SAM
I think Pretend Mom’s beginning to give up. Sometimes I see her looking at me with those green cat eyes. They look so sad, and I can’t help feeling sorry for her. But she made me come here, so it’s her own fault. Why couldn’t they have just left me alone?
Sometimes with Zack I laugh, but I’m careful when she’s around. She must never catch me laughing or even smiling. There’s no risk with Beard Man, except maybe when he reads Tintin and puts on a girlie voice for a bad guy.
But time is running out, and maybe soon everyone will think it’s normal for me to be here in Paris. The French words are beginning to make meanings; words have crept into my head, even though I’ve tried to block them out. But I will never, ever let myself become French. Not if I have to stay here a hundred years.
I have to escape. Maybe I could go to the prison where Daddy is. It’s called La Santé, and it’s right here in Paris. They think I don’t know where he is, but I’m not as dumb as I let them believe. I’ve heard them talking about it, and even though it was in French, I understood some of it, and I heard the name. I remember it ’cause santé means health, and I thought it sounded more like a hospital than a prison, just like my school sounds more like a hospital than a school.
But that’s a stupid idea. Daddy can’t help me; he’s a prisoner too, like me. Anyway, they wouldn’t let me in. I bet they’d just bring me straight back here. I don’t think kids are even allowed to go into prisons.
On Saturday, they go out together in the morning without me. I think they said they’re going shopping, or maybe to the synagogue. I’m not sure. Anyway, I know they’ll be out for a while because they’ve left me a plate of meatballs, bread, and apple on the kitchen table.
I’m so excited my heart’s thumping like I’m about to run a race. This is my chance! But I make myself wait ten minutes to make sure they’ve really gone before I grab my school bag and stuff the food into the front pocket. It will probably only be enough for one day, so I open the cupboard and pull out a box of cookies and add it to my bag. I need to hurry now. I can always buy more food if I need it. I’m ready. No. Wait. Money!
I go to the hall and see that Pretend Mom has left her purse on the table. There’s a fifty-franc note in the front. It’s a lot of money, and together with the money I might be able to get for the ring, I could have enough. Quickly I go back to my bedroom and grab a sweater, but just as I’m leaving, the mini treasure chest on my desk catches my eye. I grab it, shoving it into my bag.
Now for my passport. I go back into the hall and open the drawer in the bureau, pulling out all the papers and documents, spreading them across the desktop. I run my hands over them, feeling for the thin book with the photo in the front. But there’s nothing like that. Just papers.
I could go without it. If I sneak onto the boat, I won’t need it anyway. But if I can buy a ticket, I’ll have to show my passport. I go to the living room, but there are no cupboards or drawers there, just one bookshelf packed full of books. I run my fingers over their spines, checking to see if it’s been squashed between them. But there’s nothing. Where could it be?
Their bedroom? I’ve never been in there, and I don’t really want to go now, but I need that passport. Slowly I open their door, peeping around, even though I know they’re gone. It smells dusty and old, and the shutters are closed. When I put the light on, I see a polished chest of drawers under the window, but I don’t think it will be in there ’cause the drawers are too big, like they’re for clothes. I look at the bed; it doesn’t even look big enough for two people. There are bedside tables on each side. I reckon Beard Man sleeps on the left, ’cause there’s a newspaper on the table, and he’s always reading papers.
I open the top drawer on the other side. It’s full of photos; the one on the top is of me back home on the beach. I shove it into my pocket and continue to feel around. My fingers hit the edge of a thin book. I pull it out. It’s a passport! I open it up, but the photo isn’t me. It’s her. I throw it down and look again. There’s another passport. This time it’s me. I stuff it in my pocket and run out of the room.