No Passengers Beyond This Point(6)

While my mom makes a run to the storage locker, we stay home trying to decide what to put in the one suitcase we are each allowed to bring. Any more and they’ll charge us extra, and my mother wants her last fifty dollars to give to India so we’ll have money for the trip. I have seven dollars to my name, which I put in my suitcase. Mouse has the dimes in her shoe.

The only real estate we own now is what we can fit inside our roller bags.

“How does she look to you?” I ask India.

“God, Finn, she’s fine,” India says. “Our life is falling apart and you’re worried about Mom?”

“Yeah, I am . . . can you imagine?”

She rolls her eyes.

Mouse is helping to pack stuff with a running commentary about the stuff itself and not the fact we’re moving it—Here’s the book about the black holes. The Bermuda Triangle is not a black hole. It’s not, Finn! Did you know that?

She doesn’t seem to get the fact that we’re moving. She hasn’t said a word to Bing about the flight. Usually she discusses everything with him. That’s how you know what’s going on with her.

The only thing that gives any inkling she knows what’s happening is she wants to dig up her goldfish graves and take the skeletons along.

“Do you have to be weird all the time?” India snaps at Mouse.

I glare at her.

“I’m sorry. It’s just not normal to want to haul around the skeletons of your pets,” India says.

“It’s not just my pets; if they were your bones, I’d want to dig them up too,” Mouse says as she locates a trowel under a stack of naked Barbies.

“Oh, well, I’m flattered then,” India answers, her voice thick with sarcasm.

Mouse marches out to our tiny yard, which is the size of four sidewalk squares and has three plants and a basketball hoop.

“Are you just going to let her do that?” India asks me.

“Mouse,” I suggest, “let’s leave the fish bones for last, okay?”

“Okay.” Mouse nods agreeably.

India glares at her. She wants Mouse to like her better than me, but India is mean to Mouse. She blames Mouse for everything. What does India expect?

I can’t worry about that right now. I have problems of my own . . . I’ve got to call Coach P. and let him know what’s going on. I can’t just disappear on him. What kind of a person does that?

I have his cell number, and it’s not like everybody does. Just Logan, MC, and me! Of course, they’re tall, but never mind that.

I’m hoping to leave a message, but on the third ring Coach P. picks up. “Finn, my man, what’s up?”

It feels good to hear his voice. I forgot about that part.

“Uh, oh, hi, Coach. Look, I just wanted to . . .”

“Wanted to what? Spit it out, Finn.”

I push through the lump in my throat. “To say good-bye. I’m moving to, uh, Colorado today.”

“Finn . . . today? Why?”

I can’t tell him our house got repoed. That makes me sound like the biggest loser in the world. “My mom wants to,” I mumble.

“Oh, your mom . . .” he says as if this explains everything. Coach P. thinks women are irrational. “Well, look guy, will we get to see you before you go?”

“I dunno,” I mutter.

“Okay then . . . we’ll miss you. Nobody can eat those hot dogs like you can.”

“Coach . . . I don’t, ummm, eat a lot. You’re thinking of Logan.”

“Logan, yeah, how many did he eat on Spirit Day?”

“Nine.”

“Nine . . . amazing. Well, Finn. You’re a good guy and a good sport. Keep in touch and come back and visit me, okay?”

“Coach?”

“Yeah, son.”

“You think I’ll ever be a good player?”

He sucks in a big breath. “Sure, sure, why not? Like I always say: Keep your head in the game and your eye on the ball. Now, you take care of yourself, Finn. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He laughs his big laugh.

The line is dead now, but his words circle around inside my head.

Sure, sure, why not . . . sure, sure, why not.

That’s not the same as yes, is it?

I get my basketball out of my suitcase and dunk it from the place where I always make it. Not from the spot where I don’t.

“You okay, Finn?” my mom asks when she gets back.

I pretend I don’t hear her.

“Let’s call Uncle Red. He really is excited about you coming. The girls too . . .” Her voice trails off.

I still don’t answer. Just keep dunking the ball from my sure-bet spot.





When we’re finally ready and Mouse is sent to do a last pit stop, India corners Mom.