Perfect Glass (A Young Adult Novel (sequel to Glass Girl)) by Laura Anderson Kurk Page A

hearing them from my brother-in-law’s mouth gave them an extra measure of hurt. I sucked air into my lungs, like I was a kid again and someone had just insulted my mother.
    “Maybe more temporary than I’d first planned.” I let my words hang in the air for a minute. He could draw his own conclusions. “But about involving myself in Raf’s fight…I’m not apologizing for that. I didn’t see any other way. I don’t think it would’ve ended well if I hadn’t been the one to end it.”
    “Back that up, man,” John said. “There wouldn’t have been a fight if you’d minded your own business in the first place. You did a stupid thing, Henry, taking one of our kids to Managua without our permission. Now I’m not here to come down on you like your dad would, because, you’re right, I should’ve given you all the information. We all make mistakes. It is what it is, though.”
    I’d been just about to tell him I’d made a decision in the night when he laid today’s
La Noticia de Managua
on my lap and there I was, front-page news. My passport photo and Raf’s mug shot from yesterday were side by side, looking like a clueless tourist and a punk kid.
    Fortunately Raf’s name wasn’t listed because he was a minor, but mine was—giving all the haters an American face and an American name as the reason American-run orphanages weren’t doing their job. The Nicaraguan government had been looking for reasons to run us all out of the country for a while now.
    I got the gist of the Spanish article from the headline—“American Volunteer Ignores Court Order, Endangers Minor.”
    The implications settled over me like a blanket of ice. I might not have known about the court order yesterday, but that detail wouldn’t matter in the eyes of the government or the public. They were ready to condemn us because of who and what we represented.
    Now, even if I stayed, I’d need to keep out of sight. I shouldn’t go into Managua, not to find supplies or find labor, not to freaking eat at a restaurant. Raf’s next stop, if he showed his face again, would be a juvie nightmare. And that nightmare would be preferable to the blowback he could get from those gangsters, who’d named themselves the eaters of the dead, for the love of….
    “That’s not all,” John said. “The article mentions Quiet Waters by name. Thankfully, our location isn’t given. It’s possible the reporter had a moment of integrity and knew printing our location would be begging for a hit. But anyone with a computer and motivation could find us if they wanted to.”
    I listened to John while I scanned the article for clues about how much they knew already.
    “Let me translate the important part of that article for you,” he said. “It lists our major funding sources. It names the charities that support us. This gives the Ministry of Family a reason to look at us.”
    “I screwed up, John.”
    John glanced up at me and then down at the article. “The reporter catalogued the licenses we’ve received or applied for, including your contractor’s license. He had a source at the permitting office who said none of our construction projects have been approved. He claimed our finances are being reviewed for tax errors.”
    “What? You have a file full of approved forms, and our finances are none of their business.”
    “You’re right,” John said. “None of this is true. But no one cares if it’s true or not. It’s just lousy timing. I’ve never told you about
Programa Amor
.”
    “What?”
    John sighed. “It’s a program started by Ortega a few years ago that aims to remove kids from orphanages and return them to their lousy homes or put them in foster situations. We’ve been operating under the radar, hoping they’d forget about us.”
    I shook my head, completely out of my depth. “I’ll leave tomorrow, John. You can call the Ministry of Family office and tell them you disciplined me and sent me packing. We can fix that part of