“See ya, Brainiac,” I whisper back. I really want to hug her but know if I do, I’ll lose it and start bawling, and I’ve already done enough of that.
“Hannah, it’s time to go.” Mom motions with her hand.
Rachel looks back down at her feet, and I know she’s feeling the exact same thing as me. I don’t know when I’ll see her again, or if I’ll ever see her again. What am I going to do without her? Suddenly, I can’t help myself and wrap my arms around her. “I’m gonna miss you, Rachel … so, so much.”
“You’re gonna miss your plane, loser,” Rachel says, grinning, knowing I always laugh when she calls me that.
“Whatever,” I say, managing a little chuckle.
That’s why I’m going to miss her so much. She knows me. Thank god, too, because I was on the verge of bursting into tears, and a big embarrassing scene is something I definitely don’t need right now.
“Message me when you get there,” Rachel says, wiping away a tear. With one final wave, she turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
* * *
“So, wasn’t that nice of Rachel to come and see you off?” Mom dabs her eye with a tissue as we pass through security.
“Yeah, it was great,” I say, trying to muster a smile.
“So, I know this is your first time flying and you’re a bit nervous about the flight …” Mom says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “So, I don’t want you to panic when I tell you this.”
“Tell me what?” I yank my shoulder away, wondering why on earth she would tell me not to panic when she knows that’s exactly what I am going to do.
“Well …” she says, hesitating.
“Well what!” I almost yell.
“We’re not going to be sitting together,” she quickly blurts out.
“We’re not going to be sitting together?” I say, grabbing her sleeve, “but at least you’ll be in the same row. Right?”
Mom grimaces. “Not exactly.”
“Well, how far apart are we going to be? I mean, I’ve never been on a plane before, and what if there’s turbulence and I need oxygen?” I snap. “Isn’t it the mother’s job to put on their child’s oxygen mask? Who’s going to put on my oxygen mask?”
Suddenly, I notice people are looking at me. One of them is the boy who was scowling at me earlier. And he’s laughing! How RUDE!
“Hannah, you’ll be just fine,” Mom assures me. “You won’t need extra oxygen, and if you’re worried, just review the safety instructions in the seat pocket in front of you. Okay?”
“Fine,” I huff, casting my worst glare at that stupid, smirking boy.
As I make my way slowly down the ramp toward the plane, my heart starts racing. By the time I reach the entrance, it’s almost beating out of my chest.
“Okay, here we are,” the flight attendant says. “Just put your carry-on up here.” She taps the overhead bin to open it.
Great! How am I supposed to fit my bag up there? It’s already full! I shove it in as hard as I can, but I’m trembling so much, I don’t have any strength. I try to manoeuvre the other bags filling the bin to make room for mine, but they won’t budge. In desperation, I look down the aisle for the flight attendant. The line of passengers is beginning to back up and everyone is staring at me … again. I start shoving my bag in harder, trying frantically to make it fit, when it finally decides to fight back, and lands on my seat with a thud.
The guy in the chair next to me suddenly looks up. It’s him!
“Oh, it’s you.” He smirks, taking out his earphones. “Need any help?”
“Absolutely not!” I frown, grabbing my bag off the seat. I look back at the growing line of passengers and start desperately trying to shove it in the bin again.
“Looks like you’re having a little difficulty there. Are you sure you don’t need any help?” He points up at my bag, half hanging out of the already-overstuffed bin and laughs.
“Positive!” I glare, ramming it in as hard as I can.
“I think that bin is full,” says the flight attendant, who has magically reappeared. “Why don’t you try this one?” She taps open another bin.
After my bag is safely stowed overhead, I plunk myself down in my seat, immediately secure my seatbelt, and grab the safety instructions from seat pocket.
“I’m A.J.,” the annoying boy says, holding out his hand, expecting me to shake it.
I look at his hand and scowl. “I’m sorry, but I’m kind of busy familiarizing myself with the safety procedures. I don’t have time to socialize right now.”
