Up in the Air

by Ann Marie Meyers

  “Yes.”

  “You were brave to talk about it.”

  “Thanks.” He’s the third person who’s called me brave. “Andrew, when you were telling Natasha off, I saw you as an elf.”

  “And I got a glimpse of your wings when you flew back here.”

  I’m confused. “I thought I was the only one who could see them.”

  “Maybe since I was in Chimeroan, I can, too, just as you can see me as an elf sometimes.”

  “That makes sense.” I think. “Life sure will be different from now on.”

  “Yeah. I guess we should go to class.”

  “I guess.” But there’s one thing I want to know first. “How come you didn’t stay in Chimeroan?”

  Andrew turns pink. “Because I knew we’d be friends if I came back.”

  I’m sure my face is pinker than his. “Want to race?”

  “Say when.”

  “Now.”

  And I’m off, flying across the courtyard, the wind in my back, hair whipping across my face. My mouth is one huge grin when I reach the door. It takes me a second to realize there’s warmth against my right thigh. I put my hand inside my jeans pocket and pull out the leprechaun jewel.

  “Look.” I show Andrew when he joins me.

  “Melody, I can see the blue light. But it’s faint.”

  “The jewel isn’t cold any more either. Do you think the magic has returned?”

  “Maybe it never left.”

  Andrew doesn’t ask what I plan to use the jewel for, but I can tell he knows.

  We race down the empty hall to our classroom. Before we enter, I put my leprechaun jewel back in my pocket. I only have it for a few more hours because very soon, it will have a new home.

  With Dad.

  Epilogue

  The field is crowded, much more so than when I first came to Chimeroan three years ago. This time there are no dragons, but giants over twenty feet tall stand on the far north side, scanning the area for their Guided.

  Hundreds of seven- and eight-year-old kids who have no idea what’s going on or how they got here watch them from a safe distance. Most are shouting, trying to be heard above the clamor of so many voices. My heart beats with excitement for them. Yet at the same time, my mouth is dry, knowing how scared many of them are, that some won’t rise to the challenge and stay when given the choice.

  Hmmmmmmmm hmmmmmmmmm, hums Dreamstar.

  “I know,” I tell him.

  Guide Rule number one: There are reasons for everything. Don’t get attached.

  I turn away from the giants and continue on my way, searching like most guides here—searching for my Guided.

  Just in time, I move out of the way as a parade of ghosts float past. Their grins are in place, misty white against the opaque transparency of their bodies. I still don’t know what they always seem so happy about, and I don’t care. Leave them alone, and they leave you alone, that’s what I’ve learned.

  One of them stops and the others pass through him, or her, as if nothing has happened. The ghost drops to the ground and bends over a girl dressed in a long, white gown. The girl backs away, shaking her head from side to side, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

  Don’t scare her like that. The words are on the tip of my tongue when I bite down hard on my lower lip so I don’t shout them out.

  Guide Rule number two: Do not interfere.

  Good remembering, Dreamstar says.

  Now the ghost is talking to the girl, who gives it a watery smile. I gulp, horrified at the mistake I almost made, interrupting the meeting between guide and Guided.

  My heart is thudding way too loudly. I reach for Dreamstar and stroke his feathers.

  Where is my Guided? How will I recognize her? My trainer wouldn’t tell me—couldn’t tell me—because this is the final test. I spot Jackson talking to a young boy with short, brown hair, and feel even more nervous. I can’t believe how quickly he found his Guided.

  Stop!

  I don’t know if that is my thought or a warning from Dreamstar. It doesn’t matter. I take a deep breath, pushing away the trace of envy, reminding myself that I am Melody, a guide. I will find my Guided, just as Sara found me.

  Guide Rule number three: Trust your intuition.

  Dreamstar starts humming the new tune we came up with during one of our training sessions. It’s fast and irresistible. I join in. I shared it with Sean on the phone one day, and he loved it. So did Dad, who put words to it.

  I smile now as I think of Dad. Drumming on the table as he composes his songs. Patting the jewel in his pocket from time to time. Sometimes he takes it out and stares at it, then shakes his head and grins for no reason.

  He talks about recording his songs someday.

  When we go for walks—my otter on crutches and me—I stay by his side, uncaring as to what anyone thinks. Unashamed. My heart overflowing with love and gratitude that my dad is alive. And happy. Because the unicorn was right.

  Sometimes, to get the things you want, you have to let them go.

  I had to let go of the belief that the only way Dad could be happy was if he had his old life back. Dancing with Mom. Performing in public. But he’s happy now that I no longer run from him, now that I can look him in the eyes and laugh and joke like we used to.

  I think that’s the most powerful magic of all. And it’s infectious. Mom spends more time with Dad, too, singing his new songs as she places floral arrangements all over the place, filling the house with scents Dreamstar loves to imitate.

  She opened a flower shop with a friend a few months ago, something Dad has been encouraging her to do for years. She even listened when I had “the talk” with her about eating healthier food. Now, we have salads with most meals. She watches her carbohydrates. She goes to the gym.

  And when my parents hold hands and banter like they used to, Dreamstar twirls me in the air right in front of them. All they see is me spinning clumsy circles, but I don’t care because it makes them laugh.

  I wipe the tear rolling down my cheek, grinning at the memory, then burst out laughing as Dreamstar does this hum-chuckle he invented.

  Ha-ha-muummmm, ha-ha-muummmm, ha-ha-ha-muummmmm.

  Still grinning, I circle a group of fauns and spot a vampire peering down at a girl dressed in black shorts and a white tank top with a hole at the bottom.

  No! I clench my jaw so I don’t cry out. That sweet little girl can’t be a vampire’s Guided. But I mustn’t interfere. I won’t. If this is her dream, then it’s her choice to live it.

