What Could Go Wrong? (4 page)

“Oh, that's nice. I'm going to San Francisco, too. My daughter-in-law will meet me there. We live in Oakland, actually, so there's a long ride after I get off the plane.” She sighed. “Traveling is hard work when you get old. I suppose at your ages, it's an adventure.”

“Sure,” I agreed, while Charlie was saying, “You get used to it,” as if he'd been flying around the world for years.

“Hey,” Eddie piped up, “I think they're ready to let us on the plane!” He stood up, looking as excited as I felt, and I was glad I wasn't the only one who wasn't an experienced traveler.

Sure enough, the announcement came over the loudspeaker. “Flight 211 for San Francisco now boarding at Gate 48. Flight 211 for San Francisco.”

People got up and began moving toward the door behind the ticket agent. I saw the two ladies who'd made a fuss earlier; they were easy to spot because one of them was wearing a funny red plaid hat, the kind men sometimes wear to play golf.

The rest of us got up, too, and suddenly our new friend exclaimed in annoyance. “Oh, spilling my purse made me forget! I was looking for coins for a newspaper, so I'd have something to read on the plane! I don't suppose there's one of those vending machines right close by—”

She looked around, and I did, too. Charlie shook his head. “No, they're all down that way. I don't think there's time to go and get a paper without maybe missing takeoff.”

She looked so disappointed I felt sorry for her. “Well, I guess I'll get by—”

We were heading for the doorway with the other passengers when I saw the newspaper on the chair where the fat man in the Hawaiian shirt had been sitting, at the end of a row of seats. “Hey, look, that man left
his
paper! I'll get that one for you. He must have been finished with it or he would have taken it with him.”

I squeezed between the members of another family party speaking a strange language—Charlie said later they were Swiss, though I don't know how he knew—and grabbed the paper that had been neatly folded when the fat man abandoned it. Then, a bit guiltily, because he hadn't seemed to be the sort of person who was generous with strangers, I scanned the people in line ahead of us. Maybe he'd left it accidentally and would resent my picking it up.

He wasn't in the line, though, nor anywhere behind us, either. That shirt would have stood out even in all these people. “Here,” I said, handing over the newspaper to the old lady.

Again she thanked me sweetly. “That's very thoughtful of you. This will make the time pass more quickly.” She handed over her boarding pass and moved ahead of us, through the doorway onto the sloping carpeted corridor that connected with the plane. We relinquished our passes, too, and followed.

“San Francisco, here we come!” Eddie said with enthusiasm.

I was a little nervous, but mostly I was delighted to be going. I'd have plenty to tell my friends when I got home two weeks from now, and for once when we had to write in school about how we'd spent our vacation, I'd have something interesting to say.

I never dreamed just how much there would be, or I'd probably have turned around and got off the plane before it ever left the ground.

Or maybe not. Mr. Frost raised his eyebrows when he read my paper, and asked how much of it really happened. But he gave me an A+ on it, so maybe it was worth it.

A smiling stewardess in a smart navy blue uniform welcomed us aboard. People were clogging up the aisle as they paused to store carry-on luggage in the overhead compartments. Some of them were confused about where their seats were, but Charlie led the way to ours as soon as we could get through.

I heard Eddie, behind me, mutter an apology as he bumped his flight bag into someone. “Who wants to sit next to the window?” Charlie asked, stopping at our row.

I wanted to, but Eddie had already said breathlessly, “I do!” before I could get my mouth open.

“Okay. You sit there going down and Gracie can have the window seat coming home. I'll sit in the middle,” Charlie said. It stood to reason
Charlie would make the decisions. He always did, though he often gave in if you argued.

Eddie slid in first, awkwardly stowing his flight bag under the seat ahead of him before he half-fell into his own place. His glasses had gotten bumped, and he settled them back on his nose as Charlie took the middle seat, leaving me to the one on the aisle.

We were on a 727, and there were three seats on each side of the aisle. I settled into a comfortable seat and grinned. We were finally going!

