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good sign she could talk, even if she had to croak the words out.
    â€œDon’t try to talk. Just breathe calmly.”
    Breathe calmly. The cough was a crocodile, its eyes sinister above the surface of the water. It wanted to pull her under, but she wouldn’t let it. She could still fight back. She made herself breathe in time to the words Mrs. Yoder had taught her: “‘You will not fear the terror of the night.’” In. Out. “‘Nor the arrow that flies by day.’” In. Out. “‘Nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness.’” In. Out. “‘Nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.’” Too bad she did fear all those things, no matter how many times she said the psalm.
    â€œHas this happened to you before?” Dad asked.
    â€œA few times in boarding school. My roommates would run and get Jakarta.” Jakarta. Jakarta singing. “‘They climbed and climbed to the steeple top, ’til they could climb no higher. And then they twined in a true lovers’ knot—the red rose and the briar.’” Dakar would feel warm and attached , knowing that Jakarta was the red rose and she was the briar.
    â€œMore than once or twice?” Dad’s voice made her a little scared—as if he were mad, though she knew he probably wasn’t mad. Just impatient.
    â€œI can’t remember.” She didn’t want to remember. “One of my roommates told Jakarta that sometimes it sounded like I was holding my breath, and this roommate had trouble sleeping, anyway, and she said I made it all the worse because she felt like she had to stay awake and listen in case I … you know. So they moved her to another room.”
    â€œI wish someone had told us.”
    He isn’t mad, Dakar reminded herself. He just sounds that way. “Jakarta used to sing to me,” she whispered.
    â€œWell, lie back. Here, I’ll turn out the light, and then I’ll sing.”
    It wasn’t “Barbry Allen,” but she liked his songs, and he had a good voice. Such interesting music in the world. The shepherd flutes in Ethiopia. And sometimes in Egypt there were weddings right outside the compound, with wailing Arab music all night. Everyone showed up for class bleary-eyed after nights like that, and tests were postponed. In Nairobi Mom got their cook to teach her some songs in Swahili.
    Mom. Dakar sat up. “Where’s Mom?”
    He stopped in mid-phrase, and she had the discombobulating feeling that they weren’t in Cottonwood at all, but out on the African plains together, in the dark. Out there she always knew when he’d heard a dangerous sound, a pestilence that stalks in darkness. She’d lie there with her heart just throbbing.
    â€œThings can get unpredictable out here, fast,” he used to tell her. “When I say frog, you jump.” She had sat with him in silence like this many times, wondering what was happening, listening to the way his breath whistled in and out. Not asking.
    But no. They weren’t in Africa. Perhaps pestilence didn’t stalk in darkness in quite the same way in Cottonwood, North Dakota. “Never mind,” she said. “Now I remember you told me she’s been in bed all day. Did she eat any supper?”
    â€œNo. But don’t worry, Dakar. She’ll be fine.”
    She settled back. Fine. But what if she wasn’t? What if—what if the hoodies were after her? When the hoodies pulled Mom into the Allalonestone in Maji, Jakarta knew what to do. Now Dakar would have to figure out how to save Mom. “Don’t worry,” people always said. “Don’t worry.” But she had to worry. “What’s the scariest thing that ever happened to you?”
    â€œHmm.” Dad’s fingers found a knot in her left shoulder and kneaded it so hard she wanted to wince, but he liked her to be strong, so she didn’t. “Well, I think you