  I turn to leave, more anxious than ever to find my Guided. But my feet are heavy, Dreamstar, too, like he suddenly gained ten pounds. The vampire hasn’t moved. He’s frowning as if he can’t decide something.

  “Dreamstar,” I whisper.

  Melody, he whispers back.

  I check out the girl again. She’s tiny for her age, and seems more like five than seven. Her face is round and smooth; her hands are balled into fists so tight I’m afraid her fingernails might cut into her palms. Her jaw is rigid enough to show the bone outlined beneath her skin. I get a lump in my throat. She appears so self-contained, like she doesn’t need anyone.

  Her eyes wash over me, steady and unblinking—hiding everything.

  “It’s her,” I whisper.

  It’s her, Dreamstar responds.

  I take a step forward. And stop. Sweat breaks out on my forehead. What if I’m not a good guide?

  Then I remember Rule number four: This is a journey for both guide and Guided. Trust.

  The vampire and I stare at each other. Then, he nods and vanishes behind a humongous Sumo wrestler.

  I walk over to the girl and tap her shoulder. “Hi, Sienna, I’m Melody, your guide, and you’re my Guided.”

  Her eyes lock onto mine. “What’s a Guided?” she asks

  The calmness of her voice surprises me, so different to how nervous I sounded when I first met Sara.

  “Kind of like a student,” I say.

 
“What kind of student?”

  Dreamstar fans out slowly, proudly. I expect Sienna to squeal in excitement, rush over and examine my wings. But her only reaction is a slight widening of her eyes.

  “Oh.” There’s a tremor in her voice. “So, I’ll learn to fly?”

  “Yes. This is Chimeroan, a place where dreams come true.”

  Her lips tremble, and I think she’ll smile. But she doesn’t. Nor does she say anything; she only stares at a faun who stares right back at her. I have no idea what she is thinking, or feeling. Her emotions are bottled up tight.

  I look down at my hands and make a silent vow to myself. I have to be strong for her. I will be strong for her.

  “The fog is back,” Sienna says.

  I shiver at how close we are to it—no more than twenty yards away.

  Though I dread to say the words, I must. “You have a choice, Sienna. You can decide to stay in Chimeroan, or you can return home now. If you wish to leave, all you have to do is enter the fog.”

  “Oh.” For a few seconds she just stands there, and my heart soars. She’s staying. Then, she takes a step forward. Another.

  No! I almost shout. Dreamstar envelops me with the fragrance of sunflowers. And I remember rule five.

  Whatever a Guided’s decision, it is the right one. For both Guided and the guide.

  I take a deep breath and a quiet calm settles over me.

  There is one thing I need to say, though. “Sienna, if you leave, you may not be able to return.”

  “Oh.” She takes another step. And another. And another.

  And when I think all is lost, she stops. For several of the longest seconds I’ve ever experienced in my life, she just stands there, staring into the fog. Then, she turns around and walks back to me.

  “I’m ready,” she says.

  I choke back a sigh of relief. “Me, too.”

  And me, sings Dreamstar.

  I take my Guided’s hand. It’s cold, but that doesn’t matter. Mine is warm enough for the both of us.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Perseverance and dedication are important attributes to have no matter what our chosen career. Yet, in the process of writing Up In The Air, I found that the support and encouragement of my family, friends and fellow writers were also of crucial importance.

  Therefore, I would like to thank my various Writers Groups:

  First of all, my Manhattan Group: Tammy King, Yang Sook Choi, and Heather Markel who helped me through the early versions of the story. For this, I shall be forever grateful.

  My on-line group (aka Novel Idea): Amie Borst, Rose Cooper, Deb Marshall, Niki Moss, Judith Mammy, Jennifer Swanson, and Mindy Alyse Weiss, who spurred me on when rejections poured in. I feel very lucky to be working with such talented writers, who have become my friends as well.

  My Toronto Group: Angela Brown, Hyla Fox, Martha Hogan, Sarah Kriger, Anne Page, and Bev Rosenbaum, whose comments helped take Up In The Air to the next level, and who have also become more than simply writing buddies.

  Special thanks to the five people who read the full manuscript and got back to me with invaluable feedback: my dear friend, Debra Bryant, my sister, Liz De Santis, and authors Yang Sook Choi, Niki Moss and Joyce Sweeney.

  I also owe a debt of gratitude to:

  My husband, Paul, who never doubted for an instant that I would achieve my goal.

  My daughter, Eliana, whose very existence was the inspiration for me to start writing children’s books.

  My dearly departed parents, Joseph and Melba Pounder, whose unconditional love and support have influenced me more than I can say.

  My siblings (all seven of them). Yep, SEVEN! Mark, Liz, Allison, Martin, Michael, Gerard, and Catherine. I don’t know what I would do without your presence in my life.

  My sister-in-law, Marcia Meyers. I will always treasure our long talks about, among many other topics, writing and staying the course.

  My friends, luckily too many to mention, but you know who you are. You believed in me whenever doubts snuck in.

  And finally, but by no means least, the amazing people at Jolly Fish Press (with special thanks to Head Publicist, Kirk Cunningham, and his team) for putting this book together, and for pairing me with my awesome illustrator, Ethan Aldridge, whose vision for Up In The Air so closely matched my own.

  About the Author

  Ann Marie Meyers grew up in Trinidad and Tobago in the West Indies. She has a degree in languages and translates legal and technical documents from French and Spanish into English. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband and super energetic daughter. Meyers is an active member of SCBWI and facilitates a children’s writing group twice a month.

  For more information about Ann Marie, visit her website at www.annmarie-meyers.com