six
It’s real. The dream I just had wasn’t a dream. It was an actual memory of something that happened. I know this as surely as I know my own name.
Or, well, that’s probably not a good comparison. Because how well do I know my own name? I’ve always thought my name was Krystie Jackson. But apparently I used to be Krystie Brown.
Why did we change our last name? Did it have something to do with Them? Whoever it is that Dad’s running from? Who is my father? Who are we?
As far back as I can remember, it’s always just been us. Just Mom and Dad and me and Jeremy and, in the recent years, Rachel. Mom was the only child of divorced parents. She never knew her dad, and her mom died when she was twenty. If Dad has relatives, we’ve never met them. The five of us are a little island floating in a big sea of strangers. So there is literally nobody I could ask about who we are or who we used to be, other than Mom and Dad and Jeremy. I doubt Jeremy knows much more than I do, and I doubt Mom and Dad would be willing to tell me anything I want to know.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Jeremy asks Dad, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Like, are we actually going anywhere, or just trying to get away?”
“We’re going somewhere,” says Dad.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and stares out the window. I don’t expect Dad to give us any more information, but he continues. “We'll make a quick stop for breakfast. Then we’ll continue on to a safe base where we’ll stay as long as we need to.”
A safe base. Dad called the convenience store a safe base too. I’m hoping whatever “safe base” we’re stopping at feels friendlier than the convenience store. I’m hoping it has beds and food if we’re staying there for a long time.
I can feel the memory pressing on my mind. I know Dad said never to mention the last name Brown again, just like he said never to mention the license plates again. But just sitting here in silence as we drive on to who-knows-where is killing me. “Dad,” I say. “How long have you been running from these people? Is that why we always moved around so much? Is that why we changed our last name?”
The car swerves as Dad turns around to look at me. He quickly sets himself back on track. “Don’t talk about that,” he says sharply.
“Derek,” Mom puts a calming hand on his arm. “It’s just the five of us right now, and we know this car is safe. Why don’t we just tell them what they want to know?”
“It would put them in too much danger,” Dad says stiffly.
“Don’t you think it’ll put them in more danger if they go sniffing around for information because we refuse to give them any?”
Dad sighs. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Krystie, I’ve been running from these people since you were a year old. We changed our last name several times when you and Jeremy were younger, to throw them off track and make ourselves harder to find. And that’s the same reason we’ve moved around so much.”
The answer is not as satisfying as I expected. I guess I thought that once he confirmed my suspicions, I’d feel better because I knew more. But his answers just leave me with more questions. “Who are you running from?”
“That is something I will not answer.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” says Jeremy, in what can only be described as a sassy-teenager way. “We already know. You’re running from the government.”
“That’s enough!” Dad’s voice takes on the angry quality we heard when he saw us with the license plates, and Jeremy and I both know to stop asking questions.
We drive on. I wonder when all of this will be over. It hasn’t even been that long, and yet already it feels longer than any road trip we’ve ever taken before, any move we’ve ever made across the country. Probably because I have no idea where we’re going to end up or how long we’ll be on the run.
Eventually, we pull off an exit and into a McDonald's parking lot. McDonald's, I think. See? Normal. We’re just a normal family going into McDonald's for breakfast on a road trip.
Rachel stirs next to me. “Wake up, sweetie,” I murmur to her. “It’s breakfast time!”
“Breakfast?” Rachel opens her eyes and squints in the sunlight. “Where are we?”
“At McDonald's.”
For a moment, Rachel looks confused. She probably expected to wake up safe and cozy in her bed at home. I watch her face as she remembers everything that happened last night. “Can I get pancakes?”
“You’ll have to ask Mom or Dad, but I don’t see why not.”
Dad turns around in his seat to face my siblings and me. “All right, kids, listen up. We’re going to go through the drive-thru, but before we do that, I want everyone to decide what they’re getting.”
“How long until we get to the safe house?” Jeremy asks.
Dad considers the question. “About two to three hours,” he finally says.
“Then I want to go to the bathroom while we’re here.”
Dad looks at Jeremy suspiciously. “Everyone went to the bathroom at the last place we stopped.”
Jeremy throws his arms up in exasperation. “And that’s the crazy thing about going to the bathroom. You can go once, and then still need to go again! Dad, I literally just need to pee, okay? I’m not trying to do anything.”
“All right,” says Dad grudgingly. “Does anyone else need to use the restroom while we’re here?”
We all decide to go in. Who knows when our next chance to get out of the car might be. Dad heads in first, followed by Jeremy, me, and Rachel, with Mom at the back of the line. It’s like they’re prison guards and we’re the prisoners.
We all use the restroom, place our orders, and then stand around waiting for the food to come out. Dad’s in a hurry, I can tell. He keeps tapping his foot and glancing around the restaurant like he thinks he’s going to be attacked.
But he’s not looking behind him. And I know that because Rachel is looking around behind us, and suddenly she gasps and exclaims, “Krystie’s on TV! Look, look, Krystie’s on TV!”
We all whirl around and see that the TV mounted in the corner of the eating area is indeed displaying a picture of me. A full close-up of my face—my school picture from last year. Next to my picture are stats about me, such as my birthdate, hair color, eye color, height, and approximate weight. And right above my picture and stats are the words AMBER ALERT.
