All Good Children Part 33

"It's my tent."

"But where did you get it?"

"It's mine, man. I got it from my living room. What do you want?" He looks over at the tent. The stenciled word, WITHSTAND, jogs down the wall and into my heart. I take a deep breath, shake my head, "No way. You are not taking that tent from me."

He sucks in his lips and steps in front of Ally, leans over to look her in the eye. "Do you know who made that tent?"

"Mommy found it in the surplus store and Max painted it."

"Who's Max?"

"Max is my brother."

He looks over at me, back to Ally. "Your brother painted that tent? This boy right here? He painted that tent?"

She nods. "For the art exhibit. He didn't win. His princ.i.p.al drove him home and he saw Peanut in the forest."

He straightens up and turns to me. The other two guards walk over, smiling. "I can't believe it," the short one says.

"You painted this tent?" the redhead asks me.

"You're not taking it."

"What's inside it?" he asks. "If you painted it you should know."

"My life is inside it, and you're not taking it from me."

He laughs again, the harsh snort, and looks at his buddies. All three of them start shrugging and laughing and shaking their headsa"not like they're savoring the moment before they kill us, but like they're genuinely happy.

The redhead puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes me a little. I step back out of reach. He laughs. "This tent is all over the world, kid." He holds his hands up like he's lifting a globe. "It's everywhere. Everywhere."

I shake my head, unnerved by his smile and touch. "It's been in my apartment since the exhibit."

"No, you don't understand. It's all over the news, kid. It's a symbol."

"It was on an international broadcast a few weeks ago," the taller guard says. "Some reporter in Pittsburgh wrote a story about it, and it spread like wildfire. It symbolizes resistance against corporate control, how people are uniting in secret and biding their time before they take their country back."

"It's been picked up everywhere," the redhead says. "This tent is everywhere. And that word, withstand, you can't go anywhere without seeing it."

"It gives people hope," the short one tells me. "That there are still people who care, even in places like New Middletown, that there are people who are ready to lead it somewhere better."

I don't like the way they look at me. It's that same feeling I had in the skate park when Washington and Tyler hara.s.sed the Asian kid. It's like they expect too much of me, like I should be special and heroic. But I honestly don't have anything to say. I just want my tent back.

"It's amazing you're here," the redhead says. "You obviously don't know the influence you've had. This word is on army barracks and factory walls and prisons and malls and everywhere people are hiding themselves." He takes off his cap, finger combs his hair, laughs.

"What are you going to do with us?" Mom asks.

He smiles at her and bows his head. "I'm going to ask you to take our picture in front of this tent and then I'm going to let you go meet your friends."

"And our stuff?" Dallas asks.

"You can have your stuff."

"And my tent?" I ask.

He shakes me by the shoulder again, smiles and says, "You can have your tent."

My cousin Rebecca embraces me, full and hard like I'm her long lost brother. She's older than I expected, well past thirty. She's dark, like Mom, but tall and regal. "Happy Birthday," she tells me. "I'm so glad you made it."

"Oh my G.o.d," Mom says. "It's past midnight. Happy Birthday, Max." She hugs me hard and long, shuddering in my arms.

"Hey hey, don't cry, Mom," I say. I hold her away from me and look in her eyes. "You got us here, right? We're okay. Don't cry."

She sniffles and nods, steps back toward Rebecca.

I turn to Dallas, who's watching us sadly. I open my arms wide. "What? No birthday hug, Dad?"

He smiles and slams my shoulder softly. "Happy Birthday, Max. Glad we made it." He looks around the wet dark nowhere and nods nervously, like he's wondering what the h.e.l.l we do now.

Rebecca holds out her hand to him. "How do you do?" she asks. He's about to explain who he is, but Mom shakes her head and points to Ally, then back to the border station. He nods and says to Rebecca, "Nice to meet you."

She kisses Ally on the forehead and cheeks. She goes so far as to pick her up, but she puts her down quickly when the zombie becomes evident. She turns to Mom, hugs her again. "I forgot how much you look like Mom," she says.

While they talk about Aunt Sylvia, Rebecca's mother, the pa.s.senger door of Rebecca's car opens up and a girl steps out and leans on the hood.

"Is thata"?" I say. "That looks likea"" I can't say it. I can't let myself hope it.

Rebecca looks over her shoulder and smiles. "You're not the first family here from New Middletown. I hope you don't mind that I brought her. She wanted to come." She waves the girl over.

Dallas and I moan at the same time. My heart flutters in my chest.

