Free Turnabout by Margaret Peterson Haddix Page B

a new place.” But Anny Beth made no move toward her computer.
    “You want to move here?” Melly asked without enthusiasm.
    Anny Beth shrugged. “Seems as good as anyplace else. There aren’t many places left without twenty-four-hour cameras going.” For the last several decades every major city—and most minor ones—had had all public streets under constant video camera surveillance, with the tape available at any time from any computer. It had cut crime down considerably, but Melly knew what Anny Beth was implying: If the tabloid reporter knew what they looked like, they couldn’t hide in any city.
    “Remember when we were in our tour-the-world phase?” Melly asked. When they were in their midsixties the second time around, they both got the travel bug bad. They each circled the world twice. “I said I’d rather live in Timbuktu than anywhere grass won’t grow. How could we live here?”
    “Want to go somewhere else?”
    Melly shrugged. “Where else can we avoid the cameras?”
    “Then it’s sand, sweet sand,” Anny Beth said.“You live long enough, you’re bound to have to eat your words one time or another.”
    That sounded ominous to Melly’s ears. She knew they both needed to get out of this blue funk. “Anyhow, if we’re going to find someone to take care of us when we get younger, it’ll have to be someone without nosy neighbors to ask why we’re shrinking, not growing. We need a hermit. And if there are any hermits left in the world, it’d be in Sky, New Mexico.”
    Her voice shook, but she went to the computer anyhow and instructed it to dial the agency. The cheery face of the agency secretary quickly appeared on the screen.
    “Melly!” Agatha said. “What a surprise! I thought you and Anny Beth only checked in once a year. What gives?”
    Melly explained. Agatha’s face grew more concerned with each word.
    Agatha began punching buttons on her computer before Melly finished her last sentence. “Oh, you’ve got to come back, then. Let me arrange a flight—”
    “No!” Melly said. She could feel her jaw thrusting forward stubbornly. She knew the image Agatha saw on her screen was of a petulant child. She tried to sound mature and decisive, but her voice didn’t work that way anymore. “We’re fine. We just neednew ID. And some way to transfer our bank accounts that can’t be traced.”
    Agatha sighed, but she stopped punching buttons. “I’ll talk to the directors and see what we can do. But you know this is very exasperating for them. Why do you insist on fighting the inevitable?”
    Anny Beth stepped up behind Melly. “Because coming back to the agency is not inevitable. It’s out of the question.”
    Melly gave her a glance of gratitude. Agatha sighed once more, then said patronizingly, “Whatever you say. Call back tomorrow and I’ll let you know the directors’ decision. Good-bye.”
    Agatha’s image faded from the screen.
    “They’re not going to be happy with us,” Melly muttered.
    Anny Beth shrugged. “They don’t have to be happy. They just have to help.”
    Melly looked out the window, thinking about settling in in this strange place. “We’ll have to get them to transfer your college credits, too,” she said.
    “Yeah,” Anny Beth said. “Not that it matters. You know I’m just playing around in college. It’s not like I’m going to use this degree for anything.”
    Melly nodded. She watched the sand blowing in the wind. Now that they were kids again, nobody expected them to be useful anymore. Funny—she’d never realized how much being young and being oldwere alike. But she still had a big goal, she reminded herself: finding surrogate parents. Surely there was someone here—
    Anny Beth stood up and stretched. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. How about some biscuits and gravy?”
    Melly recognized the offer for what it was: comfort food, pure and simple. They’d both eaten biscuits and gravy growing up in Kentucky. Nobody ate