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't disagree.
    Vasquez pushed the clipboard toward Emily and tapped his pen on a signature line. “Then sign here. An Army psychiatrist will assess your status upon our arrival.”
    Emily 's mother whimpered. “No.”
    “ Sign, please.”
    Emily 's hair seemed to lift off her scalp, seeking an escape. The thought of what might happen if she took his pen raced through her mind: alone with a stranger poking and prodding her, asking her questions—intimate questions she couldn't answer. “If I say no, can I change my mind later and still meet with someone?”
    “ No,” he said.
    So much for keeping my options open . She looked at her mother. “I don't need to sign.”
    Vasquez stared at the clipboard. “All necessities shall be provided by the United States Government. You are not permitted to bring any form of contraband other than medicines required for the next seven days.” His eyes crept above the paper. “Do you have anything that meets those needs?”
    Before he could finish the word medicines , Emily was already digging inside the pocket of her sweatpants. She pulled out her hand and showed him the inhaler. Vasquez examined it. Emily did too since she couldn't remember the last time she used it.
    Vasquez nodded. “The transport is waiting.”
    Emily turned to say goodbye, when her mother 's arms swallowed her. Tears dripped on Emily's shoulder, plastering the shirt to her skin.
    “ I'm so proud of you,” her mother said.
    “ I love you.”
    Vasquez dug his fingers around Emily 's elbow and dragged her through the door. “We need to go. Now.”
    As he led Emily toward the sidewalk, her mother watched from the porch, hands cupped over her mouth. Mr. Thomas stood at the edge of the lawn, not saying anything, and he waved goodbye with the same emotionless gesture he delivered whenever Emily went on her walks. The little girl's squeals of delight resonated in the park. The driver of a black Camaro revved the engine as he sped down the street.
    Emily was halfway to the transport when she heard the dull whom ping sound of the little girl's red ball, which bounced off the park sidewalk, hopped again in the middle of the road, smacked the grass and rolled to Emily's shoes. She knelt, which freed her from Vasquez's loose grip, and picked up the ball. By then, the little girl was standing in front of her. Another car zipped past the transport.
    Vasquez grabbed Emily 's elbow and yanked her upright. “Give the kid the ball. I'm on a tight schedule.”
    The little girl's mother stood on the park sidewalk, checking for traffic. “Her mom will be here in a second,” Emily said.
    “ I don't give a damn,” Vasquez said, and punched the ball. It sailed out of Emily's hands and bounced onto the street. The little girl's eyes widened, and she laughed, preparing to chase after the whomping ball.
    Emily reached around the little girl's waist and stopped her from running onto the street. “Wait for your mommy, okay?” Vasquez yanked again, but Emily held tight to the child.
    A green pickup truck sped toward Emily 's house. The ball, now bouncing in the middle of the road, impaled on the truck's front grill, exploding in a hundred chunks of red rubber. “My ball,” the little girl cried.
    Vasquez chuckled.
    The woman crossed Emily's lawn and stared at the two MPs for a moment. She reached out her hands. “Let's go, honey.” The little girl climbed into the woman's arms. “Thank—”
    Vasquez yanked Emily forward before the woman could finish her words. At the transport, Emily climbed up the back, forced a smile for the girl, who was now crying, and then took a final look at the neighborhood. Douglas followed Emily in first. Vasquez stood on the bumper, hit the green tarp with three quick slaps, climbed in and took a seat beside Douglas. “Let's move,” Vasquez shouted. The engine roared, drowning out the little girl's faint whimpers, and the transport lurched forward. A growing wind ripped through the rear opening