India is ahead of Mommy. India likes to be first. She’s a big hog about it too. They are up front in the line near the conveyor belt.
“Shoes off, put them in the bin,” Mommy says. She’s not flying today on account of she likes her sixth graders better than us.
“Finn,” I whisper. “We have a problem here.”
“Mom!” Finn calls to our mom, who is walking through the metal detector. “Mouse has to go to the bathroom.”
“All right, you people, I’ve got a flight to catch,” a man with green socks growls. His black roller bag bumps my blue bag in not a nice way.
“Can you wait?” Mommy asks from the land on the other side of the metal detector.
“I DON’T HAVE TO GO!” I shout so she will hear.
Mom’s cheeks turn pink. “Come on then.” She mouths the words and waves me on.
“Take your shoes off,” Finn says.
I pull on his arm and he bends his knees so I can whisper in his ear. “Someone might steal my money.”
Finn whisks the hair out of his eyes faster than usual, which means I am making him nervous. “Just take your shoes off. No one cares about your dimes.”
I don’t like to make Finn nervous. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to take all the underpants and socks out of my suitcase and put in my special mints and soda explosion ingredients and my baking soda and vinegar volcano. But Mom said I have to make a good expression for Uncle Red. A volcano makes a good expression, that’s for sure.
My blue plaid roller bag is going through the X-ray machine. The man with the green socks takes cuts. Hey . . . grown-ups are not supposed to take cuts . . . are they?
“Come on through.” A man in a uniform with an important yellow badge wiggles his bright blue-gloved fingers at me and I walk through the pretend door frame of the metal detector, which is also made of metal. This does not make sense. How come it doesn’t make its own self go off?
There’s an orange light over the X-ray machine like the lights on the police cars, and the lady looking at the X-ray pictures is smacking her gum.
I tried to get Mommy to let Bing take his own bag, but she said Bing doesn’t have a ticket. She should have gotten Bing his own ticket. He likes it better when he has his own seat.
“Marvin, open up the blue one,” the X-ray lady says.
I am on the land on the other side of the metal detector now. Mommy unties my blue sneakers so I can put them on again. Her fingers hold the dimes taped inside.
India is nowhere. Probably Mom let her go ahead to buy gum. India always gets to do the fun things.
“Do I need to show Bing’s wallet?” I ask.
Bing uses my dad’s old wallet. He has important stuff in there like identification and one real dollar.
My mom shakes her head.
Mommy had to show hers to get a special pass on account of she doesn’t have a ticket and she isn’t going anywhere. Marvin has my roller bag. I duck under the cord to have a little talk with him.
“Marvin,” I say. “There’s a little explosion stuff in there, which I need to show Uncle Red. He doesn’t have kids, you know.”
Marvin’s droopy red eyelids stop drooping.
“Mouse.” Mommy grabs my shirt. “You’re not supposed to be over there.”
“Call for backup. We’ve got a nine-one-one on the blue suitcase,” Marvin tells the X-ray lady. He points his finger in my face. “You come with me.”
I’m trying hard to subtract the time of our plane from the time on my mouse watch, but I don’t know how to carry over in my head. “Marvin,” I tell him, “our plane is leaving in forty-five or twenty minutes.”
But Marvin isn’t listening. More and more people with yellow badges are around us. I try to see if all the badges are the same or if it’s like when India was in Girl Scouts and they were all different.
My mommy holds tight to my hand. “She stays with me,” Mommy says.
Marvin shakes his head.
Mommy presses Finn’s fingers around my arm and motions to Marvin. She and Marvin move away so I can’t hear, but Mommy is talking in her big important teacher way. People do what Mommy wants.
Marvin shakes his head. Mommy tells him something else. Marvin shakes his head harder.
“Finn,” Mommy says, “let Mouse go. Mouse, this man is going to ask you some questions, that’s all.”
“Come with me,” Marvin commands.
I don’t want to go with Marvin, but Mommy is nodding like I need to help her on this. She wants me to straighten the problem out. This is what I explain to Bing.