Of course we didn't go immediately. Though the plane wasn't quite full, there were probably ninety or a hundred passengers who had to load. The old lady we'd met in the waiting area turned out to be right across the aisle from me. She nodded, pleased.

“It looks as if we're going to travel together, doesn't it? I never introduced myself. I'm Clara Basker.”

I told her my name, and Charlie's and Eddie's. There was an empty seat beside Mrs. Basker, and she looked at it hesitantly. “I wonder if I can keep my purse there, or if I'll have
to put it on the floor? I'm always taking my glasses off or putting them back on, depending on whether I want to read or not, and I'd like to keep them handy.”

There was a young woman in the window seat beyond Mrs. Basker, holding a sleeping baby. “Just put it there for now,” she suggested. “It's Jimmy's seat, but I have to hold him for takeoff and until he wakes up, anyway.”

I heard them exchange names—the young woman was Eleanor Hall—and then turned to look past Eddie to where luggage was still being loaded from a cart out on the concrete area. Charlie was already fastening his seat belt, so Eddie and I followed his example.

I was glad I'd sat on the aisle, after all. The seats had high backs so it was hard to see the people behind or in front of you. But I could lean out into the aisle a little and see quite a bit.

People were making themselves comfortable. Some of them already had pillows and were getting ready for naps. I'd never felt less like a nap in my life. I wasn't even bored, as Charlie obviously was, when one of our three
stews, as Charlie referred to the flight attendants, stood at the front of the plane and explained how to fasten seat belts, and where the exits were, and what to do if we lost oxygen and had to use the masks that would automatically drop down. I'd never heard any of it before. She didn't explain about airsick bags, so I hoped that meant we wouldn't be likely to need them.

When the engines came on, Eddie leaned out to see around Charlie and gave me a look of pure delight. “We're going!” he said.

We didn't move for several minutes, however, and after a bit of time had passed I heard a few comments from other passengers.

“What's the delay now? We're already late, and I've got a connection to make in San Francisco.”

“Probably waiting our turn at a runway,” someone else said.

We realized why the additional delay had been necessary when a flustered-looking man in crumpled slacks and a tan shirt suddenly came aboard, handing over his boarding pass. They must have held the plane for this late
passenger, because immediately the engines got louder, and the entrance door was closed and secured.

The man looked down the aisle, his gaze sweeping over me, then settling on Mrs. Basker. “Can I sit there?” he asked the stewardess.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Upton. That seat is reserved for a young child; he's sleeping now, but he will be sitting there later. You've been assigned to 12D. That's right here.”

The latecomer scowled, and I felt sorry for the attendant. He looked disagreeable and he was still standing there.

“I'm sorry. Please take your seat, sir, and fasten your seat belt so that we can take off. As you know, we're already behind schedule.”

“Yeah,” came a voice from behind us, “for pete's sake, sit down so we can take off! You're going to make me miss my connection to Miami.” Mr. Upton gave the speaker a surly look and dropped into his assigned seat ahead of us, on the aisle. I could see his foot sticking out where someone could trip over it, about a size twelve in brown oxfords. His pants slid up far enough so I could see he was wearing
funny-looking socks. Argyles, I think they're called. His were sort of a brown and green plaid. Then he got settled and drew in his feet and I couldn't see anything but a sort of hairy arm sticking out beyond the back of his seat.

“We're moving!” Eddie breathed, and I forgot about Mr. Upton who was so late he nearly missed the flight.

My stomach got a tight feeling, and my fingers curled around the arms of my own seat. I glanced at Mrs. Basker and saw that she was looking a bit tense, too, but she smiled at me, and I smiled back. It was a first flight for both of us, and I didn't want her to think I was chicken. Mom says showing you're scared makes other people scared, the way I did when I screamed my head off the time Max got hit in the face with a ball and bled all over his shirt front. He wasn't badly hurt, just scared, because
I
acted as if he'd been killed. As soon as I stopped yelling, so did Max. So I made an effort and relaxed my hands. I couldn't do anything about my stomach, though.

We taxied out to the runway, moving slowly at first, and then the engines built to a roar,
and we were actually on the runway. Charlie was relaxed, but I noticed Eddie's knuckles were white, even though he was grinning.

