“What are you gonna do with a giant crossword poster? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Anna. I can’t go to the movies tonight. I’m working on two thousand across,
Norwegian Birdcall.’”
“At least I’m not buying a Large Plastic Rock for hiding ‘unsightly utility posts.’You realize you have no lawn?”
“I could hide other stuff. Like . . . failed French tests. Or il egal moonshining equipment.” He doubles over with that wonderful boyish laughter, and I grin.
“But what will you do with a motorized swimming-pool snack float?”
“Use it in the bathtub.” He wipes a tear from his cheek. “Ooo, look! A Mount Rushmore garden statue. Just what you need, Anna. And only forty dol ars!
A bargain!”
We get stumped on the page of golfing accessories, so we switch to drawing rude pictures of the other people on the plane, fol owed by rude pictures
of Euro Disney Guy. St. Clair’s eyes glint as he sketches the man fal ing down the Panthéon’s spiral staircase.
There’s a lot of blood. And Mickey Mouse ears.
After a few hours, he grows sleepy. His head sinks against my shoulder. I don’t dare move.The sun is coming up, and the sky is pink and orange and
makes me think of sherbet. I sniff his hair. Not out of weirdness. It’s just . . . there.
He must have woken earlier than I thought, because it smel s shower-fresh. Clean. Healthy. Mmm. I doze in and out of a peaceful dream, and the next
thing I know, the captain’s voice is crackling over the airplane. We’re here.
I’m home.
Chapter twenty-four
I’m jittery. It’s like the animatronic band from Chuck E. Cheese is throwing a jamboree in my stomach. I’ve always hated Chuck E. Cheese. Why am I
thinking about Chuck E. Cheese? I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’m just seeing my mom again. And Seany. And Bridge! Bridge said she’d come.
St. Clair’s connecting flight to San Francisco doesn’t leave for another three hours, so we board the train that runs between terminals, and he walks me
to the arrivals area. We’ve been quiet since we got off the plane. I guess we’re tired. We reach the security checkpoint, and he can’t go any farther. Stupid TSA regulations. I wish I could introduce him to my family.The Chuck E. Cheese band kicks it up a notch, which is weird, because I’m not nervous about
leaving him. I’l see him again in two weeks.
“Al right, Banana. Suppose this is goodbye.” He grips the straps of his backpack, and I do the same.
This is the moment we’re supposed to hug. For some reason, I can’t do it.
“Tel your mom hi for me. I mean, I know I don’t know her. She just sounds real y nice. And I hope she’s okay.”
He smiles softly. “Thanks. I’l tell her.”
“Cal me?”
“Yeah, whatever.You’l be so busy with Bridge and what’s-his-name that you’l forget all about your English mate, St. Clair.”
“Ha! So you are English!” I poke him in the stomach.
He grabs my hand and we wrestle, laughing. “I claim . . . no . . . nationality.”
I break free. “Whatever, I total y caught you. Ow!” A gray-haired man in sunglasses bumps his red plaid suitcase into my legs.