“Oh, pardon me then.” He rolls his eyes, laughs, and then starts playing on his iPod.
* * *
“Flight attendants, please prepare for takeoff.” I hear the captain say over the intercom. Suddenly, the plane begins to move. A little scream escapes me. Okay, just stay calm. I can do this! The plane slowly makes its way to the runway. So far, so good. This is it; there is no turning back now. I grip the arms of my chair and close my eyes. Suddenly, the engines start to roar, and, without warning, the plane shoots down the runway at lightning speed. It’s going so fast that the g-force is pressing me back in my seat. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all!
“I changed my mind! I’m not ready!” I yell over the roaring engine. “Tell the captain to turn around. I want to go back!”
No one is listening. A.J. has his ear buds in. He definitely can’t hear me. He’s too busy listening to music on his iPod! OMG! His iPod is on! They told us no personal electronics during lift-off! Electronics mess with the controls! I can’t believe how inconsiderate this guy is! He’s going to crash our plane! I can’t let this happen. I grab the iPod out of his hand, but before I get to turn it off, the plane starts lifting off the ground.
“Nooooo!” I scream.
We’re not lifting fast enough; the tail is going to hit the ground! I’m going to die right here, right now, on this very plane! I’m too young to die!
Suddenly, we’re in the air. We made it! Phew!
OMG! The iPod! It’s still on, and he’s trying to get it back! There’s no way he’s getting it!
“I need to turn this off!” I yell, furiously pressing down on the power button.
A.J. finally yanks it from my grip, “What’s the deal?” he says, frowning.
“Turn it off!” I shriek. “No personal electronic devices during takeoff! The flight attendant told us! Don’t you remember?”
“Nope.” He laughs. “Guess I was busy trying to mastermind a way to take down the plane …” he smirks annoyingly “… with my all-powerful iPod.”
“Turn that thing off!” I screech again.
“Okay,” he says calmly, “I’ll turn it off, but you need to relax! Do you really think that this little thing could make the engine explode?”
“Yes, I do,” I say with a confident nod of my head. “And thank god I noticed, or we might all be dead.”
“Well thank you for saving us,” A.J. says sarcastically.
“My pleasure,” I growl.
* * *
About twenty minutes into the flight A.J speaks again.
“Could I get by, please?” he asks, starting to get up.
“No,” I answer.
He frowns. “What do you mean … no?”
“I mean I’m not moving.”
“Okay,” he huffs, “I really need you to move.”
“Sorry, I’m not taking off this seatbelt.”
“Why … are you still nervous?” He asks, grinning.
“Of course I’m not nervous!” I snap. “I’m a very experienced flyer!”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow. “You seem nervous to me.”
“Really?” I sneer. “Why do you think I seem nervous?”
“Well, maybe because you read the safety instructions at least eleven times, or because you demanded to wear your life jacket, ‘just in case,’ or because you quizzed all three flight attendants on their knowledge of emergency landing procedures, or may
be I think you’re nervous because at one point you screamed out, ‘Oh my god, we’re going down … we’re all going to die!’”
“I only said that because I was startled by the sudden turbulence!” I huff.
“It wasn’t turbulence,” he says, shaking his head. “Some big guy bumped into your chair.”
I blush. “Oh …”
“Now will you please move? I really have to go.”
“Oh,” I say, suddenly understanding, “you have to gooooo.”
“Yeah.” A.J. scowls. “Look, why don’t you use my iPod for a while? I think it’s pretty safe now that we’re up in the air.”
“Hmm …” I say, considering his offer.
“Look, I’ve got a bunch of cool stuff on there. You should be able to find something to occupy your mind until we land.”
“Um … thanks,” I stammer, taking the device.
“So, can I get by?” he asks, with a dimpled smirk.
“Sorry!” I blush again, unclipping my seatbelt.
Well, I guess he’s not that bad. I mean, it’s pretty nice when a person just offers their iPod to a random stranger, especially when that stranger stupidly packed her iPod in her checked luggage.
