Michael (The Airel Saga, Book 2) - By Aaron Patterson Page 0,89
from a world that existed for some people in reality, and for people like me only in storybooks. That my world was beginning to overlap that world was pure thrill for me.
I cast an excited look at Michael, who smiled at me. “Dude, this is unbelievable!” I sounded dorky, but then who cared? I watched as another guy, who was evidently a member of the crew, took our bags and loaded them. That is, except for Kim’s new kiddiebag, which she wore over both shoulders and from which she refused to be separated.
“That’s my co-pilot, Bishop. He’s a Zulu man, very good at what he does.”
“Howzit!” he greeted us from a distance over the din of the idling jet engines.
Hex stood at the base of the ladder and motioned us toward him. “All aboard,” he said. “Make yourselves at home, please. I just have a few checks to make and then we’ll be on our way.”
I looked at Ellie, who gave me her little nod and motioned me aboard. Of course I couldn’t beat Kim to the punch. She tromped up the stairs like a football player. I followed more sedately but hardly less excited. I just hoped Kim wouldn’t white trash herself too much and embarrass both of us.
Inside it was all leather and wool carpets and exotic woods and technology. Lap of luxury stuff. Amazing. I turned back to Michael with a wowed expression. He returned it with a smirk and raised eyebrows.
Kim was being annoying, touching everything and rambling on. I wasn’t really listening to her. I sat in one of the enormously comfortable chairs and looked out the window. The farmer, at least that’s who I guessed it was, had come for his truck and Hex was out there talking with him. It wasn’t much of a conversation as far as I could tell, with Hex, a towering black man, basically shouting into the ear of a wizened old salt-of-the-earth onion farmer and clapping him on the back. They laughed like old friends. Dude. He is good.
Ellie, who had been waiting nearby for the two men to finish their conversation, approached Hex and gave him a side hug, her little blue pom-pom head vanishing briefly in the crook of his massive arm. She was too cute. I decided I liked her. Having greeted her friend, she bounded away from him, jogging toward the plane. She crested the stairs gracefully and ducked in.
“What do we think?” she asked.
“It’s sooooo rad,” Kim said in admiration.
“Glad you like it.”
“Can you, like, watch movies on that thing?” Kim asked, pointing to the massive display screen at the head of the cabin.
“Oh, sure,” Ellie said. “What do you fancy?”
“Oh, I don’t like anything fancy,” Kim said, and I smacked my palm against my forehead. She went on, “My favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast. I think it’s soooo romantic.”
“Since when?” I howled at her. “I thought your favorite movie was Miss Congeniality, Kim.”
She simply stuck her tongue out at me and sat down in a huff.
“No matter. We’ve got both of those and more,” Ellie said. “We’re connected via satellite all across the globe in this—”
“Beauty and the Beast! Beauty and the Beast! Beauty and the Beast! Beauty and the Beast!” Kim was hopping up and down in her seat, clapping her hands together like a spoiled rotten brat.
I pressed my hands to my temples and leaned forward. “Wow,” I said, feeling desperate.
“Okay, Kim, settle down,” Ellie said. “I’ll put it on for you.” She was talking to her like she might have talked to a small child. She grabbed a tablet sized control pad and deftly manipulated some settings. “There. It’ll start streaming as soon as the decryption is finished.” She turned back to Kim. “In the meantime, love, can I get you something to drink?”
“OhmyGawdyes,” Kim replied. “I want soda pop! Soda pop! Soda pop! Soda pop!” She sat still, beaming at Ellie with crazy eyes and clapping her hands in rhythm to her chant.
The movie started up, telling the story of the ugly witch and the selfish prince. The music swelled in surround sound, filling the space of the jet with my preschool memories. What was up with Kim? When did she become five again?
Ellie approached me. “Hey, girlie. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yeah,” I shot back, “What’s the legal drinking age in international airspace?”
She chuckled and bent low to my ear, trying to talk over the preschooler noises.