No Passengers Beyond This Point(10)

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?”