Salt (12 page)

We may not be able to change what happened in the past, but we can gain wisdom from our study of history that will help us make good choices as we shape our present and future.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  1. Why is it important that the story is told equally from both Anikwa's and James's perspectives?

  2. What do the different styles of James's and Anikwa's sections say about the two characters?

  3. What do you think of the short poems about salt between each section? How do these poems add to the story?

  4. Despite many differences between their cultures, James and Anikwa become good friends. Why do they get along, and what makes their friendship so strong? How did Isaac's interactions with the Miamis differ, and why?

  5. Both British and American armies fight for the land. Even Native American tribes from other parts of North America join the struggle, but the Miami natives who have lived in Kekionga all along just want to keep the peace. Who do you think the land should belong to? In the end, a war decides who gets to stay and who has to go, but is there a better way to resolve a conflict?

  6. When Isaac is trapped in the forest and the Miami natives shoot down a bobcat, why is Isaac so sure they were trying to shoot him? Why does everyone listen to him, instead of to the truth—which is that the Miamis were trying to save him?

  7. Even after the Americans close the trading post and the siege begins, both James and Anikwa think about each other's safety. What does this say about their friendship? Do you think it's possible for a friendship like theirs to survive a war?

  8. Why does James's ma want to stay at home in the stockade at first? What changes her mind?

  9. Anikwa's grandma says, “Grief gathered kindling. Fear struck the flint. Anger fans the flames” (p. 86). What do you think this means? When does grief and fear turn into anger, and why is this dangerous?

10. Why does Anikwa's family offer James's family food even when they have so little of it? Why might it be important for them to extend this gesture?

WRITING FROM TWO POINTS OF VIEW

Think about something that really happened,

involving two or more people.

or

Imagine something that might happen.

Write the beginning of the story from one person's point of view.

Then switch to the other person's point of view, and continue the story.

Go back and forth like that four or five times.

You can write in poems (free verse, or in a form of your choice).

or

You can write in prose.

You don't need to plan out the whole story before you begin writing.

See what you discover about the story from each character's point of view.

 

When two girls meet at camp, they recognize each other immediately. Six years before, an accidental kidnapping transformed both of their lives. But neither of them knows the whole truth of what happened. What will they do, now that they're sharing a cabin—and a powerful secret?

Read on for a sneak peek of

HIDDEN
.

 

1

I was a happy little girl wearing a pink dress,

       sitting in our gold minivan,

       dancing with my doll, Kamara.

              
I'll be right back,
Mom promised.

              
Leave the music on,
I begged,

                     so she left her keys

                     dangling

              while she

                     ran in to pay for gas

                     and buy a Diet Coke.

2

I think about that little girl

      the way you might remember your best friend

                    who moved away.

             Sitting in the middle seat

                   beside an open window,

                   her seatbelt fastened,

                   she looked out at the world.

3

And then she heard

       a gunshot

       from inside the store.

That's when she—when I—

       stopped breathing.

              I clicked my seatbelt off,

              dived into the back, and

              ducked down on the floor

                     to hide

                            under a blanket

                            until Mom

                            came back out.

I heard the car door open, heard it close.

       The music stopped.

       Why? Mom liked that song.

I breathed again. (Mom smelled like cigarettes.)

I pushed the blanket off my face,

       opened my mouth

       to ask,

              
What happened in there?

But then I heard a word Mom wouldn't say.

       A man's voice.

       
C'mon! Start!
He was yelling at our car—

              and the car

              obeyed him.

              It started up

              just like it thought

                    Mom was driving.

4

Who
was
driving?

Had this man just shot someone? Had he

       shot … Mom?

If he found out I was back there

       what would he do to me?

       I pulled the blanket back over my face.

             (Pretend you're Kamara.

             Don't breathe. Don't move.

             Be as small as you can—smaller.)

Sand on the floor of the car. I pressed hard.

       It stuck to my skin.

       I pressed harder.

             (Breathe

             if you have to,

             but don't move a muscle.)

Like a small rabbit

       that knows a cat is close by,

       I paid attention. I didn't

                                                       twitch.

5

I could tell which way we were headed—

       we stopped at the King Street stoplight.

              Left turn … right turn … left …

              He sped up.

       Was he trying to throw the police off our trail?

He stopped, got out of the car.

Where were we?

He got back in,

                           drove off faster.

Sirens?

       Yes—coming closer!

One time in first grade,

       a police officer came to our class.

             “If someone tries to grab you,” she said,

             “wave your arms, kick your legs.

             Yell at the top of your lungs,

             THIS MAN IS NOT MY FATHER.”

The sirens meant

       someone might stop us—

              I could jump up.

              I could wave.

              I could yell.

But it didn't happen.

We drove faster, farther.

       The sirens

             faded away in the distance.

Long straight road … curvy road …

Fast for a while. No stops.

       Right turn.

       Left turn.

              Stop. Go. Turn …

              I swallowed the panic that rose.

                     I didn't throw up.

6

Sound of gravel. Dust in my throat.

(Don't cough!)

Bumping along that dusty road,

       screaming inside.

       (Dad, where are you? Mom?)

              A phone rang—Dad's ring on Mom's phone!

              Mom must have left her phone in the car.

                    Her whole purse, down on the floor?

       (Do not—do not!—jump up and grab it.)

       I clenched my hands together.

GPS,
the man snarled—I heard him dump

             Mom's purse upside down.

             He opened a window.

             He closed it.

(Did he just toss Mom's phone out the window?)

7

I put my thumb in my mouth

       like a little baby. I pulled my knees

             to my chin, and closed my eyes tight.

Where were we going?

What would happen to me when we got there?

After a long time—

       it felt like hours—

             the car slowed down.

       We made a sharp turn.

We stopped.

He got out.

I heard a garage door open.

He got back in the car.

       Forward.

       Stop.

       The garage door came down.

              The car door opened, slammed shut.

       I heard a dog.

              Barking or growling?

              In the garage or outside?

       Another door opened

                     and closed.

                     Had the man gone somewhere?

8

Carefully, I pushed back the blanket

       and looked around.

       I was alone

             in a very dark place.

I might have been wrong about Mom's phone.

       I kept my head low,

             climbed into the middle seat,

                   leaned far enough forward

                   so I could see into the front.

       Mom's water bottle—not quite empty.

       A chocolate chip granola bar.

       Kleenex.

       ChapStick.

       Checkbook.

       Calendar.

       Her little album of pictures—

             me and Alex, her and Dad.

No wallet—she took that into the store.

No phone.

9

Where was I?

A messy garage—rakes and shovels,

       gas cans and broken-down boxes.

In the garage door,

       higher than I could reach,

       three small windows,

       a few rays of sun shining through them.

             Behind an old freezer—

             a door—to outside?

       A red-and-white boat

       on a trailer

       right next to the car.

If I could get out fast enough, he'd never know I was there.

       I told myself what to do, and I did it:

             Quietly—get out of the car with Kamara.

             Take the granola bar. Leave the water—

                    if I take that, he might notice it's gone.

             Carefully tiptoe across the floor.

                    (The dog—outside—still growl-barking.)

             Squeeze behind the freezer.

                    Try to open the side door.

                   Locked

                         with a padlock

                         the size of my fist.

10

The freezer was empty, unplugged—it wouldn't be cold.

Could I get inside, and hide there?

       No. A boy on the news

             got stuck inside an old freezer—

             he suffocated to death

                    before his mom found him.