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CHAPTER FOUR

Rescue Someone Suffering an Injustice

“W
e need to
find a map to get to Florida,” Danya explained, her words tumbling over one another in a rush to get out of her mouth.

“
Florida?
” Pia repeated.

Danya nodded. “We're going to Florida, to find my
abuelita
. Since she's really famous, we can just ask her to borrow the money to keep Sancho and pay back my dad's loan. I know she'll want to help.”

Pia screwed up her face, thinking. “We should have kept one of those return-to-sender letters,” she said finally. “That way we'd have her real address.”

“1869 West Cervantes Street, Lake Buena Vista,” Danya said, reciting the address from the envelope she'd found in her mom's closet. “I memorized it. And the name of the housing community she lives in is called the Palace.”

Pia blew air from her cheeks. “Okay. A map, then. You guys have a computer, right?”

Danya hesitated. They did have a computer, but it was in her parents' room, and she was only supposed to use it for schoolwork.

“Let's check the bookshelves in the living room first,” she said. “My dad used to have all these map books there.”

Pia nodded, and the girls snuck out of Danya's room and past the kitchen, where Maritza was doing the dishes. The radio was cranked all the way up, and Maritza sang along in a quiet voice as she scrubbed pots and pans. Pia raised an eyebrow.

“Singing makes her feel better,” Danya explained in a whisper. “It's what she does when she's upset about something. Come on. The books are over here.” Danya led Pia to the bottom shelf of her dad's bookshelves, where he always stashed thin, spiral-bound atlases of the world. She sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled a stack of the map books onto her lap.

“We need to find one that'll show us how to get from Kentucky to Florida,” she said, quickly shuffling through them. Pia crouched next to her and did the same.

France
 . . .
Italy
 . . . Danya read silently.
West Coast
 . . .
World Atlas . . .

“Come on,” she muttered. “Where are you?”

“How about this one?” Pia held up a small book with a photograph of a twisty highway on the cover. The book was called
U.S. Roads and Highways
.
Next to the highway was a yellow, triangular
YIELD
sign.

“Perfect!” Danya exclaimed. She grabbed for the book, but Pia held it out of reach and pointed to the
YIELD
sign on the cover.

“That's number two on Ferdinand's hero list,” she said.
“Receive a sign!”

Danya shook her head and snatched the book from Pia. According to the table of contents, Southeastern maps were near the end. . . . She flipped frantically through the pages until she found what she was looking for: Southeastern United States Road Map. Grinning, Danya ripped the page from the book and folded it twice before shoving it in her back pocket. She stepped into the hallway, but Pia grabbed her arm and yanked her away, making her stumble a bit on the carpet.

“Wait!”
Pia pulled Danya back into the living room just as Danya's dad appeared in the hall. As soon as he went into the bathroom, Danya followed Pia down the hall. The girls snuck into Danya's bedroom, sliding the door shut behind them.

“Okay, you pack some clothes, food, money—whatever you can find,” Pia said. “I'm employing covert maneuvers.”

Before Danya could ask Pia what “covert maneuvers” were, Pia stuffed two pillows beneath the blankets on Danya's bed, patting them into place until they were roughly the shape of two girls fast asleep beneath the covers. Impressed, Danya went to her closet and pulled out a flashlight, a few sweaters, jeans and T-shirts, and her good luck jar—which was just a mason jar full of a glittery goo her mom helped her make when she was little. It even had an official label on it, the same kind her dad used to label the fancy cheeses he sold, that read
_{GOOD LUCK INSIDE}
in huge block letters. And under that, in smaller type:
Contained inside this jar is a piece of the sky. Shake it, make a wish, and when the stars settle—your wish will come true
.

Danya knew it was silly, and she didn't
actually
believe it worked, but she still shook it when she needed an A on a math test or when she was a finalist in the spelling bee. Plus she loved the shades of blue, orange, and yellow that swirled together inside to look like the sky. She opened her underwear drawer and grabbed a sandwich bag filled with $46.78, all the money she'd ever saved from allowances and birthday cards. She'd need every penny. All her supplies barely fit into her school backpack.

“How are we going to
get
to Florida?” Pia used one sharp elbow to give the pillows a final nudge into place and grabbed her overnight bag off the floor. Her things were still packed.

“Sancho,” Danya said, like this was obvious. She'd ridden Sancho all around Kentucky—Florida couldn't be much farther than that. “Come on.”

Danya pulled her hair into a messy bun on top of her head so it wouldn't get stuck in her backpack's straps, then looped the bag over her shoulders, stumbling a little from its weight. Her dad liked to joke that the backpack was larger than she was.

She motioned for Pia to follow her out the window. As they jumped to the ground, the moon moved behind a cloud, sending dancing silver light over the grass and trees. Somewhere in the night an owl hooted.

Nerves raced through Danya's stomach. In the darkness, the familiar yard seemed spooky and strange, full of long shadows and invisible creatures rustling in the trees. Running away to save Sancho suddenly seemed different—it was grown-up and scary and real in a way that it hadn't been in her brightly lit bedroom.

Then, from somewhere in the gloom, Sancho neighed. Danya swallowed her fear. Sancho was waiting for her. Sancho
needed
her. Danya shivered and ushered her cousin quickly across the backyard.

The orange tent out back was still illuminated by the firefly glow of the Christmas lights in the trees. At the sound of the girls' approach, Sancho lifted his head. Danya stumbled toward him, barely watching where she was going. The sight of Sancho huddled near the entrance to the tent made something in her chest clench. His poor little nostrils were so red. It looked like he'd been crying. No wonder—not only was he going to get sold, but Danya had left him out here all by himself.

