Internment(69)

“A saddle?”

“An elevated spot between two mountain peaks that looks like a saddle,” Jake says. “Anyway, I wound our way to Heart Lake—it really is shaped like a heart. And my mom hugged me and told me to trust myself, that I had a good heart. Then she said words I’ll never forget: ‘A compass doesn’t tell you where you are, and it doesn’t tell you where you have to go. It can only point you in a direction. It’s up to you to always find your true north.’ That’s the last hike I ever took with her.” Jake breathes deeply and looks off toward the mountains.

Without thinking, I reach over and take his hand in mine. I don’t care if people can see us. This entire camp is a giant open wound. We shove all our feelings deep down inside ourselves, like we’re not even people anymore. We hide it all away from our family, friends, everyone we might possibly love. The only truth we share with each other is the fear in our eyes that we can’t hide. I’m so tired of it all. Jake squeezes my hand but then quickly lets it go.

I tilt my head up to look at him with a wistful smile. I sigh. Loudly. “I miss breathing.”

“I know,” he says. “All the oxygen is sucked out of this place. I wish I could whisk you away to Heart Lake. I’ve been there a million times since that hike with my mom. In the late afternoons of summer, overlooking Mount Shasta, the sky is orange and gold. It’s gorgeous. I could stand there for days. I don’t think my eyes would ever tire of that view. The air feels clear up there. You could breathe.”

I don’t know what to say. There are no words. Maybe some moments are better left unadorned.

We sit there quietly for a minute, looking out, away from each other.

Jake clears his throat. “I sent another post to the Occupy blog. From there, it’ll get out everywhere.”

“You’ve become quite the scofflaw.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“You’ve got to be careful. They can trace your IP address.”

“Don’t worry. I’m using an identity-concealing browser. They are, too. They’ve probably got everything pinging off servers in ten different countries, or some Jason Bourne–type stuff. I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s nothing compared to the risks you’ve taken. Will take.”

“Me? I feel like a kid getting knocked down by giant waves.”

“You’re more than that. You’re brave. Braver than anyone I’ve met.”

“Well, that bravery—or, as I like to call it, stupidity—is about to be tested tonight.”

“I’ll be there. The press and the protestors will know, too. I texted David the details about what you’re doing tonight, and he’ll spread the word to the media and the Occupy crowd. Word of mouth, not on the web, so the Director can’t get a whiff of it before tonight. And don’t worry, we’re using burners, and we have a kind of code in place. And I’m only using the burner off-site.”

“You’ve been in touch with David?”

“Mostly details about what’s going on, and telling him you’re okay. He’s worried about you. He really loves you, you know? He’s a good guy.”

I whisper, “I’m lucky.”

Jake stares into the mountains. “He’s lucky.” He’s quiet for a moment and then adds, “And I meant it when I said be careful. David is not the only one worried about you.”

I open my mouth to respond with some kind of sarcastic remark, but Jake cuts me off before I can utter a word. “Please. You have to take this warning seriously. The Director is gunning for you. The Red Cross has been around, and you’re only seventeen—these things have been protecting you, to an extent. But the Red Cross won’t be here forever, and he knows your birthday is in a few weeks. I’m afraid he’ll haul you off to a black-ops site without provocation. We have to get you out of here before then.”

“You think he’ll get me a present?” I use sarcasm to deflect the tidal wave of terror that’s ripping through my body right now.

“It’s not a joke. David is afraid of the same thing. His dad is working on some way to get you out of here before you turn eighteen.”

“His dad? He’s an asshole. He stood by and watched all this happen and did nothing. Maybe he should have worked his State Department connections before we all got hauled off.” I spit out my words like nails. “And I can’t leave without my parents, my friends. The Director will go after them—and I can’t let that happen. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“And how do you think the rest of us will feel if something happens to you?”

“I can’t think about that right now. I’m sorry. It’s literally the only way I can deal with this. I’m not walking out of this place unless everyone walks out with me.”





All day I’ve been thinking about that story Jake shared with me this morning. About finding your true north. About choosing your direction. As I head to dinner with Ayesha, I realize I’ve chosen mine.

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Ayesha asks as we hurry to the Mess.

“That depends on Suraya’s friend who works in the kitchen,” I respond, my thoughts elsewhere.

“You okay? You seem distracted. I mean, I can understand why. But why?”