Chasing the Milky Way (16 page)

W
E SIT ON A WALL A
few yards from the food tent and dig in. The sausage seems to explode into my mouth, the spices and grease warming my throat. Izzy takes a big bite, which is only about half the size of mine. I watch her cheeks work like a chipmunk. I swallow and then lick my napkin and try to get the smudge off her cheek. She gives me a scowl and pushes my hand away.

“There, it's a little better now,” I say, getting one more swipe in.

She continues to munch.

“Good?” I sit down on the stone wall.

“Mmmhhmmmm,” she says, scooting close to me.

Cam swallows the last bite of his before I get halfway through mine.

“Think I can get another one?” he says.

I nod. “Of course,” I say, crunching through a red pepper. “Get me another one, too.”

“All right,” Cam says, standing up. “Izzy, you want another?”

She shakes her head, looking at all the sausage on her plate. I cut it into chunks, so she could eat one bite-sized piece at a time.

Cam jogs over to the line. A pigeon tries to land on PingPing's head and I can tell he's annoyed by that. I wave it away and it hops from his head onto the wall. Izzy pulls a piece of sausage free and tosses it to him. He pecks at it greedily.

“Where we going?” Izzy says, swallowing a hunk of sausage. She peels another piece out of the roll and shoves it into her mouth.

“Not sure,” I say, wiping some grease off on my pants.

She swallows. “Camrin, you, me, and Mama are heading for the country house?”

The sausage roll in my mouth seems to work into a solid mass and head toward my throat. “No, we can't do that now.”

She looks at me, her eyebrows knitting into a knot. I put my plate down next to her on the wall. Not hungry all of a sudden.

“You have to win,” Izzy says through a mouthful of food. “You have to win, then apologize to Mama, then Mission Control pl—”

“Right,” I say, thinking she has really got it backward. I don't know how to explain this to her. I don't know how to tell her that the plan's over. Everything is over. Mama couldn't care less where we are and the sooner she realizes that the better.

Izzy puts the rest of her sausage on her plate, too, and won't pick it up for another bite.

“I wanna go home,” she says.

I laugh, but it comes out more like a hiss. More like water hitting a frying pan.

“You wanna go
home
?” I say, leaning down to her.

“Mama,” she says.

I feel the heat building up inside me again. “Mama doesn't care if you're alive or dead. I'm the one who takes care of you, anyway.”

I see Izzy's eyes brighten up with tears. I feel mine prickling, too.

“We don't have a home. We don't have a mama,” I say. “So stop. Okay?”

I see a big fat tear slide down Izzy's cheek.

“Everything all right over here?” A man with a BotBlock hat appears next to us. I stand up, tuck my hands into my pockets. I don't see a badge or a police uniform, just a colorful hat. Nosy.

“Fine,” I say.

He cocks his head to one side and looks from my face to Izzy's. Then I see him look around. When he spots Cam talking to the sausage vendor, he stops. Then turns back to me. I grab Izzy's hand in case I have to run.

“Uh, very well then,” he says, holding his hands up and backing away. “Just checking.” He hurries off in the other direction. Cam comes up next to us.

“Let's move.” I pick up the remote control. Cam grabs the leftover sausage roll on the wall, tucking it next to the two new ones in his hands.

“What's happening?”

“I don't know,” I say, spinning and searching the crowd for the stranger. “This nosy guy. He looked like maybe he recognized us.”

Izzy gets up next to me. “I wanna go home.”

“Let's go this way, then,” I say, knowing I won't be able to trick her for very long. I scan the green, looking for the busiest spot.

“Next in this corner will be junkbots, with tri-bots on deck!” an announcer says. The crowd shifts slightly as some make their way to the junk arena. Cam and I work our way into the center of that crowd and I scan for trouble. The problem is, as I look, I'm seeing about five people with BotBlock hats in the immediate vicinity. Some men, some women. Some looking around, some helping the individual competitions. They're everywhere

I think I spot the nosy guy's sandy hair. “This way,” I say, navigating PingPing toward the junkbot arena.

Cam keeps a hand on Izzy's shoulder and I toggle right and left, keeping PingPing out of the way of people's feet. We stop next to the entrance, where kids are busy making adjustments to their junkbots.

“Is that your robot?”

I look to my right. A lady with a BotBlock hat and a clipboard is standing there next to me, pointing at PingPing with the back of her pencil.

“Yeah,” I say, following her gaze.

