CHAPTER 20

Lily

Arturo was wary of damaging the ATV, and at the same time, he began feeling less fearful of traveling the dirt roads that ran in straight lines through the flat plains and forests. The idea of following the creek was abandoned once we saw how little water flowed and that no other homes were around.

“Are you sure we should be on roads?” I asked.

“Do you see many people?”

“No.”

“Traffic-cams?”

“No.”

“Why not?” he answered, shrugging.

I said nothing. To tell the truth, I was surprised at the amount of forested land we had encountered. It made sense, though. Our wood and paper products had to come from trees somewhere. But these trees seemed so small, so thin. The ground underneath was relatively clear and bare. As we continued on, however, it changed. Some places were different—older, denser. I wanted to know more: What was the story here? Were some forests real forests, wild and untamed, and others just crops? And what was this green vine with the heart-shaped leaves that in places took over entire sections of the forest, covering trees and bushes like an out-of-control Chia pet?

At times, the treed land ended abruptly, and we found ourselves in open fields of plants I could not identify. 

“I wish I knew what this was,” I said.

“What?” Arturo called over the sound of the rushing air and crunching of our treads.

“I said, I wish I knew what was growing here.”

“Grow here?” He asked, taking one hand from the wheel and pointing.

“Yes.”

“Cacahuate.”

“What?”

“In Spanish, cacahuate.”

“Oh,” I said sarcastically, “thanks so much.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how you say in English. And you don’t know food.”

He was right, of course, but I had learned a lot. Not to be minimized, I started saying every veggie word I could remember.

“Beans?”

“No.”

“Peas?”

“No.”

“Carrots?”

“No.”

“Zucchini?” I loved saying zucchini, it was one of my favorites, even if I hadn’t exactly liked the way it tasted.

“I don’t know zucchini,” he said.

We went on like that for as long as it took me to exhaust my list of new food words—not very long as it turned out.

“Lily, you don’t know it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because. Because this don’t grow in north. Your friend—mmm—she maybe not teach you.”

And why hadn’t he mentioned this sooner? “Oh. Is it good?” I asked, determined not to feel defeated.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Is very good.”

After another hour or so, we knew we had missed whatever friends we were supposed to find. And we hadn’t seen any homes abloom with purple flowers; but aside from the spooky overgrown one we’d encountered, we didn’t really go out of our way to find any, either. At one of our snack and leg-stretching breaks we agreed to keep riding north. We were hopeful that if we could get farther north and higher up, some of the stifling heat and humidity might lessen. We decided we would try harder to find friends further along. The going was pretty easy—flat, sparsely populated land. My main concern was that we wouldn’t find out about my dad as soon. What if we passed him by? Arturo consoled me by saying we could always turn back. “Además,” he had said, “your Papa probably don’t like hot here. Maybe remind him of Cuba. Maybe he go far north. Escape to Canada.”

So that had been the plan—to keep going. And then, after another long stretch, we started noticing more houses, more roads, more traffic. Arturo pulled off of the road and we headed for some trees.

“I think is time we check the coordinates and see if we are near any friends,” he said after we jumped off and stretched.

“I agree.”

We entered the numbers into the nav-map, and several dots blinked back at us. We were quite near one of them.

“We are lucky,” Arturo said.

I nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

“Keep your eyes open. Watch for cameras, drones, things suspicious.”

I thought back to a few short weeks ago, how I had not even noticed Arturo following Rose and me. I’d learned a lot since then. 

“Of course,” I answered.

Arturo did his best to head toward the closest blinking light without using roads. The ATV was great: small, fast, and nearly silent; even if spotted,  no one would be alarmed. Just kids out having fun.

According to our nav-map, we were within sight of the friends. We scanned the horizon. It had to be the large square house in the distance; there was nothing else. We approached slowly. Something wasn’t right. There were too many cars … GRIM!

“Turn around!”
I didn’t need to say any more. Arturo, too, had sensed the danger. We were speeding away in seconds. I lost track of the direction we were headed; Arturo had snapped off the map immediately. We could check our location later. Right now we needed to get far away and hope no one had seen us or could track us through our nav-map connection. I held on tight, not because I needed to, but because for the first time since I left home, the danger had made itself real again—three dimensional, right there in front of me. Arturo felt the tightening of my grip and glanced back.

“Is okay, Lily.”

His eyes, kind and sensitive, were little pools of worry—worry for me. Seeing this, I realized something about myself. Though the danger was real, I wasn’t afraid. Then why am I hanging on tighter? The answer came, Because this is exciting, exhilarating. I couldn’t help it, I laughed out loud. Once again Arturo glanced back at me, confusion flooding his handsome face. I answered with a smile.

What happened on the back of the bike that day was the realization that I was a brave person. That I had what it took to be a leader, to go against GRIM or whoever or whatever opposition we might face. Back home, growing up, I’d been okay. I wasn’t shy. Socially awkward, maybe. But I hadn’t thought of myself as anything special. When Clare brought me in on the questionable adventure of gardening, I hadn’t had any qualms about it. Clare was one of the most cautious and straight-laced people I knew, and if she was okay with doing something illegal, I was next in line. In fact, I had gone further; I had planted seeds out in public—fearlessly. Stupidly, some would argue, but looking back, it was without fear. Then I’d left home—alone. It hadn’t been spur of the moment, out of fear, as I know Clare’s must have been, but planned. I left notes, hid things. I rode a bus by myself, with unfamiliar folks nodding off on my shoulders. I slept in a train station. I’d gotten into cars with strangers. And very few of these times had I been afraid. But it was only that day, on the back of the bike, speeding away from GRIM and looking into the worried orbs of Arturo’s eyes, that I realized he needn’t worry. Because Lily Gardener wasn’t scared. That’s why I laughed. Because I met myself that day. And I was delightfully surprised.