“It's okay,” Danya whispered into Sancho's neck, burying her face in his mane. Sancho pushed his nose against her cheek. His horsey lips were wet from the dewy grass. It was the closest Sancho could get to giving a hug, and in that moment, Danya knew he was just as devastated as she was.

“We'll fix this,” Danya said into Sancho's neck. Sancho pulled back and licked Danya's forehead, slicking her bangs up into strange, swoopy shapes. His way of saying, “I know.”

Danya straightened, wiping a teary eye on her sleeve. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pia tuck
The Adventures of Ferdinand and Dapple, Book One: The Hero's Journey
into her back pocket. Pia caught Danya's eye and gave her a sheepish smile.

“What? You're rescuing someone suffering an injustice. Get it? Because Sancho's going to be sold to a man who doesn't love him like you do. That's third on the list!”

Danya shook her head, biting back a smile. It was kind of cool that Pia thought she had it in her to be a hero, but they didn't have time to play silly make-believe games right now. At any moment her parents could look out the window and see her, or peek into her bedroom and notice she was missing. They had to move.

She and Pia bridled and saddled Sancho, and then Danya took him by the reins and led him out of the backyard, to the path they took around the pond on their early morning rides. She fished the map out of her back pocket and unfolded it. Sancho's ears perked up, giving Danya the feeling he was as interested in where they were going as she was. She squinted down at the map, following the highway they'd need to take to Florida with her finger.

“Um. Okay . . .” she said. “It looks like Florida is . . .
that
way.” Danya pointed south. She climbed on Sancho's back, scooting forward in the saddle so Pia could get on behind her.

“No thanks,” Pia said. “
My
legs are longer than Sancho's. I'll walk.”

Shrugging, Danya tugged Sancho's ear, and he started forward at a steady clip. Pia jogged along beside them. She was right: with her long, gangly legs she easily matched their speed.

Streetlamps lined the sidewalks in Danya's neighborhood, painting the concrete they traveled white and yellow. They quickly passed neighboring houses and headed down a main street that twisted out of the residential area toward a busy intersection. There, gas stations and fast food restaurants lit up the dark with their orange and blue neon signs. It hardly even felt like nighttime.

“We can follow this street all the way to the highway,” Danya said, squinting down at the twisty lines on her map. She held out her finger to judge the distance they had to travel. “It should be pretty close—only half a fingernail away.”

It took a little over an hour of walking for Danya to realize that “half a fingernail” of distance on a map was actually quite a
long
distance in real life.

“My legs are getting tired,” Pia moaned. During the first half of their walk she bounced along next to them and jogged ahead on the sidewalk. Now she leaned heavily on Sancho, looking like she was about to collapse. Danya gave her hand a squeeze and glanced back down at the map again. Were they even going the right way?

Danya loosened her grip on Sancho's reins so she could study the map, and Sancho wandered over to the side of the street and started munching on some dandelions.

“Cool pony!” called a teenage boy riding his bike around in lazy circles in the street.

“Thanks,” Danya said. Pia plopped down on the sidewalk, staring longingly at the all-night gas station a few yards away. Its fluorescent yellow sign buzzed in the dark.

“Think they have corn dogs?” she asked just as an old Ford flatbed truck rumbled down the street, taking a sharp turn into the gas station parking lot. The teenager on the bike had to swerve out of the way to avoid it. A crate of corn toppled out of the truck, and a few ears tumbled out and rolled into the street. Sancho snorted and took a tentative step forward, snatching an ear of corn with his teeth.

“Not the best time for a snack, buddy,” Danya said as the truck engine sputtered off. Sancho kept munching away, and kernels of corn stuck to his lips and nose.

The truck was old and a little rickety, the kind with a big, open flatbed enclosed on three sides by thick wooden planks. It sort of looked like a wooden wagon. Crates of vegetables filled the back, stacked up against the planks in uneven columns. The license plate read
_SANDY
.

The man who climbed out of the truck wore a knee-length flannel kilt that looked a lot like Danya's favorite plaid skirt. He paired the kilt with leather combat boots, a bright blue baseball cap, and a T-shirt with the words
_{VISUALIZE WHIRLED PEAS}
written across it. With a grunt, he hoisted the crate of corn onto his shoulder.

“Hey there, little ladies,” he said, spotting Danya and Pia. “Y'all know where the highway is?” He heaved the crate of corn into the back of the truck and attempted to slam the gate closed. A rabbit's foot dangled from the key chain on his belt. “I'm heading south and must have got turned around.”

South, south, south.
The word was like a drumbeat in Danya's ears. They were heading south, too.

“Just go straight along this road, I think,” Danya said. The man thanked her.

“Isn't it a little late for youngsters like yourselves?” he said, scratching his chin. “I mean, it's gotta be at least six o'clock!”

Danya didn't know what to say. It was much, much later than six o'clock, but if she told the man that, he'd be even more suspicious. Instead she just shrugged. “You're right, we should probably start home soon.”

The man tipped his baseball cap at that and started toward the gas station. Suddenly Pia sat up, a strange spark in her eye.

“I have a plan,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. “You wait here.”

While the driver was busy inside the gas station, Pia darted across the parking lot to the truck and loaded her arms up with fresh ears of corn. Sancho's ears perked up, and he started trotting toward her.

“Whoa!” Danya wrapped Sancho's reins around her fingers and pulled back while Pia scrambled into the back of the truck, backing up between the crates of vegetables.

“Here, Sancho . . .” she said, waving the corn at him.

“Pia, what are you doing?” Danya hissed. She glanced at the gas station, but the driver was busy paying the cashier and didn't seem to notice them.