Part 1 (2/2)

Natalie shrieks high and piercing like the escape siren. She closes her eyes, wraps her arms around her head, and begins to rock.

The bullets don't get anywhere near the tour boat, but it roars forward, sinking low behind as it struggles to gain speed.

”Natalie, it's all done now. It's all over. No more guns, okay? No more,” I tell her as my mother digs in her bag for the emergency lemon cake.

”They were leaving already,” my mom whispers to my father. ”That was completely unnecessary.”

”He's just doing his job, Helen,” my father says, but his face is pinched like his belt is a notch too tight.

Nat's arms stay wrapped around her head like a bandage. She rocks from foot to foot, still making her little shrieks.

Trixle hitches up his trousers and walks toward us. He stares at Natalie. ”Got a problem here, Cam?”

”No problem. We got it under control.” My father's voice is confident and commanding like a Boy Scout leader's.

Trixle sucks on his lip. ”Don't look that way to me.”

”Just scared her is all,” my father tells him.

Trixle clears his throat. ”Gonna have to do an incident report on this, Cam. Warden's orders.”

My father frowns and lowers his voice as if he's letting Trixle in on a secret. ”Nothing to worry about here, Darby.”

Darby makes a juicy noise with his spit. ”Anything out of the ordinary, I got to report.”

My mom picks up Nat's suitcase, hoping to distract her and get her away from Darby. ”Let's go, Nat,” she says.

”But what about Jimmy and Theresa?” I ask. ”They wanted to say goodbye. Couldn't you wait? I can run get them. It will only take a minute.” Theresa is Jimmy's little sister and she's really good with Natalie.

My mom shakes her head. Nat's shrieking has subsided. Now it's more like the hum of a radio gone haywire. But my mom clearly wants to get her out of here.

I don't think Nat will go, but she does. She's still humming, still holding her head, but she's walking along behind my mother, yes she is.

”Bye, Nat.” I wave stiffly.

”Moose bye. Moose bye,” she says as she toe-walks across the gangplank.

I take a step forward. I know better than to try to hug her. Nat hates to be touched, but I want to go get the Mattamans at least. I promised I'd let them know when she was leaving.

My father puts his hand on my arm. ”She can't take much more hullabaloo,” he murmurs, his eyes on Darby Trixle, who is deep in conversation with the buck sergeant.

My mom waves to us from the starboard side, scooting Nat's suitcase under the seat. Nat sits down, her eyes trained on her lap. The motor roars to a start and the Frank M. c.o.xe Frank M. c.o.xe pulls out fast, carving a white wake in the stirred-up brown water. pulls out fast, carving a white wake in the stirred-up brown water.

We watch until the boat is so small it could fit in the finger of my baseball glove. And then it's gone.

THE SECRET Pa.s.sAGEWAY.

Same day-Monday, August 5, 1935

There's nothing like baseball to get your mind off of things you'd rather not think about. The smell of the glove, the feel of the ball, that thwack thwack the bat makes when you crush the ball. . . . It's enough to cure anything bad that could ever happen. And today is a baseball day, because my friend Scout from school is coming to Alcatraz this afternoon. Scout is Mr. Baseball. He has his own team and he can really play. the bat makes when you crush the ball. . . . It's enough to cure anything bad that could ever happen. And today is a baseball day, because my friend Scout from school is coming to Alcatraz this afternoon. Scout is Mr. Baseball. He has his own team and he can really play.

I tell Jimmy all about this inside the crawls.p.a.ce under 64 building that runs beneath apartment 1D, a vacant apartment, to 1E, Mrs. Caconi's place. The crawls.p.a.ce is in what we like to call Chinatown because it looks like the alleyways in Chinatown in San Francisco. Normally, the crawls.p.a.ce is locked, but last week Jimmy saw the screws in the door hinge were loose, so he took off the hinge and we opened the door. When we leave, we put the hinges back and the door seals up tight like no one has ever been inside.

The only problem is it's dark in here-everything is coated with an inch of dust and you have to crawl on your hands and knees, avoid the ant holes, and watch the beams so you won't clonk your head. The cobwebs alone could kill you the way they descend like gauze over your mouth and you breathe 'em in and hope you haven't sucked a spider down your throat. Still, it's a good place to talk things over. In our secret pa.s.sageway, we say things we wouldn't say anywhere else. I like that no one knows about this place except Jimmy and me.

I can't imagine a better spot than underneath Mrs. Caconi's apartment either. The moms on the island spend a lot of time at Mrs. Caconi's the way the kids gravitate toward the parade grounds. I think it's because Mrs. Caconi doesn't have kids, so they get a break from us at her place-kind of like the teachers' lounge at school.

Our best day last week we heard Mrs. Caconi and Officer Trixle's wife, Bea, discussing hair that grows out of your ear hole. Apparently Darby Trixle has big bushes of ear hair Bea has to clip every week. We could hardly keep from laughing out loud when we heard this.

That's the one thing we have to be wary of down here: noise. We're pretty sure they can hear us in the apartments above, if we aren't really quiet.

”Hey Jimmy, you working today?” I ask once we determine no one is in Mrs. Caconi's apartment.

Jimmy's been helping Bea Trixle, who runs the canteen, our island store. He doesn't get paid for it, but whenever he works, Bea gives his mom a discount on whatever she buys. Sometimes Theresa helps too, but only if Janet Trixle isn't around. Theresa is the same age as Janet, but she and Janet can't stand each other. According to Theresa, Janet's only real interests are rules and collecting stuff for her fairy jail.

”I'm off at two,” Jimmy says. ”You gonna bring Scout to see the flies?”

Jimmy really likes flies. He knows a lot of unusual facts about them too. Flies puke when they land. Flies taste with their feet. Apparently they puke, then they lick the vomit up with their toes.

”Sure,” I say. ”But Scout's gonna want to play ball.”

In the last few weeks, Jimmy has become my best friend on Alcatraz, despite the fact that he stinks at baseball. If a baseball flew into Jimmy's glove he wouldn't know what to do with it. He'd probably use it to brush his teeth. Maybe he'd plant it in the ground to grow a big old baseball tree. The kid has no idea.

Jimmy's nose lifts in the air-ah, ah, ah choo. He sprays me with snot and knocks his gla.s.ses off.

I wipe off my arm. ”Thanks a lot, Jimmy,” I say.

Ah, ah, ah choo. He sneezes again, but this time he turns his head away and gives the ants a bath instead of me. ”You want me to play?” he asks. He sneezes again, but this time he turns his head away and gives the ants a bath instead of me. ”You want me to play?” he asks.

”Of course,” I say. ”I always want you to play.”

Jim c.o.c.ks his head as if he doesn't quite believe this. ”But Scout plays all the time. He's good, right?”

”He's not great or anything.”

Jimmy grins. ”Oh, okay. Me neither.”

I don't know what to say to this. Even in our secret place it seems better not to tell Jimmy that Scout's ”not great” is so much better than his ”not great” that it isn't fair to compare.

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