We just barely felt it when the plane left the ground. We were lifting, lifting, and it was a rather lovely sensation, I told Mom later. We went up and up, and the plane tilted to one side so we had a view of bright blue water—Puget Sound—below us, and then we circled around and headed south.

A minute later, the
FASTEN SEAT BELT
sign went off. I heard several people around me exhale, so I figured I wasn't the only one who'd been holding my breath. Some of them unfastened their belts, but Charlie left his buckled, so I did, too.

“Geez,” Eddie said with satisfaction, “that made me hungry. I think I'll have a candy bar.”

When he leaned forward to reach his flight bag, Charlie gave him a poke with an elbow. “Don't waste your own stuff. They'll bring us a snack in just a few minutes.”

This turned out to be true. The attendants brought a little cart along the aisle and asked what we wanted to drink. Eddie had Coke,
and I ordered 7-Up. Charlie looked the stewardess right in the eye and said, “I'll have a martini, I guess.”

I saw Eddie's scandalized face, and then the stewardess laughed, and I knew Charlie was joking. She gave him 7-Up, like mine.

I knew Uncle Jim sometimes drank martinis, but I was relieved to know he didn't let Charlie have them. My dad would probably kill me if he thought I even sat next to a kid who was drinking anything alcoholic. Especially if the kid was my cousin Charlie.

They gave us little bags of salted peanuts, too. They were pretty good. Mrs. Basker said she couldn't chew them very well so she passed hers across to me, and I shared it with the boys.

Ahead of me, the late-arriving passenger, Mr. Upton, got out of his seat and started toward the back of the plane where the rest rooms were. Instinctively I shrank toward Charlie so he wouldn't brush against my arm as he passed.

He didn't touch me, but one of his big feet caught in the straps of Mrs. Basker's flight
bag, which were sticking out from under the seat ahead of her. He actually dragged it along with him, as if he didn't feel it, until I said, “Excuse me, but you're caught on that bag—”

He turned around then, and Mrs. Basker made a grab for her bag. He had to lift his foot to be free of it, and he muttered, “Sorry.” He didn't look sorry, though. He had a sour-looking face, and for some reason, I thought he didn't like me, though I couldn't imagine why.

“I'd better tuck it farther under the seat,” Mrs. Basker said. “First, though, I'll find my glasses and the newspaper and read a bit. Would you like the comics, dear?”

I took them, though I was still feeling too unsettled to want to read. We hadn't seen the day's funnies from the
Seattle Times,
though, so we all read them.

To my surprise, Mr. Upton paused beside my seat when he came back. “Excuse me, ma'am,” he said to Mrs. Basker, “but could I read your paper when you're finished with it? I didn't have time to buy a copy before we took off.”

“Oh, why, I don't know,” Mrs. Basker said
uncertainly. “I've already promised it to someone else after I finish with it.”

I caught only a glimpse of his face—he didn't seem to like
anyone
—and then a man a row back said, “Here, I'm finished with mine. Take it.”

Mr. Upton hesitated, then accepted the newspaper handed over by the other passenger. “Thanks,” he grunted, and returned to his seat.

I really wouldn't have cared if Mrs. Basker had given the man the paper. I'd already read the comics. When she finally handed over the rest of the paper though, I noticed there was a crossword puzzle. The fat man in the Hawaiian shirt had filled in a few of the spaces but not enough to spoil it. I decided I'd finish it if I got bored, though I wasn't bored yet. I folded the paper back together and stuck it in my own flight bag.

My grandma Cameron got me started doing crosswords the time she stayed with us after she fell and broke her hip. All she could do was read and watch TV and do crosswords, and she kept asking me things like what was a four-letter word for teutonic
land ownership (Dad knew that word was “odal”) or a nine-letter word for the terminal outgrowth of the tarsus of an arthropod. I figured that one meant something that grew out of the end of something, but I didn't know what either tarsus or arthropod meant, so she made me look them up. The answer was “pretarsus,” not a word you'd ever use in ordinary conversation.