“Thanks,” he says, flashing a grin as he edges past me in my seat. “What did you say your name was?”
Wow, his eyes are sooo brown. “I didn’t.” I smile.
“I’m A.J.,” he says, holding out his hand again.
I give it a quick shake. “I’m Hannah.”
His grin widens as he pushes a piece of sandy blond hair from his eyes. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Hannah.”
When A.J. gets back to his seat, he starts showing me all the apps on his iPod, and before I know it, we’re landing. We’re in Maine, the land of lobsters and lighthouses … my new home.
* * *
While Mom and Dad are collecting our luggage, I do a quick scan of the airport. I don’t see him anywhere. Well, I guess that’s it then; he’s gone … I wonder how old he is … maybe a year older than me? Why didn’t I ask him?
“Hannah, isn’t that the boy you were sitting with on the plane?” Mom points to the luggage carrousel.
“Where!” I say, whipping my head around, possibly looking a little too eager.
“Over there.” She points at an old guy.
“Mom, that’s an old man,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice my disappointment.
“No, behind the old man,” she says, pointing again. “You two were sure talking up a storm.”
Suddenly, I spot him. He’s lifting his bag from the conveyor belt. I thought I’d never see him again. I wonder where he’s from. Why didn’t I ask him? Actually, I didn’t ask him anything. Why didn’t I? Wow, he’s got nice hair.
Suddenly, I’m feeling weird. My cheeks are warm, my armpits are itchy, and I’m sweating. I never sweat! It must be awfully hot in this airport.
Just then, he starts walking toward me. My heart is racing even faster than it did when I got on airplane, and I can feel the blood pulsing in my ears. Have I completely lost it?
He’s getting closer. Now my cheeks are burning … like, on fire! My legs are wobbly and I’m actually feeling kind of dizzy.
Okay, I’m just being stupid. I mean he’s only a boy … a boy, who’s actually really, really cute! What’s wrong with me?
I’ll pretend I don’t see him. I’ll look at the ground. My shoe is untied. Good! I’ll tie my shoe.
Oh no, he’s right in front of me. I’ll pretend not to notice. Maybe he’ll go away.
“Ahem …”
I look up. “Hi there,” I blurt out like a complete idiot. I’m sure my face is beet red … like, crimson. This is awful!
He points at my foot. “Your shoe is untied.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” I say with a little giggle. Okay now, how stupid did that sound? And why did I giggle? I’m making a complete fool of myself.
“Well, are you going to tie it?”
“Yeah … I will later,” I say, glancing down. Why, why, why did I say that? What a moron!
“Okay, whatever.” He shrugs, laughing. “Can I have my iPod back?”
“Oh, oh … sorry.” I take it out of my pocket. “I guess I forgot to give it to you. It’s been a big day.”
“No problem,” he answers, flashing another grin. “Hey, are you that wish-bracelet girl I saw on the news a while back?”
I smile. “Yeah, only they’re called Wishbandz.” And then add, stupidly, “with a z.”
“Okay …” He snickers. “I thought you looked familiar.”
“Yeah.” I nod, not knowing what else to say.
“So … my iPod?” he says, holding out his hand.
“Oh, sorry!” I pass it to him, feeling his fingers lightly brush over mine as he takes it. My legs are threatening to give out any second.
“Cool! Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Bracelet Girl,” he calls out, popping his iPod into his pocket as he walks towards the exit.
“They’re called Wishbandz!” I yell back, correcting him again like a complete loser.
“Whatever!” He calls back, laughing, as the doors close behind him.
17
Gabby
Turning into our new neighbourhood, I get a strange feeling, but it’s a good strange feeling. It’s hard to explain, but it’s kind of like I can breathe again. Now that I know my parents are fine, the concert has come and gone, and the whole awful mess with Rachel is over with, I only have my future to focus on. I have to admit I’m a little bit curious, and a little excited, too.