“You must be Lucille.” My throat tightens into a knot and Cam's head snaps up.

“What?” I say, wondering if I heard her right.

“You must be Lucille Peevey. You're the last to arrive.” I stare at her, a cold flush going through my whole system. My gaze wanders to the sign above her head.
REGISTRATION
. I wonder if I heard her right. I wonder if I'm dreaming. Is this a trap? When I look at Cam, I can see he is as confused as I am. I step over to the registration table and my eyes fall to the white cloth. There are three unclaimed name tags on the tabletop.
TRISTAN GALANDRA, BOT: CLAMCRUSHER
under the tri-bots sign.
TIM JONES, BOT: THETANK
under the mindstorm sign. And then, right there, I put my hand on it.
LUCILLE PEEVEY, BOT: PINGPING200
in the junkbot category.

“That's impossible,” I say. “I didn't register—early.”

The lady looks down at her clipboard. “Lucille Peevey, junior competitor in the junk competition. Bot: PingPing200? I recognized your bot.” She points toward PingPing's name, stamped proudly across his chest. She flips a few pages on her clipboard. “Lucille.”

“Yeah, uh.” I back up and trip over Izzy's foot.

“Ouch,” Izzy says, pushing me off.

“Sorry,” I say.

“You registered six weeks ago. You should have received confirmation by mail,” the lady says. The world seems to tip and turn, like the planet has been knocked off its axis.

“Who registered me? Did Mrs. Shareze register me?” I ask, thinking of that perfect yellow card she gave me on my birthday.

She scans her paper. “Oh, it doesn't say that.”

I feel Cam tugging on my arm. “I think— I think we're in trouble,” he whispers. The lady in the BotBlock visor looks at him, confused.

“We gotta go.” He points toward the sausage vendor. I follow his gaze and see a man with
SECURITY
written across his chest, staring at us and talking into a walkie-talkie.

“Right,” I say. “We gotta go.” I spring to the right. I try to bring PingPing with us, but it's obvious to me that we're going to lose him in the crowd. He crashes into a table as we are leaving the junkbot area. And I hate to leave him, but I don't have any other choice. I make a silent promise to come back for him after dark as I let the remote swing around my neck and grab Izzy by the hand. We dodge to the right, to the left. I look over my shoulder. The security guard is coming for us, pushing through the crowd. Cam keeps pace just ahead, clearing the path. All of a sudden a baby carriage is right in front of me. I slam on the brakes and swing to the side so as not to hit it. Izzy and I regain balance just in front of it. At the same time, my shoulder hits a girl. A cup of soda flies out of her hand and explodes on the sidewalk.

“Hurry!” Cam says, stopping and waving us on. The sausages hop in his arms and fall to the ground. I pull Izzy through the spilled drink. Two cops appear on the right. We go left. Two cops there, too. I pull Izzy through the crowd. But everywhere I look, someone is coming toward us. One way, and then the other, until everyone stops what they're doing and stares. My heart clangs against my chest as a lady in a suit appears out of the crowd and holds a badge toward me.

“You're safe now,” she says.

But I'm feeling just about as far from safe as we can be. Here in the middle of a crowd, the only barricade between being free and being caught is the garbage skittering across the pavement.

“My name's Ms. Linda and I'm with the New Hampshire Department of Social Services. We're here to help you,” the lady says.

Izzy hugs on to my waist and Cam and I stand shoulder to shoulder as the cops form a circle around us.

“If you'll come with us, we can get you some food, water, get you to a safe place . . .” She looks to the side, like she isn't sure if we're going to run and wants to make sure there are enough people to block us if we do. And there are. There are more than enough.

“You've been through a trauma,” Ms. Linda says. “When you're ready, we want to get you safe. Get you back home.”

I feel Izzy's tight squeeze release from my waist. And she steps toward Ms. Linda. I reach for her shoulder, but she walks out of my reach. “Izzy, get back here.” I squat down, as if she can't hear me from where I am standing.

“Izzy!” Cam shouts, squatting down, too.

“C'mere, Izzy, what are you doing?” I hiss.

“Going home?” Izzy asks as she stops an arm's length from Ms. Linda. I think the cops are gonna run in and grab her, but instead Ms. Linda kneels down and reaches out. Izzy takes the bait. Not loyal. Not at all. Cam and I stand.

