I didn't want to see my dad. I hated him for what he had done to me. But Miss Myrtle made me go.

"I know this is hard for you," she said, smiling. Miss Myrtle was always smiling. She probably smiled at her birth seventy years ago. "But remember, your parents love you. And I think you love them, too. You just may not feel that way right now."

She was right. I did not feel like loving them. Not after what they had done to me.

My family was different than most families. It was just my parents and me. We traveled all around the world together. My parents said they were security experts. It was their first lie of many.

I liked living that way, though. I had friends all over the world. I could talk to people in four languages. I had visited McDonald's in fifty countries. I never, ever got bored. It was a great way to live. Until it all ended, suddenly.

We were going through security at the airport one day. We had tickets for Spain. We were going to the Running of the Bulls. I was excited.

We took off our shoes. We went through the scanners. We stopped to put our shoes back on. Two men in suits ran toward us. A whole bunch of security guards were with them.

What happened next is still a blur. I don't remember everything. One of the men in suits opened up Mom's carry-on. He took out a picture. He looked behind the frame and nodded. And then both Mom and Dad were in handcuffs. They were being taken away.

The picture was a famous painting. My parents stole it from the Smithsonian Museum. They weren't security experts. They were thieves.

It wasn't their first theft, either. People were looking for them all over the world. I was fourteen and I'd never guessed.

So here I was now, visiting them. They were at this prison in Virginia.

Miss Myrtle said I was lucky. Most kids didn't get to see their parents in prison. They were too far away. My parents were in different buildings at the same prison. I had a foster home nearby. I could still see them.

I didn't feel lucky. The prison was scary. There were guards everywhere. A guard had to pat me down. Then she walked me to a room. It had a glass window. Dad would be on the other side.

"Your dad will be here in a minute," she said. She pointed to a telephone on the wall. "He will talk with you on that."

I nodded. That was how it worked with Mom, too. Except she just cried instead of talking. After a few minutes, she asked to leave. It was too hard for her to see me.

Dad came in, wearing an orange jumpsuit. He picked up the phone on the wall. I did, too.

"My Sienna," he said. "I've missed you so much. Do you like where you live? Is the home nice?"

I nodded. "It's OK."

"Good. I want to tell you something. I am so sorry. We never meant to hurt you."

"Then why did you?" I asked.

Dad just sat there. "We... We just did. If I could change things—"

"But you can't," I said.

That was enough. I didn't want to talk to him anymore. I hung the phone up. The guard returned.

"I'm ready to go," I said.

The guard nodded. We walked back to the lobby.

Denzel and Miss Myrtle were waiting for us. They looked up, surprised. They expected to have to wait much longer.

Denzel had been to see his dad. He was smiling. He liked visiting his dad. I didn't understand it. His dad was a drug dealer. He had never been there for Denzel.

"How was your visit?" Miss Myrtle asked, grinning.

I wanted to wipe that smile off her face. No one should be that happy all the time.

"Short," I said.

I began walking out the door. Miss Myrtle and Denzel followed.

Something flew at us from the sky. I picked it up. A paper airplane. But it had some kind of message on it. Dots.

I stuffed it in my jeans pocket. I would show it to Denzel. He knew more about prisons than I did. Denzel had been visiting the prison since he was seven. He might know what it was.

For now, I just wanted to leave.

I came home to excitement. Miss Marjorie had burned dinner. She was all upset.

She said she couldn't be a good foster mom. We all had to calm her down. Miss Myrtle said she burned toast all the time. Denzel said at least Marjorie fed us. His mom was always too stoned. I said my Mom never tried to cook. It was true. We always ate out.

Marjorie eventually calmed down and we went out to dinner. We ate Chinese. I used chopsticks and tried to teach Miss Marjorie and Denzel.

It didn't work, but was kind of interesting. And I didn't think about my parents the whole time.

I remembered the paper when we got back from dinner. I went into the kitchen. Denzel was playing Candy Crush on his tablet. Miss Marjorie had found it at a thrift shop. The screen was broken, but it worked. Denzel loved it.

"What is this?" I put the paper in front of Denzel and sat down.

Denzel looked at the paper. He scrunched his face up. "It looks like Morse Code.

"Show me the tablet," I said. "We can look—"

"No," Denzel said. "I know how to decode it."

I stared at Denzel. Miss Marjorie's eyes were bad. She sometimes couldn't read small print, like newspaper ads. I had to read it for her. Denzel couldn't. He couldn't read well enough. But he knew Morse Code?

"My Dad taught it to me, OK?" he said. "Once when he was out on bail. He knew he would go back to prison. The guards look at the mail before it goes out. He didn't want them reading his letters to me.

I nodded. It sort of made sense.

"The thing is, he writes easy stuff. He's not much better at reading than me. I can change the code and spell the letters for you. I need you to write them out," he said.

In ten minutes we had a message. The problem was, it still made no sense.

We sent the postcard to the prison the next day. And we waited until Thursday.

I made it through visits with Mom and Dad. No screaming or crying by anyone. I guess that's progress.

Denzel and I walked slowly when we got outside. We didn't want to miss the next message. Miss Myrtle, as usual, didn't notice anything different.

"The trees are so nice and green," she said. "But fall colors are better."

I had heard it all before. Miss Myrtle had a thing about fall.

"Fall is so nice here," she went on.

I saw something white fly by. The message. It landed in the bun on Miss Myrtle's head.

She just kept walking. "And it is still warm in September," she said.

I hoped the paper would fall out. But it was in tight. I motioned to Denzel. He just shrugged.

"Miss Myrtle," I interrupted her. "I... ugh..." I had an idea, but it was gone.

"There's money on the ground!" said Denzel.

Miss Myrtle looked at the ground. "Where is it?"

Denzel quickly got the airplane. He put it in his pocket.

"Oh, sorry, it's just a leaf. My bad," Denzel said.

Miss Myrtle went on talking.

After dinner, Miss Marjorie went to watch TV. "Who wants to watch Jeopardy?" she asked.

She expected me to say I did. I knew all the geography answers. But I told her no. Surprised, she shuffled into the living room.

"What do we have?" I asked Denzel.

He spelled out the message.