Out There - Book One: Paradise

by David Gordon

Mrs. Lightfoot had made sure that she would have the day off from work for Brian’s visit on Saturday. She had also been looking forward to sleeping in late on Saturday morning. But at 7 a.m. she was awakened by a loud clump! against her bedroom wall. She groaned and put a pillow over her head. But then there was another bang! on the wall. Then the screeeech! of something being dragged across the floor. Then the crash! of something being knocked over. All of this was coming from Sami’s room. Mrs. Lightfoot tossed the pillow off of her face and said, “Rats.”

  A few minutes later she was standing at the doorway to Sami’s room. Through tired, squinty eyes, Mrs. Lightfoot watched her daughter working hard at rearranging and cleaning up. Sami was listening to her iPod and so did not notice her mother until Mrs. Lightfoot called to her. “Sami!”

  Sami looked up from the pile of clothes she was sorting and popped out her ear buds. “Hi, mom.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” asked her mother.

  Sami looked at her iPod for the answer. “It’s five after seven,” she said. “What are you doing up so early?”

  Mrs. Lightfoot instantly gave up on her plan to chew out Sami for waking her up. Instead she sighed and shook her head, then shuffled into the room to sit on Sami’s bed.

  “Mom!” Sami yelled, and held out her hands in horror.

  Mrs. Lightfoot froze, with her bottom hovering just above the bed. Now her eyes were wide open. “What?! What is it?!”

  Sami pointed at her bed. “You almost sat on my clothes!”

  Mrs. Lightfoot bent forward and looked between her own legs. She saw something she thought that she would never see in her life. Sami had neatly folded and stacked shirts, pants, and underwear on her bed. Mrs. Lightfoot looked back up at Sami and said, “Is this all because Brian is visiting?”

  Sami looked offended. “Nooo,” she said, and went back to her sorting and folding. “I just felt like straightening up around here.”

  Mrs. Lightfoot smiled and patted her daughter on the head, then straightened herself up and headed out of the room. When she got to the door, Sami said, “You know, mom, your room could use a good tidying, too.”

  Mrs. Lightfoot scowled at her. Looking quite innocent, Sami raised her hands in the air and said, “What?”

  Sami had been pacing nervously for almost an hour in front of her apartment building. Her mother wanted her to stay inside and out of the sun, but Sami was too excited to do that. She needed to move. So she walked back and forth, listened to her music, and looked up the street every time she heard a car coming.

  Finally, shortly before noon, the black car with the darkened windows turned the corner. Sami yanked out her ear buds and hurried to the curb to wave at the car. It glided to a stop beside her. The driver’s door opened immediately and Mr. Sombra got out.

  “Hi, Mr. Sombra!” said Sami.

  He looked down at her and nodded, but said nothing. Instead, he opened the back door. Brian slid out, blinking in the sudden brightness.

  “Hey, Brian!”

  He squinted at her and smiled. “Hello, Sami.” He glanced up at the building. “Is this where you live?”

  “Yeah. Come on.” Sami took his hand and waved to Mr. Sombra. “Bye, Mr. Sombra.”

  As she turned to lead Brian into the building, a family with two young children came walking by. When they saw Brian, the parents halted and stared. Very few people had actually seen the aliens in person, and here was one right on their sidewalk. Brian looked at them and smiled. The mom and dad did not smile back, but instead pulled their two kids close to them. Suddenly Mr. Sombra got a little bit taller, and he watched the family closely. They scooted past Sami and Brian. Mr. Sombra kept his eyes on the family until they disappeared around the corner. Then he looked back at Sami and Brian, nodded, and said with his rumbling voice, “Back at three.”

  “Three!” Sami complained. “Only ‘til three?”

  Mr. Sombra’s voice and face did not change one bit as he repeated, “Three.”

  Sami made a sour face. “Let’s go,” she said and dragged Brian through the glass doors that led into her apartment building. Once they were gone, Mr. Sombra took a moment to look carefully at the building and all around the neighborhood, as if he was searching for something. Then he got into his car and drove away.

