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trying to find words that might open a door rather than shut him off.
"Steven is a good man," she said, "and he cares for you. There aren't a lot
of people like that in the world, and when we meet someone like him, someone
who really reaches us, our automatic response is to accept him fully, every
part of him. Add to this the fact that no one your age believes that they have
a lot of choices in life, and it is natural to think that you either have to
accept all parts of Steven's belief system and teaching style, or reject him
completely. You don't want to talk about what went on between you and him
during those two days, and I respect that. I just want to say that if you have
any doubts or even questions, if anything someone wants you to do doesn't seem
quite right or fair, you can come to me and I'll try my hardest to keep an
open mind. Okay?"
Jason gave his trademark shrug-and-a-nod, and she had to be satisfied with
that. She reached down and unlatched her seat belt.
"I'm going to get a cup of coffee," she told him. "Can I bring you anything?"
He looked up at her, his face clearing with the relief of having gotten off
so easy. "Can I have a Coke?"
"You can have anything you want except alcohol."
"I haven't had a Coke in three months."
"I haven't had a decent cup of coffee in five weeks. And four days, but who's
counting?"
She found the attendants talking quietly in the galley. They exchanged a few
words about the "cute kids" she was shepherding (Dulcie and Benjamin) and Ana
went back to Jason with a can of Coke, a cup of ice, and two cups of stale
instant coffee for herself.
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"What else do you miss at Change?" she asked him when they were both settled
in again with their drinks. "Your friends?"
"Nah. Most of the people I knew were jerks. I guess at first I missed all the
normal stuff you know, McDonald's and TV and music and everything. Ice
cream me and Dulcie both miss that. I kind of got used to the place, though."
"It's a different life. But, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if they have
ice cream at the English house. I remember when I was in London in the dead of
winter once, I was amazed at how many people I saw eating ice cream."
"I don't know, I hear it's a weird place. Not the whole country, just where
we're going."
"What, the Change community? Weird how?"
"I don't know," he repeated. "There was a kid in my house who just came back
from there. He said they never went anywhere and it was like living in a
jungle."
Ana had to smile at the thought of a jungle set down in the civilized English
countryside. "He's probably exaggerating."
"Maybe. Anyway, he's kind of weird himself."
Ana Wakefield and Jason Delgado sat elbow to elbow with seven miles of air
between their feet and the ice-studded surface of the northern Atlantic Ocean,
drinking their respective beverages. Jason poured the second half of his Coke
into the plastic cup and glanced at the book she had stuck into the seat back
ahead of her.
"Do you read of lot of stuff like that?" Jason asked with a gesture at the
worn black cover. She was mildly surprised that he would raise an obviously
forbidden topic, even obliquely, but she thought the best thing to do was just
treat it as an innocent question. She had, after all, told him that it was up
to him to talk about his experience in the alembic.
"When I'm living in the bus, I tend to read more demanding things such as
that," she said. There just isn't room to collect masses of books. But when I
settle down for a while, I usually go a little nuts at the local libraries and
bookstores, catching up on all the novels I've missed."
"God, that must be so great, living in a bus. You can go wherever you want,
eat when you want, pull over and sleep when you feel like it."
The wistful tone in his voice did him great credit: Most boys of fourteen,
faced with the prospect of twelve years of responsibility for a minor sister,
would feel more than mild regret.
"I have to tell you, Jason, how impressive your attitude toward your sister
is. Dulcie is a sweetheart, but she's also a major burden. It can't be easy."
Praise on the basketball court was easy to ignore; from a person sitting at
your side it was more difficult. Jason fiddled with the contents of the seat
pocket in front of his knees for a moment, and then stood up to go check on
Dulcie. He came back and continued on to the toilets in the far rear of the
plane, where he spent a long time.
When he returned he paused by the seat, then walked forward again to look at
the sleeping children. When he was finally in his seat he looked straight
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ahead at the rumpled white hair of the old man in the next row and he began to
talk.
"Dulcie and me, we're not orphans, you know. Our parents are still alive. At
least, I know my dad is he's in jail, and last I heard Dulcie's father was
around. He lives in Vegas, I think. Our mom is a crackhead or, she used to be,
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