Laird—his hands a-flutter—streaks over to another welcomer, to give her last-minute instructions.
“India!” Mouse is so excited to see India, she seems not to even hear the deafening roar of the crowd. “Give us your twig puzzle, then Mr. Chuck will come and take us home.”
“Look.” India points to the screen, which shows the skywritten messages for Jewel. “Jewel’s coming. I don’t want to miss her.”
“Jewel? What do you care about Jewel? You’ve never even met her,” I say.
“India! Don’t be crazy!” Mouse shouts. “We have to go home!”
“No, wait, look!” India’s eyes are charged. Countdown minute nine flashes on.
“Nine,” the crowd shouts in unison, their voices exploding from their chests.
This is wacko. We finally find India and she’s obsessed with a complete stranger. She hasn’t even said anything about Mouse’s arm.
“India, come on!” I shout.
“No Finn, listen! Do you know how hard it is to get this job?”
“What job?”
“Welcomer, can’t you see?” She fingers her blue tunic. India, it says in the same handwritten embroidery all the Falling Bird uniforms have.
“What kind of a job is that?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s a great job. Thousands of people wanted it. They were standing in a line two blocks long, but Laird picked me. He loves the way I sing!” Her eyes are open wide, drinking it all in. “And you know what else? They said I could work up to a cool mom position someday. Then I could live in that great house all the time.”
“Mouse’s arm is broken, India.”
“They’ll fix it when she becomes a citizen.”
“I don’t want to be a citizen,” Mouse chimes in. “I want to go home!”
My voice shakes. “We’re going to Uncle Red’s, India.”
“Oh yeah, Finn . . .” India snorts, sounding like her real self now. “Do you actually think Uncle Red wants us?”
“Minute seven, Jew-ellll.” Laird’s fist pumps the air.
“We have to find Mom,” I tell her. “Mom wants us. And what about Maddy? You’ll never see her again if you stay here.”
“Maddy . . . are you kidding? I’m going to invite her. She’ll love Falling Bird.”
“She’s not coming here and you know it.”
“Don’t you see, Finn? This is for sure. What’s it going to be like at Uncle Red’s? You don’t even know. Besides, Uncle Red wanted us to come here. He hired Chuck.”
That doesn’t make sense, but then none of this makes sense.
India’s eyes are back to the screen again, staring at the new girl, Jewel.
“You think that Jewel person is ever going to care about you the way we do?” I ask.
India shrugs but she’s already drifting away from us. “There will be another after Jewel. And another after that. Always someone to welcome,” she says
“India.” I chase after her through the thick crowd of cheering people. “You can’t stay here.”
“You can get a job, Finn. Maybe you could be a driver. Even Mouse can drive here. They make cars so even little kids can reach the pedals.”
Jewel is on the screen competing in some kind of spelling relay. She’s spelling the word prosciutto.
“See how smart she is.” India points proudly.
“India. I’m smarter than that. I can spell hors d’oeuvres,” Mouse says. “H-O-R—”
“Don’t you see . . . it doesn’t matter?” India asks. “It’s not your day anymore, Mouse. Look at Jewel! Isn’t she adorable? Jewel, it’s me, India!” India waves her arms in the air.
The crowd presses in on us. They chant, “Jew-elll!” The chant swells louder and louder. “Jew-elll! Jew-elll! You’re so coo-elll!”
But India’s attention is on the screen, which is showing a distant feather taxi carrying Jewel to Falling Bird. It cuts back to the skywriting—Welcome, Jewel—and then to the highway with the trucks with hearts around Jewel’s name.
Mouse’s eyes squint as if she’s searching for a way out of this.
“India,” Mouse shouts over the noise. “Maddy called. She says that Brendan really likes you.”
“I just talked to Maddy, Mouse. She’s going to try to come,” India mumbles, her eyes on Jewel’s taxi moving across the screen.
“How? How could you talk to her?” I ask.