  Sami had begged and begged her mother to not embarrass her in front of Brian. Actually, the way Sami had put it was, “Mom, please don’t blow it.” But of course Mrs. Lightfoot did blow it. (She couldn’t help it. All parents embarrass their children. No one knows why this happens.) In fact, Mrs. Lightfoot blew it the moment Sami and Brian walked in the door.

  “Well hello!” Mrs. Lightfoot announced in a big voice as she spread her arms in welcome and hurried to meet them. “Are you Brian?”

  Sami glared at her. “Mom! Of course he’s Brian!”

  Mrs. Lightfoot paid no attention to her, but instead bent forward and flashed an extra big smile at Brian. “Hello, Brian. I’m Sami’s mother.”

  Sami made a face filled with exaggerated surprise and said, “No kidding, you’re my mom?”

  Mrs. Lightfoot scowled at her. “We’re just saying hello, Sami.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Lightfoot,” said Brian.

  Sami nudged him with her elbow. “Go on,” she said, “it’s okay.”

  Brian glanced at Sami, hesitated, then stuck out his alien hand for Mrs. Lightfoot to shake. Now it was her turn to hesitate. She also glanced at Sami, who made a wide-eyed “Do it!” face at her. Mrs. Lightfoot reached out and took Brian’s hand, shook it, smiled and said, “I’m very glad to meet you, too, Brian. I’m Mrs. Lightfoot.” Then, remembering what Sami had told her about the Adonae and names, Mrs. Lightfoot added, “But you can call me Melanie.”

  This seemed to please Brian.

  Sami wanted to hustle Brian into her bedroom as soon as possible in order to avoid the biggest embarrassment of all; the Wall of Fame. But shaking Brian’s hand had seemed to completely relax Mrs. Lightfoot, and she immediately put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the sofa in the living room.

  “Now you just come over here and sit down with me,” she said.

  “But mom, we want to go to my room,” Sami whined.

  “This is a visit, Sami, so let’s visit for a minute.”

  Sami sank onto a chair at the kitchen table and sulked. She knew it would not be a minute and, worse, now they were sitting in the living room.

  “You have a nice apartment, Melanie,” said Brian.

  Mrs. Lightfoot made a face like she had just heard nails being scratched on a blackboard, and said, “Well, thanks, but it’s really not much, I’m afraid.” She looked around. “It’s pretty small and, well, we don’t have many nice things.” Then she seemed to suddenly remember Brian. She patted his hand and said, “But thank you, Brian. Really, it’s nice of you to say so.”

  “It is cozy, isn’t it?” he asked.

  At this she smiled and nodded. “Yes, it’s cozy. You’re right. It’s cozy.”

  Looking around, Brian pointed to the Wall of Fame and said, “And that is very nice. What is that?”

  Sami groaned. So, it turned out to be Brian who would betray her! Sami’s mother really grinned now as she pulled Brian to his feet and over to the Wall.

  “Well!” she announced, “I call this the Wall of Fame.” Sami buried her head in her arms.

  “It must be important to have that name,” said Brian.

  This stopped Mrs. Lightfoot. She had a small, warm smile as she gazed down at Brian for a moment. She was really starting to like this boy. She stroked his bald head, and it felt just fine to her, just natural. “Yes,” she said, “It is very important.”

  Mrs. Lightfoot explained what the Wall of Fame was, and then pointed to one of the pieces of paper. “For instance, this is Sami’s first 100 percent spelling test.”

  “I see,” said Brian, catching on right away. He saw how proud Mrs. Lightfoot was, so he pointed at another piece of paper. �
�And what is that?”