“The game's up,” Cam says. We link arms. If nothing else, I am staying beside Cam, no matter what. As we walk toward Ms. Linda, a resounding applause breaks out. I'm not even sure what everyone is clapping about. We get ushered into a car. First Cam. I climb in behind him, and sit in the middle. Izzy squirms into the seat next to me. The door closes and we're engulfed in the smell of new plastic and peppermint.

Izzy adjusts and the seat squeaks. “I want Mama,” she says.

Ms. Linda eyes us in the rearview mirror.

“First we're going to go to the doctor. Make sure all is well.” She looks at me instead of Izzy, but I break her gaze and stare out the window. I see the lady at the registration table. Her eyes are etched with worry. Like she might think this is her fault, somehow. I watch as she leans down and picks up PingPing, then pushes her way through the crowd. A police officer meets her there and I see their heads nod and lips move, but I don't know what they're saying. The officer picks up PingPing and I wonder if they are going to send him somewhere he doesn't want to go either. I reach over Izzy and grab the door handle, but then I see the officer load him into the trunk. At least we're together. Once he's in, I look out and notice most everyone has continued to go about their competitions. The interruption is now over.

The car jolts and slides into motion. I stare down at my hand and realize I'm holding something between my fingers. The sticker. The registration sticker. I flick the edge with my thumb. Someone registered me for the BotBlock. Someone registered me for that stupid challenge. Someone was looking out for me. Someone who actually cares. Maybe Mrs. Shareze. Maybe Mr. Blinks. Someone.

A
T THE
ER
THEY CHECK US
for scrapes and bruises. The doctor is pretty nice and does reflex tests and promises us lollipops if we're good. It's not like we're going anywhere, I think. No need to bribe.

“They're all in good shape despite a couple of bruises,” the doctor says to Ms. Linda. “You'll get my full report within the hour.” He hits the clipboard with the back of his fingertips and heads out the door.

Izzy leans close to me and a nurse with curly brown hair pops her head in. “I have a family consultation room all set for you.”

Ms. Linda nods. “Thank you.” She turns to us. “All right, guys.”

“What's a family consultation room?” I ask.

Ms. Linda squats down so she is at our level. “It's where we're going to go and figure out what happens next,” she says. “Where we can talk alone and get your full story and make plans that will keep you safe.”

“Where's Mama?” Izzy says before I can jump in.

“We're going to talk about that, too.” Ms. Linda raises her hand and squeezes Izzy's arm very gently. “Sound good?”

It only sounds so-so to me, and when I look over at Cam I can see he isn't that thrilled about it either. Even though Ms. Linda is talking real nice, she looks sharp around the edges like she means business. Her suit doesn't have a wrinkle in it, and her hair is straight and pinned up so not even a little wisp could escape if it wanted to.

She stands up and leads us into the hallway. We go past the hospital bedrooms and past some guy moaning in a chair. Two turns later and we're in a section that's more offices than beds. Ms. Linda knocks gently on one of the doors and when there's no reply, she opens it and we go in. It's comfy looking. Two couches, a desk, and a couple of chairs. In between the couches there's a coffee table and someone has set out muffins and juice boxes.

“Take a seat,” Ms. Linda says. She picks up an orange juice container, shakes it, and pries it open, then hands it to Izzy.

“Juice?” she says to me.

I pick one up before her hand can get to it. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

Ms. Linda seems to take the hint and leans against the desk. We plop down on the couches. Me and Izzy on one side and Cam on the other. Cam picks up a muffin and starts eating.

“So,” Ms. Linda says, pulling out a folder. “I don't want to rush you guys, but when you're feeling up to it, I'd like to ask you some questions.”

“We're feeling fine,” I say, taking a sip of the juice. Izzy squirms away from me just the teensiest bit.

Ms. Linda jots something down on the piece of paper. Great, another person writing the story of my life in a manila folder. I look at Cam. I can tell he's reading my mind, because he looks at that pen moving, too, and rolls his eyes. Once Ms. Linda is done scribbling, she sets into the questions. Exact names and dates of birth and how did we get here? What happened from the beginning to the end of it. I go over the whole story, and Cam and Izzy interject the whole time. We tell her everything, from planning to go to BotBlock and getting all ready, to the emergency workers coming to the house, to our big escape, to when Mama got real bad and how we drove halfway, and then to how Mama ruined everything. Some parts Ms. Linda hardly seems to believe. Her eyebrows go up and down like they're on a roller coaster, but the whole time, she keeps writing. Then she asks to talk to Cam alone. Cam braces himself, his feet flat on the floor and his elbows on his bent knees. Keep your head down, I think as Izzy and I get sent out into the hallway.

