“Yes.” I swallowed hard. The morning sun was growing in strength and pouring its light around Jack’s silhouette. The cool blues and grays of the ocean were clipped with highlights here and there. It was nothing like my forest, nothing close to Denmark. The entire setting was strange and new to me, but wonderful all the same. It was that way every time I met with Jack. “More than anybody else,” I added.
“And I’m not leading you astray or encouraging you to do anything bad, am I?”
“No.”
“All right then. I’ll just be me, and you can be you. Cool?”
I sighed with relief. “Okay.”
“Just don’t go jumping off any cliffs again please.”
I laughed. “But you said I could be myself! It’s not fair if you make rules!”
“It’s not a rule,” he said with a grin. He tugged my board closer to him. “Only a request.”
It took all my self-control to not tear my eyes away from the overwhelming intensity of his gaze.
“Now,” he said. “Are you ready to learn how to surf?”
Chapter 21
“Are you ready to learn how to surf?” Al leans in closer to me, a goofy grin stretching from ear to ear across his midnight face.
“I already know how,” I say, turning toward the airplane window to look at the endless stretch of turquoise blue below us. Last week’s episode featuring me and Row in the fake Sistine Chapel met with mixed reviews. Apparently several critics pointed out how artificial and cheap it looked, so from here on out we’ll be going to real locations. At the moment, one of the tech staff is sorting through dozens of upgraded drones in the rear of the cargo plane. If I try to make a break, I won’t make it very far. Not that I would anyway since Dr. Christiansen continues to remind me that Jack’s happiness depends on my cooperation.
Al’s elbow gently jabs against my arm. “How did you learn?”
“To surf? Online.”
“Ah.” He returns to his chair and settles in. “Well, nothing’s as good as the real thing.”
I suppose he’s right. The other guys are lounging on our own personal flight deck. It’s a small cabin built right up against one of the windows. Instead of the uncomfortable plane seats everyone else is subjected to, we have bean bags. I even have a tiny bedroom with my old bed.
Shrike and Blue are arguing about something over in the corner—about what, I couldn’t care less. Al has been hovering around me ever since I woke up this morning. I’ve gathered he considers surfing to be his territory, and he’s waiting to get a head start on the other guys on our upcoming group date by showing me the ropes himself.
I rest my arms on the bottom of the window casing and press my forehead against the warm glass. It’s nearly noon in this new time zone, and the sun is fluttering her veil of glitter over the surface of the water. I’ve never seen such an expansive, limitless sky. In fact, I’ve never been out from under Lilliput’s dome before. For a moment, I imagined how it would feel to somehow get out of the plane and fly, completely free, through the piles of clouds in the distance.
Then, as if on cue, the ceiling of our miniature seating area begins to roll into place and the captain’s voice crackles through the intercom. “Please return to your seats. We are about twenty minutes away from Honolulu, Hawaii, and we’ll begin our descent shortly.”
Hawaii. The name still gives my stomach a little flip. I sit down in my bean bag chair and fasten my miniature seatbelt, then lean back and close my eyes. Soon, when I remember the flower Jack pressed into my hair, I’ll have a scent to go with that memory. I’ll know the feel of the salt and water on my skin and the weight of wet clothes and the heat of the sand beneath my feet.
The plane noses gently downward, and soon enough my ears are full enough to pop. We touch down with an unsettling bounce.
“I’m glad I didn’t eat much for lunch,” Perry grumbles.
“I can’t wait to get some chocolate-covered macadamia nuts!” Row says with his customary exuberance. I can’t help but smile at him. This whole ordeal would be much worse without his cheeriness.
When the flight attendant opens the door, a breeze, heavy with the scent of fresh blooms, wafts through the cabin.
“Wow,” I whisper, inhaling deeply. It’s not too hot, not too cool. Like Goldilocks’ porridge, this place is just right. If this is how their airport smells, maybe this trip won’t be so bad after all.
