Escape from Saigon by Andrea Warren

younger children, playing games with them on the playground. Long had changed into his new shirt and pants. They were so hot!
    He was running an errand for one of the teachers when he heard Lan talking to one of the Americans. “We can take your daughter, Tai, with us,” the American said to her. “She has the necessary paperwork, and we have a long list of approved families wishing to adopt our children. We’ll find her a good home. But you must decide by noon. We have only a few spaces left on the flight.”
    Lan hid her face in her hands. “How can I live without my little daughter?”
    The staff member’s voice was full of sympathy. “I wish you could go, too, Lan,” she said, “but after yesterday’s crash, and the concern about sabotage at the airport, it’s become almost impossible to help Vietnamese nationals like you get out of the country.”
    Long continued on his errand, troubled by what he had heard. Poor Lan! What would she do?
    At noon, the buses for the airport began arriving to pick up the children and the fifty escorts who would care for them on the flight. Escorts had been recruited from the community of Americans living in Saigon who wanted to return to the United States.
    The children were lined up, and one more time, names were checked against a list. The air was filled with the wailing of foster mothers as they touched their babies for the last time. As the first bus started to leave, a foster mother tried to pull herself up on the wire mesh covering the bus windows, hoping for one last glimpse of the baby she had cared for. Someone pulled her away, and other mothers moved close to comfort her.
    Long was in line to get on the next bus. His teacher, Miss Anh, came over to say her final goodbye.
    â€œWill you be okay?” he asked anxiously. He saw her lips tremble, but she said brightly, “No need to worry about me. My family is here, and we will be fine. You have a good life in America.”
    They hugged one last time. As Miss Anh moved away, Long saw Lan leading four-year-old Tai. She was whispering something to the little girl. Tai looked confused, but she did not cry.
    Stopping by Long, Lan bent down to her daughter. “This is Long,” she said softly. “He is going on the plane, too, just like you.”
    Long tried to smile reassuringly at the little girl, and he waved to her as Lan helped her find a place at the back of the line. He thought he had never seen a face look as sad as Lan’s.
    Suddenly it was his turn to board the bus. He slid into a seat and scrunched himself against the window to make room for an American woman he didn’t know, who had two small children on her lap. He wished Miss Anh were coming to America. Parting from her was another goodbye, and it left him with that familiar feeling of emptiness.
    It was very hot in the strong noonday sun, and the bus was so jammed with babies, children, and adults, that Long felt he was gasping for breath. Finally they began to move. This was it. He was on his way! He tried to catch a final glimpse of the Holt Center and his teacher, but he was on the wrong side of the bus, and could see nothing.
    He looked out at passing traffic. Somewhere in Saigon was his grandmother, but he knew she was a long way in the other direction. He didn’t want to think about her, so he watched people on the street instead. He had already overheard enough adult conversations to know they were worried that someone might try to stop the bus or take it over. The adults were grim-faced. Long could feel the tension.
    The bus inched along through the dense traffic. People were everywhere, more people than ever before. He wondered where they were all going. Was there actually anywhere to go?
    When the bus finally arrived at the airport gate, guards ordered it to stop. Long knew that getting through the gates was a big worry for the Holt officials. The guards didn’t have to let them