Out of the Box by Michelle Mulder Page B

trying to control every aspect of people’s lives. They censored news, books and letters going in and out of the country. They also arrested people who didn’t agree with them, or who they suspected of not agreeing with them—political activists, artists, intellectuals, Jews, and even musicians, because musicians gathered large crowds that the military regime found threatening. The government seized them, tortured them and eventually killed them. Some say up to thirty thousand people were disappeared.”
    His words hit me like a tidal wave. Desaparecidos .
    â€œI found their names on a list,” I whisper, suddenly understanding why the plane tickets went unused. “I looked them up on the Internet, and I found out they’d disappeared, but I couldn’t find anything else.”
    Frank closes his eyes for a moment again. “I’m not surprised,” he says. “That’s what the military was trying to do—erase people without a trace.”
    What do I do now? I wonder, and I don’t realize I’ve asked out loud until Frank says, “That’s entirely up to you. It’s your bandoneón.”
    I think we both know that’s not true anymore.

E LEVEN
    â€œI t obviously went well,” Jeanette says on the way home from Frank’s. “Your fingers haven’t stopped moving since we left.”
    â€œHe gave me a whole song to practice,” I say, fingering the notes in the air. An hour of practicing and listening to Frank play has taken my mind off Andrés and Caterina, and I’m buzzing with everything I’ve learned. “It’s a simplified tango tune, and if I practice every day, I think I can do it. Did you know that when you press one of the buttons, you make a different sound depending on whether you compress the bandoneón or pull it apart?”
    â€œInteresting,” she says. “So do you think the goose you’ve been hiding in your room will sound less asthmatic now?”
    â€œHey!” I poke her. “Watch it.”
    She pokes me back, and we almost get into a tickle fight on the sidewalk halfway through Chinatown. We stop when we come to the vegetable store that spills out onto the sidewalk. No room for tickling among the densely stacked crates of bananas and spiky, green durian.
    â€œIt’s good to see you happy,” Jeanette says as we pass the giant luck dragon on the corner. “You’ve had a lot on your shoulders lately.”
    I frown. “What do you mean?”
    â€œJust that,” she says. “Your mother leans pretty heavily on you.”
    My happiness bubble bursts, and I arrive with a thud in my regular life again. “She’s having a tough time,” I say. “Dad’s not helping out much, and work is really stressful.”
    She puts an arm around my shoulder and tries to match her step with mine. We used to walk like this when I was younger. Every now and then, she’d jump or kick, and I would laugh and scramble to imitate her. Today I don’t change my pace at all.
    â€œYou know,” she says, “I wish she wouldn’t talk to you so much about her problems.”
    I stiffen. “But that’s what families are for, to support each other.”
    Jeanette looks at me and presses her lips together. “In many ways, that’s true,” she says. “Especially when everyone in the family is an adult, but right now your parents should be supporting you, not the other way around.”
    I slow my steps to fall out of sync. She casts me a questioning look and pulls away.
    â€œThey do support me,” I say, “and I don’t see what’s wrong with helping them when they need it. I’m not a child, you know.”
    â€œWell,” she says, “you’re certainly wise beyond your years, but that doesn’t mean you should have to deal with adult problems yet.”
    â€œIs that why you’ve been taking the phone