Several of the Lilliput II assistants get us tiny people loaded into our new carriers. Mine is considerably more posh than the cat-carrier-with-pillow I’d been riding in before. This one is on wheels and rides low to the ground. Inside I have a bunk bed, mini-kitchen, desk, couch, and bathroom. I even have windows instead of slits, although they’re far too narrow to allow me to climb out. I open them all up to get some air inside and flop down on the couch. The plastic door looks out the back and I can see everything we’re passing inside of the airport terminal.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much carpet. The Lilliput Project doesn’t have any carpet, probably because this place used all of it up. I sit there, staring at the miles of lint materializing from under the carrier wheels. We go through some doors, and I start noticing people bending down to get a look at me. A little girl about six years old (it’s my best guess, but I’m not sure since I never see kids) drags her younger brother over and points at me.
Then we’re through another set of doors, and screams surround me. I panic and fly up into the bunk bed as the carrier swings around.
Hundreds of writhing bodies press against a guardrail, screaming and waving at us. Some are waving signs with slogans like “Lina and Row Forever” and “I Love Little Boy Blue.”
I get down from my bed, walk over to the door, and fan out my wings. Dozens of fingers point at me, and the crowd goes wild.
I’m a freaking rock star.
***
“Are you sure this isn’t going to kill me?” I ask as I watch the hover plane’s wings slice through the clouds. We’re flying high above Waikiki, and the Toms and I are getting ready for skydiving.
I’m wearing goggles and a hot pink bodysuit a la Barbie, with the brand name “Apollo” marked in clear white letters down my side. Mercifully, Tina the hair demon did her best to slick my mane down as much as possible so it will hopefully look a tiny bit less wild after it’s experienced the high winds and a several thousand foot drop. My wings have been painted with some mysterious coating that is supposed to make them less susceptible to tearing. Right now they feel heavy and sticky.
The Toms are suited up in different colors, all with the same branding. Row is in red, Blue in…blue, Al in neon green, Perry in purple, Shrike in yellow, and Crane in an unfortunate shade of orange that transforms him into a limp carrot. Our entourage hovers, fixing makeup, adjusting suits to make sure we’re perfect specimens of product placement.
We break through the clouds into clear sky and begin to slow down. There’s Diamond Head to the East. Several helicopters hover off to the sides of us, probably waiting for some cameraman to get his parachute in a tangle.
“All right, kids, let’s review our instructions!” It’s our “ride,” the world-famous Cameron Kelso, champion skydiver. He’s covered from neck to toe in ads. I wonder if his curly mop of hair is an advertisement for some sort of hair product. I can just picture the commercial: “This gel keeps my hair smooth and shiny jump after jump!”
“Before we open the door,” Cameron continues, “we’ll get each of you strapped onto my belt here.” He taps a strap fitted with us-sized harnesses positioned right across his stomach. “Once my parachute opens and we’re slowed down enough so your wings won’t tear, I’ll release you to fly on your own. Remember to tuck in and dive first so you’re well below me before you start flying, otherwise you might get stuck in the parachute. Any questions?”
Nope.
“All right then. Lina, let’s strap you in first.”
I flick my sticky wings and then fly over to
him and land in his hand. It doesn’t have as much “squish” as I’m used to; it’s made up of lean muscle and skin. He lowers it so I’m standing right in front of the harness, and I strap myself in so I’m facing outward. My wings are pressed flat against his stomach. I can’t even move them and that makes me nervous.
As the Toms get harnessed in, I notice that an assistant is switching on the drones one by one. Dr. Christiansen already informed me the drones will be released right after we make our dive, but they won’t be put into “seek” mode unless we wander off course—i.e., decide to get the hell out of there.
Other than the bounty hunter bee drones, there are also several camera drones. Those will follow us after we separate from Cameron. We’re supposed to fly in formation and do a few tricks. Then we land on the speedboat that will be tracking our movements.
That’s it. Simple enough. Why is my heart beating so fast?
“Hey.” Blue offers me his hand. “You look a little nervous.”