Pepper walks over, smiling shyly. She looks beautiful. A little skinny, and shorter than I remembered. Either I've had a growth spurt or I never realized how tiny she is. She stuffs her hands in her pockets like she's afraid to reach out with them. Her eyes shine.

"Oh my G.o.d," Dallas says.

"You're normal," I add.

"Hey." She looks down at her feet and back at me. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. My parents made me promise. I almost told you that last day with Xavier. I could have sworn you were normal, but I couldn't take the chance, you know?" Maybe she's worried that I'll say, "No, I don't know. You shouldn't have left me." But I don't say that.

"How did you know we were coming?" I ask.

"There's a big push up here to get people out. There are support groups in almost every city. People pa.s.s on names in case anybody can help sponsor someone. Dad told me you were named a couple of weeks ago. We found Rebecca right away and we've just been waiting for you." She smiles radiantly and I love her for it. I haven't seen a girl really smile since the shots.

"I can't believe you're here," I say.

"Same here." She takes her hands out of her pockets and opens her arms. We hug awkwardly. She pulls away, but not too far, and asks, "What about Dallas?"

I realize that she thinks it's my dead father hovering at my shoulder all this time. I shake my head slowly and say, "Dallas didn't make it."

Dallas cuffs me.

Pepper cringes. "Poor Dallas."

"You always had a crush on him, didn't you?" Dallas asks.

Pepper gives my dad a very weird look.

"Don't be embarra.s.sed," he says. "A lot of girls have crushes on him." He smiles, beams so brightly you can just make him out beneath his disguise.

Pepper steps back, her hand to her mouth.

"Not bad, huh?" Dallas says in own voice.

She laughs and hugs him, a big warm hug not at all like the awkward one she gave me.

"Did you?" I ask, totally miffed. "Did you really have a crush on Dallas?"

She laughs some more and hugs me, too, big and warm. Dallas joins in to make it a group hug, the dirty dog.

When we break apart, I see Mom watching us and smiling. Ally stands at her side looking angry, like we've misbehaved and she wishes there was someone she could tattle to.

Dallas clears his throat and tells Pepper, "Call me Patrick Connors. Just till I get cleaned up."

Rebecca asks Pepper, "Would you like to ride with them on the way back?"

"Yes. Sure," Pepper says.

"You'll follow me home?" Rebecca asks Mom.

"Yes. Whenever you're ready. Pepper, why don't you sit up front with me?" Mom asks. "Ally can't ride with an airbag, and the boys will fight over who sits with you."

"Daddy is a man, not a boy," Ally says.

"That's right, honey," Mom says.

Pepper does a happy little dance step, like she likes being fought over. Then she hops into the pa.s.senger seat beside Mom. "I can tell you about your new life. It'll take some getting used to."

"We can withstand anything," I say.

Dallas climbs in the backseat first, leaving me and Ally outside the car. "Do you want to sit in the middle?" I ask.

"I'll sit wherever you tell me," Ally says.

My happiness drains a bit.

"It'll be okay, Max," Mom says. "Just give it time. Get in."

I nod. Ally's still waiting to be told what to do.

I use one of her rhymes, even though she doesn't care about those anymore. I use my favorite. It doesn't leave everything up to chance, like Ally always thought her rhymes did. But it doesn't make what happens the inevitable outcome of where you start either. It puts the result in the hands of the person choosing.

If I count every word of the rhyme as I say it, it will end with Ally. But if I count every syllable, it will end with me. How it turns out is my decision.

I want her to get in the car first, so I can sit behind Pepper and touch her hair and make Dallas jealous. So I don't count the syllables. I just count the words, and I hope they're true. I say, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. All good children go to heaven."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Thanks to my editor, Sarah Harvey, for enthusiastic support and constructive criticism. Thanks to Dave Desjardins and the Aylmer English Writers' Group for commenting on early chapters. Special thanks to Tim Wynne-Jones for agreeing to be my first reader. As always, thanks to my children, Sawyer and Daimon, for inspiration through naughtiness and good hearts, and to my husband, Geoff, for paying the mortgage and being so proud of me.

I should also acknowledge Ira Levin and Dav Pilkey, but I swear I did not intend to write this as George and Harold Meet Teen Zombie Nerds in Stepford. It just came out that way.

CATHERINE AUSTEN worked in the conservation movement before becoming a freelance writer. She lives in Quebec with her husband, Geoff, and their children, Sawyer and Daimon. Her first novel with Orca was Walking Backward. To learn more about Catherine and her books, go to catherineausten.com.

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