10

As they drove up to the stadium, Alex wondered whether it was even safe. The earthquake had shaken the stadium’s cement foundation, and cracks like jagged lightning bolts marred the exterior. A mob of people waited at the stadium doors. Were Mom and Dad in that mob? Or already inside? Or somewhere else altogether?

They poured out of the back of the pickup. When Alex stood up, her leg peeled away from the sweaty, hairy leg of the man pressed in next to her.

Inside the open stadium, a Red Cross volunteer handed out sunblock and umbrellas for shade at the stadium’s entrance. The University of Hawaii Warriors had played a game last weekend, but now beds covered the yard lines, turning the turf into an enormous hospital ward.

Alex, Sienna, and Drew followed signs to the fifty-yard line, where they were supposed to check in.

“Maybe Mom and Dad are here,” Drew said.

“Maybe,” Alex said, looking around the huge stadium grounds. So many people milled about that she had already lost track of the couple from the truck, Joseph’s parents.

“Your cut,” Drew said, limping on his leg. “It’s getting worse.”

Alex looked at her arm. Blood still oozed from the wound, and it looked hot and swollen. She glanced at Sienna’s gashed shin and said, “We all need to get checked out.”

An intake worker wearing blue scrubs said, “Over here.” She had a clipboard and a form for new arrivals.

“You go first,” Alex told Sienna. “We’ll find you when you’re done.”

“Sienna Anderson,” Sienna told the intake worker, who escorted her behind a privacy curtain.

A few minutes later, the woman returned. “Name?”

“Alexandra Reyes. And this is my brother, Drew Reyes. Can we stay together?”

The woman nodded and wrote on her form as they went into a curtained space containing a bed on wheels and a tiny table. “Okay. Sit here on the bed, and Jack’ll check out that cut.”

Alex cradled her arm and climbed up on top of a white sheet. Drew stood by her patiently.

Soon a male nurse called, “Knock knock,” and ducked around the curtain, carrying a folding chair. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

“She cut her arm,” Drew said.

“Did you now?” The nurse sounded Australian. “Let’s have a look-see.” Alex held her arm out, and the nurse looked it over. “Not just a surface cut, is it now? Right then. Stitches it is. Not to worry. Be right back.”

Alex glanced at Drew. He had gotten stitches once above his eye after roughhousing during a kickball game at school. Alex hadn’t ever had stitches, but it didn’t sound appealing.

The nurse returned with a needle and thread. Stitches meant real stitching.

“This is dissolvable thread, so it will disappear on its own, like a magic trick.”

“Are there painkillers? Anything to not feel the needle?”

“No. Sorry. They’re preserving that for people with worse wounds than this cut. Right then. We’ve got to irrigate the wound first. That way we hope it won’t get infected.”

The nurse cleaned the cut, which stung something fierce, but Alex bit back the pain.

“We need to check to make sure all the glass is out,” the nurse said. He held a special light over the cut and examined it. “Looks pretty good. You’re lucky.”

When the stitching began, Alex turned her head away and tried to think of something else. Watching made her want to vomit. She thought of hanging out with her friends at the beach. She was glad that her friends were okay, but what about all of the other people who had been hurt or killed by the tsunami? That just made her feel sick again. The rock was an uncomfortable lump in her pocket. She focused on the woman across the aisle holding a newborn baby. The woman was alone, except for a doctor and nurse. No husband.

“I will name him Keanu, after his papa.” Tears ran down the woman’s cheeks.

The nurse squeezed her shoulder. “Keanu it is.”

After a few minutes, the nurse stitching Alex’s wound said, “All done.”

She looked at it. The stitches were in a straight line like stitches on a football, but thinner.

“Who’s here with you?” the nurse said. “Is anyone waiting? Your parents?”

Drew piped up, “We’re looking for our parents.”

The nurse glanced down and then back up again before saying, “Check the boards at the end zone.”

“The critical ward?” Drew asked, his lip quivering.

“No. The other end zone. They have boards for people looking for each other. Anyone who has gone through intake is on that list. We update the lists hourly.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. “Come on,” she said to Drew.

“Dad! Mom!” Drew yelled out as they walked, looking all around, as if by some dumb luck they would fall right over Mom and Dad.

In the end zone, five huge bulletin boards were plastered with papers push-pinned to the cork. Each board had a title: Intake. Critical. Have you seen? Missing. Deceased.

A girl who looked near Alex’s age ran a finger down the names. Her finger stopped. She stared. Disbelief washed over her face. Then the corners of her mouth turned downward and her mouth opened. No sound came out at first. Then the word “No” escaped and turned into a wail.

Alex looked away quickly. She couldn’t go there, not yet. They would check that board last. She steered Drew to the Intake board and told him, “You read this column and look for Mom and Dad. I’ll start with this one.” The Critical one. She wasn’t sure what to hope for now.

Drew hobbled closer to his list, and they searched side by side. “Look closely at every name. We want to make sure and check every list carefully.”

Alex found other people named Reyes listed, but not her parents’ names: Michael and Anne.

“Anything?” Alex asked.

“No. Not yet. Wait!” Drew stopped his finger on the last name Chu. “I found Mrs. Chu! I found Mrs. Chu!”

Alex and Drew jumped up and down. Alex felt her cheeks and mouth turn upward. Finally, some happy news. She didn’t ask about Mr. Chu. Drew would say if Mr. Chu were also listed.

“That’s good. That’s great. Keep looking.” Privately, Alex wondered if they were now orphans.