After a few minutes, I find me!
The big red star is sitting right near store B44.
“I found myself!” I say excitedly.
Miss Christiana shushes me—even though she hasn’t caught up, I can still hear the “shhh” sound—but I don’t let it make me feel sad.
I ignore her.
She’s not my momma, so I can do that every once in a while without getting into trouble.
Instead of paying attention to Miss Christiana, I look for the exit closest to the big red star.
And after a few seconds of searching, I find it!
I run to Momma and Miss Christiana. “Momma,” I say. “I see the way out!”
What I don’t tell Momma is that I’m not really sure how to get there from here—the map is kind of hard to read.
Momma doesn’t answer; it doesn’t even look like she’s awake. Her eyes are closed, and her head is hanging down so far that her chin is touching her chest.
“Momma?”
“Hush, pikin,” Miss Christiana says through her teeth. She looks like she’s having a hard time keeping Momma on her feet. “Let your mum be.”
We walk a little further until we reach the light-up map.
Miss Christiana watches as I point to the You Are Here star, and then to the exit.
“See? I think it’s really close,” I say.
We keep going in the same direction for a while, turn left, and take a short passageway toward a row of six glass doors that lead to a parking lot.
It’s the way out!
I found it!
As we get closer to the doors, I see a thick metal chain looped through the handles on the outside. I also see a long line of yellow tape with unfamiliar red words stuck to the glass. Outside, I see crowds of people. Some of them have big cameras with numbers on them, and others have microphones in their hands. Everyone is being blocked by metal fence-looking things and police cars on the street. I also see a girl policeman standing next to three boy policemen.
I’ve never seen a girl policeman before.
I watch as she waves her arms in a bunch of different directions. It seems like she’s telling the crowd of people what to do. And they seem to be listening.
“Momma,” I say. “Look!” I point outside.
I can’t believe it—a girl policeman!
Momma’s eyes are open now, but she doesn’t look, and she doesn’t say anything. One of her arms is draped over Miss Christiana’s shoulders—that seems to be the only thing keeping her from falling on the floor. Her hand is covering the bandage on her stomach, but I can still see bright red between her fingers.
“Momma?”
I notice that both Momma and Miss Christiana are standing completely still.
As I watch them, I hear footsteps coming from somewhere behind us—the sound is quickly getting louder and louder. My stomach goes ice-cold.
“Jasmine,” Momma hisses. A trickle of red liquid spills from her lower lip. “Goddammit, hide.” She points toward a nook where two water fountains—a tall and a short one—are mounted on the wall.
I run.
When I reach the water fountains I get down on the floor and slide underneath. I huddle into a ball, covering my face with my hands.
Soon I hear a man’s booming voice.
“You need to get the fuck back upstairs, you two.”
I can’t see anything, but I can tell the man is angry.
“All right. Be calm,” Miss Christiana says. “That’s where we’re going.”
“Did they see you down here?” the man asks. “They’d better not have.”
“Who?”
“Anybody. Them,” the man says. “As if you haven’t created enough of a shit-storm for us already—now you’re trying to contaminate our level too? Listen to what I’m telling you. Stay on your own goddamn floor.”
“Fine. We’re going,” Miss Christiana says. “You don’t have to point that at us.”
“Fuck you,” the man says. “You have exactly one minute to get back where you belong.”
I listen for what feels like a long time, but I don’t hear anything.
I uncover my eyes.
I look around. I can’t see anyone from my hiding place underneath the water fountains.
I’m scared to make a sound, in case that man is still nearby, but I have to. I don’t know what else I can do.
“Momma?” I whisper.
I don’t hear anything.
Slowly, I peek around the wall of the nook. The hall is empty.
I’m completely alone.
I crawl out of my hiding place, stand up, and start running back the way I came, away from the glass doors.
Past the line of stores, I see the frozen escalator up ahead.
“Hey! Hold up,” a man’s voice calls out from somewhere behind me. It sounds like the same voice I heard before.
I do as I’m told; I stop running and turn around.
A tall white man wearing a security guard’s uniform and a doctor’s mask is jogging toward me, carrying a long gun like the one Miss Christiana has. When the man gets closer he slows down, raises the gun, and points it in different directions like he’s searching for someone else besides me.
The man lowers the gun to his side. His face is red and he’s breathing hard through the mask.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
My heart is pounding. I can hardly take a breath. “I don’t know,” I answer.
“You weren’t about to go upstairs, were you? That’s a real shitty idea—you know that, right?”
I don’t know what to say. The truth is that I was about to go upstairs, but the man said that was a shitty idea, so I don’t think I should tell him about it.
