No Passengers Beyond This Point (5 page)

I sit down on my seat and I read the sign.
Fasten seat belt while seated,
it says. How else could you do it, I wonder.

When I’m all buckled in and my markers and paper are ready in front of me, I look at the man in the seat across the aisle. He has an almost bald head except for a few baby hairs in the middle. I think I know him. I look down at his feet and I see his green socks. This is the man who butted in front of me.

“Oh, it’s you,” I tell him, when he sees me staring at him. “You’re the one who took cuts.”

“Excuse me?” he asks.

“In line. You took cuts. I saw you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Lotta kids on this flight,” he mumbles, raising his book up like he cannot wait to read the next page.

I pop up in my seat to count how many. “Six kids and one baby is not a lot. A lot is twenty.”

He ignores me.

“It’s okay about the cuts,” I whisper. “I don’t care. It’s Bing who keeps track.”

I think he’s not going to answer. His book is hiding his face, but then the cover comes down a little. He points to my brother, who is sunken down in his seat. “That’s Bing?”

“No. That’s Finn.”

“Who’s Bing?”

“He’s my friend,” I say.

“Oh,” the man says, looking all around. “Where is he?”

“Right here.” I point to Bing.

The man nods. He has a tiny smile on his face.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” I ask. “Do you want to see his ID?”

The man shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Bing is an old-fashioned name. How’d he get the name Bing?”

“I dunno. I didn’t name him. His mother named him.”

“His invisible mother?”

“I never met his mother. I don’t know if she’s invisible or not.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Bing,” the man with the green socks says, though he isn’t looking at Bing at all. “Will that do?” he asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “That was very nice. Where are you going?”

“Denver.”

“Denver! Hey Finn.” I jiggle Finn’s arm. “The man with the green socks is going to Denver too.”

“That’s where the plane is flying, Mouse.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I turn back to the man with the green socks. “Of course you’re flying to Denver,” I tell him.

The man with the green socks laughs.

I look at my mouse watch. “Do you know what time it is there?”

“It’s one hour forward.”

I shake my head. “Time isn’t supposed to move around like that.”

“I don’t like it either,” he agrees. “I do a lot of flying and I never get used to it. The sky will be blue as can be, but your watch says it’s midnight. Midnight where you used to be. Eight in the morning where you’re going. Who can keep track?”

I understand about not getting used to things. Pluto is one of those things I’m not used to either. Nobody has been able to tell me one good reason why he’s not a planet. Not one. Then I think an awful thought. What if
My Solar System
isn’t in my suitcase? What if Marvin has it right now and he’s blacking Pluto out of the book?

“Finn, Finn! Could you get my suitcase down? What if Marvin has my book?”

“Who is Marvin?” Finn asks. The man with the green socks looks at me like he wants to know too.

“Finn, c’mon . . . pleeeeeease. All you have to do is pull up that metal thingy, see right there, right up there, and then the bin pops open—”

Finn’s head doesn’t move, only his eyes look sideways at me. “India will kill us,” he whispers.

I don’t care about stupid old India. It’s Pluto that’s important. “C’mon Finnnnnn,” I plead.

He makes a grumbling noise in his throat, but he unsnaps his seat belt, stands up, opens the bin, and pulls down my suitcase.

“I get to unzipper it.
I do.
Let me!” I shout.

Finn puts his hands up like he surrenders. I unsnap my seat belt and unzipper the bag. Inside is my toothbrush, my other blue corduroys, my shirt, and my favorite pajamas. No socks. No underwear. No explosion equipment and no
My Solar System.

All I can think about is Marvin and his permanent marker blacking Pluto out of the book. “I have to get
My Solar System
,” I let Finn know. Mommy says you’re always supposed to
let people know
where you’re going.

Finn’s eyes get big. “Mouse, no!” he shouts, but I’m already running down the aisle, between the plane seats—running hard like I’m on the playground racing Jimmy T. I’m beating him too when suddenly,
bang
. India is smack in front of me. Her eyes have gone wild.

“GO . . . SIT . . . BACK . . . DOWN!” The fringe on India’s vest shakes with each word. She points back down the aisle.

“But India, I have to—”

“Sit down and do not get up again or I will
call the police
.” She flips open her cell phone, her green fingernails hover over the buttons.

“You can’t call the police on your
own sister,
” I tell her.

“Try me.”

“You won’t get your learner’s permit if we get in trouble with the police,” I say.

Her head goes sideways. Her eyes get squinty and mean. “You
really
want to be the one to keep me from getting my learner’s permit?”

“No.” I shake my head as big as it will shake. India follows me to my seat stepping on the back of my shoe, she’s walking so close.

Finn doesn’t say one word now. Is it because he is worried about Uncle Red? Or is it because pimples are poisoning his brain? Every morning I check Finn for pimples and he doesn’t have any, but India says there are invisible pimples that grow under your skin. I’m not sure what I’ll do if pimple pus turns Finn mean, like what happened with India.

Now I have to go to the bathroom. But I don’t want to go in a strange bathroom, so I hold it like at school. I will hold it until we get back from Uncle Red’s. I only like the toilet paper at home.

W
ill Mom be okay for so long by herself? Will she go to my cousins’ basketball games? Will she eat with Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito? What if she can’t get a job in Colorado? What if she decides to stay in California?

Will there be a basketball team in Fort Baker? Is it too late to get on it? Should I have asked Coach P. for a recommendation? Does Uncle Red like basketball? What kind of a hoop did he get?

“India?” I ask. But India ignores me. She’s busy texting Maddy. Sometimes it seems like Maddy is a computer virus that has taken over India’s brain. Although Maddy can be nice too. Last year this kid named Connor was picking on all the sixth graders, and Maddy clobbered him. She’s the only eighth-grade girl who would do that.