As we drive along, I start noticing that this neighbourhood doesn’t look too different from the one I just left. I’m anxious to see our new house. My parents came over a couple of weeks ago and sorted out all the furniture and stuff. Mom says she’s pretty positive that I’ll be happy with this part of the move.
As we round the corner, Mom suddenly squeals, “There it is!” She points to a house about the size of Scarlett’s. It’s a pretty, two-storey Victorian-style brick house with a big covered porch and white pillars. The front door is massive and has a huge Christmas wreath on it. On each side of the door are black wrought-iron urns holding spruce boughs and bright red holly. The whole house is covered in soft, white, twinkling lights, making it look just like a Christmas card.
“The wreath was a gift from the neighbours,” Mom says, pointing across the street to a beautiful little house that looks like it’s made of gingerbread. I can hear music coming from inside. It sounds like they’re having a party.
“Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you,” she adds as we pull into our new driveway, “they have a daughter and she’s your age! How neat is that?”
“Neat …” I mutter, suddenly filled with dread. What if I’m moving next door to another Scarlett, and what if she has evil friends and what if they all hate me? Ever since Dad dropped the awful “we’re moving to Maple Ridge bomb,” I’ve been kind of obsessing over the whole making-new-friends thing. Let’s face it — I’ve never been a friend magnet like Eden with a throng of girls trailing after me.
As soon as the front door to my new house is unlocked, I run in, kick off my boots, and leap up the stairs to find my room. I run down the hall, throwing doors open … the bathroom … my parents’ room … the guestroom (I hope) … and then, jackpot! My room …
My first impression … OMG. Okay, where do I start? Well, at first glance, my new room is more awesome than you could ever imagine. The walls are painted the most perfect shade of light purple that Mom says is called Twilight Mist. My bed is beautiful! It’s a huge, cream-coloured sleigh bed, covered with a gorgeous, silky, pale-pink duvet with mauve, silver, and hot-pink sequined throw pillows. In the corner of my room, there’s an amazing silver floor lamp that comes up and arches over with a really cool shade made of dangling crystals. Against the wall, beside my lamp, there’s a big cream-coloured desk that matches my bed. Against another wall there’s a gigantic mahogany bookshelf that’s fille
d with books, a few of them that I’ve been dying to read. I’m guessing the books must have belonged to the girl who used to live here before. Wow, she has good taste. Beside the bookshelf is a door leading into a huge walk-in closet, complete with shelves and compartments, and even a full-length oval mirror! Beside my closet is my very own en suite bathroom with a walk-in shower, and it’s totally colour-coordinated with my room! Seriously, am I dreaming? I really hope not because beside the bathroom, is a ladder, and at the top of the ladder is a loft, an amazing little loft! At one end, sitting on top of a pretty lilac-purple shag rug, are a couple of cushy pink beanbag chairs, and at the other end, attached to the wall, is the most beautiful thirty-two-inch LCD TV that I’ve ever seen because it’s mine! Can you believe it? I have my own little loft living room!
“Do you like it?” Mom asks, poking her head in the doorway.
“Come on, Mom! Are you kidding?” I squeal, sliding down the ladder.
“What do you think of the loft?”
“I just can’t believe this is my room!” I answer, looking around, trying to soak it all in.
“What do you think of the walls?”
“Oh, Mom,” I say, suddenly realizing that she’s tacked up every one of my Josh Taylor posters. “I can’t believe you brought them.”
“Well, come and see the rest of the house!” She grabs my hand and pulls me into the hallway.
At that moment, the doorbell rings.
“Oh, that must be Gabby,” Mom says, like I should know who she’s talking about. “Well, go answer the door.”
I’m halfway down the stairs when the doorbell rings again. I open the door, and standing there is a girl around my age with a head full of shoulder-length, dirty-blond curls, rosy cheeks, and pretty brown eyes rimmed with thick eyelashes. She’s wearing a silver-coloured parka over a black sequined cocktail dress. She’s rubbing her hands together and stomping her furry grey boots, trying knock off the snow.
Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor Page 9