He waves at us as we walk the rest of the way to school.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask her.

“I have Señora Lopez’s class,” she says, smiling.

“Ahh, you’re a lucky girl. I had her, too. She’s one of the good ones in this town, like Héctor,” I say.

I’m devastated; all three of the school computers are occupied, a trio of younger girls from town are desperately trying to finish a science assignment, their fingers flying across the keyboards. I coast through the day, keeping to myself as one thing runs through my mind. John Smith, on the run in America, somehow staying ahead of the law, and I’m stuck here, in Santa Teresa, an old, moldy town where nothing happens. I’d always thought I’d leave when I turned eighteen. But now that John Smith is out there, being hunted, I know I have to leave as soon as I can, to join him. The only question now is how to find him.

My last class is Spanish history. The teacher drones on about General Francisco Franco and the Spanish Civil War of the 1930s. I tune her out and instead write in my notebook about John, what I know based on the most recent article I read.

John Smith

Lived 4 months in Paradise, OH

Pulled over by an officer in Tennessee, driving west in a
pickup truck. Middle of the night, with 2 other people around
the same age.

Where were they driving?

One of the two people he was with is believed to be Sam
Goode, also from Paradise, originally thought to be a hostage,
now considered an accomplice.

Who is the third person? A girl with black hair. Girl in my
dream had black hair.

Where is Henri?

How did they get away from 2 helicopters and 35
police officers? How did the 2 copters crash?

How can I contact him OR the others?

Post something on internet?

Too dangerous. Is there a way to do so that eludes the Mogs?

If so, will any of the others even see it?

John is on the run. Ever checking internet?

Does Adelina know something that I don’t?

Can I bring it up to her without being obvious?

The pen hovers over the page. The internet and Adelina, my only two ideas, neither of which seems promising. What more can I do, though? Everything else seems as futile as walking up the mountain and sending smoke signals into the air. But I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something—some crucial element that’s so obvious it’s staring me right in the face.