A List of Cages(11)

Dad pointed to the picture, his index finger a rainbow of ink. He’s right here.

But in between? Where was he?

I don’t know.

Dad turned the page and kept on reading as if the place where Elian disappeared didn’t matter. Because when you’re between two shores and no one can see you, you don’t really exist at all.





A FEW MINUTES into fourth period, I’ve only taken one step in the direction of my hidden room, when I hear my name. Adam is behind me, exactly where he was the first time a week or so ago, and wearing an amused smile. “Going to Dr. Whitlock’s?” he asks.

I just stand here squeezing the yellow hall pass.

“I’m her aide this year,” he adds. He starts walking, then halts. “Coming?”

I hesitate before falling into step beside him. While we walk, I watch our feet. My sneakers used to be white but are now dirty yellow. His are new and bright white and moving like they always used to—fast, with a mixture of skipping and jogging.

The whole time, he’s talking. “So you’re in Art? Do you like it?”

I nod, but I don’t like it. Maybe I would, if I could get the beautiful pictures in my head onto the paper. Miss Hooper says my drawings are good, but they aren’t really.

“What teachers do you have?”

I steal a glance at him to see what looks like genuine interest. “Uh…” My voice comes out rusty and strange. “For English I have Miss Cross.”

“Oh, I had her! She was really nice.”

She probably never had to ask Adam to speak up.

As we get closer to Dr. Whitlock’s office, all the cells in my body start telling me to run. “I have to use the bathroom,” I say, then rush through the door and duck into a stall. I stand here counting minutes until I’m sure Adam will be gone.

But when I come out, he’s still there, pacing right outside the door. I must look pretty startled, because he says, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” He reaches out, and even though I know he isn’t going to do anything, it still catches me by surprise. He puts two hands up, backing away a little. “Sorry, now I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

He starts walking again, then stops when I don’t follow.

“Um…” I don’t know how to say this politely. “It’s okay if you need to go somewhere else.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to walk with you?”

I think he’s joking, and I never know what to say when people are joking. I think most people tease back, but I can’t come up with any jokes. But when you just stand there, you make people uncomfortable.

Finally he says, “Just kidding,” which is what most people eventually say. “I heard you got lost on your way to her office the last ten times.”

“I didn’t get lost.”

Adam grins. “I didn’t think you really did.”

“Oh.”

“Well, now I’m your…What’s a nice word for prison transport? Escort!” He bounces ahead, and too soon we’re heading into what looks like a waiting room, one with a big desk and a moss-green couch.

Adam strides across the room and knocks on a frosted glass door to an interior office. I hear a voice, familiar and deep, say, “Come in.”

Adam opens the door, bows a little to me, then drops onto the couch. With a sigh, I walk over the threshold.




When I got to Dr. Whitlock’s earlier, she explained that my assignment was to bring in Julian—a lot like a bounty hunter, only without the violence. Or the reward.

The first time someone assigned Julian to me, I was ten years old.

I’d just started fifth grade when our teacher, Mrs. Nethercutt, announced that we were each being given a kindergarten reading buddy. Mrs. Nethercutt was one of those teachers who liked to remind you that you’d never have it as good as you have it right now. One day you’d be in the real world, instead of the fictitious world of elementary school. There’d be no friends or recess or lunchtime. Instead, you’d work hard and be still and never speak to anyone. All day. Every day. Until you retired, then, soon after, died.

Her classroom was designed to replicate the future silent-sedentary life we’d inevitably have, so when she said we’d get to leave the room twice a week to play reading games, I was stoked.

Our class hosted a party with sugar cookies and pink lemonade, and there was an elaborate ceremony to introduce us to the kids we’d be working with for the rest of the year. At the end, the kindergartners ordered their fifth grader to lift them up. Mrs. Nethercutt immediately ordered us to put them back down.

The boy assigned to me—Julian—looked like an anime character, with too much shiny black hair that fell just short of his enormous round eyes. As soon as I deposited him back on the ground, he grabbed my hand in that unself-conscious way little kids do, and told me to listen.

My attention had been wandering because the room was pure chaos. Kids were darting everywhere, someone had spilled the giant bowl of lemonade, and Charlie was wailing that his reading buddy had peed on him.

“I’m listening,” I said.

Julian’s little face got serious, and then he burst into song. His powerful voice grabbed the attention of the entire room, and even Charlie stopped crying for a minute. I can’t remember what Julian sang, but he was good. Not just little-kid-good, but really good.