“Oh! I’m fine! Hey, how about we all hold hands? That way we can dive together when we’re released.” Blue nods, and I take his hand as well as Shrike’s. The rest of them grudgingly link up.
The door opens, and a rush of wind pins my hair to Cameron’s stomach. I can hardly get a full breath through the pressure. So much air and I can’t seem to find any oxygen in it.
Cameron holds a thumbs up for us to see, and we all nod. Yes, we’re as ready as we’re going to be.
He lumbers to the edge and throws himself overboard. My lips are flapping in the wind, and it takes me a few seconds to keep my wings from struggling to take over.
Blue. Everything is so vividly blue. From the water to the sky. Cameron turns us around so we can see the island itself. There’s the ribbon of beach and Diamond Head.
Cameron pulls a cord, and the sudden jolt knocks the wind out of me. I nearly let go of Blue and Shrike, but they are both holding my hand in an iron grip. We’ve slowed down to floating. Cameron holds up another thumbs up for us, and my harness gives way.
Stomach lurching, I dive forward with the Toms. Straight as arrows, we shoot down toward the ocean. Blue squeezes my hand before both he and Shrike let go. All seven of us unfurl our wings at the same time and level out into a “V” formation as we practiced. I’m leading the way. I duck my head down to make sure they’re all there, and Row gives me a little wave.
Up ahead, one of the camera drones is getting into position.
It’s flower time.
I take a deep breath and wish we’d gotten more than one day to practice this before I fan out my wings, pull myself into a ball and stop flying. The guys pivot around me like petals. They slowly fly in pinwheel formation before tucking in close. Then we all explode out from the center and zoom in different directions. I nearly crash into Perry, but we both recover just in time.
We open our wings and snap out of freefall. The strain of the sudden slowdown almost makes me lose my breakfast.
After doing a few more easy formation exercises, we coast down to the waiting speedboat and land on one of the seats. There’s barely anyone on board—only a driver and a young woman who I assume is only here to set up the food. The rest of the crew is supposed to meet us here.
I’m panting. After a few weeks of being cooped up in a little room, I’m in the worst athletic shape of my life. Sweat beads up from my skin, but the cool Pacific breeze dries it instantly. My lungs begin to tighten, and I pat down my suit, looking for my medicine. I tug it out of a Velcroed pocket and inhale the contents of one of the capsules.
Shrike nods at the tin in my hand. “How often do you have to use that?”
“Only sometimes when I exercise. It’s unpredictable.”
He grins mischievously. “Does it slow you down?”
“Not usually. Why?”
He shrugs and runs his hand through his dark brown hair. “We’ll have to race sometime. Are you fast?”
“Faster than a butterfly.”
He scowls but then laughs. “I guess I did ask for that.”
“Well, you were the only one who picked the name of a butterfly-eating bird. A little hard to forget if you ask me.”
“I was trying to make an impression. It’s hard to do with Blue around.”
“Yeah, well, usually you want to make a good impression.” I slide the tin into my pocket. The other Toms are scarfing down food from the craft services table on the floor. Looks like a lot of tropical fruits.
“Okay, I get your point. But I’m not a bad guy. Really.”
I fold my arms and study his face. He looks earnest enough, but I can’t quite figure him out. He seemed so intent on turning me off the first time I met him, but now he’s actually trying. Like he’s had a change of heart somewhere.
I don’t get it, and I’m not really in a trusting sort of mood lately.
“Okay, well, how about you tell me how awesome you are over some lunch?” I brush past him.
“Forget it then.”
“Suit yourself.”
I was right about the tropical fruits. The “fruit bar” is half of a pineapple cut open and filled with bits of melon, strawberry, blueberry, pineapple, and banana. Beside it is a halved coconut full of fruit dip.
It reminds me of the tzatziki sauce George makes, and I wonder how he’s doing. Dr. Christiansen didn’t bring him along for the trip because she knows his sympathies lie more with me than with his job. I miss him.
Row’s laughter grabs my attention, and I look up to see him run and dive toward the dip, only to pull back at the last second and flutter to the ground. He catches me watching him, and a grin breaks out across his face.