Or, well, that’s probably not a good comparison. Because how well do I know my own name? I’ve always thought my name was Krystie Jackson. But apparently I used to be Krystie Brown.
Why did we change our last name? Did it have something to do with Them? Whoever it is that Dad’s running from? Who is my father? Who are we?
As far back as I can remember, it’s always just been us. Just Mom and Dad and me and Jeremy and, in the recent years, Rachel. Mom was the only child of divorced parents. She never knew her dad, and her mom died when she was twenty. If Dad has relatives, we’ve never met them. The five of us are a little island floating in a big sea of strangers. So there is literally nobody I could ask about who we are or who we used to be, other than Mom and Dad and Jeremy. I doubt Jeremy knows much more than I do, and I doubt Mom and Dad would be willing to tell me anything I want to know.
“Do you have a destination in mind?” Jeremy asks Dad, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Like, are we actually going anywhere, or just trying to get away?”
“We’re going somewhere,” says Dad.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Jeremy rolls his eyes and stares out the window. I don’t expect Dad to give us any more information, but he continues. “We'll make a quick stop for breakfast. Then we’ll continue on to a safe base where we’ll stay as long as we need to.”
A safe base. Dad called the convenience store a safe base too. I’m hoping whatever “safe base” we’re stopping at feels friendlier than the convenience store. I’m hoping it has beds and food if we’re staying there for a long time.
I can feel the memory pressing on my mind. I know Dad said never to mention the last name Brown again, just like he said never to mention the license plates again. But just sitting here in silence as we drive on to who-knows-where is killing me. “Dad,” I say. “How long have you been running from these people? Is that why we always moved around so much? Is that why we changed our last name?”
The car swerves as Dad turns around to look at me. He quickly sets himself back on track. “Don’t talk about that,” he says sharply.
“Derek,” Mom puts a calming hand on his arm. “It’s just the five of us right now, and we know this car is safe. Why don’t we just tell them what they want to know?”
“It would put them in too much danger,” Dad says stiffly.
“Don’t you think it’ll put them in more danger if they go sniffing around for information because we refuse to give them any?”
Dad sighs. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Krystie, I’ve been running from these people since you were a year old. We changed our last name several times when you and Jeremy were younger, to throw them off track and make ourselves harder to find. And that’s the same reason we’ve moved around so much.”
The answer is not as satisfying as I expected. I guess I thought that once he confirmed my suspicions, I’d feel better because I knew more. But his answers just leave me with more questions. “Who are you running from?”
“That is something I will not answer.”
“Don’t worry, Dad,” says Jeremy, in what can only be described as a sassy-teenager way. “We already know. You’re running from the government.”
“That’s enough!” Dad’s voice takes on the angry quality we heard when he saw us with the license plates, and Jeremy and I both know to stop asking questions.
We drive on. I wonder when all of this will be over. It hasn’t even been that long, and yet already it feels longer than any road trip we’ve ever taken before, any move we’ve ever made across the country. Probably because I have no idea where we’re going to end up or how long we’ll be on the run.
Eventually, we pull off an exit and into a McDonald's parking lot. McDonald's, I think. See? Normal. We’re just a normal family going into McDonald's for breakfast on a road trip.
Rachel stirs next to me. “Wake up, sweetie,” I murmur to her. “It’s breakfast time!”
“Breakfast?” Rachel opens her eyes and squints in the sunlight. “Where are we?”
“At McDonald's.”
For a moment, Rachel looks confused. She probably expected to wake up safe and cozy in her bed at home. I watch her face as she remembers everything that happened last night. “Can I get pancakes?”
“You’ll have to ask Mom or Dad, but I don’t see why not.”
Dad turns around in his seat to face my siblings and me. “All right, kids, listen up. We’re going to go through the drive-thru, but before we do that, I want everyone to decide what they’re getting.”
“How long until we get to the safe house?” Jeremy asks.
Dad considers the question. “About two to three hours,” he finally says.
“Then I want to go to the bathroom while we’re here.”
Dad looks at Jeremy suspiciously. “Everyone went to the bathroom at the last place we stopped.”
Jeremy throws his arms up in exasperation. “And that’s the crazy thing about going to the bathroom. You can go once, and then still need to go again! Dad, I literally just need to pee, okay? I’m not trying to do anything.”
“All right,” says Dad grudgingly. “Does anyone else need to use the restroom while we’re here?”
We all decide to go in. Who knows when our next chance to get out of the car might be. Dad heads in first, followed by Jeremy, me, and Rachel, with Mom at the back of the line. It’s like they’re prison guards and we’re the prisoners.
We all use the restroom, place our orders, and then stand around waiting for the food to come out. Dad’s in a hurry, I can tell. He keeps tapping his foot and glancing around the restaurant like he thinks he’s going to be attacked.
But he’s not looking behind him. And I know that because Rachel is looking around behind us, and suddenly she gasps and exclaims, “Krystie’s on TV! Look, look, Krystie’s on TV!”
We all whirl around and see that the TV mounted in the corner of the eating area is indeed displaying a picture of me. A full close-up of my face—my school picture from last year. Next to my picture are stats about me, such as my birthdate, hair color, eye color, height, and approximate weight. And right above my picture and stats are the words AMBER ALERT.
