Trafficked Read Online Free PDF Page B

them.”
    â€œYou don’t play with them?”
    â€œI play with them, but I have to put them back in the right cube, and if you mix them up, it’s going to take me ages to figure it out, and they can’t be messed up.” She blinked her bright hazel eyes, obviously upset, though Hannah still didn’t understand why.
    â€œThey’re only dolls,” Hannah said.
    â€œMy mom doesn’t like it.”
    But everyone’s house got messy. Hannah thought of the piles of junk they’d had on the balcony of their old apartment back home.
    â€œI’ll show you my brother’s room.” Maggie grabbed her hand and tugged her out of the room.
    â€œHe has his own room?” That was strange. In Moldova, all small children slept with or near their parents.
    Michael’s room was painted dark blue with a poster of a red Porsche on the wall, and he had his own television and DVD player, like an American teenager.
    Maggie waved at a room down the hall. “That’s my parents’ room.”
    Hannah glanced through the open door at the biggest bed she’d ever seen. She wondered where she was going to sleep.
    â€œThat’s my father’s office,” Maggie said, pointing at a closed door. “You’re not allowed to go in there.”
    â€œWhy not?” Hannah said.
    The door looked like an outside door; it was the kind that locked with a key. She’d never heard of such a room inside a house.
    â€œYou’ll get in trouble,” Maggie said.
    â€œNo one is allowed to go in?” Hannah asked.
    â€œMy mother just said you’re not, in case it’s not locked.” Maggie blinked her long, dark eyelashes. “But my father doesn’t usually let me and Michael come in either.”
    Next to the office, there was a small, pretty room with a single bed covered with a red and yellow flowery bedspread. Hannah paused at the doorway. “Is this my room?” she asked, figuring it must be, since it was the only room left.
    â€œYou’re going to sleep in the playroom downstairs.” Maggie tugged her past the pretty room and down the elegant staircase. “Well, it was a garage and now it’s a playroom.” That explained why Sergey didn’t park in the garage, Hannah thought. Maggie switched back to English. “Cool, huh?”
    Hannah nodded, though she’d never been in a playroom, and she didn’t really want to sleep in a garage.
    â€œCome on. I’ll show you the kitchen,” Maggie said, dragging her the opposite way down the hall.
    â€œThat’s the bathroom.” Maggie waved at a closed door next to the kitchen.
    Hannah realized she was desperate to pee. She’d been holding it for too long. “Wait,” she said. “I have to use the bathroom.”
    â€œI’m hungry,” Maggie said.
    â€œI’ll be fast.”
    Hannah grabbed her suitcase from the front door, walked down the hall, and went into the bathroom, which she knew her mamulya would love. She’d always wanted a nicer bathroom. Hannah could imagine her mother clapping her on the back, saying,
Good for you, Hannah
. Mamulya had never been one of those people who were happiest when they were miserable. She’d go on about the crisp white tiles and hot water, and she’d laugh with delight at the white American toilet paper. Moldovan toilet paper was brown and stretchy so that ten inches could be expanded to twenty if you were desperate.
    Hannah locked the door and sat down on the toilet, amazed at how much extra space she had for her legs. In her old apartment, they had a separate small room for the toilet, and her father used to complain that he couldn’t even sit down without his knees banging against the door.
    â€œHurry,” Maggie said in English, leaning against the door. “I’m hungry!”
    Hannah stood up, undressed, and folded her dirty clothes beside the sink. Her body was sore from