Mouse isn’t worried about Uncle Red’s. She’s worried about the plane flight. She is standing in the aisle asking the flight attendant questions. How many wheels does the plane have? What happens if there’s a flat tire? If you fly through a cloud and all you see is white, how does the pilot know which way to steer?

The flight attendant tells Mouse to buckle in, we are about to take off.

“If it weren’t for you I’d be at Aunt Sammy’s right now,” India growls at Mouse.

“Where would you sleep?” Mouse asks.

“In the living room.”

“Under the foosball table? Or by the lamp cord? If you’re by the lamp cord, the door will hit your head when someone comes in. And then Aunt Sammy and Uncle Tito and all our cousins will see your birthmark. I see it when you’re asleep. I always look.”

“Sleeping is private. Do not look at me while I’m sleeping!” India is practically shouting. “And keep your nose away from my birthmark.”

“It’s not that bad, India. Bing thinks it looks like a kangaroo.”

“Like I care about Bing’s opinion. Uncle Red isn’t going to want you any more than Uncle Tito did. Who wants a kid who’s going to blow up the living room?”

“I’m not going to blow up the living room!”

“Shhh! We’re not supposed to talk about that kind of stuff on an airplane. We’ll be arrested,” I tell them.

“She’s the one who started it.” Mouse points at India. “And anyway, I wanted to show him because he has probably never seen a pretend volcano.”

India rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, like that’s a priority for him.”

“Look, we’re about to take off,” I say, hoping to distract them. The motor is revving up. The plane vibrates, then begins to hum as it picks up speed on the runway. With one great shudder, we’re airborne.

I like watching the airport get smaller below us and then seeing the tiny matchbook houses with swimming pools all lined up and the cars like ants moving on the crisscross of streets.

India is already tired of the window. She jams her head back against her head rest and closes her eyes. “What happens if she drives Uncle Red crazy? We’ll be homeless,” India says.

“She’s not going to drive Uncle Red crazy,” I tell her.

“Sure she is. She drives everyone crazy, except Dad because he never met her.”

“Leave Dad out of this,” I snap.

“I can talk about him whenever I want,” India says. “You don’t own him.”

“India, just shut up, okay?” I tell her.

Mouse wiggles in her seat. “We’re supposed to say our late father. Why, though? Was he late all the time?”

“Mouse, give it a rest,” India says.

“I don’t drive Bing crazy. Do I, Bing?” Mouse looks over as if he’s seated in the aisle. She pauses for his answer. “He says no.”

“Bing is made up, for the billionth time. He’s all in your head.” India snorts without opening her eyes.

“No, he’s not. He has identification and everything. Do you want to see?”

“You drew his license. That’s not real.” India plugs in her headphones.

“No, there’s something else I found when we were packing up but I’m not even going to show you,” Mouse says.

India doesn’t answer.

Mouse pulls off India’s headphones and India goes ballistic. “I don’t care. Do you hear me? I DO NOT CARE ABOUT ANYTHING YOU SAY, ANYTHING YOU SAW, ANYTHING YOU FOUND. Leave me alone!”

“Let up on her, okay? She’s not the cause of every problem you have,” I tell India.

“Yes, I am. I’m the cause of every problem she has,” Mouse says proudly.

“Mouse, don’t aggravate her.”

“Maybe I’ll have my own room. Actually, what I need is my own house,” India announces.

“I need my own basketball court,” I say.

“I need my own mouse wheel,” Mouse says.

“If we are sharing a room, you are not getting mice.” India puts her headphones back on.

Mouse organizes her markers all in a row and begins to draw. I’ve just settled in with one of the travel games my mom packed, a Rubik’s Cube, when a bell goes off and the pilot comes over the speaker system. “Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts. We’ve had reports of turbulence in our flight path. Flight attendants, please secure the cabin.”

Bouncing, jerking all around. Turbulence is a polite term for this, that’s for sure. It feels like the plane is having a seizure.

The sky outside looks strange; half dark, half light, as if somebody forgot to tell the day sky it was night and the two have met unexpectedly. India pulls the shade closed as the plane wobbles and dips.

A pretty flight attendant with puffy lips tries to maneuver the drink cart back down the aisle so she can buckle herself in. My stomach dives, then rises, bringing up the taste of leftover moo-shu pork.

Mouse keeps on coloring, undaunted by the bumps and vibrations. She is determined to finish copying a picture of a Black Hawk helicopter she found in the seat pouch. She put a dog in the pilot seat and another one riding on the tail of the helicopter.

“Henry?” I point to the brown dog. “But who’s her friend?”

“Ask Henry,” she answers as she begins drawing signs for the dog pilot.
No flying without dogs,
one says.

Mouse is having trouble with the second dog because the plane is jerking her markers all over the place. She takes out the barf bag.

Uh-oh.

But no, she’s not throwing up. She’s trying to draw the helicopter on the barf bag. This is crazy, but at least she’s quiet, at least she isn’t scared, at least she’s not trying to exit the plane and get her book again, and India isn’t threatening to call the police. I think Mouse was just upset about not seeing Mom in the window. Sometimes when Mouse gets upset it comes out in a weird way. My mom told me that once.

Up, down, up, down. I’m thirsty, I want to get rid of the Chinese food taste in my mouth that’s making my tongue feel hairy, but there’s no way the flight attendant will be able to serve drinks now.

“India?” I flick the fringe on my sister’s vest. “What’s going on?” I’ve never been on a flight with this many bumps. “When is this going to end?”

She shrugs, not the least bit concerned. She is more upset that she can’t text Maddy because you’re not allowed to use your cell when the plane is in the air.