  For what seemed like forever to Sami, Brian and her mother explored the Wall of Fame. He was really into it, asking about one thing after another and saying how this was “very nice” and that was “extremely interesting.” Sami watched silently from her chair as they looked at her kindergarten hand print, admired a snowflake she had made by folding and cutting a piece of paper, and poked at the first baby tooth she had lost. (It was taped to a piece of paper with a note that said, “Please keep your tooth for me… I will come back for it later. Yours truly, The Tooth Fairy.”) They oohed and ahhed over photographs of Sami as a naked baby in a bathtub, at the top of a playground slide, crying on Santa Clause’s lap, and standing proudly beside a sand castle, with the waves crashing behind her. They read (out loud!) the Mother’s Day poem a six-year-old Sami had written for Mrs. Lightfoot, the one that began,

  “You are my mother

  I want no other

  Because you love me

  I’m so happy…”

  Sami groaned loudly and wailed, “No!” But they kept reading the poem anyway. She was beyond embarrassed; she was mortified.

  On and on they went. And even Sami could see that her mother was very happy doing it. In fact it was the happiest Sami had seen her in a long time. Then Brian pointed to a crayon drawing. The paper was crinkled. It looked as though it had been balled up, then smoothed back out before being taped to the Wall of Fame. “Tell me about this one,” said Brian.

  Mrs. Lightfoot hesitated, then finally said, “Sami did that in kindergarten.”

  The drawing was of a pink and blue house with two windows and a brown door. It had a red chimney, with curlicues of black smoke rising out of it. On one side of the house was a swing set. On the other was a big apple tree, spotted with red apples. Beneath the tree were three stick people, the kind that kids draw, with round heads, dot eyes, and straight lines for bodies, arms, legs, and fingers. One of the stick people was short and had short brown hair. The other two were tall. One had long brown hair and a triangle for a dress. The other was just a round head and stick body.

  “Is it your family?” asked Brian.

  Mrs. Lightfoot pressed her lips together, tightly, and nodded.

  Brian tapped the stick figure that just had a round head. “Is this her father?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and looked sad.

  “Where is Sami’s father, Melanie?” Brian asked.

  Mrs. Lightfoot looked at Brian and tried to smile. She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Then she turned Brian away from the picture and said, “Well! Sami, you want to show Brian your room?”

  “Finally!” said Sami. She hopped off her chair and waved him over. “Come on.” She headed for her room, with Brian trotting after her.

  “I’ll let you know when lunch is ready,” Mrs. Lightfoot called out. After Sami’s door slammed shut, her mother looked again at the stick figure drawing. She gently ran her fingers over it, trying to smooth some of its wrinkles.

  Sami spent the first few minutes in her room complaining to Brian about how totally embarrassing her mother is and how she totally hates The Wall of Fame and how it’s so totally embarrassing. When she finally stopped ranting long enough for Brian to say something he asked, “So you thought is was a fiasco?”

  Sami screwed up her face at him and said, “No, I thought it was a totally embarrassing mess!”

  “That is what a ‘fiasco’ is,” explained Brian.

  Sami stopped to think about that for a moment. Then she repeated the word. “Fiasco.” The new word felt good in her mouth, fun to say. “Oh, I like that,” she said, and smiled. “Fiasco. Yeah, it was a total fiasco.” Sami’s bad mood evaporated, disappearing like a drop of water on a hot sidewalk. She forgot about her mother and started showing off her bedroom to Brian.

  She really wanted him to like her room and her stuff. He did seem to appreciate her books and posters, her bed and desk, her collection of stuffed animals (particularly the camel with the floppy neck), her art supplies, her furry cat clock that meowed, the Eiffel Tower pencil sharpener her uncle Sol had sent to her from Paris, her stack of comic books, and the real scorpion frozen inside a lump of clear plastic. Sami was excited about everything she showed Brian. That is, until she showed it to him. Then it seemed somehow not so wonderful to her, and she would quickly go on to something else.

  She saved the best for last. Like a ringmaster at a circus, she announced, “And THIS is my closet!” and opened it with great pride. The shoes were lined up in perfect rows on the floor, and all of her clothes were hung neatly on hangers. What is more, she had arranged them according to color, so that all of the mostly white clothes were together, all of the mostly red clothes were together, all of the mostly blue clothes were together, and so on. Brian was very impressed. But again, Sami’s pride soon evaporated. She shut the closet door and plopped down on the bed. She felt sulky and disappointed, and she did not know why.

