No Passengers Beyond This Point(18)

“How come Finn gets his last name too?” I ask.

“Because people need to know Finn’s last name,” Chuck answers.

Finn makes a funny gulp. Finn likes to write his whole name on things. I don’t know why.

“How’d it get up there? Is there some computer program that does that?” I ask.

“No, we just have planes,” Mr. Chuck explains. “We’ve got every kind of pilot here, lots of skywriters. Look what we’re passing now.”

A big shiny truck and a giant trailer are up ahead. Painted on the side of the trailer is a huge heart. Chuck pushes the feather taxi faster, and we practically fly by. The side of the truck says: We love India, Finn, and Mouse.

“The truck loves us?” I ask.

Chuck smiles. “Everybody loves you today. This is the best part of my job.”

“How could the trucking company know in time to get the trucks painted?” Finn wants to know.

“Sparky is in charge of information. And then Francine and Mary Carol are good at coordinating. Together the three of them can do anything. Sparky and Francine don’t get along that well, though,” Chuck says.

We’re approaching a city now—a beautiful city that’s all sparkly white and silver with color streaming out of it like the prism in my classroom.

“Is that Denver?” India asks.

“No, it’s Not Denver, remember?” I say.

“That’s Falling Bird,” Chuck says.

“FB is for Fort Baker, isn’t it Mr. Chuck? Isn’t it?” I say.

“FB stands for Fort Baker but in this case it means Falling Bird,” Chuck tells me.

“How far is it from Falling Bird to Fort Baker?” Finn asks.

“It’s a bit of a detour I’m afraid,” Chuck says.

“Wait, does Uncle Red know about the detour?” India asks.

“Yes,” Mr. Chuck says.

The road is full of cars now and each has a sign in the window. Welcome, India. You are so beautiful. Sing for us, one says. Mouse is our favorite, another says. Finn rules. And then Ask Mouse. She knows everything. So does Bing.

“But, Mr. Chuck, how do they know Bing? He didn’t have a real seat on the plane. And I’ve never told Uncle Red about him.”

“Like I said, Sparky doesn’t miss a thing,” Mr. Chuck says.

I wish he would slow down. I want to say hello to the people who think I know everything. Bing does too. He thinks I know everything—except what he knows. We are side-by-side refrigerators full of knowing, Bing and me.

We are driving under a big Welcome to Falling Bird arch now. It is made of prisms and light. Welcome to Falling Bird is written in pink light on the road. On the sidewalks are people waving to us. When we drive up, they all cheer.

“How could Sparky have told all these people?” I ask India.

“Did you post this online?” Finn wants to know.

“Uncle Red must have arranged this,” India offers.

“Is Uncle Red rich?” Finn asks.

“He must be,” India says.

“He sure knows a lot of people,” I say, reading all the signs. We love Mouse. Yay for India. Some have mouse noses and ears. Some are dressed as basketball players. MVP Finn Tompkins, one guy’s basketball shirt says. Every guy has the number 48. Finn’s basketball number.

“Why are they carrying pictures of Henry?” Finn asks.

“She’s your dog,” Chuck says.

“How’d they know her name and what she looks like?” Finn again.

“Henry is important to you, so of course we’d know about her.”

“How far are we from Uncle Red’s?” Finn asks.

“That I don’t know,” Chuck answers.

“You need to take us back to the airport,” Finn insists.

“If Uncle Red arranged all this, then it must be okay,” India says.

Each light post is a bird nest with bulbs that are eggs. Feathers fall out of the sky. Pictures of a dark blue night sky with one piece of day sky are all around and movies are everywhere . . . on the roofs, on the sidewalks, on the tree tops, and even in some windows. People in Falling Bird must really like movies. And guess what? We’re in them!

There’s India doing cartwheels with Maddy, India singing in the choir, Finn shooting baskets with our cousins watching, Finn and Henry on Finn’s bed, me explaining decimals to fifth graders, me riding horses with Mommy.

“Our life is up there,” I say.

Chuck smiles. “We know how to make you feel welcome.”

So many people are watching—too many to count, even the fast way where you multiply one side by the other. People don’t stand in rows unless they are in a marching band or the army.

Chuck parks the feather cab under a shady tree full of pink flowers. Everybody watches the sky boards. We hear them oohh and ahhh and clap. It’s like when I was student of the week . . . only better.