In the background, the security guys in carts patrol the perimeters. There are hundreds of them and yet they seem to fade into the background like puzzle-piece edges in a finished puzzle.
My hands find the two green twigs with their leafy tops linked together in my pocket. The connected parts are warm—almost as if there’s a heartbeat locked inside. It’s comforting to touch them. I pull them out and hand them to India. I don’t know what else to do.
Her hands won’t take them. You can’t make someone grab something they don’t want.
Out of the press of people, Laird’s red blond head bobs toward us, his quick blue eyes taking stock of the situation.
“India, I’ve got your back. You don’t have to worry anymore.” Laird’s voice is honey-coated steel. He breaks into a run, headed for her.
“We need you, India. We can’t do this without you,” I tell her, dodging in front of Laird, blocking him, protecting her. Mouse wiggles her good hand into India’s pocket.
“Get away from me, Mouse!” India pushes her out of the way, sending India’s piece of puzzle wood flying through the air.
“Ow!” Mouse screams. “My arm!”
A big man in an orange vest, his eyes glued to the screen, steps back to allow a cart to pass. His thick rubber sole lands on the delicate wood piece, splitting it almost in two.
Laird stops, his face stricken. “India, don’t leave. You won’t get another chance like this one.”
I duck under a woman’s arm and race to Mouse. Together she and I try to connect the pieces. It’s hard to figure it out with one damaged. We fiddle until the cracked piece clicks with ours.
The wood pieces form a crane with the broken piece hanging down like a limp leg. A top notch of leaves that look like feathers appear when the pieces are joined. The bird is still wooden, still inanimate, but an internal mechanism has connected, launching circuitry that creates the bird’s flying motion. The bird’s motor hums as we watch the mechanical crane fly away in an awkward off-balance trajectory.
Laird sees the bird. His eyes scan the road. “Well, India, what are you going to do now?” he asks when our feather taxi appears.
Mouse has a fistful of the fringe from India’s vest, which is under her welcomer clothing. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Laird’s blue eyes. He tracks us as we pile into Chuck’s taxi. He’s still watching as we drive away.
CHAPTER 20
PASSENGER TIME
Why are we back with this Chuck dude in his pinky cab? That welcomer job was so cool. I even liked the blue tunic! Laird picked me for the job. He thinks I have talent. Maddy was going to come too.
Now all I have is a blinding headache and a wrist screen with a mind of its own. If only I could figure out how to turn it on. I have to think the right thoughts for it to switch on, but what are the right thoughts?
I tilt the screen away from Mouse. I don’t want her to see. But I can’t get it to turn on, no matter what I do. Ahh! I am so totally frustrated. I just barely keep from tossing the screen out the window.
The Chuck dude glances in the rearview mirror and asks in his chipper voice, “So where to?”
We’re pulling out of Falling Bird—out onto the open highway. But my head is still inside the screen. I barely register the question.
“We have to find the black box. Isn’t that right, Finn? Isn’t it?” Mouse chirps.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Look,” said Mouse. “We have the clocks just like you said, Finn. And now we’re going to play the game with the black box.” Mouse runs her hand over the clock im
bedded in the back of the front seat. That’s the one new thing about the feather taxi. Each of us has a clock facing us. They’re four inches across and they look like old-fashioned pocket watches, except they’re digital. The covers have our names engraved in Falling Bird font. But here’s the weird part: The clocks aren’t keeping time, they’re counting down.
“How come Finn has less time?” Mouse asks.
“That’s the arrangement he made,” Chuck says.
“What arrangement?” I ask.
“You’ll have to ask Finn about that, but the clocks tell you when you’ve become a citizen,” Chuck explains.
“What arrangement?” I ask, leaning forward to make eye contact with Finn, who is on the other side of Mouse.
He shrugs. “I traded time for information.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What am I talking about? Why would you want to be a citizen?” Finn counters.
“It’s a privilege,” Chuck replies in his chipper voice.
“Exactly,” I add.
“So if we’re not citizens, what are we?” Finn wants to know.
