Cody Rutland stared at me for many beats, appearing torn and troubled, but finally he nodded. “If I can make it happen, I will. That’s all I can promise, okay?”
“Thank you, Cody Rutland. And I agree too,” I whispered. “To New York City. When do we leave?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two weeks later, Zakai and I watched a box with Bertha’s remains being lowered into the ground. Cody and the other men in the helicopters had found her body in the desert and brought it back to us. They didn’t have any way to locate her mother’s grave, but I hoped upon hope that Bertha knew that we had loved her too much to leave her behind. I wept on the fresh soil, my tears soaking the earth as I said a final goodbye to the only mother I remembered.
Then later that month, we rose into a perfect, cloudless sky, watching as the buildings grew distant and so did the sand. In my mother tongue, I said a silent goodbye to each member of my family, and the only home I knew. This aircraft was bigger than the one I’d watched land at Sundara week after week, but it was still a plane and I had no reason to fear we weren’t safe moving through the sky. Strange, I mused, to be so fascinated and taken aback by water in bottles, and to feel no trepidation about a massive machine that lifted from the ground and soared through the sky. And yet that was very much the case. I sat back in the cramped upright seat, Zakai’s hand in mine, a future before me that I had no way to fathom. We were people of the desert leaving the desert behind. But we had learned that while our souls were related, our blood was not. Whoever Zakai’s father was, he was different from mine.
“Cody says there are classes at New York University that spend months and months on one single subject,” Zakai said, bringing me from my reverie.
I looked at him. He appeared both thoughtful and sad. Since we’d left Sundara, his mood had seemed to turn from anger to melancholy as rapidly as the flutter of a bird’s wings. I didn’t know if it was just the suddenness and oddity of our newfound circumstances, or something else he wasn’t sharing with me, but it made my heart ache. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, nuzzling my nose into his neck. “What else did Cody tell you about this university?”
I leaned away and he smiled. “Just that we’re very fortunate for the contact he has there. The faculty was happy to extend scholarships to us based on our . . . circumstances.”
I looked out the window, chewing on my lip for a moment, trying to picture this unknown place called a university. “So they know about us . . .” I felt a sense of shame. I remembered the things we’d heard the two men talking about outside of the room we’d been in. And because of that, I’d become aware of the rarity of our situation as compared to other people’s. I’d begun to watch the way others looked at us, the curiosity in their gazes . . . or often sadness . . . and yes, sometimes disgust. I wondered how we could begin a new life in a different place if so many others knew where we’d come from and what we’d done.
“Yes, they know, as do the teachers who will take into consideration that we haven’t been formally educated,” Zakai confirmed, a trace of shame in his own voice. “But Cody said they’d keep it confidential. The other students won’t know unless we tell them.”
“My uncle will know.”
“Yes,” Zakai said. “Your uncle will know, but he’s . . . family. He won’t hold it against you, Karys. And if he does . . .”
I looked at him, my brows coming together. “If he does, what? What can we do?”
Zakai shrugged. “Go somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. It’s a wide world, little star, and no one controls us anymore.”
Yes, I thought, turning my gaze to the window, staring at the seemingly endless earth below. I was learning that it was a wide, wide world indeed.
**********
Customs was a maze of lines and solemn faces who scanned our paperwork and nodded us from one person to another. We stepped out of the terminal both shell-shocked and sleepy-eyed, a sign with our names spelled out in block letters catching our eye.
Karys Grant and Zakai Klein. Strangers in a strange land.
Hands linked, we turned toward the woman holding it, the social worker we’d been told to look for. Her gaze found us, eyes widening as she looked back and forth between us. “Hi,” she said with a bright smile, holding out her hand. Zakai took it and shook. “I’m MaryBeth Williamson. Zakai”—she looked from Zakai to me—“Karys. Welcome to the U.S.A.”