22
Sage
Thirty minutes buried
Whoever made the peanut butter sandwiches and tucked them into a Styrofoam cooler in baggies knew how to do it right.
The peanut butter was spread evenly on both sides of the bread, thick enough to cover the slices in a smooth layer. A good layer of jam that didn ’ t quite reach the bread edges oozed between them, so the crusts didn ’ t get soggy.
I hadn ’ t expected the pantyhose men to know how to make a good sandwich. When I finished the chunk Ms. Jessa gave me—after making me swear on my life I didn ’ t have a peanut allergy—I wished I had another one.
“ It ’ s good, isn ’ t it?” I whispered to Bonnie.
“ Yeah,” she said, her voice small. Then, “ I wish there was a light. It ’ s really scary down here.”
“ It ’ s just dark,” I told her, like I had at bedtime when she got scared and came into my room. “ Dark can ’ t hurt us. It ’ s okay.”
I could tell that some of the other kids were listening to us, from the way the chewing sounds got quieter. A few of the kids sighed, like they needed to hear that about the dark, too.
I wanted to talk about my idea again. Jeepers was still up above us, at the top of the hole. At least, I was pretty sure it was him. I ’ d listened hard after they ’ d closed up the hole and Greasy Hair had said something about needing to pick somebody up. Then a car had started up and tires had growled away.
For a while, Jeepers went away. When he came back, he took big steps above our heads, back and forth, like he was circling around. I could just barely hear his footsteps when they crunched on the ground. I was glad Greasy Hair was gone for now. Maybe Jeepers would leave soon, too.
As the minutes went by, I licked my lips and tried to think. If Ms. Jessa helped me, I could reach the ceiling, where the hole was covered. Maybe I could find a way to push off whatever they ’ d covered the hole with and get into the wooden chimney.
We had to at least try.
Ms. Jessa wouldn ’ t help, though. I screwed up my face in a frown, staring in the direction where I could hear her handing out more food and water. She thought the men would keep their promise. And maybe, if it was just Jeepers, there was a tiny chance he would. I just knew he was the one who ’ d made the sandwiches.
Greasy Hair, though? I got the feeling he lied a lot. Told you one thing and then did something else. The way Dad did that first summer he left. Promised he ’ d come and visit me and Bonnie all the time even though him and Mom were getting a divorce. Bonnie was still a baby then. She didn ’ t understand what he was saying. I did, though.
I took a last sip of water from the cup I was sharing with Bonnie. There were only six plastic cups, so we had to share. Then I squinted up at the ceiling and tried to see anything.
I didn ’ t think I ’ d be able to. It was too dark. But after a few seconds, I could make out a fuzzy, dark gray ring of light overhead, in the ceiling of the shipping container room. It was so faint that when I blinked, it took a second for my eyes to find that gray circle again. It was there. And if I could just reach it, I could try to get through it.
My legs itched to move, to try. But I couldn ’ t get up there alone.
I sat there in the dark on the stinky mattress and thought for a while, since that was the only thing there was to do.
Then I had an idea.
“ Hey, Bonnie? You remember that game, Telephone, we played with Mom and Grandpa?” I asked her.
“ Yeah,” she said quickly. Telephone was one of her favorites. It always made both of us laugh when the sentences got all messed up and silly.
I took a big breath and leaned close to her ear. “ Okay, we ’ re going to do that. Only don ’ t mess up the words, all right? Repeat this to the next kid, and tell them to pass it on: Sage has a plan. We gotta help her.”
I felt silly the second I drew back, but Bonnie didn ’ t ask questions. She was whispering to Rose Carlton. My heart pitter-pattered when Rose let out a murmured “ Ooh ” of hope.
I didn ’ t really have a plan. Just a ‘ hair-brained’ idea, as Grandpa would say. But another line from Harriet the Spy had been rolling around in my head since Ms. Jessa told me to stop talking about escape: “ Life is a struggle, and a good spy goes in there and fights.”
The feeling pressing at the back of my stomach told me Harriet was right.
I decided that Ms. Jessa was like Cook— Harriet ’ s cook—who was nice enough but thought Harriet was out of control. Always saying things like, You think you ’ re a spy, but you’re still just a little girl. You need to find something better to do than sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
I had to be like Harriet, not Cook. I didn ’ t just have to sit here because I was a kid. I didn ’ t have to listen to the only grownup down here.
I could do something.
I strained my ears and heard the kids passing my words down the line of mattresses. Just a few more kids, and everyone would ’ ve heard it—as long as the message didn ’ t get too mucked up.
I ’ d been trying to convince Mom I was a big kid—not a baby—for the past year. That I didn ’ t need to ride the bus to Bright Beginnings with Bonnie anymore because I was too grown up. That I wasn ’ t afraid to be home by myself if Mom had to run errands after work.
“ Why?” I ’ d asked her, so many times. “ I ’ m grown up enough.”
“ Because you ’ re not ready and because I ’ m your mom” was what it always came down to.
That was true. I never had a response to that last part.
But I was starting to think that maybe Mom wanted me riding the bus with Bonnie to Bright Beginnings not because she thought I was a baby or because I wasn ’ t ready. It was because she was a grownup. And grownups got to be in charge.
Just like Ms. Jessa wanted me to sit still and be quiet. Not because she really knew what was best. It was because she was a grownup, and grownups got to be in charge.
The same thing was true for the men in the masks.
They were grownups—with guns. So they really got to be in charge.
I listened hard past the sound of Ms. Jessa ’ s voice. She ’ d finished getting everybody a drink of water and was coming back down the line to collect the empty plastic cups.
On the other side of the dark room that smelled like dirt and old clothes and hot peanut butter breath, someone was whispering. I heard my name in the middle. Sage.
I felt along the bottom of the mattress, doing the math in my head. I wasn ’ t sure my idea would work yet, but it was taking shape faster now that I was giving it room to breathe.
After a while, Jeepers’ footsteps crunched overhead again, going away from us. Then tires rolled along the gravel, getting closer this time. I guessed even though I couldn ’ t be sure, that it was Greasy Hair, back from wherever he ’ d gone.
“ Sage, what are you gonna do?” Bonnie whispered, her sweaty hand feeling for mine again as she leaned close. “ What ’ s your plan?”
I didn ’ t answer, just squeezed her hand because I still needed to think a little longer. “ I ’ ll tell you soon, okay?”
The only thing I knew for sure was that I was done listening to grownups. Done pretending that they knew what was best.
I was going to be like Harriet.
I was going to fight.