I picture this—people I don’t know telling me how to dress and what to eat and where to go. It’s not like Aunt Ginger is any different. But at least I can kind of remember her face. She and Mom have the same eyes, I think. I close my eyes and try to swallow. I spread my arms and pretend this is all in my head. For a second there’s nothing but the sound of airport announcements and the whirring of the conveyor belt pumping out carry-ons. I begin to hum the only song I can think of—“You Are My Sunshine”—to have a familiar sound in my head.

Then Sheela’s hands are on my back. I stop humming and grind my teeth. Her hands travel up my back and under my arms. I bite down so hard my jaw aches. And then she moves her hands down to my waist, and I can’t take it anymore. I smack at her hands and run a few feet away, against the benches where the people who are pulling on their shoes stop to watch me. Jorge follows. He looks nervous. I don’t care. I don’t care if I live with a foster family. I’ll just run away back to Mom, wherever she is. I will not let Sheela touch me again.

Maria pulls Sheela aside and whispers something to her. Flashes her ID again. They talk a minute longer while Jorge and I watch. Something in Sheela’s face softens, and then they both nod.

“All right, honey,” Sheela says as she walks back up to me over by the benches. She holds up a black wand-looking thing. “I’m just going to wave this down your back and up your front. No touching, okay?”

I look to Maria and she nods.

“Okay,” I whisper.

When we get to the gate, I collapse into a puddle in one of the seats. I have that total boneless feeling I get when a performance is over. Except this isn’t over. I’ve only made it through security. I’ve still got to actually get on a plane and fly across the country. I can see the plane from here, like a giant silver bullet with wings. I’ve never asked Mom if she’s flown. Will this be something I do that she’s never done? For the millionth time today, I wish I could talk to her.

Maria sits down next to me with two chicken burritos from the neon-lit food court. I eat mine so fast I swallow a little of the foil wrapping, too. I picture Mom laughing and shaking her head. She’d pass me a napkin and say, Manners, Lou. We’re not animals.