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kid’s obviously been through something and you want to take pictures of him?”
    “I thought we’d need pictures to run if it’s a story,” the photographer says. “If this ‘something’ is big, we need to document it.”
    They start to argue. I get up and start to run.
    “Hey!” someone is shouting behind me—the woman, probably—but I don’t look back. I just put my head down and make a beeline toward the closest bushes and trees. Anything that will give me cover. My legs feel like jelly and my head pounds, but I keep going until I can’t hear anyone yelling behind me anymore.
    It’s been so long since I’ve been in real civilization that I’ve almost forgotten how to function. Clinging to my bag, I do everything wrong. I almost knock down a few people as I run with my eyes looking over my shoulder. I catch bits and pieces of curses as I pass.
    “Watch it, you little piece of . . .”
    “. . . damned punk. I should . . .”
    “. . . the hell do you think you’re doing . . .”
    But I ignore all of them. Running, suddenly desperate to get away from the people and the rest of the world.
    I come across another park, all lush lawns and palm trees, with a few rows of big shrubs. That’s where I head. The sun is rising, and people are already starting to fill the beach a hundred yards away, but I nestle down into the bushes until I’m as far out of sight as I can be. My body aches. My chapped lips burn. But at least I’ve gotten a little water.
    Rey’s voice rings in my head, like some kind of taunting ghost. I know exactly what he’d say.
    This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You’re off your little island. You got what you asked for. Welcome back to the real world.
    I groan. It’s all I have the strength to do. Then I close my eyes and slip into darkness.
    When I wake up, the sun is starting to go down. I’ve slept through the entire day, but I’m better for it. I’m still weak getting to my feet, but I don’t feel like I’m immediately going to collapse.
    What I do feel is hunger. So much hunger that my stomach cramps at just the thought of food.
    I have to find something to eat.
    I take a quick stock of everything I own—dirty linen shirt, cargo shorts, sandals that are about to fall apart, and a duffel bag that holds an alien Chest. It’s not a lot to work with, but I’ve also got telekinetic powers.
    And flight.
    I wonder briefly if the flying has to do with my telekinesis or if it’s something different altogether. I’m anxious to try it out again, but my stomach twists and I know I’m not doing anything unless I get some food in me. I find a water fountain in the park and drink until I feel like I’m going to burst, but it doesn’t really help that much with the hunger pangs.
    In the near distance are buildings and lights, and I head in that direction. If there are lights, there are probably people. And if there are people, there’s probably food.
    It doesn’t take long before a sweet smell invades my nose. It smells like food I remember eating at a carnival in the Caribbean before we went off the grid. I follow it through a few streets as the buildings get bigger and the lights get brighter, keeping to the shadows as best I can. People pass me by, but they don’t pay me any mind. In fact, it looks like they’re purposefully avoiding the sight of me—probably because I look like a homeless person, and the last thing they want ruining their night is to have to talk to some destitute kid.
    Perfect .
    And then I find it: a street fair or carnival or whatever it is they call it here in Miami. The road is blocked off and swarming with people, but more importantly, it’s packed with food trucks and little stalls selling what look like crepes and burritos and tacos.
    It feels like all the blood in my body is rushing to my head. People. Everywhere. After so long on the little isolated island, it’s intimidating to see such crowds.
    Calm down, I tell myself. Just take this one step