The girls see me first. “India!” They rush over, enveloping me in a big warm hug, placing my tunic over my head. When they finally let me surface again, I see Laird and Mary Carol watching me.
“Well, well, well,” Laird says in an acid voice. “If it isn’t India Tompkins back from the—”
“Laird,” Mary Carol snaps.
Laird and Mary Carol exchange a look. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” Laird tells me. His voice is measured now, controlled.
“Hi, Laird,” I say.
“Hi, Laird,” he imitates. “Surely you can do better than that, India.” He waits.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Am I sorry? No, not a bit. But I need to play along here. “I didn’t realize how much this job meant to me.”
Mary Carol clears her throat. “Statute forty-one-ninety-two,” she reminds Laird, “expressly prohibits requiring wayward recruits to grovel.”
Laird snorts. “I just want a decent apology, but never mind. We’ll do it your way, Mary Carol. Come, India.” He opens his arms as if to give me a big exaggerated hug.
Mary Carol watches this. She seems reluctant to turn me over to Laird. Clearly I am right about her. In her own procedure-bound way she likes me.
“Really, Mary Carol.” Laird’s eyes bug out at her. “You can go.”
Mary Carol nods. She allows herself a little smile. “Nice to have you back, India,” she says before disappearing into the crowd, which is bursting with welcoming fever.
Laird directs his total attention on me. “India, really, you’ll need to do something with your hair,” He produces a hairbrush and hands it over as he launches into a canned lecture on what he calls re-treads—people who have to go through the training a second time. Clearly I’m not the only welcomer to have deserted her post.
“Should you make the wrong choice again, India . . . INDIA!” Laird shouts. “You’re not listening to me. What did I just say?”
“Should you make the wrong choice again,” I offer, but my hands are trembling. He saw that my mind was elsewhere. He suspects something.
Laird’s blue eyes get small as nail heads. “How long were you in Passengers Waiting?” he asks.
“I dunno,” I whisper, cold sweat dripping down my back.
“Never seen anyone get out of there.” He pauses to let this sink in. “Course, you do look like something the cat dragged in, but never mind. You’ll stay with me today, and tonight we’ll get you cleaned up.”
My eyes are drawn to the screens, which are filled with the face of a strikingly beautiful dark-skinned boy.
“He’s incredible, isn’t he?” Laird’s voice is gentle.
“Yes,” I say truthfully.
“All right then.” He smiles, his face softening.
He knows there’s nothing like a handsome new wel-comee to keep the welcomers happy.
CHAPTER 30
RED ALERT
I watch the movie clips of the newcomer as he wins a tennis match and reads a book to his blind sister. It feels so nice to just stand here and watch him. He is way over the top cute.
But this won’t last. I know it won’t.
In my hand is Bing’s wallet. The one that used to be my dad’s. The photo of my parents is tucked inside. They are my family. They are real.
I look at Laird, who is as transfixed by the screen as everyone else. Then I pull myself away from the newcomer’s beautiful face radiating from the screen and I slip through the crowd. No one sees me. They are all watching the boy.
I pretend to be a runner welcomer, edging toward the road. It’s a different job, with a different uniform, but in the thrill of the welcome, I am hoping no one will notice.
My plan is to take the tram to the border crossing, but when the newcomer’s feather taxi drives by, I have a better idea and I take off after the car.
I’ve never driven a car before, but I drove a golf cart in Palm Springs when I went on vacation with Maddy’s family. Her dad let us drive the cart at night when the golfers had all gone home. A car can’t be much different, right?
I have no idea how I will get the car away from the taxi dude. I’m trying to work this out when suddenly Laird appears. His steely fingers wrap around my tunic. But I duck out of it, leaving my tunic in his hands. I’ve still got my clothes underneath. I’m totally me inside.
I take off, running so hard my whole body vibrates, but Laird’s feet pound after me.
“You’ll never make it, India!” he shouts.
I practically fly over the road, dodging people, weaving around groups, around carts, under banners, diving under one lady’s arm. My chest heaves, my throat hurts, but I can’t stop.