“I wasn’t,” I lie.
“Good girl,” the man says.
“But why shouldn’t I go up there?” I ask.
The man stares at me; he looks confused—I can tell by the way his forehead crinkles. “The jungle sickness, sweetheart. Upstairs is where the natives are hiding,” the man says. He shakes his head. “I just saw two of them now. One was bleeding from the nose.”
I don’t say anything; I stand with my arms at my sides, just in case the man raises the gun again.
“But I’m assuming you knew this, right?” says the man. “Which is the reason you have that thing on.”
“Have what on?”
“That,” he says, pointing. “The stupid thing on your face. What is that—a piece of a tent? Where did you even get that?”
“It’s a kite.”
“A kite? What the fuck,” the man mutters, shaking his head. “In any case, let’s get you back home. Come on.” The man waves like he wants me to go with him.
I don’t move.
The man stops waving and stares at me. “I’m betting you’re new this year,” he says. “This truly has been the year of new faces, for sure. Lots and lots of turnover.”
“Yes,” I answer.
I have no idea what the man is talking about.
“All right. Look,” he says. “I don’t know how you got out here or what the hell you’re up to, but you know good and well that you shouldn’t be wandering around. So let me take you back. I won’t tell anybody what you’ve done. First-time offense. Already forgotten.”
“Take me back where?” I ask.
“To the international fucking space station. Where do you think? To the Rug-Rat Room—exactly where you’re supposed to be right now,” he says. “With Miss Trina. What the hell is your problem, sweetie?”
“Sorry,” I say.
The man looks at me and makes a big sigh. He runs a hand through his hair—it’s blonde, short, and spiky. “No. I’m sorry. This whole situation—it’s insane. I understand if you’re a little freaked out about it.”
He understands?
“You do?”
“Of course,” the man says. “My daughter is feeling the same way. You met her yet? Hadley?”
I shake my head. “
Not yet.”
“Well, then. How about you go and see her right now? Miss Trina will introduce you. Sound good?”
I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do. I have no idea what to say.
If I go with the man, then I’ll be even further away from Momma, which would be a really bad thing. But I don’t think I can go back upstairs right now. The man seems to dislike the second floor, so I don’t want to tell him that’s where I come from.
I’m scared of what might happen if I do.
I nod my head. “Okay. I’ll go,” I say.
Chapter Four
The man takes me to a part of the mall that only workers can go to—he has to use a key card to get through one of the doors. That’s how I know. Plus I see the words For Employees Only written on a gold-colored sign.
I follow the man down a long bright hallway. We turn so many times that I start forgetting how to get back to the beginning. The hallway reminds me of the hallways at my school—tube-shaped lights in the ceiling, no windows, and plenty of closed doors as you walk by. Finally we stop at another door and the man opens it with the same key card.
“Take that thing off,” he says.
“What thing?”
The man pulls his mask down around his neck. He smiles. “Your kite. You don’t need it in here—this is a safe place. We’re all clean.”
Clean?
I’m actually not sure if I’m clean or not.
I think the last time I took a bath was in our hotel room in South Africa.
What if I’m not clean enough to be here?
What if the man finds out?
I untie the knot at the back of my neck, pull off the nylon fabric, and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans.
“I’ll make sure you get a real mask if you need it,” he says. “But remember. No more wandering off. You shouldn’t be out here period, much less all alone. Got me?”
“Okay,” I answer.
“Go on then,” the man says, holding the door for me.
I peek inside.
It looks like a giant carpeted dining room—as big as two basketball courts sitting next to each other—with a glass chandelier on the ceiling. I see what looks like hundreds of grey folding chairs lined up in a rack along one wall, and ten long tables with folding legs leaning against another wall. Dozens and dozens of sleeping bags are piled up in one corner.
And there are kids everywhere. Some are running around and laughing. Others are sitting and talking quietly.
“It’s okay,” the man says.
I almost jump out of my shoes at the sound of the man’s voice. I forgot he was still standing there holding the door for me.
“Miss Trina will take care of you,” he adds, pointing to a black-haired woman standing in the middle of the room with one hand high in the air. She is totally surrounded by kids.
I do what the man tells me to do. I walk into the room.
• • •
I stand in the corner of the room with all the sleeping bags and watch Miss Trina. Soon I figure out that she’s playing Red Light Green Light with a group of kids.
I know that game really well.
I’m pretty good at it actually.
I search the crowd for a black kid or maybe a mixed kid like me, but I don’t see one (sometimes we can be a little hard to find). I do see a few kids with light brown skin, though, which makes me feel a little less different than I did at first.
