Bringing the Boy Home by N. A. Nelson

right,” I agree, trying not to smile. “It’s not funny at all. I just…I just…” I pause, not knowing how to continue. “I just can’t imagine how bad those old cleats must have smelled when you took the lid off that box. I thought for sure that would be the perfect hiding place.”
    Sara gives a small smile, and I know she’s not really mad. “It was pretty noxious, I’ll admit. Why aren’t you wearing it, Tirio?”
    â€œI’m trying to wean myself, Sara,” I answer truthfully. “I don’t want to have to wear it for the rest of my life.”
    â€œWhy not? No one can see it. No one knows.”
    I shrug. “I just want to be normal like everyone else.”
    She puts her hand on my shoulder. “You’re never going to be just like everyone else, Tirio,” she says. “And that’s a good thing. Believe me. Being normal is boring. And if there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s boring.”
    Sara holds out my orthotic. “Promise me you’ll wear this from here on out,” she says.
    I take it and nod. As soon as I’m finished with my soche seche tente, I will, Sara, I think. I promise.
    â€œI have a bad feeling you’ll regret it if you don’t.”
    â€œOkay.”
    She stands. “I think we should go to bed. We’ve got abig day ahead of us tomorrow. You ready?”
    The jungle chatters around me, the Takunami names quickly replacing the American ones. The potoo becomes a qui-ra ; a bay owl, a kwanho ; the blue-tailed bee-eater, a tsu-fle .
    I stare out into the darkness of the rain forest for a second, repeating her question in my mind. “Yes,” I say, getting up. “I am ready.”

LUKA
    12 Years, 362 Sunrises
The Amazon
    M aha shakes me. “Get up.”
    â€œWhere’s Karara?” I turn to look at her hammock. Empty. I couldn’t fall asleep after we got home because I kept thinking about my sister in the jungle. Every noise I heard, I was sure was her, but I must have dozed off when she didn’t come back by daybreak. “Is she outside?”
    â€œShe is not home.” My mother sweeps the floor. “She will be back when she gets hungry enough. Karara is a stubborn girl, but pride doesn’t feed an empty stomach. Here, eat this, and then we will complete your last preparation test.” She hands me some dried fish and manioc bread.
    â€œMaha, I think we should look for her. I’m worried she might be hurt or…” I look away, afraid to say my biggest fear.
    â€œDon’t be foolish. Eat your breakfast. I want to finish the test early so you have time to rest before seeing Tukkita this afternoon.”
    I’d forgotten about my meeting with the shaman. Every boy must receive a blessing before the night of his soche seche tente—in case he doesn’t come back. No matter how much a boy has prepared or how strong he is, evil spirits planted by enemy tribes will take a boy down just as easily as a jaguar.
    â€œI heard a bird last night as we were leaving Karara,” I mumble with a mouthful of manioc. “What if it was the Punhana?”
    Maha shoots me a look of disgust. “It is your life we are worried about, not your sister’s. I am going to the river to wash. Wait for me here.”
    I watch her leave and count to thirty. Peeking out the front door to make sure no one is around, I sprint past the men’s rohacas and down the path toward the garden. I have to find my sister.
    â€œLuka.” Behind me, my mother spits out my name like a bite of bad papaya. “Where are you going?”
    I stop and turn. Maha is standing in the middle of the trail with one hand digging into her cocked hip and a woven basket in the other.
    â€œI only hope you can follow directions from your father better than you do from me,” she says, walking up and placing the basket on the ground.
    â€œI