Found Read online

  FOUND

  ALSO BYMARGARETPETERSONHADDIX

  The Shadow Children series

  Among the Hidden

  Among the Impostors

  Among the Betrayed

  Among the Barons

  Among the Brave

  Among the Enemy

  Among the Free

  The Girl with 500 Middle Names

  Because of Anya

  Say What?

  Dexter the Tough

  Running Out of Time

  The House on the Gulf

  Double Identity

  Don’t You Dare Read This, Mrs. Dunphrey

  Leaving Fishers

  Just Ella

  Turnabout

  Takeoffs and Landings

  Escape From Memory

  Uprising

  SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2008 by Margaret Peterson Haddix

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON& SCHUSTERBOOKS FORYOUNGREADERSis a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Haddix, Margaret Peterson.

  Found / Margaret Peterson Haddix.—1st ed.

  p. cm.—(The missing; [bk. 1])

  Summary: When thirteen-year-old friends Jonah and Chip, who are both adopted, find out that they were discovered on a plane that appeared out of nowhere, full of babies, with no adults on board, they realize that they have uncovered a mystery involving time travel and two opposing forces, each trying to capture them.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-9692-9

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-9692-5

  [1. Adoption—Fiction. 2. Time travel—Fiction. 3. Science fiction.]

  I. Title.

  PZ7.H1164Fo 2008

  [Fic]—dc22

  2007023614

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  For my brothers

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  With thanks to Steve Tuttle, vice president of communications for TASER International; and my friend Erin MacLellan, for answering my research questions. Thanks also to Nancy Roe Pimm, Jenny Patton, and Linda Stanek for their comments; and to my editor, David Gale; and agents, Tracey and Josh Adams, for having faith in my ideas before I did. And, finally, thanks to my family, for their many (mostly hilarious) plot suggestions. I am particularly grateful to my daughter, Meredith, for suggesting the plot twist that made everything work.

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  PROLOGUE

  It wasn’t there. Then it was.

  Later, that was how Angela DuPre would describe the airplane—over and over, to one investigator after another—until she was told never to speak of it again.

  But when she first saw the plane that night, she wasn’t thinking about mysteries or secrets. She was wondering how many mistakes she could make without getting fired, how many questions she dared ask before her supervisor, Monique, would explode, “That’s it! You’re too stupid to work at Sky Trails Air! Get out of here!” Angela had used a Post-it note to write down the code for standby passengers who’d received a seat assignment at the last minute, and she’d stuck it to her computer screen. She knew she had. But somehow, between the flight arriving from Saint Louis and the one leaving for Chicago, the Post-it had vanished. Any minute now, she thought, some standby passenger would show up at the counter asking for a boarding pass, and Angela would be forced to turn to Monique once more and mumble, “Uh, what was that code again?” And then Monique, who had perfect hair and perfect nails and a perfect tan and had probably been born knowing all the Sky Trails codes, would grit her teeth and narrow her eyes and repeat the code in that slow fake-patient voice she’d been using with Angela all night, the voice that said behind the words,I know you’re severely mentally challenged, so I will try not to speak faster than one word per minute, but you have to realize, this is a real strain for me because I am so vastly superior ….

  Angela was not severely mentally challenged. She’d done fine in school and at the Sky Trails orientation. It was just, this was her first actual day on the job, and Monique had been nasty from the very start. Every one of Monique’s frowns and glares and insinuations kept making Angela feel more panicky and stupid.

  Sighing, Angela glanced up. She needed a break from staring at the computer screen longing for a lost Post-it. She peered out at the passengers crowding the terminal: tired-looking families sprawled in seats, dark-suited businessmen sprinting down the aisle. Which one of them would be the standby flier who’d rush up to the counter and ruin Angela’s life? Generally speaking, Angela had always liked people; she wasn’t used to seeing them as threats. She forced her gaze beyond the clumps of passengers, to the huge plate glass window on the other side of the aisle. It was getting dark out, and Angela could see the runway lights twinkling in the distance.

  Runway, runaway,she thought vaguely. And then—had she blinked?—suddenly the lights were gone. No, she corrected herself,blocked. Suddenly there was an airplane between Angela and the runway lights, an airplane rolling rapidly toward the terminal.

  Angela gasped.

  “What now?” Monique snarled, her voice thick with exasperation.

  “That plane,” Angela said. “At gate 2B. I thought it—” What was she supposed to say?Wasn’t there? Appeared out of thin air? ”—I thought it was going too fast and might run into the building,” she finished in a rush, because suddenly that had seemed true too. She watched as the plane pulled to a stop, neatly aligned with the jetway. “But it…didn’t. No worries.”