A blueberry fight has started between Al and Perry. I dodge one stray, juicy bullet and grab a walnut shell bowl full of pineapple and strawberries before walking over to Blue, who is leaning against the side of the boat.
“Hey. Can I join you?”
“Of course.” He tilts his head against the wall and breathes in the ocean air.
“I bet this reminds you of home.”
“It does. This is your first time seeing the ocean, right?”
“Yep. Want a bite?”
“No, I’m not very hungry. Thank you though.” He shifts his wings into a more comfortable position and folds his arms. “Was Shrike trying to make nice?”
“How’d you figure that out?”
“That’s his way. He’s a bull in a china shop. Breaks everything and then wishes he hadn’t.”
I consider that for a moment. “He said he’s not a bad guy.”
Blue snorts out a laugh. “Maybe. But being ‘not bad’ is nowhere close to being a ‘good’ guy. I don’t trust him anymore. I never know what he’s going to do. But Row—”
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“Why are you always bringing up Row? You keep shoving me at him.” I make a pushing motion with my hands and accidentally flick a blob of pineapple on the ground. Blue retrieves it, flies up to the edge of the boat, and pitches it overboard.
“I’m not trying to push you toward him,” he says. “I just want to see you end up with a great guy.”
“So,” I say, feeling brave, “why not yourself? I’m curious.”
“I think you’re more his type.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh, really? How many girls our size are there who are your type? I didn’t know you had so many choices.”
He stares straight ahead. “I don’t. But you do.”
I sigh in disgust and lean against the wall. “You’re impossible.”
That, at least, gets a grin from him.
“Sorry, gotta move!” the driver shouts as he throws the throttle down. The floor beneath me jerks forward. Both Blue and I lose our footing and tumble backward into the seat. Chunks of fruit bump and roll around us. A girl—I imagine she’s an assistant—falls to the floor in the center aisle and nearly crushes Al under her knees.
Foaming saltwater crashes over the bow and spatters ac
ross the windshield. Several drops make it all the way to me and soak me to the skin. The driver looks frantically over his shoulder and accelerates even more. We hit a large wave, and I’m suddenly airborne.
My wings snap into motion right before I slam into the chest in the rear of the boat. I crawl into a cup holder and loop my arms through the plastic openings inside.
What on earth is going on? I peer over the top. Row and Shrike had a similar idea—they’re inside the long mesh pocket lining the side of the boat. The fallen assistant has picked up Al and is dusting him off like he’s a doll. I can’t see Blue or Perry, and my heart starts beating harder. Where are they? Is it possible they were tossed overboard? Even with our wings, it would be hard to recover and reorient after being punted into the water.
Apparently the assistant is wondering the same thing because she drops Al into the same mesh pocket with Row and Shrike and walks to the edge where I can’t see her.
We’re still riding fast over the water and I have no idea why. Where are the others? We were supposed to meet Dr. Christiansen and all her cronies before heading toward land.
Then I see it: a long speedboat with more power than ours coming up along the left side of us. While our boat flops over the waves like a belly-flopping kid learning to dive, this boat slices through with barely a bump. And it’s full of people with cameras. Big cameras, little cameras—they’re part of one never-ending firework of flashes.
The boat sidles dangerously close to ours, and our driver waves at it to go away. I count at least twenty people clustered together along the edge. Several of them are leaning over, pointing and searching, cameras at the ready in case they spot us.
Faint voices pull my attention to the guys in the mesh pocket. They’re on the wall facing away from the other boat, so the cameras can’t catch a glimpse of them. Row yells and points right down below me. I hesitate to look and expose myself to those cameras. It feels like stepping out into public with no clothes on, but I do it anyway.
It’s Blue. He’s squatting at the corner of the table and a seat. Perry lies unconscious behind him, a huge welt on his forehead, completely obscured by the plastic table. They have nothing to hang on to, so if there’s another bump or abrupt change in speed, they’re going to hit something and hit it hard.
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