The same cop who spotted us at BotBlock is there. He's holding PingPing.

“Brought back your friend,” he says, dimples forming at both sides of his mouth. Why so cheery, I want to ask him, but instead I just say thanks, real quiet, and flop into the chair. I pull PingPing over to me and put my hand on his head. It's good to have him back again. I pull the remote control from around my neck and place it in its spot around his.

Another cop comes up and goes right into the room with Cam and Ms. Linda. I lean over the chair to see if I can get close enough to hear what's going on. I hear a lot of words, but they're too muffled to string into any sort of sense.

“Is Cam in trouble?” I ask, looking at Dimples.

“No, he's not in trouble. We're trying to sort out the whole story,” he says.

“Right,” I say. Sure. His dimples aren't fooling me. Not at all. We're all in trouble.

A minute later the talking dies down and the door opens. Cam is sitting quiet in the chair; he's slumped over now like a boxer after a big match.

“Izzy and Lucy, why don't you guys come in,” Ms. Linda says. “Cam, you can go wait with Officer Doogan.”

I look back at Dimples—Officer Doogan—and he smiles and gestures to the chair in the hallway. Cam gets up, focusing on the floor. I leave PingPing with Cam and we go with Ms. Linda and the other police officer. I'm getting tired of this already.

“You can sit,” Ms. Linda says, taking her seat on the other side of the desk. Izzy gets into one of the chairs and I sit down in the other.

“What happened with Cam?” I say. “What's going on?”

“We've arranged for Camrin's parents to come pick him up,” Ms. Linda says, smiling like she had some sort of victory.

“You mean his mom?” I say. “Not parents.”

Ms. Linda nods. “Yes, Mrs. McKinney is on her way to pick Cam up.”

This little family consultation room is really losing its cheery name. I look from one rosy wall to another.

“So.” Ms. Linda puts her hands together on the desk. “We've arranged for Cam to go back to his family.” I think about the radio broadcasts.

“Do they understand he wasn't kidnapped?” I ask. Izzy squirms in her seat next to me.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss Camrin's situation at the present, but I can assure you that we will be evaluating everything fully.”

I can't help but let out a long sigh. Cam and me have the same situation. We're best friends, after all. But before I can tell her this, the police officer steps forward. “Mr. McKinney did openly state that he left on his own accord, rest assured.”

“Thanks,” I say, as Ms. Linda gives him a glare and continues.

“Do you guys have any family you can go to?”

If we had someone other than Useless Mama, wouldn't we have told her by now? I roll my eyes. I nearly stretch them out of their sockets to make it clear. “No,” I say. “That means foster sc—foster care, right?”

Ms. Linda's head tilts to one side. “Yes, are you apprehensive about that?”

“Can we stay together?” I say.

Ms. Linda picks up a piece of paper. “Yes. I've spoken with Mary Quinn at Vermont Youth Services and they have a fantastic foster care family you both can stay with, available right away.”

“I want Mama,” Izzy says to me. This time she's turned all the way to me and not to Ms. Linda at all. She's getting wise to her maybe.

“There's nothing to be afraid of, Isabelle,” Ms. Linda says. “I can understand how this is a frightening experience for you. But, your mother needs some medical attention.”

That's for sure. Izzy places her thumb in her mouth and sits back down, facing the desk.

“Once she is med compliant and deemed competent, she'll be evaluated with the goal of reintegration into family life.”

Izzy looks from Ms. Linda to me.

“She doesn't understand the words you're using,” I say. I turn to Izzy. “They mean Mama is crazy and she needs to stay in a hospital until she's better. And if they think she can handle being a mom, which she probably can't, then we might be able to see her again.”

I see Izzy's eyes fill with tears. My stomach turns.

“Cam's going to go back to his mom and D-Wayne and we're going to go with strangers.” I notice my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand and I see the officer adjust his stance, probably in case he has to chase me down or something.

Ms. Linda rolls her lips together and apart. And I see a big gobby tear slide down Izzy's cheek.

“I want to see Mama,” she huffs.

“Oh, c'mon, Izzy, we'll be better off anyway,” I say, turning from her sad face to look at the flowers in the picture behind Ms. Linda. They're a light yellow, and I stare into them, wishing I was that painting. Sitting on the wall, just watching, not feeling a single thing.