  Monique whirled on Angela.

  “Never,” she began, in a hushed voice full of suppressed rage, “never, ever, ever say anything like that. Weren’t you paying attention in orientation? Never say you think a plane is going to crash. Never say a plane could crash. Never even use the wordcrash. Do you understand?”

  “Okay,” Angela whispered. “Sorry.”

  But some small rebellious part of her brain was thinking,I didn’t use the word crash.Weren’t you paying attention to me? And if a plane really was going to run into the building, wouldn’t Sky Trails want its employees to warn people, to get them out of the way?

  Just as rebelliously, Angela kept watching the plane parked at 2B, instead of bending her head back down to concentrate on her computer.

  “Um, Monique?” she said after a few moments. “Should one
of us go over there and help the passengers unload—er, I mean—deplane?” She was proud of herself for remembering to use the official airline-sanctioned word for unloading.

  Beside her, Monique rolled her eyes.

  “The gate agents responsible for 2B,” she said in a tight voice, “will handle deplaning there.”

  Angela glanced at the 2B counter, which was silent and dark and completely unattended. There wasn’t even a message scrolling across the LCD sign behind the counter to indicate that the plane had arrived or where it’d come from.

  “Nobody’s there,” Angela said stubbornly.

  Frowning, Monique finally glanced up.

  “Great. Just great,” she muttered. “I always have to fix everyone else’s mistakes.” She began stabbing her perfectly manicured nails at her computer keyboard. Then she stopped, mid-stab. “Wait—that can’t be right.”

  “What is it?” Angela asked.

  Monique was shaking her head.

  “Must be pilot error,” she said, grimacing in disgust. “Some yahoo pulled up to the wrong gate. There’s not supposed to be anyone at that gate until the Cleveland flight at nine thirty.”

  Angela considered telling Monique that if Sky Trails had bannedcrash from their employees’ vocabulary, that maybe passengers should be protected from hearingpilot error as well. But Monique was already grabbing the telephone, barking out orders.

  “Yeah, Bob, major screwup,” she was saying. “You’ve got to get someone over here…. No, I don’t know which gate it was supposed to go to. How would I know? Do you think I’m clairvoyant?…No, I can’t see the numbers on the plane. Don’t you know it’s dark out?”

  With her free hand, Monique was gesturing frantically at Angela.

  “At least go open the door!” she hissed.

  “You mean…”

  “The door to the jetway!” Monique said, pointing. Angela hoped that some of the contempt on Monique’s face was intended for Bob, not just her. Angela imagined meeting Bob someday, sharing a laugh at Monique’s expense. Still, dutifully, she walked over to the 2B waiting area and pulled open the door to the hallway that led down to the plane.

  Nobody came out.

  Angela picked a piece of lint off her blue skirt and then stood at attention, her back perfectly straight, just like in the training videos. Maybe she couldn’t keep track of standby codes, but she was capable of standing up straight.

  Still, nobody appeared.

  Angela began to feel foolish, standing so alertly by an open door that no one was using. She bent her head and peeked down the jetway—it was deserted and turned at such an angle that she couldn’t see all the way down to the plane, to see if anyone had opened the door to the jet yet. She backed up a little and peered out the window, straight down to the cockpit of the plane. The cockpit was dark, its windows blank, and that struck Angela as odd. She’d been on the job for only five hours, and she’d been a little distracted. But she was pretty sure that when planes landed, the pilots stayed in the cockpit for a while filling out paperwork or something. She thought that they at least waited until all the passengers were off before they turned out the cockpit lights.

  Angela peeked down the empty jetway once more and went back to Monique.

  “Of course I’m sure there’s a plane at that gate! I can see it with my own eyes!” Monique was practically screaming into the phone. She shook her head at Angela, and for the first time it was almost in a companionable way, as if to say,At least youknow there’s a plane there! Unlike the other morons I have to deal with! Monique cupped her hand over the receiver and fumed to Angela, “The incompetence around here is unbelievable! The control tower says that plane never landed, never showed up on the radar. The Sky Trails dispatcher says we’re not missing a plane—everything that was supposed to land in the past hour pulled up to the right gate, and all the other planes due to arrive within the next hour or so are accounted for. How could so many people just lose a plane?”

  Or, how could we find it?Angela thought. The whole situation was beginning to seem strange to her, otherworldly. But maybe that was just a function of being new to the job, of having spent so much time concentrating on the computer and being yelled at by Monique. Maybe airports lost and found planes all the time, and that was just one of those things nobody had mentioned in the Sky Trails orientation.

