“I can’t go anywhere,” she said. “I can’t apply for anything real. I can’t even prove who I am half the time.” Her voice wasn’t angry. Just flat.
Her mom appeared in the doorway. “Girls,” she said softly. “We should go.”
Celine had her coat on and keys in her hand. She looked like she hadn’t slept. Sophie zipped the backpack and stood. She picked up one photo and handed it to me.
“Keep this,” she said.
It was a photo of us running through the sprinklers in my backyard. We must have been ten years old.
“So, you don’t forget me,” she added, joking.
“As if,” I said, stuffing it into my pocket.
The drive was quiet. Sophie sat in the front seat with her backpack between her feet. Celine kept both hands on the wheel. I watched the road slide past and tried not to think about what came next. The meeting spot was just outside town, where the road narrowed and the trees pressed closer together. There was no sign, no marker, just a stretch of gravel that looked the same as every other pull-off along the highway. There were more people there than I expected.
A man and woman stood a few feet away from the truck, maybe in their forties. The woman held her purse tight against her chest, her fingers knotted around the strap. Her eyes kept moving: road, trees, road again, like she was waiting for someone to appear out of nowhere. Sophie noticed her too andlooked at her mom. It was obvious that the people standing with us were not Canadian citizens. Most of them had come from India.
“You okay?” Sophie asked the woman holding her purse, stepping closer.
The woman startled, then let out a shaky breath. “No English.”
Sophie smiled, the kind she used when she didn’t know what else to say but didn’t want someone to feel alone. A guy leaned against the side of the truck a few steps away, smoking a cigarette. He looked young, early twenties maybe, and far too relaxed for what was happening. He flicked his lighter closed and took another drag like this was any other night.
“This is easy,” he said, catching Sophie looking at him. “You’ll see.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before?”
He smirked. “Once.”
I didn’t know if that was supposed to make us feel better. Closer to the trees stood the men who were organizing everything. One of them stepped forward when Sophie approached. He looked like a neighbor, friendly. The kind of guy you might ask for directions without thinking twice.
“You Sophie?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Good. We’re just about ready,” he said.
Behind him was another man who didn’t say anything. He looked older, rougher. His jacket was worn at the elbows, his boots thick and scuffed. He glanced at the trees, then at the ground, like he was already mapping out the path in his head. And then there was the third one.
He stood apart from the rest, arms crossed, jaw set. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He watched the group with an intensity that made my skin prickle, even though I couldn’t say why. I foundmyself wondering what kind of life led someone here. What choices narrowed things down to this road, this hour, this job. Sophie’s mom pulled her into a hug.
“It’s safe,” Celine assured, her voice tight. “They know what they’re doing.”
“I know,” Sophie said.
She stepped back and adjusted the strap of her backpack.
“Remember, these people don’t speak English, but the group of men over there do. They don’t normally take Canadians, but they made an exception.”
The whole situation sounded scary and awful.
“If I can’t keep up… what happens?” Sophie asked.
The question hung there. I watched the young friendly guy’s smile flicker, just for a second, before he answered.
“You’ll keep up,” he said.
No one said anything else. Sophie glanced at me. I wanted to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. Her mom hugged her again, longer this time. When she finally let go, her hands lingered on Sophie’s arms, like she was trying to memorize the feel of her. Sophie turned to me last.