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were related either, because he was large boned and dark haired, while she was small boned and blond; his eyebrows were heavy and frowning while hers were invisible over pale blue eyes.
    Mopsy had planned to get rid of her nickname when she started fourth grade, but nobody had cooperated. She had tried again in fifth and failed, and now in sixth grade was once more trying to be Martha, but everybody still said Mopsy. She said to her new sister, “My name is Martha. No matter what anybody else calls me, Alake, you say Martha.”
    Alake did not look at Mopsy. She didn't look out the window either. As far as Mopsy could tell, she didn't look, period. “Alake? Can you hear me?”
    Alake did not move.
    Mopsy leaned forward and tapped Celestine on the shoulder. “Can Alake talk?”
    “She lost her speech,” said Celestine, as casually as if Alake had lost her sunglasses.
    Mopsy's heart broke for Alake. What could be worse than not being able to talk to your friends?
    “We'll get her into therapy,” said Mopsy's mother from thefront seat. “When Alake sees that she's safe, she'll begin talking again.”
    Mopsy's school had battalions of people poised for situations like this. There were counselors and special-ed people, speech therapists and a music therapist, interpreters for the hearing impaired, tutors and referrals to doctors.
    Mom began shouting directions to Dad, who loved everything about his wife except her tendency to give driving instruction, and of course he wouldn't do what she said, and of course she was right, so Dad missed the airport exit and Jared heaved a sigh while Mopsy giggled and Mom said, “Really, Drew,” and Dad said, “Kara, just let me do this,” and they went all the way around a second time.
    Celestine's marvelous head wrap was crushed by the van ceiling, so she took it off. Her hair was glorious—intricately braided and beaded. What a contrast to Alake's hair, which looked as if it hadn't been fixed since the family's escape into the bush. Who didn't want nice hair? Maybe Alake wasn't talking because her hair embarrassed her.
    Mopsy squeezed Alake's hand to let her know that Mopsy was her friend, but Alake did not squeeze back. Mopsy called up to the front seat, “You know what, Mom? Alake should come to sixth grade with me, even if she is fifteen. She might as well not talk sitting next to me. My friends are nice, whereas Jared doesn't even have any friends, and if he did they wouldn't be nice.”
    “Excuse me?” said Jared.
    “I think that's a wonderful idea, Mopsy,” said Mom.
    “Martha,”
she corrected.
    Mattu said to Jared, “Aren't mops for cleaning floors?”
    Jared laughed.
    “We didn't mean to call her Mopsy,” said Mom. “It just happened. ‘Mopsy' is sort of from the word ‘moppet,' which means rag doll.”
    “Which leads to ‘Muppet,'” said Jared. “Half puppet, half moppet. Like
Sesame Street.”
    “Is that where you live?” asked Mattu. “Do you grow the seed, the sesame?”
    The van was silent. The Americans began to see just how much the Africans did not know.
    Dad gave the whole sesame seed thing a pass. “We've left Kennedy Airport, and it hasn't been easy, since I kept missing the exit lane. But we are now on the highway and headed home.”
    Mom swept her four guests with her wonderful smile. “You're here! You're really here. You made it!”
    Tears slid down Celestine's face. Andre smiled tenderly at his wife and wiped them away. Not with his hand, because he didn't have one, but with the knob of his arm, hidden under the sleeve. Mopsy kind of wanted to see the chopped-off part and kind of didn't.
    “Seat belts,” Mom reminded everybody.
    Celestine reached around to fasten Andre's seat belt. Mopsy had an awful thought. If Andre's
arms
had been cut off, maybe Alake's
tongue
—
    Mopsy decided not to go there.
    Since Alake's hands lay in her lap as if they had been sewn down, Mopsy fixed Alake's seat belt. Alake did not react to having this white