Sometimes I talk to Bing out loud and sometimes I talk to him in my head. Bing doesn’t need sound to hear.
Bing and I follow Marvin to a small room in the back. Marvin takes a stack of magazines off the orange bucket chair and picks up his clipboard.
I do not like being way back here with Bing and Marvin. What is Marvin going to ask? I try to think of every answer I know.
“Name?” Marvin says.
“Geneva Tompkins, but everybody calls me Mouse on account of I’m good at squeaking. Want to hear?”
Marvin shakes his head. “You’re traveling with your mother.”
“No,” I say. “We’ve used up all our money. Mommy has to work because that’s how she gets more. Is that how you get more, Marvin?”
Marvin writes this down on his clipboard. “Who exactly are you traveling with?”
“My sister, India, and my brother, Finn. India, Geneva, and Finland. Two countries and a city. That’s me.” I raise my hand. “My mother wanted to travel, but instead she had kids.”
This is my one grown-up joke. I got it from India. Marvin doesn’t laugh.
“And your father?” Marvin asks.
“He died when I was in Mommy’s tummy. I couldn’t see him on account of there was skin in the way. But Bing saw him. He took a picture for me.”
“Who is Bing?”
“He’s my friend.”
“Did you pack your own suitcase?”
“My mom and India did, only I made a few corrections.”
“Which means?”
“I added the explosives,” I whisper.
His face looks suddenly the color of my snot when Mommy says I have to stay home from school. “Explosives?”
“Have you ever seen mints explode? You put them in soda and PFFFFFFFFFF.” I make my best explosion noise, but it’s not as good as Finn’s.
“This is some kind of science experiment?” His voice squeaks.
“Oh, no. I don’t have science yet. Not until third grade.”
Marvin shakes his head and makes grunting noises. “Do you understand you aren’t allowed to bring liquids on the plane? Liquids like vinegar, liquids like soda.”
“I would have understood if Finn let me read the whole sign, but he said we had to—”
“You stay here,” he snaps before I even finish explaining.
When Marvin comes back, Mommy, Finn, and India are with him. Marvin hands me my suitcase. It’s very light. He’s taken all the good stuff out.
My mom hugs me like I have been away a long time.
“How am I supposed to control her? That’s why Maddy calls her the Demon Child. Plus she lies,” India tells Mommy as we all hurry up.
“No she doesn’t,” Mommy says.
“She lied about Maddy.”
“Ancient history, India, come on. I thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore. Now, let’s go. We gotta hustle here.”
We are in the land on the other side of the metal detector again. My mom is half running, pulling me along to gate number thirty-seven, where she bustles us into the “C” line.
“What if she took out her underwear like she did when we went to Grandma’s?” India yells. “What’ll she wear?”
“You’ll have to let her borrow some of yours,” Mommy answers.
“No,” I say, “India’s are too small.” The bigger you get, the smaller your undies. I do not understand this.
“She can’t borrow mine. Let her wear Finn’s,” India snaps.
“INDIA! Boy’s underwear!” India is sickening sometimes. I feel like biting her. I did that once when I was really mad, but my mom took away my peanut butter and honey sandwiches for one whole week.
“Uncle Red’s then?”
“IN-DIA!” I stop in my tracks in front of the magazine stand.
“Did you take them out?” India demands. “Because if you did, you’ll have to borrow Uncle Red’s!”
I punch her then. There’s nothing else to do.
Mommy gets in the middle so India can’t punch me back. Usually Finn does this, but he doesn’t like underwear talk. He’s pretending he isn’t our brother right now.
“That is the last of that! The next time I see you two, you will be treating each other with respect, you understand me?” Mommy tells both of us.
The “C” line is moving up to the ticket lady. Mommy squats down so she can look into my eyes. She smells like oranges and crackers. “Mouse, you understand what’s happened?”
“I wasn’t supposed to bring the science explosion stuff.”
“That’s right.” She nods. “And where are you going?”