  Brian was curious about a wooden box sitting beside the stack of comic books on top of Sami’s dresser. He took it down and flipped open the lid. The inside of the box was covered with soft, green felt, and it was divided into two compartments. The left compartment was filled with strange figures carved out of dark brown wood. The right was filled with what looked like the same figures, but these were carved out of a crème-colored wood.

  “What is this?” he asked, and he took it over to where Sami was sprawled on the bed.

  She sat up, took the box from him, and dumped the pieces out onto the bedspread. “Chessmen,” she explained. “You use them to play a game called chess.”

  “Can you play chess?”

  “’Course I can,” said Sami. She wiped her hand across the pile. The wooden pieces clicked and clacked against each other as she spread them out into a mixture of brown and crème. “But we can’t play. One of the pieces is missing. Look.” She poked through the pieces until she found three and laid them out in front of Brian. She pointed at two of them. “This is the black king and the black queen.” Then she pointed at the third piece. “See this? This is the white king. But there’s no white queen.”

  Brian picked up the three pieces and looked at them carefully. “Where is the white queen?”

  Sami shrugged. “Don't know. It just disappeared.”

  While Brian closely examined each of the chess pieces, Sami flopped back onto her bed to think. The chess set had belonged to her father. He had disappeared at the same time as the white queen. At least as far as she could remember. A detective who looked like a well-dressed skeleton had stood in their living room and shook his head and shrugged. She knew then that there would be no more looking for her dad. He was gone. Just gone. It seemed like ages ago now, though in fact it had been only a year or so. She tugged at her scraggly brown hair, wishing (as she had many times) that she had her father's glossy, ink black hair instead. His parents—her grandparents—were Apaches. They lived in New Mexico somewhere. Sami has seen pictures of them, standing very stiff and proud in a scrubby pine forest. Sami had been told that grandpa was a Chiricahua Apache, and grandma a Mescalero. But that was about it. Except that they hadn't approved of their son marrying Melanie. Sami knew that much of the story. Maybe they had been right. Now the chess set was the only thing of his that Sami still had of him. She didn't even get his hair. And the chess set was no good without the white queen.

  It was very quiet in her room for what felt like way, way too long. So she was relieved when Mrs. Lightfoot finally called them to lunch.

  Sami’s grumpy mood grew worse as the three of them ate lunch. Her mother talked so much with Brian that Sami felt left out. She had wanted to be proud of her room, and THAT did not happen. And she had wanted to have Brian to herself, and THAT was not happening, either.

  When they had finished eating and Mrs. Lightfoot was picking up the dishes from the table, she asked them, “Well, how was lunch?”

  “It was a fiasco,” blurted Sami.

  “Oh,” said M
rs. Lightfoot, surprised and staring at Sami. “Is that so? Well, you’re welcome.”

  Sami did not want to take Brian back to her room, and she sure did not want to stay in the living room with The Wall of Fame and her mother. So she decided that they would go next door to visit Mr. Sanchez.

  Sami knocked on the door and shouted, “Mr. Sanchez? It’s me!” She heard him shout back “Come in!” so she opened the door. As usual, Mr. Sanchez was sitting in his green velvet chair in front of the television. The news was on (also as usual) but he was not paying attention to it. Instead he was looking at three postcards. Sami and Brian came in, and she shut the door.

  “Hey, Mr. Sanchez. I brought a friend.”

  “Really?” said Mr. Sanchez, without turning to look. “A friend?” Then he did turn to look. Instantly he jumped to his feet, scattering the postcards to the floor. He stared, wide-eyed at Brian. Sami had never seen Mr. Sanchez move so fast before, so she was surprised, too.

