by Joan Bauer
This has to be enough to find her.
Has to be.
Have you seen her?
Please say yes.
She’s my friend.
All day long and into the night, people talk about the girl with the baby animal eyes.
The floats are awarded the trophies—the bookworm takes first prize, the middle school float gets “Best First Effort.” Harvey Mutt Plumbing, Ltd., gets “Most Beautiful,” and he makes a big speech about beauty and plumbing, and at the end he raises his trophy in one hand and his plunger in the other.
Coleman Crudup doesn’t get a trophy, but I tell him, “You get the yellow scrunchie award, sir. It’s only being given once and won’t be given again. You totally deserve it.”
He snaps the scrunchie on his wrist and says he’ll take it.
“And there’s prize money, sir.” I open my velcro wrist wallet and hand him the fifty-dollar bill he gave me at the library. “I know that’s not a lot to you, but . . .”
He takes the money. “Any time you want to work for me, Anna McConnell, you give me a call. Any time, and that includes after college.”
“Thank you, sir.”
We’ve done everything we know to do, and that’s such a good feeling.
Now we wait.
Thirty
I’ve gotten better at so many things since I’ve come to Rosemont.
But not waiting.
I’ve thrown the ball to Bean seventeen times, which is the number of years my parents have been married. I’m doing this and looking in Mim’s big kitchen window, which isn’t easy, but the good news is my parents are in there talking. A few times the talking moves to fighting and Dad stands up and starts pointing his finger, and Mom stands up and points hers right back, but once Dad grabs her hand and that settles things down, and once Mom starts to cry, which I feel is a good move because it causes Dad to put his arm around her.
“Bean, I’m pretty sure they might need me in there. What do you think?”
Bean drops the ball at my feet, which means throw again.
So I throw again, and he jumps up and gets it. I throw it a grand total of forty-seven times, and I’m hoping that my parents will be married at least that many years. I was going for fifty, but my shoulder gives out. Bean doesn’t stand for wimpy throws; you’ve got to put your whole heart into it.
It’s funny how Mim’s racing heart and looking for Kim Su has brought our family back together.
I’m throwing the ball to Bean by the split-rail fence. Taylor rides up on Zoe, not looking too good.
“Hi.”
She nods.
“Are you okay, Taylor?”
She takes a deep sigh. “Partially.”
I put the ball down, climb over the fence, walk to them. “What’s wrong?” I get close and Zoe walks to me, puts her head close to my shoulder.
“I have to visit my dad and his wife.”
“Oh . . .”
“She’s having a surprise birthday for him.” Taylor winces. “It’s a costume party.”
“You could go as the queen of the flowers.”
“You’re only twelve, Anna. How did you get so smart?”
“I don’t know. I just keep going.”
Dad and I walk Mom out to her car. She has to be at work tomorrow. Dad is staying a few more days.
Mom looks at Dad. “Well, Brian, I—”
Dad takes her in his arms. Bean wags his tail.
Way to go, Dad.
Mom looks at me. “What do I say to you?”
I smile. “You’ll get me a horse?”
She messes up my hair. “You can visit the horse.”
Dad starts giving her directions to get back—but they’re Dad directions, which include all the ways to go if things go wrong.
Mom climbs in the car, turns on the GPS. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
Major waving. After the parade, we know how to wave in this family.
So many people are leaving.
Ben is going to music camp.
Taylor is going to her father’s birthday party.
Lorenzo wants to know when I’m coming back.
All of Rosemont is cleaning up from the parade. Flowers don’t last long.
I guess you don’t always get the things you work and hope for.
I touch my yellow scrunchie.
Come on!
Mim’s doorbell rings.
She shouts, “It’s Homeland Security.”
I run out. Brad and Winnie are in the living room.
Brad says, “A tip came in from a Vietnamese businessman two towns away. He’s sure he’s seen Kim Su.”
I put my hand over the scrunchie and close my eyes.
Keep hoping!
Things are happening!
He smiles. “Just hang tough, Anna.”
I’m getting seriously sick of hanging tough.
But, it’s the only way, especially for a former petunia.
Thirty-One
I got lost once at a carnival. I was four and I couldn’t find my parents. There was so much noise and crazy rides and screaming and I felt like I was stuck in the scariest place and I couldn’t get out.
Finally, I saw my mother running up to me shouting, “Anna! I’m here! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Every lost girl needs to know someone is trying to find her.
Have you seen her?
Suddenly, I feel kind of lost in the big, bad world.
I push back and forth on the glider in Mim’s garden, thinking about people in slavery and kids in vans who are hidden. My mouth feels dry, I just can’t imagine . . .
One girl matters, I tell myself.
One kid.