  “Did, uh, anybody try to contact the pilot?” Angela asked cautiously.

  “Of course!” Monique said. “But there’s no answer. He must be on the wrong frequency.”

  Angela thought of the dark cockpit, the way she hadn’t been able to see through the windows. She decided not to mention this.

  “Should I go back and wait?…”

  Monique nodded fiercely and went back to yelling into the phone: “What do you mean, this isn’t your responsibility? It’s not my responsibility either!”

  Angela was glad to put a wide aisle and two waiting areas between herself and Monique again. She went back to the jetway door by gate 2B. The sloped hallway leading down to the plane was still empty, and the colorful travel posters lining the walls—“Sky Trails! Your ticket to the world!”—seemed jarringly bright. Angela stepped into the jetway.

  I’ll just go down far enough to see if the jet door is open,she told herself.It may be a violation of protocol, but Monique won’t notice, not when she’s busy yelling at everyone else in the airport….

  At the bend in the ramp, Angela looked around the corner. She had a limited view, but caught a quick glimpse of a flight attendants’ little galley, with neatly stowed drink carts. Obviously, the jet door was standing wide open. She started to turn around, already beginning to debate with herself about whether she should report this information to Monique. Then she heard—what? A whimper? A cry?

  Angela couldn’t exactly identify the sound, but it was enough to pull her on down the jetway.

  New Sky Trails employee saves passenger on first day on job,she thought to herself, imagining the praise and congratulations—and maybe the raise—she’d be sure to receive if what she was visualizing was real. She’d learned CPR in the orientation session. She knew basic first aid. She knew where every emergency phone in the airport was located. She started walking faster, then running.

  On the side of the jet, she was surprised to see a strange insignia:TACHYON TRAVEL , it said, some airline Angela had never heard of. Was that a private charter company maybe? And then, while she was staring at it, the words suddenly changed into the familiar wing-in-the-clouds symbol of Sky Trails.

  Angela blinked.

  That couldn’t have happened, she told herself.It was just an optical illusion, just because I was running, just because I’m worried about whoever made that cry or whimper….

  Angela stepped onto the plane. She turned her head first to the left, looking into the cockpit. Its door also stood open, but the small space was empty, the instruments dark.

  “Hello?” Angela called, looking to the right now, expecting to see some flight attendant with perfectly applied makeup—or maybe some flight attendant and a pilot bent over a prone passenger, maybe an old man suddenly struck down by a heart attack or a stroke. Or, at the very least, passengers crowding the aisle, clutching laptops and stuffed animals brought from faraway grandparents’ homes, overtired toddlers crying, fragile old women calling out to taller men, “Could you pull my luggage down from the overhead for me? It’s that red suitcase over there….”

  But the aisle of this airplane was as empty and silent as its cockpit. Angela could see all the way to the back of the plane, and not a single person stood in her view, not a single voice answered her.

  Only then did Angela drop her gaze to the passenger seats. They stretched back twelve rows, with two seats per row on the left side of the aisle and one each on the right. She stepped forward, peering at all of them. Thirty-six seats on this plane, and every single one of them was full.

  Each seat contained a baby.

  THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

&nb
sp; ONE

  “You don’t look much like your sister,” Chip said, bouncing the basketball low against the driveway.

  Jonah waited to answer until he’d darted his hand in and stolen the basketball away.

  “Adopted,” he said, shooting the ball toward the backboard. But the angle was wrong, and the ball bounced off the hoop.

  “Really? You or her? Or both?” Chip asked, snagging the rebound.

  “Me,” Jonah said. “Just me.” Then he sneaked a glance at Chip, to see if this made a difference. It didn’t to Jonah—he’d always known he was adopted, and as far as he was concerned, it wasn’t much more of a deal than his liking mint chocolate-chip ice cream while Katherine liked orange sherbet. But sometimes other people got weird about it.

  Chip had one eyebrow raised, like he was still processing the information. This gave Jonah a chance to grab the ball again.

  “Hey, if you’re not, like, related by blood or anything, does that mean you could date her?” Chip asked.

  Jonah almost dropped the ball.

  “Yuck—no!” he said. “That’s sick!”

  “Why?” Chip asked.

  “Because she’s my sister! Ugh!” If Chip had asked him that question a few years ago, Jonah would have added, “And she’s got cooties!” But Jonah was in seventh grade now, and seventh graders didn’t talk about cooties. Anyhow Jonah hadn’t known Chip a few years ago—Chip had moved into the neighborhood just three months ago, in the summertime. It was kind of a new thing for Chip to come over and play basketball.