“I’ll get dressed and grab the chair from my room so we can sit at your desk,” she said, dismissing my protests.
When Mom came up to get us for the movie, we were already halfway done with the assignment, Sarah carefully explaining each step of the complicated equations. It felt strange to sit so closely to her, to have her take the pencil from my hand without grabbing, shoving. Uh, Nico, you are stupid, beyond stupid.
She smelled like my shampoo and soap and lotion.
“You understand this stuff?” Mom leaned over my scratch pad of work, marveling. “Sarah?”
“I guess I just remember it.” She shrugged. “But we’re going to miss the movie I think, right, Nico? A couple more pages to get through and then she’ll totally have this.”
Mom stood behind us, her mouth slightly open in shock. Her daughter, asking to do math homework instead of seeing a movie. Sarah helping Nico with homework.
“Okay, that’s fine, we’ll see it another time,” Mom said as she moved to the door. I saw her eyes water up before she turned to go.
By afternoon, I had not only finished my math, I was ready for the midterm—something about how Sarah explained the equations made it just click into place. She wasn’t as helpful on the social studies. “Maps are just not my thing,” she admitted. But it was still nice to have someone else there while I answered questions about ancient India and China.
“You girls have been working all day,” Dad pointed out. “I think we should at least rent a movie and order a pizza—what do you say?”
“Or we could rent a pizza and order a movie,” Sarah joked, doing an impression of Groucho Marx. I burst out laughing, I’d never seen her do anything like that before, so light and funny—not taking herself seriously.
Mom and Dad exchanged a look that I couldn’t read, somewhere between amusement and bewilderment. “Let’s do whatever it takes to get a pizza and movie happening in this house.” Mom laughed.
I stuffed my books and notebooks into my backpack and hung it up while Sarah went downstairs to pick out pizza toppings. I took her chair back into her room and tucked it under the desk. Something under the desk at the back was blocking the chair. I leaned down and saw a black nylon bag tucked partway behind the drawers. I could hear voices from downstairs, Dad on the phone placing the pizza order. I kneeled down, listening for a moment before I reached under the desk and pulled at the bag. It was a small duffel I recognized as Sarah’s. She had used it for PE clothes and her cheer uniform. What was it doing here, hidden behind her desk? She always kept it in her closet.
I slid the bag over the carpet; it seemed almost empty. I held my breath as I unzipped it. Inside was a hooded sweatshirt, rolled around a pair of black leggings and a shirt from Sarah’s closet—old stuff, nothing from our recent shopping trip. The dirty pink flip-flops Sarah had been wearing when we got her in Florida were under that.
Why was she keeping these things hidden? I went to slide it back under the desk, when I noticed the outline of something in the front pocket. I almost didn’t want to see what was there, but I unzipped it and reached inside. There was a business card with a hair elastic wrapped around it. Carmen Rosa, Department of Children’s Welfare and Services, it read, with an address and phone number in Florida. I tried to remember if we had met a Carmen at the shelter. Behind the card were three twenty-dollar bills, carefully folded, and two slips of paper. As I unfolded the paper I felt my hands start to shake. They were blank checks, Mom and Dad’s checks with our name and address on them.
A getaway bag. That’s what this was. But why would Sarah need to run? She was home now. Safe. With us, her family. Wasn’t she?
“Nico, if you want some say in the movie, you better get down here,” Dad called. I startled, sticking the money and the checks into the elastic behind the card, and shoving it all back into the little pocket. I slid the bag where I had found it and pushed the chair in.
When I got downstairs, everyone was in the den. Dad held a glass filled with Scotch and ice in one hand and scrolled through movie options with the remote in the other. Sarah scooted over on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. I went over and sat down. Where would Mom sit? Usually it was just the three of us, Mom on one side of the big soft couch, Dad on the other and me in the middle. Now I was in Mom’s usual spot, Sarah was in mine. It felt good to lean on the arm of the couch, to tuck a pillow behind me and cozy in. Mom came in with a tray of drinks and popcorn and placed it on the coffee table. Without a moment’s hesitation she pulled the overstuffed armchair closer to the couch on Dad’s side.
“What’s the decision?” Mom asked, looking over the movie titles for something she recognized. “How about that one set in India, it’s supposed to be really beautiful.”