“How about this,” Ms. Linda says. She gets up and goes around her chair. She pulls a jacket off the back. It's the first time I see it there. It's Mama's oversized one. “I'll talk to the doctors and we'll figure out the right time for you to visit.” She brings Mama's jacket around and drapes it over Izzy's shoulders. It swallows her up in its folds.

“Right now she's been deemed—she needs rest. She'll be going to the psychiatric ward, where she can get all the care she needs,” Ms. Linda says.

The jacket crinkles as Izzy's shoulders shudder. Ms. Linda stands up and pulls the tissue box off the desk, holding it out. Izzy takes one, and as she moves, the jacket crinkles again. She reaches her hand into one of the pockets and pulls something out of it.

It's Mama's notebook. Still covered in tinfoil, pieces of paper sticking out around the edges. Izzy pulls out an envelope from between its pages. It has one of those clear plastic windows in the front of it. A bill, probably. But Izzy holds it out to me and familiar colors and big chunky letters decorate the corner of the envelope. I look closer.
BotBlock Jr.
it says. My stomach twists. And in my head my Mission Control voice warns me,
spacecraft unstable. Emergency protocol initiated.
I wobble up and take the envelope from Izzy.

“What's this?” I say, holding it out in front of me.

I see Mama at the kitchen table on my birthday. I see her put the envelope in her journal. My throat burns. It can't be. I run my fingers over the address window.

L
UCILLE
P
EEVEY

C/O M
A
RGARET
P
EEVEY

43 S
UNNYS
IDE
L
ANE

C
AMDEN
, VT 05653

I flip it over. The letter has been opened. I brush the torn paper and lift the seal, sliding the letter out of the envelope. I unfold it, my eyes blurring. I can barely read it.

Thank you for registering for BotBlock Jr. in the junkbot division.

I breathe in sharply and the letters dance. Words and images fill my ears. Mama saying that a letter was important. I grab on to the desk, trying to steady my vision, but the whole place dips and twirls.

“Hold on!” the police officer says, rushing over to me.

“My birthday,” I breathe as I slip to the side. I reach for him.

“I need help in here!” Ms. Linda shouts, rushing toward the door.

“It was Mama,” I say. Mama. Running footsteps shake the paintings on the walls, and the officer's and Izzy's and Ms. Linda's faces swirl as I dip into darkness.

• • •

My eleventh birthday. We'd packed up all our bags to go to Seahook, but as we were loading the car, Gram started breathing heavy and sweating. We called 911 right away and they came and brought her to the hospital. A day later, instead of being surrounded by the sand and the stars, we were surrounded by a sea of tiles and fluorescents and monitors that tell everyone in the room if you are living or you are dying.

I held Gram's crinkled hand. She squeezed it every time she inhaled. I didn't like the tube snaking into her nose. I didn't like the smell of the hospital. I didn't like anything about it at all. I didn't like her eyes drooping or the trouble she was having talking. She went out of consciousness and back in. We went to the cafeteria and back out. And the doctors said critical, then recuperating, then critical. She floated away, then back to the surface and away again. Once when she was sort of together she asked for me. I went inside.

“I want to say a proper good-bye to . . . you . . .” She spoke like she had been running all her life. “While I have my senses with me.”

“You'll be all right, won't you, Gram?” I choked, clutching her fingers. She didn't answer, but when I lifted my eyes to hers, she had a grin in them. A twinkle shining out at me, saying “that's a funny joke, kid.”

She took a deep breath and said, “I want you to remember one thing . . . If there is nothing else you remember—”

“I'll remember everything about you, Gram,” I said.

“But if there is only one . . .” She paused and her throat wobbled. “Remember that you can do whatever you set your mind to . . . make a plan . . .”

I thought about Sunnyside. I thought about what it would be like without Gram.

“Take care of each other . . .”

“Don't go, Gram.” The cold air in the hospital wrapped around my shoulders and shook them with its icy grip.

“Promise me.” Gram's fingers tightened on my hand. “Lucy, promise me you'll take care of them. However you can. You're all they'll have left. Promise me if your mama gets lost in herself, you'll take control, okay?”

I tried to promise, but my throat wrapped too tight around my voice. Why couldn't we all just go home. All of us. Eat sandwiches and chips? Go to the beach? But when I finally lifted my eyes to Gram's, I could see that wasn't going to happen.

“Promise me,” she said again.

“I promise,” I choked, wondering if I even knew how to do what she was asking.

“You're a smart girl, Lucy, just like your mama. You're going to do something great. I know you will.”

Gram erupted into a coughing fit.