Chapter 13: Closing Remarks

"My sister was five years old," Melody said into the microphone, "when a caseworker found her alone in Westlake Park."

She slid a page out of the manila envelope and held it up to the spotlight.

Four hundred campers leaned forward in their seats.

In the front row, my mother put her hand flat on her chest.

Beside me, Reed said, very low, "I can cut her mic right now."

"No," I said.

"Lucy."

"Nobody gets silenced today. We tried that. It was a whole week."

"The booth is thirty feet away."

"Then go stand in it," I said. "If I need you, I'll say a word."

"Which word?"

"You'll know."

He looked at me for a moment, and then he went up the side stairs two at a time.

I started down the center aisle.

"Placement one," Melody read, in her saddest voice. "The file says my sister was 'excessively talkative with the foster father's parrot.'"

"Hi," I whispered to a boy on the aisle. "Hi, tall boy with the glasses. Good stapling."

"Placement two. 'Disruptive at meals.' She asked questions about the family's finances."

"I asked the dad about his fish," I said, a little too loudly.

Melody's head came up.

Nobody had told her I was in the hall.

I reached the audience microphone on its stand in the aisle, the one meant for questions after the showcase, and I tapped it twice.

"Hi, everyone," I said. "That's me. I'm the sister."

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