In the middle of the busyness and chatter, Kayla toddles into the kitchen still in her pajamas, clutching a small pink bear.

"And who do we have here?" Kara asks, kneeling down to Kayla's level.

You know exactly who it is. You've been watching the house for a week. But I get no response from Kara, not even a flinch.

Jenna walks over from the counter and stands behind Kayla, placing her hands on her shoulders. "Kara, I'd like you to meet my daughter, Kayla. Say hello, angel."

"Hello."

"Your daughter?" Kara's surprise seems genuine. Is it possible that as she watched from a distance, she mistook Kayla for Allys's child? Her lashes flutter briefly, but then the perfect control is back. "You've been busy, Jenna," she says. I listen for sarcasm, but her voice is only thick with admiration. I wait for the explosion, but there is none. I push. Yeah, she was busy living a life while we were crammed in a hellhole. Nothing.

"She's beautiful," Kara says. She holds out her arms, and Kayla moves forward, and they hug. I watch the cautious, stilted movements of Jenna, right behind her, trying to act casual but staying within a few protective inches of Kayla. There seems to be no need. Kara happily chats with Kayla about pink bears, bumps in the night, and the need for chocolate syrup in oatmeal.

As with all new experiences, Dot is eager to get under way and is out the door the minute we are done with breakfast. Miesha is mostly quiet.

Just before we leave, when I'm standing at the kitchen sink getting a drink of water, I spot Jenna and Allys through the window by the garage whispering. Allys is shaking her head.

I know, Allys, but what could I say?

You could say no. You saw--

--but it might be better to be away--

--a public place. Maybe so, but--

--and she seems to be trying so hard.

But the--

Locke said--

--but what does he--

--I owe her this.

I set my water glass on the counter and stare into the empty sink. Locke said. I begged her to give Kara a chance. That's what it comes down to. We owe one another. There are all kinds of friends you make in life.... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you. Especially if they become more than friends.

"Ready?"

I spin to see Kara's smiling face just inches from mine. She snuck up on me as quietly as a shadow. I look at the lips that kissed mine two nights ago, but there is only the mask of a smile on them now.

Don't shut me out, Kara. Please.

But there isn't even a flicker of connection, and I wonder if there ever was. Either I'm crazy, or she is.

I nod. "Ready," I say. Maybe the open space of the bazaar is a good idea after all.

Chapter 70

The open-air bazaar is aptly named. It is bizarre. The train station at Topeka was everything slick and bright that I might expect from this world, but the bazaar is a poor, freakish cousin--a mixture of modern and misfits, slick and slimy, the kind of place my brother and his friends would fit in. The noise and smells give it a carnival atmosphere. V-ads appear before your face here too, but these aren't ads for luxury items like at the train station. Instead they're for bail bonds, cheap medical care, and discount coupons for the sideshows. Jenna shows us the trick to make them disappear for good. Instead of waving them away like we did at the train station, we are to grab them and tear them in two as if they were trash. Even though they're transparent and virtual, they make a sound like ripping paper before they vanish like confetti, and our bodyprint is temporarily registered to receive no more ads while we're at the bazaar.

Before we start down the first aisle, Kara announces that she found a money card a few days ago when she was rummaging through a trash can for food, so all purchases are on her. The Kara I know would starve before she would eat someone else's trash. And who throws money into a trash can? She seems to be better at living on the streets than I gave her credit for. Suspicion flashes across Allys's face, but Jenna turns before I can see her reaction.

We walk down the aisles, if you can call them that. They twist and turn haphazardly. Some of the structures look more permanent, with shelves for merchandise and canvas walls for protection against the weather, but many stores are just rugs rolled out with wares thrown on top of them. One woman gives wildflowers away, hoping for donations. Groups of land pirates walk freely down the aisles, but I never see one by himself. They are always at least in pairs, like they need someone to watch their back.

Kara, Jenna, and Kayla lead the way, with Dot and me behind them and Allys and Miesha pulling up the rear. Kara loops her arm through Jenna's, and I think I see Jenna smiling when she turns her head, like she is beginning to believe what I said--that Kara's empty face is only a result of Gatsbro's ineptitude.

I stay just a few steps behind, keeping an eye on them. They pause, move forward, point, and stop to examine merchandise. A stranger would never know it was the first time they had done this together in 260 years. I remember when I used to walk behind them on Newbury Street in Boston, carrying packages for them because I had no interest in shopping, waiting out on the sidewalk, playing games on my phone while they went in and out of stores. I remember how Kara never tired and how she pushed Jenna to try new things, and sometimes Jenna would, but her tastes were always quieter than Kara's, even down to the colors they favored. Jenna always gravitated toward variations of soft blue, but Kara loved brilliant colors, especially red. We never stopped for lunch, but ate our way down the street, sharing bites of pizza, sips of smoothie, and chunks of hot pretzel. They always gave me the biggest share of everything, saying I was a growing boy. I hated it when they said that.