“Passengers,” Chuck says.
“Passengers in the car,” Mouse adds.
“That’s right,” Chuck says. “Most passengers decide to stay in Falling Bird and become citizens.”
“Oh, no,” Mouse says. “We want to go home. Don’t we, Finn? We have to find the dog and the box and go home, right, Finn? Right?” Mouse asks.
“Mouse, just be quiet and let Chuck talk,” I say.
“Actually, India, she knows as much about it as I do,” Chuck says.
“Oh, that’s comforting,” I say.
“Why wouldn’t you know?” Finn asks as the cab picks up speed. “This is your job . . . you must have done this before.”
“You’re the first passengers I’ve had who wanted to go back. Most of them are content to become citizens by now. To be honest, I bent the rules a bit to get this far,” Chuck says.
“How’d you bend the rules?” I ask.
Chuck glances in the rearview mirror. His eyes find mine. “The bird didn’t fit together quite right, India. One of the pieces was broken.”
“But it flew,” Mouse offers.
“Yes,” Chuck agrees. “But not very well. India’s piece was damaged and . . .”
“Wait, India! Listen!” Mouse bonks me with her good arm. “Bing says your cell is ringing. C’mon India! Quick! Answer it!” she shouts in my ear.
Just to humor her, I wiggle the cell out of my pocket and click it open. For a second it flashes on. 139 missed calls it says before it dies again.
Mouse is freaking. “Bing says it was Uncle Red calling. Bing says he’s trying to get through. Mom and Uncle Red are calling and calling and calling.”
Chuck is rubbernecking from the front seat trying to see what’s happening.
Mouse squeezes my arm so tightly she’s totally cutting the circulation off. “Try again!” she cries.
All of us are huddled over my cell as I click the on button. The thought that my cell could work, that I could actually talk to my mom, makes my skin prickle in a way that feels either irritating or nice, I don’t know which.
“Let me try,” Finn says, and I pop the cell in his hand, but he can’t get it to work either.
Everybody shuts up after that. Even the road is quiet. No cars.
Finn hands my phone back to me. “We need to know . . .” Finn insists, “how to find the black box.”
“Oh that, yes. I only know what I’ve heard. On the slow nights the cabbies talk. Hard to say if it’s true . . .” Chuck’s voice trails off.
“If what’s true?” I ask.
“I don’t know that much about it,” Chuck says. “I haven’t seen it in the book, but I’m only halfway through. CA is hard. Technology changes so fast. They’re always sending updated versions—2.0, 3.0, 4.0.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“CA. Century Awareness. You got to keep up on technology, word usage, politics, or they don’t let you work with the public.”
“I don’t get it, you’re a kid, aren’t you?” Finn says. “Why are you worried about keeping up?”
“I’ve been twelve longer than you have,” Chuck explains.
“His birthday must be soon. Yours is in October. That’s why he’s been twelve longer than you have, Finn, right Mr. Chuck?” Mouse offers. “But, Mr. Chuck.” Mouse taps his shoulder. “What do you know about the black box?”
The Chuckinator shrugs, his attention riveted to the road. “Looks like they’re making us stop,” he mutters, hitting the brakes.
Up ahead is a fence maybe twenty feet high, made of shiny rounded metal with windows in a neat row. Luggage carts, passenger carts, white pearlescent carts are parked in a cluster. A bunch of guys in security uniforms like Dean’s go in and out of the two glass booths in front of the fence. A glass tower looms high above us. There are no other cars out here. It’s only our feather taxi pulling up to what looks like a border crossing checkpoint station with an opening like the passenger door on an aircraft.
“Maybe they want to know if we have any grapefruits,” Mouse suggests. “Remember when we drove to Mexico and we had the grapefruit and we had to give it to the border man?”
Chuck brings the taxi to a halt and one of the security dudes sticks his head in Chuck’s window. He’s a short, middle-aged Hispanic guy with black hair straight as a ruler and a uniform shirt tight across his middle. His cloud patch says his name is Manny. “Destination?” Manny asks.
