Free Bringing the Boy Home by N. A. Nelson Page A

cooking in the villages we zoom past. By the time we pull intothe research center, my head is buzzing like a swarm of a million bees, but when I see the thatched huts of the research camp, everything quiets.
    â€œHere we are,” Juan Diego says, docking the boat. “Just in time for dinner.” He steps out and offers Sara his hand. “Let’s eat first, and then we’ll get you guys settled.”
    I leap onto the shore and spin around. “It feels like we never left, doesn’t it?”
    Sara scans the area as she considers my question. “You’re right, T. Things haven’t really changed much in seven years, have they?”
    â€œWell, fortunately for us, the cooking has changed…it’s gotten better,” Juan Diego says, patting his protruding belly. “And if we don’t get up there soon, there will be nothing left.”
    â€œBut what about our bags?” Sara asks.
    â€œI’ll send someone down for them.” He starts up the hill. “Since we started housing tour groups, we have people to do that now.”
    Sara raises her eyebrows at me. “I guess some things have changed.”
    After a delicious meal in which I have two helpings, knowing it will be my last real food for a while, Juan Diego offers to show us to our hut.
    We enter the last hut in the compound, and my heart skips a beat when I see both our suitcases inside.
    â€œSince there’s no electricity,” Juan Diego reminds us, “you’ll have to use candles for light.” He opens a dresser drawer by the bed and pulls out a box of matches, checking to see how many are left. “Sorry about not being able to give you each your own room,” he says, closing the drawer. “We’d normally have space, but it just so happens we’re full this week.” He shrugs. “I guess everyone wants to see the rain forest before it is completely destroyed.”
    â€œWait a minute,” I say, panic rising in my throat. How am I going to sneak out with Sara sleeping two feet away from me? “Sara and I are staying in the same room?”
    Sara unzips the front pocket of her purse and pulls out a couple of halogen headlamps. “What are you complaining about, T?” she asks, handing me one and putting on the other. “You’re the one who snores like an eighty-year-old grandpa with a deviated septum.”
    She winks at me and Juan Diego laughs, heading for the door. “I’m sure you both are tired,” he says. “So I’ll let you unpack while you enjoy tonight’s musical entertainment, provided by the camp’s very own jungle orchestra and led by our resident howler monkey, Kimbo.”
    â€œI can’t imagine any sweeter music,” Sara says, smiling.
    After Juan Diego leaves, I frantically scan the roomfor a backup escape route. The area is much smaller than I remember, and since Sara’s already claimed the bed by the door, that’s out. The only other exit is through a window. There are two of them, one to the left of the door and the other above my bed. I walk over and run my fingers over the mesh. It’s thin enough to cut, and I am thankful that Juan Diego gave us an end unit. Relieved that my plan is back on track, I turn around and unzip my suitcase.
    The room is quickly getting darker as the sun sets, and I reach up to twist on my headlamp. A huge roach, disturbed by the light, scuttles from under the nightstand between Sara and me.
    â€œMegaloblatta blaberoides.”
    â€œMwe-cota.”
    We blurt out the names at the same time—Sara giving the scientific; me, the Takunami.
    â€œIs that what your tribe called them?” She laughs. “Mwe-cota?”
    â€œYeah,” I say, shocked at how the name had just popped into my head.
    â€œThat’s pretty amazing that you remember such an obscure word after all these years,” she says as she shoves her suitcase under the bed. “I