I see Mim rushing out the back door, her face lit up with sunshine. “They found her!”
I sit there frozen.
What did she say?
“They found her, Anna.”
Something shoots through me, I can’t speak.
Winnie comes out talking about a Vietnamese store owner who saw Kim Su’s picture and realized she might be staying in a house on his street. He called the number on our card. Then Brad got the local police to surround that place.
Dad comes out, talking on the phone: “Yes, yes, I’ll tell her.” He grins at me. “Two men and a woman have been arrested.”
They found her.
They found her!
I leap up.
“Brad says the two men and the lady are in custody.”
I nod. That’s all I can do.
“How is the girl?” Dad asks.
“Safe now,” Winnie says. “They’ve got her, and they’re bringing her mother to the station.”
And all the days of hoping and wondering what to do, all the pictures I had in my head, all the fear, all the anger at those awful people, all the worry, and the sadness—it is all being painted over in another color.
I’m not sure if there is an official hope color.
“Can I see her?” I ask.
“Oh, honey, I don’t think so,” Mim says.
“She’s going to need some time to heal,” Dad begins, “and—”
“But can we ask somebody?”
Winnie shakes her head. “I think she’ll need to be with professionals who handle these kinds of things. They’ll understand how to help her.”
How do I let them know?
It’s not just anyone asking.
I’m her friend!
Four nail salons were shut down because of human trafficking. One in Iowa, three in Virginia. Brad said there could be more.
“It’s because of you, Anna,” Brad tells me.
“Not just me . . .”
“None of this would have happened without you.”
Kim Su and her mother are in a safe place with people who are trained to help them. I’m not trained that way, but I know what it means to be a good friend.
“Can I meet her?” I ask Brad.
He looks at me. “I don’t know, Anna, but I’ll check.”
“She’ll need to see another kid, you know!”
Everything is ready in the backyard—the table is set, the flowers in vases. I even gave Bean a bath—he actually changed color. Nothing could help his ball.
Winnie is here.
Dad headed back to Philadelphia.
We were told not to have too many people.
We’re waiting.
The strawberry shortcake is on the counter. I already whipped the cream.
“Maybe something happened and they can’t come,” I say.
“They’re coming,” Winnie insists.
We wait some more.
I’m trying to picture what it’s going to be like. I look out the window and see a dark car pull up outside. Brad and a woman get out, then the back door opens and an Asian man climbs out.
Now I see her. She’s looking out the window of the car.
I start to run outside, but Mim holds me back. “Give her some space. She’s been through a lot.”
I watch Kim Su walk up our steps holding her mother’s hand. They both look down. They are both pretty. The Asian man is talking to them and pointing to the flowers in Mim’s front yard. I thought about turning on the bubble maker, but that was probably too much.
I want this to be just right.
They are at our door now. The bell rings.
Mim opens the door. Brad says, “Sorry we’re late.” He smiles at me. “Anna, I want you to meet Kim Su and her mother, Mai.”
You can picture something in your head a thousand times, but it’s never like when it really happens.
The mother takes both my hands in hers, lowers her eyes, and whispers something I don’t understand. “Miss Anna,” the Asian man says gently, “this mother thanks you from her heart.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper.
The Asian man speaks to the girl in her language. She comes forward and gives me a flower. She looks at me now with her baby animal eyes. The man slowly says, “Thank you, my friend.”
The girl looks down and tries. “Tank you . . .”
“My friend,” the man says slowly.
Very slowly she says, “My fend.”
I nod and touch my heart. Kim Su nods and touches her heart and then her mother does, too.
Bean comes over with his ball, wagging his tail.
“Not now, Bean.” But Bean speaks heart, being a hope dog. He trots to Kim Su, sits, and puts the ball at her feet, waiting.
“It’s pretty dirty,” I tell her, “but it means he likes you.”
The Asian man translates this, and she smiles. She picks up the ball and Bean gets excited. We head out back. I show her how to throw the ball to Bean.
She is seriously good at this, and she laughs as Bean catches each throw. She throws it between her legs. Bean loves that, scoops it up and brings it back to her. Kim Su doesn’t get tired of this. I think it’s good for her to play.
Things are going really well, but then she runs to the door, and her mother and the man take her outside to the car.
I wonder if I can say good-bye.
I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing, I hope I didn’t scare her.
Brad says, “She hasn’t been around people like this. She needs to take little steps to feel safe. Does that make sense?”
I know about little steps.
I try not to go to the window to see if she’s okay, and eventually she and her mother come back inside.
The strawberry shortcake helps everything. I can tell she’s never had strawberry shortcake before, and actually, no one really has had strawberry shortcake until they’ve had Mim’s.
“I have a present for you,” I tell her, and the Asian man repeats that.