“Uncle Red’s house.”
I know everything. I never miss even one on my tests at school. India says that’s because kindergarten is so easy. No one misses any problems in kindergarten, but Mommy has been giving me tests for fifth graders and I never miss any on those either. India doesn’t like to hear about that.
“Look, sweetie, you’re going to have to be a really good girl at Uncle Red’s. You’ll need to mind India and Finn and Uncle Red. Can you do that? I will call you every night and I will come as soon as I can.”
My shoulders slump low down. I feel low down too. “How long is as soon as I can?”
“Three months.”
“How many hours is that?”
My mom brushes my hair back with her hand. “A lot of hours. Too many to count.”
“I could count. I’m a very good counter. Do you want me to? I know! How about if I stand right here and wait for you? I could sit down when I got tired.”
We are up at the very front of the “C” line now. India hands all three of our tickets to the airline lady in the blue skirt.
“You’ll have fun at Uncle Red’s. You will,” Mommy says.
Bing is nodding his head. He thinks it’s going to be fun too. I hate when he sides with Mommy.
Mommy hugs Finn and India, but she leaves the last hug for me. My face is smushed up in Mommy’s shirt, so my voice is smushy too. “Are you sure you can’t come now?”
Mommy nods the for-sure way. Not the maybe way.
I pucker my lip and do my sad puppy face. “Will you at least wave from the window?” I ask.
“I promise, sweetheart. I will wave from the window.” Mommy’s lips get shaky. Bing says she’s trying not to cry.
CHAPTER 5
MY SOLAR SYSTEM
I nside the plane there is a row of little windows. I try every window. I have to find the one that has Mommy in it.
“Did you need something, young lady?” a big pinky person asks as I slide between her knees.
“Mouse!” India grabs my blue corduroy pocket. These are my favorite of all my blue corduroys. She better not rip them, you know.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Finn jumps between me and India. His face is all red like Elmo’s. “Mouse, get out of there!”
“At least say excuse me,” India hisses in my ear.
A flight attendant lady in a blue skirt wants to look at our boarding passes. “This is first class,” she says. “You are in coach.” She points to the back of the plane.
“Coaches are from the olden days,” I tell her. “We are in an airplane.”
The flight attendant’s little wrinkles all come together. She doesn’t understand. Sometimes I have to think up another way to say the things in my head. But the flight attendant moves on. She doesn’t want to hear another way. I talk to India instead.
“I can’t see Mommy from any of the windows. That plane is blocking us. India, you have to ask the plane to move. Make sure you say please the nice way,” I whisper. Sometimes when India says please, it sounds like a naughty word.
“Don’t be crazy,” India snaps.
“I promised to wave. Bing promised to wave.” He never breaks his promises, not ever, and I usually don’t either, only sometimes.
“Mouse, I can’t get the plane to move.”
“Let’s try from that window.” Finn points to a window where there are no passengers in the seats.
But that window doesn’t have Mommy in it either.
“Mouse, c’mon. She’s not there!” India yanks my pocket so hard it rips a little.
“I can’t sit down without waving to Mommy. She will wait forever trying to wave. She could die without my wave.”
“We’ll call her when we get to Denver.” India drags me back.
I don’t want to sit down. Bing doesn’t want to sit down, but India has on her mean look. Way, way in the backety back she finds our seats. “You sit there, Mouse, in case you have to pee,” India commands, pointing at the aisle. “Finn, you’re there.” She points at the middle. That means she gets the window. Didn’t I tell you she hogs everything?
Finn grunts. I don’t think he likes the middle, but he’s supposed to keep us from fighting. Mommy said.
India throws her stuff on the seat but doesn’t sit down. She takes out her cell and walks to the front of the plane so we won’t hear her talking to Maddy. I sure hope Maddy isn’t coming with us.
Finn lifts all of our suitcases up and wiggles them into the overhead compartments on account of Mommy says he’s the man of the house.
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.”
“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.
No Passengers Beyond This Point Page 3
