Free Dream Things True by Marie Marquardt Page B

Georgia senators,” Mrs. King said, reading over her shoulder. “Looks like he’s also the chair of the Senate Homeland Security Committee.”
    She looked up at Alma. “You know he lives right here in Gilberton, don’t you? His family goes way back.”
    Alma shook her head. She didn’t know.
    â€œYou should call his office, Alma. Let your voice be heard,” Mrs. King said.
    â€œThis flyer says that he needs to hear from his constituents,” Alma said, pointing toward the bold print. “Doesn’t that mean voters? I’m not a voter.”
    â€œI’m guessin’ he doesn’t want to hear from any of us. He probably has his mind made up, but that won’t stop us now, will it?”
    â€œUs?” Alma asked.
    â€œOh, yes, ma’am, you can guarantee he will be hearing from Mrs. Bernice King. And it won’t be the first time, either.”
    She shook her head and chuckled.
    â€œDo you think it will make a difference?”
    â€œProbably not, but we’ll go on ahead and do it anyway, won’t we?”
    She smiled so broadly that her teeth gleamed. Alma couldn’t resist this woman.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” said Alma, smiling back. “We will.”
    After she got out of Mrs. King’s car, Alma finally gave herself permission to look at Evan’s texts.
    IF I GOT YOU IN TROUBLE, I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU. PROMISE.
    And then,
    SAY SOMETHING! IM DYIN OVER HERE.
    Her heart thumping and her hands shaking, she stood poised to reply.
    Should she tell him that she missed him, too? Should she tell him that three days ago Gilberton High School had been the last place in the world she wanted to go, but now she got butterflies—the good kind—every time she imagined walking through the doors? Or should she tell him what had happened today? How would she even begin to explain?
    She groaned and shoved the phone back into her pocket. Pulling out the crumpled blue flyer, Alma entered her house and headed straight toward the computer. Maybe if she distracted herself for a few minutes, the answer would come to her.
    By the time Ra ú l came to stand at her side, Alma’s anxious mood had turned to despair.
    She stared blankly at the press release posted on the senator’s Web site: “Roundup of 200 illegal immigrants in Sexton Prentiss’s hometown of Georgia protects 200 American jobs.” The senator’s staff was praising the work of ICE, celebrating that her aunt, cousins, and friends had just been handcuffed and loaded onto an armored bus. This senator didn’t have any interest in immigrant families like hers. According to his Web site, he was all about raiding factories, building bigger fences on the border, and adding a bunch of cameras, radars, and unmanned vehicles—as if crossing the border weren’t dangerous enough. Feeling queasy, she closed the press release and opened another. This one described a policy that he called “catch and return.” It was, the Web site explained, supposed to be better than the “catch and release” way of dealing with “illegal aliens.”
    â€œWhat are you doing, Alma? I need the computer.” Ra ú l asked, impatiently.
    â€œReading about this senator. He thinks we’re fish.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œYeah. It says here, ‘No more catch-and-release.’ Isn’t that what people do to fish?”
    â€œWhy are you reading about a senator, Alma? I mean, besides the obvious reason that you’re a total nerd.”
    He tried to give her a playful shove in the arm, but she pulled away.
    â€œMrs. King told me I should e-mail him.” She shoved her chair away from the desk. “But there’s no way I’m sending a message to this guy. He doesn’t even think I’m human!”
    Ra ú l stepped forward and looked more closely at the screen, focusing his gaze on a photograph of the senator. He wore a gray suit