I get out a bouquet of flowers that I picked from Mim’s garden—it’s the best bouquet I’ve ever put together, with curling ribbons on the vase.
“Ohhhh!” she says.
I know what that means!
Then I hand her a box. She opens it and says, “Oh!” again as she pulls out the little bracelet with the pink heart that I picked out myself.
I help her put it on. She touches her heart and I touch mine. Then very gently I walk closer and I give Kim Su a hug. At first she jumps, but I just keep hugging her and then she hugs me back.
Her mother bows to me and I bow back, and Kim Su bows and I bow back, then the translator starts bowing to everyone and Brad gets into it, and Mim starts now and Winnie is bowing, too. I forget who I’ve bowed to, so I bow to Bean, who doesn’t bow but he does wag his tail.
And after that the party is over.
I sit down on the front steps as the car pulls away.
It’s official. This is the best day of my life.
Thirty-Two
I walk to the birdhouse, to the path that leads around Mim’s garden. The flowers are bigger than when I got here.
I’m bigger, too.
I’ve ridden a horse.
I’ve helped capture bad guys.
I might have had something to do with my parents getting back together.
I’ve been a singing petunia.
I hope there’s an essay in eighth grade about how I spent my summer vacation, because I don’t want all this material to go to waste.
But now I have to go home.
It’s not easy to say good-bye to people when you’ve shared major life moments.
Winnie’s eyes get red when I hug her.
“I’ll be back,” I tell her.
I want to transport Siri and Ben to Philadelphia.
Ben is leaving for camp in one hour. He hands me a CD of the middle school jazz band. Siri says, “I think you should live here, Anna.”
Part of me does, too.
“I’ll be back, you guys”
Now for the really hard good-bye . . .
“You can brush her down if you want to.”
I take the curry comb from Taylor and move it in the circle motions. I don’t want to leave this horse.
Zoe turns to look at me.
“I guess you know I have to go. I don’t live here officially.”
Zoe knows this.
Taylor peeks back in. “For a twelve-year-old, Anna, you’re beyond okay.”
“Thanks.”
“Actually, I think you’re kind of ageless.”
“And I think you’re the coolest friend to share your horse.”
Taylor leans against the stall door. “That was pretty awesome of me.”
I give Taylor a hug. She says, “I’ll leave you two alone.”
I stand there brushing Zoe.
I look at her. So, what are you about?
I think you like the fact that you’re strong and you can give people a ride.
I think you like to go fast.
I think you know about loving.
You can tell when somebody’s hurting.
I think you care about that because of what happened to you.
She moves her great horse head across my shoulder. I feel her strength and her heart as close as anything.
I wonder—if you’d just had an easy horse life, would you care this much?
Mim and I stand at the train station.
“I’m going to miss having you around, Anna.”
“I’m going to miss being around. I’ll be back.”
“You’d better.”
I smile. “How ’bout next week?”
“I’d love it, but I’m not sure how your parents would fe
el about it.”
Speaking of my parents . . .
Mim is probably the wisest person I know, so I ask, “Do you have any advice for me about Mom and Dad and everything?”
She thinks about that. “Well, it seems to me, when people are going through a hard, confusing time, they need a little encouragement, so if you can step up and encourage your parents, I think that would help them and you.”
I’m not sure how it will help me, and I tell her that.
“It’ll help you focus on the best parts of them,” she explains.
“I’ll try, Mim.”
“Something tells me you’ll do more than try.” She hugs me hard and I hang on. The train is boarding. “Off you go now.”
Mim touches her heart and I touch mine.
Thirty-Three
“Thank God you’re back, kid.” Fred Dimsdale grabs my hand. “Your replacement . . .” he shakes his head. “It was painful to watch. He was clueless, no connection with the people, no understanding of the heart of a cranberry.”
I’m in the cranberry suit. “I won’t let you down, sir.”
Lorenzo adjusts his I’M WITH THE CRANBERRY button and grins as the big music starts up. Dance music.
And I am a dancing cranberry!
“Remember, Anna. The drama coach for the high school is here to see us. I told her we were good enough to go to their after-school program.”
I nod. We are good enough.
We run out of the store, rocking, clapping, shouting, “Yes!”
Clapping to the beat.
One, two, three, four . . .
Lorenzo struts over, holding the mic.
I dance around him like we practiced.
Lorenzo shouts to the crowd, “Have you had your antioxidants today?”
I pause, cup my ear, listening to hear if the people say yes.
Nobody’s shouting. They will.
“Have you?”
The crowd shouts back.
One, two, three, four . . .
A woman runs up, puts her arm around me and motions to a man. “Take my picture with the raisin, Herb.”
“Actually, ma’am, I’m not a—”