“Airport, sir,” Chuck answers.
Manny stares at me. His eyebrows waggle on his face. “With a full load?”
“Passenger’s request, sir,” Chuck replies.
“Hey, fourteen,” Manny calls back to another guard. “They’re set for an airport return. Should we check with Francine?”
“Passengers identified?” a mechanical voice like the one in Maddy’s dad’s GPS answers. Only this one is loud like it’s coming through a speaker system.
“The Tompkins kids,” Chuck answers.
“All three of them?” the mechanical voice with its perfectly spaced pauses asks.
“Yes, sir,” the Chuckinator replies. He’s so polite. Not even Finn is that polite.
“India was given a position as a welcomer,” the voice states.
My forehead gets hot when I hear my name. My tongue feels dry as dirt.
The Manny guard dude sticks his head in the window again. “A welcomer . . . coveted position, India. Going to toss it away”—he snaps his fingers in my face—“like that?”
The screen on my wrist has gone live with the face of Maddy in Technicolor. “In,” she says, “my mom has the car out. Just tell me where to go. You are way more fun than Lizzie. You’re my best friend forever.” But her face is wavering as if there’s electronic interference.
“India?” Manny repeats, a question in his voice.
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“You won’t get another job like that one, honey.” His voice is gentle. “You sure you want to turn in your uniform?”
I think about that job. Nothing was hard. Nothing was expected of me that I couldn’t easily master. I couldn’t fall short. I just did what Laird said. No one thought I was stupid either. My mom always says: If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. But there were no lemons. No reason to make lemonade. The only thing missing was Maddy. And she’s going to come, right?
“India, do you want to reconsider?” The mechanical voice rings in my head. I can’t tell if the voice is inside or outside my brain.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” Mouse answers, worming her hand into mine.
“Maddy,” I whisper to the empty screen. “What should I do?”
“She’s not coming!” Mouse locks the door.
“This isn’t something anyone else can decide for you, India,” Manny explains. He gently moves Mouse’s hand, unlocks the door, and reaches inside to pop my cloc
k out of the backseat. This he places carefully in my lap and waits.
“India.” Finn’s voice is tight as twisted rope. “You won’t be going back to that mansion.”
The door is open, the path in front of me is flooded with light. Where did it come from? I didn’t notice it until now.
The warmth is intense . . . intoxicating. Nothing hurts. There is no pain. The glowing path smells of chocolate cake just out of the oven. It feels like a warm river flowing inside my skin, like my knees are sinking into a feather pillow, like all my hopes have suddenly come true in one dot of the i in my name: India.
I wrap my fingers around my clock and open the door. There’s nothing else to do.
CHAPTER 21
WEATHER ALERT
Mouse’s face is so pale she looks as if she’s been dusted in flour. “What about India? We can’t leave India.”
“Threat level orange for continuing vehicles. Threat level orange,” the mechanical voice drones on.
Manny sticks his head back in the window. “Pretty cold out there. Snow flurries, according to the Weather Group. And the explosive potential is ninety to ninety-five percent. The Operations Group has their concerns as well.”
Chuck’s eyes are full of questions. “Shall I take you back to Falling Bird, Finn Tompkins?”
Just behind us at the border station is a white courtesy phone. My heart thumps so loudly I can’t hear anything but my own doubts.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Finn!” Mouse spits at me. “We can’t leave her.”
Chuck turns back to the guard. “If you don’t mind, sir, they want to continue on.”
“Finn!” Mouse pounds on my chest with her good fist.
“Unwilling passenger alert! Unwilling passenger alert! Would Mouse Tompkins like to return to Falling Bird?” the mechanical voice booms.
Mouse grabs my arm with her good hand so tightly each of her fingers feels like they are carving grooves in my flesh. “No,” she says. “I’m staying with Finn.”
“India needs a sure thing,” I tell Mouse. “We have to get the black box first. Then she’ll come.”
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