  “It’s only Brian,” she said. “Here, I’ll get those.” Sami scooted over and dropped to her knees to pick up the postcards. “Here,” she said, getting back to her feet and holding them out to Mr. Sanchez. But Mr. Sanchez was still staring at Brian. And now she saw that Brian was staring at Mr. Sanchez, as well. Sami thought that Mr. Sanchez looked almost angry. But that couldn’t be, she thought. And Brian looked scared. She was confused. “Mr. Sanchez?” she said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Hm?” he said, then he shook himself, like a dog just waking from a nap. “Oh, sorry, children. You just surprised me. I was startled, that’s all.” He smiled at Brian and waved him over. “It’s alright. Come.”

  But Brian hung back. He still looked scared.

  “Come,” Mr. Sanchez repeated. “I won’t bite you. I promise.”

  Brian glanced at Sami, who nodded encouragingly at him. Brian joined her and Mr. Sanchez beside the green velvet chair.

  “I am Mr. Sanchez,” said Mr. Sanchez, holding out his hand, “and you must be Brian.”

  Brian looked at Mr. Sanchez’s hand. Sami could not believe what she was seeing. Here was a human offering to shake his hand and now it was Brian who was hesitating. Brian forced himself to shake Mr. Sanchez’s hand.

  “Bueno,” said Mr. Sanchez, and he seemed to relax. “Welcome.” He noticed Sami still holding the postcards. He reached for them. “Ah, here, mija. Thank you.” He saw Brian glancing around the room. Mr. Sanchez spread his arms to the apartment and said, “Well, what do you think?”

  Brian hesitated, thought for a moment, then answered, “You have many things in a small space.”

  Mr. Sanchez laughed. “Yes, that is very true. Sami, why don’t you give your friend the tour, while I find a hammer.”

  As he went down the hall to his bedroom, Sami pulled Brian over to the bookcase. “Look at these. Isn’t this the most books you ever saw?” Sami peeked around the corner and down the hall as she continued talking to Brian. “And this is the ladder he got for me so I can reach the top shelves.” As soon as she saw Mr. Sanchez disappear into his bedroom, Sami whipped around to face Brian and whispered, “What’s the matter?”

  Brian shook his head. “I do not know. Something.”

  “Mr. Sanchez is a great guy,” she said. “Really.”

  Brian shook his head. “I do not know. I just feel something.”

  Mr. Sanchez’s voice echoed down the hall. “I found it!”

  Sami quickly snatched a book from the shelf and flipped it open. Mr. Sanchez came around the corner and found her and Brian looking at the book with great interest. Mr. Sanchez noticed that the book was upside down. He smiled at them, then sighed.

  “I apologize for my strange behavior, children,” he said. “I am… I am not myself today.”

  “That’s okay, Mr. Sanchez,” said Sami, clapping closed the book and slipping it back onto the bookshelf.

  “Yes,” Brian agreed, “my behavior is often strange, as well.”

  Mr. Sanchez nodded. “Okay. Come. You two are just in time to help me.” He waved his hammer in the air and went over to sit in the green velvet chair. He used the hammer to point at the wall covered with postcards. “Brian, did Sami tell you about my wall here?”

  “No, Mr. Sanchez, she did not.” Brian saw Sami raise a finger and open her mouth, about to correct him. “She didn’t,” he quickly corrected himself. “It’s very beautiful. Is it another Wall of Fame?”

  Mr. Sanchez chuckled. “In a way, yes. These are postcards from my students. They’re from all over the world.”

  “All over the world.” Brian repeated quietly. He drew closer and peered at one card after another. “Argentina. Friday Harbor. Lhasa. Baltimore. Disneyland. Paris. Madame Tussaud’s House of Wax. Yellowstone National Park. Salem. Hannibal, Missouri.” Brian looked at Mr. Sanchez. “Your students have been to all of these places?”

  “They grew up,” sighed Mr. Sanchez. “Now they explore all of the places that I have never been.”

  “Then this is the Wall of Dreams,” suggested Brian.

