“Hey, you! Apologize!” St. Clair says, but the guy is already too far away to hear.
I rub my shins. “It’s okay, we’re in the way. I should go.”
Time to hug again.Why can’t we do it? Final y, I step forward and put my arms around him. He’s stiff, and it’s awkward, especial y with our backpacks in
the way. I smel his hair again. Oh heavens.
We pul apart. “Have fun at the show tonight,” he says.
“I will . Have a good flight.”
“Thanks.” He bites his thumbnail, and then I’m through security and riding down the escalator. I look back one last time. St. Clair jumps up and down,
waving at me. I burst into laughter, and his face lights up. The escalator slides down.
He’s lost from view.
I swal ow hard and turn around. And then—there they are. Mom has a gigantic smile, and Seany is jumping and waving, just like St. Clair.
“For the last time, Bridgette said she was sorry.” Mom pays the grumpy woman in the airport parking deck’s tol booth. “She had to practice for the show.”
“Right. Because it’s not like we haven’t seen each other in four months.”
“Bridge is a ROCK STAR,” Seany says from the backseat. His voice is fil ed with adoration.
Uh-oh. Someone has a crush. “Oh, yeah?”
“She says her band is gonna be on MTV someday, but not the lame one, one of the cool ones you can only get with a special cable package.”
I turn around. My brother looks strangely smug. “And how do you know about special cable packages?”
Seany swings his legs. One of his freckled kneecaps is covered with Star Wars Band-Aids. Like, seven or eight of them. “Duh. Bridge told me.”
“Ah. I see.”
“She also told me about praying mantises. How the girl mantis eats the boy mantis’s head. And she told me about Jack the Ripper and NASA, and she
showed me how to make macaroni and cheese. The good kind, with the squishy cheese packet.”
“Anything else?”
“Lots of other things.” There is an edge to this. A threat.
“Oh. Hey, I have something for you.” I unzip my backpack and pul out a plastic shel . It’s an original StarWars Sand Person. The purchase on eBay ate my entire meal fund one week, but it was worth it. He real y wants this. I was saving it for later, but he clearly needs coaxing back to my side.
I hold up the package.The angry little figurine glares into the backseat. “Merry early Christmas!”
Seany crosses his arms. “I already have that one. Bridge got him for me.”
“Sean! What did I say about thanking people? tell your sister thank you. She must have gone through a lot of trouble to get that for you.”
“It’s okay,” I mumble, placing the toy back in my bag. It’s amazing how smal a resentful seven-year-old can make me feel.
“He just missed you, that’s all. He’s talked about you nonstop. He just doesn’t know how to express it now that you’re here. Sean! Stop kicking the seat!
What have I told you about kicking my seat while I’m driving?”
Seany scowls. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”