Read Online Found by Margaret Peterson Haddix - Free Book Online
Authors: Margaret Peterson Haddix
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paperwork’s in order. At the moment. I checked.”
He smiled, but it was a dangerous smile. Jonah couldn’t quite understand what was going on, but maybe that was because he felt so dizzy all of a sudden. And so much of his brain was drowning in thoughts like, All those times I said the Pledge of Allegiance at school—doesn’t that count for anything? And the “National Anthem”—I try to sing it at baseball games; it’s not my fault my voice doesn’t go that high….
“Is Jonah—” Dad took a careful breath. “Is he a naturalized American citizen or native born?”
Mr. Reardon shrugged, still smiling.
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t…when it comes to the love we have for our son,” Mom said.
Jonah’s stomach began to churn, to match his spinning head. If Mom was going to get all sappy right here in front of Mr. Reardon, Jonah wouldn’t be able to take it. For a few seconds, he couldn’t even listen. When he forced himself to tune back in, Mom was saying, “But it might matter to Jonah someday. If he was born in another country, he might want to go back and visit; he might want to do projects about that country’s history for school….”
Mom’s voice cracked on the word school , and Jonah decided this was nothing like those times she tried to catch him or Katherine in a lie. Her voice never cracked then.
Mr. Reardon leaned closer. He laid his hands lightly on a closed laptop—the only object on his vast desk—and moved the right corner ever so slightly forward, as if that microscopic readjustment might align it perfectly with the borders of the desk.
“Let me give you a hypothetical,” Mr. Reardon said. “Let’s say there was an international baby-smuggling ring. Lots of poor people in developing countries have babies they can’t afford; lots of rich Americans want babies they can’t have. People get desperate, don’t they?”
Jonah saw his mother flinch. Mr. Reardon went on.
“It’s a bad mix, desperate rich people who want something that desperate poor people have. Laws are broken; rights are trampled; money changes hands illegally—”
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Dad said coldly.
“I haven’t accused you of anything,” Mr. Reardon said. “Guilty conscience?”
Dad gaped at Mr. Reardon and lurched forward in his chair.
“Of course not,” he said. “Jonah was adopted through a reputable adoption agency—we had no contact with any smuggling rings! We—we didn’t pay anything! Except the regular adoption fee…but—but everyone pays that!”
Jonah had never before seen Dad so angry that he actually sputtered. He was usually the calmest person in the family, mild-mannered, like a Clark Kent without any secrets.
Mr. Reardon laughed, as if he thought Dad’s reaction was funny.
“We’re just talking hypotheticals, remember?”
Dad sat back, but Jonah could tell that it took great effort. Mom reached over and took Dad’s hand—Jonah could tell that they were both holding on so tightly that their knuckles turned white.
“So, hypothetically ,” Mr. Reardon continued, “this smuggling ring gets greedy. They take too many risks; they get caught. They always do, in the end. It’s a big mess for all the governments involved, all the government agencies involved. Do you extradite the smugglers? Do you deport the babies? You probably should, shouldn’t you?” He was staring straight at Jonah now. “ Extradite and deport both mean ‘send back,’ by the way.”
Katherine gasped.
Jonah’s stomach was still churning, his head still spinning. But Katherine’s gasp was the last straw. He was sick of sitting here listening to Mr. Reardon bully his family with all these “hypotheticals,” all these simpers and smirks, cruel smiles and humorless laughs. He hated the way Mom and Dad were clutching each other, terrified, the way even Katherine had all the color drained from her face. If there was any way Jonah could hurry this along, a sick stomach
He smiled, but it was a dangerous smile. Jonah couldn’t quite understand what was going on, but maybe that was because he felt so dizzy all of a sudden. And so much of his brain was drowning in thoughts like, All those times I said the Pledge of Allegiance at school—doesn’t that count for anything? And the “National Anthem”—I try to sing it at baseball games; it’s not my fault my voice doesn’t go that high….
“Is Jonah—” Dad took a careful breath. “Is he a naturalized American citizen or native born?”
Mr. Reardon shrugged, still smiling.
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t…when it comes to the love we have for our son,” Mom said.
Jonah’s stomach began to churn, to match his spinning head. If Mom was going to get all sappy right here in front of Mr. Reardon, Jonah wouldn’t be able to take it. For a few seconds, he couldn’t even listen. When he forced himself to tune back in, Mom was saying, “But it might matter to Jonah someday. If he was born in another country, he might want to go back and visit; he might want to do projects about that country’s history for school….”
Mom’s voice cracked on the word school , and Jonah decided this was nothing like those times she tried to catch him or Katherine in a lie. Her voice never cracked then.
Mr. Reardon leaned closer. He laid his hands lightly on a closed laptop—the only object on his vast desk—and moved the right corner ever so slightly forward, as if that microscopic readjustment might align it perfectly with the borders of the desk.
“Let me give you a hypothetical,” Mr. Reardon said. “Let’s say there was an international baby-smuggling ring. Lots of poor people in developing countries have babies they can’t afford; lots of rich Americans want babies they can’t have. People get desperate, don’t they?”
Jonah saw his mother flinch. Mr. Reardon went on.
“It’s a bad mix, desperate rich people who want something that desperate poor people have. Laws are broken; rights are trampled; money changes hands illegally—”
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Dad said coldly.
“I haven’t accused you of anything,” Mr. Reardon said. “Guilty conscience?”
Dad gaped at Mr. Reardon and lurched forward in his chair.
“Of course not,” he said. “Jonah was adopted through a reputable adoption agency—we had no contact with any smuggling rings! We—we didn’t pay anything! Except the regular adoption fee…but—but everyone pays that!”
Jonah had never before seen Dad so angry that he actually sputtered. He was usually the calmest person in the family, mild-mannered, like a Clark Kent without any secrets.
Mr. Reardon laughed, as if he thought Dad’s reaction was funny.
“We’re just talking hypotheticals, remember?”
Dad sat back, but Jonah could tell that it took great effort. Mom reached over and took Dad’s hand—Jonah could tell that they were both holding on so tightly that their knuckles turned white.
“So, hypothetically ,” Mr. Reardon continued, “this smuggling ring gets greedy. They take too many risks; they get caught. They always do, in the end. It’s a big mess for all the governments involved, all the government agencies involved. Do you extradite the smugglers? Do you deport the babies? You probably should, shouldn’t you?” He was staring straight at Jonah now. “ Extradite and deport both mean ‘send back,’ by the way.”
Katherine gasped.
Jonah’s stomach was still churning, his head still spinning. But Katherine’s gasp was the last straw. He was sick of sitting here listening to Mr. Reardon bully his family with all these “hypotheticals,” all these simpers and smirks, cruel smiles and humorless laughs. He hated the way Mom and Dad were clutching each other, terrified, the way even Katherine had all the color drained from her face. If there was any way Jonah could hurry this along, a sick stomach
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