  Mr. Sanchez stared at the alien boy and smiled. “Yes,” he said. He held up the three postcards. “These just arrived. How about you and Sami tack them up for me.”

  “Cool!” said Sami. “Which one do I get?”

  Mr. Sanchez fanned out the post cards so he could see them easily. “Let’s see…” He plucked one out. “San Diego Zoo.” He handed it to her.

  She looked at it. “Wow. Lions.”

  “And for you, Brian…” Mr. Sanchez slowly offered a postcard. “Tahiti.”

  Brian took the card, and Sami looked over his shoulder at it, too. It showed a green island studded with palm trees and ringed by white beaches. Surrounding the island was an endless, blue ocean. He stared at it with big eyes, then whispered, “Adonae.”

  “Is that what it looks like?” she asked Brian. She looked up at Mr. Sanchez and explained, “That’s what they called their planet. Adonae.”

  Mr. Sanchez, who was watching Brian, said, “Yes.” Then he looked at Sami and corrected himself. “I mean, I understand. Thank you for telling me, Sami. Here.” He held out the hammer to Sami and a tack. “Go ahead.”

  She took them. “Where?” she asked.

  “Wherever you like,” he answered.

  She scanned the wall of postcards. There was no empty space, of course, so she would have to put it over other cards. She finally found a postcard from New York beside one from The Giant Redwoods. She decided that the San Diego Zoo lion would look good over-lapping those two. She put the postcard in place and tried to position the tack, but holding the hammer at the same time was a problem. She stuck the hammer between her knees and held it there while she positioned the post card again. She placed the tack point against the post card, then carefully reached down to her knees to grab the hammer. She held it near its head and tapped. She meant to tap the tack, but instead she whacked her thumb. “Ow!” she yelled and dropped everything. “Rats!”

  Brian started to bend down to pick them up for her, but Mr. Sanchez touched his arm to stop him. “It’s alright, Brian. She can do it.” Brian glanced from him to Sami, who was sucking on her injured thumb.

  She took it out of her mouth and shook her hand in the air to make the pain go away. Then she picked up the postcard and tack, and stuck the hammer between her knees again. She positioned the postcard and the tack, grabbed the hammer from her knees, and very carefully tap tap tap tap tapped on the tack until it was in. She stepped back and smiled, proud.

  “Good!” said Mr. Sanchez. He held out a tack to Brian. “Now yours.”

  Brian took the tack from him and the hammer from Sami. He searched the wall for a proper place for his postcard. He found one that showed the endless sands of Death Valley. He decided to cover it with the endless oceans of Tahiti.

  Sami watched in amazement as Brian effortlessly held the card against the wall with one thumb and finger, while the other thumb and finger of that same hand positioned the tack. With his other hand he qui
ckly tapped it in. She could hardly believe it. “Cool,” she said.

  Mr. Sanchez grinned and said to her, “Watch.” He held out the third postcard to Brian, saying, “This one is from Guatemala.”

  Brian and Sami looked at the card. It showed a strange and beautiful bird. The feathers on its chest were crimson and those covering the rest of its body were a bright blue-green. It had a very long, blue-green tail.

  “It’s called a Quetzal,” explained Mr. Sanchez. He handed another tack to Brian, then tapped a spot on the wall and said, “Here.”

  Brian started to put up the postcard, then Mr. Sanchez said, “One hand this time.”

  Brian looked at him, then put the postcard in his right hand, along with the tack and the hammer. Sami scooted closer so she could get a better view. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as she watched Brian put the card against the wall and hold it there with the knuckles of one finger while that same finger and the thumb next to it placed the tack at the top of the postcard. Then the other thumb and finger that had been holding the hammer twisted enough to allow Brian to tap the tack into the wall.

  “Whoa!” Sami gasped. “I wish I could do that.”

  Brian smiled. Now it was his turn to feel proud.

