at her intently.
âI bet you want to get to the bottom of this,â she said, her voice dropping to a deeper tone. âBut you know the consequences of sponsoring this kid. Are you sure youâre ready? Are you sure heâs the right one?â
Henry nodded slowly.
A long moment passed, and Betty leaned forward, peering at me.
âOkay, kid. Big Betty will go easy on you today, even if you are a little ugly.â
She burst out laughing at her joke, rattling the entire booth. Then she struggled to turn her bulk, to snatch a paper form from a bin above her right shoulder.
âRead this,â she said. âSign it. Thatâs it.â
She pushed the form through the window. Her hands were twice the size of mine.
The form was a simple piece of paper entitled â PRICE OF ADMISSION .â The form had four check boxes down the left side, with a statement next to each one. At the bottom was a line for my signature. The statements read:
            I agree to give up my dependency on my present experience and be open to possibility.
            I agree to give up my defense mechanisms and face the truth.
            I agree to give up my belief that change equals pain.
            I agree to give up my impulses to quit or leave my hostâs side.
What kind of amusement park made you sign a contract to get in?
I read the statements and looked at Henry. âThis is it?â
âThatâs it,â he said. âTake it seriously.â
Betty added, âYou donât know how lucky you are to have met Henry, kid.â
Henry nodded for me to sign. Once I did, I slid it back to Betty. She picked up a rubber stamp, but hesitated before touching the paper.
âHenry,â I heard her whisper, âyou really sure about this one?â
Henry leaned in and said something inaudible.
She looked once more in my direction, her eyes narrowing, then stamped the form and slid Maryâs envelope back to the caretaker. He handed it to me, and I put it back in my hip pocket.
âKid,â she said to me, âyouâre in. Youâre the last one today, I guess.â She pointed behind me; strangely, there wasnât a soul in sight. I looked into the park and saw an open square with a flagpole in the center. There were no people there either.
âYou be good to Henry,â Betty commanded. âWe love him here, and he just vouched for you, so be thankful. Now get going.â
With considerable effort, Betty stood up. She bumped up against the walls as she turned to leave her post.
As Henry gestured for me to follow him through the turnstiles, I glanced back at the booth to see Betty huffing and squirming to reach for the door.
Henry and I entered the park, and just a few feet inside we were stopped by a loud crashing. I turned around to see the door of Bettyâs ticket booth swing open and a little girl jump out.
She couldnât have been more than eight. She wore a cute, bright yellow sundress. Smiling, she skipped into the open square and disappeared behind one of the red-and-white-striped tents.
I looked back at the booth, openmouthed.
Empty.
I turned to Henry. âDid she just . . . did you . . . did I just see . . . ?â
Henry waited patiently for me to find my words.
âDid I just . . . see what I think I saw?â
He touched my shoulder softly and smiled. âMaybe itâs time I told you what goes on here in the park.â
3
THE TRUTH BOOTH
T he open square just inside the park was about eighty feet on a side. A soft breeze slapped the lanyard against the hollow pole. The walls of the tents that bordered the square moved gently in the breeze. Other than that, the square was eerily silentâno more shuffling, jostling people, calling barkers, or spinning Ferris wheel.
âWhat