The Wrong Way Home: Chapters 10–13

Plus, it must be a good sign that Mom still wants to protect the rest of the adults at the Ranch. A glimmer of hope; it means she hasn’t totally lost her way.

Then the woman’s eyes go to me and Mom, and she smiles.
Mom takes that as her cue and rushes forward.

“We’ve had more student transfers with insufficient records than you could imagine. We’re here to help you. And make sure that Fern succeeds in every possible way.”

Grade placement in this district is based solely on age.

There will be some enrollment forms you’ll have to fill out, but all we’ll need is a copy of her birth certificate, her immunization records, and proof of residency.

If you’re dealing with any issues regarding housing insecurity, we can help you with that, too.

“There won’t be any assessment?” Mom says again, like she doesn’t believe it. “None at all?”
“No, but if it’s something you’re worried about, it might be helpful for your own peace of mind to have her take an assessment online. There are a bunch of free websites I could direct you to. If Fern struggles at any point, we can also revisit the need to do an assessment. The success and comfort of our students is our number one priority.”

The success and comfort of our students is our number one priority.

I want to know what they’re going to talk about, but I can’t stay out here while Ms. Diaz is waiting for me, so I follow her into the room.
And I’m so glad I did.
Because it’s an entire room dedicated to computers. There are dozens of them on glass desks.

One of the kids glances up at me, like she’s trying to figure out why I’m standing there, gaping at the room.

Certain chores on the Ranch—like figuring out gardening-supplement-to-soil ratio and the animal-feed amounts—require math to do them right.

“Wait…do they know where we are?”
She shakes her head. “No. I made sure of that. But I still got scared when you didn’t answer your phone. Bottom line is I don’t want anyone to take you away.”

Choosing a new name—one that reflects the beauty of nature—is something everyone does at the Ranch, usually a couple of months after getting there.

“I chose it because ferns do a lot for the environment. They can be food and medicine for people and animals. They filter toxins and heavy metals from the environment. They’re the helpers of the forest.”

You chose the name Fern because you loved the way ferns uncoil from fronds, like a dancer.

Mom grabs her phone and clicks a few buttons. Music starts. It’s low and tinny, but she puts the phone into an empty water glass, which makes the sound louder.

“Not a fan of shots? Don’t worry. The anticipation is the worst part.” The doctor smiles at me. “A few quick jabs and then it’s all over. It’ll only hurt for a second.”

He comes over, but I thrash, trying to move away from him.

I shift my bag self-consciously on my shoulder and turn my attention to the scuffed white floor.

Mom packed me a chickpea salad sandwich on sprouted bread, which is wrapped in paper at the bottom of my tote bag.

This morning, I rubbed some herbal tincture onto my chest. Thankfully, Mom thought to bring some with us. It wards away germs, which I need in a place like this, which is probably crawling with them.

And to me the sharp tang of oregano oil and eucalyptus smells nice. Healthy, like home. But by the expression on Havana’s face, I can tell she doesn’t think so.

I go back to my computer and use the mouse to click on the circle icon, and up pops Google, just like it did on Havana’s computer.

The market! I scour my brain for details about the farmers market. Did it have a more specific name?

I type “used car parking lots, New York State.”
The computer returns 260,000,000 results.
I want to cry. How am I supposed to sift through all of this?