I glance through the crowd at my miserable little brother, who is still slumped on the bench where I left him, allegedly dying of starvation. I’m not stealing it for me, I tell myself. It’s for him. And that’s the truth, but my insides still churn with guilt, and I hate myself a little for what I am about to do.
I try to act innocent as I move toward the rolling fount of temptation. I keep my eyes peeled for the cart lady. But she has disappeared, nowhere to be seen. I spot the bathroom and realize she must have gone in there.
I do a first pass, walking close to the cart, whistling nonchalantly. I reach out a hand and let my fingers brush the orange-and-red bag of fiery goodness, but I don’t take it. When I pull my hand back to my pocket, I’m shaking. I may throw up, I feel so bad, but Mac’s so hungry, and so am I, and I don’t know what else to do.
I reach the far wall and then turn, casual-like, and make my way back to the cart. I pull my hand from my pocket and let it swing. Closer to the cart, and closer.
I reach out for the bag, eyes halfway closed in fear (or shame!). I’m ready to grab it and go, when the worst thing that could possibly happen happens.
I’m busted!
My wrist is caught in a viselike clamp, someone squeezing the bones so hard I cry out. I want to wail and puke at the same time.
“Can I help you?” says an older woman’s voice.
I open my eyes to see who’s holding me down. It’s the cart lady. She’s wearing an Amtrak uniform. Her face is brown like mine, and her dark hair is pulled back in a tsiiyéél, a traditional Navajo bun. Silver-and-turquoise bracelets shine on her wrists. Where did she come from, and how did I miss her?
“I was going to pay!” I shout, hoping for mercy.
“Well, then,” the cart lady says, smiling at me, “there won’t be a problem.”
“My brother’s really hungry,” I blurt. My stomach gurgles loudly.
Her eyes narrow in concern. “Sounds like you’re hungry, too.”
Smooth move, stomach. I nod, embarrassed.
She plucks three shrink-wrapped bologna sandwiches, three bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, two chocolate milks, and one grape soda from her cart and drops them in a paper bag decorated with an arching rainbow. She hands the bag to me. “For you, your brother, and your friend.”
“My friend?”
“The one who’s coming to meet you. The smart one.”
She must mean Davery, but how would she know about him? Maybe I’m so hungry that I’m hallucinating. All I know is that my mouth is watering and I’m pretty sure I could make a solid attempt at eating all three sandwiches on my own.
But then I remember that I lied to her.
“Thank you, but I can’t pay for this,” I confess, feeling more miserable than I even knew was possible. “I don’t really have any money.”
She nods, like she already knew I was making up the paying-for-stuff thing. “Of course you can’t, but where I’m from, we never turn away hungry people.” Her voice is as sweet and warm as honey on bread fresh from the pan. “We always share what we have, even if we don’t have much. And we don’t make people pay.”
“Ever?” I ask, surprised.
“Well, sometimes,” she admits, “but not every time.” She winks at me.
Now I really do weep a little, not because I’m scared or feeling guilty, but because my heart feels like it’s going to burst. I wipe away a tear, hoping the cart lady doesn’t notice I’m crying over white bread sandwiches and bags of cheese puffs.
“But if I give this to you, you must remember that whenever you have food and someone else does not, you must feed them first. Or else you’ll bring hunger down on others. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say, not quite sure about the bring hunger down on others thing, but I know she’s basically telling me not to be greedy and to share. Two things I can definitely do. As soon as I get some food in my stomach and I can think straight again.
She nods sharply, satisfied, and gives me a little push in the back. “Okay, then. Now go on, Nizhoni. Tell Mac not to eat too many Cheetos or he’ll make himself sick, like last time. But hurry. The train is leaving soon. And make sure you read the note I put in your bag.”
“Thank y—What?” I’m so shocked I almost drop our sandwiches. “How do you know our names? And—”
But the cart lady has already turned away and is quickly rolling her cart through the busy station.
“How do you know us?” I shout.
She’s gone now, lost in the crowd of passengers.
A man in an Amtrak uniform hurries past and I reach out to get his attention. “Excuse me, sir,” I say, “but do you know where the cart lady went?”
He frowns down at me, annoyed at being waylaid. “Cart lady?” he grumbles, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “There’s no cart lady around here, kid.”
“But there was,” I insist. “An older Navajo woman, her hair in a bun. She gave me these?” I hold up our food.
He looks away from his phone to inspect my lunch. Then he sneers. “Bologna sandwiches? Okay, now I know you’re lying. There’s definitely no one giving away that kind of food around here. You must be seeing things.”
I look down at the bag, which has a rainbow symbol on the side. It’s proof that I didn’t imagine her.
The man makes an irritated noise, like maybe I’m a kid trying to pull a prank or something. “Look, I’ve got to go. And if you’re here to catch the train, you’d better get a move on and stop worrying about some lady who doesn’t exist.” He hurries away without a second look.
I guess not all the Amtrak employees know each other. I still wish I’d had a chance to ask the woman how she knew my name.
A train horn sounds, and the people around me stream to the nearest platform. I look up at the big arrivals-and-departures sign above me that shows all the destinations. Our train goes to Gallup, and it leaves in five minutes.
I check my phone to see if Davery has texted and maybe I missed it, but there’s no message. He said he would get here as soon as he could, but he also said the principal was talking to Maya. Maybe Mrs. Peterson was interrogating everyone in the Ancestor Club about where I had gone. I chew on my bottom lip, worried. But chewing on my lip reminds me how hungry I am, and I’m still clutching the rainbow bag, so I go back to where I left Mac on the turquoise-colored bench.
Only, Mac’s gone! I panic, fearing Mr. Charles got him while I wasn’t paying attention. Now what will I do?
“Mac?!” I shout, looking left and right, hysteria rising from my gut.
“I’m here,” he says from behind me.
I spin around, half-relieved and half-furious. “Where did you go?”
“Calm down. I had to pee.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down when people are after us!” I thrust his share of the food at him. “I got us lunch. And next time I tell you to stay put, you need to stay put!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, ripping the chip bag open. “When nature calls, I’m going to answer.” He points at me with a Cheeto. “You need to take a chill pill.”
“I don’t even know what that means!”