As I watch, I notice a few of the girls staring at me like I don’t belong here. I try my best to ignore them, but it’s really hard because they’re right about me.
I don’t belong here.
I start to wonder if they can tell just by looking at me.
After what feels like hours, the game of Red Light Green light finally ends and Miss Trina walks over to where I’m standing. She seems young, like Miss Christiana, and she has light brown skin, almost like mine.
She’s smiling really big at me.
“Hi,” she says.
I feel better right away. But for some reason, feeling better—feeling safer—makes me feel like I need to cry.
After a few seconds, that’s exactly what I do.
I can’t stop my tears from pouring out, even though I really want to.
“Oh, honey. What’s the matter?” Miss Trina asks.
I shake my head; I don’t know what to say and I don’t think I could talk if I tried.
“Come on, hon. Did something happen?”
I nod my head.
Miss Trina bends down and puts her arms around me. I rest my head against her shoulder. But it doesn’t feel like Momma’s shoulder, which makes me cry even harder.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she says. “But we’ll get through it, okay?”
I lift my head. I wipe my nose with my hand.
“I don’t remember meeting you, for some reason,” she says. “What’s your name?”
“Jasmine.”
“Sorry. What?” Miss Trina asks.
I take my fingers out of my mouth.
“Jasmine.”
“Oh, how beautiful,” she says. “Now, how old are you, Jasmine? Six? Seven?”
“Six. Almost seven,” I answer.
“And who are you here with, Jasmine?”
“My mom.”
“All right. Well, your mom will be back soon,” she says. “The grownup meeting will be done before long.” Miss Trina takes her phone out of her pocket and glances at the screen. “Probably within the hour. So why don’t you go play something?”
“Can I use the bathroom?” I ask.
“Of course. You know where it is, sweetheart.”
Actually, I don’t.
I have no idea.
Unsure of what to do, I start walking toward the door.
“Other door, Jasmine,” Miss Trina says.
I stop. I look around the room until I find another door next to the stacked-up folding chairs. I start walking in that direction.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Miss Trina asks.
I freeze. I turn around and look at her.
Miss Trina smiles. “Take a buddy with you,” she says. “Here. Take Hadley.” Miss Trina reaches out and grabs a short-haired blonde girl by the shoulders and gently pushes her toward me.
“But I don’t even have to go,” Hadley says.
“That’s all right. You don’t have to go. You just have to go,” Miss Trina says. “Now go with Jasmine.”
• • •
I follow Hadley out the door and down a carpeted hallway to a girls’ restroom. Hadley stops at the door.
I stop too.
“Don’t you have to go?” Hadley asks.
I nod.
Hadley stares at me like I’m a tiny bug.
She’s taller than me; I only come up to her shoulders.
“If you have to go, then go,” she says.
“Can you come with me?” I ask.
“Why?”
“I just want someone with me.”
Hadley doesn’t say anything; she keeps staring at me.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Almost seven. How old are you?”
Hadley doesn’t answer. She pushes open the restroom door and steps inside, holding the door open for me. “Come on,” she says.
I go inside the restroom.
Hadley stands next to a row of five sinks while I choose a stall, wipe the seat with toilet paper, lock the door, and sit down.
The room is quiet for what feels like a long time.
I really have to go pee but I can’t—I feel too nervous. I’m worried that the sound of my pee hitting the water will be too loud. But I also know that I need to hurry up and go; Hadley seems impatient with me already.
I need to Calm My Body. That’s what Miss Daria would tell me.
I slowly count to twenty inside my head, imagining that a picture of each number appears on a pretend flash card, just how Miss Daria taught me.
No pee-pee c
omes.
Sometimes talking to someone helps me calm down, so I decide it would be a good idea to talk to Hadley.
But what should I talk about? I’m not really sure.
Daddy always tells me that if I don’t know what to say to another person, I should ask the person questions about themselves. Then, hopefully, they’ll keep talking and talking on their own, like I’m not even there. Then I’ll be off the hook. I won’t even have to say another word.
I decide to do that—to ask Hadley questions about herself. Then maybe I’ll be able to relax and go pee.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
It’s quiet for a few seconds.
“Like, in the bathroom?” Hadley asks.
“No. I mean, why are you at the mall. Why did you come here? To buy something?”
“To buy something? Um. We came here for the retreat, just like you did,” Hadley says. “Don’t you know that?”
“What’s a retreat?” I ask.
I can tell by the long silence that I shouldn’t have asked that question.
“Oh my gosh. Really?” Hadley says. “Okay, a retreat is when everyone gets together to have fun, talk, eat food, and spend the night. You bond, basically.”
“Everyone?” I ask.
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