  All this time the television had been on in Mr. Sanchez’s apartment. Newscasters had been droning on and on in the background about car crashes and road projects and the weather and sports. Sami, Brian, and Mr. Sanchez had been so busy with each other that they had not heard any of it. But at the moment that Brian was standing there, smiling and feeling proud, they suddenly did hear what was being said on the television, and turned to it.

  “Aliens must go! Aliens must go! Aliens must go!” chanted a large crowd of angry people. Many of them were pumping cardboard signs up and down above their heads. The signs said things like “Aliens? NO!” and “Keep America Safe!” and “Don’t Be Fooled!” The crowd was in front of a black, iron fence, and behind that fence was the White House. In front of the shouting crowd was a reporter, talking into the camera. Standing beside him was a round man with a round face. He had gray, thinning hair, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. His shirt collar and tie squeezed his throat, and the underarms of his suit were stained with sweat.

  “As tensions around the world continue to mount over the growing water crisis,” said the reporter, “several groups are pointing their fingers at the aliens. Here to explain their concerns is Todd Rover, founder and director of the organization, US First!” The reporter turned to Rover. “Mr. Rover, perhaps you can remind our viewers of the purpose of US First!, and tell us why you are protesting here in front of the White House today.”

  “Appreciate the opportunity,” said Rover. “US First! is a movement of hundreds of thousands—and soon millions—of Americans devoted to preserving this great land of ours. In fact, we are the greatest country in the world! US First! is trying to wake up the American people to that fact and get them to join us in defending it against any and all external threats.”

  “And the reason you’re here today?” prompted the reporter.

  “It’s obvious that the water shortages that now threaten the world and, more importantly, America, began at almost the same time as the arrival of the aliens. In fact,” and he held up a file folder and shook it at the camera, “I have secret documents and reports that prove that the aliens have been in secret contact with representatives of foreign governments all over the world! They are clearly the key to an international plot to destroy our country by starving it of water!” Rover pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his brow.

  “But,” said the reporter, “the entire world is experiencing water shortages, not just the United States.”

  “And what is the result?” Rover responded with fiery eyes as he waved his soggy handkerchief. “Wars are springing up like weeds! Our military is spread all over the world fighting them, trying to protect our interests! We are being weakened, left defenseless to the point that our enemies could simply walk in and take over our country! Mark my words! We are here to demand that the government, as a first step, lock up the aliens. They are currently scattered all over our country, working as spies for our enemies! I have the documents to prove it!” Again he shook the file folder at the camera.

  “When will you be making those documents public?” asked the reporter.

  Rover looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then quickly recovered his loud and bombastic self. He tucked the file behind his back and said, “There are a lot of people who would like to get their hands on these papers. A lot of people who would like to silence me and our movement. But as long as I have these papers, they won’t touch me. But you can take my word for it, I have the proof!”

  Suddenly the television picture clicked to black. Sami turned around to Mr. Sanchez, who was still pointing the remote control at the television. His face was red with anger. He set down the remote and tried to smile at the children, but his smile was crooked and false. “Well…” he began. But he could not think of anything more to say. He sank back into his green chair and stared at the floor.

  Sami glanced at Brian. He was peering again at the postcard from Tahiti. She turned back to Mr. Sanchez and said, “I bet this a good time for me to think for myself.”

  “Yes,” he said. “This is a very good time to think for yourself.”

  That night, Sami was in bed, talking with her mother about the day. Mrs. Lightfoot lay beside her, stroking her hair. They talked about how nice and polite Brian was, and how smart. They talked about how much Mrs. Lightfoot enjoyed looking at the Wall of Fame with him. Sami asked her mother if she missed Sami’s dad. Mrs. Lightfoot said that she did. And then they were quiet together for a while.

  Then Sami told her mother about what they had heard on the television at Mr. Sanchez’s apartment. Her mother had heard it, too. She held Sami closer and told her that she was sorry there was that kind of ugliness in the world. But that she hoped things would get better.

  In fact, things were about to get much worse.

  Chapter 11

  “What did you call me?”