, she was.”
“OK,” he says.
“She was a migrant girl. She had to be out there. She was crossing the desert.”
“She was breaking the law. Don’t I tell you not to break the law?”
“She didn’t have to die,” Sophie says.
“Laws are there to protect us,” her dad says. “If the sign at the pool says, ‘No Diving,’ and you dive anyway, what happens? You crack your head. Law’s the law.” He takes a big forkful of fish.
“You don’t even care,” Sophie says. “You don’t even care that a girl died. Do you know how much it sucks to die of thirst or heat in the desert? I googled it—”
“Sophie,” her dad says, warningly.
“Once you reach the point of heatstroke, it’s all over. You get tunnel vision. You wander in the wrong direction. You double up in cramps. You get clumsy. You walk into rock walls. You trip over rocks. You hurt yourself. You throw up, but only blood comes out.”
“Sophie! I’ve had just about enough of this.”
“She could’ve been me!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. That girl doesn’t have anything to do with you and me. Now, go get your sister.”
“You don’t know anything about it! Maybe she had to cross the border. Maybe she had no choice. Maybe she was running away from people who were going to hurt her!”
“You don’t know either, Sophie,” her dad says, firmly. “You can’t know everybody’s situation. It’s not your job. Your job is simple. Be a good person. Obey the law. Help your family. Now go and get your sister.”
Sophie climbs the stairs. She calls Violet’s name. But this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning.
Chapter 7
Dear Mom,
I’ve made a decision. It’s not sneaking out if I tell YOU where I’m going. So here goes.
Dad is sleeping. Violet is sleeping. But I’m going out to the desert.
I’m going to put water jugs out where I found Ellie. It’s the least I can do.
Love,
Sophie
P.S. Before I left, I went through my closet to find some clothes to leave out for migrants. It gets cold in the desert at night. I found my old jean jacket. It smelled like your lily perfume. It was like getting a hug from you. I think it means you’re on my side.
Sophie drives into the desert beyond the Sato twins’ house. She passes the ashes of the bonfire. She drives toward the mountain.
She pulls up near the mound of boulders. She pops the hatch. She hauls out four gallons of water.
As she walks around the rock formation, she’s blinded by a sudden burst of light.
“Who’s there?” a man says. “Don’t come any closer! I’m armed!”
Sophie drops the water bottles.
They land with a thud.
“Don’t shoot!” she says.
Whoever it is lowers the flashlight. The light sweeps over the ground. It illuminates the water jugs at Sophie’s feet.
“Oh,” the man says. “You’re one of us, then?”
“One of who?”
“You’re with Human Kind, right?” he says. “You’re bringing water for migrants?”
He shines the flashlight on Sophie. “I know you. You’re the girl from Fresh Ranch. You’re Sophie.” He takes a step toward her.
Sophie puts up both her arms, blocking him. “Get away from me!”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You threatened to kill me!”
“Sorry about that,” he says. “I don’t actually have a gun. I just thought you might be one of those Desert Rangers. Those guys are dangerous.”
“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Sophie says. Her heart pounds. She kneels down, pretending to tie her shoe. She grabs a big rock. Just in case.
“I’m Rubén. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m the guy who does your bakery deliveries.” He flips the flashlight back on himself.
There, standing in the desert, is Rubén Velez—all curly hair and sparkling brown eyes. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Well, I do now,” Sophie says. “You shouldn’t threaten to shoot people, though.”
“I didn’t know you were a Human Kind person,” he says.
But he did know my name, Sophie thinks. He remembers me. That’s got to be worth something.
“Want to give me a ride back to base camp?” asks Rubén.
Chapter 8
Dear Mom,
Do you remember what it feels like to be alive? It feels like driving in the dark. The full moon chasing you. Night air flowing through the windows.
The boy you like, the boy who actually knows your name, is sitting beside you. Turning the radio stations. Smelling like he’d been squeezing fresh lemons to make carlota.
He leans close to say, “Turn here!”
His arm brushes against yours.
His arm barely touches you, but suddenly you’re aware of your skin. The miracle of it. The tiny cells. The breathing pores. All the things you can feel. You feel them all at once. Hot and cold and velvet. Metal and rose petals. Sunburn and sunlight.
Everything comes together where his arm touches yours.
“Slow down,” he says.
But you can’t.
Love,
Sophie
There, in the middle of the desert, glowing blue in the moonlight—a Port-A-Potty.
“Welcome to Human Kind base camp,” Rubén says. “Park over here.”
The whiff of Port-A-Potty isn’t very romantic.
But the huge, yellow moon is.
They walk toward a circle of tents. As they walk, Sophie’s fingers brush Rubén’s.
“Sorry,” he says.
They keep walking.
Their shadows twine together. Then their fingers touch again.
Rubén jams his hands in his pockets.
Does he think Sophie’s gross? Does he think she was trying to hold his hand? The idea makes Sophie nervous. “So, do people live in this camp?” she asks.
“No. They just visit. Volunteers stay a few days at a tim
e. Sometimes a few hours,” Rubén explains. “Some volunteers deliver water. Like me. Some go out to do search and rescue. That’s why we have a medical tent. Sometimes migrants stay a couple of days, if they’re hurt.”
As they near camp, a huge black dog bounds up to them. “That’s Luna,” Rubén says. Luna jumps up on Sophie. She wags her tongue in Sophie’s face.
“Luna! Down!” says Rubén.
Luna drops to the ground.
Sophie’s never wondered if Rubén liked dogs before. Now he crouches down and rubs Luna’s belly. “Luna’s nice. Just jumpy,” Rubén explains. “She’s Betty’s dog.”
“Who’s Betty?” asks Sophie.
She tries to keep her voice normal. But Betty sounds like a hot girl. The kind with red lipstick and heavy bangs. Hadn’t Amy said that Rubén had “older friends”?
Rubén fishes a cookie from his shirt pocket. Luna snaps it up. “Come on. I’ll take you to her tent.”
The dog trots after them.
Rubén nods at a group of men sitting by the fire. They’re cooking something—it smells like chocolate.
Are they volunteers? Migrants?
Rubén stops outside a big tent with a red cross painted on the side. It must be a medical tent, Sophie thinks. Rubén leans inside the tent and calls, “Betty?”
Sophie hears a woman’s voice: “Rubén, darling! You were gone so long! I was worried about you!”
Sophie’s heart falls.
But then, a tiny, ancient woman steps out of the tent. Her gray hair forms a huge cloud around her face. She gives Rubén a hug. Then she turns to Sophie. She puts her arms around her. Her hug smells like lily perfume. Like Sophie’s mom.
“Sophie, this is Betty Fernandez, registered nurse and troublemaker,” says Rubén.
“Sophie! At last!” Betty exclaims. “You are quite a find, you know! We find all kinds of wonderful things in the desert. Hummingbirds. Migrants. Hikers. Coyotes. Border Patrol. Wildflowers. Even Desert Rangers. But we hardly ever find Sophie, the girl we like from school. Do we, Rubén?”
“Betty!” says Rubén. He kicks at the dirt.
Sophie’s jaw drops. Is Rubén embarrassed?
“Excuse me,” says Betty. “I mean, the girl we like from the restaurant!”
